captain john price's whore. just an idiot with a few ideas. they/them, 23, writer.
minors do not interact, i am an adult and do not consent to chat or interact with anyone under the age of 18.
Under The Blooming Dogwoods - Tim Wright/Masky x Reader +18, Ongoing
; After Christmas, you decided to make your first actual adult decision and move out of your parents house and room with a man from craigslist. Nothing bad could happen, right?
*Reader type; AFAB, they/them pronouns, addressed as "Reader"
Tags; Dead Dove, Character Death, Smut, Dom/Sub dynamic undertones, Roomates to Lovers AU
Of Teeth, Thyme, and Tethered Souls - Retired, Werewolf John Price x Witchy, Grieving Reader +18, Ongoing
; After your grandmother’s death, you inherit a stone cottage on the Yorkshire Moors— and a life you’re not sure how to live yet. Hallowmere is quiet, watchful, and steeped in old rules no one explains. The land remembers her grandmother well. It’s not so sure about you.
Neither is the retired captain who keeps to the moor’s edge, bound to the moon and the duty he never quite laid down.
Grief, old magic, and tethered souls have a way of finding each other.
*Reader type; AFAB, feminine pronouns, addressed as "Dovie" (nickname) and "Reader"
Tags; Slow burn, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, cw: past infidelity (mentioned), cw: breakups, cw: death of a grandparent, cw: emotional processing, soft horror, supernatural au, enemies to lovers
Call of Duty Works
Marble Hornets Works
Horror/Slasher Works
The makers of Kinktober 2025 are back again with a brand new list! The graphics are once again created by latte-cucumber. Check out our AO3 collection, or keep reading for more information.
More information
Kinktober is a kinky October prompt challenge that’s been running in one form or another since 2016. There are three prompts for each day in October, and the challenge is to use one (or more!) of the prompts to create something for that day. If you don’t want to use any of the three daily prompts, you can swap them out for the bonus prompts at the bottom of the prompt list.
If you have any questions, check our FAQs. Unfortunately, due to personal commitments, we won't be opening our askbox for questions this year. We've made it as rules-light as possible, though, so if your question is "Can I do this?", the answer is almost certainly yes!
Task Force 141 and when Reader is sick.
Characters: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz
Warnings: Sexual implications, pre-existing relationship, sickness, v*miting.
Price scents it like a shark catching blood 20 yards away. He lazily lifts his gaze from his book, blue-grey eyes tracking you in the kitchen. Sniffling, an occasional cough, the tension in your body that belies the achiness that comes with a budding fever. Sick. His sweet Dove, sick. Makes something nasty churn in his gut. The man rarely got sick nowadays, how he wasn't sure but he never questioned it. Questioning meant jinxing and he wasn't one for jinxing.
Price moved. "John?" You croaked out, stepping into the living room to find it empty. Mug on the end table still curling with steam, a cigar in his crystal ashtray left unattended. You blinked, befuddled by the sudden disappearance of your husband. You walked over to his mug, reaching to pick it up--
"Ah." A sharp click of a tongue halted you mid-reach. You slowly swept your gaze to the landing of the stairs where Price stood, hands on his hips. "You're sick. You need water, not coffee. A bath and bed too." He moved, walking down the last three steps and crossing the room to take your hand. A frown tugged at your lips.
"Oh- but, John, I'm fine. Really-" Price only sighed, letting you rattle off excuses and protests all the way upstairs and into the bathroom where a warm bath was running and vitamins sat on the counter. He laid his hands on your shoulders, kissing your forehead- partially for affection, partially to check your temperature.
"Bath, vitamins, bed. You're staying in bed until your appointment. Made a house call for you." Price gave your hip a gentle squeeze before giving it a pat and walked out of the bathroom. You smiled to yourself, savoring the reminder of why you chose John Price as your husband.
Ghost notices when he gets home from deployment. He drops his bag in the foyer, shucking off his jacket. No word, not a breath of you shuffling from the other side of the house to chastise him for leaving his bag in the foyer when the closet is only a foot away. Something ripples inside of his chest; panic. Socked feet pad through the house, checking each room like he's doing a sweep of a building for survivors. Each step making panic swell, swell, swell until--
You, curled up in bed, mouth open and breathing slow, crackling breaths. A humidifier running on the dresser, a half used box of tissues on the nightstand, a bin beside your side of the bed. That tension releases in him, easing into a dull hum as he crawls into bed behind you. His hand splays on your hip, briefly waking you. Your skin is fever hot, blisteringly so and it tugs at his heart as he nudges his nose against your scalp. "Bird, you're warm." You made a weak sound of acknowledgement that Ghost gently hushed as his thumb rubbed your hip. "Shh... sleep, I'll take care of you when you wake up."
True to his word, Ghost did. Breakfast in bed, a mug of tea and a glass of water consistently on your nightstand. You could ring a bell and he's right there, one knee on the bed and bent over you like a looming shadow of unconditional love. Now, whether he eats you out or not while you're fever ridden is just making his bedside manner even better.
Gaz sees it in the way you're fumbling with your bra, trying to get ready for date night. It's your one year anniversary and the two of you have been planning this for months. Ghost had chuffed in amusement when the Sergeant laid PTO paperwork on the Lieutenants desk for the weekend so Gaz could focus solely on you. But Ghost signed off on it, of course he did. "Love?" Gaz tilted his head to the side a fraction, eyes squinting in that 'something is off with you and I know it' way of his. You paused, looking over your shoulder. Oh and that just made his heart shatter. Staring back at him was teary eyes, a wobbling chin, followed by a small sniffle. You were sick and putting on a brave act to not ruin the evening. "Oh, love... no, it's ol'right..." He strides over, the tie around his neck undone and slipping off as he wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"No-- no, it's not-- Kyle, it's our anniversary-" He hushes you a knuckle under your chin to tilt your head towards him. He smiled warm and sweet, snorting in rueful amusement.
"Love, you're sick... our anniversary is good wherever we are, what matters is that we spend it together." He couldn't help the laugh bubbling up. "Which is on the couch, some movies... maybe some takeout?" Your heart fluttered, laughing softly with him as he planted kisses all over your face. He was a good boyfriend, one of the best, and the fact he wasn't upset but understanding, the fact he was adapting and changing plans in a way that better fitted the circumstances.
Christ almighty, you were going to marry this man on your second anniversary.
Soap doesn't notice, he gets a call instead. From his Mam. "Johnny, she's sick, she won't say so but I know she is, wee thing is shakin' and coughin' something fierce." Soap cursed under his breath as he walked down the hall beside Ghost at Base. You had driven up to Glasgow for the weekend while he was wrapping up paperwork back in Hereford before he would drive up and meet with you for the MacTavish family reunion, one time of the year everyone got together from all over to rejoice where roots were planted. "Aye, mam, I'll wrap up 'ere and head up. Jus' be gentle with Hen, she was nervous comin' up without me." Soap grimaced as his mother gasped, the woman proudly declaring over the phone that she would do her best and that she'd take good care of you until he showed up. Ghost's shoulders shook silently beside Soap, the manc finding it hilarious that Soap seemed to have gotten is pride and confidence from his mother.
By the time Soap made it to his families home, he parked haphazardly and jumped out of the car. Boots thudding up porch steps as his sisters flitted about in the house. "Johnny, why'd you have her drive up by herself!" One scolded as she brushed by. "Because he had work, Beth! You know-" The twins argued as he skirted down the hall, taking two steps at a time with a grunt. His mam stepped out of his childhood bedroom, nearly jumping out of her skin as Soap speed walked swiftly down the hall. "Och! Johnny, nearly spooked me half ta death, love! She's restin' right now, poor bird is runnin' a fever..." The woman's words fell on deaf ears as he open the door, immeaditely moving to your side and muttering apologies and curses for his own stupidity to have you drive up by yourself, why he didn't notice sooner-- you silenced him, placing your hand on his face. The action made him pause, brain short circuiting before a big grin broke out across his face. He took your wrist, pulling your hand from his face as he leaned in to peer at you better under your mountain of blankets.
"Aye, there's ma hen..." His mam leaned against the door frame, smiling as she watched him pepper your face in loving kisses as you grumbled curses at him. Yeah, you'd be alright.
You can hear it late at night while in the safety in your cottage. Growling, snorting, snarling. You try your best to remain absolutely still while under the covers, try to ignore how close the beast growls at the bedroom window.
You try to ignore how the garden is in ruins by morning, heavy paw prints in the soil of your flower beds.
You’re just thankful for the neighbor that stops by for afternoon tea. He’s such a nice man after all, even if he tracks in dirt.
Summary: After your grandmother’s death, you inherit a stone cottage on the Yorkshire Moors— and a life you’re not sure how to live yet. Hallowmere is quiet, watchful, and steeped in old rules no one explains. The land remembers her grandmother well. It’s not so sure about you.
Neither is the retired captain who keeps to the moor’s edge, bound to the moon and the duty he never quite laid down.
Grief, old magic, and tethered souls have a way of finding each other.
Pairing: Werewolf, Retired John Price x fem, witchy, grieving Reader
Tags: Slow burn, hurt/comfort, grief/mourning, cw: past infidelity (mentioned), cw: breakups, cw: death of a grandparent, cw: emotional processing, soft horror, supernatural au, enemies to lovers
Chapter Four, A Sheep in Wolf’s Fur, A Wolf in Sheep’s Wool
Wordcount: 3,330
Archive of our own ver.
The first breath of a baby is praised, applauded and congraduated with warm welcomes to the world. Soft whispers of promise from a mother, the reverent brush of a thumb against a temple from a father. The raspy chuckle of a grand father as he watches the first steps.
But a grandmothers love is special in it’s own way.
She’s there when you fall off your bike, cleaning up scraped knees as you sit on the edge of a tub.
She’s there, laying a plate of your favorite food, pressing a warm kiss to your damp head after a bubble bath.
She’s there, spinning tales like a spiders web in evenings, lights dim as you drift off to sleep.
You stand on the back porch, watching the garden now. It’s raining again. You’re half tempted to work while the soil is wet, but your muscles burn. You’d been at for days now, rain or shine. Steam from your tea mug rises, curling in the air as rain drops travel down petals, dripping down onto leaves before disappearing to earth. A distant sound catches your attention.
A warbling bleat.
You set your mug down with a clink on the railing, stepping off the porch and into the rain. Another bleat, higher pitched with a note of anxiety. It tugged at you, pulling you. Bare feet padding in wet grass and soaked soil until you find—
Basil. Curled up in a ball under a think, thorny bush.
A frown tugs at your lips.
“Oh, Basil…” You murmured, getting down in the dirt to fish the lamb out. Basil bleated, a bit softner now, as if relieved someone found her. You sucked your teeth sharply when a thorn dragged across the back of your hand, making you wince. “Damnit.” You squinted, snatching Basil by the hock and gently pulled her out from beneath the bush. With a huff, you gathered the lamb up in your arms.
“Why’d you go and do that, hm? John’s probably lost half his mind looking for you.” The chastising was— softer really, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be truly frustrated with the escape artist of a lamb. Basil bleated quietly, nudging your palm as you walked in the sprinkling of rain up the hill to John’s property. You paused, brows furrowing at where wire had been broken at the fence, a clear exit for Basil. You stepped close, just a fraction, inspecting the damage.
A tuft of fur was caught in the twirled wire, a greying brown.
“Ah, you found her.”
John’s familiar rumble made you jolt slightly, gaze flicking to him. He held an umbrella, a slight crease between his brows, smile tugging at his lips beneath those mutton chops of his. You looked ridiculous, you were sure of it. Jeans soaked with rain and mud, sweater just as terrible. Basil bleated, wriggling in your arms before John closed the distance and took Basil, chiding at the lamb.
“We’ve discussed this, ‘nough that now, Basil.” He grumbled at the animal who only bleated in reluctant defeat. A huff of a laugh escaped you, wiping your soil smudged hands onto already ruined jeans.
“Didn’t know you chastised your sheep like kids.” You glanced up, catching his gaze. It wasn’t focused on your eyes, more so your right hand where pain simmered and a thick wetness ran down digits.
“Did you know you’re bleeding?”
You glanced down at your hand. Nasty looking cut, nothing a good cleaning and antiseptic couldn’t fix though.
“I mean, I knew. But it’s fine-” John adjusted Basil in his arms, handing the umbrella to your freehand before taking your wounded one in his. He held it close, studying the cut.
“Bit deep though, love. Don’t you think?” When his gaze met yours, your heart thumped in your ears. He was close, touching. His hand was calloused, working hands from decades of service and years of work filled retirement— if you could even call it retirement. His eyes bored into yours, blue that edged towards a stormy grey. Like an overcast sky, on the verge of raining. “Come, lets get you right.” He released your hand, the warmth leaving you a touch colder than before as he herded you towards his home.
You didn’t have much say in it, apparently, mind catching up once your reached the front steps. He sat Basil down to trotted to the door, little tail wiggling expectantly. Spoiled rotten thing, more of a pet than a farm animal. He took the umbrella from you, closing it and setting it aside before opening the door and guiding you in before following behind. It was— cold inside. The furniture was old and mismatched, worn by time rather than neglect. As if collected over time, rather than purchased for the hell of it. But it was tasteful in a way. Coffee lingered in the air, the scent of a burning cigar somewhere. Lights dim, curtains pulled to let natural light pour in. the rain outside grew heavier, pitter pattering against the roof in a steady pace now.
His home.
And every bit of it was so him in a way.
“Your… house. It’s cozy.” You turned, watching as he made his way towards his kitchen. He maneuvered about, opening cabinets in search of supplies.
“Aye. Like it that way, preferably.” You scrunched your nose slightly at the thick sarcasm lacing his voice, padding into the kitchen. “You, uh, normally walk about without shoes?” He glanced at your briefly before peering into a cabinet. You leaned against the counter.
“Depends. Didn’t think much about shoes when I found Basil.” You shrugged halfheartedly before glancing over your shoulder to watch Basil settle by the hearth to warm up as fire crackled. “You normally let sheep in your house?” John laughed quietly at the question, a raspy sound before shutting a cabinet. He switched the sink on as you walked over, fingers wrapping around your wrist to guide it under lukewarm water.
“Not normally. Basil is jus’ stubborn. Bit of a soft spot for the brat.” He worked diligently with practiced hands, switching off the water and cleaning the wound before dressing it neatly in gauze. You blinked once he finished as he tossed the pads and clothes in the bin, inspecting his work.
“Did they teach you this while serving?” You watched as he paused briefly, studying before he gave a curt nod.
“Aye. Bit rusty, but decent work.” He shrugged it off. Just as the lid of the trash bin slowly closed, you caught sight of bloody gauze. It was old wrapping, a bunching of it stuffed.
“You get hurt recently?” You asked absently as he prepared a kettle. He filled it with water, turned an eye on, listening as it click, click, clicked before he set the kettle on.
“Get hurt occasionally… happens. Especially with the land.” He glanced at you over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. “Awful lot of questions today. Getting comfortable, are we?”
You snorted, a short sound of half-hearted, strained amusement. It was to fill the silence, a nervous tick you couldn’t shake. You had grown used to silence, needing to fill it with something, interesting or not.
Colin did a number on you. He really did. The relationship was spectacular in the beginning when you two were in college. Late night studying turned into warm smiles and fingers interlocked. Driving around for a dinner, eating greasy food while laughing before falling into his cheap mattress for brief few minutes of mind melting pleasure.
Four years, and it eventually soured. The honey moon phase faded, graduation from college came and went, adulting became the priority that topped everything. Bills, finances, budgeting— schedules that didn’t always line up. Growing distant over years that when the two of your realized it; there was a hollow ache. The late nights of staying up and waiting for him to come home from the office turned dull. Sex grew farther and distant. A vibrator giving better orgasms than his own cock.
The arguments were the worst. You clung to the idea that maybe, just maybe, Colin would go back to who you knew. Messy haired, smile stretched across his face, peppering kisses all over your face when waking up beside you. Coffee runs, brief stops at the bookstore two blocks from the apartment.
The texts between him and the new girl in his department is what made the cord snap clean.
You blinked, meeting John’s gaze as it searched yours. A warmth laid behind those stormy eyes. The same warmth that rested in his palms. The same warmth that still had your skin buzzing.
“Sorry, John. Lost in thought for a moment.” You shrugged half-heartedly, a rueful smile tugging at your lips. He stared, cataloguing, a flicker of disapproval in his gaze at the way you dismissed the hollowness in your voice as your cleared your throat when your phone buzzed in your back pocket.
“Someone calling you?” He asked casually, turning back to the task at hand. He opened a cabinet to pull down two mugs as you checked your phone.
Your heart dropped, then thumped rapidly in your ears like a deafening war drum. Your grip tightened on the phone, a wave of emotions hitting you like a category four hurricane. You had to leave, couldn’t stick around, hide out at John’s. No, no point in bringing a storm to his comfortable silence. You pushed away from the counter, damp feet padding against cold floor boards.
“I-I’ve got to go. Thanks, John.” You pushed open the door as he called out to you, that deafening drumming in your ears washing out his voice as you jogged back to your cottage. A soon to be warzone with Colin on his way now.
John stepped out onto the porch, nostrils flared. Not in anger, but tasting the scent of fear in the air. A sick, acrid scent that made his hackles raise and a growl rumble low in his chest as he watched your form grow farther and farther away.
The floor creaked with each measured step of anxiety. Down the hall, the clock ticked steadily, like a promise of entrapment. It was suffocating, even in an empty house. Like an all too familiar rope tethering around your throat, drawing tighter with each second that ticked by. You showered, scrubbed skin raw as if washing away sins you’d never committed would come and haunt you. But it only fried your nerves further.
You bowed your head into your hands, thee subtle rumble of cars engine drawing nearer. Breathe in, breathe out.
Tired squelching through mud, pebbles rattling. Breath in, hold.
A cars engine shutting off, a door opening. Breath out.
The car door slamming shut.
You stood up from the couch, striding towards the door just as a fist beat on it with ruthless thuds. Upon opening the door, revealed Colin. He was dressed in a suit, hair dripping with rain as it came down in sheets before he scoffed and barged in. Shoes haphazardly brushed against the mat before he stepped inside and walked in, tracking in mud and rain.
“Christ above, do you have any clue how hard it was to find this place?” Colin ran a hand through his hair, eyes flicking about and taking in the cottages antiques with barely concealed disinterest. You quietly shut the door, a dullness creeping in as his voice grated on your nerves.
“Well, hello. How are you? I’m fine, how are you? Oh, just fine.” You huffed, walking past him in the hall and into the kitchen. Colin shot a heated look your way, could feel his eyes burn in the back of your head.
“What’s your problem? I fly all the way out here and that’s how I get greeted?” He was hot on your heels, taking up space with his overbearing presence. The wards thrummed dangerously, crying out in warning to you.
“Colin, I didn’t ask you to come out here. You decided on your own to text me an hour before you arrived after a— what? Nine hour, ten hour flight?” You pulled down two mugs, setting them on the counter. “Why are you even here? We had a fight, we called it quits. I left.” You pulled out a kettle and filled it with water as he settled in a chair at the dining room table, tugging his tie loosely.
“It’s different.” He admits, reluctance heavy in his tone. He wouldn’t even look at you, just stared ahead at the wall. “Without you. I don’t—” He drew in a sharp breath. “—like it. Come home, Dove.”
You paused, facing the stove with your back to him. That tone. It wasn’t a request.
It was a demand.
Your hand twitched at the hand of the kettle, fear and anger warring within. Colin shifts in his chair, eyes narrowed.
“Come home. You don’t belong in this… delipidating cottage in fuck all nowhere, Dove. You belong back in America, with me—” You whirled around, facing him.
“That’s such bullshit, Colin. That is such a crock of shit! You know this house is important to me, you know Gran passed it down to me, promised it—”
“Your fuckin’ Gran?” He barked out a bitter laugh as he stood up, chair scraping against the floor in a shrill sound. “Dove, you are such a hypocrite. You didn’t fly up and see that old bat while we were dating once. Four fucking years! Yet you stand here, singing her praises like she’s some saint.”
It stung. Like a sharp blade slicing deep, through layers of muscle and fat. Grief, guilt— it bubbled up hot, tears welling. Colin smirked, tilting his head to the side mockingly.
“Aw… Baby, don’t cry. I’m just being honest… You didn’t really care that much, because if you did, you would’ve flown up here to spend time with her.” He closed in, invading space. It was a stark contrast. How when John stepped close, it wasn’t threatening. It was firm in a way, as if grounding, focusing. Colin invaded space like he was owed something. He reached, the knuckle of a digit tracing your wobbling jaw as you fought back tears. “You know, I missed you. I really missed you. I just… I think you’ve got this fantasy in your head. You know how it gets… You get these…” He sucked his teeth, disapproving. “Ideas.”
It landed like a lead weight, hung heavy in the air as a tear ran down your cheek. A war drum rattled in your eyes, thump, thump, thumping as if preparing for the stinger.
“You belong at home, with me. Hey, I got that promotion finally. I even called your Mom and told her you were coming back home. She was ecstatic, said she couldn’t wait.”
Lies, lies, lies.
“Wouldn’t it be nice? We could go to that coffee shop on 5th you like so much back at home?” A frown found its way across your face, stomach churning. You hated that fucking place, that bitch he was shagging at the office loved that god forsaken place. The coffee was always burnt, always off tasting. Overpriced.
“I-I… hate that place, Colin. Julie liked that place.” The words came out shaky, a lump in your throat as your eyes searched his face. He stared at you, carefully practiced smile he’d always use to soften blows falling away. A grim expression made the smile lines disappear, that easy going spark in his eyes snuffed out as he narrowed them at you. He stepped a fraction closer, looming— imposing.
“C-Colin, please stop-”
A voice called out from the front door, calling out your name as the door creaked open. John. Colin snapped his gaze to the doorway of the kitchen, stepping back, retreating two steps out of your space. The front door shut as he called out, now in the hall. You remained, cornered, crowded. Hands shaking with a vice grip on the counters.
John’s boots thudded cautiously down the hall. “I saw that car out there, heard some raised voices—” He stopped dead in his tracks, right on the threshold of the kitchen. His eyes landed on Colin, registering his presence. Pupils expanding and retracting, sizing him up. His gaze then swept to you and your horrified form. His expression softened with concern at first, a flicker of shock passing in his eyes before his expression hardened and his eyes immediately fixed on Colin. “Hello.” Warmth abandoned, cold detachment as he greeted— no, simply acknowledged Colin.
Your breath wavered, shaking like a fragileness settled. Safety registering. John was a Captain, John read enemies like books, John knew. All it took was a sweep of the room and you could practically taste the tension that clung to the air like a cloying, floral perfume. The floral perfume was instead Colin’s sharp cologne that clung to the collar of his shirt.
“Hello.” Colin greeted back, confusion barely there in his tone but clear in the creases that lined his face. He stepped toward John, the Captain straightening slowly to his full height as Colin approached. You noticed, in that moment, how much John actually hunched. As if to appear smaller than what he actually was. Colin offered his hand for a simple shake to John. “Colin. You are?”
John’s eyes darkened, a muscle in his jaw ticking as if reeling something back, putting a leash on his temper and yanking it back. He took Colin’s hand in his, giving a firm but simple shake. “Captain John Price.” Colin swallowed at the title, registering the weight behind it. The amount of blood that would have to be on someone’s hands to reach that title. John kept a firm grip on Colin’s hand, holding his gaze as he addressed you. “Love, the kettle. Please.”
The kettle whistling behind you finally registered in your mind. You turned, muttering an apology as you turned the stove eye off and pulled a third mug down from the cabinet. Behind you, a storm brewed. John’s lip twitched in a sneer as he stared Colin down, leaning in slightly as he inhaled deeply. Colin leaned away, discomfort radiating from him. John narrowed his eyes, voice a low rumble. “Doesn’t feel very nice to ‘ave someone in yer space, does it, Colin?” Your ex glanced at you, watching as you tended to tea before meeting John’s gaze. John leaned back out of Colin’s space, slowly releasing his grip on the young man’s hand. Colin quickly took a few steps away, clearing his throat.
“Dove, you’ve, uh, got time tomorrow, yeah?” You blinked, caught off guard by Colin’s question. You poured steaming water into the three mugs.
“Uh, yes… I do…” Dropping tea bags into the three mugs, you turned to the two men. “I made tea-” Colin gave a firm shake of his head, pale as he adjusted his blazer.
“No, I can’t stay. I need to check in at my hotel. We’ll talk more later.” Colin quickly left, steps retreating the down hall and out the door before slamming it behind him. John’s fist clenched at the slam, a vein bulging in his temple as he stared off toward the hall. Before debating on following him, you spoke up, voice shaky with aftershocks from the tension but relieved.
“John, you alright?” His fist unclenched, expression softening before he looked over at you. He blinked then offered a small smile as he hunched slightly.
“Jus’ fine, love. Mind if I have a cuppa? Would hate for it to go to waste.”
Some mornings, it’s soft and filled with cuddles. Simons warm hand splayed over Johnny’s hip with gentleness that rarely shows. Johnnys fingers curled in blonde locks as hazel eyes trace features, staring back at the Scotsman. Before two pairs of eyes dip down to your sleeping form between them.
Johnny loves staying in bed with you, voice raspy and cracking with morning dryness as he mutters to you, planting kisses all over your face. Simon peels himself away, the throb of a caffeine headache urging him to be the first to get up and make a pot of coffee. But he returns after a few sips and crawls back into bed.
They take turns, spoiling their sweet bird.
Johnny slipping away for his morning jog as Simon keeps you warm under the blankets.
“C’mon, luv… almost nine, need ta’ wake up.” He rumbles beside you, digits trailing up and down your spine as if memorizing each vertebrae.
Other mornings, you wake before them. You squirm your way out from between them, bare feet padding along the wooden floor boards until you’re in the kitchen. Coffee brews as eggs crackle and pop in a greased pan. Simon is first to wake, calling out to you with a twinge of worry lacing his voice.
It’s not until you appear in the bedroom doorway with two mugs that he relaxes, Johnny smiling big and lazy.
“There’s our wee bird… so pretty this mornin’.” Johnny snorts when you grin and plant a wet kiss on his cheek before handing him his coffee. Simon draws in a breath of contentment when he too gets his morning kiss and a sip of his coffee.
Either way, the three of you have soft mornings. One way or another.
Hey! So it’s been a while and I said I’d have a schedule for five to be updated, but here’s the thing…
Some majorly crazy stuff has happened, unfortunately. No, this doesn’t mean I’ll never ever update again and this is the end.
I’m saying that I’m grieving. (Fitting really.)
My great-grandmother who’s been on hospice has unfortunately passed away. She was a corner stone of my creative soul and forever will be. Since her death, I’ve shouldered some very uncomfortable circumstances.
For instance; my parents, they’ve refused to acknowledge our extended family. They didn’t even show up at the funeral.
It was a heavy weight to carry and swallow down when people asked continuously if my parents would show and then why they hadn’t shown.
Couple that with the fact my daughter was beginning to get close with my Great Grandmother, I was busying myself with comforting her.
So all the while; I wasn’t even comforting myself.
I’m just simply taking a deep breath for the moment, I will occasionally post while I gradually make my way through finishing up chapters, but this month has me balls to the wall busy with so many things, on top of grieving.
And yes, I still love John Price and remind my moots of this daily.
