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shycloudkitty · 2 days ago

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SPECTACULAR GIMME 14 OF THEM RIGHT NOW.

Think I need someone older

Think I need someone older, just a little bit colder. take the weight off your shoulders, think I need someone older ft. ex boyfriends dad John Price tw. age gap [reader is 22 and John is in his mid-late 40s], oral sex [male and female receiving] mentions of cheating [not by price or reader], insinuation of multiple rounds, PIV sex, creampie, mentions of a bitchy ex-wife, fem!reader, female anatomy, illusion to toxic and psychologically abusive relationship a/n. this turned out a lot longer than i anticipated it to be or i intended but when i started i just couldn't stop. price also works in security in this. this is also the first ime in ages that i have written something this long, so i apologise if it non-sensical or it makes no sense. word count. 3769 banner by @kaitsawamura

ex boyfriends dad John Price who had grown to hate the man his son at become, he was spoiled and entitled and thought he was gods gift to mankind always looking down on others and it was all because of his ex-wife. The woman worshiped her son, saw him as her prized possession, she did everything for him. Washing, cooking, cleaning and never punished him for anything he did and turned him into the monster he was today. John had tried to change her ways, tried to punish him and instill some discipline and human empathy into him but his wife wouldn’t have any of it. If John took his electronics away for misbehaving, his wife would give them back in 5 minutes. If he grounded him for any period of time, he knew all he had to do was ask his mom if he could go out and she would immediately tell him yes and to be safe and have fun. Any time he showed disrespetful behaviour, to them and to the other people she would always say ‘boys will be boys’. It was one of the many things that led to their eventual divorce when their son was 15. They shared custody and anytime his son was over Price tried to correct his behaviour, believing it was never too late but all of his work would be undone anytime he would go back to his mothers and by the time his son was 18 and stopped coming over as mandated by the courts, it was too late. Now his son only came round when he wanted something or was in the type of trouble he didn’t want his mother to know about.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who met you for the first time at his son's 21st birthday, he didn’t plan on staying long and was only going to show face, put some money on the tab for his son and give him his present. And there are you, a pretty little thing wrapped in the arms of his asshole son and he decides to stay just a little longer than he planned to talk to you. You are oh so sweet when he talks to you, telling him you had heard good things about him from his ex-wife and son (which he instantly doubted, his wife was still bitter he went through with the divorce and his son saw him as this hard-handed father always dishing out punishments he believed he didn’t deserve), you voice is positively dripping with syrup and John feels his heart pick up in a way he hadn’t felt in years. But as he walks with you, he watches. Closely. Watches the way you're never too far away from his son, how you talk to nobody but him, how your eyes are always searching for his son in the room, how you rub your hand up and down your arms to comfort yourself as you watch his son talk, no, flirt with every other woman in the room. It makes something in his gut twist itself into knots because his son as this absolutely beautiful and sweet girl right there and he was just throwing it away

ex boyfriends dad John Price who meets you a few times in the next year, in cafes or supermarkets or even just when you’re out for a walk in the local park, you always look so pretty especially in the warmer months when you’re out and about in little summer dresses and short skirts, the warm summer sun shining on your skin and giving you a gorgeous glow, and you are always so so nice to him, making conversation with soft smiles and wide eyes but he notices you're a littlemore skittish, always checking your phone and looking around you anxiously as if someone was watching you, how your clothes start to get a bit more conservative the little hints of your gorgeous skin now being hidden behind long sleeves and trousers. When he asks if you’re okay you give him a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes and tell him everythings fine, the feeling he had in his gut when he first met you gets worse. He knew something was wrong and though he couldn’t pinpoint what it was he knew it had to do with his son.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who hasn't seen you for a few months since he last saw you in December, the last time he saw you all the warmth had drained from your face and your eyes and though you were smiling there was an undeniable sadness and pain just rolling off you in waves. It broke his heart to see someone who was once so full of life become lifeless, like all the light and warmth that had radiated from you when you first meet was sucked out and replaced with a deep darkness that penetrated the very fibers of your soul. When he see’s you again, its Spring and the world has started to gain a bit more of its colour back, and so have you. You’re in a local bar, your friends surrounding you as you laugh and drinkand dance, John watches from the bar. Watches the way your eyes light up and your smile finally reached your eyes, the way your cheeks are dusted in a small pink hue as the alcohol flushes your skin. He smiles as he brings his whiskey to his lips and turns away from your group, who unbeknownst to him were trying to convince you to go up and talk to him despite the fact that he was your ex-boyfriends dad. They rolled their eyes and shoved at your shoulder every time you tried to brush them off, saying what better way to get revenge against your cheating, toxic ex-boyfriend than to sleep with his dad? And with the encouragement of another shot you decide to go ‘fuck it’ and walk up to the bar, sliding in comfortably beside John your hand falling right beside his your pinky finger brushing against as you turn your head to look at him only to find him already looking at you, his eyes raking up and down your body. He wasn’t going to admit it out loud, at least not to you at this very moment, but gods was he glad you were showing a little bit of skin again, the tight crop top you had on giving him the perfect view of your cleavage and leaving the delcious skin of your sides exposed while the short skirt you wore hugged the curve of your hips in such a teasing manner that he just wanted to reach out and palm the fat with his big hands just to feel it squish between his fingers, and your thighs gods he just wanted to bury his face inbetween them and feel the fat press against his head.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who smiles at you, warm and welcoming, eyes twinkling with mischief and mirth as he greets you with a friendly ‘hi’, you give him a flirtatious smile and a ‘hi’ back. You quickly fall into an easy conversation, catching up with one another and skirting over the glaring question of what happened. You talk about your classes and how glad you are to be graduating soon and, saying how you’ve already secured a graduate position in one of the top companies within your industry and he tells you some stories of his time in the military and when he tells you about a scottish man called ‘Soap’ you can’t help but giggle and ask how he got that name and when John tells you its classified you pout at him and he damn near pulls you in for a kiss right there. Time flies by so quickly when you’re talking to him that you don’t even notice your friends leave, your best friend sending a text letting you know everyone got home safely and to use protection and not to do anything she wouldn’t do (which causes you to roll your eyes and John can’t help the dirty thoughts and images that flashes through his mind when he sees it), or how the numbers in the bar keep dwindling down until its just the two of you left and the bartender gives you a cheeky smile as you close out your tab (John insisting on paying for yours as well).

ex boyfriends dad John Price who insists on walking you home when you’re ushered out of the bar, his hand casually slipping around shoulder as he pulls you against him, using the fact that the spring night is chilly and you didn’t bring a jacket out with you and he just radiates warmth, which instantly spreads through you at his touch. Starting in your cheeks, causing an adorable flush that quickly spreads through your entire body settle deep in your stomach and your core. You continue to chat as you walk, more stories flowing between the you and you flush even brighter at the big belly laugh he lets out as you share your drunken stories from freshers week when you first started university. Before you know it, you’re outside your apartment and you dwindle for a bit conversation dying down but neither of you wanting to say goodbye yet. It takes a nothing more than a few nanoseconds for you to decide to invite him up for a drink, telling him you had a bottle of 15 year old single malt your father gifted you for being accepted into your dream job after college and he accepts even quicker.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who follows behind you, his hand in yours and his heart beating rapidly in his chest feeling like a goody teenager as he crosses the threshold of apartment, he doesn’t even let the door fully close before he’s turning you around and pinning you to it. One hand gripping your hips and the other cradling your jaw like you are the most precious thing in the world, completely contradicting the way he kisses you. Its deep, harsh, bruising and full of passion, lips slotting against yours like they were always meant to be there. The kiss is absolutely intoxicating, one hand reaches out to fist at his shirt while the other tangles in his hair at the back of his head, your grab is a little tighter than you expected and tension at the back of his skull causes a moan to ripple from deep in Johns chest and spill into your mouth and you arch into him, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him, your hand moving from his chest to grip at his shoulders. You dig your nails into his skin beneath the soft fabric of his shirt as his hand moves from your hip to grab at your ass and pull you against him, his hard cock pressing into the plush of your stomach through his jeans. John pulls away from the kiss far to quickly for your liking and you go to chase his lips but he quickly buries his head in your neck, lips pressing against your pulse point as you pant and move your neck to give him better access to the skin, his teeth graze your skin as the kisses turns to bites and the moan you let our is absolute music to John’s ears.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who feels a little guilty about what he’s doing, the rational part of his brain at war with the emotional part, telling him it’s wrong and he shouldn’t be doing this, apart from the fact that you were more than 20 years younger than him you were also his son ex-girlfriend for gods sake and maybe part of him was doing this to spite his son and maybe you were doing the same thing, he didn’t know the details of what happened you didn’t elaborate when you told him you had broken up just after new year, maybe you were just doing this for revenge to screw with his son, to show him what he missed but the emotional part is screaming at him that this is right, that right there is where he’s meant to be. He found you attractive, had since he first saw you, but it was more than that he thought you were amazing and kind and so so smart, he enjoyed every second of the small amount of time he got to spend with you idly chatting when you meet, you made his heart beat so erratically in his chest that he was sure it was going to rip out of this chest but he wouldn’t even mind if it meant he go to give it to you for safe keeping because he knew there was no better place it than in your hands. Eventually the rational side wins and John’s panting as he pulls back from your neck, pupils wide as he looks in your eyes. You see a hint of hesitation in his eyes, and something inside you shrinks back a little and the heat that had been pooling inside of you was slowly turning stone cold but the way John rubs his tumb against your cheek stops it from flaming our completely. His voice is quiet as he ask if you want this, he’s still breathless as the words pass it lips and you barely hear it but when it registers in your brain you are instantly saying ‘yes’ and nodding your head. That’s all he needs for his emotional side to win and he is pressing his lips to yours once again and his hands are gripping onto your thighs as he easily hoists you up into his arms as you wrap your legs around his waist.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who doesn’t even take you to the bedroom, instead he gently places you on the sofa as his hands reach out to remove your shirt, throwing it over his shoulder hapazardly (you notice in the morning it’s hanging of the edge of your lamp shade), his lips trailing down your throat and across your collarbone intermittently changing from kisses to bites to sucks something akin to pride blooming in his chests as the purple marks bloom across your skin. Heat blooms where his lips touch and you grind up into him, the fabric of your skirt having rid up when he lifted you and being bunched around your hips leaving your panties and pussy exposed and allowing you to seek a delicious friction as your clit nudges against the fabric of his jeans through your panties, it helps that the fabric is tented from Johns hard cock. The moan you let out is almost pornographic from just the simple movement and John groans at the sound, moving his hips to meet yours as you grind just to hear it again.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who had planned to take his time with you, to learn exactly what made you come undone underneath him and to draw out orgasm after orgasm from you until you were a trembling mess who couldn’t even remember his own name, he wanted to make you moan and scream until your throat was raw and watch those pretty little eyes roll to the back of your head as pleasure overwhelmed your body, but he could feel the wetness of your underwear through his jeans and the way you nails dug into his skin through the fabric of his shirt so hard he was sure they would leave little crescent indents on the skin and bruises that would last days, ones he would proudly show off and he decided fuck taking his time. He quickly removed his lips from your skin and you mourned their loss but the feeling was quickly replaced with pleasure as he moved down and presses a kiss to your clit through your underwear as John hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down your thighs once again throwing it over his shoulder haphazardly not caring where they landed as his hand wrapped around your thigh and he dove into your pussy. He licks at your clit, tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves and pleasure shoots through your entire body, sparks lighting up your nervous system and it feel like every nerve comes alive more the fire inside of you heating up to a new degree with every swipe of his tongue and as John presses a finger to your entrance gently to your entrance, at first testing the resistance before slowly pushing into you and curving in such away it presses against your g-spot and its almost like he can directly inside of you with the precision he hits it at. The pleasure causes a moan and an ‘oh god’ to tumble from your lips and your eyes roll black, which John watches from between your legs and as your head falls back against the arm of the chair he nips gently at your clit the tiny bit of pain causes a whine to tumble from your lips and a smirk forms on Johns lips

ex boyfriends dad John Price who says “eyes on me sweetheart” and the ways the words tumble from his lips, deep and rumbly and dripping with heat that almost makes you melt. And oh god the vibration against your clit has you almost seeing stars and pushes you closer to the edge but you quickly snap your head back so you can look down at John who presses another kiss to your clit as a reward but then he pulls his finger from inside you and for the briefest second you think you’re being punished but he replaces his mouth on your clit with his thumb and starts circling your clit while he raises the rest of his body to give you a bruising kiss, your tongues mixing together as you taste yourself on him and with one last flick of his thumb John feels you tense underneath him as your orgasm rocks your body. You feel like your whole body is on fire, little fireworks lighting up every single nerve ending you have and causing you to moan into John’s mouth, your fingers scramble to to hold onto something, anything to ground you, eventually tangling in the fabric of John’s shirt as you ride out the wave of your orgasm. Your chest heaves as you come down from your high and you separate your lips from John to mumble the words “you have too many clothes one”, he chuckles at you and ducks down to place a kiss against your pulse point again before sitting up and pulling off his shirt first and then reaching down to unbuckle his belt, his jeans and boxers joining the mess of clothes all over the floor. Your eyes scan his body, his years in the military and security doing wonders for his body, corded muscles bulging in his arms as he brings his arms down on side of yours head forcing you to look him in the face once again where you’re meet with inquisitive and teasing eyes as he asks “like what you see sweetheart?”

ex boyfriends dad John Price who doesnt expect or wait for an answer as he presses his lips to yours in another searing kiss, lips and tongues melding together its almost like you were trying to drain each other life essence out just through the kiss. When John pulls away from you, a string of saliva connects you and only breaks when he dips his tongue out to swipe across his lips as he checks in with you again to make sure that this is what you want and when you nod, he takes one of his hands by your head and gently guides himself inside you. The stretch is absolutely delicious and a moan rips through you, starting deep in your chest and falling from your lips before you can even stop it but John doesn’t want you to stop it instead he grips your chin and tells you to be louder that he wants to hear every little sound that tumbles from your lips and so you do. With every thrust inside of you and every circle of Johns finger against your clit your moans get louder and more uncontrolled every fibre of your being filled with nothing but pleasure and your mind numb to any other thought than Johns name and the pleasure he is giving you. You cum again with John inside you, your nerve endings lighting up like the sun itself as you clench around him, the tightness of your pussy clamping down on Johns dick causing a jagged moan to fall from John’s lips. He knew he wasn’t going to last, he was already so worked up from kissing you and eating you out that he knew he was going to cum soon. And as you clench around him again, a mini ograsm richocting from your last one, he groans into you neck and takes your hip into a bruising grip, fingers and nail digging in to the plush flesh, he can’t himself as she sheathes himself inside of you right up to the hilt as his own orgasm rocks through him and he fills you with his cum. Your both panting, your chests heaving as you both come down from your high with ecstasy and adrenaline filling your systems and you notice, John is still hard inside of you so you say with a smile, “another round?” which may have turned into 2, including a round in the shower as he tried to clean you up from the previous rounds.

ex boyfriends dad John Price who decided that night that he wanted this to be more, more than just sex. He wanted you in your entiretly, he wanted not just your heart but your soul. He wanted to know every secret you kept hidden buried deepen inside you, he wanted to know the simplest most basic parts of you, your favour colour and favourite food, what made you laugh and smile and what pisses you off. He wanted to hold your hopes and dreams in his hands and support you to reach to them, wanted to hold your hand as you rose and comfort you when you fell. He wanted your happiness and your pain. He just wanted you. Every part of you, no matter how knarled and ugly you thought it was because to him you would always be the most wonderful creature the gods had ever created.

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moody-alcoholic · 3 days ago

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Labor

Write Price fluff to get rid of the block. It will be quick they said.

John Price x reader. WC: 1.6k. CW: Pregnacy, childbirth. Disclamer: I have never had a baby.

___

Price is the epitome of cool and collected. Throw him on a battlefield, he’ll order his men into oncoming fire if he has to. Throw him in a room with an angry general and he won't even flinch. Bomb to defuse? Just another day at the office.

But you in labor, screaming in the passenger seat of the car. “John!” You call gritting your teeth and the seatbelt in your hand.

He’s terrified.

“It’s a red light love.” He says gripping the steering wheel.

“It’s 3 in the fucking morning. There’s no traffic.” You say pointing out at the empty road.

“It’s okay love, we’ll be there soon.” He says his free hand landing on your thigh. You cry through the contraction.

You’re going to kill him, you’re going to kill him for not driving through the red light, for knocking you up in the first place. You’re still gritting your teeth as he drives on now the light is green.

You should have gone sooner, you should have called an ambulance. At least then you wouldn’t have to wait for green lights. His hand leaves your thigh so he can change gear and you reach out to grip his arm. He flexes his bicep as you dig your nails in.

You’re huffing your other hand pressing on your swollen belly.

“That's it, love, keep breathing. In and out.” You turn to look at him. He quickly looks at you, there’s a worried look on his face he’s trying to hide behind the smile. You grit your teeth again pushing down on the top of your bump.

You’re going to kill him.

It’s not long before you’re driving into the hospital parking garage. By the time you’ve found a spot there’s another contraction. John jumps out the car while you reach down to unclip your seatbelt. He jogs round the front of the car opening your door. You reach out for his shoulders to support yourself.

He presses his forehead to yours as you pant through the contraction. As soon as it’s finished you step out of the car using John and the door to support yourself. You let out long breaths feeling unsteady on your feet. He maneuvers you around so he can close the door behind you.

“Okay, c’mon let’s get you inside.” He says wrapping one of his arms around you waist supporting you as you lean against him. One of your hands lands on the hood of the car.

“The bag John.” You say as you hear him lock the car.

“Oh shit.” You hear the same beep as he unlocks it again. You feel him hesitate not knowing if he should let you go or not. You turn out his grip bracing yourself on the front of the car. He lets you go rushing to the back of the car.

You’re going to kill him for forgetting the bag.

You hear the boot open and close, even though it’s only taken him a few seconds it feels like minutes. You’re grateful for his support again when his arm slips back round your waist.

“Alright, let’s go. Nice and easy.” He says taking you towards the entrance of the maternity center. You’re slow, each footstep takes effort. John is good at giving you the support you need though, his strong arms keep you pressed against him as you walk through the automatic doors up to the reception.

“I called before we left, name’s Price.” John says to the receptionist. You feel another contraction coming as your hands reach out to grip the counter. You close your eyes, swinging your hips from side to side as you cry out through gritted teeth.

“How far apart have the contractions been?” She asks.

“2 maybe 3 minutes.” John replies as he rubs your back.

“Have her waters broken?”

You’re going to kill the receptionist. You need to push never mind your waters.

Shit, you want to push. John doesn’t even get time to answer.

“I need to push.” You say as the contraction fades. The receptionist calls someone and before you know it you’re being put in a wheelchair. You press down on the top of your bump again, you can’t tell if thats actually helping or not but right now you don’t care.

You’re wheeled down a hall and into a room, there are already midwives in there ready to help you out of the chair.

“Let’s get you up on the bed.” One of them says taking you over and helping you up.

“John,” you call looking round the room. He’s at your side in an instant, his arm wrapping round your shoulders, his other hand grabbing yours. You’re barely paying attention to the questions being bombarded at you.

You hear John answer them and you know they’re right so you just focus on the midwife's instructions. They’ve already got your lower clothes off and you’re pressing your knees up spreading your legs. You thought you would be nervous about being exposed in front of strangers.

You don’t care, you’re in too much pain to care you just want to push.

“Okay, we’ve got an eager little one here.” You hear one of them say. You cry out as another contraction starts, you squeeze John’s hand, you have to apologise to him when this is over.

“After this contraction can you push for us?” You hear one of them ask. You nod looking down at her between your legs, she's putting gloves on. Maybe this will be over sooner than you think. You knew you should have left sooner.

When the contraction ends you grit down and push, pressing your chin to your chest.

“That’s it, keep going.” Someone calls. You keep going until you can’t anymore throw your head back into the pillows and panting.

“That's it, one more big one.” The midwife calls. You’re trying to catch your breath but before you can even do that it feels like they’re asking you again.

John kisses your hand in his. “C’mon love, you’re doing so well.” He says, you can hear a shake in his voice.

You look up at him before holding your breath and pushing again. You can feel sweat building up on your body, it’s hot but not hot at the same time. There’s pain, so much pain, you’re trying to remember this is worth it but you can’t focus on much now.

“That’s it, keep going, keep going!” The midwife calls. You push for as long as you can until your head starts to swim. Then you hear a cry.

Your eyes instantly snap open, you look down as your son is raised up.

“Congratulations. It’s a boy.” One of the midwives says as the baby is placed on your chest. You look down at him crying in your arms. There’s no more pain anymore, just your son crying on your chest, your perfect, precious boy.

“Is the dad cutting the cord?” Someone asks. You’re too busy paying attention to another midwife whipping his face before wrapping him up in a blanket to notice John has left your side. Suddenly you see him standing by your legs with scissors in his hands.

You miss him cutting the cord but you see the expression of pure joy on his face as he comes back over to you. His eyes are locked on your son. His crying wanes as you wrap your arms around him, one of his hands sticking out the top of the blanket, he grips it with his tiny fingers. John’s hand is still on your shoulder, his other hand reaches over to cup the baby's head. His thumb brushes the cheek.

He looks even smaller in your arms all of a sudden. You're cooing at him, watching as he takes his first blinks. His lips slapping together showing his tiny tongue hidden behind the toothless mouth.

John’s hand comes round to brush the top of its head. He has dark hair like him, and blue eyes. You look up at him and smile, he’s beaming down at the little bundle of joy in your arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” He says looking up at you resting his forehead on yours. You let out a breath as he kisses you, it feels good. Maybe it’s the hormones but you could lay there and kiss him forever.

The sound of the door opening breaks you from the kiss. You look up to see Johnny stood there frozen, one hand on the door handle the other round a bottle of what looks like scotch.

“You called Johnny?” You ask, looking back at John.

“I called Simon.” He says, you raise an eyebrow. “I panicked.” He shrugs.

“You panicked?” You almost want to laugh looking back at the door hearing another person. This time you see Simon come up behind Johnny. You feel embarrassed all of a sudden, the midwives still fussing round your half naked body.

“Wait outside.” John calls. Johnny still stands there frozen as Simon’s hands grip his shoulders.

“Congratulations.” He calls before dragging Johnny out into the hall. You can’t help but chuckle looking back down at the baby in your arms.

“Have you thought of a name?” One of the midwives asks.

“I like William.” You say, reaching over with a finger to stroke his tiny hand. You look up at John. “What do you think?”

“I like William too.” He says kissing your forehead.

“I love you.” You say resting your head back and looking up at John.

“I love you too. I’m so proud of you.” He says pulling you against him wrapping his arms around you and your son. You close your eyes letting yourself enjoy being in the moment with them both. Safe and happy forever.

___

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tojisteddy · 1 day ago

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Something you’d learned about John Price after one month of marriage, is that he is just as hardheaded (if not more) as any other middle aged man when trying to put something together.

He was only in his early 40s but gosh, could that mess act like an old man sometimes.

He completely waved you off when you suggested he take a look at the instructions for the vanity he bought as your wedding gift because, and I quote, ‘don’t need that when I can put it together with my own eyes, lovie.’

After back and forth for twenty minutes, with a huff, you threw your arms up you gave up. Deciding it’d be best to just go watch re-runs of the Golden Girls than to watch your stubborn older husband struggle.

And you didn’t hover, but simply peak your head in every hour because the stubborn guy looked like a dream working on- well- anything Price did for you around the house. In an overly corny shirt that said ‘only fans’ that had literal electric fans on it, but it hugged his pudgy stomach and large muscles perfectly, plaid grey pajama pants that you could very easily see his manhood swing with every little movement, and a confused look on his bearded face as he looked from the picture of the vanity and at whatever mess he had created—

You could’ve eaten him.

Literally.

You decided against it.

10 pm is when the hammer hit the nail on it’s head. John frustrated and just a tad sweaty, looked at you with those ocean eyes of defeat as you leaned on the door frame with that all but knowing smirk on your face.

“Tell me you didn’t throw the instructions away baby.”

You pondered for a second, John’s eyes filling with worry that made you laugh.

“Oh come awn, Price. Your lovin wife knows better than to actually listen tuh what yer sayin.” You said, revealing the little booklet from behind your back, “Just think it’d be easier if we did it together, wouldn’t it?”

And it was.

You quickly made the last pizza delivery order of the night, half pepperoni and half cheese of course, filling your stomachs with it and wine that sat on the floor as your tipsily fumbled your way through putting together the object you’d intended to. The room filling with both of your laughter, the sound of a drill and you singing along to ‘Just The Two of Us’ by Billy Withers & Grover Washington Jr that played from the speaker. Swearing up and down that this was a classic hit John should know.

The ends of John’s eyes crinkling up because, shit, that man loved the absolute hell out of you even if it hadn’t been long since you’d known each other or gotten married, he’d fallin in love with you a little more every. single. day.

The vanity was finished around 2 am, ending with sloppy kisses, John lifting you to your joint bedroom to give you a little extra loving for helping him out.

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toolewdarts · 4 hours ago

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One day someone will worship your writing like scripture op

florist!reader x butcher!tf141 🫣 reader whose job involves cultivating life and beauty in bouquets. tf141 whose job involves blood and dealing with dead meat. any and all thoughts of yours on this would eat 🙏

Hey!! First of all, thanks so much for the ask / request! But I have to apologize because I don't really write all of 141, mostly just Price. However, your prompt inspired whatever this has turned out to be, featuring butcher!Price - I hope you'll still enjoy it! ♥️

carve your name into my bones

【 AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist 】 ✦ John Price x OC ✦ Butcher John Price carves through flesh and bone - he never expected a florist’s touch to cut the deepest. ✦ 7.1k words ✦ tags/cw: butcher!john price, florist!oc, smut, piv sex, creampie, grinding, desperation, pov third person

The scent of blood clung to John Price.

No matter how many times he scrubbed his hands, how hot the water ran, how deep the soap burned into his skin – it lingered, woven into the calluses of his hands, caught beneath his fingernails, trapped underneath the fabric of his clothes. Butchery was a craft of precision: sharp knives, clean cuts, steady hands, careful separation of flesh from bone. The muscle knew what to do before the mind did, guided by instinct and experience. He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t flinch. Meat was meat, whether on a battlefield or a butcher’s block. He had carved through flesh in war and in peace, through man and beast.

Everyone knew who he was. A butcher, ex-soldier, harbinger of death – taking lives in every profession he mastered. The whispers followed him, just like the apprehension in people’s eyes, how they subtly shifted away, giving him space and room to be the monster they imagined him to be.

His knives were lined in perfect order, their blades honed to a lethal sharpness. Everything in his life was structured, clean, compartmentalised, and contained.

It had to be. Order was the one thing he could always control.

His world was cold. The hum of refrigeration units droned on, the low temperatures numbing his skin as he moved through his shop, surrounded by carcasses hanging from metal hooks. Beef, pork, lamb – their pale forms swayed gently in the artificial breeze, their lifeless eyes staring out into the sterile space. The tile floor, perpetually slick with a film of water and blood, offered no warmth beneath his boots. The combined scent of raw meat and antiseptic clung to him, thick and cloying, an invisible shroud he carried everywhere. It was a smell that both repelled and comforted him, a constant reminder of who he was, what he did.

The first time he noticed the flower shop across the street wasn’t because of its pretty colors and beautiful decor. It was because it didn’t belong.

It was an anomaly, a splash of vibrant life in a landscape of grey and grit. A fragile thing, nestled between brick and mortar, standing out from the rough businesses around it. In the mornings, when he wiped the condensation from the glass of his shop, he would see it through the frost: a burst of color among the dull storefronts. Its door was always open, inviting people inside and carrying the scent of flowers and soil into the world.

He never gave flowers much thought before. Temporary things. Fading the moment they were plucked, doomed to wither and die. A waste, really.

And yet, he found his gaze drawn back to the shop across the street –

Back to her.

She moved among the blooms with practiced ease, brushing stems and leaves with her hands and tending to them with a care he did not understand.

Small hands, deft and quick, stained green where his were red.

He hadn’t meant to enter. It had been impulse, a brief lapse in routine that led him through the flower shop’s open door.

The warmth struck him first. It was thick and humid, pressing against his skin and clinging to the fabric of his clothes like something alive . The scent of damp earth, crushed leaves, and the intoxicating sweetness of a thousand blossoms curled into his lungs and settled deep. It was rich, almost overwhelming – so different from the cold sterility of his own shop that he nearly stepped back.

This place was not meant for him. His boots felt too heavy against the wooden floor, his presence an intrusion among the delicate, living things arranged in careful disarray. He felt like an intruder – some beast from another world, unfit to stand among such fragile things.

She stood behind the counter, hands cradling a bundle of stems, her eyes meeting his without a flicker of surprise or apprehension. She didn't flinch. Didn't recoil from the dried blood under his nails. She simply looked at him. She did not avert her gaze like most did.

And for a moment, he could not breathe.

He left without a word.

But he returned. Again and again.

At first, he told himself it was curiosity – nothing more than that. He would stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her work. Her hands moved deftly and certain, arranging each petal and leaf with careful precision. He understood that kind of precision – the quiet, practiced ease of someone who knew their craft intimately. Sometimes, he left without speaking, just a nod in her direction as he walked out. Other times, he lingered, absorbing the peaceful atmosphere, allowing the unfamiliar warmth to settle in his chest.

And eventually, he started to understand why.

It wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t just the routine.

It was the way she made him feel normal.

Here, he wasn’t the butcher. Wasn’t the soldier. Wasn’t someone marked by the scent of blood and steel.

She didn’t stare too long, didn’t measure her words carefully, as if afraid of saying the wrong thing, and didn’t glance at his hands as if searching for something hidden beneath the scars.

She just let him be.

And that did something to him. Something that settled into his bones like an ache he couldn’t name.

It had been a long time since anyone had seen him as just a man.

No reputation. No past. No weight of expectation.

And that – that was what he didn’t know how to hold.

Gratitude had always been an exchange. A life saved. A debt owed. A service provided.

But this?

He wasn’t sure what to do with the feeling of being given something he hadn’t earned.

So, he bought her flowers. A way to repay the unspoken kindness, a way to balance the scales.

He had not really planned it, hadn’t even thought about it, until the coins left his palm, and she wrapped the bundle with practiced movements. The paper crinkled as he took them, and the weight was foreign in his hands – light, delicate, absurdly out of place against the roughness of his skin.

He should have left. Instead, he hesitated.

Then, he offered them back with a motion that felt clumsy and unfamiliar, as if his own body had acted before his mind could catch up.

And then, the thought hit him too late.

What the fuck was he doing? Who buys a florist flowers?

The realization weighed heavy on his chest. It was a stupid, too-late impulse that left him standing there, feeling absurd with something so light and fragile in his hands.

His fingers brushed hers as he pushed them toward her, and for a moment, she only blinked. The touch was light and fleeting, but he felt it – the warmth of her skin, the gentle pressure, the way the moment stretched just a little too long.

She looked at the flowers like they were something precious. Like they meant something. And then, slowly, she smiled. Soft at first. Small. But growing, stretching across her face, bright enough to make something in his chest tighten. Her fingers curled around the bouquet, carefully, as if she needed a moment to take it in.

It wasn’t until she glanced down, blinking quickly, that he noticed the slight shimmer at the corners of her eyes, the way she swallowed, as if pushing back something rising too quickly in her throat.

No one had ever bought her flowers.

Not because she didn’t deserve them, but because people assumed she already had enough. She spent her days giving beauty to others, arranging delicate things for their celebrations, their grief, their confessions of love.

But no one had ever given something back. No one had ever thought to give her something just for herself.

For a moment, she was the one caught off guard. The one with no words. The one who could only look at him, still clutching the bouquet, smiling at him as if trying to hold back something overwhelming.

He left before she could say anything, the urge to retreat to the cold familiarity of his world overwhelming. And yet, he returned.

Again. And again.

It became a ritual. Each time, he bought her flowers, each bouquet different, each purchase without a stated purpose. Each time, she accepted them, her fingers tracing the delicate edges of the petals. Each time, she attempted to offer him something in return. He always refused.

He always shook his head, stepped back, put space between them before it could mean something. He told himself he wasn’t worthy of her gifts, that he couldn’t accept something so pure, so full of life, into his world of death.

Because taking would mean crossing the distance.

To accept. To admit what was happening.

And he could not do that.

Yet, something had shifted.

It was small at first. Subtle. The kind of thing that might have gone unnoticed if he hadn’t been paying attention.

But he was . He was acutely aware of her, of every nuance of her expression, every subtle shift in her demeanor. He caught the way her fingers lingered on the petals after he handed them to her, the way her touch softened, like she was memorising them. He saw it in the way her eyes met his, in the lingering warmth of her smile, in the quiet understanding that passed between them without words.

She set them down more carefully than she should have, as though they meant something more than the thousands of flowers that had passed through her hands before.

And maybe – he had changed too.

At first, he told himself he still came for the flowers, for the ritual between them, for the excuse that let him step inside her world without admitting why.

But that was a lie. Because he found himself lingering longer. Because the warmth of her shop clung to him long after he left. Because the scent of earth and petals stayed on his clothes, sinking into the fabric, into his skin, a reminder that there was something beyond his shop's cold, metallic sterility. A reminder that there was life, and beauty, and warmth, even in a world that often felt cold and harsh. Because something in his world was soft for the first time in a long while.

He noticed the sunlight streaming through his shop window, the dust motes dancing in the air, and the ice crystals forming intricate patterns on the glass. He saw the small details, the subtle shifts in light and shadow, and the quiet beauty that had always been there but had gone unnoticed for so long.

And he did not know how to turn away from it. He didn’t know how to resist the pull he felt towards her.

It was not supposed to be like this. She was not supposed to linger in his mind long after he locked his doors. He was supposed to be immune to such things, hardened by war, by death, by the cold reality of his existence.

And yet, she did. She lingered in his thoughts, a persistent presence that softened the harsh edges of his world.

Then, one day, out of nowhere, she invited him to dinner. It stunned him.

For the first time since this unspoken ritual between them had begun, he was caught off guard, unprepared in a way that felt foreign to him.

This was not a simple sprig of rosemary pressed into his palm. Not a jar of jam left on the counter, waiting for him to accept. This was something else. Something more.

For a moment, he did not move. They had existed within carefully drawn lines, an unspoken agreement neither had dared to acknowledge.

He bought her flowers. She tried to return something in kind, but he always refused. It was simple: a balance held in silence, a dance they performed without ever speaking of it.

But this changed the rules. This was not a fleeting exchange, not something he could leave behind on the counter or shake his head at before walking away. This was an invitation. A quiet request that asked for more than a brief moment at her counter, more than the safe distance he had maintained between them.

He should have said no. It would have been easier. It would have left another line unbroken, another boundary intact, and another reason to believe he was still in control of whatever this had become.

But instead, he offered to cook.

The words left him before he could stop them, before he could consider what it meant to let her step into his world.

Before he could acknowledge the truth – that it wasn’t just about letting her in, it was about the fact that, deep down, he wanted to.

And then, she had nodded, not surprised. Not hesitant. As if she had always known he wouldn’t refuse her forever. As if she had seen beneath his carefully constructed walls, seen the flicker of warmth beneath the surface, and knew that eventually, he would break.

Her smile was small but unmistakable, a quiet warmth that settled across her face like the first touch of sunlight after a long winter. It wasn’t just happiness, it was certainty, calm and unshaken, as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.

And for the first time, he felt it. Not fear, not hesitation – warmth. A gentle, persistent thing pressing against the cold edges of him, finding the places that had long since gone numb and stirring them back to life.

It was unbearable.

Because it made him feel . Because it was soft where everything in him had learned to be hard. Because it seeped into the cracks he had long since sealed shut.

She stepped into his butcher shop that evening, just as he was finishing for the day. The air inside was sharp with the scent of iron and disinfectant, thick with the lingering chill of refrigeration. It was a smell that clung to everything, a constant reminder of the death that permeated this space.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, casting stark shadows across the room, highlighting the deep red stains that would never fully wash out of the grout. Carcasses hung from steel hooks, their weight swaying faintly with each shift of air, their presence heavy, unignorable. The slow, rhythmic drip of blood against tile filled the silence, a sound he had long since stopped noticing.

The counters bore the remnants of his work: carved sections of flesh, bones stacked in careful order, knives laid out in their proper places, each honed to a lethal sharpness. The blade he had just set down was still slick, with a thin sheen of red clinging to the steel. The cutting board beneath his hands was scored deep with years of use.

A lifetime ago, he had seen war. The battlefield had been different, but the weight of bodies, the thick, metallic scent of blood, the raw understanding of what his hands could do – none of it had changed. The setting had changed, and the tools had changed, but the essence remained the same. He was still taking lives, still separating flesh from bone, still carrying the weight of death on his hands.

Most people, even those intending to buy from him, hesitated when they stepped into his domain. Their gazes flickered uneasily over the hanging carcasses, over the knives gleaming beneath the cold light, over him – standing there with an apron still damp with blood, sleeves pushed to his elbows, forearms marred with faded scars that told stories no one asked about.

She did not.

She stepped inside as though it were any other place. As if she were merely crossing the threshold of her own shop, as if there weren’t animals suspended from steel hooks, and as if the blood on his apron was no different than the dirt that darkened her fingertips.

Her eyes flicked over everything; the carcasses, the knives, the deep stain of red against his skin. She took it in. Measured it and absorbed it. But never recoiled.

And he felt it. The way something in his chest tightened, something foreign, something unnameable. The way his body stilled, not out of discipline, not out of control, but out of something unfamiliar, disarming. The way he watched her watch him, waiting for the moment when she would falter, when she would shift her weight, when she would glance away – uncomfortable, realising, reconsidering. Waiting for her to see him as everyone else saw him. As a monster.

But that moment never came. She only looked at him.

And for the first time, it was he who felt like something delicate, something exposed, laid bare beneath a gaze that did not flinch. His breath came slow, measured, though he wasn’t sure why. He felt vulnerable, exposed, as if she could see straight through him, and he hated it. He hated losing this control over himself.

And then she reached for him. Her hands, small but certain, moved with determination as she untied the knot at his back. The apron was stiff with blood, the fabric thick and unyielding after hours of wear, but she did not hesitate. The strings slipped free. Its weight loosened, then fell away entirely.

Beneath, the scent of blood still clung to his skin, the sharp iron tang impossible to scrub away. It lived in the lines of his palms, in the creases of his knuckles, in the places beneath his nails where no amount of washing could reach. It had seeped into him, woven itself into the very grain of his existence.

But she did not care. She did not wrinkle her nose at the lingering scent, did not glance at his hands as if changing her mind. She simply looked at him. As if the blood didn't matter, as if it didn’t define him.

And then she touched him.

Her fingers ghosted over his forearms, light and careful, tracing the scars etched into his skin. Some were thin and clean, the careful work of a blade. Others were jagged and deep, healed poorly from wounds that had never been properly mendable.

Most people ignored them. Some women had admired them in the past, their fascination rooted in fantasy. They had mistaken his quiet for something dangerous, thrilling. They wanted the idea of him, not the reality.

Not the man who woke before dawn, who worked with his hands, who carried the weight of a thousand deaths, who smelled more often of meat than of cologne.

But she – she studied them. Not with pity. Not with hesitation. Not with the morbid curiosity of a stranger. Just acceptance. And he did not know what to do with that.

He should have sent her home. Should have put the apron back on, taken a step back, rebuilt the distance between them before it could be crossed.

But then she touched him again.

Not just his hands. Not just his arms. His face.

Her fingers curled into his beard, into the coarse hair flecked with the first hints of gray, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw with a touch that was neither hesitant nor demanding, only patient. Her touch was gentle, exploratory, as if she were learning the contours of his face, mapping the lines etched by time and hardship. Her thumb dragged across the corner of his mouth, lingering for a moment too long. The contact sent a shiver down his spine, a spark of something he hadn’t felt in years.

His breath shuddered. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of her touch, the warmth of her hand against his skin.

He had spent years mastering restraint, honing control so sharp it had become second nature – but this was not something he could discipline away. This was something primal, something visceral, something that bypassed his carefully constructed walls and went straight to the core of him.

And he broke.

It happened before he could stop it. Before he could think. Before he could list all the reasons why he shouldn’t.

His mouth crashed against hers – rough, desperate, uneven – the kiss of a man who had never let himself have this, who had spent too long resisting, too long convincing himself he did not need. It was a kiss that demanded a response, a kiss that begged for connection, a kiss that spoke of years of suppressed longing.

She gasped into him, the soft, breathless sound swallowed by the heat of his kiss, and it only spurred him on, sent something deep and aching spiraling through him.

His hands found her waist, fingers flexing, gripping too tightly, holding her like something slipping through his grasp, like something he had no right to touch but couldn’t bring himself to let go of.

And she didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch from the intensity of his kiss, from the desperation in his touch. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer and deeper, and he let her. He let her guide him, let her take as much as she gave, and let himself sink into her warmth, into the softness of a world he had spent his life keeping at a distance.

He let himself fall. For the first time, he let himself want.

And that – that was the most dangerous thing of all. Because wanting meant needing, and needing meant vulnerability, and vulnerability was something he had spent a lifetime avoiding.

He tore himself away, breath ragged, chest rising and falling too fast, pulse pounding in his ears, the taste of her still lingering on his lips. His hands trembled at her waist, his grip loosening, but she didn’t step back. He looked at her, his eyes searching hers, looking for any sign of regret, any sign of hesitation.

She was still watching him. Still waiting. Still untouched by the violence of this place, by the death that clung to his skin, by the things he had done. She saw it all, the darkness, the violence, the death – and she wasn’t afraid.

She did not belong here. She never should have belonged here. This place, this world, was not meant for someone like her, someone so full of life, so full of light.

And yet, standing in the center of his shop, lips swollen from his kiss, breath uneven, she looked like she did.

Like she had always belonged.

Like she had always known he would bring her here, had always known he would break eventually, had always known that, in the end, it would never be her who walked away. She had seen the flicker of warmth beneath the surface, and she had known, with unwavering certainty, that eventually, he would let her in.

So he led her upstairs. Not because it was a decision. But because there had never been any other choice. Because something had shifted between them, something had broken, and there was no going back.

The old wooden steps creaked beneath their weight. His boots felt too heavy, each step measured, as if he were walking toward something he hadn’t fully decided on yet. And she followed without hesitation.

His flat was small and practical, a place made for solitude. There was no unnecessary warmth or indulgence in comfort. The furnishings were simple: a battered leather chair, a wooden table scarred from years of use, and shelves lined with books that had gone untouched for too long.

A space meant for one.

Not for visitors, not for softness, not for moments like this.

And yet, she was there.

His hands still ached from the way he had touched her downstairs, from the desperate grip that had left his knuckles white and trembling. His lips still burned from the kiss, from the way she had let him take it, from the way she had met him with equal fervor, equal want, equal need.

He kept telling himself that bringing her upstairs was about dinner, that it was something simple, a meal in exchange for whatever this was, a way to acknowledge what had been growing between them without letting it consume him completely. He told himself it was a gesture of gratitude, a way to repay her kindness, a way to maintain the illusion of control.

But now, standing in the dim light of his flat, watching her, he knew he had lied to himself.

There was no dinner.

There was no conversation waiting to be had.

Because she was still standing there, watching him like she always did.

Calm, certain, unafraid. As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, as if she knew exactly what he wanted.

And he couldn’t take it any longer. His restraint, already frayed, snapped.

Before he could think, before he could stop himself, he was moving. Two steps closed the space between them, his hands catching her, dragging her against him, his mouth crashing onto hers in a kiss that was nothing like the one before.

This was harder, heavier, desperate – less like a man giving in and more like a man coming undone. And she met him just as fiercely. Her body molded against his, her fingers slipping into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, tugging him closer, deeper, until a groan tore from his throat, low and raw, swallowed between them.

His hands traced the curve of her spine, pressing, gripping, memorising the heat of her, the shape of her, the way she arched into him as though she needed him just as badly. He wanted to imprint her onto his skin, to memorize every curve, every angle, every plane of her being.

For so long, he had held himself back, retreating behind control, behind distance, behind silence. But there, with her pressed against him, with her hands on his skin, with no more space left between them – there was nothing left to run from.

And then her hands were on him. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric, dragging it up over his stomach and chest, baring him inch by inch.

He let her.

Let her strip him bare, peeling away the layers of fabric, peeling away whatever was left of his resistance, until there was nothing between them.

Because when she looked at him, she did not see the things people whispered about him. She had heard the stories.

The butcher. The soldier. The man who had taken lives and never looked back.

They were wrong. Because the man standing before her now was not untouchable. Not cruel. Not something to be feared.

He was beautiful.

Not in a way that was easy. Not in the way of men untouched by hardship, but in the way of something raw, something worn, something real.

His belt came loose in her hands, the leather slipping free with a quiet rasp, and then her fingers moved lower, undoing his trousers with slow, deliberate movements, watching the way his body tensed beneath her touch, as if bracing himself, as if holding something back. But he let her. Let her work the buttons, let the fabric slide down his hips, let the last of his barriers fall away without a word.

And when she finally pulled his trousers down, when she saw him fully, she did not falter. She did not hesitate. She only looked. She took him in the way she had taken in the flowers in her shop – reverently, as if committing him to memory, as if she had been given something delicate and rare.

And he could do nothing but stand there and let her.

His cock was thick and heavy, already full, already aching for her, standing dark and flushed against the sharp lines of his stomach, against the rise and fall of his breath.

She traced over every ridge and vein with her gaze, let the moment stretch between them, not to tease, not to torment, but simply because she wanted to see him. Because she wanted to know him.

Finally, she reached for him. Her warm and soft fingers curled around him, a stark contrast against his solid weight. Her grip was firm but slow as she explored him with quiet, unhurried precision, learning his shape, the heat, and the way he reacted to even the slightest touch.

A sound escaped him, low and rough, unbidden, wrecked.

A sound no one had ever heard from him before.

Her thumb dragged over the sensitive ridge just beneath the head, a teasing, testing stroke, and he felt the way his body responded instantly, the way his stomach clenched, the way his fingers twitched uselessly at his sides, as if fighting the instinct to grab, to hold, to claim. He wanted to pull her closer, to bury himself inside her, to lose himself in the heat and the friction and the pure, animalistic pleasure of it all.

His control was slipping. And she wanted him to let it go.

She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his stomach, to the sharp lines of his hip bones, her mouth trailing lower, her breath ghosting over him, teasing, testing, waiting to see how he would break beneath her hands. She felt the roughness of him beneath her lips – coarse hair dusting over firm muscle, darkening down the center of his abdomen, leading her toward where he was already hard and waiting for her.

But then –

He stopped her.

His hands, so accustomed to certainty, to precision, shook . He hesitated, a flicker of doubt, a momentary resurgence of the control he had fought so hard to maintain.

He had handled bodies before. Countless of them. He knew the weight of flesh. The dense resistance of muscle, the slick glide of a blade through sinew, the way tendons strained just before they snapped. His hands were trained for separation, clean breaks, and cutting things down to what they were meant to be. But this – this was nothing like that.

His palm covered her breast, weighing it instinctively, the way he would assess a prime cut of meat, gauging its firmness, its yield beneath his touch. The familiar gesture, the automatic assessment, was a reflex, a habit ingrained deep within him.

But the comparison fractured the moment his thumb brushed over the peak, and she responded.

A soft breath. A quiet arch. A warmth that had never existed in the things he had touched for a long time. The warmth of her skin beneath his palm, the soft sigh that escaped her lips, shattered the comparison, reminding him that this was not meat, this was not death, this was life, warm and pulsing beneath his fingertips.

His other hand drifted lower, sliding between her thighs. And that was when his mind fractured.

His fingers met heat.

Slick, molten warmth.

A dampness that coated his skin instantly. Silk and fire.

Softness yielding beneath his touch. His breath caught in his throat. He traced the delicate, swollen flesh, parting her with slow, deliberate strokes, mapping the contrast of soft folds and the firm, pulsing center of her. He felt the way she quivered beneath his fingertips, the way her breath stuttered, the way her thighs trembled slightly as he explored her.

Wet. Hot. Slick. Alive.

It unmade him. Stripped away the layers of control, the carefully constructed walls, the defenses he had built around himself.

The weight of her body, the heat, the slow, quiet response of her body to his touch, the gasps that left her mouth, the way she was clenching around nothing, aching for more – it burned through him, scorching away instinct, training, and the careful detachment he had spent a lifetime perfecting.

It sent a violent shudder through him, his lungs burning, his pulse hammering in his ears. He was losing himself in the sensation, in the heat, in the pure, primal pleasure of it all.

And he nearly groaned aloud.

His mind stilled.

No calculations. No measurements. No cold, lifeless flesh beneath his hands.

Only warmth. Only heat, pulsing and alive, wrapped around him, pulling him into the moment, into something he could not sever, butcher, or separate from himself. He was connected to her, bound to her by a force he couldn’t understand, couldn’t control.

And suddenly, it was no longer enough.

Touching her, feeling her. It wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

He needed her.

He pulled her up, their bodies aligning. He couldn't wait, the need a physical ache. With a groan, he lifted her, carrying her the few steps to his bed before letting his weight settle over her. His cock slid against her, slick and waiting, coating himself in the heat of her, teasing at the place where she was softest, where she was open for him.

And still, he hesitated. Because he knew.

The moment he sank into her, he would never come back from it.

No turning away. No undoing this. This was not a fleeting encounter, not a momentary indulgence. This was a commitment, a surrender, a crossing of a line he could never uncross.

This was not like the meaningless encounters of his past – fleeting, forgettable, nothing more than friction and release. This was something else. Something dangerous. Something that threatened to unravel him, to expose the raw, vulnerable core of his being.

Something that would carve itself into his bones and never leave.

The first push stole the breath from his lungs. The sensation was overwhelming, a rush of heat and pressure and pure, unadulterated pleasure. Her body stretching, taking him inch by inch, slick, tight heat gripping him like she never wanted to let go.

He groaned low against her throat, his forehead pressing into her shoulder as he forced himself to stay still, to let her adjust, to savor the unbearable moment where he was inside her, a part of her; where there was no distance left between them.

She gasped – a soft, broken sound that sent something sharp and deep spiraling through him. Her body shifted, tightening around him, seeking him, needing him.

His arms curled beneath her, pulling her even closer, his muscles trembling, his breath dragging in heavy, uneven pulls. He couldn’t get enough of her, of the feel of her skin against his, of the scent of her hair, of the taste of her on his lips.

He started to move, slow at first – long, deep strokes, dragging himself out of her inch by inch before pressing back in, sinking into the impossible heat of her, shuddering at the way she clenched around him.

She was so wet, so tight, so perfect.

Her legs curled around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him deeper, urging him on, and he gave her what she wanted, what they both needed.

His hips found a rhythm, slow but steady, every thrust pushing him deeper, every movement pulling him further from who he had been before this.

His hands roamed her body, gripping her thighs, her waist, fingers flexing over the soft curves of her as if trying to commit her to memory, to anchor himself to this, to her, to the only real thing he had ever let himself have.

Her moans filled his ears, soft, breathless, growing louder with every thrust. Her head tilted back, her hands clutched at his shoulders, his arms, the back of his neck, pulling him closer, dragging him deeper.

Every sound she made fed something primal inside him, something starving, wild, and desperate.

And then he couldn’t hold back anymore.

His movements turned rougher, his hips snapping forward with urgency, his grip tightening, his thrusts turning shallow, erratic, urgent.

The pleasure built, unbearable, overwhelming, his body wound tight, every muscle tensed as he fought to hold on, to drag it out just a little longer, to keep himself from falling completely.

But then her hands found his face, fingers tangling into his beard. She gripped him tightly, forcing him to look at her.

And he had no choice. His breath caught.

He lifted his gaze, blue eyes meeting hers, dark with pleasure, hazy with warmth.

And what he saw destroyed him.

Because she looked at him like he was something precious. Like he was something to be cherished, something to be held, something to be loved .

No fear. No hesitation. Just acceptance. Pure, unconditional acceptance.

And that – that was what finally shattered him.

A strangled groan ripped from his throat, raw and guttural, as pleasure seized him, his muscles locking tight, his hips jerking forward as he buried himself deep inside her, spilling himself into her in thick, pulsing waves. It tore through him – violent, primal, stripping away everything until there was nothing left but this.

He shuddered against her, hips grinding down hard, forcing himself deeper still, filling her with the hot rush of his release as if he could imprint himself into her bones, claim her in the only way he knew how.

His jaw clenched, breath ragged, the world narrowing until it was just her, just the way her body held him, clenched tight around him, pulling him in and holding him together even as he shattered apart.

And through it all, she was there beneath him – her arms tight around him, her thighs trembling, her breath uneven against his shoulder, grounding him, anchoring him, holding him steady through every violent aftershock.

He had come undone completely, unraveled by her heat, her softness; the fierce, unrelenting way she accepted everything he had to give, everything he was. And in that moment, he knew – she had broken him in ways that could never be mended.

But it wasn’t a breaking, not really. It was a shattering of the old, a dismantling of the walls he had built around himself, a making way for something new.

As his body stilled, as the aftershocks rippled through him, something wasn’t finished. His breath was still uneven, his body still heavy against hers, but beneath him, she trembled—her pleasure still just out of reach, still waiting for him. And that wasn’t right. That couldn’t be right. He needed to feel it, needed her to come undone just as violently.

Because this wasn’t just about pleasure, it wasn’t just a culmination of their quiet, unspoken ritual. If it had only been that, it would have been easier . He could have walked away, could have told himself it was nothing more than a moment, a need met, a fleeting indulgence. But it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. Because if it were, he wouldn’t need this—wouldn’t need the confirmation, the undeniable proof that she had fallen just as hard as he had. He needed to see her shatter, needed to witness her surrender, needed to know that this connection, this vulnerability, was mutual.

His hands slid down her sides, gripping her thighs, spreading her open for him once more, his weight still pressing her into the mattress, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. His cock, still thick inside her, was softening, but he wasn’t done. Not until she had felt everything, until he had wrung every last ounce of pleasure from her body, until she broke the way he had.

His softening cock dragged over her clit, thick and warm, pressing against the swollen bundle of nerves with each slow, rolling thrust of his hips, smearing the evidence of his release over her, marking her as his in every way that mattered. She gasped sharply, her fingers tightening against his arms, nails biting into his skin as her body jolted beneath him.

He did it again. And again. And again.

He needed it. He needed to know that it wasn’t just something fleeting, that their ritual hadn’t just been a game. That it meant something, that it had always meant something, even before either of them had dared to acknowledge it.

His hips moved against her, slow but insistent. He drank in every tiny sound, every trembling breath, every helpless, stuttering moan. He felt her body twitch, felt the way her thighs trembled, felt the way she clung to him like she didn’t know whether she was trying to push him away or pull him closer.

But he didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. Not until she was gone for him. Her fingers curled into his hair, her nails raking against his scalp, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. And then – she broke .

Her body arched, her breath caught, her muscles locking up as pleasure overtook her, hard and fast and devastating . A strangled cry spilled from her lips, something raw, something perfect, something meant only for him. She clenched around nothing, her thighs tightening, her nails digging into his skin as she came for him, because of him, with him.

And fuck, he felt it.

Felt the way she trembled, the way her body surrendered, the way she lost herself completely beneath him. And that— that —was what he needed. That was what made it real. The proof of her, the confirmation of this, the undeniable, inescapable truth of what had just happened between them. It sent something shuddering through him, something deeper than pleasure, something weightier than relief.

A quiet, breathless exhale left him, his forehead pressing against her shoulder, his arms curling tighter around her, keeping her against him.

His body was pressed to hers, and her skin was warm beneath his fingertips. It was flushed with heat, with the rawness of something inevitable from the moment she had stepped into his world.

She didn’t let go of him. Neither did he.

But something pulled his attention. His hand, still resting lightly over hers, his fingers brushing absentmindedly over the delicate curve of her wrist, felt the rough ridges of calluses.

His brows furrowed slightly, his thumb turning her palm over, tracing the hardened skin along the base of her fingers, down to the small, shallow cuts that had healed over time – some fresh, others nothing but faded ghosts of past wounds.

For a long moment, he simply looked. They had the marks of someone who worked and shaped the world with her own hands.

Hands that tended to delicate stems but did not break them, hands that wove bouquets together with precision.

Hands that nurtured life where his had only known death.

And yet, they were not so different.

His gaze flickered down to his own hands, his own scars, his own history written into flesh. His rough, calloused palms were marred with lines from blades, war, years spent carving into bone and sinew, and a lifetime spent wielding knives.

The irony of it struck him.

She worked with tools, just as he did. She bore the same marks. Carried the same evidence of labor and time.

She was not fragile. She had never been. She was not untouched by the harshness of the world, just as he was not untouched by its moments of beauty.

And somehow, they had met in the middle.

They were two halves of the same whole, night and day entwined, shadows and sunlight bleeding together at the edges. Their contrast was no longer a division but a balance.

A paradox – life and death, in their eternal dance, had fallen in love.

And as her fingers curled around his, as if grounding him there, he let himself believe it.

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justkitkatthings · 3 days ago

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Wonderful.

That's what you are to John Price. If he had to choose one word to describe you, that would be it.

The only thing not wonderful about you is that you don't believe you're wonderful. Too many horror stories from other spouses and too many formal dinners with officers complaining about their spouses had you questioning yourself constantly, no matter what John does to try and soothe you.

It's not like you don't trust your husband; it's just that you don't know how he is at work. Irrational fear, really. He loves to brag about you when he can.

My wife was tellin’ me ‘bout that. My wife made this f’me. My wife is so wonderful. My wife, my wife, my wife.

It was those little comments that got him through his mission, and the promise of seeing you again at the end of it. His return date kept getting pushed back and you were both getting antsy.

As soon as you got the call he was coming back for real, your happy ass was on the way to base. It didn't matter if you hadn't met his new team yet, your husband was first priority. The second he stepped onto the tarmac, you were going to smother him. Or kick his balls, and he'd probably thank you for the reminder to not leave for as long next time, because you're just so wonderful.

At least, that was your plan. The gate guards wouldn't let you in without the proper clearance. No matter how many documents or pictures you showed them, it was against protocol to let you in since you weren't in the system.

So, that's how you ended up napping in your car. Luckily, you still had the blanket in there from when you and John went stargazing, because you were both to busy (and lazy) to bring it back in. No way were you going to leave your car on to get heat and run down the battery, because apparently that's a thing. You didn't mean to fall asleep, but you barely slept last night because you were just so excited. And, to be fair, the military likes to schedule everything way too early in the morning.

John was a little disappointed when he stepped on the tarmac and didn't see you, but that disappointment immediately vanished when he saw your car right outside the base's gate (and causing a little scene). His wonderful wife.

Being the only one responsible enough to drive paid off when he was able to pull over the truck and walk up to your car. His boys grumbled, but were slightly curious as to what had their Captain so... giddy.

John knocked on the window, and if you weren't married already, he would've proposed right then by the way you startled awake and held up your tiny pocket knife, as if that was going to hurt anyone. When you realized it was him, your eyes widened and you immediately threw open the door, almost hitting him, but he didn't care, because you were in his arms soon after.

He lifted you off the ground and spun you around like one of those scenes in a cliche movie, but it had you laughing, so he didn't care. He didn't care about anything but you, including the shocked men standing by the truck.

After a plethora of "I love you"s and "I missed you"s and numerous kisses, he finally set you down and turned to his boys. His arm was around your waist and they'd never seen him look happier.

"Simon, Kyle, Johnny, this is my missus." He said proudly, his eyes crinkling in that adorable smile you love.

"Didn't think she was wonderful 'nough to wait outside th' base for a mean ol' bastard like ye, Cap'n." Johnny blurt out, prompting an elbow to the ribs from Simon and a stern look from Price.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Mrs Price." Kyle said with a polite smile, trying to take the attention off Johnny's big mouth.

"We've 'eard wonderful things about you, ma'am." Simon surprisingly added, but it only made John more proud. You were wonderful enough to get Simon to speak nicely to you within the first few seconds of knowing him.

"They're saying wonderful a lot, John. What did you say to them?" You asked and looked up at your husband with a glare.

"Just told 'em how wonderful you are, luvie. Nothin' but the truth." He answered with a shrug, but you knew him well enough to see the love in his eyes. Yeah, the boys could see it now, as the only person to ever make their Captain look like this - you really were wonderful.

#been procrastinating on this forever #captain john price #john price x reader #price call of duty #price #john price x f!reader #john price x you #cod

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captainpriceslilwife · 3 days ago

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Oh, Darling (Price x pregnant wife!reader)

Just a little thing for my first ever work. Trying to pretend I'm not nervous as hell to post it teehee. Anyway...just a quick little imagine abt price and his pregnant wife who just wants to help :(((( but he's not having any of it! 18+ even though it's pretty clean! MDNI! TW: pregnancy, afab reader with she/her pronouns, Price being a tiny bit manipulative if you really, really squint, gets a bit suggestive towards the end but nothing happens, one bad word, and uhhhhhhh...and I don't think there's anything else! Feel free to let me know! ┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐

"Darling?" You could hear his gruff voice call out from the living room. The sound that normally made your heart pitter in excitement only made you begin to panic, hands scrabbling to try to hide the fact that you were trying to assemble an entire crib on your own. Hiding a half-built crib from him? Honestly, what were you thinking? Obviously, the evidence of your crimes was laid about the room when he walked in, with your swollen, pregnant form standing in the middle of it all like a deer caught in headlights. "Hello..." You squeak out awkwardly, a small smile adorning your face as you tuck the screwdriver behind your back. "You're home early." The trepidation in your voice is clear, but that placating smile is wiped right off your face when you hear the deep, exhausted sigh that rumbles from his throat. "Y/N..." His voice is calm...level. It only serves to make you more nervous as you shift on your feet hesitantly. He takes measured steps forward, fixing you with a disapproving look that would be hot if it wasn't aimed at you. You couldn't help but feel like a little girl being scolded, and your head bows down slightly in shame as you stutter out a lame excuse. "I-I just...wanted to take something off of your plate-" "I told you I'd handle it." He cuts off firmly, stopping in front of you as he rests his hands on your upper arms, letting out another exasperated sigh as he takes in your appearance. His eyes linger on your swollen stomach peeking out from underneath your big t-shirt before he brings his gaze back up to meet yours. His eyes soften only slightly when he sees the guilty look plastered on your face, but you could tell that he was holding back a lot more than the light reprimand he's giving you. But he couldn't bear to yell at his pretty wife, and certainly not when he was nearly eight months pregnant with his baby. But guilting you wasn't necessarily off the table, especially if it got you to sit your ass down and relax like he's been begging you for months now. "Sweet girl...c'mon. You don't trust your man to get the job done?" You deflate at that, soft lips jutting out into a pout as you look up at him, shaking your head quickly. "I do!" You protest gently, resting your hands against his chest with the screwdriver still in hand, which he promptly takes and places on the dresser with a look of barely restrained disappointment. "I do, John. I promise." You stand up on your tippy-toes, placing a soft kiss to his lips in apology as you continue to pout up at him. "I just wanted to help you...you've been so tired lately from working so hard..." "Working hard so that you don't have to, love." He reminds you as he pinches your chin between his fingers gently, reaching his thumb up to swipe over your plump bottom lip. "I don't want to come home to find my pregnant wife putting together a bloody crib. Or anything else for that matter." His other hand trails down to rest on your stomach, rubbing tender circles into the soft fabric of your shirt as he continues to gently scold you. "You think I want you doing this, sweet girl? Putting yourself and the baby at risk just to cross something off my to-do list?" "No..." You mumble quietly, shaking your head gently as your remorseful gaze meets his. "I made sure to be careful, though...I made sure not to do the heavy parts...." Another sigh escapes him as he tuts softly at you, but he can't hide the loving look in his eyes as he looks down at you. "I understand that, love. And I'm proud of you for being so careful. But I need you to relax, sweetheart, alright? Don't go giving me a heart attack right when I come home, baby. I'm getting too old for it." He gives you that small quokka smile that you've come to love so much, and you melt into him as you admire the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Ok, honey...I'm sorry." You murmur as you wrap your arms around him, pressing yourself as close as you can despite the roundness of your belly. "I'll just lie around and do nothing all day long...just waiting for you to come home."

“That’s more like it.” He grunts as his hands slip down, one curling around your back as the other one slips behind your knees to lift you up into his arms. He chuckles gruffly when he hears you squeak in surprise, and he can feel his heart warm in his chest as you wrap your arms up around his neck and giggle softly. “John, what on earth are you doing? I’m too heavy for this.” “Nonsense.” He replies firmly, shaking his head a bit as he fixes you with a playfully stern look. You squeal softly as he pinches your thigh gently, another giggle escaping from you as you lean your head on his shoulder. He walks into the living room with your pregnant form wrapped in his arms, carrying you like you weigh nothing to him before he deposits you carefully on the couch. “I’m going to give my gorgeous, pregnant wife all the pampering she needs.” He hums gently, brushing your hair away from your warm cheeks as he shifts onto the couch with a handsome smirk gracing his lips. He can hear your breath hitch as you stare up at him, all wide-eyed and eager as your thighs clench together. “And once you’re all soft and spoiled like I want you to be…” He murmurs as he climbs on top of you, spreading your legs to fit himself between them before running his hands up your thighs and over your sides as he dips down to whisper in your ear. “…I’m going to finish that fucking crib.” Author's note: Ok so this is my first work literally ever. Guys I'm scyyyaaarreeedd!!!! I don't really know what this is???? Imagine??? Drabble??? Merely a thought that I had that I wrote down without proofreading or planning??? I'm dipping my toes in the water of writing, ok? 😔 Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy! If not, then.....🧍‍♀️I'm sorry.

#cod x reader #cod x you #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #john price x y/n #john price x pregnant reader #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod imagine #john price imagine #captain john price #captain john price imagine #pregnant #pregnancy #first work

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julia4today · 11 hours ago

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downstairs hair hcs… (gn)

johnny cares deeply. he likes the bush. genuinely gets sad if he’s seen you shaved/waxed. that’s why you often do while he’s on deployment, so there’s at least a little bush when he gets back. but he can always tell. “et’s all short now. how dare ye hurt et.”

simon doesn’t give a singular shit. “it’s your body luv innit?” he’s actually confused as to why you thought he’d have an opinion on it.

price enjoys the designs. finds them amusing. a little landing strip? maybe a heart. one time you got an arrow. he laughed for a good while. “jesus christ lovie.” but overall, trimmed is his favorite. although, like ghost, he won’t suggest it, lets you do what you like.

kyle. well i could see kyle going for fully bald or a trim. i think im leaning towards just fully trimmed. i think bald makes him a bit uncomfortable. reminds him of a childlike essence and he prefers not to think of that while having sex.

that or he prefers bald but doesn’t mention it. not his prerogative.

#cod headcanons #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod x reader #simon riley x you #soap cod #captain john price #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john price x you #john price x reader #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader

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moody-alcoholic · 2 days ago

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This Is Going To Hurt

Part 8 - Nothing Is Okay

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: CPR, cardiac arrest, medical drama, medical inacurrices, PTSD, flashbacks.

AN: Writers block is still here which is why this part is a little shorter.

Previous parts - masterlist- next AO3

Enjoy <3

You’re not sure how long you’ve been laid out on the floor for. Enough time for your eyes to start stinging and your arm to go numb.

“Remember that training we once did where Soap had to pretend to be injured?” Kyle asks. It makes you smile, you do remember that day. He was only supposed to roleplay his hand being blown off. Instead he threw everything at you and didn’t once break character.

He pretended to have everything from internal bleeding to cardiac arrest and seizures. At first you were mad at him, you thought he was messing with you but your stubbornness got the better of you and you were both riding it out to the bitter end. Eventually John had to step in and tell you both to stop.

To this day you still joke about who did a better job.

“I remember.” You say, Kyle’s hand comes up to stroke your cheek.

“He’s a terrible patient.” Kyle says, chuckling.

“I heard he’s been keeping Ghost on his toes.” You say, Kyle rolls his eyes.

“You have no idea.” You both end up laughing as Kyle pulls you back into his arms. You lay there just breathing into his chest, he has a familiar scent, gunpowder and something woody, mellow and inviting.

It’s not long before Kyle is encouraging you to slowly get up off the floor. “You should get some sleep, you’ll feel better tomorrow. You’ve been working everyday since you were discharged.” Kyle says. You don’t bother fighting him, you could use some sleep, when you’re sleeping at least you don’t need to worry about the guilt.

When you leave the room you see John standing at the end of the hall. Your eyes linger on him as he smiles at you quickly before you let Kyle lead you away. You let them all down. Not only that you let the medical staff down, especally the doctor. He trusted you took your bullshit psych evaluation at face value, and you ran, instead of helping innocent people you ran.

You don't deserve their kindness.

...

“Captain Price?” He turns to see a doctor walk up behind him. “I’m sorry I had no idea there were civilians coming.”

“It’s okay. It’s no one’s fault.” Price sighs.

“Is she going to be okay? The nurses- we all like her. She’s a good person. We’re willing to vouch for her.” The doctor says, Price smiles.

“It’s okay, she’s resting.” Price says.

“Captain.” He calls as John turns away. It stops him in his tracks and he raises an eyebrow looking back at the doctor. “I think I have a way to help her. With your permission of course.”

Price presses his lips together looking back down the hall where you and Gaz turned down a few minutes ago. He looks back at the doctor. “What do you have in mind?”

…

“I think it’s a bad idea.” Ghost says.

“I’ll be there the whole time. The moment I think it’s too much I will step in.” The doctor says.

“That could kill her confidence even more.” Price says.

“It could but it could also be the biggest confidence boost in the world. I avoided giving her cat 1 patients. I thought she needed to be eased back into work, she’s an adrenaline junkie like all CMT’s, she needs something she can just close her mind off to.”

“Last time there was a mass trauma she panicked.” Ghost says.

“This isn’t a mass trauma, it’s running a code.” The doctor replies.

“Last time there was a civilian airstrike she was almost executed over it. It makes sense she panicked.” John says. He picks up the radio from the center of the table. He looks at the red tape wrapped around it.

“Okay. We want to be there too.” Price says. The doctor smiles and nods.

“I would expect nothing less.”

…

You wake to an ear piercing screech. You know that sound, you reach over feeling for the emergency radio. You must have forgotten you’re on call. You feel Kyle move next to you.

“I can get it.” He says trying to reach over you.

“I got it.” You say opening your eyes and seeing the red taped radio.

“Send traffic.” You say half asleep.

“Code blue-” You're already jumping out the bed reaching round for your jacket. “-Med bay, resus code blue.”

“Wait!” Kyle calls.

“I can’t wait. I have to go.” You say. Your heart is pounding in your chest.

“Copy, on route.” You say into the radio as you pull your boots on quickly tying the laces.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Kyle asks as you open the door. You can, you have to, you’re not going to let anyone else die.

“I can do this.” You say clipping the radio on your belt and running out the room. You feel the adrenaline pulse through you as you rush over to the resus bay. You can hear the beeping of machines as you squirt sanitizer on your hands, rubbing them together as you walk in.

There are multiple nurses running around, another medic at the person's head. One of the nurses is doing CPR while the medic is manually pumping the bag by his head.

“Abdominal GSW, intubated en-route, GCS 5, BP 180 over 100.” The nurse next to you says. You look back up at the person on the bed, your eyes flick to the monitor. He’s in VF, you can have a defib, you can save him.

“Get him connected to the auto pump, is there blood on the way?” You ask.

“Yes,” the nurse next to you says.

“Has he had any adrenaline yet?” You ask going over to the crash cart.

“Negative.” The medic at his head says. You pull gloves on watching him, he looks nervous, there is blood all over his uniform. He’s going to panic, you can already see the shaking in his hands. He’s missing beats while pumping the bag.

Your head feels so clear as you pull the crash cart over watching the monitor and counting the beeps in your head. You can do this, you can save him.

“Let's push adrenaline and charge to 200.” You say holding your hands out for the defib pads to be handed to you. You hear the nurse squirt gell on the pads, you rub them together waiting until the other nurse has moved.

“Clear.” You call pressing the pads on his chest. His body jolts, you look over at the monitor.

“Restart CPR.” You call as a nurse pumps on his chest again. Still VF. You can save him, you look down at another nurse pushing more gauze into his stomach.

You can save him, you’re not going to let anyone else die. You can see the patches on his shirt, American, lieutenant. This could easily be Simon laid on the table. You look up at the worried medic by his head, short brown hair, a worried look on his face.

That could be Johnny. “Let's push epi again, charge 200.” You shout, you see nods, you hear beeping of the machine behind you.

“Charged.” You press the paddles on the chest.

You’re not dying today. “Clear!” You shout. His body jolts under your hands. You look over at the monitor. You see the gentle beats of sinus, you can count it on the monitor. He’s safe, he’s safe.

You stand up turning to put the pads back on the crash cart. You see the doctor walk into the room

“Let’s prep him to move to CT. Central line and blood.” You say. The doctor picks his folder up, looking at it.

“Good job, I can take it from here.” He says as the nurses push the bed out the room. You start pulling your gloves off looking round the room. The only person left is the medic. He’s looking down wide eyed at his open palms.

One thing is for sure Johnny would never leave Simon's side. You would never leave any of their sides, you feel guilt build up in you as you look down at the blood soaked gauze on the floor. You left Johnny's side though, he never deserved that.

You can hear the medic's breathless pants, you step over to him placing your hand on his shoulder. His head shoots up looking at you.

“First trauma?” You ask, he nods, you can see his hands shaking.

“It gets easier. He was your mate right?” He nods again.

“Go.” You nod at the door. “He’s going to need you. He needs you, your work is not done yet.” He still looks like a rabbit in headlights, you reach over gripping his other shoulder and shake him.

“Hey! Move, you’re a medic, people rely on you, your squad mate? He’s going to need you. You got that sergeant? Move your fucking ass.” You snap. He stands up straight and nods pushing past you out the room.

You let out a breath, your hand coming up to press on your chest. The adrenaline is waning, you can feel your heart thumping rapidly. You squeeze your eyes closed. You can smell the blood in the room.

The vision of Johnny being tied up, bloody and beaten flashes in your head. You should have worked harder. You should have saved him. You open your eyes, turning in the room you walk over to the exit. You need to see Johnny, you need to be by his side.

You’ve been selfish, ignoring him, you let him down. You walk up to a computer and type his name in. As soon as you see what room he’s in you leave. The corridors are empty, it’s way past midnight. There are only limited staff around.

You come to his room, you can see him through the thin window, the lights are on low and he looks like he’s sleeping. You open the door slowly trying not to disturb him. You go to stand at the end of the bed looking down over him. He is asleep, rolled on his side with a hand under his pillow. You pick up his chart and flick it open.

GSW to the stomach, he had a bullet lodged in his liver. Blood transfusion, he coded in surgery. You look over at him, he looks fine, he looks peaceful. You put the folder down walking round the bed over to his head. His hair looks longer, there’s stubble on his face. You reach over to stroke his cheek feeling tears form in your eyes.

You lower the bed guard bending down by his head. “I’m sorry I let you down.” You say reaching out to cup his face. The moment your hand lands on his skin his eyes open. You freeze your hand resting on his face, your thumb brushes his cheek. He smiles blinking at you, he turns his head kissing your palm.

“Hey.” He smiles.

“Hey.” You sniffle, you can’t stop the tears now. He props himself up in bed as you throw your arms around him.

“I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry you got hurt.” You sob. He presses his nose into your neck holding you tight.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He says, you pull back pressing your lips to his, you don’t want to break from the kiss but you're straining over to hug him.

“Get up here.” He says pushing you off him, his hands gripping your shoulders. You look over at him as he scoots back in the bed pulling the blanket up leaving you room to slide in next to him.

You kick your boots off and throw your jacket and trousers over the chair before climbing into bed with him. He pulls you against his chest, you wrap your arms around him as he pulls you against him and you rest your head against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, he's alive, he's safe and he's alive.

“Johnny.” You whisper.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever pull that shit again it’s not Ghost you need to be worried about.” You say, he chuckles and you look up at him seeing the glint in his eyes. You sigh, you know he would do it again, he would do it again in a heartbeat.

You reach up to kiss him, he kisses you back, squeezing you against him, running his hands around your body like it's the first time he’s touched you in months. You don’t mind though, you’re glad he’s alive you thought he was going to die, instead here he is holding you.

“I love you Johnny.” You breath relaxing into his arms as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders.

“Yeah, well I love you more.”

You relax against him letting the guilt eat you away. You have to make peace with your choices especally the ones that will hurt them the most. You think back to the medic in the resus room, you will never let yourself be like him. You will never let them down again, even if that means them being without you.

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