#John Box

[the-evil-clergyman]

Pandora by John William Waterhouse (1896)

[atomic-chronoscaph]

The Beatles model kits - Box art by Donald Putman (1964)

[paris-in-space]

I love proposal day

[gomzdrawfr]

Merry Christmas!! they're exchanging gifts by the tree :3

[yeyinde]

Father John Price has been acting strange lately.

It started as little things most wouldn't notice—an odd slur to his words, far rougher than what you were used to hearing. A sway to his gait when he walked as if he was unfamiliar with the layout to the monastery. Gaps in his memory when pried for pieces of information that he should have known better than anyone else within the walls of the old building. Little slips. Missteps.

Nothing to worry about.

Not at first, anyway.

Not until it bleeds out, grows. Turns into touches. A searing, angry gaze drilling into your head whenever you look away from him. Ire lashing over each word he growls out in the alcoves he corners you inside, the guise of polite conversation falling to pieces when he slips his foot between yours, prying your thighs apart to stand between them. Towering over you as he rasps out commands for you to tell him about how you spent the evening prior on your knees—

Praying, you whisper feverishly, feeling the deep indents of the rosary beads imbedded into your fingers.

But that never seems to matter much to him. Not when the prayer is always an afterthought, and he makes noises like a wounded animal when you breathe out how long you stayed like that, and how—unable to resist temptation after gripping the rosary for long—you had to slide your cold fingers under your robes, numb, shaking hands seeking the blistering heat between your thighs.

("not close enough to tempt the devil," you mutter, shamefaced, heart lurching when the noise he makes in the back of the throat sounds like a misfiring gun. "But—" he drops his head to the wall, heaving. Eyes burning into your temple as you stare at the crooked tilt of his collar, unable to meet his gaze. Scared of what you might find. "But close enough that I had to—to pray again—")

And as the distant, unflappable mask of a seemingly incorruptible man begins to crack, breaking apart to unveil a yawning chasm, you find yourself trapped in confessional box with him after dark, quickly realising that the man you devoted your life to has fallen into that crater.

And something else has taken his place.

[the-californicationist]

What would your fave position to be in with the 141, either individually or together... asking for a friend... <3

Mmm. Well. If it were me, personally?

(NSFW/MDNI under cut)

For Gaz, it’s gonna have to be big spoon little spoon. He’d be making us both late for work every morning, turning my hips just right so that he could slip his heavy morning wood inside. He’d start off so soft and gentle, but by the time he was stuffing himself down to the root of his huge cock, I’d wake up, feeling the wetness he’d been busy creating, nearly choking from how full I feel. My body would be rocking back and forth as he had his way with me. And when I chastise him for making me miss the train? Just placating little excuses murmured between kisses — “I’m already workin’, babes. Can’t ya feel your man? Hard at work…”

For Ghost, it’s the cowgirl to lotus to missionary pipeline. He’d start off flat on his back, demanding some face sitting or a sixty-nine situation. Then, he’d stick me right on top, egging me on — “Lemme see those fuckin’ tits bounce, love. Good girl.” Then, he’d get too bothered, unable to hold back, too hungry, too much of a control freak. So he’d sit up, wrapping his legs behind me, moving my hips with his hands and grinding me into a shaking trembling mess. Finally, when I could barely remember my own name, he’d press forward, pinning me on my back, arching over me like a shield, telling me — “Shh, shh. Tha’s alright, love. You don’t need to fuckin’ talk. Suck on my fingers like it’s my prick, yeah? Tha’s it… all the way in, there ya go.”

For Soap, it has to be legs-over-shoulders. That big Scottish cock is curved and I will be taking no notes! None. It’s bent at a cruel angle and perfectly shaped to drag his ruddy head right across my g-spot with every stroke. He’d love to press my thighs to my chest, going deeper or harder, his hands staying busy with my clit or my nipples or my mouth, always finding new buttons to push. He’d especially enjoy ripping mind-breaking orgasms from me, shoving my vibrator against my clit as he fucked me, teasing me with it and saying shit like — “Is she gonnae come again for me, bonnie? I ken there’s one more in her, and I willnae stop until I have it…”

And for my darling captain, John Price, it’s nothing but straight-up, bone-shaking, soul-rattling doggy. After a long hard day of dealing with unimaginable bullshit? I’m on all fours in the fucking foyer, face pressed into the hardwood, pussy spread open like a cheap whore, stuffed full of cock. When he sees me in that tight pair of jeans that he likes a little too much? There I am, shirt raked down below my breasts, back arching as I’m bent over the kitchen counter, his meaty palm wrapped around my neck, bruising my hips with how hard he’s rutting into me from behind. In the middle of the night, his fat prick drooling and heavy, swaying between his huge thighs? He’ll fist my hair in one hand and grope my ass with the other as he breeds me, snarling into my ear, “Filthy fuckin’ slag. Whose cunt is this? Hmm? Nuh-uh. Say my real name…” And he won’t come until I call him Daddy.

But all together? Preferably a perfect seal: Price and Soap fighting to fit inside my pussy, Gaz stuffing himself deep in my ass, and Ghost filling up my throat!

What about you, anon?? Got any favorites?

[gameraboy2]

Muhammad Ali and The Beatles, February 1964

[lovebugmusings]

Price's lockscreen is a photo of you mid-fuck but everyone thinks you're asleep and snoring with your mouth open when they see it.

eyes closed, his hand cupping your cheek, head back. you really do just look like you are asleep and he's caressing your face. but if someone decides to look just a little longer they'll notice your eyes aren't all the way closed and there are tears staining the corners of your eyes, and your slightly open mouth - that looks like you are just mouth breathing - has your tongue out just a little bit

and the original photo is a live photo, and if someone presses and holds, they'll see your body jolting up with his quick thrusts, and john's hand isn't caressing your cheek, but holding the side of your neck to keep you from sliding too far away from him. and when he opens it in his gallery and holds down to watch the short few seconds with the volume on, John can hear his hips wetly snapping against yours and your little "ah ah ah!" sounds

[preraphaelitepaintings]

Pandora

Artist: John William Waterhouse (English, 1849–1917)

Date: 1898

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Private collection

Description

The painting is titled Pandora in honor of Pandora, the first woman according to Greek mythology. Created by order of Zeus to introduce all evil into the lives of men, after Prometheus, against divine will, gave them the gift of fire.

The recreated moment is the one in which Pandora is about to open the chest that contained the evils of the human race (old age, illness, passion, poverty and others).

Her curiosity caused everyone except Hope to run away and spread out into the world.

[zil-street]

sketch request: your John reminds me of a galaxy so i think he would have a great time stargazing!! (A very “look thats the Orion constellation! Did you know-“ kind of guy)

Sorry, I had an idea and ran with it.

[i-heart-yellowstone]

John Dutton with wife reader. Him being in such a mood that even his children start to tease him and her joining in. Anything at all. Fluff/suggestive. Up to you. Thanks!! :))

With prompts; "Are you really this happy 24/7?"

"Are you really this grumpy 24/7?"

"Are you really this happy 24/7?"

Tags [ @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @pear-1206

Exiting through the front door I joined my husband on the old wooden porch swing that overlooked the main part of the property we called our home. He moved one of his arms and laid it back down over my shoulder once I had taken my spot right by his side.

The sounds of nature were the only things we could hear for once. There weren't any of his adult kids running to complain about something or him having to rush off to fight someone who wanted to take the land from us.

I thought we could live in this peaceful moment forever- unfortunately that isn’t the case when it comes to Beth Dutton.

Her car quickly came down the gravel and dust driveway where she parked at the end of the steps. She slammed her car door walking up to the porch seeing me and her father sitting on the swing. “Are you really this happy 24/7?" She bluntly asked the two of us.

I began choking on the coffee I was drinking from one of the kitchen mugs, not expecting that to come from her mouth. “What! Why would you ask that?”

“Beth, I’m allowed to be happy with another woman.” Her father John remarked back at his only daughter.

His only daughter wasn’t exactly happy when he had brought me to the ranch a couple of times for our dates. And she especially wasn’t happy when we had gotten married a year later. I knew why though, it was because I wasn’t her mother. To her I was he step-mother.

We had done our best to be nice to one another but apparently she hadn’t fully accepted that her father could be happy with another woman just yet and we’ve been married for almost five years now.

Beth crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, daddy. I mean you can’t really be happy all the time with her.”

“Beth!” John grumbled running a frustrated hand down his face.

I held my coffee mug in both hands, nudging my husband with my elbow in a joking manner. “Oh come on, John. You don’t have to fake being happy with me.”

“Y/n, I’m not faking it.” John shifted on his side of the porch swing so that he was directly facing me.

I tilted my head to the side knowing I could tease him for a little longer before he would figure out that I was entirely joking with the love of my life. “Are you sure? I mean I doubt I’m anything like Evelyn was in bed.”

“My mom popped out four kids in total. How many kids do you want to give birth to Y/n?” Beth asked, flipping her hair out of her eyes. “I’m going to get you someone better.”

John rolled his eyes, sitting his coffee mug down on the side table with frustration in his tone. “Beth, that's too far. Okay. I’m married to Y/n and you’re just going to have to accept it.”

“It’s going to happen, daddy.” She smirked in my direction.

Leaning back in the porch swing I almost couldn’t contain my laughter. “Oh god.”

“This whole man-to-man shit thing we got going is becoming a little ridiculous.” John shook his head wishing this would end.

His daughter spun on her heels walking up to the front door. “I’m on it.”

“Beth!”

She called back. “I got it.”

“Beth!” Her father shouted at her.

She shut the front door and hollering beforehand. “I’m totally on it!”

Once we were back alone together on the front porch I touched the side of his face making him look me in the eye. “Honey, I was just joking when I said I don’t enjoy being married to you.”

“But you said-“

I cut him chuckling lightly. “It was a lie, John. I was just trying to make your daughter happy. The only way I think she will like me is when she sees me start agreeing with her on some things.”

“Thank god.” He sighed heavily, slumping his shoulders in relief.

Resting one hand against the side of his face I felt him lean into my palm. “I can’t imagine being married to anyone else but you.”

“I didn’t realize that I was missing having a woman in my life until I saw your truck break down on the side of the road that morning.” He recalled causing a smile to grace my lips at the memory.

When I had gotten a flat tire on my truck right outside the Dutton fence line I thought I would have to call someone to tow me to a shop which would take hours until I saw a man around my age rode up to the fence on a horse wearing a white cowboy hat.

Leaning forward I kissed him slowly, moving my other hand behind his neck making the gentle kiss deeper until he broke it suggesting a common morning routine for us. “How do you feel about going for a ride?”

“Have you not met me? I would love nothing more.” Getting up from the swing I finished the last of my coffee, rushing towards the wooden stairs heading straight to the barn walking backward. Yelling with my hands cupped around my mouth. “Meet me at the barn. I’ll saddle the horses, just don’t forget my hat.”

John groaned getting to his feet, calling back. “You’re hat. I remember the white hat belonging to me when we met.”

“What’s mine is yours, honey!” I laughed with a cheerful grin.

He shook his head going to grab what we needed to ride our horses, truly treasuring the joy he felt once falling in love with you. “I love her. Let’s go to work.” It would take time for Beth to accept her father could be happy with someone else than her mother, but he wasn’t going to not live his life simply waiting for her approval.

[efingart]

Fixed it

Why yes I did order a pizza just so I could draw Gaz on the box 😅

[dewdlebot]

You know what gets me about Hancock’s strongroom?

There’s not much actually in there.

Obviously there’s the odd assortment of randomly generated guns & ammo, plus the caps you get from Bobbi. that’s to be expected.

But Hancock practically says that’s not even where he keeps most of his caps anyway when he calls the 1000 caps he asks back for chump change.

The non-generated stuff is two fusion cores, two stealth boys….

But what’s mostly in there are some waters and what amounts to a random assortment of snack foods like Fancy Lads and Sugar bombs. Those are always there.

Right next to a sleeping bag that’s got a few wooden blocks next to it.

Conclusion?

We broke into Hancock’s hangover room that he goes to whenever he just wants some damn peace and quiet.

[gomzdrawfr]

small habits

[spideypawz]

just picking flowers in a field

[reaping-the-benefits]

why is the idea of medic being secretly married to price my fav concept for a fic ever??? so need more on this

Idk but I'm right there with you, anon. (Secret married to Ghost is delicious too, but that's a thought for another day.)

You know Price told the team about you. It's in the way that Soap and Gaz start listening to you, respond with "Yes, ma'am/sir" to everything you say. Ghost is the only that spills, telling you everything Price told them at the pub.

Your poor, poor husband has no idea the world of trouble he's in, currently in his office. But he can sense a sudden shift in the air, and lets out the most tired sigh when you come storming in.

"Johnathan."

"Love."

"I can't believe you told the team-" and really, once you've started, there's no stopping. You don't mind him telling the team about your union, but your sex life? What happens in your bed is strictly between the two of you. You're angry, a little embarrassed, and maybe feeling just a smidge bratty.

For what it's worth, Price lets you go on this tirade, watching with a mildly amused expression that only makes you more upset.

"Come here, love," he commands, patting his lap.

You hesitate for a moment, before doing as you're told, settling onto your husband's thighs, a frown almost permanently on your face. Hard to keep it up though, when a large hands slides down your back, settles on your hip, the heat of it seeping through your uniform.

"Didn't tell them anything besides the fact I'm keeping you happy. Those muppets don't need to know anything else," he says to you, his voice a soft murmur in your ear. He presses a kiss under the shell of your ear, soft and sweet. You can't help but giggle a little, trying to squirm away, when his beard tickles your skin.

Price tuts, pulling you closer to him, settling your weight over his own hips. "Little brat," he huffs, and that makes you laugh again.