tidbitch

Latest Posts by tidbitch

He's about to rain down a million smooches

Thank you so much to @tacticallyunsoundjohnnyboy for commissioning me to draw my favourite husbands 🫶

He's very funny

| I am my fathers daughter |

💖Dad!Price x Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader.

PART NINE: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over a year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2.6k+words

TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship/ mentions of drug use

Previous parts of -> [Series Masterlist]

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

The first of November, you stare at the bank balance on the cash machine. Is this the amount the Captain was sending your mum each month?? No wonder she never gave you a penny. If your mum gave it to you growing up you wouldn’t have struggled so much. Maybe even left a lot sooner than you did. Not that you dared asking for that money, she claimed it was just enough to cover a roof over your head and food in your belly. Never mind the latest man she sponged off and didn’t need to pay rent.

She seemed to always have cigarettes, never going without, whereas you did go without. You had to beg her to buy you new clothes or shoes for school and even then you had to earn it. Going with her to her early morning cleaning job before starting school. You could still smell the bleach on your hands through out the day no matter how hard you scrubbed them in between lessons.

It’s your third day at your new job, every Wednesday, Thursday and Friday you’re in the office inputting data. Staring at a computer screen and typing numbers into software. Easy enough with a little training on your first day. You still needed to wait to get paid on last Friday of the month, joining after the cut off date to get the three days you’re working this week. So the money from the Captain would come in handy with buying some new clothes for work till you got your first pay.

Maybe even give him back his tired old jacket that still hung from your shoulders.

You pry your bank card out of the machine and tuck it back into your purse, then your handbag. The Captain helped you set up an app on your phone to check your money, but you still couldn’t believe the amount and had to look on the machine around the corner from work. A second look doesn’t hurt.

It’s dark, the street lamps dull as they warm to a golden hue. You’d stayed behind an extra hour to sort through some data and take the pressure off the team you’re now part of. It’d be foolish to withdraw money in the evening, especially on your own.

So you circle back round the building, halting at the figure standing beside your dad’s old truck. Your mother checking her reflection in the window, fingers wiping the smudge of lipstick on her front tooth. You wonder if there’s enough time for you to retreat, find the nearest bus stop and go back that way.

Luck has never been on your side though as her head snaps to you. Her hands waving above her head as if you couldn’t see her, you wished it were just a mirage.

“There’s my girl.” Yeah when it suits her. When she wants something.

Lena Marston, your mother. If only you could divorce her too like your father.

She’s tall, slim build thanks to her diet of cigarettes and cans of coke. Her eyes rake up and down your form and you know exactly what she’s thinking. How you’ve filled out, cheekbones no longer sharp but now full, healthy.

“What do you want, Lena.” You don’t bother calling her mum, she doesn’t act like one. If anything you're the one caring for her, picking her up whenever she's decided to kick the latest guy to the kerb. Putting her to bed when she's drunk, laying next to her incase she chokes on her own vomit. Or worse flushing the little baggies of drugs down the toilet and convincing her she already had it all.

Least she’s not twitching, no bloodshot eyes or hurried movements. Her speech controlled, no slur.

She pulls the lapel of your jacket, well your father’s old brown cord one. “I remember this,” Lena says, twisting the thick fabric in her grasp and you closer. You try not to wince, glancing to the passerby's who are glued to their phones as they walk. She won't do anything now. Her hand digs into your pocket and the truck keys dangle from her pointer finger. Lena's signature sharp red nails scraping against the inside of your wrist as you try to snatch them back.

"I'm really not in the mood," you regret the words as soon as you say them, her tongue clicking and head shaking.

Rookie mistake, say nothing and just do whatever she asks. It’ll be over a lot faster then.

Lena shoves you towards the passenger door, “get in sweetie,” she says and you cringe internally at the rare term of endearment she throws at you. A smile playing on her lips as she bats her lashes at the man looking your way. Nothing a pretty face wouldn’t fix, she always said that beauty lets you get away with a lot of things. Shame you don’t have it - also her words.

“You’re not insured…” you muttered under your breath, knowing she wouldn’t listen to reason. You sidestep the door as she opens it for you.

She leans on the truck, “you either get in or I take it. Can’t imagine it’d be nice for you to explain that to the Captain.”

You don’t want to get in, but you do to make it easier for the Captain not you. Can’t have his beloved truck taken away or worse in a ditch, you wouldn’t put it past Lena. You’re used to going along with what she wants to make life easier, but it doesn’t seem like it is for you.

Lena slams the drivers door, truck shaking and all you could hear in your head was the captain yelling don’t slam the bloody doors. The engine stutters to a start on the third try and you lurch forward in your seat as she speeds off down the road.

“Phone.” Lena orders, in a tone that suggests she’s now in charge, she’s the Captain and you better do as she asks. She’s already rummaging in the bag on your lap, other hand on the steering wheel. The contents falling down to the footwell, car swerving as she tries to catch it.

“Just drive!” You yell, pointing to the road in front. She swats you away, stinging slap to back of your hand. You lean down, collecting your notepad and purse, lip balm stuffing it back into your bag. The screen of your phone lights up as you picked it up, Kyle texting you to remind you about tomorrow.

“Of course he got you a new phone, bet he made you keep the location on. Classic captain controlling everyone around him - turn it off.”

Shit, had you really let your guard down that much? Was he checking his phone now and seeing if you were on track, you should be halfway to the house by now. You’d always toggled it on and off, never leaving it on for too long. Even your mum didn’t know where you were ninety five percent of the time.

You turn off the location, eyes flitting out the window at the trees blurring past. The industrial town you were only just starting to memorise gone and you had no idea where you were going now. Your hand clutches the panel of the door, the speedometer on the dashboard pushing higher than you thought possible for the old relic. If she doesn’t crash the truck, you’re sure she’ll run it into the ground.

Lena chuckles, “I warned ya’ what he’s like. Never listen eh.”

You don’t bother answering, knowing either way you’d piss her off. Best to let her ramble on, she likes the sound of her own voice. Hopefully she’ll finally get to the reason she’s ambushed you too. The damned phone location royally screwing you over with both of your parents. You’ll leave that turned off from now on.

“And you wonder why people lose their patience with you. Maybe if you listened you wouldn’t be in this mess,” she said, as if this instance is the excuse for every little thing she’s thrown at you.

Mess, you’re not sure which part of your life she’s talking about or how the conversation managed to turn round on you. A teaching moment that has you leaning as far as you can away from her.

“What da- the captain?” You nearly slip up, but Lena’s too sharp and the corner of her lip tugs. She’s got you now.

“Are you really that dense?” Lena tuts, “I’m talking about Tyler, that boys done nothing but be there for you and you can’t even apologise.”

You scoff. “Apologise? He’s the one -,”

Lena shakes her head, indicator ticking in sync with the click of her tongue. She pulls into the lay-by on a country road. Nothing but the lights of the truck shining the way. Her seatbelt unclasps and she flings it over her shoulder, shifting her body in the seat to face you.

“You’ve always been so difficult you know that?” She hums, plucking your shiny new phone out of your grasp. You don’t fight it though, never worth it. “Tyler knew how to handle you, so what he drinks a bit.” A lot, he drinks a lot.

You’ve said the exact same thing to her, sobbed at her that she’s difficult and only makes your life harder, but it’s normally when she’s in a drunken haze. Even as a kid she told you that you were difficult to love, why else would the Captain leave you behind? Leave you with her.

“I’m not going back.” - you don’t even want to think about what would happen if you gave in and went back to him, if you went back with her. Sometimes you do find yourself wanting to though, it’s easier when you know what to expect. And you’re still trying to figure out the Captain, least you know what you’re getting when it comes to Tyler.

“That’s why I’m here, you don’t want him coming around?” She says tapping away at your phone, reading another of Kyle’s incoming texts. “Gonna cost ya.”

Of course she’s not here for you, she’s here for that monthly stash of cash. Expected the Captain to give it to you without a second thought. Probably why she’s been flooding your phone all week trying to get you to come home on the weekend. Because you’ll have that money she so desperately relies on.

A wave of nausea rolls in your stomach, the worn leather seat creaking as Lena inches closer. Fight or flight, no you freeze like every other time.

“Come on, it’s always been mine.” She leans forward and drapes as arm around the back of your seat. “I’ll even stay out of the Captain’s way. He’ll only disappoint you sweetheart,” she says, her hand tracing your cheek and smoothing your hair back. She doesn’t stop there though, no her fingers tangle in your hair and she pulls you closer, scalp aching at the sudden tug.

Another tug and you squeeze your eyes shut trying to breathe through the pain. “Okay, okay. You can have it,” you snap, exhaling a trembling breath as she releases you from her hold. Pathetic really, how you folded so quickly. You can see it in the way she looks at you too.

You transfer the money via your phone, Lena instructing you on how, as she starts the car up, she removes a cigarette from her pocket and lights the end. The car swerves as she leans forward to spark it up again after her first failed attempt.

"You can't smoke them in here," you snap, knowing that one whiff and the captain would know that your mother had been in the car just by the lingering minty scent her of menthol cigarettes. Doesn’t matter how many air fresheners were tucked away in the glove box, none could mask the smell.

"John smokes like a chimney, leave them in here and tell him they're yours. I don't care what you do." Lena tosses the crumpled empty package in the centre console, blowing the smoke in your direction. She got what she came for and it wasn’t you.

There’s no small talk, no questions. Lena detaches from the role of mother, quick to take from you without giving. Not that you’d want anything from her anymore. Deep down you wished there were an inkling of caring, but even that comes at a price for you. Something to earn or use against you.

Lena parks outside your work again, lighting yet another cigarette before she unfastens the seatbelt and pushes the door open.

She’s half way out of the truck when you dare to ask, “was I a mistake?”

“Of course ya were.” She throws her words over her shoulder like it ain’t a devastating blow.

The door slams and it feels like it shakes you to your core. You drive back in silence, the static of the radio drowning out the thoughts in your mind, but you’re numb. Time isn’t something you’re aware of either, you seem to blink and then you’re waiting for the guy at check point to hand back your pass.

It’s late by the time you get back, you sit in the truck outside the residential house, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. There’s only one light on downstairs, you wonder if they’re all crowded in living room watching some sort of sport on the tv. You don’t think you have the courage to face the Captain. To plaster on a forced smile as he asks you about your day.

There’s no Captain though as you kick off your shoes in the porch and step into the open plan living room. No Kyle or Johnny, but there is Simon standing in the small kitchenette stirring the teabag in his cup. His gaze locks with yours and you swear he can sense the anxious ball of energy thrumming through your body. Like he knows that somethings off, a chemical off balance or some sort of explosion. There might as well have been when it comes to Lena Marston.

Your phone rings and it’s like another kick to the gut. Angie Price’s name lighting up the screen. Reminding you that you are a mistake, your little brother planned not you. You’ve never answered one of her calls and don’t plan to.

“Everthin’ alright?” Simon asks, blonde brow raising beneath the hood covering his mess of hair, skeleton teeth of his mask shifting with the move of his lips. The spoon clinks to the side of his cup as leans to the side to open the fridge and grab a carton of milk, all whilst his molten brown eyes trail your body as if looking for a problem. No he must see it, clear as day written all over you.

You avoid his gaze, “yep, just fine. A little tired,” you rambled on, rushing to the stairs before he can press any further.

In the Captain’s room however you catch your reflection in the mirror and now know why Simon asked if you were alright. Your eyes bloodshot, face puffy from the tears you’d shed on the drive home. That and the torn scrap of fabric, the gaping hole just beneath the lapel of the old cord jacket. Exactly where Lena had grabbed you by earlier.

You’re not sure why you wear the old thing. Like some sort of weighted blanket that keeps you grounded. The oversized jacket keeping you warm, a tiny part of your dad clinging to the fabric too, but it’s tainted by Lena’s minty cigarettes. That even now you don’t get to have something for yourself. Not money, nor your dad.

Mum reveal and their mother/daughter dynamic - Lena still trying to influence her daughter and plant some things in her head to make her question the Captain’s motives 🫡 please note I am dyslexic so there may be errors/mistakes. I do edit multiple times but miss out things - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie @elegancefr @jesskidding3 @thepowers-kat-be @frangiipanii @ye-olde-trash-panda @sleep101

Y'all.

Soap makes a great body pillow for our special big stressed guy + Emotional Support Sergeant but make it sleeby times

My thighs are huge cuz they’re full of secrets

Victory

The jorts. They are complete.

my favourite john price fics always have a reader that's a little like a feral cat. untrusting, biting, scratching at anyone that tries to help. but he's always just holding them by the scruff of their neck at arms length until the useless clawing ceases and he can curl them into his chest.

art by @WaifuTactical

Showing 'Exhaustion' in Writing

Heavy eyelids, struggling to stay open.

Slumping shoulders, barely able to hold themselves up.

Dragging feet with each step.

Speaking in a slow, slurred manner.

Dark circles under the eyes.

Yawning frequently and deeply.

Head nodding forward, trying to stay awake.

Leaning heavily against walls or furniture.

Rubbing eyes and face with hands.

Deep, weary sighs escaping lips.

Wincing at bright lights or loud sounds.

Staring blankly ahead, unable to focus.

Weak, unsteady movements.

Muttering incoherently to themselves.

Falling asleep in unusual places.

Lack of response or delayed reactions.

Propping their head up with their hand.

Collapsing onto the nearest available surface.

Swaying slightly on their feet.

Barely lifting their head to speak or listen.

She should show up at events where Prince Charles is. Give him a scare 💅 Watch to the end for the result!

the “i wanna go home” never leaves my head even when i’m physically sitting in my bed

“give us a smile, l.t?”

“gotta earn it, Johnny.”

It was a headache at first. And then the itching—oh the itching! She clawed at her head relentlessly, to no avail. Something other than relief sprouted beneath her fingertips.

But her pain was soothed instead of scorned, her horns met with kindness instead of a knife.

Based on @laswells-ashtray's post here

Spring is here!

How's mommy's little extrovert doing? Want to go to a party and make smalltalk with strangers? No need for you to message your discord friends anymore...

DOES ANYONE HAVE THAT PICTURE OF THAT BUTCH AND FEMME AND THE BUTCH IS IN FIREFIGHTER PANTS WITH NO TOP ON AND THE FEMME IS IN A SLIP DRESS WITH LIKE HER TOE ON THE EDGE OF THE BUTCH'S PANTS GIVING HER A TEASING LOOK AND HAS CURLERS IN HER HAIR???

"You attract what you fear" ahhhh a tattooed stone butch that's a hot nerd, will treat me like a princess and wants a girlfriend always at her service who will listen to her for hours, how scary!!

Google show me butch4butch homoerotic playful wrestling

If I say I want a boyfriend, I am talking about a BUTCH. I want to be boyfriends with a butch! Butch4butch boyfriends!!!

me in home depot lighting section: heree butchie butchie butchie

my femme called me a "monster" while pretending she's not enjoying being pushed down into the mattress with my entire weight on top of her fragile little body while (yet still) humping down my thigh with no breaks and i've been rock hard since

sincerely,

an incredibly sadistic butch

Big rough butch hands... big rough butch hands.... big butch han.... butchm....

they say you attract what you fear! ahhhh oh my gosh, scary butch whos been watching me for weeks!!! ahhh butch who knows my every move!!!ahhh butch who knows everything about me that even my closest friends don’t yet know!!! ahhh scary stalker butch who is obsessive and possessive of me & daydreams about finally getting to have their way with me!!! ahhhh so scary ahhh

Call her tiramisu the way she’s full of espresso and lady fingers

-Hey Ghost! -Ay up Johnny!