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livindeadgirlgrav · 3 months

Note

Hello!! Hope you're doing alright!

May I request headcannons or a story for Nubbins Sawyer about his female s/o saving him from his death? Like in that scene from movie when he's chasing Sally and then gets run over by an 18-wheeler, but his s/o saves him in time.

if you don't want to write about it, it's perfectly fine to ignore this request.

Thank you in advance and have a lovely day!! ♡

Why would I ignore this??? I LOVE IT! I LOVE NUBBINS!!! 🖤 Thank you tons for the request lol

Pairing: Nubbins Sawyer x fem reader

Warning: Violence, death, kidnapping, cannibalism, killing, blood, gore galore, hot sweaty cannibal man, slight NSFW, Kinda fluffy, etc

Tonight was just like any other night within the Sawyer house. You laid in Nubbins bed as you listened to the records his twin brother had gifted him. Adjusting the headphones you could still hear the actions happening below you. Nubbins understood you weren't the 'killing type' like Drayton puts it. But that doesn't mean Nubbins doesn't enjoy his time tormenting helpless victims whether you hear him or not. Reaching over to the diy skull table you turned the knob of the record player turning the music up so you wouldn't have to hear the howling pack of hounds called the Sawyers. You didn't mind being alone for a while, Nubbins tend to be very clingy and sometimes you just needed a little break so this arrangement was perfect! Nubbins got his play time and you got your free time. A win win for both parties but you wouldn't lie something about tonight felt weird..Something wasn't right and it was eating you up.

Tossing and turning you finally found a comfortable position and manged to fall asleep despise the nagging dread flowing through your body. After what felt like hours you woke up realizing Nubbins wasn't back upstairs besides what time it was. Pushing the headphones off your head you noticed everything was quiet. Listening to your gut you quickly got up throwing on a pair of you jeans and grabbed your boots shoving your foot in them as you nearly tripped out the bedroom door. "Nubbins?" you yelled but before you could call again you started hearing a female scream followed by Bubba's chainsaw. "Oh shit." You thought quickly running down the stairs nearly tripping again since your boots were a bit big-They were a gift from Nubbins, aka a pair of a victims shoes- Quickly you ran out the door following behind Bubba. You watched Nubbins run after the blonde girl as she screamed and tried limping away. You ran towards him but thanks to the over sized boots you fell face first into the Texas dirt. "Fuck!" you shouted but quickly you kicked the boots off, jumped up and ran after Nubbins.

Passing Bubba you finally caught up to Nubbins at the road. Nubbins grabbed the girl laughing as he sliced her back up. You watched him but your attention was grabbed by the sound of a very fast tracker trailer. "Nubbins!" You shouted quickly ran towards him hearing the truck horn blaring. The blonde girl wiggled out of Nubbins grasp and he quickly froze as he looked up at the truck coming right at him. But you grabbed his green shirt from behind and wanked him back hard just in time. Resulting in both of you falling backwards with a thud. Sitting up you looked at Nubbins seeing he was breathing hard but alive. Looking towards the blonde girl across the road made your blood start to boil, She nearly got Nubbins killed and you weren't happy. Hearing the trucks squeal as the driver slammed on brakes. You quickly reached over Nubbins, grabbing his razor before jumping to your feet. "You fucking bitch" You spat before running after her, grabbing her you shoved her to the ground. Proceeding to sit on top of her and slash her with the razor. Nubbins quickly got onto his feet watching you release your anger onto the girl. Stunned he stood there, not realizing the driver was getting out the truck. As you continued to slash at the girl the man quickly ran to you, trying to pull you off the girl, but before the man got you onto your feet you swung the straight razor one last time managing to slice the girls throat open. As you were finally pulled to your feet you fought against the man smirking once you heard the sound of Bubba's beloved chainsaw getting closer. "Get em Bubba!" You shouted, getting your wrist lose from the man's grasp and shoving Nubbins straight razor into the man's side causing him to let go of you. Thinking fast you quickly ducked down as Bubba swung his chainsaw over your head and into the mans chest. His blood spewed onto you as the chainsaw entered his body. The driver was early cut in half as he fell back behind you.

Standing up you wiped the blood from your cheek and adjusted into your stance..Catching your breath you looked down at the girl watching the blood spill from her throat. As you watched the dark liquid flow onto the ground you started to realize what just happened. Looking behind you, you saw the sliced up man seeing his blood seep out onto the road into a huge puddle that unfortunately you were standing in..barefoot. Feeling sick you stepped over them, back towards the house but stopped in your tracks as you started to gag. "Oh no..no." You stated as you started to panic, Nubbins quickly rushed towards you. "You're okay! d-don't cry, don't c-cry darling." He stuttered trying to calm you down before you exploded. Nubbins pulled you towards him and held your head to his chest trying to stop you from looking back at what you did. Stroking your head quickly he looked down at you. "You protected me! I-I would be flat!" He giggled like the little psychopath he was. Every time you would move your head towards the terrific scene he would push your head back into his chest, finally just covering your eyes with the hand that was stroking your hair. "Y-you saved me." He stated as he kissed the top of your head as he watched Bubba grab the man's foot dragging him towards the house. "Keep your eyes closed." Nubbins said letting go of you once he got your nod of approval. Nubbins walked to the girl and chuckled. He stuck his tongue out at her dead face before grabbing her ankle. Dragging her towards you. "D-don't look behind me! O-or in front of you! Just look down." You nodded doing what he said. You knew exactly what they were doing hearing the noise of shuffling gravel.

Once you got back to the house you sat down at the dining room table with grandpa. Holding your head in your hands, starring at the wall as you heard Nubbins and Bubba struggle as they dragged the bodies into the backroom. Drayton yelled as they dragged the bodies against the floor. "Look what you're doing to the floor!" He shouted in his thick country accent. Continuing to stare at the wall Drayton came into the dining room. "What's the matter girly?" He asked in a much softer tone. He was always sweet towards you surprisingly. "I killed her.." You stated emotionless, Drayton rubbed your back. "Aw don't worry about it none.." He stated. "She almost caused Nubbins to get hit by that truck..I was so angry.." Drayton laughed. "Well of course you were angry! That's you old man. Well don't you worry no, you should talk to grandpa he's the best killer around!" You smiled slightly at him. He rubbed the back of your head. "Now the saw is family just you remember that." He patted the back of your head and walked away. Nodding you looked at grandpa. Hearing Nubbins walk in you quickly stood up and walked towards him wrapping your arms around his neck. "I love you Nubbins..please don't leave me here alone." Nubbins hugged back not caring your back was nearly covered in blood. "I l-love you t-too." he responded his cute speech impediment causing you to smile. "I-i ain't going n-no where." He placed his chin on your head and held you.

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Welllll I hope you guys enjoyed reading!! Thank you tons for the request!

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pricegouge · 4 months

Text

Fatted Rabbit, Part Twelve on AO3

Content

You tell yourself the best plan is no plan.

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

You tell yourself the best plan is no plan. You don't know how he does it, but Phil's always been able to predict your thought process. In retrospect, you're not sure why you ever thought some idyllic northern getaway could have possibly saved you. Of course he found you there; he knew how much you missed home, knew you weren't quite dumb enough to return.

So, no plan. Except you can't go much more north without a passport, so that's out. You briefly wonder about Canada's asylum policy and then marvel at your ability to laugh at a time like this. Beats crying, you think, as you cry hard enough that signs blur and you miss the last good turnoff toward a western route for hours. On your left, the Flatheads loom high overhead, barren and undeveloped, casting their runoff into the valley through which you drive. You carry on, game driven into the basin.

After nearly nine hours of driving, you make it out of Montana. You don't stop. The road ahead of you seems to trip over itself, fall flat. Your headlights illuminate more than twenty yards ahead of you now as the terrain levels out. You check your rearview every thirty seconds, manage to convince yourself you see a low gleam working its way down the range behind you. You keep an eye out for a road side parking area, eventually make due with an abandoned leveled lot, and sit with a steak knife in hand as you wait for the car far miles behind you to catch up, sobbing in relief when it passes without so much as tapping its brakes.

You feel maybe a little ridiculous sitting there with your knife, and then realize even the threat of Phil nearby has your thoughts spiraling into old patterns again. The only thing ridiculous about your little steak knife is the fact that you don't know how to use it, and it won't do shit against a man who once stood you against a wall and broke in his new nine iron by driving golf balls at you after your late return from work had 'worried him' so much he'd missed tee time.

You'd left him a few times in the past - quick excursions he would basically allow before pulling some string you never did find the source of and having you fired. He'd wait you out, come calling with pretty flowers and prettier promises when he knew you were facing eviction just to show his true colors once he had you solidly dependent on him again. Somehow, you didn't think it would go down like that this time. Phil didn't love you, he barely ever even liked you, and now you'd made him miss tee time by months.

You only realize now, trying to sleep upright in the driver's seat, parked on the side of a road so barren you'd had to DIY a pull off, that you'd basically done half his job for him. For all intents and purposes, you're already dead. No societal standing to be upended once he finally tracked you down. There were no coworkers who would note your absence as uncharacteristic, no PO box that would overflow to the point the clerk would call for a wellness check. Phil had separated you from your loved ones, sure, but you'd kept them away out of fear.

The only one who would note your absence was John, but you'd made it perfectly clear that was by your own choice after yelling at him like you had.

John. You want to cry again, don't have the energy. You'd known he'd been keeping tabs on you, somehow, and you'd managed to convince yourself you were being paranoid. Stupid , same as always. You'd been so proud of how far you'd come since leaving Phil but you'd again made the same dumbass mistakes that had landed you with that bastard in the first place; ignoring instincts in favor of a handsome smile.

Still, he didn't deserve to be left like that, and you'd be lying if you didn't need someone to talk to right now. Your phone sits in the center console, unpowered and unthreatening.

You decide you're still mad, that you'll call him tomorrow.

Between the self-doubt, your inclined position, and the one eye you keep trained on the wide horizon at all times, it takes you over an hour to fall asleep despite your genuine exhaustion. It's fitful and restless; you get maybe three hours sleep before the sun begins creeping above the flat plains ahead of you to the east. You'd forgone your blinds as a safety measure so there's no escaping the blinding brightness of the horizon and you grumble about how you should have turned your car around so you could have slept in just a bit. Still, getting flash banged by the flatland sunrise is preferable to at least one other wake up call you know you could have gotten. You give yourself another ten minutes or so to wiggle some feeling into your stiff joints and enjoy the sun's warmth on your face. But when the air quality begins to shift from golden warm to still and humid, you climb out of the Jeep to rush through your morning routine.

It's strange how used you've gotten to baring your ass in public. Back out by Glacier, you'd gotten to the point that it hardly made you squint more than was necessary to check the coast was clear. Here though, in the open fields of Wyoming, with barely any vegetation to hide you and a known predator that scares you far worse than a friendly bear on your tail, you find yourself a little gun shy. Strange, missing being homeless in the woods.

A nagging voice tells you you're missing more about Glacier than just the vegetation, doesn't shut up when you try to slam your door on it.

***

Another four hours of driving brings you down close to real civilization. You skirt past one city and come upon her sister an hour later. Desperation and exhaustion weigh heavy on you, and you know if you sleep in your car another night you'll be too beat come tomorrow to drive safely. You drum your fingers off the steering wheel as you sit at a red light, weighing your options. It's possible Phil can track your spending. You'd switched your bank when you'd left, of course, but he's mean and scary, and tends to get what he wants. Banks and payroll offices are manned by individual people, after all. It's unlikely, but offers a neat, tidy explanation as to how he found you to begin with. It would be best to empty your account and start a new one, but that can be difficult without an address. Start small. An ATM could at least give you a few day's head start.

You find one in the lobby of a small pharmacy, stare at it suspiciously through the vestibule glass for a good twenty minutes before deciding on a plan. Withdrawing as much as the ATM allows, you wince at what you see of your remaining balance on the receipt. Yesterday morning the amount had been a comfort, but now that you know Phil is no closer to giving you up than he'd been months ago, you can't help but feel a little helpless about your pitiful savings.

It's a problem for another day, though. In the meantime, you need a safe place to hang your hat for the night. If Phil is monitoring your account, he'll have seen you stop off in Gillette so you head back the way you came and find a room at the sleaziest motel Buffalo has to offer. The carpets don't even extend under the bed, and you're fairly certain a sex worker is posted up next door, but that's her business; yours is keeping your head down.

After checking thoroughly for bed bugs, you deem it safe enough to bring in a change of clothes and some essentials. You make yourself the world's plainest quesadilla on your skillet for dinner, and tuck into bed with a happy sigh while the sun's still up.

Still, exhaustion isn't quite enough to keep your brain from running in circles; and after spending the whole weekend tucked tight to John's side, you can't help but choke up a bit, thinking of what you left behind. You know you'd panicked when he first admitted to knowing about Phil. It probably hadn't warranted running the fuck away like you did, but it was too late now. What could you do, go crawling back explaining how you'd assumed him to be a monster based off the smallest of transgressions and would he please take you back? Besides, you had warned him you'd leave if Phil ever showed up again.

You sigh, eye your phone where it sits on the bedside table, still powered off. You've been avoiding it like the plague, knowing full well that every minute that ticks by unanswered only makes it worse. If John's reached out, he'll have assumed something bad has happened based on your silence. You should reassure him, at least tell him you're alive. But you're not sure you'll be able to stand the rejection you'll feel if you power it on and find no missed messages.

"Christ," you huff, unsure how you're even able to worry about such petty things at a time like this. You turn your phone on out of spite and frown when the amount of missed notifications which pop up nearly brick your phone. You scroll through them quickly, noting your voicemail box is full - mostly John, though a couple from an unknown number catch your eye. You listen to one and get a little teary eyed when you hear Soap's brogue telling you to 'Come back Bonnie, we'll help you.'

Filling up your mailbox hadn't stopped John from calling, it seems, another forty or so missed calls are enough to give you pause. There is such a thing as too concerned, though if you'd known that he'd had an abusive ex who was actively hunting him down and then suddenly he'd disappeared from your life, you suppose you'd be pretty worried too. You briefly scroll through the text messages, only a few words here or there registering. 'Can't smell. Fucking pepper spray,' draws your attention and you frown in confusion.

"Pepper spray?" you ask yourself, and then jump so bad you nearly throw your phone across the room when it starts ringing.

"John?"

" Bunny, " he sighs in relief. Or at least you think he does. Hard to tell, with how croaky his voice sounds. "Where are you?"

"Wyoming. Are you okay? You sound like you got throatfucked."

"Am I bloody o -." He huffs, takes a deep breath. "Who cares? Are you okay? Send me your location, I'll come meet you."

"John, that's -."

"Sweetheart, please ," when he begs, his voice goes thin and ragged. He coughs to clear it - wet, hacking, and then groans in pain.

"John, seriously, are you okay? Are you sick?"

"Did you get my messages?"

"You sent a lot of messages, man. I haven't had a chance to go through them all."

"Oh." He pauses, sniffles, hacks a bit more. "Ran into your ex."

"Phil?" you breathe, eyes darting to the window instinctively, as if even just mentioning his name could summon him. "When did you see Phil?"

"Right as you were pulling out of that cafe."

"You're sure it was him?" Your voice sounds far away, but you can't even concentrate on that when your brain's running in circles trying to figure out why Phil would get so close without accosting you.

"Can't imagine anyone else would want to unload two cans of mace on me."

You blink stupidly at your phone for a minute. On the other end, John just keeps grumbling about his sense of smell. "Seriously, bunny, come ho -."

"He did what!? " you shriek, belatedly.

"It's no matter, sweetheart, but I can't find you now unless you tell me where you are, okay? Please tell me where you are." Something about the way that's phrased should strike you as odd, but you're too busy hyperventilating about the fact that your dogshit life choices have gone and gotten poor John involved. Two cans of mace, what the fuck?

"John, I'm so sorry. I never should have even been there, shit , are you okay? Did you go to the hospital?" There had been witnesses hanging around; you remember how they'd watched you and John warily. Surely they'd have called for help when Phil attacked him and -. "Wait, is Phil still there?"

"No," John growls. There's no other word for it. John's got a deep, scratchy voice as is, but in this state it's down right animalistic. "Bit his ear off and the coward scarpered before authorities arrived."

You blink again. "Huh?"

"Cops were slow getting there. Laswell says they had a busy day with -."

"No, before that. Did you say you bit Phil's ear off? "

"Oh. Yeah. Couldn't exactly fight, blinded and all. Just kinda instinct."

"Okay there, Iron Mike…" there are important follow up questions you should be asking. About PEP and therapy, probably, but all you can think about is John covered in Phil's blood and while it should disturb you, it very much doesn't.

"Bunny. Focus, sweetheart, please. Where are you?"

"Uh. Buffalo, Wyoming. I'd give you the address of the motel, but I don't think they legally exist anywhere."

John barely hums, unamused. "Can you send me your location, honey?"

You chew your lip, debating. It's one thing to feel like right shit about what happened, another thing to overlook the entire reason you'd been mad at him. "You never explained how you knew about Phil."

John sighs, shuffles around a bit. You think you can hear Simon in the background, but then a door shuts and it's quiet on his end. "Wasn't lying, sweetheart. Graves came into the bar looking for you. Soap ID'd him, didn't think anything of it when he said you'd probably come around later. Well, you didn't, obviously - thankfully -, so Graves apparently hung out for a good few hours, just asking about you and saying some vaguely threatening things to Soap. Simon threw him out, then took his name from Soap and called up Gaz - my old bartender; you haven't met him yet. Together they did some digging and found out all about Phil, and when they brought this all to my attention, I kind of panicked. Tracked you down, scared you. Sorry about -."

"How did you track me down?"

He hesitates. "Only yellow Wrangler in the area."

You huff, frustrated that it's a good answer, and then glance back to the window warily when you realize your car hasn't stopped being conspicuous.

"Bunny, you should be here. We can help you."

You try not to think about how sad he sounds. "You said you did some digging on him?"

"Basic stuff. Residence, employment -."

"He knows someone high up. I think military, but like… way up there. He's slippery. Nothing sticks to him." You're not sure if you're warning John, or yourself. 'Don't get your hopes up,' you want to say. 'There is no "stand your ground" on this.'

"All the more reason you should be here." His voice borders on anger, but for once, you don't even flinch. John is not mad at you.

"What are you gonna do if he turns up again? Bite his other ear off?"

"I'll eat him alive if I ever see him again," John growls, and you gulp, try to remember now is not the time to start wondering if you're maybe into… well, not cannibalism; that brings to mind Anthony Hopkins, fancy wine, and bone china. But you would have paid good money to see John bite Phil's ear off, and you don't know what that says about you. Not trusting your voice, you just share your location with him and smile to yourself when he checks the notification and sighs in relief. "Thank you, bunny."

You hum, settle further into your bed. "I'll start heading back in the morning." You don't mean to sound so sheepish, but it's hard not to be embarrassed by your blind panic when John made it all sound so easy. Sometimes you forget how little experience you have with healthy relationships until you do something as childish as running away to the next state instead of asking a clarifying question.

Blessedly, John doesn't seem to mind too much. "Simon and I'll start heading your way tonight. Keep your phone on for me, okay love?"

The pet name takes you by surprise, makes your voice catch in your throat. "Okay."

He pauses, clearly having noticed. "You alright?"

"Yeah," you croak, very clearly not. "Could you stay on the phone with me while I fall asleep?"

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathes, "of course."

"I'm sorry I thought you were spying on me," you blubber.

You're not sure if he knows what exactly you're referring to, but he takes it in stride anyway. "Can't blame you for being paranoid considering everything, bunny."

"And I'm sorry you got maced 'cause of me."

"That's not on y -."

"And I'm sorry I didn't even know about it 'cause I was too busy running away like a coward."

John huffs, coughs. "Not cowardice, bunny. I think if I -."

"You make me feel safe, John. I don't know why I didn't stay." You'd be surprised if he understood that one, what with all the broken sobs. Absently, you worry about the income of the girl next door. Loud weeping can't be good for the mood, you'd assume.

"Oh, bunny, you're still safe. You've got yourself a nice den tonight, yeah? With a door and a proper bolt?"

"Yeah," you sniffle, and John hums in approval.

"And I'll stay on the line with you. All night if you want. And tomorrow we should meet up around Billings, it looks like. I'll drive back with you, keep you safe."

You sigh, rational thought creeping in. "You guys don't have to meet me halfway, you know? I can just -."

"We're driving down and that's final. I won't be able to sleep anyway."

"Okay," you mumble, not at all mad about the outcome. The conversation peters a bit and you assume he's trying to let you sleep but your mind is still too busy so you pull up maps to check the route you'll take tomorrow. Billings is much closer to you than half way, but you suppose that makes sense if they start driving tonight.

He's so fucking sweet.

"I miss you," you blurt, close your eyes when you hear how vulnerable it makes you sound.

"Miss you too, sweetheart. I hope you know I'm not letting you sleep outside my bed for at least a month after this." Part of you wants to find fault in his words, fret over the way he presumes to control you.

Mostly, you're too tired.

"And I miss my fucking bear," you pout.

John coughs - or maybe laughs -, clears his throat. "I'm sure your bear misses you too."

You sniffle, listen to John do the same and think about his poor sinuses. You're gonna make him so much fucking tea with honey after all this he's gonna think you're trying to drown him.

"Try to fall asleep for me, love, okay? I'm gonna start getting ready."

"Are you -?"

"I'll stay on the line. Got an earbud in so Simon can mind his own business."

You smirk, sure that if Simon's paying attention at all, it's out of concern more so than jugement. You're not sure how you know this, considering you've only spoken to the silent man a handful of times, but you remember how he calls you 'pet,' how he seemed genuinely happy that his boss was getting laid. "Tell him I said thanks. Oh, who's watching the bar?"

"Senior staff, bunny," John chuckles, "don't worry about it."

"Is Simon mad to be leaving his boyfriend?" you whisper, conspiratorially.

"Stoic as always, but Soap's right pissed about being left behind," he murmurs back. You hear Simon shout something and John covers his mouth piece to return fire. "Ears like a fucking elephant, that one," he grumbles when he returns. "Alright, bunny, I'm gonna mute myself so you can work on sleeping but I'm still here, okay? Sleep tight, see you soon."

"Okay, John. Drive safe."

"Will do, love," he whispers, and then the line goes quiet.

Checking the time code, just to be sure, you sigh happily when you see it's still counting. You remember to plug your phone in for once, and snuggle deeper into the scratchy bedding. "I miss your bed," you confide within the silent room, and watch the timer tick on. He's heard you, presumably, but he's got the right idea about you getting some sleep so you content yourself with silence. It would surprise you, how quickly you fall asleep, if you were awake enough to take note of it.

***

You're back in the Jeep, frigid in the drafty cab. You feel around for your blankets, but find yourself tangled in them, difficult to move. 'Must be snowing out, then,' you muse, and open your eyes to find the sky clear and cloudless, crescent moon casting wan light - just enough to see the tops of the pines dipping in and out of view as the wind pushes at them.

"Fuck," you grumble, jaw heavy with sleep. You feel around for your phone to check the forecast, convinced something isn't right. It eludes your grasp but calls to you with John's voice.

'-here, bunny,' it says, voice urgent like it has a winter storm warning to issue you.

"'S'a bit late, eh?" you try to quip, but you're still very sleepy and it's very cold, and your lips don't quite move the way they're supposed to.

You find a warm patch amongst your blankets and drift a bit, time distorting around the edges as it does when you're not fully awake. It feels like hours have passed, but the moon never moves, and your phone is still desperately trying to get your attention. You blink and the bear's outside the window, banging on it with human hands.

"Hey there, big guy," you mumble. It's a fox when it turns to you, eyes too blue, hair too light, and you squint at it suspiciously as the moonlight shifts into a warmer, incandescent shade.

"'Lo, darling."

"Shit!" You hiss, leaping to your feet. The movement sends your phone flying and you watch in horror as it lands with a small crunch at Phil's feet. The call doesn't end. You hear John's muffled voice from across the room, yelling something that doesn't sound aimed at you. Phil, seated on the only chair around, leans forward just enough to stare apathetically back down at it. He stands, takes a step closer to you, crushes your phone under his boot in the process.

Heart jackrabbiting in your chest, your gaze darts from Phil to the door. You make a run for it without even thinking it through, get clotheslined for your troubles. Phil plants a heavy boot on either side of you and leans down close, puts his mean face right up next to yours. You look at him - really look at him - for the first time in months; maybe years, considering how long you'd been avoiding him. He looks a little gaunt, chiseled down to sharp angles. The top of his ear looks like it was sawed off: gnarled and folded, stringy. It stinks like rot and looks like he may have tried to cauterize it, judging by the waxy quality of the skin that remains.

You used to think he was handsome.

"Phil," you hedge, but he smiles down at you with no warmth and you shut your mouth just as quickly.

"You know, I've had months to think about it, and I'm still not sure what I want to say to you. Not so sure I want to say anything at all," he drawls. You gulp, afraid to incite him even more. This is new. A quiet Phil was a plotting Phil. You'd expected screaming, physicality, but he's barely even touching you.

"Phil, please," you whisper. He shoots you a warning glance but you ignore it, croaking past the lump in your throat, "we don't have to do this. We can each just leave. You won, right? You found me, you've made it clear I'm not safe." He leans closer and you flinch, sobbing, "We can just be done."

"Now, see, if you'd just said that instead of running away and making me look stupid, maybe I'd agree." He's lying - you've tried that -, but mentioning that won't help. "But you didn't do that, did you? You know how it looks to have a fat little bitch like you walk out on a man like me?"

"You could've told people you'd sent me packing," you counter, and he backhands you for it. You gasp and palm the side of your face, ear ringing.

"Don't think we're even yet," he grins, angling his bad ear toward you.

You're not sure where the instinct comes from - or where it was all those years you'd been with Phil either; perhaps lying in wait for when you needed it most -, but the second he exposes his wound to you, you're calculating, grabbing for the shattered remains of your phone and shoving it up against the tender flesh. It stings, cutting into your palm, but that just means there are indeed sharp bits caught between your flesh and his so you press harder, following him when he reels backward and letting the momentum bring you to your feet. You dart over to the dresser, presence of mind enough at least to grab your keys before dashing madly out the door and towards your car. 'Billings,' you think wildly, spamming the unlock button on your fob, 'just have to make it to Billings.'

You can't believe your luck when you reach the Jeep first. You grab for the handle, get the door halfway open, but then your face is thrown into it and you collapse, dazed, half in your car and half out.

Behind you, Phil pants, probably more in pain than exhaustion considering he's always been a quick shit. When you glance over your shoulder, you're pleased to see him bloodied again, but the pleasure's short-lived as the motion makes it feel like your brain is no longer connected to your optic nerves. You slide to your knees on the pavement, head briefly propped in the footwell of your car. There's a voice in your head that's seen one too many movies urging you to move before Phil closes the door on your head, so you keep falling until you're laying flat out on the pavement, stomach churning violently at the sudden movement.

"Headache, darlin'?" You fight to focus, find Phil glowering despite his chipper voice. You don't answer, kick at him weakly instead. He catches your foot easily, keeps it pinned against the runner of your Wrangler. He laughs darkly. "My, look at you, doll. Got more fight in ya than you did before, I'll give you that. Cleverer, too. Doubling back after Gillette - that your idea, or your man's?"

You're so confused, head filled with cotton balls. Your man? Isn't he your man?

"Might've worked, had you not driven right past me in this fuckin' Jeep," he chuckles. "Bad luck there. What's your man call you? Bunny?"

Right, that's your man. You peer around, looking for him. "John?"

"Think your luck might've run out, rabbit. Back left, yeah?"

You blink, uncomprehending, and then scream in pain when he stomps on your raised ankle hard enough to break it.

Okay I'm not happy about it either, but while hemming and hawing about whether or not I wanted to be a cheesy horror writer and hobble my character, I remembered I literally have a bad luck rabbit tattoo (on the same sleeve as my bear tattoo, no less) and I am nothing if not a cheesy horror trope fan first and foremost.

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#bearshifter!price #captain john price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x you #john price x reader #bear!price #fatted rabbit #💷🔪

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