it's a new year, so i wanna try something new (a month late lol) where i make a little post for all of the fics i enjoyed each month!
this is gonna specifically be for fics that were also written that month, but if you wanna see more of my fic recs and favs, i have em all organized on my recs blog, here!
if you have any fic recs of your own, feel free to send em my way here or on my sideblog- i love finding new fics and writers!
Alex Keller
sun and stars - @halcyone-of-the-sea
✧ sunshine!alex is something i never knew i needed until i read this fic. and sunshine!alex with grumpy!gf is such a perfect combination! this entire fic is so beautifully written, so cute and so tender. this is definitely going to be a new comfort fic for me!
Joel Miller
yours and mine - @uselsshuman
✧ i'm already weak for soft!joel, but this just knocked it out of the park for me. the interactions between sarah and reader, and reader's determination to prove stepmothers can be good too is just uugghh. i always come back to this fic whenever the show gets too sad, it's the perfect pick-me-up.
John Price
to the flame || pt. 7 | pt. 8 - @lunarvicar
✧ a series i found forever ago, then lost track of! i had no idea there were more chapters, but when i tell you i was over the moon to find out there was more. this series has everything: angst, fluff, just enough smut, an oc named moth, and an amazing characterization of price!
kiss time! - @newcomernewcums
✧ price covered lipstick marks??? sign me tf up. two separate scenarios and both are absolutely perfect. and the added detail of price letting reader reapply their lipstick so they can cover him in even more marks?? i'm feral.
small, dark, and kind of shady - @mvtthewmurdvck
✧ there really are no words for how perfect i think this fic is. undercover missions are already a weakness of mine and coupled with one of the best characterizations of price i've seen, i'm completely smitten.
John "Soap" Mactavish
his wistful yearning - @halcyone-of-the-sea
✧ friends to lovers is one of my favorite tropes and this is one of the best portrayals i've read. the teasing, the flirting, soap being so completely obvious and in love, and the reaction from the rest of the 141 is all written absolutely beautifully.
soap and squid || adjusting. | hands and stars | softest kisses - @mvtthewmurdvck
✧ nothing but pure softness, i am melting. soap and squid are one of my favorite fic couples to read, and these valentine's fic have only just cemented my love for them.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
speak now - @sprout-fics
✧ i'm already feral over this because it's a gaz fic, but oh. my. god. this fic absolutely killed me, it hurt so so good and the ending just killed me. wonderfully written and only got more and more perfect with every reread.
Multi Characters
mask on, mask off - @m4ctavish
✧ very cute, and honestly got me kinda obsessed with the idea of a masked reader?? love the way both characters and both scenarios are handled, and the idea of ghost trading masks???? 👀
Original Works
unnamed - @uselsshuman
✧ we stan original works and stories on this blog. we got fantasy, assassins, shadow people, and i'm already excited to see where this goes!!
Simon "Ghost" Riley
✧ very cute, and honestly got me kinda obsessed with the idea of a masked reader?? love the way both characters and both scenarios are handled, and the idea of ghost trading masks???? 👀
earl gray tea | come stay awhile | stay here with me - @a-sibyl
✧ a mini-series that has found a special place in heart, i can't count the amount of times i've reread this. such a wholesome set of fic showing a softer side to ghost outside the 141.
ghost panics when he realizes he likes you just a little too much - @euovennia
✧ such a good look at how ghost would process catching feelings for someone, especially a friend. the internal struggle, the constant worry, the sharknado series, this fic has it all!
ghost and helen || just the softest touch | fluffy headcanons re: his super king bed | pt. 2 - @mvtthewmurdvck
✧ i have no words for the entire ghost x helen!reader series, it's literal perfection. probably one of the best portrayals of ghost i've ever seen and every fic is so beautifully written and has me thinking about them for days i've read them. idk how jo manages to knock it out of the park every single time, but i am in awe of her talent.
sometimes, i dream - @mvtthewmurdvck
✧ another ghost and helen fic (and one of my favorites), but it gets it own section for this line alone: “Would you still love me if I was a rock, Simon?”
happiness series || imagine it | twice a question, once an answer | will never be enough | almost | bigger than the whole sky - @lethalchiralium
✧ this series is so cute and fun. i am such a sucker for family man simon riley and this scratches that itch in all right ways. even the sad chapters. and seeing the 141 loving and supporting the riley family just makes my heart swell.
the captain - @as-is-above-so-below
✧ my crops are watered, my livestock fed, my bills paid. ghost has a badass sniper wife and she's pregananante and i love it. ghost going feral on price and then shamelessly flirting with his wife had me rolling, but i love the interactions here between ghost and the team!
Simon knows he’s a slut the second he sees him. Pretty face and nice smile like that, he has to be. He’s proven right less than an hour after meeting ‘Soap’ when the whore leans over to the recruit next to him as they’re told to spar and drawls, I bet I can take ya, big boy.
He does, gets the man on the ground in 5 seconds, but the way the other man grabbed him, tried to pin him down by the wrists, makes it obvious that feisty little Johnny Mactavish will be taking it in a different way later that night.
Simon goes to bed wondering if it’s happening right then, while he’s palming himself over the covers.
His eyes seem to be glued to Johnny, watching him flit around the base without a care in the world, pearly whites shown off to anyone that approaches him, always quick with banter, a flirty comment here, an innuendo there.
The men eat it up. They’re like hungry dogs the way they trail after Johnny, tongues hanging out, haplessly hoping for a taste. A late night pressed together in the showers, a storage closet with plush lips wrapped around their pricks. An invitation lower if they’re lucky.
Simon doesn’t usually take to knowing anything about the private lives of his subordinates, but he’s always walking in on Johnny’s little… meetings… for some reason. There have been too many times catching Johnny quietly closing another recruits door, licking something sticky from the corner of his mouth, or stumbling out of a storage closet after Simon walks past someone, making him loathe the sated and smug expression on their face.
He should’ve reprimanded Soap about a dozen times now. Should’ve written him up, but every single time Soap’s small smile widens as he lights up, turning towards Ghost with tousled hair and a light blush tinging his cheeks, greets him with an, “Lt! Fancy seein’ you here.”
Simon, without fail, turns around and walks the other way.
What he would like to do is shove the man back into the wall, drag him to his office and wipe that smile off his face. Press Johnny into his desk and make him beg, plead for Simon to put him in his place, cry for forgiveness. He’d spank his ass raw, really make him regret giving it out to whoever gave him attention that day.
“This is what a little slut like you deserves,” he’d say, relishing in the was Johnny gasps his name. He’d make the man choke on his cock, savor the way his throat constricts around it as Simon shoves it to the back of his throat.
“Someone needs to shut you up,” he’d growl, “God knows you still manage to talk ev’ryone’s ears off, even with your mouth stuffed as much as it is.”
Johnny would whine around his dick. Simon would have to stop him from jerking off, press the toe of his boot down on Johnny’s croch before he can pull his underwear down.
He wouldn’t let the man cum. Not at all. Maybe get him close a couple times, really make those tears run down his rosy cheeks, but he’d cut it off with a twist to the hair and a command. Johnny would follow it every time, Simon would make sure he did.
He’d pull the man all the way to the base of his dick, make his nose nuzzle into the hairs down there. Maybe keep him there until he gets docile enough that he keeps coming back, nice and pretty and all for Simon, too whipped to seek cock anywhere else.
Instead, he follows Johnny with his eyes. Fist around the head of his dick late at night, furiously moving up and down until he’s raw.
He doesn’t let it interfere with work, keeps the burning anger down when he sees another man leaning over Johnny, cocky smile that Simon knows will be rewarded later. Doesn’t do anything as he sees Johnny pull yet another recruit into a private bathroom. Bites his tongue whenever Johnny winks at him.
He doesn’t manage to keep it in when he hears the men talking, though. Loses it when he hears “he’s cute, but fucking annoying. Someone needs to teach the bunny his place.”
He tears the idiot a new one, has the man on toilets for a month. Doesn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes widen with awe, his jaw just a bit slack as Ghost ensures that nobody dares insult him again.
Damned if he lets anyone else teach his slut a lesson.
A/N: thanks so much for being patient with me getting this chapter written. Happy Valentine's Day! xoxo
Word count: 4.3k
Warnings: blood mention, bruises, mild self harm (hot water), nudity mention, victim blaming (kinda), mild dubcon (compulsion) nothing too major in this chapter
Songs to listen to: Absinthe by iDKHOW and Social Climb by iDKHOW
---
You were drowning. Gaz's hands were simultaneously your only lifeline and the things dragging you down deeper. Price's eyes bore into you. You shivered, whether from his cold gaze, the loss of blood, or just the plain waves terror you felt ebbing deep below, you weren't sure.
"Come on love," Gaz muttered in your ear. He began shuffling you forward, and you felt your feet stepping closer and closer to the couch, as if they were obeying Gaz rather than you. Maybe they were.
Gaz placed you into Price's lap and you fell limply against his chest as he cradled you. You distantly thought of La Pietá. The savior of the world lying dead in his mother's arms. How small he was in comparison. What an unholy twist of Michelangelo's vision you were in.
Price held you against him, pulling your legs closer, his hand behind your back sliding up to the base of your skull. His eyes, those pale, icy eyes drank you in, much like how you anticipated his teeth would be doing shortly.
"Pretty little thing, isn't she?" He asked, mostly to himself. "You taste half as good as you look, I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement, yeah?" He smiled at you, crow's feet crinkling in a comforting sort of way. You felt at ease here in his arms. You shouldn't have. "Just relax, sweetheart, this won't hurt a bit, promise."
He pulled you ever closer, resting your head on his shoulder as his mouth approached the soft curve of your neck. You felt his breath puff out against your skin, beard scratching the sensitive flesh, before you felt that all-too familiar double pinprick. He let out a soft grunt when the flavor of you hit his tongue, followed by a sharp intake of breath through his nose. His hand nestled at your skull snaked itself into your hair to pull you impossibly closer.
Your eyes rolled back in your head, the dizziness taking over again. Muffled sounds. Your heart pounding away in your head like the bass drums at the club. The club felt half a world away now: a lifetime ago when you still believed in the goodness of man. You heard someone whimpering. Christ, was that you? You couldn't tell anymore, so focused on that same pleasure-pain in your neck as Price sucked away your inhibitions.
He finally pried himself away, licking a hot, wide stripe up from your clavicle to your ear. "Like fucking candy," he breathed into you. You shivered again for the umpteenth time that night. He looked past you at the other two men who had fed off of you. "You weren't lying." The other two men chuckled. Then he turned to the dark corner behind you. You didn't have the strength to turn around to see what he was looking at. You weren't sure you wanted to know.
"Your turn." Oh God please, no more. You didn't think you could take another one. You were so tired. Then you felt the couch dip behind you. You felt like you were in a dream, barely registering the broad chest that pressed up against your back. Price unwound himself from you, and another hand replaced his in your hair, much rougher than the last. It grabbed a fistful of your locks and jerked your head back. A startled sound jumped from your throat. Not quite a scream- almost a moan.
"Shut up," growled the dark voice behind you. The disembodied voice from before, the one that had chastised Soap. Calloused hands gripped the neck of your shirt, tearing it wider. Your eyes found Gaz, silently pleading for help. He looked sympathetic, but made no move to help. He just watched. They all just watched.
Then there were fangs in you again, digging into the meat of your shoulder opposite the side Price had drank from only moments ago. These teeth lacked any sort of gentleness or care the others had. He bit down hard and sucked harshly. You felt yourself sinking deeper and deeper underwater, the lights above you dimming as the fist in your hair dragged you under. You're dying.
"Ghost, enough!" Someone shouted. The mouth was pulled off of you and you fell forward again into strong arms. You felt warmth trickling down your arm. The body holding you leant down to seal the wound with his tongue. Price, you remembered. You couldn't see him, and you barely registered that your eyes were closed. You couldn't seem to open them.
You heard more shouting. The sharp edges of the cold voice raking down your spine. An argument you couldn't make out rumbled out from the chest beneath you. You felt yourself settle on the seafloor, sand and silt puffing up around you. It was so dark and so muddy, tendrils of seaweed tangling around your limbs, tying you down like a whalefall; a corpse to be fed on, giving life to creatures undeserving. Bottom feeders with monstrous appearances feeding on your past life.
Hands shook you, a voice pleading to you to open your eyes. You struggled, but finally met those rich brown eyes you'd met a week prior. Kind eyes you had trusted so easily. Eyes so deep brown they looked red in the right lighting. Maybe they were red all along. Maybe you ignored that. Maybe you felt him bite a little too hard at the club, and maybe you still chose to follow him home. Maybe you could've fought harder. Maybe you knew these men were sharks, and maybe you didn't swim away. Maybe you knew they smelled your blood in the water, and maybe you didn't care. Maybe you liked it.
But none of that mattered when you closed your eyes again and let the waves pass over you.
—
Your whole body ached as you washed ashore. Your head was pounding. How much had you drank? It couldn't have been that much… You heard paper rustling behind you. You weren't alone. Who…? You weren't in your bed. At least you didn't think so. You don't remember buying silk sheets. The mattress was too soft.
The world came back to you in throbbing beats hammering straight into your skull. Pounding the bone over and over. Pages flipping. Your arm was sore. A musty smell. An old house settling. Your neck was sore. Pages flipping. Your shoulder burned. Pages flipping. You weren't alone.
You sat bolt upright. Everything from last night came back to you like a punch in the gut. Another page flipped and you looked over to your right to find Kyle lounging in an armchair across the room. He looked up from the book in his hands and met your eyes with an easy smile.
"Good morning sunshine."
"Fuck you" you spat at him, pure venom dripping from your mouth. He quirked an eyebrow, amused.
"How are you feeling?"
"Violated."
"Fair enough. Did you sleep well?"
"Go fuck yourself, Kyle." He was no longer amused.
"You know, you should be grateful, I saved your fucking life." You seethed.
"From who? Your fucking friends? The friends you let feed on me?"
"Don't be stupid, love," he condescended. "You think we're the only 'creatures of the night' in all of London? A city this big, this old? Use that pretty little head for something, please." Your head was spinning with a mix of rage and confusion.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I'm saying you're lucky it was me who found you. Others of my kind aren't so compassionate toward a pretty face. We've got a sense for vulnerability, and sweetheart, you had a target on your back the minute you stepped off the plane. Sooner or later you would've ended up dead in a gutter bled like a fucking pig. The least you could do is say thank you."
His words had turned venomous toward you. So far was he now from the warm man you had met a week ago. Yet even through the caustic words he spat, you could see something more in his eyes. A facsimile of heartbreak. Like he had any right to be upset.
"Right. Thank you so fucking much for kidnapping me and drinking my fucking blood!" You were downright incredulous. How dare he?
The two of you stared seething at one another for what felt like an eternity, neither willing to yield. His red-brown eyes burned into yours, and yours burned right back. Finally, he broke the tense silence with a humorless huff.
"You can sit here and pretend like you didn't want this, but we both know deep down you did. I know you-"
"You don't know shit about me."
"I know you well enough to know you aren't fucking stupid. You saw the signs, yeah? And you still followed me home. I mean come on! You were reading fucking Dracula when we met. You expect me to believe you didn't know what I am? That you didn't even suspect it?" You shook your head desperately.
"I didn't ask for this!"
"Maybe not, but you got it anyway. You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me, love."
"Don't call me that."
"Fine."
Once again the two of you sat in uncomfortable, charged silence. Neither of you was willing to break, to look away. Kyle studied you with furrowed brows trying to figure out his next move. He seemed to reach a conclusion and closed his eyes with a deep sigh. He reached down beside him and stood with a duffel bag.
"Clean yourself up," he commanded, throwing the duffel at the foot of the bed you layed in. "Price wants to talk." And with that he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door a little too roughly.
Finally alone, you fought off the tears pricking your eyes, choosing to take in your surroundings instead. This was definitely not the apartment you had been in before. You had slept in a four poster bed, which would've been cozy under different circumstances. The walls were plastered with a garish wallpaper, repeating paisley patterns assaulting your eyes and worsening your headache the more you looked at it; so instead you averted your eyes to the window. Yellow-orange light shone in through the curtains. The sun was setting. How long had you been unconscious? Finally your eyes came to another door left ajar: the restroom. Clean yourself up.
You reached for the duffel, tearing the zipper open to see your own clothing and toiletries thrown haphazardly inside. They'd broken into your apartment? You never even told Gaz… Kyle where you lived. You sat in awe as realization struck that Kyle had been watching you, stalking you. Staking you out like prey; which,evidently, you were.
You looked down at yourself. You were still dressed in the outfit from the night before, although the collar of your shirt had been torn to immodest shreds. Other than the quickly-fading bruises left from the bites, you could find no evidence that those cruel men had done any further harm to you.
You looked closer at the bite on your wrist, fingers delicately brushing over it to find the skin slightly numbed and the holes closed, now more closely resembling bug bites than an open wound. The bites on your neck felt much the same; however the bite on your shoulder- the one left by Ghost, as the others had called him- must have gone much deeper. The pain went all the way into your muscle, and it hurt to move your arm. You could see through your shirt's tattered neckline that the bruise was much darker than the rest. A shiver ran down your spine. He would've killed you.
You shook off the dread that was beginning to overtake you and hurried to the bathroom with the duffel before you could start hyperventilating. You locked the door behind you, convincing yourself that it would somehow stop the unnaturally strong creatures from breaking in. You rested your forehead against the door for a moment to catch your breath before turning around.
There was a clawfoot tub in the middle of the room and towels lain out on the countertop next to the sink. You began drawing a bath, glancing at the door behind you every so often. The rational side of you knew that they'd already had every opportunity to hurt you any way they wanted, and they hadn't. You knew in your mind you were safe there in the bathroom, that they wouldn't touch you, at least not like that. But you couldn't shake the deep unease that had settled in your gut. You couldn't help hesitating before you undressed, silently expecting the door to burst open and a monster to spring forth fangs-first.
But it didn't. As you stood naked before the full tub, the only sound that echoed in the tiled room was the steady drip-drip-drip of the leaky faucet. You were safe- for now.
You sank into the burning hot water. You'd turned the temperature as high as it could go. You needed it hot to ground you. You felt like your whole world was collapsing around you and the only safe place you had was this tub. You needed to feel your skin burn to cleanse it of the mouths of those men. The heat would sanitize your wounds. You scrubbed at the bites, scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until your skin was raw. And then you scrubbed more.
You stayed in the tub until the water was freezing. You shivered with chattering teeth, not wanting to leave the security of the tub. You stayed until you could no longer bear the cold. Finally, you pulled the plug in the drain and stepped out, wrapping yourself in one of the dark towels and dug through the duffel for your clothes. You pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, a fair amount of holes in each. You could tell they hadn't put any thought into what they'd grabbed, everything was shoved in unfolded, a pile of your underwear stuffed in at the very bottom.
Now dressed, you took your appearance in as you gazed into the mirror. Your eyes were bloodshot, your shoulders hunched, one of them blotched with shades of purple and green. You could barely recognize yourself. Sure, you had the same dyed hair, the piercings, and of course those were your clothes hanging off your frame. But there was something in your eyes that was different. There was an understanding of some new forbidden knowledge. You had seen the underbelly of this world, and it had looked right back at you, grinning with sharp teeth.
Part of you was still holding out hope that maybe this was all a dream. Maybe you would wake up in a cold sweat, but ultimately unharmed. The bruises would be gone, you'd still have that light in your eyes. You couldn't stand to look at yourself anymore. You turned away from the mirror.
You stood at the door for five whole minutes, hand hovering on the lock but reluctant to turn it. Once you did, you'd have to step back out into this fantastical nightmare of hellishly handsome men who wished to feed on you.
You opened the door.
The room was empty. You could see through the curtains that night had fallen in the duration of your bath. The only light in the room came from a small bedside lamp. You didn't remember turning it on. You looked to the bed next, seeing that the sheets had been made. They were in your room and you hadn't even heard them. Your stomach tightened at the revelation, but before you could dwell on it any further, a knock sounded at the bedroom door.
You debated not answering it. Didn't vampires need to be welcomed in? Another knock, this one more insistent. Then another beat of silence.
"If you don't open the door, I'm coming in," came Kyle's voice from the other side. And so you found yourself turning the handle. As long as you were the one opening the door, maybe you could keep up the illusion of having some sort of control on this situation.
Kyle was waiting, leaning against the opposite wall. He gave you a once-over as you peeked through the crack. You suddenly felt self-conscious. All wet hair and sunken eyes, wearing that old baggy ska band tee you'd thrifted years back; you were a far cry from the woman he'd seen before, all done up pretty just for him. You shook the thought from your mind. Why should you care what Kyle thinks of you? He's a monster.
"Took you long enough," he muttered under his breath, unamused. You frowned, about to mouth off a rebuttal, but he pushed off the wall and started down the hallway. "Come on, Price is waiting." Clearly he expected you to follow. You didn't want to think about the consequences of staying put, so, ever so hesitantly, you followed behind, leaving a good distance between the two of you.
He led you through the house, all wood paneling and crown molding, to a large oak door. You could hear the Scottish voice of Soap ringing out like a church bell, and below it crackled a fire. Gaz opened the door and motioned with a nod of his head for you to enter. You glanced at him, searching for any hint of pity in his eyes, but they wouldn't meet yours. Instead he stared at the wall behind you. Whether he was avoiding your gaze due to guilt or pure disinterest, you couldn't tell. You walked through the door.
Immediately upon entering, Soap stopped his blabbering, turning his energy toward you instead.
"There's our girl!" He shouted, arms extended as he barreled toward you. On instinct, you shuffled back quickly, only to feel Kyle's hand at your back, keeping you from retreating back into the hallway. Thankfully, Soap stopped short of wrapping his trunk-like arms around you, his smile faltering. "Not much of a hugger, eh? That's alright, we'll get there." He backed away, allowing you to fully enter the room.
It was a lounge or study of some sort. Plush, dark velour couches and chairs were arranged in a semicircle, end tables dispersed between them, all facing the fireplace in the wall. And there next to it, sitting in a high-backed armchair and smoking a cigar, was Price.
"Have a seat," he commanded. You stood where you were, too uneasy to move, and still holding onto your stubbornness. "Now," he insisted. You obeyed, sitting on the couch in the middle of the room. Soap sat next to you, but still left a cushion between you. Kyle stayed standing at the door. "How are you feeling?" Price asked. You heard Kyle scoff behind you.
"Like someone drank my blood," you spat. You were already so done with this.
"Right…" he trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I believe we owe you an apology." You stayed silent. "Ghost took it a bit too far the other night, and I do sincerely apologize on his behalf." The other night?
"He almost killed me."
"Yes."
"You were planning on killing me."
"Yes."
"So what the hell am I still doing here?"
"Yes, about that. We need to discuss the conditions of your stay with us-"
"You can't keep me here!"
"We can and we will. Do not interrupt me again, little girl." His words stung. "Now listen. You will stay here, living as our familiar. We will take care of you, and in exchange you will allow us to feed on you." This couldn't be happening. "Any accommodations you'd like will be met within reason. You may roam freely throughout the house during daylight hours. Come nightfall, you will return to your bedroom. You will not leave your bedroom until sunrise. Understand?" You stared blankly at him. No, you didn't understand. How could this be happening?
"As for the feeding arrangement: one full feeding can usually sustain us for about three to four weeks. However, we are aiming not to drain you," he teased, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a friendly smile. "So, we'll be feeding on a weekly basis. We'll each take turns, give you time to recover. Ghost's time with you will be supervised to avoid another… incident."
He kept talking about the four of them draining your blood so nonchalantly, as if you were businessmen in a boardroom discussing finances, and not a pack of monsters and their kidnapped victim. Price opened his mouth to continue, but you cut him off before he could speak.
"People will look for me! You can't just keep me prisoner!" You were grasping at straws, trying to keep your hold on reality as your world came crashing down. A flash of irritation crossed over Price's face, and he shifted in his seat to dig something out of his pocket. You'd interrupted again and he was not pleased.
"Do you know how long you were unconscious, dear?" You froze.
"What… what do you mean?"
"Sweetheart, you've been asleep for three days." What? You felt your stomach drop. "And do you know how many people have been looking for you in those three days? Let's check." He held up what he'd retrieved from his pocket: your phone. "Two text messages and three missed calls. One call from Jerrie. Then a text from Camille that reads: 'where the hell are you? Jerrie is about to flip his shit.' Missed call from Camille. Text from Camille: you better get here soon, I'm supposed to have a date with David tonight, I can't cover for you.' Then finally a missed call from Jerrie. Left a voicemail. You're fired. Sorry about that."
He didn't sound sorry at all. In fact, it seemed like he got some sick sadistic satisfaction from watching your hope crumble with every message he read out to you.
"No… No, you broke into my apartment, the police will-"
"We used your key, darling. As far as anyone's concerned, your boyfriend was just stopping by to get some things for you. That is- if anybody even cared enough to notice."
"No… my… my family-"
"According to your call logs, you haven't spoken to your mother in… six weeks? Yeah just about." That stung. That burned. You hadn't been on great terms with your family, especially your mother, for quite some time- even before you left the country. And for this stranger, this beast to throw that in your face? Your eyes were watering, bitter tears falling from your cheeks as reality finally, finally set in. Price set your phone down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared into your eyes. You felt frozen to your core.
"No one is coming to save you. You're alone, sweetheart. We're all you have left. Now, if you want to fight and sulk and act like a prisoner, by all means, try your best- you're not getting out. So you might as well make the most of it." You should be panicking, hyperventilating, screaming and tearing out your hair. But you just sat there numb, staring off into space as your worst fears were realized. You had been alone all along. You weren't getting out. Yet there was still a part of you that wanted to fight.
"What if I say no?" You said in a voice too small. Price chuckled.
"We both know that's not an option, love. So are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?" You weren't going to fight your way out of this. Maybe if you bided your time, you could figure something out. You steeled your nerves and felt yourself nodding your head. Price leaned back with a satisfied smile.
"Attagirl!" Cheered Soap next to you. You jumped. You had forgotten he was there.
"The deal is struck," Price proudly announced. "I promise you, as our familiar, no harm will come to you, apart from the necessary bites. You have my word, my men won't lay a finger on you… unless you'd like them to," he added with a cheeky smirk. Your stomach tightened. "We'll talk more about accommodations tomorrow, you ought to be going to bed." He turned to the man sitting next to you. "Soap, would you kindly escort our lady back to her room?"
"Yes, sir," he answered, standing up and holding a hand out to you. He had a kind, lopsided grin on his face. He was clearly excited about his new pet. "Come on, lass, it's bedtime." You took his hand, and he led you back out of the lounge. You passed by Kyle at the doorway. He still wouldn't look at you.
Soap kept your hand in his the whole way back to your room, blabbering all the way.
"You don' have to be afraid, lass. Price keeps his word; you're safe inside these walls. The bond between familiar and master is sacred." He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. You barely felt it through the fog in your mind. "Christ, I've been wanting a familiar for so long, never thought Price would let us keep one. But here you are, and a right pretty one a' that! We'll have so much fun together, once you warm up to us. It'll be alright." You had barely processed his ramblings when you finally reached the door to your bedroom.
"Well, here we are." He opened the door for you, and you walked in, still feeling numb. You heard the door latch behind you and when you turned around to look, you realized Soap had followed you in. He grinned at you.
I’d go w e a k in the knees if Price did this, with a sprinkling of nsfw intentions, pretty please
“a kiss after grabbing the other’s arm and pulling them back close”
❤️❤️
You get 3 implied sprinkles, this is so much sweeter than i expected, sorry anon! hope you enjoy anyway
Price x Reader (nsfwish?, sweet and sappy, price gets a kiss):
Valentine’s snuck up on him. He wasn’t used to keeping track of most holidays, was horrible at celebrating valentine’s the few times he had a significant other during that time of year, so he only realizes it’s coming up in a few days when he sees Soap tape a badly cut out heart to Ghost’s jacket.
He’s…not sure if he should care that it’s valentine’s day. He hasn’t in years past, even when he maybe should’ve, but he’s never had someone… well, someone like you.
It’s not that you two are together or anything, you’re just, something. Have been something since you found his favorite hiding place, since he started bringing blankets to said hiding place so he could press you down without getting dirt on your back.
You two don’t even talk about it outside of those times, few and far between, but you do share glances, knowing smirks. He’s definitely stared at your ass a little too much to be completely subtle.
So he probably shouldn’t care about Valentine’s day, but a little part of him wants to. Wants to see your face light up when he gets you flowers, or wants to take you out to dinner. An actual, fancy, nice dinner. Show you that he can clean up, be presentable, a gentleman.
He’s last one to the briefing room, everyone already seated, Simon to Soap’s right—he should keep an eye on that—you right next to his chair at the head of the table.
“Want a kiss, Captain?” He freezes. He can’t exactly compute what you just said, out loud, in front of everyone, in that voice that’s whispered in his ear, praised him, begged him for more. For a terrifying second he doesn’t know what to think, and then you’re unfolding your hand to reveal a Hershey’s kiss in your palm and the rest of the men in the room are chuckling as he huffs and makes his way to the front of the room.
He goes to your room later, finds you laying on your bed with a book open. You’re completely engrossed, only noticing him leaning in the doorway after a good minute.
“Captain, what do I owe the pleasure?” you say as he walks over, closing the door behind him.
“I think I was offered a kiss,” he replies, smugness dripping through his voice. He sits down on the edge of your bed.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry they ran out,” you tease, he can’t help but chuckle at your audacity, “should’ve taken it earlier.”
“Sure there are absolutely none left?” he raises his eyebrows. You purse your lips, scrunch your eyebrows together, pretend you’re thinking real hard. Endearing.
“Nnnope, maybe next year,” you smile sweetly at him, like you’re not being a nuisance, like you know that he loves it.
“Ah, then I came here for nothing,” He shakes his head in mock disappointment as he gets up to go, almost turning all the way around before there’s a hand on his wrist.
He’s pulled back down easily, ends up on his elbows, caging you in. You don’t seem to mind, smirk still pulling at your lips as you pull him down, give him a little peck.
“Tease,” he chuckles as he leans back in, presses his whole body into you.
He asks you to be his valentine the next morning, and you laugh and say yes on the condition that he spends the whole year planning since he asked you so early.
Can I get a combo of "A kiss from someone the other didn't think thought of them that way" "A kiss stemmed from jealousy" & "An angry kiss in the rain" from the Kiss Promt list perhaps? W/ Price × reader idc if it's sfw or not. Ya girl just needs a lil angst 🤤 I may be asking for too much but..😶🌫️
two ppl asked for kissing in the rain so i’m combining it into this! Happy valentine’s yall im eating so much chocolate
Price x reader (MOSTLY sfw (i’m reading this back there’s one lil implied fantasy whoops im so sorry im keeping it tho), age difference, lil’ angsty with a happy ending):
He shouldn’t’ve entertained it in the first place. As soon as he noticed the way you stared at him he should’ve pulled you aside, stopped talking to you, anything to nip it in the bud. It’s wrong on so many levels, he’s your superior, he’s training you, he’s…significantly older.
He doesn’t do anything to stop it, though. Can’t even bring himself to care about the age difference when his mind wanders to what his hands would look like wrapped around your waste, what you would look like pressed into his pubic hair, throat constricting around his—
It’s a problem now. He has to shut it down.
It’s valentine’s day and he’s sitting in his office, pouring over papers utterly alone. It doesn’t get to him, really, it’s just… not a fun day.
His head shoots up at a knock on the door, and then his heart sinks as you step into the room. It’s in his stomach when he glances down to see you holding a single rose in a tiny round glass. Where the fuck did you get a rose on base? He doesn’t say anything as you place it on the edge of his desk, stays quiet as you confess your feelings, eyes sweet and hopeful.
Any why wouldn’t you be hopeful? He’s indulged you too much, indulged himself. Allowed smalltalk to led to deeper conversations, let you sit on the roof with him as he smokes, told you to call him John, put his jacket around your shoulders when you got cold. He’s been so fucking stupid, and now you’re here with a red rose on valentine’s day and he has to break your heart.
You’re crying as you leave his office.
He’s pulled to the party against his better judgement. Ends up standing in the corner, talking to Soap and Gaz as he looks at the pitiful cut-out hearts and streamers taped to the ceiling. Last minute decorations since it had to be moved inside when it started raining. He ruefully thinks that that’s apt.
He’s trying to ignore you across the room, stop his eyes from wandering over everytime Soap goes on another tangent. He’s failing miserably. He thought he had more control, but you’re dressed up—taking advantage of one of the only times you don’t have to be in uniform—and surrounded by other recruits. Your friends, he guesses as he pushes down the jealous twinge in his stomach everytime you smile at one of them.
You look…happy. Genuinely happy, the kind of happy that makes his heart skip a beat every time he draws it out of you. That should be good, he knows he should be glad that whatever you were feeling for him was just a schoolyard crush, but it just makes his blood boil.
He tries to convince himself it’s fine. He’s not thinking about you. He’s not regretting every action that led him here—and he’s definitely not thinking about the rose he has tucked in a shelf in his desk where nobody else can see it—as one of your “friends” takes the liberty to wrap an arm around your lower back to lean in and whisper something in your ear.
But his feet are moving as soon as he sees you leave the group, following you into the small kitchen on base, effectively blocking you in as you try to refill your drink.
You feel him immediately, stiffening up, turning towards him with wide and confused eyes.
“John-?”
“Your friends seem pretty comfortable around you,” comes out before he can stop it.
“W-what?” You look cute when you’re confused, nose scrunching up as you take a step backwards. It only serves to make him angrier.
“Just thought you needed a reminder of appropriate relations,” he growls, crossing his arms as your confusion starts to morph into anger, “I was prepared to let your little stunt go earlier, but if you’re slutting yourself out all over base-“
“Fuck you, Price,” you push past him, out the doors towards the barracks. The look on your face is seared into his brain, there was only a second of anger before your eyes were welling with tears and you just looked broken.
He’s chasing you before he can think. The rain is heavy, immediately soaking through his clothes straight to his skin but he doesn’t fucking care. He catches up to you easily, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to say something, but you’re yelling at him before he can figure out what to say.
And he knows he’s cruel, and he knows you should hate him, he knows they were just your friends, and he overreacted, and you don’t say it, but he knows an old man like him really really doesn’t deserve someone as sweet and caring and honest as you. Someone who would confess their feelings on valentines day, who would bring him a flower—nobody’s ever gotten him flowers before—who would stay up late to listen to his old stories, and continue to sit there with him when he got quiet as the memories got too painful.
He just can’t say that. Because he’s too old for you, and it’s not allowed, and he’s too much of a chicken. And you look so beautiful, hair matted to your head, a couple strands sticking to your face as you yell over the rain. So he does the only thing he’s thinking about right now, grabs you by the waist and pulls you in.
You stiffen for a second, hands coming up to his pecs, and he thinks you’re going to push him away, yell at him some more. He thinks that this is all he’ll ever get of you, but then you’re melting against his, pulling him closer, as your lips start to move against his.
Your lips are red and swollen when you break apart, and he can’t tell if the wetness is from the rain or his spit. He rests his forehead against yours, winds his arm around you.
“‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry,” he whispers, hoping that he’ll never have to let you go again.
Ok but I can't stop thinking about Price covered in lipstick kisses.
Just, this man covered in red kisses 🥰
aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAA
SFW Captain Price x You (kiss time! nb!reader) :
• You don’t usually wear make-up, it’s a thing of convenience, more than anything. Just too much of a hassle on base, you don’t even have any in the barracks.
• You do, however, keep your bag in the sparse one-bedroom you rarely get to visit. So when you spend one of those few nights there, you’re dolling yourself up to do nothing.
• It doesn’t even pass your mind as you hear a knock on the door. You swing it open to see your captain, looking sheepish with a bag of take-out in his hand. An excuse. His eyes widen when he sees you, fingers going slack around the plastic take-out bag, almost dropping it.
• You two do this sometimes, both getting too lonely to handle leave. It had started after a breakdown, you sobbing that you couldn’t save everyone, and him wrapping you up in a hug before inviting you over to watch stupid movies and not think too hard.
• “Isn’t it past your bedtime, sir?” You ask. He chuckles, shaking himself out of his trance and pushes inside with a “I should be askin’ you the same thing,”
• It’s comfortable, if not unexpected, sitting on your couch with him watching TV. His arm is slung around the back of the couch behind you, occasionally asking about whatever show you chose. He doesn’t stop glancing over, though. Can’t seem to tear his eyes away from your face. It takes a couple minutes for you to break. Turning to meet his gaze and huffing out a “What? Do I have something on my face?”
• “Y-yeah,” you’ve never heard your captain stammer, “you’re ah…wearing make-up.” You pause, and then can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out of your throat. “You wan’t me to share?” You ask before you can stop yourself. It’s the look on his face that actually makes you do it though, the blush that rises high in his cheeks as he doesn’t say anything.
• Before you know it you’re leaning over, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. He chases you as you pull away, gives you a confused expression when you giggle again at the red staining his lips. Then you’re running to the bathroom, grabbing your lipstick and reapplying.
• He ends up with red kiss marks littering his face, right above his beard, his nose, next to his eye. He’s patient, allows you to have your fun and snap a picture before he’s hoisting you up and claiming your mouth as he walks to the bedroom. If you send the picture to Gaz, well, he’ll never know.
OR
• You’re halfway through your eyeliner when you get the text, Soap inviting you out to drinks with the 141. A rare, but very exciting occurrence. You don’t think anything of it as you finish up your make-up, get into something a little more fun then you’d usually wear around the 141 and head out the door.
• It’s a good night, Soap meeting you with a “lookin’ bonnie” and a wink. The drinks are flowing, you quickly go from tipsy to drunk. It’s fine, you feel safe. Price doesn’t take his eyes off you for a second. Every time you look over, he’s already staring at you with an indecipherable expression.
• You’re coming out of the bathroom when he corners you, closer than necessary, alcohol on his breath. “Look nice,” he murmurs, hand sliding to the small of your back. There’s always been something between the two of you, glances shared, late night conversations that someone walked out before they became more. It’s not your fault that you lean into him, answering with a bashful “thanks,” as you wind your arms around his neck.
• You realize your mistake immediately, trying to rub the red off his lips and he chuckles. He elects to lead you out a back exit instead if going back and facing your team. His face ends up littered with kiss marks before you two reach your apartment.
Hello! I just wanted to let you know that in your most recent price headcanons post, you made a note about him loving how your cheeks turn bright pink. While I understood what you meant and that he likes you being flustered when you write physical descriptors for the reader, it can feel isolating to those who do not fit into those physical descriptors and take way the enjoyment for them. We’re all human and we all slip up sometimes but I just wanted to let you know so it’s something you are more aware of in the future. Below I’ve linked a few resources about how to make reader inserts more inclusive ♥️
this brings up a good question i think i wasn’t conciously asking, but ig ill establish now?
i haven’t been separating myself from the reader insert, but i think i have been straying away from the descriptions of whiteness that exclude me personally as a poc. I haven’t, however, been as aware of descriptors that usually signify whiteness but don’t exclude me? because of that, i think i’ll consciously try to make my fics as non-descriptive as possible from now on. Even though i was writing myself in there its… not rly necessary ig? especially if my descriptions are only excluding poc
I’d love it in the future if yall could like, tumblr dm me with concerns if that’s okay with etiqette and comfortability, i promise i dont bite, i’d just love to be able to talk through these issues as they upset people, cause i’m still kinda iffy on how i’d like to best handle this in the future and i’d love to be able to have a whole dialogue about any issue that may arise. I may end up changing my mind and j making fics for black readers, who knows.
I probably won’t be answering any more constructive asks like this on my page. Feel free to send them in, i’ll absolutely read and think over them, i j won’t answer publicly. I just wanted to set this identity-less writing as a standard for the future on here.
I also edited the Price headcannon to take that out, i’ll go back through chapter 5 and the rest of tspf another time when i have the energy.
I’d love it if you could send me the rest of the resources you mentioned! thanks anon
i think price would be very good at giving spankings 👀 its the daddy energy
NSFW Price (daddy kink/spanking):
• He loves the way your ass jiggles, can’t get enough of it. Most of your punishments are him bending you over the nearest surface (his desk, his bed, his leg when there’s nothing else) and making your ass raw.
• Honestly, he just really likes your ass. It’s a problem. Before you two became a… *thing*, he was proper, made sure his eyes didn’t linger where they shouldn’t. Sure, he had to stop himself from staring a lot more than any superior should, but he kept it under wraps.
• And then he actually got you, knew what you sounded like mewling under him, what your ass looks like when it bounces on his dick, and he’s gone. After that he can’t stop himself from touching you as much as possible. There are too many times where you two almost get caught, or where he palms your ass as he passes you in the hallway, but he really can’t stop himself.
• He likes leaving marks, and since they can’t go above the collar there are almost always bruises between your thighs and on your ass. If it’s not finger prints from him using your ass to hold you down, its bite marks from him getting down on his knees—grunting as he does— and mouthing at your cheeks until he’s satisfied.
•His absolute favorite, hands down, is how cockdrunk you get when he spanks you. How you look up at him afterwards, eyes glassy, staring at him like he hung the moon and stars. Your panties are always soaked through, and half the time he can’t help but sink down to his knees, tongue lapping over your clothed pussy until you cum into his mouth
• He’d never tell you, but he loves it when you’re bad. Can’t wait for the moments you play footsie in the kitchen as the 141 is trying to have their (infrequent but nice) team lunches, or when you waltz into his office when he’s on the phone, doing your best to distract him (and succeeding more often than not).
• He takes any excuse to punish you, pushing you down, cigar hanging lazily from his mouth, and revealing your skimpy little panties. He always gives you exactly what you need, relishes in your little pants and whimpers as you beg for him.
•“Sorry daddy, d-didn’t mean to be bad,” you cry as his palm comes down. Crack. He can’t remember why he gets to punish you, but he really doesn’t care as he gets to watch your ass ripple.
• “I know, baby,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand over the already blossoming bruise. “but you needta take your punishment like a good girl for daddy, yeah? Count for me.”
• He rocks against you, dick leaking in his trousers. You make it to 15 before you break, and he pulls you into his laps, kissing your tears away and telling you how good you were for him, how well you took it, so pretty for daddy
I’ve wanted to write daddy kink price so fuckin bad man tysm
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