#big hat john will be missed

[bi-writes]

hi! i was thinking if you could write an older!boyfriend simon x reader BUT reader is john price's daughter so is kinda of a forbidden and secret relationship !!!! they've been dating for a long time now until john finds out !!!!!

18+

"how is she?"

"doing well, john. but you don't have to worry about her anymore, you know that right? she's not yours to worry about."

"she is mine. i know she's not..." john huffs. "she may not be blood, but she's mine, yeah? so when i ask 'ow she is, you tell me, kate. can we agree on that?"

"sure, john. she's in georgia. her russian got very good. if you want to know my honest opinion, i think she'll be one of my best."

"well...i wouldn't stand for anythin' less."

"john?"

that voice is music to him. he turns, taking his hat off, and he laughs, genuinely, when he sees you. his whole face lights up, and you make your way to him. it's been months since you've seen him in person--even though he makes you send him constant updates about what you're doing and where you are, you find yourself missing this man and the warmth he gives off whenever you are in his proximity.

he's always looked at you so kindly. he's always taken care of you. whenever you pick up the phone, he's always answered.

"'ello, bug."

he crushes you in a warm hug. he puts a hand on the back of your neck and holds you to his chest, and the tension in his shoulders deflates now that he has you with him.

"hi, john. miss me?"

"well...you were the only one with sense in my house."

"you live alone, john."

"aye."

he pours you a hot cup of tea before he makes you tell him all about your new posting. most of it is classified, and you tell him that, but his face lights up when you talk about the new skills you're learning and all the opportunities that kate is giving you. his face scrunches a little when you talk about the more dangerous ops, but john never has the same regard for his own life.

the mess hall gets busy once dinner time rolls around. his men were not expecting you, and that much is clear when they see their captain even enjoying a meal in public and not secluded in his office. you smile at his sergeants, but when your gaze lingers a little longer on the doors, johnny just nudges you with his elbow.

"miss the big guy?"

"what? no."

"he had a long night last night," he wiggles his eyebrows at gaz, who just laughs a little. "i might need to try the whole brooding, scary look LT has got on. attracts the most bonnie things, fuckin' christ."

your plate flies when you stab at your food too hard. the cutlery clatters as it hits the floor, and you jump a little, swallowing.

"are you alright, bug?"

"huh? yeah, oh...yeah, just...fucking clumsy. i...i'm gonna...find the toilet."

the blood is rushing in your ears as you make your way out. you're vibrating, hot inside, and you feel him before you see him, even in your anger.

when he pulls you into the shadow of a nearby supply closet, you swipe the blade out of your boot and hold it up against his throat. even through the mask, the blade bites, and he hisses as you hold him up against the wall there.

"don't fucking touch me," you snarl, and ghost's eyes are bright and alive as he holds his hands up defensively.

"wot--"

"and don't what me," you snap. "actually, don't fucking talk at all, you cheating, manipulative, british piece of shit--"

"look so pretty," he murmurs, tilting his head to the side. "did you do y'r hair, baby?"

"i will kill you."

"'s olright. last thing i see'll be you."

"i'm not fucking kidding, simon!"

he bends a little, tilting his head, and you breathe out through your nose as he leans his forehead against yours.

"reckon ya spoke t'johnny."

you scoff. "told me all about your winnings last night, lieutenant."

"was no winnings, love, don't be so fuckin' naïve." simon swipes at the handle of the blade, curling his gloved fingers around your wrist and forcing it away from him. "y'r just mad cause y'r cunt missed me."

"don't flatter yourself, asshole."

"so if i pull your knickers down right now, y'won't be drippin', swee'eart?"

"that's irrelevant."

"'s not. turn around and bend over."

simon's sorry, so he eats your pussy from behind. he gets down on his knees, and the crack of them satisfies you immensely, up until you feel his mouth between your cheeks, tongue slicking up your folds. you brace yourself against the wall, palms flat against the concrete as he puts two gloved hands against your ass and spreads you wide to fit himself nicely there. he hums, groans, makes you whine as he slurps obscenely into your cunt, laving at the drip of you until the taste of you floods his mouth.

"simon..." you whimper. "tell me i-it's not true."

he presses a wet kiss to your ass, biting it firm.

"'s not true, love. promise."

"fuck your promises," you sniffle. "you're a professional liar."

"tha' 'ow it's gonna be, innit? not gonna trust me? believe me?"

you rest your forehead against the cool wall, and the shadow of him envelopes you when he stands. he grunts a little as he gets to his feet. his big hands squeeze at the curve of your waist, and you close your eyes when you feel his breath against your neck.

"i'm sorry, simon."

"for wot?"

"i just...i like you so much. so much."

"come 'ere," he murmurs in your ear. he pulls your hips back, pressing your ass against his pelvis, and you dig your nails into the wall when you hear his belt buckle and zipper. "my pretty girl. my pretty, pretty girl."

"i missed you s-so much, simon."

"i know, love. quiet now. someone'll hear."

it's not the worst place you've fucked. you've snuck quickies in the rec room. behind the mess hall. met up in filthy gas station toilets, fallen into the backseat of a car in the parking lot of numerous military bases. even once, you deigned to suck his dick in his office, and you had to hide behind his couch when john came in to ask about an op.

john had a rule. his men were off-limits. he should've thought about that before he hired a man straight out of your wet dreams for his stupid fucking task force.

you're weak. and simon is a man.

inevitable.

you're a mile into pound-town when someone interrupts. simon is cock-deep inside of you, pelvis up against your ass, one hand braced around your throat and the other squeezing your ass. your eyes are rolled back into your head, and there's drooling coming out of your mouth. it's hot, disgusting, filthy to let him have you like this, but it's been weeks since you've seen him, and the phone calls aren't enough.

you love talking to him. you love when he talks to you. he'll never be annoying to you, you'll never get tired of him, but the distances hurts. you want simon to be all around you--inside of you, against you, his voice in your ear and his mouth against yours and his warmth your only sheet, but you can't bring yourself to do more than this.

you're too afraid of disappointing people. you're too scared of simon's rejection. if your relationship is nothing but fun, nothing but sex, you can pretend it isn't real, but you're just lying to yourself now.

you babble, and it sounds like love, but then the hallway light blinds you, and familiar blue eyes nearly kill you.

"jesus christ!"

simon puts his body in front of yours to cover you, using a harsh boot to kick the door closed. you squeak, covering your face with your hands, and you groan audibly as simon pants against your back.

"fuck--" you gasp. "oh...fuck, fuck, fuck!"

simon buries his face into the crook of your neck, laughing a little.

"bloody hell," he breathes. "reckon we're fucked, huh, love?"

"it's not funny, simon! we're in so much trouble!"

"well..." he squeezes your throat gently, tilting your head back. "could still finish. no sense in pretendin' now."

"you are not going to come when he's probably waiting for us outside."

"i'm balls deep in my favorite girl," simon mutters. "could come just fine. just say the word."

"you're disgusting."

"mmm..." simon squeezes your hips. "keep talkin'. i like when y'talk t'me like tha'."

"fucking asshole."

"yeah...yeah."

"you stupid, immature, unhinged pain in my ass--"

"fuck."

well.

you're definitely never leaving this room.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - I

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: In which Arthur catches a glimpse of your intimacy, the vision driving him into madness until he finally decides to give in to his urges. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation, nudity, voyeurism (reader not aware he's staring), self-depreciation, and lots of shame from this poor man. Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 2,7k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Part I - Part II

Lately, Arthur had a problem. An incessant, disturbing, haunting problem.

He couldn’t sleep at night.

This could have been related to the gang’s precarious situation, being hunted down by the Pinkertons and surrounded by enemy gangs, O’Driscolls and Lemoyne raiders everywhere. Or even because of some older wounds, the loss of Eliza and Isaac amongst others, reminded almost every day by the complicated family portrait John painted with Abigail and Jack. Or the hurtful thought of the life he never had with Mary that was always following him since he had seen her again near Valentine. Life doomed from the start by his inherent violence and the mountain of corpses he was responsible for.

Arthur had plenty of reasons not to sleep at night. But this wasn’t because of any of that.

He couldn’t sleep because of you. 

Not that it was your fault. In fact, you didn’t even know about any of that and Lord have mercy, he was praying that you’ll never find out; because he would never be able to look at you in the eyes then.

A few weeks ago, the gang had settled at Clemen’s Point. A rather pretty spot just near the lake, and not so far from town. But it wasn’t exactly the place that was causing him trouble. It was the unexpected view he was having from his tent.

For some unknown, mystical reasons, Miss Grimshaw while deciding the camp’s ajancement had decided to place your tent right next to his. Not so big of a problem at first sight, right?

Except that you were a night owl combined with the suffocating warmth of the place. Making you get to bed naked.

Oh, Arthur knew you do, because every night, every single one, you let a candle lit to read, or write, or God knows what before sleeping. The light casts your shadow against the tent’s canvas. The shadow of your very much nude body.

The first night Arthur had noticed, he had come back exhausted from a job in the middle of the night and laid on his cot without even taking the time to remove his boots or hat. A very usual and typical slice of his life, which lately felt more and more like a terribly used one. As if all these slices were repeating again and again. An accumulation of jobs and missions and robberies and fights; deceiving, lying, stealing, killing. Over and over again, going round and round. At night, he was reduced to a slumbered mind in a spent body, that was definitely becoming old and rusty. Already half asleep, mud and twigs surrounding his tired limbs, his thoughts all tangled up like a ball of wool, he had turned his head to his left, reaching from instinct for his pack of cigarettes on the little table next to his bed. Another slice of bad habits from a bad life.

That’s how his eyes had met with this quite erotic shape displayed on your tent.

Said eyes had grown so big that it had fully woken him up all of a sudden, as quickly as if someone had dumped a bucket of iced water on his shocked face. After half of a second of pure stabbing surprise and incomprehension with his hand hanged in the air, his breath stuck in his throat as if really being punched in the gut, he instantly turned his eyes back to the ceiling of his own tent. Cheeks burning red, heart pounding, as if someone had caught him in the act of doing a terribly shameful thing. Exactly as if he had really seen you naked.

He had feverishly grabbed the cigarette pack without looking at it, gaze refusing to turn again, these two blue diamonds locked on the ceiling of his tent, and had messily pulled one out of it, his shaky fingers fumbling, almost spilling everything on the ground.

He must have looked so damn ridiculous.

The smoke helped him to calm down, its soothing and comforting feeling spreading and burning through his lungs. He had fallen asleep, turned to the other side facing the wagon, trying not to think too much about the peek of your intimacy he had witnessed, telling himself it probably was going to be an isolated incident. 

But of course, of course the Lord had to torment him even in the rare moments of peace he could have enjoyed.

Turns out this was apparently a habit of yours. 

To be honest, he probably deserved to be tormented. But this was years from what he had in mind when it came to the Lord's punishment for his life of crimes.

And Arthur, even though a hardened man in many ways, able to lock lips during torture, kill men with bare hands, and stay emotionally strong in any kind of situation, was still only, after all, a man. A man with needs.

Filthy, disgusting needs.

He had tried to resist. Had tried not to let his eyes slip in your direction like that first night. Sometimes he would allow himself a quick glance, just to check if you were wearing any clothes for once, like a normal person. And maybe the night after would be different? Every evening spent at camp, his pupils would end up brushing the sinful silhouette in just a soft, slight sight, as if not to scare you, as if not to feel too bad about it.

But it was getting harder and harder not to stare. The easy lies about just checking on you or looking at anything else in the same area as your tent to have the chance of winning a glimpse of you would soon not be enough.

Just the mere fact that he knew you were completely bare, only a few meters away from him, singly the thin and superficial fabric of the tent between the both of you, was getting him hard and sweaty, and making his blood boil as a virgin teenage boy would. He could almost physically feel it, like a burning presence in his back when he was sleeping head against the wagon's wall.

The Human mind may be well designed for a lot of things; it forgets an event too hard to carry or can trick you into thinking you're not experiencing any physical pain in extreme situations. But Arthur had learned that it was extremely poorly made when it came to ignoring something. The more he was trying to not think about his unholy urges, the more he ended up being plagued with them. As sure as the seasons always turned in circles, you would come back to his effusive psyche.

And Oh, he was ashamed. Ashamed and revolted by himself. This was absolutely not in his habits, all the contrary. Yes, he was an old miserable bastard who had killed and plundered. But for God's sake, he had never acted obscene towards a lady before.

But the shame wasn't enough for him to stop. On the nights when the guilt was at its lowest —when the tediousness of his days was nibbling at his patience, he had let his eyes wander to your sinful figure, telling himself that maybe if he did, he could just go on with his night and finally rest. Just a quick taste, not too long.

But it only made things worse. It made him dream of you. 

Dream of you stripped, his imagination taking the lead of what the tent’s fabric was preventing him from seeing. Dream of you moaning, taking him so tightly, welcoming him in your warm body and into your arms. Dream of the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, of the sight of your naked body squirming with pleasure. He would now often wake up frustrated and angry, if he had succeeded in sleeping at all, his member hard and throbbing on its own, his heart beating powerfully in his chest as if it had been real. His pants and blanket had even been damped one or two times. 

What was he, a fifteen-year-old boy again? He was so angry and mortified by the physical obsession his body was having with you that he was constantly in a foul and fiery mood;  bitter with everyone, his tension leaking into every movement and every word he spoke. He started missing targets when shooting, getting even more reckless and hot-headed during jobs, jobs often ending up missed or taken care of negligently, yelling at people when they weren’t fast enough, or clever enough, or silent enough, breaking things, breaking rules. The lack of sleep was making his deadly efficiency fade away, replaced by sloppy and messy gestures, stopping enemies from falling dead at his feet like his lethal skills always did, castrating the only thing that was left of his masculinity.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching you from afar during the time he was at camp, telling himself he knew, or at least had an idea, of what you looked like without these clothes on; feeling a twisted sensation of pride imagining he was the only one who did. On top of that, your sweet personality and beautiful face weren’t helping him at all with his addiction. Filthy old bastard, stop it- he had to mentally slap himself to prevent staring at you for too long, especially staring at your chest that this goddamn dress you had chosen to wear wasn’t covering at all; or your ass these goddamn pants were fitting way too well.

Tonight, Arthur is avoiding going to bed too early. He knows he would just lay in it waiting for you anyway. Instead, he goes for a walk along Flat Iron Lake’s shores, bringing his journal with him. Two entire pages are already dedicated to your shadow. He had no idea a picture exclusively made of black and white flats on a sheet could have such a powerful erotic effect. Or maybe he is a complete degenerate —which, he is sure, is more and more true.

He has to be honest with himself, he could just go to a hotel, or out of camp for a few days to sleep under the stars, and the matter would be settled.

But he doesn’t want to. Because deep down inside, his urges are winning, making him feel like the most foolish and weakest man alive. He enjoys watching you. He enjoys seeing those forbidden plumped curves cast on this canvas. He feels like you're not leaving him any mercy, pitiless, his days dictated by the wait for his taboo rendez-vous, his nights by your sensual apparitions in his dreams.

He is trapped, you have completely tamed him, and irony of it all, have absolutely no idea you are making him feel like this.

This woman is drivin' me insane.

After a few hours on the cold shore's sand, his fingers only capable of creating quick little sketches and scribbles, his feet lead him back to camp. What a surprise. He finds most of the gang's members already asleep, apart from the ones on guard duty and some late campfire enjoyers talking about life, about love, grief, the future, the past. He briefly nods at them without a word and walks to his private space. He already knows what’s waiting for him there, your tent looking like it’s still illuminated, his thoughts and body avid for it.

No, don’t be a fool, Morgan.

He sits down on his cot. Mumbles to himself orders and curses to try and stay reasonable. Takes off his hat, runs a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat and dirt from his busy day, as all the other ones, as always. Scratches his beard and his ears with a sniff, tells himself he needs to take a swim into that lake. That he’s as dirty on the inside as he’s on the outside. Pulls down his suspenders before stretching his shoulders, a pained groan escaping him. A cigarette joins his lips, a match lights it, and he breathes in slowly. He tries to calm down, focusing once again on this homey feeling it brings him. 

But his brows furrows. His lips tighten. He knows he won’t be able to hold on much longer. He needs to sleep properly. Even being the all-mighty Titan he is, he still needs a good night of sleep from time to time to keep the engine of his body turning, and you have kept it from him for days.

He lies to himself promising this is only for his health.

That this is the only way for him to stay focused during the day; the only way to rest properly and be at his best again tomorrow.

That this will be the only time he’ll do that.

His only moment of weakness. 

The still-lit cigarette and his good conscience fall to the ground as he lies on his cot, settled on his left side, his right hand already roaming on his lower belly. 

His eyes drop on the scene he had fantasized about for what seems like years to him at this point.

Lord have mercy…

Your shadow looks so perfect. He takes his sweet time to notice every detail of it, enjoying to the maximum his sinful behavior, now that he had succumbed to it. How you’re laying on your back, reading your book with your legs crossed. The curvaceous shape of your body looks divine to his insatiable gaze. Your hair messily tangled around your head. The silhouette of your chin and throat making him hungrier than any feast he could have attended. Your belly, rising and falling with your chest and breasts, gives the shadow an organic appearance. Your delicate legs, from the base of your thighs to your calves, to your feet, your toes mindlessly curling as you get lost in your story. And of course, the blurry outline of what was between them…

Damn it.

His hand quickly reaches his belt, unbuckles it,  fiddles with his pants, opens them carelessly in an urgent grip. He spits in his palm, lashes out at himself when the desire of it being your wetness instead crosses his mind, and slips it between the buttons of his union suit. It finally wraps around his desperate shaft, gorged with blood, and he wonders if he already had been this hard before.

The moment he feels the pressure of his own fingers around it, he can’t help but sigh deeply through his nose, and has to physically block the groan he was about to let out.

Make no noise, moron.

He bites his lips to stop any other immoral sound from crossing through his mouth. Last thing he needs right now is to get caught. He slowly rubs one languorous time from up to down, then up again, his fingers brushing his swollen head right where he needs to. He instantly knows he won’t last. He had dreamed about this, about you, both during days and nights. His eyes are locked on your tantalizing silhouette, this deiform delicious flesh. Goddess of the night, Queen of his desires.

His hand rubs once again and his muscles tighten. He starts to stroke in a rhythmic pace, his moves are efficient, messy, careless. He masturbates the same way he takes care of himself —quickly, roughly, as if matching his disgust towards his own self. The exact opposite of what he would do to you if he could. This is pure physical relief.

Yes, God, yes…

Your name turns in his mind between blasphemous curses as he pleasures himself, stroking faster and faster, delightful warm sensations spreading through him. Finally. The burning is no longer in his back or mind; it's right there around his erection, flames licking all around it.

He wants to be able to join you there, so badly. He wants to discover the tone of your bare skin in those places you never show to anyone. He wants to whisper sweet things in your ear and you to sigh back, your voice high and softly shaking from pleasure. He wants the lewd intimacy, the shared tension and the electric, exciting touch of two foreign skins discovering each other for the first time. He wants to see your hardening nipples he can only have a glimpse of through the fabric. 

He wants to have you, to take you, consume you, all to himself. He wants you to think about him the same way he is now, wants you to come while thinking of him, only him, your mouth to moan, whimper, scream even, all thanks to him. 

He wants your hand instead of his, around his cock right now, pressing harder, moving faster.

Yes, yes, jus’ a bit more darlin’… -

A movement from you, a real one, makes his pace slow down and his heart stops, afraid you might have by some sort of divine knowledge understood what was happening. But you’re just shifting in your bed, positioning yourself on your belly with your book open against your pillow, and Arthur’s balls spasm; he now has the most perfect view of your ass, its gorgeous, decadent round and plumped contour making his member twitch in his fist.

Ahh, shit… So god damn perfect… 

Pearls of sweat leak from his forehead to his neck. His ears shut close to the outside world, his surroundings completely disappearing. Now, there’s only you and your perfect back beautifully arched ending with your perfect bottom and him, and no one else’s on Earth. His breath is jerky, his entire face completely crimson, his fingers pumping so hard and fast he’s basically fucking his hand —your hand, with those wet and unmistakable noises filling the air.

His breath speeds up as Arthur feels his deliverance coming, blood rushing in his veins. He sees himself behind you grabbing fistfuls of your cheeks, he sees his erection diving deep between them. And it's the last straw. His brows are crunched in an exquisite expression of pure sexual delight, jaws so tensed he’s about to break his teeth, your pleasure-filled voice screaming his name in his head, dragging every sensation out of him. His orgasm hit him with the strength and speed of a thunderstorm, lightning bolts of satisfaction striking every fiber of his body.

 Yes! Yesss  —Damnit! 

He comes hard with a low and throaty growl he forgot to —or couldn't repress, silently repeating your name again and again, his lower lip almost cut open from how hard he had bit himself, an enormous vein on his forehead where sweat covers his skin. His thick, hot cum spills messily in an indecently large amount, the aftermath of having held himself back for so long, leaking on his pants and fingers and staining his cot; a dash of white contrasting with the darkness of what he just did.

He’s praying to the Lord and the Devil, any mystical forces known to man, that nobody had heard his final relief sound, especially not you. It was louder than what he would like to admit.

Shit, so damn good…

Using his black bandana, he roughly cleans himself then tosses it somewhere on the floor, his cock finally softening as he shoves it back under his clothes, balls empty. And it feels good. So good a wave of shame and guilt crashes onto him once more. What a pig he was for jerking off while ogling you. What an old bastard he was to mingle you and his filth. But at the same time, he feels like his muscles are thanking him, his restless flesh satisfied, even though he almost hurt himself with how fast he had stroked, lost in his haze.

His bittersweet and contradictory feelings accompanied him as he took a last glance at your tent before drifting off to sleep, his breathing still a bit raspy as if he had run for hours. You had closed your book and taken the candle between your hands to blow on it, the little flame flickering before fading. And then, darkness.

The curtains falling on the stage at the end of this private decadent act.

Eyelids heavy, Arthur knows he will finally sleep tonight.

But he also knows this isn’t the end of his torments at all; the conflicting thoughts paint his mind just as the sun pierces through the dark ebony clouds of a thunderstorm, creating those abruptly dazing shapes and color, pitch black laced with blinding light.

Never in this life or the Other he will forget the form of your naked body, no matter how wicked he feels. Because when it comes to you and only you, Arthur Morgan is, indeed, a very weak man.

Part II

tagging : @a-court-of-valkyries and @zae-heeyyy

[thedoodlebuggo]

i've been meaning to redo my john design for a while now but could not for the life of me figure out what i wanted. anyways i saw the silly hood in a dream and decided that was what i wanted so. here we are

rest in peace big hat john, you will be missed

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 7)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

-

You watch him like a hawk after that. 

Not because anything’s changed. In fact, nothing’s changed. Seeing him drag a man by the collar of his shirt, the look in his eyes punishing and severe, has only confirmed the essential imbalance in your relationship. You don’t suffer the same fate as that man being dragged from the bar not because of mercy or leniency or forgiveness, but because the truth hasn’t yet come out. You’re safe because the truth is still hidden, a fact that could change at the drop of a hat. 

The thought makes you wary. You watch John in the days after with a scrutiny that borders on the paranoid. Does he already know? Has he left you stewing in ignorance all this time while waiting for the proper authorities to arrive? When he looks at you, does he see the blood on your hands? Does he know that he’s looking at a murderer? Does he know that your sins weigh on you like heavy stones dragging you down into the earth?

Every time the porch steps creak, your heart turns to stone and betrayal rushes up your throat like acid, and it burns. 

Then the door opens and John walks in. His face lights up when his eyes fall on you. “Hi darlin’.”

All you can do is let out a shuddering breath and slump into his embrace. 

You’re waiting for it to happen. Even when he pulls you into his chest at night, a big arm settled around your waist and his palm spread wide over your belly, you tense and wait for the truth to come out. But all he does is sigh and fall asleep, tucking you closer into his chest. You stare at the wall until the grooves between the wooden boards start to expand, the darkness encompassing every inch of the wall before bleeding down to the floorboards and up to the ceiling. Then you wake up and it’s the next day. 

The truth is imminent. It shines its light on the darkened path before it and stalks forward. You cower in the shadows waiting for it to find you, hopeful that it won’t. Sure that it will. 

There’s never a good moment to pack your bags and leave, and the longer you stay—as the days turn into a week since you first disembarked from the train and wandered into a town soaked in russet and red—the harder it seems to get a moment of peace. Though John wasn’t exaggerating when he said that a sheriff’s job never stops, you hadn’t thought that it would involve so much. 

Between chores and John and the townsfolk, you can’t get a moment to yourself. The closest you come to it is when Kate leaves you to your thoughts while she helps the customers. Even then, she still comes by every now and again to offer you a tea or brandy ball to suck on. 

You resent the idea that you need to be babysat, but he isn’t exactly wrong either. You’re not too stubborn to admit that. Under Kate’s watchful eye, you aren’t scurrying off anywhere. Instead, you help out around the shop where you can, offering to stock the shelves and sweep the floors. On occasion, you even get on your hands and knees in front of the shop to pull up the weeds, but that draws more attention than you’re comfortable with. They simply aren’t as concerned with weeds out here.

Most of your time is spent loitering around town waiting for John to take you home. Sometimes you join him for the day, trailing along after him when he goes out to collect the taxes or you accompany him when he has to attend trials and hearings in the court house, where you sit quietly in the public gallery and watch in rapt attention as the magistrate conducts the court proceedings, but there are days where that’s simply not possible.

“You’re gonna spend the day with Laswell, alright?” John tells you, pinching your chin to tilt your head up. 

He loves that little gesture, you’ve realized. Loves to touch you and guide you with a hand on your back or chin or arm, a hand brushing down the side of your waist to pull you in, gripping you by the nape of your neck just to hold. Even now, in broad daylight and in front of the window to the general store where anyone could look out and see the two of you, he keeps his thumb there, reluctant to let you go. The thought makes your neck go hot.

“When will you be back?” you ask.

“Later this afternoon—before dusk, so don’t go worrying about heading home without me. I have to see to something a few towns over.”

“Oh…what do they need you for?”

John frowns. “You’ve got an awful lot of questions today.”

“Never mind. Have a safe trip.” You don’t know why his reluctance to tell you anything frustrates you so, especially when he has good reason to, but even you can hear the way your voice grows petulant. 

His thumb squeezes against your chin, holding your head in place when you try to turn away. “I’m overseeing a hanging. Couple of men were found guilty of murder.” He studies you so intensely that he can practically see in your eyes the way your stomach turns at that. “See, I thought that might upset you. This is why I didn’t wanna tell you, darlin’.”

“It’s fine,” you say, swallowing. “I’m a big girl.”

“Yeah,” John agrees, brushing his thumb up your chin until it tugs at your bottom lip, watching the way it snaps back into place when he releases it. 

He makes every moment feel like a last goodbye and a homecoming. You almost can’t meet his eyes under the intensity of his stare, but you also can’t look away. Not with how he looks at you like some precious thing. 

You expect it before it happens, but when he dips his head to plant a soft kiss on your lips, you go breathless for a moment. His beard is bristly against your skin, just south of coarse. The kiss turns into another, even more tender than the first. You resent the way you lean forward when he pulls away, chasing after him. 

“You be good for Miss Kate, okay?” he says, waiting for your reassurance. 

“I will,” you rasp, mortified at how easily he unravels you and how plainly you let it show. John grins when he hears the tremble in your voice. 

Then he leaves, riding off towards where the horizon dips below the visible and you watch until he disappears completely, falling away with it. Kate beckons you inside after that, and it’s just hot enough out that you gather up the skirt of your dress and follow after her, climbing up the steps to the general store.

Kate is a tough nut to crack. She’s kind and never rebuffs your questions when you make conversation, but she also isn’t exactly forthcoming with personal information. She seems more than happy to let the conversation lapse into silence. When there isn’t a customer to serve, she’ll take out a leather-bound notebook and write, going so deep into her own thoughts that you sometimes need to call her name a couple times before she’ll respond. 

“Kate,” you say again, waiting for her to finally blink and look up, which she does with only the faintest glimmer of impatience in her eyes. “Care to join me on a walk? I need to stretch my legs and…well, I don’t know my way around just yet.”

She snaps her book shut, winding a bit of string around it before placing it back beneath the counter. “There’s a restaurant on the other side of town if you care for a bite as well. I could do with something to eat.”

It’s not as much of a walk as you might have expected. You learn along the way that Kate has lived in town for several years, taking the shop over from her predecessor, a former employer prone to drinking and prone to expiring from that very same vice. She speaks of him with familiarity and affection for the dead, but none of the longing and misery that you’ve come to expect from someone grieving a loss.

“You came far just to find a husband,” she remarks when the two of you are seated at a windowside booth in the restaurant. She spreads a cloth over her lap and you follow her lead. 

You bite your lip. “I’ve heard good things about the frontier.”

Kate looks amused by that. “Now who’s been lying to you?”

You laugh, half genuine and half to keep the atmosphere light. You don’t tell her that no one lied to you about going out west because no one had said those words to you in the first place. There hadn’t been enough time for a conversation after the event, only enough time to unlock the study door and wash your hands of the blood in the sink downstairs before fleeing the manor with only your purse and cardigan, the feather duster still lying on the floor upstairs. You hadn’t even bothered going home.

There’s no telling what your aunt and uncle must have thought. You try not to think about that because there’s no going back now. You had the luxury of a single cry on the train as it chugged away from the station and the day slipped into night, but nothing more than that and nothing since. 

You tuck into your food when the waitress comes back with your meal.

“John said you were a schoolteacher before this?” Kate says, pulling you back into the conversation. 

It makes you nervous to lie too much about a subject you hardly know, so you smile and nod instead of responding. 

“You must be quite the polymath,” she continues, eyes downcast, not allowing you a good read on her. “Arithmetic, writing, history—goodness knows the skills one needs nowadays with the leaps and bounds in education. Thank goodness for the Common School reformers, giving women the opportunity to develop young minds.”

“Yes,” you croak, then clear your throat. “I certainly did my best to…educate the children.” 

Comical, given that you’d dropped out of school at the age of fourteen to work in a factory sewing buttons onto shirts. 

“And was the profession enjoyable? I know John mentioned you were keener on starting a family than continuing on as an instructor, but was it an informative experience?”

“Oh yes, it was. I enjoyed it. Immensely.”

“It must have been nice to work in a profession with such little turmoil.”

“I couldn’t have asked for better,” you agree, your smile tight now, wavering only a bit at the corners. 

Kate stares at you for a beat too long. It makes your stomach hurt and you fight against the urge to wilt under her stare. You can’t imagine you’ve said something wrong with how little you’ve said, but her stare makes your skin crawl. 

Finally, she smiles, the skin around her eyes creasing. “Well, that’s just lovely to hear.”

You put the conversation out of your mind on the walk back, sure that you must have imagined the flicker in her eyes. 

John comes back earlier than you expected. You swear your heart jolts in your chest when you hear the sound of a horse whinnying outside the shop out of nowhere and a man’s low, rough voice responding back, soothing it. You hear the sound of dismount, boots hitting the ground hard, and then come up the steps, each step making the spurs on the back of his boots rattle. 

When he opens the door, his eyebrows jump up at the sight of you already there waiting. Your eagerness should embarrass you, and it does, but there’s not much you can do about it, and there’s even less you can do about the way you melt when he says, “There you are, darlin’. Time to go home.”

Precious is the world where home has come to mean something tender and soft, even as much as you’ve pushed against it. You still hold fast against the notion, steeling yourself when John helps you up onto Buttercup and follows suit, riding home at almost a gallop. You hear his laughter on the wind when you yelp and nearly slide off, his arm around you the only thing holding you in place. 

“It’d be easier to ride if I had pants,” you complain when you dismount, hands pressed to his shoulders when he helps you down. “How do women even ride sidesaddle on their own?”

“Plenty of women do, darlin’. It’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“We can get you pants if you need them so badly,” John says, looking up to the sky like Lord help me suffer this woman. “But that means I’ll be teaching you how to ride Buttercup on your own. Think you can handle that?”

You balk at the thought. “…Let me think about it.”

He snorts. “You do that.”

He leaves you to your thoughts when he takes the horses out to the paddock for a bit. 

You sit out on the porch and watch the sunset while the horses run around the pen, soaking in the last hour of daylight. Overhead, clouds as big as mountains pass, heavy like an oil painting. Off in the distance, you can see thick clouds blotting out the sky entirely, the belly of them split open and letting out a downpour of biblical proportions. You only grow a bit nervous when you notice the wall of rain moving closer to your house with the wind, inching forward more every minute.

It’s not long before John notices it too. He whistles for the horses and waits until they trot back over to the gate, fixing the lead to their mantles again and leading them one by one back into the stable. A light drizzle begins to pour. It churns up the dust and dirt when it hits the ground, scenting the air with the fragrant smell of earth.

You head over to the stable as John brings in the last horse, hovering by the door while you watch him run his hand down Buttercup’s muzzle, whispering softly to her. If he notices your presence, he doesn’t acknowledge it, his attention focused solely on her. 

It gives you a chance to admire him from the back. Thick thighs in indigo jeans that seem almost painted on. Shirt tucked into his jeans, stretched taut at the shoulders; dark droplets of rain drying already. The dusting of hair on the back of his neck. You can see the fine lines on his forehead and in the corner of his eye from the side angle and it reminds you again that he’s older and more weathered than you, settled into his age rather than floundering in it. 

“It’s raining,” you say, just to have something to say. You shrink under his gaze when he turns towards you, faint amusement in his eyes.

“I noticed.”

You cringe at that, aware that he knows. He’s the one that brought the horses in after all. There’s just something in you that feels compelled to open your mouth when he’s around. An impulse that makes you cheep like a bird. 

“Looks like a bad one,” you mutter instead of shutting your mouth, instead of hightailing it back to the house and shutting all the windows to keep the rain from coming in. Useless girl. 

“Probably rain all night,” John says, squinting out at the sky through the open door. It’s darker now, a storm brewing. 

“Is there…is there anything we have to do? To get ready?” You don’t know why you say we like this is a partnership, but it comes unbidden and you know if he told you to hurry back and take in the porch chairs, you would. 

“Nothing to worry about. I’ll close up the stables and seal the windows—storm probably won’t hit for another hour or two. After dinner, we’ll turn in early.”

With a final stroke down Buttercup’s jaw, he steps away and moves towards you. You feel rooted in place again at his approach; the thought of taking a step back never even occurs to you. When he finally reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate to reel you in by your hips, drawing you into a deep, wet kiss that he breaks only when you whimper into his mouth. 

“You feelin’ better about being out here?” he asks, low and intimately. “Looked like you had a good time with Laswell.”

“She’s nice,” you say, deflecting from the other question. 

John hums his agreement, readjusting his hold on your waist until every inch of him is pressed against you. Your breasts are flattened to his chest, belly pressed to his; every hard inch of him, solid as an oak.

“C’mon, honey, talk to me,” he murmurs. “Have I been treating you right? You still have any reservations about marrying me?”

“Bit late for reservations, isn’t it?”

He clucks his tongue. “‘Course it ain’t. Won’t change anything, but I still wanna know.”

It’s hard not to consider the possibility of being honest with him for a change when his gaze borders on the devout. No one in the history of time has ever looked at you like this, like you hung up the moon and stars. The thought chokes you up. In all the years of your life, has one other person looked at you and asked if everything was to your liking? John’s love borders on reverence, straddles the narrow divide between the telluric and the celestial, the earthly and the divine. 

It’s dizzying. And you’re not built for subterfuge. Not built to lie to the one man that, despite everything, despite taking you from your former life by force, has offered you a new one on a silver platter. 

You wet your lips, conscious of how dry your mouth suddenly is. John’s eyes follow the glide of your tongue over your lip.

And then you lie. “None whatsoever. I’m happy here.”

Maybe it’s a half-lie. After he shuts the stable doors and barricades them to keep the doors from swinging open in the midst of the storm, you wind up back on the porch watching the dark clouds up in the sky slowly approach, John at your back this time. 

John tilts your head up into another kiss. You don’t know when you made the conscious decision to let him think you amenable to this relationship, but you cling to that thought desperately when his tongue licks into your mouth velvety smooth. 

The roof extends out over the porch, keeping the two of you dry, but you can hear the sound of raindrops pelting the slate shingles. 

“You’ll see, honey,” he says against your lips, the words rumbling through you, buzzing under your skin and making it tingle. “‘M gonna make you so happy. Never gonna even think of leaving me.”

The words dissolve on your tongue. Swallowed down dry. With his arm hooked around your waist and hand tilting your head up, there’s no way you could think of anything else except wanting more. 

It’s hard to talk when he has you up against the railing, your dress pulled up and his fingers spreading apart your lower lips. It’s not the first time he’s touched you there, but it’s the longest he has, at least without the barrier of your underwear. His fingers spread your labia delicately, middle finger running up the wet seam. He hums into the back of your head while he does and presses a kiss into your hair. 

“Always so soft and wet here, darlin’,” John murmurs, stroking his fingers up your inner lips and petting the sensitive nub at the apex of your sex. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been aching for it? Been waiting for you to give me the word.”

Waiting, he says, while tucking a finger into your sex, curling it up into you and chuckling under his breath when your hands clamp tighter on the railing and your back arches. Just a single finger feels like more than you can handle. John has thick fingers; thick fingers with calluses that you can feel on the delicate flesh between your legs. It plugs you up tight, more so when your core clenches involuntarily around his finger. His chuckle descends into a groan, then a sigh. 

He pulls his finger out against the squeeze of your internal muscles, ignoring the way you whisper, “No, please” under your breath. 

You only stop pleading for more when he swirls his finger around your pearl again, lavishing it with attention. “Aching? I’m not—”

“You are, darlin’,” he breathes, and now you feel him pull you from the railing, stepping back to take a seat on the porch swing. He pulls you into his lap, sitting you across it instead of with your back to his chest like he did in the bath the other day. 

“Anyone could come by—” you hiss, fluffing the skirt of your dress out around your thighs when he tries to push it back up to get his hands back on your nethers. 

“You tense up when you’re nervous, honey,” John cuts you off, forcing his hand back up your dress until he pushes his finger back into your quim, delighted to find it hotter and wetter, practically dripping onto his lap. “See, there you go. Just relax. I’ll make you feel good, darlin’. We’ll take care of that nasty ache.”

You pant through each pulse of his finger. You don’t even think about looking up to meet his eyes, not when he stares down at you with obvious adoration and devotion, the emotion splayed across his face. He looks entranced at the sight of you coming apart on his fingers, a flush high on his cheeks. 

“No one’s gonna come by. Not this far out. ‘Sides, they know to keep their distance. Newlyweds need their space, right, darlin’?”

Supposing he’s right and no one comes out this way. Isn’t it still unseemly to do this out in the open? So far from your marriage bed? John seems incapable of relegating his affections to that space, unconcerned with propriety or modesty. You wonder with a spark of fear if he’d even budge if someone were to come trotting up the walkway on horseback or if he’d just wave them off and send them on their way. You don’t think he’s the kind of man to want an audience, thank the Lord, but he seems entirely unphased by even the idea of being intruded upon. 

You melt when he shushes your worries, feeling you tense against him, and sinks his fingers in deeper, now another. Don’t fret, he murmurs against your temple, sighing softly. I’ve got you, honey. Ain’t going nowhere.

You aren’t, are you, you think wildly. The land around here goes on forever and the train whistles by only twice a week if you’re lucky. Then townsfolk know you by face and a false name, but that would be enough for them to grow concerned if they were to spot you heading for the train with your suitcases packed, and with John or one of his deputies always in town, there’s little chance you’d be able to board without one of them interfering. 

Still though, it’s better than the alternative. For over a week now you’ve been on high alert, waiting for an arrest warrant to be slipped onto John’s desk with your likeness drawn on it, and for him to come collect you stone-faced and furious. It could still come. 

He keeps you tucked into his arms and nestled close, shushing you when you hiccup and pinch your lips together to keep quiet. He lets you have that, unphased by the way you try to hide it, only tutting when you try to fight it, curling his fingers up inside you and rubbing a spot inside of you that makes it hard to breathe. 

“I could just take it, but you’re gonna give it to me, darlin’,” John says.

And you do. Messily, noisily. Burying your face in his neck and sobbing it out, humiliation wrung out of you, squeezing out every drop. He smells like musk and old sweat, amber warm. Liquid gold. You press your nose into the skin of his neck and draw in a breath so deep that you go lightheaded. 

John keeps his fingers tucked in you until you stop shaking, talking you through it even though you hardly hear a word. How could you over the rush in your head, the blood in your ears? When you open your eyes and look around, the sky is swollen and dark, the wall of rain 

“C’mon, honey,” he says, pulling his fingers out and placing his hand low on your belly. “Let’s go inside.”

You sit across from him at dinner, eating under candlelight. The weight of his gaze for once isn’t stifling. 

The rain only starts in earnest when he’s pulled the quilt over the two of you and pulled you into his arms. The rain pelting the windowpane dulls to a low roar when you turn over and snuggle deeper into John’s chest, pulling the blanket over your head. Tomorrow, the grass will be greener than the day before. You can feel it in your bones.

[elysianightsss]

First dates always end bad.

Summary: You stress about your first date with John only to realise there was nothing to worry about.

You were ready. Almost. Make up? Done. Hair? Done. Clothes? On. Anxiety? Through the roof.

You were going out to lunch with John, fuck your heart was pounding so hard it was starting to hurt. What if you said the wrong thing? You thought as you grabbed your keys and stuffed them in your little side bag.

What if you trip over? You worry as you pulled on a cute pair of wedges. What if he rejects you? You breathe harshly as you shift through your sundresses trying to decide which one he would like the best.

Breathing harshly became hyperventilating. Your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to control yourself. How were you this panicked over a fucking meal with him? Had he given you any reason to panic? Any reason to worry?

“No, so chill the fuck out.” You scolded yourself and grabbed your phone.

You: What’s your favourite colour? 10:49am. delivered.

Your leg shook as you waited for his reply, palms sweaty, body temperature rising. You moved off the bed to open the window, letting the cool breeze into your bedroom. Turning to the left you notice your mirror and particularly how you look in the reflection. Nothing but bra, underwear and wedges on.

You stood up straight, breathing in and relishing in the confidence that slowly began to seep into your body. You looked good, now you’ve gotta feel good too. Your phone pinged pulling your attention away from yourself and onto John’s text.

John: Blue. 10:51am. read.

You almost stumbled with how fast you moved to grab your light blue sundress, pulling it over your hips and slipping your arms into straps. Hands grabbing at the strings at the back and pulling so the waist becomes corset like. You tied a bow and slimmed your hands over the material, admiring the little light yellow sunflowers that sat at the bottom when the dress became flowy ending at your knees.

Another texts pings on your phone.

John: I’m outside when you’re ready sweetheart. 10:55am. read.

“Okay deep breaths.” You told yourself, making sure you had everything before heading outside.

And there he was.

A black t-shirt with a blue checkered button down shirt worn as a jacket graced his muscular torso. Loose fitted dark blue jeans and black hiking boots. He was like your own personal cowboy, all that was missing was the hat.

The sight of him nearly made your knees buckle and he could definitely say the same about you. You were stunning in your sundress that just so happened to be his favourite colour. The way you drifted down the steps of your porch to meet him at your gate, the cute little wobble of your legs as you walked.

“Fuck me darlin, so fuckin’ pretty.” He wanted to apologise for his bad language but what can he say, he was stunned and you certainly bring out the more rambunctious side of him.

You smile wide, feeling your cheeks flush with heat. The air fluttered with anticipation, the way his heated gaze stared down at you. He leaned forward, getting closer, blue eyes flickering to your lips. So close. But then you hear the latch on your gate lift with a creak before he opens the gate for you to step out.

You do so with a pout that has John grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Look at you, pouting all cute just because I didn’t kiss you, he wants to say but all he can choke out is a grumbly, “Look at you”.

“So where are we going?” You nibble on your lip, anxiousness threatening to take over but you will it not to let it affect you or this moment with him.

“I have a little place in mind, c’mon.” He holds out his hand looking at you to take it. But suddenly you’re frozen, time standing still while your tired and frazzled brain takes a minute to process the situation.

John studies you and almost immediately understands that this is a big decision for you. How much must you have suffered to consider taking someone’s hand as a big decision. He waits patiently, no foot tapping, no sighing. Just pure patients while he watches you work out the issue in that brain of yours.

How he’d love to know what you’re thinking, your eyes glazed over with a similar look to what Simon had when he first met him. Before he got comfortable. He doesn’t have to wait long until you’re reaching to grab his hand. He smiles like a little triumph had just occurred before escorting you into his truck.

The drive was short which you were grateful for due to the hot weather. Only a few more weeks and the days would be shorter and the weather colder. You couldn’t wait.

John helped you out of the truck keeping hold of your hand as he walked you towards what looked like a cafe. It was cute and quiet. You spotted a salted caramel frappe on the menu that made your eyes light up, it was the first thing John ordered.

You waited for the food to be cooked and drinks to be made, the nervous jittery feelings you had bubbling in your system this morning was nowhere to be found now. Not when John looked every bit of a man you’d ever dreamed of, not when he picked up the tray after swatting your hand away from it gently, not when he chose to sit next to you instead of opposite just so he could continue to hold your hand under the table.

First dates always end bad, but maybe this one’s an exception.

[quarterlifekitty]

first of all i love womens hockey, strong ladies slamming up on the glass, amazing.

i went to a pwhl game and a man with his like teenage daughter were next to me and THAT MFER LOOKED EXACTLY LIKE JOHN PRICE hat and blue eyes and beard and everything it was nuts. anyways john price is a hockey girl dad of a scary 13 year old who kept staring at me the whole game.

just needed people to knoww

(fuck that mans gorgeous irl)

also i love your writing. Thank u for sharing ur brain w the internet.

That makes me think like. Imagine being John’s neighbor. You haven’t spoken more than pleasantries to him, introduced yourself to him and his daughter, made small talk at block parties.

And one cold day after school, his daughter is sitting on the front steps shivering, because she forgot her house key. You don’t have a spare, and John won’t be home for hours— so you tell her to stay inside your place until then. You call John and leave a message to let him know.

She’s a little wary of you, which is good. It’s not like you’re a total stranger, but you’re also not necessarily trustworthy yet. She just parks herself on the couch and watches whatever you’d had on tv, a little awkward as she sips the cup of tea you’d made her so she could warm up.

She ends up getting kinda attached. You joke with her that you watch the show that’s on because of the hot guys in it, and she smiles. She’s at that age, but of course she doesn’t really want to talk about it with John. You remember being 13, and she likes talking to you. John comes by once he’s home, thanks you profusely and apologizes for having to take up so much of your day. You tell him it was no trouble at all, and that she’s welcome any time.

She ends up taking you up on your offer. Usually after school, when her dad is still at work. You just leave the door open. She asks you questions about boys, about makeup— things she’s a little curious about but her mother isn’t around to answer. You get invited to all of her hockey games, with John insisting you sit next to him (when he can make it, that is).

You do holiday baking with her. She invites you to her birthday dinner. You’re welcomed over to John’s for every Christmas and other holiday they can manage to throw together a little gathering for. You’re so focused on her that you completely miss how John stares at you every single time you’re with his daughter.

Such a natural with her— and he’s had such a hard time connecting with her now that she’s becoming a teen. They’ve always had hockey, but it’s hard for him to accept that she’s not a baby anymore (even thought she’ll always be his baby). She storms over to your place every time they fight, and he’s eternally grateful she has somewhere to go for comfort when he doesn’t understand her.

She’s over at yours so much that he thinks it might be easier if you just moved in. That it would be a big age gap, but his daughter might like to have a little sibling. That if anything ever happened to him he’d want you to have every right to look after her. If that’s what you wanted, anyways.

And he loves his girl more than anything in the world, but it hasn’t been easy. Between raising her and his work, he doesn’t hardly have any time for dating. Whenever he’s tried— his daughter had found a problem with whoever he’d brought home, and that had signaled the end. It was hard enough to find anyone interested in dating a single parent.

So when you’d moved in next door, he couldn’t help himself. You’re pretty, single. He can see you through his window almost any time he wants. You don’t close your curtains nearly as much as you should, either. He’s just a man, y’know?

So, yeah, he’s made himself cum thinking of you more times than he can count. And it only gets worse once he has those fleeting thoughts about you being a mother for his girl. Maybe a few more kids if he can manage to get a ring on your finger. Insane thought to have when he’s never even asked you out on a date.

[berzahoes]

moments | tom blyth

summary: moments with tom and you <3 oh, and keanu reeves is also there! (reeves!reader)

an: nepo baby reader my beloved 🫶🏼

ON SET OF BILLY THE KID

since your dad had a few weeks off, he decided to visit you and tom on the set of billy the kid, which was filming in canada. tom was nervous since this would be the first time your dad would see him act in person. you understood why since your dad was a big name in hollywood (and also named the nicest guy).

“he just texted, he’s here.” you told tom, who was in already in his billy the kid attire. you were hanging out in his trailer until he was called to set.

“is this really happening?” tom sighed. “keanu reeves is going to see me act . . . holy shit.”

“just pretend he’s not there or just relax. he loves you and he loves everything you’ve been in.” you stood up from the chair and walked over to him.

“apart from being a big actor, he’s your dad. what if he sees that i’m not good enough to be with you?”

“if he ever says anything like that, run. that’s not the real keanu reeves,” you replied and placed a kiss on his lips. “i’ll be right back, I’m going to go find him.”

“i have to be on set in two minutes. i’ll meet you guys over there.” tom said as you exited his trailer in search of your dad.

eventually, you found him talking to the stunt coordinator about, one of his favorite subjects, motorcycles.

“sorry to interrupt,” you apologized for cutting into their conversation.

“no worries, i better get going. it was really nice talking to you. thank you.” the stunt coordinator said as he walked away.

“tom said he’s going to meet us on set. they’re about to start filming.” you and your dad walked to where tom had told you to go.

“this is really nice. did you see that horse over there? beautiful horse. remember when you didn’t want to ride the horse on set of john wick?” keanu teased. you rolled your eyes playfully and kept walking to the set.

the scene tom would be filming was the opening scene of the whole show. your dad quickly made friends with the producers and director and sat by them when filming began. you watch your boyfriend get into character and deliver his lines perfectly. you didn’t know what it was, but you loved seeing him as billy the kid.

“cut! that was great, tom! we got it!” the director shouted. immediately your dad started applauding as loud as he could.

then tom joined you and your dad. “tom, that was amazing. you did an incredible job.” your dad complimented him.

“thank you, sir. it means a lot that you’re here.” tom replied. he still couldn’t believe keanu freaking reeves watched him act. you two have been together for quite a while so he didn’t have to be so nervous around your dad. but he was and hearing keanu say such kind words to him calmed him down.

“dad was talking about the horse.” you said, pointing to the horse that tom called his.

before you knew it, both of your guys were walking in the direction of the horse.

LUNCH WITH THE FAMILY

it was a nice day out in new york city. before you dad started filming for his new movie, he wanted to have lunch with you, tom and his partner, alexandra. he picked out where you would have lunch and texted you the address. it wasn’t that far from tom’s apartment so you decided to walk.

“what do you think your dad is going to say about this?” tom asked, referring to his recently bleached blonde hair.

“i think he’ll like it. i like it, but i do miss the brown hair.” you admitted. soon enough, you made it to the restaurant. your dad had gotten an outside table so you easily spotted him and alexandra waiting for you and tom.

tom had a hat on so your had hadn’t noticed the blonde hair until tom took it off. alexandra gasped as keanu chuckled. “you look great, man.” he brought tom in for a hug.

“you do look great, tom.” alexandra agreed and stood up from her chair to greet you and tom.

“hi, sweetheart,” keanu said as he hugged you and kissed your cheek. “when are you going blonde?”

“never. i think the only time i ever dyed my hair was when i had a mental breakdown during seventh grade and dyed my hair red.” you said as you sat next to tom.

“she had me up at two am helping her rinse because she didn’t want to get dye on her fingers.” keanu continued.

“you had red hair? i need to see that.” tom chuckled.

eventually the paparazzi found you and they kept some distance, but they still annoyed you. you four took the opportunity to mess with them and posed with peace signs or funny faces. it reminded you of the times when you did the exact same thing years ago with your dad. whenever he took you out to eat, the paparazzi would arrive seconds later taking pictures of you two. keanu suggested making faces at the camera so you did just that. now, you were doing the same thing but with your boyfriend, dad and stepmom.

KEANU REEVES, PROFESSIONAL THIRD WHEEL

“how’s the family?” stephen colbert asked. you dad was a guest and his show and he loved any chance he had to talk about you.

“family is doing really great, thanks for asking. i’ve spending a lot of time with my daughter. her and i are doing lots of activities like pottery, she loves pottery.” he explained.

“that’s great. and do you two always hang out when you’re not busy?” stephen asked.

“yeah, she sometimes has her friends over and i call her and ask if i could come over and then i take her friends and her to dinner or bowling.” he laughed as he remembered all the times he took your friends out so he could also spend time with you.

“i don’t know if you’re aware of this, but twitter has actually named you the professional third wheel because of these photos.” stephen showed keanu and the audience some paparazzi photos of you and tom walking hand in hand down the streets of new york and to the side was your dad with an ice cream cone in his hand.

“oh man, i mean it was going to happen,” keanu said. you and your dad actually had an agreement about what stuff he could share about when it came to being asked about you in interviews. “tom is a great guy, he’s the best.it looks like they’re annoyed with me, but I promise they’re not.” he laughed as another picture was shown of tom talking to him, but he was still holding your hand. whatever it was that tom and your dad were talking about, it seemed really interesting since they weren’t paying attention to you at all.

“oh no,” keanu hid his face in embarrassment. “she looks mad at me, i hope she wasn’t mad.”

“this is my favorite one yet.” stephen added as another picture came on screen.

the picture showed you on your phone walking while your dad and tom walked behind laughing hysterically at something that someone had said.

“are you sure i’m the third wheel?” keanu joked as the audience laughed.

“is tom blyth single?”

the cast of the ballad of songbirds and snakes were doing the wired autocomplete interview and it was tom’s turn to answer questions.

“i am not. i have a beautiful, lovely wonderful girlfriend.” he answered with a smile.

“and his name is keanu reeves!” rachel added followed by josh laughing.

“the pictures don’t lie, tom!”

[dreameryfics]

JJ MAYBANK x READER

Summary: Your parents met JJ and they disapprove of you dating a Pogue, especially the Maybank boy

Today was finally the day that JJ was going to meet my parents. I'd told them all about him and how he made me feel. They didn't like that he was a Pogue, but I mean, what Kook parents would be okay with their only daughter dating a Pogue? That's just not how it works on the island sadly. Both my parents were raised as Kooks, and they wouldn't have it any other way for me or my brother. He's as much of a Kook as they came, he took full advantage of the privileged life.

I can't lie and say I don't enjoy being one, but I've also not allowed myself to ignore the disadvantages that Pogues have had on the island. That's how I met JJ. I was helping Big John a few years back bring some diving gear back to his house from my parent's shop and JJ happened to be there with John B. I started hanging out with them a few weeks later when I happened to run into John B at The Wreck. He was there getting some end-of-the-night food from Kie for him, JJ, and Pope. We've been kind of inseparable since. We've of course had our moments, especially when Big John went missing at sea.

JJ and I have been together since then; it was pretty crappy timing, but we also realized that life was just too damn short. We had a conversation the same week he went missing and realized the feelings were mutual. The group knew about two weeks later, JJ's dad knew too but he didn't have much to say. He was just proud of his son for 'landing a Kook' and telling JJ to make sure to take advantage of the 'rich kid living.' I haven't been around there since.

We've been putting off him meeting my parents, but today was the day. JJ was nervous, the most nervous he'd been since the Pogues found out about us. He was so worried they'd use the no-macking rule and break us up, I knew better though.

I'd picked JJ up from the Chateau and was headed to my house. "JJ, you OD over there?" I asked looking over to him as he was picking at his fingernails. He looked up at me, nervously biting his lip. He just shook his head and looked back out the window, the houses slowly getting nicer the longer the drive. "J, it's going to be okay." I place my hand over his, hoping to calm him down as I pull into our driveway.

I put the car in park and look over at JJ, he looked extremely nervous. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek before getting out of the car. I go over and open the door for him, realizing he hasn't moved. He slowly gets out of the car, placing his hat on his head. I take hold of his hand and lead him to the front door. "We're here!" I yell when I open the door. They walk around the corner and I can immediately see the judgment in their eyes; I know JJ could too. "Mom, Dad, this is JJ," I tell them trying to break the awkward silence. I look over at him and take the hat off his head, placing it on the counter beside us. They quickly walk over and shake JJ's hand. "Nice to meet you JJ," they both said.

"Nice to meet you too, sir, ma'am," he told them, trying to be as polite as he could, not wanting to say the wrong thing. We all stood there for a second before walking into the dining room where there was an array of food placed on the table. Mom and Dad sat on one side whereas JJ and I sat on the other side. We made awkward conversation about the weather and school while we ate. Dad was the first to hit JJ with the questions they really wanted to know. "So, JJ, tell me what are your plans for the next five years?" I look at my dad, wanting to tell him to stop, knowing this was only the first of many questions.

"Well, Sir, I'm hoping to graduate high school and get a job fixing up cars and boats at the Yard. I would like to save up enough money to buy a house and maybe a nice boat, if I'm lucky," he responded honestly. I chuckled at the last part, knowing full well he'd buy a boat before a house any day of the week. My dad just kept looking at him, "The Yard? Why not try to go to college?"

"Well, I figure I don't have the money to pay for college, so I need to take a different path in life," he responded taking a sip of his water, "plus, I'm not sure I would want to go to college." I know my dad isn't going to like that answer. He claims all of his success came from him going to college, but in all reality, it all came from him and Ward Cameron's business schemes. Our family having money has nothing to do with my dad's college degree, but he'd never admit that. "College is important to be successful, I might say, it's most important. I can't imagine the Yard being very successful as they haven't been able to expand to anywhere besides the cut."

"Dad, please stop," I tell him, "JJ is a-" I try and say before I'm interrupted by my dad.

"Now honey, I just want to know how JJ plans to provide for you," he tells me, looking over to JJ, "So, how will you provide for our daughter?"

"Uhm, w-," JJ stumbled, not even being able to get a word in before my mom started in on him. "JJ, who is your dad?"

"Luke Maybank, ma'am," he told her. I could see him getting more and more nervous by the second. I quickly took his hand and held it under the table, knowing my dad would have a fit.

"Luke Maybank? It all makes sense now," my dad chuckled under his breath, "you don't have to explain anything else." I could see the anger and sadness on JJ's face, making me yell at my dad. "What the hell Dad! You don't ev-"

"You watch your damn tone with me," he yelled at me standing up and pointing his finger at me. "We leave you alone and you decide to fall in love with a fucking Pogue, let alone Maybank's boy! I will not allow this," he sat back down before turning to JJ, "JJ, it was not a pleasure to meet you. Now if you would please show yourself the door?" I looked over at JJ and I could see the tears forming in his eyes. He quickly pushed his chair back, causing it to scrape across the wooden floor. He looked down at me, letting go of my hand before pushing the chair back and walking out of the kitchen. I had tears slowly falling down my face now, disgusted with JJ's treatment from my parents. "Now, I don't EVER want you to see him again," my dad sternly told me.

I could tell JJ was still in the house as the door never opened or closed. I wasn't going to let him think I didn't care for him. "Dad, Mom," I say standing from the chair, "you know what, fuck this family. JJ is better than anybody in this family but you're too damn stuck up to realize that or even admit it."

My dad swiftly stood up and raised his hand at me before I told him with venom in my voice, "Do it, you'll never see me again and I know you care too much about our family image to kick me out. I'll go to the police and let them know all about your 'successful' businesses. I'll ruin your fucking life," I say the last part with pure anger. I get closer to him, hoping he'll hit me so I have a reason to go to the police and tell them everything. He sits back down and picks up his drink to take a sip before looking up at me. He doesn't say a word before he throws his cup to the ground, it breaking into a million pieces causing me to flinch, and proceeds to walk out the room. I look down at my mom, rolling my eyes at her knowing she's too scared of my dad to disagree with him.

I storm out of the room to see JJ with his back against the counter, holding his hat in his hands before placing it on his head. I go over to him and grab his hand, pulling him out of the house and over to my car. We get in and I start driving, not sure where to go as everybody was at the Chateau. "Your dad's right," I hear JJ mumble. I look over at him and he won't make eye contact with me. I pull over on the side of the road, looking at him. "JJ, my dad may be a lot of things, but he's not right."

"He is though," he looked up at me with tears forming in his eyes, "you know my dad. I'm just like him, you deserve someone who can give you more."

"JJ, you are nothing like your father," I tell him grabbing his hand in mine, "You are the greatest and best person to ever walk into my life. I can't imagine it without you, not only that, but you are pretty damn attractive too." He lets out a small chuckle at the last part, "J, can you please look at me?" I ask him. He looks over at me as I wipe a tear falling down his cheek, "I love every part of you, especially the ones you hate. You are my whole world and all the stars. When I look at you, I feel like I'm finally home. I feel nothing bad can happen when I'm in your arms. You are my person, my only person, and I hope you know that nothing will change that, not even my asshole parents. I would give them up a million times over before I ever think about saying goodbye to you. I love you."

JJ squeezes my hand tighter, letting a small sob out. "Hey, are you okay? Please talk to me," I tell him placing my hand on the back of his neck. He looks over at me before placing a small kiss on my forehead. "I've uhm, never had anybody tell me how much I matter to them. Dad has always blamed me for Mom leaving and has always told me how much he hated me, I guess I kind of thought there wasn't another way for someone to feel when it came to me. I got so used to how he treated me I thought that's what I deserved, it was all I was good for," he told me. I felt a few tears fall down my face, realizing how much what my parents said hurt him. "I love you too, I'm just sorry if I won't be able to give you everything you deserve."

"JJ," I tell him, waiting for him to look at me, "as long as I have you, that's all I need. I need you to know that."

"You really are whipped," he lets out a small chuckle to break up the emotions in the small car. I playfully smack his arm, "J, be for real right now. You're hearing what I'm telling you right?"

"Yes, I hear you. I love you too. Thanks for showing me what it means to be loved," he tells me, reaching over to place a kiss on my forehead before moving away and placing his lips to mine. "Now, can we go get some pizza 'cause I didn't eat." I look at him and laugh. "Nerves babe, they got to me and I'm starving now." I laugh and look over at him before putting the car in drive, whispering 'I love you' to him and he responds by grabbing my hand and placing small kisses on them. We head to the nearest restaurant and eat, getting extra so we can take it to the Chateau.

Once we got there, we were asked what felt like hundreds of questions on how it went. We gave them the tiniest of summaries, just telling them that my parents are dick and that we left. They didn't need to know anything else, there was enough going on in the group since Sarah started coming around. I'm a big fan of her, but the results are still out for Kie. No matter what though, JJ and I had each other, till the end of the days. As long as I was breathing, he was my love and I was his.

[lostintransist]

Seamstress | Part 3

Check out part 1 here. AO3

Simon noticed first. Some of his pants, he only had five pairs he rotated between, had gone missing from the laundry. Not terribly unusual, things get mixed up all the time. But when they reappeared worn spots had been patched, his pockets had been fixed, and all the little annoying seams that didn’t lay flat had been tacked down.

Kyle put a hole in the armpit of his favorite shirt, it went missing the next day and reappeared better than before. Roach lost many of his hats to the laundry, but within a week they all reappeared, cleaner and fixed. It wasn’t until Johnny couldn’t find his favorite pair of pants, his lucky pants that he couldn’t take on a mission because they were missing, that they started to talk to each other about the matter.

John called them a bunch of muppets, rolled his eyes, and walked away when the conversation started up about their laundry going missing. First, they examined the schedule for any overlap of their clothes being put into the laundry and their clothes going missing. Nothing stands out, most of the people serving in the laundry are there on assignment and rotate out before clothes are returned.

With this avenue exhausted the guys sit around thinking, pondering.

“What if they aren’t getting picked up by the laundry?” Roach slowly voices his question, as if putting it together only as the words leave his mouth.

Simon picks up the thread next.

“Who has access to our rooms? Laundry obviously, but we have ruled them out. Who else?”

“Base commanders, cleaning staff, Price. I can’t think of anyone else,” Soap shifts, stretching the toe of his boot to sit against Ghost’s.

“Has anyone looked into where Price has been going when he is in late some mornings?” Gaz squints as he thinks.

“Now there’s a thought,” Ghost tilts his head to one side. “Question becomes, do we access his bank account or follow him?”

They all looked at him, waiting for his decision.

“Price guards his phone harder than nuclear codes, I vote we follow him,” Roach chimes in.

“Good point. Anyone have a requisitioned tracker we could tag him or his car with?” Ghost looks over each of his men.

Soap, and Roach both shake their heads. Gaz scrunches his nose and then sighs.

“I want it back when this is over. It was a hard one to get my hands on.”

Ghost nods, accepting the responsibility to get it back to him. They tagged Price’s car that same day. Waiting for any of their clothes to go missing they watched the tracker. Johnny got a tad impatient and ended up ripping off a belt loop off when it got caught on a door handle instead of walking back and getting unstuck. He made a big deal of it too.

“Christ on a cracker,” he growled at the annoyance. Johnny, being a smooth operator, made sure John saw it before he turned in for the night.

Sure enough, the next night the pants were missing from the laundry. Johnny checked the laundry room for them before confirming to the guys that John had taken the bait. The tracker placed John near the manufacturing district in a designated parking lot, but nothing specific.

Johnny’s pants reappeared, clean, the next day with the regular laundry delivery. But they had a starting point. Roach scoured the internet for any business that might fix clothes but found nothing within walking distance. Must be an unlisted or newer business they figured. The following morning, they all skived off morning training that, while encouraged, was not mandatory.

Parking in the same lot that John had the guys split up. Each man took one side of the street and started down a direction eyes scouring each storefront and entrance until Ghost sent out a shrill whistle. Barely checking for cars the men darted for their L.T. who stood in front of a small shop squished between a cobbler and a bakery. The front window simply read ‘Seamstress’.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

You sang along to Disney music this morning. It seemed fitting, as you were stitching together a party dress for a small princess. Her birthday was coming, and she wanted a purple princess dress like Rapunzel but big like Cinderella. Gotta hand it to the kid, that made it easy to design with her dad. This would be the second version she stitched up. The first one fit, until kiddo woke up one morning an inch taller.

When the shop bell dinged you reached around your sewing machine to lower the volume of your music.

“One moment!” You called over the sound of the small engine working loudly. You remembered it was about time for a tune-up on the old thing.

The stitches completed you turn and stand. Four men of varying sizes and heights stand at your counter. Two of them are pretty, no other word for it, and the other two are covered up than some of your niqab-wearing customers.

“Hi, what can I help you with?”

One of the pretty ones, with a mohawk, spoke for the group.

“We were wondering if you could tell us what you do here.”

Leaning to one side you confirmed that your sign still clung to the window in paint. Standing straight again you cocked an eyebrow at the man.

“Pretty sure I’m a seamstress, window says so.”

The tall covered one snorts.

Mohawk sends a glare back at his companion.

“What does that mean? What do you do exactly?” The shorter covered one asks.

“Seamstresses typically create clothes, though I do a lot of repairs too. Why? Are any of you needing repairs done? I can work on suits however I would recommend you out to a local tailor for that, suits are something they specialize in.”

You weren’t nervous. They all had a deadly energy about them, but it wasn’t directed at you.

“How much for a kilt repair?” Mohawk asked, confirming the placement of the accent.

“That would depend on the damage and the cost of the cleaning. Any articles that stay with me overnight get sent to a dry cleaner, it’s built into the charge.”

Waking your tablet you pull up pricing.

“Restoration will run you more than run-of-the-mill repairs, but with the repairs, the kilt will be stored in acid-free paper to keep it from deteriorating.” Glancing up once again you find every pair of eyes on you.

You were starting to regret the lack of a panic button in your shop.

The other pretty one spoke up now.

“Can you tell us if a certain customer has been here? A John Price for example?”

“I am not in the habit of sharing my customer’s habits, no.”

Both pretty men lifted a brow.

“If I show you a picture, would you tell us if you’ve seen this man then, without confirming if he is a customer?” The tallest one asked.

“I think you should leave. Though feel free to call for a recommendation for a seamstress if you need any work done,” you give them your pretty, I’m a weak woman and don’t yell at me smile.

The breath between your words ending and their bodies moving drags into eternity. When their bodies edged through the door and down the sidewalk a way you flicked the lock shut on the front door.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

“You have one new message.” The robotic voice droned at John. “First new message: Hi John, this is the owner of Your Local Seamstress calling. I have your repairs completed, feel free to come and pick them up during business hours, six am to one pm or four pm to seven pm Tuesday through Saturday.”

A lingering pause, John can tell the message hasn’t ended.

“I did want to mention I had a…weird interaction today with a group of men looking for you. Two pretty men and two men covered tip to toe, asked for you by name. Not sure if you might know who they are but I figured I would pass along the information. Please feel free to give me a call if you have any questions.” She gave the shop number as if he didn’t have it memorized at this point.

“To replay this message press one, to delete press seven, to save press nine, for more options press six.” The robot is speaking to him again.

Slamming his thumb into the end call button John missed corded phones and the satisfaction of slamming the phone into the cradle. His muppets had scared his girl.

Part 2 | Part 4

Masterlist

[psychoticfemmm]

family tides

pairing: dad!john b x mom!reader

summary: Life with Ivy, your lively three-year-old, is full of love, laughter, and chaos, with the Pogues always in on the fun

Life at the Chateau was never boring, especially with a three-year-old running around. Ivy, your daughter with John B, was the heart and soul of the Pogues. At just three years old, she had already mastered the art of sarcasm—thanks in large part to JJ—and was a constant source of laughter for the group.

This morning, chaos erupted when Ivy woke up before everyone else and decided to paint JJ’s face with your makeup.

“Why does it smell like lavender in here?” John B asked groggily, stumbling into the living room to find Ivy perched on JJ’s lap with a lipstick in her hand.

JJ glared at him. “Your daughter is a menace.”

“She’s an artist,” Ivy corrected, holding up a makeup brush. “Uncle JJ needed to be fancy.”

John B burst out laughing, leaning against the doorway for support. “You look… beautiful, man.”

“Don’t,” JJ warned, pointing a finger at him. “I’m doing this for her self-esteem.”

“Sure you are,” Kiara chimed in as she strolled into the room. “Let me grab my phone. This is going on the wall of fame.”

“No!” JJ protested, but it was too late.

You emerged from the kitchen, mug of tea in hand, shaking your head at the scene. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, nothing,” John B said, grinning. “Just JJ’s makeover.”

Your eyes fell on Ivy’s handiwork, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, Ivy, I think Uncle JJ would look even fancier with some glitter.”

JJ groaned. “Don’t encourage her!”

“She’s got talent,” you replied, smirking as you kissed the top of Ivy’s head. “Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before teaching her how to ‘prank.’”

John B wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, leaning into him. “This is parenting gold.”

Later in the day, everyone piled into the van for a trip to the beach. You sat in the passenger seat, Ivy on your lap as John B drove.

“Mommy, can I wear Daddy’s hat?” Ivy asked, reaching for John B’s cap.

“It’s too big for you, kiddo,” he said, adjusting the rearview mirror.

“I don’t care,” Ivy replied, pouting.

“She’s definitely your kid,” you teased, nudging John B.

“Hey, I don’t pout,” he argued.

“Yeah, okay,” you said with a smirk, earning an eye roll from him. He reached over to squeeze your thigh playfully, his grin widening when you swatted his hand away with a laugh.

At the beach, Ivy wasted no time declaring herself “Queen of the Sandcastle” and assigning everyone roles. “Uncle Pope, you get the shells!” she commanded, pointing to the shoreline. “Auntie Kie, you do the decorations!”

“What about me?” JJ asked, crouching next to her.

“You dig the moat,” Ivy said matter-of-factly.

“And me?” John B asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re my helper, Daddy.”

“What about Mommy?”

Ivy thought for a moment. “Mommy gets to watch.”

You laughed, sitting back in your chair. “Finally, someone appreciates me.”

The afternoon passed in a blur of laughter and sand. The Pogues built an elaborate sandcastle that Ivy promptly destroyed, claiming it was “time for a big wave.”

“Kid’s got a Godzilla streak,” JJ said, shaking his head as Ivy stomped on the remains of their work.

“She gets it from you,” Kiara teased.

“Excuse me?” JJ replied, mock-offended. “I’m a builder, not a destroyer.”

“Sure you are,” Cleo said, smirking.

By the time the sun began to set, everyone was gathered around a bonfire. Ivy sat in John B’s lap, her eyelids drooping as she tried to stay awake.

“Tell me a story, Daddy,” she mumbled, her head resting against his chest.

“Alright,” he said, brushing her curls out of her face. “Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Ivy who was the bravest and smartest kid in the whole world.”

“That’s me!” she said sleepily, making everyone laugh.

“Yep, that’s you,” John B said softly, kissing her forehead.

You couldn’t help but watch the scene with a full heart. John B caught your gaze and smiled, tilting his head slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head. “Just… I love you.”

His smile deepened as he reached out to take your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “I love you too.”

When you got back to the Chateau, Ivy was already asleep. John B carried her to bed, tucking her in with her favorite stuffed bunny while you cleaned up the sand-covered bags.

As he came back into the living room, you were curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone. He flopped down next to you, resting his head on your shoulder.

“She’s got everyone wrapped around her little finger,” he said with a chuckle.

“She’s got you wrapped the most,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“Yeah, well,” he said, grinning as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I’m okay with that.”

You turned to face him, your hands finding their way to his chest. “You’re a good dad, you know that?”

He shrugged, his expression softening. “I try. But I’ve got you, so that makes it easier.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his. “We’re a pretty good team, huh?”

“The best,” he murmured, pulling you closer.

The sound of waves crashing in the distance filled the room as he kissed you again, slow and warm. Life with Ivy and the Pogues wasn’t always easy, but it was always full of love. And that was all you needed.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

sorry I haven't been active in a while but thank you all so much for the loveeeeeee please feel free to request stories!!!

[fictionismyreality3]

How Price Flirts

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it

Notes: I am a pure and holy person (I would wear his bucket hat while we fu-)

the cheekiness of this man is only rivalled by god 😤

he will tease you and he WON’T stop until your a blushing mess

little quips about how you’re wearing your hair differently, how your uniform looks, what you’re reading on your breaks

once he’s okay with the fact that he likes you, he doesn’t give a fuck about anything but making you his

if your younger than him, expect comments about your age

“Come ‘ere, little one.” “I’m literally an adult, John.” “You’re still little to me, sweetheart.”

he won’t admit it, but he has a massive age gap kink 🤤 and it WILL influence how he interacts with you

in his eyes, you’re the most precious thing ever

every little thing you do is just so cute and he would gladly show tell you

if you make a mistake during training, he’ll be on your ass for the rest of the day

not in an annoying way tho, he’ll just endlessly joke about how “you seem distracted, luv’”

if you’re shorter than him he’s gonna use you as an arm rest 🤭

he WILL come to stand beside you only to rest his arm on top of your head and WILL keep a totally straight face the whole time, not missing a beat if he’s talking

but he’s not just a cheeky bastard

he’s insanely protective 😭 like to the point where it’s probably unhealthy

when you and the team go out, he’s always either within 10 feet of you, or sitting with the squad and glaring at anyone who comes near you

the man will use all 6’ feet of himself to stand between you and anyone who he thinks doesn’t deserve to look at you have good intentions

he’s big and he knows it

if you’re sitting across from him and he catches your gaze straying he will spread his legs to make you stare at his cock slip up

once he’s attached to you he’s not letting go easily

when you’re around other people who aren’t in the 141, he’ll take off his bucket hat and put on you 🥺 and won’t let you take it off

you wouldn’t realize but everyone else with half a brain knows it’s his subtle way of marking his territory

[buckysegan]

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration - Part Two

Summary: John writes back to his friend from home and we hear from our friend across the way. John x She. Word Count: 1.2k. A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me. he deserves it. pstttt also should we name her? do you all want to send me random john prompts. my baby isn't ok and i'm not ok. Part one linked here. Part three linked here.

John was sure he wasn't sweating a normal amount as he looked down at the piece of paper that Buck had offered him. It had taken two whole days of questions from the man for Bucky to even decide that he was going to reply. He’d been offered the hope, what more could he ask of her. Could he ask more? There had been a return address on the letter which Buck had insisted was there for a reason and she had opened herself out for a reply from him but the Major couldn’t help but be unsure.

It was an odd feeling for him, before the war he hadn't been unsure of anything and since he’d been here? Well he hadn’t been sober enough to doubt anything that he had done. These days though Bucky felt like he doubted every single thing. The thing was, he wasn't sure that he could afford to doubt this, to look past the life line that had been offered to him. Not when each day he could feel his mind draw a little further toward the edge no matter how much he or Buck tried to keep it in check.

With a sigh he pulled the pen into his hand, eyes locked on the page for a moment before he began to scrawl.

Dear Friend From Home 

You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you. 

I think the first thing I got to say is thank you. I don’t know if the words I can put on paper are ever going to really tell you how much your letter meant to me. See I was a certain type of man that didn’t think much to pen pals. I figured that I’d be ok, you know, that with my boys I’d have what I needed to make it through the hard days but watching the letters for everyone else roll in has been harder than I thought it might. 

There are things that I can’t tell you cause I don’t know who might read these letters, and where I am I can’t get you no picture but I can tell you that my favorite dish is a meat and potato pie, simple I know but really I’m a simple hearty kind of guy. What makes me laugh, you asked? That’s kind of simple for me too, just good company, myself sometimes, Buck, he’s my best friend, he makes me laugh a lot. What makes you laugh? I’d like to know that. 

May I know where you are? I know that might be a big ask but you said I could ask anything I know and if I get out of here…we get some leave, I’d like to know where I need to ask for me leave to be. Then I can show you what I sound and look like and know that in return. 

If this letter doesn’t reach you for a while, know you’ve been with me the whole time. 

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration

Major John Egan 

“What if she doesn’t get it?” He found himself questioning quietly to Buck as he handed over the letter to make it out of camp. His best friend settled him with a soft look, one that always made Bucky feel like he had some worldly knowledge the rest of them had missed out on, that assured him everything was going to be alright. “You just gotta have hope she will John, she’ll get it.” 

With a huff Bucky nodded, pulling his hat on as he watched his letter vanish from his view all together. “Alright well I can’t sit here and wonder, I’m off to play baseball or something.”

The letter that Bucky had so carefully handed over changed hands many more times, some fingers as rough as the pilots, some dirtier, some softer, but the last set of fingers to slide the letter from her post box had perfectly manicured fingers. Her flicking of her post was greedy as she looked for the same thing that she had every day since she’d posted her own letter.

At first, her hopes of finding what she was looking for had been unrealistic; she knew that, it hadn’t even been long enough for her letter to be received, let alone for him to get one back to her, then the other girls at the centre, they’d gotten letters back, notes, anything. That was when she had allowed her hope to return, for a moment at least. Days without anything had turned into weeks and then weeks had turned into months. Anything could have happened, that was what she tried to tell herself, he might not have gotten her letter, he might have thought it was weird and had chosen not to reply. That thought was enough to miff her, he could have at least said thank you. When she had decided no one could be that mean, her diminishing hope had turned to worry, what if he hadn't been able to receive her letter.

Flicking through each white envelope today, she almost missed it, how she didn't know because it was clearly different from the rest of them, maybe she hadn't wanted to look. "Not…" Trailing off she flicked back to the second to last letter, her eyes taking in the scrawling of her address, her eyes checking the postage before she was taring inside. "It's here, he wrote it's here." She called through the halls to the other girls that she lived with, all of which had been holding their breath with her. "Oh god I can't read it, what if he's telling me I was weird!" She cried, thrusting the unopened letter into the hands of her eager friend.

"Don't be dramatic, he's going to be throwing down his gratitude at you being a doll, you should have attached a picture with it I told you!" Meg beamed easily back at her, the same sense of reservation missing from her actions as she tore into the letter so that it could be read to the group. "Dear Friend From Home. You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you." That was enough, pulling the letter from Megs hands she was quick to scramble away from the group once more, locking herself into her room as re-read the opening line herself, the tears in her eyes only welling even further as she continued.

An ache in her chest formed as she read the words once more, taking in each strike of his pen where he had corrected himself or smudge from whatever he'd had on his fingers. The state of the letter was enough to make her wonder, but at least for now, she knew her friend was ok. He was alive, and he wanted to hear more from her. It couldn't have been normal, to feel this level of emotion for a man that she had never met, but she had found herself here regardless and in the middle of so much uncertainty, she wasn't going to question the pull she felt across the way to England.

Pushing from her bed she moved to her desk, paper pulled from her stationary pot, the quicker she could post this the quicker it could get to him.

"Dear Major Egan,

I'm delighted to hear I'm with you. I hope you know, that you've been with me too…"

[thedoodlebuggo]

based off of this

they all miss their respective wives (arthurs)

anyways dark world support group for frequently divorced entities

other johns belong to, going around the circle clockwise, @izel-scribbles, @mx-paisley, @toastydumpster, @nespolkei, @potato-lord-but-not, and @samglyph because 1: i finally had an excuse to draw a handful of some of my favorite johns and 2: i did not want to draw my john and his big ol' hat (i love his hat dearly but in such close proximity too many would be bumping together) 6 times

[bloatedandalone04]

No One Else

➪the one where you throw a housewarming party, and a.j. isn’t fond of all the guys staring at you in his new living room.

Warnings: this man is such a dom i swear, smut, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, swearing, pda, jealous a.j., alcohol consumption.

Word Count: 3.4k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

A.J. hated house parties. He would much rather go out to the club or a bar as he felt like the parties he threw at his apartment got too crowded too quickly.

But he was doing this for you.

About three months ago A.J. asked you to move in with him. He loved you more than anything else and he wanted you around him all the time, and you felt the same way. You agreed and moved out of your small loft and into his massive condo across the city.

While you were used to the city life, you were a bit overwhelmed since he was in the middle of it all. It was loud and chaotic whenever you opened the sliding door of the balcony, and the lights kept you up at night. You didn’t say anything about it, not wanting to give A.J. any ideas, but it wasn’t long until he discovered your distaste for this side of the city.

It was a big difference to where you lived previously, and he felt guilty about the sudden change. 

So he offered to move away from all of it, to give up the city life he had been living in for around twelve years for a cute and modern house in a neighborhood just outside the city. 

He let you have full control over pretty much everything in the house; from the appliances in the kitchen to the paint color in the living room. A.J. gave you his credit card and told you to go crazy, and you really took his words and ran with them.

You bought countless pieces of furniture and when they arrived at the home, A.J. spent a good day and a half building them with Jake. 

Now, a full week after settling into the new place, you decided to throw a house party to really break it in. 

The house was a lot bigger than his apartment, so it wasn’t as crowded, but he still hated having so many people in his personal space. But A.J. knew it was all worth it when he caught your eye from across the living room and saw the way your lips turned upwards into a happy smile.

He really would do anything for you without an ounce of hesitation. 

A.J. crossed the room after wrapping up his conversation with Jesse, and his hands found their home on your waist as he stood behind you. He knew you were smiling as you listened to the story Rachel was telling you, and that smile only grew when he leaned down to rest his chin on your shoulder. 

“You two are so cute, seriously,” Rachel beamed, finishing off her drink with a smile. “I can confidently say you were made for each other.”

“Just like you and Jake,” came your sweet reply and A.J. felt the corners of his mouth lift upwards as you sipped on your wine. 

“Speaking of,” he trailed off, lifting his head and looking around the packed room. “Where is your fiancé, Rach?”

Rachel furrowed her brows as she, too, looked around the room. “I’m not sure, actually,” she answered. “Let me know if you find him, and let me know if he looks like he’s had too much to drink. If he’s plastered, tell him he’s sleeping on the couch when we get home.”

A.J. laughed as he kissed the side of your neck before moving away from you. “Will do,” 

“Come find me later,” you requested in a soft voice, smiling at him afterwards. “I shouldn’t miss you this much in our own house.”

A.J. held back a groan as he moved towards you again and firmly gripped your jaw, pressing a deep kiss to your mouth. You grin against his lips and tangle your free hand in his hair, his lack of hat tonight making it very easy. “Damn, baby,” he muttered as he pulled away and you ran the tip of your tongue along his bottom lip. “You make a guy not want to leave.”

You grin at him and shrug. “Hurry back, Jay,” 

He bit his lip as he nodded and turned to go seek out his best friend. He found Jake in the kitchen talking to John, and they both looked like they were on the verge of being wasted. “A.J.! Hey, buddy!” Jake greeted as the tattooed man entered the room. “This is a nice place you got here.”

“Yeah, man, I like how secluded it is,” John added as he looked around the room. “You buy it with that two million we snagged from those transport trucks?” He asked loudly and A.J. had to deliver a quick slap to his shoulder to stop John from exposing the source of his income to all his new neighbors. 

And there were a lot of them. 

The neighborhood you were now living in was well populated, and you had taken it upon yourself to invite all of them to the party in hopes to get to know them. A.J. wasn’t very fond of strangers in his house, but it was just another thing he forced himself to deal with since he was so in love with you. 

“Keep your voice down,” A.J. muttered as John gave him an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, man,” he laughed. “Your new neighbors were very generous with their housewarming gifts.” John held up the bottle of champagne with a bow tied around it, and A.J. just shook his head. 

“Just try not to tell the guests all our secrets, yeah?” 

John nodded and gave him a salute before wandering off towards the dining room where Gordon was. “A.J., buddy, I never thought I’d see you get out of the city, man,” Jake said as he leaned against the counter with a beer in his hand. 

“You and me both,” he murmured as he took the half empty bottle from Jake.

“The things we do for the women we love, huh?” Jake asked as he moved to sit down at the kitchen table. 

“Speaking of, Rachel told me that if I saw you and you were drunk, I have to tell you that you’re sleeping on the couch,” A.J. informed the tipsy man, who just laughed. 

“She might say that, but she can’t sleep without me, man, I’m like her personal pillow,”

A.J. shook his head and set the bottle on top of the fridge, knowing damn well that Jake could easily reach it. “Good thing she’s marrying you then,”

“Hey, when are you and your girl getting married?” Jake asked as he grabbed a handful of chips and ate them all at once. “You’ve been together about as long as Rachel and I have, when are you gonna ask her the question?”

“I don’t know, man,” A.J. answered as he avoided the crumbs flying out of Jake’s mouth with each word he said. “Soon.”

“You have the ring, don’t you?”

A.J. nodded and Jake grabbed one of the cookies off the dessert plate on the table. “Yeah, I’m just waiting for the right time,” 

Jake leaned back just as Rachel entered the kitchen and made her way over to the two guys. “Don’t wait too long, buddy,” he advised as Rachel moved to stand next to him. “Putting a ring on this one’s finger was the best decision I ever made.” He wrapped his arm around his fiancée’s waist as he smiled up at her. 

Rachel laughed as she draped her arm around Jake’s shoulders. “You’re planning on proposing?” She asked with excitement lacing her voice. “Do it soon, then Y/n/n and I can be engaged at the same time. Ooh, maybe a double wedding!”

A.J. shook his head with a smile as he looked towards the doorway, expecting to see you enter at any second since Rachel was now in here. When you didn’t, he glanced at your best friend and asked, “Where is she, anyway? You leave her to get lost in her own house?”

Rachel playfully rolled her eyes. “No, I was just making sure this guy was behaving,” she nudged Jake, who just continued smiling up at her. “Last I saw her, she was talking to the next door neighbor who hasn’t been able to take his eyes off her all night.”

A.J.’s smile faded at that and he left the kitchen without saying another word. Rachel and Jake’s conversation faded into the background as he entered the living room again, and instead of finding you where he left you by the sliding door, you were by the couch and talking to some dark haired guy. 

While he knew he had no reason at all to be jealous, seeing as this was his own fucking living room he shared with you, A.J. still didn’t like seeing you around guys who clearly just wanted to sleep with you.

And this guy did a very bad job at hiding the fact that he wanted to fuck you. 

A.J. made his way over to you, receiving a slap on his shoulder from Jesse as he did so. You wanted him to find you later, and he was more than ready to take you up on that offer now. 

Your eyes drifted from the brunet and met A.J.’s, and a smile formed on your lips, instantly replacing the barely hidden look of boredom on your face.

The guy probably thought you were smiling at him, but A.J. sorted him out pretty quickly as he stepped around the stranger and wrapped his arm around your waist. He pulled you into his side and he didn’t even bother glancing at the guy’s face before he was pressing a deep kiss to your mouth. 

You return it immediately and lean into his touch when he lifts his free hand up to grip your jaw and angle your head, and you willingly give him full control of the kiss. He slowly pulls away and smirks at the way you keep your eyes closed for a few more seconds before he looks over at the guy, who did not look happy at all. “New friend, baby?” He asked, making you open your eyes and look over as well. 

“Um, this is….Dean?” You question and A.J. held back a laugh at the offended look Dean gave you. “He’s our new neighbor, Jay.”

“Nice to meet you,” A.J. said and ignored Dean’s outstretched hand as he turned back to you and leaned in close. “Do you know how badly I want to fuck you right now?” He asked under his breath as Dean stood awkwardly next to him. 

Your eyes widen and you let out a startled laugh. “A.J,” you gasp quietly and look over at your neighbor with a blush.

A.J. glanced over at him, too, before beginning to pull you towards the half-bath next to the hallway that led to yours and his room. You feebly waved at Dean as A.J. made a show of guiding you into the bathroom, a smug smirk on his lips when he saw Dean’s glare. 

Once he entered the bathroom as well, he closed the door and locked it before pushing you up against it. “I gotta say, baby,” he murmured as his hands pulled up the black material of your dress. “I’m not a big fan of our new neighbors.”

You lean your head back against the door as he bunches your dress around your hips and teased your clit through the thin material of your panties. “Why? Not friendly enough?” 

A.J. grunted as he pushed the lace material down your legs and let it drop to the tiled floor. “They’re too friendly,” he answered as he picked you up and set you down on the marbled countertop. 

You squeal at the cold surface against your burning skin and cling onto his shoulders. “Fuck, A.J.,” you mumble and tug at his suspenders. “What’s gotten into you? You were fine when you left to go find Jake.”

He would never admit that he was jealous of that prick in his living room, so he shrugged and kissed along your shoulders. “Nothings gotten into me,” he said under his breath. “But hopefully I can get into you.”

You moan loudly, despite being able to clearly hear the party guests outside the door. “Well, when you say it like that,” you tease and drop your hands to the button on his dress pants. “But we have to be quick, Jay. We’re hosting right now.”

“Fuck them,” he rasped as he reached his hand in between your bodies and sunk his index and middle fingers into your heat. “Fuck everyone out there, baby. We’re in our house. I should take you back out there and fuck you right on that couch.” 

You moan at his dirty words and run your hands through his hair, successfully making it messy. No one else got that privilege as he usually spent a good ten minutes doing his hair - just to throw a hat over it, but he would happily let you mess it up whenever you wanted. “You’d actually do it, too,” 

A.J. smirked at you as he worked you open with his fingers. “I would,” he agreed as he looked down. “You’re dripping, baby. Did the teaser I gave you in front of Dean turn you on that much?”

“That and you,” came your muffled answer as you buried your face against the side of his neck. “Are you really going to fuck me in the bathroom at a party?”

“Yes,” he answered as you unzipped his pants. “Unless you feel like waiting until everyone leaves and I can fuck you all over the house. Fair warning, though, I don’t think this party is dying any time soon.”

You moan and lift your head. “Get to it, then,” you murmur and pull him free. A.J. presses his lips to yours at the same time he enters you with a single thrust, and the feeling has you grasping onto his shirt tightly. “Fuck. Is this how you did it in the Ivy League? Fucking random girls in bathrooms during parties?”

“Had to practice somehow. And you’re not just a random girl,” he said back and you laughed before moaning rather loudly as he began to roughly fuck into you. You slap one hand over your mouth with wide eyes and he smirks. “Can’t be quiet, huh, baby?”

You shake your head as you lean back against the mirror. “No,” you agree and tug on his hair with your other hand. “I can’t be quiet when it comes to you, Jay. You make me feel so good.”

A.J. groaned when you clenched around him, and he knew he wasn’t much better. One of the perks of living in an actual house and not an apartment, was that you and he could be as loud as you wanted. 

Not that the thin walls of your last apartment stopped you from being loud. You’d received countless noise complaints, and they all were ignored by A.J., who just fucked you harder until the bed slammed against the wall with each thrust.  

It was like how he was fucking into you now. 

Your body moved further and further back on the counter until you had to place your hand flat against the marble, accidentally knocking over the bottle of soap in the process and making it fall to the floor. “Jesus,” you gasped as his hips rocked into yours. 

A.J. grunted and kept one hand on your hip while his other reached up to grip the side of your face. “God, you’re tight,” he rasped, making you smirk as you wrap your legs tighter around him. 

The smirk was promptly wiped from your face as he began roughly slamming into you, loud moans emitting from your mouth with each thrust. “Oh, my God,” you cried as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, your hands bunching up his shirt tightly. “Fuck yes, Jay.”

A.J. groaned and pressed his mouth to yours, his tongue poking out and parting your lips, coating them in a layer of his spit. “Feel good, princess?” He teasingly asked and you nod uncontrollably. 

“Feels so good,” you answer, clinging onto him as you feel your release approaching embarrassingly fast. “So fucking good.”

He grunted, kissing all over your neck as you squeezed him over and over again. “You’re taking me so well, baby,” he praised, reaching behind you to pull on your hair. 

You squeal a bit, hiking your body closer to his as you hear the sounds of the party-goers right outside the door. “I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you warned loudly, no longer caring about the guests hearing you at this point. 

“Already?” He mocked, pulling at your bottom lip with his thumb. “You needed me just as badly as I needed you, huh?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, your body involuntarily bucking forward to meet his thrusts. “Oh, my fucking God, yes, please please please.”

A.J. gripped your waist in both hands, his still clothed thighs hitting the backs of yours as you moaned loudly in the surprisingly big half-bath. 

You grip his back and pull his chest against yours as you feel your release take over. “Oh, God,” you cried out as you clamped impossibly tight around him. “I’m coming.”

A.J. cursed under his breath as he felt your walls pulse around him before a warmth took him over. “There you go, baby. Give it to me,” he muttered, and your whines increased in volume. “Good girl.” He praised, kissing the skin under your ear as you writhed against him. 

“Are you…” you trailed off as you slumped against his chest, his hips still lazily rocking into yours. “Are you gonna come, too?”

A.J. let out a surprised moan at your dirty question and how sweetly you asked it. He leaned in and kissed you hard, using his hand to angle your head so he had better access to your mouth. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” you answer instantly. “I want it so bad.”

His eyes shut tightly as he buried his face against the side of your neck. “I’ll come for you,” he promised, feeling his stomach tighten with each slow thrust he gave. “I always will.”

You whine and pull him impossibly close as he came hard, his hips fucking his release deeper and deeper into you as he groaned loudly. 

When he pulls away, you smile shyly at him as you smooth out his shirt with  a quiet laugh. “Is it all out of your system now?”

“Is what all out of my system?” He asked as he pressed a chaste kiss to your mouth. “My unhealthy need to fuck you all over our new house? No, that won’t be out of my system for quite a while.”

You laugh then bite your lip as he pulls out of you, then he reaches down to run two fingers through your sensitive core. He collects his release onto his digits before lifting his hand again, and you lean in to wrap your mouth around them, hearing him grunt deeply as you clean himself off his fingers. “Tasty,” you smirk once you pull away. 

A.J. had to hold off on taking you right then and there as he felt himself grow a bit hard again. Instead, he cleaned you up, smoothed out your outfit and finished it off with a kiss to your lips. “You ready to go back out there?” He asked and you nodded. “Don’t be surprised when we get some dirty looks, because I think every single person out there knows what we did in here.”

You shrug, looking up at him with a teasing smirk. “Who cares? It’s our house,” you point out and pull open the door. “Do me a favor and don’t fix your hair, okay?”

Then you were walking out of the bathroom, leaving A.J. to look at himself in the mirror with a laugh as he took notice of his post-sex hair. If it wasn’t obvious enough what you and he just got finished doing, his messy hair will definitely get the message across. 

And that was exactly why he left it as it is before following after you.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

WOULD PRICE'S LADY TEACH HIM SPADES?

I'm hollering because the relationship almost didn't survive that first game of spades when visiting her family. Let's switch perspectives, shall we?

Price POV

Rating: Gen Audience

continuation of this post here

John is already dealing out the cards for their next card game. He is sitting across from Kyle, and he feels sorta bad for what he's about to do...but when his Missus had said that he wasn't good at bluffing or shit talking at the spades table he knew he had to practice. Normally he deals out five cards like any old poker game, Simon and Johnny aren't paying attention because Johnny is grilling Simon about his new hen (and if she has any single friends.)

Kyle notices that he has 13 cards and immediately sighs, "Absolutely not. I actually like you guys."

This grabs Johnny's attention, and he tilts his head, "Wot we playin'?"

"Spades." John says, "I just think we should try something new." It's his go-to phrase thanks to his Missus. She says it often when she inevitably coaches him out of his comfort zone. He smiles at the thought of her, and then he frowns because when she said this to him before that disastrous spades game. (He had never seen his girl so fired up and competitive against her sibling and their partner. He honestly thought a fight was going to happen, but then it was explained that was just how they were, loud rowdy and passionate).

Simon is skeptical about the new game, "Why does Gaz look distressed?" He side eyes him. It's a new expression on his face, and he probably picked that one up recently.

"I'm distressed because if we play this game and Johnny cuts me, I won't be inclined to help him ever again." Kyle is already getting up to switch places with Simon, so he is sitting across from Johnny. Kyle is glaring at him and Simon, "what next, are we playing bones? Uno with house rules? Throwing dice at the wall and snapping our fingers?"

Soap is laughing, "Why're ye so stressed about a few games?" He wipes a tear from his eye.

"Captain’s girl has him playing spades, and he has a fade, Simon is wearing black forces with red laces. Nothing good is going to happen if either of them decide to leave their girlfriends." Kyle looks genuinely concerned, and John feels like he is overreacting.

Still, John just chuckled and explained the rules for spades. A few minutes later he finds himself fussing at Simon for throwing down the big joker after the first go around. Johnny is cackling because the only thing he understood about the rules is that nothing beats a spade except a higher spade, and he just used his only three consecutively. Kyle has tried to jump across the table twice, and John is surprised because he's never seen his little mini me lose his carefully crafted composure. By the time this round ends, the four of them are arguing about rules and who screwed who first.

"Cap! I've been playing spades for years! How are you gonna tell me the rules! You can't throw down a heart on a bunch of diamonds, and then in the next play, throw down a diamond!" Kyle is throwing his arms up.

"Wait, ah'm confused" Johnny says, "are we not winnin'?"

"He's saying that my bear is cheating." They didn't hear the basement door open, and Missus entered the room. "Cuddly Bear." She traces her hand across his shoulder, and John looks at her. "I really don't need you perfect at playing spades... you play dominoes well enough, and you clean up at the poker table."

John feels his cheeks warm up at the compliment, and he misses the way Kyle gasps. "Just trying something new with the guys, Sweetheart. "

"He plays dominoes! Ugh, I can't." He flops into his chair.

Missus only laughs, "Actually, I came up here to see if you four wanted to watch 'Why did I get married?' with us downstairs."

John doesn't mind, but he finds it odd that Kyle only groans and pulls his hat over his face.

[cod-dump]

Price comes into their shared safe house after he had to shave and all he gets is chaos. Soap's close to hyperventilating as he points at him. Gaz is screaming about stranger danger. Ghost looks like he's seen a ghost (pun intended), absolutely shell shocked

Shaving his beard was only practical for the under cover mission ahead of him considering it was his most recognizable feature. It was strange seeing himself without it. He looked so much younger. When he walked out of the bathroom after finishing, Laswell did a double take.

“Wow. Forgot what you looked like without a rat on your face.”

Price rolled his eyes, “Very funny.”

He kept feeling his face. He felt like he was missing a part of him without the beard.

“I’m sure you gave the boys a heads up, right?”

“No?”

Laswell gives him a look, “You really should tell them. Before you get stabbed or blown up or shot.”

“Kate, they’re not going to react like that.”

“John, you look like a whole different person. Have they ever seen you without the beard?”

“No? But that doesn’t matter! I don’t look that different. They’re smarter than that.”

Price ignored the face Laswell was giving him. He needed to head back to the safe house and get ready to leave for the mission. He had two meetings he needed to attend, as well. Laswell just wished him luck instead of a usual goodbye. He scoffed, she was overreacting. The boys were all grown men. They may be taken aback by his missing beard but nothing extreme was going to happen.

Price was tired by the time he got back to the safe house. It was late but he knew the boys were still up. Most likely waiting for him so they (Ghost) could lock up the house properly. He opened the door and all but slammed it shut, that way Ghost knew he was there and didn’t try to kill him. He took his hat off and hung it up, groaning as he headed to the kitchen.

Ghost was there, sipping some tea.

“Hey, Simon-“

Ghost looked at him and immediately dropped his mug. Price jumped as ceramic shards and tea went all over the floor.

“What the hell, Simon?!”

Ghost stared at him, eyes wide. Soap ran into the kitchen not long after the mug shattered.

“Si! Are you okay-“

Soap cut himself off when he saw Price. His mouth hung open and he lifted his hand and pointed at his face. Price instinctively rubbed his face.

“I shaved.”

Soap gasps and stumbles back towards Ghost. He only stops when his back hits the man’s chest. He kept trying to speak but nothing comprehensible came out. He started breathing heavy as Ghost stood there like a statue.

“Breathe, Johnny-!”

“What’s going on in here-“

Price turned as Gaz walked into the kitchen. The man took one look at him before he just screamed at the top of his lungs. Price winces as Gaz screams bloody murder, Soap dropping to the floor. Ghost continued to stand, unmoving.

“Bloody- I SHAVED! IT’S NOT THE BIG OF A DEAL!”

“YOU LOOK LIKE YOU’RE GOING TO ASK ME IF I HAVE TIME TO TALK ABOUT JESUS!”

It took two full hours to get the three to calmly sit in the living room. They stared at him as he explained the mission he was going on, not hearing a word he was saying. Price stopped talking when he phone started ringing. He winces when he sees it was Laswell.

“Kate, hey-“

“I told you.”

Price blinks, groaning when he remembered that Laswell had full access to the security cameras around the safe house. He rubs his face, missing his beard.

“Yea… you did.”