#john being absent as usual

[beebox-illustrations]

You will have to put up with my rekindled supernatural obsession…. Sorry guys 😬💚

Have a fantastic week!✨🌻

#supernatural #ah yes you will have to go down that rabbit hole with me guys #dean winchester #sam winchester #being adorable #learning how to make pancakes #bobby singer #being awesome #john being absent as usual #spn #beebox-illustrations #digital art #illustration #procreate #web comics #edit: fixed the ‘canned’‘ issue

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Mafia!Price

There are many things to appreciate about your boss, but one of them is his respect for routine. You’ve gotten him on a schedule and now he seems happily beholden to it; appreciates your promptness with tea and pastries and morning “briefings” each day.

He’ll happily sit back in his big leather chair and listen to you chatter out his itinerary for the day. Meetings, reports, phone calls. Trips to the dock, now, bless him.

You try not to stare between glances at your tablet. For a rich bastard, he is unfairly handsome. Good taste in just about everything, classy and luxurious without being ostentatious. Old money vibes, for sure, though you know better than to do more than idly wonder. Helps that he’s also remarkably gentlemanly with you. You’re not one to buy into old stereotypes or gender roles, even the ones that benefit you — but you’ll take a chivalrous boss over your old one any day.

Besides, it’s not like he’s spouting off about what women should and shouldn’t be doing. Or trying to use you as an example of an “acceptable” working woman. So, yeah, you’ll indulge in the door-holding and offered arms.

“Alright, best for last — your reservation for Muse is tomorrow. The restaurant is twenty minutes from your penthouse, so Simon will be downstairs by 7:30.”

You check that off your to-do list as you continue speaking.

“Do you have a suit picked out yet, or should I order something? Green is in season and it would go nicely with your eyes.”

He hums; you glance up. Leaning back, one arm lax on the arm of his chair, black watch gleaming. The other is propped to press his index finger against his lips. Like he’s telling you to keep a secret. The corners of his mouth are tilted up.

Your tablet dings and thankfully distracts you from staring.

Oh, for the love of— the only person more inconsiderate than Philip Graves is his damn assistant.

“Is that the color you’re wearing, then?”

Will need to call later today — as if!

“Hm?” You ask, not having caught it.

He arches his eyebrows; ah, you must have been making a face again.

“Are you wearing green tomorrow?” He repeats.

You blink. Are you what?

“Tomorrow, sir?”

He nods, once. “To Muse, luv.”

When you continue to stare with pleasant obliviousness, his eyebrows furrow a bit.

“You do know one of those seats is for you, yeah?”

You press your lips together for a moment. Well… shit. You take it back. You take it all back. John Price is a terrible, horrible, awful man who is so rude.

“I do now.”

Across the office, you make wide eye contact with Gaz. He grimaces in sympathy and ducks his head, though it’s clearly just to hide his traitorous laughter.

“Of course you’re coming along.”

“Sir,” you say, pleasant and sweet, “remember when I first started here? And I told you that I’m not a mind reader?”

“Of course,” he answers. “You threatened to spit in my tea in the same breath.”

“Only if you told me to fetch it for you,” you correct, before continuing, “I feel you may need a reminder: I cannot read your mind. How was I supposed to know you wanted me to go with you?”

“‘S your job, isnit?” He replies. You give him a dark look; he puts his hands up with a chuckle. “My apologies love, I thought you’d be in my pocket next to my handkerchief. Like always.”

You set your hand on your hip, proper cross now.

“It’s outside usual working hours, sir. How could I have possible expected to be invited to your fancy man party?”

“‘Fancy man party’?”

“Well, there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to leave early tomorrow.”

You’re already tapping madly at your tablet, looking up a salon willing to do your hair and makeup. God knows what kind of meltdown you’ll have if you can’t get your eyeliner symmetrical.

“Do whatever you need to do, luv,” Price soothes, standing. “I really am sorry for the short notice.”

You wave him off, then pat his arm as he gently guides you towards the door. Absently, you comply, more focused on getting appointments set and rearranging your own schedule for tomorrow.

“I’ll make it work,” you promise, “I always do.”

You let him bring you all the way to your desk, lower yourself into your ergonomic rolling chair.

“I’ll let you know what color I’m wearing by… one o’clock. Yes?”

“Sounds great, luv.”

You glance at the clock. “Also you have a call with the KorTac Group in ten.”

He chuckles and taps your chin. “Cheers, luv.”

—

Simon is the one to pick you up Friday evening. You both pause in the lobby of your apartment complex, staring.

“You look lovely,” he says at the same time you ask, aghast, “what happened to your face?”

He’s got a dark bruises discoloring the skin around one eye. Clearly some ice has already been applied because the swelling is down, but it must be fresh because he didn’t have it yesterday.

He snorts. “My job happened.”

You tut. “I’ve got something for that but we need to get moving. Mr. Price said he needs some help with his suit.”

You grab his arm without hesitation, habit from any of your escorts or drivers always offering it to you. Usually you accept out of politeness, but tonight you could use the extra stability in your heels. Simon doesn’t seem to mind even though this is the first time you’ve done this.

He walks you to the car, holds the door for you. Sleek and spotless, a black Jaguar — your choice for the evening. You hum in delight at the warm interior as Simon slides into the front seat.

“Oh, thank you for the compliment, by the way,” you add as he pulls into traffic. “You look quite smart as well.”

He grunts, but you notice a bit of color to his ears in the passing streetlights. You smile to yourself and busy yourself with your tablet. Double checking the reservation confirmation, answering messages from Farah and Gaz, updating Price on your ETA.

The car stops at a luxury high rise just at 7. You hop out before Simon can get the door and receive a sharp look. He holds up a reprimanding finger; blink in surprise at the sternness of it.

“You pull that shite again and I’ll handcuff you to the door handle, miss.” He warns. “Making me look bad.”

You huff, amused, and take his arm again. “Don’t threaten me, Mr. Riley, I’m meaner.”

But you squeeze his thick bicep good-naturedly as he leads you into Price’s building. Your boss lives in the penthouse at the very top; Simon has to swipe a card for access. He’s also got a key to let you both in the door, holds it so you can enter first.

It’s all sleek and modern; not at all what you would expect of your boss’s more classical style. His office has a sort of 20s Hollywood vibe (gangster, you teased once) but clearly some interior designer was paid far too much for something out of a drab minimalist catalogue.

You don’t linger long, heels clicking on the polished floors.

“Sir?” you call.

“In here, luv.”

You grimace at the flight of stairs between you and the loft, but force yourself up them. The whole floor is the mater bedroom and it’s the size of your entire apartment. Walk-in closet, sectioned off lounge with a desk. His bathroom door is open, mirror fogged. It smells like soap.

“Bedroom to your right,” he calls.

You tip-tap in and your mouth instantly dries. Price is standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. Nothing unprofessional, no. He’s wearing slacks, a belt. But he’s also in socks, a white undershirt. No watch or rings or anything yet.

It feels oddly more intimate than it should. Your face warms despite yourself.

“E-evening, sir.”

He turns and you’re utterly unprepared for just how handsome he really is. Freshly groomed, hair trimmed and gelled, eyes bright.

“Well, aren’t you just a dream,” he rasps. “You’re stunning.”

You clear your throat, know that all the makeup in the world can’t hide how brightly you’re flushing. It’s pure politeness, he’s not looking at you with anything more than friendly appreciation. Mind out of the gutter, now.

“All the flattery in the world won’t save you if we’re late,” you manage, shaking yourself back into work mode. “So let’s see what we’ve got.”

You pick his shirt, a pocket hanky, his shoes. Tell him to get into those while calling Simon up the stairs. He’s there so fast you blink in surprise, then gesture him over. Sit him on an ottoman and extract the little bottle of makeup you’ve started keeping on hand for situations like this.

“Bullshite you had that in your purse,” he scoffs.

“You remember two weeks ago, when Soap came in with that bruise on his jaw?”

They told you it was a “disagreement” at the docks. You didn’t ask further, figuring it was some sort of bar brawl in that part of town. Rowdy boys.

“Ever since, I keep a couple minis on hand for you all.”

They’re so small that you just keep them in a pocket of your purse with the rest of your makeup and the tampons. Good for emergencies like this.

“You sure you’re not a mind reader?” Simon grumbles as you gently dab it over his face.

“How would being a mind reader even help in this situation,” you scoff, patting at it with your middle finger.

Price steps out of the closet with arms out. He’s picked a waistcoat as well that you hum in approval at.

“Which cufflinks are you wearing?” you ask, turning back to Simon. He’s sitting remarkably still and stoic — reminds you of a big dog trying to maintain some dignity while getting fawned over.

“The silver and diamond.”

You make a noise of disagreement. “The gold and onyx would go better.”

A pause. You sneak a glance and are relieved to see him smirking. “I’ll wear those then. Any opinion on a watch?”

You hum again, carding through your mental catalogue. “Oh! The Bulova you wore during that meeting with Kate Laswell. You remember?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He disappears into his closet again while you lightly blend in the last touches of Simon’s coverup.

“There we are, good as new!” You declare. “Oh, and here.”

You set a couple of ibuprofen in his palm as he stands. “For the inflammation. Take with water.”

“Yes, mum,” he mumbles.

You wince. “Sorry! I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?”

He blinks, then puts a hand up. “No, no. That wasnt — I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

You don’t entirely believe him. Know that you can be a bit much when you’re on a time crunch. Especially for something like this — an important business meeting over fancy dinner. You feel like everyone’s appearance is riding on you; this is your job after all. One thing out of place and everything will fall apart and it’ll be your fault.

“Simon, go take those,” Price orders from behind.

You turn as he approaches, a similar apology all set on your tongue. Instead, he gives you a sheepish smile and offers the cufflinks.

“Bloody useless with these,” he explains. “So unless you want to spend fifteen minutes losing respect for me…”

You laugh, amused by the idea of your hyper-capable boss struggling with a bit of jewelry that cost as much as a week of work. You step in close to thread them through his sleeves, fingers nimble and sure.

“You’re not wearing cologne?” You ask, surprised.

Don’t even realize how that might sound until he arches an eyebrow at you.

“Thought you might have an opinion on that too,” he replies. “And you haven’t steered me wrong, yet.”

He shows you his modest, but impressive collection of colognes. You pluck up one, sniff, and make a face, eyes watering a bit. It’s mostly full; clearly one he doesn’t wear often and you’re grateful for it.

“That bad, eh?”

“Sir, why?” You lament, putting it back.

“Gift from an ex,” he explains.

You store that tidbit of information away for further examination. The idea of your boss in a romance. Right now you’ve got a task to focus on.

“Did they hate you that entire time?” You wonder.

He snorts. “Maybe.”

You shake your head and pick a different one. Blink in surprise and sniff again. Feel your stomach flip.

“That one?” He asks when he notices you hesitate.

“No,” you say a little too quickly, setting it down. This is a business meeting, you can’t afford to be distracted by how he’ll smell with that on his skin.

You settle on one that doesn’t make your head dizzy and your panties shamefully damp. Still feel a bit like you’re shooting yourself in the foot, though. He’s going to smell sinfully good regardless.

You leave Price to his finishing touches and have Simon help you down the stairs. Check through the notes you hurriedly collected when you realized you’d be attending this dinner.

Price comes down too soon for your poor, stupid heart. Looks like something out of a magazine or a novel or a movie or… just too good to be real, really.

“Pass inspection?” He asks.

“Barely,” you tease.

His eyes do that thing where they smile more than his mouth; how you know it’s genuine. You try not to fluster, zero in on his tie, a little crooked and loose.

“Goodness, sir,” you murmur, stepping in close. Yeah, you were right. That cologne is going to be a personal challenge all night. “How did you get along before me?”

“With bad cologne and shitty ties, apparently,” he chuckles.

You grin despite yourself, getting it secure and centered, before smoothing his vest over it. Give him a once over. Feel your stomach flip again.

“If I may say, sir, you look handsome,” you offer quietly.

“Should hope so,” he replies, voice dipping in a way that’s detrimental to the state of your panties. “You dressed me.”

You hum, reach for your usual dry, sharp humor. “I have great taste.”

Instead of scoffing, he hums in agreement. Something flickers through his eyes that you don’t dare allow yourself to daydream on.

Simon, bless him, clears his throat and draws your attention. You check the clock above the stove.

“Ah, we need to get going. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”

You slip your arm automatically into Price’s and try not to obsess over how well you two fit together.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #oddly wholesome for a mafia au #mafia!au #mafia boss price #assistant reader

[soapskneebrace]

reviewing the prelude

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Rating: briefly Explicit, then pretty much general audiences Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: Masturbation. References to sexual fantasy. Lots of pining. Another John POV! Author’s Notes: I swear to god we're getting somewhere I PROMISE MASTERLIST Now on Ao3!

There is no noise next door.

Silence, in Price's line of work, almost always precludes trouble. The quiet stalk of a fireteam toward an objective; the abrupt halt of an informant’s intel. Never good. Always the guarantee of a day’s bad end.

Usually, he can hear the creak of your mattress as you get up—the thing must be ancient, and he’s concerned for your back—and the rumble of your plumbing as you turn on the sink first thing in the morning. You’re always up about an hour and a half after he is, close to eight-thirty, and you usually meet him outside about an hour later. Slow riser, you are.

(He tries not to fantasize too much about tiptoeing around in the mornings as you snuggle in his bed, wrapped in his blankets as he gets breakfast ready for the both of you.)

But today there’s not a whisper of your horrible bedsprings from the other side of the wall. The pipes remain silent. When he steps outside today, he will be alone.

You’re gone for two days. He can handle that long. He can.

Still, he lingers in bed the first morning, agitated, too warm in the sheets but stubbornly trying to act like he’s still perfectly comfortable. It doesn’t work. The bed linens dampen as he starts sweating, and his morning wood is more insistent than it usually is. He sighs and gets up, lays the blankets back to let them air dry, and gets his day started.

Once he’s in the shower, and the water has warmed enough to step into, John angles the shower head to spray a little higher and leans against the cool tile wall. Hot water pounds his chest, streaming down between his pectorals and over the jumping muscles of his stomach as he takes his cock in hand and gives it a stroke from head to root. He closes his eyes.

John does not have any shame in jerking off, not really, but a niggling something always tickles the back of his mind when he thinks of you while doing it. Like he’s being too pushy, even in his own head, when he knows that you’re not on the same page as him yet.

He shouldn’t be thinking of your hand wrapped around him instead, as his fingers cover your clit and dip into your cunt, when he’s not even sure you will have him at all. John does not like to indulge in fantasy that cannot become reality.

I wanted to touch you. John snarls, bucking into his hand.

He hadn’t lied to you. He hadn’t. He can wait as long as you need. If he gets to have you, he wants you eager. He wants you certain. He wants you to relax into him without fear or doubt. Whatever he wants from you is secondary to that—he can’t enjoy himself, enjoy you, if you don’t trust him.

Would you trust him if you knew you inspired his hand to wrap around his cock?

He doesn’t know. He’s not sure. All he knows is that after he left that night, you did the exact same thing he’s doing now. That has to mean something.

He remembers it—your distant cry making it to him through drywall, insulation, and the patter of his own shower, and if he closes his eyes he can almost fool himself now, as hot water slides down his back and chest, that he can hear it again—

I wanted to touch you—

He comes, short and hard, palm sliding fast up and down his shaft, groaning roughly as his cum hits the tile. Water streams down around his face in steady rivulets, joining it.

He wants you to trust him. He wants you to let him spoil you rotten.

Turning the water off once he finishes his shower, John keeps thinking as he absently towels off. He keeps getting the sense that there’s something he’s missing.

If you want him—and he knows now, you do want him—why haven’t you said anything? He thinks about all of the times he’s tried to flirt, tried to make his interest known, only for you to treat it like a joke. Incorrigible, you call him, as if his overtures are the result of some unsatisfied appetite. As if you haven’t, from the very start, given him every reason imaginable to want you.

He studies himself in the bathroom mirror as he touches up his beard, remembering the linger of your gaze across his body. He is not a vain man, not quite, but even he might like to preen a bit over how good he looks for pushing forty. He can’t keep up with Ghost at the racks, nor Gaz on the track circuit, and Soap has him beat at the punching bags, but Price has logged every personal best within the last three years. His shoulders are broad, his chest hard and defined, and his waist tapers nicely down to wide thighs and full calves.

He runs a hand across his stomach. He’d never managed, though, to get the cut look he sees in perfume ads and superhero movies these days. Is that what women like now? Is that what you like?

If it was a complete lack of attraction on your part, he’d understand. But Price is a details man. He misses nothing, especially when it comes to you. The way you look at him, the way you move around him reveals more than he knows you ever intend to. He hears your breath shorten when he’s close, sees your pupils dilate, your brows soften. You don’t lean away when he leans in.

He remembers your gaze again, the first morning and many mornings after, and snorts at himself. Attraction, he’s fairly sure, isn’t the issue.

So what is, then?

Rather than spend the morning moping, and waiting for the ambiance of your morning routine that simply would not come, John finds a clean pair of sweats, laces into his trainers, and goes for a jog. Running has always helped him think.

Part of him wonders if his fixation is inspired in part by a long dry spell. Price hasn’t been with anyone in a long while—months, actually. His last encounter had been with a woman he’d been casually seeing in between deployments.

She’d been nice enough, certainly eager for him. They would meet, have drinks, maybe a meal, and have sex. He’d spend the night and leave early in the morning. They didn’t talk much, not at least about anything serious. She never asked about his work. She never really asked much about him at all.

Which had been the arrangement. Price had been candid about his situation from the beginning—his work came first, and he had little room in his life for much else. He couldn’t offer her much in the way of long-term commitment when he had to make peace with the real possibility that each deployment was one he might not come back from. She’d seemed to understand. It had taken Price a while to figure out that she just…hadn’t really cared.

It was more likely, he knew, that she simply could not grasp that he could die. Few civilians could really wrap their head around that fact. He couldn’t really blame her for that.

But he couldn’t deny either that seeing her had started to make it feel like his insides were slowly decaying. All he was to her was a big, rough man who would throw her around in bed and wouldn’t bother her with trite things like domesticity and mortality. A fantasy. Nothing more.

He’d broken it off in person, frank and respectful, and she’d taken it as well as he’d hoped.

Then she’d texted him a few weeks later inviting him over for drinks. He neglected to respond and blocked her number.

The cool morning air is sharp in Price’s lungs, painfully welcome, as he counts his breaths in the back of his head. He’d given up after all of that. He didn’t need sex. He didn’t need a relationship. If the walls of his flat closed in around him when he was home, alone, well—that was the sacrifice, wasn’t it? The price he paid to be able to go out into the world and fix things that other men only complained about after watching the news.

It shouldn’t matter that these days those problems didn’t stay fixed anymore.

Price finishes his circuit and comes to a gradual stop back at his front doorstep, panting hard, hands on hips as he heaves and wonders if maybe he should cut back on smoking.

He looks to your window, dark and shuttered. You always have a hot mug of coffee pressed between your palms.

He could try coffee.

The day passes. John spends some time getting his affairs in order for the end of his leave, reads the latest book you’ve lent him (a retrospective on the rise and fall of the American cattle boom), spends an hour at the gym, two at the pub, and comes home again to dark windows next door.

It’s dull. He misses you. And once his front door closes behind him, hours of silence loom in the periphery.

He’s settling into his armchair for a game on TV—championship league, nothing worth paying attention to, John just can’t stand the quiet—when his phone, deep in his pocket, vibrates. When he pulls it out, his heart leaps.

It’s just a text message. He unlocks his phone and navigates to the chat. You’ve sent a photo: a glass, filled with some sort of liquor and a couple of ice cubes, set on a rickety old plank of wood that must be a table.

Ordered this in your honor. Pretty good! Not sure of the brand. Can’t remember the one we got either

John smiles. He can’t help it. He even laughs a little, and taps on the picture to zoom in—your hand is in the frame, laying gently alongside the glass, nails painted a pretty light color and a thin silver ring around your index finger. He takes this in with the voracity of a man starving.

Macallan, he replies. The best. That looks good though

Three dots dance as you type. My coworker says it’s Johnnie Walker

I take it back, dump that swill on the ground, Price types, grinning harder.

It’s really fine! you protest.

He imagines your expression, the kind draw of your brows together in spirited defense—an expression he’s seen on you many times, advocating for some character or another that he has developed a grudge against.

God, does he miss you.

Fine for uni lads maybe, he sends.

You do remember who I’m supervising on this trip?

John snorts. Point taken. Then, impulsively, I’ll get you something even better when you’re home.

Home. When you’re home. As if home is one place, and not two, separate places merely conjoined.

You spoil me John

He sends back immediately, I’m trying to

There’s a lag. John realizes belatedly that perhaps he’s doing it again, coming on too strong. He can’t help it. When he knows what he wants—when he knows he can pursue it—he does not bother with half measures. He has been through and done too much to hedge his efforts while knowing how easily things can escape his grasp.

He has to remind himself that holding onto you too tightly, though, could cause you to slip through his fingers.

Then, finally—I don’t know why

Bells ring in John’s head. Can’t a man treat a woman he fancies? he asks.

Dots jump for what feels like several minutes, disappearing several times. He imagines you typing rapidly, that worried look he’s seen so often creasing your brow and tightening the corners of your mouth.

Eventually, a cascade.

I don’t know WHY you fancy me

There’s nothing really interesting about me

I’m quite boring

Not like you

You’ve been so to many places and done so many things and I’ve never even left the country and I don’t see how you could even like talking to me much less do anything else

I teach lit and read books and that’s all my life is and that’s not really sexy

You must have better options

I may be a little tipsy sorry

John’s frown deepens with every successive message.

This is it. This is the answer to his question, or it’s somewhere in there. He’s been wondering all day—now, this is his chance.

I’d like to call you, he replies. Is now a good time?

A brief pause, with John’s stomach hanging suspended in the air the whole time.

Then, Yes

He dials you. You pick up on the first ring.

“Hello,” you say.

I am no longer utilizing a taglist for this series. Please feel free to follow me, turn on my post notifications, or subscribe to this series on Ao3. Thanks!

Bonus A/N: I'm going to take what I intend to be a very short break from Neighbors to finish up and post the first chapter of the Soap series I've been promising literally since March. I hope y'all will look forward to that!

#price #price x reader #john price x reader #john price imagine #john price x you #john price call of duty #price x you #price x y/n #john price x y/n #call of duty fanfic #cod x reader #cod x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price #please excuse the corny fucking title i couldn't come up with anything better #og post #neighbors au

[darklordofthesimp]

Sanative (John Price x Reader)

Summary: As Captain Price attends your medical room more often, he manages to get you to open up to him.

A/N: THIS WAS DIFFICULT

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Fluff

Warnings: Graphic Language || Description of Violence

Captain John Price went from being an unseen legend to appearing everywhere you turned. 

Obviously, you'd tended to him and members of his team before. Some of them were from the recent selection but the most memorable ones had carried through from the past. You just hadn't expected to see the leader as often as you did. 

"Captain," you greeted, swallowing thickly as you found him leaning against your doorway.

"Doc," he replied casually, the crack in his voice telling you that he was injured. You rushed forward as he groaned through his teeth. "When are you gonna call me 'John'?" 

"Well," you huffed, as you flew to prep your table and his seat, "probably when you call me Saint."

The Captain chuckled as he dragged himself further into the room, hand pressed to his stomach and his gaze firmly locked on you. The man had made sure the door stayed open, breaking the habit of closing it behind him. It made you uncomfortable and while it wasn’t entirely providing him with any privacy, he much rathered your medical attention over isolation. 

 He watched you move with deft fingers, unwrapping, sanitizing and somehow still maintaining a conversation. 

"Come lay down, John," you murmured absent-mindedly, maneuvering the chair to lay out flat like a bed. 

"There you go," the officer groaned with a tight-lipped smile, genuine but pained. “You do listen.” 

“Or maybe I just pity you, Sir,” you offered him a sly smile, the addressing of his authority was a purr on your tongue. It was playful or meant to be, you hadn’t really thought twice about it. 

But John? God. 

His movements faltered, fingers digging into the bed until his knuckles turned white. He tried to clear his throat but it was more of a strangled choke and his cheeks burned bright with embarrassment. Or shame. His thoughts fell somewhere dirty, somewhere they shouldn’t have been. 

Your name may have been Saint, but all you did was make him sin. 

When your fingers dragged across his midriff, stroking over his hand to encourage it to move from the wound, John forgot how to breathe. You sucked in a sharp breath between your teeth at the blood drenching his shirt. 

“You gonna take off your clothes or do you want me to do all the work?” You asked, leaning back with an amused smile. John swallowed thickly. 

“I don’t think I can, love.” A strained grimace followed his chuckle and he clenched his jaw tightly. “Might have to cut it off.”

You hummed suggestively as you reached for the scissors, a small smirk playing on your lips. When the fabric of his shirt sat snuggly beneath the blades, John reached over to touch your hand lightly. 

“Take it easy.” The statement was clearly a question, pleading with you to be soft on him. 

“Don’t worry,” you laughed. “I’ll be gentle.” 

The Captain groaned. “You’re doing that on purpose.” 

“I’m trying to distract you.” 

“It’s working.” 

The words were a growl as the disinfectant met his wound. You tried not to let the tables turn and attempted to block out the sound of his groans. He was unashamed in his grunting, red crawling up his neck as he gnashed his teeth. 

You knew he was in pain and that you were breaking some ethical code by entertaining these thoughts. At the end of the day, John was many things- but he wasn’t a mind reader.

It was quiet between you both as you worked. Usually, you filled the space with small talk or casual flirtation but you’ve been running on caffeine and a chocolate bar for the past 19 hours and you didn’t have the energy to talk. 

Thankfully, John was understanding. He watched you carefully as you worked, you could feel his gaze burning into your skin as you forced your eyes down. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to see the symptoms of your exhaustion. The minimal amount of flirtiness would have been the biggest indicator. 

It was jarring for the Captain, he wasn’t exactly working in an environment that had much exposure to coquettish people. You figured that’s why he’d reacted so obviously to all your advances, subtle or brash in nature. 

You wondered if he’d been struck with the question of whether you flirted with all your patients. Did he think that it was part of your medical practice? Something that you did with everyone who’d come through? You’d been out of the social scene for so long that you forgot how to interact with someone you were interested in. 

Maybe you were just embarrassing yourself by trying. 

“Saint.” A voice sounded from the doorway. 

Both you and the Captain turned to see one of the nurses poke their head inside. You immediately offered a smile, acknowledging their call. 

"You got another 141 boy waitin' outside for you," they said with a roll of their eyes. "Want me to send 'em in when you're done here?" 

"Please," you nodded, "shouldn't be too long." 

Price groaned as the nurse disappeared back into the hallway. "Fuck's sake." 

The sound of the door clicking shut had your reply dying on your tongue. The room fell silent as you zeroed in on the now closed door.

Anger flushed through your body, heat licking up your spine as if someone had lit you on fire. Your fingers tightened on your equipment as you tried to steady your breathing.

The nurses knew better, they knew better than to close your office door. While it was common practice to maintain a private space, they fucking knew that didn't apply to you. 

"Saint?" John's soft call barely registered, tugging you back to the situation at hand. 

You cleared your throat. The Captain raised a brow. 

"Lean back and brace yourself," you rasped, avoiding his gaze. 

You wanted to throw your tools at him and clamber to your feet. Your blood buzzed with urgent anxiety, pressing you to open that door. You didn't want to be alone in here- you couldn't be alone in here. 

So much could happen. It could happen again. It might happen again. What if it happened again? 

You couldn't breathe, the replay of that fateful afternoon displayed across your vision like a fucked up movie. 

Not again. 

A hand clapped down on yours and you realised that John had been trying to get your attention. Your eyes snapped upward to meet his with a startled gasp, fingers shaking in his grip. 

"You good there, love?" The Captain ducked his head to meet your dropping gaze. 

"It's Saint," you stammered.

There was an amused huff. "Saint." 

"Yeah," your vision blurred. "...Saint." 

The man before you took in a sharp breath. Concern shone brightly in his gaze as he appraised you like he'd just dragged you from the battlefield- like you were a casualty. You wondered what he'd deemed your condition to be when his jaw set with resolve. 

John raised his hands in front of him, showing you his palms as he stood to his feet. Your heart leapt into your chest at the movement but you forced yourself to remain still. Your eyes tracked him carefully until he reached the doorway.

When the door swung open it was as if your airway did too. 

Dry but quick breath rattled in your chest, chasing the black spots from your vision. It was as if someone had taken their hands away from your throat. 

"We ever gonna talk about that, sweetheart?"  John asked softly, the words dulcet and comforting. 

"Saint," you corrected with a whisper. 

He shot you a discontented look. 

When he finally reached the seat, his mouth twisted into a grimace. His hand shot to his stomach and you jolted, suddenly realizing that you hadn't finished patching up his wound. 

John groaned as you pressed your hand against his chest, pushing him back onto the bed forcefully. His mouth twisted but he said nothing, no flirty comment, no subtle innuendo- the atmosphere was too serious for that. 

Instead, the Captain opted to watch you as you worked. Ignoring the sting of his butchered skin and taking in your visage kept him occupied and had him laying still. 

You could feel his gaze, it was hot and heavy and burned every inch of skin it passed over. Blue eyes turned to blue fire, forcing you to shiver beneath the intensity. 

"It was a soldier," you offered suddenly. The words had fallen from your tongue before you could close your teeth around them. 

Price went still. 

"He'd come back from a bad mission," you took in a shuddering breath. "Real bad, John." 

He didn't make a sound, afraid that you would clam up if you thought about his presence. 

Your fingers shook as you worked, your eyes on his wound but seeing something else. You might have looked like you were in the room with him but you were galaxies away. 

"He'd been through hell and clawed his way out," you rasped. "By the time he got brought to me, he was half deranged." 

Hands closing around your neck, throwing you onto your own nursing bed. His body on top of yours. Rage smouldering in his gaze- tears burning in yours. 

No one could hear your strangled screams and you watched in despair as the closed door stayed shut. There was no reprieve, there was no rescue- there was only the shell of a man above you. 

You begged, he sneered. 

You sobbed, and he gripped you tighter. 

When you whispered his name, his real name, with your dying breath… that's when he stopped. 

That's when he pulled away as if your skin had scorched him. That's when he scooped your crumpled and gasping body against his in a broken embrace, begging for your forgiveness. 

Praying for redemption. 

His body wracked violently as he wept, fingers digging into your skin. His face was pressed into the crook of your neck and his tears ran down your chest. 

"I'm so, so sorry. God. Please help me. Please-" The words were strangled, choked even. 

The door flung open hard to reveal the nurses you'd been screaming for earlier. You wondered if you hadn't said his name, would they be walking in to find you dead beneath him? 

When the nurses and guards ran in to remove him, you threw a shaky hand over the man's shoulder. 

A silent command. 

'Stop.'

No one dared to disobey. 

Not when your eyes burned with determined tears, not when your hands came to wrap around the soldier protectively. 

You cradled the broken person in your arms, his wailing growing louder when he realized what you were doing. Your hand rubbed up and down his shoulder, your fingers stroking the back of his head- letting his body fit tightly between your arms. 

He'd lost so much weight, his bones jutting into your skin. You couldn't imagine the horrors he'd been through. When you'd read the report briefly before they admitted the soldier, you couldn't believe your eyes. 

None of this surprised you. 

You would never blame him for his distrust. 

It was your job to help him. 

"You're okay," you soothed, trying to erase the shakiness of your words. Your heart still thrashed wildly in your chest, adrenaline pumping from the near-death experience. "I've got you. You're safe with me. I'll make sure you're okay." 

The man pressed his face further into your neck, gnashing his teeth against your skin like the tortured soul that he was. He shook his head. 

"You've gotta be a fuckin' saint," he rasped, sniffling between words. "No other explanation." 

"Not a saint," you let loose a startled laugh. "Just a doctor." 

"You're a saint to me, Doc."

A Saint. 

Saint. 

You blinked back to the present, realizing that John had been holding your hand throughout the entire conversation. Slowly, you let your thumb rest over his. The simple sign of affection had John drawing in a deep breath and leaning back in his seat. 

"That's why you don't like the door being closed?" 

You nodded. 

"And that's why they call you Saint?" 

"Yeah." 

The Captain nodded slowly. There was nothing further for him to say, no matter how much he searched for the words. He wanted to commend you, you could tell by the way that he leaned forward- but the look on your face told him that you didn't want to hear it. 

It was your job, not an achievement. 

"You're all patched up now, John." You muttered, suddenly uncomfortable by the vulnerability. 

You never thought you'd be sharing that story with anyone, you figured that if your soldier was ready he'd tell everyone about your connection. Maybe you'd overstepped by telling John although it was vague and non-descriptive.

Price stood to his feet, hesitant. 

"You don't have to say anything, Captain," you said, sanitizing the nursing bed. 

"I want to." He rasped. 

You smiled as you stood up straight. "Take me to coffee and I might consider letting you talk."

The man blushed. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Wordless noises tumbled from his lips as he scrambled for an answer. "Tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow."

With that John left the room, rounding the corner to uncover which one of his overgrown kids had injured themselves. Out of everyone, he hadn't expected to find Simon with his head laid back against the wall. 

"Jesus," Price raised a brow. "You good?" 

Simon grunted his affirmative. "Am I right to go in?"

"Yeah, mate." 

John watched as the Lieutenant struggled to his feet, gripping the doorway to your office. He heard your voice trinkle through the hallway, inviting him in. The Captain waited, waited for Simon to inevitably close the door behind him- he would quickly open it and then leave. He didn't want to linger, didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable but he couldn't just let you go through that anxiety again.

Simon was known for valuing his privacy, and his need for concealment and isolation. It would only be natural of him to close the door behind him, unaware of Saint's history.

But, when Ghost walked through the threshold, John took in a sharp breath. 

The Lieutenant slipped straight in, slowly and with his eyes cast downcast- though, that wasn't what caught Price's attention.

He didn't close the door. 

#john price x reader #john price cod #john price mw2 #john price #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader #the dark lord of the simp

[bunnyreaper]

wc - 4.6k

warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), age gap (older male younger female), bodyguard!au, threat of violence.

notes - another visit to dilfville, a new series, because that's all we need, right? lol. hope you enjoy ♥

Friday nights meant one thing: unwinding after a long week of working in your home office, braving the outside world, and heading to the comfy flat belonging to your friend Jules.

While visiting her place was always a blast, Friday nights were for DnD. Leaving behind Earth for its fantasy counterpart and getting lost in the adventures of your group's merry band of do-gooders. 

Saturdays are usually spent drinking coffee, frequenting markets, and then rounding the night off with cocktails and dancing. (And Sunday's recuperating from being up on your feet all night, spending the day in bed reading whatever trashy romance novel is next on your reading list.) 

Your weekends are your sanctuary—your freedom from routine and work is your refuge. 

You dance around your bedroom, rocking your hips to the music as you pull on your clothes—a white blouse and black bustier to channel the vibes of your character Elora. 

When the doorbell rings, it's entirely unexpected. Anyone close to you knows you're just a few minutes away from heading out for the night—maybe it's a neighbour, you suppose to yourself as you head to the door. 

On the other side of your flat's door is an incredibly handsome man. Broad framed, ruggedly good-looking yet with a finely pressed white shirt and dress trousers. His features are striking, strong eyes and a brow slashed with a scar, stubble all over, and a neatly trimmed mohawk that strangely suits him. All in all, a sight for fucking sore eyes, standing so confidently and casually in your doorway like he belongs.

You hate how your eyes linger on his form far longer than they probably should, but the handsome stranger is just so enthralling.

"Hello?" You mumble, a little absent-mindedly, as you try to gather thoughts that aren't just lewd and dirty.

His stormy blue eyes meet yours, his cheek tugs into a half-smile that definitely doesn't meet his eyes, the faintest dimple appearing on his left cheek. "John MacTavish, ye maw sent me." 

"Oh, the bodyguard." You reply dumbly. Fuck. If you were opposed to the idea before, you certainly were now... or maybe you're not.

On one hand, you have to have a handsome stranger watching over you—on the other, you have to have a handsome stranger watching over you, while you act normal about the entire thing. 

You realise that you're acting completely the fool, so you snap out of your thoughts and step aside to allow the older man inside. "She didn't tell me to expect you... probably thought I'd run. Uh, come in." 

"Thanks." He nods as he steps through the threshold, ducking slightly as he does. 

Once inside, his eyes scan over the open-plan space of your living area, seemingly taking in every little detail. 

You watch him, sensing that his training and experience make him focus on the minute particulars of a room that others would completely skip over. 

Your mother had already clued you into the fact there might need to be security enhancements to the flat itself, and you assume those requests came at the behest of the man himself. He seems to be lost in evaluating what these might be. 

"So, what can I do for you?" You ask, filling the air with some sort of conversation starter. You have no idea what you're doing in this situation on the whole, but especially not when it comes to hiring, negotiating with, and retaining a bodyguard.

"It's what I can do fer you." He turns, taking you in now, and you start to feel self-conscious about having too many buttons undone, too much chest on show. 

Something tells you that MacTavish's gaze would make you squirm regardless—his eyes carrying a heaviness to them that seem like a fantastic attribute in a protector. Surely anyone who would even think about coming close to cause you harm would reconsider under his harsh look.

You start to wrack your brains for what he can actually do for you. Again, you have no familiarity in having personal protection, beyond what you've seen your mother undergo. Your work is fairly stable, you keep the same routine, and the biggest threat you ever seem to face is the creeps in the club. 

Well, apart from the online threats, but something about the anonymous, cowardly messages doesn't frighten you. 

"If I'm being honest,I don't exactly want a bodyguard. I don't see much of a point?" You admit, voice a little quiet. After all, you don't mean to upset or offend the man, but you're not sure he isn't just wasting his time with this job.

He squints, considering for a moment before he answers. "Yer maw sees things differently." 

She does, and that's probably the only reason you agreed to go through with this in the first place. You don't want to worry her, especially since her own security has had to be tightened due to said threats. 

"Yeah, she's really worried." 

John's brows furrow, a small frown appearing on his lips. "Aye, rightly so, considering everything." 

He seems serious and said severity gives you pause for thought. His job is to assess and protect against threats, so surely he wouldn't be here, acting the way he is were there not a valid reason for concern. The thought makes a lump form in your throat, makes your stomach twist in a way you'd rather not acknowledge. 

You try to cope with it the best way you know how—humour. 

"Eh, online threats are nothing new for a girl my age, you know? And it's not like I'm anyone important." You shrug it off, hoping that if you say the words aloud, they'll just come true. As you speak, your phone chimes with a notification from your group chat, reminding you of your upcoming plans—and the fact you're going to have to abandon this little meeting. "Uh, I'd offer you a cuppa, but I'm leaving soon." 

"Don't drink it anyway, but thanks." The man smiles slightly, before turning away once more and scanning the room. He cranes his neck to get a look down the hallway, leading to your bedroom and bathroom. "There's a difference between lads online, an' the kinda people that make up extremist groups like those targeting your maw and her party." 

"Really?" You laugh, a short, sharp sound that betrays your discomfort. You grab your jacket and keys by the door, desperate for something to fiddle with. "Thought they were all just sad loners, desperately searching for something to make them feel better." 

"Except some of them have connections, dangerous connections." 

There are a million and one reasons you don't want to go through with this, and very few urging you to. Though, removing a major worry from your mother's life is a big one—John MacTavish's gorgeous blues are another. The possible invasion of privacy lingers in your head, the worry that your father might be using this as an opportunity to have the inside track on your life, on all the things you don't tell your parents. Your mind also revolts at the idea of unnecessary restrictions to your plans, your friends being held under a magnifying glass. 

The thought of the threats being real is the only thing more startling. You sigh, resigning yourself to your fate. "If this is what will help her feel better, then I guess I better find a way to make this work." 

He nods firmly, joining you at where you hover nervously at the door. "I'd agree." 

"Unfortunately, you arrived at the worst possible time, because like I said, I'm just headed out. Can't miss the tube." You force a tight-lipped smile, making your excuse to leave—the thought of being late makes you jittery, the thought of being late continuing this difficult conversation makes you feel worse. 

"Where ye going?" He asks, head tilted. 

You know it's the first question of many. Where are you going? Who are you going with? The atmosphere already feels a little stifling, the relationship a little strained. You and John aren't friends, never will be friends. He's here to do a job, watch over you, and take your security very, very seriously. 

"This is how it's always going to be?" You ask, the question coming out a little snappier than you intend it to. 

John takes it in stride, unblinking in the face of your shortness, and yet unrelenting in his need for information. "Aye." 

Once more, you sigh. "Right... I'm going to my weekly DnD game at my friend's house, and please, I really don't wanna cancel." You plead, feeling like a child reasoning with their parents rather than two adults on equal footing. You hate the feeling, even if you know his intentions are pure. 

"How many friends?" He asks. 

"4." You answer instantly. 

"How long have ye known them?" His questioning continues, and his focus on the people you trust naturally drives you up the wall, even if again, you know it's just his job.

Your grasp on your keys tightens, your agitation growing. "I'll tell you whatever I can some other time, but please, I hate being late." You gesture to the door, indicating that it's time for him and you to leave. 

John grabs the door, opening it for you and allowing you to step through before he does. As you turn to lock the door, you expect him to arrange another time and to bid you farewell, but he doesn't. "I'll drive ye. Dinnae bother arguing, lass." 

His words have a finality to them that quiets you anyway, but the use of 'lass' renders you all but speechless. 

"Okay..." You mumble, leading the way down the stairs as his hand comes to ghost along your lower back.

MacTavish’s vehicle is parked out in the street, and as you approach the car, you can feel his eyes searching again. He beats you to the car, a sleek black Range Rover, opening the door for you before climbing inside himself.  

The action would be nice under any other circumstance, and such propriety is something you're probably going to have to get used to, but right now it just reinforces the annoying, infantilising feeling that you're currently suffering through. 

As you give your friend's address to John, he takes off without another word, flicking on the car stereo before he goes. The atmosphere is thick, stifling, and you can only hope that in time the feeling will lessen, especially if your mother makes him a permanent feature. 

On the way over, he picks up his questioning where he left off. "So, how long have you known this group?"

"A good few years, since uni." 

"We can go over names and details when you're ready." 

You take a deep breath, holding it in and then forcing yourself to calm a little. Instead, you try to focus on watching John, the diligent way he drives. "I'm assuming you have a long list of things we'll need to go over."

His eyes don't stray from you. "Aye, that we do." 

The two of you fall into tense silence for the rest of the drive, nothing but the music and the sound of the car to keep you company. In the quiet street your friend lives on, John pulls in to park on the opposite side of the road, killing the engine and the radio, making the silence almost deafening.

Your nerves are getting the better of you again, and yet John seems so comfortable, unperturbed by the awkwardness. You're unsure what comes next, what to say. 

"Not to be rude but, I'd prefer if you didn't come in." You utter, saying the first thing that springs to mind, despite it probably not being the best thing either. You flash the man an apologetic smile before you continue. "I don't know how to deal with all this, especially when we haven't agreed on how all this is gonna work?" 

You hope your earnest admission makes up for your temporary ill-manners. 

"Tha's fine, I'll stay here." He looks completely impassive. "Not ideal, but it'll do." 

He doesn't look bothered by the inconvenience, and you suppose you should assuage him of the idea it's going to be a quick visit.

"Really? I'll be gone for a few hours." 

His brow quirks. "Yer maw paid upfront, so as far as am concerned, my job's already started." Once more, his statement is absolute, and you don't bother trying to argue.

"Right then." 

John is out of the car first, headed straight to your side of the door, checking left and right before he opens to let you out. 

The action makes you both laugh and curse, perplexed by the deed as you climb out. "You're not my driver, you know you don't need to open the door for me?" 

He laughs too, derisive and short as he closes the door a little too sharply. "Not tae be rude, but I believe the words you're looking for are 'thank you'."  

"Gonna walk me to the door?" You ask, trying to shed yourself of your nerves and make the situation lighter. 

You can't stay tense and subdued for the entire duration of this relationship—besides, now you're moments away from reuniting with the others in Albion Vale and forgetting all about this mess for a few hours. That alone is enough to raise your spirits. 

John forces a cheeky, tight-lipped smile, the crow's feet at his eyes crinkling almost condescendingly. "Not feeling tha' gentlemanly anymore. I'm sure ye'll be fine." 

"I'm sure." You make your way halfway across the road, before coming to a realisation, stopping and turning. "Oh, what's your number, you know, make this whole thing easier?"  

John darts out, his arm falling just beside you as he ushers you across the road and onto the other side.

"Pass yer phone." He says, holding out a large, rough hand expectantly. 

"Right, yeah." You nod, probably more than is necessary, as you pass your phone over to the man. 

John takes the phone more softly than you expect, typing in his name and number before holding it back out for you to take. "I'll be here when yer done, to take ye home." 

"Uh, thank you." You take the phone, before walking away sheepishly heading into your friend's block of flats and toward her apartment. 

With each step you take, you try to push John and the threats and everything to do with the outside world far, far out of your brain. 

The night passes by in a flurry of laughter and fun, lost in the adventures of Albion Vale and the antics of your party. 

The session wraps up, and while you would usually be in no rush to head back—you know you can't sit around and leave John, however much a stranger he is, sitting in the car outside. 

You text him to let him know you're headed down in five, and when you make it to the street less than 3 minutes later, he is there, leaning against the car door waiting for you. 

"Thank you." You whisper, climbing inside. When John joins you in the car, he scrubs at his eyes before putting the key in the ignition. "Have you not been bored out of your mind?" 

"Nothing I'm not used to." He replies instantly, pulling away before you can ask any further. 

"What did you do before this?" You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. 

From your understanding, most bodyguards cut their teeth in the police or the armed forces, and have tonnes of experience under their belt.

John oozes an ex-forces demeanour–his perfect posture, constant alertness, and the scars littering his skin. 

It'd be hard not to notice, but becomes immediately obvious with the way your eyes seem to love settling upon him when they can. You have to force yourself to squash down the drunken, misguided lust that flares within you as you watch his large hands on the steering wheel and notice his veiny, hairy, and muscular forearms. 

"Army, Captain." He answers, pulling your attention back to him in a more professional manner properly. 

Something within the way he speaks makes you think there's more to the story—though you suppose with that kind of background, he has a cache of secrets and tales that he can never really share.

"Oh." You nod, feeling a little soothed. If you have to be protected, you suppose someone with his level of experience is the best man for the job. "I'm in good hands then." 

Once more, he flashes a forced half-smile. "Aye."

A moment passes, and you find more questions bubbling to the front of your brain. Naturally, you're curious about this man who is undoubtedly going to become a big part of your life from now on, but the fact that his nature is a little reserved makes your curiosity multiply. You've long been a sucker for closed-off older men—call it a character flaw. 

"Why did you leave the army? If you don't mind me asking."

There's a beat of silence where you think he might not answer, but eventually, he does, eyes still fixed on the road. 

"Medical reasons. Nothing that affects my ability to do this job." He rushes to add, a slight spark of defensiveness flashing through as his jaw visibly tightens.

You're no expert detective, and you haven't seen your protector in action, but your first guess is that whatever ailment made him leave isn't entirely physical. The fact he's been somewhat open about it puts your mind at ease, the fact that your mother has clearly vetted him even more so. 

You offer an empathetic smile that he likely doesn't see. "I don't doubt it." 

The drive home passes quicker and easier with a bit of mead in your veins, allowing you to loosen up enough to hum along to the music playing from John's speakers. The little buzz passing through you alleviates that sense of trepidation you felt earlier, luring you into a false sense of security. 

When the car pulls up and John lets you out, you know just what to say what needs to come next. "Well, I guess you should come in so we can formalise things." 

"I'd appreciate it." He nods, before turning back to the car to grab a bag and follow you into the building.

 *

You and John sit at your kitchen island, tea in your hand and coffee in John's—a neat, stapled stack of papers sits before you.

"Here's the contract I signed with ye maw, but she's given us some wiggle room." John says, tapping the top of the paper where the bold letters of CLOSE PROTECTION AGREEMENT — 141 SECURITY sit. 

"Nice of her to allow me a say, if I'm honest." You laugh dryly—you love your mother dearly, but you'd be lying if you said she wasn't overbearing. Your initial protests about this whole arrangement had been entirely shut down, and clearly, she didn't trust you to follow through considering she sprung John on you tonight, unannounced.

"I'm sure she just wants what's best for ye." John offers as you flick through the pages.

The contract outlines the agreement between the Guard and The Principal—with stipulations on activities, compensation, and conduct. 

It's weird seeing it all laid out on paper, seeing the hefty cost of John's services, and the fact you'll be giving this man free access to your home and life. All of this to keep you safe from some nebulous threats that have not even been acted upon.

"She does, but this is inconvenient, and frustrating to say the least." You purposefully choose not to include the words 'fucking annoying' and 'torturing me with a hot man I can't have', though your next conversation with your therapist will absolutely include such descriptions and more. 

"I can understand tha'." He nods understandingly, before raising his coffee and taking a sip—his gaze unwavering as he does. "You've never had close protection before?" 

You shake your head. "No, this is all new to me." 

"Okay. We'll start by discussing exactly what kind of protection you're looking for. Part of tha' will be dictated by what yer maw laid out, like I said, we can decide specifics." 

"Sounds like a plan." You lean back in your stool, tea in hand as you contemplate. Admittedly, you should have done some research before this, but in your defence, you did think you had more time. You're not entirely sure what boundaries you can set—but you hope that John can lead the process a little. "I don't think I can do something 24/7, and it's not like you can stay here, I guess."

You cringe internally thinking about how fucking awkward that would be—your tipsy brain supplies the image of the world's most uncomfortable sleepover. 

In your imagination, John looks grumpy and uncomfortable, still tucked up in bed in that stiff shirt with his boots still on. You are, of course, in little fluffy bunny pyjamas staring at him all gooey-eyed whilst he tries to pretend everything is normal. It takes conscious effort for you not to giggle at the mental image.

"I understand. I'd suggest I escort you anywhere outside these four walls, day or night, work and social events. Conduct security checks on your flat, vet close contacts, update your digital security, things like tha'." John supplies a rundown of potential actions like it's a grocery list, yet a very severe grocery list. His collected nature does put you more at ease.

"Sounds a tad invasive." 

"I'll try to make it as little as possible." 

"Thanks, I appreciate it." You smile slightly, truly thankful for his consideration and tact.

You give John a once over, thoughts once again ticking over. "If you're going to be with me everywhere, you can't walk around like that, outside of my work, that is. No offense, it's just, all my friends are gonna think I'm a self-important twat if I start showing up everywhere with some posh bodyguard." You stop abruptly, realising how much you're bloody rambling.

"Am far from posh. But, more casual look then, aye?" 

You smile a little nervously, hoping you haven't completely offended the man. "Please." 

This whole situation is beyond difficult to navigate—untreaded paths, forging new relationships, balancing existing ones. Your friends really are going to think this whole situation is beyond bizarre. They already find amusement in seeing your mother on the news. Having a bodyguard is going to leave you subject to endless teasing, relentless mocking, and attempts to make your and John's life a whole lot harder.

Your head falls into your hands as you rub at the sockets of your eyes, undoubtedly smearing your makeup and making a mess of your face. It'll get easier, you reassure yourself.

With your eyes closed and pressed into the heel of your hands, you don't see the way John's expression softens or the way he moves closer to comfort you before hesitating and stopping short. "Wha's the matter?" 

"I'm just... incredibly anxious about how this is going to play out with my friends, with work." 

John leaps into problem-solving mode, immediately pulling from his brain some words to soothe you, as well as making note of what bumps in the road to smooth out. "Ye mother said she already consulted yer work, and they're fine to make accommodations." 

Of course, she'd already talked to David about the whole thing. "So it'll be fine aside from all the gossip it will cause." 

"It's politics and I ken yer not naïve, everybody's talking anyway, no?" He offers, and yet you don't seem assuaged, so he tries a different tactic. "It's my job to blend in. They'll barely notice me." 

"With that haircut? Sorry." You giggle—surprisingly you find the mohawk suits his rugged look, but it certainly isn't something you've seen on a man that wasn't walking the streets of Camden. Though, even with a more fitting haircut, the man is so casually striking and ever so slightly imposing that he just naturally draws attention. "In general, you don't strike me as a man who does blending in well, not in civilian life anyway."

His eyes narrow for a moment, before he struggles to fight off a smirk. "Hmm, ye might have a point. Not changing ma hair though, sorry. Nae sure ye family has enough money for tha' one."  

His more playful side makes your heart soar, and gives you hope that everything might just be alright.

"I have a crazy idea." Okay, maybe you're more tipsy than you thought you were, as your brain supplies an outlandish plot and your mouth runs away with it. 

His eyebrow arches and his eyes sparkle with intrigue. John MacTavish seems like a man who likes crazy ideas. "Go oan." 

"I'll tell my friends that you're my boyfriend, and we're just so madly in love that you have to come everywhere with me. Means no real questions." 

Your proposition is met with deafening silence, despite the huge, encouraging grin on your face.

John laughs, just the once, before his expression hardens. "Not a chance, lass."

"Why? You don't have to really do anything. Besides, it'll save you sitting outside in the car, or staring from the shadows and making everyone feel uncomfortable." 

You realise now that while you noticed a distinct lack of a ring, there's the possibility that John is still attached, and what you're suggesting is wildly inappropriate—but it's not that point he argues on.

"Aye, so I just have to spend ma time socialising instead." He scoffs.

"Well, surely you're not brooding and mysterious all the time." You wager.

Once more, he finds a smirk tugging at his lips that he can't hold back. "No' at all, but it's been a long time since I was the life of the party, and something tells me that me an' your DnD friends don't have a lot in common." 

"They might surprise you, but you also might surprise yourself. Maybe you're a secret nerd." You wink, still being jovial before you shift back to your genuine pleas. "It'll make my life a whole lot easier and be one less thing for me to stress about. My friends wouldn't second guess the story much once they got past the shock of me bagging someone older, wiser, and oh-so-handsome. Please."  

You flash your softest, sweetest doe eyes and lay the compliments on extra thick in the hopes of swaying him. In the political world, you're used to using charm to try and get what you want, and know that without charisma you'd get nowhere. Perhaps it's a bit low of you to stoop to using flirtation on someone who could likely run rings around you when it comes to negotiation, but it's worked before, and at this point, you're desperate.

John straightens up in his seat, eyes you for a moment, and then lets out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine." 

The fact he relents honestly takes you a little by surprise. You're relieved, but yes, surprised. "Huh?"

"Fine, I'll be whoever ye want me to be..." The look in his eyes shifts to something imperceptible, as he leans over the counter closer to you. "As long ye listen to what I say when it comes to yer safety and security. Deal?" 

He holds out his hand, and your own feels dwarfed when you reach out to take his calloused palm.

"You drive a hard bargain, John MacTavish. Deal." You shake, and neither of you makes a move to immediately let go.

"Aye, a know." He winks, and the action makes your heart skip a beat, your cheeks flood with heat.

Each second passes slowly, his touch feeling like too much and not enough all at once. You know at that moment that life from now on is going to be especially difficult as long as John is around.

What he says next is the final nail in that particular coffin. "Would've done it anyway, but glad I got ye to agree to ma terms, lass." 

#soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #bunny writes #run to you

[thewriterg]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧’ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬 chp.4

pairing(s); simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader, johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x fem!reader, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick x fem!reader, john ‘bravo six’ price, werewolf!soap, harp crow hybrid!gaz, dragon hybrid!price, wraith!hybrid (?) ghost, phoenix!hybrid (?) reader

summary; holding out, threats, and a thumping tail

word count; 2.4k+ | chasin’ chaos masterlist

warning(s); monster au, dark twisted themes, normal cod violence, firearms, knives, combat, pinning (?), poly themes, death, r call sign is flatline, blood consumption, eventual smut, kissin, and language

A/n: thank you all so much for 1.9k it means everything under the sun to me!

Your view is slightly perched from the position you’re in on Price's back, legs wrapped around his torso. You have an arm wrapped around his neck, applying no real pressure on his airway. The palms of your captain and fellow lieutenant are pressed against each other trying to over power the opposite. Ghost dressed in a sleeveless hoodie that allowed you to see his hulking scarred arms, gray cargos you'd only seen him in a handful of times, and a black balaclava with his trademark painted on the front.

“You two holdin’ out on me?” The brunette smirks teasingly his full beard adorning his face, shoulders slightly shaking in response to the pressure being applied against them. The dragon and the wraith are practically nose to nose with one another and both you and Simon have your own responses to the question

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

“Don’t want you pulling anything, old man.”

John huffs out a laugh and averts his eyes over his shoulder at you for a second and it’s all the time Ghost needed to throw a kick to his lower abdomen. The brunette throws you off his back with the flap of his stray wing while you take the opportunity to swiftly slither yourself between his legs back on your feet in a snap next to the blonde's side.

Your eyes slightly widen when your captain goes to open his mouth and before his languishing flames can reach your body, shadows make a mock wall In front of you blocking your figure from the heat. The wraith can feel you take a hold of his shadows, a sense of familiarity falling over his underwhelming sense of adrenaline. You’re soon taking your wrist and yanking it down as if pulling on a lever. Neither Price or Ghost were aware of what you’d done until the brunette was falling towards the padded rink floor. You’d had one of the blonde’s Infamous shadows wrapped around Price's ankle covered by his steel toe boots, the smoky black littered with electrifying orange and yellow sparks. The dragon’s bottom breaks his fall and he goes down with a grunt before settling his eyes on the two of you.

"Well now, aren't you two a sight? " Prices gruff voice falls over the empty gym, a flirty underline to it that was somewhat difficult to catch from the older man unless you’ve heard it multiple times before. You and Simon stand next to each other's usual balaclavas that rested on your faces absent. The wraith has shadows crawling up his bare arms resembling veins all too accurate. His eyes aren’t quite pitch black but a dark gray blending in well with his eye black, while smoke floats from the slits of his eyes past his temples. Your frame on the other hand has altered just as much however not at such an intensity. Your eyes are light reddish orange, there's cracks running up your arms and the back of your hands like a shattered porcelain doll, a glowing yellow orange burning through them each individually. Your face matches your arms, those cracks spreading from your temples to your cheekbones and from your forehead to above your brow engraved like lightning streaks.

“Yeah, real head turners.” Ghost huffed sarcastically, helping Price up off his position from the mat. The dragon grunted at the quick change in position and patted the wraith on the back with gleaming eyes and a quirk of his lips

“That’s for damn sure” The two begin to exit the rink seeing you happen to be steps ahead. You're dressed similarly to them both with: camo cargo pants, steel toe boots, and a forest green tank top. The sight was close to heavenly and by the others' faces the men could tell the other was not so joyful you had covered yours.

💌💌💌💌

“Missed seeing you in action, Captain.” The lieutenant hummed lowly in the back of his throat even though it sounded more like a grunt passing John a cold thermos of water. It was the closest the hybrid would get to a ‘I missed you, I missed being around you, and stop having so much damn paperwork even though it’s your job.’ And the Captain took it all without complaint while the solider took a seat next to him.

“Trust me, I hate being chained to the desk as much as you do” He responded sipping on the water with a sigh of contentment, watching as you stretched in front of them. Your legs are stretched as far as you can get them beside you hips, you have you stomach pressed to the ground with your arms stretched flat in front of you, while your tank top is slowly rising up your lower back showing the peak of a deep yet healed scar going up your spinal cord, and Price finally looks away at the sight of it.

“How's the shoulder old man?” You question when you're finally off the ground, watching Ghosts mask arch in your peripheral indicating that there was a quirk at his lips. You thought it was even more humorous how John responded without a bat of an eye.

“Tight but that’s nothing new” He grunts, leaning slightly towards the side his stray wing was on with a hand thrown over his hip.

“You two have been interlocking shadows and cosmic energy more often” The captain notes taking more water from the chilled thermos while you and your fellow peer lock eyes for a split second before they strayed away. You’re already taking a sip of your water bottle leaving the skull masked man to answer the question himself.

“Mm, in a good patch.” The blonde answered simply and you couldn’t expect any more from him, it could’ve made you chuckle if you weren’t also roped into the equation.

“Got anything to do with our newest recruit?” The brunette smirks, steam coming from his lips previous fire dying out with a ‘fssssss’.

“What!?”

“What!?”

“I’m not stupid and you’ve always been a dog person Simon” The dragon waved him away with a pale clawed hand, the steam from his mouth spreading in the process. The wraith had thrown a hand over his head staring down at his lap.

“Fuck me, Price, don’t put it like that.”

“I ignore the mutt's existence as a whole actually and I like birds more.” You fight back a roll of your eyes, arms crossed over your chest while your captain slightly grins.

“You love a chase Deity, we all had to go through it at one point.” He grins at you, blue eyes twinkling as you avert your gaze to the now interesting wall while the man dug into his duffel bag.

“Here’s hoping you both keep those opinions, yeah?” The captain held out a file for either of you to take which you’d grabbed first, going to sit in between the two men to give Ghost a view over your shoulder.

“New transfers?”

“Temporary ones. International corps are sending us two of their attack dogs and a python. They’ve been tracking a bogey for months who’s recently made themselves known on our turf. They’re asking to work together.”

“They’re asking to work together? Got us doing their jobs for them with this request for preliminary recon” The wraith merely huffs out, while the dragon began to take a stand from his seat, his brown eyes low peeking through his mask. If unamused was a person he wouldn’t be too far off.

“Just to prepare for their arrival. Shouldn’t be an issue, make sure it isn’t.” The brunette softly grins out, an order. Hes holding the wraiths chin tilting it up slightly in his clawed pale hand while his thick pear green take swayed idly behind the back of knees before his heavy boots began to take him away. The masked lieutenant acts quickly, stretching a hand to reach over to the captains.

“Soap he’s… he’s not gonna change this” The statement falls off his lips like a prayer. His hooded eyes rest lowly with eye black covering the surface around them. Price slight grins before resounding a moment of silence having passed by.

“You don’t need to promise me anything, Simon. I'm your captain, I’ll be here either way.” He grabs ahold of your forearm gently tugging you to his side while stepping in front of the blonde, the writhing having to crane his neck up to see you both in response to you standing before him.

“And I wouldn’t mind if he did. My boys taking of each other when we can’t, a dream come true” Price nods to his side where you stand, eyes flickering between bloodshot red and their normal color.

“Dirty.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way.” You roll your eyes playfully, —only to their eyes did it seem that way— your thumb rubs against the stubble on his cheek having hiked up his balaclava to his slightly crooked nose. Your eyes don’t stray away from his brown ones, his pupils are slightly blown. Your own orbs are still shifting shades while you stare down the hulking wraith with uncertainty, it would be the first time since…

The blonde shifted his head slightly giving you better access to his jugular, eyes raking over the horned brunette in front of him. It happens all too quickly fangs are scraping against his pulse point and lips are being smashed against his. John swallows the deep hum from Simon when your teeth pierce through the skin of his neck, one of your hands on the nape of his neck and a clawed pale hand that didn’t belong to you sat against his jawline. Your knee that was against the bench now creates friction through the thick fabric of Ghost’s cargo pants right above his growing cock. The lieutenant lets out a broken moan combined with a grunt at the sudden motion that you can hear past his and Prices sealed lips before you’re pulling away.

“Got hybrids today, maybe you could stop by if your dog doesn’t turn you into a treat.” You hum rubbing a finger over the corner of your lips where stray blood had slipped before taking it in between your teeth and walking out of the training room ignoring the faint sounds of your superiors chuckle.

“You think she’ll get over it?” The blonde questioned standing from his seat with a crack of his back, eyes nots quite slipping from your retreating figure. —the sway of your hips to be exact— The brunette huffs out a chuckle slinging his bag over his shoulder before responding.

“When you think about it she’s approved a lot with him, especially since the med wing. Not a threat to her home anymore, just a threat to her people.” The one winged hybrid hummed out, the itch for a smoke growing more prominent the more time had passed.

“By people you mean us… but come on Price, Deity knows she has us” The dragons grin had yet to leave his face, arms thrown across his broad chest.

“We know we had her when she toyed with that one tall lad, König was it? She's just smelling him out Simon. Phoenixs are territorial, pretty sure the ‘threat’ will be gone soon enough. Hell he follows ‘er around like a lost pup anyhow… Tell you what, bet you a twenty he’ll be marked in the next month” With a pat on the shoulder Price left the room without another word, trailing along to the comfort of his office leaving Ghost to himself.

💌💌💌💌

You enjoyed the evenings right outside of base. It wasn’t too warm where your skin was being cooked to a crisp under the sun and not too cold to need anything other than a thin jacket at most. It was also the time where you could get a pocket of peace, where you didn’t have to listen to ‘lieutenant, lieutenant, lieutenant’. A scheduled area away from the comfort of your office where little to no one knew about? Perfect for you… until it wasn’t.

Your visitor couldn’t seem to the memo of temporary peace. All of a sudden instead of the sound of chirping crickets and flickers of fireflies, all you could focus on was the faint sound of the beat blaring through your sergeants headphones. Your cigarette softly crackles as you inhale the smoke from it, the smoke falling over the jacket that wasn’t actually yours. All you wanted was to finish your paperwork in peace and here comes this little mu-

You wanted to groan at the repeated tap on your thigh.

“… Soap” You call out with a huff in your voice, turning your head slightly to look over your shoulder to see the back side of the Scott who seemed blissfully unaware of his… surroundings

“Soap.” You call again his thick, bushy, tail swinging back and forth hitting your thigh with a ‘thump’. You stare at him for a while before standing, snatching the fur rod in your grasp with an underlying firmness.

“Mactavish.” The motion makes the hybrid jerk in his seat leaning forward slightly, dropping his files and pen in the process. You notice the tight looking collar around his neck that you couldn’t imagine having around your own but decide against speaking about it.

“Uh - L.T?” The wolf looks almost bashful when he turns to meet you gaze, your eyes low yet sharp and it reminds him of the day you met —if you could call it that—. The brunette was sure you could see the warmth spreading across his face, it would take a blind man not to.

“Your tail is whacking me.” Soap liked to think of himself as a pretty observant person and now he couldn’t tell if you wanted him in your bed or in a grave.

“It’s uh, g-got a mind of his own” Johnny stuttered out trying to not to fumble over his words. He runs a hand over the nape of his neck, persistent on keeping his eyes on yours and not the grasp you had on his tail.

“Well real it in or I will.” You finally let go of his tush, barely looking at him through the peripheral of your vision before taking your seat. The Mohawked stud takes a hold of his trim with his pants a little tighter then what they were a few moments ago, the thought of finishing his papers completely gone.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Now that everyone’s got their screen time I can’t WAIT to write for my baby gaz🤭

I hate my writing this Chp but what can you do?🙂

#chasin chaos #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #tf 141 x reader #task force 141 #poly 141 #cod x reader #cod x you #cod monster au #romance #fluff #angst #fem!reader #i love you #thewriterg #2024

[pacifymebby]

Christmas Eve

Part of my Christmas/2k celebration!!

Also just a side note for Alfie's, I based this on Christmas/Hanukkah celebrations I've been involved in before, I'm sorry if it's not accurate to other people's personal experiences of like mixed culture it's just how it's worked for us in the past... I didn't want to just ignore Alfie's Jewishness

Tommy

🌿Beneath Tommy's cold exterior is a family man, he's just very good at keeping it hidden beneath all those defensive layers... And he believes Christmas is a precious time, a time that should be spent with family... 

🌿And as much as he grumbles about having to host his whole family every year at Arrow House, Tommy wouldn't have it any other way...

🌿So Christmas Eve at Arrow House is a busy day, a day brimming with anticipation, that buzz in the air, expectancy, waiting for loved ones to arrive, the children excited to see their cousins, uncles, aunts...

🌿 And amid the hustle and bustle, the trickle of arriving guests who have come to stay for the holidays, Tommy will manage to slip away unnoticed for a little while... he'd have business to attend to, things he just has to see through before the new year...

🌿 And whilst in the morning his absence is excusable, and whilst in the afternoon you're far to wrapped up in overseeing the last minute changes to menus, to guest bedrooms, to present wrapping and attending to the needs of your excitable little ones, as the evening draws in Tommy's absence will become unignorable...

🌿 But you're not surprised and neither is Ada, neither are any of the wives, neither is Arthur who is supposed to be dressing up as Santa for the youngens but is waiting for his absent brother to phone through...

🌿 Tommy promised to be home early for the kids so you're getting worried. Ada is all eye rolls and Polly is tutting "that fuckin man and his fuckin business..." but you're getting scared that he isn't coming home at all...

🌿 Now the kids are obviously very excited because its christmas eve, so you haven't been able to settle them at all...

🌿 They're running around the house with their cousins playing at being daddy, pretending to shoot eachother, pretending to die and although usually you'd tell them off, try to tell them that thats not what their daddy does, tonight their laughter is so sweet you just let them carry on playing

🌿And their excitement is catching, it's hard to be too fearful when the tree is sparkling and there's frost in the air outside, when Ada and Polly have mixed up fancy gin cocktails and John keeps catching you beneath the mistletoe teasing you, telling you to take your chance whilst your husband's away...

🌿 There's that joy, that magic, that warmth, the family is together, the children are as innocent and as gleeful as you could possibly hope them to be... And in your heart you know that your stupid husbands coming home to you, that all will be well...

🌿 So even though you should be mad at him for breaking his promise and being late really you're just looking forward to him coming home, to throwing your arms around him, to having him catch you under the mistletoe and brush a chaste kiss over your lips before the kids can see you and start making sick noises.

🌿And when Tommy does finally come home the children nearly knock him over, barrelling into him. Your oldest pretends to shoot him for being late and breaking his promise...

🌿 So Tommy pretends he's shot, drops to his knees all dramatic in the doorway, his 'last words' tell your mother I love her very..." and when he closes his eyes and pretends to die the kids all clamber on him and demand that he wakes up... and he does but only because they're tickling him and he can't resist jumping back to life, snatching them up and making them jump and squeal and laugh.

🌿 finally they and him settle down, he says hes sorry for being late, hugs and kisses the children and then you, saying he's sorry an extra time, just to you, hand cupping your cheek as he looks you deep in the eyes, one of those, melt your heart, don't be angry with me, kind of looks

🌿And you can't be angry at him...

🌿He'd be able to settle the children so fast, getting them ready for bed with you and tucking them in. Telling them to be good or father christmas might change his mind about visiting them

🌿 But then seeing their little faces drop and chuckling, "no, of course he won't forget about you, little angels the lot of you, I reckon you're all right at the top of Father Christmas' list eh?"

🌿 "So we'd better get you up to bed eh? He'll be here soon and you'll want to be fast asleep in your beds when he gets here..."

🌿 As you go to follow the children up to the nursery Tommy catches your hand and tugs you back to the doorway, "and where do you think you're going in such a hurry love?" His fingers link closely with yours as he nods to the doorframe above you both, his smirk a little cheeky as you follow his gaze and see the mistletoe dangling above you...

🌿 When you tell him he isn't the first person to try it on with you under the mistletoe that evening, that if he'd been just one more minute late you'd have kissed his brother instead, he chuckles, "well I suppose I'd better make up for all that lost time eh?"

🌿 Closing your eyes when he kisses you, smiling into his lips as he lets them linger, your hand on his chest, you can feel his body heat warming you, his hold feels like home... When you pull away startled by the sound of the children calling for you Tommy pulls you back for one more kiss...

🌿 "Wait, there we go, just one more moment of peace..." he says quietly kissing you again, holding you close.

🌿 The children love it when he reads them the night before christmas, they're almost always half asleep by the time he's finished, your youngest sitting in his lap, drooling on him...

🌿 Watching him stroke their hair and kiss their heads,whispering to them little good nights and "love you"s before the two of you turn out the light and go back downstairs...

🌿He was late because he'd picked up last minute gifts for you, so he'd be trying to send you up to bed before him "go on angel, warm it up for me eh..."

🌿 He's probably so relieved to get into bed with you that evening, he'd wrap his arms around you and sigh, completely content and happy.

🌿Christmas always leaves him feeling grateful for everything he has, getting into bed with you and holding you close reminds him all the more of everything he has, how important you and the children are... He would still be a little preoccupied thinking about the morning, excited to see the children's faces when they see that father Christmas has been, looking forward to the way you'll kiss him when you open your gifts.

🌿Tommy will be the last one who falls asleep that night, he's too busy making the most of the peace, the bristling excitement in the air, just enjoying the feeling of you in his arms, knowing the whole family is together, safe and sound and full of joy. 

Alfie

🐻 Alfie is only be celebrating christmas because you celebrate christmas, otherwise to him its not really a very important day at all. More than that it's "a fuss about nothing!" And a "tiresome inconvenience if you ask me little ziskeit, don't know why anyone bothers with it all..."

🐻 Every year it's always the same... Alfie promises he won't be grumpy this December, he promises he'll try to embrace the Christmas Spirit and be "merry and bright my little ziskeit, that's me, that's your Alfie ain't it, merry and bloody bright..."

🐻 But every year Alfie seems to be more grumpy than the last, grumbling and stropping about every tiny inconvenience, the market is always busier this time of year and he can't go out without bumping into people, getting jostled in the crowds... and his frustrations lead to some very comical rants about Jesus Christ and how he must have been one narcissistic baby to demand such a fuss...

🐻 By Christmas Eve you've just about had enough of his ranting and raving, all his grumbling and stropping, so just when he's about to go off on one all over again you stop him, arms crossed over your chest, face like thunder, eyes so steely and determined as you scold him for being such a grump that he stops dead in his tracks...

🐻 "Alright that's it, Alfred I've had enough!" Alfie can't keep the stunned smirk off his lips, he can't believe his little ziskeit is standing up to him... "Oh? What's this then are you tellin me off poppet? Are you gonna give your old man a piece of your mind?" He just sits down in his arm chair, one leg crossed over the other, hands resting on top of his cane, looking up at you expectantly...  "Well go on then ziskeit, you give your old man a firm talkin too, tell me what a miserable, rotten old miser I'm being... don't hold back my darlin, don't try to spare my feelings eh, do your worst poppet..." it's like he's challenging you, waiting to see what you'll say but you've really had enough... all you want is a cosy, merry little Christmas...

🐻 "Don't tease me Alfie!" You sniff trying to remain indignant, trying not to get emotional as you hold your chin up high, "all I wanted yeah, was one peaceful little Christmas right and you promised Alfie, you promised youd try and get into the spirit of things this year but all you've done all bloody month is..."

🐻 You trail off when you hear him sigh, when you see that warm teasing glow in his eyes, he's smiling softly, watching you as you try to continue scolding him... Then he pushes himself up and walks slowly to you, takes your hips in his hands and guides you a pace into his body, looking down at you, expectantly, patiently waiting for you to be done with your own ranting and raving... And when you trail off and look at him you understand...

🐻 "Now then? Do you reckon you're finished tellin me off now poppet? Reckon your old man might be allowed to get a word in now yeah? Even if he is a mean old grump?" He's still teasing you and your blush is furious as he takes your cheek in his calloused hand and strokes your face with his thumbs, "my my you don't half get yourself in a tizz about these things do ya ziskeit, all this fuss over one bloody day..."

🐻 "Ain't just any day though is it Alf, s'christmas an it only comes once a year an I wanted it to be perfect... Not just for me but for the kids you know..."

🐻 "And it will be my little ziskeit, it will be... You trust me on this yeah, good old Father fuckin Christmas'll make sure everything's perfect..." he says reaching behind his chair for a tatty brown sack, slinging it over his shoulder and shooting you a wink...

🐻 Because Alfie does this every year too... Kids on that he hates Christmas, that he thinks the whole things a big old waste of time... Pushes you to your absolute limits, waiting for the day your fierce but rare temper bursts only to chuckle and pat you affectionately on the cheek before saying something stupid like "Ho Ho Fucking Ho and all that right..."

🐻Because actually he doesn't dislike Christmas as such, he just dislikes watching you get yourself so flustered about what is essentially just one day... He doesn't see the point in how rushed off your feet you get, how worried, how high your blood pressure must sore.. for just one day... A day you couldn't ruin if you tried.

🐻 He would try to help you with things like wrapping presents for the children but he wouldn't be very good at it at all, so it would be obvious who had wrapped what, his presents will hardly even be in the paper and honestly, sometimes you find yourself having to redo his poor attempts at wrapping.

🐻 Your Christmas traditions are mixed with Hanukkah traditions, you light the Menorah together for each of the eight nights of Hanukkah, you make donuts together (he fusses over you when it comes to frying them fretting about you burning yourself on the oil) he fills the house with joyous and spirited traditional music and teaches you and the children to play Dreidel (often making a grumbling fuss when he ahs to hand his Hanukkah Gelt over to whoever just won it off him)

🐻 He enjoys the irony of the whole Christmas thing, grins and laughs at himself when he sits down to read his children a christmas themed bed time story. He thinks its amusing because by now he knows it by heart...

🐻 Tells the kids that their father christmas doesn't like milk and cookies, he likes a drop of rum and some rugelach instead...

🐻 He will sit with the kids as they're falling asleep, he'll sing them a low, gentle little lullaby and stroke their little heads, Alfie has a calming presence which settles them, he's like a big soft teddy bear watching over them and when he wants them to settle down and drift off he can soothe their excitement in minutes... And on Christmas Eve he wants nothing more than to see them all settled because he knows that when he goes back downstairs looking for you he'll find you still busy, still fussing... And he wants to make sure you relax and enjoy the most important day of the year "allegedly"

🐻 He'll stop in the living room doorway, his body a big shadow blocking out the lamplight... he doesn't have to say anything to let you know he's there... you're sitting on the floor trying to wrap last minute gifts and make sure everything's perfect... he just tuts at you and shakes his head...

🐻 "Tsk tsk little ziskeit, you're breakin your promises this evening ain't ya... see I don't know if you remember right, well.. you can't possibly remember cause if you did then I'm sure you wouldn't just be breakin em willynilly now would you poppet... do you remember what you promised me this time last year?" You do remember what you promised him but you're determined you won't be admitting that tonight... Alfie however has other ideas.

🐻 He'll beckon you up and over to him with his finger, nod for you to come right up close. Then he'll take your hips in his hands and guide you back a pace, settling pulling you down into his arm chair with him, holding you firmly in his lap, "There we go that's better back where you belong right, that's better... now then where were we? Right... yeah, you were going to tell me all about that promise what you made me on Christmas day last year... weren't you ziskeit..." when you remain silent he chuckles and shakes his head, "oh no no no that won't do, nah... it won't... my darlin ziskeit what you seem to be forgettin right is this... only the naughtiest of naughty girls break their promises right... and on this very important evening even the worst yeah, even the most rotten of young ladies will keep her promises right... cause if she don't yeah well she might just find a lump of coal waiting for her in the morning yeah .. what dya reckon my little ziskeit? That what you want is it? A nasty old lump of coal?"

🐻 "One of these days I'll give you a nasty old lump of coal Alfie Solomons" you flower up at him so sulky and sullen he can't keep the grin off his face because he thinks you look adorable like that..

🐻 But although he chuckles and laughs along, lets you tease him too he still makes you promise that you're going to relax and let yourself enjoy the day too...

🐻 "If you're going to get so worked up about it, I'll call the whole bloody day off..." he will literally threaten to cancel Christmas, he's only teasing but it's a joke he never tires of especially when you start threatening him back, "I'll cancel you in a bloody minute Alfred now get over here and help me with this bloody bird!"

🐻 He will spend the rest of the evening hovering around you, telling you to let him take care of everything (you absolutely won't be doing that) but after another hour he's managed to help you with all the finishing touches and he's coaxing you up to bed...

🐻 "Now come on my little ziskeit, what do I have to do to make you see sense... You know how this works you are the angel who taught me all this madness after all... If you don't go to bed and get your beauty sleep old Saint Nick just won't come... Will he? So poppet, this is my suggestion yeah, just a gentle suggestion yeah, come straight from my heart because right, because I care about you very much and because your old man is getting very very tired... Why don't you an me yeah, why don't we go upstairs now and tuck ourselves up nice an snug in bed because I'm not daft yeah, I know how this works by now... In a few hours time those little terrors will be jumpin on our legs to wake us up won't they...."

🐻 And you know he's right so you give in and roll your eyes and let him take you up to bed. Before you go to sleep you make him promise not to be too grumpy in the morning, he makes you promise you'll relax.

Arthur

🍂 Definitely promised you he would come straight home from work, definitely promised he wouldn't stop in the Garrison with his brothers and the lads from the office...

🍂 Definitely does stop in the pub on his way home... Everyone was in such high spirits leaving that evening and Arthur doesn't want to miss out on the celebrations... Besides, he'll only have one.. and he's got all Christmas to spend with you and the little ones...

🍂 And of course this is Arthur so he doesn't only have one... but he doesn't get too drunk either and he doesn't stay out too late because he loves the excitement at home on Christmas Eve and he doesn't want to miss out on all that fun either...

🍂 So he walks home a little merry and he stops in the garden to build a snowman outside the children's bedroom window. You can hear him scuffling about outside and when you catch a glimpse of him through the kitchen window you roll your eyes... why the fuck did you marry such a big kid?

🍂 But you trust your husband's up to something and you don't want to ruin whatever surprise he has planned for the kids so you shut the curtains and go upstairs to check on the little ones who are brushing their teeth and getting ready for bed. You know they're dragging it out because they're waiting for their dad to come home...

🍂 You sneek outside to try and coax Arthur indoors out of the freezing cold, wrapping your arms around yourself as you whisper to try and get his attention... "Arthur... Arthur bloody Shelby what the fuck are you doing out here come on it's freezing!" And when he hears you he raises his hands in surrender, promising you he isn't drunk... which doesn't exactly reassure you...

🍂 "Eh love, don't suppose you've got a carrot you can spare me eh? For the kids?" He nods to his snowman and you can't do anything but roll your eyes and pretend not to be amused... you are though, you think he's so silly but you love him for it, love him for how much he loves the kids...

🍂 So you give him the carrot and then you drag him inside out of the cold, kissing him and rubbing his arms to try and get him warm... Of course when the lids hear the door close they come running downstairs overflowing with excitement because dad's home "finallyyy!"

🍂 You can't believe how they've shot from being almost settled, drifting off in the arm chair together, to bright as little stars, fizzing up and bubbling over shouting and jumping and tugging on his sleeves when he does his best father Christmas voice.

🍂 Arthur scooping his little ones up in his arms, getting excited with them, winding them up asking them if they're excited for all their lovely presents, asking them what they've left out for Father Christmas...

🍂 But one look at you and the realisation that you're starting to look a little worn out and like you might need your own bed very soon gets him to settle down, gets him to try and calm the little ones again...

🍂 to save himself from your potential frustration that he'd caused such a commotion he'd be trying to charm you into giving him a smile and softening on him again, stealing a kiss from you under the mistletoe and pinching your cheek, teasing you...

🍂 "lighten up my darlin its Christmas eve... Eh you'd better turn that frown upside down my sweetheart or father christmas won't have any presents for you..."

🍂 To try and get the kids into bed he'd do things like pretend he can hear father christmas on the roof, or he'd tell them that whilst he was out he saw something in the sky that looked just like a sleigh... "so you'd better hurry to bed my darlins cause you know what will happen if father christmas comes and you're still awake... Coal! Coal for the lot of ye little rascals..."

🍂 Remembers his snowman outside and tells the kids to look out of their window, "Now you know who he is don't you you little rotters, he's one of old father Christmas's spies... I mean helpers and he's come to make sure you lot are all tucked up in bed fast asleep... So you'd better get yourselves up them wooden hills hadn't you... Come on my darlins chop chop.."

🍂 He's definitely been out last minute Christmas shopping for gifts for you and has to try and slip them under the christmas tree before you see them... He also had to wrap them last minute and he's not wonderful at gift wrapping when he isn't drunk and in a rush...

🍂 When you gather the kids in bed to read them a bedtime story he wants to listen too and climbs into bed with you all... He definitely gets a little too comfy snuggled under the blankets with you all and falls asleep during the story which the children find highly amusing.

🍂 Perhaps the children should leave a nice glass of water out of father christmas this year?

John

🌼 A huge child about Christmas, really he is just a big kid at heart and he's just as excited about christmas as the children... he's definitely not helping to calm them down or get them settled in bed that's for sure!

🌼 Instead he comes home for his work that evening with pockets full of sweets for them and lets them eat as many as they like... Pinching some for himself too...

🌼 Being too sentimental for his own good he hardly stopped in at the pub with the lads, let them "force" one whiskey down him, one which he downed slammed on the table and then announced to the room that he was off home because unlike the rest of them he's a "highly responsible father"... So he was laughed out of the Garrison naturally...

🌼 When he comes home he throws the sweets into the air letting them rain down over the children who dance and jump at his feet, all of the scrambling to catch and father as many as they can...

🌼 All you can do is watch and let yourself get wrapped up in the craziness of it all too... you already know there's no trying to tame your wild little family, especially not when John's talking the lead like this...

🌼 He'll tease them telling him he saw some of father christmas's elves in the garden, that they told him there'll be no toys for the shelby children this year...

🌼 But your children are smart and they know their daddy is just being silly. Which they won't be shy about telling him, pointing at him, giggling and arguing with him, dragging you into the argument too begging you to "tell daddy not to be so stupid!"

🌼 He's really done it now and the children are feral, together they wrestle him down to the ground and threaten him with lots of tickles and other terrors if he doesn't take it back... And of course John lets them win. He can't breath for laughing so hard and neither can you.

🌼 When you finally stop laughing at the mess he's gotten himself into you manage to convince him the children need to go to bed, he'll tell them that actually the elves told him they're waiting for the shelby children to go to sleep so that father christmas can come and deliver all their presents.

🌼 So the children will finally go to bed, they'll leave a wee carrot for the reindeer and a little treat for father christmas too, and they'll leave a little path of destruction for you and John to tidy up once they're tucked up and asleep... One which you inform John he can tidy up by himself... One which you know you'll be tidying up together.

🌼 John, more than the children, will be begging you to read the night before christmas... It's a little family tradition you have been doing since the first Christmas you stayed with the Shelby's and told it to all the Shelby children to settle them when the rest of the family had an emergency meeting. You've always been a little shy to read it in front of John but every year he insists just the same... "Voices and all!"

🌼 When you challenge him and say "why doesnt daddy read it this year?" he just pouts and says "i think mummy does it better what do you think children, doesn't your mummy read it wonderfully..." He has that mischievous twinkle in his eyes, one you can't say no to and wouldn't want to say no to even if you thought you could get away with it...

🌼 So you have to read it and John just gets all cosy with the children, they'd be giggling and whispering with him mischievously the whole time, impossible to settle down until you're kissing them all on the forehead and turning out the lights. Even then you can see them fidgeting and wriggling in the dark, hear them giggling behind the closed nursery door.

🌼 When they're finally asleep and you were ready to go to bed yourselves, John would sneak away to go and make reindeer prints in the snow outside for the children to find the next morning.

🌼 Then he'd come back to find you trying to tidy away his mess... Honestly he'd end up making more mess when he grabs you by the waist and asks to get his hands on his "beautiful, beautiful wife..."

🌼 What can I say the man's got a lot of pent up energy that needs to be used up before he goes to sleep...

Bonnie

🍀 Bonnie's used to a very busy, very family driven Christmas... One which is simple and traditional but chaotic and lively... All the family comes together for Christmas and their little camp practically triples inside as more and more families arrive each day in the weeks running up to Christmas...

🍀 But all the chaos means there's so much extra work to do and even though there's also extra helping hands, between Bonnie being dragged away on hunting expeditions to gather food for Christmas Day and wood for the fires, and you being rushed off your feet with children to mind, presents to make and hide away... Well you and Bonnie have hardly had a second together for days...

🍀 And Bonnie's favourite part of Christmas is getting to spend it with the people he loves - you most of all. He had so many plans for this December with you and so far he hasn't been able to get you alone for long enough to do more than give you a quick kiss on the cheek...

🍀He's longing for Christmas day so that all the fuss will be over and he might sneak you away to give you your presents...

🍀But before that there's Christmas Eve to get through, just one more day and then finally the two of you will get a little peace... And the way you keep shooting him long lingering glances from the steps of your vardo, from by the fire, from where you sit buried beneath your younger siblings and a blanket...Bonnie can tell you're thinking exactly the same as you..

🍀Though he has to admit he does love to watch you playing with the youngens, getting them ready for bed as the sun goes down and they get rosy cheeks by the fire. They're so cute and you're so good with them... It doesn't half make him broody, he can't help but imagine what kind of a mammy you'll be one day...

🍀Every time he tries to come and sit down with you someone steels him away, his dad gives him a job to do, some of the younger lads demand he joins their snowball fight...

🍀And it's that snowball fight that means he finally gets his hands on you... Because when one of the lads clips one of the lassies you've been sitting with on the back of the head with a snowball all he'll breaks loose and all the kids are suddenly picking sides and scrambling to action.

🍀Naturally you're siding with your best friend, against Bonnie and the lads... Which means your competitive streak shines through and challenges Bonnie... Who never backs down from a fight. Its not long before you're tearing through the trees, kicking and throwing snow at him, giggling because you know you can't escape him, and god you don't want to escape him!

🍀So finally he gets his hands on you, wrapping his arms tight around you, pretending he's fighting you to the floor... The chill of the snow as you sink into the drift on your back, the cold prickles all over you but all you can concentrate on is the warmth of his breath on your cheek as he pins you down and locks eyes with you...

🍀 "So this is what I have do to steal a moment with my girl eh?" He teases wasting very little time before he kisses you deep and passionately, that desire to see you become a mammy almost getting the better of him as you giggle and push him off you reminding him it won't be long before the two of you get swarmed by bairns.

🍀So instead he helps you up and walks you back to the fire to get you warmed up, and he uses his own chill as an excuse to sit with you by the fire for awhile, admiring you, falling in love with you a little more as you gather the youngens round you once again to tell them a story as they drink their hot milk before bed.

🍀Later when it's late and most of the littlens are fast asleep, when the musics being played and everyone's merry on hot mulled wine Bonnie finally gets you all to himself, dancing with you by the fire, stealing all the kisses he wants, teasing you asking if you've been good this year an if you reckon father Christmas is gonna visit you.

🍀Cuddling up to you when you're both tucked away in bed, whispering to you about how sweet you looked with the littlens earlier.. boy has baby fever and trust me it gets ten times worse at Christmas.

Isaiah

🐀 Watching the chaos ensuing at the Shelby Manor and listening to John and Ada talking about all the stress of Christmas with the children is making you and Isaiah feel very grateful that you're still young and that this Christmas Eve the only thing you've to worry about is the Garrison running out of drink...

🐀 You've been looking forward to seeing your friends all week having been busy in the shop you work in right until close that very afternoon... Isaiah would meet you at your work to pick you up and in his pocket he's got s gift for you...

🐀 "I was going to wait until tomorrow to give you this but I thought you might like to wear them tonight..." He says kissing your lips and then your neck as he shuts your bedroom door behind you and pushes you back into your room gently. He's being extra charming, the romance of the season getting to both your heads.

🐀He's brought you a pair of divine ruby earrings, they're utterly gorgeous and you can't believe he's giving them to you at all least of all when it's not even technically christmas yet! You gasp, thrilled by the beautiful gift and immediately put them on...

🐀 You're trying to get ready to go out, trying to change into a prettier dress for your evening out but Isaiah has other ideas... he wants to see what you look like when you're only wearing those earrings...

🐀 So you're late to the Garrison and you turn up looking a little less than pristine but neither of you care because youve been sharing a bottle of wine on the walk and you're both ruby cheeked warmed by your drink for the road...

🐀 Spending the night laughing and dancing with all your friends, Finn's managed to sneak away from his demanding nieces and nephews and even Bonnie has managed to come up with an excuse to stay in town a little later than usual rather than heading straight back to the camp to help with the kids...

🐀 You spend all night wrapped up in Isaiah and your love for him... there's something about christmas which still excites you, wakes up your inner child and makes you giddy... all the glowing lights the decorations, the snowfall outside in the street.

🐀 Every time Isaiah catches you under the mistletoe he insists on a kiss, not just a peck but a cheeky, tempting kiss, one which makes your tummy flip and reminds you of what you were getting up to in your bed earlier than evening... one which makes you wish you could sneak off with him again...

🐀 At kicking out time you and your friends all go stumbling out into the snowy street together, all of you feeling drunk and carefree, like big children, Michael and Finn start a snowball fight which sees you all laughing and play fighting in the street, you join Bonnie's team and torment your boyfriend who is only pretending to be jealous... right?

🐀 Somewhere amid the chaos Isaiah snatches you and pulls you into the back of a parked car, it's dark and he's hovering above you in the back seat, your body pushes into the leather seat... when you look up his grin his boyish and ever so cheeky...

🐀 "Oh would you look at that eh... a Christmas miracle..." he teases holding the mistletoe he's stolen from the garrison above your head, pulling you in for an even deeper kiss than the last...

🐀 It's hard not to go too far but after a long while of torturing eachother with tempting kisses you realise you're late for his father's mass and you both go running off hand in hand down the street, finishing the last of the drink he also took from behind the bar at the Garrison.

🐀 You're hand in hand and oh so drunk as you slip into the church and sit in the corner of a pew right at the back, you're giggling quietly to one another, holding hands, propping one another up...

🐀 at different times you both fall asleep and wake one another up and when it comes time for communion you're both giggly, trying very hard to be serious, already knowing that his father is going to know how pissed you are... You're not in trouble though, he just tsks at you both and smirks when he offers your wine, a quiet "not that you need it" and a wink when he sees you practically falling asleep on his sons shoulder.

🐀 Isaiah carries you home through the snow, bundling you up into bed with him, cuddled up under the blankets, unable to stop himself waking you up and stealing a good night kiss from you.. one which becomes so much more than just a kiss...

Michael

☘️ Michael would love nothing more than a quiet Christmas, just you, him and his mum... But that's not how being part of the Shelby family works...

☘️ He spends the run up to Christmas stressing about the journey back to England, he's worried about you meeting his family for the first time... Not because he's worried they won't like you, but because he's worried you will see how fucked up his family is and want to run a mile...

☘️ You arrive at Arrow House on the morning of Christmas Eve, you've travelled through the night through snow and freezing wind, but when your car finally makes it up the long winding drive you're taken back by how beautiful it all is... How grand the house is, how very English it all appears to be...

☘️ You're nervous to meet the family, most of all Polly because you're sure her opinion means more to Michael than anything else in the world. If Polly doesn't like you it's over...

☘️ But everything Michael has warned you about... His cousins schemes and manipulative personality... Well you're surprised to see that you don't see anything like it... All you see is one busy, chaotic house packed full of children and adult men who run around pretending to fight and shoot one another much like children...

☘️ You're completely absorbed into family life from the second the servants take your bags... You're overwhelmed by the Shelby family but you can't say you're not pleased...

☘️ Whilst Michael is jumped upon by his cousin's you're swept up by the women, Ada and Lizzie giggling as they mix you up a gin and tonic and show you their hiding place in the kitchen when they need two seconds peace... Not from their children who are running around feral with excitement for christmas, but from the Peaky men who are apparently more of a handful than the children...

☘️ As the evening draws in Michael wants to steal you away but he can't bring himself to because you're sitting on the floor playing with the children.. Arthur is dressed up as Santa asking them all what they want for Christmas...

☘️ But when he invites you to come up and sit in his lap, asks you if you've been a good girl this year Michael has to intervene and save you from his cousin.

☘️ He coughs and very awkwardly speaks up to save you, asks to borrow you for a minute... Lies and says he needs your help in the kitchen... And this lie is obviously met with smirks and jokes because everyone knows he's just jealous of Arthur's stupid flirting...

☘️ He actually apologises for his cousin, it's just you and him in the kitchen and he looks nervous, like he's worried you're going to run off with Arthur... But when you ask what's wrong he shakes his head, says "nothing... Just promise me they haven't scared you off..." you can't help but laugh at that.

☘️ "What? Don't be daft Michael, I love them and I love you!" And he's very glad to hear that, blushing like a teenage boy because he's gone all out to spoil you this Christmas... There's so many gifts under the tree with your name on them but the gift that's most important is in his back pocket... He was going to save it for tomorrow but now that he's got you alone in the kitchen he realises there's no better time to ask you to be his wife than the present...

☘️ So your Christmas Eve ends in Michael getting down on one knee on the kitchen floor surrounded by carrot peelings...

Taglist

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@zablife

@jomarch-wannabe

@itsghostgirlyo

@marwwfairy

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#peaky blinders headcannon #peaky blinders imagines #bonnie gold x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #arthur shelby x reader #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders headcanon #isaiah jesus x reader #michael gray x reader #alfie solomons x reader #peaky blinders christmas

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Regents and Regencies

A Regency is a period of time where another party rules of behalf of a monarch who is either too young, too ill or absent. A Regency can either be the monarch's own choice or a decision made for them on their behalf by a third part, usually government. Either way, a Regent is selected to act as temporary Head of State whilst the monarch is incapable of ruling.

Who can be a Regent?

A Regent is an important office, even though its a temporary one. Regencies of child monarchs generally either go to the Consort, though there are all sorts of reasons why this can be blocked. Sometimes governments and kingdoms are uncomfortable with foreign consorts with uncertain allegiances ruling the kingdom or sometimes the government just doesn't approve on the basis that they doubt the Consort's skill set. Other candidates for Regencies are nearly always family members such as uncles, aunts, cousins and even children of the monarch (especially if they are absent from the country or ill). But a Regent doesn't have to be a royal. They could just be a noble elected to the position (Sir William Marshall) or even one that siezes power for themselves (Richard of York) or even a council made up of Regents, headed by a Lord Protector.

Who makes a Regent?

As I mentioned before, monarchs can appoint the Regent that will replace them in certain cases. For instance, a monarch would chose the Regent if they were voluntarily leaving the country or they might designate a chosen Regent on their deathbed or just in case of emergency. But they wouldn't chose a Regent if they were ruled mentally incompetent. In those cases, the government would chose.

The Powers and Responsibilities of a Regent

A Regent is the acting head of state but they are not the monarch. They do not have the right to wear crowns or have a coronation and are not granted the hall pass of divine right. A Regent is referred to as their own title, say for example Duke of X, Regent of Y or Prince Regent. They are merely there to fill in for the monarch. A Regent would meet with the government, make decisions with the approval by government and sign offical documents. In cases of an absent monarch, a Regent may need the approval of the monarch themselves. Regents of child monarchs would usually include their charges in the country's running, either as spectator or student. A Regent, being temporary Head of State, would also have the responsibility of ensuring a natural cessation of their power to their monarch when their term is over. Some regents are better than others at handing over power.

Notable Regents of History

George IV, Richard III, Anne of Austria, Katheryn Parr, Richard of York, Margaret of York, Katherine of Aragon, Catherine de Medici, Louise of Savoy, Phillippe duc de Orléans, Edward Seymour Duke of Somerset, Sir William Marshall, John Duke of Bedford, Humphrey Duke of Gloucestershire, John Dudley Duke of Northumberland.

#Fantasy Guide to Regents and Regencies #Regent #Royal guide #Fantasy Guide #Writing guide #writers resources #writing #writeblr #writing resources #writing reference #writing advice #writer #writer's problems #spilled words #writer's life #Writer's reference #Reference #nanowrimo

[fangirleaconmigo]

So I’ve been a bit absent. Putting a ‘read more’ because shit in my life has gotten very real very quickly.

One of my younger sisters went to urgent care with stomach discomfort last Tuesday. It turned out that she had a huge mass in her pelvis, (18x25 cm) and our lives were plunged into a black hole of fear.

In the past week/weekend, she’s gotten blood tests and referrals for more scans. Every test result is more ominous and terrifying than the last. It is definitely ovarian cancer and she will need a major surgery and we don’t know what else.

In one day, I moved her completely into my house. She gave notice on hers. We are trying to find foster care for her cats while she is in treatment because she can’t care for them during, and neither can I.

We still haven’t had a proper prognosis and treatment plan. That will be today, I hope. I am about to drive her to her first actual appointment with a real oncologist.

It’s early and I’m lying awake in my bed. I haven’t slept much in the past weeks. I go to sleep googling ovarian cancer, and I wake up and google ovarian cancer, and I feel like an entire house is crushing me. I can barely breathe. I have to go fetal position for a few minutes sometimes during the day to get through it.

We need some hope today. We need some good news. We need, at the very minimum, a plan for her care. Something to focus on.

Please keep us in your thoughts and send us some love and good will. She is either in shock or being very brave but she could get hopeful, or devastating news today (or more terrifying limbo) and I don’t know where that will leave us.

I won’t try to tell you how much my sister means to me. But I will say that we grew up together in an isolated family with shitty, monstrous, abusive parents and it fused us together in profound ways. I raised her to the extent that a child can raise another child. (It’s like that John Mulaney joke where he said his babysitter was so young, it was like a horse caring for a dog lol)

We are both super sci-fi fantasy nerds. I watch tv with her probably three to four nights a week, and we can talk for LITERAL HOURS about the intricacies of the writing and the characters on the various franchises. We usually agree, but we probably woke the neighbors with our argument about who the best Doctor Who companion was.

We work at the same hospital and share an office one day a week, and the people in the hall probably hear our elaborate Star Wars or MCU theories.

I know better than to get her started about certain things, but no matter what I do, every Thanksgiving she gives an entire speech about how the LOTR movie adaptations failed Gimli, son of Gloin.

We’ve been to Supernatural cons (we’ve both written SPN fic), and SDCC together many times. Actually, we went to ECCC together this year, so @spacecores and @roguepyrola met her and can attest to the fact that she is a mouthy, down to earth, absolutely brilliant, funny, foul mouthed, nerdy ass bitch.

I NEED HER, ok, I FUCKIN NEED HER.

So if you meditate, pray, send intentions, I don’t care what it is, I need it today. Her appointment is in about three hours and we need some hope.

Thanks for reading, friends. ♥️ I know this isn’t fandom related but we’re all real life human beings here with real lives, and that’s what is happening in mine.

#random irl post #ovarian cancer #sister

[makemeactup]

Ringo Starr x Reader - Stolen Glances

Summary: Ringo has feelings for his long time friend, but cant bring himself to do more than steal glances.

This is actually something I wrote for my oc but thought everyone would enjoy it. So — here ya go!

---

It wasn't that Ringo was scared to say anything to you. No, he wasn't the least bit worried about the outcome. You were adults now, it'd be fine. But, perhaps, he was just being cautious about the situation. Weighing up the possibilities and the comfort of the now. Such as:

Everytime you would playfully shove him, or playfully punch his shoulder, or playfully try to fight or wrestle, or just sit next him or drape your legs over his lap or put your head on his shoulder, Ringo held a humongous grin. His cheeks would tint a soft red. His blue eyes took you in as quickly as they could without drawing any attention.

Each time, he played along or dismissed you with a joke. Sometimes he would wrestle or take an exaggerated boxing stance, or he'd put his hand around your legs to make sure that you could relax and not worry about them sliding off. You'd smile at him then, beaming and radiant. And it'd be just for him — until one of the other boys, usually John, demanded your attention.

You were like that with everyone for the most part, Ringo had reasoned. You'd playfully shove George, but you wouldn't try to fight him. You'd use Paul as a pillow, but you wouldn't try to wrestle with him. You'd offer both men your smile, the one they all knew so well. But John, to Ringo's eyes, was too close to how you treated him.

John did get the playful fights and attempts to wrestle, and sometimes you'd get put into a headlock or he'd have his arm wrenched behind his back. John did get sat next to, and he got your head on his shoulder, or legs over his lap. But worst of all, he got the smile. The others got the smile, sure, but that wasn't the same. It was a specific smile.

But who was Ringo against John? Clint Eastwood versus Larry Fine?

Oh well, Ringo would shrug to himself at the thought. You were all long time friends, nothing more. His feelings had to pass, right? The denial certainly wouldn't, but that was neither here nor there.

Sat behind his drumkit, drumsticks held loosely in hand, he watched his friends interact. He watched you as you laughed at something George had said, waving him away. He admired your side profile, your shiny hair. Your shirt was nice today.

Sporadically, his eyes flickered to whoever was talking, an attempt to cover his tracks. He'd crack a smile and laugh at a joke or story, but he wasn't actually listening. Not as he gently hit the cymbals absentmindedly, and not as he looked at you again.

"—right, Ringo?" Came the sudden voice of Paul, the use of his name knocking him back into the room.

It was only then, under the scrutinising stares of his friends, did the drummer realise that his face gave away his previously absent mind. His eyes, dark with the apparent lack of sleep lately, grew briefly wide as he perked up and looked at Paul.

"What'd you say, Paul?"

"You alright? You look spaced out."

"Oh," Ringo blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine. And you?"

"You're gonna get bug-eyed if y' keep starin'," John hummed, smirk wide. He had obviously seen something the others hadn't.

"In me own world," Ringo raised an arm and moved his drumstick in a circular motion beside his temple for emphasis.

"Can I join your world?" You asked innocently, brows arching, as if you'd have to plead for him to say yes.

"'course ya can!" He beamed softly. "None'a these jokers can, though."

"What have I done?" George asked, sounding offended to be included with John and Paul.

"Dunno, let me get back t' you," Ringo offered, earning a small laugh and smile from his friends.

His eyes met yours, and he offered a small shrug. When you didn't immediately turn around, he swore he felt his neck grow warmer and the grip on his drumsticks grow ten times tighter. His lips grew into a lopsided grin, nose turning a soft shade of red.

When you did eventually turn back around, he released a breath he didn't know he was holding. Swallowing thickly and lightly hitting his drumsticks together, he feigned interest in whatever joke or story was being told. All the while, as subtly as he could in the background, he kept stealing loving glances at you.

#Ringo Starr x Reader #the beatles x reader #Enjoy!! 🥰 #John Lennon x reader #Paul McCartney x reader #george harrison x reader #Writing.

[thecameronchronicles]

Spite

TW: Loss of virginity (female), smut. Language. Public sex. Cheating. 

SUMMARY: After learning Rafe is using you, you option to give yourself to his enemy simply out of spite…

WORD COUNT: 2300

REQUESTED:

Anonymous asked:

what if reader is a virgin and she’s dating Rafe and he’s always trying to make her lose it with him but she always says she’s not ready (but the thing is she’s not sure about him because she feels he’s hiding something) until one day she finds out he’s only dating her to take her virginity so when JJ is at her house fixing something or whatever she tells him about the whole rafe thing and asks him if he would fuck her because rafe hates him and he hates rafe and it will make him mad

OR they’re not dating but she doesn’t like him because he’s always bragging about how he’s going to be her first and the same ending

Of course you can change it as much as you like it’s just and idea 💘

Spite

You shouldn't be relieved. Believe it, you were still pissed, but you weren't able to deny the breath of ease that came when hearing him tell Topper it was just sex. The sex you refused to give him as you wanted it to be special. Even if it didn't have to be a rented out hotel room from a five star resort adorned with rose petals and champagne, you at least wanted to have that feeling of certainty you never quite had with Rafe. He was too impatient, a kiss quickly turned French and a series of hands always searching beneath your clothes. And the guilt of how patient he had been and how he had earned this had weighed you down to such a degree that you couldn't even find enjoyment for the rare moments of kindness he showed in your makeout sessions. But now, you were free in a sense. Able to allow the pressures of giving your virginity to Rafe to fall silent as you decided he wouldn't get to touch you, let alone fuck you. 

But the same couldn't be said for JJ Maybank, a hired hand by Ward, who was currently half bent over the engine of The My Druthers as it had begun sputtering. With his usual deck hand, John B, having having been established elsewhere, his trusted friend had taken his place. And it was the sight of him kissed by beads of sweat and straining as he struggled to adjust the choke as the mechanics beneath had somehow become jammed that made you bite your bottom lip. 

This was mainly because JJ Maybank had a reputation. He was the life of the party, a fighter for those he cared deepest for, and a nocturnal lover. All hours spent devoted to his partner. Care and selflessness allowing him a reputation that even if he had ended on horrid terms with the girls, they couldn't lie about how he was in bed. And you saw this even now as he became frustrated with the mechanics of the boat. Where you knew Rafe would tear the thing directly in two or maybe even shoot it, you saw JJ try to almost nurse it beneath his submission. A guide of his fingers on everything he acted on having allowed you mind to conjure them on your body... 

"Babe!" Rafe called from the patio. "You're gonna make me late!" 

"I'll meet you there." You lied, with no intention of going anywhere with him as you could barely stand to look at him let alone feign being happy as he attended yet another narcissistic event on behalf of his father. And without a care to see if he had actually left the property, you advanced towards JJ. 

"Hey there, princess. Mind handing me that?" He asked while pointing to some pliers as you obliged. You and JJ were cordial, but not extremely close. And yet, effortless, whenever a conversation would be produced between you. It happened enough times to know his preference of beer and yours of weather, but nothing deep enough to warrant the confession you were about to make. 

"I guess Rafe had a bet with Topper that he could fuck me before the end of the summer..." JJ slipped, his finger becoming jammed in some gear-type mechanism as you watched the pain absent and replaced with intrigue. 

"I guess if he did, it was a grand, and if he brought proof, it would have been twenty five hundred..." You kicked your toes softly against the side of the engine. 

"That's all my virginity is worth...Two thousand and five hundred dollars." 

"You're a..." He became nervous standing before you. Those very nerves were palpable and almost shameless as you had intrigued him, "I would have thought Rafe had-" 

"It never felt right. It always felt like he was hiding something from me...And guess now I know..." 

He slowly nodded as you saw the light tint of red forming on his hand from the unkind slid made against his skin. Giving you an idea and prompting you to act. Call it curiosity or desperation for revenge, but either way, you optioned for JJ and made these intentions known. 

"I don't want Rafe to be the one to fuck me for the first time." JJ's jaw clenched as you set his hand to your lips, a delicate kiss making his mouth part as his eyes darted to Tannyhill. 

"I want to feel good about who gets to feel me for the first time JJ...You don't have to love me or anything...I just want you to make me feel good..." 

He scoffed. "I uh..." 

"And I'll be sure he knows exactly how good you made me feel when I let him take off all of my clothes..." You pushed him back into the captain's chair as he was helpless against you. You were beautiful. Eager. And instigating every second of this. And he was a glutton for all things to do with you. Even if it was a recent revelation, he was consumed by it entirely. 

"He will get to touch me...but he'll only taste you on me...a pogue's cum staining his girlfriend's ruined mouth-" He suddenly brought you over him in a straddle. 

"This is your first time, and as pretty and dirty as that little mouth is, I'm not gonna come in it." He lifted you onto the captain's chair as he moved onto his knees, rising up to ghost your lips and descend back to the bends of his legs before he spoke. 

"I have to get you as wet as possible so if doesn't hurt-" 

"Not a problem..." You breathed as he pulled apart your suit to find you already saturated. 

"Shit, sweetheart. Is this all for me?" You nodded as he bit his bottom lip. "You been watching me all afternoon and it's gotten you all worked up, hasn't it?" You nodded again. 

"Show me. Take your time and show me so I can see just how you like to be touched..." He sat in analysis, watching you for a second before taking over. A set of fingers seemingly trained for your pleasure made circuits around your clit until submitting one to your sex itself. 

"Faster-" 

"No, sweetheart. I know you're gonna be tight and it's gonna hurt...so I need to stretch you as much as I can-" 

"But it feels so good, JJ...plesse..." 

"I will in time, baby...just get used to my fingers-" 

"Fingers?" You questioned the plural as he set a second adjacent to the first, searching for the most sensitive zone within your wall before massaging thay exclusively. 

"Ever had him go down on you?" 

"He's too fast." 

JJ smirked. "Then consider this a replacement..." He spoke with a grin before pulling your legs over his shoulders and now exchanging his fingers with his tongue. 

"So sweet." He growled, leading you closer to the edge of the chair as he led you even closer to him. You were unabashed with your moans, almost hoping wherever Rafe was he could hear how JJ made you feel. Without a need to embellish, the blonde pogue made your back arch and your legs shake in a way you'd never felt before, all while you called out for him. Nameless moans and whimpers drawing you to an edge as his tongue suddenly withdrew. 

"I want you to be as wet as you can be so I want you to come on my face. Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?" You nodded. 

"I'm close." 

"I know..." He kissed your clit softly before alternating your pleasure between his tongue and his fingers as you shook. 

"Come for me, princess...." He endorsed, that rush of a contradicting icy heat broadcast between your thighs having left you in tremors over him. But as he expected you to need a moment to recover, you stood and pushed him to the other side of the boat. Straddling over him, you dig your nails into his shoulders. 

"Put it in-" 

"Sweetheart-" 

"Fuck me, JJ. I want it to be you...Please, before I change my mind-" He was hesitant as he knew it would hurt. 

"I need some-" He explained as you took only a second to spit on his cock, handling him on perfect corkscrew motions as he moaned beneath you. Your thumb brushed over his tip to luxuriate himself in the precum you'd earned, before you climbed from him and onto your knees. 

"Leincess, I-" You took him into your mouth without a second thought. Sucking in your cheeks and producing tears immediately as you showed how you earned this discarding of your innocence. 

"How the fuck do you do that so good?!" He cursed as you grinned, a tight grip through your hair having guided you in a slow consumption of his cock to keep the pleasure but to keep him from coming prematurely. 

"You get on your knees like this for him?" 

You nodded, having done everything under the sun to keep Rafe happy but also at bay. Only to know have ventured to the far side of the moon for your own pressures. 

"He doesn't deserve that mouth...To bruise this throat..." He set you back to your feet, "And certainly not your virtue." 

"Please, JJ...I'm dripping." His fingers traced between your folds. 

"Poor little princess. You are, aren't you?" 

"Please, JJ...Please..." 

"It's going to hurt." 

"I trust you..." You were guided back over him in a straddle. 

"Slowly." He explained with one hand wrapped around your lower back and the other aligning him inside of you. 

"Slowly- '' He spoke more as a reminder for himself as you took his tip. Your mouth pulled open immediately to the stretch as he continued still. Even though he had been above average, he seemed endless until you'd felt him bottom out. But by the time he had, tears formed in your eyes from the burn of your relinquished virginity. 

"You moved me how-" He tried to offer as you set him into the back of the couch set up the side of the boat, wincing through each thrust. 

"We can stop-" 

"Dont!" You spoke desperately. "Don't...don't stop..." 

"You need to relax then princess, you're gonna make me come, you're you're tight around me." You tried to relax and when he sensed you couldn't, he would make you. With a hand to your neck, almost to cradle you, he spun you around your back, thrusts slow but more shallow as hisbhands came to your breasts. The sensation of his teeth and lips manipulating your nipple made you forget of the pain until only pleasure remained, something he noticed as he no longer heard those wincing wisps of discomfort. And yet, he still called for validation. 

"You alright, princess?" 

"Keep...go-going, JJ...please-" 

"Fuck..." He groaned, fingers eating into the fabric of the leather behind you as he had gripped it tighter as he quickened his motions. 

"I want you to come again-" 

"With me-" 

"Baby-" 

"With. Me." You spoke in finality as he nodded, head at rest into your neck and shoulder as he led you closer into him. A hand to the back of your neck and another keeping himself from crushing you and you were wrapped around him as he accelerated his speed. And even if you expected it to be swift, he would alternate from fast to slow, deep and shallow, until finally pulling your leg over his shoulder and returning it back down over his hip as he had you bent for him so he could see you entirely exposed for him. 

A hand beneath your bikini top would loosen to free and his hands would be quick to amend the chill of the sudden reveal as you groaned beneath him. 

"You feel so good...knowing I'm the first is making me need to come for you..." 

"Then come for me..." He moved deeper and harder, but kept his consistent speed as you were only able to sound in simple pleas as his sweat dripped onto your own. 

"Princess, you're gonna come, I can feel it...And I don't want you to hold back. Scream. Pull my hair. Scratch me until I bleed. I don't fucking care. Just feel good for me and let me make you come. Make me come..." 

"JJ!" You belted, drawing lines of desire into his skin before trembling as you created your edge. 

"Keep going baby, you're doing so good. Taking such good  care of me...shit!" 

"JJ!" 

"Not gonna last long, baby. You feel too good. Sound too good..." You felt him pull you even tighter. 

"Does it hurt this way?" Be asked while leading his hand to your clit. The way your expression deepened into ecstasy prompted your silent response. 

"I'm gonna come baby...you can use your hand if you don't want-" 

"I want you to drip out of me, JJ...I want to have red marks on my ass from your hand, and swollen lips from your kiss. I want you to have every part of me i have left..." 

"Then let me." He groaned, leading you both to that feverish edge until you were climbing down from that second orgasm as he'd basked in that first. But as you moved to adjust, knocking you both off of the west, a series of chuckles would silence as you straddled him on the floor. 

“You’re so beautiful…” He explained how you looked so perfect breathless and perspiring at the end of his fingertips. “But definitely worth more than twenty five hundred…and I stole every piece…”

"Do It again." 

"I'm gonna need a minute, sweetheart, you nearly sucked me dry..." 

"Nearly means you've still got something left-" You led him back between your thighs. 

"Oh fuck..." He breathed. 

"I want you to take everything JJ…everywhere…" You teased your ass with the soaked head of his cock.

"Everywhere."

"You're gonna be so sore, princess…"

"Good. I want to remember all of this…"

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @bethoconnor @pankhoeforlife @pankowperfection

#jjmaybank #jj maybank x reader #jjsmut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank #outerbanks #obx #outer banks smut #obxsmut #obx fanfiction #outer banks

[beebox-illustrations]

So…. Guess what I’m currently rewatching😬

Are there any supernatural fans among you? I’d be delighted :D

Have a fantastic Sunday !✨🌻💚

#beebox-illustrations #supernatural #for a change #what?! why?! #i know #but listen guys #I’ve been such a fan and this series really takes me back 🥲 #they’re such babies in season 1 #super codependent but also adorable #sam winchester #and #dean winchester #being good siblings #John being absent as usual #those motel rooms #and Indiana Jones #i really hope you enjoy that one #web comics #digital art #illustration #procreate

[lykaonimagines]

Mistletoe - Sherlock x Reader

Meant to have this up by Christmas, but I still wanted to put it up :) Might have rushed the ending a bit, but hopefully you all like it ^_^

Paring: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x Detective F!Reader

Word Count: 2,486

Description: When an argument finds Sherlock and Y/N under a mistletoe together in the center of Scotland Yard, Y/N uses the moment to spite Anderson... and maybe for some other reasons too. 

Other Things: Establishing relationship. Embarrassed Sherlock. Mistletoe making them realize feelings trope. I just don’t like Anderson 🤷🏻‍♀️

Warnings: Some swearing. Suggestive. Making out and flirting, but not particularly NSFW.

Masterlist

“Sherlock you know we need a full write up of the case,” Lestrade sighs as he walks through the precinct with Sherlock, Y/N, and John at his heels. 

“I fail to see why John or I need to be here while you write up a report Gram,” he pouts, crossing his arms as they walk.

“You were part of solving the case, we need your side of it. As I’ve told you a thousand times before.”

“I’m sure Y/N could adequately give you that information, she was beside me nearly the entire time. Frankly she’s the only one that kept up this time, and this is the job she’s paid to do in this building. Our presence is entirely unneeded.” 

“Runs around behind you for three days straight and you want to abandon me to paperwork at the first opportunity,” Y/N teases, lightly elbowing the detective. “I see how it is.” 

“Oh, and how is it Detective Y/L/N?” He counters, turning toward her as he lets John pass them both. “Do I have to hold your hand for the paperwork as well?”

“Yes, just like how I held your hand when you nearly fell off that rooftop.” 

Sherlock’s mouth opens then snaps shut quickly, a frown pulling at his lips. “If it was such an inconvenience you could have let me fall.” 

Looking over at the brooding detective, Y/N loops her arm through his and pulls him closer, “I would think we’ve worked together long enough now Sherlock, that you know I’d never let something like that happen to you if I could do something to stop it. And not just because I generally try to protect people if I can in this job.” 

“Oh, then why me specifically?” He challenges, bringing the two to a halt. 

“Well I-” she begins before being interrupted by Lestrade’s voice. 

“Looks like we got two under the mistletoe over here!” He shouts loud enough for all the offices and desks to hear. 

Y/N and Sherlock freeze as all eyes turn toward them, her arm dropping from his as they both glance up to see the festive plant hanging over their heads. 

Their gazes both drop slowly from the offending plant to one another, Sherlock’s eyes suddenly wide with fear. 

“Greg don’t make her kiss the freak, whatever punishable offense she’s committed isn’t that bad. Firing her would be kinder,” Anderson says with a smug smile from his desk. 

Sherlock’s face contorts briefly before looking to the floor at the comment, his usual snarky reply strangely absent.

“Sherlock?” She whispers, he glances up at her quickly, an unfamiliar emotion in his eyes that he seemingly tries to push away. 

Setting her jaw sternly, she glances at Anderson with a scowl before grabbing ahold of Sherlock’s lapels.

“Y/N-” he begins before her lips press firmly to his own. 

A sound of surprise escapes his throat as her lips move on his, his own tightening beneath hers a second later. His hands drift up to her cup her jaw as she opens her mouth to his. 

As his tongue touches hers, their moment frozen in time shatters, breaking apart immediately as whistles and catcalls finally reach their ears. 

Flushed red up his neck and cheeks, his lips wet and already slightly swollen from her unexpected onslaught, Sherlock stares back at her with a look of surprise and embarrassment. 

“Alright?” She asks quietly under her breath, smoothing his lapels back down under her hands. 

“I believe so,” he responds equally as quiet, his eyes searching her intently. “Possibly.”

“Is everything… ok here?” John asks as he approaches the two, his eyes flickering between them. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Sherlock snaps back, turning his face away from John. 

“Just give us a minute,” Y/N reaches for Sherlock’s sleeve and pulls him quickly behind her toward the break room. 

Pulling the door open, she sighs in relief to find it empty. Tugging him in behind her, she drops her hold on him as the door shuts behind them. 

They both steal glances at one another, the drip of the coffee machine the only sound in the room. 

Taking a step back, Y/N crosses the room and tears open the fridge, snatching a water bottle from the bottom. She tosses it to Sherlock as she walks back.

“And this is for…?” He questions. 

“You’re dehydrated, clearly haven’t been drinking enough while we’ve been on the case,” she shrugs and nods toward it. “Drink up.”

“You’ve deduced that have you?” He asks with a raised brow, opening the bottle and taking a long drink. 

“Your tongue was in my mouth, I didn’t have to deduce anything,” she grins, bursting into laughter as he momentarily chokes on the water and glares at her. 

“Was that necessary?” 

“It was rather funny.” 

“Yes, well,” he glares at her and sets the bottle down on the nearby counter. “If we’ve just come here so you can inform me you disliked it and clarify that it only happened to spite Anderson, you can save your words, it’s obvious.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be wrong twice in one sentence actually.”

Sherlock’s brow furrows and he crosses his arms tightly around himself, “Explain.”

Suddenly finding interest in her fingers, Y/N looks down as heat pools in her cheeks, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous and I’m making a mess of this. I meant while annoying Anderson was the reason it happened so quickly, it wasn’t the only reason I did it. And I most certainly didn’t dislike it. Pretty far from that actually.” 

Looking up at him, he tilts his head and she continues, “I also wanted to apologize for not asking first. His comment about you set me off, and I just went for it.”

“You didn’t just kiss me to spite him?” He asks incredulously. “You mean to say… that you…” 

“Wanted to kiss you? Yes,” She finishes as he stares at her and blinks rapidly. “I know. I’ve heard you’re married to your work and don’t do that sort of thing. But I think you deserve the truth after that at least. Lestrade has known for awhile, he teases me about it. Probably why this happened at all today.”

“You’re part of my work,” he finally says sharply, visibly cringing at his own words. “That is to say… my work is not in the way of… more.” 

“You would want that?” She asks in surprise, her own eyes widening. 

“I… enjoyed the kiss,” he admits. “I wanted it to happen.”

Stepping in closer to him, Y/N carefully takes Sherlock’s hands in her own, “So you’d be amenable to doing that more often then?”

“I’d be amenable,” he says softly, his eyelids lowering as he ducks his head down. “Very amenable indeed.”

“Good,” she barely whispers over his lips before sealing them together. 

His hands drop from hers, finding her hips and pulling her in closer as his lips move eagerly against her own. 

Pulling her lower lip into his mouth, nibbling at her lip before soothing it with his tongue. She groans lowly into his mouth, her arms wrapping firmly around his neck. 

His hands shift to the back of her thighs, encouraging her to jump up and wrap her legs around his waist. 

Her lips break from his, trailing sloppy kisses from the edge of his mouth along his jaw.

A low growl rumbles in his chest against her as her lips reach just below his ear and sucks at the skin there. Maneuvering them around, he presses her back into the nearby wall and adjusts his hands to firmly grip her behind. 

Y/N’s fingers tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck, lifting her lips from his skin and chuckling as she looks at the reddening skin. 

“Just marked me have you?” Sherlock asks with amusement. 

“Mhm, maybe got ahead of myself there. I’ve wanted to get my mouth on your neck longer than is decent to admit,” she grins and leans her head back to see his face.

“I’m learning all sorts of things about you today aren’t I Detective Y/N?” He grins back at her almost shyly. 

“I suppose you are,” she shrugs and presses her forehead to his. “I would like some clarification from your side though.”

“You need clarification?” His brow raises. “I’ve currently got my hands on your arse, and you’ve got your legs around my waist. I think there’s little room for interpretation.”

“Well I meant, what did you mean by wanting more? Are you just wanting a friend with benefits, or something more committed.”

His brow quickly furrows at the question, his head tilting as he studies her, “I can’t pursue this if you aren’t mine, only mine. If you don’t want to commit to me-”

“Good,” she says interrupting him and pressing a brief kiss to his lips. “I didn’t want to assume. I’m perfectly happy committing to this with you. I had thought you would be the one to not want that kind of commitment.” 

“I don’t have much experience in that realm. And I suspect it’s going to be intense once I allow it all out,” he warns. 

“Well we’ll figure it all out together. I want this Sherlock, with you.”

Sherlock leans his head forward, briefly burying his face against her neck and exhaling contentedly. “Plan to be spending far more time on Baker Street.”

“Of course,” she replies, running one of her hands through his hair. “We should get back though, I’m still technically working.”

“You’ve been working nearly three days straight, your shift is over,” he grumbles against her skin. 

“Well it is, once we finish that paperwork you were going to abandon me for,” she teases lightly. 

Groaning unhappily, Sherlock pulls his face back and lets Y/N down to her feet, “Fine I’ll assist you. But only so you can leave faster. I’ve got a shower, clothes you can borrow, and Chinese takeout nearby the flat, so there should be no issue with you just coming straight back home with us.”

“Oh really, that’s what I’m doing?” She questions with a playful smirk. 

“You can’t expect me to be perfectly fine with us going to our respective home after just these ten minutes, now that we’ve gotten to this point,” he pouts and crosses his arms. 

“Good point. Though I’ve never seen you in anything but a suit, do you own other clothing I can wear? Otherwise I do have to drop by my flat first.”

Rolling his eyes, he reaches out to lightly grip her chin, “Do you think I sleep in suits?”

“Hmm,” she hums and looks up at him. “Admittedly most of my thoughts of you in bed haven’t involved clothing…”

Sherlock’s face flushes again and he presses his thumb to her lower lip, “I’ve gotten myself a handful haven’t I?”

“I think that would be true both directions,” she adds.

“That would be a fair deduction,” he agrees releasing his hold on her and offering his hand. “Let’s go get the paperwork settled then? The sooner we can leave the better.”

Her hand slips into his, a half smile on his lips as they exit the break room and head back toward where they had left John and Lestrade. 

“£20 on that they’ve all achieved fuck-all in that time and have been standing around gossiping like school children,” Y/N jokes, smiling at the near snort that leaves Sherlock. 

“I don’t bet against the obvious dear,” he remarks as they turn the corner and find themselves the center of attention once again. 

Standing up straighter, Sherlock ignores them and pulls Y/N along with him toward Lestrade’s office. However, just as they reach the doorway, he pauses. 

Taking a step back he whistles, “Anderson!”

The man in question looks up in disdain.

Sherlock turns his head sharply making the now bright red patch just below his ear deliberately obvious and winks smugly, firmly gripping Y/N’s hand and heading into the office. 

“Was that entirely necessary?” She chuckles, glancing at his self-satisfied expression.

“Entirely. For several reasons. The most important being he still had hopes you’d be his next free weekend affair.”

“He WHAT?” She shouts her lip pulling up in disgust. “I’d never in a thousand years, what the fuck.”

“I’d told him before you would be appalled by the idea, he called it jealousy and that I needed to ‘butt out.’ Not entirely inaccurate. Had he managed it, I’d have told his wife myself out of spite.”

“Surely you knew the possibility was zero,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Even if you didn’t realize my feelings for you. Me being interested in Anderson? A married man and an asshole. What a catch.” 

“Are you two about done?” Lestrade calls out from his desk, motioning to the empty chairs beside a very smug looking John. 

“Good news I’d presume?” John asks as the two of them take their seats. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes and reaches over to lay his hand on Y/N’s knee, “Let’s just get this over with so we can all go home.”

“In a hurry to go somewhere?” Lestrade asks with a grin. “Any reason why?”

“Not at all Deputy Inspector.”

“Well if that’s the case, maybe you can stay and help with-” Lestrade starts before Sherlock cuts him off.

“The perpetrator was the affair partner of the wife. The wife was part of the plot, for life insurance money so her and the affair partner could leave the country with the money. She however put in her notice to leave her job prior to her husband’s death, he bought the poison through the city’s homeless network, left his finger prints on the victim’s mug. We found crumpled love letters in his trash, incriminating texts in their exchange. He informed his family he’d soon be moving abroad after he ‘took care of a problem’,” Sherlock rattles off and stands up quickly from his seat, grabbing Y/N’s hand to pull her from her seat. “I think we’re done here. John can fill in anything we may have missed, he took notes. Good day Deputy Inspector.” 

Giving an apologetic smile to her boss as she’s pulled from the office, Lestrade sighs and shakes his head with a slight smile and waves them off. 

“Off to Baker Street are we?” She asks with a laugh as he navigates them through the precinct and out the entrance into the frosty night air. 

“Precisely,” he grins and pulls her in closer to wrap his arm around her shoulders. “We need time to properly bond, I don’t plan on letting go of you for some time.”

“Is that right?” She teases and slips her arm under his coat to wrap around his waist. “Sounds like a good plan to me.” 

 ----

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[bzjohndory]

BEGGING YOU TO TALK ABOUT DINER AU VELVET AND VENEER..............

AUSFSHHHHH

Okay theyre pretty well off but i don’t see them as well liked or popular at least in their school life

I have them set as teenagers so perhaps around the 8th-10th grade? Not quite sure!

I think they’re quite infamous in school for having tone deaf singing >-|o mocked for it, not quite bullied but enough to do numbers for their self esteem

One of the earliest concepts for them is that they’re very bad students like. Academically. Velvet has a bit of a temper to protect her and her brother but rarely goes too far and veneer is well behaved albeit it only helps him get away with stunts he does pull. But they came into contact with Floyd back when Floyd was still in college and offering to tutor students, Floyd would have them come by to the diner to help them study which usually ended with Velvet usually being frustrated and Veneer understanding the concept more thanks to someone’s guidance

Again… AU is very comfort focus.. if u dislike how i portray their characteristics in a lighthearted manner mbad but it is the whole point of brozone diner >-|o

Velvet and Veneer have very rich but id say absent parents. Not to say they weren’t cared for or unloved not in the slightest they were given the best opportunity to succeed thanks to their parents, but it left them feeling neglected when it came to emotional validation when their parents were busy working. They had each other with came to be enough for younger brother Veneer who had nothing but his older sister but not enough for Velvet who desperately wanted to prove herself to genuinely shine and grab the attention of everyone so she wouldn’t have to be considered a nobody with no talent

Unfortunately stealing troll talent is not a thing, and already being bad at school and finding out your tutor is a talented secret emo rock soloist is a bit detrimental to someone who already feels like a jab to ur gut

I imagine that while veneer grew a bit attached to floyd as floyd was a much more stable and affirming figure in his life, velvet couldn’t open her self up to floyd cause not only did floyd have everything velvet want in terms of talent but there wasnt a day that went by that velvet didnt wish to just magically be on par with singing as Floyd

Velvet probably had an outburst of being jealous over Floyd but Floyd offered to give her and her brother singing and voice training lessons, Floyd doesnt really serve as a talent reserve in bzdiner unlike the movie but instead takes on a nurturing stance with the two siblings as he’s helps them improve. So no! Velvet and veneer do not go to jail but they frequent the diner often and esp show up every karaoke night. Veneer is still close to floyd and velvet while more willing to open herself up, simply just has appreciation for floyd for helping her even if she can still be pushy

Plus they’re filthy rich, they tip enormous amounts cause they’re aware they have money but not wholly conscious of the value a 100$ tip is to a waiter

I still think they could grow to become pop stars, just in this AU a bit more earnestly! They’re not like the most pleasant to be around they’re still definitely annoying they’re kids after all but at the end of the day they kind of just come off as naive wannabe stars who don’t know their place in the world outside of the limelight, quite pleased to have Floyd as a stable figure for them

I dont really imagine floyd as a super gentle guy but he is better at handling children, makes sure to reassure and serve comfort to them, and if they’re being brats he’ll let them know in his own snarky behavior

But i have a big soft spot for velvet i imagine that velvet is a bit closer to john dory than she is to floyd becasue john dory can connect to her better to feeling worth nothing when you havent proved yourself yet

But tldr:

Velvet and Veneer have no talent no friends no smarts but instead of leaching off a troll floyd helps them practice their voices, gives them advice on how to he a good friend and helps them study

They’re still bettering themselves with fkoyd just. A nuch more lighthearted take on their dynamic!

#brozone diner asks

[sentientcave]

And They Were Roommates

Part 2!

Sooner than I thought I'd get it done, but I ended up with more time today than I thought. It's moving day! This one goes out to the two people who read this so far (ilu), and also the dream of affordable rent and friendly, walkable neighbourhoods.

Part 1 Here

Fem!SoapxFemReader

~2.6k

Alcohol mention, SFW

MDNI - 18+ Blog even if this is you know, pretty tame at the moment

Your apartment is on the third floor of a walk-up, with a little balcony off the living room, and a decently sized kitchen. The rooms aren’t too small either, and your landlord has never cared about you putting holes in the walls or painting, only that you’re quiet and you have not once been late paying the rent. She lives on the first floor, and you have a sort of pleasant, neighbourly relationship with her. It’s easy enough to like a landlord that doesn’t raise your rent arbitrarily or drag their feet on repairs, but Leslie’s also a handsome, handy butch, and her wife, Amelia, is a wispy artist, and you’ve always been on the cusp of wanting to be properly friendly. You let her know before you head off to work that you have a new roommate moving in today, and that there would be a bit of noise in the afternoon.

“Oh, you found someone? Good. You want them on the lease?” she asks.

“I don’t think she wants to be. She’s just giving me cash so I can pay it. Is that alright?”

Leslie nods. “Sure is, honey. Thanks for letting me know. Oh, and I want to do a check on the radiators before the cold weather hits— Shouldn’t need into your apartment, but the pipes’ll be clanging something awful. It’s supposed to be cold and rainy Monday, so I’ll turn on the heat, and you can text me if your rads don’t warm up.”

“Alright. Thanks Leslie.”

She laughed. “You don’t have to thank me. You’re just saving me paperwork and a trip up the stairs. I’ll be standing by this afternoon if you need the door taken off the hinges to get any furniture through.”

You head off to work, humming to yourself. There’s time to stop for a take out coffee too, something you’d been denying yourself for the last few weeks to conserve money, and the barista gives you an extra shot of espresso, just because she missed seeing you.

God, you would have hated moving away. This neighbourhood has been good to you, and starting over somewhere else would have been hard. You recognize most of the faces around you, and often get a smile or a nod when you pass by, or even a good morning from a few. It feels like being part of a community. You unlock the door to the shop, and you don’t bother locking it behind you while you quickly get things set up.

The bell above the door jingles just as you’re about to go and flip the sign. “You know, you should really keep that locked when you’re not open,” John says. He’s an irregular regular, the sort of customer you see every few days for a couple weeks and then not at all for months at a time. You like him— He’s always polite, and he always takes your recommendations seriously, and comes back to tell you what he thinks. He’s older, but in a non-distinct way where he could be anywhere from 30 to 45. The muttonchops kind of make it hard to tell.

“A customer coming in a minute or two ahead of time is not terribly concerning to me, John. And the shop is open, I just haven’t flipped the sign yet.” You do so, and dust your hands together, like you’ve just accomplished some great feat.

“What if I wasn’t a customer?”

“What, like a robber? I’d give them the money from the till and then ring up the cops so they can stand around and be useless a while.”

His stern expression cracks into a smile, the crows feet around his eyes deepening. “Alright, fair enough.”

“You’re here early. Usually don’t see you until lunch hour. Got a busy day ahead?” You absently straighten a pile of books on the table by the door before you return to your perch behind the counter to sip your coffee.

“Yeah. Helping one of my sergeants move this afternoon. Someplace in the neighbourhood, but you’ll be closed long before we finish.”

You hadn’t realized he was military, but now it seems obvious. He’s got that straight-backed, keen-eyed look to him that could belong to few other professions. “Oh, are you Jamie’s captain?” you ask, connecting the dots. It's too close to be a coincidence.

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re her new flatmate?”

“Yeah! Ha, I guess you’ll get to see how I live. Always weird when a customer crosses the threshold of familiarity.”

“Didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“We don’t— Not yet, anyway. I’ve had an ad out for over a month, she’s the first person who’s responded that I think I could actually live with. You would not believe the number of guys who responded thinking that a picture of their dick counted as a reference.”

“Did Jamie give you references?”

“Yes, her old landlord, her LT and her Captain— Guess that’s you. But I met Ghost last night, and I didn’t really think I needed to call the other numbers after meeting Jamie.” You shrug. “Although looking back on it, I guess getting a vibe check from a giant in a balaclava is maybe not the most legitimate reference I could have received.”

“You ever think you might be too trusting?” John asked, leaning against the counter. He didn’t have a tendency to use his size to intimidate, but he was looming over you now, giving you a stern glare that you’re sure his newer recruits have nightmares about. You’re not intimidated though. You’re too familiar with him by now to be worried. He’s just got this protective, almost fatherly streak to him, and a bit of paranoia that makes more sense now that you know it’s coming from his military background.

“Have you ever thought that you might not be trusting enough?” you ask sweetly. “Not to sound trite, but I’ve found that when you approach things with an open mind and heart, things work out. But maybe I’ve just been lucky.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been eaten alive,” John grumbles, moving away from the counter, shaking his head.

You just shake your head too, picking up your phone so you can text Jamie.

I met your captain!! Well I already knew him but I didn’t know he was your captain

The response comes in almost instantly

UR BOOKSTORE GRIL<

GIRL<

NO FOCKIN WAY<

???

caps got a crush on ye. dirty old man >:( <

Dinny wry kitty ill fight im 4 u<

You hear John’s phone ding. He glances at the screen and laughs, and then looks over at you. “Jamie just told me to square up.”

“Wouldn’t be fair. I bet she fights dirty,” you tell him. “Is that why you call her Soap?”

He laughs again, his broad shoulders shaking. “No, but it might as well be.”

John buys a couple of old westerns and heads out soon after, leaving you to putter around the shop. You get a few customers through, though not many. Fridays are never very busy. Saturday and Sunday are always the busiest days of the week, and the days that the little book shop is open the longest. From what you've gathered, Bruce, the owner, makes most of the money to keep the place going by renting out studio space upstairs. The second floor is a wide open room, and the third floor a maze of little studios. There's a bulletin board behind your counter with all the workshops and events listed. Bruce lives at the other end of the first floor, and you rarely see him. The bookstore was something for his wife, who had gotten bored and moved on to pottery, and then glass blowing, and was currently occupying a studio upstairs and writing a novel. Sometimes she asked you to read chapters of it, and you had to come up with polite ways to tell her that she needed to put a lot more work in that wouldn’t get your ass fired.

Jamie texts you updates on the move, mostly complaints about how she didn’t think she’d need so many boxes, she didn’t think she had that much stuff, as well as a picture of her reclining on a couch while Gaz and Ghost lift it into the air, with the caption RIDES HERE that you receive just as you’re locking up the store.

They gonna carry you the whole way here?

no :( LT said im 2 heavy <

rude fucker <

You should reconsider your no killing in your spare time policy Just this once

ur rite. <

only after ahm dun mvoing tho<

hes useful 2 me yet<

You giggle and stow your phone back in your pocket, picking up your pace so you'd have time to do a quick, last minute clean of the apartment and shut Red Herring in your room so he doesn’t make a run for freedom while the doors are open.

He never listens when you tell him he doesn’t have what it takes to make it out there alone.

You happen to glance out the window when a pickup truck pulls up in front of the building. John and Gaz climb out. It’s a smaller model, and the couch from the picture is strapped sideways across the short-box bed with a pile of boxes stacked neatly underneath. A blue sports car pulls up behind it, and Ghost unfolds himself from the passenger side while Jamie throws her door open and hops out of the driver’s side. You head downstairs to meet them at the front door.

As soon as she sees you, Soap runs over and throws her arms around your waist, picking you up bodily and swinging you around, like she’s a soldier returning from the war and you the long suffering wife awaiting her return back home. You shriek with laughter and hold on tight, worried that she’ll drop you. Not that it’s all that far from the ground. Maybe it’s just kind of nice to be manhandled by a big strong woman.

“Missed ye,” she says in your ear.

“Jamie, we just saw each other yesterday,” you remind her, still laughing. “We just met yesterday.”

“Pff. No matter.” She gives you one more spin before setting you down. “Awlright, let’s put these big strong lads to work, aye? If ye ask nice Gaz’ll prob’ly take off his shirt.”

“I think he should keep it on, actually,” you say dryly.

“Yer right, kitty, don’t want to get distracted while there’s a job to be done. I’ll take my shirt off for ye later, since yer insistin'.” She loops an arm over your shoulders and presses a quick peck to the side of your head before letting go and dashing back over to the vehicles, giving you no chance to say that you most certainly had not been insisting.

No one lets you help, beyond opening doors and helping them navigate corners, but you suspect that you really only would have slowed up the process. They make carrying the couch up the stairs look easy, and the whole job is done in under an hour, despite the three flights of stairs. Soap moves her car to the lot, taking the space Leslie indicates, and you walk up together, Leslie telling her the laundry hours and letting her know that she was welcome to paint her room any colour she liked.

“Hey, John,” Leslie says peering in the open door with a grin. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

John turns a curious shade of pink. “Ah, well. Things have been busy. No time for workshops.”

“Well, you’re welcome back any time. Bring your friends, even.” She claps Soap on the shoulder as she turns to head back downstairs. It strikes you that she only came up to say hello to John, who had done his best to avoid her the whole time they’d been moving boxes. “Nice to meet you, Jamie. You’d best be good for our girl.”

“Ahm always good,” Soap protests. “Ask anyone.”

Leslie glances over at Gaz, Ghost and Price, who shake their heads in unison.

“Awlright, ask anyone except these bastards. They dinnae appreciate me. Even when I was going to order them takeaway and git ‘em a few pints.” She pouts, leaning against the doorway dramatically clutching her chest. “Ahm misunderstood in my own time.”

Leslie chuckles. “Well, she’s a handful. Good luck with that one, honey,” she tells you as she trots back downstairs.

You shuffle Soap into the apartment and close the door so you can release Red Herring from the confines of your bedroom, where he’s been yowling his displeasure for the past hour. She flops over the back of the couch, landing upside down with a sigh, and pulls out her phone, head tipped over the edge of the seat. “What do ye lads want? A Chinese? Or somethin’ else?”

“We also don’t have to stick around.” Gaz looks around at the others. John is looking at your bookshelf with interest, and Ghost is crouched in the hallway, greeting Red Herring. Gaz gives you a sheepish smile. “Or, uh. Maybe we do.”

Soap hauls herself into a more upright position, both hands still holding her phone. Her core strength must be unreal. You briefly wonder if she has actual, honest-to-god abs. “You want ‘em gone, kitty? Hens only?”

It strikes you that whatever this group has going on, it’s more than a little codependent. Better to get used to them now. “It’s alright. I’ll hang out in my room if I run out of social battery. Used to do that when Fern’s friends got to be too much.”

Soap tosses her phone down and flips her legs over the side of the couch and then to the floor. “Oh no, kitty. Dinna start off bein’ accomodatin’ when ye’d rather not be. I can tell ‘em to fuck off. Weal. I can tell Gaz and the captain to fuck off. I have ta drive LT home. No cabbie in his right mind will take the poor fella.”

“Not even the one’s not in their right minds,” Ghost says mournfully. Somehow, he’s coaxed Red up onto his shoulder, and is wearing the fat orange cat like a fur stole. You can hear the cat purring from several feet away. “For some reason, I make people nervous.”

“Couldn’t be the eye black and the fuckin’ skull motif, LT,” Soap says.

“Couldn’t be the size of you either,” Gaz adds.

“Sweetest pup I know,” John agrees. “People just don’t trust these days. Sign of society collapsin’.” He winks at you.

“What’s the word, kitty?” Soap drapes herself over your shoulders and nuzzles against your hair. Her nose runs along the curve of your neck, and it doesn’t seem to bother her even a little that the other three are watching with fascination. They're trying to be subtle about it, and failing miserably. John has a book in his hands, holding it upside down. Gaz is pretending to study a picture on the wall. Ghost is… Well, Ghost isn’t pretending to be subtle. “Want ‘em to go?” Her voice sounds a little breathy against your ear, and you’re not at all sure what to do with the electricity that shoots through your whole body. “Have us some girl time?”

“They did just help you move,” you say slowly. It’s taking a moment for you to collect your thoughts enough to speak. “Would be rude to send them away without a meal, right? Plus Red just got settled into his new nap spot.” You gesture at Ghost, who’s carefully walking over to the chair to sit, holding his shoulders very still so as not to disturb the cat, his eyes still turned your way.

You're not totally sure what Soap thinks is girl time, but you think it might be several shades more intimate than you're used to.

“Aw, yer too good ta my lads, kitty.” Soap kisses the spot right in front of your ear and lets you go. Without her solid body holding you up, you briefly consider melting into a puddle all over the floor, but manage, somehow, through sheer force of will, to keep your knees from buckling.

Leslie was right. You definitely have your hands full.

#cod mw #call of duty #Fem!SoapxReader #fem!soap #soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #And They Were Roommates #Cave Writing #I had to reel myself in from doing a whole bunch of world building for no reason but still couldn't resist some #I just love to set a table #so to speak #I think there will be girl time next part tho #You can't tell me that the rest of the 141 would be normal about Jamie though I would not believe it for a second #She wouldn't be normal about them either

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Chapter 9: I Don't Know If I Can Do It

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same.

Chapter 8 // Masterlist // AO3 Version // Gif Credit // Chapter 10

“Well done,” You said as you handed Chance two twenty pound notes and sent them on their way.

Čiernik neutralised and Shepherd’s fate in the wind, the debrief was long over. Both teams had waited for you and Price, but only Price would be joining them. Part of you wanted to hear the war stories from the 141, really catch up. Then your stomach flared up and your eyes threatened to steam up and you remembered how fragile you’d let yourself get over this calendar month.

Bronze - still conked out on meds - demanded that someone have his drink for him, so you weren’t the only one missing out. Tonight, you’d spend your time numbing your ribs and hidden away.

A naughty mood plagued your mind, a naughty and self-destructive mood that cranked open a trunk of memories concerning the good old days that Price might’ve brought up via his reappearance in his life. You groaned over being at a point in your life where your twenties were “the old days”.

That naughty mood consumed your thoughts with flashbacks you hadn’t considered for years, even since realising Price was alive. Routine for your training years was what was currently playing. Two pints into a night out, you and John used to arm wrestle – an excuse to hold his hand on your part as well as an excuse to display how much you’d been working out – over a sticky table and damp bevy napkins. If the place had a karaoke machine (like your first local did), you’d always sing “Losing My Religion” like you were trying to convince each other of your perspective. Not once did you look at the screen for the words. You would put it on the jukebox if there was no karaoke, create your own jam session that would result in a warning about getting barred.

First time John convinced you to sing with him, he had his hand on your shoulder and stared intensely at you with his forehead to yours as he sang matter-of-factly, if a little unclear due to the cider. You, on the other hand, giggled through each lyric at how overwhelmed by how his steadfast cornflower eyes held you on that stage, losing yourself in the final chorus and getting cut off by your colleague, dragged home by the collar of your shirt and insisting you weren’t that bad, John egging you on all the while.

Difficult emotions bubbled like the beer you used to drink, forming a cathartic yet strangled cry in your throat as you opened the door to your temporary room. You were too injured to wear yourself out with some exercise. That was your usual cure for avoiding uncomfortable thoughts, the energy expelled causing you to pass out without any struggle of tossing and turning – or of nightmares. Even though you were absent of any gear, or your weighted blanket back at your base, to ground you into a mattress, your ribs would’ve complained the entire night. So today you were forced to recognise that the cork on your anxiety was coming loose, and the presence of Price – paired with your lovestruck Sergeants – was the equivalent of shaking the bottle. 

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself with a hard sniff.

The expletive offered a mild release of emotion, staving off the crying for a little longer. Long enough to raid the medical wing for some more disposable ice packs, long enough to get caught red-handed and by none other than the main cause of your pain.

“You’re back early,” You remarked as if you weren’t using your shirt as a makeshift basket for icepacks.

Price pushed a hand through his hair, smoothing it out whilst stuffing his beanie into his coat pocket, “Had my fill. The boys were insisting it was because I was getting old.”

“You’re not old. ‘Cus if you are, then I am too, and I’m not old.”

“Course not,” Price said wryly. Then he gestured to your haul, “Need a hand?”

Already, he was approaching you and – against your better judgement – you let him scoop a couple out before you both headed back to your room.

Holding your nerve, you made an attempt to be blasé: “Don’t suppose you had a sing-song at the pub?”

“No. Haven’t since I lost my duet partner.”

You winced around the corner, hoping Price would take it in response to your injuries. He must’ve done, for he didn’t allow any silence to linger on his remark:

“Played a few sessions of Shithead to determine whose round it was. You got any other plans for tonight?”

You crushed and placed a pack onto your ribs whilst John opened your door, letting you in first as you replied, “Just lie in a pile of these.”

Price’s hum with approval was masked beneath the bed creak as you carefully placed yourself on the edge of it, your chin in your hand, whilst you awkwardly iced your back. Your eyes closed without considering the extra person in the room, yet you took note of the mattress waning beneath their weight and refused to be shocked by the calloused fingertips that touched over the condensation on your hand.

“Here,” Price said, his voice low in volume and tone.

Fingers slipping out of his gentle hold, you let Price take over holding the icepack against your side. His other hand squeezed your corresponding shoulder, thumbing out the knots on that side of your spine – and there were a lot of knots. Needless to say, you were not expecting this, nor were you expecting to crave this kind of treatment until you found yourself sitting up straighter, following Price’s hand whenever it adjusted its grip on your taut muscles.

Clearing your throat, you opened your eyes, “You always made fun of me for my spa days.”

“Well, I’ve matured now,” John said quietly, his thumb digging around the edge of your left shoulder blade, “Enough to understand the value of a back rub – maybe a good bath bomb too.”

Laughter that coughed and clogged up your throat erupted from you. A tear splashed between your spread legs, leaving a little mark on the thin rug. Another ran through the same track and slipped down your face faster. That laughter slipped into sniffles fairly quickly after that.

Price’s hands stilled, “Did I hurt you?”

You sniffed and shook your head. You massive liar.

Very easily, John could’ve just offered you a tissue from the box on the bedside table. Instead, he moved to kneel in front of you, and he went to cup your face. Tilting your head away, you pushed his hands down.Temptation was enticing you to rest your forehead against his for just a second, how it would heal all torment he’d caused you – inadvertently and otherwise. You knew this was beyond a slippery slope. It was a straight drop down a crevasse with the bottom masked by fog. Shaking your head, you looked to your bedside lamp instead of him.

Without forcing you to look at him, John spoke, “I know I’ve got no right to ask you. But I’m a selfish man.”

Stubborn, yes. Ruthless, agreed. Cold. At times. But you’d never describe Jonathan Price as selfish. Not until now, at least. You realised you were still holding his hands away, a light grip he could’ve escaped from easily but hadn’t. Your face crumpled on itself and more tears fell, your head knocking against John’s as he lowered himself to his knees between your own

“Even just a scrap of that time to apologise, properly – now I know you’ve said you’re okay with what happened, but I’m not-”

His hands curved around your wrists. There, his thumb traced over your wrist where your pulse jumped under your Viking helmet tattoo – the one he argued wasn’t accurate because it didn’t have horns.

That night you got it, he’d jeered with a beer in his hand, “I should know; it’s my damn call-sign!”

You had been so drunk on his company but so jilted by his accusation that you were prepared to cross the country with him there and then to retrieve your GCSE History certificate and wave it in his face as you declared that Vikings never actually had horns on their helmets. But then you would’ve lost your spot at the parlour, and you really liked that tattoo artist’s style so you had a juvenile John sat beside you, mumbling under his breath how wrong you were to wind him up.

Your brimming tears shocked you back to the present day, having ignored most of John’s apology in favour of reminiscing of when things felt easier.

You tuned in to the end of his speech: “I kept you in the dark and lost you. I’m sorry for that and the pain I’ve caused you. I don’t expect anything. But we’re on borrowed time already. I don’t wanna waste any more of it.”

At that, you snatched your wrists back, for his words had breathed new life into the anger you convinced yourself was dormant. “We could’ve had all the time in the world, but you left me! Why did you leave me? Don’t patronise me with the “I wanted to protect you” shit. Why didn’t you come back for me?”

And you broke down sobbing, gasping for breath as your head lolled in shame, your neck and gut rife with rile. You’d never felt so pathetic, weeping over him like this after saying it was all okay. Nothing was okay. You wanted all the years of your mourning back. You wanted them back and your John back too.

He was looking upon you with pain pinching in his brow, and his voice was as gentle as he could be: “Because I’d pick you over everything.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to leave for me!”

“You wouldn’t have to. You never did.”

God, you wanted Chance or Ghost to use you as a punching bag to block out this agony that wracked your entire body with the vines of grief. Worse still, John’s honesty struck worse than any condescending comment he could’ve conjured. It told you all you needed to know about him, and it asked you something new about yourself: if he asked you to leave team Banshee, would you? Your hesitance frightened you to your core, and you know it did the same to John and his commitment to the 141.

“I’m so sorry I took you for granted, that I never came back for you. I’ll spend my life and the next making it up to you. And at the moment all I can offer you is when our leave aligns, a flat by the Mersey, and a bottle of bourbon. But I’ll give you all I am, all of it.” John sealed his promise with a kiss to your forehead,“I’ll be behind whatever you want to do about this.”

The vines were wrapping around John now, constricting you two together, interlocking your bodies together until your anguished lips found his. He tasted like the mint he’d sucked on during his walk back to base.John’s stubbled chin grated as if your face wasn’t melting with tears, desperate to print onto him. Your irreverent fingers ploughed through his cropped hair, too short to hold onto. Teeth pressed uncomfortably together. You couldn’t picture any of the romantic whirlwinds you’d conjured on lonely nights in times gone by; your mind only allowed you to take in how you and John clawed at each other, as if a loose enough grip would lose him to you forever.

As your tears blurred your sights, the truth came clear in your mind. Through an exhale that tremoured like a needle on a gauge, you pushed away from him and heaved out, “I can’t take the trying to get on without you again, I can’t. I can’t go to your funeral again. Don’t make me.”

And how you begged him, when you knew he couldn’t guarantee you a damn thing.

John’s misty eyes clung to your form without breaking contact once as he swore, “I won’t.” He renewed the vow to every plea you made, each one a plate of glass placed around you two until you were surrounded by the fragile promises that would shatter as soon as one of you left the room.

He kissed you again, simple and sweet like nothing else in your lives. You finally touched him with those hands you’d killed with, cradling his jaws as your noses slanted together, chests levitating both your bodies up and down in asynchronous panting.

But even as you felt his touch prickle across your goose-pimpled skin, the rest of your truth pushed out of your mouth and into his:

“I wanted to forgive you, I really did. But I can’t.”

Your sobbing ceased the second you finished speaking, nothing but your wrecked breathing and tears left behind in the shock that you’d finally said it. In its wake, you were faced with John’s broken expression as he stared unmoving at you. His lips parted with a shuddering and short exhale. In that moment, you knew then that he thought you would forgive him. All you could respond with was a touch of your hand to his cheek in an offer of little comfort when you repeated yourself:

“I can’t.”

John’s eyes flickered but still did not blink, as if you would vanish the second he dared not to keep you in his sights. Nowhere in those eyes did you see him imploring you to change your mind. He simply reeled in the agony of reality crashing into dreams, splintering them beyond repair. You looked, really looked, past the youths you used to be. Borrowed time indeed, in your line of work, the flecks of grey in John’s beard and minute scars in his skin hinted at what remained of his life.

You decided to let yourself yearn for your history one more time.

“But can we…” You wiped your nose and sniffed, “Can we pretend, for the next few hours, that I have forgiven you?”

John swallowed and nodded. His eyes were wet, but he released nothing until you kissed him again, and you felt the first splash from where his cheek bumped yours, salt soaking together.

Trembling and keeping your lips to his, you removed John’s watch and touched over the nerve diagram, your not-so-matching tattoos. Your fingertips treaded along where his pulse ran on tracks through thick hairs and collected the sleeves as they went. Forming fists, you tugged at the bunched-up fabric, gently at first, then growing rapidly impatient, soon grappling with his shirt just as his tongue made an intrepid entrance in your mouth. An intrusive hand beside your injured ribs spun you around and into his lap, John now perched beside where you’d been, his shirt somewhere else. He was holding on tightly, and you were scratching his furred chest too harshly, the kiss clunky and incoherent.

Grief was forcing its way back up your throat, rejecting this attempt to compel reconciliation. Your last ditch effort to keep it at bay made you press your lips hard against hard down his neck until your broken cries were bleated against his collarbones.

John’s agitated chest kept you trapped with his arms warped around you. His trembling tongue whispered over and over “I’m sorry” beside your ear, his intentions clear but muddied by the impact of his words, stabbing you in your heart with every repetition.

Mustering enough energy to hold yourself together, you shut him up with your mouth on his, determined to make this easier for you both. Smoothing out his sticking-up hair did precious little to conjure the comfort you were seeking. Your face slid away from his in the rush of tears pouring down John’s face like rain on a car window. Resigned, you slumped against his chest, letting your breathing hiccup in your aching chest. John drew you back into his arms, applying an icepack to your side as he somehow manoeuvred you both under the blankets. At least he wasn’t apologising anymore.

You began phasing between light sleep and wake. Though you were roused from sleep by your ribs, each time the vines’ grip he held you in squeezed intermittently and kept you safe in a bubble whilst acting as if you weren’t in these impersonal quarters, maybe even in that apartment he mentioned. A few times, both of you were awake, having moved away to the far edges of the bed in your soporific turmoil. He returned to you every time and did just as you asked: pretended that this you could have each other like this, every night past the sunrise.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“When I next wake up, I want you gone.”

Silence for a minute. And then:

“Ok.”

-------------------

AN: Black Viking was an access code for Captain Price, so I reworked it as a callsign for this fic - though it's more like "Viking" as the callsign.

Thank you for your patience with the uploads! Only two chapters more to go! Thank you also @bunnyreaper for being a Beta on this chapter <3

Tag-list: @mockerycrow and @algor-babe

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic #cod x reader #mw2 fanfic #mw2 #my writing #series #r: gn