lisenberry
lizzah
An old lady (over 30) having the best time. mostly nsfw. 🔞
haladriel (and recently COD) fic on ao3 (https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisenberry)
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✩𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲.𝐅✩
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why is stark an egg stealer??
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TOYOTA PATI
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soooo, he's a 12?
THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RINGS OF POWER 1.03 - 1.08
bonus:
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Let me loosen up your collar
Ch.3 - Paperwork
Price/Reader
E/8.5k
14.5k Complete!
NSFW/MDNI
He didn’t stop when you came around his fingers like a vice and in silky waves against his tongue. When you scratched your nails across his shoulders so hard you thought you felt the fabric tear beneath them.
He barely even slowed down as your legs shuttered and you pulled air into your lungs in soggy, hiccupping gulps. He still wanted more. To reach his target and find out what lay beyond. Resting not upon his initial success, but to conquer and devastate.
To leave no uncertainty behind as to who had won.
And you wondered how much further he could’ve taken you had there not been a knock at the door. An urgent pounding to bring you both back down to solid ground.
“Apologies for the interruption, sir, but Gaz is going to kill the cunt downstairs.” Simon stood in the doorway, with Colin nervously perched behind him. You could barely see the top of his head over the giant’s shoulders.
If you’d been in your right mind, you’d be horrified by the gross lack of security. What if these guys posed a real threat to your safety? Vinnie couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger, and Colin looked ready to piss himself.
“Which one?” The man between your legs stood gracefully, both disentangling himself from you and subtly positioning you behind him. A businesslike edge to his gravelly voice.
Caught blindsided for the second time in the evening, you guiltily scrambled to cover up. Modesty, at this point, was a meaningless endeavor, but it felt necessary all the same. You didn’t want the others to see you like this.
Open and ravaged. Vulnerable without the armor of your costume, and your attitude.
“Johnny’s trying to calm him down.”
“Bloody hell. You left him with MacTavish? Those two moppets...”
Price and Simon were already out the door before you could stop your knees from shaking like a newborn colt long enough to follow him. You almost fell off your heels with your first step, and it earned you a disappointed look from Colin.
“Not a word from you, kid.” You’d have a talk with him later.
If you weren’t fired first.
Read the rest on AO3!
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He's had enough of your bratty attitude
"Don't make me put you over my knee!"
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A headcanon that Price proposed to his sweetheart a long time ago, when he was in his early 20s and home from his first tour. A fancy restaurant that he couldn't afford on his basic salary. A nice shirt that he took the time to iron.
He thought she was the love of his life.
But she had other plans. They didn't want the same things, she said. She thought the military was just a stepping stone for him, and he'd get a nice, safe civilian job selling investments or something once his time was done.
Not join the SAS, the most dangerous and elite force the country had. Their motto was essentially 'Come and Get Us, Death'.
So, he made the military his life...his wife.
Until you.
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Y/N : John and i are no longer dating
Price : Love, that’s a terrible way of telling people we’re getting married.
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this is part 5 of me editing official voicelines to make indecent audios for my fellow degenerates u guys <3 click here to hear more! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
[reblogs always appreciated! <3]
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A little early for WIP Wednesday, but I've been thinking about this one for a while and it had me in a chokehold this morning. Snippet from something longer.
Alpha Bountyhunter!Price x Omega Saloon Madam!Reader
Western in the vein of Deadwood, Godless, and Silverado (thank you @thecoziestbean)
Title: I was born to run, you were born to stay (so hold me close)
CW: Violence, murder, sex work, ABO/Omegaverse, past trauma
“Are you the madam?” The timbre of his voice spoke to a memory you’ll never forget.
If you had a doubt before, thinking your eyes and your olfactory deceived you, you were sure as shit now.
“I am. And don’t bother, I know who you are. A lawman in Chicago, before the war?”
“Yeah, I was there.” As if he got the question all the time. As if he was famous or something.
“Sergeant John Price? You gunned down my daddy like he was a mad dog in the street.”
“I've killed a lot of daddies. Did he deserve it?” He licked at the foamy bubbles of beer clinging to his thick, dark mustache before wiping it with the back of his hand.
His glacial eyes fixed on yours, assessing.
“Maybe. But I sure as hell didn’t.”
His gaze slipped down to the scarf around your neck, strategically placed to muddy your scent and disguise your bitten gland.
“It's Captain now. Never met a mated whore before.” He finished his drink with a long, thirsty pull. Simultaneously changing the subject of his culpability in the wayward trajectory of your life, and daring to insult you for it.
“Widowed.” You challenged his derision with a light tone, as you replaced his empty mug with a fresh fill.
“I’m sorry, and for the offense as well. What happened to him?” He didn’t seem very sorry. In fact, you imagined it was a disposition as foreign to him as couth.
“He was shot in the face. Very tragic.” A sweet, satisfied smile graced your lips.
“You sound real tore up about it.”
“I was. The recoil on that rifle nearly dislocated my shoulder.” Your boldness was rewarded with a surprised, choking snort.
“Is there a warrant out for your arrest anywhere?” he asked, recovering with an inquisitive grin.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you. Truss me up and drag me in?” You were playing with fire, judging by the flare of hot blue light that accompanied the sharp huff of air into his nose. Like a bull chuffing at the dirt.
But you were too long in the tooth to be simpering for ornery old alphas. After what he’d done to you, it seemed only right to give him a bit of trouble.
“No, I imagine you’d just put me down all swift and quiet like, not wanting the fight.” If he was going to insult your honor, you’d give it right back.
But he didn’t rise to the bait. Not as quick to anger as that last lingering impression you had of him from years ago. Shame, it was a sight.
“Do I have to worry about you, darling?” An unsettling warmth displaced any suspicion in his words.
You glanced down at the bar top, to see just how close his hand was to yours. A tingle of electricity drawing you in against your will.
Can’t fight your nature, child. It’d been the last thing your grieving mama said to you before you were loaded onto that stock car filled with young, first heat omegas. Alongside the cattle slated for auction. Each one moaning and crying a different tune.
“Reckon you’d be a fool not to, Captain.”
#call of duty#captain price#john price#price x reader#alpha omega#omegaverse#abo#western au#cod#cod 141
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So, look, I just think Price would absolutely have a favorite flannel shirt that is so worn and soft and has That Smell.
And of course he tucks it in like the Marlboro Man to leave the outline of his ass burned into your corneas.
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Why is my brain taking me on a farmer's tan Price journey first thing in the morning? I have stuff to do today.
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Fluffy fluff.
CW: Pregnancy and child birth, language
You knew this day would come. Your due date wasn’t until the following week, but as of your last check-up, the midwife didn’t think you would make it that long.
But you were still surprised, and fought a rising panic, when you woke up around dawn to your first set of contractions. They weren’t terrible, at first, and you tried to remain calm as you showered, dressed in the comfortable outfit you’d set aside and checked your hospital bag for the thousandth time since you’d packed it weeks ago.
You’d read all of the books and watched all of the videos. It was a long process, and there was no rush to get to the hospital at this stage. It could be hours, days even before anything happened.
You were completely prepared and in control.
Until you stepped out into your hallway and straight into the wall of heat and muscle that was your neighbor.
“Oh, hi, John. I didn’t know you were back.” It’d been over a year since he’d left.
Why on earth he kept such an expensive apartment when he hardly ever lived in it, you couldn’t understand. He’d lived across the hall for five years, and had spent less than six months total sleeping in his bed.
And every so often, when it worked out, in yours.
“I got in late last night.” He paused, brows drawn together as he took in your obvious condition. “I was just heading to the gym.”
Jesus, he looked so good. Even in track shorts and a hooded sweatshirt. It pulled tightly across his chest as he rocked back on his heels. No doubt doing the quick math as to whether or not he could be responsible.
“I’m headed to have a baby,” you huffed out, as a sudden rush of spasming pain in your back nearly keeled you over.
That was a new feeling. It felt urgent. Shit, maybe you should’ve left sooner.
“Right now?” He lunged to grab your bags from your arms as you leaned against the wall for support.
“Not yours, don’t worry.” You laughed up at him, in an attempt to lighten the awkwardness of the exchange.
“Can I call someone for you?”
“I called a cab. It’s on its way.” The pressure started to ebb as you chanced a few steps towards the stairs.
“A cab? Absolutely not, I’ll drive you.”
“No, please. It’s fine. I have a plan. It’s all going to plan.”
But he’d taken possession of your hospital bag and your diaper bag, and had them loaded into the boot of his truck before you could protest.
“Is your boy—the father meeting you there?” Once he’d hoisted you into the passenger seat, and started the engine, he finally asked the question that had been left hanging between you.
“He’s not in the picture.”
Never was, you didn’t add. After you’d convinced yourself it would never work out between you and John, you'd had a brief fling with a visiting colleague from Berlin.
Imagine your surprise when you found out you were pregnant a month after he’d finished the project and gone home. To his wife, you found out later.
“You’re doing this alone?”
“It’s going to be fine. I told you, I have a plan.”
**********
“You don’t have to stay, really. I can do this on my own.” The contractions had become so intense, you couldn't control your voice enough to sound convincing.
His sympathetic smile as he finished filling out your intake paperwork was purely to placate. He had no intention of leaving. And you were grateful for his help.
The fact that he knew so much about you to only need to ask a few questions when completing the never-ending forms should’ve been alarming, not comforting.
Your blood type? Had you ever told him that?
“Aren’t you preregistered? How many times have you had to give them the same information?” He drew his eyebrows together in frustration as he realized the next packet was double sided.
“A fucking thousand.” You focused on your breathing and fought the waves of nausea that seemed to get worse along with the pain.
Weren’t there supposed to be breaks? You were told there would be breaks. You barely got a second to unclench your fists before another one started again.
You stood too quickly and steadied yourself with a hand to his shoulder.
“Where are you going?” Concerned, he stood with you.
“I’m going to be sick.” You rushed, or rather waddled at your fastest pace, to the nearby family restroom and he trailed along close behind.
He stopped momentarily at the triage desk to slap the clipboard down and boom something about needing a room immediately, before following you in and holding your hair back as you wretched into the toilet.
“Shhh, I’ve got you.” He soothed, as he rubbed your back and passed you a wad of tissue.
“Please don’t leave me,” you croaked out, tears flowing at your helplessness and the sudden realization that this was only the beginning. That your life would never be the same.
“Careful what you wish for, darling.”
Once you were admitted to a room and set up with effective pain management, you finally relaxed enough to get your wits about you. And that involved, in no small part, frequently reminding the staff that, no, John was not your husband. He wasn’t even the father.
He wasn’t nearly as dedicated to correcting them as you were.
Things seemed to happen quickly, although you’d find out later that you labored well into the night, with a tireless, supporting hand held firmly in yours.
“You did so good, love.” When it was all over, he wiped a sweaty, wayward lock of hair from your cheek and planted a kiss on the top of your head. Seemingly as relieved as you were. As if he’d been holding his breath along side you.
You missed the look the nurse gave you as she placed the squirming infant on your chest, nor did you hear her mutter under her breath, “Not the father, my ass.”
“Welcome to the world, sweetheart,” you cooed, the pain quickly forgotten as you felt a tremendous sense of peace. Clarity.
“And welcome home, John.”
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Guys, I really don't have time to draw. Maybe I'll make some simpler drawings to post here.
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Oh dear. I was trying to be normal today.
scrambling to the floor to lick it up like a dog
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