A masterlist by Flowermiist... đșđđ§ââïž
⥠A warm heart ⻠Ongoing
Sypnosis: Some time ago, you started a cooking channel on YouTube as a way to relax, have a proper hobby and teach others your favorite recipes as you improved your own culinary skills too. Fame wasn't something you wanted, you were more than happy with your 50k subscribers... Yet you never thought you'd stumble upon one of them.
Chapters:
â» Prologue...
â» Chapter I...
â» Chapter II...
â» Chapter III... Coming soon.
A/N: Anybody who would like to be part of my taglist or be removed from it can let me know through my asks box or in the comments! Feel comfortable to let me know anytime and Iâll make sure to check all comments. âĄ
price whoâs got you under him in the dim light of the bedroom, the heat of his body pressing you into the sheets, cock buried deep, moving in these slow, grinding thrusts that make your breath hitch every time he rocks forward.
thick head dragging against the walls of your cunt, making your toes curling against the backs of his thighs. canât help but feel the way your fingers dig into his back, holding on tight. slick slide of sweat between your chests, pace that lets him savor every hot flutter and clench of your cunt around him.
soft little whimper that slips out when he angles just right and lingers there, grinding deep so you can feel the stretch and the heat of him pulsing against your walls before he pulls back slow.
mumbling against his mouth between one kiss and the next, lips brushing his as your voice comes out all hazy and wondering, asking whatâs gotten into him because heâs never like this, never this gentle with it, never this sweet about the way heâs touching you and kissing you, tongue warm and familiar when he dips in to taste the question right off your lips.
and price just smiles into the kiss, that low warm rumble vibrating through his chest where itâs pressed tight to yours and right against your mouth as he answers without missing a single beat of those slow thrusts, canât a man just appreciate his girl?
warmth of his palm cupping your cheek, thumb stroking slow along your jaw while his hips keep that steady rhythm, deep and unhurried, letting you feel every thick inch of him dragging along your walls on every push, the heat building low in your belly with every grind.
body soft and pliant under him, melting when he kisses you slow and deep instead of biting at your throat, breath catching and fans warm across his lips. cunt fluttering hot and wet around him, squeezes like itâs trying to pull him in deeper, like it wants more of the slow drag and the way his pubic bone presses firm against your clit on every thrust.
eyes going soft and glassy when he tells you how good you feel, how perfect you are for him, how much he loves having you like this, the little tremor that runs through your thighs when he shifts and sinks even deeper.
keeps you close, chest to chest, one of your legs hooked high around his waist so he can grind in on every thrust, slick heat making the slide easier, wetter, the sound of it mixing with the low creak of the bed and his heavier breathing.
hand stroking down your side, your hip, your thigh, anywhere he can reach because he canât seem to stop touching you, canât get enough of the way your skin feels under his palm, warm and damp with sweat, the way you shiver when his calloused fingers brush over a sensitive spot.
doesnât rush. doesnât push you toward the edge with rough hands and filthy words. just loves you through it, slow and sweet, swallowing every little gasp and whimper you let out like theyâre his favorite sounds, tasting the salt on your skin when he dips his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your neck, your breast.
and when you start to tighten up around him again, body trembling as that slow building pleasure finally crests into something overwhelming, price just holds you through it. murmurs quiet little praises against your mouth about how good you are, how beautiful you look coming apart for him like this, how much he appreciates his girl.
the way your cunt pulses and ripples hot and tight around his cock in gentle waves that make his own breath catch. stays buried deep while you come around him, riding it out with those same slow rolls of his hips until youâre boneless and clinging to him, until the tight flutter of your cunt pulls his own release from him in warm, pulsing waves that fill you up and make you whimper at the fullness, the heat of it spreading inside you.
stays right there after, cock still nestled inside you, bodies pressed close and slick with sweat that cools in the air between you, kissing you lazy and sweet while you both float down from it, the taste of each other lingering on your tongues until you drift off to sleep.
later you stir when the mattress dips and the warmth at your back disappears, the soft sound of fabric rustling as price moves quiet through the room getting dressed.
canât help the questioning noise that slips out of you when you blink awake and see him sitting on the edge of the bed lacing up his boots
he turns at the sound, that familiar low rumble in his chest as he leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, lips warm, beard scraping lightly against your skin, murmuring that he has an errand to run, go back to sleep love before you can even form the question properly.
the bed dips again when he stands, the door clicking shut soft behind him, and you drift back into sleep with the ghost of his kiss still tingling on your skin and the sheets still warm where his body had been.
only to wake the next morning to the violent crash of the front door being forced open, the wood splintering under the weight of booted feet as armed figures pour into the flat while you scream âwhat the hellâ and scramble to yank the blanket up over your bare chest.
ghost following the men, moving silent through the space with the others, clearing rooms with heavy footsteps echoing off the walls and the sound of doors being shoved open while gaz takes one look at your state and heads straight for your closet, rifling through and pulling out clothes without asking.
kate stepping up to the side of the bed as you clutch the blanket tighter and demand answers, her voice calm but firm when she asks where price is.
telling her you donât know, the words tumbling out in a rush, and demand to know what the hell this is about only for her to meet your eyes with a steady look and say âheâs wanted for questioning.â
âfor what!?â you demand, voice sharp and panicking.
and she just looks down at you for several long seconds, the silence stretching thick in the air between you while the sounds of boots and doors continue in the other rooms, her expression unreadable as your heart pounds hard against your ribs and the blanket feels suddenly too thin against your bare skin, before she finally answers, voice even and steady, âthe murder of general shepherd.â
I've had this idea attached deep into my brain for a long time now, related to James Ratri and the tragedy of imagining him as your secret lover.
Because imagine being married to Mike Ratri, the man who one day would stand among the highest authorities of the clan. You married Mike young, young enough to understand that entering the Ratri family meant entering a world you were never truly supposed to touch.
Mike was never cruel.
That was the complicated part.
He was composed, intelligent, respected by every branch of the family. A man trusted with negotiations, operations, decisions that shaped the balance between worlds. Older than you by decades, already fully formed while you were still becoming yourself.
But he was distant in the way only powerful men can be.
He never felt like a husband. He felt more like a guardian assigned to your life. Someone who provided, observed, corrected when necessary, but never truly reached for you emotionally. Mike liked control, order, predictability. He wanted his household to be calm, elegant, respectable. He wanted harmony more than intimacy.
And then there was James.
Back then, James Ratri was the thirty-fifth leader of the clan. Young for the title, terrifyingly brilliant, raised under expectations heavy enough to crush most people long before adulthood. Peter himself described him as kind, refined, handsome, sincere, almost impossibly noble.
And somehow, beneath all that responsibility, James was still warm.
You met him long before either of you understood what would eventually happen between you. At first he was simply Mikeâs nephew. The future head of the clan. Someone untouchable.
But James never treated you like an outsider trying to survive among people born into power. He never spoke down to you. Never reduced you to Mikeâs wife. In a family where every interaction felt measured and political, James spoke to you naturally.
That was what ruined the two of you.
Long clan gatherings would end and somehow the two of you always ended up alone. At first it was accidental. Quiet conversations after dinner. Passing remarks in hallways. Brief moments beside open windows while rain hit the gardens outside the estate.
Then those moments became intentional.
A second chance at freedom.
That is why their relationship in this kind of story becomes so devastating once James discovers the truth behind the Promise.
Because canonically, James was raised believing the Ratri clan protected peace between humans and demons through noble sacrifice. Then he discovered Julius Ratriâs hidden confession and realized the entire foundation of that peace had been built on betrayal. Innocent humans, including the descendants of Juliusâs own allies, had been abandoned to become cattle for demons.
That revelation destroyed him. Not immediately but quietly.
James began carrying guilt like a second skin. Meetings became longer. His absences more frequent. He started building shelters, coded systems, and escape routes under the name of William Minerva while pretending to continue leading the clan normally.
And through all of it, he kept coming back to you.
Because you were the only thing in his life that still felt human, but James also understood something you hated him for in the end.
Mikeâs neutrality protected you because the old man never fully sided with Peter or James.
He remained in the middle where survival was easiest. That neutrality became armor around you and the children. Around your children. Around the life attached to the Ratri name.
James lost that protection the moment he betrayed the clan. And James understood Peter better than anyone else ever could.
That is another tragedy of canon. James never truly hated his younger brother. Even while Peter hunted him, James understood why he did it. Peter loved the clan the same way James once had. The difference was that Peter chose lineage loyalty over morality, while James could no longer survive carrying both.
So when the time finally came, James refused to take you with him.
Not because he did not love you enough.
Because he loved you too much.
Taking you would have destroyed your safety completely. Peter would have hunted you as leverage. The clan would have erased you. Your children with Mike would have inherited the consequences of your disappearance forever.
You hated James for leaving... And worse, you hated him because he was right.
You were only truly safe as Mike Ratriâs wife.
James made sure you knew one thing before he disappeared from your life completely.
Loving you was the one thing he never regretted.
He told you that if there had been another world, another life untouched by the Promise, by the clan, by duty, he would already be somewhere beside you. Somewhere quiet and unnamed. Somewhere neither of you had to hide.
But this world did not allow men like James Ratri to choose happiness.
So he asked you to survive instead.
To stay where you were. To hate him if necessary. To forget him if possible.
And James left knowing the worst part was never Peter hunting him across the shadows of the clan. The worst part was leaving behind the only place he had ever truly been safe.
Your arms, your laughter, your voice whispering his name in quiet rooms no one else knew existed.
So you stayed as Mike Ratriâs wife.
As the elegant young woman seated beside one of the most important men in the family. Safe. Untouched and alive.
And nobody, not even Peter, ever realized that during the collapse of the Promise, during James Ratriâs betrayal of the clan, you had been the only thing keeping the thirty-fifth leader from completely losing himself.
Controversial opinion but I think John Price would be terrible at comforting you.
He's a doer. He sees something that needs fixing and he does it. He hates feeling useless, hates feeling powerless, especially when it comes to the people he cares about. From the second he realises there's something wrong (which is instantly, he's scarily good at reading people) he's all questions. What happened, who did it, why did they do it...he needs all the details, love. He'll sort it, don't you worry.
You have to remind him that he can't murder your boss, or your shitty friends, or the guy who made you spill coffee on your favourite shirt and then yelled at you for it.
(And no, he can't rough them up - "even a little!" - or give them a "warning")
And if he can't fix it himself, he'll resort to giving you orders - this is what you'll do next time, or here's why there won't be a next time, because you're cutting them off immediately. They're no good for you, and you deserve better. You need to understand your worth, you need to stand up for yourself, you need to you need to you need to -Â
If you weren't already, you'd be in tears by this point, yelling at him to just stop and listen. You don't need advice. You don't need anything fixing. You just need someone to listen to you and comfort you - you just need your partner.Â
He's stunned into silence. He's never really considered that you might just need him. Soft words and gentle touches were never something he was afforded himself, so he learned to show his care through his actions, by providing for you and caring for you and doing anything, big or small, that could make your life easier. The idea that he could care for you by doing...nothing? By just being there? It was a foreign concept to him.
That being said, once you've gotten it into his head that he doesn't have to do anything, you just need him...his hugs are unbeatable. He will pull you onto his lap and completely envelop you with his arms, draping your favourite blanket over you and rubbing your back gently. If he can't fix the world for you, then he can at least distract you from it, to remind you that in his arms nothing will ever hurt you. That to him, you are the most important thing, and he needs to tell you that with words rather than actions.
He may be terrible at comfort, but with John Price you'll never doubt that you're loved.
summary: you ask John to do the last thing heâd ever want to do
tw: mention of dying in the military
*****
John Price whoâs following the nasty footsteps of his familyâ a long line of men killed in the army, by their blind loyalty to the crown. John Price won't give up his job. John who knows that heâs not breaking the cycleâ the curse. He won't suddenly be the first of many John Prices (because, of course they share a name) to see his fifties.
The same John Price who marries you. A non-military sweetheart. At first he thought you found it charming, brave of him to put his life down for the crown and for the world. You let him put a ring on your finger. You let his crew come to your intimate wedding (so intimate that your extended families arenât invited). You let him disappear from your home for weeks on end, no contact, and welcome him back like itâs perfectly normal.
Then why are you so upset? Why are you standing before John on the morning of his deployment, tears in your eyes begging him, itâs time to retire.
He doesn't get it because it's all he's ever known. All the Prices have been cursed to ever know. You beg him to retire but you don't understand that he can't. That every fiber of his being will cease to exist if there isn't gunfire whizzing by his ear and someone calling him Captain. That John Price is fated to the same end that his father and his father before him and- hell -probably his father before him met. The Prices are simply born to serve.
He tries to help you understand. He gives you his mum's phone number, tells you to call her when you get lonely or worried on deployment. Call your mother? The woman widowed by war?
John cringes. The sun is peeking over the horizon. He needs to go and he tells you that. You crumble. Your hands tremble as they hold onto his chest, padded with layers of clothing and jackets. It's winter, when deployments are always the worst. It's only winter in half the planet, yet somehow John always ends up in the cold.
His thoughts pull him away from you, your heat, from the damp warmth of your breath to the molten tears streaking your face.
Please, John, you said, for me.
Give it up, for me.
Give up, for me.
Give up.
He leaves you for base. You whose picture John looks at a little more than usual during this deployment, and Simon Riley, who notices.
Simon Riley who sits next to John during his night watch. He pulls two cigarettes from his pocket and hands one to John, lighting it without a word. Theyâre in Siberia, of course. Johnâs been crying, but the bitter cold dries his tears before they can leave his eyes.
"Pretty bird," Simon says, gesturing his hand to the picture in John's hand. John's thumb brushes over the curve of your cheek. "Lovely bird."
John's fingers twitch, ready to refold the picture. Simon notices and places a calm hand on John's wrist.
"She's making me retire," John blurts.
"That true?" Simon muses, taking a drag like he knows itâs not. Frankly, he does know. Johnâs his longest friend, and Simon can read him like a book. "I didn't know that was possible, giving you orders.â
âNeither did I.â
Simon puts a hand on his shoulder, âWhy donât you head in? Iâll take watch.â
John goes inside wordlessly. He heads to the bathroom and in the mirror he sees the face of his father. Heâs always looked scarily like his old man, down to their idiotic facial hair. John grew it out like him in his twenties, when he was finally able to grow more than pubescent scrap. Now, with a fuller beard and duller eyes, heâs more similar to his father than young John ever thought possible. His fatherâ a man who never had the privilege of going gray. Sure, he died a few years older than John is now, but he was never exactly old. Dead at 42. John's got... 5 years left by that count. 5 more years fighting, five more years with you.
John shaves it off. He leaves his stache, but thatâs about it. He doesnât want to see the old John Price, put six feet under before his boyâ his namesake âgraduated primary school. His hand shakes while he shaves. He should stop. The knife heâs elected to use is too sharp to risk a case of unsteady hands, but John needs it off. And off it goes. The skin beneath the beard is paler than the rest of his face. Itâd take much longer for that to go away.
Someone pounds on the door of the bathroom. âCaptain,â Johnny, âI know youâre takinâ a shite, but could you hurry up?â
John chuckles softly, âFuck off, MacTavish.â
John shuts the toilet lid with his boot and takes a seat on it. He shoves a hand in the chest pocket of his coat, to the pen with a piece of paper stuck in the clip. John carefully unfolds the paper.
Youâve been kissing each other for the past thirty minutes as you sit on his thick thighs, having your hands interwined against his chest, each time, you push them closer to him.
âWhy do you never stay the night?â His tone almost soothing.
John stares deeply into your eyes before speaking, itâs only the two of you. Nobody else.
Youâre not stupid, you know heâs asking you a serious question â but itâs one you donât want to answer, itâs not one you want to acknowledge.
âBecause you snore.â You reply, moving your body closer to his, a small play of wrestling between your bodies. John puts no resistance, allowing you to get as close as you want.
Heâs aware of what youâre doing.
ââm serious, y/n.â Each hand of his tightens the grip you have on the other, keeping both of your hands pressed against his chest. â âWhy do you never stay the night with me?â
âWhy? You need someone to keep an eye on you in your sleep now? I thought you were the tough one.â â âI like my bed better, it doesnât smell like gunpowderââ Before you can even finish, he cuts you off.
âY/n.â Is all he needs to say.
And his audacity almost makes you frown.
âBecause if I stay, youâll start thinking this is something more than it is. And itâs not.â Your grip loosens, he notices the way your body starts to pull away.
He knows, he does.
But still calls out your avoidance.
âYou donât get to push this on me just âcause I broke unwritten rules. We both know itâs more than nothing.â â John gets defensive.
And you just get defensive too.
âYou think just because youâve changed your mind, I have to change mine? Thatâs not how this works, Jonathan.â
this is so important because not only is it the first brief mention of prices âold comradesâ but it shows how they have almost been testing gaz to see if he would be on the same level/willing to do black unsanctioned operations (completely under the radar and not using any military resources.) I really love the little clicks price has when talking.
