Someone Said Price Eats His Girl Out Before Work So He Can Have Her Smell On Him Or Something, And That's

My contribution to this meme

John’s parents are extremely protective of you and I mean that they will fight John himself if he ever dares to hurt their precious angel of a daughter-in-law.

Once during Christmas dinner, John’s entire extended family was invited to it. Being his younger, prettier new wife meant that a lot of jealousy was going to be projected onto you.

From men wanting a more younger woman compared to their wives to boost their egos and from the women who felt threatened by you.

And you best believe that one of the women made a snide remark that would get her an eventual earful.

“It must be nice to be a pretty little thing. Being able to pick up men like our John here. Tell me darling how many men have ran through you before you met-“

A pair of hands slammed against the dinner table shaking it slightly and it was not by John but his loving, non-confrontational mother.

Your sweet mother-in-law went off, Emily Gilmore style. Pointing out all of the other woman’s flaws and unfavourable qualities. She went as far as blaming that woman’s looks and disgusting attitude for being the reason why her husband cheats on a regular basis.

The whole house was stunned, yourself included. The silence was only broken by John gruff snort. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow for him to only hold your hand underneath the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Your mother-in-law sat down with a huff and carried on with dinner as if she hadn’t ripped someone a new one.

Best believe no one had said anything rude to you ever again.

Simon looks like his father, the only thing he got from his mother was his lighter hair. He doesn't dwell on his looks, he has other things to worry about, but sometimes it bubbles up.

The bastard is dead, the features Simon carries belong to him, not his father. But he still thinks about it sometimes, catches himself in the mirror and pauses for a split second. His cheeks are fuller than his father's were, but he's got that same crooked nose and dark eyes he can never quite meet when he looks at himself.

He wouldn't say he's insecure. he knows he isn't ugly, there's just something unnerving about meeting his father's eyes in his own reflection. It's even worse after a long, bad mission, when he's lost weight and looks like shit. Catching his reflection sends a chill down his neck, and the mirrors in his home end up with a towel over them til he's stable.

JOHN PRICE JOHN PRICE JOHN PRICE JOHN PRICE JOHN PRICE

you and me both honestly

thinking of you becoming price's personal lucky charm :)

cw: f!reader. slightly nsfw. very rushed/unedited. idk shit about casinos or card games lol. 1 | more casino!141

when your friend begged you to dress up fancy and go out with them, a casino was not what you had in mind. especially not an underground one, entrance hardly visible in the dimly lit street, where you even needed a password to get in.

despite being far from your definition of a night out, you decide to give one of the games a chance. the roulette seemed the easiest, with seemingly less rules to learn, and to your surprise, you're crushing it. starting with safe outside bets, you make your way to straight bets and stay winning every single one of them. 

at your winning streak, you sense two sets of eyes on you, almost burning your flesh with the heat that crawls to your cheeks. you peek over your shoulder and meet two burly men, one with an icy stare and half-covered face, the other with an adorable boyish smirk and a mohawk. still, both glare at you with an intense puzzled gaze, laced with curiosity and an underlying hunger that makes you shiver. 

suddenly, you feel a rough hand settling on your lower back, nearly making you jump on your seat, “what does the pretty lady think about heading to the vip section?” the man says, pearly smile doing a perfectly good job in luring you in, “all that luck needs to be put to good use.”

you ponder for a second, fearing that once you’re in, all your fortune will slip out your fingers and the beginner’s luck will be gone forever. but his sweet brown eyes are too convincing, and you nod, taking his hand and walking through a mysterious door.

“i– i don’t know how to play poker,” you stutter, brows knitted together at the sight of a round table with piles of chips in the center.

"don't worry, love, you're not here to play," a bearded man says, gruff voice followed by a puff of his cigar. he seems a bit older than the one who brought you inside or the two observers, ocean-blue eyes looking at you tenderly, but the sly smirk on his face doesn't go unnoticed.

he pats his thigh, gesturing for you to sit, "my men say you've been quite lucky out there," a smoke cloud forms in front of him, mingling with the strong scent of his cologne, "let's check."

hesitantly, you comply, plush thighs meeting his firm one. he chuckles at your shyness and pulls you closer to his torso by your waist, positioning your ass right above his growing bulge and you bite back a squeal, "name's John."

the game restarts and you watch the dealer distributing the cards. you glance at his hand and he holds five cards, all hearts, which must be a good sign, given the way he squeezed your hip, certainly hard enough to leave a bruise. not that you minded, considering the damp spot forming between your legs.

"would you look at that, straight flush," he flashes you a grin, cigar dangling from his lips as his laugh echoes amongst the annoyed huffs of other players.

his fingers trace your spine, teasingly edging the waistband of your skirt as you try your best not to squirm, "mighty luck you have, love," he whispers in your ear, beard gently grazing your neck.

he hands you one of his golden chips, "for you, as a thank you," your eyes widen at the number 1000 etched in the back, promptly pushing back the gift. he shakes his head, palm sneaking its way to your inner thigh, "there's way more where that came from."

it's safe to say you might become an avid gambler after tonight.

Simon doesn't do girlfriends. He's not hanging out or going on dates or buying you flowers or food or hairpins.

It's just...well he might accidentally stop by to get chinese takeouts and might see to buy shiny pin and other things you have saved in, and well, he just might think of you in everything he sees.

And god forbid a woman staying in his house ?! Taking over his clothes and frowning at the lack of furniture and pictures on wall and dull curtains.

No, that's absurd. But...well he might take you to ikea and might indulge in your ifs and buts and might get you something which makes your eyes glimmer and might take you home —to spend all evening assembling it, taking his time telling you how to turn allen key, the click of dowel, the wood quality, the torque of screws.

He might let you stay after and give him shoulder massage, might let you hold his face from behind and turn his neck to kiss him square on mouth.

He might buy frames for all the polaroids of you in his sweats, or stirring the pot, or looking at your laptop, and the one where you're draped on his shoulder might be the one he caresses with his thumb every so often.

He might go to that pottery place you gushed about and might sit behind you with his hands pressed onto yours and might make a ( heart shaped ?! ) cup with his and yours initials carved and baked and painted into the beautiful clumsy thing.

He might drink his morning coffee to whiskey in that cup only.

He might get a second key.

He might put those shampoos you smell so much of, in his cabinets.

He might change the dull curtains to your favourite colour.

He might just upside down his whole world for you to take a look around and smile.

And well Simon doesn't really do girlfriends, but he might just die if it's not your yapping he falls asleep to, with your hair poking his chin and gibberish of all day long ending to a soft sweet sigh — goodnight baby.

Masterlist

The torment on soap's face continues with more squish

He's starting to accept it

when reading smut and y/n says “daddy”

there’s my good girl

katabasis; to go down