When Reading Smut And Y/n Says “daddy”

I see a lot of childhood best friend headcanons for gaz, soap, and ghost, but never price.

I need that old man running into “the girl next door” that he lost touch with ages ago. The one that got away after you both grew up and life got busy. I need him making contact after 10, 15 years. I need him pulling you into a tight, overly familiar hug when you meet up at an out of the way cafe. I need him reminiscing about long summers spent together as kids and teens: riding your bikes all over town, swimming at the community pool, buying ice cream with your pocket change, all while you smile and laugh. Because, honestly, you haven't been this happy in ages.

Stalking your socials didn’t quite scratch the itch for him like it used to. It used to be enough to swipe through your photos and imagine being there. On dates in cute little pubs and parks. Taking you on surprise sunny little holiday getaways. Putting a ring on your finger.

That one hurt. Really fucking hurt. He tried to be happy for you, grimacing as he swiped through picture after picture, one gushing congratulation after another. He really did. You’re almost too beautiful in your wedding pictures; airbrushed and photoshopped to perfection in your white gown as you gaze lovingly at your new husband on the chapel steps. Bastard doesn't know how lucky he is.

Well, was.

So what if a sick part of him twists when suddenly that album is deleted, hubby’s name disappears from your profile, and your relationship status updates to “single”? He lays careful traps, small bits of bait to lead you right where he wants. Then, he waits patiently for the noose to tighten, the cage to clatter down around you. You tell the whole sad tale as he nods, pretending not to know every detail already. How you tried to make it work. About your regrets. Maybe things moved too fast because you pushed for a commitment, you say as you laugh through tears.

Or, he suggests as he lays a heavy hand over yours, maybe he wasn’t right in the head because he’d marry you in a heartbeat. Your laugh then is musical. His heart soars. He let you slip out of his hands once, when he was too young and stupid to know better, but he won’t let that happen again. You let him wax poetic about life and loss. He knows what it really means to have your life on the line, he says, to fight like hell and somehow come out the other side. So, he continues, eyes casually following the swirling dregs at the bottom of his cup with your hand still clasped in his, you'd never have to fight for him. Never.

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

i was born to be john price’s trophy wife and that’s it

Me posting on tumblr:

it was actually very nice of barry sloane to play another military dude. more fodder for edits. more opportunities for me to giggle and teehee.

for Inquisitor, you will be missed♥

tried to create his model based on his cosplay

The Ocean

Anthology Dad!John Price/female reader A stranger arrives in Price's life.

The girl The bar The residents

what will it be, boss? the comfort of misery or the pain of change?

bed time <3