#fae!Price

[ghouljams]

More of fae!Price and his magic fingers because I'm so *screaming into pillow*

He presses you down against the bed, kissing you. You hold his face, scratch your fingers through his beard, as he turns you, stretches out alongside you. He hooks his arm behind your head to keep you close and only pulls away long enough to tell you, "takin' these off," it that way that feels like half a question. You're quick to help him get your panties down, quick to shiver and spread your legs when he rubs his finger along your slit, stopping to circle your clit. He gives it a light tap and trails his finger back down to your hole.

You raise your hips a little, just enough to entice him to press his finger into you, and you feel yourself make a soft noise against his lips as he pushes in. He licks the noise out of your mouth, his tongue twisting with soft movements against your own. You half expect him to start in on you, but he eases you open with his finger, the gentle in and out as he strokes your walls makes you shiver and try to follow the movement with you hips. You can feel him smile against your lips when he brushes over your sweet spot and you let out a quiet whine.

It's enough encouragement for him to add a second finger. When you attempt to break the kiss to watch him, Price pulls you back in, licks his broad tongue over your lips and tips your head back. You're dizzy trying to keep up. He jabs you sweet spot and you moan against his lips, his fingers twist and you whimper. You feel your hips buck, and your back arch off the bed to try and keep up with the jab, jab, twist of his thick digits. Each time he works you up, hits the right spot, he pulls back to stroke your gummy walls. Teasing until you moan with each thrust of his fingers, and your own grip his shirt so tightly you worry it might rip. You're hardly kissing him, panting against his lips as you arch against his chest, your head tipping back as your eyes roll. Price nips at your throat, his fingers focused on hitting the soft spongey spot that makes your stomach tighten. You could light a fire with the heat he fucks into you, the pleasure that zips up your spine is unlike anything else.

His fingers work you faster, more precisely, and the sound changes. The wet smack of his fingers is different, doesn't need his palm to hit you to be loud and noticeable, and it is loud. You'd be more concerned if it didn't feel so good, everything just keeps getting hotter and tighter in the pit of your stomach. Price groans, his lips just brushing your ear, "Fuck that is a good girl." You clench on his fingers, feel him pull back to add a third, twisting them in and out of your cunt, giving you a burn so delicious it almost makes up for the coil in your stomach. He draws back, rubs his wet fingers up over your clit. "Little break sweetheart, then back to it," he tells you, kissing your cheek. Break from what you don't know, but the attention to your clit adds a new tension to your spine that tingles over your skin. He doesn't stay there long before pushing two fingers back into your cunt.

Again. The work up to those loud squishing noises is shorter this time, his fingers are more precise, they give you less time to get used to the short jabs of pleasure. The pressure doesn't stop building, and you can't do anything but pant and moan. Price kisses you, and murmurs sweetness that you hardly understand. He asks you a question, you think. You try to get a word out, any word, but you feel too scrambled to talk, his fingers don't stop. Your everything feels tight enough to break, like you're holding something back. You nearly cry when he pulls out his fingers to play with your clit again. You want nothing more than for him to fuck you right now, his fingers aren't enough to break whatever dam he's beating at.

Again. He kisses you until you can't hold it anymore, until your eyes are squeezed shut and you're arching off the bed. Price's teeth tease your neck, you dig your nails into his shirt and bemoan the fact that they aren't digging into his skin. His fingers- you are going to ban him from fingering you- his fingers jab, hard and fast, up and down, in and out, until you are writhing, begging (with no words, "Can't even talk, can you?" Price coos) for a release. "Come on," Price encourages, the deep rumble of his voice in your ear as you sob and moan for him gives you little comfort, "come on, give it to me sweetheart, one more."

Something breaks. The pressure doesn't release, but something does, something warm and wet. You feel it when it leaves you, feel it soak the bed under you, feel it soak your thighs, hear Price moan and feel his hard cock press against your leg as he holds you open. He pulls back and watches your pussy, pulls his fingers from you and rubs them over the slit. You heave in a breath, look down at him between your legs, watch him studying you with rapt attention. His shirt is sprayed with drops of wet, and you can see it glistening on his forearm. You shudder when he drags his fingers over your clit. You feel boneless.

"Fuck that is sexy," he breathes, leaning down to drag his tongue over your dripping cunt. It's a short but broad stroke, enough to wet his beard before he sits back again. Your hips jump away from his fingers as you try to get your bearings.

"What did-"

"Didn't think you'd squirt like that, should've gotten undressed," he fills in. Your eyes roll back as he pushes his fingers into you, he jabs your sweet spot with another few short quick thrusts and you feel another break of wet. It's strange, you've never- you didn't even know you could- it doesn't feel the same, but the release... you reach down to feel the slick coating your thighs as Price pulls his fingers free.

"Fuck," you whine, you can feel how soaked the bedspread is, your thighs aren't any better. Price sucks his fingers clean and opens his fly, pushing his pants down to pull his flushed cock free. You've never seen him so hard. You own fingers spread your pussy for him and you hear the growl deep in his chest as he strokes himself to the sight.

"That's my girl," he tells you, lining up his cock with your entrance, "always wanting more, greedy little-" whatever you are is lost to the loan groan he lets out as he fills you, lost to the soft gasp you draw in at the stretch. "Fuck, this pussy," he praises and you whimper.

"John, please."

He shakes his head and you watch his shoulders moving with the effort of drawing in each breath as he waits to move. "Never wanna hear anyone say my name but you," he says finally, pulling out to slam back into you, "so scream it loud sweetheart."

You do. Good lord you do.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #captain price mw2 #captain price #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price x female reader #john price #john price x reader #price cod #price mw2 #oc: witch #fae!price #i know he isnt doing anything fae but this is in that au so idc #price x witch

[peachesofteal]

Fae!Price/female reader This is a little piece of Long and Lost from this world.

Inside the pub on main, there is a girl. 

She’s a normal girl, to most, perfectly ordinary in nearly every way. She works her job, sees her coworkers, visits the darkly lit bar for a pint every now and then. Within the throngs of people drinking and eating and laughing, she appears like any other. Dark eyes watching the television with mild interest, glancing across other people’s faces politely. A brown coat, dusky orange scarf, a pair of blue jeans. Black leather boots that are scuffed at the toe. She orders a beer, keeps to herself, and minds her manners. She blends in so seamlessly, you’d never take a second look her way if you were in this bar, drinking with your friends, having a laugh. 

The only thing that could possibly distinguish her, is the black ribbed turtleneck. The bartender has never seen in her any other shirt, even in the summer. He assumes it’s because she’s a creature of comfort who likes what she likes, the type who enjoys a staple piece. It’s how he thinks of her, whenever she settles herself at his bar. The turtleneck girl.

He doesn’t know the turtleneck hides the most unique thing anyone in this town would ever see. He doesn’t know that the skin beneath her jaw glows with a sea glass green mark, one that calls to a world beyond a veil, that shines like a lighthouse guiding its lover home through treacherous seas. A mark unique in its shape, size and power, unlike any of this realm, or any realm, save for one.

It’s nearly midnight when they arrive. 

Almost everyone has gone home for the evening, and only the bartender, the turtleneck girl, and the old man linger. 

When the bell chimes, they all glance at the newcomers, and only the girl does not say hello. She does not say anything in fact, choosing to look immediately down into her half empty pint, turning the options over in her mind. The bartender welcomes them, directs them to choose a place a sit, wherever they like, hospitality their kind does not deserve, a truth no one here could know, except for her. The back door is so, so close to where she’s perched, and she could make it, if she ran. If she flew, she could be outside the pub and over the rooftops in seconds, leaving this town to the ash, to the destruction that the 141 will surely wring from its bones, as they do most places, in most realms. 

A trace of power slithers across her skin. It’s a probe, an inquiry of some kind, scratching at the shell surrounding her magic, tapping against the ethereal light that sits trapped inside her chest. Her muscles tense, thighs shaking with the effort to hold still, hold her breathe, hold herself at bay. She wants to explode, wants to Shine inside this pub and shred the Fae hunters to pieces, wipe them from this plane of existence and send them back to their own. 

They’re war addicted, hungry beasts. They don’t belong here. 

But they’re not the only monsters in this room. 

She shoves the power away, shoves it as hard as she can, a pulsing shockwave that rattles the foundation, and leaps from her stool, sprinting out the back door, run, run, run-

She makes it as far as the alley before she feels the Prince’s sun kissed whip around her throat, jerking her backwards like an animal, restraints wrapping around wrists and legs, forcing her to her knees. 

Maybe if she begs, if she cries, they’ll let her go. They’ll spare her. 

“It’s not me.” She croaks, flexing against the sun searing rope that stays taut around her neck. “You’ve made a mistake. Release me.” 

“I don’t think so.” The Prince croons, smiling in a sick, sadistic way that turns her stomach. She rails against the binding, straining with everything inside of her, urging her power up through her pores, wings screaming beneath the sinew at her back. Shine, they cry. Shine and blow them all back to Faerie.

It’s no use. She’s no match for a single Fae in this world, let alone four of the most powerful, not with how weak she’s grown. 

The Captain settles himself on the pavement, bending at the knees, still straight backed and proud, blue eyes meeting her head on. He’s not afraid, does not tremble, does not falter before her like the others who have tried to collect their bounty have. 

“Fuck you.” She sniffs, turning her face away. The other three loom in the background, unmistakable now that they’ve dropped their Glamour. 

The Ghost.

The Chaos.

The Prince.

The 141, in the flesh. 

The Captain rises to his full height, motioning for the Ghost, some sort of magical bond sizzling through the air, communication that burns in the breeze on this cold winter’s night. “You’re in a lot of trouble, little angel. And so far from home, too.” He cocks his head, arms crossed across his chest, and she snarls, snapping her teeth.

“Keep your cretinous fucking hands off me.” She spits, and John Price only smiles, cupping her jaw in a wide, warm palm. 

“No.” 

#we love an enemies to lovers in this house #fae!au #fae!Price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #peaches writes #I really just want to write fantasy books like a loser

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Between Fire and Ice

Witch x Rún X Price

You try making a fatigue potion, only for it to go very wrong...very very wrong.

This was inspired by this post by @ghouljams and since then I've been having brain rot. So enjoy this 5k not so short short fic of majority smut. I'll likely make a part two but no promises. Thanks to @ghouljams for their encouragement of my brain rot. I blame you for my Witch smut hyperfixation. Now you'll have to deal with me writing unhinged fics about her - xoxo 💋

Rún is a reader insert

This isn't canon

Warnings: MDNI, accidental self-drugging, aphrodisiac smut, degradation, oral sex (Witch and Price receiving mainly Witch though), vaginal sex, p in v sex (Witch), creamie, dry humping, orgasm denial, breeding kink, hair pulling, rough treatment, little bit of cum play, spitting, choking, Dom/Sub dynamic, Price being mean and withholding orgasms, extensive teasing, fluff, lighthearted bickering, sorry if I missed any.

Part 2

Forgotten Sorrows Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 5k

Your ears were buzzing, well not quite buzzing but something very similar. You could hear the blood rushing to your ears making hearing your own thoughts difficult. Trying to ground your mind was proving to be very taxing in this situation despite your best attempts at staying present. Your pounding heart definitely wasn't helping your predicament either. You try to focus on things to distract yourself like trying to identify oddities on Witch's shelf. But the smell of your dripping cunt was starting to overpower you're senses, causing your mind to go a blank.

You sit on her sofa with a towel underneath your skirt. It was just a precaution. You didn't want to stain it with your… your cum. You really shouldn't have tried making your own potion to cure tiredness, but you had seen Witch do it so many times that you thought you could pull it off without having to constantly bother her anymore. That definitely didn't go to plan. It seems you only ever make more trouble for her.

She walks back into the living room causing your blood to rush to your cheeks and ears again. You didn't know how to look at her anymore. Who would have known your potion would turn into an aphrodisiac. At least she was very understanding of the situation, even going as far as to offer you her guest room so you could "relieve" some tension as she goes about making an antidote. But you couldn't bring yourself to agree. The situation was as embarrassing as it is. You've been suffering here with heated skin and trembling legs for the past thirty minutes and the ache was just getting worse. You couldn't let her know that her proximity to you was causing spikes in your heart pounding. Sweat drips down your forehead as you watch her cipher through her books to find something.

“What were you thinking of when making the potion?”, Witch holds up the half empty bottle examining it in the light. The colour shifts from a deep magenta to a blood red.

“The cause of my sleepless nights….”, you don't need to elaborate. She understands what you mean.

“It's probably the reason the potion turned into an aphrodisiac. How are you holding up, do you want me to get you some cold water?” She looks at you with concern. You've been restless since you arrived. Your sweaty skin wasn't helping you look any better. It looked like you were going through a bad fever. She walks over and places her hand on your forehead. She radiates such warmth, making things even more difficult for you. You inhale her wildflower and rose scent. Breathing in the literal definition of summer air. There's a sweet after smell making your mouth water in need. You'd give anything to attach your mouth to her sweet honey tasting skin.

She brushes your hair away from your sweaty forehead trying to get you to focus on what she was asking you. You know she was probably checking for a fever but her soft hands were making the ache so much worse. Yet you wanted to be greedy and let her hands stay on your body for as long as possible. Even though you knew it'd cause you so much pain when she removes it. You wanted to feel them in other places. Wanted her to caress your body as she undresses you. Wanted to know how her meticulous hands would pay attention to all your curves and soft dips. How she'd play with your sensitive nipples. You snap out of thoughts when the front door abruptly opens. Price's voice rings out from the hallway before he enters the living room. He seems confused but you're too far gone to listen to more than one person at a time.

The second Witch removes her hand to turn towards him, your body feels like it's engulfed in flames. Like every nerve endings was lit like a sparkler refusing to be put out. Your mind goes blank as you squeeze your thighs together with all your might. You could feel your slick soaking your panties and skirt. If you tried standing up right now it'd probably run down your thighs ruining your stockings. Instead you clutch the sofa for dear life as you try your best to breathe through this. In…out…in…out…1…2…1…2… you shut off your mind and just focus on your breathing. You don't care about what Witch and Price are talking about. You'd prefer not having to listen to Price at all. For some reason in this state he was pissing you off even more than usual even if he wasn't actually saying anything to you. You were probably upset that he took Witch's attention from you but it's whatever.

“Rún?... Rún?...” Witch waves a hand in front of your eyes but you seem dazed. You glance at her but words don't leave your mouth. “This isn't good…Price keep an eye on her while I try to finish up the antidote”, She leaves for the kitchen before he can say much. He wasn't expecting to deal with this today. He smelled sex the second he had walked in yet it wasn't the smell of his Witch. You smelled of fresh flowers budding from winter snow, the smell of fruit just starting to bloom on trees. The smell of freshly baked goods when walking down the street, mostly sweet like vanilla or caramel.

You poor thing, accidentally making an aphrodisiac. You were that pent up huh? You needed to get dicked down, needed your pussy played with experienced hands. Maybe he could call Soap to come help you. But your friendship was only just budding. So that wasn't going to work. Also he doubted Witch would let him into her home either.

It would have been interesting walking in on Witch playing with your pussy. But that was expecting too much from her. Even after the shop incident he didn't think she believed you were sexually interested in her. Price walks over to where you sat so he can crouch down to eye level. When he does this you come out of your daze and look around before fixing him with a glare. He watches you clutch onto the sofa for dear life.

“Need some help hun?”, You glare at him before shaking your head not trusting yourself to talk anymore. Price chuckled as he made himself comfortable on the opposite end of the sofa. He shouldn't have expected a different answer. You always had your walls up high. He has never seen you in such a horny state before. You poor thing, you looked like you were in a lot of pain. It would be fun teasing you though. He doubts he'd be given another opportunity like this.

“What were you thinking about then? Was it Witch? Was it her tight little cunt you were dreaming about devouring?..Hmm?....Not going to answer me are you? Did you like imagining her playing with your little pussy.”, Price watches you squirm in place at his words as you glare at him. But he doesn't stop there; he keeps going until you have tears threatening your waterline. Oh how fun it was to watch you squirm. The living room was filled with the smell of your wet pussy. It smelled good enough to devour. He's surprised Witch didn't react to it. Probably too busy trying to help you neutralize whatever it is you drank. He keeps teasing you and teasing you until you finally break. You let out a pathetic sob from your trembling lips, while tears fell from your eyes. The sudden noise causes Witch to hurry back into the living room with urgency.

“Price! I said to keep an eye on her! Not make her cry!”, she reprimds him, clearly annoyed by his behaviour.

“I was just helping her sort through her feelings, it's not my fault she's in denial..”, Witch comes over to soothe you by petting your hair and face while you cry it out but her touch just causes you to squirm more. In the two minutes she's comforting you, smoke starts filing in from the kitchen causing everyone to direct their attention to new problem that arose.

“Oh fuck!”, the candles in the room light up as she runs to the kitchen to check on the potion with Price following closely behind to help. You knew the potion was ruined before she even said anything. The world had it out for you today it seems.

Witch immediately begins on a new one while Price promises to keep quiet for now. Twenty minutes go by and you feel like your about to pass out from dehydration. The thoughts Price put in your head were swirling and driving you absolutely insane. He painted very erotic visuals of Witch for you that you can't get out of your head. All you wanted to do was quench your thirst by attaching your mouth to Witch's cunt. Allow her sweet nectar to dissipate the ache between your legs. The breathing technique you were using wasn't helping anymore. So you had to resort to more of a drastic measure to stay somewhat sane. You hide your left arm away from Price's view, not that he was paying attention anymore. The bastard got his fill of tormenting you today it seems. He was now sitting quietly reading a book not acknowledging you anymore.

You begin to lightly claw at your arm. Not trying to draw blood just enough for the pain to distract you. It was better than feeling like your whole body was going to explode if you didn't get to cum. You claw and claw until pain is all your feelings. You don't know when or how but you begin to draw blood without realising it, too much in a fixated state to care or notice. It's only when Price has your arms in a tight hold do you realise what you're doing. He seems annoyed. You try your best to escape only for him to snap his fingers and have your arms restrained.

“Stop! I need to check if you did too much damage!”, Again Witch hears the commotion only to storm in to find Rún tied up tightly with one arm bleeding. Immediately they both spring into action Price gets some water to clean the wounds and Witch gets salve and bandages. She coos at you as you cry telling you it wasn't your fault and that she's sorry for taking so long. By the time they realise that the potion is left unattended again it's too late. You're still tied up so you won't hurt yourself again as Price tries to comfort Witch about the second burnt potion.

“You don't understand I'm out of a key ingredient and all shops are closed on Sunday” Witch sits with her head in her hands. “How am I supposed to help her now?”, Witch looks at you with pity. You squirm and cry in your restraints trying to escape the burn of the rope against your skin. The feeling was too overwhelming and you wanted out.

“I have a couple ideas….”, Witch looks at Price confused as to what he was suggesting.

-

You don't how things ended up like this but you weren't exactly complaining.. apart from your bound hands that is. Striped bare with only your cum stained stockings on you sat prettily on your knees in front of the sofa where Price had Witch sat on his lap. She looked embarrassed and flushed as her legs were held open for you to see her panty clad pussy. There was a wet spot developing. Price had a smug look on his face as he was the one who had situated you on your knees for Witch. If you were in your right mind you wouldn't have let him strip you. And you would have felt guilty for forcing Witch into this position but right now all you could think about was drinking her sweet juices from her cunt. You wait for permission constantly looking into her eyes then back to her pussy.

“Look at how pretty she looks on her knees for you luv. And you thought I was joking when I said she wanted to eat you out. Look at her panting like a bitch in heat begging to quench her thirst with your cum”, Witch moans at his words while you whimper for being degraded. It made you want to cry but you wanted your mouth on her pussy more. You watch Witch stutter through her words not making much sense as you watch Price move her clothed cunt over his bulge causing her to whine.

“You should offer her a drink as a good host, look at how parched she is.”

“I-I’ll get some w-wat-”, Price deliveries a mean slap to her clit making her yelp and causing her to forget all her thoughts.

“Why bother with water when there's a tap right here”, he emphasizes his words through a couple more slaps to her clit which are followed by jolts from Witch. “Get closer Rún”, You hesitate at his words, your eyes flickering to Witch's as a way of asking for her permission.

“P-price we're supposed to be helping her..”, Price removes his hand from between her legs and brings it to her throat giving it a generous squeeze. “We are helping her”, Price growls in her ear. He knew for a fact that Witch was extremely turned on by this situation, she just didn't want to do anything to jeopardize the friendship. If only she knew the feelings were mutual on your end too.

“Are you really going to deny her in her sorry state? She's even tied up, unable to finger herself because she might try to hurt herself again. Look at her luv.. She's so pathetic.. Show her some mercy”, you feel angry tears whelm up in your tear at his words… no you weren't pathetic… you weren't…you could endure this a while longer..couldn't you?

Your teary eyes move to Witch who was also sexually frustrated by Price's teasing, probably not as much as you though. She looks at you with a conflicted expression. You didn't know what to make out of it. She didn't want you, did she? Despite how badly you wanted her you'd hate to force her to do anything she didn't want to. So you ignore Price's order to come closer and instead move further back as tears slipped down your eyes. You hang your head in shame. You're such a nuisance.

“Oh poor thing got rejected…”, Price mocks while continuing to hold Witch tightly over his hardening cock.

“No that's no-..I-I mean I don-... I just…I don't want to ruin our friendship…it's not because I don't like the idea..”, Witch stutters out. She escapes Price's hold with ease as she knees beside you wiping your tears. Having her hands cradle your face wasn't helping soothe you at all; it just made your skin burn with need causing you to grind your cunt on the wooden floor for friction as Price watches you with amusement. While Witch tries to soothe your hurt feelings, your skin felt electric where she touched you and despite the growing pain of being denied release you wanted to keep yourself close to her.

You're practically panting at this point so Price decides to step in to help everyone. He gathers Witch back into his lap with a yelp as he goes to spread her soft thighs again. Her panties are practically soaked, exuding her sweet scent. You're transfixed on the spot waiting for permission to approach, mouth becoming dry with lust. You turn your teary eyes to Witch waiting, pleading for her approval to come closer.

Finally you see her let go of her worries and match your look of desperation as she gives you a shaky nod. You waste no time in scooting over rubbing your face against her inner thighs as she lets out shaking moans.

In your excitement you bump your nose against her clit, resulting in her shivering in Price's hold. You watch Price bring his lips to her ears as he begins whispering to her, his big hand tight around her throat as he forces her eyes to stay on what you're doing. You pepper her inner skin with plenty of kisses, your own need on the back burner for now. You've been desiring this for so long, that this moment didn't feel real. This moment never seemed attainable to you. And all it took was a potion mishap.

The first taste of her sweet flesh entered your mouth as you lap at the skin sucking hickies on the sensitive area. Both of your groans ring out throughout the room making you redouble your efforts before finally attaching your mouth to her wet panties. You lick at the clothing, desperately trying to feel her heat through the fabric. Inhaling the scent of her dripping cunt greedily.

It was hard enough doing this with hands tied but it was harder when Price started using names to degrade you as you lapped at her wet panties. He made sure you knew you were pleasuring his Witch, which just made you glare at him, not that he cared he continued to call you mean names. ‘Cumdrunk whore’ ‘Nasty little slut’ and ‘Pathetic slag’ were among the names he started calling you.

It fucked with your brain and made you lose your rhythm, and you think that what Price wanted. Because the third time Witch had let out a needy whine after you failed to make her cum Price's hand had already snaked his way in your hair creating a tight fist. He pulls your head back causing both you and Witch to groan out infrustration. He pulls her panties aside before shoving your face deeper into her cunt. You couldn't even be mad because you finally get your tongue in which causes her to writhe and squeal in Price's lap

“Do your job properly slag or you won't be cuming today." He groans out bucking his hips into Witch's ass while maintaining his hold on your hair.

“P-price don't be so m-mean…we're supposed to be…helping her”, Witch can't seem to get a complete sentence out of her mouth without whimpering in between. You suck and flatten your tongue against her her swollen needy clit. Doing your best to bring her to the edge. It would have been much easier if you could use your hands but the bindings were painfully tight against your wrist. Price really outdone himself. You try pulling and tugging at them but they just rub your skin raw. The bandages were becoming itchy too, due to you sweating so much. The sweat ran down stinging the claw marks you left. Though it was a nice distraction from Price's mean words.

You work her clit with rough and soft licks before drilling your tongue into her leaking pussy. You gulp down her sweet nectar like it's the source of all life. Like it was the fountain of youth. Like it was an elixir that would grant you immortality. You feel her walls beginning to clench and flutter as your tongue goes in and out of her. You start using your nose to bump her clit from time to time watching her shake and shudder from what you were doing. She was close, you knew she was close and all you wanted to do was feel her tight cunt flood your mouth with her cum. Make her soak your face in her release as she drowns you in her scent, marks you with her flavour.

One more bump of your nose and you'd achieve your goal, you could feel the pride swelling in your chest as you think about making Witch cum on your tongue alone. But of course like everything else nothing was going your way today. Price's fist tightens, causing the back of your head to burn with pain. He yanks your mouth off Witch a second before you're about to make her come. Immediately Witch let's out a heartbreaking hiccup. And all you could do was watch on with teary frustrated eyes. Fucking Prick. He's such a dick for taking this away from you.

“No no…please no..Price…please.”, You watch Witch plead with Price to let you make her cum but he just shushes her.

“It's ok.. it's ok.. she'll just have to make you come while my cock is inside you luvie. It's unfair if it's only you two having fun. Especially when I'm the one doing so much of the work.”

You watch Witch beg him for release as he coos and shushes her. She goes limp in his arms. He uses his other hand to unbutton his slacks as he fishes out his large veining cock. The one that you've been ignoring completely in favour of Witch's cunt despite it being directly below her.

Within seconds he's forcing you to watch him bully his fat cock head into her tight hole. It causes her stomach to bulge with his shape as you whimper and whine at the sight. Only getting a glimpse of his angry leaking head before it disappears into her tight little hole with one hard thrust. Within seconds he's stretching her spasming walls over his veiny rod. Stupid asshole. You whine and whimper even more as he begins fucking her in earnest despite having one hand still tightly gripping your hair. You try batting your teary eyes at Witch to get Price to loosen his grip so you could back to pleasuring her. But all she could do was lightly tap the arm holding you but the grip stayed.

“If you want something you ask for it like a good girl Rún..I'm in charge here”, Price makes eye contact with you as he continues hammering his hips up against Witch's dripping cunt while she continues to moan. Her clit was particularly swollen with no one to pay attention to it since your hands were tied. His blue eyes pierced into yours causing you to shudder with need. You wanted to cry out of frustration for not being allowed to participate despite it being you who drank the aphrodisiac. Why was he trying to be nice now? He's been degrading you the second you mouth touched Witch. Was it because you didn't follow his orders? Was it because you touched Lio without getting his permission? Or was it because you solely paid attention to her while you were ignoring him out of anger?

You watch Witch with hunger as she gets her insides rearranged with a fat girthy cock drilling into her without mercy. A strange sense of jealousy fills you. Not only because it wasn't you making Witch a babbling mess but also because your insides felt so empty. Your pussy was making a puddles on the ground below you. You hadn't realised how badly you were trying to ignore it until now. It made you rock your hips harder to gain some friction on the floor. Which didn't go unnoticed to Price. You watch his expression soften while he continues to use one hand on Witch to make her grind on his cock, forcing her to slow down when she was close to cuming. You tear up at the sight of them fucking without you, which makes Price look at you with pity.

“What is it sweet girl? What do you need?”, Price coos at you. Witch is too far gone to say anything but she does look down at you apologetically for not being able to help. Your eyes go back and forth from her eyes and Price's then back to where Price cock is buried deep within her. You couldn't take it anymore, you needed something, anything to lessen the feeling that was ever present in your drooling cunt.

“Want..want.. to make Witch cum…please”, you whisper out in desperation. You wanted to cum too but you weren't going to ask for that. They shouldn't have to deal with your problems so pleasing Witch was enough.

“That's it? That's all our pretty girl wants?”, you hesitate before nodding your head as much as you can with Price gripping it. Price looks at you with such pity it makes you want to hide somewhere. Away from his prying eyes. Away from his piercing gaze. He was so in tune with everything around him, it made you feel uneasy. Like you were a pawn in a game only he knew how to play. Like knew exactly what to do to get you begging for him prettily. You feel him loosen and let go of his grip around your hair. He caresses your head softly as he grabs a cushion to throw it between your legs. Where your glistening pussy was on display for them. How needy and desperate it looked, as it dripped your cum onto the floor and now the cushion.

“You can help Witch cum if you grind on that while doing it…understand?”, he removes his hand completely from you as you watch his hands trail over Witch's body only for him to rip open the bodice of her dress as she whines further. You watch her beautiful supple breasts spill out. You watch Price give them a generous squeeze as he palms them into his large hands. You watch transfixed her breast bouncing with every thrust from Price's cock. But before you can scoot yourself closer Price's voice rings out.

“You didn't answer Rún…Do you want to be punished?”, you shake your head in fear of being denied the pleasure you sought. “Will you obey orders then?”, Price's thrusts don't falter for a second as continues his conversation with you. You give a final glance to Witch's disheveled state, you make up your mind convinced you would die if you didn't get your mouth on her again.

“Y-yes sir…”, you scoot closer and this time he doesn't stop you but he does have a gentle smile on his face as your mouth finds Witch's clit again. She flinches the second you mouth it on her, her hands finding themselves tightly wound in your hair as she bucks her hips against you. Your mouth fills with the essence of Witch again only this time Price's musk is mixed in too. The combination causing your mind to short circuit, turning your brain to mush. You can't help but lower your hips to the cushion to grind against it though a bit clumsily. You aren't really sure what you're doing but it feels good to have your mouth on Witch again while stimulating your clit feels even better.

Price watches you with fondness as you lap at where Him and Witch are connected, making sure to dip down to lick and suck his full balls while you're at it. You let your mouth lick from the bottom of his balls to the top of Witch's clit making sure to give them equal attention as you move your hips clumsily against the cushion.

It was tough going to get here but it was all worth it for Price. Price feels your hot tongue lapping at Witch's clit, making her buck and press down harder on her engorged cock. He felt his swollen head kiss her cervix as she let out a series of ‘please’, ‘more’ and ‘fuck’. He made sure her breasts were getting ample attention, knowing she was close to cumming any second now. He redoubles his thrust making sure the slap of their skin meeting was evident for everyone to hear. She was clutching him like was wanted to be bred, like she wanted her stomach swollen with his kids. And that's exactly what he whispers as his hands find themselves around her throat again as she pleads for his cum. You also redouble your efforts seeing that Witch's movements were becoming sloppy as her legs began to shake. You watch through hooded eyes as Price forces every inch of his fat cock inside with a brutal thrust causing Witch to yelp in need. She twitches from her orgasm after one final hard suck to her swollen needy clit sends her and Price over the edge.

You watch them shudder from release as cum floods around Price's cock while you eagerly lap it up like a dog starved. Making sure every drop lands on your tongue.

"Keep it in you mouth until I tell you to swallow", you let it sit there savouring it's taste at Price's command. Once the cum gathers you open your mouth obediently to show Witch and Price at his request.

"Open wider for us hun, we want to see properly", you do as he says showing them your coated tongue for their amusment. He looks at you proudly when you obey while Witch looks like she's about to cum on the spot again. Price crouches down a little, taking your jaw in his calloused hand to spit in your mouth while Witch watches.

"Swallow", you do so immediately showing your clean tongue after you've savoured the taste in your mouth. Witch lets out a breathy moan at your obedience. Your still cum drunk though and craving more, so you try satiating yourself by kissing where Price and Witch are still connected.

After a while Witch's whines softly unable to take the added stimulation of you kissing where her and Price are connected, forcing Price grab your head softly to move you away. You take the hint and move back, eyes hooded with lust as you gaze upto Witch's soft body limp in Price's arms while licking the residual cum of your lips.

Price pulls out with a hiss the squelch of the cum dripping from her was very evident. You wanted to lick her clean. But you doubted she could take any more simulation right now. Her pussy must be sore after such a hard fucking. Price gently moves her to sit on the sofa as you rest your head beside where she is. Your nose nuzzling against her hand for comfort as she smiles at you exhausted while brushing your hair out of your face. You stay resting as you lick your lips and try to get your breathing under control. Your body still felt way too hot and way too cold at times. The knot in your abdomen still felt sore and tightly wound since you hadn't come but having the chance to pleasure Witch was far more rewarding than any orgasm.

Without warning your binds disappear releasing the tension in your sore shoulders and arms as Price grabs your body to place on the couch between them. He wraps a blanket around you three making sure everyone was situated comfortably. You're sandwiched in their hold as Witch moves herself to lay her head on your shoulder. As she gently runs her hands across your marked wrists and arm. The affection is sweet and you absolutely love it when Witch shows it to you. But your mind was occupied by the guilt seeping in. For being so needy. For forcing this situation on them. For being a nuisance. You try moving away so they can cuddle together but Price holds you down making your cunt clench even harder reminding of your ongoing predicament.

“Don't run away Rún we still need to take care of you..You deserve a reward for being so patient”, Witch says while meeting your eyes and all you could see was love and care which just made your heart ache. You didn't deserve it.

“Oh no.. that's ok..I'm ok..you don-”, your words are cut off my Witch kissing your cheeks as she holds your body closer to hers making sure you feel her warmth.

“Do as you told Rún…we'll take care of you in a bit..just let me clean Witch up and we'll make you feel good too. Good girls like you deserve at least that much”, You're speechless at his words and you don't know what to say. His behaviour is so different from how it had started. He was being so much sweeter than before, so much so that it was becoming hard to hate him. Watching them look at you with so much adoration was making your heart flutter and your eyes water. So you just end up just burying your face into Witch's chest to hide yourself as they hold you close to them. There was a new sensation developing in your heart...you didn't know what to make of it....

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2024. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#1fae1 #fae au #fae!price #ghouljams oc witch #oc Rún #john price x reader #john price x oc #john price smut #captain john price smut #captain john price #captian price #captain price smut #cod x reader #cod x reader smut #f x f x m #call of duty #captain price x you #captain price #call of duty fanfic #call of duty smut #captain john price x reader #captain john price x reader smut #captain price x reader #captain price cod #captain price mw2 #forgotten sorrows #I ~ writes

[cod-z]

[Fluff] Fae!141 (Anon Reveal)

Your media consumption isn't my responsibility | TW: Slight stalking, obsession(?)

Pairing(s): Fae!141 x Reader {Scenarios}

| One-shots | Pegging-Series | A/N: .....

---------------------------

Fae!Price would be a King, looking for a mate or a worthy Queen to rule (and to give offsprings). Suddenly catching the peasant/maiden/lady in his sight. The need to make you his emodies him, no longer in control as he uses the branches to seal off the doors, the only way out is to become his.

Fae!Simon would be a creature hiding in the forest. His fores, his land, his rules and poor innocent you stumbled upon it, running away from reality and into his home. He sees how enchanting you are, how you cradled his creations, the thorned roses he bloomed even if it drew blood. Now you're his new prey.

Fae!Johnny would be hidden as a normal being, hiding his fae features underneath clothes. A beautiful florist caught his eyes, you dotting and tending your beautiful that you grew on your own making his heart melt, since most humans treat nature with disrespect. Instantly in his mind, you are his mate. You will be his mate.

Fae!Kyle would be bathing underneath the luscious, clear-blue cataract. His dark skin glistening underneath the radiant sun till he heard a splash behind him, he hid, till he saw you. A fair thing, reaching out to grab that damned, wooden bucket you let slip out of your hands. Curiosity peaks as he watches you from afar, slowly his soft gaze turns into possessive ones. A fae that has the heart of a siren.

#cod z #call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw x reader #cod x you #modern warfare x reader #call of duty fanfiction #141 x reader #cod fanfic #task force 141 x reader #call of duty fanfic #task force x reader #mw2 x reader #fae!price #fae!soap #fae!gaz #fae!ghost #fae!au

[mausinly]

1fae1 au and oc belong to @ghouljams sorry for haunting your inbox btw

Price runs cold, it comes with being in the court of winter. He isn't corpse freezing, though he definitely can be if he so pleases. Rather, he feels cool. Cool like a gust of wind or soft rain under the power of the unforgiving sun, cool like a shower after a long day of work, washing away the tension in your muscles and the worry of your brow.

Like the bastard that he is, it never fails to amuse him when his cold hands make his little witch yelp and swat at him. He doesn't pull away. Instead, he drags his fingers over her skin, delighting in the goosebumps that are left in their wake. His hands slip under the fabric of whatever pretty dress she has on that day, and he chuckles low and deep when she shivers but makes no effort to push him away.

His witch runs hot. Everything she touches is warm, like a long embrace. Every potion she crafts goes down like the thickest liquor, every charm like a freshly dried blanket over your shoulders.

Everything except for him.

A chill sweeps through her little cottage when he breaks through the threshold, despite the warm lamps and candles and the fire raging under her cauldron that make her home feel like a furnace. She can always feel him coming. Like seeing dark clouds in the distance yet neglecting to find shelter before the storm comes.

He knows exactly why his witch burns like the sun, blood running with all the warmth of a summer fae. Even so, he marvels at how human she feels under his palms. Her every curve and dip so smooth and lush. She hums so sweetly when he drags his thumbs over her cheeks, dousing the blazing skin.

He can nearly feel the steam billowing into the air when his lips meet hers. Their bodies lay entangled in the thick sheets and covers of her bed, and he can feel the warmth buzzing just above his skin. He watches her, taking in the serenity of her expression. The tension in her muscles and the worry of her brow have long since washed away. He watches her and startles himself with the suffocating feeling in his chest. Like a dam breaking, her searing touch sinks into his bones and he takes a breath like his head has been under water for centuries.

For the first time, the devil's heart aches.

#maus writes #this is shorter than i wanted it to be but idk blurb style works for me #and i have like 3 full oneshots in my wips so womp womp #1fae1 #john price x oc #john price x reader #fae!price #uhhhh idk what else to tag #cod #call of duty #? #anyway live laugh love witch

[mi-i-zori]

From In-Between the Lines

CoD Fae!Au - Fae!Price x The Writer (Fem!Reader) - Part 1

SYNOPSIS : When the writer runs out of inspiration, she decides to do what she has always been afraid to : take her writing away from the safety of her little apartment, in the outside world where ideas are often said to be flourishing. What she doesn’t realise is that she might find more than what she came for - hidden in the mesmerising smile of a peculiar stranger.

WARNINGS : Predator behavior (Fae VS Human), anxious thoughts…

I do not give permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform.

Writing has never been an easy thing.

It works like a muscle : for it to function properly, one would need to train it constantly, again and again, until it eventually starts giving conclusive results. A concept devoid of limits such as this one is made to offer more than a thousand opportunities for one to get better, to keep opening new doors leading to countless universes. Each and every world is unique and fascinating, waiting for a wandering soul to find it before blooming like a flower, wild and colorful.

Many people find it easy to put their discoveries in writing, claiming how it is as effortless as breathing. Words flow through the ink of their minds, using their newfound freedom to paint thousands of mesmerising landscapes with the perfect assortment of letters. Their characters are never afraid of the idea of evolving, constantly diving in the depths of their own existence to try and understand the paths they’re trying to follow ; and their creators easily fulfill this endless choregraphy, their pen gliding across a piece of paper without missing a single beat.

For some other writers, however, following them on this stage without stumbling over their own feet turns out to be much more difficult. When ideas disappear and the ink stops flowing, when their characters hide in the darkest corners of their thoughts, reducing them to being unable to give any kind of meaning to their words for days, it becomes impossible for them to breathe life into their stories.

Those are the exact thoughts that run through her head as the Writer sits at her desk, trying to muster enough inspiration and courage to write. Her laptop lays in front of her, the cursor blinking in the middle of a blank page. Countless papers pile next to the keyboard, holding as many scribbles of ideas and dialogues as possible in their grasp. Covered in highlights and colorful post-it notes, their precarious balance threatens to send them flying with every tired sigh crossing her lips. A few cups of coffee stand nearby, their contents long forgotten. She shifts in her seat every few minutes, and she finds herself unable to stop a hiss from crossing her lips when her fluffy socks twist uncomfortably around her ankles. It is way too early to be thinking so hard about a story, she thinks, feeling her tired eyes drift towards the bold « 9:32 » displayed at the bottom of her computer screen.

A shout echoes oustide of her window, and the streets suddenly become much more interesting than the never-changing aspect of her document. The autumn wind blows waves and waves of dried leaves, igniting the sidewalks with a mesmerising gradient of warm colours. They illuminate the concrete as they dance along the road, and she immediately compares them to the fireflies twirling in the summer nights, both extremely similar and drastically different.

A part of her wonders what it would be like to lose herself in her own world while being lulled by the colorful breeze. She doesn’t leave her apartment often, especially not to write, and the prospect of having to face the many dangers of the noisy streets and their unfamiliar faces is far from appealing. But she needs to refill her inspiration, and something tells her some fresh air could help ; the kind of air her apartment will never have, even with the help of an open window.

Following this train of thoughts, she gives up on her fluffy sweater and socks in favour of a warm yet comfortable outfit. Her trusty backpack is filled with her writing essentials before being thrown over her shoulder while her anxiety is painfully shoved in the back of her throat. She stumbles through the front door before it can try to convice her to give up on this endeavor, one of her sneakers barely secured around her ankle.

- You’re not helping, she mumbles, tucking her foot correctly inside of the shoe while exiting the building.

The wind doesn’t waste a second before offering her a shivering greeting. Its kisses are cold on her cheeks, and she lets out a grumble as her nose is quickly buried within the warmth of her scarf. Her hands take a few seconds to fumble with her headphones. She then finally begins her adventure through the neighbourhood, her head swaying gently along the rhythm of her favourite playlist.

It doesn’t take long for her steps to guide her to the small forest standing at the edge of the town. It thrives under the city’s protection, its borders mixing with a park to offer a fleeting moment of rest to those who wish to forget their urban troubles. The Writer has always liked to follow the trail marking the limit between the organized aspect of the human civilisation and the wilderness of those woods, savouring the scent of nature while on her way to the many small businesses flourishing along the streets hiding on the other side.

And today is no exception.

The trees hold the warm hues of autumn in their grasp, and so does the soil at their feet. She can make out the dancing reflections of the morning dew on their leaves, glinting mischievously whenever a ray of sunlight dares to greet them. The scent of petrichor adds a dreamy touch to the whole painting, hidden among the graceful swirls of a delicate veil of mist. She has always liked spending time in nature, admiring its ever-changing beauty and gathering all the inspiration it has to offer to embellish her stories.

Yet in this moment, as a sudden gust of wind forces her clothes to dance around her shivering form, leaving a trail of disturbed flora in its wake, she can’t stop an eerie feeling from crawling in the back of her mind. The light above her suddenly seems to dim, the road curving slightly to cross the borders of the wilderness.

She loves this forest.

But at the same time, she doesn’t.

Perhaps this peculiar dichotomy comes from the many disappearances a part of these earthy paths keep witnessing, or the dark, ominous trees surrounding them. Their thick, mossy branches swallow every ounce of light the sun has to offer, leaving only shadows to dance in-between their roots. Something in her mind tells her to stay away from them, to never let her feet leave the expanse of her little road of dirt. Her steps are quick, and her heart pounds wildly against her chest. She focuses on her destination, trying to ignore the knots forming progressively in her stomach, the goosebumps running down her skin.

She pretends not being able to hear the mischievous laughter hiding in the whistling breeze. These voices would probably get a comfortable role in her stories ; but, in real life, their echo is too unsettling to be admired.

Her pace only slows once the soles of her shoes meet the familiar texture of concrete. She breathes out a sigh. Holding a hand on her chest as if it could help her catch her breath, she mindlessly follows the line traced by the sidewalk. Her lungs are slowly being set free from the iron grip that seized them, but her blood keeps rushing in her ears for what seems like an eternity.

Her thoughts suddenly come to a halt as the aroma of freshly baked goods flows around her. There, a few meters away from her, a small café reveals itself to her curious gaze. Its daily menu stands proudly in the middle of the path, its contents shamelessly tempting her, even more so when she notices the very few people sitting behind the windows. Her curiosity gently tucks her previous fears aside as she pushes on the door, momentarily focusing her attention on the little bell giggling above her.

She pauses her music as she goes to stand in line, her body immediately rocking back and forth to follow the rhythm of the lo-fi echoing against the bricks of the walls. A series of succulent hang from a couple of shelves, their green hues enveloping the spines of a few decorative books. The man in front of her moves slightly to the side, and her eyes fall upon the counter, where rows of delicacies of all kinds greet her sight.

A silent tremor overwhelms her stomach, and only then does she notice the fact that she is yet to have a proper breakfast.

She settles for a warm drink and a small pastry before finding a small table in a corner of the room. It doesn’t take long for her notebooks and laptop to quickly fill the whole space, piling next to one another. The same blank page automatically opens itself on her screen, greeting her with a small jingle before she sushes it with a trembling hand, cursing herself for forgetting to do it earlier as her gaze immediately darts around to see if anyone noticed her clumsiness. However, only the big Monstera plant sitting next to her meets her gaze, and she allows one of its leaves to pet her arm reassuringly, silently thanking it for the comfort it immediately came to provide.

- Back to work, then, she mumbles, grabbing a pen from a pocket of her coat. Those characters won’t develop themselves.

The ink flows smoothly over the pages of one of her notebooks. She lays as many ideas down as possible, trying to connect them to form a more interesting concept. Some of them end up being crossed out, giving up their place to another set of words that would work better with the story. From time to time, she takes a sip from her drink, munches on a bite of her food, as if trying to bribe her thoughts into working more efficiently. Yet it doesn’t prevent her from stumbling over her main character ; his essence refuses to adopt a defined shape, no matter how hard she tries to focus on the potential details she could weave into his soul. Stubborn as a mule, he remains a vague silhouette in the fog of her mind, mocking her with a voice she can’t even hear properly.

Her pen fall from her grasp, and she barely holds back a frustrated growl as she rubs her tired eyes. Displayed on her computer screen, her Pinterest board stares at her blankly, devoid of any source of inspiration despite the many portraits it holds. She shuts it down, focusing her attention on the other clients crowding the café. Perhaps a few minutes of people-watching could help, she thinks, silently detailing the different silhouettes living not far from her.

Her eyes abruptly stop on a figure sitting on the other side of the small room.

There, a man lounges with his back against the wall, one leg lazily thrown over the other. A tiny cup of coffee dangles from one of his hands, the other holding a book open for his own eyes to explore. The light coming from the window highlights his pale complexion, curving around the muscles the sleeves of his cardigan decided to unveil. He seems relaxed, even slouching a little the more he focuses on the volume in front of him ; yet the corner he decided to settle in only brings out the broadness of his shoulders even more as he brings the drink to his lips, runs a hand through the short, thick beard adorning his face.

He holds a calm, yet imposing presence, and the Writer finds herself mesmerised. A peculiar feeling pulls at her chest, as if this man held the magic she needed to set her inspiration free. Her character slowly starts to take his place, brought to life on the stage of her thougts.

Her hand snatches her pen before she can even realise it. A string of words flow from her mind, only stopping when she focuses once again on her muse to find the exact terms she is looking for. Half an hour passes before she is finally satisfied with what she came up with.

Her sigh of relief gets stuck in her throat as she looks up from her notebook, her eyes suddenly locking with the stranger’s.

She startles, barely catching her drink before it can flood the entirety of her notes. She busies herself with the last few bites of her pastry as she tries to tame her racing heart - distracting herself from the weight of his gaze on her trembling form. She can only hope he will quickly divert his attention elsewhere, hoping he didn’t take offense in her staring.

Yet he doesn’t.

Temporarily setting his book aside, the man leans even further back into his chair, his interest awakened by the young woman squirming in her seat. He had been trying to catch her gaze for a moment now, torn from the imaginary world sitting in his hands by a tingling feeling on the back of his mind. If he wondered for a moment about the amount of notebooks, post-it notes and individual papers laying on her table, he found himself much more curious about their owner.

He noticed how, despite her clear interest in her surroundings, she never really seems to sit straight, as if trying to make herself smaller in her corner of the café. He believes it to be done subconsciously, however, for he can see how focused she is on her work. A faint wave of magic dances around her, small enough for her to probably not even know of it ; yet he can sense how it is constantly impacting her life. Feeding her inspiration, helping it flourish ; drawing it towards ideas a part of her can’t fully comprehend.

Luring her to him.

What an appetizing thought.

Their eyes meet as she slowly lifts her head up once more, and he raises his cup in her direction, a warm smile drawn on his lips. She offers him a small nod before turning away. A timid hand comes to cover her cheek, and his teeth suddenly feel too sharp behind his lips ; his mouth way too empty.

A part of him longs to get closer to her. Strike a conversation. Throw himself into the hunt. But it is far too early for him to pounce. His centuries of experience showed him more than once how rewarding it could be to wait, to let his prey simmer in a blissful ignorance as he takes the time to enhance the flavour of their body and soul.

The young woman sitting in front of him already has the potential to be a delightful meal. But for now, he shall be content with the taste her sole presence sets on his tongue, this delicate aroma taking over the bitterness of his coffee.

He just needs to be patient.

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #x reader #fem!reader #cod au #cod mw2 #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price cod #captain price #captain john price #fae!price #john price x reader #price x reader #john price mw2 #john price #price x female reader #cod x female reader

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Pack 141 - Fae!Soap Headcanons

Tags: monster au, Fae!Soap, poly 141, sfw, fluff, general lore, Soap's mom? for a minute at least, fae lore I roughly researched.

-Soap's mother was a stubborn and superstitious woman. When her baby boy was born with a caul over his face, her heart seized with dread. She had been told stories, how it was lucky to have a child able to see beyond the veil. How the caul signified a great power, coveted by the people of the forest. Her only babe, marked as Fae. 

-They would come for her child, steal him in the night and replace him with another. And it would be a cold day in hell before Jill Mactavish let anything touch her son.

-She slept with the bundle clutched tightly in her arms, refusing to sleep until she left the hospital. Left him wrapped snugly to her front as she hammered iron railroad spikes into the corners of her property; hung horseshoes above her doors, sprinkled fine lines of salt around every doorway and window of her home. 

-She thought it had worked. At least for a while. But the Fae are persistent if nothing else. Jill began to notice strange flowers pop up around the foundation of her home, odd tapping rhythms heard in the night. Would she know? Would she know if the lamb in her arms was replaced with another?

-She was so exhausted, worn thin from paranoia. Yet Jill Mactavish was no quitter. Under the light of a pale full moon she marched to the edge of her property. Her blue eyed bundle cooing and gumming happily at his fingers as he wriggled against her chest. With a final look to the boy she faced the forest with a stern resolve, “You won't take him! But I'll share him! Leave us be or help me raise him right!” 

-The winds rustled, branches creaking ominously. Leaves gathered and spun into a tornado of color in the chill autumn air. Jill would freeze in place as the leaves fell away, revealing an ethereally beautiful creature before her. All high cheekbones and sharp eyes surrounded by inky black sclera. 

-Ordinarily the Fae would swap out changelings, snag the babe once it was the right size and replace it with one of their own. Considering the wee one was already Touched….perhaps a swap would be unnecessary.  Human mother's were coveted. The milk of human kindness and all that, and the babe was truly beautiful, destined to be strong. The fae had looked Jill up and down with a calculating look. Yes. A deal could be struck. They would raise the baby together.

-And thus Soap spent his time in equal parts amongst the Fae and humans, learning to socialize with both, though he didn't completely fitting in with either. Soap was hell on wheels. Rambunctious and equally curious, constantly nosing or getting into things he ought not have. Not that he was ostracized by either group he was just..*odd.* Unable to find his footing or close friends.

-You could say that Soap has many siblings, though this term is used liberally.  By human technicalities Soap is an only child (his mum's baby boy). His mother, through the nature of her bargain,  was brought into the fold with young John. Helping to raise and nurse her own gaggle of fae children of differing bloods. Other children Soap would call family.

-Fae don't have strict family dynamics, it's certainly a community effort to rear little ones. Fae children can be produced in a myriad of ways, with no one way being seen above another, p in v? that works. Born from a flower? Sure why not. Throw some herbs and intent together until a wailing babe sounds from the cauldron? That works too.

-Soap naturally inquired about this, as any kid would. “Ma? Did I come from a flower?” “You came from my belly wee one” Soap had squinted at her, eyeing her belly incredulously, "but how?”

-It took several conversations to get the toddler to understand that the other children in his human primary school were not in fact his brothers and sisters. 

-As humans are fascinated with the Fae, the Fae are equally as fascinated by humans. As John grew into a young man he would see the differences. The Fae courts had long fallen into a peaceful rhythm. The humans? Hardly. With a powerful knack for chaos, among other abilities. Soap threw himself into the army. Keen to help as many as he could, and perhaps even find his own way. 

-Soap is a marked child. He is more resilient on average than most Fae, and shows no obvious limitations in what disciplines he can learn. However, as marked he does have particular dispositions toward the following.

-Tongues, the ability to speak any language at will. Sometimes without thinking about it. For Soap this isn't automatic, but after a few days of listening or studying he's fluent. (Albeit with the accent). This gives Soap a peculiar edge when working with varying communities, elements, and other critters/creatures.

-Glamour, a sophisticated illusion, these may allow for invisibility or changes to appearance for a brief time (upwards to an hour but possibly longer depending on the severity of the change). Living amongst the Fae made permanent changes to his body. The sclera of his eyes had shifted inky black. His teeth and nails razor sharp. There is an ethereal beauty to all Fae as well. Naturally Soap uses this ability to cover some of the obvious issues.

-Soap knows he's distracting. He's a proud thing, and rarely bothers shifting that. He's damn good at what he does and looks damn good doing it. Hshows off his muscles/skills/looks without shame. 

-Shapeshifting, self explanatory, but only works proportionally give or take a few inches. He may take on the appearance of another person or creature, briefly. But once again, only appearance. Mimicking voices is another skill.

-Sight or Clairvoyance, this ability's range depends on the court or bloodline. In Soap's case, his visions will occasionally come to him in dreams, these being more sophisticated visions or events far in the future. These visions are generally more detailed.  He is typically privy to smaller prophecies,  glimpses of events happening minutes before him. These are typically vague, but have consistently been enough to save his and his teammates asses numerous times in the field.  The Infamous Mactavish Intuition ;)

-Soap is one hell of an alchemist, and can make due with most natural items at his disposal. Poisons, potions, explosives, you name it, Soap can make it. He excelled remarkably in the maths and sciences in school, and it’s why he was also quickly assigned to demolitions so long ago. 

-Soap has a very noticeable smell. One that isn't exclusively detected by other supernatural beings. Any human standing beside him would notice it. Lemon and shortbread, with a warm curl of rose.  Clean, green and vaguely sweet. People wonder if his callsign was from this fact rather than his prowess on the field.

-Nudity has no taboo with the Fae. Raised as such, the man has literally no shame. Soap Mactavish has been naked since he was a child in the woods, and will continue to proudly do so. Does not understand why everyone else is so uptight about it. Will bust in on someone in the shower without a second thought. “Stop screamin’ it’s just me”

-Fae are very partial to music, and Soap is no exception. He is so easily captivated by the sound, swaying slightly, almost as if hypnotized. Soap isn’t as in tune with artists and genres as Gaz is, but he keeps a hoard of songs on his phone. Gaz is his main contributor, keeps him well fed with playlists he makes. Playing new records for Soap as they bop around the kitchen together, playfully dancing or headbanging together.  Soap was once pretty proficient with piano and guitar at his mam’s encouragement. His singing however, nearly got him killed in basic. 

-Many animals are the watchdogs of the Fae. Soap has been seen having conversations with himself, unknowing to onlookers that a little frog or squirrel was sitting beside him. Someone swears they saw a mouse crawl out of his tac vest once. He whistles with the birds, scoops up bugs and plops them back into the weeds.  He unfortunately doesn’t know the language of the shower spider. He doesn't bother to learn, he thinks he prefers the silence in this instance. 

-Soap can be attracted with a myriad of things just like any other fae. Music as mentioned above is one. He is also partial to pretty chimes and bells, running water, shiny and/or colorful displays, as well as anything sweet, candies or sweet creams/milks/liquors.

- Too much contact with iron on his bare skin will poison him.  Fortunately most weaponry constructed now is made of more synthetic material. It can be noticed that Soap is very particular about his gloves, and is rarely seen without them on. Iron on properties or above doors won’t exactly stop him, but it is incredibly uncomfortable and will lead to sickness if he is trapped within such a ward for too long. 

-Fae, like crows, are enamored with jewels and other shiny objects, less of a weakness really and more of a distraction. Soap, prior to his enlistment had several piercings, such as his ears, and brow…among other things. He was very fond of the adornments, and easily captivated by the shiny displays on others. (This also extends to his intense love of blowing shit up and watching the sparks fly, big ole hearts in his eyes as the colors dance)  In the event the team goes out for something special Soap will throw on a few pieces for fun~ 

-Soap can not lie, at least not directly, however Soap is a very sharp lad, and has learned to cleverly navigate around this by either not telling the whole truth, letting others assume, or simply not correcting misconceptions. He is a Fae afterall, being clever is his specialty.

-Customs of love and marriage vary among the Fae. Many Fae interpret strong love as variations of servitude, especially towards human mates.  Soap has gotten himself tangled between both of these versions of love. For Soap love is servitude. Not something to be expected of his lovers, but from him. Soap gives himself to his lovers willingly, He wants to be good, give them anything they want and let them take what they need. Love is worship, and Soap is a very devoted man.

-Soap and Gaz had bro’d up as soon as they spotted each other. Having seen through each other's glamours, they became fast friends. Two oddballs fighting side by side. Which would turn into playful banter, and kips on the helo leaning against one another. Then to wandering hands and desperate kisses, having found comfort and fondness in each other after years of hiding themselves among humans. Soap and Gaz are the most cuddly. Johnny likes to lay sprawled in his Sphinx’s nest, his arms curled around his middle, face buried against Gaz's stomach. Both of them absolutely hate to sleep alone. 

- Soap had a knack for getting into trouble. Disregarding orders to do what needed to be done. Had nearly been kicked out had his skills not saved his skin (and countless others). It was Price who sniffed him out, offered to take the man on loan for a bit. Soap's former CO was happy to be rid of him and hopeful that the notoriously stern Captain would knock some sense into him. Price, however had no such plans, he cut Soap loose, full authority, and watched the man bloom. Price did not anger at Soap’s decisions, didn’t flinch at his savagery in the field. In fact, Price had looked upon him with fondness (and a fair amount of exasperation). He kept Soap warm with lovely praises and a regular morning coffee, plus a heavy splash of sweet cream, for good measure.

-Simon had been more difficult, adamant on giving the Fae a hard time. Having seemingly been put off by Soap ever since he bounded off the truck and fist-bumped his arm on the tarmac. But Soap was determined, chatting and teasing, unphased by the lieutenants' icey behavior. They fell together in no time. Soap nestled to his chest, lips brushing over Simon's slow beating heart. Soap would never admit it. Never admit that he knew it would be like this all along. That Soap had seen him in his dreams.

#wondering if i should do one for my oc too #monster au #pack 141 #poly 141 #poly task force 141 #fae!soap #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #soapghost #captain john price #soapgaz #pricesoap #soap x gaz #soap x ghost #soap x price #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap call of duty

[yeyinde]

WILLOW TREE MARCH

John Price x Reader | Fae!AU

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go."  "Why?" You asked, blinking at her.  "Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

—WARNINGS: 18+ | SMUT fae shenanigans, mythological nonsense; unsafe sex, smut in random places, slight exhibition kink if you squint; Dom-ish Price, soft Price, pining Price; fae trickery (dubious consent on account of the trickery but not really); unreliable narrator; ahhhhhh, body horror (??????????) —TAGS: Fluff, AU, mythology —WORD COUNT: 8,5k —Based on this ask

There's a thick forest at the edge of your town. It curves along the coastline, breaching the yawning maw of the inlet—the last safe haven before the open ocean—and can be found almost nowhere else in the entire world. A unique ecosystem comprising vaguely familiar flora and fauna. Brown and Black bears. Wolves. Sitka-black-tailed deer. Ravens. The waters that crest through the forest are full of salmon, steelhead, and river otters. On the coast of the inlet, you can find whales, sea lions, seals, orcas, and porpoises swimming offshore. 

It's protected, in large part, by its sheer vastitude. Spanning a massive chunk of your home, it stretches far north with curling fingers cutting through the granite of the crumbling coast, and as deep south as its knobby knees can reach. 

From above, it looks like a child curled on its side, knees tucked to its chest. It's this pose alone that makes others revere it as some sacred being, slumbering mindlessly until the day it cracks open its eyes, and awakens to the new world. A child god made of conifers, red cedar, spruce, fir, pine, birch, and hemlock. Mossy caves of granite and limestone. Thick colonies of moss, liverworts, plume moss, and common haircap. 

The forest is linked to your town only by a small strip of land that juts out from a raging ravine with currents too dangerous, too deadly, to try and traverse. An archipelago all on its own, untouched by greedy, human, hands because of its placement. 

It's insulated by the vast ocean on its front, and a series of insidious looking mountains ready to swallow wandering mountaineers whole if they get too close to the sleeping child. Protected and safe by anyone who might try to harm it. 

You used to dream about the forest. A nightmare dredged up about whispers and calls. Lured close to the edge of the river where a man would hand you his heart—sap-stained, and charred; a brittle piece of Bristlecone pine that felt fragile and worn—and told you to come back for him. To wait for him. 

You'd wake in a cold sweat each time, heart pounding so fast that it almost felt like you were dying.

(Maybe you were. Maybe you did.)

You don't know if you believe the stories told about people wandering into the gaping chasm of the forest and never coming out. It's not uncommon for people to get lost, after all. But it feels distinct and archaic. Old. Something about the way the wind howls sounds different from the other woodlands scattered around your home. 

It sounds like a beckoning call. A mother calling their child home for dinner. Come to me, the Chinook bellows. Come home now, dear. 

You never venture too close. You know all too well what happens to children who do.

His name is—was now, you suppose—Kyle, but no one called him that. To everyone in town, he was simply known as Gaz. 

Newcomers to the isolated archipelago are a rarity—so much so that news of the new family's arrival sent waves through the community, making Gaz an instant star overnight, all without him even setting foot on the shores. 

None of that mattered, though. He fit in with an ease that seems almost preternatural when you think about it, as if he was meant to be there. And maybe he was. Maybe the soft rolling valleys were destined to be his home where flowers bloomed in the spring, and Arctic tern trilled from the branches. 

Gaz was unique, different. 

He picked dandelions with the same intensity that picked fights with the bullies in the neighbouring town, the ones who tried to pick on the smaller kids in the community. 

With his fists always covered in dandelion oil and bruises, face caught between a grimace and a grin, like he was never sure if he wanted to spit at their feet or tell a joke, he stood against the onslaught with an anger that seemed to crackle in the air like fireworks. Ready for battle. Thirsty for blood. 

His anger never waned even when he turned back to the group, eyes cresting in satisfaction, and body trembling with adrenaline, and you could scent the rage in his smile, hear it in the soft words he muttered to the kids, telling them everything would be alright. 

Gaz was everyone's friend. The person you told your deepest secrets to, the one you planned adventures with. He was a rock—always armed with snappy jokes to make you smile, and advice when you needed it. 

He was everyone's friend—yours especially—but you can't remember if anyone was his best friend. He was polite. Distant. 

It started in the summer. His hands were always cold, and he kept them shoved deep in his pockets, clenched tight around the latchkey his parents gave him. 

He started to seem almost liquid then. Temporal. You'd reach for him, brushing your hands against his arms or shoulders just to assure yourself that he was really there.

You noticed that his eyes would list sideways, head tilted, slanting toward the forest. It looked to you as if he was listening to something. To some unheard noise or call that only he could hear. 

When you asked about it, he'd always blink, surprised, as if you'd woken him up from a dream quite suddenly. Then, he'd smile, and shake his head. 

"Don't worry about it," he'd say, shrugging. "Just the wind."

He'd bend down and pick a dandelion for you, holding it out between pudgy fingers with a grin that seemed to mimic the cresting moon. 

"For you."

He picked them for three springs before he, too, became another victim of the endless forest. Another empty tomb in the overcrowded graveyard.

Missing, they said, but not forgotten. 

You think about him often. 

(Even more so when you, too, begin to hear your name echoing through the forest.)

Beware the woods, your grandma says. Especially when it calls your name. 

(You never understood why something that sounds so comforting, so sweet, could ever be dangerous. It sounds like an old friend calling you over to play. 

"Never go," she snaps, her hands lashing out to grip your arms tight. You feel her knobby fingers digging into your bones. "Never listen, and stay away—"

"You're hurting me, gran—"

Her rheumy eyes burn into yours. "Stay away—!"

(You wisely never speak about the whispers in your head, keeping them to yourself. A secret just for you.)

You leave town when you're old enough, when the hisses in your head grow too loud to ignore, and it feels as though they're scratching at your skull. 

(Clawing at the walls.)

"Crazy weather, eh?" The first mate mutters nervously, eyes tilted upward as the sky darkens into an angry grey. "Came outta nowhere." 

You leave, and you don't look back. 

(But oh, how the forest screams.)

She calls you back several years later with a phone call. Your gran has passed. 

You think you should mourn, but it's been so long since you thought of home, that you don't remember what she looks like anymore. The sound of her voice is a whisper in your head—the cadence gone, the tone flat. 

But you don't cry, and you don't grieve—she's been dead for a long time now, after all. Ever since your mum went missing all those years ago, she's always seemed more of a ghost than a person. Living as if her body hadn't realised her heart was long dead. 

You go back only because you think your mum would have wanted you to. 

(And pretend it isn't because the silence in your head is suffocating. Without the whispers, it feels as if you're missing something. A part of yourself forever lost in the forest.

You wonder if anyone has found it by now.)

Nothing has changed since you turned your back on the town that raised you, the forest that stole from you. 

It's the same buildings. The same market. The same roads. The same houses. 

The people, too, seem largely unchanged by the years that have passed. 

The friends from your childhood who stayed meet you at the graveyard, eyes filled with sympathy as they ask how you're doing. 

She'll be missed, they lie sweetly to you. Everyone loved her. 

She was a hermit, you want to scream. A woman driven mad by ghosts and fairytales and terror. 

You nod, instead, and let them lead you around the town on a grand tour as if anything about this beautiful, haunting place had changed since you ran away. 

It gets easier to force a smile when they ask if you're okay. 

"Fine," you murmur and wonder if your voice even carries over the whispers. "Just—yeah. Fine."

North of the town is where the river separating the lonely forest carves a path, not at all dissimilar to an idyllic trough, through bedrock and sand, and flows into the sea. 

The estuary is dangerous in high tide when the rapid ascent of water on the sandy shores hides the rip current that is known to form when the two bodies of water meet. 

It's a dangerous place to get caught in. 

This beach was impressed upon you as deadly from a young age, almost in equal—if not greater—measure than the rapacious forest across the river. You know the dangers of standing on the slippery bedrock. 

But as the sun glows a burnt orange in the distance, and the endless ocean before you darkens into an almost unfathomable black, you can't help but find the view from the cliff's edge to be the most mesmerising thing you've ever seen. 

It looks like a painting. A brush stroke of tigers eye in the centre of the cresting sun that gradually fades out into xanthous, and rings of hazy peach; the light of diminishing star smears coruscating rings of persimmons into the indigo water. The gradual fade into gradients as the waves lap closer to the shore is reminiscent of liquid sapphire and smelting amethyst. 

The picturesque view is more befitting of a pastel postcard, an ethereal pastiche of the Ninth Wave—a moment of life imitating art, or—perhaps—the same view Ivan Aivazovsky stumbled upon when he set out to render the haunting beauty of the ocean in oil. 

The cresting waves arch into curled petals of white before setting upon the sloping beach with frenzy. It's the roar of those hungry waves that seem to, if only for a moment, drown out everything in your head. 

There are no whispers. No songs. No screams. Vengeful hissing can't climb to a higher decibel than the frothing waters slamming against jagged bedrock. 

All is quiet—except the sea. 

You lean into it. The closer you get to that precipice, the quieter everything in your head goes. Sounded sucked into the vacuum of the ocean. The endless song of the sea. 

Another step. Another. 

For a moment, you're free. 

The forest doesn't scream for you. Your grandmother doesn't dig her teeth into your gyri, hands clawing at the space behind your eyes. You don't think of her, or your mother, or Gaz, or anyone else unfortunate enough to get consumed by this damnable place where fairy tales split the seams apart, and merge with reality. 

It's peaceful. 

You take another step—

A hand curls over your shoulder, tugging you back. 

Anger pools, thick and acidic, on your tongue, but the flash of your ire, your vexation, is dashed by the sound the waves make when it slams into the spot you were just standing. 

It slashes across the concrete as the stranger pulls you into his broad chest, heat nearly liquifying your spine. 

He sucks in a breath. You feel his chest expand with it. When he breathes out, you taste gunpowder on your tongue. 

"Gotta be more careful n'that, love." 

You've had near-misses before. Flirted with the reaper. Ripped yourself from the jowls of death himself. 

This isn't anything new.

And yet—

Your eyes drag up, meeting flat black boring down at you. His hood is pulled over his forehead, casting shadows down to his jaw. 

"You—"

Your teeth sink into your tongue. Emotions lash through you like the flick of a bullwhip, shredding your skin until it's raw and oozing. The tail pulls away whenever you try to wrap your fingers around one of them—relief: you're not dead; embarrassment: how could you be so stupid; shame: saved by a stranger; and—

Visceral terror. Panic. 

It bludgeons its fist down your throat, barbed knuckles clawing at the soft tissue of your esophagus until you taste blood on your tongue. 

Panic tastes of ozone and leaks, thick and warm like molasse, down your throat. 

"Hey," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice, his low timbre, is porous, calcined. The rough scratch scours through the haze of fear threading through your sternum. "C'mon on, now. Gotta breathe, yeah?" 

It's his hands on your shoulder—hotter than grenade fire—and the thick scent of musk, of stale smoke and kerosene sweat, that break through the gossamer of your acrid panic. He spins you around to face him, eyes fixed on your face. 

"That's it," he says, soft, soothing. "Keep breathin'. You ain't dead yet." 

You come to yourself in pieces. The world bleeds with startling clarity around the blurred edges. Home, you think. Maybe.

Once upon a time. 

You blink. Blink again. 

The hand still on you—heavier, you find, than an anvil—lifts, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw, swiping over the sweat-stained skin.

You can't see his eyes through the shadows cast over his face. A stranger. You've never seen him before. 

They didn't say anyone new moved to town. 

"Who are you—?"

"You don't know?" 

And then his hand is gone, taking all the heat in your body with him. 

It lifts to his vest, thick fingers, gloved in yellow, curling over the butt of his cigar. 

You must make a face. A grimace. A whisper of bemusement. Whatever it is, it makes his lips twitch under the shorn burnt umber of his beard. 

"I'd share," he mutters, teething sinking into the hilt as he pats himself down for a lighter. "But I ain't got the time."

"Shouldn't be smoking in a provincial park, anyway." 

The words are dragged out of you. Numbed, gritty. 

It makes him snort. "Maybe—;" he cups his hand around the end, thumb striking the ignition of the lighter. He inhales, and the red circle at the tip illuminates the cerulean blue tucked away into the folds of his hood. The plume of smoke curls over him like a shroud. "But I doubt a cigar is gonna bring the whole forest down, mm? 'sides, we all have our vices, don't we?"

With that, he leaves you standing in the tendrils of smoke that billow out from his caustic mouth. No goodbye. No name. Nothing except the hum of his touch buzzing through your veins. 

Your head is numb. Thoughts congealing into hardened clay. 

Yeah, you think sluggishly, eyes dropping to the drenched pavement where the ocean narrowly missed you. Swallowed you whole. We do. 

(Yours is bad decisions that reek of napalm. 

Men who scour your hands raw when you touch their coarse surface.)

You find him again in some desolate pub on the fringes of town a few days later. It looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from blowing down. Dilapidated. Rusted from the harsh salt of the ocean to the north. 

He lifts his head when you slide into the empty chair on the left, but says nothing about your unexpected company. 

Instead, his lips curl over the cigar sawed between his teeth. A grin, you think. 

You wonder if he was expecting you. 

(Wonder, then, with a touch of something warm gnarling in your belly, if you surprised him.)

The barkeep wanders past, brows lifting at you in question. 

"Um, a vodka soda—"

The man, Price you learned from the locals with a great of digging, snorts. 

"Ain't got none of that here, love. Two scotches. Neat." He leans over, thick fingers grasping the middle of the cigar, an inch away from the bristles on his upper lip, and pulls it away, ashing it in the tray in front of him. "And a bottle of spring water." 

"Scotch?" You echo, leaning your elbow on the sticky counter. He reeks of smoke. Sweat. Blood. Gunpowder. You veer closer, soaking in the astringent tang of him. Everyone on this island smells of daffodils and cotton; clean and neat and innocent. He reeks of danger. Everything inside of you screams to stay away. "I don't drink scotch."

The cigar burns in the tray. He pulls back, shifting in the chair. His elbow rests on the counter, the other arm is slung over the back of his seat. The picture of appeasement, of a satiated tiger eying a little mouse sniffing past it. There's no immediate danger, and his posture is relaxed. Open. But his eyes—

Price turns to you, then. His legs are spread, knees notched apart, taking up more space than you offer him. A looming presence. Dominating. Confident. He's not doing it on purpose, you don't think, he's just—

Big. 

His legs are too long. Thighs are too thick. 

Something gnarls behind your ribs when you take in his bare face. It's different, smaller, without the bulky black hood thrown low on his brow. His hands bare, leaving him in only casual clothes that stretch taut around his broad body. 

The beanie on his head, pulled low on his forehead, makes him look roguish, rough. The picturesque presentation of a bad boy down to the pelt-brown leather Levi jacket stretched taut around his broad shoulders. 

He looks older, somehow, without the tenebrous of night shading him in dark indigo. Aged like a fine whisky. All burnt umber and ivory. 

The charcoal colouring brightens the heavy blue of his eyes—crushed bluebonnets and powdered graphite; a black hole centre—and the frame of his brown lashes dusting over his clean cheeks makes something pool in your lower belly. 

(You wonder if he'd taste of whisky sour.)

"Well," he murmurs, brow lifting. It makes the skin on his forehead crinkle. He has laugh lines cresting around the corners of his eyes. They stand out to you, now. Void of the shadows you're used to. "You do when I'm paying."

The scotch, the cigar, the dingy pub that reeks of stale cigarettes and is perfumed in a dusting of nicotine that films every surface coalesces into incipient vice. 

His hand moves from where it's loosely curled around his glass, and rests, heavy and warm, on your thigh. 

When he leans in, you taste calcine on his breath. 

The acrid tang is a balm to the blisters in your raw esophagus. You meet him in the middle, smaller hands curling over the wool lapels of his jacket, tugging him into you. 

"Never thanked you for saving me," you murmur, his beard grazing your lips. A tickle. A brush. 

Price sucks in a deep breath, eyes liquifying into an intense azure. "No need to thank me, love. As much as I love the ocean, you don't belong there, do you? No," he adds, decisively. Sure. "You belong on land. The earth. You're wild, like the forest, aren't you?"

It's an out. An escape. An option to flee from the cosm that folds around you like a nebulous cloud. 

You could take it. Back up, away. Walk out of this dingy pub on the wrong side of town, and forget the man who reeks of nicotine, smoke; who leaves ashes behind on your skin when he touches you. 

The only one who stares at you from the unfathomable black of his eyes, lashes shrouded in tenebrous, and makes you falter. Makes your heart lurch, jumping to sit at the bottom of your throat.

You should pull away. Stay away from the man who leaks ethanol and nitroglycerine. From the man who smells of acrid smoke. Gunfire. 

You should. 

But your fingers tighten in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Closer. 

The bridge of his nose is warm when it presses against your own. 

His eyes spark, wildfires. A blazing forest. 

"You said something about vices." His chest rumbles in response to your hushed words. 

"So I did." 

Smoke singes your nose when you brush your lips over his. Warm. Chapped. Dry. You taste ash. Humus. The bitter tang of dandelion oil. 

"Got some time tonight?" 

"Thought you said I shouldn't be smoking."

"We're not in a park, near flammable trees," your hand falls to his chest. His heart thuds beneath your palm. Thick, full. Your eyes lift to his, lidded and heavy. You gaze at him from under your lashes, coy. Demure. You wonder if he can see how eager you are beneath the sly cut of your lids. "Are we, Price?"

The use of his name makes his lips quirk. A small, secretive thing that you can't read. 

"No, we're not." His hand slides down, curling over your knee. "Don't know what you're gettin' into, love." 

"Oh, no?" You taunt, breathless. Even through all your layers, you still feel his searing heat on your skin. His eyes drop when your tongue lashes out, wetting your lower lip. "And what's that?" 

A frisson shudders over his face. Lashes fluttering. He leans forward, resting the rim of his beanie on your forehead. 

When his eyes slide open, all you see is arsenic white pooled around Prussian blue. "More than you could ever dream of." 

Your trembling fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes. 

And so, you kiss him. 

A messy punch to the mouth with your sun-blistered lips. 

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. And then—

He devours you. 

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss, but it feels more like a homecoming than stepping off the boat, and you tuck that inside your pounding chest. 

(The whispers in your head seem to sing when his lips touch yours.)

You taste bark on your tongue when it slips over his. Loam. Moss. Something earthy and rich. His beard scratches your chin, your lips, but you pull him closer, hungry for more—for the taste of wilderness on his tongue, for the respite from the whispers, the screams. Like the ocean, he, too, is a vacuum, swallowing everything whole until just you remain, stripped down to nothing but sensation and want. Bare, raw. 

Your teeth ache when you pull away, fingers curling into the coarse hair along his chin. The whips of his wry curls scratch your palm. 

You never want to let go. 

Price's eyes are noctilucent clouds; a storm over a rainforest. He'll ruin you. Devour. Destroy. Take, and take, and take until there is nothing left. 

Your lips tremble when you speak, words tremulous with your desire, your eagerness, when they slip past your bruised mouth. 

"I can think of a few that are better than smoking." 

Price shudders. 

"Where did you go?" Your friend asks, eyes swinging from the cards spread out in front of him—the Idiot, Solitaire—to you. They burn into the side of your face, the same place Price touched with bare knuckles, and said you belong to the forest, don't you? "Missed dinner."

You ate Doro Wat in a small shop after Price fucked you stupid in the dingy bathroom of the pub, face scraping against the waterlogged wallpaper that chipped with each brutal thrust of his hips. 

Like that, hmm? Can barely take me, love, but you're so fuckin' greedy for it, ain't you? 

You're sure the barkeep heard your moans as they bounced off the jaundiced walls. 

(You still hear him hissing in your ear. Still feel him splitting you apart.)

You try not to shiver. 

"Ate already," you shrug, bundling your sleep clothes tight in your trembling hands. When you stand, his eyes follow you. "So. Um—"

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, shifting on the balls of your feet. "I've—" You think of his eyes, gyre white, and wonder if this is what it feels like to get swallowed by the sea. "I've never been better."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I worry about you, you know?"

You nod. "Yeah," you say. "Me, too."

You break apart in the shower, falling into pieces as you make yourself finish, thinking about nothing but the phantom stretch of his cock seated deep inside of you, the taste of his come pooling on your tongue.

It balms the residual burn in your esophagus, and you know, then, when you throb, still wanting his touch on your skin, that you've always been terrible at telling yourself no. 

It can't happen. It can't.  

There's a strange magnetism about him—an uncanny sense of mystery and familiarity sutured together. 

It feels a little bit like staring at the looming maw, the event horizon, of a black hole. Unfathomable black. No way out. 

There's something that feels a bit like forewarning inside your chest when he brushes against you, and presses his lips on the skin behind your ear—a secret place only he knows, where only his fingerprints have ever been. You feel his touch even when he's gone. Haunted by the memory of his rough hands and rasping tenor. 

Running would make sense, you think, watching the ferries come and go. You have enough money for a ticket, and you've yet to even unpack your bag. 

You don't know who he is, but you've given him everything. All of it. There's nothing left inside of you to hand over, but he keeps looking at you as if he's waiting for more. 

"Waiting for a ride?" 

You glance back at the operator with a divot between your brow and cotton inside your ears. 

You want to say yes, but you shake your head instead. 

"No." I can't leave. "Just enjoying the view."

You find birch branches stripped of leaves, juniper berries, maple leaves, spindles of dogwood, bushels of fir, and bouquets of bog rosemary, northern bluebell, fireweed, and wintergreen on your doorstep each morning, laid gently against the old welcome mat. 

You should toss them out, and throw them away. How does he know where you live, anyway? It would make the most sense; be the wisest decision. 

Instead, you tuck them inside your notebook, pressing them against the pages where they'll be safe. 

(You try not to think too much about why they never die.)

It happens again. And again. Again—

It becomes a ritual for the few months you're back in town. The leaves, twigs, petals, pines, and seeds all show up at your door each morning and come nightfall, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame. 

He finds the nastiest looking pub in the city, and you find him there after dark. 

He sits, smokes a cigar. Orders two scotches, and a bottle of spring water. Teaches you how to drink it properly—none of that sugary cocktail shite; just pure whisky, love, as it should be—and lets you puff on the damp end of his cigar, eyes gleaming in the soft yellow light above as he takes in the way your lips curl over the wet tip.

He stares at you like he's indulging you. 

Like he knows. 

And maybe, he does. 

Maybe he sees the way your jaw works, tongue lashing over the tip just to chase his taste. The heat in your cheeks, your eyes, as you gaze at him, open and raw and wanting. The way you list toward him. Eager for it. For him. His touch, his smell. 

He must, you think, but he's a right bastard. 

He doesn't give it until the end of the evening, when everyone has gone home. When it's just you and him and the barkeep that glowers at you something ugly when you stand on shaky legs, and whisper you're going to the washroom. 

Your fingers curl over the chipped porcelain, back arched as you stare at the face in the mirror. 

You can't remember if it's you. 

Whisky has polluted your synapses. The thick scent of smoke, the tobacco from the cigar, has congealed into resin over that little bundle of axons and nerves that control your impulse, logic. 

Stupid. 

You stare at the thing in the mirror, and wonder if the basal want on your face was so apparent to him as it is to you. If he saw the dark gleam of hunger, greed, impatience, swimming in your ink-smudged depths. 

The door rattles. Clicks. 

The squeak of the hinges is the only warning you get before Price is there, liquified in the doorway and clouded in smoke. 

His hand curls over the worn, peeling frame. Eyes dance with the same hunger, same want, as the ones that flicker across the surface of the mirror. 

"Couldn't wait for me, eh, love?" He breathes, his chest expands with his exhale. Scenting you, you think. You wonder if he can smell the slick pooling in your panties. The desperation brimming in your veins. "Wanted it that bad, huh?"

He moves. A mountain of a man now filling up the entirety of your gaze until all you see is him. 

You used to want to climb mountains. In training, they always warned of summit fever. Of that little part of your head that just wanted it to be over, to reach the very top of the precipice. Impatient, it couldn't wait. It made you spring up, and climb higher and higher before you were ready, prepared. 

You think of it now when your hands lift, curling over his broad shoulders. 

("Summit fever will get you killed," they say.)

"Just shut up and fuck me, Price." 

His eyes flash. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

You are. Painfully so. 

It etches in your ribs like a sickness, festering in your mouldering bones. Rotting you from the inside out. 

A crutch in the searing heat of skin, sweat, and sin. The feeling of him taking you apart, breaking you down into atoms and molecules that bubble in the lining of your head becomes so commonplace, so often forget who you are when you're pushed up against a wall, being filled to the brim by him.

He leaves madness behind when he goes, and the world that divides fantasy from reality begins to crack, to splinter. 

You hear his voice in your head late at night when the wind blows through the window, carrying the scent of the forest.

"Come home," he rasps in your ear. 

The scratch of his beard seems to scrape against the little thread keeping you tied down to reality. It's frayed and worn by his hands. You wonder when he'll sink his teeth in the silk, and snap the line. Untethering you from your binds.

Come home to me. Come back to where you belong—

Price takes you out to dinner three months after this—whatever it is—starts. After your house becomes more of a garden, writ with the wild remnants of the forest, after each passing day. Full of bushes, and branches. Twigs and precious gems. He gives you raw gold, and open geodes full of amethyst, and sapphire. Canopy leaves, and bark from the trees. 

He leaves a whittled deer made from the red wood of a giant sequoia, and the likeness of the little fawn makes you believe that one day, it'll come to life in your living room.

(You leave a dish of water near the doorway—just in case—and wonder if you're becoming just as mad as your gran.)

He shows up at your doorstep, the bleached antlers of a great pronghorn in his hands. It's decorated with vines and moss weaved over the ivory in intricate braids and knots that you can't even begin to unravel. You marvel at the gift as he tells you he's taking you out for dinner. 

There is no discussion. He doesn't ask, he just—

Does. 

"Found a spot," he says, arms crossed over his broad chest. The cable-knit sweater pulls, stretched taut over his bulk. "Think you'd like it."

You don't know what to say. The antlers feel heavier in your hands, and warm to the touch. You try not to shiver when you set it down beside the little fawn.

"Oh," you say, but know you've never turned him down yet. It's all—

So much. 

Your home is slowly becoming one with nature, with vines growing on the walls in great blooms of wisteria and lilac; the old floor boards under your feet shudder and creak as little saplings sprout through the cracks. You wake up at night and taste earth in your throat, feel the grass beneath your fingers. The breeze in your hair. The call of an arctic tern. 

You dream of running through the forest. Of being chased. You breathe and feel the little seeds inside of your lungs start to take root. Soon you'll bloom with dandelions.

"Okay," you say, and wonder if the madness rummaging around your head will turn into a beautiful sequoia in the end. "Let's go."

The tavern is busy on a weeknight, crowded with a swell of mainlanders who'd ventured out for a camping trip over the long weekend. 

You sit with your back straight, and listen to him talk about a hike he wants to take with you in the morning. Through the woods, he says, and you don't ask which one. You know. You know. 

(It's time. It's time.)

There are alarm bells ringing in your head, but they're drowned out by the crooning whispers. 

But the line is only frayed and worn, and despite the lure in his voice, the itch in your head to say yes, you hesitate. Falter. 

The woods are dangerous. 

You don't want to go. 

He seems to sense it. His brows knot together. 

"You want to, don't you?" 

You fiddle with your napkin and try not to meet his arsenic stare. "It's… dangerous."

"I'll keep you safe."

"It's probably time for me to leave, anyway." 

The air in the room turns frigid all at once. You think you can see white plumes of condensation when you shakily breathe out, teeth chattering. 

"Price—"

"Didn't wanna do this, love," he says, voice hushed. Barely a whisper. His eyes are lavascapes. "But you ain't givin' me much of a choice, are you?"

"What—?"

The words die on your tongue when movement flashes in the corner of your eye. A man weaves, liquid, through the mindless crowd, cutting a path like the parting red sea. 

His eyes are honeycombs. In his hand, he holds a limp dandelion. 

It takes you a moment to make out the strange man who looms in the background. A splash of colour among sfumato. 

It's Gaz.

The childish swell of his cheeks has sunken into angled, sharp bone. Slender fingers twirl the flower around, around, around—

It's hypnotic. You stare, horrified and awed—a strange amalgam of emotions that slip down your spine: worry, elation, panic, comfort—as his pink lips part into an easy, familiar grin. The cresting sun breaching the horizon. Eyes slanting in playful derision. 

He looks like he's torn between telling a joke and spitting vitriol. Making you laugh, and then making you cry. 

It buzzes in the air, electrified fingers dancing down your spine, and then just as quickly as the boy who disappeared reemerges into the land of the living, into this bastardised reality, he gives one last sharp, fanged grin, a mordant wink, and then he's gone.

He slips through the door, and without hesitating, you give chase. 

Price says nothing when you go. Or maybe he does, but you can't hear anything except the rustling of leaves in your head. 

Gaz, it whispers. Gaz, Gaz, Gaz.

(It's time for the lost little boy to come home.)

The rocks sit in a zigzag pattern through the frothing waters, a deceptive bridge that connects the valley to the coast. You feel the tremulous rattle of the water slicing against the hollow cavern beneath your feet. A ledge chiselled from the blunt erosion of the rapid currents below. One day, they say, the granite shelf will give and a massive hole filled with howling water will fill it. 

Try not to be the idiot standing on the ledge. 

You feel the power of the currents even on the peat-covered edge. 

The water in front of you is deceptive. A calm, rolling surface at the shoreline almost seems to beckon you inside. Come take a dip in the cool waters. Grow fins and gills and chase the river otters through the currents. Feast on the wily salmon, and see if your feet can touch the sandy streambed. 

But the river's fatality is nearly assured. No one has survived a dip in these waters that act as a serrated knife, carving chasms and channels through the granite below. The currents will rip into you, pulling you until your body is crushed against the wall, or into an unsearchable cave. 

One slip, you think. Just one. 

But—

The man in the bar flickers through your mind. His honeycomb eyes, fanged grin. Ethereal in his beauty like a painting of a god in oil and raw canvas. Carved likeness of a Stygian prince. 

It was Kyle. It was Gaz. You know it. Know it deep within your bones, your marrow.

Taking the first step to the jutting slate that peaks just a few precious inches from the raging waters is easier, then, when you think of the boy who plucked a dandelion from the earth, and tucked it behind your ear. It makes the risk less daunting when it's for him. 

For his parents who sunk into themselves, into the crater his absence left behind. A deep depression into the earth that swallowed them whole.

They moved last year after laying down a bouquet of flowers at the mouth of the forest. 

You toe your shoes off, leaving them at the embankment, and then you leap. The perch is slick with waterlogged moss, slimy. It wobbles under you, but you catch yourself, stabilising. Steady. You huff. One down, four more to go. 

Up close, they look so far apart. A chasm between each rock. An endless abyss that will rip you into pieces. 

Still. Still. You have to find him. Have to. 

You step, toes sliding in the algae. The rock beneath is stained green. It wobbles again when you bring your other foot down on top of it. The loud clack of rock scraping against rock is heard, unmuffled by the roaring water that tugs on the stone. You feel the push against your feet. 

Two more. Two more. 

You take another step, and then—

You fall—

The world drips into focus, a steady trickle of cognisance that paints the world in shades of greens and browns. An eagle soars above the canopy, their shadow swooping through the thick tangle of conifers reaching to the heavens.

The bed of moss beneath you is damp—lush with dew and softer than your mattress at home. You sink into the ground when you breathe, caught in an embrace. The vines curl over your wrists, your ankles, as if refusing to let go. 

It should scare you—and maybe it does—but there's something against your head, fingers digging into your temples, and you feel nothing except a warm serenity leaking in. Thought spool into liquid gold, threads that weave together in a knotted clump. Indistinguishable from each other, and unreachable when they slip deeper into the honeyed-thick fog that curls around your mind. A temper from logic, from fear. Anything that isn't pure, artificial comfort is filtered through and cast aside. 

You don't know why you're here. 

One moment, you felt the coils of the raging currents sinking its claws into your flesh, pulling you under the deep waters, and then—

Heat on your face. The sun's desperate attempt to filter through the corded canopy and touch the forest floor. The shrill call of an eagle on the prowl. The tender caress of the moss below cushions your body. 

You should be underwater. Pressed tight against the side of the rocks until you were swept downstream and spat out in the inlet, waterlogged and dead. 

You draw humid air into your lungs until it swells against your ribcage. The steady thud of your heart tells you that somehow, somehow, you're alive. An empty brag—thud, thud; thud, thud—that seems to call out to the birds in the emergent layer, the ones nestled in their branches as they watch your feeble attempt to reconcile how you survived. 

It's strange, you think, but the soporific warmth coursing through your veins does not let you panic. 

You are—

"Foolish." 

The warmth turns molten. You try to sit up, but the vines tighten around your limbs. If you weren't so vulnerable, you think it would almost feel like a hug. 

The soft crunch of the moss tells you the voice—the man—is moving forward, toward you. You want to scream, but your tongue is thick, and your mouth is numb. 

"What you did there was stupid," he says, and the forest around you seems to come alive in his anger. Pulsing. The branches sway and the leaves rattle without any wind. The trees bend down, coming inward. You hear the scream of a fox in the distance. The chuff of an agitated brown bear. 

Primordial signs tell you to run.

But you're trapped. 

Price steps closer, falling to his knees beside you. You can see him now, and suddenly you wish you'd been swallowed by the waves. 

His face is writ with anger, brows tightening together in displeasure. 

He seems imbued with the forest. One with the lush green that swells around you. Burnt umber and icy blue. Ethereal, unnatural. Something in your hindbrain tells you to run from that man that looks as if he could swallow you whole.

"Tryin' t'die on me, hmm?" 

His hand lifts, and you feel his warm knuckles graze your temple. Soft, gentle, despite the ire in his eyes, and the irritation clenched in his jaw. 

"Gonna hav'ta try harder than that, love." 

You weren't trying very hard at all, you think, dazed, dizzy. You weren't trying at all. 

"You're mine," his eyes flash, and you feel the press of gravity against your skin, pulling you down to the soft earth. Your fingers twitch. The fog inside your head clears. 

Blinking up at him, you catch the scattering supernovae echoing in the corners of his eyes; galaxies of pine and cedar, humus and tussock. They bloom from the black hole in the centre, surrounded by sapphire blue. He's not human, you think, but it doesn't surprise you because you already knew. Have known, really—ever since you asked around for his name and watched the same strange fog seep into their eyes as they struggled to remember a man they claimed to know. 

Ever since you found bushels of figs on your doorstep. 

A crown of pine needles and crow feathers. 

Price leans over you, brows knotted together like the gnarled, weaving trunk of a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine. 

There's a forest fire in his eyes. "You're mine, aren't you?" 

You think about the trinkets left on your doorstep. The whispers, the screams. 

"Did you ever give me a choice?" 

The tension in his brow snaps taut. Agony frissons through the spaced canyons; whet from ire and slick from sorrow. He bends down, and shakes his head. 

"I've always given you a choice," his words are smouldering logs, crackling with his pain. "I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?"

Price takes you on the mossy forest floor, fingers digging into the peat as you sink, down, down, down—

His hand under your head, cradling the back of your skull, keeps you from getting swallowed by the grass knoll that breathes and trill against your spine. 

Fire licks in the crevasses of his eyes, molten desperation you can't ignore. He rages above you, quivering in the fading glow of the sunset struggling to slip through the canopy. No longer a man but a myth. He hangs over you with his canines bared, and flashes of anger and sorrow scorch the path his teeth leave behind on your skin. 

You're becoming unmoored. Each touch, and brush; each sweep of his tongue soothing the indents of his razor-sharp teeth all seem to loosen the ties that thread through your soul, anchoring you to the world that stands in full bloom before you. 

The forest shudders with his frantic pace; each piston of his hips leaks his fervent anguish and makes the trees croon, and creak as they bow their foliage in sorrow. His pain lashes through their roots, and rent the air in two. A fox mourns his loss in the distance. A wolf yowls in agony. His brethren lifting their muzzle to the sleepy moon, and howling out the melody of their despair. 

It's too much, too much, and you fall into pieces in his hands, shivering beneath him as the woods around you tremble and quake. It's a mesmerising dance. 

He finishes with a grunt that makes the world shudder anew, spending himself as deep inside of you as he can, as if he could overwrite your empty spaces with himself. Fill you to the brim until you are bursting with him, with life. Tulips for your eyes. Furze for veins. Moss for hair. Peat soil for blood. 

When he speaks, the world falls silent. 

"You don't know it yet, but you will. You've always been mine. Always belonged to the forest, to the earth. To me."

Despite his words, he lets you go. 

And you run, run, run—

Your toes dig into the wet soil near the stream. The desperate catapult across the ravine halted at the very last moment, leaving you winded and shaking. Hands clenched into tight balls by your side. Quivering with fear, with the adrenaline rush still roaring in your veins. 

You don't know what you're doing. 

The whispers in your head go silent. 

The absence of sound makes you mourn, and you think about his agony. The pain when he took you, the resignation when he let you go. 

You think of him, and you know. 

I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?

You scent napalm in the air, cloying despite the acrid burn that scalds your lungs when you breathe in deep, holding it there. 

You think of the chest inside your closet. The pieces of yourself you left behind. The way he fits you like a puzzle, like he was made for you. Designed with your rough edges in mind. Softening your hard lines; scouring your gritty surface it was smooth and shiny like fire Opal and precious gems. 

Ever since you felt his hand on your shoulder, you haven't been able to let go. 

(You don't even think you ever really tried.)

Come to me, the forest says, honey in your ears. It sounds like the rapid beat of a million birds' wings, ready to take flight. Pulsing and alive and full of wonder, childish glee. 

The earth blooms in your chest. You feel the soft, tender caress of the leaves against your skin, the moss sinking between your toes. Clinging to your flesh, desperate to get inside, and take refuge in your heart. Come home to us.

Your grandmother warned you to stay out of the forest, that it was dangerous. Deadly. Wrong. But how can it ever harm you when it touches you so sweetly? 

The branches curl around your ankles as you walk, leading you, guiding you, to the place where you belong. The forest opens around you, spreads apart and makes room for you to pass, touching you as you go, taking little pieces of you. Strands of your hair, the salt from your tears. Pieces of clothes. Parts of your soul. 

You pluck your heart out of your chest, and leave it beneath a gnarled sequoia. She will protect it forever. 

Moss grows inside of the empty space. A tern makes a nest inside of it, filling it with a bed of pine needles, and twigs from the junipers. You feel a mouse make a home in your rib cage, burrowing between your bones. You place your hand over your side, and feel her nuzzle against your palm. 

"You're safe now," you say. "We're almost home."

It's Gaz who greets you with a crown made of sugi. When he cups your face, you feel raging rivers and streams in his palms, and now that you are home. 

"Missed you, dandelion," he breathes, and his voice turns into a Chinook that crests over the mountains. "But there's someone who wants to see you."

His hands slide down to your wrists, and you feel the sun grazing your skin when he spins you around, around, around—

"Now," he leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. You hear the Falcons nesting in his chest, and smell pine in his breath. "He's been an impatient bastard, you know? Just moping about ever since you left—"

A scoff. You lift your head and feel the swell of the earth beneath your feet. Dizzying. Wanting. 

He waits for you in the thicket, eyes made of sapphire and stone. When he breathes, the forest swells with his breath, and you taste loam when you swallow. 

"A sorry sap, thinkin' you were runnin' away, and all. But you won't, will you?" Gaz pushes you forward, and his laughter rings in your ears. "Not anymore."

Price meets you in the middle, his eyes sparkling embers. A baptism in fire. You feel the heat on your skin, and shiver. 

You used to be afraid of forest fires, but you know, now, that sometimes trees need to burn before they can truly grow. 

Lodgepole roots bud under his skin, rippling veins across a ravine. He rests his hand against your cheek, thumb brushing the dawn redwood needles that bloom under your skin. 

"Welcome home."

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go." 

"Why?" You asked, blinking at her. 

"Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

You don't tell her that you already have. You don't mention the sticks and precious stones that always ended up on your windowsill. The whispers of the forest calling your name. 

You nod sagely instead, fingers tightening around the sap stained heart chiselled from Bristlecone Pine. The charred ends are warm in your palm. You feel it pulse. 

Will you accept this? My heart? Will you keep it safe for me? 

"I will."

This was meant to be light and fluffy and smutty but now it's. This. And um. Oops. I hope you enjoyed it!

JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION PART THREE OF COD X MYTHOLOGY ⁞ SOAP ● DRAGON PRICE

#captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price #john price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price x you #fae price #cod x mythology #bhhhhhhhh #ive been in halifax for the last week and it's been kinda rainy and weird and this was born

[rivalriotrenegade]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

About this fic: This is technically supposed to be a Monster Simon x reader but can also be read as just human Simon. The monster type isn't specified so you can read it with whatever monster you have in mind! This is also inspired by @ghouljams Fae!Ghost AU. So if you like this I HIGHLY recommend checking out some of their stuff. Its amazing!

Word count: 719

Warnings: GN reader, small references to kinks and slight NSFW so if you ain't 18 this ain't for you :) Sorry not sorry. I also can't figure out the :readmore: so that's my bad guys.

You sit on Simon’s lap quietly reading as his face rests between your shoulder and neck, completely unaware of the inner turmoil that he’s currently going through. The longer you sit there, the more the edges of his mind begin to fray as he takes in your scent. 

It calls to him. Reawakens parts of himself he thought he had long since buried. A forgotten instinct that he had tucked away deep within the darkest corners of his mind. Slowly, he feels it coming back to life, the darker, more possessive parts of himself.

The parts that make him want to snarl and snap at anyone who gets too close, at anyone who would dare take you away. Friend or foe, it doesn’t matter. He wants to stay like this forever, everyone else be damned. 

He toys with the thought of sinking his fangs into you, of permanently marking you as his. His mouth waters at the thought. Simon Riley was never one to make a show of things, but the idea of everyone knowing who you belong to fills his head with plenty of dark fantasies. 

His instincts scream at him to do it. “Now! Before someone else comes and takes them away!” They cry. If he was thinking logically he’d know that you would never leave him for anyone else, but he’s not thinking logically. All he knows is that you’re his and he needs everyone else to know it too. “Mine. Mine. MINE!” 

Unconsciously he digs his fingers into you, pulling your body impossibly closer to him, determined to keep you there. Your flesh fills his hands perfectly, so soft and supple and all his. 

The things he’d do for you, the things he’d do to keep you safe are outweighed only by the things he wants to do to you. All the nasty, horrible things. Things that’d make you scream and cry and beg for mercy… or maybe you’d beg for more? He doesn’t know which sounds better. 

He wants you under him, filled to the brim with everything he has to offer! He wants to bring you to the brink of sanity and push you over it again and again. It doesn’t really matter how, though he might have some preferences. 

Tied up and blindfolded or lost and hunted? Either would do. Humans are always so scared of the unknown, but he’d make sure you had nothing to fear. Nothing but him, that is. Pain and pleasure can be interchangeable or are they one in the same? 

He doesn’t know anymore. Blame the war or the torture he’s endured or even his fucked up childhood. All he knows is that whatever it is it feels good. He’s never cared for anyone else’s pleasure but his own, but he wants, no he needs for you to feel good too. 

But you're so different from him. Would you be able to handle all the vile things he’d do to you? Could you handle being held down and marked up? Could you handle being manhandled, bent to his every whim and desire as he slammed into you? Could you even take his—

“Are you okay? You’re breathing kind of heavy.” You ask him sweetly and just like that he snaps out of it. Carefully he shakes his head dismissing the intrusive thoughts. “I’m fine love, just go back to reading, yeah?” You look at him, tilting your head inquisitively. “Are you sure?” You ask. His heart hammers inside his chest, like a caged animal trying to break free. “Yeah lovie, I’m sure.” 

Your eyes soften and you smile at him in a way that gets his blood racing. “I love you.” You say, so gently that it’s hard to even fathom that you’re talking to him. A man so messed up and broken. He swallows thickly. He can hardly believe that someone like you, so kind and caring, gentle to a fault, would choose to love a monster like him. If you knew what really went on inside his head, would you still love him? 

He has to remind himself that you don’t know what goes on inside his head. You're so far away from the monster that he knows himself to be. So for now he’ll keep on indulging in you. “I love you too.” 

That's all guys! I hope you enjoyed it and I also really hope it wasn't too cringe. If you have thoughts on it please let me know. Constructive criticism is ALWAYS appreciated. Have a lovely day!

#Simon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #Monster Ghost x reader #COD #Modern warfare 2 x reader #werewolf #demon #Fae #gender nuetral reader #John price x reader #Soap x reader #love #smut #Simon Riley x reader smut #Ghost x reader smut #slight yandere? #x reader #monster x reader #monster #monsters #questions #teeth #Scent kink #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare 2 x reader #Ghsot #konig x reader #konig x reader smut

[ghouljams]

Salt In An Old Wound Tags: hurt/comfort, Ghost x F!oc/reader, explicit mentions of Ghost's backstory, panic attacks, body horror, buried alive, fae au Summary: Ghost's wrapped you up so tightly you don't know where you start and he ends. Your feelings are his, and unfortunately his feelings are your as well.

You're somewhere small and dark. Somewhere you have to breathe shallowly to avoid the onset of claustrophobia. A body presses against your back, crawling, swarming, wiggling with life that isn't its own. A coffin and a corpse. You jolt away from the body, slamming yourself against the wooden wall of the coffin. Your breath comes quicker. Your body, your everything hurts. Moving is a new trauma. You broken bones and overworked muscles screaming at you for even the shallow breaths you try to maintain. Why do your ribs hurt like someone tried to pull them from your chest? 

You don't know what to do. You don't know where you are, what country you're in or how you got here. The smell of rot squirms in your nose, or maybe that's a maggot. You gag, try not to vomit. You think that might be the only thing that could make this worse, laying in your own sick. You wiggle your arm up to your chest to try and get some leverage, doing your best to avoid the rotting corpse behind you. You bang your fist against the coffin wall with all your strength. It feels pointless, your fist barely makes an indent, not enough wind up.

Your gloved hand clenches, trying to keep the panicked bile from rising in your throat, trying to tamp down the rage. The body behind you shifts, wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer into the wriggling mass of larvae. You scream and thrash against its grip, push against its hold with all your might as broken sobs force their way out of your chest. 

You hit the floor and scramble away from the bed, panic grips your chest, you scrub at your arms to try and get rid of the squirming feeling. Your shirt sticks to you, uncomfortably damp with sweat as you cry. Simon stares down at you from the bed, chest heaving and sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. His eyes are wide, mirroring your panic.

Blood pounds in your ears, your vision hazy and disfigured from the tears pouring down your cheeks. You tug at your shirt, Simon's shirt, your skin so itchy it feels raw. Your heart feels like it's about to pop out of your chest, and you can't piece a thought together besides a desperate clawing need to escape. You pull at your tethers, you need help, you need someone to help you.

Simon presses his hands against his face, his eyes glowing with fury in the dim light. Smoke and shadow swirl around him in aggravated spikes of sharp movement. His mask collects in awful darkness around his fingers, his teeth shining dangerously under the darkness. You curl in on yourself, trying to take breaths around the sobs that wrack your body. You can still feel the bone clenched in your hand, the teeth and rotted flesh digging into your palm, the dirt under your nails. Simon is still frozen on the bed, eyes fixed on you but unseeing, unfeeling. He trembles just on the edge of something.

It's him. It's him. He's the one laying with corpses. He's the one feeding you piecemeal panic through your hooks. Each tether between you looping back and doubling the feelings that grip you and won’t let go. You don’t know where you start and Simon ends. It’s your memory, it’s his memory, it’s Roba strapping you down and trying to wrench your skull open, it’s snakes and fire and hooks in your ribs that don’t leave you. There are hooks in you now and you can feel every single one of them as they light up a terrible bloody red.

He’s scaring you. Ghost is scaring you. The way he hunches his shoulders and stares through your soul like a wild animal, saliva dripping from between his teeth, rabid with panic and rage. You press your feet against the floor, pushing yourself further against the wall and away from open air. Open is bad. Wall is good. Safe. Small and safe. Ghost's smoke weighs down the air in the room, cloying at your lungs as you draw in desperate breaths. He moves and you feel all of your muscles freeze, waiting for the inevitable pounce of the predator in your bed. His hand shakes as he grips his chest, mirroring your own pulling, but it’s not your chest that pulls tight under his fingers.

Ghost says a name, his lips moving around consonants and vowels that don’t make their way to you. You hear a noise like the quiet before a storm, the last hiss of air before the sirens start, the dead silence the predicts a tornado. A man grabs the back of Simon's neck, and presses his hand hard against his forehead until he goes boneless. Simon's hands fall from his face as he leans heavily against the man holding onto him. Safe. Safe, Safe, Safe. It hums through your tethers like plucked strings. He shifts his grip to hold Simon's head against his shoulder, turns his own head to speak to him in a low tone you only hear the buzzing after effects of. 

He turns his attention to you, and you don't know whether to push yourself further into your corner or hold your arms out to him. You want safe. You want these feelings, these memories, out. The man crouches in front of you in between blinks, his eyes sympathetic, understanding, pitying. His mouth twists into something akin to a smile, it’s comforting. He’s not mad at you. You don’t- you don’t know why that’s important. It’s Simon’s, you think.

You reach for him, he’s sturdy where you grip his shirt. Everything about him seems made to draw you in, to make you want to sit in his lap and be praised. The tears are still coming, still dripping off your jaw. You can still smell the burnt flesh of your family, feel the scars across your skin being cut open again and again. The memories still echo in you, unsure where to go when your connection to Simon is quiet.

"You're not mine sweetheart," he tells you in a low rasping tone, "not sure what I'm allowed to do with you."

"Make it stop," you whisper, the sobs have stopped but your body still shakes like it's been thrown in a blender. 

"Dammit," he whispers, and reaches towards you. You close your eyes and feel him tap your forehead.

It’s strange how dreamlessly you sleep. So still and quiet. The gentle drip of water into a shallow pool is a constant lull to keep you deep under whatever spell is being woven over you. You feel wrung out, emotionally drained in a way you’ve never experienced before. But. It’s lonely here. You’re not used to being lonely anymore. You curl up in the darkness, let yourself float with the drip, drip, drip of water. Smoke wraps around your mind, soothes you, sections off the parts that aren’t yours and pulls them like thorns from you.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight against the morning sun that streams through your bedroom window. 

“The fuck are you still doin’ here?” Simon grumbles not at you, you feel his arm reach for you, fingers hesitant as they trace over your cheek. It’s enough reason to open your eyes, only to shut them again when Simon rubs some of the sleep from one. You get a glimpse of the bearded man from last night sitting between you and your husband, fully dressed and unbothered by the both of you.

“Keepin’ you two separated,” Price says, flipping the page on one of your manuscripts, “least until you woke up.”

“No shoes on the bed,” You mumble. Price glances down at where you’re cuddling closer against his side. He’s got that nice cool feeling Simon has, and a similar smokey scent. You like it.

“She serious?” He asks Simon.

"Always," Simon hums, thumb rubbing your cheek with open affection. There’s a rustle from the blankets moving, a quiet huff from Price, and then Simon’s lips against your forehead. Wiping away the last of the magic that was worked on you. It’s pleasant, like shaking off a weighted blanket you feel like you’re able to move more freely. If you wanted to. You’re not inclined to do much in the mornings, you leave that chore to Simon.

Simon sighs watching you tug the blankets up, burrowing down to get more comfortable. Something small and needy in the back of his brain scratches at him. He can still see your panicked face in his mind, he needs you safe. Small and safe. He hesitates a moment before moving your head to rest on Price’s lap. That’s about as safe as he can think to make you without locking you up somewhere.

“Just a dream Ghost,” Price reminds him, hardly bothered by the intrusion to his space.

“She shouldn’t have to see that,” Simon shakes his head, drips some extra sleep over your brain as he pushes your hair back.

Price glances down at you, the way you glow with Simon’s affection, “Seems fine to me.”

He sets the manuscript down and grabs Simon’s chin, keeping him close, keeping him teetering over his lap. He squints, searching his gaze for any lingering noise, any anxiety still clinging to Simon. Simon lets him, keeps still for his captain even as his thumb rubs against his cheek. Soothing affection, gone as quick as it came. 

“I like ‘er.” Price relents finally, letting Simon go to settle back against the pillows.

“Figured you would,” Simon sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He needs a shave, and a shower. He can still feel smoke clinging to his skin, shadows shared between him and Price to ground him.

“She’s pretty.”

“And mine,” Simon glares, catching the tail end of Price’s smile.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #1fae1 #x oc #simon ghost x reader #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x oc #simon riley cod #simon riley #ghost x oc #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #fae!Ghost #fae!price #oc: love #very minor ghost x price #f!reader #f!oc #ghost x f!oc

[peachesofteal]

WELLLLL SINCE YOU ASKED….

ok so primary thoughts were (my love for world building is showing) vampire.

In peach’s silly little magic world vampires are kinda like the possums/raccoons/badgers (seen as pests that can be dangerous if underestimated, but only if you’re really dumb with them). Created several centuries back by a fae who was playing god, these inconvenient bloodsuckers roam the fae realm and earth. And no one’s been able to find an effective way to get rid of them between their inability to be charmed/spelled and their frustratingly stubborn will to live

So imagine Price’s surprise when one creeps through his window in the fae realm, ready to assassinate him??? and of course he catches her immediately, and just trying to figure out who sent her. Just major “upset creature” vibes from the vampire. Price has to admit, she’s tenacious and loyal, no matter what type of magic he tries to pull with her, it doesn’t hold.

That’s all I’ve got so far for my little vampire, I’ll send in another one for the other character I thought up

Ooh this is curious! I like it! 🩸 plus it really goes with the blood theme that this series seems to have adopted. Price’s !reader is not a vampire but let’s talk about it:

I love the idea of the reader (you) trying to get the drop on Price, like you think that’s even remotely within possibility. Maybe you’re confident, maybe you’re battle tested, but either way… as soon as you broach the threshold, you’re caught, and then thrust into a very dangerous situation.

Because, maybe your kind is seen as pests, as mentioned. Low level blood suckers with sun sensitivity that should have never been created in the first place. And maybe, Price has no patience for your kind. Maybe he considers you the scum on the bottom of his boot. It means he’s not above ending your existence, if you prove fruitless or too frustrating.

Which is enough to put you on edge. Make you nervous, while he interrogates you. Makes you stumble over your words, makes your heart trill in your chest. Fear scents the air between the two of you, and you cannot hide how your emotions have taken a monumental shift. All things he picks up on… which intrigues him. What happened to the braw, over confident creature that was trying to spring a knife on him moments ago?

What is it you’re truly afraid of?

#peaches asks #fae au #fae!au #fae!price #captain john price #I love your brain! #🐕 anon

[ethereal-night-fairy]

Forgotten sorrows

Chapter 6

Fae!Soap X Female Reader

Witch X Rún X Price

Price warns Soap to stay away from you for his own good and you enjoy a day out with your best friend. Seeing her in pretty dresses might have cause your brain to short circuit with very dirty thoughts plaguing your mind. It doesn't help when Price decides to butt in on you flirting with her.

Warnings: MDNI, smut (Rún thinking about Witch and Price, no Soap this time sorry i got carried away but I'll include it in the future chapters maybe...that depends on if this ship lasts) kissing, oral sex, fingering, light bondage, Top/Bottom, dark themes, mention of trauma, light angst, cursing, hurt/comfort sorry if I missed any.

I'm so sorry I've been gone so long again you might as well just expect chapters at a monthly pace lol. I fought myself so much writing this chapter because i was in such an angsty mood but i had promised to be sweeter and that what i wanted to deliver. I was literally doing a 'Ricky when I catch you Ricky' with my own brain lol. I know I said I'd include Rún thirsting after Soap with some smut and you all voted on it but i just don't think Rún likes him enough to willing let herself think about him like that yet. Especially since she thinks he's fucking her sister. I'm not comfortable with writing cheating. Even though he's so hot. It's got to wait until he confirms he never done anything romantic with Daisy. Your getting smut with Witch X Rún X Price though hope you enjoy that. Hopefully in the next chapter I'll include some real light smut and more fluff. Feel free to send me ideas or questions about the story if you don't understand anything. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. This Fae au belongs to @ghouljams I feature their Oc in my writing, send them some love. This story wouldn't exist without them. Thanks again to @ghouljams hyping me up to post this chapter. Your the best!!! Also shout-out to 🦖 anon on ghouls blog who's Ocs I mentioned in this chapter.

Forgotten Sorrows Masterlist

Masterlist

Words: 8k

Soap laid on Gaz's bed trying to get air back into his lungs. After being fucked into the mattress, on request of course. His wrists were raw from the bounds he was just in, the pain helped distract him from his racing thoughts. Gaz comes into the bedroom freshly washed and glistening with water droplets, a white towel wrapped around his waist. Soap turned to admire his figure as he opened his closet to get dressed for a night out. He drank in the sight of Gaz's toned body and wet skin. Getting up he presses himself into Gaz and starts kissing up his defined back towards his neck while pulling him back towards himself. His skin smelled nice and he felt his cock harden with his familiar scent and warmth.

"Enough you mad dog! I've been fucking you for the better part of today. I need to go hunt. Don't you dare leave hickeys on me", Gaz said, pushing Soap back with his hand as he grabbed his clothes. Soap whined and tried clinging onto him like a lost puppy.

"But ah need yer support right noo mate, dinnae be sae heartless", he wrapped his thick arms around his torso preventing Gaz from moving. Getting fed up with Soap's clinginess Gaz snapped his fingers causing the ropes on the headboard to spring alive and restrain Soap back to the bed. His wrists and arms were bound as the ropes coiled around him. He tried escaping but to no avail. In the time he was struggling Gaz managed to dress and style his hair quickly. Soap continued to throw a hissy fit as Gaz put his socks on.

"I'll restrain your legs too if you don't stop", Gaz directed a pointed look at the exposed man laying on his bed. He was covered in bites and rope marks given to him again on his own request.

"What am ah supposed tae dae while ye're gone", he grunts aspirated, flexing his bound arms still trying to escape.

"Come with me and find someone else to fuck if you're so pent up, I've done the best I can. Almost blew my back out for you with how rough you wanted it today", Gaz gets up looking for his shoes when he hears a knock on his door. Both men exchange glances before Gaz snaps his fingers releasing Soap.

"Get cleaned up and dressed I'll go check what Price wants", Gaz walks out the room not waiting for Soap to answer.

Gaz walks down the hall to open the door for Price. He could recognise the smell of his cigars anywhere. It was unusual for him to visit at night though. More often than not business was done in the early hours unless it was a premeditated attack. The door swings open and Price stands outside with his hands full with takeaway food. The smell of his recent cigar was clinging to him like pollen does to bees. Gaz steps to the side to allow him in, breathing in the residue of the smoke as he walked by. It was comforting in an odd way.

Price came in going towards the living to set the bags of food down. While Gaz trailed behind him waiting for Price to begin talking.

"I need you to do some digging on someone from the winter court", he turned to face Gaz. "It doesn't need to be done tonight but I'd like the information by the end of the week", Price writes down who he's talking about and what kind of information he's looking for before telling Gaz to enjoy the food he brought and to have a quiet night with Soap since he's gonna need some company after what he's going to tell him.

When Soap was showered and dressed he met with Price in Gaz's living room. Gaz was lounging on the sofa enjoying his Chinese with 'Come Dine With Me' on the Tv.

"Ah thought we were going out?", Soap gave him a questioning look.

Gaz shrugged and said he changed his mind and focused back on the Tv. Price was sitting beside him waiting for Soap. He eyed the bags of takeaway wondering why there was so much food for 3 people. Soap took a seat and grabbed a container from the open bag and began eating, waiting for an explanation for Price's late visit. Maybe they could invite Ghost over for a boy's night. A change of pace would be nice from his insistent drinking. Soap noticed Price wasn't eating either. So he assumed he wasn't going to be staying long.

"I just dropped by to tell you to leave Rún alone, do whatever you want with Daisy but Rún is off limits", after finishing his sentence Price stood up to leave with the other bag of food.

"Wait? What? Why!?", Soap put down his food and hurried after Price. Gaz just glanced at them and continued watching his show, too tired to get involved. Maybe if he hadn't fucked Soap so hard he'd have some energy to help but he didn't. Probably needed a hot water bottle for his back.

"I don't understand why you're so upset, there's a whole city for you to hunt from. Just leave the girl alone, she's been through enough already and my Witch will more than likely end you if you try anything with her. So I'm warning you in advance, find someone else", Price left no room for negotiation and apparated his smoke swirling where he once stood.

Soap sunk down into the armchair as Gaz continued to eat. He held his head between his hands as he tried to understand what just happened.

"You're that whipped huh? This the same girl you met at the Renaissance festival? Or the other one you couldn't take your eyes off?", Gaz lets out a chuckle. "No wonder you came to me, it's ok mate there's plenty of fish in the sea. You'll find a decent meal soon."

Soaps first instinct was to protest what Gaz had just said. That you weren't just a meal to him but stopped himself by pressing his lips together. That's all you should be though, a source of sustenance nothing more. He wanted to delude himself into believing the only reason he wanted to expose and get rid of Daisy was to get to you. To make you trust him, to let him inside your mind. He didn't want to admit that his heart stirred when he thought of you rather than his stomach. Or that you had a little corner all to yourself, where you fluttered around carelessly. Tugging at his heartstrings from time to time.

He wanted to devour you, to slowly wear down your walls. To be allowed inside your turbulent mind, he wanted to sink his teeth into the tender parts of yourself you kept hidden. He wanted to cut you open and take you somewhere far away where he could consume you slowly and in peace. Away from prying eyes. Where he could painstakingly inspect every crevice of your mind and soul. While he basked in the taste of your sweet flesh and blood. He'd stitch you back together piece by piece once he was satisfied. Finally satiating his heart on how and why you had wormed your way into his mind. Or what magic did you cast over him to make him constantly think of you.

This is what his true nature was, a predator. Well that's what he's been telling himself. Not the silly lovesick puppy he thought you were trying to make him become with your gentle smile and mischievous eyes. Yeah, this was your fault he thought. You shouldn't have been born so sweet and kind. What other choice does he have but to steal you away from everyone else. Especially those who didn't know how to truly appreciate the value of your blood. He can still feel the weight of your little drawing in his void. You were too good for him to destroy and deplete without discretion. He'd be no different than Daisy who was using you without actually acknowledging the gem she had in her grasp. It would be like chugging down expensive Scotch. No he was going to truly savour you, down to your bones. But that was all it was, this was just about his own hunger. He didn't care for you….. no truly he didn't but for some reason those words wouldn't leave his mouth.

You weren't his typical prey, you weren't easy to hook. You didn't fall for pretty words or shallow complements. You didn't look at him like other people did. You weren't affected by his looks or his magic. On top of that you wanted nothing to do with him. Or was that just what you wanted him to think? He had caught your heated gaze on multiple occasions. Perhaps you felt too guilty acknowledging your own feelings, especially taboo ones like these. You probably wouldn't forgive yourself if you confessed to your sister's man. Not that he considered himself her man, he hadn't even kissed her. There was no need too, when all she wanted was to gain connections and contacts from him. But you found him attractive at the very least. He could work with that.

The fact you didn't have the sight was unusual. He didn't get to take a closer look into your bewitching eyes since you liked avoiding his gaze. But he was grateful for the fact you couldn't see his true form. His only redeeming quality in your eyes as of now. If he lost that he wouldn't know where to start in winning you over. He so desperately wanted to hook you. To bind you you him in a way you couldn't escape easily. He knew he was in for a challenge. You seem like the evasive kind, the kind the could slip through fingers like dry sand. This was no short of trying to capture the wind. It's what make it all the more fun. The chase, the uncertainty, the sweet taste of blood when you finally get caught in his trap.

He didn't want to disobey Price but you weren't someone he was willing to let go so easily. Good thing Price hadn't used a tether to stop him, it was just a warning. He could deal with the witch, he has before. Though that perfume she wore last time they met was atrocious. He just needed to avoid seeing her again, at least she didn't know him by name. What's the worst that can happen? He doubted Price would let his witch kill him. He knew his own value in Price's heart, he could definitely use it to his advantage when pleading his case after he was done with you. He'll be good to you in your short lived life. He'll promise you that.

He just sighed and went back to eating. He'll come up with a plan sooner or later but in the meantime he needed to utilise Daisy. That was the only bridge he could use to get closer to you. You were too smart for his typical tactics, but he'll find a way around that. Maybe he'd have to go old school. But being near you would be enough for now.

-

Witch had your damaged necklace in her hand. She had brought it back with her after checking on your condition before leaving you to rest. It brought back good memories of your healing. It was a shame it was burnt now. She took off the knot pendant from the burnt bark and put it in a bowl and went to go find a silver chain to go with the pendant instead, after finding it she placed it in the bowl as well. She began her cleansing ritual and started preparing a protection spell to cast on the necklace as it soaked in Acacia flower water. She plucked some asters from her dried bouquet to grind into a powder as well as rosemary, rue and angelica as she chants the spell. She covers the bowl to let it soak.

She stood there for a second just getting her thoughts into place after finishing the spell. You were sleeping peacefully in your room when she went to check on you. While taking a look at your burns again she saw you had tried clawing at your chest. There were red blood marks on your sternum.

She wonders if you crave having tethers like other fae do. Did you yearn for the bond that they created? But you seldom ask for anything. Even for your gifts or favours. Not with her, not with anyone you help. It's been like that since the first day she met you. You'd have a gift ready to give in exchange for any help you would ask from her until she had to stop you. You already knew not to say thank you, and you had previous knowledge of fae until your memory seal was put in place. After that everything was taught to you again by her grandmother and her, not that you would believe in it but you listened regardless and followed what you were told. She supposes that you became a lot like her in that regard. You were very careful not to get tethered. Or if you did ever need help you'd have a repayment ready before a tether took hold. You were hyper independent to a fault, you'd only come to her when things were out of your control, not before. She knew the reason why as well, though she wished you had more trust in your friendship with her to know she'd never see you as a burden.

She took a step back from her workstation to go stoke the fire that was dwindling. Getting comfortable on the armchair, she let the flames lick at her feet. She mulled over her thoughts on how to help you or just reassure you that things will be okay. Tampering with your memories again wasn't going to do you any favours. What if ten years down the line the seal breaks again, who knows what state your mind would be in then. Maybe this was a good time to heal from past trauma rather than try to forget everything. This could open your eyes to how your sister has been treating you all these years.

She knew of the promise you made to your sister, that you'd look after her in the name of family but this was just exploitation at this point. Well it always was on Daisy's end. She doesn't think Daisy ever considered you as family but you did and you continue to delude yourself into thinking this is what family was.

Her eyes landed on a box sitting high on her shelves, strongly warded and locked. It was made of eucalyptus wood from Egypt. Given to her on her trip to Faiyum by a coven who she assumed was from the region. The box had their symbol on it but she wasn't able to find substantial information on the coven even using her connections. A nepenthe draught they had called it but she couldn't verify it herself. The liquid was too small to run tests on or to analyse without wasting it. Nepenthe, a fictional elixir many had debunked as opium or weed as a way to forget worries. No witch she knew actually knew how to make the potion. The coven didn't really specify how the drug worked or what it did exactly. There were potions similar to that of nepenthe, potions that altered memories or made you forget entirely but they said that nepenthe was a gift of new life entirely. To leave one's past behind to begin anew. It was for the mortals or fae who had lived too long, had seen too much. Unlike other potions and draughts the effects of nepenthe were rumoured to be irreversible. Once drunk there was no going back to your previous life. But all that was speculation. She had never seen anyone use or procure a nepenthe draught. She didn't even realise it was an actual thing until they had given it to her with cryptic words as they left without asking for anything in return not even a tether took hold. She wasn't able to track or trace the origins of the box or the coven. It was as if they never existed.

"When winds clash from all four seasons, chaos will ensue. The choice will lay in your hands, on who you choose to subdue", she repeated their words to herself.

She didn't really know what to do with the draught, so she kept it safe in her home after her return from Faiyum. Which was hurried by your hospitalisation. She had contemplated on what the words meant since then, with zero luck. She only had ties to Summer nor did she engage with Fae from the high courts except for Price but that didn't count since he didn't involve her in his work. But there was no point thinking about it now she needed to figure out a way to help you.

She felt a wave of magic course through her wards before she felt his presence reappear. He was in the kitchen putting down food as she walked in.

"Should we wake her?", he asked.

"No, let her rest, she hasn't slept properly for the last few days."

-

The air was a little stuffy with notes of musk and wood floating through it. You picked up on the scent quickly when you had entered the quaint little shop at the end of the alley with Witch. The shop also smelled of wax and incense and the walls were lined with jars and jars of odd things. Some had claws, others had hair. You wondered where the shopkeeper got his supplies from. Witch was conversing while you walked around the quiet store. There was no one here beside the three of you.

Witch had thought it would do you some good to get out, especially after yesterday's incident. So here you were, helping her gather and stock up on her supplies. It wasn't much different from you going to your favourite art store in the city. It's been a while since you've seen ‘the old hen’, the owner of the store. A sweet old lady who had given you your first job at 16. You worked for her up until you graduated from college. She was very kind to you, to this day you buy your supplies from there unless it's a niche item you're looking for. You remember getting your first paycheck and buying the more expensive art supplies you could only dream of having before. You even got a staff discount. You had also made a friend called Mimi a couple years ago when you were working but she didn't stay long though and you haven't seen her since. She might return though she said she would. She had taught you a lot about painting more so than your actual art teacher. You catch yourself smiling at the memory. Even with all your horrible memories that had resurfaced. Remembering the nicer ones just felt warmer and sweeter than before. Much like an oasis in the desert.

You browse the store as Witch continues discussing the more rare items she was looking for. Your eyes land on a murky jar with eyeballs in it. Were those human eyeballs? They seemed like it. You were hoping it was just a prank, a gag joke to make customers laugh. Why would the shopkeeper have human eyeballs? You take a closer look trying to decipher if they were real or fake. An eye twitches and turns to face you. You clamp your hand over your mouth to prevent a scream from escaping. Once that eye had turned in your direction the rest of them did too. It's an odd staring contest you're having with roughly 20 eyeballs. To say you were unnerved is an understatement. But this was your life now you couldn't just ignore the existence of fae and magic like you did before. Slowly stepping back from their direction, you make your way towards your best friend. She's finalising her order as you approach her. You rest your chin on her shoulder as you watch the shopkeeper weigh and pack her order into brown paper bags tied with red strings. It was strangely captivating watching him do the task. She cups your face gently with her hand as you both watch the shopkeeper's packing skills. Her head turns slightly to place a kiss on your cheek as you continue watching.

"Bored?", she inquires. You just shake your and make a humming sound. Her warmth seeps into your skin as she continues to caress your face with her delicate fingers. Once everything was packed you two moved onto the next store she needed to visit arms linked. The day went by like this, with you two running errands and enjoying each other's company. Around mid afternoon you two finished your late lunch in a cute cafe and decided to walk home.

The September air had developed a sharp edge to it as the sun was lowering in the sky. The warmth once acuminated, now fading by the second. Your only source of heat was Witch's hand holding yours as you two admired old cobblestone buildings on your way back making idle chatter. You really should have dressed more warmly, but heavy clothing always felt restrictive to you. You preferred lightweight, airy, breathable fabrics to shroud your figure. You enjoyed the way the wind would play with your dresses and skirts during all the seasons. Air coursing through the fabric as if it was trying to give you flight, trying to whisk you away from all your troubles. But in all honesty you needed to take your sweaters and jumpers out of your storage, hopefully no moths had gotten in this time.

You're passing an alley when an old shop lantern catches your eye. You stop to peer into the dark space to see what kind of shop it is. Witch halting when you do.

"See something you like?", she squeezes your hand as you walk closer to the old shop. It looks run down at first glance, almost dingy in a sense. But you look closely at the display of a gold embroidered silk gown. If you looked long enough you'd catch flashes of light emanating from the finely done embroidery, before getting a headache and squeezing your eyes tightly. Your eyes wander to the hanging sign post 'Golden Threads' written in peeling paint.

"Want to go in?", she said, giving you a second to collect yourself from your disoriented thoughts.

"Yeah…. If that's ok… we can go home if you're too tired", you fumble with your words a little bit as you talk to her.

"Nonsense! Who doesn't want to look at pretty dresses. It'll be fun. We can play dress up like we used to as kids," She giggled as she led you through the small entrance. "You might find a dress for your upcoming exhibit at the museum".

The sheer expanse of the shop shocked you as you walked further in. It was better lit on the inside than it looked from the outside. Sun lanterns decorated the high ceilings raining down beams of subtle sunlight. You felt heat re-enter your body slowly warming your skin. The walls had racks and racks of very expensive looking dresses, skirts, suits you name it and a whole section of the shop to display jewellery and accessories to go with any items in the store. Witch was greeted by a very pretty sales assistant, but when her eyes landed on you her face fell for a second before she recovered. Witch couldn't help but eye her for an explanation.

"Oh forgive me, I thought you were a moth for a second. We don't allow moths inside, you see. Bad for business if they eat all our stock", she laughs awkwardly.

You simply smile and nod acknowledging her apology even though Witch was reluctant to let it go. She leads you both to the sitting area near the ornate mirrors and large changing rooms. And begins asking questions to best help you find what we were looking for. Once that was done she led you both to a rack with very elaborate looking dresses specifically made for big events.

"Don't worry about sizing, everything here can be altered by the owner who sews and designs these dresses. If nothing catches your eyes you can always book a consultation to design a custom piece. Give a shout if you need any further help I'll be right back with some tea and coffee, she gives you both a final smile before going back to the backroom to get your beverages.

You both begin browsing through the rack, showing each other dresses you think are nice. By the time your coffee and her tea arrived, she had decided on a dress to try on. You waited for her to change as you enjoyed your coffee.

When she emerged from the changing room in that champagne silk gown you almost choked on your coffee. You had to calm your coughing enough to get a good look at her cinched in waist and her ample breasts spilling out from the cowl neckline. To say you were speechless was an understatement, you were gobsmacked. You may have stared at her breasts for far too long that she clicked her fingers in front of your eyes to get your attention back to her face. Heat flooded to your cheeks when she gave you a knowing look.

"You'll catch flies if you don't close your mouth Rún", she smirks at you while walking closer to the mirror to get a better look at herself. The dress was structured and fitted her body well. The colour also suited her complexion making her look more radiant than ever. With her back turned to you got a great view of the very low backless dress. You really shouldn't be looking at her with such lustful eyes. But she looked good in anything in your opinion. She could be wearing a nightgown right now and you know she'd look beautiful. The image of her wearing a nightgown popped into your head and you felt your heart rate pick up.

"You can hardly blame me, it's your fault for looking so good", you flirt back trying to quell the hammering of your heart. You hoped she couldn't hear it. She smiled a full tooth smile at your compliment as she fixed the dress to sit better around her breasts. To distract yourself you get up again to look for a dress to try on. The sales assistant goes to help Witch look at accessories that would elevate the dress if she chooses to purchase it.

A dress that looked to be have dyed in a blood caught your eye, the deep square neckline makes you think it would look divine on Witch (picture). You pinch yourself trying to get your mind to stop popping up images of her breasts. You felt like a pervert or worse a hedon. The velvet fabric glides through your hands as you contemplate if you should show her the dress. Would she think of you as a pervert? No…. Probably not… It would be a crime if she didn't try on the dress, you try to counter your own thoughts. You go back and forth with your own mind for a bit trying to come up with valid reasons for her to try on the dress that didn't frame you as a pervert. But you didn't need to because the sales assistant had come over to you eyeing the dress and looking back at Witch countless times to take the hint in what you were thinking. She smiles and takes the dress off the rack to bring it to Witch as she was looking at necklaces that matched the current dress she was wearing.

“I think this dress would suit your body so well, why not give a try?”, she smiles as she places the dress on the hook in the changing room after showing Witch.

“Oh that dress is beautiful, have you found anything Rún? I feel like I'm the only one trying things on”

“I'll find something soon…. you go try on that dress, I think it'll suit you very well.”, you didn't stutter, you felt proud that you didn't stutter. But your heart rate still hadn't gone down. You hoped seeing her in that red dress wouldn't cause anymore heart palpitations.

By the time she came out you had chosen two dresses to try on. But you could care less about the dresses when your eyes landed on her. Your breath got caught in your throat, almost choking you. A sculpture of pure beauty and elegance she was. The dress accentuated her curves just the right amount without making it vulgar. The neckline was deep and showed the rounds of her bosoms. Her skin glowed from the contrast of the deep red colour. The sleeves had slits running up it. And were connected from the back in a sort of cape that could also be used as a hood if she wanted. It was of the dress was made to be worn by her and her alone.

You knew she didn't particularly like going to big events where eyes would be on her but she had promised to attend your exhibition and go to the afterparty. You hadn't asked her as of yet to be your plus one, finding out about Price made you think it'll be better just to give her two tickets to attend the event with Price and you'll take your sister as your partner. You didn't want to overstep your position as her friend. But that didn't mean you couldn't jokingly flirt with her.

“Wow…..just…..wow”, you drank in her body as if it were the fountain of youth. Your eyes just roamed and appreciated her body and elegance as the velvet hugged her figure. You hear her giggling at your words or lack thereof.

“Staaawp….you going to make me blush”, she says, raising her hands to her face to hide for a second before looking at herself in the mirror. “You really think it suits me?”

You nod your head adamantly leaving no room for doubt that you found her and the dress stunning.

“You wear that out and you'll see men, women and anyone in between falling to their knees for you”, you see her scoff in disbelief before you continue. “Heavens you'd have me on my knees from a simple look in my direction”. She was about to counter what you just said but before she could you both heard a deep chuckle come from the entrance.

“Ya think you'll be able to satisfy my Witch?”, Price saunters in like he owns the place. His hulking body stopping directly where Witch and you stood.

On instinct you find yourself shielding yourself behind Witch as you look over her shoulder at Price. Witch seems just as shocked as you to see Price so neither of you were expecting to see him. You don't know what caused you to say your next words but you were feeling slightly vexed by yesterday's incident and now his current appearance. The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“I'd do a better job than you”, you say bitterly and mostly to yourself. But by his amused facial expression you knew he heard you. He steps closer causing you to hold onto Witch out of reflex. Placing your hands on her shoulders.

“I'd love to see you try, and when you fail. I'll show you how to do it properly”, he shamelessly counters while giving Witch his signature smile. He didn't seem at all threatened by your comment. Probably knowing you were all bark no bite. Witch smacks his arm when he comes closer.

“Stop teasing her, you still have to apologise for yesterday”, she gives him a pointed look choosing to ignore the words that were exchanged between you and Price probably thinking it was a joke. Price takes a closer look at your face to find your burns healed. Witch's salves must have been extremely potent. It's just another testament to her skills. You shrink back against his stare when you see him coming closer.

“Your right luv, I should have addressed that first”, he places a gentle kiss on her cheek before turning to you. “I'd like to apologise for my unrefined behaviour with you yesterday, my words caused you harm and for that I'm truly sorry”, he bows his head slightly and offers his hand. “I'd like it if we didn't carry any animosity towards each other.”

You didn't know what to do, should you take his hand and accept the peace offering? Or should you keep your distance and not speak to him again? His kiss had you feeling a slight sling in your heart but you pushed that aside. You knew he was a better match for her than you. No matter how much you wanted her for yourself you knew better than to be selfish. She deserved better than what you could offer her. Being her friend was enough for you, even that was beyond what you deserved. You look at Witch to try to gauge an answer but she didn't give anything away on how she wanted you to answer. You knew Price was more than likely going to end up a permanent figure in Witch's life and by default in yours. It was best to bury the hatchet. You glanced at his eyes trying to find any hint of deception but you couldn't. You saw some type of remorse, you didn't know if it was for hurting you or upsetting Witch by hurting you. You take his calloused hand in your soft one giving it a gentle shake before retreating swiftly.

Witch smiles once you shake his hand and tells you to go try on your dresses so she can have a look.

-

Soap was peering in from the display window of the shop. Price had entered a few minutes ago sensing his Witch was in the area while the four of them were completing some ‘errands’ to put it nicely. Price had dismissed them and Ghost had taken the first chance to apparate home to his misses. Gaz and him had stuck around trying to catch Price with his mysterious Darling who was impossible to hook even though they had seen her before, not with Price though. Gaz was blowing out his smoke from his cigarette dispelling the stress of their recent activities as he peered into the shop as well. Nothing exciting was happening; it looked like Price was helping her choose accessories and possibly getting matching suits for himself to compliment the dresses she was buying. He was so soft with her it was uncharacteristic compared to what he was doing a little while ago. He was acting if he didn't just wash his hand of blood. Price really won the lottery with his Witch she was beautiful and looked even better in the dress she was wearing. Both Gaz and Soap try to look discreetly not trying to get caught by Price. The consequences of that would be detrimental. Or worse he'd put them on clean up duty without magic. He could feel himself getting ready to gag remembering the last time that happened.

His eyes drifted to the changing room curtains that fluttered open to reveal a very beautifully dressed you. Your delicate steps took you to the spotlight in front of the large mirrors as you inspected the sheer fabric. You turn and twist your body scrutinising every detail of yourself and the dress that looked as if it was sewn onto your body. The outer fabric was an ethereal lace (picture), the metallic blue complementing your smooth skin on display. A nude slip peaked from underneath the fabric of the floor length dress yet your underwear could still be seen slightly. You didn't seem to mind though. He supposes this wasn't much difference to type of clothing you liked wear on the few occasions he's seen you. You seemed mostly comfortable with your body or rather comfortable with the clothing you chose to wear. Airy and light very indicative to the type of magic you possessed. The slip dress moulded itself to your figure creating a ravishing silhouette. All he wanted to do at this moment was bury his face in the crook of your neck while inhaling your scent. Maybe bend you over the counter and take you right here in front of everyone. It was unlikely you'd let him near though. Especially now that you had your friend to protect you. He needed to stay put to avoid her gaze. She was the main obstacle at the moment. Seeing you dressed up like this had his blood rushing to places it shouldn't. Hearing Gaz let out a whistle from next to him was what brought him out of his trance.

“What a sight, sucks you got no chance with her”, Gaz smirks at Soap regardless of the glare he was getting. “You should have chosen better mate, you've dug yourself into a hole.”

“What would ye know?, ye cannae even get yer darlin to desire anythin tae make a deal.”

“Low blow mate, why don't I go talk to her and show you how it's done”, Gaz chuckles.

“Don't ye dare go near her”, he growled. Usually Soap was fine with sharing; they'd all know each other long enough for it not to be a big deal. But that fact his chances with you were low and that fact Gaz could literally charm anyone by simply smiling at them was irking him.

“Too late”, Gaz was already halfway through the door before he could stop him.

-

You stood in the changing room in the nude slip that came with the dress you were about to slip on. The blue lace felt really soft in your hands. But your mind was elsewhere. Price’s words irritated you. Just because he was a couple hundred years old he thinks he knows everything. You're confident in your ability to give oral regardless of the fact you've never actually given oral but that was beside the point. You've read enough books to rival Price's experience in years, that's what you delude yourself into thinking that is. You were probably just upset he called you out on it. But you did have intensive book smarts about sex even if you don't have any physical experience. Not forgetting you also possess female genitalia, so you knew your way around a woman's body. You knew how to please yourself so you were confident if a chance ever arose where you were on your knees for Witch you'd do a good job at pleasing her. Not that it would actually ever happen. Why would anyone ever want you? Especially in a sexual manner. Yes you know you and witch flirt from time to time. But that was just some banter between friends. No one has ever actually approached you with genuine interest before.

But right now your mind was flooded with images of Witch. All you could think about was being on your knees for her. Having her in a state of undress on the couch with her legs spread over your shoulders as you go to town on her folds. Her breasts on display, nipples becoming erect. Her dress pooled at her waist as you caresses and stroke her clit while fucking your tongue into her sloppy cunt. Her juices leaking into your mouth as you drink in her sweet essence while keeping your eyes locked on her face taking note of every flinch, shaky breath and whimper. You'd hold her legs open as you'd ease your fingers into her drenched pussy attacking her clit with your tongue altering between soft and hard licks to keep her from cumming too soon. Feeling her hands tighten in your hair when you wouldn't let her cum. Her tugging and pulling to get you to comply with her needs. In your mind you come up with various positions where you'd have your mouth attached to her cunt. Her sitting on your face as you run your nose over her sensitive folds and clit while tongue fucking her. Or on her hands and knees as you ate her from behind until her legs shook and gave out. Seeing her collapse in a heap on the floor. Breath laboured skin shining from the exertion. Or over the table as you play with her cunt her hand gripping the edge for dear life. You finger fucking into her soft spot until she gushes on them before placing them in your mouth to get a better taste. Running your tongue over her juices on your slick fingers. Making a show of it to get the point across that you adore her taste. Savouring her sweet release and the salt from your sweat. Then brushing your lips against her in a gentle kiss. To give her a taste, an understanding on why you're so addicted.

You pinch yourself again feeling guilty for having these thoughts. You run your thighs together trying to ease the tension building. You hope your panties didn't have a wet spot on them. You slowly start slipping on the fitted dress as your mind wanders again even with you trying to stop it. You think about Price actually watching you do all the things you wanted to Witch. His glacier eyes sending chills down your spine as you work your mouth on his women. As you make her breath catch and shudder. Would he shove your face deeper into her cunt if he thought you were teasing her too much? Would he yank your hair back if you took too long to make her cum? Or would he guide your head gently giving you tips to improve your performance. Would he shower you both with compliments for doing such a good job? Maybe he would tie you up to make you watch how he does it? Preventing you from partaking. Preventing you from touching her supple body as he eats her out. Making you strain against the ropes as you witness her come undone. Showing you how he covers his body over her smaller one, how his thick fingers stretch her out more than you ever could. How she probably prefers his prickly kisses as he runs his face against her thighs. How he makes her a babbling mess in just a couple seconds.

You shake your head dispelling the thoughts. You really needed to stop having fantasies like these. She wasn't yours and you needed to accept that. You chide yourself for coveting something that you didn't deserve. The dress had moulded to your body as you pulled at the spaghetti straps to adjust the top before slowly opening the curtains and stepping out. The dress moved with ease and comfort as you walked to the mirrors. Witch stops her conversation with the sales assistant and Price to look at you giving you a very genuine smile. You feel heat rush to your face again but for more innocent reasons this time. Her looking at you like that made you feel beautiful and bashful at the same time. You inspect the dress as she walks closer giving youn lots od compliments and suggestions what jewellery would look nice. You look at yourself in the dress thinking this dress would be great to wear to the exhibition. You didn't mind it being see through since you had a slip underneath it even though that also wasn't completely opaque. You didn't need to worry about Price looking at you, you knew he only had his heart set on Witch. He wasn't foolish to jeopardise his relationship over wandering eyes. Not that he'd look to begin with. You don't think anyone would really look at you properly other than Witch.

“I think this dress suits you so well. It'll definitely look great at the exhibition, but you should try some more dresses on to see if you'll find something better.”

“I couldn't agree more, you're a force to be reckoned with”, a dark skinned man walks into the store and the first thing you notice is his disarming smile. A full toothed smile so bright you might temporarily go blind if you looked too long. His tall muscular frame comes into view next as your eyes wander down. You're taken aback by his words, you can hardly remember a stranger ever coming up to compliment you like this. Especially not a handsome young man like him. You say young but he was probably older than you by a couple years. Or maybe a lot with him being a Fae and all. Age was tricky to pin with them always looking so youthful.

You feel put on the spot not used to this kind of attention so you just hide behind Witch not sure on how you should respond. A more familiar voice joins his not a second later causing the hair at the back of your neck to stand up.

“Ah told ye not tae come in ye fucker”, Soap grumbles as he comes into view. Price looked at them unamused at their stupidity for coming in when they had no business here. Now Witch wouldn't believe him when he said he was just passing by.

Gaz continues to make idle chatter causing Soap to get even more irritated. You watch as they take sneaky glances at Witch's breasts not that you'd blame them but it still irked you. You kinda wish Price would notice and give them both a smack on the head for daring to look at what was his, not that Witch was considered property. It was more so a show of affectionate jealousy. If you knew how to use your magic properly you'd have sent them flying. Or maybe you should just cover your hand over her breasts to send the message.

Witch keeps her gaze sharp on Soap, a look of recognition falling over her features. And irritation quickly dripping from her form. You didn't know where to look anymore, too much was going on at once. Feeling them stare at you as they argued was putting you on edge. Maybe you should pick something more subtle, something that would draw less attention. You didn't like the attention you were getting even though you have experience wearing pretty dresses to fancy events. The attention was always on the art you were selling, not on you. People hardly ever paid attention to staff. This situation wasn't something you were used to dealing with. Price was growing more annoyed at their disturbance, especially by Gaz's blatant flirting and Soap's irritation. Price had had enough and just dragged the two out as Witch led you towards the accessories to distract you from the chaos. You hear Gaz shout one last time before he leaves. You were assuming he was just doing it to get on Soaps nerves.

“You'll send an invite to your exhibition won't you darling? I'd love to come see your work.”

You did have extra tickets given to you so it wouldn't be hard giving him one but you didn't even know his name and it kinda felt like he was just messing with you to get to Soap. But it was amusing how easily he could get Soap worked up. You also wanted to get at him for causing you so much trouble. You still haven't figured out a way to get him to leave your sister alone. But he seemed unhealthily interested in you. You could use that to draw his attention away long enough to get her to safety.

Copyright © by ethereal-night-fairy. 2023. All Rights Reserved. Writing not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#poly 141 #1fae1 #fae!soap #fae!price #fae!gaz #call of duty #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #fae!au #fae!ghost #call of duty smut #soap mactavish #soap x gaz #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price x reader #captain price smut #captain john price x reader smut #captain price x you #captain price x reader #soap smut #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon riley

[cod-z]

[NSFW 18+] Fae!141 (Anon Reveal)

Your media consumption isn't my responsibility | TW: Slight NSFW 18+, Title is self explanatory, degrading, slight bdsm, slapping, slight breeding kink.

Pairing(s): (Choose)Fae!141 x Reader

| One-shots | A/N: My anon reveal and brain-rot. For those who knows said story, yes, I am THAT anon from said blog

---------------------------

"Look at you, bounded by my vines and yet you don't struggle, my whore-ish pet," he smirks at your submissiveness, the vines wrapping around your plush thighs tighter at his whim. The vines behind your back are already restricting your arms, unable to escape while he glowers at you, eyes glowing a soft hue of green.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asks, a vine slowly growing from above, coiling around your neck. The pressure being to only insinuate pleasure, slightly drawing back air, the sensation forcing a quiet gasp from you. The sight and sound making the throbbing appendage near your quaking body, twitch with such delight. "Or do you want something more?"

The stinging pain arises on your skin, a vine whipping your skin leaving a red mark. It was deliciously painful and pleasurable. It made you throb.

"Oh my rose, look at how you quiver." His fingertips grazes the mark and down your leg, a slight fuzz sensation being left on your body.

A dark chuckle echoes the small room, the sound of plants growing, the cracking of branches breaking through the walls and blocking the entrance from any disturbance. "Soon, you'll blossom with my kin~"

#cod z #call of duty smut #cod smut #call of duty x reader #cod mw x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #modern warfare x reader #call of duty fanfiction #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #cod fanfic #mw2 x reader #fae!au #fae!price #fae!soap #fae!ghost #fae!gaz

[mi-i-zori]

From In-Between the Lines - Sneak Peek N°1

CoD Fae!AU - Fae!Price x The Writer (Fem!Reader) - Part 1

WARNING : This is the very beginning of a Fae!Au, so Price’s thoughts are still in « predator »/« hunting » mode.

Author’s Note : Okay. I finally came around writing this first part after procrastinating for months because I had no idea of how to tackle it, and I think I need to show you guys a little part I’m quite proud of. I hope it’ll make you want to read it once it’s finished.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform.

#cod x reader #x reader #call of duty x reader #fem!reader #cod au #cod mw2 #cod x oc #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price mw2 #captain price x reader #price x reader #captain price cod #captain john price #john price #fae!price #fae!au #price x female reader #cod mw3

[trashland-llamas]

Leave Me to Dream

Fae/faer pronouns used for reader

Link to sequel; Everything’s a Mess

Fem reader

‘Go get Price now!’ Soap barked out towards Gaz. They’d both come across a catatonic y/n, neither knowing what to do. The last time, Ghost had told them to immediately get Price if it were to ever happen again. Hot on his heels, Price gathered y/n into his arms, carrying faer to his room. ‘Will they be okay?’

‘Fae will be soon, you two will be the first to know when fae become lucid again.’ Not exactly sure on how to phrase it, Price tried his best. Running a hand down his face, sighing. ‘You didn’t happen to see anything before—‘

‘No, sorry but we just found faer like that, all slumped over and not responding. Thought fae were dead at first.’ Gaz flinching once he realized he’d cut Price off. ‘Okay, get some rest. That goes for both of you.’ Back into dad mode as ever. The only thing he could do was wait it out. ‘I’m here, hun. Gonna make sure you’re comfortable.’ Price’s tone quieter. The catatonia exhibited as a sign of PTSD, y/n’s brain essentially going into a state of survival mode; dormancy.

Grabbing one of his hoodies and sweats, Price walked back over. Lifting faer arms to remove faer tactical gear, not bothering with the straps or buttons unless necessary. Narrating as he went, internally panicking at the far away look in y/n’s eyes. From what research he did on the condition, he discovered it could last anywhere from a few hours to months on end. And while he didn’t want to say it, he’d have to consider honorable discharge.

Laying back down, Price pulled fae on top of him. Cradling faer head close to his chest, running a hand up and down faer back. ‘Take as long as you need, just come back okay?’ Price grabbed the remote, finding a movie that he thought fae would like. Listening as he heard fae repeat sentence fragments. Both lines from the movie and what Price was whispering in faer ear. Praying to whoever in the cosmos heard him that it’d all be okay.

#call of duty #john price #captain john price #cod x reader #x fem reader #john price x reader #john price x female reader #fae/faer pronouns used #catatonia

[rivalriotrenegade]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader Random "I love you"

About fic: Slight comic references, so if you know you know and if you don't that's still okay. Technically monster Simon Riley x reader but can be read as human Simon also no monster parts described so you can imagine whatever you want. As the title suggests the prompt was "random I love you" so Soft Simon Hours. This fic is for @midnightxsecretary (because they asked for more!) also @luvergirl777 because I think they'd like this based off a fic they wrote. One that you should totally go read after this!

Word Count: 593 (Short read)

Warnings: None, but GN reader.

It’s weird really, to see Simon acting so domestic you think to yourself as you silently watch him wash the dishes. The usual uniform has been replaced with a T-shirt and jeans and the balaclava has been traded in for a black surgical mask instead. You smile softly to yourself as you lean the laundry basket against your hip. 

It had taken Simon months before he felt comfortable enough to let his walls down like this. He had constantly been on guard trying his best not to let you see him down, but eventually you managed to peek through the cracks and slowly he let you see more of himself. Despite the fact that there had been plenty of ups and downs in knowing Simon the more you learned about him the more you grew to love him. All the bits and pieces, broken parts and sharp edges, all the things that made him him.

“Hey Simon?” You call out. 

“Yeah?” He replied without looking at you, too focused on finishing the task in front of him to bother turning around when he could hear you perfectly fine like this. 

“I love you.” You say, smile evident in your voice before you continue down the hall to finish your chore. 

For a moment time seems to stand still as Simon freezes… and just like that, with three simple words, you have shook him to his very core. 

You didn’t see the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands grip the counter. You didn’t hear the deep breath he takes to calm himself and the emotions currently raging inside of him. You didn’t see the way he has to hold himself together to try and keep from crying. You didn’t see the hand he used to cover his eyes as he leaned over the counter because he wasn’t sure he could stand on his own two feet without his knees giving out. 

It had been a long, long, time since Simon Riley had heard those three words and to hear them so suddenly, for no apparent reason, hit him harder than any punch, bullet or knife ever could. 

He wanted so desperately to say it back, to tell you how much you mean to him. That if given the choice he’d take you over the very oxygen he breathes, because without you what purpose does his life have? He is a man who has lost everything. His mother, his brother, his sister-in-law, and nephew have all been killed for the sake of revenge. His teammates, his friends, have died in his arms. His very identity has been stolen from him, forcing him to live his life as a shadow, as a ghost. For the longest time he had lived for nothing more than to fight another day, to survive. But then you came into his life and for the first time in a long time he didn’t want to just survive… He wanted to live. 

But Simon couldn’t say that. Wouldn’t even know how to begin to put it into words. The strength and courage, the amount of vulnerability it would take to say something like that isn’t something he thinks he could handle. Someday, when he has found the right words and has steeled himself he’ll tell you. 

But that day is not today. As of right now he is doing everything in his power not to fall apart. Breathing in and out, washing the dishes in a circular motion, rapidly blinking his eyes and ignoring the stray tear that slips out. 

Hey! Hope you liked it. If not that's okay too. Please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts, I love interacting with you all. Also feel free to send in your requests! Nothing too weird tho. Have a great day :)

#Simon Riley x reader #COD #Modern warefare 2 #Modern Warefare 2 x reader #Monster simon riley #John price x reader #monster x reader #x reader #love #comfort #angst #graves x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #werewolf x reader #werewolf #vampire #vampire x reader #fae x reader #fae #reader #konig x reader #mw2 #mw2 x reader #call of duty #gaz #gaz x reader #fem reader #female reader #gender neutral reader