#AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON ROSIE AND JOHN

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: book quotes that describe your future relationship

Hello and welcome to this reading! Here I will book quotes that describe your future relationship. I hope you enjoy this reading!

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The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

Pile 1:

“There is no such thing as a perfect relationship, just two people trying their best.” – The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion

“The course of true love never did run smooth.” – A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare

“We are not perfect, but we are perfect for each other.” – The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks

“The best thing about love is that it’s never too late to find it.” – One Day by David Nicholls

“Love isn’t perfect. It’s just love.” – The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

“There’s no such thing as perfect. That’s what makes us beautiful.” – The Sun and Her Flowers by Rupi Kaur

“No one is perfect, that’s why pencils have erasers.” – The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

“I wanted to tell her that there was no such thing as ‘the one,’ that love is an accident, and that sometimes you get lucky and it sticks.” – Looking for Alaska by John Green

“Maybe love is like luck. You have to go all the way to the end of the line before you realize it’s there.” – The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

“If you love someone, you don’t give up on them. You don’t run away from them.” – The Wedding Date by Jasmine Guillory

extended reading > paid readings

Pile 2:

“We are all a little broken. But last time I checked, broken crayons still color the same.” – The Best of Me by Nicholas Sparks

“It’s about time you stop waiting for the perfect moment, and make the moments perfect.” – The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren

“Love is not about possession. Love is about appreciation.” – The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

“Love is about finding someone you can’t live without, and being willing to compromise to make it work.” – Me Before You by Jojo Moyes

“Sometimes the hardest part isn’t letting go but learning to start over.” – The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen

“We loved with a love that was more than love.” – Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe

“Love is an endless act of forgiveness. Forgiveness is the key to action and freedom.” – The Long Hard Road to Freedom by Maya Angelou

“The truth is, you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Life is a crazy ride, and nothing is guaranteed.” – The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks

“The beauty of love is that it’s not perfect, it’s a compromise. It’s the way two people fit together even when they don’t.” – The Light We Lost by Jill Santopolo

“We are each other’s shelter from the storm.” – Atonement by Ian McEwan

extended reading > paid readings

Pile 3:

“True love is not about perfection, it’s about loving someone through the imperfections.” – The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion

“True love is a risk. But it’s a risk worth taking, and no matter how difficult it gets, it’s always worth fighting for.” – The Lucky One by Nicholas Sparks

“The only thing that stands between you and true happiness is yourself.” – The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

“Real love is about finding someone who brings out the best in you, especially when the worst tries to surface.” – Anatomy of a Breakup by Lisa Jacobson

“Love is a battlefield, and every day is a new fight.” – The Hating Game by Sally Thorne

“True love is not always about grand gestures; sometimes it’s just about showing up when the world is falling apart.” – The Light Between Oceans by M.L. Stedman

“True love doesn’t just happen, it’s created through perseverance and patience.” – The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

“We loved each other fiercely, but sometimes love isn’t enough.” – It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover

“I believe that there is a person out there for everyone, but love’s true test is surviving the hardest of times together.” – The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

“I think you fall in love with the person who gives you a sense of safety, even when the world feels uncertain.” – The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

extended reading > paid readings

[consistentlyguessing]

Girl Crush

Summary

Crushing on Yelena Belova is proven to be difficult. Even more so when you catch her making goo goo eyes at John Walker.

Warnings

THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS, ending kinda rushed? comma abuse, angst with happy ending, reader lowkey stupid, reader lowkey makes hasty decisions, JOHN WALKER!!, fem!reader, she/her pronouns, y/n used, not proof read, 2nd person pov. Das all bye

A/N

I KNOW this is not what the song is abt technically. But I heard it & thought of her. Obviously I do not ship John & Yelena. Also I listened to phoebe bridgers while I wrote this so it’s extra sad. I swear I’ll start writing abt other characters soon 😞. Bye Bye

After a group of misfits joined together to take down a common enemy, they accidentally were roped into a knock off avengers(Z) group.

The group consisted of; John Walker, a Captain America wannabe who was demoted after killing an innocent civilian, Ava Starr, who can turn intangible, Bucky Barnes, a former congressman, Bob Reynolds, some rando with insane powers, you (of course) and Yelena, an ex assassin.

Yelena was like the only person to ever walk the earth, in your eyes anyway. Her thick Russian accent was like honey. She had gorgeous blonde hair that she kept slicked back. Her green eyes that could make you float by stealing just a glance.

Everyone in the tower had picked up just how head over heels you were for her, except for Yelena. Whenever one of the Thunderbolts* saw you and her in the same room, they wouldn’t hesitate to tease you.

Ava would whistle and raise her eyebrows at the two of you, Bob would sing a poor rendition of “Careless Whisper��� which was almost too much for your ears to handle. John made sure you were throughly embarrassed if he ever caught you eyeing Yelena. He would tap your jaw and whisper something to you about “drooling all over the freshly mopped floors.” Despite him never being one to handle the chores. Alexi was the worst one, though. He made an entire scene about it. Shout something about “lovebirds” and first love.

Never in a million years would you think to confess to her. But here you were, standing at the door of her favorite coffee shop, trying to hype yourself up. Flowers were never Yelena’s thing, you knew that. So, you had a blanket, crocheted to look like roses when folded. It was something you made yourself, originally just as a friendly gift. However, Ava engraved it in your mind that if you didn’t do something soon, you’d miss the window.

You opened the door gently, walking up to the front. By now, you already had her order memorized. Every day, Yelena would invite you on a morning run, where you’d get coffee shortly thereafter. It was the little moments of bonding time that ultimately made you sick to your stomach with butterflies every time she was around.

The barista recognized you instantly, he waved at you, a small and tired smile on his face. “The usual, Miss Y/n?” He questioned, examining the blanket poking out of your large tote bag.

You nodded, “Yeah. Let me get Yelena’s order too. I’m gonna bring it back to her.” You voiced, your throat feeling a little dry with nerves. The barista looked up at you, brow furrowed. You returned the look, not sure of what was going through his mind.

He looked across the room, “She’s already ordered.” He claimed, gesturing to a table behind you. You whipped your head around, confused. Scanning the room, a gasp elicited from your lips as your eyes landed on familiar blonde locks. A small frown appeared on your face, she was up earlier than usual today. As you continued to look at the table, a wave of shock hit your body. The person sitting with her was none other than John Walker. She giggled like a little girl, and shook her head at his teasing. Sarcastically rolling her eyes. John’s cheeks were rosy red, as if he had just said something bold and flirtatious.

Turning back to the barista, you shook your head and scrunched your face. “I don’t need it.” You said, cancelling your order. He shook his head in understanding, a look of pity flashing across his face. You spun on your heel and walked out of the shop as quickly as you came in.

As you walked through the streets, pushing and shoving past people, your mind raced. Of course you had seen them together before, but it was just for missions. Checking the perimeter, easy, team stuff. This was different. She was voluntarily hanging with him, laughing like something was funny.

How had you never picked up on this? How couldn’t you see the glint in her eyes when she looked at John? How could John do this to you? After all, he was relentless when it came to teasing you about your crush on Yelena. He would bring it up constantly. Hell, he even hyped you up to go talk to her. You two were pretty close, too.

Saddened by the events, you hurried into your room of the watch tower. You brushed past a smiling Ava who was excitedly asking you how it went. Alexi, who had just came out of the bathroom saw you speeding through the halls and called out to you.

You sat in your room, on your bed, all of the lights on, and questioned everything. The way Ava talked you up made you feel like Yelena absolutely liked you back. You stayed in there for a few hours, only coming out for a brief restroom break every now and then.

But of course, you can’t hide in your room for the rest of your life. Eventually, you’d have to come out and face the music.

Alexi had insisted when you guys first moved in that family dinners would be mandatory. Every night, someone would make dinner. It was a rotation. Alexi, Ava, Bob, You, John, and Yelena. Thankfully, it was Ava’s night to cook.

As you sat at the dinner table, in your unassigned-assigned seat, you watched how John and Yelena moved around the kitchen. It was as if they were doing this to you on purpose. He would whisper something into her ear and she would giggle. It was as if you were the only person seeing this too! Everyone else was acting as if it was completely normal.

As everyone began digging in, Alexi began talking. “How was everyone’s day? Good weather hm?” He said, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth. Everyone nodded quietly, busy eating. “Y/n, you had a busy day today didn’t you? Exciting! Tell us how it went!” He prodded.

Tongue in your cheek, you looked up at him. Your insides were churning and you thought that you’d might actually have a stroke from how dizzy you were getting. You swallowed, “Yeah. Busy day. Uhm, went to get coffee. Then shopped for a little. Then I came home.” You lied, trying to get out of this conversation as quick as possible.

Of course though, the universe was never on your side. Yelena spoke up, “Coffee? When? We never went.” She questioned, chewing on a piece of steak. You looked over at her, and despite being upset at her, you could’ve melted into putty just by the way she looked at you.

You shrugged, “I went alone. Earlier this morning. I would’ve grabbed you some, but you know.. no need.” You muttered, feeling a little bitter.

John quickly looked up, panic setting in his eyes, Yelena stared at you confusedly. John was fast to defend himself, “No! Y/n, it wasn’t anything like that! I can assure you. I know—“

You shook your head and crinkled your nose as it began to burn. You blinked any tears away that were trying to prick up, “No, it’s fine. You don’t need to come up with excuses, Walker. I understand.” You smiled softly. Yelena and the others looked around puzzled.

You finished the dinner in silence while the others around you laughed and talked about their days. Once you finished your meal, you walked back to your room.

Later that night, hushed whispering could be heard from just behind the door. You were scrolling on your phone, mindlessly watching TikTok to drown your sorrows. Yelena and John were talking, trying to figure out what was wrong with you.

“No, John. I don’t know what her deal is. You clearly do though, so what’s wrong with her?” She whispered, her voice strained.

“Yelena, are you seriously this dense?” He asked, desperately. Yelena scoffed, “This is why no one can stand your ass! All you do is be insufferable and secretive!”

John and Yelena continued to argue for a little while longer, until you finally got tired of hearing and stood up out of your bed to open the door.

As you swung it open, both Yelena and John jumped, small gasps escaping from their lips. “If you two are going to have a couple squabble in front of my door, could you at least be mindful of those trying to sleep? AKA, me? Or do you guys just not care about others anymore?” You fumed, looking between the both of them.

Yelena scrunched up her face, “Couple squabble? Y/n, what the hell are you on about? Is everyone crazy today?” She questioned, feeling like she was in the dark.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “Don’t play stupid, Yelena. I saw you and John today at our coffee shop flirting and practically dry humping.” You spat, a mix of disgust and sadness eliciting from your lips.

Yelena just furrowed her brows. You shook your head, closing your door before Yelena stuck her foot in it. “I’m not playing stupid, Y/n. John and I weren’t flirting. We were just hanging out after a run.” She assured, walking into your room and closing the door behind her.

“Yeah because that makes it so much better.” You huffed, crossing your arms and turning your back to her. Inside, you knew you were being dramatic, and you knew she owed you nothing, and of course you knew that you and Yelena weren’t dating. That didn’t make you feel any less pain, though.

She grabbed your arm, spinning you around, “Y/n, you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you. I don’t want anything to do with Walker.” She reassured. You yanked your arm away from her, looking at the ground, “Sure didn’t seem like that. You all looked awfully cozy.” You muttered.

Yelena sighed, pursing her lips together. “We were talking about you, did you know that?” She asked, gripping the side of your arms and stepping closer to you. You looked up at her, disbelief across your face.

“What do you mean?” You asked, she smiled at you, rolling her eyes. “And I’m the dense one.” She chuckled and shook her head.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I really like you, like, a lot.” Yelena said, her usual confidence faltering despite her tries to keep it all together. Her lips twitched as she looked at you, “We were talking about a good way for me to ask you out.” She promised.

A hopeful shine flashed across your face, “What?” You asked, feeling lighter already. She only nodded earnestly, not breaking eye contact. You opened your mouth and closed it several times before sighing. You licked your lips as you spoke, running a distressed hand through your hair. “Oh,” you laughed embarrassedly. “I’m sorry. It just looked like something completely different. It got in my head. I should’ve asked or something. Or stayed out of it completely. I shouldn’t have gotten upset.” You word vomited.

Yelena shook her head, trying to get you to stop. Once you did, she smiled softly at you, not saying a word. After a few moments of silence, her words actually processed in your head. You gasped softly, “I really like you too, Yelena. I forgot to say that.” You stammered, nerves setting in.

Yelena laughed at you as she pulled you into a tight hug, you reciprocated. For the first time that day, as if you had never truly been relaxed before, you breathed. You took it all in. Relishing in her touch, her smell, her clothes, as if she would disappear once you let go.

But when you did, she stayed put. She smiled at you, her tough exterior melted away like she had just been unfrozen for the first time in seventy years. The way she looked at you was something you could get used to, and you had a feeling you would.

[angel5ofp0rn]

♡ part twelve ♡

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

John is holding newborn baby Shae, rocking her gently in his arms as he walks around the living room, trying to soothe her cries.

Despite his soft humming, she continues to fuss, her tiny wails echoing through the room. Shae's delicate features scrunch up with the intensity of her cries, her little fists clenched tightly.

“I just got the little monkeys to sleep,” you whisper, coming down the stairs. You notice the weariness etched on John's face, and your heart aches for him. “Want me to take her?”

“Yes, please,” John sighs, relief flooding his features as he hands Shae over to you.

The moment your chunky little baby is in your arms, she stops crying, taking a shuddery breath and nuzzling close to you. Her tiny fingers grasp at your shirt, her big, curious eyes looking up at you with a hint of recognition.

John sits on the sofa, looking defeated with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. You sit on the other end, giving him space.

You've heard of couples growing distant after having a baby, but you don't remember it being like this with your first two children.

John looks up, noticing you watching him. The distance between you since Shae's birth is palpable, and he can't stand it.

Leaning back against the couch, he finally breaks the silence. “It does get easier after a while, right? She’ll stop hatin’ me sooner or later?”

You shrug, glancing down at baby Shae, who finally likes more like you than John this time.

“Just felt like it was a bit easier with Gabe and Linnie.”

“You were either deployed or sneaking off to your second family most of the time; it’s probably just hard for you to remember,” you say bluntly.

John stiffens, your words hitting him hard. He looks at you, remorse evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry…” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“Water under the bridge,” you reply, offering a soft smile to Shae, admiring her big eyes and rosy, round cheeks.

“She doesn’t cry because she hates you,” you explain gently. “She can just tell that you’re stressed.”

John processes your words, looking down at the baby in your arms. “Y’sure?”

You nod and move the baby closer to him. “Here, try to relax.”

“I’ve been trying,” John sighs, rubbing a hand over Shae's little swirl of a cowlick at the back of her head. “She jus’ screams her li’l lungs out.”

“You can’t just never hold your daughter again because she cries,” you insist. “Hold her.”

John takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. He moves carefully, taking Shae into his arms. She starts fussing again, her cries piercing the quiet room. John’s expression darkens, his frustration evident. “C’mon, Chunky Monkey… Don’t cry,” he pleads quietly.

You scoot closer, placing a soothing hand on his thigh. “Just relax. She’ll calm down.”

John's tense frame gradually loosens as you press a gentle kiss to his shoulder. He looks down at Shae, her cries becoming quieter. “See? She's calming down,” you say softly.

"You sure?" John asks, his voice tinged with hope. He watches as Shae's crying diminishes to soft whimpers. He takes a deep breath and finally cracks a small smile.

“If mommy and daddy are happy, baby's happy," you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder.

John's smile grows as he holds Shae, her chubby little hands clutching his chest. “Skin-to-skin helps a lot, too,” you suggest.

John snorts. “You think if I took my shirt off, she’d calm down even more?”

You nod earnestly. John hesitates but then removes his shirt, placing Shae directly on his chest. She finally stops crying, her tiny body relaxing against his. Her skin feels warm against his, and her little feet, no bigger than his thumb, curl up contentedly.

John’s expression softens. “Huh…”

“What’d ya know, your wife is a genius,” you grin, lovingly rubbing Shae’s back. You feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, and it reassures you both.

John chuckles, his earlier stress melting away as he holds his baby girl close. “She loves you,” you say gently. “She just loves you relaxed.”

Shae remains still and calm against John’s bare chest, her breathing soft and even. John looks at her with pure adoration, softly rocking her. “I can carry her up to her bassinet,” you offer.

“…I think I can,” John replies, standing up slowly with Shae in his arms. He walks carefully upstairs, rubbing her back gently. Her head rests against his shoulder, her tiny mouth opening in a big yawn.

You watch with a small smile as John heads to your office; the temporary nursery. After a moment, he stops at the top of the stairs and looks down at you. “Bed?”

John is already sitting at the end of the bed when you enter. You try to sit next to him, but he pulls you into his lap instead.

“Things haven’t been right with us, love.” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you.

“I don’t want us to do this… passive-aggressive, barely speaking to each other thing anymore.” You look into his eyes, seeking understanding. “We promised that we’d communicate, John.”

John nods, his voice breaking. “I know, love… You were right downstairs; I wasn’t around enough for Gabriel or Linnie, and I wasn’t around much for Theo, either.” Tears well up in his eyes. “I’ve just been sick at the thought of another one of my children growing up with me hardly around.”

Your heart breaks hearing him express his fears. You hold his head to your chest, pressing kisses to his hair and rubbing his back soothingly. You let him cry, offering him the comfort he needs. “You’re an amazing dad, babe… Theo is amazing, Gabriel and Linnie are such good kids… No doubt Shae will be even better, because she’ll get you full time,” you murmur. “You have nothing to be worried about when it comes to the kids.”

John lifts his head from your chest, looking at you with bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.

“Just… promise we won’t do this passive-aggressive stuff anymore. I know new babies are stressful, but the kids need to see us happy. Okay?”

“I promise.” John whispers, holding you tightly. He kisses you briefly, resting his forehead against yours. For a moment, he just enjoys holding you, feeling a sense of peace and connection that he has long missed.

•••

You head outside at 3:30 and meet your oldest child at the bus stop, holding his hand on the little walk back to the house.

Gabriel seems to walk slower than usual, looking deep in thought. As you two get closer to the house, he lets go of your hand and turns to you.

"Mummy, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, monkey."

He looks up at you as you both walk inside of the house. "How did you and daddy get married?"

"Hmm. That's a good question." You glance at John, who has a head full of ponytails and is using chubby baby Shae as a dunbell, making Linnie giggle like crazy.

Gabriel looks at John and smiles a bit as he watches him being all silly with his sisters. He turns his head back to you, waiting for the answer.

"Mommy and daddy met each other at a... park." You fib a bit, not wanting to tell your six year old that you were at a bar. "And I looked right at your daddy and I told him that he was so handsome that I wanted to be his girlfriend."

This was pretty much the truth... You actually drunkenly told him that he was gorgeous, and that you wanted to have a hundred of his kids.

"Really? And then he was your boyfriend?"

Gabriel's innocent and curious blue eyes look up at you, and John watches from a distance as well.

You nod with a smile "And then he was my boyfriend!"

Gabriel nods a bit, smiling now. "How long until you two got married and had kissies?" He asks earnestly.

"One long year." You snort.

"Did he take you on lots of fancy dates?" Gabriel is sitting at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at you as if this is a serious matter.

"Lots of dates, but not always fancy ones. Sometimes daddy would take me on a picnic at the park, sometimes we would go to a movie..."

"What did you guys talk about on all those dates?" Your oldest continues the interrogation.

You laugh again, looking to John this time.

John grins from where he's been watching, he looks a bit amused by the fact that Gabriel's full of questions now. He watches you, waiting to hear your reply.

"We talked about nice things... Daddy would tell me how pretty l am, and I would tell daddy how handsome he is... We talked about how many babies we wanted and what kind of house we wanted to live in..."

"And you guys talked about love?" Gabriel asks again, giggling this time.

"Mhmm. Daddy told me he loved me really soon, right daddy?" You look back at John with a grin.

"It was about two months in, eh?" John chuckles a bit, thinking back to the first time he ever told you he loved you.

"More like two weeks." You chortle.

John's eyes open up a lot as he stares at you and then laughs hard. "Oh come on. It was at least two months."

"Your daddy loved me right away." You shrug.

John grins, remembering when he was just a bit love-drunk when he first confessed to you.

Gabriel giggles a bit at the reaction, then speaks once more. "And do you guys still love each other?"

"Of course we do." You ruffle Gabriel's hair.

"Well… How come Theo has a different mummy?”

You and John look at each other, both not knowing how to explain this to a young child.

Your middle child’s face scrunches up in thought. “How come Nadia Mummy and Theo live so far away?”

John carefully sets Shae in her bouncer before he turns back to you and the older kids, his short brown hair still standing up in about 8 or 9 hair ties all over his head.

“Well, erm…” He clears his throat. “See, before I even knew your mum, I was married to Theo’s mum.”

The middle child gasps. “Did you have kissies with her?!”

“Christ…” John rubs a hand over his stubble.

“You have to have kissies to be married, dummy.” Your oldest tries to roll his eyes at his younger sister, but actually just looks up at the ceiling with a frown.

“Gabriel Kyle, don’t call sissy a dummy.” You sigh.

“Yes, we kissed, but that was long, long before I knew mummy;” John continues, “When I lived in England, where Nadia and Theo live.”

“Daddy?” Your middle child clings to her dad’s back, her little arms wrapped around his neck. “Can we live in England?”

“No,” John shakes his head with a soft chuckle.

“Why?” Your oldest’s frown turns into a pout.

John looks to you now, wanting your help in explaining this to the kids.

But you don’t.

You just stare back, offering a small shrug of your shoulders.

“Why not?”

John’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Wh- huh?”

You shrug again, a small smile tugging at your lips just at the thought. “You’d be closer to Theo that way, the kids would be closer to your parents, too. They’ve only met Gabriel, they haven’t met the girls.”

“You’re being serious, love?” John asks, seriously considering.

You nod, trying to take your husband seriously with his ridiculous hair. “I’d love to.”

“England! England! England!” The kids cheer. Even baby Shae’s round face lights up with a gummy smile.

“Guess we’re movin’,” John smirks.

<< prev next >>

[the-californicationist]

he comes closer and closer...

Price/Reader - TW: bondage, explicit consent, anal fingering, begging, male whimpering, edgeplay, blowjobs

“I want you to remember, especially in an hour or so, that you asked for this,” you kissed his bearded cheek softly, smelling his cologne, “Begged for it, even.”

“Aye. I did,” he replied, his accent thick and heady.

Captain Price was fully naked and strapped down to his office desk, tied with a length of paracord. His body was stretched out like a rubber band, his skin shining from sweat and covered in dark hair. You could hear his labored breathing and feel his eyes on you, watching you as you walked around the desk, rubbing his arms and legs with your hands, playing with his nipples, fondling him everywhere except where he wanted you to. 

“And yet, you say I’m being unfair?” You pouted playfully, settling yourself between his knees, purposely avoiding his twitching cock.

“Edging involves at least a little…attention. Touch me, love. Please.”

“Begging again? How desperate you are tonight,” you smiled, lowering your mouth just above where his pink head could reach. Watching his hips and cock strain towards you was enchanting. 

“Baby, please, it aches. You can’t…please, don’t just leave me like this.”

“Maybe just one little taste, hmm? Just to see if you’ll be a good boy.”

“I will,” he strained harder, fighting the ropes, “I will, I promise. Please-please-please…”

“I don’t know, Captain. Do you remember the rules?”

“Yes, love, I remember. Please, just -”

“Tell me.”

He sighed, and you watched his abs flex on the exhale, his belly convulsing with his ragged breaths,

“I have to warn you when I come, and…”

“And?” You drug out the word like a sticky strand of taffy, pulling it to the point of breaking. 

“...and if I don’t, I can’t have your cunt.”

“No, you can’t. So, be good, John. Show me you want this pussy.”

He growled, 

“Fuck, I want it right bloody now. Please, baby, I -”

“Shh. Enough. You need to learn patience, my darling. We’re just getting started.”

You put a dollop of lube in your hand and rubbed it all over his shaft. He was so swollen, and the cockring you put around him had kept him that way for a while. It was wrapped around the base of his shaft and under his balls, stretching the skin and keeping it rigid. He was grunting as you worked him, his whole body reacting to your touch. The desk creaked as he strained against it. You were a little concerned about its integrity. If he broke the straps, or the desk, there were no rules left to bind him. 

“Mmm, unhgh…yeah, just like that. Fuuuuuck…” Price groaned loudly. 

You stopped, pulling away from him with a wet pop. 

“Ah! No, no, no…” He complained. 

You ran your fingers up and down his torso, threatening to touch his cock again. Every time you got close, you could hear the wood of the desk cry out, stretching from his strength. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked him, licking his nipple, biting his skin. 

“Oh, fuck, yes it does. Please, come back.”

You returned to his cock, but instead of quick solid strokes, you pulled him slowly, painfully slowly, and at an odd angle, so none of his regular sensations were available for him to hold onto. Each time you pulled up and over his cockhead, he would grunt for you, like an angry bull. 

Changing your grip, you massaged his balls and he sighed. Then, you rubbed his inner thighs and the skin behind his sack and between his legs, pressing on his internal root, jerking it as if it were his cock at the surface. It made his dick flag up and down as you did so, and he did everything he could to move you either forwards or back, being cruelly teased by your positioning. 

You stopped again. You heard him groan deep and low. His cock was rosy pink, flushed with blood and thicker than you’d ever seen it. You put some lube on your finger and dipped between his legs, finding his asshole, warm and covered in thick hair. He jolted, as much as the ropes would allow.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you remember Warsaw?”

His eyes were wild, but then they went ice cold, the realization washing over him. You chuckled, continuing, rimming your finger around his hole as you spoke, 

“You found me during our field training, and you held me down, plunging those fingers into my pussy and my ass, not allowing me to come for a whole evening, telling me that only bad soldiers got caught, and since I was bad, I didn’t deserve an orgasm. Have you been bad, John?”

You slipped a finger past his outer muscles, feeling the smooth skin inside of his asshole, massaging it in slow, aching circles. He held his breath, but he was shaking his head back and forth, protesting against your appraisal of his sins. You checked in with him, pausing your movements.

“Green or yellow?”

It took a few moments, but he growled out a very clear, 

“Green, love. Green.”

You pushed your finger in until you found the spot you were looking for. You began to rub little firm circles inside of him while jerking his cock with your free hand. There was so much to love about the feedback you were getting from him. His face was wide with intense pleasure, and his pupils were fully blown. You thrust your hand around him faster, focusing on his head. As soon as you saw his eyes clench shut, you removed yourself from him entirely. 

“No! Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, frustrated and desperate for you to let him finish. 

“Mmm, about to break a rule, Captain? You never were good at following orders.”

You sucked his cock into your mouth, softly, gently, and applied almost no suction. He bucked against the table, slamming his hips and back into the wood. You could hear the ropes tightening against their bites. He was groaning and shaking from your warm, wet mouth. You lay your tongue at the base of his head and began to lap at his skin in long, slow licks. It was too slow and soft for him to feel any release, but it was enough to drive him past the point of normalcy. 

“Fuck! Fuck, more. More, love. I need more, please. Please. Please! Fuuuuuuck.”

You put your finger at the entrance of his asshole, but you didn’t enter him again. Still, he throbbed in your mouth, just the idea of you touching him inside gave him the same sensation. You pulled him out of you and leisurely massaged his dick again, keeping him right on the edge of his pleasure. Price was literally trembling with every moment of your touch, loudly grunting, unashamed of his behavior. 

Then, you decided to finger him again, taking it away the moment his breathing changed. You put him back in your mouth. Then, you took him out. At one point, you left him altogether, making a cup of tea and drinking it while you sat in his office chair, watching him watch you. Smiling. He thrashed against the ropes. 

He really was terrifying, objectively. Price could kill you in less than a second if he wanted to. He was enormous, muscular, and sharp as a knife. There was no where you could run, and there was no chance of you fighting him off. As you watched him writhe and pull at his bindings, you studied his form. His strong legs and huge ass provided immense leverage against the desktop, bowing the edges of its planks downward - ever so slightly - as he thrust against it. The captain’s wide chest bulged with his mountainous shoulders, causing the rope to whine as it tightened on its knot, the fibers stretching past their limits. Every time he threw his hips down in blissful agony, the whole room shuddered. He was like some sort of beast you’d caught in a trap. A tiger by the tail. 

Finally, you decided to end his suffering, but he didn’t know that. As you approached the desk again, he began to beg you,

“Please, love. Please. I’ll be good. I promise. Please, let me come. I’ll be good. Baby, please…”

There it was. That’s what you wanted. An obedient Price was a rare sight, and seeing him unfold right before your very eyes, like a rose in bloom, relaxing into your will - it was mesmerizing. You wanted to rub your nose in those pliant petals, bend them back away from his honeyed center. You were hooked. 

“Mmm. That's it, baby. Surely, such a good boy deserves a reward, hm?”

“Oh, fuck,” his tone was dark now that he knew what was coming. 

You put your mouth on him and grabbed his balls gently in your hand, sucking him with a strong rhythm, massaging his heavy sack with each thrust of your head. Price wasn’t that long, but his girth was a struggle. You pushed past it, giving the man what he’d been waiting for, choking yourself, pulling off his cockring and letting the blood flow back into his core as you swallowed his head in the back of your throat. 

"I'm gonna come. Oh, my God. I'm gonna fuckin' come, baby. Yes-yes-yes...ahhh!"

The wait was so worth it. With each bob of your head, he seized and panicked. It was as if every suckle was giving him a separate orgasm, and he came like a firehose. It squirted down your throat, hot and salty, and he was screaming for you. You were certain the whole base could hear him, even though they were all the way in the barracks. His legs locked out straight, pulling the ropes tight, and his back arched off of the desk in perfect agony. 

You drained his cock by pulling out the last few drops from his shaft, licking them up like dripping ice cream from a cone. Then, you untied his legs and hands. He lay there, panting, his face twisted in complexity, feeling aftershocks and riding them out, sated and drunkenly happy. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, girl, you better start runnin'. As soon as I get my legs, you are in for it.”

You bolted for the door, looking back at him over your shoulder, grinning. He had already rolled off of the desk and was trying to throw on his shorts, stumbling, slowly catching his bearings, quickly getting ready to hunt you down.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

Read Part 2 here.

[lisbeth-kk]

Easter Egg Prompts (2025) Day 8

This is the last one, lovelies. Time flies when one's having fun, right? Thanks again to the sweet @helloliriels for making the prompts. It's been a joy sharing this story with you all.

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Rosie is acting like the teenager she's become, which rattles Sherlock to the core.

Marshmallows

Sherlock is not prepared when his darling girl turns into a stranger overnight. Luckily for them all, John takes it all in his stride. He has after all grown up with a sister, not to mention invaded Afghanistan. Disassembling Moriarty’s network is like a bumpy ride in comparison.

“Why do you have to be so strict? Everyone else is allowed!” Rosie roars at her Daddy.

“Names, please,” John replies calmly.

“You just want me to live with you forever, never letting me unfold my wings,” she yells dramatically.

Sherlock is quite impressed by her drama queen appearance, but he can't shake the unease of witnessing the two people he loves most in the world having a dispute of this proportion.

“Of course, we don’t. It’s not healthy for a child to live with their parents when they’ve grown up. I’m afraid our rule still applies; you are not allowed to attend an all-night disco. You are barely fifteen.”

“You’re a coward!”

Before John gets in a word, Sherlock rises from his chair, filled with a terrifying fury.

“Do not speak to your father like that, Rosamund Watson-Holmes!”

His tone is as cold as an arctic wind. A tone he’s never used on either his daughter or husband. Not even on Mycroft. Well, perhaps on one or two occasions…

For a moment Rosie blushes and looks utterly devastated, but soon enough, she turns on her heel and stomps up to her room, slamming the door for emphasis.

Sherlock’s knees give way, and he falls back into his chair. John rubs his face, and sighs.

“What is happening to her, John?” Sherlock whispers.

“She’s a teenager, Sherlock. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. She’s testing our boundaries, and trying to find her place in the world, and desperately wanting her independence.”

“But she’s become a…monster! How can she say those things about you?”

“I’ve had far worse, and I’m pretty sure she’s already regretting saying them, but she’s too stubborn to admit it. Yet.”

“How can you be so calm? We are losing her!”

Sherlock’s voice is on the verge of panic.

“Look at me, love,” John says softly, crouching down in front of Sherlock’s chair. “We are notlosing her.”

Running feet down the stairs, all the stairs, and then the slamming of the front door, doesn’t exactly support John’s reassurance. He groans, Sherlock leaps to his feet, determined to follow his girl, but John stops him.

“Here.”

John shows Sherlock his phone. A text from Harry lights up the screen.

Having a domestic, John? Ro is on her way over. Just wanted you to know. We’re free to take her this weekend if it’s alright with you and Sherlock. I think you all need some space, and she needs some female advice. We’ll keep you informed.

Sherlock collapses in John’s arms, his body trembles, and he feels like he’s run around for hours. The sudden fatigue is unnerving.

John guides him to the sofa and lets him curl up in his lap.

“She’ll be alright, love. At least we avoided the disco. There’s no way my sister and Clara will let her out of their sight.”

A vibration from Sherlock’s phone seconds later, discloses that the surveillance works impeccably.

What is wrong? Where is she going? Have you thrown her out? Do you acquire assistance? Answer immediately! MH

John chuckles while Sherlock sends his brother a reassuring text.

***

“So, what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Harry asks when she’s welcomed her niece with a warm hug.

“Who, more like,” the teenage girl mutters.

Harry laughs heartily, soon joined by Clara, who embraces Rosie and holds her for a long time. When the girl starts to cry, Harry steps in an makes it into a group hug.

“Tell us, love,” she coaxes. 

“It was Papa,” Rosie whispers. “I’ve never seen him like that. Ever.”

Harry looks at her with a frown.

“Sherlock? Are we talking about the softest father I’ve ever met? I thought it’d be my brother who – “

“Oh, he did his too, you know, stayed calm and captain-like. But then…”

“Out with it,” Harry demands, not unlike the forementioned captain behaviour of her brother.

“I called him a coward.”

Rosie’s voice cracks at the last word and she hides her face in the crook of Clara’s neck.

“Uh-oh,” Harry murmurs. “Calling John that in front of Sherlock. Courageous of you.”

“He was…I…if he ever looks at me like that again…”

Rosie starts to cry in earnest now and clings to them both. They say nothing, because there’s really no words that will suffice. Everyone knows that Sherlock was in his full right to react like he did.

***

Before she goes to make them hot cocoa, Harry sends her brother a text.

Ro is fine. Well, almost. Broken-hearted. Regrets what she called you. Is terrified of your detective. We don’t blame him. The nerve of that girl, calling my brother a coward! Will keep you posted. Take care of him. I reckon he’s beside himself.

Thanks, Harry! You’re a lifesaver, and quite right about Sherlock. Tell Rosie to text him when she feels up for it, will you.

I might have to frame this text. Are you going soft on me, old man? Making cocoa now. Speak later.

“Do you want whipped cream or marshmallows in your cocoa, Ro?” Harry asks.

The girl has calmed down, but she looks a right mess with red rimmed eyes and a puffy face.

“Marshmallows, please. I’ll just go to clean myself up a bit first.”

When she returns to the kitchen, the rich scent of hot milk and dark chocolate welcome her like a warm hug. Clara hands her a large mug topped with multi-coloured marshmallows.

“Nothing like hot cocoa to mend broken hearts,” she says matter-of-factly.

They seat themselves around the circular kitchen table. Rosie braces herself for heaps of questions but to her surprise, gets none.

“In your own time,” Harry says softly and takes a sip of her brew.

The synthetic taste of the soft sweets paired with the rich cocoa, feel calming on the teenager’s frayed nerves. She closes her eyes and wallows in it for a few moments. 

“I’ve been an idiot,” she says before opening her eyes. “They just want to protect me. I didn’t really want to go to that stupid disco, but…”

She opens her eyes and sets down her mug and runs her fingers through her hair in a sherlockian way.

“Brian and his mates made a bet. Said that I’d never get permission to go. Told me my parents are overprotective, wanting to lock me up inside 221B until I’m thirty.”

A chuckle from Harry, quite reminiscent of John’s, coaxes a smile from Rosie.

“Alright, I know it was stupid, okay! I wanted to prove to myself that I could stand up to Captain John Hamish Watson and the world’s only consulting detective. Dunno what I was thinking.“

“Believe me, love, I’ve been at the receiving end of my brother’s calm and infuriating reasoning all my life. That said, I think Sherlock’s reaction scared you more than a hissy fit from my brother could ever do, am I right?”

“Yes,” Rosie admitted with a whisper. “You should have seen him, Harry. It was like witnessing a blizzard in the Arctic. His eyes were icy blue, and almost stung me. He hates me, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, darling,” Clara murmurs. “Sherlock Holmes will never stop loving you. You are the light of his life together with John. According to the text your father sent his sister earlier, your Papa is a mess. Send him a text later to ease his mind, yeah?”

This sends the girl into another heart-breaking crying spell, and it takes another cup of cocoa to calm her down.

When she’s drained her cup and grabbed a handful of marshmallows to chew on, Rosie picks up her phone and composes a text to Sherlock and then one to John.

Hi. I’m sorry I called Daddy a coward. I didn’t mean it, and it isn’t true. Your reaction was sound. You are scary when you’re defending him, you know. Forgive me? xx

Hi. You’re not a coward, Daddy. My outburst was totally uncalled for. I’m sorry. You’re the bravest man I know. Thanks for letting me stay with H & C. xx

***

They’re both a bit blurry-eyed after they’ve read their respective texts, though John is not as easily induced as his husband. 

Sherlock types out his reply first; he is after all able to compose a text with his hands behind his back.

My darling girl. Of course, I forgive you. I am sorry if I scared you; I scared myself even more. Never doubt how much I adore you. Papa.

We will have a talk about this later. Love you.

Sherlock has his chin on John’s shoulder and frowns at the rather clipped tone in the text.

“That’s a little harsh,” he remarks.

John hums in agreement. All of him radiates frustration and rigidness.

“I’ve earned the nickname Stubborn Until Death for a reason,” he huffs.

“Good lord. How many nicknames do you have? I thought the continents name was more than sufficient.”

This loosens something in John, and he wraps his arms around his husband.

“One would think so, yeah,” he agrees. “It’s not pertinent anymore, though.”

“I hope not,” Sherlock replies dryly.

“I’m only devoted to one lover these days. If you’re amenable, I can show you just howdevoted I am to my chosen one.”

John’s voice is husky and full of promise, leaving Sherlock breathless, and he willingly agrees to his husband’s suggestion.

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[rodolfoparras]

Pairing: John Price x Male reader

Cw: sexual tension

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Sergeant,” Price says as you search for the shaving tools located in his very small bathroom.

You just wave him off with your hand, silently cheering when you find what you were looking for before instructing him to take a seat on the toilet lid.

Price is quick to do as you say, before proceeding to try and undo the buttons on his shirt with his injured hand.

Eventually with some struggles he gets the shirt unbuttoned but has no success in taking it off.

“Here let me help” you say standing so close your knees knock together as your warm hands gently push his away.

Price only manages a nod in response trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck ears and cheeks as you help take off his clothing.

“Are you cold?” You say, probably noticing the goosebumps rising on his skin.

“No just get on with it” he grunts out, tipping his chin up.

You just chuckle at his antics before you lather up his face, watching the grays in his beard get coated in shaving cream.

“Just the chin and -“

“And a bit of the cheeks I know” you say with a playful smile on your face as you take the razor in your hand.

“You’re one grumpy old man you know?” You say with a chuckle, eyes flickering up to see the look on his face only to realize just how close you are standing to the older man.

For a second you feel yourself getting lost in those cerulean eyes; the way his black lashes fan against his cheeks, and the way his rosy lips stand out amongst the white foam lathered onto his skin.

“Tilt your head up a bit more” you say voice breathy and strained, forcing yourself to break the eye contact to focus on the task at hand.

He does as you say and although you’re no longer looking at him, you can feel the way his eyes follow your movements as you gently drag the razor across his cheek

Once you’re done with his cheeks. you move down to his chin, slowly but surely uncovering a faded scar on his skin.

He must’ve noticed you looking at it because he starts to speak

“I got it when I first enlisted” he says voice tinted with embarrassment “fell face first, ended up with a big scar right on my face, thought a beard would do a good job at covering it up”

Before you can even register what you’re doing your thumb caresses the scarred skin.

Your eyes flicker up to meet his own and once again you loose yourself in them.

For a second it feels like he’s leaning in closer because before you know of it you’re a hair away from his lips and you completely forget what you’re doing in the first place because suddenly your hand jerks and you’re drawing blood on his cheek.

Price hisses and quickly pulls away.

“Shit! Sorry sorry,” you say, watching the way he quickly walks over to the sink.

What you don’t see is the way he tries to blink back the haze from his eyes, the way he prays and hopes the cool water is enough to sooth his blush and the way his pulse is roaring in his ears as he cleans the blood of his cheek.

After wiping his face completely he returns back to his seat.

“I’m really so-“

“It’s fine,” he grunts out in response “Just get it done and over with sergeant,” he says, this time avoiding your gaze and nervously tapping on his leg

[moshpitgamma]

My Sunflower|| John Dory x Fiancé!Reader

Warnings:Angst+Fluff

(This is my first real fanfic so Plss don’t be TOO harsh)

YALL ITS LONG OK😭

——————————————————————

“John! I’m home!” Said the exhausted troll walking through the door of their shared apartment. “Huh? Damn it’s 9pm.” Y/n said checking the time. “Hun, You here?” They screamed again wondering why their fiancé wasn’t answering. When they didn’t get a response they started to get anxious, but convinced themselves he went to either the studio or to hang out with his brothers.

The clock finally hits 11:03pm and still there isn’t a sign of JD. “Why isn’t he answering his phone?” You said with worry laced in your voice. His brothers also didn’t answer their phones for god knows what. Now you’re in full panic mode pacing back and forth in the dining room blowing UP his phone with messages and calls. After your many failed attempts of contacting him you finally decided to call the only person you KNEW that was gonna pick up. So you called his grandma.

Once she answered you tried to hide your anxiousness and your panicked voice, but she caught on to it quickly. “Hi Mrs. Rosie, do you know where John is? I haven’t spoke to him since this morning before I went to work.” You asked frantically hoping that she would cure the pulsating adrenaline going through your body. When you finished your nauseating questions the silence you both held was fueling it like you were going to burst. When the never ending silence finally came to an end a sigh was heard. "Hun Bun….JD left hours ago after their embarrassing show fail." she told you with reassurance and empathy. She then continued to tell you how and what happened between the brothers. The last thing you ever heard from her was “Sweetie just give it time.” So you waited…

And waited….

And waited….

Until 20 years have passed and still no sign of John. You were invited to the royal wedding of King Grisel and Bridget and was currently trying to find a dress. While rampaging you closet like a mad woman you come across and unfamiliar bagged dress. When you took it out you stared at it with tears welling up in your eyes. It was your dress he proposed to you in. It was admired in jewels and yellow sunflower like petals and soft like satin and silk. It was one of a kind. Your debating stopped instantly and you proceeded to put on the dress.

FAST FORWARD TO WEDDING :>

“We are gathered here today t-.” “STOP THE WEDDING!” A random voice yelled…

You felt like your heart was going to jump out your chest from all the adrenaline rushing. Trying to force your tears down you finally built enough courage to turn around and look to where everyone else was looking. When you finally saw who it was your tears finally escaped their haunted and sorrowful chamber. He was there……

Standing in front of Branch?

Trying to pick him up?

You didn’t wanna get noticed in this state so you turned to leave but you felt a hand grab your flushed smaller ones. It was Branch..”Are you ok?”he asked knowing you weren’t. “I’m ok.” You said quickly dismissing his attempts of comfort. Before you could leave you heard a nickname you never knew you would hear again. “My sunflower?” He must’ve felt the tension he created so he hurried to you and begged you too listen to his explanations and excuses. You couldn’t do nothing, BUT listen so you gave him 3 minutes. “The reason I left was because Brozone was turning into a disaster and I needed to just space myself away for a while!”

You didn’t know whether to be mad or sad or HELL even glad but you knew he was trying to get you to understand. “But did you have to go?” Tears welling up..

Silence…….

“Did you have to leave me alone without telling me ANYTHING?!!?”

“I-“ you didn’t let him finish before you started walking off letting the emotions and realization sink in. He knew he fucked up… He couldn’t let you leave…. He needed his flower…He ran up to you and hugged you as hard as he could to prevent you from leaving and cried like hell was dragging him away from the heaven he created with you. “Sunflower PLEASE, I promise I’ll never leave you again!!” He repeated like his life depended on it. You slowly started to give in and soothed him. “Please Hun, I promise I’ll pro-“ He couldn’t even get done with his sentence before feeling the feeling he oh so missed….

Your lips…

“Please Don’t leave me again.” You said barely above a whisper and your teary E/C eyes looked at him.

He smiled warmly and responded with nothing but sincerity..”Of course not my sunflower.”

THE ENDDDDDDD☺️🫶🏿

[thanksbutno98]

You Do It Better

Author note: I think this is the longest fic I’ve written. I don’t use word count so idk lol. This was a lot of work and I cut it down significantly. It felt like too much if I went any longer. Feeling so self conscious about this.

Summary: Meeting John Prices mother does not go well. A year later you hope things may be better.

Warning: NSFW, short smut scene, anxiety attack, in depth description of an anxiety attack, mention of child abuse, death of a parent, PTSD, childhood trauma, pregnancy, not edited.

——————

“FUCK!” You practically screamed.

John’s hand clamped over your mouth as you moaned so loudly his grip was doing little to muffle you. He didn’t know if he actually minded you being unable to contain yourself. His neighbors definitely hated you both. Then you came and pulsed so tightly around him that John decided everyone could go to hell. All he wanted was you in this raw moment.

“Fuck” John grunted through gritted teeth.

His free hand flying to his head board to get the leverage he needed to plow into you and get as deep as he could in your tight cunt. You were fitting him just right as he came so hard he swore he was seeing stars. John had never heard such high pitched whines leave himself before, not until now. This was the most mind melting orgasm he’d ever had and it was all because of you. You were the best John Price had ever had and he wished he had another round in him to do it all over again. Falling victim to your charm and addictive touch.

John pulled his hand from your face, revealing your satisfied grin, rosy cheeks, and kiss swollen lips. The both of you panted as if you had just run a marathon. You started to lightly giggle which then had John’s hairy chest rumbling in deep laughter. A sweet sloppy kiss shared between the two of you as John hovered above you.

“Did I blow your mind Price?” You asked all too cocky. John forehead pressed against your as he caught his breath. You could see you had in his stormy blue eyes and by the way he reacted to you this chilly Sunday morning; those high pitched whiny moans gave him away. You’d be replaying that sound in your head on loop the next time you found yourself alone and needy.

Your question had a different meaning. It was clear to you John hadn’t been with someone like you. Someone who wanted to get off just as badly as him and would make sure he had you cuming before the end of it all. You two had been casually seeing each other for four months now and this was the best reaction you had coaxed out of him. It had been your silent mission to learn his body and find out what made him tick.

You liked John a lot. You were at the point you may even love him but you weren’t ready to admit that to yourself. Not when John was dragging his feet on making things official between you two. But as much as you tried to deny it the way he had you feeling on that date to that football match last month had you tumbling head over heels for him.

John had never met a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Who knew how she liked it and wasn’t just going to lay there and take it. The focus no longer simply on his pleasure. John learned with you how much more erotic and fun it was to have you both enjoying yourselves to the fullest. You were involved, bossy, and a freak in all the ways he craved. John felt proud every time he had you cumming because he knew it was real. There were no more fake ‘I’m cumming’ shouted to get things to end quicker now he knew it was real. No more one night stands with women he could give a damn about.

“Give me a minute and you can blow me. I mean my mind.” John joked out of breath as he rolled off of you and onto his back. Your laugh was brighter than the morning sun as you enjoyed his crude joke. John could listen to your laugh forever, you had him feeling like quite the jokester at times.

“Breakfast?” You asked. Brushing your messy bed head down with your chipped nails.

It had become routine for you both to have a mind blowing shag the night before and wake up for another round. Breakfast was an easy promise since you would make it no matter what. It was your way of trying to show off your domestic side as a lure to get John to make you his girlfriend. It was a bit desperate but you didn’t care, you had fallen for the man.

“Not sure what I have.” John mumbled as he pulled the condom off and tossed it into the waist bin.

John made a quick move to grab you by the waist, pulling you back into his chest. You giggled as he dragged you across the sheets, his rough hands holding you gently. Dirty and messy kisses littered your shoulder as you felt John starting to harden against your hip. The idea of another round was tempting but you weren’t sure you’d be able to walk straight if you went for it. John usually lasted double the time as the last round and your pour ass couldn’t take another pounding.

“Oh, stop it.” You pushed John off of you with a giddy laugh.

John didn’t fight it, being utterly exhausted at the moment. As much as he wanted to go twelve rounds in the sheets with you his body could only do so much, and he was still sore from falling off a one story roof last week while deployed.

Although his sex drive had never been as high in his life until you came walking in. You were turning the strong willed Brit insatiable and his feelings for you were blooming into much more than lust and they had been since he first laid eyes on you. It had always been more than lust but John refused to become emotionally involved and appreciated you for not pushing him on the subject.

Stretching, you sighed in content pleasure at how your muscles were sore from an amazing night together. Sitting up from bed you began to make your move to go and prepare breakfast. John moved swiftly to swat your bare ass as you stood up from his bed. You dodged it perfectly and he missed by the skin of his teeth.

“Gotta be quicker than that, lieutenant.” You teased with a cheeky smile.

John tried to grab at you but you shuffled backward. It honestly wasn’t that bad for John because he had the chance to watch your tits bounce as you shuffled away. John shamelessly watched you grab his shirt and pull it over yourself so you could go prepare breakfast. It was baggy on you and came down just enough to cover your perky ass.

John wished you would cook naked but you told him to go fry bacon with his shirt off and come talk to you. Not ever attempting to cook for himself John did what you said on day when you weren’t over; he quickly understood where you were coming from. Deciding to never share his attempt at cooking and just keep his mouth shut and be thankful.

“Gonna fuck you in that shirt.” John told you confidently. Laying on his side and propped up on his arm. You loved how his eyes scanned your body, admiring you. John’s charming smile stayed on his face as he rolled over on to his back. Looking at you was causing him to get hard faster than he wanted. John was sore and hated how little control he had over his body when you were around.

John was laying on his back with the comforter covering his waist. His chest hair was thick and his pectoral muscles bulging. You just wanted to sink your teeth into him. His muscles were so taunt but he wasn’t the gym rat type who worked out just to look good. Johns kind of muscular body wasn’t for looks it was for practicality which was even sexier. He was the kind of buff that only men in the military were able to obtain. He had the muscle tone of someone who worked manual labour and you knew he was a man who could protect you. Those muscles weren’t just for show.

“You already have.” You ran your tongue over your teeth as you referred to the last time you slept over. Both your minds shooting to you bent over the arm of the couch in nothing but John’s t-shirt. You two attempted to watch a movie together after John took you out for dinner but ended up ten minutes into it and stripped of all clothing and sliding into his t-shirt.

You and John were about to follow up with another round. The memory too tempting to pass up on. It was clear you were about to fall back into the sheets and maybe just maybe try something new. It was like you were being drawn to him with no control over yourself. John was exactly your type and having a body carved from stone had you craving him like no other. You were about to crawl on top of him, one knee resting on the bed and you body leaned over him.

That’s when a polite knock sounded on Johns front door. You looked over your shoulder a bit confused. When you turned back to John who was propped up on his forearms and frowning, just as confused as you.

“Who’s that?” You asked, pointing with your thumb over your shoulder.

“Not sure. Probably just a package. Mind getting it since you’re dressed? You can sign for me.” John asked as he sat up and began to push the cover off of him to get dressed. You paused for only a second to look at his huge cock standing at attention.

“Sure.” You smiled wickedly.

“I’ll be back for that.” You purred getting an overly excited look from John. He was now chugging the water that had been sitting on his bedside table.

John’s flat wasn’t big. The front door was parallel to the only bedroom door. Meaning if the front door was fully open and John’s bedroom door was too you could see straight in. His bed was in full view if anyone was standing in the doorway and could see over you. Turning right when entering from the front door there was a short hallway that lead into a larger room where the kitchen and living room was. The kitchen was to the right with a peninsula separating the two spaces. The bathroom was on the far side of the living room.

Opening the front door slightly, only peaking your head out, you were ready to tell whoever was there it was the wrong flat or just sign for John if it was a package. Only, to your surprise there was an older woman, shorter than you, who stood there with a casserole dish in hand. It was covered in shiny tin foil but you could still smell the cheesy goodness that lay underneath.

She had shoulder length dirty blonde hair and striking icy blue eyes. The woman was dressed in a white sweater with blue stripes and black slacks with her magenta winter coat thrown over. She looked like a typical sweet British lady in her fifties. You smiled politely assuming she had the wrong address. As you opened your mouth to let her know this was the wrong flat she shrieked like a wild animal.

“JOHNATHON PRICE!” You flinched at the volume of this strange woman’s words, almost stumbling backward. She tried to move through you but you didn’t budge having no idea who this woman was and you weren’t about to let a stranger into John’s flat. Neither of you were clothed properly and the wild eyed look she was giving you was intimidating.

“John?” You called over your shoulder blocking the doorway from this insane woman so she couldn’t barge in. The last thing in the world came out of your part time lovers mouth.

“Mum?” John was fast to get on his feet and mortified that he was still naked. His mind was racing as he stared at the back of your messy bed head. Using the bed sheets to cover himself up John’s eyes darted around for his jeans. Wrapping the large sheet around his waist like a towel John frantically looked around for his boxers at the very least. John was sweating at the fact his mother was here and about to cause a scene. He still regretted ever telling her his address after he moved here.

You froze and stared at John’s mother with your jaw slack. She pushed forward pushing you out of the way with her shoulder and you just stepped aside for who you now knew as John’s mom to barge in. You had nothing on but John’s shirt as she marched straight past you, shoving the casserole dish into your hands and storming into John’s bedroom doorway. You could see your very risqué lingerie lying on the corner of the bed and your clothes scattered by the foot of the bed. One of John’s ties was tied and hanging off the bedposts from the previous nights escapades. This was not a scene any mother needed to see from their son.

John was red in the face, standing stark naked with only his bed sheets covering himself. You wondered what relationship they had based of the blatant intrusion. John’s mother didn’t seem to have any boundaries for her son’s privacy and it was a shock to you. Your dad would never intrude or even feel that it was appropriate to barge into your flat. You cringed feeling exposed and you could only imagine how horrible John was feeling.

“What has gotten into you!” His mother shrieked.

The trey of food having been shoved in your hands, you placed it on the hutch next to the front door. You were standing by the bedroom doorway not sure what to do, feeling too stunned to move. You glanced at yourself in the mirror by the front door and cringed. You had hickies down your neck. That’s when John’s mother turned around so fast it seemed inhuman. You wished you weren’t there, that you had retreated to the living room, that you could disappear in that moment. She looked you dead in the eyes as she asked her next question.

“How much did he pay you? Was it worth it, passing him some disease?” The venom in her words had you gasping at her audacity.

The way your cheeks flushed and rage shot up your spine was volatile. Never in your life had you been insulted like that and if she wasn’t John’s mother you would have slapped her and told her to go to hell. You made eye contact for only a second with John before you spoke. John flinched at the look you gave him. He had never seen you so angry, it looked like you were about to take his head clear off his body.

“Clothes. Now.” You barked.

Angry and humiliated you turned on your heels and went to the bathroom. Not giving a damn if John’s shirt rode up and had your ass on display. If John’s mother said a word about it you were prepared to invite her to kiss it and tell her to go fuck herself. You jogged through John’s living room and snatched your purse off his kitchen counter. Taking your phone out and shooting a message to your best friend asking her if she was free because you needed to vent.

Slamming the bathroom door with so much force you were surprised the hinges didn’t break off. You could hear John and his mother shouting at each other but you chose to drown it out by taking a shower as they fought. You were hoping by the time you were out John’s mother would be gone. That way you could freak out on him in private for not standing up for you and allowing his mother to speak to you like that.

Stepping under the hot stream of water you closed your eyes and focused. Attempting to quell your thumping heart and get your anger under control. You weren’t the type to scream and yell but you felt yourself getting there. Still it felt misplaced to feel this way. You weren’t John’s girlfriend, he had no reason to defend you. Right?

A light knock sounded on the bathroom door and when you didn’t respond the door opened slowly. John slipped in, now dressed in sweat pants and a white t-shirt. To say he was on edge was an understatement. John didn’t see you as a person who got angry often. The only real time he had seen that side of you was when you two first met and the anger wasn’t even directed at him. Clearing his throat John was hoping you would say something but you didn’t. Hidden behind the shower curtain you violently scrubbed your shampoo into your scalp trying to bite back the cruel words you had for him.

“I have your clothes. Um, do you want me to just leave them on the counter?” John cringed at his dumb question and then cleared his throat. Where else would he put them? The floor?

With a racing heart John silently begged for you to say something, anything. It would feel better if you cussed him out or even called his mother names. This silent treatment was killing him. John was about to try and coax you to talk but then it dawned on him; you didn’t owe him that. You two weren’t dating, he wasn’t your boyfriend, he had no right to make you work this out with him. Right?

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Was the last thing John said before he left the bathroom.

“Asshole.” You whispered to yourself.

Resting your head against the cool tiled wall you placed your face in your hands. Tears pricked your eyes and you allowed yourself a moment to cry. You knew this wasn’t something you and John would be able to move past. Then pulling yourself back together you finished washing up and gathered yourself as best as possible. You dried off and towel dried your hair, slipping into your jeans and sweater from the previous night. You noticed your lingerie was missing but you assumed John had shoved it somewhere from view once his mother wasn’t looking.

You felt so violated being barged in on. Clearly being a fully grown adult didn’t mean you deserved privacy in the eyes of John’s mother. It was gross and you instantly hated the woman. The former craving of wanting to be John’s girlfriend long gone. No way would you wind up in a family with that bat shit crazy woman.

It made your heart ache but you couldn’t see yourself being with a man who allowed his mother to treat you like that. Grabbing your shampoo, conditioner, and body wash from John’s shower you shoved them in your purse. You cleared your belongings from his bathroom counter too. Hours later when John saw you had taken all your stuff you normally left at his flat he had called multiple times. Realizing that you were silently breaking things off with him.

When you exited the bathroom Johns mom was still there standing in his kitchen and staring daggers at you. The anger bubbled up all over again and you could hear John telling her to leave so he could talk to you. She was unmoving and you had no intention of staying. John tried to say goodbye between his perfuse apologies. You ignored every word coming out of his mouth and stormed right by him.

John was calling down the hall for you but you were too angry to give him the time of day. You were so insulted by John’s mother accusation that you left a voicemail on your way to your car cussing him out. It wasn’t your proudest moment but you left him a scathing message swearing to never see him again.

——————

It was a bitterly cold evening. The type of cold your teeth chattered and the frigid wind took your breath away. A shiver ran up your spine and you knew it couldn’t be from the cold since you were sitting in the suffocating warmth of John’s truck. It was from the impending doom bubbling in your stomach. You had this feeling in your gut that something bad was going to happen but you hushed those thoughts, blaming anxiety for it all.

“Think she remembers me?” You joked dryly.

Then your face became flat and you stared off into the dark English country side. Tonight your now boyfriend of a year John Price was bringing you home for Christmas Eve dinner. John had just told his family he was seeing someone and would be bringing you for the holidays. It seemed like his family was overjoyed to hear he was finally in a committed relationship.

The only concerning part was the fact you had met John’s mother once and it didn’t go well. Over a year ago she had barged into John’s flat and insinuated you were a prostitute. The groveling John had to do to get you to talk to him again was astronomical. Then you broke things off two weeks later when he wouldn’t commit to a relationship. It was still a sore subject that you both wanted to leave it in the past.

John had talked to you and asked if he should warn his mom before bringing you. It had been a quick encounter between you and Mary and after a long conversation you both decided against saying anything. The odds she remembered you were slim since she had never brought it up to John after that day. It had been over a year ago so you two truly believed she wouldn’t remember you.

What if she did remember who you were? Mary would probably kick your ass and then convince John’s family you were a prostitute. The stress was starting to weigh heavy and you were regretting not having John say something in advance.

“Do you think she remembers me?” You asked in an almost dead tone. You were trying to keep your insecurities shoved down as to not worry your boyfriend. You knew John was a bit stressed about introducing you to his family. Having told you his two older brothers were going to mess with him ruthlessly but his little sister would be pleasant. It was the first time since he was 15 that he introduced a romantic partner.

“My mum barley remembered my friends growing up. She won’t remember you from my flat that one time.” John’s answer was confident having your anxiety quell only slightly. You watched something flicker in his eyes and you weren’t sure he even believed his own words.

“Are you sure?” You asked, chewing on your nails nervously.

“I’m positive. Stop stressing.” With a kind smile John took your hand and held it. It was his way to sweetly get you to stop biting your nails.

“John.” You pressed.

“If she remembers who you are I’ll take you out to any restaurant you can think of.” John joked, chuckling a bit because he found you cute when you worried. A swell of pride ignited in his chest watching your face light up at his words. Time slowed for a second for John. Seeing you all dolled up with painted lips and your hair down. You were so beautiful and John felt a residual twinge of guilt for putting you through so much before you were even dating.

“That Italian one we saw on telly!” You immediately shouted. Hands clapping in the warm air of the truck. No way in hell were you passing up on an offer to a fancy date. It was all in good fun anyway, you trusted Mary wouldn’t recognize you because John said so.

“You sure?” John hoped you would change your mind. That place was a fortune but he couldn’t take back his promise now. Not after seeing how excited it made you. Now he just had to hope his mother didn’t recognize you and everything was looking good. Maybe he should’ve taken you out on a date as your Christmas present instead of what he actually had planned.

Pulling up to his childhood home, John parked his truck at the end of the packed driveway. John noticed all his siblings cars so he knew you two were the last to arrive. Glancing at the clock John was surprised that his sister was there on time. Sarah was normally late for everything.

“Ready?” John turned to you and gave you a kind smile.

You were both nervous but too proud to tell the other. With a nod of your head you were both exiting John’s truck. Stopping for a moment to fix the skirt of your green sweater dress. Grabbing the dessert you brought, John was quick to hold it for you. Taking you by the hand and squeezing reassuringly he lead you up the stone path to his parents home.

It wasn’t a huge house. It was a cute cottage styled home with a greenhouse attached to the left side of it. The shutters matched the red painted door and the shingling was worn and faded white. It was cute but you couldn’t help but wonder how four children managed to grow up in such a small home.

Once up the stairs you excepted John to knock but he didn’t. John walked into the house without a second thought. The warm air felt good against your skin and brought the scent of home cooking. Your eyes fluttered a bit at how good whatever was in the oven smelled. Stepping into the home a smile took over your face.

This cute and cozy cottage was where John ran around as a child. Where he grew up and was shaped into the man he was today. The front door opened into a hallway that lead to the back of the house where the kitchen was. To your right was the living room and to your left was a closet and then the staircase. It was an old home it was obvious by the chipping paint on the molding and the worn hardwood floors. But it was cozy beyond belief.

“Johnny you’re here!” John’s mother bustled down the hallway from the kitchen. Mary was dressed in a green sweater, jeans, and had a Christmas themed apron on. She was a pretty woman and you could see that she was where John got his eye shape and the little freckle on his nose from.

“Happy Christmas, mum.” John had already kicked off his boots and placed them neatly by the door.

Mary was already wrapping her arms around her youngest son. You felt your heart start to thump loudly in your ears. This was the moment of truth. Letting go of John, Mary turned to look at you. Her eyes scanning your face and then looking you up and down. She seemed to approve of you in an instant by the satisfied node she gave you and sweet smile.

“You must be, Y/N. Pleasure having you here for dinner. Been told you’re making our Johnny very happy. He forgot to mention how pretty you are.” Mary hugged you tightly next and you hugged her right back. A sigh of relief escaping your chest. John was giving you a thumbs up from over his mother’s shoulder which had you smiling widely.

“I’ve always wanted a garden. Maybe tomorrow you can show me around your green house?” You asked Mary, since you and John were planning on staying the night along with his siblings. It was so you could all spend Christmas Day together and spend time ‘as a family.’ It had been a tradition since John could remember and he was ecstatic to have you along for the ride.

Mary seemed to light up at your request. It had been a fantasy since you were a child to have a garden to yourself. Where you could plant vegetables but mainly flowers. You wanted the floral smell to encompass the land you lived on and it would be something you could be endlessly proud of.

“I’d love to! Now, everyone’s in the living room. Why don’t you go introduce Y/N.” Mary paused and cocked her head to the side. Staring at you more intently now. It had you feeling extremely nervous being under her watchful eye.

“Have we met?” Mary asked. You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. Your nerves got the better of you and you just stood there awkwardly. John looked at you expectantly and realized you weren’t actually going to say anything.

“Don’t think so mum. Do you need any help in the kitchen.” John strategically asked if his mother needed help because he knew she would bat him away. To Mary men didn’t belong in the kitchen especially John. Mary thought because John served his country he should have a woman who waited on him hand and foot. Her sentiment did not match up with what her son desired for himself.

“Absolutely not. Now get.” Mary shooed you both toward the living room which was down the hall slightly.

“Course not. Here’s some dessert Y/N made. It’s a staple Christmas dessert where she’s from.” John gave you a thankful nod of his head and handed over the dessert. Mary looked a bit skeptical at the tin foil covered plate.

“Oh how exotic.” Mary took it and thanked you. Making her way back to the kitchen you slid out of your coat and handed it to John to hang up along with his.

“Exotic? Not sure how to take that.” You mumbled to John who was giving you a bit of an awkward look.

“Anything that’s not British is exotic to her. Sorry, darling.” John rolled his eyes at how ridiculous he thought his mother was. You couldn’t help but lightly snicker that she even found the neighboring countries food to be to out there for her.

“It’s okay. . . John?” You spoke in a hushed tone, grabbing John’s attention immediately. Your eyes were locked on your festive socks decorated with reindeer. Your heart was thumping and your palms started to feel a bit sweaty.

“Yes, darling?” John spoke softly. His large rough hand cupping your face to get you to look up at him. Seeing his handsome bearded face had you feeling more nervous because this was so important to the both of you. His blue eyes were soft and he looked at you as if he already knew what was on your mind.

“I’m sorry, I’m a bit nervous. Don’t know why I waited until now to say anything.” Trying to hide the crack in your voice as you began to chew on your finger nails.

“They’re all going to love you.” This was the side of John you loved so much. The side no one but you was lucky enough to get. When John was soft and sweet with you it made the world not seem so harsh. It made you wonder, because John saw the worst parts of humanity was he able to soothe you easily because he knew how horrible things could truly be?

“You sure?” You whispered allowing John to see you so vulnerable.

“Yes, darling. They’ll all love you because I love you. Just be yourself and everything’s going to be fine.” You practically melted at John’s gravely voice.

Such sweet words spoken in such a deep hushed tone had you weak in the knees. John watched your eyes soften and you didn’t seem as stiff anymore. Checking down the hall John saw the coast was clear and stole a chaste kiss from you. John’s lips were smooth against your painted ones and his beard was scratchy since it hadn’t had time to fully grow out. You weren’t expecting him to kiss you and he practically stole the breath from your lungs.

Pulling away you and John both nodded with giddy smiles spreading across your faces. Taking your hand John lead you a few paces down the hall and into the living room. It was a large rectangular sitting room. Old embroidered couches sat in front of the lit fireplace; one love seats, one arm chair and one larger couch.

They were adorned with pastel red and white flowers and were in pristine shape. Garland was hung around the room and the Christmas tree stood tall in the far right corner of the room. It was decorated with hand made ornaments from John and his siblings childhood. Family photos were hung with care around the room and you caught glimpses of John as a baby and then as a teenager.

As you walked into the room the floor boards creaked under your feet and John squeezed your hand reassuringly. People were standing by the tree chatting while others were having what seemed like a lively debate, seated around the fire. You held your breath and put your best smile on as people started to realize John was home. You felt nervous as eyes flickered to you and they all took a moment to really look at you.

“Johnny!” A man that seemed a few years older than your boyfriend cheered. The man looked eerily like John but exuded such a friendly nature it made your boyfriend seem even more reserved than usual.

With out stretched arms you watched this man strut across the room and roughly bear hug John, pinning his arms to his side. You stifled a laugh as John’s feet left the ground for a second. Watching his face turn angry enough you thought he might shout.

“Harrison, let go.” John grunted. John knew his brother was just trying to get under his skin and John was far from pleased. You could see John was instantly annoyed by the physical contact.

John had explained who everyone you would be meeting was beforehand. Harrison was John’s oldest brother and ‘always trying to embarrass him’ as John put it. Grayson was the second oldest and then Sarah was the youngest. John ended up having to pry himself free from Harrison’s grasp which turned into Harrison trying to wrestle John; which ended quicker than he expected. John twisted Harrison wrist, having him back off quickly.

“Ow, okay okay I’ll stop.” Harrison hissed out a smile still fashioned onto his clean shaven face.

“Sorry about them. Harrison still thinks he can take John.” You were approached by an extremely beautiful woman who seemed to be around your age. She had flowing long blonde hair and icy blue eyes that looked like a pond frozen over. She was dressed in a pure white long sleeve dress that came to her knees. You and her cleary had similar fashion sense, since your forest green dress was almost identical. The only different being yours had loose long sleeves and a square neck line that didn’t show off cleavage like hers did.

“I’d put money on John any day. I’m Y/N.” You smiled sweetly. Watching from the corner of your eye as another much taller man started to try and wrestle John next. The guy was so tall you had to do a double take. Later finding out Grayson was 6’6.

“I’m Sarah, it’s so nice to finally meet you. John’s told me so much about you. And between you and me I think John’s been looking for an excuse to kick Harrison’s ass.” You had your hand out stretched and Sarah ignored your greeting and hugged you instead. It felt better seeing how friendly Sarah was and to hear John had spoken about you made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You never thought John would share anything about you since he was such a private man.

“The tall one is our brother Grayson and the ass hat in the football jersey is Harrison. Somehow he’s the oldest out of us.” Sarah whispered to you. Laughing lightly Sarah began introducing you to everyone.

John was too busy batting his brothers away who now were ganging up on him and still losing. John shot you an apologetic look but you couldn’t be mad at him even if you tried. He looked so endearing with a struggling Harrison in a head lock and Greyson now hollering ‘uncle’ while John was bending his thumb backward.

This was the first time you witnessed your stoic no nonsense military boyfriend being a little brother. It was making you giddy seeing this side of John. Then you watched Grayson whack John on the back of the head hard, which had your boyfriend irate and practically pouncing on his brother.

Sarah brought you around and introduced you to everyone. You met her fiancé Collin, John’s dad, Paul and Harrison’s wife Amy. Amy was heavily pregnant and glowing. She had rich terra cotta skin and jet black hair and the most striking green eyes you had ever seen.

Amy was dressed in a simple red sweater dress that came down to her knees. The color looked phenomenal on her skin tone and she beamed at you when you complimented her. Telling you since her parents were from India she wasn’t use to Christmas but became a fan of the holiday because the colors looked so good on her skin. Then making a joke that ‘thank god no one wore the same color.’ It was refreshing how laid back John’s family was outside of his mother.

Between Amy and Sarah you felt completely welcome and started to feel at ease. They were both funny and sweet. Chatting with you like you were all old friends. Giving you the run down on everyone in attendance besides John. You then found out Grayson wife was spending the holiday with her family. There was a look exchanged between Sarah and Amy that seemed to mean there was a bigger reason Greysons wife skipped the family event but it wasn’t your place to ask.

“Sorry about that, darling.” John’s voice interrupted the conversation you, Sarah and Amy were having. You were just being asked about what you did for work and how you and John met.

You sighed in content happiness feeling Johns strong hand rest on the small of your back. Leaning slightly into John’s side he gave you a charming smile that had you heart fluttering. It felt so good to see John’s loving gaze on display for everyone to see. John didn’t seem shy what so ever about how he felt about you and his family could see it. Amy and Sarah both exchanged happy and approving looks to see John so smitten.

“Did you win? I put money on you.” You joked getting a smug smile in return. Looking over you saw Harrison rubbing his lower back with a scowl on his face and messy haired Greyson checking his glasses making sure they weren’t broken. It had you giggling that John had won.

“Course I did.” The confidence radiating off your lover was infectious.

The night carried on with normal niceties. John’s siblings took the time to each chat with you. You learned a lot more about John and how apparently he was a very well behaved child that respected authority greatly. John listened well until he was a teenager and became sneaky as Paul put it. Then sighting a dirty magazine he once found hidden under John’s mattress once. John turned absolutely red in the face at the mention of this and awkwardly explained he was just being a teenage boy. Then told his dad who was laughing hysterically at John to knock it off.

You laughed at the story and loved how John’s brother started saying those magazines and his right hand were the reason John hadn’t brought a girl home until now. Mary put a stop to that conversation fast and both her oldest sons apologized as if they were still children. You hated the narrowed eyed look she gave you as she exited the room. The insinuation that you and John were intimate clearly making his mother upset even if it wasn’t actually said. You swore the way she kept eyeing you she was on to you and John.

Tugging at John’s sleeve you whispered into his ear that you swore his mother was going to recognize you. Pushing for him to talk to her in private now before anything happened. John told you it wouldn’t happen and to stop worrying. You knew he didn’t mean to be dismissive he was just having a good time with his family.

The stories of John as a child continued and you leanred he had a knack for breaking things. Especially when practicing football in the back yard. He had shattered the back glass door twice by the time he was twelve. Then cracked the family cars windshield the same way. John’s siblings laughed about how their father ‘whooped’ John for it.

You couldn’t get yourself to laugh, your heart aching painfully now knowing John’s family was okay with corporal punishment. John told you it was fine, that’s how things were and he had no resentment about it. To John that was his normal growing up and he didn’t get it as bad as his brothers had. To you that still felt not okay but John had no hurt feelings so pushing the subject would be inappropriate. John did whisper to you that he would never lay hands on his own children which had you feeling more at ease.

Thats how you found yourself talking to John’s father. Desperately trying to find some redeeming quality after finding out he whacked his children ‘when they had it coming or Mary said so.’

You and Paul seemed to be hitting it off. Paul had countless question about your profession and you were more than happy to chat about it. John’s father was an intelligent man who knew significantly more than you expected. His interest in your studies felt amazing and you thanked your lucky stars to be able to make easy conversation with him.

John had told you Paul hardly spoke and John had the utmost respect for his father. Paul worked 2-3 jobs at once to support his large family and in his free time fixed up cars as a way to bring in more money. He was a hard worker that would go without if it meant his family could have the things they needed. Sacrifice was how Paul showed his family he loved them.

John was sitting amongst his siblings with a perfect view of you and his father chatting on the other side of the living room next to the tree. It felt amazing for John that you seemed to be enjoying whatever conversation you were having and the fact you were getting his dad to talk. Normally the man only exchanged a few words it was hard to rope him into whatever you had.

“Well she’s won dad over.” Sarah nudged John with her arm. John only nodded in agreement. Feeling all his siblings eyes on him waiting for a response.

“She’s fuckin brilliant too. How’d you manage that?” Grayson asked which was Harrison’s sign to start the teasing.

“Don’t know why a girl like that” Harrison motioned towards you “would settle for your ugly mug.” Harrison snickered getting laughter of approval from his siblings. John only stared back at his oldest brother with a dead pan expression. The incessant teasing was getting old fast. John was also having more trouble dealing with disrespectful words as he progressed in the military. Finding this banter to be beneath his rank.

“She is far prettier than you deserve.” Grayson added. The comments on your appearance made John’s blood boil. The last thing he ever wanted was for his married brothers to be commenting on your attractiveness.

“Oi, all of you can piss off.” John spat at his siblings. Harrison’s wife Amy who had been standing in ear shot waltzed by. Bending down next to John and shooting her husband a cheeky wink.

“Oh, cmon John. You know she’s way out of your league.” Amy giggled. Making the rest of John’s siblings smirk.

“She’s perfect for you, Johnny.” Harrison added finally deciding a compliment was in order.

“She really is a sweetheart.” Sarah added.

John’s siblings were happy for him but none of them could miss an opportunity to tease him; it was simply too much fun for them. Especially with how shocked they all were at how intelligent and beautiful you were. When they caught wind that John was bringing a girl home for the holidays they thought it would be a one off thing to get their mother off John’s back. None of them expected to see their brother in a fully committed relationship where he seemed just as smitten as you. It was also clear to everyone how much you loved John and that had them overjoyed for their brother.

John was relieved when dinner was announced. His brothers wouldn’t tease him like they had been in front of their mother. You and John sat next to each other after Sarah helped set the table. Harrison was to your right while Grayson was to John’s left. Sarah and her fiancé sat across from you and Paul was at the head of the table with his wife Mary to his left.

The feast in front of you was like none other. Mary had gone all out with a huge roasted turkey and all the sides your mind could think of. John had whispered to you that his mother roast potato’s were to die for and you watched in awe as John filled up over half of his plate with them. You were realizing all the Price men had huge appetites, it wasn’t just your boyfriend. Paul made a comment for you to fill up your plate more than you had which made you feel slightly awkward.

Conversation was easy since you didn’t need to speak much. John’s family chatted and you learned more about everyone. Sarah said she expected to see you as John’s plus one at her wedding. Greyson was apparently trying for his first child with his wife Eloise. A snide comment was made that if Mary wasn’t so pushy for grandchildren Eloise would be there.

Then the conversation turned to you. Being polite you answered questions about your work. Avoiding the topic of your family out of embarrassment. It felt strange to mention being raised by a single father and being an only child when John’s immediate family was so big.

“I swear I know you.” Mary was staring at you intently from down the table. You could only shrug at this point. Having batted her off this long there wasn’t much to say. If you did speak on it you were scared she’d put the pieces together.

“Probably at a shop or something.” Sarah interjected. Glancing over at you and giving you a look as if to say she was sorry for her mother. Sarah had overheard her mom ask you this for what was now the fifth time.

“No. I’ve met you. I just can’t quite place you. . . No-“ The quizzical look that faded into horror painted across Mary’s face had you ready to hurl.

Kicking John lightly you felt him stiffen beside you. Your head ached a bit and you braced yourself ready for Mary to be as mean to you as the day you two first met. You and John both knew she had figured it out by the way she looked ready to lunge across the table at you.

“You’re that- that- woman. From Johnnys flat.” Mary’s volume became louder and accusatory. It caught everyone’s attention and a hush began to fall over the dinning room. People were looking at each other trying to figure out if anyone else knew what was going on.

“Mum, I think thats enough. Let’s just finish dinner.” John hardly let his mother get her sentence out. His hand squeezing your knee so tightly you instantly knew he was on guard. John felt so protective of you and was ready to jump to your defense.

“Finish dinner?” With a raised voice the clatter of cutlery being placed down echoed in the room. It had become eerily silent and you wanted to melt into the earth.

“Yes. So, Sarah how’s work?” John said so curtly everyone was sharing confused glances. Then changing the subject to hopefully move on.

Sarah was quick to start filling the silence with talk of work and you thought for a second you were in the clear. Then Mary turned to you and said one of the most hurtful things a person had ever said to you unknowingly.

“Your mother proud of you?” Her sharp gaze practically knocked the wind out of you.

You swore your ears were playing tricks on you. The howling wind outside sending chills through your body.

“Are you even an archeologist or have you been lying to everyone all night?” Mary asked.

Mary almost seemed to enjoy humiliating you. Her question alluding to her first assumption she ever made of you, being a woman who whored herself for money. Now you were panicked that she would say that in front of everyone but it faded as your heart ached painfully from her original comment.

The tears welled so fast it hurt. The hot pressure behind your eyes and knowing all eyes were on you ached. It hurt so deep you felt a sob building like an over flowing dam in your throat. Choking back the feelings, absolutely red in the face your eyes stared straight down at your half empty plate. Holding your breath as to not make a sound, you couldn’t trust yourself hearing words like that.

Having lost your mother as a child and to have her pride in you throw at you as an insult was painful beyond Mary’s imagining. Physical pain would hurt less than this ache in your soul.

“Excuse me. I don’t feel very good.” Your chair scraped against the floor as you excused yourself.

You fumbled at bit. Accidentally knocking into Harrison who scooted away to give you room. John called after you but you didn’t listen. Harrison couldn’t help but whisper and ask if you were okay. It didn’t matter to him most people heard. Harrison had trouble not saying what was on his mind as soon as he thought it. Amy swatted his hand and motioned with her head for him to say something to Mary.

“What is wrong with you.” John hissed at his mother. John had tried to hold your hand as you left but you brushed him away.

“I should be asking you that for bringing a low class woman into this home.” Mary’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood ready to hurl more insults in your direction.

“Whoah, mum!” Sarah interjected and so did everyone else at the table. Paul told

Mary to settle down but that only riled her up. Hushed fighting broke out as people questioned Mary’s outburst.

At this point you didn’t care what impression you were leaving on John’s family. You needed to be out of that room before you freaked out. This wasn’t a normal kind of hurt where you could recover and attempt a classy response. It was the type that rendered you speechless.

This was a kind of hurt that ran so deep you felt like a child again. A pain that could transport you back in time at the edge of a hospital bed. The kind of hurt where you could still feel those hot tears on your young face and how tightly you gripped the hospital beds plastic railing. The memory of your mother’s sweet voice telling you ‘no matter what. I am so proud of you.’ And those being some of the last words you ever heard from her.

You exited through the kitchen knowing the bathroom was just around that corner. But then you saw the greenhouse door and fresh air sounded so much better than a stuffy washroom. So you quietly exited through that door and felt relief in the way the cool air hit you. It wasn’t nearly as cold as the winter air so you weren’t immediately freezing in your sweater dress.

Stomping down the two stone stairs you tried to pretend this wasn’t as horrible as it felt. Then you felt your chest tighten and you expected yourself to cry. But unfortunately for some pain, crying wasn’t what a persons body could allow.

Panic set in.

Every nerve in your body stood on end to the point you felt like a live wire. Any touch would have you cracking violently and inflicting your pain on the closest person.

Tightness contracted in your chest and breath left your body. Thoughts were escaping you as you took a step back and stumbled as your heels ran into the stair behind you. You plopped down onto the stone stair hard. The force jolting you out of your intrusive thoughts.

The cool sensation radiating against your bottom brought a bit more context to your surroundings, helping you realize you were panicking. Panicking like you had as a little girl with no tools to help herself. But you were older now. You knew how to help yourself even if it felt futile. Even if the dread in your mind tried to convince you the world was collapsing around you.

You could hear her voice again.

Feel her hand brush through your hair.

The smell of her perfume hanging in the air.

With eyes closed you focused on how the cool room felt against your skin. Forcing yourself to take deep breaths. Then moving on and counting how many of your nails were chipped. The flowers started to look clear with the shimmering hallway light only illuminating few. The tears blurring your vision were quickly wiped away as you tried to forget her. You began counting the petals of each flower, being hyper focused on the tightness in your chest.

After what felt like a century but in reality was only minutes you felt winded but back in control of yourself. But your nerves were shot and your brain felt fried. Your muscles were tense and sore like you had done an intense workout. All you wanted was to go home and go to bed. You had saved yourself from a full blown panic attack now you needed rest.

Then your ears tuned back on and you could hear the shouting. From the volume and hoarseness of John’s voice above you, you could tell it had be going on longer than you realized.

“You okay, love?” The sweet tone of John’s sisters voice floated into the cool air. Sarah’s hushed words and how she gingerly shut the door was making you feel even more embrassed. It wasn’t even John coming to check on you. How humiliating.

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry. My stomach. It’s a bit sensitive.” You lied through your teeth. Not yet willing to share why Mary had turned on you so quickly.

“Okay, I’m fine blaming it on my mums cooking. Either way, seems like she’s to blame.” Sarah was sardonic while she spoke quietly.

Plopping down next to you and wrapping her arms around her knees and staring off into the distance. Sarah had liked you the moment John told her he had found the woman of his dreams. She didn’t need to meet or know you to be certain you were perfect for her brother. She knew John was too picky to ever settle for anyone who wasn’t the best. They use to joke John would be lonely forever because he was too picky.

You couldn’t answer. There was no snarky response that could save you from the sinking ship you found yourself on. Sarah didn’t say anything else. Just acted like everything was perfectly normal and sat next to you in silence. It almost felt like you two were old friends or she had known you far longer than tonight. Muffled shouting between your lover and Mary breaking through every so often and interrupting the silence. After about five minute you realized Sarah was going to stick by you. You weren’t sure for what purpose but her presence felt comforting. Maybe that was the reason?

The sound of creaking stairs had you both looking over your shoulders. The way heavy feet thumped against the wood had you both knowing John was coming down.

“Y/N, I know my mums a right piece of work. And I’m not sure why she turned on you so fast but I doubt it’s even her buisness. But John’s never talked about anyone the way he talks about you. He truly loves you. I just hope you don’t blame him for this.” Sarah was immediately on John’s team and had no guilt throwing her mother under the bus. Sarah had just spent most of the night with you and found you to be absolutely lovely. Her drama starting mother was just being cruel and harsh because Mary was overly protective of John.

“I know it’s not his fault. And trust me he shows me how much he loves me every chance he gets.” You whispered down at your feet. Sarah’s words were not lost on you but you just weren’t in a place where they particularly helped. You just wanted to go home. So you could break down in private. It was taking every ounce of your being to not lose it while you were here.

“And we all like you. Gossiped about you when you were chatting with our dad. Might have even mentioned you’re out of John’s league.” Nudging you with her elbow Sarah coaxed a tiny smile from you.

“Now c’mon. No need to lie to me.” Finally a semblance of joy worked out of your aching body. Sarah had a way about her that was indescribable. It was as if her feelings radiated off of her and infected innocent bystanders. She had a quality that could never be quantified but she was someone you could feel at peace around.

“I’m a sagittarius I don’t lie.” Sarah nudged you with her elbow. The light chuckle that left you was involuntary. She was tearing your walls down so quickly it almost felt like fate that you had met her. Like maybe you two might end up being friends.

“Thanks.” Without warning you hugged her tight and fast. As quickly as you threw your arms around her slender frame you retreated. Sarah snickered at you and you felt shy under her confident gaze. Her hand finding it way to your back and rubbing it soothingly.

“John’s about to barge in. Give him hell, he can take it.” It was the final joke Sarah was able to squeeze in before her bother threw the greenhouse door open. The hinges squeaking loudly as if to protest his entrance.

“Darling?- oh Sarah. Uh- could we?” John was motioning for his little sister to leave. The crease in between John’s eyebrows was prominent and his lips were fixed in a tight line.

“I’ll talk some sense into mum.” Sarah shook her head adimentally and John knew sicking his sister on his mother was the best bet to get their mum to stop. Sarah could be absolutely ruthless when she wanted to be.

“Could you?” John seemed desperate for help and Sarah was not going to sit by and let the newest guest in the house be treated so poorly. Damage control was in order if anyone ever hoped for you to come by again.

“We’re all on your side Johnny.” Sarah patted John’s shoulder as she exited the room.

It felt like a slight relief to know Johns siblings were going to come to his defense. Sarah was the only one who knew about what happened last year. John told her in confidence and she was smart enough to not mention she knew to you as to not make you feel even more ostracized. It also wasn’t her buisness to bring up and she respected John enough to keep quiet about it.

John stood behind you for a second hating that you weren’t turning to look at him. Slowly he sat down next to you. Wrapping an arm around your shoulder you melted into his solid frame. The warmth of his touch and the comfort it brought had your heart swelling. You thought John would help calm you down but it only had your hurt heightening to a point tears began to well in your eyes again. His presence and comfort was so disarming you were having trouble keeping the dam of your emotion from overflowing.

John was ready to comfort you and tell you how he had told his mother she could piss off. How you meant everything to him and she would just have to deal with it, but both your bodies went rigid. Mary had no idea you two were in ear shot as she passed by the greenhouse door and spoke.

“We don’t need a slag at our dinner table. I never thought Johnny to be shallow.” Mary spat causing Sarah to start arguing back in a shrill manner for all to hear.

“You don’t even know her! Have you gone senile?” Sarah was shrieking as she challenged her mother.

“Fuck that.” John was moving to get back on his feet and ready to go have another screaming match with his mother. Before leaving John turned back to you and stood in front of you.

“I am so sorry.” John took your face in his hands and you could see in his eyes that he hated seeing you like this. A mask hiding away the pain you were feeling on the inside. You wanted to disappear into thin air so John wouldn’t have his holiday ruined anymore than it already was. The pain of your mother memory being dragged up along with the guilt for ruining everyone’s holiday weighed heavy on your shoulders. It felt like if you just didn’t exist life might be simpler for everyone around.

“I know.” You whispered back. Softening slightly seeing how willing John was to defend you. He wasn’t like he had been all that time ago when he allowed his mother to speak to you so poorly in his flat. Now he was stepping up for you because he wanted to not because you asked.

“I promise to make this up to you. This will not be how you remember our first Christmas together. I’ll take you to that Italian place first thing.” Placing a kiss to your forehead John hugged you tight to his burly chest. After a moment you nodded to John as silent assurance you were okay. As John began to leave he paused at the door, staring at your unmoving frame still sat on the stone stairs.

“It’s not your fault.” You told John which had him finally leaving the greenhouse to go confront his mother again.

Once John had gone you waited a minute to get up. Checking through the window that the coast was clear, you slipped into the hallway and quickly put your shoes and coat on. You could hear John’s whole family in the dining room questioning Mary on why she behaved that way.

Snagging John’s car keys and going out to his truck where you could bawl your eyes out in private. Once you were in John’s truck you finally allowed the humiliation to set in. It felt suffocating to know John’s whole family was inside arguing about you. You would never be able to show your face again. You would be known as the whore who ruined Christmas Eve dinner which had you spiraling into another panic attack.

By the time John had realized you were out in his truck he was slamming the front door behind him. John was shocked to see you hadn’t turned on the engine and subjected yourself to sit out there in the freezing cold for close to a half hour. Your teeth were chattering and you felt like an idiot for not turning the engine on. You had been so distracted by the clawing panic that took over your mind.

John drove you home to his flat and promised nothing like that would ever happen again. John made it clear to you his family had put Mary in her place. John went as far as to threaten he would be cutting contact if his mother couldn’t be civil and that he expected her to apologize to you. Everyone in attendance was appalled by the outburst and John tried to reassure you no one thought poorly of you. But it fell on deaf ears.

The car ride was filled with your pathetic sobs and John talking you through your emotional breakdown. Hearing about how much you missed your mother and then asking John if he thought she would be proud of you, broke his heart.

John had no clue the holidays were tough for you and it made him feel like a prick for not being more aware. To think humiliation wasn’t the root cause of your tear swollen eyes and mascara streaks down your face, but the comment made about your mother is what had you like this. It was a hurt far deeper than anything superficial and John felt like he should have known better.

That’s when John realized you were a lot more fragile than you appeared. Yes you were upset by how humiliating this was but what plagued you was your mother’s memory being used as a way to insult you. John gained a much deeper understanding for you that night. As horrible as things had went it brought you and John closer.

Finally feeling ready to open up about your mother with John was a new feeling. You had never been at a point in a relationship where you shared those deep seated feelings. John didn’t push or pry he allowed you to tell him what you wanted and you didn’t share much but it was enough that John felt the resentment he had for his mother growing volatile.

When John got you back to his flat you were still a wreck. Sitting on his couch and feeling safe you cried in John’s arms eventually falling asleep in his embrace. John carried you to bed and held you tight the entire night, his mind racing about how he could possibly cheer you up. Deciding to take this anger and rage and pour it into making tomorrow a Christmas you would never forget.

——————

Soft music sounded in the distance as your eyes slowly fluttered open. Your body felt heavy, allowing yourself to sink into the mattress as you rolled onto your back. You knew the song but you couldn’t quite place it.

The room was pitch black causing your senses to heighten since you lacked sight. Slowly shifting in the cool sheets of your lovers bed you felt around for his warmth to no avail.

It felt pathetic how you needed John right now but then you remembered his words from the previous night. How he poured his heart out to you while you cried hysterically in his arms. John told you how much you meant to him and he wished he could take away every ounce of pain you were feeling. It had your frozen over self warming back to life as you imagined John’s stormy blue eyes and how he whispered he loved you over and over while he held you tight to his muscular chest. To think that John had seen war and taken lives yet he could be so soft and have you feeling nothing but safe in his arms was quite contrary.

The music transitioned into another song and you started to hum along to what you now recognized as John’s playlist. Sitting up your bones felt heavy and eyes were still swollen from the tears you shed the night before. Leaning over you turned on the lamp on the bedside table. The room lit in an orange glow and your eyes adjusted slowly. Thats when you saw a small white card folded in half and neatly placed next to a glass of water. There was a single red rose sitting atop the dainty white card.

Picking up the folded note you opened it while taking the rose in hand and inhaling the fresh scent. In John’s neat handwriting you saw he had written you a love letter. It was something you never expected from John, it just didn’t seem like the romantic gesture he would normally make. He wasn’t a man of many words. John had trouble verbalizing what you meant to him so this was the last thing you expected. You were still in awe from how John stepped up for you the previous night before.

‘Darling,

I never thought I deserved someone’s love and accepted my life would be filled with loneliness. Then you came barging in covered in dirt with the most stunning smile. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve someone as divine as you, but I’m the luckiest man alive to be graced by your presence for even a second. You’ve saved me from a life of loneliness, and I promise to love you more with each passing day.

Happy Christmas.

Forever yours,

John.’

You felt tears well in your sore eyes. It didn’t occur to you John was capable of writing something so sweet to you and John wouldn’t tell you for years how he had written that card over a hundred times trying to find the right words.

John had you feeling loved through his actions and how he showed up for you every chance he was given. To read how he felt about you was chasing away all the sadness from the previous night away. The humiliation still hung heavy for you but the love you were being shown helped subside the ache of your mother no longer being here.

“I’m gonna frame it.” You whispered to yourself, reading over the love letter again.

Placing the card back on your night stand you made your way to go find your lover. Quietly exiting his bedroom you followed the sound of his music into his flats living room. A quiet gasp left your lungs as you took in the sight of the room.

The curtains were drawn and there were candles all around flickering their warm glow and illuminating the small flat. The couch was covered in pillows and blankets. There were multiple bouquets of flowers in new vases sitting around the flat and encompassing the small space with their floral scent. John had even put up garland and hung festive decorations around.

Your favorite snacks and candy were sitting on the old wooden coffee table and neatly placed in a wicker basket. There was a stack of dvds sitting next to the basket; some of your favorite movies and ones you mentioned to John you’d never seen. Expensive oils and lotions sat next to the stack and rose petals littered the table. There was a path of red and white petals leading through the living room and stopping at the closed bathroom door.

John had decorated the entire space to be warm and cozy. The small Christmas tree in the corner by the couch had finally been decorated as you were the one who forced John to even put one up; he had procrastinated decorating it until now. In another wicker basket a new pair of slippers were sitting underneath the tree along with fuzzy socks, a new plaid pajama set and festive scrunchies. There was a new immaculately wrapped present under the tree joining the one you had placed there for John.

Looking to your right you saw a bottle of champagne with a shiny red bow stuck on top and two crystal glasses sitting on the kitchen peninsula. There was even a new picture frame next to the champagne bottle with a photo of you and John ice skating from the other week. There was a matching one now hung on the wall by John’s book shelf. The flower vase filled with peonies was sitting next to it had a matte black note attached to it, so you read it.

‘I know it’s not much, but you said you always wanted to live in a place where you could have your own garden. Hope this makes do for now.

Yours,

John.’

In that moment you realized this was in fact John’s present to you. The whole set up, all your favorite things, the copious amount of flowers sitting on every free surface, it had you feeling loved in a way you had never felt before. Your body was on pins and needles, overwhelmed in the best way. You felt like a little kid on Christmas morning seeing all of John’s hard work and effort.

The heart ache you felt the previous day seemed to slowly dissipate. Imaging your burly tough as nails military boyfriend hanging up decorating had you smitten. Johns stoic and unemotional nature was lost in the sweet and loving present he had laid around the flat for you. It was cheesy and romantic beyond what you thought John capable of.

“Morning, darling.” John’s gruff voice came from across the living room.

Your eyes snapped to John to see him exiting the bathroom with a hesitant smile. Dressed in a plain white t-shirt and his green plaid pajama pants he felt his heart sore seeing the sparkle of awe in your loving eyes. The flickering candles making you look even more divine in nothing but his hoodie.

“When did you do all this?” You asked a bit out of breath at how John had transformed his normally dreary flat into a dreamy serene home.

It felt like home and you couldn’t find the words to describe how desperately you had been searching for this feeling. How long you had waited for a man to love you with his whole heart. You never knew until that moment a single person is what could make you feel at home. John had become such a comfort at this point you knew for a fact you two belonged together.

“Got up early. I thought pampering you all day would be a present money couldn’t buy.” John felt self conscious about his present for you. He hoped you didn’t think he cheaped out or that he was being a dork for trying to show his love through a romantic gesture like this. John had never done something like this before but he was willing to look like a fool if it meant he’d get to see you smile.

“I- thank you.” You were still stunned seeing this side of your lover.

Staying quiet you didn’t know what to say. It was overwhelming to say the least. This type of romance was something you never experienced before and you didn’t know how to tell John how loved he was making you feel.

“Come here. Let’s start your day off with a nice relaxing bath.” Walking over to John you allowed him to lead you into the candle lit wash room. The bathtub was steaming hot with rose pedals floating atop the foggy water and relaxing jazz music was playing softly from the old radio sitting on the counter.

“I put bath salts in there to help you relax. After you’re done I have oils to give you a well deserved massage and then there’s a new set of pajamas for you. We can watch your favorite movies and do everything you want today. It’ll be our little Christmas and I promise I won’t let a single thing ruin that.” John had wrapped his arms around you from behind. Whispering in your ear and placing a soft kiss to your temple. Your heart was thumping and turning you into a love struck puddle of a woman.

“No one has ever done anything like this for me before.” Turning in John’s arms you didn’t give him a chance to respond.

Standing on your toes and grabbing him the nape of the neck you kissed him hard. Grunting in surprise John’s eyes practically rolled to the back of his head. He kissed you back sweetly his nerves calming at how you kissed him so desperately. It was as if words escaped you and John was being encompassed by your approval with your arms wrapped around his neck and your soft lips moving against his.

“Join me.” You whispered. You had a small smile on your face as you stepped backward leading John toward the bath tub. Your tired bones ached for the warm water but your soul pleaded to bring John with you.

“I’ll do anything your heart desires. You deserve the world, love.” John mumbled against your lips.

Kissing you deeply and only pulling away to allow you to slip his t-shirt off, his hoodie you were wearing followed next. Throwing the cotton fabric to the floor you looked up into the eyes of the man you loved so desperately. Now knowing everything would be okay because John was so willing to step up for you.

“Happy Christmas, John.” You whispered into the warm air. His bare and toned chest pressing against you as he held you close. The two of you became lost in each other eyes, breathing each other in.

“Happy Christmas, darling.”

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

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[middlingmay]

Stop Fussin' (CleganMarge. 2.3K. G-rating)

So, before I get stuck in to the glorious asks in my inbox about the Buckies and Marge, i thought I'd start us off with something sweet, fluffy, and soft.

Not at all inspired by my cocky and dumb decision to eat dairy today...like my body hasn't warned me plenty of times previous that it is not allowed.

Anyway - enjoy some CleganMarge fluff!

-

Marge was supposed to be at book club for hours.

Every second Thursday like clockwork, she would leave at six-forty-five pm, and John and Gale wouldn’t see her until closer to ten-thirty, giggly, rosy-cheeked, and a little less sure-footed.

But it wasn’t too long after eight in the evening before the front door opened and John and Gale scrambled up off the couch where they’d been laying wrapped up in each other, pretending to watch a movie.

“Marge? Everything alright?” Gale was on the alert immediately, loping across the room to greet her at the door. John shook his head—such a worry wart was their Buck—and followed at a more sedate pace.

“Decided you couldn’t bear to part with us after all, Margie?” He called out, teasing her before she could even see his big ol’ mug.

But whatever joviality he had was dashed against the hallway floor when he saw Marge near bent in two, holding on to Gale’s arms wrapped around her for support, and grunting through gritted teeth.

“Marge?” John was at her side in an instant, sweeping her hair back so he could see her face better. “What is it, doll? What’s wrong? Y’hurt?” Gale made a wounded noise and Bucky had to swallow his own. Too many times had they seen a pilot, a gator, a bombardier or a gunner on his own two feet clutching his middle, only for him to fall to the ground once the adrenaline wore off. Some of them never got back up. “Gotta stand up, sweetheart, let us see.”

“Marge.”

“Come on, baby girl, let us see—”

“Oh!” Marge spluttered and batted them off with a fierce hand. “Will you two quit it! I’m fine—ah!” She bent over again, making awful noises, breathing heavy and cutting off little whimpers that made Bucky want to throw her over his shoulder and hide her away so no one could get her.

Gale, the far more experienced of the two in the moods and tolerances of Marjorie Spencer, took a gentler approach. In his low, soothing voice he said, “You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I will be,” she insisted with vehemence, “when I get my hands on that rotten, tricky little Lori Redman.”

Gale’s face scrunched up, nose wrinkled and a well worn furrow in his brow. Bucky shrugged. He’d met Lori Redman only a handful of times. She’d been friendly, attentive, even flirty, but Bucky had been clear that it was never going to go further, even getting Margie to spin some yarn good enough to make her want to look elsewhere for some attention.

What did Lori Redman have to do with anything.

“You don’t need butter for a vanilla sponge, and she told me it was fine, Gale.” She broke off and moaned and clutched her stomach with one hand whilst holding Gale’s in a vice grip with the other.

“You’re sure?”

“It’s the only thing I had!”

Bucky was catching up. He wasn’t much of a cook, but he was trying. He wanted to be able to treat the two people who meant the most to him in whole the world from time to time. So, he’d tried to learn what they liked and didn’t like, and how he could whip them something up they’d enjoy, but wouldn’t burn down Margie’s kitchen. In the process, he’d learned the great sorrow of his girl’s life: she couldn’t eat dairy. A lactose intolerance the docs called it, and it meant no butter, no milk or cream, no chocolate—no nothing.

Marge had never had a problem at Book Club before, and he knew they all made a little treat to enjoy between glasses of wine.

So Bucky braved the question. “Why would she put butter in it if she knows—”

“Because she’s a no good, jealous little snake, that’s why!” Marge barked and John reared back, hands up, and him and Gale shared helpless looks over Marge’s head. “She had her eye on Gale for years and never quite got over him choosin’ me. Then, you come into town and I have to tell her she can’t have you, neither. Oh, she did this on purpose, I swear—”

Marge cut herself off, hunched over and her hair slumping over her face did little to hide the tight grimace of her discomfort. Gale touched her elbow gently, hovered his hand over the small of her back, but before he could touch to comfort and soothe, Marge shoved him off and bolted from the room.

They both stared after her, helpless as the bathroom door snapped shut.

“Poor kid.” Bucky clicked his tongue. “How long does…that,” he pointed at the bathroom, “normally last? Should we clear out? Give her some privacy?”

Gale had this look, one John didn’t seen often, that he reserved for when he thought John was being dim. He levelled it at him with full force, now.

“That,” he mimicked John’s tone, “is not what’s happening.”

“But—”

“If you know what’s good for ya, that is not what’s happening in there. Fall in line, Major.”

Clarity hit him like a stray baseball to the face. Of course the best way to protect Marge’s privacy was to create a diversion. He straightened his spine and stood almost to attention. “What’s the protocol, Buck?”

Gale matched him, toe to toe. “Nausea. We act like it’s nausea.”

“Mission?”

“Comfort and distraction.”

“Flight plan?”

“Tea. We’re out of green. She likes it with ginger. And her favourite bread warmed in the oven.”

John nodded and assigned their duties. “You’re on tea—I won’t know green tea if the clerk threw it at me. I’ll warm the bread. Meet back in thirty minutes and not a second later, got it?”

Gale grabbed his keys and his coat and didn’t break stride as he pecked Bucky’s cheek on the way out. “Wheel’s up.”

John had learned to work an oven at least. He put it on its lowest setting to preheat, and put a kettle full of water on the stove. Braving the world outside the kitchen, nearer to the bathroom, John darted out and turned up the dial for the volume and Cary Grant and Kathy Hepburn filled the space.

Marge didn’t emerge until he was tripping half way down the stairs with the comforter from their bed folded high in his arms.

“John,” she sighed tiredly. “What are you doing?”

“Nausea!” he said too loudly and Margie looked at him queer. He cleared his throat and started again. “Um, I always hated it. Feelin’ sick. My ma used to pile me under blankets and put on the radio to make me feel better.” He gestured at The Philadelphia Story playing out on the box, arms still full of cotton-wrapped downy fluff. “So, I thought, why not?”

A soft look, unbearably soft that had taken Bucky out by the knees the first time he saw it and still made him squirm a little, drifted across Marge’s face. He shifted his bundle to one arm, and gently steered Marge towards the sofa by the small of her back.

He tugged her elbow to stop her sitting, asking her to wait just a moment.

“There’s an art to this, doll face. Just you watch.”

He could feel her fondness, her amusement settle warm on his back and he set to fussing with the arrangements good and proper. Even though she was tired and uncomfortable, she waited patiently and let him do what he wanted to get her settled.

Pillows fixed just right, comforter fluffed and laying open waiting for Marge to crawl inside, John grinned. “Ta da.”

She smiled with those sweet apple cheeks. “That’s very nice, John.”

He gestured for her hands and she gave them, always so giving his Margie, and he led her to sit at the end of the sofa, right in the middle of the comforter. He leaned down to slip off her shoes, then carefully and methodically took the ends of the comforter and wrapped them around her until she was cocooned inside, only her gorgeous head and the tips of her toes peeking out.

She looked powerless against he comfort—couldn’t escape his fussing if she tried—and John was thrilled to bits to see it.

Marge opened her mouth, perhaps to protest or request some measure of freedom, but Bucky wasn’t inclined to hear either. The kettle whistled on the stove and he planted a kiss on her forehead before going to take it off the heat and fill the hot water bottle.

Marge had knitted all three of them their own little covers for those magical rubber bottles. She did it the first winter they all spent together, and there were many nights their warmth had warded off the worst of John and Gale’s relapse into the cold of the Stalag, of the march.

But now, it was Marge’s turn.

He tucked it into the wool cover—the letter M with a small lark perched next to it—and scurried back to Marge.

Just where he left her. Perfect.

She eyed the hot water bottle and gave an exasperated huff. There was a small flump of movement where maybe she tried to throw up her hands. But her voice when she spoke was warm, and affectionate.

“Is all this really necessary. It’s just a bit of…nausea.”

“Essential.” John held out the bottle and Marge quirked her brow. “Ah.”

“Maybe we could set my hands free, hm?”

Unhappy, but unable to see a way around it, John fiddled and fudged the comforter around until Marge could poke her hands through and he could slip the hot water bottle inside.

She sighed, the sound heaven to his ears, like proof he’d done good, and she melted back into a wall of comforter and pillows. “Oh, that’s good. That’s lovely, John. Thank you.”

All smiling and pleased with himself, John let himself sit next to her. The arm curling around her shoulders was automatic, now, and Marge leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut when Bucky kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, before rubbing it against his own. She always loved it when he did that, scrunched up her little nose in pleasure, and now was no different.

They sat there, Marge humming each time she shifted to try and get a little more comfortable and Bucky getting as close to religious as he got these days in his gratitude that he got to be here, in this house, with this incredible gal under his arm.

He could have sat there all night, happy as a clam, but after a few brief minutes more, the front door burst open, and their fella, their Gale all harried and dishevelled like he’d been rushing, came tumbling in brandishing a paper grocery bag in triumph.

“I got the tea! Gimme a few minutes to brew it up, hon.”

John called after him. “Water’s hot in the kettle, Buck!”

Marge sighed, equal parts fond and chagrined. “What did I do to deserve two fellas like you, hm?”

John scoffed. “Marge Cleven Egan—” She cackled at the name. “You are a saint among mortals. Don’t doubt it for a second.”

Gale appeared at the end of the sofa, hands on his hips. “Why does your name go last?”

John looked up at him all innocent like. “S’alphabetical, Buck.”

“Hm.” Buck pretended to glower, but with Margie finally giggling up a storm, he threw John a wink, and left to tend to the precious green tea and ginger.

After a minute or two, a low whistle that for a flash of a second brought him back to sneaking around bases after dark, creeping into abandoned sheds or just off base for a secret rendezvous, floated to him from the kitchen. Marge was too bundled up to hear. The warmth and comfort of the hot water bottle and bed covers had her as snug as she was going to get.

John slowly looked over his shoulder. Gale beckoned him with a crooked finger.

Scratching at the back of Marge’s head, he kissed her hair and promised to be right back.

The kitchen was dim, lit only by the light coming in through the door to the living room. But Buck pulled him out of sight anyway and looked at him with the same expression that had convinced him it was a good idea to suck Buck off in a supply closet next to Aring’s office when he was in the middle of a meeting with the top brass.

I had never failed to both arouse and terrify Bucky ever since.

“I think you should ask out Lori Redman.”

John balked, and would have pushed Gale if not for the racket it’d make, thus upsetting Marge. He settled for jabbing him in the chest with his finger. “Why the fuck wold I do a thing like that? I got me a dame. And a fella. I’m not looking anywhere else, not even for a cover, Buck. And with a woman like that, who’d upset our girl—”

Gale grinned, the kind he used to try and hide behind his hand but never did anymore, at least in front of John and Marge. He reached into the paper grocery bag and pulled out a small red rectangular tin, stamped across with a yellow band and black writing, reading Brooklax.

John eyed it curiously. “A laxative?”

Gale slipped it into the pocket of John’s shirt then let his fingers drift up and smooth out his collar, before taking John by the chin and leaning in close enough to speak against his lips,

“No one makes our wife feel like shit. You hear me, John Egan?”

If Margie didn’t need them—John’s comforting hand rubbing over her belly and Gale’s special tea—John would have dropped to his knees right then.

He almost felt sorry for Lori Redman. Almost. But whilst he loved Gale in all his forms, devious and vengeful Gale got him hotter than most.

“I hear ya, Buck. Loud and clear.”

[chutefullofholes]

for @magneticghouls for the @hbowardaily summer exchange <3 little rosie pov clegan post war thingy-do ☀️

“So, you know I have to ask, Buck.”

Rosie didn’t look at him when he spoke, picking at a splinter coming up from the wood on the arm of the rocker.

He supposed he didn’t have to ask either. But maybe it would help. Gale seemed like he was walking on eggshells from the moment he opened the door, slight stutter in his voice when he greeted him.

Now, Gale hummed under his breath, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before he spoke.

“How do I know you aren’t gonna turn us in?”

Rosie stopped his rocker abruptly, the chair squeaking as his back straightened.

“Why the hell would I do that?”

His eyebrows furrowed as the words left his mouth in rapid succession. And his confusion was honest. Sure he didn’t quite understand. But he wouldn’t- couldn’t do that. Not to anyone, he didn’t think.

Least of all to them.

He knew before he decided to swing by- had known since his last late night walk around Thorpe Abbotts after the war.

Since he startled hearing a noise from the patch of trees. And starled again when he did some light investigating, making out what he could surmise was the two of them doing something he knew in some sort of abstract that two men could do together.

Gale didn’t say anything for a long few minutes, tapping his foot against the paneling of the porch, rubbing his hand on his knee.

“Had a close call, a few months ago.” He said quietly- eventually, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Reconnected with a friend I knew growing up. Was nice, until he dropped by once in the morning unexpectedly, and it- it was obvious. We’d just woken up,” He continued. “John- thought it was someone else, answered the door not thinkin’, not wearing a shirt.”

He chuckled under his breath then, but not in a way that made Rosie feel like he should laugh too. His voice trembled, and saw Gale’s throat bob as he swallowed and took a breath before he kept going.

“He panicked- just, just, bolted . I’m standing there in the hallway, trying to think of something to say and this guy flips. Knocked a glass off the table, making all this racket. He said he was going to turn us in and I- I asked if there was anything, anything I could do that would change his mind.”

His grip tightened on the arm of his rocker, and Rosie felt the tension mirroring in his own hand against the wood.

“‘s why we haven’t fixed the downstairs bathroom yet. Had money put away for it, till then.” He continued, looking off.

“John still gets real freaked out about it, tells me I should reach back out to him-, offer him more money. But my theory is that it’s better I don’t go reminding him what happened.”

Gale looked at Rosie then, and he realized he was round about being asked for his opinion on the matter.

“I think,” He started, pausing for a moment, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “I agree with you. Best not to poke the bear, I’d say.”

Gale looked satisfied with that at least, letting out a small sigh- and Rosie’s chest hurt.

There was a lot he didn’t understand, questions he knew weren’t his business to ask for answers to.

But he felt as though he understood whatever this was better than he could wrap his head around how someone could ruin someone’s life over something so mundane.

“You had a question didn’t you?”

Gale pulled him out of his head, Rosie opening and closing his mouth twice before he found his voice.

“Think you answered it.” He said. “But another one then. You two are happy- as much as you can be?”

Gale opened his mouth to answer, but they were interrupted by a truck pulling up the driveway.

Tensing for a moment, he squinted- and his shoulders relaxed when he realized it was indeed Bucky. His cheeks lifted when he smiled, eyes softer than they had been during the previous conversation.

John climbed out when the vehicle pulled to a stop, leaving what he’d gone to the store for in the car in the interest of getting to Gale first. He didn’t seem to see Rosie until he was just about right in front of him, pausing on the last step up the porch, glancing between the two of them.

Rosie figured a smile and nod would answer the question he saw in his eyes. But Bucky just looked between the two men a second time, arms crossed, scratching his thumbnail against his shoulder.

He could see it in his face then, what Gale had said about how he hadn’t shaken off the incident. There was a cloud of wariness in his eyes, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

Gale beckoned him to come closer and he did, skittish still when he approached him. He reached forward to uncross his arms, gently grabbing his wrist and rubbing the underside of it with his thumb.

He looked at John in a way that seemed the communicate what he was going for when his features relaxed. Giving him a little nod, John let Gale move the hand on his wrist up his arm, allowing him to tug him a little closer.

Continuing to watch them made Rosie feel like ought to look away- like he was intruding on something just as much as he had that night on base.

But he found it hard, glancing at the field in front of them for only a moment before his eyes fell back to where Bucky had leaned down into Gale’s space, face pressed against the side of his head. Gale was whispering something just quiet enough that Rosie couldn’t make it out, but John laughed softly against his blonde hair, bringing a hand up to ruffle it as he pulled back.

He backtracked to get the shopping from the truck after a minute, and Gale’s eyes didn’t leave him.

When he seemed to notice he was being watched, his cheeks flushed, and Gale scratched the back of his neck with a shy smile at his lap.

Rosie supposed that answered his question.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

I'll come pick it up after pt.11

John Egan X Female! Reader

Summary: Y/n starts to lose hope, but he and his silly mustache made her a promise...

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ mention of violence/ medical inaccuracies/ allusion to sex/ crying (joy)/

Word count: 1,4k

A/n: I can't watch Friday's episode because I watch it with my father and I'm away, so I'm just going to guess what's going to happen and pray for no spoilers. Again it's pure fiction so yeah. Thanks for all the like, the comments and the reblogs. I love reading what you have to say about my story. Love y'all :)

Weeks passed since she had the news that Bucky didn’t made it home. She was hoping to hear that he was coming back. But her hope was starting to fade, a small part of her still thought he was going to come home, and they could get married. Days past, she was thinking about him all the time, his smile, his mustache, his arms and his eyes. She wanted to remember his face, but even if she tried to forget him, it wouldn’t be possible. She loved him too much to forget him this easily. Harry Crosby was her best friend during this time of loneliness, him and Meatball tried to make her smile all the time. She spent time with the kids that were with the mechanics. One of them had lost a hand, so he had a metal hook, it didn’t bother him, he was making jokes about it, he was strong. Today was a normal day, it was the beginning of winter, so the temperature was colder than usual. She was in her uniform with a vest, to protect her from the cold. There was only one man in the hospital, he had lost his middle finger, and he needed to stay here so the nurses could make sure it didn’t get infected. She was checking his wound when Harry Crosby came rushing in. His eyes filled with a spark. ‘’Y/n, he’s back… Buck too’’ he said, smiling. She dropped the tool she was using; she didn’t believe him. Her heart filled with joy. ‘’Croz you better not be lying to me.’’ She warned, smiling. ‘’He’s here, Y/n, he came back.’’

He walked into the base like a champion, he made it back, with his best friend and the other soldiers that were captured. He still didn’t know how he managed to escape, but he did, that’s what was important. Men were cheering for him like he was the president of the United States. He was back home. ‘’Good to see you Bucky!’’ Rosie cheered as he hugged him. ‘’Good to be back Rosie!’’ he replied. John Egan was happy to see his friend, but only one person mattered: His future wife. When they heard Meatball bark, the men in front of Bucky stepped away, knowing he was always with the chief nurse, they wanted to let Bucky reunite with his girl in peace. Then he saw her, in her nurse uniform, her hair was a mess, probably from the running she just did. She stopped when she saw him, realizing that her pilot was back home. She breathed as joy tears fell off her eyes. They looked at each other for a couple of seconds before they both ran in the direction of the others. She jumped in his arms, hugging him like a koala. He hugged her so tightly he thought he was going to strangle her. ‘’You’re real, please tell me your real?’’ she whispered. ‘’I’m really here, darling, God, I’ve missed you!’’ he said. ‘’I love you too, John, I love you and don’t ever leave me again!’’ she said, kissing him.

God, he missed the feelings of her lips on his. They didn’t even care about the men cheering for him and his girl, about the men telling him to ‘’get a room’’ He came back for her. ‘’I love you too, darling’’ he mumbled against her lips. He noticed the ring she wore, his ring. He took it off her finger, she was confused, but when she saw him kneeling down on one knee, she understood. ‘’Y/n, my beautiful darling, will you marry me?’’ he asked, already knowing the answer. ‘’Yes, thousand time yes!’’ she said, kissing him as he put the ring back where it belonged. The men cheered and yelled their happiness. The feeling was euphoric, he just asked her to properly marry her, they were going to get married. When they stopped hugging, Y/n ran to Buck, she’d missed him too. He was one of her best friends. They became close, before he disappeared. ‘’Told you I’d protect him’’ he said, smiling. ‘’Shut up and hug me’’ she said, hugging him. ‘’Congratulations future Mrs. Egan’’ he said in her ear. ‘’You know your already the best men, right?’’ Bucky yelled. They both laughed as a Jeep approached. It was Crosby, with the nurses, because put the joy aside, the men were injured. Bucky had a black eye, it was swollen and had bleed, he was in bad shape. When Elodie came out of the Jeep, she ran towards Buck, hugging him and kissing him.

Bucky put his arms around his girl. ‘’Darling, I’ll need a doctor, they beat us up pretty badly’’ he confessed. ‘’I got Major Egan! Elodie, take care of Major Cleven, others, find yourself someone to heal’’ she ordered her nurses, making the Buck’s grin. They got in the Jeep and went back to the medical center. She still couldn’t believe he was alive, and she was engaged to him. Now she was going to treat his injuries. When they arrived at the medical centre, she guided him to her office. She needed privacy with him, not that she planned on having sex, but if it happened, they would be alone. When she closed the door, he roughly kissed her, he was eager for her, he needed her. ‘’Bucky, I need to look at your wounds’’ she says, giggling. ‘’All right, look at them’’ he said, taking his shirt off, in a seductive way. She looked at his chest, full of bruises, it was bad. ‘’What did they do to you?’’ she whispered. She touched the bruises, making him hiss in pain. ‘’You probably have broken ribs. Your face, well it’s just bruised. What did the pirate wanted?’’ she tried to joke. ‘’They wanted me to talk about you, and Buck, and all the secrets the army told. But I didn’t tell them anything’’ he said. ‘’That’s why they hit you?’’ she asked, cleaning his wounds. He nodded as he watched the nurse take care of him. ‘’I’m so happy you made it back, John, when I read your letter, I couldn’t believe you were… ‘’ she didn’t want to finish her sentence. ‘’Well, I’m here now, darling, and I love you, so much’’ he said, taking her face in his hands. ‘’I love you too, Bucky’’ she said, kissing him. ‘’Your ribs will heal, but slow down on the physical stuff’’ she said, seriously. ‘’I’m afraid I can’t slow down on one physical stuff in particular’’ he said, trailing his hands all over her body. She grins but tilt her head to the side. ‘’Bucky, don’t you’ll only hurt yourself more’’ she giggled. ‘’How much time do I need to lay off the physical stuff, darling?’’ he asked. ‘’4 weeks’’ she said. He shook his head. ‘’I can’t wait 4 weeks to have sex with you’’ he said. ‘’Well, you could piece your lung, and die, and I don’t want that. Maybe say 3 weeks, you heal fast’’ she said. ‘’All right, no sex for 3 weeks, but get ready, because I’m marring you in 3 weeks’’ he said. She smile and kiss him. ‘’If I stay on bed rest, can I make it 2 weeks?’’ he asks, making her laugh. ‘’We’ll see about that, Bucky��’ She was just happy he got back to her, in one piece

The last part ⬇️

[lisbeth-kk]

Easter Egg Prompts (2025) Day 5

A special invitation leads to a significant change in someone's wardrobe.

Dressed Up

Mycroft and Greg have been a couple for almost eight years when they finally find a weekend that fits them both.

“It has always irked my brother that I tied the knot first,” Sherlock smirks when they receive the wedding invitation.

“Easily deduced,” Rosie snorts. “You two are like kids sometimes.”

“Says the kid herself,” John quips.

“I’m frequently much more mature than any of them,” the ten-year-old girl retorts.

“Well, let’s move on before this escalates further,” John says firmly. “You, young lady, will need a new dress. There’s no way your posh uncle will let you inside Dartmouth House in any of your clothes.”

“I know. Uncle Myc told me he would take me shopping before Easter.”

Sherlock huffs dramatically at this admission.

“Doesn’t that man have any confidence in our capability to dress our daughter properly for a fancy wedding?”

“Apparently not,” John comments. “We should just indulge him, or he’ll just kidnap her after school anyway. Or worse, during class.”

“Hm, you know him well,” Sherlock remarks.

“He is rather predictable. Compared to you. Don’t tell him I said that, sweetheart,” he addresses Rosie.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she lies.

***

Mycroft is quite civil about collecting his niece for a shopping spree. He consults her fathers and is given carte blanche when it comes to the kind of attire, he and Rosie pick.

“As if he needed it,” Sherlock snickers. “He’s going to spoil her rotten.”

“That is his habit,” John concedes.

“Indeed. I should have predicted a colour theme. Luckily, blue is a favourite of mine too. Will you be wearing – “

“Oh, yes, darling. I certainly will,” John interrupts huskily. “I might even go commando as the evening draws to a close.”

“How risqué of you, Doctor Watson,” Sherlock purrs, feeling slightly weak in the knees by the thought of his husband in his kilt without pants.

“Maybe we can persuade the aunts to pick up Rosie and take her for the night.”

“Who is the genius now, John?”

“I have my moments. Now, get your delectable arse over here so I can have my way with you.”

***

“Why did you want to have a colour themed wedding, even deciding that the guests should wear blue?”

“It is much more organised and unambiguous that way,” Mycroft explains.

“God, you’re weird. A good thing I love you, or you’d be in real trouble.”

“Rosamund Watson-Holmes!”

“Relax, Uncle Myc. I’m only teasing you. Now, which fancy establishment are you taking me to?”

“Patience, my dear,” Mycroft chastises her, but the twinkle in his eyes gives him away.

“Which shade do you think will fit me best? Light or dark blue?”

“Considering your blonde hair and fair skin tone, I would say, either. Let us not rush into such important matters without sufficient data.”

“You sound like Papa,” Rosie tells him with a broad smile.

“Well, let us keep that a secret, shall we,” her uncle replies haughtily.

“Sure,” she lies.

***

From early on, Sherlock took responsibility when it came to Rosie’s hair. Curls can be difficult to tame, and he had decades of experience. John was beyond relieved. He wouldn’t have known where to start.

On the day of the wedding, Sherlock locks himself and Rosie into the bathroom to style her golden locks to perfection. Once finished with hers, she goes upstairs to collect her new dress, while Sherlock takes care of his own curls. 

Neither of her parents has seen the garment. She wants it to be a surprise, but she needs help with the back zipper, which Mrs Hudson has agreed to help her with.

The dress is light blue with an A-shaped, wavy skirt. Magnolia appliqués, one large one blooming from the right hip to the middle of her chest, and three small ones on the left side of the skirt make for a striking appearance. White ballerina shoes and a silver bracelet with light blue and silver hearts, complete the outfit.

“Oh, Rosie, dear! You look like a princess,” her Nana exclaims when Rosie twirls around, making the skirt flow around her legs.

“Thank you, Nana. What do you think Daddy and Papa will say.”

“Probably nothing, dear. They will be too choked up to utter a word. Enjoy the silence when you can, I say.”

“Have you already started on your herbal soothers?” Rosie inquires with narrowed eyes.

Martha Hudson harrumphs and mumbles something about her hip acting up.

***

Rosie tiptoes up the stairs. Murmuring voices are heard in the sitting room, and she peeps through the gap in the door. Her fathers are standing in front of the fireplace dressed up in their finest clothes. Well, her Daddy at least. Sherlock is almost always wearing a suit, but today he’s also wearing a tie, which she knows he hates, so she guesses he's making an effort for his brother’s sake. 

Daddy in a kilt, is something Rosie’s only seen in photographs, and he looks even better in reality. The garment isn’t entirely blue of course, but she thinks Uncle Myc won’t mind. Its colours are subtle enough.

For a few moments, she marvels at how much they still seem to love each other. Her friends have told her in abundance about quarrelling parents, and most of them have never even seen their parents kiss.

Speaking of. 

They lift their right hands simultaneously, cradling the other’s cheek, and shares a tender kiss.

“I love you so much, John.”

“Love you more,” he replies, smiling smugly.

“Not possible,” the detective mutters.

They share another kiss, and when they part, Rosie walks casually into the room.

“You two look nice,” she compliments them.

To Rosie’s astonishment, Nana was right. Not a word escapes the men, but there’s no question about what they feel. Their faces are like open books, letting their beloved girl see what they cannot express.

“My darling girl, you are breath-taking!”

“Oh, Rosie! What an amazing dress. You look wonderful.”

They’re both in dire need of the tissues she procures for them.

tbc

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[thatrickmcginnis]

SPIKE LEE, NYC July 1990

I was flown to NYC to photograph Spike Lee for the cover of NOW, at a press junket for his fourth film, Mo’ Better Blues. It was the summer of 1990 and I was still buzzing about having a job that flew me to other cities for work. (To be honest I never got over that thrill.) There was a lot of anticipation about Lee’s new film; Do The Right Thing had been a sensation the year before, and the new film cast Denzel Washington as a trumpet player, and set in the world of jazz musicians – something the director knew about as the son of a well-known New York jazz bassist. It was all very exciting, and I was desperate to do a good job.

Spike Lee was born in 1957 to Bill Lee, a jazz bassist, and Jacqueline, a teacher, the oldest of six children. He made his first film, She’s Gotta Have It, in 1985, for just $175,000, but it was the release of Do the Right Thing in 1989 that made Lee’s reputation as both a creative and political filmmaker. With its soundtrack by Public Enemy and a cast that included Giancarlo Esposito, John Turturro, Rosie Perez, Martin Lawrence, Samuel L. Jackson, Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis, it made Lee a serious player outside the independent film movement. Since then his career has had highlights (Malcolm X, BlacKkKlansman) and lows (Jungle Fever, She Hate Me) and plenty of controversy but Lee remains a significant director, with a new film (Highest 2 Lowest, a remake of Kurosawa’s High and Low) due out later this year.

I don’t remember much about the hotel where I did my shoot with Spike Lee; it was likely in midtown NY but don’t make me swear on that. I do remember that it was an older building with the usual small windows, so I used high speed film in my Nikon F3. I opted to get close in for the shots, and the colour rolls I shot for the cover were constrained by the cover format of the magazine at the time, which required space at the top and sides for type and graphics, though I think I was learning to work with this pretty well by now.

I found Lee to be a wary but generally cooperative subject, though I knew as soon as I started that I wasn’t going to get him to loosen up and give me anything that played against his public image. I also managed to get a quick shoot with his sister Joie, one of the co-stars of the film; she was striking and something of an “It Girl” at the time and I was always happy with the handful of shots I took of her in an adjacent bedroom of the hotel suite with the Rolleiflex I brought along just in case.

[neonficlist]

POST S-4 Getting Together

These fics are about their relationship Post Season 4, which could include apologies and fix-its, or simply fics which acknowledged the events of S4!

Post S4 pt2, Post S4 pt3

Bridges by sussexbound 🔒6.6k words

The silence between them is deafening, interrupted only by the hum of the traffic outside, and the soft click-clunk of the plastic cups Rosie is playing with on the floor beside them. It is the first time they have been alone together, since Sherlock’s birthday. It’s only been two days, but it feels huge, important, like there is a precarious bridge stretched out before them both that they need to at least attempt to traverse.

Nocturne by Atiki 6.6k words

All the most important conversations happen at night.

holding steady by darcylindbergh 12.7k words

“Sitting on a thick wool blanket at the end of a rickety dock side-by-side, legs dangling over the edge, a styrofoam container of wet, dark dirt between them, they’re fishing.”

John knows what this is about. This is about finally figuring it out.

notes: post-everything, no eurus mention, getting away for the weekend

Finally Home by LondonSpirit 🔒 3.5k words

“After the final problem is solved, after everything's resolved, and Sherlock and John have returned to a more or less ordinary life, there's only one ting left to do.

But can they eventually admit what everyone else already knew for a long time, or are they still too blind to see?”

Sehnsucht by unicornpoe 14.7k

Sehnsucht: longing, pining, yearning, craving, intensely missing. An individual’s search for happiness while coping with the reality of unattainable wishes.

John is here now, yes, yes he is. He and Rosie are back home in 221B with Sherlock, safe where they belong... but why is there still a hole deep inside Sherlock, wide and gaping and consuming? Does John feel it too? And what will it take to fill it?

Alternative Facts by SwissMiss 🔒10k words

It was so nice to see they'd finally got things sorted. After all they'd been through, they deserved to be happy. (Or: Five times people imagined what John and Sherlock get up to in the bedroom, and one time we see what they really get up to.)

Six Dates by AvaWtsn 7.4k

A rather accidental 5+1 written for the prompt "is this a date?" Hint: it is.

notes: the first 6 fridays after John moves back in

Whisper To Me by Chrysanthemumsies 20.7k words

Sherlock picks up playing the guitar. John falls more and more in love with every passing day.

notes: John struggling with his feelings, slowly creeping together

Questions and Answers by Pipmer 3.1k

It was useless. What was the point? No amount of talking was ever going to change that John wasn’t interested, and never would be. The only way he would be tempted to pull up house again would be if the practical advantages were enormous, and they just weren’t. Why else would he even consider it?

notes: Sherlock wants John & Rosie to move back in

Once Upon A Time by darcylindbergh 6.5k

It starts with a wish.

In the beginning, John comes home.

notes: fluffy soft warm

Getting On With It by StarlightandFireflies 8k words

“What is it?” Sherlock finally asked, staring into his tea. “Nothing,” John said quickly. After all, he could hardly just come out and say the truth: It’s just hit me again, all this. I’ve realized I’m here, and you’re here, and for some reason you don’t hate me, and yet I’ve got no bloody idea where to go from here.  I want to do right by you but it’s hitting me as if for the first time that I’ve no clue how to do that, even though it’s what you deserve. Rated M for chapter 2

notes: "your heart's always been in the right place" "for you John, yes"

Negative Space by Standbygo 8.8k words

John takes a drawing class, but drawing Sherlock has unexpected results.

notes: John’s in therapy, Sherlock goes to John’s art show

Home by liriodendron 2.9k words

Sherlock opens his mouth to ask how he can make the pain go away, but he realizes halfway through that he doesn't know how one asks such a thing, so the only word that escapes his lips is, "John..."

There is a sharp intake of breath at his name, and then John says in a voice like a broken radio, "Take me home, Sherlock."

notes: sex for comfort post-mary's death

Out Of The Woods by SilentAuror

Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

notes: pining Sherlock, miscommunications, then oodles of fluff, love confessions, virginlock, john plots a romantic date

[jrow]

May Prompts (29)

Day 28 here. Start from the beginning here. Day 30 here.

Hero

John Watson is nothing short of a hero.

Doctor. Writer. Veteran.

He will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life.

He is not a hero.

Junkie. Sociopath. Freak.

That John would choose him for a friend is unfathomable. That John could want more, entirely out of the realm of possibility.

It does not compute. It cannot have happened.

Currently, John is looking at him, concern etched on his features.

“Are you okay, Sherlock? You fainted.”

“No, that doesn’t seem right.”

The worry on John’s face morphs into a smile. “Who’s the doctor here?”

He furrows his brow. Perhaps he did faint. Perhaps he hit his head. Perhaps that’s why he hallucinated the conversation with John. But then he sees the gift. “You gave me a Yamaha SV250. And a case decorated with Rosie’s handprint.”

“Err … yes? I mean yes, I did.”

“That doesn’t seem right. Because that means you want to move back. With Rosie.”

The smile gets bigger. “Yes.”

“And this would entail sleeping in my bed. With me. Presumably.”

“Presumably.” And now John looks like the cat that got the canary.

“And I fainted?”

“When I tell everyone the story later, I may use the term swoon.”

His eyes snap to John’s. “You want to tell everyone?”

John’s smile softens. “Yeah, quite badly, actually. I want to move in. I want to sleep in your bed. And I want to tell everyone. Not that anyone will be all that surprised.”

None of this makes sense. “But you … you are … you’re a war hero!” he sputters.

John knits his brow. “I don’t think that’s true and I don’t see how it’d be relevant even if it was.”

“Of course it’s relevant!” he says, sitting up. “War heroes don’t raise families with sociopaths!”

John sighs fondly, reaching out and touching his arm. “It’s a good thing you aren’t a sociopath then.” A pause. “You know, I was just thinking how beautiful protagonists don’t usually end up with minor side characters.”

He scoffs. John can be such a fool sometimes. “I am the not the protagonist, John. I wasn’t even in the story until you came along.”

John chuckles and stands, before reaching out a hand to help him up. “ Well, I am certainly not the protagonist. So who does that leave?”

They both reflexively look up when they hear the sound of tiny feet hitting the ground. A couple seconds later comes the loud squeak of the upstairs door.

“Lock, play!” Rosie yells at the top of her lungs. The speed at which that girl can go from fast asleep to boundless energy is staggering.

John sighs and looks at his watch. “Right on schedule, I suppose. Busy day means short nap.”

“You go lie down, I am the one being summoned,” he says. Despite his fainting/swooning a moment ago, John is the one who needs to rest. He coughs and feels heat rising in his cheeks. “Lie down in … our bed?”

John looks at him with an expression that can only be described as adoration. “Okay, but can I make one request before you go see to the princess upstairs?”

He nods, slowly. Fairly certain, and fairly terrified, of what’s coming.

“Can I kiss you now?”

He nods again. And then, without hesitation, John kisses him. It’s slow and soft and like he’s something precious. And it is terrifying, but in the best possible way.

He’s still not 100% sure this isn’t a hallucination.

He closes his eyes and returns the kiss.

John Watson is nothing short of a hero.

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[shakabrah0412]

Chapter 4: Graveyard Party

How the Most Dangerous Thing Is to Love - MASTERLIST

ao3 link

RATING: MATURE SHIPPING: None, except for Abigail & John WARNINGS: Mentions of death, Jackie vomitting (again) WORDCOUNT: 8,019 words Some things have been changed from canon.

“The boy stays!”

Dutch’s words come loud and clear. A mixed wave of reactions rippled through the camp—cheers, groans, and a few muttered objections. Jack opened his eyes slowly, his lungs finally releasing the breath they’d trapped somewhere in his chest. 

Some members began to come forward, greeting him as if he were new cattle on the ranch. 

A blonde woman, the same one he’d seen playing cards earlier, strode up and slapped him on the back hard enough to jolt him forward a step. She reeked of whiskey and joy, laughing with no particular reason other than the fact that she could. “Welcome to the party! What was your name again? Lance?”

“Yeah,” Jack nodded quickly, eyes still adjusting to the faces.

Before he could get another word in, a man in the poncho stepped up beside them, arms crossed as he gave Jack a once-over.

“So that’s what Arthur dragged in,” the man said. “Javier Escuella. You might’ve seen me at the saloon.”

He sure had. Getting half-throttled by Tommy, right before Jack had stumbled in. “Lance Morris,” Jack replied. It still felt weird to say.

“That your real name?” a woman’s voice asked from nearby. She was slim, brown-haired, with rosy cheeks. “Sounds like something out of a storybook.”

She covered her mouth as if embarrassed by the comment. “Oh! I’m Mary-Beth, by the way.”

Jack felt heat rise to his face. It was from a storybook. Technically. “My parents were creative,” he said. 

He remembered being a boy on a long ride to Strawberry, telling his parents of the story he was reading. And then his father used the name Lancelot, a character from the book, as Jack’s alias. Back then, he had rolled his eyes, embarrassed at being called Lancelot Milton. Now here he was, parading around as Lance Morris.

The murmur of voices broke as an older man stepped forward. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said, raising a hand. “Stop crowding the poor boy. You’re scaring him.”

“I say,” Dutch cut back in, “the addition of a new brother calls for celebration!”

That got a real cheer. Even the skeptics perked up at the promise of drink and music. Someone clapped Jack on the shoulder. He couldn’t see who, and then suddenly three sets of hands were tugging him toward the campfire.

The blonde woman, Karen, he’d later learn, looped an arm around him as if they were old friends. “Come on, Lance! Time to see how outlaws throw a real party!”

They sat him down at the fire, wedged between Javier and the man in the blue vest, who still watched Jack with curiosity. A bottle of liquor was passed around, first to Karen, then offered to Jack by the younger man from the card table.

Jack shook his head. “I’m good.”

The young man shrugged, uncorked the bottle with his teeth, and plopped down beside Javier. “So, Lance—where'd you ride in from?”

Jack blinked. “New Austin,” he said quickly.

"New Austin?" The man's eyebrows raised with interest. "Long way from here. What brought you east?"

He shrugged. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“So I’ve been told.”

More people filtered in, drawn to the noise and the heat. Jack recognized Charles among them and the burly man from the saloon who’d started the fight.

"New Austin, huh?" Javier said, glancing sideways at Jack while poking the fire with a stick. "That was one of the first places I went after I crossed the border. Rough country down there."

"You're from Mexico?" Jack asked, then caught himself. "Sorry, didn't mean to pry."

"No offense taken, amigo. Yeah, born and raised in Nuevo Paraíso. You ever been south of the border?"

Jack hesitated. After his mother’s death, he’d gone. He could still see the dust, the quiet towns, and the empty graves. He'd gone searching for places his father had been, retracing his steps. In a way, he'd tried to become John Marston, just to see how it felt.

"Passed through a couple years back," he said carefully. "Didn't stay long though."

"Ah, shame. Beautiful country when it ain't trying to kill you," Javier said with a wry smile. "Might've crossed paths if you'd stuck around."

Jack offered a polite nod in reply.

“So Lance, a man doesn't just wander this far east without a story. What's your tale, son?” The older man said, tapping his shoulder gently.

Will everyone ask him that? He forced a smile.

"Nothing too exciting, I'm afraid. Just looking for work, mostly." He gestured around the fire. "I don't even know half your names yet. It seems only fair I learn who I'm talking to before I start sharing my life story."

That got a chuckle out of the older man. “Hosea Matthews,” he said, offering a hand. Jack shook it. The name sparked something in his memory—a children’s storybook and the mention of a prince. The rest was fog.

Hosea pointed around the fire, naming faces as if he were an old barkeep introducing the regulars. "That's Karen Jones over there, serenading us with her beautiful voice." 

"Susan Grimshaw. She keeps us all in line." Hosea nodded toward a stern-looking woman talking to Karen.

“And that feller over there is Uncle.” Hosea pointed.

Jack’s eyes froze on the man; the lazy slouch and the sour stink of beer and sweat were all too familiar to him. The memory of digging that grave with calloused hands came back too fast. Uncle, crumpled on the porch, bleeding out while Jack could only stare. His lip trembled, but he held it back.

Hosea kept going, unaware. "Charles Smith there. Good man to have watching your back.”

"That's Simon Pearson, our cook." Hosea pointed to a round man gesticulating wildly as he told a story. "And Bill Williamson." Bill's narrow eyes gave Jack the same suspicious look he'd worn in the saloon.

“You better pull your weight around here,” Bill said. “We ain’t runnin’ no charity.”

Jack stiffened, but before he could answer, Charles leaned forward. “Ah, lay off him, Bill. He just got here.”

Jack turned slightly, surprised. The defense made something twist in his chest. Charles—who had taught him to track animals and who had been his father’s brother in all but blood. But Charles was also the one who had left his mother and him with nothing but themselves after his father’s death. Sure, he attended John’s funeral, but he left shortly afterwards without a word. Last he’d heard of him, he returned to Canada and his family.

"That's Mary-Beth," Hosea said, indicating a young woman with a book tucked under her arm. "And Tilly Jackson." He nodded to a woman in yellow. Jack actually remembered her; she had visited the ranch once and spent some time reading with her. He liked her. He was glad she was one of the few who lived. 

Hosea then pointed to the man beside Javier, who waved at Jack. “Leonard Summers, but everyone calls me Lenny.” He introduced himself.

"And that's Sadie Adler, over there."

She sat near the edge of camp, arms wrapped around her knees, staring into the dark—a shadow of the woman he remembered. The gun-toting, cussing, unstoppable Mrs. Adler, who stood tall beside his mother, who had once told him he’d grow up to be just like John.

“She’s one of the newer ones,” Hosea explained, his voice softer now. “Lost her husband to some O'Driscolls just before you arrived. We're all trying to give her space to grieve.”

Jack nodded slowly, eyes lingering on her. In his timeline, Sadie never talked about her husband. She looked so sad here, maybe because she had just lost her husband recently.

"And that charming fellow is Micah Bell," Hosea said, nodding toward a man perched near the camp's edge. His straw-colored hair caught the firelight as he cleaned a revolver.

"Fair warning," Lenny added with a grin that didn't reach his eyes, "you might want to keep your distance from that one."

"Why's that?" 

"Let's just say he's got a talent for finding trouble," Charles said diplomatically.

"Or making it," Javier muttered.

Jack leaned back, letting the fire warm his face while processing all the introductions. Most of the camp remained unknown to him, despite spending almost all four years of his early life with them. He made a mental note to check the journal later in case anything new about the members popped up.

“So, Lance,” Lenny said suddenly, breaking the lull, “what were you up to before Dutch brought you in?”

The question startled Jack enough to make him straighten up. He opened his mouth, but Javier jumped in before he could say anything.

“He was working the bar in Valentine,” Javier said, nudging him with a smirk. “Saved me from a bruising.”

Jack’s cheeks heated. “The owner shoved me into it.”

“Oh sure,” Javier drawled. “And then you just happened to beat that bastard with a table leg? Right.”

“He beat me half to death first.”

“Still walked out better than he did,” Javier shot back.

"Sounds like we got ourselves a real hero!" Karen called from across the fire, her words slightly slurred as she approached them. She stumbled dangerously before Tilly caught her arm.

"Easy there, Karen," Tilly laughed. "Save some of that bottle for the rest of us."

"I ain't half as drunk as Uncle," Karen protested, pointing at the older man who was indeed swaying where he sat. "Hey! Uncle! Get over here, you lazy fool!"

Uncle looked up blearily. "What? I'm perfectly fine right here, thank you."

Mary-Beth shook her head with fond exasperation. "Come on, you two. Let's get you both some coffee before you fall in the fire."

The fire cracked and hissed, casting long shadows that danced along the trees and faces around him. Mary-Beth had taken a seat beside him, her skirt drawn up slightly to keep from catching stray embers. Karen leaned her head against Tilly’s shoulder, still smiling as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

The conversations soon began to flow. They all began to share their own stories: A feller named Sean somehow losing their whole medicine cart only to find it in an auction, Charles tracking a bear for three days for it wander into camp on its own, and Bill's stubbornness about asking for directions.

“Share to the kid about the time you nearly blew up your eyebrows, Lenny!”

“That was a misfire.”

“A misfire that almost set Pearson’s wagon ablaze,” Hosea added from the other side of the circle.

Jack listened, half-amused, half in awe. It was one thing to read about the Van der Linde gang in newspapers and the journal, but here they were, teasing each other as if they were old friends at a family gathering. 

He caught himself staring again: Uncle taking another swig of alcohol, Javier poking the fire with a stick, and Sadie silently drinking from a tin cup, her eyes far away.

“So what about you, Lance?” Uncle turned toward him. “Got any stories? You seem the type with secrets.”

“Me? Like I said, I ain’t got much to tell.”

"Come on now," Hosea encouraged gently. "Everyone's got something. We're all friends here."

Jack looked into the flames, watching them curl around the blackened wood. What could he say? He couldn’t talk about burying John, or Abigail, or Uncle, or the hours he spent riding across the heartland trying to figure out who he was supposed to be after everyone he loved was gone.

“Not me,” he shrugged. “I lived a normal life until I came here. Most of the time I did farmwork.”

Several people leaned forward with sudden interest.

"A rancher?" Tilly asked. "That's honest work. What kind of spread?"

"Dutch is always talking about getting out of this life and settling down somewhere and harvesting mangoes," Mary-Beth added thoughtfully.

Jack had never really considered what Dutch's retirement dreams meant to these people. Looking around the circle, he could see genuine curiosity, maybe even longing, in some faces.

He could never imagine any of the members milking cows or shearing the sheep at the ranch; they seemed too proud for that. Then again, his father and he seemed to get along fine with the farm work after some time eventually.

"It's... peaceful," he said carefully. "Hard work, but rewarding. You wake up knowing exactly what needs doing: feed the animals, mend the fences, tend the crops. It isn’t as exciting as the outlaw life, though.”

“That why you left? Cause it was boring?” Tilly asked.

Jack paused. Sure, once upon a time, he dreamed of being a hardened gunslinger traveling across the world and going on adventures, but now, what wouldn’t he give to live back at Beecher’s Hope with his family, reading a new book?

“No,” he answers. “The ranch, it, uh… got destroyed. Don’t have nowhere else to go but here,” he lied smoothly.

"Well," Hosea said, "you're welcome here as long as you need. We take care of our own."

The kindness in his voice almost broke Jack's composure. These people had no idea who he really was, but they were offering him family. 

“Maybe you could teach us how to shovel shit,” Bill teased.

“You wouldn’t know how to shovel shit even if he taught you.” 

“Oh yeah? Javier, why don’t you tell the kid how you got us fifty feet off course last month because you were reading the map upside down?”

“Ah, that’s nothing! You should tell him the time the girls burnt down the house we were camping in.”

“It was an honest mistake!” Mary-Beth yelled.

For a second, they were all just a bunch of people around a fire, swapping stories and jokes. And he liked it in a way that was scary.

Because he knew how this story ended. He’d lived the aftermath. Jack looked around again, studying each face in the glow. He felt like an intruder in a dream he didn’t want to wake from.

Javier started strumming a tune on his guitar. It was a soft rhythm at first, just notes curling into the cold night air. A few others picked up the melody, and suddenly, the camp was singing.

It wasn’t anything grand—just a simple folk song about rivers and roads and leaving things behind. Karen and Uncle were loud, while Mary-Beth and Tilly carried the tune alongside her. Lenny joined in, tapping his fingers on his knee in time with the beat.

Jack didn’t know the words; he didn’t even try to sing. He just sat a little apart from the others, arms still around his knees, watching them through the firelight. 

The song faded into the background as Uncle raised a bottle toward him. He remembered how Uncle used to send him trudging to the general store for beer, promising a taste of the drink only to slip him a glass of lukewarm water instead, chuckling at his own trickery.

He shook his head, but the man persisted, thrusting the bottle closer until he could smell the whiskey. "Ah, come on, kid! Drink to your welcome." 

"Why does everyone keep calling me that? I'm not a kid!”

"How old are you then?" 

Four in this timeline, Jack thought. "Twenty."

Lenny's face lit up like a child discovering a new toy. "You're only a year older than me!"

"If you ain't a kid, you'd take a drink." 

Jack stared at the bottle, its surface worn smooth, the label peeling at one corner. Finally, he grabbed the neck of the bottle and tipped it forwards. The liquid burned a familiar path down his throat before he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, tasting both whiskey and irony. 

In his mind, he allowed himself a small victory, imagining this was his first drink and that Uncle, for once, had been the one to offer encouragement instead of tricking him.

"Wait a minute," Tilly said suddenly, tilting her head as she studied Jack's face in the firelight. "Don’t Lance remind you of someone in this camp?"

Jack's blood turned to ice. His heart hammered against his ribs as every person within earshot turned to scrutinize him. He hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller, eyes darting anywhere but their curious faces. Idiot. I knew I should've cut my hair or at least tried a bit harder.

"You’re right!” Mary-Beth said, leaning forward with growing excitement. "He does look familiar."

"Yeah, I see it too," Lenny added, squinting thoughtfully. "It's the hair, I think. And maybe the eyes?"

Maybe he could claim to be a distant cousin? Some long-lost relative? 

"He looks just like—" Bill began, and Jack braced himself for the inevitable revelation.

"—Javier!”

He blinked hard, looking up in confusion. Everyone was now glancing back and forth between Jack and the man next to him with serious consideration.

"I mean, if you squint a little," Karen said, swaying slightly as she pointed between them. "Same dark hair, same... brooding look."

"Maybe if Javier was five years younger and born west of the border,"

"I'll have you know I'm in my prime," Javier said. "And I still dress better than our new friend here."

Jack exhaled in relief. His heart was still racing, but at least they weren't connecting him to the Marston name. He forced a weak smile. "Thank you, I think."

"Don't let it go to your head, amigo." Javier grinned.

The comparison seemed to break whatever tension had built up, and the conversations resumed their easy flow. Uncle, however, had apparently decided that Jack needed more encouragement in the drinking department.

"Here, kid—Lance," Uncle corrected himself with exaggerated care, waving the bottle again. 

Jack hesitated, but the whiskey had already started to warm his chest, dulling the sharp edges of his anxiety. "I really shouldn't—"

"Nonsense!" Uncle pressed the bottle into his hands. "You're among friends now. Besides, you look like you could use some loosening up."

Against his better judgment, Jack took another pull from the bottle. Uncle clapped him on the back approvingly.

"That's the spirit! Now you're starting to look like you belong here."

"Speaking of belonging," Hosea said, settling more comfortably by the fire, "I think it's time we heard a proper story. Lenny, why don't you tell Lance about how you ended up with us?"

Lenny's eyes lit up, though he glanced at Jack with mild embarrassment. "Ah, you don't want to hear that old tale."

"Come on," Mary-Beth encouraged. "It's a good story!"

Jack found himself genuinely curious. He thinks he remembers Lenny faintly when he was younger, seeing the man around camp on guard duty or reading a newspaper.

Lenny took a swig from his own bottle and began. "Well, I suppose it starts with me being too damn smart for my own good." He laughed, but there was something rueful in it. "I was nineteen, working odd jobs in Saint Denis, trying to make an honest living after my daddy died."

"I had this job at a newspaper, filing stories and such. It paid decently enough, but I made the mistake of getting too curious about the wrong people. I started asking questions about corruption in the city government, following leads that led to some very angry, very powerful men."

"What kind of questions?" Jack asked, his words coming out slightly looser than intended.

"Let's just say I had to make some hard choices when I was real young," Lenny said. "Lost someone important to me, and... well, I handled it the way a fifteen-year-old boy handles things. Not smart, but I felt like I didn't have a choice."

He took a long drink before continuing. "Spent the next few years running, learning to survive on my own, picking up work where I could find it, staying ahead of trouble. Got real good at being invisible."

"It made me grow up fast, but it also taught me things: how to read people, how to shoot straight, and how to think quick when things go sideways."

Even these simple details painted a picture of loss and violence that everyone here was familiar with. "How'd you end up with Dutch?"

"Three years of running will wear a man down," Lenny said simply. "I was tired, broke, and starting to make desperate choices. That's when I crossed paths with them. They were... well, let's say they were conducting business."

"Business," Javier snorted. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Lenny grinned, some of his lightness returning. "Dutch has a way with words; what can I say? Anyway, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe the right place at the right time, depending on how you look at it."

"Arthur sized me up real quick," Lenny continued. "He asked if I could shoot, if I could ride, and if I had anywhere else to be. When I answered yes, yes, and no, he just nodded to Dutch."

"What did Dutch say?" Jack asked, genuinely invested despite the alcohol fogging his thoughts.

"He looked at me for a long minute," Lenny said. "Then he started talking about family, about people who understand what it means to be pushed to the edges of society. Said talent and loyalty mattered more than a man's past, as long as he was willing to work for the group."

"And you said yes."

"Didn't take much thinking," Lenny admitted. "First time in years someone offered me a place to belong instead of just survive."

Karen nudged him. "And here you are."

"Here I am," Lenny agreed. "Been two years now. Best family I've ever had, even if they're all criminals."

Jack felt something twist in his chest at the word 'family.' These people really did care about each other, in their way. 

“How about you, Lance? How’s Dutch come to pick you up?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t as special as yours. He just came up to me outside the saloon and told me he had a job for me.”

“Ah, come on, you can lie better than that.” 

“No, I’m serious! That’s really how it went.”

Bill made a face. Jack didn’t know whether to think of it as good or bad. “And you didn’t shoot anyone?”

“Well, maybe a lawman or two.”

“See! So you do got a little bit of spunk in ya!” Uncle laughed before handing Jack the bottle he was drinking from.

"Your turn for another drink, Lance," Uncle said, apparently having appointed himself Jack's drinking supervisor. "Can't let the bottle get lonely."

"I think I've had enough—" Jack started, but the bottle was already in his hands again.

"Enough?" Uncle scoffed. "Boy, you ain't even started yet. Look at you, still sitting up straight and everything!"

Jack looked around the fire, noticing that several people were indeed more relaxed than when the evening started. Karen was practically draped over Tilly, Mary-Beth was giggling at something Charles had whispered, and even stern-faced Bill looked more at ease.

"Besides," Uncle continued, "you still look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. What's a young man like you got to be so serious about?"

The question hit closer to home than Uncle could possibly know. Jack stared into the fire, whiskey making him maudlin. "Just... life, I guess," Jack said, taking another drink without being prompted this time. The alcohol made his stomach bubble.

"Life's too short to spend it worrying," Uncle declared. "Trust me, I'm an expert on wasting time, and I can tell you, regret's heavier than worry." 

There was unexpected wisdom in Uncle's words. "Maybe you're right," he said, surprised by how slurred his words were getting.

"Course I'm right!" Uncle beamed. "Now, who's got another story? This boy needs more education in the fine art of not giving a damn."

Javier strummed a few chords on his guitar. "I could tell about the time we robbed that riverboat in Louisiana..."

"Or when Hosea convinced an entire town he was a traveling preacher," Lenny added.

Jack settled back, the alcohol making everything feel distant and dreamlike. For the first time since arriving in 1899, he let himself stop thinking about the future. Maybe Uncle was right—maybe tonight, he could just be Lance Morris, a young man sharing drinks and stories with friends.

The bottle found its way back to him again, and this time, he didn't protest.

—

Within an hour, he was a swaying sapling in the wind, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter as Bill spun another one of his wild tales, gesturing wildly with a half-empty bottle.

"Hold on now—and then what'd you do?"

"I looked that yellow-bellied son of a bitch dead in the eye," Bill slurred, jabbing his finger at an imaginary opponent, "and told him he could kiss my ass and rot in hell for all I gave a damn!"

Karen wheezed between fits of laughter, "Did you tell him that, or did he say it to you first?"

Jack hiccupped, the sound catching in his throat as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. For a moment, wrapped in the amber glow and the easy warmth of whiskey, he felt something close to peace.

“Give him the benefit of the doubt! I bet Bill could take on the man,” He butt in.

Javier nudged him, a snicker on his lips. “In what way?” 

Jack could hear the sound of footsteps cracking on twigs and dried leaves approaching them. A few heads turned toward the darkness.

Hosea’s face split into a grin, pushing himself up from his log seat. "Arthur, John!" Hosea called out. "About time you boys showed your faces."

The blood drained from Jack's face like water through a sieve. Every drop of alcohol-induced warmth evaporated in an instant, leaving him cold and rigid as a corpse. His knuckles went white where they gripped his knees, eyes fixed on the flames as if they could somehow shield him from what was coming.

"Hey, I was here the first half of the party," Arthur defended himself. "Had to go collect this fool before the wolves decided to finish what they started."

A voice cut through, gravelly and rough. “I didn't ask you to come nursemaidin' after me. And for your information, I brought back enough deer and rabbit to keep this camp fed for a whole week."

He closed his eyes tightly and clenched his jaw. Don't look this way. Please, for the love of God, don't look this way.

Uncle groaned as he hauled himself to his feet. "Well, you're just in time for the main event! John, I want you to meet our—"

"Hold on." John's voice had an edge to it now. "This whole party's about some new blood joining up?"

"Arthur didn't fill you in?" Hosea asked.

"No, Arthur didn’t fill me in!"

"Ah, well..." Uncle's hands suddenly clamped down on Jack's shoulders, fingers digging in like iron clamps. He tried to pull Jack upright, but Jack's body refused to cooperate, legs locked and planted like tree roots. No. I can't. I won't. He could barely meet his mother’s eyes from far away; how was he supposed to meet his father’s face-to-face? 

"Come on now, boy," Uncle grunted, hauling harder. The alcohol had turned Jack's limbs to jelly, and despite his resistance, Uncle managed to wrench him to his feet and spin him around to face the other. "John Marston, meet our newest member—Lance!"

Their eyes locked across the flickering firelight.

Jack felt the air leave his lungs in one sharp exhale. It was as if staring into a warped looking glass—the same angular cheekbones, the same deep-set dark eyes, the same stubbled jaw and weathered skin. Every imperfection was achingly familiar. His mother's words came rushing back: "I don’t understand how he thought you weren’t his; you’re the spitting image of him!"

John's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his features.

The campfire sounds faded to nothing. Jack was sixteen again, standing in a pool of his father's blood while his mother's screams tore through the evening air like the cries of a wounded animal.

“No!” she screamed, crawling towards the corpse. “No! John!” 

Another memory slammed into him: his own hands, shaking and slick with blood, dragging that lifeless body up the slope. The way the head lolled at an unnatural angle before he collapsed next to him.

“Damn you, Pa.” He spits the words through clenched teeth. “You just had to go after them, didn’t you? Those outlaws… You promised—you promised you wouldn’t leave us again!”

Jack's stomach twisted violently, bile rising in his throat. He doubled over and emptied his guts onto the ground, whiskey and half-digested food splattering near John's boots.

Arthur jumped back, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Jesus, Uncle! How much rotgut did you pour down this kid's throat?"

Uncle rubbed his back soothingly. “Not a lot!”

Jack could hear the sounds of laughter nearby, or at least he thought he did. He didn’t know; he was just trying to stop his head from spinning. 

“Damn, Marston. It takes a lotta ugliness for someone to throw up at the sight of ya!” Bill howls in the background.

“It’s the alcohol! Looks like you were the ones handing him the bottle like it was candy.” 

“Sure, defend yourself all you want. Won’t change your mug.”

"Alright, alright, that's enough excitement for one evening," Hosea said, stepping forward. "Uncle, help the boy get settled before he makes himself any sicker."

"Where should I put him?" Uncle asked, still supporting Jack's swaying form.

"There's a spare bedroll over by the big oak tree, away from the main camp," Hosea replied. "Let him sleep this off proper."

"Come on, son," Uncle said gently, guiding Jack away from the fire. "Let's get you somewhere you can lay down before you fall down."

As they moved toward the edge of camp, Jack caught fragments of conversation drifting around the camp as he passed by:

"Don't know what to make of that boy yet," someone muttered.

"Did you see the way he looked at John? Like he'd seen the devil himself," another voice added.

“You’re being too hard on him. He seems fine.”

The voice scoffed. "Mighty convenient timing, showing up just when we're planning our next move,"

"I say we keep an eye on him. What’re the chances we get a new member right after we escaped the Pinkertons?”

The words hit Jack like cold water, sobering him more than the night air. He'd thought the evening had gone well (with the exception of puking on his father’s shoes) and that maybe he'd found some acceptance with these people. But despite that, they still looked at him with suspicion.

Uncle helped him settle onto the bedroll, positioned far enough from the main campfire that Jack felt the isolation clearly. 

"There you go," Uncle said, patting his shoulder. "Sleep it off, boy. Tomorrow you'll feel more like a human being instead of something that crawled out of a bottle."

"Thanks, Uncle." 

"Don't mention it. We've all been where you are tonight, trust me on that." Uncle chuckled softly. "Hell, I've been there more times than I care to count."

As Uncle's footsteps retreated toward the dying campfire, Jack spat out the rest of his stomach onto the tree stump nearby, wiping his mouth afterwards. He knew he would have to face John eventually when he time travelled—he’d even rehearsed their meeting in the dingy old mirror at the Smithfield’s Saloon at times. However, despite all his preparations, he’d manage to screw it up again. Nice going, Jack. Your father thinks you’re a total dork now. The whole camp does!

Jack laid back and stared up at the stars. The same constellations he'd grown up under, but everything else felt wrong. 

All those years resenting John for choosing this life over his family, and now here Jack was, lying among the very people who'd won his father's loyalty. These outlaws had gotten his father’s devotion and protection. Jack and his mother had gotten broken promises and an early grave.

Jack rubbed his eyes. If only he were more like his father, or his mother, or even Uncle. He’s been here in 1899 for at least two weeks now, but what has he accomplished? A weirdly bent nose and the scrutiny of the Van der Linde gang? 

"Troubles keeping you awake, friend?"

Jack's heart nearly stopped. A lean figure emerged from the shadows. Shoulder-length blond hair and a mustache that reached to his chin. "Name's Micah Bell," he said, extending a hand. "Heard you caused quite the stir tonight."

Jack remembers a little bit of the name. His memory flashes with his mother begging his father to not go and hunt the man down, or something of the like. 

He reluctantly shook the offered hand. "Lance."

"Lance," Micah repeated, as if testing how the name felt. "Well, Lance, seems like we got ourselves a situation in common."

Jack narrowed his eyes. Most everyone told him to avoid Micah. He thought back to when everyone was whispering behind his back earlier—why should he avoid Micah? Apparently, he was new too. Is their only basis for suspicion of members how recently they joined? Jack decides that he’s going to make his own assumptions before believing the others’.

"How long have you been with them?" 

"About a couple months now," Micah said, leaning back. "Long enough to learn how things work around here, not quite long enough to be trusted with all their secrets." He grinned. "But I'm working on that."

Jack said nothing.

"See, the thing about this group," Micah continued, his voice taking on a confidential tone, "is they talk a good game about family and loyalty, and they mean it too. But there are levels to it, if you catch my meaning."

"Levels?"

"Sure." Micah gestured toward the distant campfire. "You got your inner circle—Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and John. They make the real decisions. Then you got the old-timers like Bill and Grimshaw, earned their stripes years ago. Below that, you got folks like me and you, still proving ourselves."

Jack frowned. "And how exactly do you prove yourself?"

Micah's smile widened slightly. "Well, that depends on what skills you bring to the table. Some folks earn their keep with their guns, others with their brains. Me? I got a talent for... reading situations. Knowing which way the wind's blowing before others catch the scent."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means I pay attention," Micah said smoothly. "Tonight, for instance, I saw how some of the others were looking at you after your little episode and heard what they were saying too."

Jack's stomach tightened. "What were they saying?"

"Oh, the usual concerns about new folks," Micah said with practiced casualness. "Questions about your story, whether you can be trusted when things get rough." He paused, studying Jack's face. "Bill's particularly suspicious. He thinks you might be running from something bigger than you let on."

"And what do you think?" Jack asked quietly.

Micah shrugged. "I think every man's got his secrets. The question is whether those secrets make you valuable or dangerous." 

He leaned closer. "Thing is, Lance, I've been watching you tonight. You're scared of something, that much is clear. But you also handled yourself well enough when pressed. You showed respect to the right people and didn't try to oversell your story."

He felt his heart stutter at each word that left Micah’s mouth. Yet at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel a bitterness spread inside him. Who did he think he was, pretending like he knew him? “I think you’re being mistaken, mister,” he said, turning away.

Micah waved him off. “Don’t play dumb. You know what you did,” 

Micah said something that got Jack to pause. "You and me, we both need allies in this group. I can help smooth things over with the others and put in a good word where it counts. Dutch respects my judgment, and if I vouch for you..."

He turned back. "And in return?" 

Micah's grin widened. "Just friendship, Lance. Someone who might remember a kindness when they're in a position to return it."

"I appreciate the offer," Jack said carefully. "But I figure I'll let my actions speak for themselves."

"Of course you will," Micah said, not seeming offended. "Smart approach. Just know the offer stands." He rose to his feet. "We new folks got to look out for each other, after all." 

I’ve got four more years of experience in this gang compared to you! Jack thought, watching the man’s back as he left. He could see the calculation in Micah’s friendly demeanor. It couldn’t have been clearer to him, the way he was already working angles around him and building leverage. But at the same time, there was a loneliness that felt familiar. He closed his eyes, trying to quiet the thoughts in his head.

Tomorrow he'd wake up and continue this charade, pretending to be Lance Morris and not Jack Marston.

Jack thinks that the worst part of this was not how everyone seemed to be putting up a front with him, but how desperately he wanted it to be real—this sense of belonging and purpose. Maybe that was the real tragedy of Dutch's gang. They offered something beautiful right up until the moment it destroyed everything you held dear.

He takes a deep breath in and out.

For now, he should check the journal if anything new came up. Jack reached for the satchel of things he usually kept beside him, but his hand landed onto the ground beside him. 

What? Jack quickly sat up and searched his surroundings in a panic. A few members were already heading to rest, the campfire being surrounded by only Bill, Pearson, and Uncle now. 

He groaned again. Right, he was at Horseshoe Overlook right now. His stuff was all the way nearby Citadel Rock in the camp he set up. He hoped no one would stumble upon it; he’d absolutely be devastated if his father’s hat was stolen.

Jack rolled over and planted his face into the hard sleeping bag. He might as well sleep it off and go back for it tomorrow; there's no point in looking for it when he was half-drunk and tired.

He needed to ask someone for a horse tomorrow too.

—

Jack has been a part of the Van der Linde gang for three days, and he’s started to remember how the camp worked again.

On the first day, he’d spent most of it walking all the way back to Citadel Rock to retrieve his things. After yesterday’s incident, he was too embarrassed to ask anyone for a ride. By the time he got back to Horseshoe Overlook, he was sore and sweaty and immediately caught in Miss Grimshaw’s line of fire.

She stood by the supply wagons, her arms crossed and jaw tight as she intercepted Jack. “Every able body is expected to contribute. Food, funds, firewood—it doesn't matter. You will contribute to them. Not when you feel like it. Regularly.”

Jack was too tired to try and dodge her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“We got three wagons, you should know: one’s medical. The others are for food. Bring meat, bring canned stuff, just bring something. And the last is for arms and ammo.”

“You’ll find work on the chore board—hauling water, chopping wood, cleaning up after the livestock. Everyone pulls their weight. And if I catch you lounging around like a housecat while the rest of us are working—”

“I got it, I got it,” he said quickly, raising his hands.

“Do you?” She narrowed her eyes.

He didn’t. The whole time she was explaining, his brain kept drifting off. All he really wanted was to crawl back into his sleeping bag and disappear for a week.

“Hello? Lance? Are you even listening?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

Grimshaw’s eyes narrowed, but she let it slide. As soon as she finished, Jack shuffled over to his makeshift bedroll by the camp’s edge, dropping down and fell asleep before his head hit the coarse wool blanket.

Jack woke early on the second day. The sleeping bag wasn’t much comfort, but it beat sleeping with one eye open like he used to.

He slipped out of camp with a piece of stale cornbread in his pocket and wandered into the woods. He found a low, mossy tree and sat beneath it, back pressed to the bark. 

His fingers worked to open the leather journal he'd been reading since he got here, which he was now sure was Arthur’s journal. He’d figured it out eventually after reading through the entries, which aligned only with Arthur’s actions throughout the camp, as well as spying Arthur actually writing in the journal, which looked way less worn than the one he had.

He’d never known Arthur was such a good draftsman or even journaled, for that matter. Every single drawing and word looked to be made with care. Jack had tried journaling once, but he’d forgotten all about it once the deaths started piling up.

He read slowly, flipping past entries filled with sketches of landscapes, lists of supplies, and notes about bounties and sightings. The day Arthur took young Jack fishing caught his attention again. 

Took young Jack out fishing as a favor to Abigail. Many years ago, before she fell so hard for that fool Marston, perhaps I should have married her. I think part of me has always thought that, yet, God damn you, Mary!

Jack blinked.

He read it again.

Arthur… marrying his mom?

That line about Abigail and the mention of a woman named Mary felt like overhearing a secret not meant for him. It was sort of, considering he was basically reading Uncle Arthur’s diary. The idea made him cringe, deciding he would throw away the journal once he was done making sure everyone stayed alive. 

Not that Arthur wanting to marry his mom mattered anyway; Abigail loved John. She had stayed, waited, and begged for John.

Still, Jack wondered if, had Arthur been his father, would things would have gone differently? Would they have been safer? Would he have stayed out of this mess? He sighed and kept reading.

Jack is a good boy. A dreamer. A boy with a momma who loves him. I wonder if he will find what we seek: peace and truth away from all this nonsense and lies.

Jack stared at that one for a long time, tracing the words with his finger.

He hadn’t found peace or truth. If anything, he’d buried both in the same shallow grave as his family. His life after his family’s deaths had been nothing but more violence and more running, and now here he was, right back in the thick of it. Same camp, same problems. The only difference was the man he was now, and he wasn’t sure he liked that man much.

As we fished, a couple of Pinkerton agents appeared. Milton was one of them. I forget the other fella’s name. They knew all about me. Apparently there’s five thousand on my head alone. After Blackwater… seems we may be in real trouble. I just don’t know.

Jack’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t remember much of the fishing trip, but he clearly remembers that Milton was once Edgar Ross’s partner. The idea sends a familiar anger through his body. Maybe he should kill Edgar Ross earlier this time ‘round so that he never gets the chance to lay a finger on his family.

He pushes the thought away, deciding that he should probably join Arthur on the fishing trip. He makes a mental note to probably get himself a fishing pole sometime soon so that he’d have an excuse to join as well or something.

Deciding that he’s hidden away from the other members enough, Jack heads back to the outskirts of the camp, half-hidden by the medicine wagon nearby.

Karen sat near the fire, her voice slurred as she hummed a tune. Uncle trudged by in his usual daze, muttering to himself and nearly tripping over a rock. Pearson shouted across camp, waving a cleaver as he berated Sadie, who was elbow-deep in a barrel of salt and meat.

Tilly and Mary-Beth sat cross-legged on a blanket nearby, their heads bent together as they braided each other’s hair. Dutch was telling Arthur something about rescuing Sean from the bounty hunters.

He turned his head, watching Abigail crouch beside the younger version of him, tying the boy’s boots. She said something that made the little Jack laugh and ruffled his hair.

And there he was, the boy he used to be—so untouched by all the things he’d come to know.

Jack didn’t mean to stare, but he couldn’t look away. 

Someone behind him spoke up. “What’re you lookin’ at, Lance?”

Jack jumped. Bill Williamson stood beside him, gnawing on a piece of jerky. Jack glanced away. “Wasn’t lookin’ at anything.”

“Sure,” Bill said around a mouthful of dried meat. “Looked to me like you were starin’ a hole through Abigail.”

“Just saw her helping the boy out.”

Bill nodded toward the pair. “That’s her kid, Jack. Dumb as rocks, that kid.”

Thank you. Jack rolled his eyes.

“The father’s supposed to be John,” Bill went on. “Not that he’s ever admitted it properly.”

Jack always knew his father didn’t want to be his father at first. All the arguments his mother and his father had during their time with the Van der Linde gang were one thing he couldn’t forget, even if he wanted to.

His voice was sharper than he meant it to be. “Why not?”

Bill raised an eyebrow at the bite in his voice. “Dunno. Guess he don’t think he’s cut out for it. That, or he just doesn't wanna be tied down.” Bill then turned to him with a snicker, “That, and Abigail was a whore. Who knows if Jackie’s even his.”

“So what?” he said flatly. “That mean she don’t deserve a family?”

“Ain’t sayin’ that. Just telling you what people say.”

“Sounds to me like John’s just selfish.”

Bill narrowed his eyes at him. “Well, you’re bolder than most talking about Marston like that. Careful someone don’t overhear and think you got a death wish.”

“Just telling what I see,” Jack muttered.

Bill didn’t press the issue. He just grunted and walked off toward the fire, leaving Jack alone again in the dark.

The shadows stretched longer as dusk crept in, and camp settled into a familiar lull. Jack didn’t move. He leaned against the wagon and let the quiet eat at him.

He didn’t like how easily that kind of talk slid out of Bill’s mouth as if Abigail wasn’t a person, as if John hadn’t been the one who left for a whole year. He’d heard it all before. And he remembered too well how it felt to watch his mother cry when she thought no one was listening. Sometimes she’d stare too long at the horizon, her eyes filled with emptiness.

A breeze rustled through the camp, and the fire flickered. Jack glanced toward the journal again, which was tucked under his arm. He still hadn’t made sense of all the entries, but there was a strange comfort in reading them. In seeing his Uncle Arthur’s thoughts on paper, so far removed from the guns and smoke of this place.

He’d always imagined Arthur as a shadow looming over his childhood. But the journal let him see the man for who he had been. Or who he had tried to be.

I wonder if he will find what we seek: peace and truth…

Jack closed the journal. He didn’t know if peace was something people like them ever got to have. Maybe it was only ever a dream Arthur wrote down and left behind like a note in a bottle, tossed into a stormy sea. Even so, that was enough for Jack.

Someone had wanted that for him. Even if they never got to say it out loud.

I've always found it sad that nobody ever tries expounding on Jack and Uncle's relationship in fanfiction. according to the wiki, "He was also the only member of the Marstons who seemed to be in a constant positive relationship with Uncle, who taught him several inappropriate things much to John's disapproval."

can i also just say that i appreciate all of ur comments & kudos on ao3 and all of the likes and reposts on tumblr?? its embarrassing to say but whenever i feel like dropping this i js read all ur comments and all of a sudden I'm ready to write again LOL EDIT 6/19/25: Fixed grammar + added a few lines