thinking about the downward spiral of soldier!reader who price decides to take under his wing. (18+)
sees in you what he saw in gaz, someone angry and frustrated with the strings and red tape. thinks you're cut from the same cloth, that with a little coaxing, price can make you the perfect, loyal little soldier, another addition to his belt of killers-on-command that he oversees with little to no oversight.
"d-did i do good, captain? w-was that right?"
"course it was, love. bet y'r arse you made the right call."
he tells you that always, even if he doesn't think so. your gun to a target's significant other, your blade slicing through someone's finger, it's you that's dropping a target onto their back and waterboarding them for answers. you have nightmares where they don't stop screaming, but the look of approval on price's face—fuck, you can't stop chasing it, can't stop running towards that warm feeling that settles in your belly whenever he looks you up and down and nods in that way. the same lidded look he gives gaz. the same knowing, the same acceptance, it's all you've ever wanted—someone to look at you and tell you that you did good.
y'r perfect. just perfect. that's it, what you do saves lives, don't fucking look at them, look at me—you did good.
it's the same attitude they all embrace. ghost going hand-to-hand more often than necessary; you've watched one too many times the way he rubs his fingers together when he gets the blood of his targets on his hands, the way he studies how it runs as if it fascinates him, what blood looks like on the outside of someone. soap has that sparkle in his eye when he's clicking detonators and watching limbs fly. and gaz—takes too much pleasure in getting his hands dirty. he likes when no one's watching, when no one is telling him what to do. he likes hiding in his captain's shadow so he can do what needs to be done, protocol be damned.
he tells you the same in his bed. your captain is holding your hips at an angle, grunting under his breath as you grip the edge of his bed and use it for leverage as you grind back down on him. his cock hurts to have inside at first, a little thicker than you're used to. it's making you hiccup every time you sink back down on him, and he's caressing your ass with a curse.
"easy, love," he breathes, and he hisses as you wet his cock. you're such a slick girl, taking him so well, just like he knew you would.
was gaz easy? did he do this good for you? is he like me, do you like me more, am i better?
you cry when he grips the back of your head and forces your eyes on his, a faint smile on his face as he gets you onto your back and fucks you straight into the mattress.
"that's it," price grunts when your knees fall open, cunt tight as he hisses against your jaw. "good girl you are, love—that's right—"
good girl you are.
good girl, good girl, good girl.
you are good. maybe you're better. you can't sleep at night, and their screams follow you everywhere, but it's worth it to mean something to captain price, doesn't it? this matters. this is what matters.
you let your finger swipe over the whipped cream from captain price's dessert later that night, and gaz watches with a twitch in his eye as price says nothing, doesn't acknowledge it, permits it.
you meet gaz's eyes as you lift your thumb to your mouth, satisfied smile as you lick it off your finger and hum.
"sweet," you say softly. smugly. gaz licks over his teeth, rolling his shoulders back.
Horny ideas? What about the 141 reaction to their girl wanting to film them having sex? Like it's the first time and she's the one to bring up recording them. "I want something while you're away..." 🥺
ok ok ok (18+, f!reader)
gaz — super into it. he's all smiles, all giddy, and he's warm all over thinking about it. knows the perfect angle, too. he props up a pillow at the end of the bed and lays the phone there. he throws your legs up and presses your thighs down, and gaz is buzzing when he checks the footage after. it's just the perfect shot of his cock ruining you. the smack of your skin is so nasty, and gaz finds himself already cupping under his cock when there's an insane shot of him pulling out, globs of his cum spilling out of you. oh, but no, that's not good enough, we need another angle. he loves the POV shots the most, where all the focus is on you. he loves panning from your swollen pussy to your bouncing tits all the way to your open mouth, and he loves it even more when he moves the camera closer to get a shot of you sucking on his fingers all wet and heavy. pretty, pretty, pretty...
soap — 100% down, but he's so bad at it :( you're always so wet and whiny when you fuck. you can't help it — johnny is so hot, and you can't get enough of him. he makes you downright stupid when he's inside of you, so you relied on him to film everything, but he's so bad. the camera is shaking as he tries to film, and you get motion sickness watching it back. the audio is quite nice—johnny's grunts are hot, but you really wanted more footage of him absolutely splitting you. the best you got was a blurry shot of your tits when johnny spit on them to keep you crying. oh well, maybe next time :(
price — he's old-fashioned, he doesn't get it. he has a couple polaroids of you back in his locker, and that is always good enough to get him off when he's away from you. you're not even fully naked in those pictures, and he's cumming across his stomach just fine, so he finds it really odd that you want to film. he doesn't say no, but you can tell he finds it strange, so you simply point the phone between your thighs and bring his hand between your legs. john stares over your shoulder into the phone as he watches his own fingers slip inside of you. he leans in a little, watching, licking his lips as he finds it mesmerizing to watch you become wetter and wetter and wetter. soon, it's a wet slap of his palm against your pussy, and you're crying with relief as you come, flooding his hand and wrist and crying through the overstimulation. the audio alone is enough for john to forward it to himself for later use.
ghost — absolutely not into it at first. he is anti-photo. he has no photos of himself at all, and he never takes any, and he's always refused to be in pictures, so the idea of being filmed in one of the most vulnerable places makes him uncomfortable. you totally go with it, very supportive, but then ghost offers a compromise at your soft angel face—he can't be the feature. so there you are, reverse cowgirl, slowly lowering yourself onto your boyfriend's cock with relative ease. it still takes a lot to fuck simon, even now, but once you're finally seated, you whine with relief at the stretch. then you go for it. you make a show of fucking big bad lieutenant riley, and simon has one hand on your ass and the other with a fixed hand on your phone. over and over and over again, your hips come down, fucking down onto simon within an inch of your life, and simon can't keep his mouth shut. he keeps saying your name and groaning, and he's so vocal, you're losing your mind. the sight of you leaning forward after you've come, cum dribbling down as his cock glistens in the frame, is one of the most insane videos he's ever seen. my pretty, pretty bird.
How would the 141 react if you came so hard you cried for the first time 👁️👅👁️ Who would freak tf out and who would be beaming with pride?
hmmmm (18+, f!reader)
gaz — doesn't freak out, immediate soother. he's nuzzling his nose against your cheek, picking you up under your thighs and hugging you close. skin-on-skin contact as he murmurs soft things into your ear and mouths at your wet jaw. "'s alright, love," he'll say, "don't cry, baby, 'm right here." gaz loves giving the princess treatment. "felt so good, huh, love?" he'll coo. when you nod, whine, he just smiles, gripping your jaw tight so he can kiss you straight on. romantic, soothing, babying you in every way as you try to breathe easy and come down from an insane place of euphoria and pleasure. you like when that happens, though. you like when he treats you that way, when he fusses over you and says nice things and takes care of you. it's dizzying, the kind of love you feel.
soap — freak !!!!!! he fucking loves it. the first time it happens, his eyes are sparkling with glee. he laughs, not mockingly but in disbelief. he leans over you to press just that much further into you, forcing your back to arch at a sharp angle as you blubber and cry from overstimulation. johnny reaches a thumb out and wipes your eyes, and you sniffle and whine when he sticks that thumb in his mouth to taste your pretty tears. "fuck...ye look so lovely," he pants. "a wee angel." definitely tucks you under his arm after and babies you, but he's smiling and hot with a nasty sense of satisfaction as he holds you. "y'r so pretty when ye cry, bonnie. give it ta ye good, don't i?"
price — honestly, john doesn't consider your orgasm worth it unless you do cry. your first blissful orgasm over his fingers, satisfying but not good enough. then against his tongue, on your tummy as you push back against him—fucking lovely, but it isn't what he's looking for. no, here is where he has you. you're on your back, thighs up, ankles by his ears, and he's dropping his entire weight on you to make you see nothing but spots. you beg, you plead, it's too much and not enough, and now he's yanking on your hair and grunting into your mouth, telling you, "give it ta me, fucking give it to me, sweetheart," cause why the fuck would committing war crimes be worth it if not to fuck a pretty pussy afterwards? what's the benefit in keeping england safe if it means he can't feel his girl aching and wet and squirting like a pathetic, eager little girl? the tears are warm against his cheek as he lays his against yours. you wrap your arms around his neck, panting, little sobs as you come down. "atta girl," john murmurs, tucking you into his chest. "that's it."
ghost — he won't admit he has a kink, but oftentimes, your tears are enough to push him over the edge. simon is not a small man, and he's not very gentle with you. that isn't to say that he's not romantic and that he doesn't love you, but simon's moments of intimate connection can be...intense. he kisses like it's the last time he'll taste you, he eats your pussy like it's the only meal he's ever waited for, and he fucks like you're his last chance at redemption. it's always like this—simon always gives it to you so good, and you feel as if you're barely hanging on in the best way. it's natural for you to cry; overwhelmed, buzzing with pleasure, happy and delirious. simon feeds off of it, and there you are, post-orgasm, crying all sweet and soft into his chest as he pants. he sticks his tongue out, pressing his face to yours, and you sigh as he flicks his tongue and licks up the salt of your tears. perfect, perfect girl.
How would the 141 react to their little bird walking out into the living wearing lingerie for the first time. ( partner is a little self conscious because they have a small tummy)
hmm? (18+, f!midsize!reader)
gaz — well, jesus, talk about intimidating. the hottest guy for sure that you've ever dated; buttery skin, brilliant smile, always smells good, takes care of himself in such a healthy, mature way. when you saw him without a shirt for the first time, you nearly felt sick, and you've only ever had sex in the dark cause you're so self-conscious about what you'll look like next to him, but he's never done anything to make you feel like he cares about what you look like or has thought you were anything but absolutely beautiful. you want to do something special. so on the couch, during the movie, you unbutton your blouse and drop it suddenly, showing off the intricate lace set you've got underneath, and gaz can do nothing but stare. his jaw falls before he can catch it, and you swallow hard. "do you..." you clear your throat. "do you like it?" he wants to see the full fit, of course, and you drop your shorts and give him a spin when he asks. if you had any doubts, they're gone once you tug his sweats down. his cock has never looked better.
soap — fortunately, johnny was very, very upfront about how he felt about your figure. he never said anything outright, but he was always touching you. smoothing his hands down your sides, cupping your breasts, smacking your ass when he passed behind you. he wasn't satisfied unless he had his hands full, and he's got a sick smile on his face when he sees you in bright red lingerie for the first time. man doesn't even takes his time with you—he just rips a hole in the crotch of your lace panties and fucks you right through it.
price — a man of taste and refinement, john has always been adamant about what he wants. he wasn't interested in dating any woman except for you, and he made you understand that as soon as date number three. he was all in, and that meant full access to being price's girl. money, good food, and the best sex of your entire life. john likes a good blast from the past. he still remembers the novelty of a pin-up girl in a military locker, and you give him that when he comes home one day. naked except for heels and fishnets and a garter belt, perched up on his couch just waiting for him to devour. the heels are red-bottomed, the fishnets are handsewn, and the garter belt you wear is french lace. the record playing was just the nail in the coffin—when you count the days back a few weeks later, you definitely think it's the night he got you pregnant.
ghost — he appreciates his girl, 100%. ghost is not someone immune to pillowy thighs and nice tits. he's a man, at his core, but fuck is it so exhilarating that ghost needs nothing except your eyes to chub up and be ready for another round. but you wanted to treat him; he works so hard, and he deserves it. so there she is—perfect, pretty girl, sitting on her knees, in his living room, wearing black lace dotted with rhinestones. he's salivating when he sees you; immediately kicking his door shut and unzipping his trousers, and you're the one drooling now seeing him already swelling at the sight of you. the lingerie does not last—it's in tatters just a few minutes later, torn apart and ruined behind the couch as he fucks you into it. at the end of the day, there's nothing quite as pretty as his girl without anything except for his cum inside of her. that's the real prize. :D
141 reactions to their pretty bird taking them to a sex shop to pick out a new toy for the bedroom? Pretty please!
hehe (18+, f!reader)
gaz — definitely a little shy, but the more you pick things out and hold them up, the looser he gets. he even picks out the candy bra and panties to try, because he says it'll really "complement your sweetness." the best part, however, is the little bottle of lube you slip into the basket, and when gaz eyes it as you check out, his eyes nearly bug when he realizes what you're silently offering. you wink at him, smiling, and he comes up behind you to cradle one side of your ass, drawing his fingers up between the seam of your jeans. if gaz is really an ass-man, well........feel free to prove it then, baby.
soap — SOOOOO excited. he's grabbing things off the shelves, picking out little plugs and vibrators and holding out weird toys and asking you what they are even for. he's making you laugh, and he's making it fun, but the part that makes you laugh and squeeze your thighs together the most is when johnny starts holding up different dildos against his crotch and asking which one is the most like him. he definitely buys you the dildo that he feels is most like his own dick—for when she misses me the most, bonnie...can't 'ave yer cunt cryin' for too long.
price — huge blush on him the entire time. he tries to look away or look up, but his eyes always land on something else that makes him equally embarrassed. you always hold up something to him and ask him if he likes it, and all he does is nod and push you along, "mhm, get whatever you want, love." just smacks his card down at the counter to buy all your things. he does survey the goods when you get home, and he is particularly fond of the remote-operated vibrator that you have. you knew he'd like that, and what can he say? he likes being in control.
ghost — no reaction. you hold up a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, and he just stares down at you as you giggle. you hold up silk ties, whips, chains, sparkling plugs, and all ghost does is sniff or grunt at you. you stand on your toes as you fit a collar over his neck, and he's glaring at you as you giggle and fasten it around him. he just keeps his arms crossed over his chest, but you put your fingers on his jaw and angle his face towards yours. "good dog," you purr, kissing him softly over the mask, and ghost just cradles the back of your head and presses his forehead to yours. it's somehow in the basket when you check out. along with the matching leash. :D
oh i just knoooow price’s wife shuts him up with her pussy like thrice a day
john price married a man-eater.
the first time he met her, she was punching one of his recruits for calling her a cunt, but he learned quick that that was normal behavior for you.
there is no man safe from you; not the guy standing across from you at the body shop trying to up charge you, not the idiot that let the door slam shut in your face at the office, and definitely not the war-stained military captain that lives inside of your house.
john spends more time on his knees than on his feet. it's your favorite place to put him. if he comes home late? he's on his knees. if he wakes you up with his snoring? that's where he's going, baby. need to get your shoes on? there he is, knelt down in the foyer, slipping your heel on as he scrapes his beard against your thighs.
that's where men look their best. peering up at you, head tilted back, mouth a little open. john especially looks good here. you're seated, perched on the couch, and he's fixing the buckle of your heel around your ankle. you hitch your foot up on his shoulder after, pointed heel against the side of his neck. john's baby blues flick up and meet your gaze, and you smile down at him.
"we'll be late for our reservation," john murmurs. he lifts up his hand, and your lips part as he slides his fingers down your calf to wrap around your ankle delicately. he turns his head to kiss the bone there, and you bite your lip as he stays there, warm breath tickling your skin.
"and?" you purr. he chuckles low, shaking his head, and you take your foot off his shoulder to lean forward. you cup his face, his beard rough in the palms of your hands, and you use your thumb to trace over his lips before hinging his jaw open and sticking it into his mouth. he smiles around your thumb before closing his lips around it to suck, and you tilt your head to the side as you watch him. the lines around his face are softer when he turns his brain off like this--you like him stupid and open-mouthed and hungry.
"open up, captain," you whisper, and when he lets your thumb go, you grip his jaw tight as you let a drop of your saliva fall onto his tongue. the kiss afterwards is wet and hot, tongues sliding over each other as you wrap your arms around his neck and breathe in nothing but john price.
at dinner, you hook your leg over his in the booth, holding onto his tie as he talks to you. there's a woman looking at him from across the restaurant, dark eyes sweeping over the man that your husband is. you let her watch as you tug on john's tie to get him closer, and you let her watch as you press your lips to john's cheek. feigning a kiss there, you lick your own wetness off of him, and when he leans in to kiss you on the mouth, you use your left hand to hold his face and keep him there. your ring always seems to blind bitches into submission.
but when you pull away, there's no one there. in fact, the whole world seems to just be you and john.
ok wait pause i have a question. first date, but like, real, you are my girlfriend date ? or like how'd they define their relationship (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)
he's...fun.
it's just sex. mind-blowing, back-numbing, pussy-destroying sex. this man is pushing 40, and you swear you've never felt so out of breath. you convince yourself it's the military thing--he's used to pushing himself, exerting energy, testing the limits of his stamina. but holy shit, you'd think after round four, this man would take a quick nap or something, but no.
he's still balls-deep, hitting it from the back since you can't even keep yourself upright any longer. your skirt lays haphazardly thrown onto the floor, and oh--there's your panties, too, ripped to lacy shreds.
holy shit, this man is more than ten years older than you, and you've never been so out of your fucking mind--
"tha' the spot, love?" his voice is so condescending. he knows he's got you brainless. there's drool staining your lips, and you paw at the sheets for a better grip, but it's useless.
"y-yes, captain."
the low groan that leaves him makes you smile. he might have the upper hand, but if you really wanted to, you could make him come right now, too fast, too much.
you're in bliss. everything is bliss. you're still recovering from what must be the fifth or sixth orgasm--not as good as the second or third one, but still enough to make you cry fat, pleasured tears. you're shaking, in a good way, sinking to your stomach on the bed and pressing your face into his pillow.
"hmm..." your voice is soft and gooey, and when you take a deep breath, you get a long whiff of him. he smells good. clean. earthy. you tasted cigar smoke in his mouth earlier, and you can smell it here, too. just as you relax, you feel the weight of him on your back, and then his lips. he's kissing along your shoulder to your neck and then up your jaw. you tilt your head to give him room, your eyes shutting as his beard scruffs against your skin and his mouth laps at your chin. "i gotta go, john."
you giggle when he lays his entire body on top of yours, trapping you there. you reach up and grip the back of his neck, whining as he flattens his tongue against your jaw and swirls it there.
"john...i gotta go."
"why?"
"mmm..." you thumb at the hair along his scalp, shaking your head. "don't do this."
"not doing anythin'."
"we don't sleep over."
"what, is tha' some kind of rule? sounds mad."
you turn over a little, looking up at him. you cup his beard in both hands, giving him a chaste kiss.
"don't ruin it," you say softly. "this is supposed to be fun."
he tilts his head to the side. he looks so funny without a hat. you've seen him in a beanie, a boonie hat, a cap, you love them all on him. he looks nice like this, too, though--ass naked with his dog tags dangling against his sweaty pecs.
john's eyes twitch a little at your indifference. he settles on his side, leaning over you, and just as you move to get up, he reaches and grips at your face with a big paw of a hand. you clutch at his forearm, big and solid, and your lips pucker as he pulls you closer to him.
"y'r a bad liar, love," he mutters, shaking his head. "fear doesn't suit you."
"i'm not fucking scared."
"who was it?"
you glare up at him, struggling a bit under him. it's a stupid thing to think that you could get away from him. john is not moveable. he's a big fucking tree trunk of a man, with roots that burrow, and you are truly naïve if you think he'll let you up without an answer.
"shut the fuck up, john," you spit at him, but all he does is raise a brow. he's immune to your bite. he's not phased by your sour attempt at insulting him. in fact, it's what drew him to your bed in the first place--certified brat-tamer, captain john price. "you think you're so fucking smart. think you know everything, just because you've got a few years on me, well let me tell you, john--not everything is a fucking lesson learned. you're a military muppet with a decent cock, and that's all you'll ever be to me."
"tha' right?"
"you'll never put me first. you've got one woman, and that's the job, and that's fucking fine, john, but don't make this something it's not. you're lonely, and old, and your failed relationships don't make you wiser, they make you delusional for thinking that doing this again could ever--"
your breath falters when he kisses you. he squeezes your jaw a little harder, forcing your mouth to open, and you moan, squeezing your thighs together when he licks into your mouth and holds you there for him to play with.
"i do have other obligations. my men, the job..." he brushes the hair out of your eyes, and he presses his forehead to yours when he sees the tremble of your bottom lip and the wet look in your eyes. "but i don't do casual, sweetheart. it's all or nothing f'me."
your hand grips his wrist, squeezing tight, and you blink up at him. he's so close. he's right here. blue eyes, greying beard, a sad expression. he's not afraid of dying alone, but he is afraid of wasting time.
"please don't do this to me, john." your voice cracks, and he shrugs. he's sorry, but he's not sorry enough. not enough to let you go--and you're not strong enough to tell him no. it has to be him, but it won't be.
"it's alright," john whispers, but he knows it won't be. he's known you not but a few weeks, but he's made up his mind. he doesn't understand casual. even from the moment he saw you in that bar, it wasn't fleeting, it was definitive. it would be his. you would be his.
even if you were actually someone else's. even if you were bound to someone else. even if you weren't alone, it was already decided.
john's teeth are stuck here, right here, in the hollow of your throat. his fingers are twisted between the chords of your heart and in the spaces between your ribs. if he lets go, he'll break you apart.
What do we think about price x young!Wife reader who is kept away from the team (for obvious reasons) and when she is on base to bring some important files to his office, world collide
I think it would be really cute if she gets mistaken for a recruit
he's not moving fast enough for you.
you roll your window down even more, sticking your head out, and you slide your sunglasses down your nose so you can meet eyes with the muppet standing guard at the gates.
"repeat that for me?"
"you're not on the list," the man repeats. he narrows his eyes at you. "all guest personnel must be approved before they enter. i don't make the rules, but i do enforce them."
you raise a brow. your manicured finger slides down the steering wheel, tracing the leather of it, and you let out a deep breath before laughing humorlessly.
"okay. i need you to get on your stupid radio and get captain john price on there. then, you're going to tell him who exactly is waiting here, and then after he informs you that you will let me through, i'm going to make sure you spend the next two weeks scrubbing fucking toilets." you sit back in your seat. you don't mean to be rude or mean, you're usually very kind and very considerate, but you are about to blow the roof off of your patience after the day you've had, and you just want to drop john's things off and go.
the guard scoffs, picking up his radio. he rolls his eyes at you before he goes back into his little office. after a few minutes, he comes back out. his eyes are on the floor, and he comes up to your window and gives you back your id. you toss it into your purse, and he clears his throat nervously.
"i-i'm so...i-i'm so sorry, mrs. price, i--"
"save it."
you put your car in drive and step on it. the purr of your pretty german car leaves the guard in the dust, and you park haphazard, taking up two spots, but you just grab your purse and john's papers and turn the car off anyways.
you're mrs. john fucking price. you'll park how you please, and they can get over it.
you're dressed more casually. you're wearing dark green cargo pants, a white t-shirt, sneakers, and one of john's army-green jackets. when you see yourself in the reflection of a window, you realize you kind of dressed appropriately for the setting, without even meaning to.
you open the door to the building john texted you about, and you walk in with your sunglasses still on. there's a lot of desks around, offices, an ugly mess of couches around a tv that a bunch of recruits are playing team fortress 2 at. they're whooping and yelling, but you pay them no mind as you follow a sign towards the office number john gave you.
you bump right into a big chest. you stumble backwards, scoffing, and you pull your sunglasses off as you tip your head back and glare up. there's some big, giant bear-man standing in your way, and he isn't moving.
"excuse me," you say firmly. "do we have a problem?"
the big dude tilts his head to the side, like he's sizing you up (which is stupid, since he's probably bigger than anyone). he's wearing a DIY skull mask, something messily sewed and painted with thick fingers, and you really want this halloween-enthusiast to get the fuck out of your way so you can leave as soon as possible.
"we? i don't got a problem."
his voice is deep. all gravel, very low, and his tone is very condescending. you may be smaller than him, but your teeth are sharper.
you're sure of that.
"but you've got one," he continues, narrowing his eyes. "those nails aren't regulation."
"excuse me?"
"you heard me."
"i did, but you must be fucking out of your mind if you think i answer to you."
"listen 'ere," the man spits. "i'm a fuckin' lieutenant, and y'r gonna talk t'me like i'm one before i have y'r arse--"
"get out of my way!" you snap at him. "as far as i'm concerned, i outrank every single idiot in this entire fucking building. i don't care if you're a sergeant, a lieutenant, i don't care if you're fucking royalty! move, or i'll make you, so help me god."
"simon."
at the sound, the bear turns around, stepping aside. when peek around his arm, you see your husband, arms crossed over his chest casually as he leans against the wall. he's got a relaxed smile on his face, boonie hat tipped back a little.
"well, this isn't how i wanted you two to meet," john chuckles.
"what, you know this meathead?" you scoff, and the lieutenant, simon, snarls like a dog at your response.
"simon, this is my wife."
simon steps back from you as if you'll sting him. he swallows, his face relaxing under the mask, and you glare at him. you don't expect an apology from someone like him, but you guess the way he reverts his eyes from you is the equivalent of it. you don't think a man like him ever feels out of place or threatened.
"love, this is my lieutenant."
"the lieutenant."
"quite right."
you let out a harsh breath through your nose. you don't say anything more to simon, just give him your back as you walk past him towards your husband. he's saved your husband's life before, so he can be let off easy.
this time at least.
when you lift your hand to give john some papers, simon zeroes in on the giant rock on your left hand, the several carat diamond that sits there.
fuck.
"next time you need something from home, i'm gonna need the red carpet rolled out for me, understand me, john?" you tell him. john smiles, crow's feet deepening, and you narrow your eyes. "say you understand me, john."
"mhm. i understand."
"i don't mean just making sure my name is on some list, i mean an escort and a voss water. in the glass bottle."
"of course, sweetheart."
he bends to kiss you, and you let him. you put a hand under his jaw, thumbing at his beard, and the hat covers the way he lets his tongue slip out and into your mouth. if you didn't have an audience, the taste of tobacco on his tongue would be enough for you to kneel and suck his cock, but he's busy, and you have a hair appointment to get to.
you pull away slowly, touching his bottom lip.
"you better be home in time for dinner," you say. "seven. don't be late."
"won't be late."
his baby blues are so bright, even in the awful fluorescent light. you kiss him again, cupping the back of his neck, and when you pull away, you put your mouth to his ear.
"your office? got ten minutes?"
"no, sweetheart," he murmurs. "don't have it."
"john..." you grip the sides of his tact vest, pouting. "please? please?"
john sighs, shaking his head. he kisses your forehead before nodding behind you, to his lieutenant that still won't leave.
"walk her out, simon. make sure she leaves alright."
"olright."
simon opens your car door for you, and when you get in, you shove your seatbelt into place, angrily starting the car up again. you're having a bad day, and you're horny now.
"goodbye, lieutenant," you say smartly. "by the way, there's some smartass at the front that i told would have to scrub toilets. i trust that you can carry that out for me."
"'ow long?"
"told him two weeks, but i think a day will do just fine."
"'n why's tha'?"
"well, i'm not mad at him anymore, but i'm still a price. and price's follow through on their threats, lieutenant."
you put your sunglasses on, and the window goes back up. simon watches with rapt attention as you pull out with a rev of the engine, and when he glares at you, you smile, raising your hand to flip him off.
the big diamond on your hand blinds him as you drive off.
