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#john price x reader
xobridgertonblues · 2 days
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smut is great but do you know what’s better? heart wrenching, soul twisting angst that makes you want to cry (take my money)
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soaps-mohawk · 3 days
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 14: The Aftermath
Summary: Your heat is over, now all that's left to do is heal.
Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz
Word Count: 5100 words
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, handjobs, heat cycles, mating cycles, brief medical stuff, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, fluff, angst, nightmares, PTSD
A/N: Surprise!! Got this one done super early because I kind of just want to move forward with this fic and get to more exciting things so enjoy this bonus chapter. This weekend's update might come a day late, we'll see. Not entirely happy with this one, but it's really just setting up the next part so...yeah. Enjoy!!
Want early access to chapters, as well as other bonus content? Consider supporting me on Patreon.
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(Gif found on Google)
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A rumbling purr vibrates in your chest. It’s a purr of contentment, of satisfaction. You’re warm, not like you had been nine days ago when your heat started, though. This is a comfortable warmth, a cozy warmth. You’re under blankets in your nest, pressed against a bare chest. You trail your fingers along smooth skin until you hit a familiar scar slicing through the skin, right below his clavicle. 
“Got that one outside a bar in Manchester.” 
You pause in your movements, tilting your head to look up at John. He’s staring down at you, his own fingers starting to trace a pattern on your back. 
“Was years ago. Some bloke was getting rowdy inside. Pulled him out to try and talk him down, and he pulled a knife on me.” 
“I can imagine what you did in response.” You murmur, laying your head back on his chest. 
John huffs out a laugh. “Left him with a couple missing teeth, and quite the dent in his head.” He smooths a hand over your side. “You feeling alright?” 
You hum in response. Your eyes feel dry and puffy from crying, and you’re terribly thirsty. You’re beginning to feel the ache in your body again, the steady pulse of pain between your legs starting up. “Hurting again.” You murmur, smacking your lips. “Kinda feels like I swallowed sand too.” 
“Almost time for another muscle relaxer.” He says, glancing at his phone before grabbing an electrolyte bottle from the nightstand. 
You push yourself up to sit, joints cracking as you go. You let out a quiet whimper at the ache in your body, eyes filling up with tears again. 
“Easy.” John tries to soothe you, brushing the hair from your face. “You’re alright.” 
“Sorry.” You sniffle, taking the electrolyte bottle. “It’s embarrassing.” 
“It’s not. It’s just a natural part of coming down from a heat.” John says as you gulp down the contents of the bottle. 
“My mom cried after her heats.” You say, putting the cap back on the electrolyte bottle. “I heard her once, when I was like seven or eight. My dad had picked us up from the care center on base. I wanted to see my mom, but their bedroom door was closed. I could hear her inside, crying alone. My dad scolded me, sent me back down the hall when he saw me. It never felt right to me, that she was in there alone like that, but maybe things are different when you have pups.” 
“I don’t think it was right.” John says as you lay back down against his side. He’s tense, limbs stiff even as his arm wraps around your back. 
“There were a lot of things my dad did that I questioned.” You say absentmindedly, tracing circles on John’s stomach to try and calm him. “Maybe it was just that inner part of me that knew I’d be an omega that made me notice it more. My brothers never said anything, but then again, they all presented as alphas.” You shift against John’s side, tucking your head so he can’t see your face. “Maybe I was just unlucky.” 
He grunts, squeezing your shoulder gently. “You can’t control what nature decides.” 
“Can’t control a lot of things.” You say quietly as he tightens his hold around you. “Suppose I am lucky in one regard.” 
“What’s that?” He asks. 
You shift yourself so you’re facing him, tears sliding down your cheeks again. “You’re a really good alpha.” 
He pulls you against his chest again, pressing your face into his neck. “I don’t know if I’d call myself that.” He says, gently stroking your hair. “Just treating you the way you deserve to be treated.” 
“You treat me like I’m a human being.” You sniffle, wetting his skin as you cry. “That’s better than I’ve been treated since I presented.” 
You don’t see the way his brow furrows, the frown tugging at his lips at your words. You do feel the way he tenses for a moment, arms clenching around you before he relaxes again, a quiet purr rumbling through his chest as he soothes you. 
“I haven’t left your side since your heat started.” He says, taking your hand in his. 
“Really?” You ask, brows pinching a bit at his confession. 
He hums. “Except to use the bathroom.” 
“You must be sick of me by now.” You say. 
“Never.” He says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re my sweet little omega. Could never get sick of you.” 
You let out a soft purring noise, the sound slipping through your lips before you even realize it. Your eyes widen and you push yourself up out of Price’s neck in surprise. “I’ve never made that noise before.” 
Price smiles softly at you, reaching up to stroke your cheek. “Just means you’re happy.” 
“Hmm.” You lay yourself back down against his chest, resting your ear over his heart. You suppose you are happy. 
Or, at the very least, content.
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Standing hurts. 
Your legs feel a bit like jelly and your muscles ache deeply. It’s been almost five days since your heat ended, and yet you still feel like you just ran a marathon with no training beforehand. You know part of it is that you’ve been laid up for almost a week, but after that kind of physical exertion, you needed rest. You had only gotten up to stumble to the bathroom a handful of times, leaning heavily on John to avoid straining your muscles anymore than they already were. 
You should get up and start moving now, though. It will help with the stiffness, you know, and you should get the blood flowing at least a little. 
You’re also starting to go a bit stir crazy cooped up in your room all the time. You can only rearrange your nest so many ways, and you’ve even started to kick John out of the nest, opting to cuddle with your giant bear instead. 
You've showered, finally feeling properly clean for the first time in almost two weeks. You dress yourself, opting for the loosest clothes you own, and forgoing underwear. You’re not sure you can handle anything too tight on your skin yet. 
“Ready?” John asks, standing near the door. 
You nod, putting on your slippers as he opens the door. Arms wrap around you as soon as you step out into the hallway, your feet leaving the floor. 
“She lives!” Johnny exclaims, spinning you around. 
You grunt at the impact of the excited Scotsman, but wrap your arms around him anyway, taking in his citrusy scent. You have missed him, not realizing how boring life would be without him until now. You’ve even missed Ghost a bit, his looming presence making the world seem a little less big. 
“Easy, Johnny.” Ghost scolds the overjoyed beta. “She’s still breakable.” 
“Sorry, kitten.” Johnny says, immediately setting you back on your feet and loosening his grip around you. “Missed ye, is all.” 
“I missed you too.” You smile up at him. 
“Thought ye might never be comin’ out of that room.” He says. “Thought I might have tae go in and save ye.” 
You smirk. “You almost had to. Was starting to feel a bit stir crazy in there.” 
He grins playfully at you. “Well, yer more than welcome to spend the night elsewhere if yer sick of bein’ cooped up.”
“She's definitely not going to be doing any of that for a while.” John says, stepping up behind you. “R&R is the only thing on her schedule right now.” 
Johnny pouts. “But what if I just want tae cuddle?”
“Since when do you ‘just cuddle’?” Ghost asks. 
“I can just cuddle.” Johnny pulls you against his chest again, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “I'll do it for our ‘mega. I’ll prove it right now.” Johnny pulls away from you, steering you towards the rec room. 
“I’ll keep an eye on them.” Ghost says to Price, giving him a look before turning on his heel, following you and Johnny to the rec room. 
Johnny flops down on the couch, pulling you into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around you. You lean against his chest, breathing in his scent again. It’s refreshing, after being stuck in a room with the same scents. You could never grow tired of Price’s scent, but when it’s all you’ve been able to smell for an extended period, you start to get tired of it. You remember nearly tackling Kyle in an attempt to get a whiff of his scent, but the sting of scent blockers had nearly brought you to tears again. 
You let out a quiet sound as Johnny tilts his head, letting you breathe in his scent directly from the source. You start to purr quietly, nose pressed against his throat. An answering rumble begins in his own chest, his arms tightening even more around you. 
“Smell good.” You murmur, your lips brushing his skin. Goosebumps erupt across his neck, a shudder trailing down his spine. 
“Easy, mutt.” Ghost grumbles from the chair beside the couch, his eyes on you and Johnny. 
“Cannae help it.” Johnny almost whines, trying to ease you away from his neck. He grips your chin as your head lolls, a drowsy smile forming on your face as you blink up at him. “Christ, yer gettin’ scent drunk.” 
“Missed you.” You murmur, your brain quieting to a soft buzz as you lean your head on his shoulder, listening to the quiet rumble in his chest. 
“Missed you too.” He says, his hand dropping from your face. His fingers ghost over the mark on your shoulder, making you twitch in his arms. “Cannae believe yer officially part of the pack. Seems like just yesterday ye were arriving, all shy and timid. Now look at ye. Purring away on my lap with Price’s mark on yer shoulder.” 
Your cheeks warm at his words, a reminder of just how quickly things have changed. It’s only been almost seven weeks since you arrived in their lives. How quickly things have happened, how quickly things have changed. Though, you suppose things could have happened faster. You’re lucky they gave you so much time to adjust. Many alphas would have started the process as soon as you were in their sights. 
They’re not like that, though. They’ve turned your beliefs on their head and changed your perspective entirely. Alphas can be good and caring and don’t just always take what they want. 
You sniffle as tears pool in your eyes again, Johnny looking away from the TV to stare at you.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” He asks, sounding worried. 
“Nothing.” You say, pressing your face against his shoulder. “I’m just crying cause I’m happy.” 
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“I know, this is probably the last thing you want to be doing right now.” Dr. Keller says from the end of the exam table. “But, unfortunately, it is necessary.” 
You’re silently glad for the numbing spray, the pressure still enough to make you wince, but you can’t even imagine the kind of pain you’d be in if you weren’t numb. You wonder how many omegas have to go through this without it, how many are subjected to the horror without any sort of pain relief. 
“And we’re done.” She says, pulling away. “Everything looks good, no tearing or other injuries.” She pulls her gloves off, John helping you lower your legs from the stirrups. “Though, I’d suggest abstaining from any rigorous physical activity for at least another week.” 
Your face warms at the implication of her words. You’re not sure you’d want to anyway, at least not for a while. Aside from the soreness, after six days of near non-stop...activity, you might shrivel up and die if you see a naked man again anytime soon. 
“Do you feel up to chatting today, or would you rather go back to bed?” Dr. Keller asks as John helps you sit up. “Won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t want to.” 
You think about it for a moment, chewing on your lip before you answer. “We can talk.” 
She nods, smiling. “Aright. Take your time, I’ll be in my office when you’re ready.” 
She leaves the room, leaving you and John alone. You move slowly as you get dressed, still a bit sore and stiff. John walks you to the door, wrapping his arms around you before you can enter, pulling you against his chest. 
“Call me, if you need anything.” He says. 
You nod, staring up at him before you lift yourself onto your toes to kiss him. He purrs quietly when your lips touch his, his arms tightening around you for a moment before you pull back, staring up into his eyes for a moment before you turn away, heading into Dr. Keller’s office. 
You take your usual seat, silently grateful for how comfortable the chair is as you sit down. You’ve been avoiding sitting as much as possible, having spent the last few days lounging in bed with John and occasionally Gaz. 
“Comfortable?” Dr. Keller asks. 
You nod. “Yeah. Think this is the most comfortable chair I’ve ever sat in.” 
“Good.” Dr. Keller smiles. “You tell me if you get uncomfortable or if you want to end early, alright?” 
You nod again. “Yeah.” 
She nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “So, how are you feeling, aside from the discomfort? Your first heat with your pack, being claimed, that’s a lot all at once.” 
“It is a lot.” You acknowledge, picking at your sweatpants. “I’m still...I don’t know, processing it, I guess? It’s...a big step, but it was always going to happen. That’s why I’m here, right? To be their omega, to be part of their pack.” 
“That is true.” Dr. Keller agrees. “As much as I could say about it, you are right. This was the end goal of this entire experiment. But, how do you feel about it? Are you relieved that it’s over?” 
“Yeah.” You answer. “I’m glad that it’s over, that it’s done with. I...guess I feel lucky too.” You chew on your lip nervously. 
“In what way?” Dr. Keller asks. 
“John’s a...good alpha. I think I knew that before, but...he took care of me. He didn’t hurt me, he’s never forced me into anything.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “They’re all good pack members. Even Ghost.” 
“Good.” Dr. Keller smiles. “I’m glad you feel that way. John is a fantastic alpha. He cares a lot about you and your wellbeing.” 
“He treats me like I’m more than just my status. I feel like...like I’m a person again. Not just something that can serve others. I used to think that's just what omegas were supposed to do. At the institute, that's what we were taught. How to serve. But, I can see now how we do so much more than that.”
Dr. Keller practically beams at you. “That’s great! That’s so great that you’re beginning to discover your place in their pack. I think it will get easier, now that you’re official.” She nods towards your shoulder where your claiming mark now sits. 
You fight the urge to reach up and touch it, curling your fingers around the fabric of your sweatpants instead. It doesn't hurt anymore, other than slight soreness if you lay on that shoulder after a while. The scabs are beginning to come off, revealing the scar that will decorate your skin for the rest of your life, showing proof of your place in Price’s pack as his omega. 
“Do you feel different, being a claimed omega now?” Dr. Keller asks. 
You do feel different. Not just because you're a claimed omega now. There's something else, a sort of connection now that you've never experienced, even with your family. You don't know how to describe it, except for a slight buzzing in the back of your brain that only seems to quiet when you're near John. You don't really notice it until you think about it, and then you can't get it quiet until you're near John again. 
“Yeah.” You finally answer, trying to ignore the buzzing feeling in your brain. 
“The bond,” Dr. Keller says with a grin. “Hard to describe, so I've heard. I've also heard it lessens in intensity with time. Has anything else changed? Any feelings?” 
You shrug. “I guess I feel...better about being here. It’s still not ideal but...I feel happier.” 
“Yeah? Good.” Dr. Keller writes something down. “That makes me glad to hear. You’re getting along with everyone?” 
You nod. “Yeah. I’ve been getting closer to Kyle and Johnny. I know they’ll want to progress our relationships after I’ve healed a bit.” 
“Is that something you want?” 
You nod. It is something you want. Kyle has already seen you in your most vulnerable state, and you know Johnny has been anxiously awaiting his time. You’d even consider getting closer to Ghost, though, that would be entirely up to him and what he wants. You know getting closer to Johnny will inevitably force you and Ghost closer, but you won’t push the alpha’s boundaries. 
That will only end poorly for everyone. 
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John is awake instantly as soon as the knock comes at the door. He calls for them to enter, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he stares blearily at the computer screen in front of him. Simon’s giant form approaches the desk, sinking into the chair across from him. 
“Getting caught up?” Simon asks, looking him over. 
John nods. “Slow progress. Hard being out of commission for six days.” 
“Well, you didn’t miss much excitement. Laswell called a couple times. Kyle talked to her.” 
“That’s what he said.” John leans back in his chair. “Checking up on our girl.” 
“Sent over some things that might interest you as well.” 
“I see that.” John says, glancing at the email in his inbox. One of several hundred unread emails. 
“You look tired.” 
“Think I’m getting old, Simon.” John says, running a hand over his face. “I don't remember things being this rough, coming out of it.” 
“I’ve heard purebreds are different.” 
John gives him a look. “Thank you for holding down the fort.”
Simon shrugs. “Things are going to get difficult now.”
“We have a job to do, above everything else. That was something we knew from the start.” John says. 
“Things were different then.” Simon says. “It's going to be a struggle.”
“We knew that too.” 
“I'm not talking about the omega.” Simon's voice lowers, taking on the low rumble of Ghost. “I'm talking about you.”
John's back stiffens as he stares at his Lieutenant. “This doesn't change anything.”
“It changes everything.” Simon stands from his seat. “Just how much, we won't know until we're in it.” He turns, making his way towards the door. 
“You think you're immune?” John says, making him pause by the door. 
“No. But I've been keeping my distance for a reason.” He turns the handle on the door, turning to look back at John. “One of us has to have a clear head.”
John watches as the door closes, something tickling in the back of his mind. He sighs as he sinks back in his seat, eyes moving to the computer screen and his hundreds of unread emails. 
He closes the browser, shutting down the computer, staring at the screen until the hum of harddrive quiets. His skin is prickling now, thinking back on Simon's words. Of course things have changed. It would be no different had they added a fifth person to the team. He knows leaving will be hard, but they have a job, a duty to perform. That always comes first above all. 
Can he make it come first after this? 
He remembers how different things had felt after he claimed Kyle. His decisions became safer, but his actions became riskier to ensure Kyle's safety. It wasn't that he doubted Kyle's abilities. He knows Kyle is more than capable of taking care of himself. That's why he's on the team. It was his instincts needing to protect his pack, to ensure his beta's safety. 
What is he going to do now that there's an omega involved? 
You won't be going with them, you won't be in the field, but they'll have to leave you behind. It could be weeks before they'd see you again, if they see you again. 
The thought has a sick feeling churning in his stomach. 
Maybe Simon is right. 
Maybe things have changed too much. 
John rises from his seat, his joints cracking. He stretches, groaning quietly at the ache still present in his muscles. It's faded for the most part, but he can still feel it if he's immobile for too long. It's not the worst pain he's ever felt, but it's hard to think of a time he's felt worse. 
Maybe he is getting too old for this. 
He pauses outside Kyle's door, staring down at the knob. He feels bad for what Kyle had to go through the last almost two weeks. He knows it's a natural part of pack life, a natural role for betas, but he still feels guilty. 
“Everything alright?” Kyle's voice breaks through his thoughts. The door is open now. Kyle standing there in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. 
He hadn't even noticed the door open. 
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “It's nothing. I don't want to bother you.”
“You're not bothering me.” Kyle gives him a worried look. “Just got out of the shower. You can come in, if you want.”
His feet are moving before he even thinks about it, Kyle closing the door behind him. He sinks down into Kyle's desk chair with a heavy sigh. 
“What's on your mind?” Kyle asks, grabbing the jar of coconut oil off his dresser. 
“Too much.” John answers, looking up at him as he approaches. “Everything's going to change now.” 
“Yeah,” Kyle says, setting the jar on his desk before scooping some out. “Things change all the time. We learn and adapt to them. That's what we do.” 
John watches him rub the oil on his face and neck, watching the movements of his hands. He's right. Always the voice of reason and logic. They were trained to adapt to anything. It was their job. They had adapted to your presence easily enough, they could adapt to this new development too. 
It would take time, but they could do it. 
“You're right.” He says, staring at Kyle's glistening skin. He wants to be the one to rub the oil onto his perfect skin, feel the softness of it under his hands. “Thank you. Thank you for everything. You've been a great help through this.” He stops Kyle from grabbing more coconut oil, grabbing some himself. “I owe you a lot for neglecting you these last couple weeks.”
“You weren't neglecting me.” Kyle says, giving him a small smile as John starts rubbing the oil over his shoulders. “You were taking care of our omega.” 
A satisfied growl rumbles through John’s chest at his choice of words. “Now let me take care of you.” 
Kyle’s breath stutters as John moves behind him, rubbing oil onto his back before moving to his chest. His fingers brush over Kyle’s nipples teasingly, pulling a quiet groan from the younger beta’s lips. John leans against his back, slipping his hands down lower, feeling the ridges of his muscles pulled taught from John’s touch. His lips press a soft kiss to the claiming mark on Kyle’s neck, Kyle’s head falling back against John’s shoulder. John growls in approval at the submissive position, his fingers trailing the waistband of Kyle’s sweatpants. 
John gathers more coconut oil on his hand before he slips them under Kyle’s pants, spreading the soft oil across his skin. He’d chosen to forgo briefs under his sweatpants, Price’s hand brushing against Kyle’s half hard cock. 
“Fuck...” Kyle breathes, arching into John’s touch. 
“How many times did you jerk off to the sound of us this last week?” John asks, wrapping his hand around Kyle’s cock. 
“At first I didn’t,” Kyle says, pressing his hips into John’s hand. “Was too focused on making sure nothing went wrong. But then...” He lets out a moan as John begins jerking his cock. “Then I couldn’t take it anymore. The mental image of you two together, the sounds she was making...” Kyle lets out a groan, squeezing his eyes shut as John brushes his thumb over the head of his cock. 
“Wanted to be in there with us, huh?” John asks, hooking his thumbs over the waistband of Kyle’s sweatpants, tugging them down so they drop around his ankles. “Did you imagine yourself right in the middle, taking my cock while she takes yours? Or did you imagine yourself taking my cock while our sweet omega sits on your face?” 
Kyle lets out a moan, his arms reaching back to grip John’s hips as his legs shake with pleasure. John continues to stroke his cock, pressing a gentle kiss to Kyle’s shoulder. 
“We can make that a reality.” John says, squeezing Kyle’s cock, earning a sweet moan in response. “I’ll show you all the places to touch that get her riled up. I’ll show you just how she likes it, how to get her legs shaking around your head.” 
Kyle’s nails bite into his skin, but he doesn’t care as he continues to jerk his cock, getting him closer and closer to the edge. Price drags his thumb over the tip, spreading precum on his skin. 
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Price growls in his ear, pumping his cock faster. “Want to know what she feels like wrapped around your cock?” His teeth nip at Kyle’s ear, his beta’s lips parted as he moans loudly. “Want to know what she tastes like?” 
“Fuck...yes!” Kyle almost whines, hips jerking as he cums, spurting all over John’s hand. “Yes, yes, yes!” 
John works him through his orgasm, continuing to lazily jerk his cock as Kyle twitches in his hold. He presses his nose against Kyle’s throat, inhaling the intoxicating mix of sweat, coconut oil, and his natural briney scent. He presses a soft kiss against his mark, finally stopping his movements to allow Kyle to recover. 
“Good boy.” He praises his beta, wrapping an arm around him to help him to his bed. 
“You really mean it?” Kyle asks as he drops onto the mattress, catching his breath. 
“We’ll have to ask her, of course.” John grabs Kyle’s sweatpants, cleaning off his hand before tossing them in the hamper. He moves back to Kyle’s bed, joining his beta. “But if she’s up for it, then so am I.” 
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You’re warm. The ice pack pressed against your forehead does little to soothe the burning under your skin. You’re thirsty, the two empty plastic bottles on your nightstand were not enough to ease the dryness in your mouth. 
Hands shift the ice pack, pressing it against your cheek. Your mother is there, seated next to your bed diligently. She’s crying, tears sliding down her cheeks, quiet sniffles breaking the silence in the house. 
“I’m sorry.” She whispers, bringing your hand to her lips. “I’m so sorry,” She apologizes, as if it’s her fault, as if she brought this onto you. 
She gasps quietly as the door opens, her back stiffening as your father enters. His face is stern, mouth almost twisted with disgust as he stares at you. It feels wrong, having him invade your space. If you’d had the energy, perhaps you would have been brave enough to protest his presence. 
“Come on.” His voice is gruff, worn down from years of smoking and yelling. “Get up.” 
“No, please-” Your mother attempts to reason with him, but he won’t have it. 
“Shut up.” He snaps at her, and she has no choice but to sit back and be silent. His voice has something tingling in the back of your neck, almost like a warning. There’s nothing you can do, though. You’re far too weak. 
He moves to the side of your bed, grabbing your arm and pulling you up from the comfort of your blankets. The ice pack falls from your head, your skin prickling with warmth almost like it hadn’t been there in the first place. Your brain is sluggish as you try to comprehend what’s happening, your legs giving out as you’re forced upright. You can’t get your body to work, you can’t even force yourself to behave. You want to crawl back under your blankets and lay there for the rest of eternity. 
You whine as you’re dragged from your room, knees knocking on the floor as you attempt to get your feet under you to ease the pain in your shoulder. Your father drags you into the living room, two people you don’t recognize standing next to the front door. 
“Please, please don’t do this!” Your mother pleads with him, right on his heels as he drops you in a heap in front of them. 
“Enough.” Your father snaps at her, looking down at you with disgust. “She’s no daughter of mine.” 
You blink up at him, the words registering through the haze. Tears gather in your eyes as you stare up at your parents, your siblings watching tensely from the living room as the scene unfolds before them. 
“No, no!” You cry as hands close around your arms, lifting you from the floor. “Mama!” You scream, trying to fight them as you’re pulled from your home, your safe space, your family, your pack. 
The last thing you see as the cool air outside washes over your feverish skin is your mother’s grief stricken face before the door closes, locking you out forever. 
You wake falling from bed. You hit the floor with a thud, gasping for breath. You slap your hands over your mouth before the sob can tear from your lips, not wanting to wake the others. You’re shaking, your heart thudding in your chest as tears slip down your cheeks, sliding over your fingers as they squeeze over your mouth, desperately muffling the sound. 
You hold your breath, forcing the pain and the panic and the grief back in. You can’t have these memories coming back to the surface, not now. Not when good things are finally starting to happen. Not when you’ve finally started to gain a glimmer of hope that things might turn out alright for you. You can’t ruin things now. 
You can’t let them see how broken you really are. 
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ceilidho · 14 hours
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take me home, country road
[ao3]
You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7
-
Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.
A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 
It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 
Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 
There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 
“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 
“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 
“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.
“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”
“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”
He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”
“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.
“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”
“And there it is.”
You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”
At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 
A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 
And then it lingers. 
You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.
You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 
You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 
When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.
“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 
Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  
He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 
You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 
Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 
John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.
The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.
You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.
The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.
“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”
“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 
“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”
“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”
“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 
Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 
“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”
You frown. “Soap?”
The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”
Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”
It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 
Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 
There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 
Like he did.
You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 
When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 
His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 
In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.
John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 
You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 
“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 
John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”
That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”
He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”
And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.
John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 
It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 
It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.
Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 
You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 
That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 
“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”
John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”
You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.
“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”
That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.
You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.
By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 
You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.
“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.
John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”
“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 
All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.
“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.
You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”
When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 
“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 
You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”
“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  
“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”
“You can’t make me.”
“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  
Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 
“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.
The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 
You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 
You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”
As if you could look anywhere else. 
He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 
He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 
But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 
“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 
“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 
You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 
It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 
When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 
Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 
His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.
“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”
His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”
A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 
“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 
John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”
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yawnderu · 2 days
Text
ANGEL — John Price x Reader x Simon Riley
WC: 6,048 | Part I
Deep down, you knew Simon's way of telling you it's over between you was the moment he gave you his captain's number. Every single message you left Simon was left unanswered, not even opened most of the time, leaving you hoping that perhaps he was simply busy with his missions.
His deployments are oftentimes stressful from what you saw every time he came back home to you, yet you stopped convincing yourself everything was alright after 7 weeks of no contact. Simon Riley is not a coward— not unless it comes to feelings. You're too good for someone like him, someone who could drop dead at any moment, whose only achievements come from killing, forever tainting his hands with blood he can't seem to wash off no matter how many long showers he takes.
He rationalized for months, thought about it— thought about leaving you, too. Yet that lost puppy look of pure trust you gave him every single time he fucked into you, pretty moans leaving your parted lips and soft hands exploring his clothed body, desperately wanting to feel his bare skin against yours, something he never had the heart to give you. Too tainted, too scarred, too ugly. So like a broken man wanting to keep you safe, he did the best with what he had, leaving his captain's number on your night table the moment he was done cumming.
Over 2 months later, Simon still remembers the feeling of your warm skin beneath his lips, the look of pure vulnerability and love plastered on your face, so angelic and pretty, a sheer contrast to the nervousness on his, despite how natural it was to treat you with a tenderness he's never had with anyone in his entire life.
“He fell from a helicopter?” Crinkled eyes meet yours from across the table, taking a sip of his drink before letting out a dry chuckle, nodding his head.
“Aye, hangin' from a bloody rope. Had me scared, thinkin' I lost my Sergeant.” John said with a grin, his gaze softening at the way you were listening so intently, your full attention on him no matter how boring he thought his stories were.
“Is he scared of getting into helicopters again?” You lean a bit closer to him, your chin resting on your hand as you look up at him. From this angle, you're able to admire John's features from up-close. Every single grey hair adorning his beard, his crow's feet, the tiny beauty mark on his nose, the tiny spots on his face, likely gotten from spending a long time under the sun as a soldier from a young age.
“Of course. Took him a while to trust our pilots again, now he always double checks his gear's on right.” Price always pays attention to detail, the way your pupils dilate the longer you stare at him don't go unnoticed in the slightest. He asks a passing waitress for a check, not even giving you a second to offer to pay for your half before his card is already in her hands, going away to charge him for the dinner and drinks.
“And how's… what was his name again? Soap?” He smirks at the mild confusion when using Johnny's callsign, likely assuming it's simply a sex innuendo.
“Soap, yeah. He's a good kid, kind o' like the son I never had.” That gets your attention, looking away for a second to hold back a small smirk before looking back up at him, eyebrows raised.
“You don't have children?” That earns a small chuckle out of him, shaking his head at the question. He gave the waitress a small smile as she came back with his card, pocketing it and getting up from his chair, offering his arm up to you. There's no hesitation as you hook your arm with his, walking to his car.
“Never had girlfriends after joining the SAS. Became a captain at a young age, too.” He looks down at you as you walk, admiring your pretty features, secretly wondering how Simon could have fucked up that badly— how he let such a lovely and sweet girl go. He opens the car door for you, even going as far as to help you put on your seatbelt, letting you have a whiff at his woody cologne, the smell of smoke from cigars mixing in.
“What about you? Any children?” He asks teasingly, shooting you a playful grin before starting the car, blue eyes fully focused on the road. Unlike Simon, Price knows how to drive well, making you feel safe while on the road.
“Hell no. I've been… thinking about it, but men my age were never interested in that.” Even if he was much older, Simon was never even an option. Too emotionally unavailable, too fucked up to even consider having children.
“Part of the reason I like older men.” Your voice is smooth and even, a sheer contrast to the slight knot of nervousness tightening in your stomach, only coming undone when you hear his amused laugh.
Price's calloused palm rests on the gear shift before daring to move it over to your thigh, running up and done slowly, trying to heat up your cold skin rather than doing it to be a pervert, yet your body still reacts to his touch, warmth pooling on your lower stomach.
“Really, sweetheart?” Price isn't stupid in the slightest, yet unlike Simon, his actions aren't malicious. He simply wants to see you squirm, finding pure amusement in the laugh you both share and the playful slap you give to his arm.
“Stop using your charm on me.” You scold jokingly, unable to hide the big grin taking over your pretty face.
“I'm charming now, eh?” His grip tightens on your inner thigh, applying just enough pressure to tease you.
“According to Simon, you always have.” That makes one of his thick eyebrows raise questioningly, his lips pulling into an amused smile.
“I've known him for a long time, y'know? Back when we I was an LT.” He can't help but allow his mind to go back into the past as he drives, images of the eager Simon Riley, a broken man who simply wanted to change the world, who always helped without even asking for much in return.
“Has be always been… like that?” You ask after a few seconds of silence, allowing yourself to be the cat curiosity killed.
“No.” The Simon Riley he met was not similar to Ghost in the slightest.
“He was 'round 19 when I met him. Better than any recruits I've seen.” Yet still teased by his mates for being an apprentice butcher in the past, for being so rigid and basing his entire life on discipline, unlike the many other young soldiers who have since passed.
“I bet. He has that certain look on him, you know? The eyes. I wouldn't want to mess with him.” Price lets out a dry chuckle, nodding his head in agreement. Part of him is glad that he's been working with Simon because it seems that to know more about you, he needs to know about Simon as well.
“We're here, doll.” He parks the car, getting out of his seat and opening the door for you, his calloused hand resting on your lower back, guiding you to your house. You can feel the warmth from his hand spreading all over your body, soothing rubs up and down your back as you walk.
“Would you like a cuppa?” Mirth dances in his eyes at the audacity, already knowing your intentions, and yet.
“Of course.” Price follows after you, part of him growing excited by whatever you have in mind. Your slightly shaky hands fiddle with the keys before you're able to open the door, secretly thankful that you cleaned up your mess earlier in the day.
“What tea would you like?” You ask, turning around just in time to see Price finishing the once-over he was giving you.
“This isn't about tea, is it, darlin'?” He asks with a knowing smile, his jacket slipping out of his shoulders now that you're both inside the house. Blown pupils stare back at him, taking your time to admire the strong body hugged by his tight black shirt. You can see his bulging muscles, broad shoulders fully relaxed as he steps forward, towering over you. A monument of sorts when you're small.
“If I'm lucky, I hope not.” Your breathy voice was all Price needed as reassurance. His lips crash against yours, warm hands gripping your waist tight enough for you to feel the warmth spreading all over your lower body. The smell and taste of cigar smoke overwhelms your senses, too enthralled by the feeling of his tongue wrapping around yours, a small moan leaving your lips the moment his hand trails down to your ass, groping you with care, as if you're made of glass.
“How far do you wanna go?” His forehead leans against yours as his blown pupils stare back at you, his chest rising up and down with each breath.
“As far as you want to.” A small yelp leaves your lips when he lifts you in his arms, your legs instantly wrapping around his strong, muscular waist.
“Bedroom's there.” You don't even need to point— Price can see the open door, so enticing and tempting, allowing your small giggle to consume his whole soul like a siren's song. With carefulness that contrasts the brutality he uses as a soldier, Price sets you down in bed, strong arms on each side of your head, caging you in.
Your breaths mingle together as he leans down to kiss you again, warm tongues wrapping around the other, using his knee to spread your legs enough for his burly body to fit, subtly grinding against your clothed cunt.
“Been wantin' to do this for a long while.” Ever since Simon showed him your profile picture on WhatsApp, introducing you as a friend in need. He wouldn't dare confess it to anyone, not with the way his calloused hand rubbed his cock until it almost hurt, using your pretty face as a relief from the stress of war.
“Pretty fuckin' girl.” He praised, dragging a giggle out of you the moment his beard started tickling your neck, gentle kisses planted all over your warm, sensitive skin, his tongue darting past his lips to give your neck a tantalizing lick.
He can feel your hands exploring his strong body, his muscles bulging and tensing up beneath your soft palms. He only breaks apart the moment your hands go to the hem of his shirt, helping you pull it off of his body, the piece of clothing discarded on the floor.
“God…” Your whisper holds nothing but pure admiration, catching hints of his strong, muscular body, dark hair covering most of it. Your hand drifts up to his torso, caressing his surprisingly soft skin, not minding the scars you can feel beneath your hand. Price has been shot, stabbed, tortured, left for dead— his body acting as a keepsake of every mission gone wrong.
His gaze is soft as he stares down at you, holding a tenderness unlike a man like him, so naturally gentle and willing to show it without the walls guarding his heart— unlike Simon. His calloused hand rubs your thigh before drifting up to the hem of your blouse, carefully pushing it up and removing it with your help.
“Pretty girl.” His back bends slightly as his gentle lips now go to your bare stomach, planting a rapid-fire of kisses all over the soft skin, descending with each passing second, lifting your skin up to reveal your clothed cunt.
“I'll take care of you.” And he means every single word. Captain Price is a bad man, a bad man with a high kill-count and multiple war crimes to his name, yet John Price is a different story— caring and loving, so willing to fix something he didn't even break.
His eyes close the moment his lips connect to your mound, tongue darting out to get a taste at all he's been craving the moment he saw you. He lets out a small groan as the taste of your slickness overwhelms his senses, his hands roaming up and down your waist, daring to sneak past your bra, finally getting a good feel at your tits.
John is a starved man. A starved man whose only salvation is you, looking so pretty and sweet, panties wet with a mix of his saliva and your own slick. He's careful and gentle, pulling down your panties with both hands and dropping them on the floor, his breath catching in his throat when his gaze drifts down to your pussy, glistening under the light of your bedroom.
He doesn't waste any time, lowering himself again between your legs, licking a trail from your tight hole, to your swollen clit. Your legs try to close out of instinct, a whiny moan making its way out of your lips at the sensation of his beard against your cunt.
“Open your legs, love.” He whispered, running his thumb over your hard bud.
“Let daddy taste you.” He kisses your inner thigh before diving back in, licking and sucking on your clit, trying his best to make you feel good. Your moans are too pretty, your cunt too sweet, and Price can feel himself starting to lose control. His cock throbbed, his own desire growing stronger by the second, focusing solely on your pleasure.
“That's my good girl.” He whispered against your skin, sliding two thick fingers inside you. You're soaking wet yet still so tight, only making his desire grow, desperately needing to be inside you. Your whiny moans fuel him, his warm tongue flickering against your hardened clit faster and faster, mixing in with his sucking, his thick fingers curling inside your needy cunt.
Your hands run through his short hair, pulling at it softly to release some of the pleasure building in, the familiar knot in your stomach tightening up with each lick. Your chest rises up and down with each long, labored breath, muscles tensing up as the knot in your stomach finally comes undone, pushing his face closer to your cunt as his fingers move in and out, dragging out your orgasm.
He pulls his fingers out of you slowly, his blue eyes connecting with yours as he licks his fingers clean from your cum, your heart thudding loudly inside your chest.
“Fuck me.” That breathy whisper was all he needed, getting up only to slip out of his pants and boxers, his dick standing proudly. Despite being uncircumcised, you can see his dark pink tip, leaking precum like a broken faucet. Now that he's standing, he takes his time to admire your bare body, his blue eyes going to your tits when you take off your bra.
“Tell me if you want me to stop, yeah?” The option is always there, and he wants you to know. His knees sink into the mattress as he supports his body on top of yours with one hand, lining his hard cock with your entrance, pausing for a moment.
“Let me love you.” He whispered hoarsely, slipping into you gently despite his primal instincts telling him otherwise. He lets out a loud groan the moment your tight walls grip his throbbing cock, his face finding shelter on the crook of your neck. A small hiss makes its way out of your lips as your legs wrap on his hips, pushing him closer and deeper, allowing him to finally bottom out.
“Bloody hell— you're so tight.” He moans out, his thrusts growing faster as you get used to his thickness. He looks down at you, his eyes filled with desire and adoration, longing dancing within. John's lips part as he feels your long nails dragging down his back, driving him crazy with pure need.
“I'm close.” He whispers out, his hips ramming against you with increasing urgency, reaching out to caress one of your soft tits. He plants open-mouthed kisses all over your neck and chest, his breath warm against your sweaty skin.
“Cum inside.” John's eyes widen at your words, his dominant nature taking over as his hands go down to grip your hips firmly in place, the overwhelming desire and pleasure clouding his judgement, drowning out any concerns. His thrusts are deep and powerful, making you his with an unyielding force.
As he loses himself in the heat of the moment, John's muscles tense up, the familiar feeling of pure heat pooling up within him, slamming himself as deep inside you as he can before his cock starts throbbing, shooting ropes of cum with each pulse. His breath is heavy as he slowly pulls out of you, his gaze fixated on the mess of mixed fluids that coats your pretty cunt.
“My pretty girl.” He whispers out, burly arms wrapping around your body, pulling you closer to his hairy chest, allowing you to hear his fast-beating heart. His lips are gentle against your forehead, wanting nothing more than to relax with you after the intense love-making. His actions are nothing short of genuinely caring and loving, wanting to give you good aftercare, all thoughts of Simon finally out of your head.
“Want me to run you a bath?” Price asks in a whisper, planting one last kiss on your forehead before looking down, just to see your chest moving up and down slowly, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, pulling you closer to his warm, naked body so you can sleep better, deciding to get some well-deserved rest as well.
The smell of eggs and tea is what you woke up to in the morning, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. The feeling of large fabric keeping your body warm makes you look down, just realizing that John put his large shirt on your body when you were sleeping, a small smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you get up from bed, making your way to the kitchen.
“Good mornin'.” John turns around for a second, blue eyes lighting up when he's greeted by a big smile and his shirt dwarfing your body, giving you a small wink before he's back to finishing your breakfast. You take your time to admire him, so naturally handsome and masculine, his hairy, strong body only having his boxers on.
“Thanks, daddy.” You quip teasingly as he hands you the plate, a small squeal leaving your lips when he starts to chase you around the house, shared laughs ringing around.
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Dating John is a sheer contrast to any expectations you had when you first got into the relationship. Despite the fact that he's often away during missions, he has scheduled delivers for flowers and your favorite foods, calling with you the moment he's available.
“What are you doin'?” Price asks with a small smirk, his gaze softening the moment his eyes meet yours, your cheek resting on his strong thigh while he was trying to complete a report. His hand goes to your head out of pure muscle memory, giving your scalp a soft massage.
“I like you from this angle.” He lets out a small chuckle, moving his leg to make your position more comfortable as you nuzzle his leg, your chin now resting on it as you adjust your knees on the floor.
“You like me in every angle.” A grin spreads on his face, his calloused hand running down the length of your hair before resting on your back, massaging the muscles tenderly.
“True, but specially from this one.” The cheeky smile you throw his way does nothing other than to distract him further from his report of the latest mission, cupping your cheek to examine your pretty features better under the light of the room, mirth dancing in his blue eyes.
“You're clingier than my shadow.” He teases, leaning forward until his lips meet yours in an affectionate kiss, not bothered by your clinginess in the slightest. He breaks away just to give your forehead a tender kiss, staring down at you lovingly. The look of pure trust and love your eyes hold drags him back to one of the many late night conversations with Simon back at base.
“Y'like her?” Simon finally dares to ask, ignoring the growing pain on his lower stomach at the idea of you dating John, even if it was Simon's idea.
“Do you?” Price quips, already knowing the reply. There's been more than one occasion where he saw Simon stare at your WhatsApp profile picture, even if your number was deleted— he still keeps your messages, using it as an odd way of finding comfort despite the growing self-loathing from hurting you.
“You know I don't do that.” There's hints of regret spilling along Simon's deep voice, his bare fingers drumming on the cup of tea on his hand.
“Do what?” He already knows the answer, and yet.
“Love. 'M gonna get the poor girl killed.” Memories of Christmas haunt him even years later, his mind momentarily taken back to coming home just to find his entire family dead. All that blood, yet all his shattered mind was able to do was laugh even as he held a gun to his mouth.
“She'll be fine, Simon. The girl knows how to handle herself. Hell, I'm getting her a better security system soon, too.” Despite being in a committed relationship with you, John knows Simon well enough to know he still likes you, in his own way. He's seen Simon break down, seen the worst and the best of him, and eventually got to see the way he built himself back up, coming back to the SAS as Ghost.
“Wha'? You want me to date her, too?” Even if he asked it as a joke, Price's silence and the subtle shrug of his shoulders speaks louder than words.
“I know what you've been through, son. Think about it, you mean a lot to the bird.” John empties the rest of his tea down the sink, giving Simon one last pat on the shoulder before walking out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
“I'll go get it.” John is brought back to reality with the soft knocks on the entrance door, tilting his head up as you plant a kiss on his cheek. You make your way up to the door, your heart beating inside your chest when you look through the peephole, a familiar pair of dead brown eyes staring back. There's slight hesitation as your hand goes to the doorknob, resting there for a few seconds before you decide to open the door.
“Simon?” Despite the dark hoodie over his head, you can tell he hasn't been doing well, his skin looking more pale than usual, dark eyebags making him resemble more a raccoon than a man.
“'M sorry.” He mutters, hands deep inside the pockets of his jacket, lowering his gaze with nothing but pure shame.
“That's it?” Your guarded tone makes a part of him feel proud that you're not a doormat anymore.
“No. I'm sorry for… ignoring you, and for being a cunt.” His gaze finally meets yours. You can see the shame, the regret, and the pain.
“I was scared.” I wish I could tell you I survive out there because I don't want to leave you yet. Your lips part, though you decide to be quiet for now.
“I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell you why this shite happened.” Despite the way his hands are fidgeting inside his pockets, he's trying his best to be as honest as possible while avoiding dumping his trauma on you.
“That's bollocks, mate.” Price's voice almost scares the soul out of you, turning around to shoot him an exasperated look. For a man his size, he moves with surprising quietness. You can feel his burly arms wrap around your lower body, bringing you closer to him.
“Give 'er a proper apology.” Despite the hesitation Simon feels, the space Price left open for him is all he needs. You can feel another pair of arms wrapping around your body, the familiar scent of cheap fags and gun powder hitting your nose, bringing you back to all those nights you shared.
It's an awkward hug, a mess of limbs and warmth that you finally decide to take in, your arms wrapping around Simon's narrow waist, bringing his body closer to you despite the way his muscles tense up at the sudden contact. You can feel him relax with your touch, his cheek resting against the top of your head.
“'M sorry.” He repeats in a whisper, his cold face finding shelter on the warm crook of your neck, the urge to kiss you again growing stronger by the second, though he remains respectful. You can feel John's cock starting to harden against your ass, making you look up and give him a confused look. His hand goes up to grip your jaw softly, his lips crashing against yours as he starts to subtly grind against you, only making the confusion grow.
Simon's hold on your body tightens, the familiar sensation of his lips against your neck drags a small moan out of you, muffled in John's mouth. His tongue wraps around yours, your breathing growing more labored by the second, soft hands curling on Simon's muscular back, barely able to hear the door closing until you decide to break away from the kisses.
“What's going on?” The nervous laugh that leaves your lips is only met by a reassuring look coming from Price, his calloused hand running up and down your side.
“Part o' the apology you deserve, love.” You don't even have time to answer— not when Simon's rough lips meet yours, the kiss nothing but a pure display of love and affection. Even a ghost can be a lovely thing when you want it to be.
You can feel John's calloused hands drift down to the pajama shorts you're wearing, sneaking a few squeezes on your ass before his hand sneaks past your panties, using two of his fingers to feel your wet cunt, spreading your slick all over. His lips are now busy on your pretty neck, licking and sucking freely, not caring about any love bites he leaves— he knows you don't mind either.
You can hear his hard breathing against your tender skin, your tongue dancing with Simon's, hands desperately sneaking under his shirt, groping his hard, defined muscles. You can feel the bulging scar on his ribs, caressing it with extra care just to show him every single part of his heavily scarred body is loved.
“I missed you.” Simon breaks away from the kiss only to whisper that in your ear, his rough hand already going up to your tit, squeezing the soft fat while all you can do is moan, the combined sensations of the strong men touching you does nothing but drive you closer to the edge, your wet walls tightening around John's fingers, forcing you to squeeze Simon's bicep to release some of the tension.
“Fuck, daddy—” Simon's breath hitches at your words despite knowing you're talking to John, his own cock throbbing at the slight whine in your tone. His hands go to your waist, holding you up as your eyes finally shut, your forehead resting on Simon's chest as John's fingers move faster and deeper inside you, lazily rubbing your clit with his thumb. Your knees start to buck, more whiny and louder moans leaving your lips as you cum all over his fingers, nails digging into Simon's arm.
“That's a good girl.” Price praises in a breathy whisper, delicately pulling his fingers out of your pulsating cunt, taking a second to admire the way his fingers glisten with your slick.
“Taste her.” Simon is a man with no shame. No shame at all, making eye contact with you as he starts to suck his captain's fingers, putting them in his mouth just to taste more of your sweet slick. The hungry wolf is reduced to a starving dog, a small groan leaving his lips the moment your taste is all over his tongue.
He pulls John's fingers out of his mouth once he finishes licking them clean, your mouth opening ajar when Simon's lips crash against his, your heart beating loudly inside your chest as you watch them kiss. You can see their tongues dancing together, sharing your sweet taste in a passionate kiss, Simon's grip tightening around your waist.
They break away after a few seconds, looking up just to be met by Simon's cheeky smirk. He pushes you further into the house, fingers intertwining with yours as he walks into the bedroom like he owns the place, yet in reality, it's simply something he's done way more times than he can count.
“Pretty fuckin' girl.” His hold is all but gentle as he lays down in bed, pulling you on his lap, allowing you to feel the way his hard cock bulges on his jeans, calloused hands going to your ass to make you grind against him, whiny moans leaving your lips at the friction against your sensitive cunt.
You can hear a zipper going down behind you, only making the excitement grow at the idea of seeing your boyfriend's bare body again— no matter how many times you've seen it already. Price's knees sink on the mattress, burly arms wrapping around your waist, grabbing one of your hands just to guide it to his hard cock. Your hands wrap around it, starting to rub him up and down slowly until his fingers join yours, speeding up the movement.
“Tell me you wanna fuck him.” His voice is a whispered command, a dominance you've never heard before— and one Simon has heard too many times during missions.
“I wanna fuck Simon.” You confess, your back pressing against John's strong, hairy chest as you jack him off, your soft palm rubbing against his sensitive tip, dragging a small grunt out of him as you smear his precum all over his throbbing cock. His free hand goes to your back, pushing you down against Simon as you let go of his cock with a small whine of protest.
Simon is desperate and needy— that much you can tell by the way he removes his clothes with an eagerness you've never seen before. You take your time to admire his strong body, pale skin tattered by scars, yet looking so alluring. You adjust your position as he tries to remove his pants, exchanging a small laugh at the awkward position you're in.
He looks more relaxed and honest than you've ever seen, his eyes crinkling as you're getting your shorts and panties pulled down by Price, finally resting your naked body on top of his. It's a new change of pace for both of you— Simon doesn't like to give up control, doesn't enjoy being dominated, it's too personal and vulnerable, yet for you? He's willing to try anything.
“Show him how you much you missed him.” John's soft command makes you nod your head, looking over your shoulder just to feel his lips against your back, his hand coming up to your jaw to turn your face back to Simon. Simon's calloused hand goes down to his throbbing, veiny cock, waiting until you lift your hips up to line himself up to your cunt, a low groan leaving his lips as your tight walls wrap around him, your back arching once he bottoms out.
“Fuck, Simon…” Your face rests against the crook of his neck, planting kisses all over his warm skin as he starts to fuck into you, the wet sounds of your sopping cunt and needy moans filling the room.
Simon's eyes are closed, fully taking in the sensation of finally having your naked body on his after so many months apart. His hands explore your body with familiarity, bringing one of your hands up to his face to make you cup his cheek, gentle kisses planted over and over on your thumb.
You're too far gone to notice John coming up from behind you, keeping you against Simon's body while his free hand rubs the lube all over his veiny cock, a small smirk pulling on the corners of his lips at how much you're both enjoying each other. You're dragged back to reality when you feel his tip pressing against your tight cunt, already full with Simon's cock.
“It's not going to—” Price pacifies you with another kiss on your bare, sweaty back, slowly pushing in.
“I'll make it fit.” He reassures, a deep moan leaving his lips once he manages to slip his thick tip inside you, giving you time to adjust to the sensation before slowly pushing the rest of his cock inside you, pausing once he bottoms out to give you a well-deserved break.
“Fuckin' hell.” Simon groans out, his face scrunching up at how much tighter your cunt feels now that you have two cocks inside you. His short nails lightly dig into your skin, already feeling so close to the edge despite the fact you're just getting started.
You let out a short exhale once they both start moving, cocks rubbing together inside your tight walls, the sensation of being stretched this much starting to feel better by the second, every single nerve inside your cunt being stimulated. You pull Simon for another kiss, feeling his hand coming up to the back of your head just to pull you closer, wanting to feel more of your tiny tongue licking his.
You're a mess of limbs— sweaty bodies colliding, feeling their muscles tightening up around your soft, smaller body. Simon's moans are muffled by your lips, not letting you pull away from the kiss in slight embarrassment at letting you hear the neediness seeping out of his tone.
Their hips move in a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, forcing your back to arch, only giving them a better angle to fuck into you. Price's hands go up to your soft tits, squeezing and groping as he moves faster and deeper inside you, his breath hot against your ear.
“I'm… I'm gonna cum.” You manage to whisper between moans, muffled once again by Simon's rough lips. The overwhelming sensations build within you, the familiar sensation of your muscles tensing up and fingers tingling starts to grow stronger by the second, the intensity of your connection with both men driving you over the edge.
The sensation of one of their cocks hitting your cervix over and over makes you whine softly, muscles tensing up as they sandwich your bodies between them, finally letting go, your orgasm washing over you as your walls wrap tighter around their cocks, your fingers digging into Simon's skin. It doesn't take long for them to follow after you, fucking into you as deep as they can as they release a thick load into you, cocks pulsating with each rope they shoot.
They remain buried inside you for a moment, chests heaving as they try to catch their breaths. Price is the first one to pull out, watching as their combined cum seeps out of your spent pussy before he lays down next to Simon, your warm body being pulled to the side as Simon lays on his side, his cock still buried inside you even while he's softening.
“I love you.” He finally confesses, tired eyes meeting yours for a second before shutting again as Price embraces you from behind. Your leg is resting over Simon's body, making the position a lot more comfortable as you bring his face closer to your chest.
“I love you too. Both of you.” You whisper, tiredness slowly taking over your body, not even realizing that Simon is already asleep, his face buried on your soft tits. Price lets out a small chuckle, planting gentle kisses all over your warm back, his hands lightly gripping your stomach as a way to let you know he loves you, too.
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mushies-stories · 2 days
Text
Showering with TF141 for the first time headcanons
TF141Xreader
Warnings: little suggestive, 18+
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John Price
Showering with John the first time made you feel like you had been doing it wrong your whole life. 
He has separate shampoo, conditioner and body wash. None of it smells too strong but over is a more masculine scent. He even suggested that maybe you bring some of your own shower supplies over to keep at his place.
He let you take up most of the warm water, the selfless and generous man he is. ^v^
Pampers you. John washes your hair and body without question. 
Thinks grooming each other is not only romantic but also is a strong form of bonding and closeness. He craves your attention and presence and showering together is perfect for that.
He uses a loofah to scrub your body, standing a little closer while he washes your back. His hands are firm but gentle as they caress your body and lather it in soapy suds. 
You lean with your head and back to his chest while his hands massage over your breasts and stomach. Teasing you just a little, fingers grazing along your nipples a little too much as he presses you closer against him. 
When his hand dips between your thighs and he runs his fingers between your folds you can’t contain the little moan you let out. He smiles into the crook of your neck and does it again and chuckles when your back arches, pressing your ass against him.
“Feel good love?” he teases. his hand abandoned your heat to rinse the rest of the soap off your body. With little sighs of protest from you. 
When he washes your hair, his hands are too gentle and so delicate that you could hardly believe they could ever be used for violence. He takes care not to snag any tangles and works them out with his fingers. Your eyes flutter shut when he starts to massage your scalp.
He makes sure not to get the soap in your eyes.
Is more than delighted when you take to washing him as well. Smiles and hands over the loofah. 
Maybe it's just me.. But… I imagine John standing in front of you with your back against the cold shower wall, his arms caging you in while you trail the loofah along his skin. 
It actually takes everything in him not to get to hard and fuck you. He had time for that later. Once you finally moved in he couldn't see a reason why he couldn't shower with you every chance he could get. 
Lets you use his bathrobe and laughs at how big it was on you. Make a mental note to buy you one of your own in your favorite color, but fluffier. 
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Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley
At first Simon wasn’t sure if showering together would be that good of an idea. He already took up a lot of space. When you finally convinced him and managed to actually fit you both in he was a little surprised. 
You fit but he didn't get as much of the water, otherwise he would take it all.
To your horror Simon uses a 2in1 shampoo and conditioner BUT he does have separate body wash. 
Nothing too extreme or strong for scent. Body Wash is like  irish spring or something but even lighter.
He was going to just take care of himself real fast then focus on you but you stopped him, hand on his arm and reaching for the bodywash yourself. You ask him with those sweet eyes of yours if you can help. He nods silently and lets you do as you please. 
The only thing he has is a sad looking rag so you opt to just use your hands, rubbing the soap over his chest and shoulders, making him turn around so you can reach his back. 
(if you are brave and so desire, you may try and cop a feel, go ahead. Just be ready to get your wrist snatched as he whips back around with a glare.)
But overall he enjoys the attention, it's soothing and relaxing and he's groaning when you wash his hair. Your fingers raking across his scalp helps his mind slow down a little.  
Insists on repaying the favor, being as nice and gentle as you were, caressing your body in his large hands. He had an easier time washing your body than you did his, making sure to reach every little crevasse of your body.
He's tried really hard to be gentle with your hair. He doesn't want to pull on any tangles and ultimately fails. But he kisses your head every time he snagged his fingers in your hair.
“Sorry lovie… not meanin’ta tug so much.” he mumbles an apology. 
Simon decided he didn’t really mind showering together, you actually made it a much more enjoyable process, not just something for necessity. 
After the shower he gives you one of his white shirts that covers just below your ass to lounge in, just to see your still damp body through the thin fabric. 
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John 'Soap' MacTavish
Johnny was the one who dragged you into the shower with him with one clear goal. To make you smell like him before you go out with your friends, he had to get up early and decided to stay home.
Only problem.. Mans uses 3in1… granted its extra scented and you won't be able to mistake it was meant for men. But still, your cringe at the thought of using it. Even though you complain the whole time he’s lathering your body up and chuckles at you. 
He doesn't even have a rag, just a true dude really, roughing it in the shower. Just uses his rough calloused hands that sends chills down your spine instead.
Is handsy, can't stop himself from groping your breasts and lingering a little too long between your thighs. Even nipping and kissing your shoulder once he washed your body off. 
You have to bat his hands away to make sure you're not late, knowing you still have to get ready. 
“M’sorry dove, just so pretty and naked for me.” he groans into your ear, holding your back to his chest, hands cupping your breasts. “Sure ya gotta go? Can't just stay’er with me?” he pleads with you. 
You firmly, while giggling from his kisses on your neck, tell him you can't.
When he washes your hair he puts a little too much in and you have to squeeze your eyes shut and rely on Johnny to help you to the water. Teases you when you cling to him in your blinded state.
Honestly he wanted to ask you to wash him too but he knew you were running late so he did it himself quickly so you could get ready. 
Overall you don't mind his playfulness or his touchiness, with more time you would even indulge in it, but with better shower supplies. 
Drapes the towel over your shoulders and wraps you in his arms to keep you warm from the cold air.
good thing you at least had your makeup and outfit with.
You promise to buy a few new things for him, so you feel better about showering at his place. Then you'll make sure to give him the same treatment, with much more time. 
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Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
Kyle, like John, has separate products. The scent of his body wash is stronger but with a... spicy?? under-tone to it.
Showering with him is a little slow, and lazy. He normally likes to shower right when he gets up and this time you just happen to join him, wanting to spend as much time with him before he leaves for the day. Not like he was complaining.
Keeps you close so you both can enjoy as much of the warm water as possible. Holds you to his chest most of the time  
Goes to wash himself before you stop him and take the body wash from him with a small smile. His heart flutters when you softly ask if you could help, which he responds to with a tired smile and a nod.
He lets himself relax, enjoying your hands lathering his body in suds. You were gentle and a little hesitant at first but soon gained full confidence when he handed you the shampoo and asked you to wash his hair too. 
You do so happily. You scratch and massage his scalp, making him groan with delight as the relaxing sensation. 
Before you even think of washing yourself, he's doing the exact same thing and stealing the bodywash, telling you it was his turn.
He’s respectful, only gripping onto your hips a little and cupping your breasts for only a moment. He has work and can't give you the attention you deserve. 
But that doesn't stop him too much, still not able to resist grabbing your ass and pulling you in for a lazy kiss.
When he washes your hair, he practically has you falling back asleep while you lean against him. He decided he could just eat on his way to base, making sure you were clean and happy was currently his top priority now.
Takes a moment to hold you under the showerhead, relishing in the warm water and you against him before reluctantly turning the water off.
He only has towels, but they're big and cover most of your body.
While he dresses, you crawl back in bed. Naked and clean. Kyle smirks and tells you that you better be right there, just like that when he gets home tonight. And you happily obliged. 
“Just like that, got it? Want ya naked and ready yeah.” He instructs with a glint in his eye.
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lovifie · 3 days
Text
Lift Me Off My Feet
Chapter 10: Ghost’s Date
Masterlist
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9
W: Ghost x Reader (+ Ghost x Price x Reader), threesome, douple p, a bit of choking, feelings.
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It's a couple of days after your little adventure with Soap, while you are making yourself a cup of coffee that Ghost enters the house. He walks behind you, smiling when you smile at him, he hugs you from behind kissing the back of your head. 
“How you doing, birdie?” He asks, resting his head on yours.
“Really good, Ghostie.” You answer, smiling enjoying the warmth of his body.
“Any plans for today?” He asks
“Yeah, I was planning on going running later, then I was going to go on a flight to Madagascar and probably have dinner at some terrorist organisation headquarters.” You answer, unnecessarily sarcastic knowing perfectly fine you can't leave the house. “Why? You wanna join?”
“Ha, ha. Well, since you are so busy I'll ask Gaz if he wants to help me with the dogs then.” He says casually, stepping back and chuckling when you whip your head around.
“Dogs?” You ask with a wide smile on your face. 
“Yeah, there is a bunch of new K-9 units and I have been assigned to arrange their trainers and partners.” He explains. “I thought you'd like to spend the afternoon with the puppies but it seems you're busy, so.”
“No, no, I'm not.” You quickly say, clinging to his t-shirt. “I'm sorry, I was just joking, sorry, sorry.” 
You lay your head on his chest, looking up to him with puppy eyes. 
“Can I see the doggies?” You ask smiling softly.
He chuckles, shaking his head at your antics and patting your butt. 
“Put on your shoes then, let's go.” You quickly scurry past him, coffee long forgotten on the kitchen counter. You end up being the one pulling him out of the house, excited to see dogs.
The fresh air of the outside fills your lungs when you take a deep breath making Ghost chuckle. “You're acting like the house doesn't have windows.” 
You laugh back, not being able to argue and walking towards the car. It is a quick drive back to base, and different from Soap, Ghost lets you open your own door waiting for you before the car to hold your hand on your way inside the dog kennels. 
The barks and whines of the puppies can be heard immediately and Ghost moves his hand to the small part of your back to push you forward telling you to go for them. 
You walk faster almost running until reaching the gate at the end of the hall where the puppies are, little tails wagging to the sound of your voice excited to meet new people. You crouch down getting your finger inside that immediately get bitten and licked by the little devils. 
“Want to help me give them their tags?” Ghost asks when he reaches you. “You need to go inside, I'm sure you'll hate it.”
You end up having the time of your life, once inside you sit on the floor close to the gate with Ghost sitting on the other side of the gate. He passes the collars with the tag for each dog, laughing when you try and identify each of the puppies when they won't stay still for a second. 
By the end, most of the dogs are already falling asleep around you; even some on top of you. And when you are done with the tags, Ghost moves to the desk to sign the last documents required.
“Oh, no!” You exclaim getting his attention. “He peed on me!” You whine, moving the puppy that was on your lap and getting out. Holding the t-shirt away from your body, a big, circular spot in the middle of it. 
Ghost chuckles when he sees you, noticing a familiar tag on it. “Wait, is that…”
“Soap's t-shirt?” You ask, looking at what he's pointing. “Yeah, it is.” 
That turns Ghost's chuckle into a whole belly laugh as he stands, finished all the work, picking it up. “Let's go to the room, I'll lend you one of mine.” 
“You got a room in here?” You ask walking after him.
“Yeah, nothing major. Price managed to get us a room for each of us, Gaz and Soap share theirs cause they are clingy but Price and I got our own. Rank privileges.” He says winking at you, slightly blushing for some reason at such a silly gesture. 
The room is close by, and when you enter Ghost sits on his bed dropping the papers on his desk. You take off the shirt, careful not to touch it with your face in the process. In his bathroom, you wash the part of your abdomen that you feel moist, grimacing at the knowledge it is pee and walk back into the room. Not bothering to put on a shirt and sitting on Ghost's lap, your legs going around his hips.
He looks at you, hugging you back and a look of mischievousness in his eyes. 
“So you told Johnny that you loved him.” Ghost suddenly says, blood blushing to your face making you hide it on his neck as you groan.
“He couldn't stay quiet, could he?” You ask, making the man chuckle as his hand moves up and down your back.
“Nah, you would have threatened him with stopping to love him or something for him to be quiet.” He jokes, his other hand resting on your thigh. “But why do you want him not to say anything, love? Embarrassed of him?”
“No. Of me.” You admit, mumbling against his skin while you hug his torso. 
“Explain.” He simply says, pulling words out of you; feeling a certain wave of proudness that you found a safe space to talk in him, even if hiding your face. 
“I feel silly… too exposed… I don't like it…” you say, burying your face even more if possible trying to hide. 
“It is overwhelming, right? He asks, resting his head on top of yours. “And confusing… it is already confusing coming to terms with the feeling of one person, let alone four of them, right?”
You simply nod against his neck, like a stubborn kid getting called out. 
“And you feel the pressure to automatically love the four of them. There is that one person that you feel like the relationship is a bit more forward or is just different from the rest, maybe you met them before or clicked easier with them. But now, it is not fair to the rest so you start to force yourself to love them too, and it is not that you don't, is that you are not letting the relationship evolve naturally and you are pressuring it, and it doesn't feel right. And then, that turns into feeling that they are gonna notice it, and they are going to hate you and you are going to lose them all, but now you want them and instead of feeling love you feel scared and you don't want to admit it.” He says calmly, each word as if he was reading your mind. You look up to him, brows furrowed and glossy eyes. “Right?”
“How do you…” you half ask, looking into his eyes that crinkle when he smiles. 
“Well, birdie.” He says with a soft chuckle. “We didn't wake up one day and decided we were all married together and everything was perfect. It took us years to finally set everything in.”
“Years?” You ask surprised by the time.
Simon hums as an answer. “We met you a month ago. So you already doing a better job than all of us.” He chuckles. “I'm pretty sure I was the one who did the shittiest job with it, to be honest… I kept thinking Soap didn't like me back, that he was afraid to tell me off and that was why he wanted more with Gaz and Price. Funniest thing is that we were not really dating because I was already unsure about him liking me more than physically.”
“And how did you do it?” You ask.
“Well, the thing that I struggled the most was with how jealous was of the way Soap would look at them. Once I got my head out of my own ass I realised he look at me just like that as well…” He says cupping your face. “And I'm pretty sure he is starting to look at you just like that too. And he is not the only one.”
You look up into his eyes, you have never seen them like they look at the moment. Clear with emotions, no walls in between, just pouring into you the reassurance you so badly need. It brings tears to your eyes, not sad, simply feeling like the door holding all the anxiousness and self-doubt has just been opened and those feelings are being flushed out. 
“Can I kiss you?” You ask with a sob, your hand reaching to the bottom of his mask not daring to actually touch it until he tells you it's okay. He nods, helping you take it off; and before you can kiss him he cups your face stopping you.
“You are alright, birdie?” He asks, concern obvious in his voice. You quickly nod, not wanting to use words and Ghost takes pity on you, probably for seeing himself on you, because he doesn't push you and leans forward crashing his lips against yours. 
His hands move down to your hips, pulling you tightly against him; his tongue finds its way inside dancing along with yours. You grab his shoulders, his wide hands engulfing your ribs pulling you close.
Your hips grind against his crotch making him groan into your mouth, his cock coming to life against your ass. One of his hands moves lower, to where your spine ends and pushes you helping you move against him.
“Aww, poor birdie needs me to fuck all my love into her tight sweet cunt?” He coos into your neck, making you whine out of embarrassment. “Show her how much we want her, our treasured birdie. So luckily that we found you, you know that?”
Ghost moves to kiss your cheeks, drinking your tears as he does. His hand find its way inside of your pants, sliding down until he reaches your entrance groaning when he feels the wetness.
“So wet already, birdie?” He snickers looking at your face as you close your eyes, biting your lips as you keep moving your hips trying to get his finger inside of you. He indulges you, inserting two fingers inside your weeping cunt making you arch your back as a soft moan escapes your lips. 
It is fast, the way he easily takes off your clothes; barely making you stand to take off your clothes before he has you straddling his lap. He's still clothed when you pull him down, making him lay on his back with you still on his lap. 
“I want to ride you, Simon Riley.” 
And who in the hell is he to deny your wishes? He doesn't even stop to think how you learnt his name, Johnny most likely. But you standing over him, hair framing your face, light from outside illuminating you from behind looking like a fucking angel. And it takes him a minute, to remember that he has free will to roam your body with his hands. 
He helps you undo his pants, only taking them down to his mid-thigh before pulling his dick out of his briefs. Simon knows you are not as stretched as you should be, but when he sees you spit down on his tip rubbing your small hand up and down, he too can't wait any longer. 
He helps you, lowering you on his dick as it stretches you to the brim. He sees the look of pure ecstasy on your face; eyes dropping close, brown furrow and lip between your teeth keeping you from moaning out loud. 
He is no better than you, his fingertips dig into the fat of your hips with a bruising strength, his eyes locked into the way your lips spread to allow his dick deep into you. He groans when he feels your hip flush against his, smiling when he sees you grind forward to find friction against your clit; your legs slightly buckling when his trimmed pubes give you that needed touch. 
He moves his hand forward, brushing the soft fuzz of your abdomen as he presses his hand on it placing his hand right where he knows his tip is at. Pressing down at it and moving his thumb slowly down your body, making you feel him inside of you; almost able to tell every vein of his shaft. 
It must also do something for him with the way he groans, using his other hand to move your hips back and forward savouring every millimetre of friction that it gives him. You press your hands on his chest, bending your knees under you getting in position to move up and down. 
He sighs, a feeling of victory in his heart as he moves both his arms to cross them under his head; as if he was simply sunbathing on the beach and not having sex. 
You chuckle when you see him, a refreshing of sight of seeing him smile satisfied with himself and with no mask on the way. 
“Enjoying the view, Riley?” You tease, still not moving and letting yourself rest for a second. 
“Very.” He simply answers, you the white of his teeth peeks as he gives you a tiny smile. “Was it Johnny that told you?”
“Obviously.” You chuckle back, Simon's eyebrow twitching when you do and your cunt clenches around him. “He actually said your name right before eating my ass… I’m still figuring out how to feel about it.”
Your comment makes him chuckle, moving inside of you forcing an intake of air in you. “Nah, that’s just cause you have a bloody nice arse, birdie. Must have reminded him of mine.”
You shake your head. “I’ll have to check it myself then.” You say, raising your chin. 
“Aw, for fucks sake. I already have to hide my arse from Johnny, not from you too.” He laughs, covering his eyes with his arm. 
“Aww, Simon, you getting shy.” You tease him, softly pulling his arm.
“Ha, I’ll show you shy.” He says with a chuckle, he grabs your calves one on each hand pulling you up. It forces you to plant your hands on each side of his head when he pulls your lower body up. It leaves you holding yourself up, with only your hands on the bed, legs spread open and his dick resting on your entrance having forced out with the change in position. 
You look down, seeing the clear string of arousal linking the two of you together, and you watch as he slowly lowers your hips; his tip catching at your entrance and he suddenly thrusts his hips up filling you up easily. 
It forces the air out of your lungs, leaving you with your mouth open right over his face and if you had your eyes open you would be able to see that he looks just as fucked out as you. Eyes closed in bliss, mouth open and head slightly tilted back. 
He moves you up and down, using you like a human fleshlight, the humble show of his sheer strength only fueling your arousal. This man has the strength to break you in two, and instead is using all his power to make you feel good.
It is an angle at which he reaches so deep, every time he lowers your or his hips rises it is skin on skin; there is not an inch of his dick that is not inside of you. Your arousal drips down, making plat plat plat sounds every time your clit kisses his body. 
It has your mind empty, focusing on keeping yourself up but every thrust threatens to make you fall face-first on his. Your arms start to shake after a bit, it is hard to stay up when you are getting fuck within an inch of your life. 
You lower yourself, choosing to rest on your forearms; getting closer to his face but still keeping yourself off of him. “Getting tired, birdie?” He asks between grunts. “Better cum soon them, love.”
He changes the angle again, and somehow the new angle makes it easier for him to reach that point inside of you that has your eyes rolling back into your skull; moaning his name loudly as you feel your climax approach suddenly. 
“Yeah, just like that, birdie.” He says, satisfied with himself that he was able to have you coming undone so quickly. “C’mon, birdie, give to me, love.”
You whine, wanting to hold on a little bit longer; just a bit more.
But it is just a couple thrusts more than have you finally collapsing over him, barely dodging his face on your way down when you come; arms shaking when you feel him let go of you just to rub your clit in tight circles to make you climax last making you moan on his hear.
He lets you breathe when you slap his hand, chuckling to himself when you do and he lets you rest. With you resting on him, both your arms over his head and his face on your chest.  
It takes you a moment to catch your breath back, and when you do you look down to see his dick still red and angry. “You didn't finish…”
“I know, I had another plan.” He says. “Are you alright, love?” He asks, and when you nod he smiles. Standing up keeping you on his arms, your legs around his hips. “Let’s go visit Price.”
“What?” You ask, dumbfounded when you see him start to walk towards the door. “Wait, no, we are naked, people will see.”
“No, they won’t. And I’m dressed.” He argues, and he is right. His only skin showing being his dick and his face. Funny enough.
You hug him, hiding your face on his neck and accepting your fate. He walks outside, he knows perfectly fine that only he and Price are on this side of the base but you don't need to know that. He reaches Price's office in less than a minute which for you feels like an eternity and he knocks on the door, going in when Price says “C’mon in” from the inside.
“Night, Captain.” He says as if it is the most normal interaction. 
“Well, hello Simon.” The captain answers, chuckling when he sees you still hiding. “Hi, birdie.”
You still feel yourself burn with embarrassment, mumbling a tiny Hi as an answer; only pulling your face out when Simons sits you on Price's desk. “Lay down.” Simon tells you.
You look behind you, seeing as Price moves everything so you can lay back; choosing to prop yourself on your elbows to remain able to look at them. 
“Give me a kiss?” Price asks, still sitting on his chair and you give him a soft peck on the lips making the man smile, his moustache moving as he does. “Are you having fun?”
“I am.” You answer and you turn to Ghost. “But he isn’t”
Ghost scoffs at you, slapping your thigh at the same time. “And who says I’m not having fun.”
“He didn't finish.” You tell Price, looking up at him, feeling like a kid snitching on somebody. 
“And whose fault is that?” Ghost answers, teasing you. 
It makes you gasp, feeling offended by his words and you sidekick him his ribs not strong enough to actually hurt him. “Don't say those things to me, I feel bad later!” You admit
“Now, now, settle down the both of you.” He says chuckling as he stands up, slowly walking to stand beside Ghost. “If you have so much energy why don't you fuck it out instead of fighting.”
Ghost groans between your legs, and it's then that you notice that Price is fisting his cock, moving his rough hand slowly up and down Ghost's length aligning it with your entrance. He pushes Ghost forward, filling you up once more and making you moan softly. 
“Lay down.” Price tells you this time, and you oblige letting your back rest against the table. Ghost’s hands move to the underside of your thighs, keeping them up closer to your chest. His hips move slowly in and out of you, and you notice one of his hands slip from your leg. 
Wet sounds catch your attention and when you look up you see Price kissing Ghost, his hand on the back of Ghost's head and Ghost’s hand wrapped around Price’s shaft. He moves his hand at the same pace as the one set by his hips fucking you, you barely hear them moan into each other mouth. The slightest twitch of their eyebrow when they touch a weak spot.
You notice Price’s hand on Ghost’s waist under his shirt, rubbing circles with his thumb and slightly pushing him forward to meet your hips. The one that is behind his head closes around his hair, pulling his head slightly back and Price moves to kiss the man’s throat, a moan leaving Ghost’s mouth as he looks up. 
You see Price drag his tongue flat against Ghost’s neck, moving up to behind his ear biting at his lobe and it is then that he catches you staring; a smirk appearing on his face. “I think birdie is a little perver that likes to watch…” He snitches, a tone of voice that lets you know you are in trouble. 
“I think she just wants more attention… Can’t have enough, do you, birdie?” Ghost asks, grunting as he keeps thrusting in and out. 
“Not true...” You mumble, half whining. You follow Price as he moves away from Ghost, his hand finding its way back to your leg. Price stands behind you, pressing his hand on your chest to make you lie down coming face to face with his dick right in front of your face. 
“Maybe if you have a cock down your throat you will stop lying.” He says, fisting his dick and probing your lips. You open your mouth slowly, expecting him to ease his way inside little by little. Instead, the moment your mouth is opened enough he thrusts forward, making you gag.
“Fuck!” You heard Ghost groan. “Do it again, captain. She clenched down so hard when you did.”
Price chuckles, pulling back and bending down to look at your face. He grabs your hand, moving it so his fingers are on your palm. “If it gets too much, grab it twice, alright, love?” He instructs and you nod, opening your mouth back again eagerly.
He doesn't waste time, filling your mouth back at the same time Ghost does, making you arch your back at the double stimulation. Something about the unusual harder way that the both of them are fucking you tonight truly ignites something inside of you. Ever since your weekend with Soap, something in the dynamics of the five seems to have changed.
Before, they would always touch you with such care as if scared you would break or that they would scare you off if they pressed a bit too hard. Always putting you in front of them, making sure you were enjoying it most time not even caring about themselves.
Not that they are not caring about it today, but there is a certain edge about it that shows that they are enjoying it doing it harder not for the extra friction but for the feeling that they are allowed to do it to you and you are basking on the attention received. 
Price and Ghost thrust in and out so hard that for a second you fear they may meet in the middle, their hands roam your body, pressing, scratching, slightly slapping just to make you jump at the sting. 
Price leans forward to kiss Ghost again, the change in angle making his shaft hit deeper in your throat making you grab his finger in reflex; once, not twice. And once he is sure of it, he keeps fucking your skull without much of a care.
It is not much longer after that you feel your second climax on the night approach, not that you could do much about it. The change in Price's attitude, from worshipping you on your first night to the lack of care of tonight truly opens your eyes to the wide range of possibilities with the man.
And the way Ghost has been filling you up, cunt stretched to accommodate the wide size of his shaft on every thrust has you wailing around Price when his thumb rubs your clit in tight circles. You combust on a loud moan around Price, Ghost holding your hips hard as he picks up the pace trying to reach his as well, grunting loudly and pulling out last second to paint your abdomen white with his spend, groaning at the sigh. 
It is Price the last to come, letting go of your hand to wrap both of his around your throat to fuck it harder. It makes you panic for a second, the lack of his hand translating to a lack of communication to let him know if it is too much. It only lasts until Ghost’s hand takes Price’s place, keeping you grounded as he moves to your side kissing your hand. 
Price's hands wrap harder than expected, making it almost impossible to breathe and having to lean on holding your breath for as long as Price needs hoping to have the lungs capacity. He finally does, right as you start to think about tapping out, he comes deep down your throat, coughing when he finally lets go of your neck. 
He pulls back, letting you breathe, marvelling at the sight of his pretty bird looking so filthy with his and his Lieutenant come on her body. He sits back down on his chair, picking you up to sit you down on his lap; using the tissues on his desk to wash as good as he can the come and spit drying up on your face as you are still coughing up a bit. 
Post-nut clarity hits Price hard when he sees the imprints on his hands on your neck, they are just red for the lack of oxygen; he knows perfectly fine there will be no marks in the morning. But right now you are coughing up a lung and his hands are around your neck. 
He cuddles you, kissing your head as he bathes you in apologies. “I’m sorry, birdie. I was too rough, sorry, love.”
You shake your head, making him look down at your face, heart warming up when he sees a little mischievous smile on your mouth. “I liked it.” You say, voice hoarse and scratched. 
Ghost chuckles behind you, crouching down to let a glass of water on your hands. “You were right, Captain. She is a little perver.” He jokes, dropping a kiss on your forehead. 
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Hi my lovelies!! 💗💗
Only two more chapters to go to finish this series, and I dont know how to feel about it.
I only need to write the finale, and revise the next one, AAAAA so nervous.
Once I'm done with that I'll do a lot of blogkeeping so it is a lot more tidy because it is A MESS right now, and I want it to be easier to find everything I have written before adding more to the chaos.
TagList: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121 @cassiecasluciluce @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tired-writer04 @evolutionarry @prettykinkysoul @pagesfalling @skyler-loves-rick-grimes @readerofallthingss @onewattson6529 @mynameismothra  @renabear88 @lolliepopsicle @reap3erslov3 @tooloudarts @sodavrr @anirok2 @lilliumrorum @ladyxtiger @multy-fandom-lover @thriving-n-jiving @lotionlamp @spicyspicyliving @xxeiraxx @vampirekilmerfic @keiraslayz @risingofjupiter @witchthewriter @soupinasock @phantomly27 @arbesa-mind  @multifandomheathenannie  @spadekip @cmbghost @herefor-tojis-tits @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce
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mitoad · 2 days
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forsworned · 1 day
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more poly!141 x reader 🤭🤭🤭🫶🫶🎀‼️💌💌
( i love your writting 🫶😰💐💐 )
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࣪ ೀ ࣪ ⏤ TEARS & TAUNTING ft. POLY!TF141
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⠀⠀⠀⠀࣪ ೀ ࣪ ⏤ 𝖺/𝗇: 𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖼!! 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀!! 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗒𝗌𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌⠀⠀⠀⋆⠀𖥔 ࣪⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀࣪ ೀ ׅ ࣪ ⏤ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀(𝗌) 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗒𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉
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"Might I ask why there's hair in the toaster? Should I be concerned?"
Price inquired as he showed the room the toaster that had strands of hair poking out of it.
"[name] thought it was a blow dryer." Kyle replied, licking the tip of his thumb before flipping the page of his Military Illustrated magazine. He crossed his legs over the coffee table where he had his feet propped up and the amusement on his face was growing by the second, so of course Johnny has to join in.
"Did not!" She objected, throwing his fists to her thighs in a childish manner. Her voice was muffled from the gauze stuffed into her gums to absorb the bleeding of her gums.
"Did too." Johnny bit his lip to stifle the laughter that was threatening to come out, and even in her whimisical and dazed state after her wisdom tooth removal she just coherent enough to know that he was being an ass.
"Stop it!" She cried out, tears were threatening to flow down her cheeks at any given moment (she already cried seven times today).
Simon sighed as he slapped the back of Johnny's head before stroking a comforting hand over her shoulder in an effort to relax her stupified state.
"Ow!" Johnny pouted, as he rubbed the back of his head. Kyle can't help but laugh at them.
Whack! Price smacked the back of the Sergeant's head with a rolled up newspaper.
"Ow!" Kyle whined, mimicking Johnny's gesture. The Scot snickered at this before getting simultaneously walloped by both Simon and Price.
[name]'s deepened pout had lit up at the sight of their sheningan's and erupted into a cute fit of giggles. They all visibly softened at the sound of her mirth and the way her face beamed. Kyle and Johnny had immeditaly felt remorseful for their taunting
"Aw, we're sorry, hen." Johnny apologized as he kissed her forehead.
Kyle pecked her cheek as he carded his fingers through her hair. "Didn't mean to make you cry, ducky."
Soon they were peppering her with kisses causing her to wriggle under their saccharine gesture. And that only ignited their actions, as their stubble tickled at her skin and her laughter grew.
SImon and Price shared a look before shaking their heads at the two idiots. Easy to get under your skin, easier to forgive (with the condition of being showered with love).
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𝖺/𝗇: 𝗆𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍 𝖺𝗍 '𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀' 𝗅𝗆𝖿𝖺𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒?? 𝗂𝖽𝗄 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝖾
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thanksbutno98 · 2 days
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You Found Me
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John Price x fem!reader OC
Summary: John Price finds himself losing control while his wife who is an archeologist is away on a dig.
Warning: Violence, angst, blood, physical violence, swearing, guns, not edited
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Dust, sweltering heat, dry cracked skin, bitterly cold nights. From having the sun beat you down to frigid air so cold your teeth chattered.
It always surprised you how cold the desert became at night and how hot it was during the day. The early mornings seemed to be the only time you felt comfortable. It took time for you to adjust back into being on a dig sight after so long. Life had consisted of being the new curator at a museum, an active mother, caring daughter, and loving wife. It was strange to step out of those rolls and back into being a hands on archeologist and back on a dig sight thousands of miles away from your family.
Having a slow start like you were this morning was beautiful. Most mornings you were woken up by the sounds of your colleagues chatter since the thin tarp of your tent didn’t give much sound proofing. But today you had naturally woken up before everyone else, made yourself a cup of coffee, and were now sitting and eating breakfast at the small table in your tent as you went over papers.
Your tent was bigger than your colleagues because you were technically the one heading the dig at the moment. The beige burlap tent was rectangular with taller ceilings so most could stand upright without their heads touching the ceiling. You had an ornate red rug rolled out to make it a little more cozy. Your cot was in the back right corner with your old faded trunk at the foot of it. On the inside lid of the trunk were numerous pictures from past digs you had taped there for sentimental purpose.
There was one picture in particular you loved the most. It was of you and John Price back when he was a Luitenant and you an up and coming archeologist. You two weren’t standing anywhere near each other but you asked to get a picture with all the military that were there to show off to your friends after. Little did you know it would be the first picture you would take with your future husband.
There was a dark brown circular table to the left of the tents opening. It had four old wooden chairs around it. There were a smattering of papers, pencils, maps, sketches, and an old lantern on the table. A few feet away was a wooden partition to give you some privacy while you changed in case someone came in.
You had been away for almost a full two weeks. You were coming to assist on this dig because Dr. Michales would not be able to get there in time due to family constraints. It was only intended for you to be here for the first two weeks of the four month dig so you happily obliged. It was a nice change of pace from your job and you were happy that in only a few more days you’d be on your way home. These finds would be an amazing addition to the museum you had been pouring yourself into. It would feel validating to have your name added to these fascinating finds in a museum you were in charge of.
But as enthralled as you were by your studies, your mind continued to drift to your family back home in the UK. John was home with your three children and you couldn’t help but wonder what they were all up to at the moment. You glanced up to see the small wooden picture frame you had lovingly placed on the table, it was a gift from your son.
It was a goofy picture of the five of you that always left you with a smile. John was standing tall with Evelyn tucked under one arm and Jj in the other. Both their feet were off the ground as John carried them like duffle bags out the backdoor of your home, the laughter evident on their faces. You were standing a few feet away with Lily in your arms the five of you all dressed in football gear to go practice in the yard for the afternoon. The picture was taken by your brother in law who had stopped by to drop off some hand me down clothes.
The photo left a bitter sweet taste in your mouth that you tried to attribute to the shitty coffee. You wished you could peer into your home and know what your family were up to. If you could, you’d see John had built a blanket fort in the living room that they were all cuddled under and eating icecream from the tub; something they knew you’d never allow.
With a deep sigh you went back to sipping on your morning coffee in your tent and going over some documents. It was tedious but you were taking the time to make sure everything you were doing was meticulously documented so when Dr. Michales took over there was little confusion. In the still of the morning you brought your chipped coffee cup to your chapped lips and sighed in pleasure at the silence.
Thats when the sound of repetitive gunshots rang out. Time slowed as every hair on your body stood on end. It was the most startling sound and your soul had practically left your body. You jumped so violently you whacked your knee on the underside of the table and then dropped your coffee onto the ruby red carpet, half of the burning liquid spilling down your left arm.
Instantly you knew it was an assault rifle from how quickly each round fired off and you instinctively dropped to your knees and got under the table. The squish of the soaked rug and smell of burnt coffee seared itself into you memory never allowing you to to forget this moment as long as you smelt burnt coffee. With hands tightly clasped over your ears you felt cold all of a sudden as if an Arctic breeze blew through the sweltering desert.
Before a fully formed thought had even been processed through your head you were up and running toward the corner of your tent taking a cloth and wrapping it around the burn on your arm. Throwing a blanket over your cot to cover the space beneath it, you shoved yourself under it. Fumbling around you squeezed into the small space, laced your fingers behind your head and pressed your forehead into the rug. It burned against your skin as you broke out into a cold sweat. Heavy panicked breathing took over and your hands began to shake violently. Fat tears dropped from your eyes and your nose was running like you had just gotten in from shoveling snow.
The sounds of blood curdling screams and more gunfire rang out and all you could think about was never seeing your family again. The memory of them all giving you hugs and well wishes as they saw you off at the airport flashing in your mind. The way Evelyn demanded to be the last one you hugged and how Jj handed you that picture frame sitting on the table a few feet away. You had promised John you’d be safe and sealed it with a kiss goodbye as Lily giggled at your PDA.
Would that be the last memory they had of you? Was Lily old enough that she would remember you? Jj would never recover and Evelyn would be devastated. Your children’s faces flashed in your mind but John’s booming voice was loud in your head. You let out a shaky breath that had drops of spittle splattering against the carpet.
In these moments it felt like John was right there with you telling you exactly what to do.
Steady, calm your breathing.
Darling, if they take you don’t fight back. Please don’t fight back.
You’ll be okay. Stay smart, stay quiet, and whatever you do, don’t panic.
Safety was your only concern as you hid under the cot in your tent. You imagined John was on his way with an army behind him as a way to trick yourself into staying calm. He’d be here to save you, you told yourself. Your mind was racing and about to derail as you screamed and begged in the safety of your mind.
John. John. John.
help
The air had stilled and faint cries of familiar voices echoed as your friends begged for mercy. You could hear Carol screaming that they had killed someone while Tanner was yelling for them to stay away from whoever he was trying to protect. It made you sick to know the horrors of what was happening on the other side of your tent and that you were next. You tried to listen as you heard orders in a language you couldn’t understand. You recognized it as Arabic but couldn’t make out a single word; wishing John was here because he knew a little of the language. The way the words were barked had you trembling. You may not understand the language but deep down you knew that people were about to start searching tents. The sight was about to be raided and in that moment you knew it was only a matter of time until you were found.
The concept of time had vanished as your heart beat echoed in your ears. You had no idea how long you had been hiding it could have been five minute or hours, your mind was playing tricks on you. Your body was soaked in sweat and you felt like you may just die right on the spot as your tent flap was loudly ripped open.
Closing your eyes tight you heard as whoever was in here began to toss the place upside down. You began to chant your children’s name in your mind as a way to distract yourself.
Jonathan, Evelyn, Lily. Jonathan, Evelyn, Lily. Jonathan, Evelyn, Lily.
They consumed your mind. Each one of their pretty smiles and sparkling blue eyes flashing in your minds eye. You swore you could hear them laughing off in the distance. Squeals of laughter and shouts for you to come play.
Finally your cot was tossed, revealing you underneath. Head bowed to the floor, lying flat on your stomach with your fingers laced behind your head. You stayed still hoping, praying, begging god to make you invisible in that moment.
The blood curdling scream you let out was involuntary as this man, whose face was completely covered grabbed you by your hair. The painful tug was barely noticeable as you thrashed and kicked for dear life. You could barely focus on your surroundings as you were dragged toward the tents opening by your hair. The thought of what John would tell you to do to stay safe flying out the window as instinct kicked in. Through the struggle you could hear glass shattering the scent of your vanilla perfume taking over the small space.
As you thrashed you felt your boots connect with your trunk, air, then the man’s leg and you kicked again with all your strength. He let out what you assumed to be a cruse word and then seconds later his open hand collided with your face. He had slapped you with so much force it snapped your head back and your skin burned, you could feel the welt forming instantly but you still tried to fight him off. All you could see was a flurry of your familiar tent as the hand in your hair tightened and you flailed around like a fish out of water.
Then he struck you again and again until your knees buckled and you stopped fighting back. He continued to strike even after the fight left you then one last time for good measure until becoming limp was your bodies only choice. Panting and spitting out a warm liquid that tasted of iron you stopped kicking and strained for breath. Your face, chest and back felt like they were on fire from the blows sustained. You glanced down to look at your white t-shirt, seeing specks and splotches of red littering the cotton.
The large hand that had you by the roots of your hair pulled you down against the ground as you tried to brace yourself from colliding with the floor. The pain at your scalp was white hot as you felt your body collide with the trunk that sat by the end of your cot and then into the table. He was tossing you into the furniture to further the damage he was inflicting on you. The adrenaline was pumping so violently in your veins you couldn’t realize just how hurt you were.
You couldn’t even hear yourself chocking on blood and spit as you plead for him to let you go, that you had children. The air in your lungs burned and your senses were dulled from the beating you had just sustained. You were dragged out of your tent and tossed into the dirt. The coarse sand stuck to your sweat soaked skin as pebbles pressed into the skin of your palms as you braced yourself. Scrambling away on your hands and knees you turned to face your attacker slipping off the heels of your boots and falling on to your ass.
This was the first good look you were getting of this behemoth of a man as he towered over you. He had his face covered only his hazel eyes visible. There was an assault rifle slung around his monstrous frame and what you expected to see was your life flash before your eyes as he reached for it. For some unknown reason you whispered to the man.
“Ghost?”
It had to be delirium or the blows to the head and face making you think this man was Simon Riley; or the fact he was of the same physique and stature. But you were thankful of that because for a brief moment you felt relief. Relief that someone would save you as you watched the assault rifle come up and be pointed in your face. You closed your eyes tight and cried out for John although he was thousands of miles away.
“JOHN!” His name tore from your throat. Your vocal cords straining to a point you felt like you might pop a blood vessel.
The butt of the assault rifle smacked you hard in the face. An obscene crack echoing in the dry air before you could even register you were struck instead of shot. The impact made the world go black for a moment the only thing snapping you back into consciousness was the back of your head hitting the dirt. Your hand weakly reached to your left eyebrow and temple where you’d been struck as the world spun around you. Trying to focus your eyes as dirty brown boots approached you.
You were dazed and dizzy from the blow and you could barely register what had just happened. Through the double vision you pulled your hand away from your temple and saw blood coating your finger tips. The smell of burnt coffee hanging in the air and the heaviness of your eyes winning as you passed out.
——————
“When’s mummy going to video call?” Evelyn was tugging on John’s belt loop as he stood in the kitchen trying to figure out dinner.
Lily, newly three was fast asleep in his arms having been struggling with a nasty cold. The three year old was struggling not having you at home especially while she was sick. John had also been struggling to get her to sleep through the night and it resulted in Lily sleeping with him the past two nights. She would cry into your pillow and cling to an old dirty sweatshirt of yours she refused to let John wash.
You and John had a scheduled video call a day ago but he hadn’t heard a word from you. It was concerning to say the least and John was becoming more concerned as each hour ticked by. He told himself he wouldn’t freak out and you were just busy but there was this clawing feeling in the back of his mind; something didn’t feel right.
John kept telling himself he couldn’t call someone in he still hadn’t lived down the last time this happened and he sent Soap and Ghost out there to check on you. You called him laughing hysterically that he needed to tone down the protectiveness and that you simply forgot to call. Simon also brought it up from time to time saying he would do the same in John’s position but Soap liked to make snarky comments about the Captain being uptight.
“She’ll call soon, love.” John said confidently not wanting Evelyn to worry. With a kiss to her forehead she smiled sweetly and retreated into the living room.
John couldn’t handle the uncertainty anymore. Pulling out his phone he dialed the first person he knew would pull a few strings for him, no questions asked. The line rang four times before the familiar voice sounded on the other end.
“John, surprised to hear from you.”
“Kate, I need a favor.” John spoke quietly. Peaking his head out of the kitchen he checked that both Evelyn and Jj were out of ear shot before he continued.
“Sounds urgent.” The smile in Kate’s voice vanished.
“Y/N is in Urzikstan on a dig. Haven’t heard from her in a couple days. Think you could ask Farah to have a few of her men check things out. Make sure she’s safe.” John meant to ask but it came out as more of a statement. He could hear Kate’s fingers dart across her keyboard as she typed loudly.
“Yeah, going to need a few more details.”
“Of course.”
——————
“I want the last egg roll!” Jj hissed.
Jj and Evelyn had been at each other’s throats all day and it was driving John up a wall. It was hard for him to handle his children when he had you and your safety on his mind. He kept checking his phone to see if Kate had reached out to no avail.
The past two hours had felt like torture and John had been virtually silent. Although his children didn’t seem to notice, too busy arguing with each other about anything and everything. You would think they’d pick up on how John wasn’t diffusing the arguments or scolding them for fighting.
“Too bad I want it!” Evelyn hollered back at her brother. Taking the white crinkly bag with the egg roll in it only for Jj so snatch it back.
John was looking between his son and daughter and sighing heavily. He took the bag from his son silently and placed it on his empty plate. He was about to cut the egg roll in half when the argument took a turn. Lily was quietly eating her fried rice and glancing back and forth between her siblings deeply enthralled by their display.
“Brats don’t deserve eggs rolls!” Jj spat the insult in his sisters face.
“Neither do cry baby, no good at maths, nose picker, butt sniffer, idiots!” Evelyn shot right back pulling out every insult she could think of.
“I’m not a nose picker or a butt sniffer!” Jj screeched, hands smacking against the table.
“Still makes you a cry baby idiot who sucks at maths.” Evelyn spat back now kneeling on her chair. They looked ridiculous arguing in matching orange t-shirts from last summer fair. John could practically see the lightening bolts shooting across the table as they violently stared at one another.
John snapped, not able to handle his children being this nasty to each other over an egg roll of all things. With a mean look John snatched the egg roll from the white paper bag it sat in and shoved the entire thing in his mouth. It was an enormous amount of food but he chewed aggressively and relished in the greasy goodness. John felt somewhat vindicated to take the last egg roll for himself. He didn’t yell at his children and found a way of solving the issue since there was no egg roll to argue over now.
“AHHH YOU ATE IT!” Evelyn shrieked, hands shooting up to her cheeks as she stared at her round cheeked father, his mutton chops only making his cheeks look puffier. John stared forward eyes locked on the pantry doors with a blank expression and continued to chew as he felt his children’s anger now pointed at him.
“Dad!” Jj hollered his face fixed in shock and anger just like his sister. Jj’s nose flared and eyebrows knit together trying his best to hold back his sass.
“You’re being a piggy!” Evelyn sneered, blue eyes narrowed.
“Don’t call me a pig.” John snapped back and covered his mouth as he scolded Evelyn. The spark of fury igniting in his icy eyes causing the young girl to plop back in her seat, cross her arms over her chest and grunt angrily.
“Fine, how about a thief.” Jj said under his breath. Taking his fork and scooting a piece of broccoli around his plate. John swallowed thickly at his son’s words his blood pressure spiking.
“Thief? I bought the bloody food. And you want to call me a thief!?” John’s voice was thick from the greasy food and beginning to raise. His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of his phones generic ringtone.
Evelyn and Jj were stunned as he got up from his chair so quickly it almost fell backwards. They saw the anger vanish from their father’s face and be replaced with an emotionless expression.
“Behave.” John warned as he abruptly got up from the dinner table and quickly made his way out the back door onto the patio. He could see all three of his children now peering out the window to get a better look at him.
“Kate, hear anything?” John skipped all the pleasentries and got straight to the point.
“The sight was ransacked. The people left claimed five individuals had been taken by a group of men with face coverings. One of them was identified as your wife.” The matter of fact tone Kate used was in hopes John wouldn’t go off the deep end at the news.
“Get Farah on this immediately tell her it’s a favor for me. I’ll owe her my life. But keep it under wraps this is my wife, don’t need word spreading and anyone getting ideas. I’ll be packed and on base to assist within the hour.” John barked down the line as if it was appropriate to give Kate orders.
“Farah is already working on tracking them down. Said you’d probably want to see the dig sight and talk to some of the witnesses yourself.” Kate and Farah had a much more in depth conversation on possibility of hostage survival but Kate felt that would be better for John to hear in person.
“She knows me well. I’ll be there soon.” John’s thumb and forefinger were pinching the bridge of his nose as he desperately tried to keep a hold of himself.
“We’ll get her back, John.” The certainty in Kate’s voice was only to comfort John and he knew that. There was no certainty and no one knew that better than them.
“We will.” John said simply before hanging up, feeling as if he were lying to himself.
There was a calm that washed over John. An eerie almost manic clarity came over him, a feeling that John knew all too well. It was what made him good at his job. What made taking peoples lives and living on with the weight of it manageable. He’d felt this many times but never with you, never like this. This was a feeling he had in war zones, shoot outs, the most gut wrenching and gruesome situations.
But tonight as he stood on the patio of your family home, all he knew was that he was on his way to Urzikstan with hell hot on his heels. The muscles in his face began to twitch and he chuckled out a dry laugh that most would describe as demented or deranged. John felt his sanity slipping as if he were about to go on a murderous rampage if he didn’t keep himself in check; and he just might. The thought of you scared, alone, and in danger had his skin tingling. If a single hair was out of place John wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself, he’d truly become a monster he’d promised himself he’d never be. But could you blame him? Would anyone blame him?
John was calling the next person before he had even fleshed out a game plan. All the pieces were falling together in his mind and he saw every move he needed to make with clarity. The five rings of the phone was enough time for John to map out which route would be the quickest to base and how exactly he would get someone to fly him out there with little pushback. He’d need to pull every string and bully his way into getting what he wanted. He would be there in the quickest amount of time possible.
At any cost.
“Billy, Y/N in trouble on her dig and I need to get out there. Can y-“
“I’m putting on my shoes now. I’ll be there in a flash. Stay on the line.” Billy, your father, didn’t need another word. Much like John this was instinctual on how to react when the question of your safety was raised.
John could hear him rushing around and faintly overheard Billy’s girlfriend asking where he was going and if everything was okay. Then her screaming, asking why he was leaving and he ‘couldn’t keep doing this to her.’ Billy answered by slamming the door and effectively ending that relationship as he sprinted down the stairs for his car. If only John could tell you about this he knew you’d snort out a laugh and have some smart ass comment about your father’s horrible communication skills. But that wasn’t the case and John’s stomach twisted and rage spiked his veins at the thought he might never be able to tell you.
John stayed on the line only for the reason of making sure Billy was okay because that’s what you would want him to do. John knew you would demand that he looks out for your father in any and all circumstances. Even when you weren’t here to tell him yourself John was staying true to everything you would want and he’d continue to do that until the day he died.
“I’m on my way. Be there in twenty.” Billy huffed out of breath.
“See you soon.” Before John could hang up he heard the deadly serious words of your father as his car door slammed.
“You better bring her home in one piece. I mean it John, or I’ll have your fuckin’ head.” Billy yelled the words down the line and John could picture how angry he looked and how his finger was pointed to emphasize his point.
“I will.” John knew Billy was the only other person on this earth that would walk through the fires of hell for you. There was a mutual respect that both John and Billy would lay their lives down for you and kill for you. That’s why Billy trusted John to be your protecter all those years ago.
By the time Billy arrived he could feel the tension in the air. He tried to walk through the front door calmly but half burst through the door. It only took a few steps into the house to have full view of the living room which was where his grandchildren were.
Jj was sitting on the couch with Lily in his lap and reading her a book. Evelyn was sprawled out on the floor, red in the face, having just finished crying. It broke Billy’s heart watching his oldest grandson console Evelyn from his spot on the couch. Jj was truly John’s son trying to hold everything together no matter how unequipped he was.
“Evie, dad’s gonna be back with mum so fast it’ll make our heads spin. Isn’t it kinda cool he gets to go pick her up all the way in another country?” Jj was clearly trying to hide his own panic. His voice deepening like his fathers would when times were serious.
“Grandpa, dad says mummy’s fine but I don’t believe him.” Evelyn burst into tears again at the sight of Billy. Jj looked up to him like a deer in headlight his bottom lip wobbling as he saw the angry look on his grandpas face. Lily turned in Jj’s arms and hugged him around the neck.
“No crying Jj.” Lily whispered lovingly and nudged the book at him. Her curls tickling her brother’s skin and helping distract him from the tightness in his chest.
Jj willed himself to be strong for his sisters because for the first time in his life John had earnestly asked him to take care of them; and that’s what scared the young boy. There was a rule set by you and his father that Jj was not to take on adult responsibilities or roles under any circumstance. The fact his father asked this of him meant something was very, very wrong. And Jj was ready to do whatever it took to take care of his sisters.
Evelyn was moving pathetically so she was now kneeling on the carpet and starting to breather heavily, clearly panicking. Her small hand came up and clutched her orange t-shirt in the middle of her chest as if she were struggling to breathe. Evelyn was old enough at this point to understand something was horribly wrong but she couldn’t express why. The fact was, she felt deep down in her bones something bad was happening and unlike her brother she couldn’t hold herself together.
“Hey, she’s okay, just got caught up in some red tape at work. Your dad’s gonna bring her home safe and sound.” Billy didn’t bother taking off his shoes as he scooped the eight year old up in his arms. Evelyn wrapped herself around him and cried into his shoulder. Billy nodded to Jj as a way to silently comfort him but he could see how rattled the young boy was. With a deep sigh and quickly wiping away the stray tears, Jj went back to reading the book to Lily who was half asleep.
“Red tape!? That’s the worst kind.” The young girl hiccuped out sobs as Billy swayed with her and rubbed her back like he did when she was Lily’s age.
“Mummy’s my favorite person, she needs to come home. right. now.” Evelyn was sobbing harder and harder as Billy tried his best to console her.
It reminded him of when you were a little girl and cried for hours that you wanted your mother to come home. Only for you, your mother had passed and there was no chance of her ever walking through that door again. And Billy prayed that his granddaughter wouldn’t have to face the same suffering you did as a girl.
John was jogging down the stairs in his military fatigues with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. His mind was racing but you’d never be able to tell from the emotionless look on his face, the paternal side of himself going dark at the sight of Billy. Knowing your children were now in good hands John was in a mindset that lived outside this home for good reason. His children had never seen this side of him. The cold, calculated, and self assured Captain he was renowned for being.
With sharp eyes John saw Billy had two different shoes on, he missed a belt loop, and had buttoned up his shirt wrong making one end lopsided. Billy was completely disheveled and it was obvious to John in that moment that no time was to be waisted, Billy needed his little girl home now.
“You three be good to your grandpa.” John’s words were more of an order as he went around and placed a kiss to each one of his children’s heads; his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder.
Billy and John shared a knowing nod and John left your father with a few parting words.
“You’ll see her soon. And thank you.” The deepness in John’s voice was a testament to his seriousness.
Billy couldn’t speak on the subject it would make the reality too real and he knew he’d lose himself completely if he lost you. So he nodded sharply and turned away from John, not allowing any emotion to take over although fear had its clutches on his heart.
——————
“Hello, Captain. Long way from home.” Farah’s voice sounded as she approached Captain Price as he stepped out of the truck he rode in. It was a shit show to get here but John managed to do it in record time. Pulling no punches and going as far as threatening those who wouldn’t give him his way.
“You locate the hostages?” Price’s voice had deepened like it usually did when deployed or on missions. A quick handshake was exchanged as a greeting, then Farah waved for Price to follow as she showed him around the campsite. John nervously fixed his hat on his head, blood pulsing painfully though his veins seeing the destruction of a once well manicured campsite. From the photos you sent him it was picture perfect and a textbook outline of a campsite. One central hub, area for showering, the group of tents closely huddled together; all adjacent to the dig sight.
“I have some of my men checking out possible locations but not much has turned up. There was one seriously wounded man but he’s stable now. No casualties. The people left behind said they headed west with five hostages.” With an out stretched gloved hand Farah pointed west to emphasize her point then signaled to the tire marks left behind.
“These treads are wide, wider than normal. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re armored. What do you say?” Glancing over Farah intently inspected Price’s face trying to determine why this group of individuals called for him pulling out every favor he had. Why did some archeologists he had no business knowing call for him to be out here so quickly.
“You seen treads like these before? They look military.” With a nod John tilted his head down staring at Farah through his eyebrows, his hands coming up and gripping his tactical vest.
“A military convoy was high jacked last week. Think these might be the same people. Tire marks lead west like they said.” Farah confirmed the two of them continuing on, checking out the ransacked campsite.
“Then we’ll go west.” John said simply as he took in his surroundings. The two walked on stopping at the dig sight to see the carved out areas of ancient ruins. It looked to be the start of a decently sized complex covered in a layer of sand and dust. To the left was artifact that had been discovered and were being catalogued. None of it was disturbed only the campsite was torn apart.
“It’s a shame. If only they could keep themselves from digging in dirt that’s not their own. Don’t think this would have happened if it were our people here making this discovery.” Farah stated matter of factly. John hated that he agreed with the sentiment. Hell, he had said something similar to you when you first met and that’s why military presence was important on dig sights.
It was strange seeing something horrible that John had seen before but equating it to you. It was a feeling he hoped he’d never have but here he was. Examining tents that had been cut open, overturned vehicles, burned food supplies and water basins turned over and emptied. The small campsite was completely gone through and all forms of life preserves destroyed. The dig sight somehow remained untouched to John’s surprise but then again it seemed this was more of a job to stop those who don’t belong from taking things that aren’t theirs.
Continuing on John’s sharp eyes looked for any trace of you. That’s when he saw the tent that was bigger than the others, meaning it was the lead archeologists. Your tent. Silently John made his way over eyes carefully scanning the area around it. There were droplets of blood splattered a few yards from the tents entrance that lead to a larger blood stain. Squatting down John gave it a close look and determined it wasn’t nearly enough blood to be fatal and he wasn’t about to assume it was yours. There were clear drag marks leading off to where Farah had said convoy trucks were parked.
Farah silently followed, watching closely how Price’s face barely changed. Dipping into what he assumed to be your tent John was met with glass crunching under his boots and the sight of all furniture flipped over and your belongings rifled through.
The first thing John noticed was the smell of your vanilla perfume. Then he saw your old trunk kicked over with your belongings spilling out. There was that navy sweater you liked to wear on cold nights torn and lying on the red rug along with books and toiletries. Taking another step in John picked up on the smell of the hazelnut coffee you liked and he couldn’t help how that smell reminded him of home and you curled up in the early morning with coffee and a book. Then his boots crunched against something that snapped under his weight. Looking down and seeing what he’d stepped on finally had reality taking hold and a painful throb shooting through his head. This was your tent. His wife’s tent. And the blood splattered across the table and chairs was yours.
With a shallow breath and his lip twitching John bent down and picked up the family photo you had taken with you. It had speckles of dark red dried blood that tainted such a pure memory. John adored that day and thought back to it as one of the few perfect days you all spent as a family. Playing football in the back yard then grilling for dinner and eating around a bonfire. The night ended with you in John’s bulky arms and breathing each other in as you showed the deepest form of love to one another.
John felt himself ready to be sick. There was a rage so intense it made his head ache and muscles tense. With gritted teeth he could hear his teeth creaking from the immense pressure. Never in his life had John felt the urge to kill like this. It was no longer for defense or the safety and sanctity of his comrades and country. This felt blood thirsty like nothing could stop him from cutting down anyone who stood in his way on the path to find you. But for you and only you he would keep his composure because if he snapped there was no way anyone would allow for him to continue on this mission. There was a time and place to strike and he’d have them all in their graves by the time it was too late for anyone to stop him.
“Let’s find them.” John dropped the picture frame to the floor, the dark wood clattering against the broken bits of chair and glass.
The loose shards of glass from the frame scattering and adding to the mess that lay inside the tent. He left the picture frame there on the ground unable to bring his family along with him. He left it where he found it and turned away telling himself it would be here waiting for you when he brought you back to collect your things.
Farah was quick to step out of his way as Price marched out of the tent. There was an eir about him almost as if the darkest of pain radiated from his soul and infected the air. It was something Farah had never seen from Price, it almost felt inhuman, like a gruesome scene yet to unfold. Before he left he had one final thing to say.
“Don’t say a word.” It was a threat. Farah could hear it in his voice as if the devil had spoken yet sounded like the man she trusted with her life.
Curiosity got the better of Farah and she took a brief moment to look at the photo and the realization clicked in her head. Seeing Price’s face with a bright smile staring back at her and three children with matching ones was enough for Farah. The Captain had a wife and children. She had no clue. The woman they were searching for had to be the Captains wife and at least now Farah knew what you looked like. So hopefully it’d be easier to find and identify you if you had become a casualty. And she prayed for Price’s sake that wasn’t the case.
~~~~~tag list~~~~~
@exhaustedpotat0 @glitterypirateduck @ivymarquis @crazymela @what-0-life @boredfairy4 @hihhasotherfixations @stephanswhxre @shanjisan @k4es @luvleywrites @kita03-0 @midwesternwitchery @aleynaleia @suckerforbassist @misshoneypaper @theaonlax @blackstar9005 @tooterbutt @havoc973 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @freshlemontea @cosmoscoffeee @sae1kie @ohworm-writes @ghostslittlegf @fanficwriterlover @arminarlertssword @faceache111 @azu21 @thirstyb-ches @nini-11-08 @sgtgarricks @kiki-is-hyperfixating
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v1x3n · 1 day
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pinkslaystation · 2 days
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Tulips or Roses?
John Price x reader
In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k
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Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.
And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.
So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.
John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)
As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?
Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.
You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.
You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.
So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.
30th February 2010
Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.
Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?
You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.
5th July 2016
Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.
You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.
19th June 2017
Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.
You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.
2nd December 2018
Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.
You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.
7th April 2019
Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.
Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.
You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.
21st August 2019
She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.
Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.
You thought floral scents were YOU'RE thing.
You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.
30th November 2020
In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.
You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.
You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.
"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.
Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.
So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.
"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.
All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.
"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."
You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.
But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.
The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.
But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?
"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.
"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.
"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.
"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.
"Those people, they're your team?" You question.
His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."
You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.
"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.
"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.
Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.
You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.
19th December 2020
Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.
Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...
Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.
Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.
Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?
The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.
The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.
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A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.
He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.
Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...
He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.
"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)
"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.
The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.
He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"
"When did I say they were my favourite?"
John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."
"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.
"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"
"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"
"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"
Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.
"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.
"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.
"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"
"Are we still talking about flowers-"
"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."
"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"
"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."
You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.
"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"
John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.
"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"
You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.
"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"
His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.
"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.
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The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.
As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.
Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-
Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.
He begins reading the last entry.
19th December 2020
Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.
Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....
"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.
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It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.
After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.
The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.
Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.
John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.
"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.
"John, listen about last night-"
"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.
You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.
"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."
"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.
"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."
Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.
"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.
My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."
"John..."
He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.
You look at the first entry.
19th February 2021
I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.
You turn the page.
20th July 2021
Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.
The next one.
17th September 2021
I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.
I've always preferred tulips anyway.
And the next.
5th July 2022
Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.
17th September 2022
She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?
28rd December 2023
We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.
You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.
16th February 2024
Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.
Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.
"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."
He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."
And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.
That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum
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An idea I have that’s itching my brain. Ex-husband!price, second chance trope? Strangely into this recently
Ex-husband!price who can’t help but call you every time he gets back from a mission and you who can’t help but pick up.
You’ve been divorced for a little over a year now. It wasn’t necessarily on bad terms but the relationship just couldn’t work anymore; with him constantly gone it felt as though he was more of a roommate, a stranger, than the man you loved.
You couldn’t take the loneliness and Price only ever wanted to make you happy, so he agreed to the divorce with the same amount of courage he had going into a mission.
“John?” You asked, answering the call after the third to make it seem like you weren’t waiting for him.
“Hey,” Price smiled immediately when he heard your voice. “I made it home.”
“Good. You’re not hurt are you?”
Price could feel the ache and throb on his body from the mission, especially on his side where he had hit the ground hard because of an explosion. A large bruise had already formed but he ignored it like every problem he had concerning himself.
Just like he had ignored you.
“I’m alright.” He sucked in his lips and cleared his throat. “Tell me what you’ve been doing.”
You really shouldn’t. It’s not like you ended on bad terms necessarily, but you had never known someone to stay friends with their ex-husband before. You knew that these kind of talks might send the wrong message.
It might make one of you believe that there was hope for reconciliation.
“Oh…nothing much.” You kept it vague to deter further conversation and you hoped he didn’t take it the wrong way.
Price didn’t, at least that’s what he told himself even though he felt a pang in his chest while his throat tightened.
He shouldn’t call you anymore even if he missed your voice. Every call was like he was torturing himself, making himself remember what he lost because he couldn’t get his own head out of his ass.
He would’ve stopped after the first call if you hadn’t picked up.
“I just wanted to let you I was home.” He mumbled and you felt incredibly grateful that he wanted to do that.
You may be divorced but you still feared the day one of his men would come to tell you he was no longer alive.
“Thank you.”
“Of course, love.”
It slipped out but neither of you said anything. You both sat in silence, drinking up the presence of each other from the other side of the phone, across cities.
There were so many mixed feelings, all of which neither of you had the words to describe them.
“Goodbye, John.”
“Goodbye.”
When you were gone Price sat in the edge of his bed in the dark. The bed he once shared with you often went untouched, even by him as he couldn’t stand to lay in it alone, even if the mattress was better for his body.
His fingers played with the golden band chained around his neck subconsciously since he was unable to get rid of it.
A/n: take whatever this is lol won’t be a series but might have like a couple other little pieces
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celestialwhoree · 2 days
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Just going to leave this here and then sneak away! K bye! 🎀🩰
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John Price is a man who runs on instinct. After years in the forces, he has to be. He's learned that the feeling in his gut is almost never wrong, and learning how to trust it is a skill. Right now though? He's wishing that his stomach would stop roiling. He's so anxious he feels like he might actually be sick. Kyle sits earnestly at his side, hunched over in the plastic hospital chair nursing a long gone flat vending machine Coke.
They've been tuning out your screams for a good three hours now.
Something within John breaks with every guttural cry that sounds from under the doorway. He's heard so many countless screams of agony from faceless people. They've been and gone in his head like a passing storm. Yours, he thinks, will stick for a lifetime.
Realistically, he knows that you're safe. Receiving the best care you possibly can, safe within the walls of the modern private hospital his insurance more than covers. He also can't help but remind himself just how complicated giving birth can be - and you're so delicate to him.
He's not actually sure when Kyle got here, having been running on autopilot since your contractions started yesterday. All the boys love you just as much as you do them, and when he'd messaged their shared group with a simple: > On way to hospital now. they'd been so shit scared.
Each one of them had opted to take up shifts staying beside their captain in the hospital, waiting earnestly for if they were at all needed. Johnny had picked up groceries, claiming that he' d best know what to get for a new mum, seeing as he's the only one besides Price who actually has sisters, and a niece of his own. None of them would ever admit that they also wanted to be the first to see little baby Price, and to check in on his wife who'm they'd grown to love so much, but there'd definitely been attempts on all three sides to work out when the baby would approximately pop, so that they could time their stint accordingly.
"Think she's okay in there?" John croaks, lifting his head from his palms, squinting at the fluorescent hall lights with a tired grunt.
Kyle swallows the sip of Coke in his mouth before responding. "She's a trooper. I think if anyone can handle having a baby, it's your missus."
Hours later, your small hospital room falls silent, and John is immediately up on his feet, back ramrod straight, everything alert. And then, a baby cries. It's a little hiccuping whinge at first, but then his baby seems to find their voice, wailing up a storm.
"You should go. See them." Kyle prompts quietly, noticing his captain's reverie as he just stands there staring at the closed door.
Nurses file out one by one, whilst he makes his way in, a dazed sort of look on his face as he sees the swaddles blanket you hold close to your chest, gurgling softly as tiny fat fists reach out to your nose.
The stillness in the room is like time stops entirely, only finally broken by a soft "Hey." as your husband makes his way quietly to your side.
"Hi." You breathe, a soft smile blossoming on your tired face, scooting along in the hospital bed so he can sit beside you.
The reverence on his face as he looks down towards the face of such a small creature is a look only talked about in fairytales. A look that tells you that your baby is the luckiest child in the world to have a dad like John.
"She's a girl." You laugh softly, noticing the look on John's face, the one that says he's holding his tongue.
"Oh, my baby girl." Tears spring to his cerulean eyes as he brushes a gentle finger down the soft slope of her tiny nose.
For a moment, the two - three - of you sit in total stillness, entirely enraptured by the tiny human you currently keep held so closely to your chest. Until there's a quiet, tentative knock on the door.
"Mrs Price? Can we come in?" Kyle's voice comes softly from the other side, but before you can even finish your "Yes" not just Kyle, but also Simon and Johnny are practically barrelling into the room, barely able to contain their intrigue as they lock eyes with the little blanket wrapped parcel they've been waiting nine months to meet.
The minute you invite them to look at the sleeping face of your daughter, they're practically tripping over themselves to see the much anticipated baby Price.
"Looks jus' like her mam." Johnny observes, whilst Simon just stares, and Kyle busies himself with taking a picture of you, John and your baby girl.
"Bought 'er a present, mrs Price." Simon admits a little sheepishly as he pulls a haphazardly wrapped parcel from his coat pocket. A stuffed ghost teddy only just the size of your fist. "To remind 'er that uncle ghost is always looking out for her."
You're practically crying at the thought behind his gift, carefully side-hugging the lieutenant with the arm that's not holding your daughter.
"We're all here for her. And for you. Always. One for one and that."
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slater-baby · 2 days
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The 141 and their massage therapist...
Yeah so I have horrible carpal tunnel and this....yeah just HEAR ME OUT
!!!DUB CON!!!
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The 141 take their training pretty seriously. However, their line of military work is no stranger to service related injuries. Back pain, ankle sprains, muscle cramps - you name it and the 141 has had it. And that is where you come in: the cheap, young, and inexperienced massage therapist charged with taking care of them. You're fresh out of school and still working to get your footing, but you'll be damned if you don't take care of these veterans to the best of your ability.
Though, as life would have it, you take care of a lot more than just the occasional crick in the neck.
-
Price is older than you. That, and very obviously used to being in control. His rank and reputation give him away. Even at your first meeting, you feel silently infatuated with his stature. He's kind and charming, used to cracking jokes, but also used to things going his way. He's confident and mature - something you're very much lacking.
And from the moment you first shake his hand, one thing becomes very, very obvious: his attraction to you is completely unashamed.
Sprawled out on your table with just a towel covering his bulging cock, meaty hands swiping over the hair on his chest while he waits for you to get the oils ready.
"Ready whenever you are, darling."
And the whole time, you can't help but shiver in flustered admiration at his big biceps and chest, hands nearly shaking with trepidation at the beautiful, tempting mass of man beneath you.
And like the shameless man that he is, he absorbs every single second of it. He flexes his arms in your grip, just to watch the way heat rushes to your cheeks. He purposefully edges the towel down a bit lower, just so that you'll bite your lip when the tip of his cock just barely peeks over the top of it.
He's not ashamed to be exposed to you. Hell, he likes it. Likes watching the way you fawn over his bare arms and built legs, likes watching you try to hide the way you bite your lip every time you pour a bit more oil over his skin.
He's always polite and kind.
"Little bit more to the left, darling?"
He always says please and thank you.
And yet, he can't help but tease you with the promise of his naked body, brush his arm against you when he readjusts his position on the table. And when he gets redressed and walks you back to the front desk after each appointment, his hand never fails to rest on your lower back, guiding you along with him, letting you bask in his scent and touch.
And one day, as you're massaging his arm, he sees you crossing your legs like it'll give you even an ounce friction between your thighs. You can't hide the obvious heat in your eyes when he reaches over the edge of the table and ever so slightly brushes over the back of your thigh, reaching up to trace the pretty little your panties make underneath your trousers.
"Sweetheart," he drawls, feeling the way your hand clenches around his skin the harder he traces the panty lines down in between your legs, "Think it's about time I took care of you instead now, yeah?"
Needless to say, it's the first time you've ever been laid out on your own massage table. Though, judging by the way John leaves a trail of hickeys from your waist to neck, you'll soon be doing it again.
-
If Gaz is anything, he's an absolute sweetheart. He reminds you of the boys you met in college. Y'know, the kind of guys you were partnered up with for group discussions? Smiley, sweet, almost idyllic. Idly, you admit you found them cute for a fleeting moment. Perhaps you imagined for a couple seconds what it might be like to go on a date with them. Usually, it stopped there.
But Gaz...
With his lean, hard-earned muscles and spotless skin, he looked like the star in all of your college boyfriend fantasies - with the D1 physique to go with it.
He's talkative and has no shortage of funny jokes. The two of you become fast friends.
Only, it's really hard to concentrate on conversation when your hands get to run over each and every inch of his covetable body. His defined hipbones, veiny forearms, and muscled calves. You find yourself drifting into thought as your hands run from his neck to his shoulder, all the way down to his pristine fingertips.
You're nearly salivating as you watch the way his biceps bend and curve underneath your hands.
"Love," he suddenly shocks you out of your reverie, "Did you hear what I said?"
"Uh--no," you admit, hurriedly pulling your eyes away from where the dimples of his back disappear beneath the towel and onto the boring, beige walls, "Sorry, it's just been a long day."
"No worries," he chuckles, that same, friendly smile on his face.
Only, when he turns to lay his face back onto the table with a roll of his perfect shoulders, you swear you hear a muffled "looked like something caught your eye for a second there..."
And like that, the two of you continue on. Him, making joke after joke - getting more and more suggestive as the days go on.
One day, after a particularly rough work out, you manage to wrangle him on the table. His sore legs scream for help with every massaging touch.
"Fuck," he curses, legs shaking in your hand, "Can you go a bit easier, love? Think I'm liable to pass out at this rate."
You chuckle, pressing into the spot harder, "Trust me, you'll feel better after this."
"I dunno," he grunts, biting his cheek, "Look, it usually means that something feels good when my legs start shaking. But this is just--fuck--"
His words are cut off by a wince, but they stick in your mind nonetheless. A notable runner-up comes a week later. You'd twisted your ankle at the gym just an hour before Kyle's appointment. Your foot had been so sore you'd had a hard time standing straight.
"You okay? Need some Tylenol or something?" he'd commented, worried.
"It's nothing, just twisted it," you'd brushed him off with a smile, "I'll take care of it when I get home."
"You sure?" he'd laughed, looking down at your ankle, "It looks like it hurts. Might just have to trade places with you today, get you on the table instead."
You'd laughed along and made some snide joke about him trying to get out of another painful session. And yet, you can't deny that his voice had lingered in your head long after he'd left the room that day.
It all comes to a head one week when you misjudge the time of your appointment with Kyle and accidentally walk in five minutes early...
...Only to see him with his jeans halfway down the hips you'd been massaging not two days earlier, a big, covered bulge front and center of his unzipped fly. And from the minute you walk in, you swear you can feel the heat building between the two of you. And when that friendly smile drops, you know one thing for sure now: Gaz had never wanted to settle for "just friends" to begin with.
When he gently reaches for your wrist to pull you into the room, bending you over the massage table this time, it's safe to say his strong hands, beautiful body, and hard cock put all of your fantasies to shame. That, and he's decidedly unfriendly when he steals your phone out of your purse, wordlessly entering his phone number while you're still sexed out and dazed on top of the massage table.
-
Ghost, however, is not friendly. Not friendly in the slightest.
Your first meeting - if it could even be counted as one - consisted of about two words and about ten awkward grunts from the masked man. When you handed him the consent forms, your hands felt like they were dripping with sweat. And when he ended up on your table a week later, you almost felt like you were being held at gunpoint when you uncorked the bottle of oil.
He was silent the entire time. Well, for the most part. His only interactions with you consisted of low, breathy sighs as you worked through a knot. Or a small, wordless grunts when you found a spot that he liked. If he found your hands slowing in their ministrations, your eyes lingering on where his scarred pelvis disappeared beneath the towel, he'd snap you back to attention with a single command.
"Love," he'd growl, muscles tensing dangerously underneath your hands, "This is your job, innit? So do it then."
And even if you still harbored the smallest bit of wariness about the guy, you had to admit:
Ghost was big. Like, really, really big.
His feet nearly dangled off of your table with how tall he was. He had to fold his arms underneath his head because his shoulders were too broad to fit on the cushions. You can't even fit your fingers around one half of his massive arm. And his hands - god, his hands. They looked almost twice the size of your own. Some small, timid part of you muses, "if he started swinging, he'd take me out with one hit."
But the other, more prominent side of you thinks...
He would have no problem pinning you underneath him, popping the buttons on your shirt, spreading your legs. He could pick you up, push you against the wall, and take what he wanted - fuck you hard enough that your coworkers could hear it through the drywall.
And then all those breathy groans he tried so hard to muffle in the crook of his elbow would be well and truly yours.
And with those thoughts coursing through your mind...really, it isn't a surprise when he finds your eyes lingering on where the towel covers his half-hard cock. After so many appointments watching you try to hide your obvious attraction to him, he found you looking at his crotch a lot these days.
And when you begin massaging his abs, running your hands down from his plush pectorals to the beginning of the v-line on his pelvis, he doesn't miss the way your hands twitch against his hipbone. Like this, leaned over him, you can barely see the tip of his cock pressed up against his belly button, drops of precum gathering in the hair there.
So lost in your own trance, you don't even register that your hands have stopped moving until he emits an amused scoff. And when his calloused hand pushes yours away, using the tip of his finger to fold the towel back just enough to expose his leaking cock to your eager eyes, you can't even begin to deny the way your blood boils in your veins.
"You're staring," he tells you lowly, watching how you bite your lips at every twitch of his dick.
"M'sorry," your stunted voice replies, "It's just that you're so...big."
"Mm," he hums, reaching down to give himself a teasing tug; the oil lubes him up nicely, "Big in the ways that count."
You don't reply, you only watch him touch himself with rapt attention, practically drooling.
"You wanna touch me here too?" he teases, getting off on the clueless flush you wear, "It's your job, innit? So do it, slag."
As a massage therapist, you took pride in taking away your patients' pain. Sprains, aches, limps - they all cowered before you. And yet, when you leave your own office with a limp in your step and a ten digit phone number scrawled on the back of your hand, you can do nothing more than smile.
It's safe to say your clothes are well and truly ruined by the time you make it home. And it wasn't from the massage oil.
-
Soap is...well, he's just as bombastic as he is in the field on your table.
In the beginning, he was a bit awkward. He flinched and shocked every time you hit a sore spot, a red flush high on his cheeks. For the first few appointments, he can barely field a conversation with you. And even when he gets over his stunted silence, he can hardly keep the stutter out of his voice. For his sake, you try not to laugh anytime he makes an awkward comment.
However, Johnny has always been a firecracker. He throws himself into each and every challenge without a second thought. And while it's paid off nicely in his professional life, it hasn't always been kind on his body.
As the weeks go on, he shows up on your table more often than anyone else. He even manages to nag you into a few private sessions just to ease his aching back after particularly grueling workouts.
"C'mon, bonnie," you hear his familiar whine over the phone, "Gimme twenty minutes. Just twenty. I dinnae mean to whinge, but the Cap'n's cross today. Had me running laps 'til I keeled over. M'legs feel like toothpicks."
And more often than not, you give in to his demands.
While Johnny sometimes eats away at your personal time, you can't help but take a liking to him. After all, his sunny personality and witty turn of phrase would keep anyone entertained. It's just...his brawny body doesn't fail to be the star of every single wet dream you could ever conjure. His thighs are massive and strong, and his chest looks so muscled and soft you can't help but dream of laying against them.
And it certainly doesn't help that his sore body oftentimes makes him the most vocal out of all four of them. That, and his entire body seems to come alight underneath your fingertips with every bruising touch.
"Oh, fuck," his hand shoots out suddenly to grab you around the wrist, pressing you harder into where you're massaging his hip, "Just like that, bonnie. Fuck, you're so good at that..."
And as the weeks go on, you can't help but work harder and harder, relishing in every groan and praise that drops from his lips.
"God, you're perfect," he tells you one night as you massage his thigh.
"Can you--can you go just a bit lower? It's just...my hip's fucked. Can't even walk straight," he chuckles with another week, his pale face deepening into a sheepish, red blush. Looking away from your face, he edges down the towel to expose his sore hip. The next groan he lets out is stifled, his arm thrown over his face - as if the two of you still had even a shred of decency left between each other.
And now that you've solidified your friendship, he's not as awkward anymore. Yes, he still flushes when you first walk in, his nude body on display. But the minute you begin to work into his tense muscles, it all washes away.
Only, during one session, you begin to notice how your hands have a different effect on him than you'd ever seen before.
You're massaging his hip again, pressing into it with nearly your full weight. After a week of hard work, Johnny's beyond decorum, biting into his lip as he tries to stifle loud, relieved moans with each and every knead.
And when you hit one sweet spot in particular, you don't miss a twitch beneath the towel.
"Right there," he tells you breathlessly, "That's - that's where it hurts."
And just like he tells you, you press into it again. And with every move, you watch him get harder and harder beneath the cover, the muscles in his legs tensing while you work through the knot. The towel skews to the side, and even as his aching, red cock is exposed to the air, he hardly takes notice - too caught up in your touch to think straight.
"God, bonnie," he grunts roughly, jerking beneath you hands, "Fuck--"
And to your (pleasant) surprise, the next move finds more than just oil lubing up your palms.
He cums with a grunt, untouched, naked beneath your eyes. And you watch as his ejaculate paints up and over his slick abs, his entire stomach clenching while he rides out the pleasure.
At the very least, he has the sense to be embarrassed about it. For a good moment, he can do nothing more than sit there panting, his arm over his eye while he hurriedly pulls the towel back up.
"I'm - God, I'm sorry, bonnie. I swear I didn't mean to," he blurts out, uncovering his eyes to send you a look of desperate sincerity.
However, when he sees you staring down at his slick, semen covered stomach, an undeniable heat in your eyes...
Well, the shame flees to the back of his mind. Without even trying, he's hard underneath the towel within minutes. And at your lack of a reply, he can't help but cut into your personal time just one more time.
"Bonnie..." he asks, trying to hide the eager look in his eye, "Think we could go another twenty minutes? I promise I'll make it worth your while."
-
HM YEP OKAY WOW CAN YOU TELL THESE GET LONGER AND LONGER THE MORE I THINK ABOUT THEM lkjaljdsflkafj
anyway ;-; this is me venting after a very long week at school. Hope you guys enjoyed ❤️
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yawnderu · 3 days
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I vote threesome!
Okay I know people want revenge… i do to a bit
Think about it, John, outside of work, knows Simon; knows what the man has been through. Knows that Simon can’t fathom love nor does he think he deserves it, like I get it, we got hurt but maaaaybe with John’s help, perhaps— we could have a poly relationship.
Totally not because I want a John x Reader x Ghost story or anything
[Corrupted Anon]
>About this
That's exactly it!! Price likely knew Simon before he became Ghost, so he has seen him rise and fall, he knows exactly what Simon has been through and genuinely admires him, part of the reason why he handpicked Simon to be one of his men.
He understands how complicated it is for Simon to even open up— hell, Simon was a lone wolf before he realized he needs others in order to survive, hence why he accepted to become a part of the 141, yet he's stuck not even being able to explain the reader why Simon is the way he is.
He can't tell her Simon has feelings for her and wants her, because Simon's past is not his to discuss. He doesn't even know if Simon is going to tell her about his past, how does one explain he went through hell and back in Mexico just to have his family killed years later? Simon doesn't want to taint her with that knowledge.
So what options does Simon have? Months later, he's simply stuck seeing his Captain with the girl of his dreams, the girl he let go, and while part of him is happy for both of them, there's still that lingering feeling of possessiveness and love. Of knowing that you absolutely adored Simon, and no matter how selfish it is, he loves you back— Price knows it, and Simon knows it too.
I'm excited to start writing the more interesting things in Part II that I have planned, but they'll definitely have a happy ending. They all deserve it. :')
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konigsblog · 17 hours
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Which 141 member do you think is most likely to resort to blackmail to get laid 👀
probably price, but i know for a fact that soap wouldn't hesitate whatsoever - anything for pussy !!
tw: blackmail, dub-con/non-con. 🔞
it's truly sick, and you didn't expect this at all. your captain and his sergeant come to you with hungry and debauched eyes, seeming almost too eager and excited, worrying you with the bulges in their trousers are obvious, as well as their playful, yet spiteful grins curl the sides of their mouth.
they'd managed to fake evidence of you doing something that was forbidden which would lead to serious punishments. you don't even remember what it was they were accusing you of, all you remember is being threatened and intimidated, price setting up a camera whilst they took turns using your tied, bound body.
forced to stay silent, you cried silently and meekly. you were confused, and couldn't comprehend exactly what was going on. you were too anxious about getting in serious trouble and having horrid consequences for whatever you'd done to upset the pair. and it was obviously johnny's idea; he made no effort to hide it, his enjoyment and how desperately he wanted to get into your panties.
it was truly sickening, and agonizing. but, who were you to say anything? just a rookie attempting to trash their reputation and position as your superior. ;(
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