Callsign: Bambi

25. I’m yours if you’ll have me, but regardless, you’re mine.

[spoiled-fawn]

WELCOME TO:

BAMBI’S BURLESQUE

Headcanons

Weddings: TF 141 + Graves, Alejandro, Rudy, and Konig

Owl Hybrids: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz

Western AU & Mail Order Spouse Trope

Master list

Captain John Price

Sweet Carolina; Baby Blues

Drop Everything Now: Part 1, Part 2

Lust by Nature: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, [ao3]

Fun Things!

Wallpapers: Part 1, Part 2

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 5}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

MDNI: 18+!

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word Count: ~6.5k

Summary: In Mexico with Los Vaqueros!

A/N: I swear I didn't take a break, I just wrote this a billion times and am struggling to make my writing better without a beta writer. I hope ye enjoy!

The constant drone of the plane's engines became white noise after the first hour. It blended into the sound of your breathing by the 10th. Given four days after the medical ward stint, exhaustion still coats your nerves with a steady hum, rivaling the plane’s engines.

Thankful for your government stipend coming back into play, a private plane across the pond was allocated to the team. Besides this, it meant you got to lie down and sleep during the flight to Mexico.

“Sae whit th' heck ur we daein' ower 'ere again?”

Groaning at the man whose lap your head rests on, you slap his knee weakly.

“Soap, be quiet.”

“Sorry, bonnie.”

His warm hand that's been petting you throughout the flight cards through your hair. A soft laugh bleeds through his breath. He’s been careful not to touch your horns after giving him a warning bite to his thigh earlier.

The sergeant had been an angel the past few days, as had Gaz and Ghost. After Deidrick was reported and shipped out in handcuffs, the boys stuck to you like glue in the easy moments. Annoyingly hovering because they had no issue with your protests.

Price and Gaz sit adjacent to you with laptops clicking away. Ghost, sitting opposite of you, spread out like a pampered cat. Something you feel that man deserves to enjoy.

“Tha’s the fifth time you're asking, Soap.” Gaz groans out. Making a noise that you can assume is him stretching out, the lower timber of Price echoes him a moment later.

“Alejandro’s men are having a tiff about selection to bring in a hybrid operator.” Price begins. “And they’ve got an issue with a renegade group. So, they’re having us help with their bug problem and show off Saint.”

“Show off that she’s a little shit most of the time?” Ghosts' deadpan humor never ceases to amaze you. All you manage is a small flip of your middle finger in response, making him laugh again.

“The fact being…” Price begins, voice coming closer to where you lie. “She is an enhancement to our team. Show ‘em how we work and help ‘em outta bit.”

You catch the small frown on his lips as your eyes blink open. The ocean in his eyes seems colder, foggy. A shallow wave of concern emits, forcing you to become conscious of how you’re curled into a ball, searching for warmth in the comfort of Soap’s legs. Goosebumps have been in a constant roll on and off during the flight, the chill on your body never ceasing to crest over you.

“How you feelin?”

“Cold, and like I need a B-12 shot with a Red Bull.” Looking much better than days prior, the dark circles under your eyes were still present. You’d all chalked it up to being subjected to a serious wound, then fighting against restraints whilst wounded, followed immediately by an 18-hour flight.

At least Mexico was going to be warm.

The feeling of a cheap blanket covering you brings some sense of ease as Price gently tucks it around you.

You miss the look Soap gives him when your eyes close.

“We’ll be there soon and can get you an IV if you want.” Is all the Captain offers before he goes back to his seat.

Truthfully it wasn’t even something that would help at this point. You’ve been starved of anything intimate for days you don’t care to count. As dry as the salt flats, your body groans with each crack of your powers. Stiff, split, and rough on each edge that tries to hold itself together.

In this state, your body let a small remnant of human mechanics take over to get you in good health. Eating food felt good, and drinking electrolytes and vitamins made you perk up. Your demon accepted emotions offered in your presence; love and care.

And usually, you would preen in the presence of these, savoring every moment you could. Yet right now, you hated the taste of it on your tongue.

Every ounce of care you received felt embarrassing. Coddled like something so fragile that can’t be protected. It angered you, the sense of superiority you radiated washed out and dragged under sea foam while trying to grasp at the surface. As if the moment you were left with the humans and away from the lab, every force of nature wanted to knock you off the water you walked on.

For now, you were surviving.

Price hadn’t said much after the interrupted kiss on the couch, having to scramble while Laswell mandated him on everything to be done.

The kiss was just that. A kiss.

Something passionate in the moment, but you knew it didn’t hold even a flicker of a flame. There wasn’t time in the dark hours of the night to huddle around the wet wicker that he is. He’s in charge, and his life is sacrificed to do so.

Sure, it would have been easy enough to come in and check on you while practically being babysat by the others. You listened for his familiar gait to approach your room in the late hours of the night.

But it never came.

With Laswell on base, the lack of interaction between her and Price made you feel like a toy soldier. Forgotten and avoided. Like he was embarrassed after it all. It made the attention from the others feel artificial, pitiful of his absence that was painfully obvious in the way you silently pleaded for him.

You had a bit more pep in your step by the time the plane landed.

Stepping into the Chihuahuan desert greets you with an eye-blinding brightness. The warmth is unrivaled as you open up like a sunflower. Looking around the expansive base, did you become coherent to where you are. Oh. This is familiar. Very familiar.

The mountain range peaks in the background of the small town in contrast to the flat land the base is planted onto. The airstrip has an impressive size, yet your plane is the only one showing activity. Like a barricaded wall, your teammates form a barrier around you while walking forward.

“Bienvenido de nuevo, my friends.” The first speaks out. Is that-?

“Good to see you all, again.” The second voice followed immediately after.

No fucking way. Had Price not been blocking your view with his large and toned back, you’d have recognized the voices sooner. You wait, rather forced to, while the men stand in a guarding wall before you.

“¿Dónde está tu demonio?” The men shift to disperse and greet each other with handshakes and half-hugs.

“She’s ‘ere. And don’t call her-” Ghost starts, looking over his shoulder to you while Price stays blocking your view.

“¿Y a quién llamas demonio?”

Ringing out from behind Price, peaking your head out to make your appearance.

Meeting the gazes of Alejandro and Rodolfo.

“They call me Saint, now.” Walking forward with an almost shy smile, you take in their reactions; Alejandro looks as dumbfounded as the day he first met you while Rudy almost cycles through the emotions of grief before blatant excitement settles on his face.

“Santa madre de-” Rudy punches Alejandro’s arm as if to make sure they're not in one of your trances. “You? It’s you?”

Dropping your bags, you meet him in the middle with a small hop into his arms. Peaking an eye open, you watch Alejandro walk with an almost angry swagger to wrap his arms around your back.

“Is this where you went? After how long- ¿Estás bromeando?” He almost shouts against your hair, each of them leaning down to leave a kiss where your horns won’t poke them.

“Are they takin’ the piss?” Gaz whisper-yells behind you, followed by Soap. “Does she speak Spanish?”

The small reunion disperses after a moment. Turning to face your teammates by the sides of the Mexican operators, a dazzling smile on your lips. Something they hadn’t seen before.

“Care to enlighten us how you know each other?” Price's arms crossed, body rocking on his heels. Chin tilted down in almost a parental look while flicking his eyes between the three of you. Your smile falls while taking in his sharpness.

“She came on a test assignment with us, in the forest. Even let us interview her.” Alejandro claps your back, looking down with an affectionate smile. “Was supposed to be for us, but they felt our men were not ready to handle a mujer malvada like her.”

“So when she left, we thought that would be the last of her we’d ever see.” Rudy finishes, moving a hand to pet your hair. “Mira cómo has crecido, princesa.” The low murmur draws a soft smile as he looks you over, almost too intimate with so many eyes watching.

Price shouldn’t feel threatened as threatened as he does.

Getting a move on, you’re led into the base's hallways. Nostalgia rushes over your lungs, almost suffocating from having the tangible feeling. Back when you were less experienced in a trepidatious custody battle.

An empty barracks hallway designated to 141 has three rooms lined up. Soap and Ghost already make their way into one, while Gaz moves to the one next to them. Price watches as you enter yours, staying in the doorway while Rudy enters the room with you.

“Are you not going to sleep with her?” Alejandro’s voice startles the seasoned vet. Watching as Price tries to move away to hide the tips of his ears turning red.

“No- No. It’s not like that.” He shakes it off, saying it for the thousandth time. Setting his bag down opposite where Gaz lays. “She’s her own person. I’m not using her for my entertainment.” There’s so much more he could say to defend himself. Dispel any feelings or even waste a breath trying to justify himself. But he leaves it at that.

He can feel Alejandro watching, hearing the cogs in his brain turning at the lack of an answer. Gaz brushes aside them to join Soap and Ghost.

“She’s different.” Alejandro starts, checking to see your door closed before he moves closer to Price. “She needs you to survive, Capitán. Nothing wrong or in the way of it- Yet you’re not getting your team to its full potential.”

This whole trip should have been a video call. Price’s clothes drop on the bed with heavy thuds, no soft movements but refrains from snapping at his host. Tension glimmers in the silence. Sounds of their breaths cut at your voice through the wall, almost smothered by the boys on the opposite side.

“We’ve been here less than an hour. How are you already giving me pointers on my team?” It’s not meant to be as harsh as it sounds. Alejandro can read between the lines from his position.

“She’s quiet. She’s not happy yet, not to what she should be.” His murmur breaks down the grating air between them. “You need to be careful with how slow your bond is going-” There’s that fucking word again. It pisses him off. It pisses him off more so that Alejandro knows your schematics exceptionally well to dish out advice. “Before something happens to her.”

“An’ what’s going to happen?”

The sound of your door opening as you and Rudy enter the hallway pulls Alejandro’s attention for a moment. Arms crossed while leaning against the wall in a relaxed form, his eyes almost appear softer with a quiet plead behind them.

“Just don’t let it get to that point, cabrón.”

Whatever means Price and the Colonel had drafted up was to show Los Vaqueros how your integration uplifts the team's mission while coinciding with integrating you into society. It sounds like a reentry program, save for the fact that you weren’t a criminal. The obvious added perk that you’ve been shaped into a soldier.

Plus you were fucking hot, so the perfect candidate to be a psyop if needed to sway the Mexican forces.

Tensions were underlaid with the men’s belief that having more than human power in an ordinary fight would soon lead to their dismissal. That, and that there was an underlying bias towards hybrids and creatures even stepping into war.

Having met Alejandro and Rudy previously set you at a higher level than respect. They know your capabilities and knew how to promote you.

You can hear the gym filled with deep voices that speak fast and low. Some women linger in their respective groups, but there was less of them compared to the base in England. The sound of the voices diminishes as you and the team step into the room.

Confidence exuded from Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap as they entered; Finally being able to parade you around in front of strangers made that feeling of being their pet return. Chin held high, your horns pointed towards the sky with a shine that catches the lights. Tail flickering behind you teased the soldiers with glances. The shape of your wings almost seemed like a shadow on your back, so black that it almost absorbed the light if not for the reflection of the soft scaled texture.

They move and flex in time with your breaths, brushing against Ghost as his hand keeps on your lower back to guide you through the door. Some whispers still stand out for those taking in your appearance, some speaking “Demonio” if they remember you.

When your red eyes look up and over the crowd, silence takes over.

“Buenos días, gracias por estar presente.” Alejandro breaks the static with an introduction and reasoning for the meeting- mandatory for the entirety of their base to move in on better resources, opportunities, and allocation of funding. “We welcome our friends back, to bring information on their newest addition.”

His speech moves through the facility definitions on the program; Highlighting the newest strategies for combined arms, and operations other than war, while showcasing how 141 has been integrating you within previously followed operations. A piece of them that solidifies their objective's success.

In the middle of the gym is a kill house. Made of plywood and spray-painted markings to denote entry and exit points, furnished to simulate a residential environment that tests differentiating friendly from hostile. Above is a projector screen, playing feed of the inside walls. It’s not the largest kill house you’ve been in, but tighter situations like this cause more stress and demand quicker reaction times.

In events such as this, where it's kill or be killed, those with a quicker reaction time will always come out on top. When Price steps up to speak, he presents you like a new piece of artillery.

“Saint can empathetically rule out emotions. Being able to sense them without even seeing the person, she can discern the intentions of the individual.” He shifts his weight, looking over the kill house before turning over to you. “The test will showcase her reaction time, and ability to compensate hostile forces while being mindful of civilians- if any, around her.”

Speaking on the heavy stress of why you were chosen for them, Price continues on while you're led to a small armory table by Rudy. His voice similar to telling a story with a moral at the end; Gloating on your interrogation skills and how you could make the information come out in less than a few minutes.

“Her breed is beautiful. Known for her looks, that's one of her greatest advantages. But-” You can hear him move about, getting comfortable in the crowd. “She is much more, than just a piece of art.”

Rudy’s hands check your gear, handing you an ISO and two 30-round mags while he leads you to the doorway.

“Show them what you’re made of, princesa. Eres mortal.” His lips meet your ear, giving a soft kiss that makes your smile grow pointed at the edges, giving a dangerous lick to your teeth. Rudy had learned how to rile you up since the first meeting, even in ways that Alejandro couldn’t.

You let your letting your lips kiss his cheek while smiling. A silent thank you for something sweet to make you feel just a bit more sinister. His hands give your waist a rough squeeze, your body absorbing his arousal as if sucking down water in an oasis.

Price’s voice booms a bit louder as the countdown begins overhead and signals Rudy to step back.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

“The challenge she faces today-”

Seven. Six. Five.

“will be the lack of human opponents.”

Four. Three. Two.

“But instead, virtual targets.”

One.

The buzzer rings out and your boot is already kicking in the door before it can finish. Sharpening your senses, to scan the maze-like layout of the house. The sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears fades in your mind.

As the first apparition appears, your hand moves with lightning speed to draw your weapon. The projected figure seemingly peaks by a bookcase with a weapon trained on you.

“Hostile.” Speaking in a growl from the back of your throat, a single burst rings out, hitting the target square in the chest before it fades away. Moving from the living room to the kitchen, four apparitions pop up from unexpected angles, forcing you to adapt and react in real-time. Going in time with how quickly the projections have them raise their weapons, you shoot bursts into their chest before looking at the figure displayed in a crouched position.

The barrel of your gun guides your eyes to focus, noting it's displaying a child crouched on the floor. “Civilian.” By the time you reach the fifth and final room, you’re met with a hostage situation playing on the bedroom wall.

“No te muevas o dispararé!”

Stilling, your gun stays trained on the man who holds the woman to his chest with a pistol raised to her head. The actor cries, cheesy enough it almost ruins the atmosphere. Before the animation can play out any further, a burst of fire embeds itself into the wall and they both disappear.

Finding your way back out, you dispose of the gear and fix your hair. Making your way back to the sides of your CO’s, the hidden signs of their approval don't dispel how it radiates around them.

But the sting of something sharp catches your heart. Surfing your gaze over your teammates, you catch Price’s eyes.

A sharp, hard-set stare holds you captive. Anger. You can tell from the sharp feeling in the back of your throat and almost as displeasure as pepper spray makes you recoil.

Did you fuck up?

The screen above draws your attention away. A fleeting excuse to turn away from him.

Your analytical statistics are side by side with the footage, showing near-perfect numbers; Two minutes in and out. Your figure, or lack thereof, looks as if a black haze in the kill house. Static borders the edges of you, leaving your eyes almost pitch black in the light amplification of the video.

“Think you look more of a ghost than Ghost does, lass.” Soap’s hushed laugh comforts you.

Trying to brush off whatever is stuck so far up your Captain’s ass, you stay between Ghost and Soap, hiding from Price’s aura that sours your confidence.

“Vaqueros,” Alejandro’s voice cuts the silence after the video ends. “It is time for your challenge.” He moves to the middle of his impromptu stage space where a sparring mat lies with a clear circle in the middle.

“War is changing, and now we have to. Pick a brother to fight and test her. Make it count. ¿Comprendido?”

The resulting answer is louder than you expected for a bunch of men who looked like they may faint at the sight of you.

The man sizes you up. Short wavy hair that looks black. About 6’ in height, medium build. Brown eyes. He’s by far no Gaz or Ghost, a lighter hue that doesn’t hold a depth like theirs. Less inviting.

The first lunge is led with his chest, feet following with the weight in his toes. Heavy in his strikes, you give the man credit and think you’d have been at least hit if he wasn’t a bit fearful. You can taste it.

Not using an increase of speed, you dance your dodges with him. He presses on, each time more intense as he gets used to your presence, your appearance, and nature. Not like you’d bite his hand off, damn. Having enough, you catch his wrist, using the shock of your touch to the advantage before turning and tossing him over your body and to the ground.

A collective sound of “Aye” and low whistles ring in the room, taunting and scrutinizing the operator looking up at you.

“Otra vez.” Masculinity in this culture is a serious thing, you learned a great deal from Alejandro and Rudy. There’s no smile, no laugh, or taunt, to your demeanor. His glare is vicious, but it means good progress for an actual spar.

Resetting, he wastes no time to tackle you.

You let him, wanting him to have his moment and feel a semblance of training. Your body rolls with his, absorbing his momentum while adjusting your limbs to grapple against his hold. Vaguely, he reminds you of a boar. Head-driven while using his size as intimidation, the testosterone that leaks from him is almost enough to make you cough.

It’s when you release a hiss of air from taking the knee to the ribs that you decide the show’s over. Elbowing the arm that holds himself up, locking your legs around his hips, you push him onto his back, growling. “Enough.” Your voice has that ethereal chime, sending shivers down the spines of those looking on with an intent to devour.

Focusing on his eyes, the connection forms a bridge. Golden glowing embers that only you can imagine leading your intentions to coat him with a soft push of influence. He stills beneath you. His grip on your thigh which was previously attempting to push you off becomes soft. Almost petting your muscle before he nods.

“Sí, señorita.”

The men watching start to holler, making enough racket that you have to push your control just a bit harder. Hand trailing over his face before taking his wrists and printing them above your head.

“Very good. Wake up.” As easy as it was to enter his mind, and form around him in a soft embrace, you pull back your influence. The trance leaves him in a breath, becoming aware of the crowd before looking up to find you smiling down on him.

The erection pressing against your ass is immediate. Giving his wrists a small squeeze, you stand from his lap a second later to let your actions speak.

It takes about another ten minutes for the meeting to adjourn. Some of the men had spoken up and even asked questions, and a lesser tension could be felt, compared to the beginning. They’d have much more work to do if it was ever to become a safe environment for whatever creature was chosen, but you had hope for Los Vaqueros.

Alejandro and Price agreed on having downtime before meeting for the second reason of the task force’s visit. With an hour to do nothing, Price decided to walk around on a self-guided tour, wanting to separate himself from the others.

He isn’t one to let curiosity get the best of him, but that became a lie when you joined. Tension in his knuckles begs to be cracked by the force of at least hitting something, pent-up frustration storming.

It was the moment between you and Rudy. He’d seen it.

What seemed like a private moment between you two hadn’t been fully concealed at the entrance point of the kill house. While everyone else had watched the feed of internal cameras, he’d been watching you.

Seeing you instantly melt into Rudy’s affection sparked something far too inappropriate for a man his age. Immature for a Captain. The nagging thoughts of hands coating something that belonged to him, made him want to lay his hands on you in any way. Spar marked as training, or grabbing you by the waist and against his chest.

Maybe you’d ask for a transfer. Fuck, maybe you’d be in bed with Rudy and Alejandro at the end of the night.

He doesn’t understand how you could chase him like a puppy, just to sniff a new bone and run in the opposite direction. Fleeting and impatient where your attention should be on him. You’re on his contract. Not theirs. That can’t possibly be broken and torn up. You’re his and his alone.

“I’m a fucking mess.” He admonished. To whom, he wasn't sure.

The hallways of the base were more intimate and narrow than the ones back home, making an eerie quietness come over him. Minimal sounds echoing, letting Price’s footsteps reverberate quietly on the concrete ground. It's when walking past a small corridor of offices, that the silence breaks.

“-your face, princesa. You’re tired and cold. No nos mientas.” Alejandro’s voice breaks over the hum of electricity in the halls. Straining to hear the vibrato of the conversation, Price follows the sound coming from an office a few yards away

“Tell, him. If he doesn’t know, how is he supposed to fix you?” Rudy’s voice consumes the space in a whisper, absorbing sound as he speaks gently. Price leans against an adjacent wall, the blinds on the door’s window blocking any view of him.

He can see you sitting on the desk with the two men he has loathed far too harshly since the start of the morning, crowding you. You lean into them, the movement of their hands petting you isn’t missed by Price.

The unspoken relationship between the three of you is so blatantly contrasted against you and the 141, that he wants to throw himself out of a window. The ignorant belief you wouldn’t stray from his heel grating in his mind.

Jealousy makes his lungs stutter at the wave of pressure from the sight. It makes him want to have a team bond that makes holding and sharing you in soft moments. It’s what he’s beginning to crave as he watches it happen with them.

Maybe if you weren’t a self-righteous prick it would be different. He tells himself, seething as he watches on.

“I’ll be fine. Just a few more days like this and I’ll be back to normal.” You almost sound defeated with the insistent directing and questioning.

“You know… We could always just-”

Before you can finish the sentence, Rudy’s hand gives a smack to your arm in the form of a reprimand. “No, cariño.”

Alejandro follows the reprimand, capturing your chin in his hand. “We respect the Captain. We’re not going to interfere with what you have together.”

Alright, Price is fractionally less mad at them, his paranoid mind bristling still.

“Yeah, right.” An irritated scoff leaves you, shaking your head from his hold. “Doesn’t want me. Made it known.”

When you hop off the desk to gather yourself, you miss the look between the Colonel and Sergeant Major.

“Price is a good man, princesa.” Alejandro starts, and the words stir you enough to let the disbelief on your face show.

“Why are you-” You cut yourself off, moving to turn on Alejandro. “Look at me. Any man would have fucked me on the first day. You know what's going to happen, if-”

It almost sounds as if you’re going to cry. Has it really been this big of an issue?

“Shh, you’re okay. Estas perfectamente bien.” Through the blinds, Price watches as they bring you back into their embraces. “We believe in you two, just let him come to his senses.” Rudy murmurs against your hair.

“If he doesn’t… Please call us, mi amor.” Alejandro finishes.

You don’t make it more than five minutes before being grabbed and shoved into an empty conference room.

“What the fuck-” A hand covers your mouth as the door locks behind you, flicking on a yellowing overhead light.

“What the fuck was that?” Startling at the intensity of his voice, your eyes dart to the ice-blue ones glaring at you, filled with rage.

“The hell are you talking about?” Your muffled reply makes his hand move from over your mouth and down to your jaw, his body crowding you against the wall.

“Don't you play stupid, girl.” Price’s voice drops lower than you’ve ever heard. Even thicker than when he finishes a cigar. The prickling feeling rolls off of him again, making your throat tighten. There’s another feeling to him. A crash of emotion that makes you want to lower your head and dispel any argument between each other. To please him.

Your silence makes him continue. “That little thing you had with Rodolfo earlier today. That little meeting you just had with them. What the fuck is going on?”

It's suffocating how fast your brain spins to make sense of it all. Trying to remember while the weight of his emotions makes a cyclone crash into you. It’s not fair that his eyes are boring into you, scanning for a lie.

Oh, Christ. That moment with Rudy. It almost feels shameful to know that he had seen it, and watched the intimacy between someone you trust. But the anger at Price for now approaching you like this, like he cared, outweighs everything.

“That wasn’t anything. It wasn’t even a thing.” Hissing back, gaze unmoving from his while puffing yourself up in defense. “It was a small pick me up.”

Price's expression turns dark. For a moment, all you can hear is the light humming above you.

“I saw it. Plain as day, Saint. The whole team did.” You feel the pressure on your body getting firmer. “Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is? Seeing you act like a little slut for all to see?”

If it wasn’t for the anger boiling in your veins, you’d be turned on by how degrading he is.

So, you play his game.

“Oh I see.” A silent grin haunts your lips. “You jealous, Price?” Tilting your head up before he reaffirms his hold on your jaw. “Didn’t like how he touched me?”

You can see how close he is to doing something, being on the edge of a tipping point you don’t know of. The anger floods into you, making your own emotions match. The previous submission evaporates into a storm of fury, potent enough that your tail twitches aggressively against the wall.

“You’re really askin’ for it, ain’t cha?” He fumes. Breath fanning across your lips, the heat makes you lick your own. The buckle of his belt presses against your stomach, and you wonder if it’ll leave a mark with how much he pushes onto you. “Say that again, I dare you."

The heated air between you charges something greater than your dream ever did on him, heavier than any touch you’ve felt by his hands. So, you do what he asks.

“Are you jealous, Captain?”

Before you take your next breath, his thumb moves to invade your mouth; Pressing against the backside of your lower teeth, he opens your mouth for you while leaning to speak against your ear.

“You think I don't know what kind of games you’re playing, right? Tha’ I don’t see how you’re acting right now?” The brush of his beard itches your right cheek. And god damn this forsaken man, your panties are already soaked from the feeling.

Your jaw is still trapped in his hold, not allowing you a noise besides the garbled mess of a protest.

“You’re trying to piss me off right now so I punish you, and give you the satisfaction you want eh?”

You’d argue that it didn’t start that way, but now he’s certainly correct. “Keep acting like a child and you’re gonna be treated like one. Demon brat.”

Had it not been for the use of that insult, you could have forgotten that you were mad in the first place. Saliva pools in your mouth, and you can see his eyes dart down at the stand that drops onto your shirt.

You remind him of your fangs with a curl of your upper lips.

Seemingly reigning himself in, he releases his hold but lets his thumb remain on your bottom lip as you swallow.

“You want me to behave?” Inhaling shakily, as if high on a stim, your head tilts back to match his glare. “You gonna keep me on a leash? Make sure I’m by your side so my tail only wags for you?”

Price raises his eyebrow at that and somehow you feel like you’ve just let him win.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" His expression transforms into something more dangerous; A small smile curls on the corner of his mouth. "To be my little demon dog, staying by my feet, always ready to obey. Is that what you're after, Saint?"

Your hands move from the wall to instead find the meat of his hips, digging into his jeans with the tips of your nails. Pressing against him to stand on your tip-toes, the pressure of your hips together makes you bite down a groan, feeling a flicker of his arousal inlet to you.

“I’m not your little bitch.”

“You’re not?” He drawls, looking at you in fake surprise. The hand previously on your shoulder moves to your ass while he presses into you harsher.

"’Cause right now, you’re barking an awful lot with tha’ pretty little mouth of yours." He sneers, his hips grinding against yours forcing a gasp from you.

"And I think that pretty mouth of yours could make some different kinds of noises. Hm?"

At that, your head thuds against the wall. Fisting your hands onto his jeans, you don’t offer a response.

“Tsk. Gone quiet now?” His low laugh saturates your heart, the heat flowing to your core. To your surprise, he encourages your behavior. Lifting you with a hand under your ass with the other on your back, he turns to lay you on the conference table.

His erection grants you friction across your damp panties, good enough to almost sedate you in a drunken haze. When you prominently roll your hips against his straining cock, he groans loud enough to make him turn and bite his shirt.

“Maybe if you used me, I wouldn’t have to go bending over for anyone else.”

“You’re my operator. Your loyalty lies solely with me.” Snarling in a sharp contrast, a choleric look peers into you. “Is that understood?"

The drag of his beard across your cheek comes back, scratching your skin to bring you back from the feeling of his hardened cock rocking against your clit through your clothes. When you can only grunt in response, the hold on your jaw is the only warning before he kisses you.

Tongue diving in to meet your own, he dominates his way in while holding your jaw. Breaths borderline panting, the searing anger turning into a lustful spark, and fuck he tastes so good on your tongue. It almost dulls the meaning behind his words, of his claim and possession that comes to the surface. The feeling of submission comes to you again; Understanding that it's not you empathetically picking up on it, but rather the way your body wants to submit to his domineering energy.

His hand fists into your hair, holding you down as he licks into your mouth. You find your ground in the moment, kissing him back like a cannibal and expecting to see red smeared across each other's lips if he were to pull back.

“Show me you’re mine and I’ll give you what you want.” You can feel him start to leave you, his hold lessening to leave you on the table.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” A broken growl rumbles your chest, eyebrows furrowing as your jaw sets. Reaching out a hand to latch onto his belt, frustration glowing in your eyes.

He scoffs. Actually scoffs as he looks down with a twisted smile.

“Careful sweetheart. Don’t go ordering me around.” He easily shakes off your hand and greedily lets his eyes take in your body underneath him. It's uncomfortably tense as he grips your hip, moving to get off and away without a second thought.

The feeling of your pants tugging makes him stop.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding.”

Looking down, you both find you're stuck together; The button of your pants having looped into his belt buckle. It doesn't make any fucking sense whatsoever, but rather keeping his hips tilted against yours with the pull.

“Could be fucking. But not kidding.” You griped, not offering any assistance. Wanting to keep him there for longer, your hips buck up.

“Stop. Moving.” He hisses, adding emphasis as he smacks the top of your thigh. “I'm trying not to bloody rip it.”

“Just take it off.”

The whine comes unabashedly from you, childishly biting your lip as you laugh at him. His fingerwork is clumsy, unable to unhook the button from himself. Huffing, you swat his hands away to take over. “Let me-"

Your fingers fumble between the button seemingly wrapped around his belt buckle, weaving around the metal in a way unknown to either of you. You’d settle for divine intervention.

“How’s it so fucking tight-” His hand holds yours while he tries to pull free again, only to feel you’re still stuck.

“Ye sly. Old. Dog.”

The speed at which Price’s head whips back over his shoulder is almost concerning for a man his age. Had you not also immediately looked to see Soap standing at the door, staring with the proudest shit-eating grin, you’d have noticed the vein pumping in Price’s neck.

“Soap, ‘ave you gone daft? Get. Out.”

You can’t even respond as your jaw drops from the surprise. The man wolfishly snapping his eyes to find yours, and holding it with a tick in his jaw. Fuck, even he's aroused with the imagination of finding you and the Captain fucking. Without validating any part of the story, Soap darts away with the door clicking shut, Price aggressively pulls hard enough that you’re freed- clothing unscathed.

“That’s gonna be spread like wildfire now.” He busies himself with being sure his pants are on correctly and probably hiding any remnants of his hard-on. You let the silence hang while fixing yourself up, wanting to walk out of the room as if you weren't close to being fucked. Trailing your eyes over Price, he doesn't bother looking at you, but the subtle flush on the tips of his ears is there. An expert in hiding his emotions and blending in for whatever the social context calls for.

“Don’t act like that’s not what you want to happen.” Hopping off the table and heading to the door, he crowds you from behind. His warmth makes your hand pause on the door, feeling the draft of his breath skim your shoulder. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, sending an anxious chill down your spine. More and more it feels like you've lost your advantage with him.

“I don’t want an endless fling to become your permanence. To sustain you.” His hand wraps around your front, securing a place on your neck.

“I want to drown in you.”

[spoiled-fawn]

Bear hybrid Price with human!reader:

Getting his bear pawprints tattooed on you, as a sign of claim. Bonus points if they're on the front of your hip bone hnggg

Or in some uncanny way, you love bears and find his tracks in your backyard and then show up with them next week when he spots you in public. He promptly chokes on his cigarette smoke.

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 4}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

MDNI: 18+!

Warnings for this chapter: Drugging, hinted non-con but just a hair

Summary: He’d been used to the small messages telling him to make you simmer down, something not uncommon in the scope of you being, well, you.

A/N: There are a few POV Shifts and time skips in here, denoted by the "---". Work has been kicking my butt so sorry this is late. I hope ye enjoy

A week later finds the team on the last stage of the op at a cell-tower outpost, and you’re fucking exhausted. It's horrible. Starving and beyond irritable. You’d compare it to the boys after it's been too long to have a cigarette or stiff drink, but even then some of them could be drama queens surprising to the rulers of hell.

The mission had gone tits up by the middle of the objective, a high chance of needing to evacuate and determine if it was even salvageable. Sweeping north on a downward mountain slope gave you a wide berth to the others as they moved in by the north, coordinating the ambush. Soap and Gaz sandwich you in the spread of bodies, trailing to the right of Ghost and Price. By the time the road gave way to the tower in a pit of land, the team had been spotted.

“Just get in and take the tower. Soap-”

“On it.” He's already loading his GLM, calling out at the ready with every fire. Soap may be a little shit through and through, but he certainly is a mastermind. His sense of knowing where the explosives land by the mark- he’s damn good. And he damn well manages to aim a ring of flying shrapnel rain on the hostels from the launched HE’s.

Of course, a problem always arises.

It took 30 minutes longer than expected to clear the line of fire, a constant suppression needed. Price's voice growled that the bomb needed to be planted now; Soaps rushing in and calling for Gaz to follow.

But something makes your hand snap out to grab Gaz by the bitch handle on the back of his vest, keeping him rooted for treeline suppression.

“Wait-” Gaz’s yelp is overshadowed by Price’s enraged barking in your ear.

“Saint, get your ass back to the peak!”

“Already gone, Captain. Watch that line.” You answer, panting. Sprinting down after Soap before matching his position at the base of the tall signal tower.

“Capt’ gonnae hae yer heid, bonnie.” He scoffs as he sets the charges. It's 3 minutes to be set with the detonator in hand. Your eyes steady on the horizon towards the others. “Time to blow, Princess.”

“Say less.” You laugh, letting him lead you up the hill and towards the forest; The moment his arm snags around your waist you know its time to leave. Fast.

“Say the line, love.”

“Fire!” The detonator clicks just before the resonating sound of the explosion makes you both stagger.

His grip is solid around your waist, ignoring the sound of metal creaking from the force.

Call it natural curiosity, you can't help but look back to watch it fall.

It’s a good thing you did.

The steel creaks as it crumples down, the metal falling in sharp and jutting angles as its bones bend and break. The heavy drums atop the fixture force the beams down faster- practically above you already.

You yank Soap to the right to get away. You pull just enough to roll twice before stopping, laying on his chest. The tower makes impact where you just were, the sharp screech of metal overbearing on your senses as the steel splits apart.

“Johnny! Do you copy?” Ghost’s concern bleeds through your earpiece, wincing as the high-pitched grating is contrasted with the deep timber yelling in your ear.

“Good, L.T. See yae’s soon.” Soap’s already hauling you up, wasting no time preparing you to run.

You know you're injured when you make it to the rally point.

You smelt it far earlier than you felt it; A deep gash lacing your side. It could have been a chunk of metal that managed to scrape by, but you have a good feeling it came from rolling on the ground with who knows what laying on the ground.

It’s still warm, the dark metallic scent making your clothes hang heavier on your left side. Now that you’ve slowed, the stinging bite of cold and pain laces your nerves. Teeth chattering, you haven't spoken in minutes. It’s unnatural.

The dark conceals you, just as you always let it. Their human senses are dulled significantly compared to yours but it won’t be long until someone notices. You bank on the fact you can tend to yourself before then.

The armored vehicle is hidden among high bushes and dense trees. The back doors swing open when you’re a pace away, no words mentioned as Soap slings himself in first by the pull of Ghost’s arm.

You’re queued to enter, mind racing with how not to make it obvious you’re as badly cut up as a cheater’s tires. Ghost makes you freeze.

“Johnny? You hurt?”

You can only watch the pair stare at each other before looking between their hands. A tense silence fabricates the moment as you’re lifted in by both Gaz and Price, biting your tongue you think you sever the muscle from having to hold back a shout of pain.

“-’s nae mah blood.” The Scotsman spills out, the vehicle already moving as the driver begins to speed out of the woods.

Four sets of eyes turn to you. Heavy with how deep they rake their eyes over you, inch by inch and then again for each limb. It’s Price who finds it first.

“Fuck…” His curse is a taut hiss, his palm pulling away from your hip, under the slash. Stained red.

“Shit- We gotta go.” Pulling you closer, trying to get your gear sorted off. Gaz is already rattling off an alert for possible Medevac, the feeling of your tac vest making your lungs expand with a deep breath.

Human. You feel entirely too human from the feeling of the pain, the touch of hands that want to care for you, and the weight of the irises focused on you. It’s been so long since you felt this way.

Meanwhile, Price kneels on the vehicle's floor, between your legs, as he lies you down. “When the hell did this happen?” He hisses sharply, eyeing Soap with a sharp glare briefly.

As the vehicle rolls, you can only make sense of Price’s hands touching all over your body, stilling when he feels the cooling warmth of your blood. Ghost hands the Captain your small med-pack from your vest, readying to grab his own and offer the gauze.

“Not too long ago.” You breathe.

“How bad?” Comes Gaz’s voice. You catch the sight of his eyes looking at you with his hand on his earpiece. You can’t lock onto his eyes, the vehicle swaying too much. Looking around, you realize you can’t catch anyone's gaze and hold it. Oh.

“Halfway to back the way she came. Fuckin bleedin all over.”

“Saint, hey- Kin ye bade awake for us, love?” Soap’s voice does just the opposite, finding it comforting in the accent you find so fun. “Shit- Shouid we gi’ ‘er a stim?”

Their brains wrack collectively, judging the blood loss based on your colored clothes and stained skin. It gets a bit darker, and you wonder why the driver turned off the headlights- did he find a road? Are you out of the woods?

“It’s cold…” Your voice breaks them from their first aid on you.

You don’t see the panic in your eyes as yours close.

Waking up, you almost bit a medic’s hand off.

Wild and afraid. It was sudden and the place was seemingly so new that it triggered your fight or flight. You did not want them anywhere close and for far too long than you deemed necessary. Insistent on them leaving you to heal on your own even if you’re sucked dry of any magic at this point. Snapping your teeth like a wild animal when one medic tried taking your shirt off to get to the gouge on your side, before snarling as two were tag teaming you to keep you down.

Something about their hands not feeling warm enough, not having the smell of tobacco leaves stained into their skin to leave a trail of smoke. Yet there was something lurking in the air. Something different; You knew the scent was familiar, it felt like it belonged in the medical ward yet it shouldn’t be here near you. It screamed danger, something clawing and scratching at your mind to remember.

The scent trails around the room like the smell of burnt clover, making your stomach want to recoil and throw up its acid with the lack of any substance in it.

The lab.

Neurons fire off, and your hackles are raised. Literally. Hissing and ignoring the medics around you, yowling like a damned animal in pain when you realize what you’re smelling. Stuck in fear, now grappling with the sheets as your hands grab onto the bed rails, shaking the bed as you shift in short and shaky bursts.

---

Sometimes Price’s office felt like a sanctuary, while others felt like his jail cell.

Head down, furiously scribbling the series of events onto paper to work on this bible-long after action report. A sheet of blank paper sits to the side, your full name atop it.

God, he has it in his head to be so fucking pissed at you. For the dream, for disobeying orders, for getting hurt. He knows it’s irrational to be upset about your injuries, but it’s something he’s never been able to squash with the others.

His head’s in his ass and he’s acting like a fucking boy.

Even Soap had earned a scolding from Price, taking it in stride and breaking the berating with a smirk. He knew. Johnny knew, Ghost knew, and even fucking Gaz knew that you were getting underneath Price’s skin. Something no woman had ever done besides his mother long ago.

His cell rings, not his personal but rather his flip phone used for work. The one that means business or trouble. The number’s unsaved, none of them are. But he’s been called by this one enough times to know who it is.

“Laswell.”

“Captain. I’ve got news, now a good time?”

“Of course. ’S goin’ on?” Leaning back, he takes this call as a saving grace to rest his eyes. There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, sounding like she’s standing up to walk somewhere. He presumes it’s towards a window. Dramatic woman.

“We’ve gotten word that there's some unrest back in-”

His listening stops when the phone begins buzzing against his ear. “Laswell. I’ve been expecting this call, can I catch you in a moment?”

A scoff is his answer before he answers the incoming. “This is Price.”

“Need you in Med, stat. Saint’s going-”

“On it.” Snapping his phone shut his steps already thunder out of his office. He’d been used to the comments from others, asking him to make you simmer down. Something not uncommon in the scope of you being, well, you.

He can hear the commotion at the end of the hall as soon as he’s in the small brick building. Opening the door in a flurry, he finds you wide-eyed, backed into the bed. A second sweep of the room makes him realize you’re not protecting yourself from the medics. No, you’re protecting yourself from something outside the room.

“Saint.” He catches your attention with a growl. “Care to tell me why the medics said you need to leave the infirmary before you make one of the staff go to inpatient?”

“It's wrong. Doesn’t smell right.” Your eyes stay wide, seemingly frozen. He’s never seen you act this way. “Don’t take me back, I don’t want to go back.”

Take you back? To the mission, to the facility? He deems it a nightmare from having been so fatigued you slept for almost a full day.

“You need to settle down, and behave.” A promised threat, entirely wrong from what you need right now.

“I have to leave. Just let me heal myself, please-” You croak, being sure to restrain your voice for only him to hear.

A hand captures your jaw as the other holds your shoulder, keeping you still as he leans in.

“You need to stay and get checked out. You were hurt, sweetheart.” He can see the submission war in your eyes from just the pet name alone. Fuck. Just from a sweet little name and he’s gotten you to sag by a fraction? He’s realizing just how much you need this medical visit.

Before he can say another word, your eyes shift to the right.

---

That’s when you see him through the door window. A man dressed in square glasses and a white coat. Dr. Deidrick.

This man knows you well, as you know him. He was a constant in the lab, overseeing all testing. Many scars on your body were because of him, always measuring your magic with pricks and prods of the knife while you were in the lab. Botched stitches just to see how your body would heal, testing against substances and powders, even marks on your wrists from tight restraints.

Locked in a stare-down, Price brings you out of it. “What’s wrong?”

He follows your stare, finding the man glaring at you. When his eyes slice to Price, he nods before entering. Price’s eyes scan over the man's form; He’s around his 40s but looks like he lives in an underground tunnel system. His eyes are unnaturally yellow, his skin beyond fair and dry. His hair is gray and flicks of white - John can’t be entirely sure if this man is either human, a hybrid, or fucking weird.

“Everything okay in here?” His tone tries to sound lighthearted, joking. “She having a little fit?” The clicks of his dress shoes tick louder than the monitors attached to you.

“And you are?” Your Captain asks, dropping his hold from your jaw.

“My apologies,” He laughs, “Dr. Deidrick. I came to visit once I heard our demon was wounded.”

The blatant possessiveness in the phrasing alone ticks off Price, bristling as he squeezes your hand by a fraction. “So, you’re from the facility?”

“I was her previous caretaker in medical for the last several years.” The doctor’s attention shifts to the chart at the end of your bed. “Hope you don’t mind that I'm in to check on her. Just a simple evaluation and report.” Deidricks eyes scan the page from top to bottom, flipping to the back as he moves closer to your side.

“How are you feeling, Devil?”

“Hello, Dr. Deidrick.” Voice soft and polite. Don’t misbehave. You’ve learned this lesson with him.

“Hello. Now, how are you feeling?” He repeats, eyes moving from the paper to you with a weighted look.

“I’m fine. Sore. Tender. I told them I could heal on my own.”

"Mm..." Dedrick as he places the clipboard down, grabbing a pair of gloves. "And you believe that you can do so right now?" His voice calm and civil. That's one thing you’ve always hated. Even in the cruelest moments when studying creatures and hybrids alike, he had the calmest voice as they cried in pain.

“I’ve dealt with worse.” You can't help but let anger flare as the answer comes with a sharp bite. “You should know that.”

Dedrick's expression changes for the first time. Eyebrows raising, his jaw tightens as he stops moving for a moment. First strike.

"It doesn't mean that you should." A first stab of anger bleeds through his voice. "Your injuries are serious. If you’re fighting the medical staff here, you’ll be treated appropriately."

“The medics already cleaned and sutured it. There’s nothing more to do.” Denial is your least favorite tactic, it never won.

Deidrick knows you haven't revealed your history, or his presence would have been eviscerated already. The facility trained you well, speaking on every bad thing that would happen if you spilled their secrets in raising you.

“I determine that for you, not you.” He retorts, gaze shifting to Price. “I’ll have to examine the wound and evaluate her. Just to be sure there are no outliers that might have been missed.” There isn't room for argument here, seeing as Price is a Captain and not a fucking doctor. Deidrick is convincing and always has been.

“Well, I can be in the room with her. That an issue?”

The most Deidrick can mask is a forced grin, narrowing his eyes at Price. “While I understand your concern, Captain, I’ll need to ensure your safety and have you step out of the room during this.”

A choked sound emits from the back of your throat. You could cry at witnessing your pain start to happen again. Right where you began to feel safe; attached to Price.

Deidrick glares at Price, challenging him. Your hand on Price’s hand squeezes again, bringing both sets of male eyes onto the action.

“Captain, please-” Your beg dies in your throat when a sharp ringtone starts.

“Shit- I have to take this.” Price digs into his pants forcibly, confirming the caller with a look. “Be right back.”

“No… No, please.” Begging now, your hands on his arm try to anchor him. “Don’t go.” The wild look in your eyes makes him stiffen, caught between two choices.

“I’ll be right back. Be good.” The faint squeeze of your hand registers in tandem with him leaning down to place a reassuring kiss on your head. Before you can beg again, he’s out the door.

---

“Laswell.” He speaks a bit more reserved in the open space. Moving into the hallway, watching a few medics idle on their computers.

“Said you were gonna call me back, John. Got worried your old mind forgot about me.” A small scoff out of courtesy for the woman's harsh humor, yet he doesn’t respond. “Anyway, got a nice vacation for your team. You’re headed out to-”

“Do you happen to know if any personnel relating to Saint can be on base?” Cutting off Laswell usually ends with a sharp reprimand, but John’s mind is elsewhere. Worried.

“Not without warning and an established confirmation of visitation. It’s the normal protocol for off-site visitors to that level. Why?”

He chews on his cheek, nodding at the validation. His eyes flit between the door to your exam room, to the window, and then settling on a whiteboard with various patient names.

“’S a doctor with her right now. Say’s he found out she was wounded and came to check on her.” He pauses, trailing back to look at the door. “She was wounded three days ago for fuck sake. How’d he get in here?”

Silence responds before paper rules and she’s typing on her keyboard. “There was no agreement or discernment of their medical staff being on base. Only the executives and her previous commander. He shouldn’t be there nor even have access.”

It only confirms Price’s simmering anxiety, eyes stuck on the scratched and worn wood of the exam room’s door.

“What did you say his name was?”

“Dr. Deidrick. Said he’d examine-” The words die in a sharp crumble on his tongue when he hears his name screamed.

“Was that-”

“Send the boys my way, I’m dealing with it.” Hanging up, his body already shoulders the door a second later. But it doesn’t budge.

Looking through the door’s window, he meets your wet and wild stare; Brows arched, your body trying to scurry off the bed yet you’re not even moving due to now glaring restraints that contrast your skin.

“Somebody get this door open, right fucking now!” His bellow echos down the hallway, sending a startling panic around the staff as he continues to try and shove the door down.

“Price hurry!” Your howling meets his ears and it could bring him to his knees, hearing an angel weep.

His thoughts rattle in his head: I should have listened, I should have stayed, I should be in there.

I should have protected her.

He can see Deidrick at the counter, holding up a small brown vial and extracting its contents into a syringe. Only after he deems it filled, pushing the air bubble out, does he look to Price. “It’s just to settle her down, all standard.”

He wants to murder this man. Rip each artery from his body to hang up as vines growing onto the wall. He wants nothing more than to soothe your crying face in his arms away from the torture that's happening in front of him.

“Where the fuck is the key!” He shouts again, sparing a glance towards the staff as five of them look in drawers around the main pod of their stations.

Movement from the room demands his attention, watching every step as a second he can’t prevent the needle from meeting your skin.

---

“They already know, just fucking run while you can.” Your guttural voice is almost unrecognizable, an unworldly timbre deepening it. Eyes only set on Deidrick, you shake your restraints with violent shakes.

“This is your exam. There’s no harm in that.” He chastises. “Look at how weak you are. Have they not been taking care of you?” His croon makes your stomach flip. “I’ll give you what you need, little demon.” the coldness of his hand dawns upon your face, grabbing roughly on your jaw to pull you towards him.

“You’ll settle down and be a good girl for me, yeah? Just like old times.”

“I’m going to mutilate you over and over again in hell.”

He laughs, a genuine smile lighting his face. “The sweetest promise of eternity, devil.”

Moving back after giving your jaw a painful squeeze, his bony fingers bring the needle up to the light. He double-checks the syringe before gripping the meat of your bicep. “Dont. Move.”

You don’t hear any of the commotion outside, thus, when the metal door slams open, you jump.

Right into the fucking needle.

A shocked cry leaves you, eyes stuck watching half of the dose go into your arm.

It would have been more, save for the body that immediately pulls him and the needle away from you, both clattering to the ground.

“I’ll put you six feet under the goddamn ground.” Price spits before he throws a punch and squarely hits Deidrick in the face.

Then again. And again. And Again.

You’re stuck watching his arm swing heavily until warm hands find your wrist on the opposite side of the commotion. Warm brown eyes meet you, his smile calming.

“Hi, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of here, okay?” Gaz’s hands work quickly on undoing the restraints, letting the sounds of the fighting echo in the room while more footsteps come from the hallway.

Ghost and Soap enter the doorway, taking a quick survey before getting to Price and doing something that makes Price shout in an anguished yell. Gaz cradles you into his neck, cutting off your view. The rough blanket from the bed joins his hold and hides your body. He hushes you when you break into a sob down the hall.

“Not gonna leave you. You’re safe now sweetheart.” Vaguely registering his lips on your head, your eyes dim into a barely open gaze while the world moves too fast around you.

And for a second time, your world goes dark.

---

The sound of a god-forsaken soccer football game playing on the TV makes you stir.

It feels like you were drowned and only saved by the worn-out couch you’re laid on. Muscles stiff, your drowsiness making your hands grope at the soft fabrics. A small prick on the back of your hand makes you groan, and your other hand paws at the intrusion.

“Hey now, none of that.” A hand halts you from touching the intrusion, it takes a solid moment to realize it Gaz. “You’ve got an IV in you, need to keep that in for a bit longer.”

The world comes back into view, the yellow overhead lights far too bright for comfort. “Garrick?” His name slurs on your unused tongue. You manage to blink and look around before finding your head in his lap.

“Good morning, Princess. How’ya feelin?”

Like you got run over by a train.

“Like I got run over by a train.” Now dressed in a pair of sweats and a shirt that you don’t recognize, you’re laid under a fuzzy blanket from your room. “You get me dressed?”

You can’t see a blush pull to his cheeks, but his gaze averting to the side tells you everything.

“Medics came in and uh… I just went and got your clothes.” Probably saw something either in your room or while they were undressing you. “Does your side hurt right now?”

It does. The constant stinging radiates into a dull thrumming up your left ribs. The dressing feels bulky, and the lack of motion worsens the feeling. Your arm, the one that took the injection, feels the soreness from the deltoid, hurting when it contracts.

“‘M okay.” You lie so sweetly to him. While Gaz usually has enough snark to serve his entire country, his eyes look at you softly.

He holds the qualities of a leader, and possibly be concerning at his young age. But seeing how close he is to Price, even witnessing their relationship as a pseudo father and son, he’s learned fast. Maybe to lighten the Captain's load. Or, maybe he won’t fully take Price’s place until the gentleness withers away into hate and paranoia till he barks and bites at the pull of a leash. You hope he’ll get sick of it and decide to have a family, leaving this life behind when he feels his hands have turned far too dirty.

He gazes at the TV, flickering over the colorful screen. “Remember anything?”

You’d rather not. Had you still been in a sterile environment, you’d have woken in a panic just as before.

“Yes. The… yes.”Your lungs ache when you empty them of air. “I remember kicking in the bed, the needle, then Price’s face before you were there.” You miss the look of worry on his face when the game on TV catches your attention. “Where are the others?’

“Price and Soap dealing with the brass. Ghost was here a second ago but will be right back.” Gaz’s head tilts back to check the IV bag attached to you. “You’re just about finished. You’ll be free in a bit.”

His hand holds yours for a moment, checking on the catheter on the back of your hand. “Supposed to put in another after, but you’ll drink your water, yea?” His voice sleek and murmured close to your ear.

“ I will. Thank you.” Agreeing and thankful for him allowing you a bit of freedom soon, you move to stand.

“Stay down, Saint.”

Ghost enters the common room dressed in baggy sweats and a T-shirt, a black gator mask hides the lower half of his face. He makes his way to a spot on the couch adjacent to you and Gaz.

“Stitches are barely holding from earlier. Not allowed to be moving like that.”

Beside you, Gaz clears his throat. “Ah, actually.” He starts, voice now holding trepidation. “You mind taking over for a bit, Lieutenant? Haven’t eaten and need to piss.”

A mix of a laugh and worry crosses your mind as you realize Gaz’s been here the whole time with you.

“Oh god, get up.” You laugh before dimming your humor when it pulls at your side. Once Gaz is up and speed walking away, you turn to your Lieutenant who is already staring at you.

“How long was I out?”

Surprisingly, he scoots beside you, his arm draping on the back of the couch. “Bout two hours.”

The difference between Gaz and Ghost is definitely in size, but the latter's body is firm and demands that you accommodate his presence compared to Gaz’s body molding to you. You’re still blinking slowly, staring at him as your mind whirrs like a rusted fan.

“Didn’t know you had blond hair.”

Ghost is pretty, not even in his own way, he is just simply pretty. Brown eyes contrast the lightness of his hair, some spots missing where scars trail over his scalp. His forehead scars from stitches done too messily, wrinkles from years of surviving, and a few freckles decorate the bridge of his nose. There’s a distinct scar over his left eyelid, a group of eyelashes being gone where the scar ends.

“You wouldn’t ‘ave known.” His chest puffs up, and he laughs, before watching the game.

“That… doctor. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near base.” He starts, and you can’t decide if he’s trying to solve the mystery or tell you the ending solution.

“He did things to you, didn’t he?”

The question makes you nauseous, stomach-lurching for him to know the truth before spreading it to the others. You wonder if you’d throw up stomach acid if nothing at all.

“I…” Shit. You’ve barely spoken to this man and now he wants you to trauma share?

Something tells you this should have been expected.

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

Ghost is Price’s top man, quite literally second in command. He’d have no qualms with feeding him your answers. It coats your throat in shame, silencing any sort of vulnerability.

He sighs, watching the TV as a commotion from a team scoring stealing his attention.

“Fucking skunk lied his way through, altered some ID, and got into medical. They say he was watching over your file and once he saw your name ping in as medevac, he was acting as your attending and case manager.”

It really should send more of a chill down your back than the small amount it does, rather, a sluggish feeling of time combats your beating heart. You’ve been through horrible things. Having eyes watching you should have stopped phasing you a long ago, but it’s changed now. There was a sense of security here- a growing permanence that began to safeguard you from the reality outside. It shows how easily it can crumble.

“Did he say anything?” You push out.

“Didn’t speak to ‘im.” He answers.

The conversation drops, and you both turn toward the football game. You find a place for your face to rest on his shoulder. He doesn’t react, the only time is when the visiting team comes close to scoring his knee bounces in anticipation.

“Did you ever play any sports?”

His knee settles before responding. “Hockey. Short time, but ‘s fun.”

“Took you for a rugby kinda guy.”

“Nah, that's more Price and Johnny’s style.” A soft grin twitches the corners of your mouth at the mental image. “Sometimes they’ll play when we’re together on leave.”

“Never been on leave before.” You hum as your eyes open slowly. You don’t remember closing them.

He shifts when your head lolls forward, his hand moving you to get comfortable.

“I’m sure you can ask Capt’ to fix that.” A soft scratch of your scalp leads you to settle down, and when you keep breathing in the smell of him, you fall asleep.

---

“... lost it by a point. Bloody coach looks like a muppet.”

“Won’t be able to show his face for the next year. Damn idjit.”

The voice sends enough of a spark to take you out of your REM cycle, now taking stock of where you’re at. From the smell of it, you’re on the couch but now lay on it instead of a body. There's a few more steps of shuffling before it stills.

“How’s she?”

The warmth next to you grunts, shifting to leave. “Fell back asleep once Gaz left ‘er with me.” The new set of footsteps have a distinct gait, trying to be silent but failing with the TV no longer being on. “How’d your side go?”

“Almost got me on excessive force.” The croaky voice makes your mind wake up more, realizing its Price. “Had half a mind to knock the brass out hearing that. Made sure they saw the vials and needles he snuck in.”

“Was he going to do anyth-”

“No.” Price cuts Ghost off immediately, something lying in the tautness of his voice. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know, else I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘im.”

Exhaustion fogs your mind’s control of your body, fighting it to the point where it feels like you have to unstick yourself from the couch. You pull on your muscles enough that Price notices.

“Hey, pretty girl. Can you hear me?”

The groan that leaves you is enough of a signal. A hand pets your hair while another adjusts the blanket on you. Footsteps elsewhere fade, signaling Ghost’s departure and you open your eyes as Price squats down in front of you.

“There she is.” He coo’s softly. Part of you wants to cry at how good his attention feels. “Still tired?”

“Mhh.” Croaking with a dry throat, now somewhat regretting not staying up to drink your water like you’d promised Gaz. “Where were you?”

Blue eyes leave the depths of your red ones, tracing over your face to your neck, down to your body, and how you lay on your uninjured side. “Taking care of business. Nothing to worry about.”

His hand starts to rub over your shoulder, making you flinch. It’s like you're made of glass the way he looks and touches you, the same man who pushes you down and yells for you to get back up. The difference makes you want to scream at him while crying for him to hold you.

“Did I mess up?”

The whites of his eyes show a bit more when he widens them- his eyes scanning your face.

“No… No, sweetheart. You did not mess up.” In a moment, he moves to his knees, crowding you onto the couch while bringing your face closer to his. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left you in there. Should have fuckin’ listened to you.”

In a twisted sense, the couch seems like his pew, and you are the body he weeps over. Wrapped in a blanket is a far-off notion from any white to be buried in, but your open eyes just feel so tired and dulled from the last few hours. Rightfully so. His hands cup your face like they would hold a bible open, finding scripture in the details of your skin.

Price doesn’t cry. How much would it take to make him? Has he had a family? Did he lose someone he loved because of his work? Did he have a tragic backstory that granted him an almost immortal sense of luck?

There’s certainly no angel on his shoulder because you’d have killed it on the first day.

“You didn’t know.” Starting hoarsely, swallowing the saliva in your mouth. “I didn’t want you to know.”

There's dissatisfaction from hearing your answer, a pull at the corners of his mouth. “I need to know, Saint. I have to know, because that’s not happenin’ again.” Leaning down to press his chapped lips to your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

The feeling of his hair in your hands is surprisingly soft, almost as surprising when you realize you’re bringing him in to kiss you.

It’s soft, languid, and enticing. His lips part yours, leading you to taste the tobacco you tried days ago. His mustache and beard scratch your face, prickling your skin in an added sense to make your nerves come alive. Dragging you closer with an arm wrapped behind your back, his tongue teases yours before diving in deeper.

“While this is sickeningly romantic,”

The voice makes you gasp like a whore in her lover's shared bed, the drawl sardonic enough to know it is exactly not that.

It’s so much worse.

“I prefer a different type of scene.”

The woman stands against the doorway, arms crossed while she surveys the room. Dressed in black pants and a turtleneck, her blue eyes light up with the black overcoat that shields her from the coldness of desert nights.

“Laswell-” Price backpedals, separating himself from you enough to sit up straight from his place on the floor. Stuttering, he glances at you before back to her, a blush fading into existence on his aged skin. “I- uh. What are you doing here?’

Kate Laswell smirks; She’s cocky through and through, and seemingly will have enough blackmail from catching her prestigious ally making out with his supernatural subordinate.

“After the shit show got up the ladder, I decided to make a quick trip to check in. And, you never called me back, Captain.” Now it’s starting to seem like a lover's quarrel.

Feeling out of place, you don't move until Price takes a moment to clear his throat. “Well, I’m assuming it’s more serious than a phone call let it out to be.” Standing his hand brushes your shoulder before he crosses his arms. Laswell watches, moving forward a bit. She gives a subtle nod in greeting.

“Pleasure to meet you, Saint. Sorry to interrupt.” Absolutely no shame eludes from this woman. “A base just got accredited for their first hybrid operator. Similar to our situation with Saint.” She takes a moment to look over you, briefly checking out the remainder of the IV bag on its stand. “Need you to go teach didactics for our friends.”

“And which friends are you speaking of this time.” Price grunts.

She pauses, a flicker of her lips turning upwards if only for a moment.

“You’ll be headed back to Las Almas.”

As if watching a dramatic TV show, your eyes flit back to take in his reaction. With the sigh he lets out, you know that he’ll never catch a break.

“You’ll be headed back to Las Almas.”

As if watching a dramatic TV show, your eyes flit back to take in his reaction. If you had the energy, you’d feel bad for Price’s stress levels. With the sigh he lets out, you know that he can never catch a break.

[howelldaniel]

There’s a fic on fanfiction(.)net that I’ve kept tabs on for years to see if it’s been updated or not. While I’m no longer even in the fandom it’s written for, it just has one of the greatest storylines I’ve ever read. Last time it was updated was 2011.

The other day, I decided to reread the entire thing and leave a very in-depth review of what I thought of each chapter. I also mentioned how I started reading it when I was 13 and am now 21, but always came back to see if it was ever finished because I loved it so dearly.

Today, said author sent me a private message saying that her analytics showed that the story was still getting views even after all these years, but no one ever bothered to leave reviews other than “update soon!!!”, so she never felt motivated enough to finish it. She said that me reviewing every single chapter with lengthy paragraphs made her cry and meant the world to her. She also mentioned that she felt encouraged to write the two remaining chapters needed to complete the story and that she would send me a message the night before she updates the fic.

I’m literally sobbing. I’m so excited :’)

Please always remember to leave a review when reading fanfiction!!! It means a lot to a writer.

[thesparkles59-deactivated201811]

Seriously, this is what keeps us going; YOUR COMMENTS. 

[ashleyfanfic]

And you think my ranting about it is just being salty! It’s not! Reviews can mean the difference between feeling motivated and feeling out of place.

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 3}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

MDNI: 18+!

Warnings for this chapter: sex dream that verges somno, blood and injury

Word Count: ~7k

Summary: His lap is your favorite spot in the world, a sneaky little energy grab while dream-walking, and oh no! some blood :(

A/N: Chapter 3! I had so much planned for this, then wrote more and more so the original ch. 3 is now into two parts, meaning another chapter gets added to this. I hope ye enjoy

Price wasn’t caring for you. That much was certain.

Correction: Price wasn’t caring for your needs.

Three months.

Three months and still no sex. You expect he’s doing his best to fill his thick head with pure thought to ward off any boners.

He allowed small touches for technical purposes which gave a small boost of energy to you, but only barely. The previous feast on a mission in a drug ring fed you well enough, having been left with bodies barely alive before giving them the sickly sweet send-off to death while letting them taste the carnal sin you could procure.

John’s belief held you as being able to feed from the other men who desired you. Everywhere you went you could make a man or woman (a rare few on base at this time) hard and wet with desire. You trained with other soldiers, killed on missions, and while it helped and kept your energy up, it wasn’t enough. Sure, you took plenty enough of lives when the boys had so graciously left a straggler or two for you as they bled out, but the whittled-away energy of a man with bullets in him made the meal a bit dull. 

Sometimes the question of Price being an angel himself would weigh in your mind, the hallucination of a golden halo crowning him in the darkness behind your eyelids as you watched him speak or bark orders while standing in the sunlight.

You remember that he certainly can’t be. He kills and kills again, the wolf himself still has a handler no matter how much he barks- never biting until directed. For the most part.

Price is cruel with the allotted sweetness he supplied. It's been driving you up a wall, a reluctantly familiar itch crawling in your chest. He’d pet your hair when deeming a job well done, sometimes even wrangling you by the horns when needing to re-direct your attention. Softer moments started to build up the more you learned and were able to help him complete his tasks, being sure to reserve time for only you and him during the day.

Yet he still wouldn’t fuck you. He wouldn’t use you, not even letting it get to that point.

And truthfully, it doesn’t matter. You could enchant anyone you wanted into getting your way, but already feeling and smelling the arousal these bone-dry soldiers felt for you. But you couldn’t do it.

Something inside your heart, filled with magic and sin, kept your sights on Price only. Long days had you passing by recruits with such ease of temptation just to take them into the locker room and let them relieve stress. Yet the moment you saw Price, you could feel your pupils turning into hearts. Theoretically.

Your military contract asserted your role into the new CO’s life, expecting easy sex and some sort of flippant attitude that would be a double positive. Meeting the man who does more than just take his commands to regurgitate them out onto his subordinates, Price showed resilience, respect, and a leading figure of someone who lived beyond each sacrifice he gave.

Sue you for having issues relating to the figures high in power and holding authority over you, but the stability he had to offer was the pillar the team used day in and day out. In terms of being the newest addition in an environment that offered more humanity than your past facility, your claws clung to him on the chance that he’d be attentive with guidance and any reprimands that are followed with assured praise.

It only made you burn for him.

The feeling of his gloved hands tight on your sides while practicing stealth drills, as if glued to your back to teach you his gait. Hearing his voice first thing in the morning before he’s spoken, his croaks send a shiver down your legs. When you waited in the locker room on purpose just to catch sight of his pink skin that highlighted the various sized and placed scars over his body. The smell of his cologne when he brought you to the bar with the boys after a job well done.

That first taste you had of him, that silly child's play of a kiss during the mission. Like a spiced honey, you wanted to drip all over your body and let it soak its way inside of you.

This man makes your demon quiver like she’s a holy saint sinning for the first time.

The days filled with paperwork, and not your Captain, made everything blur together enough to make your eyes tired, you’d whine over it being a task you never had to do before. It was frustrating for you and the team, making them feel like they were preschool teachers. 

On the rare occasions that training would end early, Price would utilize this to spend time in the dimmed yellow light of his office as you sit next to him. 

Papers strewn over your small work area while he kept his in neat piles. The sound of your keyboards clacking fills the silence before the shuffling of papers interrupts, small hums from either of you when checking details and recording operations management.

The room fills with a lingering haze as his cigar burns slowly, settled in the ashtray while typing, and back to his lips when reading over his work. Finishing a large chunk of interpreting and typing the reconnaissance intel, you lean back to watch as the cherry lights up when he inhales. His eyes are somewhat blurred by the glasses he wears, reflecting the screen while his body bathes in the warm light. 

“You need sumthin’?” He grumbles from around the cigar, looking at you once he pops it out of his mouth.

“Why do you smoke cigars instead of cigarettes sometimes?” There’s no stutter in your question as he calls you out.

“Makes me feel like ‘m not in a rush. No need to worry of the end when there's plenty to it.” He brings it back up, taking a drag while watching you watch him. After a moment, he sits up and leans towards your place; Adjacent to him on the end of his desk while he sits on your right in his office chair.

“You ever try one?” 

The bridge of your nose crinkles, a faint memory playing behind your eyes. “No. General would always be smoking one when I was brought in, didn’t like the smell.”

Price’s eyes widen for a second, quickly moving the cigar away and clearing his throat. “You could’ve said something, wouldn’t been smoking in ‘ere if I knew tha'.” He gently snubs the cherry but the grasp of your hand on his wrist halts him.

“It’s fine. It's different. I like this one.” You wave him off with no fuss.

His hand pauses, holding it still as his eyebrow quirks. “Whats it smell like?”

It takes a second to think over. He usually tends to stick to something earthy in flavoring, having only changed up the scent on special occasions. You can remember the first one being sweet when you came to this base, and on his hard days were ones that reeked of wood tones.

“Like you.” A shrug accompanies your answer, looking up to meet his gaze that now stills while his breath fans over your hand that keeps on his wrist. The sound of your voice is warmer than the buzz the first hit gives him after a long day, and you both can tell that his body likes it when you speak like that. Reserved for him.

“Would you want to try it?” He offers the half-smoked cigar to you, gently balancing it between his fingers.

Sliding your hand up his wrist to take the cigar between your fingers only to watch him as it meets your lips. The feeling is heavy and a bit confusing.

Sucking in, you quickly choke. Shaking your head as you hand the damn trap back to him, his light chuckle sounds out. “You’re not s’possed to swallow it, sweetheart.” His eyes take in steady heed of infatuation at your failed attempt, and the curl of his lips show a genuine smile.

“But I always swallow, Sir.”

You can never keep your mouth shut, can you? He pauses, mouth parting before clicking shut and narrowing his eyes. He looks away as the muscles of his mouth flex.

Trying not to laugh.

“I wonder if it's the lads getting to you, or just how you are.” Finally, he gives his attention back to you for a moment, watching as you clean up your work area. It's your turn to feel his stare at you. The sweeping of attention your body can feel prickling and preening at, loving his focus as it sweeps across your form. “And stop calling me Sir.”

“I see it as a form of respect, Captain.” You tidy your piles of paper, shifting back to your laptop and readjusting your seat. There's a slight flash of something just beneath the waistband of your fatigues.

Out of nowhere, he tosses a pen to the other side of the desk on your left.

“You mind picking that up for me, doll?” If he’d thrown a rabid dog and asked in that voice, you’d surely say yes.

The questioning glare he receives doesn’t escape him, but you comply nonetheless. Now bent over, the hem of your shirt rides up to reveal the flesh of your side. A tattoo reveals itself.

As soon as your hands grasp the pen from the floor, you startle at the touch of his hand on your stomach. “What-”

“This a tattoo?” His fingertips trace over the slightly exposed skin, taking a dive in and commanding the shirt to move from his touch as he brings his fingers under it. 

Still slightly caught off guard, yet the touch is so gratifying that you almost purr in response. “‘S a succubus sigil. Mine specifically.” Leaning back and drawing your shirt up like a puppy asking for belly rubs, showing the expanse of it as it reaches from hip to hip. The design is tribal to your being; a heart that seemingly has wings of sharp lines that curve on the bottom of your stomach- Your womb.

“Did this come with your... form?” He asks after meeting your gaze, still not moving his hand away but tracing it with firm pressure as if to see it peel off or be raised.

“Mmm.” You nod, trying to contain the moan behind a tight-lipped hum. “Would come up on my mate too.” 

The movement on your stomach stops just as you are a second away from moving your hips closer to plead for more. “Mate?” He stills, hand stopping and regrettably pulling back as he sits to look at you. “Whadya’ mean mate?”

Oh, that's right. You never told him. But there was a section in the contract! Your subconscious screams at you, and now irked at the daft man for not reading through a man-made document that was formative on a demon.

He stifles a cough when he looks back to you; The shirt still being raised to expose the soft and delicate-looking skin of your stomach meets him, legs spread, and head tilted down with a glare through your lashes. You’re pouting.

“Price…” You start, voice low with a bass in it while still having feminine notes. It sounds like the call of the wind when he’s posted in the mountains for a stakeout and brings a shiver to the inside of his ears.

“Why’re you looking at me like that.” His face is seemingly neutral, but his eyes twitch a fraction wider at your stare.

“You didn’t read my contract.” The ethereal-sounding voice teases his ears again. He’s ashamed that he can feel his dick twitch in interest at this sudden flip of your attitude, now having to resist the urge to cross his legs to hide the blood filling it. You drop your shirt down, and a coy smile floats up to your lips. “Did you, sir?” 

“I still have a few pages left.” He chuffs while looking away to distract himself and his mouth with the cigar. “You gonna explain?” He tries to shift the power of this conversation back to him as he asks in nonchalance, spreading his legs to seem comfortable.

“Being a succubi’s mate brings something shallow but deeper than what normal humans could give. Our mate is a safe heaven; Someone who loves us for what we do. For understanding, we’re more than what we’re created to be.” Like a tether, you shift forward to step between the desk and himself. “Our mate understands that we have needs that have to be satiated, while we understand that humans rely on a relationship beyond physical cravings.”

Seating yourself on the edge of his desk, standing between his legs, the blue of his eyes sharply contrasts your red ones. “We sacrifice our innate, greedy, sinning hunger to fall in love.”

The pregnant pause is enough to let the moment sink into the walls of his office, his inner monologue going off the rails right now.

Tension sits in his eyebrow line, jaw, and in the air between you. “That so?”

“Very, much so.” Cheekily smiling back at him as you’ve firmly planted the idea in his head, the hem of your shirt rises to let the tattoo peek back out.

“Now, can we get back to you petting me?”

“Petting?” He chortles as if to ease whatever tense emotion settled over his mind, a kind that had alarm bells ringing in his head. “You’re not a dog. I was jus’ looking at your mark.” He breaks eye contact to look at his monitors, waking them up with a wave of the mouse. “You’re more like a cat, anyways.” He adds with a mumble.

“Oh, I’ve got a pretty kitty for you to pet.” The giggle that leaves your lips brings a sweet ringing in his ear. His dick twitches again, and this time with more blood flowing down at the image of your whats between your legs.

His hand comes up to take his glasses off as he discards the cigar in the ashtray, and then a stifled groan leaves his lips. “Cut the shit, Saint.” His elbows placed on the table make his back arch, and you can see his muscles traverse in waves over his shoulder blades. “You need to finish your report.”

“Just for a little bit?” While he’s distracted, you move closer to stand between his legs while trailing fingers over the sigil. “I’ll scratch your back.”

Price’s head lolls to the side, finding you much closer than expected. The motion of your tail swaying playfully behind you gains an advantage; You’re playful in all of this, all the while a beautiful woman creature that has a face worthy of melting hearts and a body that could melt dicks and cunts alike, there is a sort of black cat-like quality to you. Hunting for prey either in the shadows or wanting to toy with it.

An even steeper spike of arousal catches your nose, wanting nothing more for him to be as easy as Soap is on a bad day. You’ve never taken up the opportunity, but you still think about it.

Pursing his lips, a sigh escapes him while rubbing his hands over his face. “If this gets you to shut up and finish your work, fine.” He leans back in his chair, re-situating himself before you move to straddle his lap. “Only for a little bit.”

To your surprise, a sound of content leaves him as you settle, and feel his large arms come to wrap around your waist. “You’re a furnace- are you sick?” The inside of his wrist comes up to check your forehead for a fever, finding it warm.

“I just run that way. Something with my magic.” Humming, and nuzzling into his neck, the huff of you breathing him in makes his skin prickle. His hand returns to your waist.

A moment of silence passes, breathing with each other with only the steady hum of his computer filtering into the background noise. “You gonna scratch my back or not, sweetheart?” You can feel the rumble of his words end with a chuckle against your chest and in the muscles of your throat.

At the queue, your hands slide down beneath his shirt to start sliding the tips of your nails across his skin. A small sound of surprise leaves him as you pull up his shirt but quickly cuts off by a groan as he slumps against you.

“Fuck- Haven’t felt that in a long time.” The pull of a smile on his lips against your neck as he leans into the crook of it. His body shakes in a full tremor and his hands squeeze tighter; A hiss is pulled out of him as you reach the top of his shoulders and bring your nails down in long, cruelly slow, strokes. “Feels so wonderful, angel.”

While the petname is ironic, it still means you're getting to him. Being so close to him, the smell of his steadying arousal almost gets you high. Repeating the motion, you relaxed a bit more onto his lap to settle your weight to settle yourself over his hardening cock.

“Glad you like it.”

Leading him into your warm embrace, the chills shivering up his spine misplace his senses as your added weight and plush ass on his lap doesn’t register until the first slow roll manifests a throaty growl from him.

One hand holds you still with an unrelenting squeeze of your hip as the other shoots up to grab at your tail. A sharp gasp sounds before your back arches, nails digging into his back while you can’t help but look to the ceiling with bowed eyes.

“Behave, Saint.” He husks from above you, the height difference still even allowing him to see your face as you sit in his lap. “I’m gonna kick you out of this damn office if you’re going to act like this.”

“Please, Price.” The tips of your fangs drop a bit lower at the ache to kiss him and drag them along his skin, your pussy already beginning to soak your underwear.  

While you’d normally be in control of the entire situation when having sex, Price was different. When a succubus was able to crave someone and hold a significant want and lust, they became the pleasure sought after. You craved Price like no other because there was no other. You behaved just enough to know that if he didn’t actively want it, you’d be broken. Body, mind, and soul.

A click of your teeth has him watching as you attempt to bite at his face before fighting against his hold to grind down again. He pulls your tail tighter. 

“I’m hungry.” A smile taints your lips this time, unable to hide the humor in how hard he fights against giving in while his dick is now rock-hard underneath you. “We both know how much you’d enjoy it.”

His eyes narrow, jaw clenched in anger, at himself or you- probably both. Grinning like the devil you are, you take his lapse in concentration to bounce softly on his lap. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” He groans, and you whimper. Just dry humping and imagining him pumping inside of you, the pull of the seam against your clit, both make your folds plump with sensitivity. 

Another bounce, ending with a roll that strokes his cock.

“It’s my lap or nothing. I’m not helping you get off.” His resolve cracks, releasing your tail down to knead your ass, fingertips digging in harshly.

Needing no further instruction, you set the pace in slow rolls that drag across his lap. Bringing out soft grunts, it revels inside of you as your walls flutter around emptiness.

When the grinding isn't enough, you settle for bouncing again; Relying on the rough material of your pants to pull at your panties and clit. His eyes dart up from your hips, caught watching how erotic you move, yet he’s not afraid to smirk as you cup his jaw, bringing his lips close.

“Kiss me.” 

“No.” 

Groaning from the denial, you keep moving. There’s still a chance for you to win him over, how trained can a man be when he’s got a beautiful creature spurring him on?

“It’s not like we haven’t kissed before.”

“I already said no. You ain’t gonna shake me.”

Your lips draw up in a sneer at being told no. That's not supposed to happen.

“Did you not get what you wanted, sweet girl?” His hand moves from your neck to stroke hair away from your face, but still leaves the other on your ass.

“You’re a prick” 

The growl that leaves you is quiet. It would startle any human, but Price knows you. He only hums in response, moving to grab the cigar before inhaling and leaning back into the chair.

What a cocky bastard.

“Don’t be a brat. You knew I let you sit here not for that reason.” The hand on your ass leaves a sharp sting once it spanks you, the sound echoing in the quiet room. It sends a shiver to your wet cunt, feeling a mini-tremor in it. 

“This is my favorite spot, don’t you know?” 

“Spots’ not on tha map, Saint.”

When you left his office, you at least felt good about the wet spot on his lap.

~~~

On nights before a mission, you’d consider slithering your consciousness to Price, debating on dream walking to bring him dreams filled with you, filled of him. The promiscuity of diving into his dreams and allowing him to ruin you in a haze cradled your consciousness in a steady fire.

Tomorrow, you’ll be out for a long excursion with the team in the woodlands of Australia. You’ve been there before, remembering being fresh into your transformation and visiting a plethora of military bases. At the time, you were being shown off at Pine Gap like a traveling circus, bored from the land being too obnoxious for any fun- because of course, you had tried to fight a kangaroo when your handlers weren’t looking. 

Dreamwalking was something you’d engaged with rarely, as the humans in the compound didn’t sleep there. You’d practice putting them in a trance and had gained enough experience in succeeding when they left your cell block rotation as a heavy flush coated their face.

Price was designated to keep you in the barracks room by his, at the end of the hallway where his only neighboring room was yours. The team that created a military position for a succubus knew what needed to happen, and they were not afraid to set parameters and expectations that Price had to follow before your arrival. 

Tonight, as your body finds its tether to his mind, you're ready to cloud and confuse his logic with pleasure. A cloudy and warm rush to his senses makes Price’s body stir when the sudden feeling of you lying atop him settles on his muscles and mind. With a slow grinding roll of your hips, your fangs sneak out just a bit more to leave a light mark under his jaw as your hands knead at his firm chest. He can see you, feel you naked with him under the covers of his bed. Your soft but firm legs straddle his waist as a hand rakes through his hair to give a tug causing a soft hiss to leave him. 

“How th’ fuck you get in ‘ere, love?” He manages to push out past his lips in a soft grumble, the rough calluses of his hands skimming down to the curve of your hips before squeezing the flesh of your ass.

And fuck, when the pet name slips out no doubt due to his drowsiness, it makes you clench on nothing while being in your own room a few yards away from his. 

“You let me in, sir.” The answer comes back to him in a matched tone, working to slide your wetness over his growing arousal. “Hope that’s alright with you.”

Feeling the tip of him push against your clit and noting he’s already hard, your hand trails behind you to line him up with your fluttering hole. The grip on your ass tightens, his blunt fingernails dig in as he bucks in hazy anticipation. It's enough to catch the rim of your hole but slipping in the wrong direction.

Price, far too gone as your sense of lust clouds his mind, pushes your ear against his lips as he takes himself in hand and lines up with your entrance again. “Impatient thing, aren’t you?”

Not giving you enough time to answer, he pushes the tip in letting it settle before grabbing your hip while the other hand pulls your hair in a tight fist. “I’ll let you bloody ‘ave it.” He groans in your ear. You leave yourself amazed at how real it feels, seemingly forgotten of the unused power at the ready for your next meal.

A small hiccup leaves your lips as he slides in; Not too long but his girth made up for everything. It’s been so long, your inner demon laughing at you as if you were a virgin again but crying out in time with your pulses as you feel fed for the first time in months.

“Gods, so fucking hot-” Price drones on, sounding half asleep and drunk on lust by the way his speech slurs in soft whispers. “Hottest pussy I’ve ever had.” If you were in his bed you’d truly laugh at him speaking on your internal temperature. 

“You’ve never had anything like me.” Moving to help the tired man, your hips go down to meet his ever-languid thrust up. His hand on your ass holds your lower back as his knees pick up once planting his ankles on the mattress. 

“Ain't that right.” He retorts, a light scoff coming from him as he buries his head to find your neck to leave long, sloppy kisses against the soft skin. “Use my cock, baby, know you’ve been wantin’ it. Be a good girl an’ use it.” 

With his permission and the subtle need to show him what he’s been missing out on, you take the lead. Planting your hands on his chest and sitting up, you bounce on his cock with steady vigor. Each clap of your skin hitting his sounds real. Enough to be more than just a dream. His grunts, shaky curses, and heavy breaths ring out in the space of his mind as he drives up to meet your soaked walls. 

“Jus’ like tha- gonna make me come already. God, I’m gonna-” Snake down to lay your chest against his, bouncing your hips in quick movements. 

“Inside. Keep it in.” His mind still fails to register that protection was nowhere near a consideration as his body runs hot. His hands grab control to pump himself up into you in rough and steady slams of one, two, three, before stilling and twitching inside of you.

The shiver that coils your spine in a curve is erotic; The way your mouth parts in a beautiful ‘o’ shape, tits pushed out for him to take in his mouth while your body shakes from the orgasm of being fed his spend. His breath pants over your pert nipples, biting them gently with a low groan before settling you over him. You wish you could stay more to hear his pillow talk but the more talking to happen and keep yourself there is a waste of time and energy.

“Goodnight, Price.” 

~~~

Sunlight greeted Price when he awoke to his blaring alarm, grumbling while shooting a hand out to silence the forsaken thing. Usually an early riser and far too used to the normalcy of the early mornings, he felt like a cinderblock sinking to the bottom of the Boston River. 

A right fucking tea party in his pants, that's for sure.

With every second his eyes are closed, he can feel the phantom movement of your hips on his which has him already twitching his morning wood at the memory. Price has had wet dreams before, plenty of times while a teenager or when he had a girl back home while serving as a Lieutenant. None of them had felt like this- like he was on a drug trip and feeling absolutely every movement and sense you rode out of him.

Letting a groan akin to a bear's roar echo in his room, his eyelids keep blinking to make the bleariness leave to welcome the light of day into his mind. And Price just… sits there for a moment. 

Yes, he was asleep and didn’t have the control he would much rather prefer over you being in his bed, but by Satan himself that was just the last thing he needed.

There wasn’t much time for him to seek out physical attention or affection from others, constantly married to his job and watching his back for those looking at him. There had been a handful of women who were graced with hot nights, but he’d always be gone by the time they’d woken up. These women stemmed from the pubs far off town and closer to his home. Even a young recruit on a different unit had tried her luck but was instantly shot down without a thought to him. 

He has a name and team to uphold, he wouldn’t earn himself a court martial just for an easy piece of ass. But now presented with your beautiful self while officials are giving him the green light, he has no idea what to do. You’re growing close to him already, something he tried to resist with all the boys on the team until they had bludgeoned their way to his heart by force. 

He couldn’t let you do that.

To be used, having someone two steps ahead of him through reading his feelings and laying them out on a silver platter. It would be devastating to the way he functions, the way he holds himself, and how he carries out his mission. Manipulation is his greatest peeve. Protecting his heart is his greatest operation.

Price doesn’t see you until later; Making sure supplies and operations were starting smoothly, his mind was in a flurry of motions he subconsciously grew used to over the years. He knows what boxes need to be checked, being sure to be prepared for everything. He wasn’t prepared to find you in the briefing room before anyone else, looking right as rain and ready to go.

You’re a wicked piece of work, being able to act as if nothing was askew. Totally innocent. You could feel his glare before even looking at the man, and gods above so below, he was pissed off. Horny, and pissed off.

“Good morning, Captain.” The sound of his footsteps halting leaves the room quiet, making you look up to him. “Everything alright? Seems like you’ve seen the devil himself.” 

Even with knowing this team for a short time, they could be impressed by how well you could read their emotions. Even Ghost, with just a look of his eyes and gauging what lays under his mask. Right now was not one of these moments.

Approaching slowly, eyes watching where he steps, the indent of his cheek shows where he bites at it. “Tell me, sweetheart. How’d you sleep last night?” 

Once reaching where you sit, he leans on the table with a heavy hand as the other holds the back of your chair. “Because you seem mighty chipper this morning, eh?”

A wave of vexation washes over you from his tone and gaze alone. You’re beyond thankful you’ve taken a moment to not show your tail today or else it would have frozen in place.

“I slept fine, ready for the day.” Reverting to innocence was starting to piss Price off. 

“Right, right.” Grunting in response, he moves in closer to your face. “Because I woke up tired, cum in my pants, and quite the feeling of a very warm weight over me. Would you happen to know anything about that, little devil?”

“Would there be an issue if I did? That's quite the allegation, Price.”

The wood underneath his hand squeaks with the strain his fingers pull at it.

“If you ever do that again, I will be contacting your owners and having your ass back on a plane faster than you can go to sleep.”

With the Captain’s anger solely focused on you, resentment stemming all from a dream and granting him pleasure, something inside of you breaks off into cooling embers. A cold shiver washes down your back. The mention of going back to your previous commanders makes your stomach roll with pinpricks at the mere thought of what they would do to you.

“Do. You. Understand. Saint?” He whispers once his lips press against your ear, and the bastard can see the fear running through you when your red eyes look past him at the wall.

“Yes, Captain.” It waivers on your tongue, thinking you’d have enough strength by the tightness in your throat yet it fails you.

[chamomiletealeaf]

Ok but Dilf! Price seeing you lost in Home Depot while you’re trying to find a door handle or something or make a copy of a key and he notices you lost as hell and he asks

“You lost sweetheart?”

With a smirk, and your brain short circuits because he’s so sexy looking down at you like this 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[spoiled-fawn]

I’d ask if I can knob his handle 😳😤

[spoiled-fawn]

One of my biggest regrets on here is creating this account as a side blog (I've been on this app for a decade and still barely know the in's and out's), so when I follow people, like things, or boop them, I think it's from my main account...

Just know I'm booping you all back!!!

[v1x3n]

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 2}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word Count: 4,460

Summary: Snooping and being caught twice, Sparring with the boys when an unruly hit makes them see more than they expected, and a heated moment in the training grounds.

A/N: Chapter 2! We are slowly laying our good graces down brick by brick, and seeing a bit more from Price as you integrate into the team.

Being on the task force led you to believe Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, were an odd bunch, but they made it work. You kept quiet those first two weeks, having only followed Price around like a duckling until directed otherwise. Being respectful and keeping answers short. Staying in line with your designated work.

By the end of the first month, after you had earned your new name, you started getting comfortable. Seeming like a brass stick was shoved up your ass previously, the sergeants tread lightly around you, much to their dismay, to find out what you’re like but couldn’t disobey Price’s warning glare. 

Gaz was a sweet man, charming, and you could see that a good percent of the time he easily got his way. Soap was loud, and funny when he pleased, but he was a smart man who could easily be dangerous. Ghost was the type of person to respect your space if you respected his. Being more to himself in tasks or duties, he was actually more boisterous than when you initially met. 

As you integrated into the base, there had been quite a bit of preparation for your arrival. Being the fat paycheck that you are, the base had allocated a small wing of a barracks level to TF141. Whispers that the men got stipends just to be on a team with you had floated around. 

Good for them. 

There was a preemptive rule placed on you, designated by Price, of course. You were allowed to join the mess hall for meals during morning and lunch, but when supper time came you were stationed in the common room. 

The rule to stay in the common room wasn’t necessarily bad, and it made sense; Placed to keep you away from the rowdy soldiers looking for a way to warm their beds for the night. Keep your allure hidden and gate kept by the team, adding a brighter glare of the enigma they were. 

What didn’t make sense was how stupidly high the cabinets were in this place. 

“Living with Bigfoot couldn’t even be this hard.” Grunting, your fingertips only skim the edge of the glass as it leans before settling again. Huffing, finding no one around, you jump up to place your knees on the counter to stand on them while being able to finally peer into the top shelf. 

The cup was immediately in your hand but a tall box in the back keeps you from getting down. A stash box?

Curiosity peaks your eyebrows, placing the cup down before trying to reach for the mystery; Towards the back with paper plates and random birthday napkins kept for celebrations block its way. You can’t reach it just yet, so you take it upon yourself to stand on the counter, now having enough height to dig your arm into the cabinet. 

“Are these drugs?” It’s mat black with a worn-down print of fern trees over a forest floor. It's heavy and shaking giving no noise. 

“The fuck are you doing up there?” 

You don’t even have a moment to startle before the tight grasp of hands on your hips makes themselves known. Now almost pissing yourself, a squeak leaves you before clasping the box to your chest. 

It’s almost as if you’re a toddler, being pulled down from your place on the counter while your knees buckle before planting your feet on the ground. When looking up, you’re met with a skull mask. 

“Uhm… getting a glass.” Answering Ghost with nonchalance, offering up the box in your hand. “Then I found this.”

Incredulous brown eyes shift down for a moment, then move his hands from your hips to snatch the damn thing away. 

“Anyone ever tell you not to snoop through people’s things?” As if Bigfoot himself, he reaches up to place it back in the original spot, no effort needed. 

“Hey- What was in that?” You’re sandwiched between the counter and his body, reaching to grab his wrist in an effort of bringing it back down.

“None ya’.” Such an eloquent answer from a British brute. 

“This is open territory, I have a right to know.” Beautiful comeback on your part. 

At your insistent pawing, his free hand wraps around your wrist before securing it with the other. “You’re too small to even take it from me, Saint.” Ghost’s hips press to your lower back as he attempts to close the cabinet. “So knock it off.”

“Too small to take what, Lieutenant?”

Both you and Ghost freeze to look up into the blue eyes of Price standing in the entrance. Leaning against the wall with arms crossed, it doesn’t take a genius to see his chest is puffed out in addition to the glare on his face.

The body pressed to your back suddenly shoves you away and into the counter before stepping away. 

“She was tryna’ get into the box. Top shelf.” Turning to watch the interaction, Ghost gives a nod toward the cabinets and it's enough to soothe Price’s glare. Yet his chest is still puffed out.

Huh. Jealousy is a good look on him.

“And maybe something else.” Testing and taunting him after recovering from the shove, you take a seat on the counter. “But seriously, what's in the box?”

Price’s jaw sets at your little comment, taking slow steps towards you while giving Ghost enough side eye to send him to the couch a few feet away.

“A bottle, not to be touched. Simple as that.” Price’s presence comes to stand in front of you, eyes narrowed while glancing over you. “That satisfy your curiosity?”

“Somewhat. Just makes me wonder why I can’t see it.”

The smooth uptick of his mustache shows as he licks his teeth, settling on giving a nod before approaching. As if deja vu, Price moves to trap you on the counter making room for himself between your legs.

“Keep your head still.” The deep rumble makes you want to squeeze his hips with your thighs, but refrain as his hand holds the back of your head to tilt it down. With the cabinet opening behind you, he reaches up and leans forward to grasp the box.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t take this moment to rest your head on his chest, letting his scent and warmth feel much more than what the moment was.

“A gift from some friends. It’s empty, but kept as a reminder of them.” Taking a look at the bottle, it's a large and interesting decanter. Made of white ceramic, small details of blue brush strokes that mimic the plant its derived from; Agave. It’s a tequila bottle.

“So you keep it in a box, in the back of the cabinets, to remember them?” It’s ridiculous that they memorialize something yet refuse to display it proudly. “Why can’t you guys put it in the open- or even put it in your office.” Remembering where you are as soon as you look up, Price’s eyes that rival the blue paint are already staring at you.

“Someone would either take it or break it,” Emphasizing his words with a pointed look, “And we usually like to look at it and tell old stories when we think about our time with them. Oh, that's actually sweet of them.

“Are they… dead?”

A scoff leaves Price but Ghost, always eavesdropping, answers. “The only thing that can kill Alejandro, is Alejandro. The same goes for Rudy.” A short laugh follows before looking back down at his phone.

What an interesting thing to say.

“They seem like a lovely pair.” You answer back to both of the men in the room, but Price doesn’t allow any more time to look over the bottle. Closing the box, his hand comes back to cradle your head before putting it back. 

Pulling away after shutting the cabinet, he stays close. “Craziest cowboys I’ve ever met.” He looks far away for a moment, absent-mindedly smoothing down your hair from where he ruffled it. It only takes a moment for him to come back and realize your faces are inches apart, noticing the soft smile that bleeds into a coy smirk at how well his hand feels in your hair.

“Right, let's have some dinner.”

—

You didn’t often let your human appearance go, but some would say they’ve seen the illusion flicker. Most nights after a shower or finally alone to yourself you’d indulge. Like taking off a a helmet that was too tight, or clothes that squeezed you the wrong way after wearing them for hours, the relaxation to just be yourself was a luxury and comfort these days.

While training in hand-to-hand, it was quickly discovered that you were a sufficient predator. Having enough experience to teach Ghost and Price a few new things, you were often paired with Gaz and Soap as Price directed the scenario in what to do. Even if your body was stuck at your current age, it didn’t mean you were small; Having the human capabilities to grow your natural muscle added as a visual aid to show how hard you’ve worked for well over half of your time roaming this earth.

Sparring with the four others, Price stands on the side of the mat with arms crossed and the occasional guidance barked out at the underdog. You’re often paired with the lieutenant, serving as each other's warm-up. Gaz sits on the ground, eyes narrowed while tracking each movement. Soap, having gotten his legs tugged on too harshly by Ghost, sits opposite while stretching his hips as light grunts leave him. Ghost circles you as you do to him.

“Test his footwork Saint, man’s top-heavy these days.” Price grumbles, the amused tilt in his voice not lost on anyone especially Ghost as he grunts in response.

A few more steps around each other before taunting with a shift of your ankle that draws him to make the first move. Coming at you almost adjacently like the fucking bulldozer he is, Ghost reaches to hook his arm under your thigh and another hand around your back to push you face first into the mat.

Using the momentum of falling back and before he has a hold of you, you bring yourself down in a slide to avert him, but immediately transition to tangle yourself around his leg as you pull him by the belt, wanting to at least bring him on the ground. The man is tall as a skyscraper, and you haven't met anyone like him in the company before joining this team. The move works to an extent; Bringing him down to topple onto the mat, he rolls to grasp at your locked arms and slides his arms around your chest. “Little brat-” 

“Lock ‘im down, sweetheart.” Come’s Price’s voice as you both grapple in a heap on the ground. The pet name makes your head flutter with knowing he’s watching and rooting for you. He wants you to win. Always has since he first trained with you himself.

With the sudden hold around your chest, while Ghost is trying to pry you off, you manage to break it with a stiff elbow. The muted thud is covered by your clothes rustling before managing to turn yourself and put the man in a leglock. A few moments pass as he tries to shake you off, but leeching on his leg muscles signals his two taps on the mat.

“Cheap shot-” He groans as soon as you let go, gaze narrowed while stretching his abused leg out.

“You almost crushed me when you got on the ground, I earned those taps.” Reaching to grab your water bottle and finding Gaz already handing it to you, a shit-eating grin creeps up the corners of his mouth.

“All’s fair, love.” Ghost quips, earning a scoff from Soap.

“Aye, Dinnae think that's howtur saying goes, L.T.”  He calls out as you roll onto your back with a heave. The excitement from rolling around now calming with your breath, taking a moment to drink water as the boy's bicker. “You level’d Ghost?” 

“Peachy keen. Lovely, really.” The snark is evident, but Ghost moves to sit himself onto the sideline with a grunt. Your eyes scan over the others, their gazes shifting away as you catch theirs. Price’s eyes stay on you but wander over your body before speaking.

“Good enough warm-up for you?”

Releasing the water bottle from your lips, “Could have lasted longer in my opinion.”

“Right.” Price drones, and in your side-eye, you can make out a singular look of a chortle from Soap. Price continues, moving to the opposite end of the mat. “Well let's see if I can give a good enough ride then, eh?.”

Standing and stretching for a moment, your feet find their way back to the spot previously starting at. “Ready?”

Price matches your stance, but not as deep of a crouch. One thing you’ve been trying to get the men to work on is lower and shorter targets, so they’re still adjusting. “Steady.” Comes his reply and signal to begin.

He makes quick work of throwing a punch to get you to duck down and step back. The right hook, aiming for your jaw, comes a second too late as you duck under, countering with a jab to his ribs.

Before you can pivot and get into position on his side, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist and pull you into him. The second hand finds a place across your back and is strewn across your hip in a tight hold, leg pushing behind your right knee to get you to the ground.

Latching onto him, your body retaliates by throwing your arm across his chest with your hand at the base of his neck. Combined with a forceful twist to break his balance and pull him onto his back instead.

Price takes the immediate queue, still keeping his tight grip on you. Pulling you by the belt loop of your pants now unceremoniously being yanked down on top of him, his back against the mat while your back is against his chest. The ache in your ribs and lungs comes back at full force once the crook of his elbow finds a place at your neck and begins to squeeze in a steady pressure.

In a moment of sheer instinct, your legs fan to twist your body to be stomach to stomach, but miscalculate his legs trying to cage yours. His knee coming up at just the right wrong time; Your clit lands directly on it.

A shocked yelp is stolen from your lungs, eyes widening in surprise and shock from the unexpected sensation. The sound rings out in the room, the uptick in the pitch being involuntary and a sheer second of vulnerability as your body freezes in response.

Realizing his mistake, Price immediately lets go, sliding your body off of him. "Fuck, you alright?" He asks while crowding over you, the others looking on with their jaws dropped.

When you don't speak instead, just shake your head. It's enough to make Price scramble to a sitting position. “…Saint?”

Eyes wide and breath ragged like a fish for a few seconds as the brutal waves of electricity travel up your spine.

What they see is an entirely different scene.

Black horns look so delicately and meticulously placed upon your head as if you were a doll; the ridged black and dangerously sharp figures curl in a small turn before pointing up. Your hands- one on your groin and the other on the mat, have the tips of your fingers that are painted in an eerie black. Sharp talons decorate your nail beds in an ethereal shade. The usually subdued fangs now gleam in the yellowing lights of the gym. But the real kicker is your eyes.

Red irises that carry a depth of hell's fire look up at the ceiling as you blink slowly. Still lost in the moment as your lungs stutter, your legs pushed together as the initial thumbing calms down. The men’s blinking only confirms to each of them what they see. 

“Holy-”

“Jesus fu-”

“Fuckin-”

“Hell’s bells.”

Price sits on his haunches and leans over to get a better look. “This what you looked like the whole time?” Eyes roaming over in slow strokes, each end of his curious gaze begins again at the top of your head.

A small cough slips as you sit up, planting your palms down while shifting with a groan. Face drawn in a grimace before looking up. “Wha-”

“Ahm pure done in; she’s git a tail.”

At the sound of Soap's now ruggedly thick accent, your eyes meet theirs to be met with shock, disbelief, and morbid curiosity. On your back comes a set of black wings that mimic those of a bat while the tips are shaded with a red hue. Underneath those, is a long, thin tail that sways back and forth gently in small arcs. The tip of it shows to be a heart.

“Oh.” Looking down to see what they’re looking at and finding your glamour spell completely dropped to show you. The entirety of you. “Didn’t think that would be what did it.” Their silence still lingers. 

“Is this going to be an issue? I can cover-“

A clearing of a throat- Prices, you can tell by how many times you’ve heard it after he smokes, now making the others refocus. “No- No. Not an issue at all, Saint.” He drawls with enough time to make heady eye contact with each of the other operators. “Not a problem. At all.”

That’s as much of their first warning that you’ll be hearing. A beat of mumbled agreement leaves the men while the Captain’s hand comes out to offer you a means up. “There a reason this happened?”

“My illusion can drop when distracted or hurt suddenly. Like something plugged in the background then the power shuts off.” Giving them a small show of yourself, turning in a circle as your tail and wings move for more effect.

A low whistle before, “Wouldn't mind feedin’ ya m’self, she-devil.” Soap’s simpering makes way to you, and you’d laugh if your body wasn’t seriously thinking about the ways you could take him on the sparring mat right now.

“Johnny shut the fuck up.” Ghost having enough common sense to reel him back before he does wind up in your clutches. Always a smart man for the sergeant's sake.

A grin splits your lips, tail slightly swaying behind you with an excited flick of the tip. The red in your eyes gleams at the thought of a fulfilling experience, and your tongue can’t help but lick at the tips of your fangs. “We can go right-” 

“Like hell you will.” 

The sudden hand on the back of your neck catches you off guard, clapping your skin in a moment of control. Price, now hoisting you up once his thumb wraps the side of your neck, pulls you up. Wings fluttering to lift you in his hurried and somewhat dragging hold, a scoff passes your lips once he stands on the side of the sparring mat with you.

“Ghost and Gaz. Start up.” He quips cooly, his eyes never stray from you. Eyebrows furrowed in a disappointed stare, and it’s one you haven’t encountered from him yet. He’s not pissed but something has been stirred up inside of him.

“You get your meals when we’re on assignment. Do not tempt my men, because I know how that will end.” You’d give it to Price for holding his authority when faced with a creature so new to him, but the twitch of his gaze to your mouth knocks him down a peg in your books.

“Yes, Captain.” Your muted answer rings out clear for him but the shame of being publicly reprimanded burns your cheeks. His hand squeezes the back of your neck before dropping. Settling your gaze on the men wrestling with faint grunts, you hear Price return to your side a moment later as you both watch on. 

You don’t hide yourself for the rest of training. No one asks you to.

In the end, when tired and feeling no need to bring your illusion back up, Price comes back to your side while trailing the others out of the gym. Slick with sweat, your wings give a light beat of air that helps cool you. 

“Wear this when you leave. Don’t need others gawking at you.” Softness in the sudden murmur makes your head snap to your side. The fabric falls over your shoulders, and the scent of him wafts strongly from it. His jacket. 

The weight of his hands now rests on your shoulders, holding there while his eyes dance precariously upon your horns for a moment. “Leave the horns and eyes, eh? Should be a fun one walking you around like this.”

And while you could just simply make them disappear, wearing his scent on you is far too appealing right now. Tugging the jacket closer to you as you walk out the doors, you give a soft sniff on the neckline.

“Let the angel lead the pack if we’re showin’ ‘er off.” Holding the door open for you, Gaz’s brown eyes give a sharp glint of cockiness while a smile marks his lips. You match his look with ease, moving towards the front.

Safe to say, you felt like the team’s hidden gem; As if a scary guard dog, you made enough room in the hallway to make it seem scripted. Behind you and the group in total, Price watched on with a wry smile as his bucket hat hid the dangerous look in his eyes at the soldiers who stopped to stare.

A week later would reveal how much your natural form has been playing in his mind.

—

“Saint. Got a question for you.” He’d murmured while watching you work on infiltration drills. His cigarette occupies his mouth while eyes track your movements; He stands on a riser behind fake walls, a built scenario of a breach and clear house with fake targets marked on the walls and stands in dummies.

Deciding to finish rounding the next corner and taking aim at a wall target, it takes a few moments before approaching the spot beneath him. “Sir?”

And as if doubling the wait time you gave him, a childish game, he inhales a final pull of his cigarette while his eyes wander over you. Exhaling, “What’s comfortable for you?”

“I’m sorry?”

A chuckle leaves him, putting out the smoke against the fake wall. “Your form. Human, demon. What do you prefer?”

It’s an odd question but only in the sense that you’ve never been asked before. Your preference never mattered nor was taken into account. 

“I’d say the mix of the two. Just hybrid presenting but not fully between either.” A moment before, “Takes less energy.” Eyes squinting from the sun until he stands in your line of sight to offer you his shade from above. The glow of the sun highlights his presence.

His eyebrows quirk up for a moment while licking his lips. “How come you haven’t been doing so in the downtime? When with the team?”

“Didn’t feel that welcomed in our group, Captain.”

His grunt resonates inside the fake hallway where you stand, and he breaks his gaze from you. “S’pose that could be blamed on me.” The sunlight beams into your eyes suddenly as his steps ring out from the wooden stairs. Arriving where you stand a few moments later, his hand pulling out a tac knife. “Let’s see it then. Shouldn’t be wasting away while training, hm?”

Clicking your gun on safety, eyebrows cocked while taking a small step back. “And the knife is for?” Truly, this man seems angelic for one moment before the vibrating strings of his insanity bleed through.

“You’ve got a tail, if I recall correctly.” Stepping forward and giving you that forced grin you’ve learned to associate with danger. You’re tugged by the belt loop against him before he turns you by the hips. There isn’t a chance to protest before a quick rip on the back of your pants is heard.

As the shock passes, you purr at the scene and wish he would drag the knife down to cut an opening and expose your underwear. Better yet, just cut through the underwear while he’s at it. An uncharacteristic surprise is when he shoves two gloved fingers through the small hole of your pants, widening it enough to show a small portion of skin on your lower back. 

“Go on. Let me see it, love.”

Fuck him for being such a tease, he knows what he’s doing. This has to be a test, no attempt to even step away. By the time you unclip your helmet and turn your head to look up to him, your horns and eyes are strikingly apparent. A subtle movement from your lower back catches Price’s attention. Hands now full, you awkwardly set down your weapon and gear before attempting to fish your tail out.

His hands beat you to it. 

A pinching grip on the base of your tail alerts you to his intention, but the slow pull of it makes a chill run up your spine. Hands splaying out against the flimsy wall steady yourself when both of Price’s gloved hands slide over the smooth texture. The whoreish whimper that leaves you makes both of you freeze.

“Thought I’d hurt you but that doesn’t seem to be the case.” The husky melody of his words plays in your ear, adding a swirl of haze when the hand closest to the base of your tail gives a soft tug.

Your body follows the hold he has on you, back arching deliciously. Shooting a hand back to grab onto him, your lips part, shining in the light of the overhead sun. Your eyes, red irises, make his breath leave the pit of his lungs once joining gazes again. “Price, please-” 

The breathless whine isn’t lost on him; You can feel his essence of arousal already heating up where his hands hold your tail. You dare to arch your back by a fraction more and press into him.

Clearing his throat once your ass is flush with the buckle of his pants, he releases only one hand to hold your hips. “Back to your drills. Now.” Before taking his leave around the corner of the makeshift walls.

The burning desire is never satiable for a succubus, and it’s the reason you were gifted your powers. To get what you wanted. Patience is a virtue, but wrath and lust have always been more fun.

[lisenberry]

Let me loosen up your collar

Ch. 1: Hazard Pay

E/2.2k

Price/Reader Str!pper AU

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[spoiled-fawn]

🥹❤️‍🔥🍾🎉😤✨ this!

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 1}

Masterlist, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) slightly dubious consent, (eventual) Somno, he wants you but is stubborn, violence, succubus reader, sexual tension, reader is given a callsign, minimal descriptions of reader, will update tags as I go

Word Count: 4,015

Summary: A demon by nature; a succubus. Now finally designated to a team, you’re a pilot in how demons and hybrid creatures alike can change the war. However, your previous commanders didn't account for a man too stubborn for his own good. Captain Price stands firm in his morals and ethics, developed by his hardened years in the SAS. You, a lustful little devil, will put him to the test.

And maybe along the way, he’ll put your nature to the test.

A/N: For my own logistics, reader was born seemingly human but the traits and magic did not solidify until reaching adult years, making you appear youthful while stuck in that age. This was originally going to be PWP but I sit here 20k words later... I hope ye enjoy!

Being a far descendant of a fallen angel, you could laugh at the pitiful life you’ve led yourself into.

You’re a pretty thing- beautiful, really. Full of allure and a natural aura of sin that draws others in with a simple look. The blood that pumps and fuels your magic has been alive for a long, long time.

Boredom is a constant in the life of the soulless and damned. It’s agonizingly blurry if you don't set a task or just choose to meander around the world but fortunately for you, you’ve got quite the life ahead of you.

Coming from a state-of-the-art high-security prison base, you’re technically a super soldier with a special drawback. Needing humans to fuel your power; you suck the life out of them, literally, and take energy from their sexual desires and touch.

It’s almost the brunt of the joke when you answer the question of what you are, feeling each time such an expectant shame and laugh to be cast upon you like heavy stones.

A succubus.

Long-acting jester of the demons taken for a lust-driven fool.

Being detained early on in your young lifespan, you were trained to be used as a weapon. Not of mass destruction, but rather something to make these stupid games of war go by so much easier. Not having to slay countless bodies for information and getting a damn good meal from the lives you stole (maybe a few quickies when your superiors weren’t looking), it’s a considerably content life compared to others.

Graduating from training after a few decades was quite the celebration for you and the officials who have been overseeing you for a plethora of years. The military had found a suitable team for you, and you were designated to be put under the supervision of an elite task force.

Supernatural beings were not uncommon in the military, as a large amount were free to live their lives if docile. In the lands of gods and monsters, the humans still held supreme reign over the controlled populations. However, beings similar to you were quick to be captured and either trained or distributed- the world turning a blind eye to what you were capable of achieving in the good and the bad.

John Price. The name stuck to your tongue like you were thirsty and you had a thick paste in your mouth.

No, not semen. At least not yet.

Being appointed to Task Force 141 was exciting. It’s your first time with this much trust, but you know you’d never fuck around too much to land you back to your containment. Captain Price had steely eyes locked onto your form the moment you stepped out of the convoy; high-security cuffs around your wrists and a large band of metal wrapped around your torso. The assumption is to keep you from shapeshifting or lashing out at anyone now that you’re out from the heavy locks and fences.

To everyone else, you looked human. Nothing amiss besides the heavy security detail on your body.

“Captain Price.” Your General’s voice rings out for you, greeting him with a firm handshake.

“General, pleasure.” His eyes dart away from you to greet the man, and you take a small dissatisfaction at the notion, your eyes traversing the expanse of him, already ruminating and calculating his presence.

He’s strong. His energy is sturdy; A cement wall that has cracks laced upon itself, layers of bonding to cover them up and just barely sanded over to appear brand new. His physical appearance leaves your internal senses giddy with the sense of a new adventure. If you’d release your glamour illusion, your tail would be swaying slowly.

The contract was simple; Your powers would be used in specific operations under Price’s command. You were his, and his only, not being allowed to act under any other authority. Behave well and you’ll be integrated more into society by his terms, but the worse you were, the worse your containment.

Your payment? Being able to form a bond with Price, one that will satisfy your demon, while being sure to keep you useful.

The etymology humans created portrayed a slew of differing conditions for succubi contracts, most being a damning thing to land humans a hot spot in hell. Being able to create this tie meant that they’d be your selected mate while they’d bear your mark to ward off any other demons. Under this, it barricaded you from killing said person. Instead, the feeding would come from sexual desire, touch, and yes, semen.

Watching Price, the flames of your creation begin to already yearn for his touch.

It's with a simple handoff of your file, a thick manilla envelope, that gets passed off to Price with no other words spoken, and you can’t help but marvel at how they treat your ownership like a back alley drug. The General nods towards you, speaking your name before the simple “But we just call her Little Devil.” A small twitch of Price's mouth makes you wonder if he disapproves.

“She may be a demon but keep her well-kept, Price. Your trial run in this program is going to do more than change war tactics.” 

Shifting the envelope in his hands, Price takes a survey of how much documentation they have on just your captive existence. There could be some good and some bad, maybe all bad but the chance of letting a temperamental half-demon could cause serious repercussions to both sides. Hypothetically. 

“We’ll be in touch.” Price responds, the forced-looking grin making the blue of his eyes slightly disappear for a moment. A nod of his head, then attention back on you while judging how to best go about this.

“You speak…?”

It sets a bristle off inside you with an internal scoff. The chance to insult him for accusing you of being either incompetent or something of the silent type settles, but your probation period keeps you inside the lines of behavior. “Yes, Captain.”

When he hears your voice; It sounds ethereal. Like the crisp jingle bells while the sound is eclipsed if not swallowed by soft and red velvet.

A small tick of his right eyebrow was the only movement accompanying a hum in acknowledgment. “Right, well. Let’s get you settled in then.”

With the queue of acceptance, the General brings a small key from a pocket unbeknownst to you, moving to unlock the cuffs. There’s humor in watching you, the new operator being uncuffed while accepted onto base- and hey, maybe you could ponder the religious message it brings forward too.

But there’s not enough time for that notion.

Walking off the tarmac and into the nearby administrative building brings steady heed of stares. “So… Your previous situation. Was told it was more of a containment type of thing. Would you mind speaking on that?” Price’s toned-down voice comes out after more than a few paces into the building, leading you towards a stairwell into the third floor.

“The best way to describe it in normalcy would be similar to what you human soldiers do here- the barracks. Just imagine its very high security.” It takes a moment to draw up the answer, having expected the man to be as nitwitted as the normal “A sex demon, huh?” question asked in every new encounter.

 “You’ve always been in that situation?”

The clicking of both sets of feet confidently strikes the ground. A sense louder than the random soldiers milling around you and the lack thereof as others stop and stare in bewilderment.

“No. Not sure if you’re making small talk or haven’t read my file yet, but my demonic integration did not start manifesting until I was in my early adult years. Got turned in when I was walking around the streets in full form. No control whatsoever on shifting.” 

A broken-off hum leaves the man, sensing the almost frazzled static around him as he works to keep walking while maintaining an eye on you. “I have. Just wanted to hear it from you.” Truthfully, if you were in his place with an unshackled demon that had years of military experience walking alongside you, you’d have some sense of fear too. “And how long ago was that? When you matured?”

Eyeing him for a moment, he looks mid-40s if anything. Handsome, worn down from war so possibly a bit younger. “Quite some time ago. I’d say when your parents were born, Captain.”

He stops in a mid-step, balances perfectly set before turning to whirr his head at you. Eyes give an up-down motion on you before ticking his jaw. “Huh.”

He pushes his way through a wall of soldiers to an office door before opening it. “And how old-”

“Body stopped aging when all the changes settled. A second sense of puberty that I’m locked into.” The small upturn of your lips doesn’t pass him. All he can do is nod in response.

He makes his way to the desk against the back corner of his office room; The space is a good size, Having enough for his L-shaped desk with two chairs in front of it. A worn-in leather couch on an adjacent wall while a few framed documents hang on the wall, military in nature with medals attached to them while undusted fake plants serve as accents in the corners.

“Very well,” He gives a soft grunt when adjusting himself in his seat before opening up the large manilla folder. “You, are going to be judged based on your nature and human interaction during your uncontained enlistment. Ability to perform assignments, be of aid, and see what your specific capabilities can put forward with us.”

Head nodding in check with each item listed, “Understood, Captain.”

His blue eyes leave the documents for a moment to find your gaze already on him. “You’ve got a good rapport with every previous task, but your previous COs still didn’t state trust as a key factor. Why would that be?”

For a moment, you get lost in the focus of his body language; Price folds his arms over the table, holding his elbows as the pages become spread over his desk. The way he purses his lips after a question that holds an answer he will depend on. His lips make a small smack in the action, and it's cute in the way he’s so human.

“I didn’t trust them.”

An eyebrow arches at the vague response prompting you to continue. “Kept me like a lab animal, fed me or let me feed when deemed easy for them to write off in the report. That’s not how you treat a demon when expecting to use their powers, sir.” 

“And this feeding… There’s multiple ways listed here but to be frank- I’ve still yet to get my head wrapped around it. You’re a sex demon, yeah?”

Ah. There it is.

His eyes dart down to the few pages that cover your needs and methods of survival, studying the paragraphs of information. A how to keep your demon alive handbook if you will.

“The premise of everything I need stems from what is deemed as life force, or just called energy. Sex is easy, and feels the most satisfying.” A breath before continuing. “ But relying on just energy wont last me long, yet its easier in some situations. Those barely alive are easy to take from.”

He knows there's more to be had with you. A temptress trained well with a pedigree in what you were made for. But he can only hypothesize. “And what are you expecting from being here?”

A look of surprise flashes in the widening of your eyes, not used to someone asking in consideration. “I’m expecting more hostiles, interrogations, or kills that I could take to feed myself. And sex too.”

“Oh-” A half cough leaves him before looking to the side. Surely he should have known, it's stereotypical but at least true.

“If you want me at full strength, I’m going to need the energy. I’m sure you could understand that, Sir?” The small tilt of your head, almost an aloof look sends alarm bells into his mind. They wouldn’t have sent a succubus in here without some sort of plan already being formed, some procedure and measure being used to-

“I am expecting to form a relationship with you, Captain.”

And at that, a full choked sound leaves him. He deserves doubled pension for this.

“And in what right mind, was that established in, hm?” He grounds out, opening a desk drawer to pull out a cigar before taking a cutter to the end of it. You measure the time it takes for him to light it and take a first steady puff.

“Well, the way I see it- and having discussed it with my previous superiors, this is supposed to mirror a real dynamic. This is the only point of contact to report on my behavior. I don’t think engaging in what I need would go over well if I went wild with other operators or soldiers around the base. Confirm or deny?”

Price’s eyes narrow as you speak, dragging his gaze away to stare at his locked computer screen. A grunt in the back of his throat sounds before taking another inhale of his cigar. For a man who has been fighting on the front lines for countless years, he keeps the smoke in for a steady amount of time. Healthy lungs. Good for him. 

You haven’t tried a cigar, only have gotten a whiff of the burning tobacco coming from superiors. This smell is the lingering one you picked up on Price even when standing on the tarmac. Sweet, vanille and tobacco leaves.

“You said your previous company spoke on this with you.” He starts with a swift movement to rifle through the pages on his desk. “This in writing or are you taking the piss now?” He speaks in a deep grumble, holding the burning cigar between his lips.

An internal groan rattles your mind, already sensing this may be more of a struggle than ease of getting what you were promised. “Last few pages. It’s all in writing.” He seemed like a sensible man in the way that if a warm and inviting body was laid out to him while asking for himself, he’d take it.

“Commanding officer is to set an established and cohesive exchange, herein the succubus will be fed from a relationship in physical and sexual natures while in exchange not damaging or harming the officer.” His accent slides in a bit more thickly than you’ve heard up until now, eyebrows scrunched while he mumbles the page to himself. “And why in the bloody hell, was this not communicated to me beforehand?”

You can’t control the wry smirk that steals your lips while looking at him, trying not to laugh. “They thought it would be a no-brainer.” A pause, “Sir.”

Plucking the cigar out of his mouth, Price sighs while leaning back in his chair seemingly defeated. “You sufficed well without any previous relation in the company, there’s no evidence that this will turn out well.” His eyes now land on you in a quick movement.

“As I mentioned-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“No. I’m not going to sleep with my subordinate, less so one that can kill me if so pleases.” The uptick of his chin bleeds with firmness, a decision that screams arrogance of finality. 

Settling down in a way that almost matches his, your jaw ticks. “Yes, sir.”

And truthfully it's all you can say. Agree and accept to stay here and be the guinea pig for others like you. You can warn all you want but by the devil himself, humans won’t learn until their wrongs meet them in their face.

“If I could so much as advise you, Captain;” Your chin dipping, licking the front of your teeth, and feeling the small prick of your dormant fangs. He nods for you to continue, “If you want me at my full capacity, I will need every ounce of energy I can get. You’re going to need to keep that in the back of your head. It’s not simple like a meal you eat. It’s a life I take or the sex I make.”

Now, a quick smile flashes over him only disappearing when he takes a long, longer drag of the cigar. “I’ll keep that in mind, Demon.” Sitting up straighter, leaning on the desk again.

“But whether or not you are a good girl, depends on what ethics I choose to apply.” The smoke puffs out in small bursts as he speaks, tendrils leading up toward heaven before it stills in limbo at the weight of it.

—

The men- your teammates, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, each greeted you with somewhat seasoned restraint and respect by holding their tongues yet their eyes spoke their curiosity while roaming over you.

You could see the disappointment in their eyes. Being met with a seemingly normal human was not what they had been briefed on. Having let their imagination run wild at the title of a succubus, you’d guess they would have wanted to see every aspect of what kind of mystical enchantress you would be. Once the disappointment of not seeing such things the churches pray against, the view of your human form set in.

Lords above you were the finest piece of- 

It felt like a surefire version of winning the lottery to have you assigned to them. Banking on the fact that you’d be their little guard dog and they yours, Gaz already having to scare recruits away at PT while you stared on with a coy smile. Training was as you’d have expected. Executions of strategies, questioning of tactics, and scoring your shooting were all within the long hours of the day. What you hadn’t expected was the lack of insults thrown your way in passing when you met their standards. No degrading words of being a a demon, or a slut by association of your breed.

It was two weeks before you were allowed to come on an assignment with them; The mission in the bitter snow of the Russian Tundra. 

12 hours in and having stormed a bunker with countless bodies already strewn across, blood stains the polished cement and a flicker of sinister delusion makes you wish the snow was this color.

Tattered remains of your shirt sleeves show the color of your skin underneath, but miraculously no wounds present themselves even as your kevlar has obvious points of damage. The sight of you standing, gun raised and firing quick bursts of succession as the last body falls to the ground. It’s like a scene out of a soldier's bible.

Your chest heaves, mouth opens to lick your teeth as the adrenaline slows its production in your blood. Price is sure that if he put a body cam on you, it would be a haze of movements, a shadow clouding up the corners of the screen and filled with static. He’s still not sure what to think of you in the short amount of time you’ve been here. Quiet and speaking only when spoken to. And it’s not what he was prepared for; The thick dossier of yours being filled with reprimands, complaints, and classified lines that hid your after-action reports with details on your kill count.

From the first meeting, he knew you were spoiled rotten in that compound, save the punishments given on your worst days. You knew how to get what you wanted. Bitting time and time again to still be fed. Yet, now all he can see is you biting at others if only to protect your men.

“Saint.” The spur of Price’s voice makes you jump, the scene of death halting, eyes darting to a stack of crates where he lays. His squinted eyes lock onto your form, trailing up and down for a moment before he tries to adjust himself with a grunt.

“Who?” You ask while taking a secondary cautious sweep of the room before moving to him in a quick few steps.

“You, sweetheart. Saint.” 

His grunt of pain doesn’t faze you, instead focusing the whiff of a sweeter metallic smell hits you. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Ghost, Gaz, and Soap have the outside perimeter locked down with getaway snowmobiles at Price’s word. He touches the side of his com to activate it, roughly alerting them you both had cleared the floor and will need to medevac in the next coming moments.

“Let me get that for you.” It was a severe contrast to the inhumane growling and yelling from moments before as you tore into the enemies, ones that had you in a blind rage for landing a shot on Price.

Shaking his head, he reaches out his hand to stop you. “‘M fine, just need a quick patch. We need to leave.” He grounds out, leaning forward while covering the wound on his thigh.

Common knowledge brought the understanding that succubi had a level of regenerative power, but most not having been raised in military secrecy or being able to develop themselves into having control.

“Stop. Just-” A breath settles in your lungs, measuring itself and the expanse of what you could do- how you could help and be useful. The previous rage and fight instincts transform with concentration and the swirling of conjuration. “I need a little…” You trail off, eyes sweeping upwards to his.

There’s a shame that humans hold. You blame it on them being entirely born of boring flesh, but that would be hypocritical to an extent. Taking his vest in hand, you pull yourself forward to lean in.

“What the bloody-” Price jerks back but can't even finish as you sush him, giving him a deep stare that almost sedates him. He stills and quiets at the same time, now holding your gaze that he swears he saw the current color be flooded by a deep red.

He blinks for a moment, already trying to fight the small calming waves you push into him but the sudden feeling of long talons priking into his shirt makes him freeze. Like an animal with food aggression, you keep him there while moving in to bring your lips together. 

You can taste a bit of blood, and the saltiness of his sweat, while trying not to groan at just how good he feels against you. His lips are surprisingly plump, probably from being irritated due to the cold, but it adds a level of eroticness to feel his wet lips slide over yours. 

“Stay still for me.” You pause the kiss that he’s surprisingly reciprocating eagerly, breathing into each other's mouths. The soft plea drives his heart rate up and you can feel the sense of adrenaline spiking. He’s going to sleep like a fucking brick tonight.

He shudders when you come back together with more force, purposefully dragging the tip of your fangs against his bottom lip as you crowd him. 

There. 

There is the sickly sweet thrum of arousal in his body that makes his mind stir, what you could give in a bastardized excuse of lust right now.

“Mmm, give me a minute.” Comes your wet slurred speech when pulling away, eyebrows furrowing as you focus on on his bullet wound.

The sight of you could be his glory to fight. Tattered from battle, your lips are tinted red, clothes dirty from the gunpowder floating in the air, looking as if so carelessly lethal while your presence is a magnet to him. He's already caught himself wondering why you were chosen to represent a being that fell so far from heaven when your instincts screamed the opposite in small moments.

Looking down to be sure he’s healed just enough, you miss the look of blatant shock he gives when the pink and unmarred flesh greets his eyes. “A right fuckin’ saint you are.” He murmurs, watching you call the boys for exfil, no longer medevac.

[spoiled-fawn]

TF 141: Owl Hybrid HCS

Hi! I'm alive, just working on several things at once so my writing output is slow. This may be too niche but I've been thinking about this too much and wanted to share. Yes, I will be coming out with a Price x reader hybrid fic and this kinda sets the tone for it. I hope you enjoy!

A group of owls is called a parliament.

No warnings. There are some 141 x reader bits as well

PRICE: Blakiston’s Fish Owl

Price is a big bird, and is the largest in terms of body weight and wingspan comparisons. His wings take up a majority of his space when on the ground and in his human form. His feathers are monochromatic with brown and tan, his broad and ragged ear tufts start on his temple and hang slightly to the side- still perfectly seen and sticking out when he wears his boonie hat.

The scars on his neck mark a historic battle between him and a foe. His damage? His vocal chords.

This man has a deep hoot that now sounds like a scratchy croak most nights. He feels self-conscious about it after the damage that occurred but will use it to startle or scare enemies mostly. 

If you ask to hear his hoot he gets flustered.

Being the alpha predator, he is very territorial. Not so much over his nest or room, but rather his parliament. Over the others, he tends to take care of them as a stand-in father figure that none of them have. With his big form and feathers, you can find either of the sergeants nestled into his chest like the pillow Price is.

Playing with his ear tufts is a dangerous game, as your hand will either be pecked at or he’ll give you nesting eyes depending on his mood.

Loves fish, and will even eat it raw if his owl sense is craving it.

His species spends an unusual amount of time on the ground and prefers to travel as humans do when applicable. 

When fishing, he prefers to do so as his breed does. Dive in and catch the fish himself.

Likes to nest in tight spaces (that mimic hollow trees). Will make a fort between a plethora of cushions and blankets to hide within.

GHOST: Great Gray Owl

While Ghost is the largest member of 141, in his owl form, he almost doubles in size due to his plumage. The Great Gray has fluffy feathers and the longest tail, making him all the more threatening

He is not the type to build nests, but will often steal nests of others. He’s been found in Price’s nests when the Captain leaves for office work or has been known to crash into Soap's nest with no care to the men squawking

He’s vain to a fault. Will always preen himself in private, and the one time you pulled a cracked feather he immediately blushed snatched it from your hand, and left in a hurry to make sure there were no others

Once you got to really get close to him, he would let you do it for him.

Absolutely loses it when you call him pretty bird.

You also got him to parrot it back to you once and he almost cried with embarrassment.

Also has a deep hoot, but his come in shorter and quicker successions. 

These owls, much like Ghost, are hard to find. They tend to keep to themselves and blend into their surroundings by remaining still. There is minimal aggression in terms of territory, but when the 141 parliament is threatened, his talons are ready to maul.

SOAP: Barn Owl

Have you heard a Barn Owls call? It can get really annoying or is beyond terrifying.

Soap’s subspecies is the T. a. Guttata; He is large for his species while having grey and orange upperparts with an orange buff. He has speckling to his underpart feathers, and his face is white.

Will sometimes take naps in a roost of his choosing (supply closet, rafters of the gym) but does tend to make his own nest when needing a deep and comfortable sleep after a good meal or long mission. 

Makes a fuss when Ghost crashes his nest. He hisses and snaps his beak at the large hybrid but shuts up when he gets to nestle under his wings.

Soap bonded with Ghost over his species being known as the “Ghost Owl” to some, but also that they have a similar lay of face feathers.

Soap is a curious hybrid in nature, and not always defensive when a different species (or human) is interacting with 141. The first time he met you, his wings splayed out while he looked you over - too closely.

While looking at your dog tags (or any other jewelry) he accidentally beat his wing feathers on your face.

You lost your balance and spooked him, causing him to hiss at you. And beat you over the head with his wing, again.

He is very cuddly when on base, likes to be by your side, and at least has his wing draped on you if it's movie night.

GAZ: Great Horned Owl 

One of Gaz’s strong suits is his ability to camouflage. His feathers comprise a darker brown and even darker, complex markings across. He does have a patch of white feathers on his throat when fully shifted, and people make jokes that it's as if he wears a button-up shirt.

He has the classic owl hoot, and will often use it as comedic relief if a joke doesn't land. It is the most calming and subtle of the group, so he will often use it to find the other members while on base.

His eyes are big. Can give you the sweetest looks without saying anything, and is an absolute heartmelter when his tired eyes show in the daytime.

Like Price, he has tufts on the side of his head but are much smaller in comparison. They do as well peak out from under his cap.

He can adapt to the heat of the desert easily, and if in the Sonoran Desert again, he likes to sit in the sun to warm up.

Gaz does nest, but his is a bit wild and messy in terms of blankets and pillows strewn about when doing so. He doesn't need much, but when in his nesting season he can become aggressive and grumpy.

Price jokes that he can be like a parrot. Somewhat playful but has a tolerance when being preened at by the Captain himself.

Has nipped Price before.

Gaz keeps his talons well-maintained. He lost one in a fight before, and now takes excellent care of them. 

When he becomes fond of you, he will snag you by the arms and fly you in the air with him. Very cautious to not hurt you!

He one time made a nest high up in the rafters in the base but fell out of it and onto the ground when Ghost caught him sleeping.

~~~~~~

Cannot stop imagining Price's owl with a boonie hat on top. Like PLEASE. So cute and deadly.

[spoiled-fawn]

Meeting Johnny

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 2,726 CW: None

AN: I'm alive! Sorry this is so short, this was a good stopping point and I need to work on my world-building for Soap before getting to the next part. Just know- I haven't given up on this AU (It's literally my firstborn, blood, and soul, but I will be a bit slow until my brain juices stay flowing. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the Introduction for the explanation and precursors to the scene.

Introduction, Biography

--------

Johnny’s proposal to you was quick in terms of a few letters exchanged; three letters in, he invited you to come out and sent you enough money to figure out accommodations to get to him. As soon as you read those words at the post office, you ran home high on endorphins and adrenaline began packing your bags without grandiose care in the world. The fire inside you licked at the bottom of your heart, anger at staying in this shithole for far too long and feeling a sense of belonging- the sense of feeling wanted to make you have an ulterior purpose in life as if a phoenix reborn and spreading its wings while nose-diving into the unknown. When your parents came home as you zipped your bags, you sincerely couldn’t give a flying fuck as you shoved past them and began berating your parents with a grand show of a public yelling match for the neighbors to hear. 

Good for you! 

You had already planned how to get to him after receiving his first letter back; First step, buying a train ticket that led you to Santa Fe, New Mexico. From there, you had to embark on the Gila Trail, before having to buy your horse and head out on the San Diego Crossings wagon road by yourself. 

This trip was a long haul, and you prayed that Johnny would trust in your quickly established faith to wait out for you. The promise of a strong and loving man is all you could think about...

While in your adrenaline-filled escape, you hadn’t plucked the book in your room that hid his photo as a bookmark, but thankfully had grabbed the letter that gave you his directions. While you scavenge your mind to have a solid image of him, you think over his features and re-read the letters countless times.

Johnny has a background of all sorts, having grown up in a family that held their bond strong, especially after his father had passed in a mining cave-in, which rendered him the man of the house from a young age. Even in his brief telling of these events, you could tell he’s moved out to California to find a deeper meaning of himself, create the line in concrete for it to harden as he ages. 

That isn’t to say that he has lost his sense of boyishness, not at all in fact. His stories that he wrote even contained small doodles along the borders to better depict what he was writing about, and it was half your mind to cut them out and keep them as little bookmarks or place them in your wallet as a keepsake. He was playful, writing jokes about the smallest things, even letting you in on some secrets about the people in his town before you got there.

While the sense of his flame burned hot in multiple directions, deep in his hearth was a passionate man. Just as he seemed so sweet, with a flick of his wrist the writing would turn into something hot enough to make you blush, averting your eyes as your mind ran wild with his thoughts. He seems to enjoy a bubble bath… but maybe only when you’re in it with him. Even writing about the future and him stating he wants a family by any means, you could only imagine a deep possessiveness inside of him to claim you as such. Even if you were able to have his biological children or not, he’d still make sure you felt like you did.

But back to your journey. 

The course of the trains provided you an oversight of the new lands you had yet to ever see, as it was the beginning stages of territories turning into states. The rides were long, and adjusting to the set time zones was a large throw-off to your circadian rhythm. Having already traveled two states west, it was difficult to decide on which line would grant you the fastest access to Johnny. Luckily enough, a kind person in the Denver station helped point out that taking the route from northern Nevadah into California would grant you the fastest time, and ease your solo traveling. 

The kind person stated that they were in a similar situation and now waiting for the train, having a bit of time to offer some advice while making it toward their end goal. Thanking them with bountiful wishes and good luck’s in their journey, you were on your way.

It took four more days to find yourself in Temecula, California. An astonishing change from the desert lands that reflected the sun so brightly now showed the capabilities of a plush environment of greenery and clouds. The train station was reached as the sunlight began pouring in over the mountains; being quick on your feet, and from the other settlers being far too tired, you found a deal on the last remaining horse available. 

Traveling by horseback prompted challenges with reading Johnny's directions, and you did not want to admit that you were lost. The lack of directory and signage left you getting flustered already by noon and being left alone in such a rural area in between towns felt far more daunting than any part of this trip. Passing by stagecoaches who all seemed to know their way around, you filed in line through a secondary road filled with houses in the valley of the small mountains.

Three hours later and a small urge to cry while having given up on re-reading the letter, you accepted defeat when you saw someone sitting on their porch down a dirt road with his house being the only one there.

“Hi! Excuse me, sir?” The sound of your voice breaks through the stillness of the settling valley, enough to make the man look up from the table he is currently hunched over.

“Would you mind helping me out by giving me directions?” Willing yourself to not blush or shrink into your large coat, embarrassment running through your chest while in the new environment.

For a moment, the man doesn't seem to acknowledge you, having to do a double take before his eyes widen in surprise. The toothpick that was delicately hanging on his lip falls to the ground, less he even notices before he sits up straight readjusting his hat, and clears his throat.

“‘Course, my dear. How can I be of service.” His accent is rich, leading you to believe that he’s been raised in the West, and has a perfectly smooth twang to his speech as it leaves his side smile.

“I’m looking for the country store… There’s supposed to be an old Coke sign on it.” The words leave you in a higher pitch than you’d normally speak, having a handsome stranger stare at you with a wide-eyed stare as he watches your lips move. “And to be honest- I wouldn’t know if I’m in the right place to begin with.” 

As if snapped back to reality again, eye contact cut short as he blinks before looking down the road and then back to you. “Ah, store’ way down yonder with a crossing sign. If yer’ headed west then a left will take you to the interstate,” A nod confirms his sense of confidence in his directions, explaining it plain and simple as the roads that his house lies on.

The smile that crosses your face lights your eyes, and it's the most relief you’ve gotten ever since getting on horseback. “Thank you, I really do appreciate it.” Your hands pull on the reigns of the horse, already turning around to try and beat sunset before it's too dark to ride alone.

Before you’re out of earshot, “When you’re in, you gotta stop and ask Ms. Bell for somma’ her sweet tea. But remember, take a right, and you’ll end up right back here to me.” The wink that leaves him makes you question if you’re seeing things in the late light of the day, but you’re sure he can see the blush that burns your cheeks.

A laugh leaves you before nodding in response, now clicking your horse into a quick trot while you’re high on the adrenaline from the interaction. Well… at least you have a backup plan in case your bachelor doesn't work out.

Arriving far too quickly than you’d expect, the store was only a few minutes down the road and concealed by a line of trees. Hitching your horse and walking into the store on stiff legs, you plan on following the stranger's advice to get some sweet tea.

The bell above the door jingles as you walk in, catching the attention of the older woman behind the counter. Here eyes take in your form, surprised such a fresh-faced person has arrived this late into the day. “How can I help you, sweetheart?” Her voice rings out a bit rough, someone who knows how to pull her weight if trouble would arrive.

“I’m actually looking to get to someone's home near town, but I was told to make my way from this store to not get lost.” A pause as your eyes take in the scenery of the rustic store; A layer of dust settled onto the wooden floors as shelves are stocked with an assortment of canned goods, spices, and a few refrigerators labeled as eggs and milk. “Met a stranger on the way and was told I should get some sweet tea here, too.”

Her eyes, still studying you as you speak and noting your accent, or lack thereof, bring a small quirk to her face. “Well, lemme get you some of my tea while you get yourself found.” Leaving her seat she makes her way to a wall in the back, pulling out two large mason jars with a light brown liquid. 

“That stranger you met- was he small ways up north fr’mere?” The smile on her face grows as she walks back to her seat at the register as you walk forward to meet her.

“Yes… A lone house down a single road. Blue eyes, brown hair, and some stubble.” The answer is pulled from you automatically, reciting the mental image of him.

“Toothpick in his mouth?”

The question is almost absurd in how spot-on she is, but then again this is a very small town. “Yes.”

The answer makes her laugh, somewhat un-ladylike when compared to the women from your home, and the noise makes you startle in place for a second.

“That damn Johnny makes me work my ass off to keep this tea in stock. He’s been so stressed waiting for his person to come ‘nd has been drinking me straight out of this stuff.” She levels when calming down for a moment, now placing the jars in bags.

She has yet to look back up at you and fails to notice your limbs seemingly frozen in place as the air leaves your lungs. That was Johnny?

“I’m so sorry ma’am. Did you say that was Johnny? As in MacTavish?”

The rustle of the brown paper bags stops, her eyes darting up to find yours. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She murmurs lowly before a sly smile takes over her face. “You’re here, and you’re damned too good from what you made yourself out to be, sweetheart.” 

Still frozen with your mind reeling, adrenaline begins to pump back into your bloodstream while a jolt alights your muscles. “Oh- I’m so sorry ma’am, I must get going its getting late and-”

The sliding of the jars on her counter interrupts your rambling, “Ah ah, its Ms. Bell dear, and you best be taking this with you to him. Don’t worry bout nothin’ but I’m happy to welcome you to the town.” 

If you looked now, you could notice the tremor in your hands. Nodding and taking the bag, a rush of endless ‘thank you’s’ and an elated smile seats itself permanently before loading the bags on the saddle and turning back around to start galloping forward back towards where you once were.

—

The sound of horses and wagons isn’t a constant to Santa Ysabel during the night hours, usually only occurring after the dayshift ends. As Johnny sits on his porch, his mind muddled with confusion as he stews over his soon-to-be partner arrives, thoughts of the stranger asking for directions makes him confused.

Fresh toothpick in his mouth as he widdles away at a bar of tallow, working to pull off glycerine for work. Surely that wasn’t a coincidence, right? The picture you sent was muddled down with water stains, and he blamed it on the damn train that sent your envelopes out this way. It was beginning sunset, and though he couldn't make out most of your features because of the coat you concealed yourself in- 

The bar of soap drops to the ground and he curses, now jumping out of his mind and into the present. 

The sound of hooves beating and approaching make him look up.

There, Here, you’re back again and the whites of your teeth are illuminated by the fading sun to show your smile.

Slowing down your horse to a stop, breathing in a slight pant as compared to your horses, the smile never leaves you.

“Figure you need some more directions, sweetheart?” His drawl leaves him, standing to make his way towards you. 

“Take off your hat.” The response is curt, and demanding in a way, but that glimmer of excitement makes it sound so sweet.

Johnny himself is befuddled for a moment, eyebrow cocked but complies anyway. Now raising the hat off of his head and holding it to his chest, his eyes answer for him. This what you wanted?

A small sound of excitement leaves you, nodding before your leg swings over your saddle, dismounting with a small jump and walking forward.

“Johnny, it's me.”

A swear leaves his mouth, accompanied by a rush of air before he drops his hat to the side and plucks hit toothpick out with it. The smile that coats his face makes him appear so young and boyish at heart as he moves forward with arms open to wrap around your hips with a low growl, “C’mere you,”

You could be embarrassed by the small squeal that leaves you, but you couldn’t give a rat's ass on anything right now. He spins you around for a quick moment, arms around your body as he lifts you easily with his strength.

Staring down into his eyes, you grab a shoulder while the other hand cups his jaw. “Didn’t know it was you until Ms. Bell said something.”

He laughs, head tilting back in bewilderment at the situation and excitement. “Talkin bout her sweet tea?” He asks while setting you down on your feet, hands never straying as he pulls you against him and traverses over your body.

“Yes, gave me some to bring home.”

The use of home sparks his heart with a bright thrum, butterflies encasing his stomach while he rumbles out a laugh. The texture of his hands is both soft and ruff, his thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones before one hand moves to brush over your hair, cupping the back of your neck.

“Well, in that case, welcome home, sweety.” The rumble sends a shiver down your spine, eyes darting over his face before settling on his lips. A breath settles before you look back into his sharp blue eyes, as he looks at you seemingly waiting for permission.

A small nod of your head and gently pulling him towards you, the band on the back of your head pulls you forward as he brings your lips together. The taste of him has a spice to it, the favor of cinnamon cotes his lips and brings a slow burn over yours while his body’s warmth brings another wave.

The stubble of his beard rubs your face- and it's a welcome feeling as compared to the winds of the valleys whipping past you. Something you’d gladly leave your skin bright red and raw from hours of the feeling.

Before growing too heated, you part with a small gasp and trail him slightly before blinking to find his smirk growing as a low rumble vibrates against you. “Let's get you settled in, then we can celebrate s’more.”

--------

[Who do you all think the reader met at the train station? If you get the song reference for their meeting you get two gold stars! I hope yall enjoy.]

[spoiled-fawn]

Meeting Kyle

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 3,120 CW: None

AN: GAZZA BAYBEE! This is my first time writing for Gaz and I know it's not much, but I hope to portray him as something we can all enjoy. Would love to hear your thoughts and comments, as well as any questions, my asks are open. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the Introduction for the explanation and precursors to the scene.

Introduction, Biography

--------

The quiet of the night emanates with the crickets chirping, small scuffles of feet around the block, and a handful of buildings creaking in the late-night wind. You can barely see the outline of words using the dim street lights to help you read over the candidates.

No… No… Yes. 

Your eyes, and faint tug of your heart, settle on Kyle’s advert. In a hopeless romantic fashion, you could feel the daydreams begin. 

Folding the paper and stuffing it in your shirt, then glancing around before heading off to your home, you walk with a rushed sense of urgency. Everything good, bad, and ugly, flys into your mind. This could be a trap, what if he isn’t who he says he is, what if hundreds of others have already written to him? 

Well, it's better than this. It's a quick scan of the hazardous and dirty mess that rages inside your house walls. Passing quickly to your bathroom, you take out the paper again before looking in the mirror. 

Can you see yourself in the low lights of a saloon? Helping old bastards get drunk after a day of hard work, smiling sweetly, or raising a fist when needed? Can you hold appearance to being a town favorite so he would get good business? 

Your mind steals your active attention while bathing, letting the lukewarm water wash the day’s dirt away from you. No criminal record? Check, and with no debt. No early mornings but now late nights? That's a life you could get used to. Attractive? Well shit, if the politician sought you out, then yes. You’re quite the diamond in the rough.

As if you were in a spell, you blink and break the dissociation you entered to realize yes, you could see that for yourself. You can. Could. Would.

Now in your bedroom after the bath, you quietly maneuver the floorboards to cut any chance of waking up your parents or any sudden appearance that would erase this mission of yours.

Now being able to read, Kyle was one of the younger candidates in the newspaper and even from his short paragraph and singular photo, he seemed like a man who was down to earth. Maybe someone who knows how to have fun, but has enough structure and discipline for himself to become so successful at such a young age. In your writing, you tried your best to express your goals, how you could help his own, and how you could blossom together in his new beginning.

The next few days were filled with constant anxiety and metaphorically looking over your shoulder. Acting like a nervous dog as your parents began to crowd you with an overbearing sense of control. A child with a leash on, constantly trying to pull away.

The 5th day after sending your correspondence leaves you will a dejected heart. Now on the farm working, you heard the bell attached to the mailer wagon approach the gate. Common for you to take the mail for the Laswells, you head to take the mail but give a confused glance as the mailman hands you a letter while reading out your name. “This one here ‘s for ya.” Is all he supplies before heading back down the road to continue his route.

A neat and small scrawl is seen across the front and is enough to make your heart race. 

Kyle expressed himself very well; his boyish charm and a hint of his flirty attitude already coming across. Describing himself as friendly, outgoing, and respectful. He confided in how he feels most alone when the customers leave, when he gets into bed in the cold chill of the night, alone. 

Even in his writing, his charming and playful lines were able to make you smile, having to bite your lip to keep your bubbling excitement inside. The words he uses, and the sweet-toothed candor in his writing show a difference from your upbringing; daddy and mommy issues on your end, if you will, while the feeling of his young soul shines through with assuredness. You and Kyle wrote of both wanting someone to make life feel easy. Kyle wants to find his muse; the inspiration to his business and light up his world on the cloudiest of days.

In the dark of the late evening after leaving work late, you head to the post office to collect an expected letter. A common habit now so you could dream of him and any fantasies your mind could create. Now just entering the 6th week of exchanging letters, you stand shocked as you re-read the page.

“... I hope to see you soon, enclosed is the means to make it my way. Cheers to you honey, I’ll be waiting for you…” 

In your hands lays your one-way ticket to get out of your contained life. In his letter and now in your hands are directions, a map, and a one-way train ticket for you to leave home. 

The thrum of your blood is loud in your ears, louder than your footsteps running across the ground. Making your way back home, you begin packing what you’ll need for the barren desert climate. 

Fully awake and adrenaline pumping, you slink into your house with practiced ease and silence to determine what you’ve walked into tonight. From the hallway, you can see your parents strewn across their bed with measured breathing; It's safe to move around and get yourself together.

It's an hour later when you make your way to leave, yet when passing through the living room for one last look, you decide to get a small keepsake to celebrate your new beginning while simultaneously giving a big fuck you to your parents. 

Plucking a set of fine glassware of your father's, the ones that he valued more than keepsakes from your parent's wedding, the soft clink of the glass buried in your bag brings a sweet grin to your lips. 

You’d scold yourself later for not taking a bottle of whatever liquor was there but wouldn’t want to test your luck by getting drunk when it was your first time on a train. 

The trip was only four days long, not leaving you with much time to prepare to meet Kyle. Instead, you begged your mind to create a true representation of him, re-reading his letters often as you imagined him. The times that you were able to sleep with the soft lull of the train were filled with possibilities of what your life in a budding environment, alongside a man who had built his life up from scratch and stayed so charming through it all. 

On the train into Northern Arizona, the red rock was enchanting, to say the least. Arriving late into the morning on Saturday, you take a mildly comfortable pace after stepping off the train station to make your way to the center of town with wide eyes as the glimmer of the early morning sky creates a calm blue haze.

It takes a bit of time before you walk far enough to come across the sign painted atop a brick building in the the upper edge of Main Street. You could laugh about how lost you knew you looked, but before stopping to ask someone, the creme-colored letters Free Falling Saloon appear before you.

Taking a moment to commend yourself for making it this far, a steady breath draws in and out of your lungs. With a small flutter in your stomach, you push open the saloon doors and are greeted with the sight of the bar; stained oak and birch woods, various colored glass bottles lining the back wall, dried animal skulls hung up, cowboy hats, sombreros, and a large mirror that has a ledge full of lit candles. 

The loud sound of a crate being put on the bar makes you startle, hand jumping up to your chest before your eyes find the source of the noise.

“Sorry, pardner, we ain't open till-” The smooth voice rings out with a dreary tone- making him seem tired of probably having to repeat this line over and over again. After a moment, his warm deep eyes move up to find yours but his jolt of surprise doesn't escape you.

His eyes, body, and soul, seemingly freeze as he sets his eyes on you and stares. Granted, you're staring right back while the pull of a growing smile begins to pull at the edge of your lips.

His facial hair isn’t much, but it's enough to shape his face and make him seem like he’s a bit older than the photo he sent. His hair somewhat short and in tight curls on his head, making him have a unique style he could probably attest to developing from home. 

Your stomach does flips at how stunning he is, but when he smiles- All gods be damned. He’s the finest man you’ve seen and you wonder if you’re going to chase off harlots from stealing him every night.

“Hi, Kyle.” Is all that leaves you, and it's monumentally soft in how it leaves your lips, making you swear you could see him melt a bit.

The movement of his mouth catches your eyes but the lack of sound coming out draws a soft peal of laughter from you. Taking a step forward, he matches you while bumping into a few glass bottles along the way. 

Your bags make soft thuds against the floor, both sets of footsteps soft with trepidation yet building excitement. Each set of eyes scans the other, with sincere and almost unapologetic disbelief as you come face to face.

He whispers your name out in amazement, raising his hands to cup your face. “You’re real… You’re really real.” He breathes, voice soft. His inviting eyes drink in your appearance while his smile grows, and then feel yourself pulled into a tight hug in his strong arms.

A soft noise of surprise leaves you, arms trapped within his hold making you laugh in response. Settling to wrap your arms around his waist, you squeeze right back. He smells like citrus and hints of cinnamon amongst it. 

When thinking of the Arizona Territory, you thought it would be the rumored dry barren desert that holds tales of ghost stories; Unbearable heat that beats down and leaves many delusional for an oasis. But him. Kyle. He’s the damned warmest thing you've wrapped your arms around.

But hey, you’ll probably become delusional for this man too.

“You’re real.” You copy back with a muffled voice. Basking against his muscled chest, which you will return to later, you peak up. “Thought this was some dream like I was going crazy coming here.” The addition is a soft and unconfident reply, possibly gaslighting yourself into still believing so.

The rumble of his soft laugh brings a sweet vibration to your chest, "I know, Honey. You're safe now, you're home." He assures while moving his head back slightly so his face is now a few inches from yours, smiling softly. “I wrote you way too much to let you get stuck in some sort of dream world without me. Hardest parts’ over.” 

Affirming his response, a grin plants itself on your lips as you hum lowly. “Hardest parts over.” You parrot back with relaxed accomplishment. 

The arms around you give a tight squeeze, and the warmth of his lips presses against your forehead. “You’re gonna make me crazy. Can already tell.” He murmurs, the easy smile held against your skin, and you already want to curse yourself for letting him make it seem so easy. Why not let him?

Before you can respond, he takes a step back to look at you, his brown eyes sparkling in the flickering light of the room."You wanna see our place?" He asks curiously, stepping forward to take your hand and guide you to a door behind the bar, a tucked-away staircase hiding beside a wall of crates. "You're not gonna wanna leave once you see where you'll be stayin'. Let's set your bags down first, though." He laughs, confidently leading you while intertwining your hands.

You’re greeted with an apartment-style home; An eclectic mix of furnishings, all the way down to the pictures and artwork on the walls. It's a mix of Western and Southern charm, with just a hint of New Orleans to signify where he’s from.

A couch sits against one wall near a bay window, the curtains drawn back to let in the sunlight. A kitchenette rests in the corner of the room, and you see a separate room that appears to be a bedroom. There is a large bay window at the end of the room, facing the view of the Jerome hills. Kyle motions for you to follow him to the bedroom.

“It ain't much, just a cozy place for two,” he says softly, moving close to you again as he steals your bags and gently rests them atop a dresser.

In truth, he’s right. It’s not much, but it's a beginning for both of you that he has just a bit of a head start on. Yet, it's so much more than you’ve hoped, dreamed, prayed, screamed, and cried for. Just a little piece of heaven to have and to hold.

“It’s us. That's all that matters.” You say, now walking slowly towards him to scan over the view that the bedroom window offers.

You can feel him staring, see him doing it too from the corner of your eye. “What?” The question tumbles from your mouth, turning to him with an eyebrow raised.

He smiles for a moment, chuckling before shaking his head. Slow steps, 1… 2… 3… bring him close enough to pull your hips and bring you towards him. “You’re right,” He whispers, pausing to smile and look at your lips. “Just us.” He answers in a hoarse murmur, leaning in closer and you can feel his breath across your lips.

“Is this where I say thank you for letting me be here?” You ask, eyes falling to his lips in response. There's a sweetness to this moment, that makes your head feel so light and clear while you can barely feel your heartbeat. It's something you’ve never felt before- because you haven't. Not this, not anyone like him. His hands reach forward to find their place on your jaw, the warmth of his palm grounding. 

A huff of air leaves him, making your eyes flutter. “No, this is where I thank, you, Honeybee.” 

His kiss is gentle and sweet, the gentle drag of his thumb across your hip bones adds to the warmth that floods your chest while his light stubble rubs against your face. Your arms travel up to wrap around his neck, adding to the invitation to make him stay, keeping him so close.

A groan leaves him, his hands squeezing the flesh on your hips before moving to wrap around your back. “You’re gonna be trouble, baby. Here you already makin' me wanna do nothin’ n’ lay in bed.” He grumbles lowly, nestling into your neck with a warm laugh.

You can feel the chemistry building, the close contact, and hold on each other making the scene grow more intimate. He draws a breath in, stealing another kiss from your lips before moving back and directing you to the dresser. “Here's where to put your things, le’s get you unpacked and comfortable. How's that sound?” 

Nodding in response, you work on organizing your belongings while he makes room in a few drawers and half of the closet to accommodate you. “Woulda thought you’d have more than this sweetheart. Not keen on carrying much?” He asks, tone curious but a bit playful with the lazy grin on his face.

A small scoff leaves you, not in disdain of him. “Nah, wanted to get to you quick. But didn’t have much that was worth bringin.” You shrug in reply. “Honestly didn’t know what kinda weather was out here, thought I would be melting already.” 

Kyle leans against the wall where the window is, watching you cross back and forth between the dresser and closet while deciding where to hang or fold your clothes. “I could get behind that.” He hums for a moment before looking into the distance. “I’ll have to tell you how I traveled all ‘e way out here. Had a few trunks to my name and got a whole wagon to get me out here.” He laughs, a sigh of a breath releasing from him as he recounts whatever memory plays in his head.

“What, you didn’t wanna make it in halfa one?” You respond quickly, almost like it's your second nature to be a little shit, now having the freedom to have some fun and relaxation of your personality.

He thinks, stares, and tilts his head. “You think you’s funny, yeah?” He asks, arms crossing over his chest with a Cheshire grin growing over his lips. 

At this point, you think that maybe you should be giving this man more respect, maybe you should already be kissing his feet and thanking him for allowing you here. Eyes widening, your hands fly up in surrender. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t- I don’t mean any-” 

He cuts you off with a shake of his head, bringing his hands out to catch yours when he steps to you. “Hey, hey. No, you’re okay. I know you were havin’ fun.” He comforts soothingly as his eyes scan yours. 

Your eyebrows de-furrow, your mouth closing, but there's still a bit of alarmed widness in your eyes as you make sure he isn’t mad. “Thought I overstepped. ‘M sorry.” You whisper as your eyes dart over his face for any hint of emotion.

Something in Kyle shifts, a small and almost remorseful smile rests on his face. Are you that obvious? No, per se, since your situation is pretty damn unique.

“Hey.” He starts, “I want you to be comfortable here. You’re not gonna overstep. And if there ever was a situation where you did, I’ll let you know.” His hands bring yours up to his lips, laying soft kisses on your knuckles. “But please, please, tell me if I’m outta line with you. I know we ain't got much space but if you’d like me to sleep on the couch for a bit while we get to know each other, I will, Honeybee.”  

In all honesty, you could cry. You didn’t believe in men like this being real, not after the shit you’ve seen. Could this be your lottery ticket after the amount of pain life has put you through?

Fuck, maybe. As long as you get to keep him, you’re in.

[spoiled-fawn]

Super quick thoughts on Price…(18+)

(Does this count as a Drabble? I’m new help)

.

..

…

Being out on a mission with tf141, where you and Price were given the opportunity to sleep first in the safe house.

There was only two beds, but Soap slept on the twin mattress in the other room while Price had already tapped your lower back to lead you towards the queen sized one

Going to sleep was fine, having laid out with the thin blankets to keep you both warm. Even from being so close together John was being your personal furnace

… it’s the waking up part that really changed your perspective on him ushering you into his chosen bed

There you lay, slowly coming to when you feel his muscular and warm form under you; your head laying on his chest with your leg between his

That’s when you can feel the tense and squeeze of your thigh as he starts to buck up

You, deliriously tired, and deliciously turned on from his body’s reaction to your presence, snake your hand down over his morning wood as you press your hand down in time with his thrusts

Price, who growls and lightly pants before his eyes shoot open to find yours already on him

You, who smiles shyly while continuing to move your hand in time as he closes his eyes before grabbing your wrist

And guides your hand inside his pants

His other hand that lays on your back moves to the back of your head to push you closer to his mouth

“Gonna make me come, like the good lil’ thing you are, yeah?”

Price who only takes another minute or to bite back his groan but lets the choked reverberations be heard to only you as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

[spoiled-fawn]

Part 1: Meeting John Price

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 3,131 CW: None

AN: My beloved! John Price! Would love to hear your thoughts and comments, as well as any questions. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the following for the explanation and precursors to the scene!

Introduction, Biography

--------

Truthfully, you’re glad you didn't have many friends in town, as it meant no one to share unnecessary secrets with, nor did it spread any word of what you were up to in your free time. 

However, that isn’t to say that you trusted at least some people in the small town you lived in, such as your boss.

A scapegoat for you to write your correspondence letters was that you simply had to stay late on the farm, working extra long hours because of something that was messed up, or because you knew your parents wouldn’t argue with the fact that you were getting more money.

Feeling that you were a decent enough candidate for John to consider since you are working as a farm hand already, you decided to write your first correspondence the next day. Once sent, you received a letter back from him four days later and by god, did he sound like such a gentleman. 

You were able to soon confide in him on how you wanted to leave town, start fresh, but stick with what you know since you did work on the well-known “Loyal Laswell Farm,” and help out around their farmhouse with common jobs such as sewing, cooking, and even making a dirty barn looked organized- a man’s dream spouse.

With only two weeks passing and less than a handful of letters to be traded, you already had money and an open invitation to John’s ranch. Through your correspondence, John stated that he had already known of Kate Laswell, her having been a long ago buyer from him and even she had sought out advice on taking care of her lambs long ago. 

John connected the dots and realized that you were the trusty youngling that she hired early on; He already trusted your morale if Laswell had kept you after all this time. (And if Laswell did gloat about you once in a while, that was a secret between her and John.) After finding out about the mutual connection, you confided in her. 

Kate, already knowing of your family’s vices, was pleasantly surprised by your major turn of life events and how quickly your fate had been granted to you in the form of Price. She made sure your head was screwed on straight enough that if it didn’t work out, you could mail her and she would help you figure it out from there…

Kate’s wife chimed in and said you and Price would be a great fit.

The two women gave their aid to you in the form of gifting you your favorite horse to ride off on during your long journey. You only brought a handful of items from your parent's house, slowly, and used the remaining amounts of wardrobe you kept at the farm to pack up. With two bags packed and some food, feed, a gun being courtesy of Laswell’s wife, and a celebratory pack of cigars for John (Kate’s wedding gift), you were on your way. 

It only took you a week by horseback, luckily traveling near the Oregon Trail that had already had sorted paths cleared and lived-in, you only needed to stop when you and your horse did. You were able to send John updated letters, but were not able to receive them due to constantly being on the move. This left you daydreaming about him.

John wrote that he is originally from Deadwood, South Dakota. He comes from a long line of lawmen and followed in their footsteps in his early adult life. However, as John became sheriff and notorious for his hardened but fair demeanor, he began to see the justice system slip through the cracks right in front of him. Murderers would walk away and many left unjustly prosecuted in other cases. It angered and dwelled on him so much that he retired early on. John soon found his solace in the quiet mountain town of Pitkin, Colorado. John describes himself as a proud man who is protective and respectful, an old soul who loves his whiskey - and is looking for his strawberry wine. He is a weathered man who can fix any problems of yours, all at the cost of a shoulder to lean on and someone to spend the rest of his days with.

Coming into Pitkin, it brings forth a small town nestled within luscious green mountains and a strip of shops down the main road that highlights most of the town's activity. Riding through, you were an obvious sight to be had; a new face set out on a horse with minimal bags packed on the back. You didn’t seem like a traveler, no, you seemed like someone who was on a mission to find something- someone. 

Smiling and giving small nods towards those who stare, your cheeks have a faint blush from the attention as you ride down the strip and toward the end of the town. Soon, the signs have a label of a bull, a common connotation of a ranch, causing you to garner up a bit more hope and hold your head high as you click your horse into a canter. 

The sound of your horse's hooves thundering on the ground cannot beat the thrum of your heart; riding over the hill, you’re greeted with a breathtaking view of the Alpine mountains that dip into a valley with an absurd amount of leveled planes that make you believe the land was spread flat by an inviting entity. Your eyes come into focus on small black dots that move before you make out to be the shape of cattle grazing across the green and flowing grass.

There sits a house atop the hill that is before the dip of the valley, where a fence surrounds a large barn that is directly adjacent to the house. You bring your horse to a slow walk as you take in the view of the wooden house; it's a cabin-styled home but large in the additions that have been formed around the sides, making it one of the bigger houses in town. The barn rivals its size by double, and the open stalls along the side let you glimpse into the hay-filled homes of horses that linger near the fences. You have to do a double take when you see movement in the barn that is all too human-like, then pulling the reigns of your horse once a few feet away from the entrance to stop and watch. 

A man stands, low grunts leaving him as he stretches his back before grabbing a hay bayle and beginning to break it up. He wears a worn-out pair of jeans and a cowboy hat as his low whistling breaks the silence between the surrounding horses neighing at your new appearance. In an instant, you know immediately this is John.

To your surprise, your horse greets the others in a sharp jeer of noise, causing him to turn around in surprise his eyes dart up at you.

For a second, you’re humored at the look he gives, not expecting something so sweet as you to ride into his ranch and most likely expecting someone within the town to come to bother him. 

But in an instant, he knows exactly who you are. 

After his shock wears off, he sets down the hay and reaches up to take his cowboy hat off and place it on his chest as he walks toward you. Letting out a low whistle, his eyes roam over you with an enamored stare. “God was just showin’ off when he made you, sweetheart.” Comes the low timbre of his voice, sending a small fire of desire shimmying through your vertebrae. 

A soft smile graces your face in return, halting your horse for the time being as he comes up to you. “Good morning sir, would I be right to assume that you are John Price, the owner of this ranch?” You ask after a moment of your eyes trailing over him, taking in his face and ice-blue eyes while he approaches to help you down from your horse.

“That I am, Sweetheart. And I suppose you’re the one that I’ve been lookin’ so forward to meetin’, that right?” He asks in return, a small smirk taking his lips while he helps you lower down from the saddle. You smile at the extended hand, taking it as you swing your opposite leg out of the stirrup while feeling the touch of his other hand coming to caress your hip in a gentle fashion.

"I hope you've been as comfortable as one can be on a week-long ride," John comments softly, keeping his hand on you once you're firmly planted on the ground as his eyes scan you from head to toe. "How you feelin’?" He asks sweetly, now finding your eyes with genuine affection in his tone.

In response to his lingering touch on your hip, and feeling it travel to your waist with a brief squeeze before he lets it fall, you give him a small squeeze of the hand you're holding to. “Not too shabby; was able to get a room a few of the nights along the way. I’m thankful for the good weather I had while getting here.” You respond as you shift your saddle-sore hips for a moment and reorient your limbs to standing. 

"You're not so shabby yourself, sweet thing'." He compliments softly as he releases you, then grabs your horse’s bridle and releases the bit before attaching his own lead to it, and a small feeling of surprise crosses your mind at how easily he handles new horses. Then, gesturing for you to follow him. "Come on. Let me show you around." John leads with comfortable confidence, letting your horse sniff him while leading him to an open stall with some water and feed. 

“Thank you for letting me bring my stallion here, Laswell gifted him to me when I was sayin’ goodbye. Said you may remember him from when he was a foal?” You prompt with a tilt of curiosity at the edge of your words while you join them in the stall to unload your bags and take the saddle off.

Looking back towards him, his eyes are looking over the horse for any identifiers, hints that would make him remember. “Not quite sure I remember this one, sweetheart. He got a name?” John asks in response once finished doing a sweepdown of his mane and a quick swipe of his hair coat.

“Laswell said he’s always been named Captain.” You answer curtly, now looking to see his reaction, if any.

It takes a moment for you to narrow in on the way the left side of his mustache twitches slightly before he breaks out into an all-out smile. “Well, I’ll be damned…” John trails out as he moves back towards Captain's head.

His blue eyes shine in the light of the barn windows, meeting yours for a moment while a boyish charm takes over his face. “This slick bastard got you all the way over to me?” John speaks with a gruffness that intertwines with amusement; the way his hands move to rub over the horse's forehead and nose showcases a glimpse of a gentle side reserved for his animals.

As you scrunch your eyebrows up in confusion, John catches your expression and gives a hearty chuckle in response. “I helped birth this one the day that Kate came up here to buy some lambs. Her wife was cryin’, thinking that him and his momma were gonna die.” He answers before moving to give Captain a pat on his chest, a huff of his breath coming out in response. 

“He had both him’s front legs back during contractions. Had to help the mare by pushing his fat head on in to get him to readjust. Kate and her wife saw the whole thing.” He finishes with a hum and a distant look in his eyes only for a second, now coming back to your side and picking up a bag of yours.

“This all you got? Woulda expected a bit more from a woman movin' out west, especially to the cold mountains.” He states with a cocked eyebrow, eyeing as you bend down to hoist the remaining bag over your shoulder. You both give Captain a farewell tap before exiting the stall and heading towards Johns's house.

You wait on replying for a moment as you take a longer look at the structure, noting the wooden panels that exude a warm and weathered patina, a testament to the house's endurance against the harsh elements of the wild. The front features a symmetrical facade, with a steeply pitched gable roof that displays a combination of wooden shingles and iron accents. Windows are evenly placed on the front-facing sides of the house, and shutters open to allow glimpses into the inside.

“Didn’t have a lot to bring if I’m being honest. Just packed up what I liked and wanted, then left.” You answer with a confident nod, leaving it at that. “I did plan on finding some new or old fabrics to start making winter coats for myself.” You add on quickly, thinking over how quickly the chill must set in within the mountain valley.

You follow John onto the front porch of the house, “Ah, you do some of that fancy work or just plain work?” He inquires while gesturing for you to step inside the entrance. You’re greeted by a spacious entryway, designed to be practical and modest. The floors, made of polished wide planks, creak softly under the added weight of yourself next to John, a new soul to provide protection to in the house.

To the front of the entryway, is his living room, its centerpiece being a grand stone fireplace, providing warmth and comfort during the chilly evenings. Leather upholstered furniture invites warmth to the house, and you can see a good amount of hides used as a rug and even a throw blanket over the couch, while ornate coffee cans and some intricately shaped vases linger around the surfaces. 

The sound of your mouth opening and closing resonates in the silence of you two standing there before John shuts the door softly behind you and ultimately snaps you out of your daze. “Um, just some plain work. Never had the time or materials to work on some fancy clothes, would rather make things I know I’m gonna use.” You answer while moving to face adjacent to where he stands in front of the door.

His eyes track your own as your attention comes back to rest on him, a small smirk tugging on the edge of his mouth. With a quick laugh, he moves to place his left hand along your back, his cold fingers sliding to the place between your shoulders. “Welcome home, Sweetheart.” He smiles while speaking softly, leaning over to place a light kiss atop your head. 

When he moves back from your space, which you want to ultimately follow as you feel his warmth radiate next to you and already adore the way his voice dips impossibly lower when speaking so gently, his hand slides down to the small of your back and gives a small tap to lead you forward. “Come on, let's get you settled in.” He beckons you while walking to a door that is adjacent to the entrance.

Walking in, John’s bedroom exudes a haven, signifying his rest and relaxation at the end of the day. The warm, earthy tones of the wood and furniture create an internal warmth, in contrast to the view of the surrounding mountains of green and glimpse over the cattle that wander the land, the windows laden with lace curtains.

The bed was the average size for the master bedroom; The double bed sat its headboard against the wall to the right of the entrance, facing the windows. A large red quilt adorns the bed while the bed itself is a robust wooden frame with upright pieces of carved and sanded wood posted taller at each corner of the bed.

In the corner is another stone fireplace, where an armchair sits to serve as a place for John to unwind, read a book, or reflect on the day. A well-worn wooden dresser stands against one wall, its surface adorned with a few cherished mementos - a faded photograph of him on a horse, a weathered pocket watch that has seen countless sunsets, and a small collection of polished rocks, each one possibly a reminder of a special moment.

"It's not much." He pauses before speaking again, his tone becoming more personal. "And I'd love to have you share my bed when you're comfortable. However, if you need time to adjust, I can set myself up in the living room. I don't wish to pressure you if you're not comfortable yet."

The sweet and respectful offer doesn’t fly over you, and a small smile rises over your lips. “Thank you, John. That’s awfully considerate of everything you’re doing for me. I don’t want to burden you with sleeping on your own couch, I wouldn't mind.” You answer while slowly walking to the dresser, placing your bag down by the foot of it.

“It may take a few days to adjust and get to know you, but-” you take a second to turn around and look at his form with a small shy smile, “I don’t think I’ll keep you waiting long.” You finish as a soft blush rises to the apples of your cheeks. Your hands come to interlace together in the front of your lap as his heavy footsteps make their way towards you with a bright smile that borders a smirk.

He stops in front of you, holding eye contact as he places your other bag down. “Ain’t no way in hell I’d be letting you sleep on the couch, sweetheart. But, I do look forward to hearing your answer. When you’re ready for it.” He speaks in a gruff voice, eyebrows raised to make sure you're taking his answer to heart and understanding, his warm hands moving to enclose both of yours within his grasp.

Bringing your hands up to his lips, you watch with rapt attention at his mouth puckering and in turn, making his facial hair move in the action, then leaving a warm and gentle kiss on the back of each hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours while doing so, his blue eyes bring an inviting wave of ice- the kind you actively seek when you’re feeling too hot or need to wake up. “Now, how about I show you the rest of the ranch, babydoll?” He asks with a soft grin, pulling you just a fraction closer by the grip of your hands.