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Mike Driver
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Sum Sonar
rich!price after retiring going to an old bar he used to visit on his younger days.
The old pub hadnât changed.
Same dim lights, same warped tables that wobbled if you leaned too hard, same smell of spilled beer soaked deep into the floorboards. Price hadnât stepped foot in the place for years, not since before his hair had gone grey at the edges and his bank accounts had swelled from decades of bloody contracts.
He didnât belong here anymore â not in the polished watch glinting on his wrist, the expensive coat draped over broad shoulders, or the quiet confidence of a man who had more money than time to spend it.
But he liked coming back now and then. To remind himself where heâd started.
He sat in the corner booth, cap tugged low, nursing the silence. The room was too loud for him, even when it was quiet. Laughter near the bar bled into the roar of gunfire in his memory. The scrape of a chair on wood was the screech of metal against concrete. Even now, years later, his body knew how to flinch before his mind caught up.
Price ran a hand over his beard, jaw tight. The weight of it pressed in â the things heâd seen, the things heâd done, the faces he couldnât save. Nights like this, he felt every bit of it.
âEvening, sir. Whatâll it be?â
Price looked up, his eyes found her. He meant to answer, but instead he found himself staring. The dim lights caught the shine in her eyes, the faint flush of her cheeks from rushing between tables. But it wasnât just her face that held him â his gaze traced lower, to the way the little black apron tied snug around her waist, the soft curve of her hips shifting beneath the thin fabric of her uniform skirt.
The outfit wasnât meant to be flattering, but on her it was. Too flattering. He wondered if she even realized.
âSir?â she asked again, head tilting slightly, a hint of amusement in her tone. âYour order?â
Price blinked, throat tight, realizing sheâd already asked him once. âWhisky,â he said finally, his voice rougher than he intended. âNeat.â
She gave him a quick smile before turning away, hips swaying without effort as she walked toward the bar. His eyes followed her, lingering longer than they should have, a heat curling low in his chest.
Dangerous, he thought.
Too young. Too soft. Too far from the kind of world heâd lived in. Heâd spent years wading through mud and blood, carrying scars no one else could see. Men like him didnât deserve to want things that looked like her â bright eyes, an easy smile, curves wrapped up in a cheap little uniform that made his hands twitch with the urge to touch.
She was a kind of comfort he hadnât felt in decades, but also a temptation sharper than any blade. It was the worst mix â something he could lose himself in, something that could make him forget who he was, if only for a moment.
Price leaned back in the booth, cigar rolling between his fingers as he lit it, She laughed at something a customer said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her apron pulling tight across her waist as she leaned over to set down drinks.
His jaw flexed.
It would be too easy.
He had the money. More than enough to take her out of this run-down bar, away from late nights and greasy tips. He could put her in silk instead of cotton, diamonds instead of cheap studs. He could take care of her, give her anything she asked forâso long as she let him have what he wanted in return.
he wanted more than her smile at his table. He wanted those bright eyes on him alone, wanted to hear that warm little voice softening just for him. He wanted the softness of her hips in his palms, wanted to undo that ridiculous apron with a slow, deliberate pull.
Price dragged on his cigar, forcing his gaze back to the table. His chest felt heavy, a coil of want tightening there. She had no idea what kind of man sat in that boothâno idea the things heâd done, the things he still wanted.
But if she kept looking at him with that gentle smile⌠if she kept talking to him in that calm, sweet voice⌠he wasnât sure how long he could keep from claiming it.
The waitress came back a few minutes later, balancing a tray against her hip. She set the glass of whisky in front of him, the amber liquid catching the light.
âThere you are,â she said with a soft smile. âNeat, right?â
Priceâs eyes lingered on her fingers as she slid the glass closer. Small hands. Delicate. He imagined how theyâd look tangled in his own, or wrapped around a cigar, or-
âThatâs right,â he rumbled, voice low. âYou remembered.â
She gave a little shrug, playful. âNot hard when youâre the only one drinking it straight tonight.â
Price smirked faintly, lifting the glass. He let the burn of the whisky settle in his chest before answering. âNot many left who drink it properly, then.â
Price smirked faintly and lifted the glass, letting the whisky burn slow on his tongue before setting it down again. Instead of letting her step away, his gaze caught hers, steady and unyielding. âSit down a second,â he said, more command than request, though his tone carried an edge of warmth.
She blinked, but this time, it wasnât just surprise that made her linger. She glanced at his tailored coat, the watch glinting on his wrist, the air of quiet confidence that screamed money, power, influence. Staying just a moment longer could mean tips. Big tips. Maybe even more. She perched lightly on the edge of the booth, curiosity and calculation on her face.
âThatâs better,â Price muttered, his eyes never leaving hers. âFunny thing, this place. Spent more nights here than I can count back in the day. Looks the same as it did then⌠though I canât say the company was quite as pleasant.â
Her cheeks warmed under his stare. âYouâre making it sound like I should take that as a compliment.â
âYou should,â he said simply, leaning forward on his elbows. The low light carved the lines of his face into sharper relief, but there was a glint of something softer in his eyesâsomething that made it hard to look away. âTrust me, love. I donât hand those out easy.â
She shifted slightly, pretending to be casual, but she couldnât deny the pull of him. He wasnât just commanding attention â he was anchoring it, holding her in place with that quiet intensity. She told herself she was here for the tips, for the chance to make this moment pay, but every glance, every subtle movement from him made it harder to focus on anything else. Even as her mind raced with practical thoughts, her chest tightened in a way she couldnât explain.
Price leaned back slightly, letting the silence stretch, watching her fidget just a little on the edge of the booth. He could tell she was trying to stay composed, but the faint shadows under her eyes, the slight slump of her shoulders, the way she kept glancing at the floor before looking at him again â it all told him what she didnât say.
âYou work hard,â he said finally, low and steady, letting his words land like a weight. âLong nights, not much to show for it.â
She blinked, caught off guard, trying to hide the tug of nerves that flared in her chest. âI⌠manage,â she said cautiously, brushing imaginary lint off her apron.
Priceâs eyes softened fractionally, though his tone remained calm, measured, commanding. âYou do more than manage. I can see it. Youâre scraping, running yourself ragged just to keep afloat. Thatâs⌠exhausting, isnât it?â
Her throat went dry. She wanted to protest, to say she was fine, but he wasnât asking â he was stating. Observing. Reading her like an open file.
âI⌠it can be,â she admitted finally, voice quieter.
Price leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, letting the low light catch the sharp edges of his face. âYou donât have to do it all alone,â he murmured. âNot if you donât want to. I could⌠help. Take care of things you canât fix yourself. Clothes, rent, bills â anything you need.â
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didnât speak. The words werenât a demand; they were an offer, and the quiet authority behind them made it impossible to dismiss.
He watched her, studying how she processed it, the subtle shift of her posture, the way her hands tightened briefly in her lap. âYouâd just have to⌠trust me,â he added, voice dropping a fraction lower. âGive me your company. Let me handle the rest..â
The booth felt smaller. The pub noisier. And yet, instead of feeling relief, a spark of anger flared in her chest. How dare he see her like that? Judge her struggles, weigh her exhaustion, offer to âtake careâ of her as if she couldnât handle it herself? She clenched her fists in her lap, jaw tight, trying to hide the flush rising in her cheeks. She didnât need someone like him stepping in, no matter how smooth or commanding he was â and yet, she couldnât deny the heat that threaded through her, the part of her that was unnervingly aware of how much his attention unsettled her.
Price noticed the shift instantly. The way her shoulders tensed, the quick flash of heat in her eyes, the subtle bite of her lip. It was subtle, but he was trained to read every detail â a lifetime of watching, surviving, commanding.
âYouâre thinking,â he murmured, almost to himself, though his eyes never left hers. âYou donât like it, do you?â
She bristled, defensive, but couldnât look away. âI⌠I donât,â she said, voice tight, though her pulse betrayed her.
He leaned back slightly, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. âNo. I can see that,â he said. âBut you like it too. Thatâs why youâre still here, isnât it?â
She realized the weight of attention like his â and it maddened her. She didnât want his help, didnât want to be dependent on anyone, and yet a stubborn, irresistible part of her was drawn to it, to him, to the ease he promised, and it made her chest ache with conflicting desire and anger.
Priceâs gaze softened fractionally, just enough that it felt personal, deliberate. âYou wonât find anyone else like me,â he said quietly, almost conversational, almost casual. âNot in a place like this, not in the world outside these walls. People can be⌠harsh. Selfish. Hard. But me? I take care of whatâs mine. Thatâs all.â
Her hands tightened in her lap. She didnât want his help, didnât want to owe anyone anything. And yet, the pull was undeniable. No one noticed the small details, the struggles she hid, the exhaustion she carried behind her bright smile, and offer a hand like this â protective and commanding. The frustration coiled tighter in her chest, bitter and sweet all at once.
She looked away, jaw tight, trying to convince herself she could walk out. But deep down, she knew she was tempted, dangerously, maddeningly tempted, and that leaving now might be impossible.
She stiffened, instinctively bracing herself. âI⌠I donât need that,â she said, trying to sound firm.
âYouâre tempted though.â he said softly, almost more to himself than to her. âEven when youâre angry. Even when you tell yourself you donât need it.â
She flushed, twisting her fingers in her lap. âIâm fine,â she said quickly, though the heat creeping through her face betrayed her words.
Priceâs smirk deepened. âYouâre not,â he said, dragging his cigar, letting the smoke curl from his mouth. âAnd you know it. Thatâs why youâre still sitting here⌠listening. Watching. Waiting. Even when you shouldnât.â
Her jaw tightened. She hated that he was right â hated the way her body betrayed her resistance. And yet, somewhere deep down, a part of her wanted to stay, wanted to see how far this could go.
He leaned back just slightly, letting the tension hang between them, letting her feel the pull of his attention. And as she realized how caught she was in it, frustration flared alongside a reluctant, undeniable desire.
She took a deep breath, trying to reclaim some of her dignity, some of the control she felt slipping with every glance and touch. âI⌠I donât know,â she murmured, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her apron. âIf youâre going to help, maybe⌠maybe just part-time? Just a few things. I can manage the rest myself.â
Priceâs gaze didnât waver. He let her words hang in the air for a heartbeat, then slowly, deliberately, he smirked. âPart-time?â he repeated, almost amused. âYou think Iâd settle for part-time when I can give you everything?â
Her eyes widened. âIâwell⌠I mean, maybe we couldâjust some of it? I canâtâŚâ
He shook his head lightly, a low chuckle escaping him. âLove, thatâs the thing. You donât have to manage any of it. None. I insist. Clothes, rent, bills, nights you want off⌠all of it. And yes, Iâll still expect your company.â His smirk deepened, sharp and knowing. âBut thatâs all. Iâm offering, not negotiating.â
She flushed, frustrated and exasperated, twisting the edge of her apron in her hands. âYou⌠youâre impossible,â she muttered, half in anger, half in disbelief.
âAnd yet,â he said smoothly, leaning back in his booth, âhere you are. Still listening. Still staying. Still trying to bargain with me like it matters.â
She wanted to argue more, to push back, to claim some small victory â but even as she opened her mouth, she realized she couldnât. Part of her wanted it all. Wanted the comfort, the ease, the attention. Wanted him to take care of her in a way no one else ever could.
Priceâs eyes softened just slightly, catching every flicker of her struggle. âGood,â he murmured. âThen itâs settled. Youâll learn to enjoy it.â
And despite herself, she felt a surge of something she couldnât name â frustration, yes, but also a thrill at knowing she couldnât refuse him, no matter how hard she tried.
The rain outside beat steadily against the barracks windows, a constant rhythm that seemed to echo the weight of the dayâs training. Youâd just wrapped up another grueling session, drills, live-fire practice, and a sharp reprimand from one of the senior sergeants who never seemed satisfied.
Just as you slumped down on the bottom bunk, a clear and projecting voice silenced the whines and complains of the other cadets.
âCadet y/n,â his voice carried easily across the hall, gravelly yet calm, âmy office. Now.â
You swallowed hard, nerves tangling in your stomach. Getting up an following him down the narrow corridor, feeling the eyes of your fellow cadets on you. you couldnât decide if you were walking toward another lecture or some kind of reprimanded.ďżź ďżź
His office was warmer than the halls, the faint scent of cigars and old leather lingering in the air. Maps littered the desk, along with reports written in his precise hand. He shut the door behind you, and for a moment, the silence was heavy.
âYouâve got spirit,â he finally said, walking around the desk leaning against it. âIâve noticed you out there.â
Your eyes soften as your shoulders slightly relaxed. Hands clasps behind your back in an attempt to look composed.
âI appreciate it sir.â
âIâm not here to break you down, cadet.â Price continued, his voice low, almost a whisper. âI take cadets under my wing because I see something worth the trouble. And I see it in you.â
Heat flushed up your neck. âI wonât let you down, sir.â
A corner of his mouth lifted not quite a smile, but close. He stepped closer, the leather of his boots creaking faintly against the floorboards. The space between you shrank until the scent of his cologne mixed with cigar smoke reached you, infecting your senses and making you dizzy all at once.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze lingered,assessing your facial features and how small you were compared to him. The air was tight with something unspoken, something that pulled you towards him.
His voice dropped, just above a whisper. âCareful, Cadet. You keep looking at me like that, and Iâll start thinking you want more than training.â
Your face went hot as you were the first one to break eye contact to avoid his piercing gaze.
His hand reaches up and places his large index finger under your chin and tilts your head back up to his gaze.âDonât get all shy now,â his face closer than before, corner of his lips turned up into a slight grin.
âI see the way your eyes linger, you think you hide it so well huh?â This time he breaks the eye contact, his eyes trailing to your lips.
Your heart begins to thump in your chest, so loud you think he can hear it with the way he chuckled softly as your shocked expression. Your feet frozen in place, the weight of his stare held you captive, his thumb brushing lightly against your jaw as if daring you to deny it.
âI-â You opened your mouth, trying to form words to deny it, to protest, to say something. Anything.
Before you had the chance, he moved, sudden, and decisive. His lips pressed to yours, firm. Everything went quiet as you didnât have time to react.
It lasted only a few heartbeats, but it left you reeling, the taste of smoke and something darker lingering.
When he pulled away, his eyes were unreadable, the steel back in his expression as quickly as it had slipped. Without another word, he stepped back, turned away his back facing you as he clasped his hands behind his back, looking at the rain hit the tinted windows.
âDismissed,â he said, voice steady, as if nothing had happened.
You stood there shocked. Your lips still tingled from the brief, searing press of his, and the ghost of his touch lingered along your jaw. A rush of confusion tangled with the thrill surging in your chest, one hand on your beating heart and other ghosting over your lips.
You stumbled back for a second, before regaining composure and straightening up before clearing my throat, âyes..sir..â before turning and walking back to the barracks, your mind reeling with question that leave you up all night, the memory playing on repeat.

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Debts are paid in blood
Mafia!ghost
You hadnât planned on crossing him. No one ever did. But debt had a way of pulling you under, drowning you faster than you realized. A bad gamble here, a desperate loan thereâand before long, your name was written on a list that belonged to him.
(Open door policy)
Price tasted like smoke and whiskey, his beard scraping against your skin as he kissed you deep, pulling you onto the edge of his desk. His hands gripped your hips hard, dragging you closer, feeling his warm body against yours.
It wasnât until your back arched against the wooden desk that you noticed the door wasnât shut. A thin line of light spilled into the room from the hall.
You broke the kiss with a shaky breath. âPriceâthe doorââ
But his lips curled into a smirk, blue eyes glinting with mischief.
âGood,â he murmured, voice low and rumbling. âLet âem see.â
Your stomach flipped, heat rushing through you at the thought of anyone walking by, catching sight of your Captain kissing you like you were his last breath. Before you could protest, his mouth claimed yours again, slower this time, deliberateâlike he was putting on a show.
And then the footsteps came. Slow, purposeful. Soap appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with that shit-eating grin.
âWell, would ya look at that. Captainâs got himself a sweetheart. And here I thought you were married to the job.â
Price didnât even pause. His hand slid boldly up your thigh, his other keeping your face tilted toward his as his lips dragged against yours, hot and possessive.
âBetter watch close, Johnny,â he said against your mouth, his voice deep and smug. âThis is what it looks like when a man takes whatâs his.â
Your face burned, the thrill of being watched colliding with your embarrassment, but Price held you firmâmade you feel like his most precious treasure on display. Soap chuckled, shaking his head.
âBloody hell, mate. No shame at all.â
âNot when it comes to whatâs mine,â Price shot back, eyes locked on yours as if daring you to deny it.
Soap whistled low and sauntered off, but Price didnât let up. If anything, his kisses deepened, his grip on you tightening as though the little audience only fueled him more. When the door finally creaked shut behind Soap, he didnât even glance at it.
(Punishment Duty)
141 x reader
(sugardaddy!price x reader)
Burning cash
(sugardaddy!price x reader)
The restaurant was too upscale for your comfortâŚcrystal glasses, candlelight, a menu without prices. You fiddled with the silverware, feeling out of place, until his hand slid over yours beneath the table.
âRelax, love,â Price murmured, voice low and rough like aged whiskey. His thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles. âYou look perfect here.â
Your cheeks burned, and you tried to pull back, but he only tightened his grip, slow and deliberate.
When the waiter left, Price leaned in, the scent of smoke and cologne wrapping around you. âI like spoiling you,â he said, eyes locking on yours. âBut you know what I like even more?â
Your pulse jumped. ââŚWhat?â
The corner of his mouth curved, his beard brushing the rim of his glass as he sipped. He didnât answer right away, just let the silence stretch until you squirmed in your seat. Finally, his gaze flicked down, then back upâhungry, deliberate.
âPayment,â he drawled, voice curling like smoke. âNot money, love. You.â
Your throat went dry. The way he said it left no room for misunderstandingâevery gift, every indulgence, wasnât charity. It was a chain made of silk and diamonds, and he wore the key around his neck.
The low hum of chatter filled the restaurant, but all you could hear was him. Priceâs thumb stroked your thigh, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours.
When the waiter returned to pour the wine, Price didnât let go of your hand. He only tightened his grip, daring you to pull away. You didnât. You couldnât.
And when he finally smirked over the rim of his glass, you realized this wasnât dinner..it was an obedience lesson.

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(sugardaddy!price x reader)
âPriceâthis is too much.â
You stared down at the little velvet box sitting in your lap, still wrapped in the neatest bow youâd ever seen. Inside was a necklace that shimmered under the soft light of his study, delicate but expensive in the way that made your chest tighten.
Across from you, John Price leaned back in his chair, one arm thrown casually over the armrest, cigar glowing faintly between his fingers. âItâs not too much,â he said smoothly, a smirk tugging his lips. âItâs just right.â
You shook your head, heat prickling your cheeks. âYou canât keep spoiling me like thisââ
âLove,â he interrupted, eyes cutting sharp and warm all at once. âI can, and I will.â He leaned forward then, setting his cigar aside, gaze locking with yours. âYou give me your time. Your smile. The way you look at me when you think Iâm not watching. Thisââ he gestured at the box, ââis nothing compared to that.â
Your heart thudded painfully, caught between protest and the giddy thrill of being wanted so wholly. And when he reached out, tilting your chin up with a gentle but commanding touch, your breath stilled.
âWear it for me,â he murmured. Not a questionâan order softened into velvet.
And God help you, you hated how easily he made you melt.
Caged instincts
Ghost and hybrid!reader
Rouge tendencies
Hybrid!reader causing trouble
=====================================
You werenât supposed to be there. Ghost had given very clear ordersâstay put, keep your claws tucked away, and wait for his signal.
So naturallyâyou stalked after him anyway, paws silent on the wet concrete.
It wasnât until your tail brushed against a loose bottle that it clattered to the floor. His head snapped around, eyes glinting from behind the mask.
âBloody hell,â he muttered, snatching your wrist before you could dart off. He dragged you into the shadows, towering over you, voice low and sharp. âDo you ever listen?â
You tilted your head, ears twitching, fangs flashing in a mischievous grin. âSometimes,â you purred, just to rile him up.
Ghostâs chest rose and fell beneath the weight of his vest, his grip firm and unyielding. âOne day, that troubleâs gonna get you killed.â
But he didnât let goâand his hand lingered, as if he wasnât sure if he was restraining you⌠or keeping you close.
Friction in the rain-
You an ghost get caught up in the rain.
=====================================
The rain was relentless, hammering down in thick sheets that turned the alley into a slick, reflective maze of shadows and puddles. You and Ghost had been separated from the rest of the squad during the extractionâone wrong turn, a misstep on slippery concreteâand suddenly it was just the two of you.
Mask slip// Simon Riley

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