#john is almost doing the splits

[bluebellhairpin]

i'm creating a rdr2 oc rn that is soooo beyond my paygrade. what happens when a kind, giving soul is pushed beyond what she can bear.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Alt Rock to the Rescue

[Inspired by this art]

"...Alright, I might have an idea," John Constantine, who was seemingly busy texting someone for the past ten - or twenty, no one really counted - minutes, puts his phone away and snaps his head up.

The room falls silent. Superman blinks in surprise, Diana frowns slightly, and Batman's mouth is pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Flash recovers first.

"You have an idea?" He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, "No offense, but I'm not sure a magic trick can help us against, you know, an alien fleet." He gestures to one of the screens on the wall, where said fleet is approaching Earth on live.

The rest of the Leaguers present don't exactly agree with him, at least not verbally, but the mood in the room shifts from tense, anxious alarm to an almost palpable annoyance. To be honest, no one was even sure why or how John Constantine of all people ended up in the meeting. It's not like JLD could actually help with an ongoing, massive invasion that was about to happen in less than three- Correction, less than two and a half hours. Besides, it's John Constantine. The man that never shows up unless outright bullied into submission.

The magician winces briefly and starts rummaging through his pockets under the weight of everyone's attention.

"I said I might," he amends gruffly, getting a cigarette out of one of his pockets and sticking it in his mouth but not lighting it. Seems like it wasn't what he was looking for, though, because after that, the man keeps going through the various places on his coat, patting himself down. "I know someone who can deal with it. Granted, I already owe him a great deal, but he won't say no," he pauses and grimaces, "At least I hope he won't."

"I do not think it would be wise to call upon gods in our situation," Diana tries carefully, but John pays her little mind.

"Or demons," Green Arrow adds, crossing his arms on his chest, "I'm not selling my soul to get rid of some rocket ships or whatever they are."

Now, that makes the magician bark a laugh. Or, maybe it's the piece of lime green paper - a sticky note, actually - that he finally finds in the depths of his pockets.

"Oh, your soul's gonna stay where it is."

"Constantine-" Batman starts, but John cuts him off instantly.

"Mine will stay wherever it is as well," he reassures the man, "It's not that kind of entity." And with that, he promptly sets the green note on fire - green fire - and uses it as a lighter for his cigarette.

The next moment after the note is reduced to ash, there's a shift in the air in front of him, and, before any of the heroes have a split second to react, there are two people floating in the middle of the room, backs pressed to each other.

Two teenagers, to be exact. A girl and a boy, both of them so pale that their skin looks gray, and both dressed in grunge, like they just came from a rock concert. Yet, that's where the 'normal' parts of their looks end - the boy's hair is so white it looks blinding, and moves in the air slowly, undeterred by gravity, and the girl's hair is neon blue, her ponytail flickering up like a flaming torch.

The boy nearly topples over as the girl leans her back on him harder and kicks her feet up slightly. The movement is awkward, like both of them were taken by surprise by the sudden relocation, and maybe the guess about the rock concert was not so far from reality; there are drumsticks in the boy's hands, and the girl is holding an electric guitar in her hands.

"The fuck?.." The boy asks no one in particular, as the girl makes an annoyed groan and straightens up, still floating in the air. Her guitar makes an aborted sound. Meanwhile, the boy's eyes land on Constantine, and his whole face scrunches in disgust, "John, for the love of Ancients, I was in the middle of something."

The girl takes a look around while her friend is busy expressing his annoyance and elbows him in the side, "Oi, look, it's the whole Comic Con in the flesh here."

Green Arrow sputters. Flash makes a wordless but very offended sound. The floating boy looks around, taking stock of faces in the room, and the disgust on his face morphs into exasperation.

He turns back to Constantine, "Really? I thought I told you I want no part in your furry parade."

"Alien invasion," the magician decidedly doesn't address any of that, instead pointing his finger to the screen behind him. "Thought you ought to know," he adds, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.

"Ooh, is it my turn to be your world saving buddy, Phantom?" The girl perks up, turning around and draping herself over the boy's shoulders with a giddy laugh. Her guitar shifts to hang in the air on her side all by itself.

The boy - Phantom - rolls his eyes. Bright green, glowing eyes that definitely don't belong to a human being.

"If I had a nickel every time I had to save the world, I'd probably be able to buy myself my own guitar," he grumbles and looks back to Constantine. "Do I, like, have to? Right now? You know, I don't get paid for this bullshit, and the studio we rented for rehearsal has an hourly rate, so if we can postpone this for about an hour and a half, that'd be real nice."

"The fleet is only two hours away from Earth," Batman supplies suddenly, and, when both floating kids turn to look at him, adds, "I can pay for your next rehearsal. Or a few of them." Evidently, Phantom's comment about nickels struck a nerve. Or, maybe, the man just likes throwing money at any teenager he encounters. Who knows.

The boy blinks, taken aback by the proposition. But the girl grins, sharp and wicked, and shoves her drummer - if the drumsticks are to tell - in the side again.

"Hey, free studio. Better than the last time."

That snaps Phantom out of his stupor, and he groans, "Don't remind me." With a weary sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the air, almost like reclining on it. "Okay, fine, sure. Do you want them, like, away from Earth- um, this is Earth, right?" He turns to Superman, surprisingly, looking for confirmation, and the man nods, thrown off guard. The boy nods back and continues, "Or you want them blasted into oblivion, or what?"

"Whatever suits your mood, kid," John waves his hand at the screen as if making a welcoming gesture, "But all the aliens gotta go."

Unexpectedly, that makes the girl's grin even wider, and she reaches for her guitar, floating around Phantom and looking him in the face. The look she gives him speaks of mischief, and the boy seems to understand what she's implying before she as much as opens her mouth.

"Ember, no," he pounts a drumstick at her.

"Ember, yes," she wiggles her eyebrows, "Come on, your wail is boring as fuck as it is, why not spice it up?"

"I'm not wailing," Phantom scrunches his nose, "My throat will hurt for weeks."

Ember runs her fingers over the strings of her guitar, and it makes a comparatively quiet, vibrating sound. A few cords shoot out of the bottom of her instrument, like ones used to plug an electric guitar to an amp. She raises her eyebrows, still looking at Phantom, a silent conversation between them.

Then, the boy huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling a drumstick in his fingers.

"Fine."

The cords fly at him like snakes, aiming at his neck. None of the Leaguers watching the encounter get to say even a word as the metal pins insert themselves into the boy's neck, acting like some twisted kind of collar. Phantom doesn't even flinch.

Ember's guitar, on the other hand, reacts to the connection quite violently: it makes a high-pitched sound all on its own and then changes color from black and blue to white and green, with lightning bolts instead of flames for design. The girl's ponytail flares up higher as she softly murmurs in delight.

Then, she turns to the people around them and smirks, "Which way is the evil alien fleet?"

Flash wordlessly points his finger to the right and up. The girl nods in satisfaction, turning in the air so her guitar is facing that way.

"You might want to cover your ears," Phantom advises, a sly smile on his face and a glimmer of anticipation to his eyes. John Constantine follows that direction immediately, and, taking his move as the best course of action, the other heroes follow as well. Except Batman, who only narrows his eyes and looks at both teens in the air apprehensively. Phantom shrugs, "Or don't, I don't hold any responsibility for your shattered eardrums."

"Pick up where we left off, then," Ember tells him, and the boy blinks:

"Wait, I thought you'd just-"

[For some wholesome experience, put your headphones in and listen to 'KULT' by Jisaiah, grandson, and Steve Aoki]

But the girl has already started a tune, nodding her head to the rhythm of it and slowly picking up the pace. Phantom huffs, but doesn't protest any further, floating up as much as the cords allow him and spinning a drumstick in his hand.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

That the world's a fucking circus

That my life feels fucking worthless," he spits the words out with a sneer, slowly rotating in the air until he is hanging upside down. His eyes are closed, and his voice becomes more and more staticky with every new sound. The volume of Ember's guitar gets up, higher and higher, until the walls and the floor of the room around them start to vibrate.

Then, Ember's voice joins Phantom's, and the boy brings his drumsticks down on thin air, mimicking the moves. Only, even with the actual drums not there, the air around him ripples like they are, and they all can hear the beat.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

When it all comes crashing down

We'll see who's laughing," both kids pause, just for a beat, and Ember uses that split second to spin the volume knob to the max before strumming her guitar in one wide, sharp move.

"NOW!"

The sound wave is not only palpable, it's visible. A wave of toxic green ripples through the air, knocking everyone present - sans the two kids in the air - to the ground, and goes beyond. The screens on the walls flicker and turn off, sending sparks in the air, and the comms give off loud, screeching noises, and-

The following silence feels almost deafening.

Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first one to stand back on his feet and see a few of the screens come back online.

Just in time to see that same green wave of... sound? energy? power?.. decimate the entire fleet like a wet cloth over a chalkboard. One moment, the spaceships were there, and the next they are gone, wiped out of existence.

Ember laughs, leaning back and almost doing a backflip in the air.

"That was nice, dipshit!" She shoves Phantom in the shoulder, and the boy snorts, plucking the cords out of his skin and grinning.

"Yeah," he agrees with a smile, not even looking at the screens around, "Maybe we should try rehearsing in space next time. Sing to the stars and all that crap."

"Sing to the stars?" Ember raises her eyebrows mockingly as the rest of the heroes scramble to their feet, bemoaning their ringing ears. "Na-ah," she clicks her tongue and turns to Batman, "You still up for paying for our studio?"

The man just grunts in a semblance of affirmation.

"Sweet," the girl grins and offers Phantom a hand for a high five, which he returns instantly. "Cheers to the world being saved once again!"

The boy just rolls his eyes and turns to Constantine, "Next time, be a dear and text me before summoning, or I'm going to sell your soul to Morpheus, and who knows what he'll do with you."

John Constantine grimaces. "I did," he offers grudgingly.

But both unearthly teenagers are already gone without a trace.

[Edit: I want everyone to know there's ART now!!!]

[Edit 2: There's more art!!!]

[loves0phelia]

hello! hope you’re okay after the ending, honestly I don’t think any of us are.

I wanted to request a rafe x pogue reader where it’s that boat storm scene and instead of Sarah falling it’s reader and she’s just drowning and Rafe jumps in after her. He doesn’t know why he did it but he just has a soft spot for her and it’s just really angsty but also cute.

thanks! I love your account btw!

In The Sea

Summery: the anon

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: grammar mistakes

A\N: thank you to everyone who has been requesting it makes me very happy xxx

You stand at the edge of the deck, clutching the railing as the boat rocks, waves rolling against the hull. The salty breeze whips your hair around your face, and the peaceful ocean sounds made you think about the current situation.

You didn't expect Rafe to save you and your friends from being arrested, much less expect him to find a boat big and resistant enough to drive you all to Morocco Africa to find the blue crown. It was truly a surprise considering you and Rafe's history.

“So what? Are we just on our way to Africa now?” Kiara asked the group as if she couldn't believe that Rafe Cameron was willingly helping them.

“Quick little weekend trip?” She added to her previous sentence.

“What about Rafe? We know what he did to the cross and now we want to go after the crown with him?” You and the rest of the pogue's lips go into a thin line at the memory.

“Sarah, you're his family, how do deal with him” John B said, finding no other options.

“I don't- I don't know, I think maybe y/n might have a chance of convincing him to behave but..” she shrugged and you felt the stares of your friends burn holes through you. Your past relationship with him was a secret to nobody.

“We- we just have to talk to him, or at least try” You proposed earning a frown from JJ.

“Talk to Rafe? When has he ever just communicated with us?” 

“Talking to him is the only option we have, but you're definitely not talking with him,” John B said and as expected everyone nodded and hummed, agreeing. JJ was in no place to talk with Rafe.

“Why not? What did I do?” He asked, getting almost frustrated.

“We all know you and him are far from being civil, the last thing we need is you triggering him and causing trouble” His girlfriend, Kiara, tried to explain the easiest way but he still got defensive. After a couple of bickering from JJ and John b You finally decide to go speak with him, who was driving the boat not too far away from the deck.

“Hey,” You knock on the metal and rusted door before entering and walking up to him. His eyes catch yours and there's a tension between the two of you. But Rafe only tilts his head to acknowledge you.

You swallow, feeling the weight of his stare. "We just want to talk," you say, steadying your voice as the rest of your friends beside JJ follow behind you.

“All right let's talk” Rafe chuckles, and it’s low, almost a whisper. 

Your mind goes almost blank as you take him in, you haven't been this close since you were forced in the same room by Sighs men last year. You had almost forgotten how much you missed him.

“You guys be cool I'll be cool” His voice snapped you out of your daydream, realizing you had missed a bit of the conversation.

“So now you want peace?” Pope leaned back and scoffed, not believing a word that came out of his mouth.

“I just saved all your asses, how about a thank you?” He glanced at all of you one by one, but he only earned silence,

“Listen I don't want any part of your little fairytale treasure hunt bullshit, I'm just looking for Groff” He’s breathing heavily, holding himself back from adding more snark,

“Hey, Rafe!” Before anyone can react, JJ’s fist flies through the air, cracking against Rafe’s jaw with a force that echoes.

Rafe’s head snaps back, his expression stunned for a split second before he crumples, hitting the hard metal floor. For a moment, everyone is frantic, staring at the lifeless form sprawled across the floor, his eyes closed, completely knocked out.

“holy shit”

“Jesus JJ what's your problem”

“Whoo that felt good” Tired of JJ's crazy actions the girls walk away shaking their heads in disbelief until you are the only one staying behind.

JJ stands over him, breathing heavily, the adrenaline still pulsing through him as he looks down at Rafe. His fist is red, already bruising, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“What is wrong with you?” You look at him, feeling a rush of shock mixed with panic. You fall to your knees next to Rafe and quickly look over his injuries, softly rubbing your thumb on his jaw.   “If he didn't do it I was going to do it” Pope added only worsening the situation. You shook your head and furrowed your eyebrows at his sentence.

After the pogues agreed it was probably not a good idea to let Rafe free in case he woke up and decided to shoot you all with his “peacemaker” you tied him up in a small cabin. His head hung low, his wrists were bound to a stainless steel pole and his legs were uncomfortably folded beneath him. Your heart clenched at the sight of him but still decided to leave him there until he woke up.

You open the door to the cabin slowly with a tray of warmed-up canned spaghetti in hand, it wasn't the best but it was all the boat had.

“I brought you food..” You whispered before bending down to place the tray in front of him.

“great” he sighed.

“I found aspirin in the medicine cabinet, I figured you'd have a headache, maybe even a concussion” 

“Right… are you gonna throw it in my mouth like a seal or something” He scoffed again clearly angered,

“They don't trust you Rafe… but if you do the right thing maybe they will open up a little bit”

“I am doing the right thing! I helped you” He tried pulling against the restraints but failed. 

“I know okay? I know but unfortunately, I don't have a choice but to let you in here until we get there, I'm sorry” you whispered and pushed the tray closer to him. “Please eat,” You said and left closing the large door behind you.

For a moment you stayed behind the door listening closely. “Y/N come back!” he grunts and kicks his feet on the ground. “Fucking untie me please!!” he screamed and you jumped when you heard the tray you had just put down on the floor fly into the wall.

Pope leaning over the side, is the first to spot the flicker of movement beneath the water. "Guys! I see one!" exclaims, his voice a mixture of excitement and focus. He scrambles for the fishing rod, almost knocking over the tackle box in his rush.

John B is right beside him, laughing. “We've got our dinner!" he laughs.

“Guys, this one’s huge!” Kie giggles with the boys knowing we were all set for dinner time tonight.

You all spent the rest of the day cooking the fish you caught and preparing side dishes with some good music in the background.

Until it was time for Rafa's second meal.

You open the door carefully and his eyes catch yours, this time you don't speak, simply set the tray of seasoned salmon down in front of him.

Has you were about to close the door you hear him.

“Wait, y/n. Can you please- can you give me the fork” his tone is much softer than before so you can't deny him. 

You get down and pick up the utensil his bound hands couldn’t reach.

“Thank you” He murmured, and you barely heard him as you closed the door behind you once again.

The sky darkens ominously as thunder rumbles in the distance, low and threatening. Waves crash harder against the hull of the boat, tossing it with a force that leaves you gripping onto anything within reach. The storm monitor flashes red to show the storm coming ahead of you.

“That's not good,” John B says.

“We're gonna have to try to blast through it,” Pope says, not finding any better options.

“Why can't we go south?” Kie asks genuinely.

“The current is gonna be against us we don't have a choice” John B agreed even after trying to find safer options, the boat's roar has Pope push the lever controlling the engine to the max. 

The waves make the boat shift side to side making it difficult to stay up and steady.

Another massive wave crashes over the side, drenching them all, and you lose your footing, sliding across the deck until Kie grabs your arm, pulling you back.

“Hold on to something” Kie yells at you pope and Sarah and you all grip onto the nearest thing.

“Hey!” a distant voice echoes through the walls.

“Cut me loose! Y/N! Somebody!” Rafe screamed and banged his fists on the wall.

“Get me out of here!” Everyone listens but doesn't move a finger.

“We have to let him out” You scramble to your feet but jerk back when Cleo grabs your wrist.

“No!” she says trying to stop you but you pulled back.

“He's gonna drown” You pull open rapidly the drawers trying to find something sharp, able to cut the thick ropes wrapped around Rafe's hands.

The storm is relentless, its fury tossing you around like a rag doll as you try to reach him.  

You cling to the railing, struggling to stay upright as the boat lurches violently, nearly sending you sprawling across the floor. Your legs buckle under you. You come crashing through the door and walk onto the water-soaked floor knife in hand.

“Cut me loose” he begs.

Crouching in front of him you began frantically cutting the rope. Your muscles burn with how much pressure you're using.

“Shit,” You say when a sudden jerk of the boat makes your face come inches apart from his, lips almost touching. You don't have time to think as you regain your balance and continue cutting the bounds.

“There! Come on” you yelled and quickly grasped his hands to pull him up from the floor.

You both run to shelter but the boat jerks side to side even more violently,

“Something is wrong I have to go see!” 

“No!” Rafe tried holding on to you but you were already rushing away onto the deck where waves came crashing, a massive wave rose out of the dark, towering over the boat like a shadow.

You barely had time to think before it crashed down, an icy, unforgiving wall of water that slammed into you with the force of a sledgehammer. The impact was too strong and you were thrown backward, landing hard on the deck. Pain explodes through your shoulder, the wind knocks from your lungs. Dazed and gasping, you try to get up, but the boat tips again, and before you can stand, another wave strikes.

This one is worse, merciless, catching you just as you struggle to rise. Your fingers graze the edge of the railing, but the slick metal slips through your grasp. In an instant, the world spins as you are thrown away from the boat, the cold, raging ocean swallowing you whole.

The water is a shock, freezing and chaotic, disorienting you as you plunge beneath the surface. You thrash, fighting to reach the surface, lungs burning, but the waves toss you back and forth, each effort to rise met with another rush of icy water.

Back on the boat, Rafe catches a glimpse of you disappearing over the side, and his heart stops. “Y/N!” he screams, panic cutting through the storm. Without a second thought, he scrambles to the railing, nearly slipping himself as he peers out into the dark, searching for any sign of you.

“Where is she!” Sarah came rushing to her brother

“She fell overboard” he yells already reaching for a rope with the floating boyee. He’s soaked, exhausted, and barely steady, but there’s no hesitation as he jumps in after you.

“Rafe no!” She screams after her brother.

A wave slams into Rafe. “Y/N!!” he yells in the water as he sees you trying to stay above the water far away.

With the last of your strength, You swim faster and harder towards Rafe and reach out when you're near, fingers brushing his arm, grasping it tight. Rafe holds you with everything he has.

“I got you” But you don't hear him in the storm.

You both hold on to each other your arms around his neck and his around your waist as the boat floats away and the night turns into a void.

“Hey, open your eyes, look at me” You feel gentle hands grasping on your face as you finally sit up coughing out the water that filled your lungs.

“That's it” The hands rub your back in a comforting way.

The sand is hot beneath you, warming up your skin, and with exhaustion, you fall onto Rafe's chest.

“Hey you okay?” panicked, he grabs onto your shoulder and pushes you a little bit to take a good look at your face.

“You jumped after me,” you whispered.

“Of course I did”  You look up at him, heart pounding, feeling a rush of gratitude, fear, and something deeper—something that’s been smouldering beneath the surface, unspoken, for far too long. Your eyes shine with tears, not sad and not happy either but grateful. 

His hand reaches up, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin. His touch is warm, and grounding, and you feel your heart racing even faster under his gaze, intense and unreadable, like he’s seeing you for the first time.

Without another thought, you lean in, closing the space between the two of you as you press your lips to his, a spark igniting into a wildfire the moment you connect. Rafe’s surprise melts away instantly, and he kisses back, fierce and unrestrained, his hands finding your waist.

The kiss is charged, fueled by adrenaline, and a longing that neither of you can deny any longer. Your hands find his shoulders, clinging to him, grounding you in his warmth, his strength, the feel of his heartbeat thundering beneath your touch. 

Rafe’s fingers trail up your back, sending shivers along your spine, and his lips move against yours with an urgency that speaks of everything left unspoken.

When you finally pull apart, breathless, Rafe’s forehead rests against yours, his eyes searching yours as he lets out a shaky laugh, almost in disbelief.

“You saved my life” you smile, brushing a thumb over his cheek, still feeling the warmth of his kiss lingering on your lips. “I love you, I've always loved you” you whisper, and before you know it, you're kissing again, the ocean waves crashing nearby, the world forgotten as you lose yourselves in each other.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered.

Send request xxx

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

HIM & I

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe confronts the pogues after they try to get his girl to turn on him—big mistake.

based on this ask !! sorry it took a while anon, but i hope you enjoy it and it’s what you asked for :) got a couple request in the drafts stm, just editing them and i’m gonna’ start posting them one after the other <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: cursing, rafe threatening the pogues, mentions of murder, maybe a sliiightly toxic relationship (?), alcohol consumption. (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

THIRD PERSON +

The summer heat hung heavy in the air, thick with salt and gasoline, the scent of the Outer Banks. The island was split in two—the Kooks, who had everything, and the Pogues, who had nothing. And in the middle of it all stood Y/N, Rafe Cameron’s girl.

Not just his girlfriend. His obsession.

Rafe wasn’t known for being soft. Not with his father breathing down his neck, not with his so-called friends who only stuck around for the drugs and money, and certainly not with the Pogues, who were a thorn in his side. But Y/N—she was different. She was the only thing in this world that could make Rafe pause, the only thing he couldn’t bring himself to destroy.

He was still reckless, still dangerous, still a ticking time bomb—but with Y/N, he was something else too. Soft, almost. Not in the way that made him weak, but in the way that made him even more dangerous. Because if anything ever happened to her, he would burn this island to the ground.

They were inseparable, always tangled up in each other, whether it was his arm slung over her shoulders at a party, his lips trailing down her neck when no one was looking, or the way she fit perfectly against him when he finally let himself rest.

Y/N would do anything for Rafe. And he’d do anything for her.

So when the Pogues pulled her aside one afternoon, she already knew there was no world in which she would betray Rafe Cameron.

They had found her alone near The Wreck, waiting for Rafe to pick her up. Pope was the first to speak. “Y/N, listen, we need your help.”

She raised an eyebrow, already uninterested. “With what?”

“Proving John B’s innocence,” Kie said.

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. “You’re joking, right?”

They weren’t.

“Rafe killed Peterkin,” Pope said, low and serious. “We know it. And we know you know it too.”

“Sarah saw him,” Kie added. “We just need something—anything—that proves it wasn’t John B.”

“You don’t have to protect him,” JJ said, his tone a little different from the others. He wasn’t pleading with her, wasn’t trying to reason. He was taunting. “I mean, come on, Y/N, you think Rafe would do the same for you?”

That made her blood boil.

“You don’t know anything about me and Rafe,” she snapped.

“Then prove it,” JJ challenged. “Help us, and I’ll believe it.”

Y/N let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You actually think I’d turn on him? That I’d betray my Rafe for you?” She took a step closer, her voice venomous. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not afraid of Rafe. I love him. And if you think for a second that I’d help you take him down, you’re out of your goddamn minds.”

She left them standing there, stunned, and walked away without looking back.

Rafe was waiting for her in his truck, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other tapping against his knee impatiently. He relaxed the second he saw her, his sharp features softening, his whole body exhaling in relief.

“Where the hell were you?” he asked as she climbed in.

“Talking to the Pogues,” she said, her voice laced with irritation.

Instantly, Rafe’s expression darkened. “What?”

“They tried to get me to help them prove John B’s innocent.”

Rafe went still.

It was a terrifying kind of stillness, the kind that came before a storm. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“They what?” His voice was calm, but she knew him too well to be fooled.

“They think I’d turn on you,” she said, shaking her head, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. “That I’d help them prove you killed Peterkin.”

That was all it took.

Rafe let out a sharp, bitter laugh, one that sent chills down her spine. “That’s fucking hilarious,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “They actually thought you’d betray me?”

His laugh faded just as quickly as it came. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared, and that familiar rage flickered to life behind his blue eyes.

“They think they can talk to my girl,” he said, his voice dark and dangerous. “That they can turn you against me?”

She could see the storm brewing inside him, the way his fingers twitched like he was itching to grab something—someone. His knee bounced violently, and his breathing was slow, controlled, like he was trying not to explode.

Y/N reached over, placing her hand over his. “I shut them down,” she murmured. “They’re idiots if they ever thought I’d turn on you.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, his knee stopping its frantic movement. He grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and possessive. “They don’t get to talk to you. They don’t get to look at you. They don’t even get to fucking think about you.”

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against his jaw. “Then make sure they don’t,” she whispered.

Rafe turned his head, his lips crashing against hers in a bruising, desperate kiss. He kissed her like he was staking his claim, like he needed to feel her, taste her, to remind himself that she was here, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

When he pulled away, his eyes were still burning with fury.

“They’re gonna regret ever coming near you,” he muttered.

Y/N didn’t doubt it for a second.

—

The Boneyard was alive with the pulse of heavy bass and the crash of waves against the shore. Fires burned bright, illuminating the faces of Kooks and Pogues alike, their rivalries momentarily drowned in the haze of alcohol and summer heat. But that peace wouldn’t last.

Not tonight.

Because Rafe Cameron had a score to settle.

He stood at the top of the dunes, looking down at the crowd like a king surveying his kingdom. His jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Y/N stood beside him, her lips curled into a smirk, arms crossed casually over her chest. She knew what was about to happen—hell, she’d been waiting for it just as much as he had.

“You ready?” Rafe asked, voice low, eyes burning.

She turned to him, expression playful. “Always.”

Rafe smirked, but there was no humor behind it. Just something dark and volatile, barely contained. Then he was moving, striding down the dunes with the confidence of someone who owned this entire island.

Heads turned as he passed. Kooks raised their cups, cheering for their golden boy, oblivious to the rage simmering just beneath the surface. But the Pogues? They stiffened the second they saw him.

John B, JJ, Pope, and Kie were gathered near the fire, deep in conversation, but the second Rafe and Y/N approached, they all fell silent.

JJ was the first to react, straightening up and rolling his shoulders back like he was ready for a fight. “Oh, look,” he drawled, taking a swig from his beer. “Kook Prince and his loyal queen.”

Y/N scoffed, but Rafe barely acknowledged the remark. His eyes were locked on them, sharp and unrelenting.

“Which one of you dumbasses thought it was a good idea to talk to my girl?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

John B tensed. Kie shifted uncomfortably. Pope kept his mouth shut.

JJ, of course, grinned. “You mean about you, uh, murdering someone?”

Rafe laughed—a sharp, humorless sound. “That’s funny,” he said, tilting his head. “You know what else is funny? Thinking Y/N would ever betray me.”

JJ’s smirk faltered for just a second before he masked it with bravado. “I don’t know, man. She seems smart enough to know when she’s on the losing side.”

Y/N let out a laugh, stepping closer, brushing against Rafe’s side. “You’re delusional if you think there’s any world in which I’d choose you over Rafe,” she said. “I mean, come on, JJ. Are you really that desperate?”

JJ’s jaw clenched, but before he could say anything, Rafe took another step forward, closing the distance.

“You don’t talk to my girl,” he said, voice dropping to something low and dangerous. “You don’t look at my girl. You don’t even fucking think about her. Understand?”

JJ, never one to back down, scoffed. “Or what?”

Rafe’s eyes darkened, his smirk returning, but this time it was cold, calculated. “You don’t ‘wanna find out.”

There was a pause, thick with tension.

JJ met Rafe’s stare head-on, but for the first time, there was something hesitant in his gaze.

Rafe had always been unhinged. Dangerous. But this? This wasn’t just some Kook/Pogue rivalry. This was personal.

And when it came to Y/N, there was no line Rafe wouldn’t cross.

John B finally spoke, stepping between them. “We don’t want any trouble.”

Rafe let out a short, mocking laugh. “Yeah? Then you should’ve kept your mouths shut.”

The Kooks were starting to notice now, whispers spreading, eyes darting toward the confrontation. It wouldn’t be long before the whole party knew.

“You think you’re untouchable,” JJ muttered, shaking his head.

Rafe smirked. “No. I know I am.”

Y/N chuckled beside him, slipping her hand into his. “You should’ve known better,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Rafe isn’t someone you fuck with. And neither am I.”

JJ’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. Not when it was so obvious that they had lost whatever game they thought they were playing.

Rafe leaned in, voice just loud enough for the Pogues to hear. “This was your one warning. Next time? I won’t be so nice.”

And with that, he turned, dragging Y/N with him as they walked away, leaving the Pogues standing there, seething.

The night continued around them, the music blaring, the drinks flowing—but everyone knew.

Rafe Cameron had made his point.

Loud and fucking clear.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i loved this request sm, thank you anon and i hope it’s what you asked for !! <3 i’ve had this a couple request in the drafts, just editing them so i can start posting them, so there might be a couple more posts tonight :)

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated :) i’m gonna try my best to keep replying to reblogs and comments, because genuinely i am SO insanely grateful for all the love you’ve all given me :’) i’ve gone up by 400 followers since december and i’m so insanely grateful for the love on my page and my works <3

pls keep requesting my loves !! request are still open and i’m working through them until i go away on wednesday <3

[v1x3n]

SNAP! ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - fluff, angst - panic attack, trauma, flinching.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

There's a sudden knock on the door to your room, your body dry and freshly washed, the minty smell from the soap bar fills your nostrils whilst you slump on the hospital bed. Curled in a way that was uncomfortable but it wasn't hurting any wounds so that would have to do.

The knock is followed by the door opening wide, revealing a man who you recognise, a man named Logan. The cheery fellow bounces into the room, suddenly the dingy lights seem brighter. "how's my favourite girl?" the man smiles while trotting inside, then closing the door behind him. "The nurse told me t' not bother ya sooo here I am!" he announces, smirking when you peer up at him. Your permanent frown slightly moves upwards when you see the goofy yet devious grin on his face.

Without a reply he sits down on the wooden chair placed by your bed, "you're looking better! my wounds are barely healing!" you wonder what had happened to him for a moment but then you remember that one of the first times he snook into your room, he rambled on for almost an hour. Telling you that he had been shot whilst on a mission, twice in the stomach. Luckily he survived. He smiles as he stretches out his hand, groaning, "I'm glad you're okay," he says, his voice filled with emotion.

A sigh falls from his lips when you sit up, "saw some big beefy guy leave your room before," john, he's obviously talking about john. "Looked real pissed off." Logan mumbles under his breath when he looks to the side. Fucking twat, he was pissed off? He doesn't deserve to be pissed off. "Ya know him?" He looks towards you for an answer. But you two both knew you weren't going to verbally say anything. You nodded hesitantly.

"Ya friends?" the man questions, this time it wasn't so hesitant. "No." You firmly said. Logan thought this was the first time you had spoken to him, it clearly must've been a trigger or something, "he is NOT my friend." Reaffirming your statement, pure rage boils through you at even thinking about being his friend. He lost that fucking privilege. "huh."

There's a silence that lingers in the air. The wet droplets from your freshly washed hair drips down, sending shivers down through your body. "Well, at least you have people visiting. My family is too busy t' visit. Or they just divnt wanna." he mutters the last part, "id kill for anyone t' visit."

"You know you get a lot of people lining outa your door? I can barely get through mine cause these bulky men will always be there." What? You questioned internally. "Ya friends with them?" you probably knew who he was talking about, it was probably the other knobheads that harmed you. None of them had really spoken to you since you arrived, john would sit down on the chair that Logan was currently sitting on sometimes, you two wouldnt talk though. Youd rather kill yourself than utter a single word to him.

"none of them are my friends, " gruffly talking again. Your throat kinda hurt so the sounds came out raspier than you had wanted them to. "hmm! Anywho! You wanna play some cards with me? I knowww.... Snap?" Then he puts on a dumb little smile.

After rolling your eyes at him, you nod. Magically he pulls out a card deck. Placing them on the blanket covering you. Once splitting the deck into two and passes you a half. Logan puts a card down gently on the blanket, not wanting to put it down too hard and hurt you. He didn't quite know what had happened to you but by the looks of it it was bad. You had nurses in all the time, your body was wrapped in bandages and by the looks of it, you only had 8 fingers.

"6 of clubs!" he announces. You place down a random card, 4 of hearts.

After a few rounds, you had won. For him having a deck of cards and wanting to play snap, he wasn't that good at it. A small smirk rises on your face, looking down at your massive stack whilst he had no cards left. "Well, well done." He grumbles with a mocking pout.

Once nodding you give him half your cards and he whacks them across the bed. Scattering the cards around, you gasp. Laughing, he observes the stunned look on your face before you shuffle the cards and half them. Dividing them into two halves, again making sure you both have a half each.

The word snap was yelled out from Logan's lips as he finally got ahead of you and slammed his callosed hand downwards onto the 2 of diamonds. When you flinch, he felt the weight of his face drop. "fuck, I'm sorry-" the look on your face could only be described as panicked, scared and fearful.

Suddenly a loud ringing blinds your ears. Your breathing grows. You take sharp and quick breaths when he looks towards you. You don't know why you panicked so much over something so stupid but then again - you do. "oh god I'm sorry!"

Logan's heart sank as he watched you struggle to catch your breath. He quickly slid closer, his voice gentle, "Hey- fuck- it's okay. I'm right here." He hesitated, unsure whether to reach out physically, but instead whispered, "Just breathe with me, nice and slow," trying to guide you back to calmness. But unfortunately that didn't help. You flinch back once more and shuffle under the blanket. The sounds of the room grew louder, the beeping of the machines sound over Logan's - trying to be - comforting voice. Your breath caught up once more. Your breathing is loud and fast. "it's okay-"

He gets cut off when a nurse comes into the room. She quickly rushes to you and all you see is almost a blur when your eyes prick with water. Distant yelling and you see the obscured bodies rush into the room, the nurse beside you and mumbling nonsense as the blob you think is Logan leaves. 

[elysianightsss]

AAAHHHHH! HI! So sorry to bother you, but I read the neurodivergent reader x 141 and AHHHHH I AM LITERALLY SCREAMING, DROOLING, CHEWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE they wont let me out

i have a little idea… how would poly 141 react when they find out your job isnt this cute barista or something along those lines, but just a regular stocking associate or a cashier for some huge corporation. like, they know you work. and every time you leave, they see you die a little on the inside from having to go to *insert shitty job*. They just didnt know that you were working there and now they are trying whatever they can to convince you to quote your job and stay home… i know i would rather stay home and take care of them than going to my job…

Oh anon I love your brain! As someone who used to be a cashier before I got my fucking wonderful, literally no joke amazing office job, I fuck with this. I’m writing them as roommates tho don’t know why just deal with it😘

It starts off with a debate over what time you get up in the mornings given how tired you seemed today. But then they realise, they don’t even know what you do for work. Johnny predicts that you’re one of those cute baristas in sweet little aprons with how good the flavoured coffees you make him in the morning when he’s back from his run, are.

Kyle can’t seem to fathom you’re not the office sweetheart he seems to picture you as. Though you’d been living with them for almost over a year now, the guys were gone before you left for work and back long after you arrived home. Still he had it in his head the whole time that you were putting on tight pencil skirts and heels in the morning before going off to work. Something he argues tooth and nail with Johnny about.

John scoffs hearing the guys argue, usually keeping out of it, but this time he can’t help himself when he interjects with, “Yer both chattin shit. She’s obviously a baker with those mouth watering pastries she makes us.” Now that opens up the argument further.

Simon is the only one who doesn’t speculate, instead he walks right up to you on a Sunday night as the guys are all readying themselves for bed and you’re making your lunch for tomorrow. “Luv.” He calls, you glance at him, eyes honing in on the way his grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. Dangerous, dangerous man.

Looking back to the fruit you were slicing, you hum in acknowledgment, “Wot’s ya job?”

You bite back the grin that fights to split your face in two, turning to him you see he visibly softens at your little smile, “I’m a cashier.” You answer, ears tinging red a little. In all honesty you were embarrassed that you worked for one of those big corporations. The dreams you had once but were never able to reach are like a damp on your heart. Like a festering mould that only grows in the worst conditions.

Sometimes you enjoy the people, there are some nice ones that overcome the bad interactions. But everyday you pull on the trousers and trainers, and that itchy uniform top, you wish that a snowstorm would lock you inside the house. You pray to receive a call telling you not to come in due to a fire that started in the bakery. Your heart aches to be told you’re allowed to go home early even if you won’t be paid as much at the end of the month.

Simon hadn’t said much after you told him, his eyes darkened a little when he asked if you enjoyed it and you had answered swiftly and without hesitation; no.

Then suddenly, the guys are leaving for work a little later in the morning. The same time as you. John offering you a lift to work, Johnny making you coffee instead of the other way around, Kyle giving you one of his soft jackets so at least your arms will be comfortable even if your torso is covered in that itchy material.

Simon is the one who places his hand on your forehead and tuts beneath his black surgical mask. You scoff when Simon says he doesn’t think you should go in today, “I feel fine.” You counter with a frown, pushing his big paw away and shoving your feet into the uncomfortable trainers.

John stares down at them like they’ve offended him personally, “You own comfier shoes lass.” Johnny comments and Kyle nods in agreement.

“I have to wear them.” You say quietly wondering why they suddenly have such an interest in your work attire. Have to. Well, that just wasn’t acceptable. The guys didn’t think you should have to do anything.

The weekends were a little weird too. You would usually cook them meals and sweet pastries or cakes with how hard they worked, they deserved nothing less. But Johnny is ushering you away from the kitchen when you walk past the dining table and the marble counter island to make him a coffee.

John says no thank you in the most strained way you’ve ever heard it when you offer to make him a sweet treat. He deflates even further into the sofa when you look offended at his decline. Kyle pulls you close to him on the other side of the couch, putting an arm around you, he continues reading his book but it’s out loud this time.

You sigh snuggling close to him, head on his shoulder when Simon brings over one of the many plushies you’d left on the floor of the lounge, again, and one of the many soft blankets you’d unnecessarily bought for the house. Maybe you could get used to this, you thought as your eyes started to blink slower. It had been a really long week, with lots of assholes. A week of sitting in that uncomfortable chair had done a number on your back too.

You’re just lucky that you’d said from the very beginning that you won’t work weekends, at least you could have those to yourself. The guys became even more attentive, not that they weren’t before, but it increased tenfold. And you wondered why.

Why Kyle is packing you a lunch box everyday now. Why Johnny is cuddling up to you at night just so you sleep warmer, better. Why John is willing to race away from very important paperwork to sit outside the big supermarket you worked at just so you didn’t have to take the bus home. Why Simon keeps buying you lush smelling soaps, bath salts and those sparkly bathbombs he knows you love, you have so many now you don’t know what to do with them. Even when you ask him to stop, he shakes his head and grunts out, “Baths are good for sore muscles.” And that’s all you get.

You just want to know why, what brought all of this on. And most of all why it all suddenly stops.

Almost like a calculated mission, like a big discussion had happened before hand. All of it stopped. They had left long before you got up for work, no lunch ready to go, no soft jacket waiting by the door, no cuddle reading sessions on the weekend, no more new bath stuff, no more lifts and an expectant look in John’s eyes when it gets to dinner time.

They’d done a total three sixty. Like they wanted to show you how good it could be with their help, how much easier life could be, going to work could be, only just to take it all away.

That’s exactly what their plan had been, Simon’s idea mostly with little suggestions made by the rest of them. They all executed it thoroughly, now all that’s left for them is to compete the final step.

“Doll I think you should quit your job.” John goes first, you frown excessively. What the hell is he talking about, you think.

“Have you gone mad?” You huff. John knows you’re annoyed with them, hell they all know you’re angry by their actions. But it’s a necessary evil.

“Not yet I don’t think,” John jokes and feels a little lighter when the corner of your lip quirks up slightly, “I am serious.” He says simply, his blue eyes burning into you before he walks away. You think it so odd, strange that he says that out of the blue.

And then Kyle says it too. Coming into your room with the same baby Yoda squishmallow Simon had placed in your lap two weeks ago, and the same blanket. He gestures towards your bed, it’s subtle but you nod. Failing to hide his grin, Kyle gets snuggled up under the blanket with you, your arms wrapped around the plushie.

He’s halfway through the book, hand brushing through your hair scratching at your scalp deliciously when he broaches the subject, “Bun?” You scrunch up your nose, blinking your eyes open to look at him accusingly. The sight makes him chuckle softly, you’re screaming with your eyes, how dare you make me open my eyes and be fully conscious.

He leans forward before he can stop himself and rubs his nose against yours sweetly, something he tells himself later was just to butter you up before talking. It wasn’t.

“I don’t think you should go to work anymore.” He says simply, with ease, his voice calm.

“What?” You blink rapidly waking yourself up fully to actually take in what he just said.

“Just something to think about bunny.” He shrugs and goes back to reading with that damn lulling voice. You don’t stop him, don’t interrupt but your mind is swirling the same way it had the day before when John had said something similar.

Johnny is not so tactful, shovelling his breakfast in his mouth. Half masticated bacon and scrambled eggs rolling around in his wide open trap, when he spits out the words. “Quit yer job lass, no one wants to be stackin shelves and scannin someone else’s shit all day.” He scoffs washing his food down with the caramel flavoured coffee you made him five minutes ago. He’s quick to put the plate in the sink and place a sloppy kiss on your cheek. His head bend slightly, eyes level with you, “Think about it pet.” He pats your cheek lightly and earns a much more harsh smack to the back of his head by Kyle on the way out of the house.

And finally Simon…well Simon…um Simon just did what he thought was best, what he thought was necessary, what he thought would get you to comply the quickest…

You pant harshly, fingers gripping onto the light bronde hair painfully hard, yanking with each stripe Simon licked up your cunt. You barely noticed John walking passed your open bedroom door with a smirk, Simon had his face buried so deep in your pussy it was hard to think, hard to conjure up your own name let alone open your eyes and catch Kyle and Johnny pushing your door open a little wider and watching for a moment before Kyle drags Johnny away.

Simon’s broken too many times to fix, crooked nose brushed against your clit wonderfully, tongue fucking into your quivering hole making you buck your hips desperate for the release he’d been denying you for around twenty minutes now.

“Say it.” Simon cooed, encouraging you gently. Shaking your head, teeth biting down on your lip, holding on as tightly to your words as you held onto Simon.

Simon grips your jaw in his big paw, a sharp look comes across his features as though he’s about to scold you when you meet his gaze, thumb rubbing your clit in tight, rough circles to keep the stimulation enough, to keep you there on the edge so he has you right where he wants you.

“Say it and you can cum.” He promises, your eyes widen, stinging harshly with their own promise of tears should you keep this up.

“b-but-“

“No buts. We’ll take of everything sweetheart, oll ya afta to do is write the resignation letter, then stay here as our pretty little housewife.” He kissed your clit before moving his thumb back in its place, circling slower this time. You gasp, a broken sob wrenching itself from your chest as your orgasm starts to slip away with the lack of stimulation.

“Please! Please Si! I-“

“Oll ya afta do is say it. Quit, find yourself a cute hobby, cook and clean for us a little. Oll ya afta do is say yes and I’ll let ya cum luv.” He grins evilly when you whine, blowing on your cunt before licking a hard long stripe from your puckered asshole to your swollen, throbbing clit.

“yes! please yes I’ll quit just pl-“

Simon doesn’t let you finish your plea, devouring your pussy like a man starved. He licks, sucks, and flicks your clit, slipping his thick fingers inside your clenching, empty hole thrusting them in and out doing his best to match the pace he set with his tongue on your clit.

You cum hard, untamed. Back arching uncomfortably, limbs shaking rigorously and Simon slurps up everything you give him. You lay there trying to catch your breath when Simon crawls up your body to hover over you. His eyes meet yours when he grins, “Good girl. Now why don’t we get started on that resignation letter hmm.” It wasn’t a question.

Safe to say you happily quit your job.

[bunny-jpeg]

"if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up." was a common phrase that captain jonathan price would often say to you. inconsolable brat. he had just gotten home, can a man not relax in his own home. you stood there with your arms crossed. you looked almost cute when you were angry, you looked like you could take him. maybe you could take his cock, but never in a fight. no matter how much he smoked and how angry you got, price could easily keep you from doing too much damage. he eyed you up and down and said, "don't give me that look. you'll get lines." his words were bordered by poison.

a drag from his cigar before he grabbed you by the arm to pull you into his lap. you were whining against about him smoking in the house. you had no room to talk missy, you were the spouse of breadwinner. you hadn't work since you got 'fire' from your job right before your wedding. and, you had been looking into another job. but nowhere is hiring in the town you live. so keep that damn trap shut. let the man of the house do as he please. he'd even be petty and knock some ash from his smoke and onto the hardwood floor. "clean it up, love or i'll make ya lick it up." john was domineering, aggressive to a fault.

but yet you stay firm on your stance. you hated the lingering scent of smoke that forced you to open most of the windows the next morning. and john had just enough of it. those cheap sleeping shorts you wore were now on the floor, split down the seam. "stupid whores don't need these." he added as the panties became scrap fabric in john's grip. he was soon fucking you, that big fat cock of his. as he held you by the throat. you made sharp noises as the air got restricted. he wouldn't bruise you up, he wasn't a monster. but his monster-like cock was already bruising your poor little cervix. be hard to get your own job when you're all fat with john's kid. but all in due time. he continued to hold your throat and fuck you with the pace of a stallion. even at his age, price was far from feeling his age. he could keep up with a cock-hungry dog like you. he squeezed a little tighter and heard you choke a little. he groaned against your skin. it only made it hotter when you claws at him and whimpered.

"that's it. that'll shut ya up." before he gave you a messy kiss on the lips. <3

a/n: "and what do we say, bunny?" "sorry women."

[thanksbutno98]

Foxes

John Price x wife!reader OC

Summary: John Price has to break out his military training to keep his property safe from foxes hunting his chickens; and maybe something else hunting his wife.

Warnings: Guns, allusions to stalking, stalking, PTSD, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of gun violence, hunting, animal deaths, sexual themes, swearing, not edited.

——————

Your music was blasting and feeling as good as you did you were belting out the words this warm summer day. It didn’t matter if you sounded good, you loved this song. And everyone in the neighborhood was going to know it. With the open windows and backdoor your sweet tunes were bound to be carried on the brisk summer breeze.

Dancing around your kitchen in your bare feet, athletic shorts and a baby blue t-shirt you continued to sing while you cooked lunch. A nice and easy air fried fish fingers, chips, and a summer salad was on the menu as requested by John. Taking the metal tongs for the air fryer you used them as a microphone and tried to moonwalk horribly. You were quite the sight to see. Making an absolute fool of yourself in the privacy of your home.

If John were inside instead of tending to the chickens he would be showing you how to actually moonwalk. He surprisingly was a great dancer and had a decent singing voice. Jj got John’s ability to sing, the young boy was quite talented musically.

“You’re so weird!” Jj, your son walked into the kitchen and then stared at you in horror. All he wanted to know was when lunch would be ready, not witness his mother dancing like a fool.

His judgmental stare didn’t stop you. It simply made you dance in his direction and wave him over to join you. At twelve years old you would think he would have a sense of humor; but alas you were no longer funny. With a look of disgust he backed away from you.

“C’mon sing, dance with me.” You tried to grab him to dance with you and he practically jumped away from you.

“Ew! Stop! You’re so embarrassing!” The way he purposefully deepened his voice only egged you on.

“C’mon Jj, don’t be a spoil sport.” Evelyn your ten year old daughter slid into the kitchen on her lime green socked feet.

She then immediately broke out into the running man. She too looked just as awkward as you but was having a good time. Waving your son off, a duet between you and your daughter broke out in the kitchen. You both sounded horrible singing at the tops of your lungs and having a dance battle.

That was until the sound of gunshots rang out.

All three of you screamed. You had both your children by the collars of their shirts and yanked them to the floor with you. Jj banged his knee against the tile while Evelyn dropped like a sack of potato’s. The fancy speaker your husband John Price had gotten you for your birthday continued on. That song you loved so much coming to an end and rolling into an equally good one.

Your mind played tricks on you for a split second. It felt like sweltering heat of the desert sun, dry air, and smelling of your vanilla perfume and burnt coffee. The memory of the day you were kidnapped at a dig sight almost paralyzed you but the need to protect your children out weighed the flashback.

“Get in the basement, don’t make a sound. Go into my office and lock the door. I’m going to get Lily, do not open that door for anyone but me or your father.” You ordered your children. Your words left no room for discussion.

Putting your children behind your back you walked them to the basement door trying to shield them from the large open glass double doors that lead to your back yard. Your eyes scanned the area trying to see if anyone was there. The shots were so close it was clear to you they came from the woods in the distance of your property.

“Molly mum.” Jj softly whispered to you.

Your motherly instincts were in full swing as you rushed your children down the basement stairs. You could see Evelyn was so terrified she was shaking and you expected that from any child. Only your son was calm and collected, taking his sister’s hand and doing exactly what you said.

Sprinting upstairs you found your daughter still asleep in her bed for her nap. Thankfully your dog Molly was asleep with her. You grabbed Lily and her blanket, then clasped Molly by the collar and ran back downstairs. Halfway down the stairs you heard another gunshot ring out. This one was significantly closer to your home, sounding as if it came from the tree line of the nearby forest in your back yard. It made the air around you still, becoming suffocating and silence sounding deafening.

Lily was disoriented and struggled for you to put her down but you didn’t. You cooed and soothed her to the best of your ability. After a long moment of silence you then ran for the basement door at the back of the house.

The basement consisted of two rooms that were separated by a foundational wall that bisected your home. The first room was John’s office and home gym. The office with his mahogany desk, book shelves, and Cheshire couch were to the left of the stairs. Past that toward the back of the house was where his weights and other workout machinery was.

At the bottom of the stairs and straight ahead was the door to your office. It was a beautiful juniper green that had become weathered over time. Your office was rectangular like John’s but had much more space since it encompassed the front portion of your home. You had rugs from your travels laid out, the old dining room set, old living room couch, your desk, book cases, and other supplies so you could work from home.

On your decent into the basement, Molly brushed by you causing your foot to slip off that one stair that had a knack for taking you down. Your ass collided hard with the old wooden stair and you slid down the latter half of the stairs on your back. You kept Lily secure to your chest and ignored the pain of having fallen down the stairs.

Back on your feet and breathing heavily you were at the juniper green door that lead into your office. Knocking quietly you heard a squeak and something shuffle.

“It’s me. Open up.” You whispered. The lock clicked and the door opened soon after.

Jj looked at you with an expression you were accustom to seeing on his father’s face. Stoic, calm, under complete control of his emotions. Which was stranger for a twelve year old but he was his father’s son. You handed Jj Lily and he had to wrap both arms around her so her legs were dangling while you corralled Molly into your office. Jj took his youngest sister and brought her to the corner of your office where Evelyn was sitting with a large blanket.

Your children huddled together as your violently shaking hands took a chair and angled it under the door knob. You were then quietly searching the utility closet for something to wield in case you needed a weapon. After searching frantically you found your old baseball bat and stared at it for a moment.

Your breathing began to pick up as you looked at the light wood of the bat with scratches and chips in the laminate coating. Chest heaving, head pounding, and sweaty hands, you began to nod at the blunt object. You were preparing yourself to have to use this if someone broke in. Because no matter how terrified you felt in this moment you had to protect your children.

“Darling!” Your husband’s gruff voice called from upstairs. It was such a relief to hear him that you didn’t pick up on his jovial tone.

“Thank god.” The words tumbled out.

Leaning against the cool stone wall, that suffocating feeling began to dissipate gradually because John was here to protect you; more importantly protect your children. You knew nothing would hurt you or your children as long as John was here. You were so confident of that, you would bet your life on it. John being in the house had to mean he dealt with the gun shots from whoever was crazy enough to go on a shooting spree.

You took a centering breath so John wouldn’t judge you for how frantic you were. It was important to you that he was confident in your ability to keep your children safe. He had set so many precautions and you followed this one flawlessly; besides grabbing a gun from his safe. But the biggest caveat was, you were to stay calm at all times so you could be clear headed; and that wasn’t part of your nature. Opening the door once you felt a little more steady, you called up to John.

“Is it safe to come out?” You asked, voice still shaky.

There was a beat of silence as the basement door opened allowing a stream of warm afternoon light to flow down the old rickety stairs.

“Safe?” John’s boots loudly thudded against the stairs as he came halfway down. Ducking his head so he could see the room clearly he had a quizzical look on his face as you emerged from your office.

“Yeah. Did you not hear all that? Some lunatic was shooting in the forest behind the house.” You were completely exasperated with John for not knowing what you were talking about.

He was out there for Christ sake. For someone who was in the military you thought gun shots would be pretty distinctive. Or maybe he was so use to them he hardly noticed.

John stared at you blankly.

“Uh, that was me. Finally killed those damn foxes going after the chickens.” The words were raspy and unsure.

John hadn’t taken into consideration your reaction to hearing gunshots. He was much more concerned on keeping the chickens safe.

Another beat of silence.

“What is WRONG with you!?” You yelled so loud you made Lily shriek behind you.

“What? They killed another chicken this morning, making it three total.” John looked utterly perplexed by your outburst. You told him to keep the chickens safe, and now that he was you were mad at him.

“Go on you three. Everything’s fine. Your dad was the one shooting a GUN that close to the house.” Jj was snickering at his dad getting scolded by you. Meanwhile your girls were shaken up.

“Wicked dad. Can I come next time?” Jj was the first to emerge, all sparkly eyed and looking to his father.

“Of course you can. Not sure if your mum will string me up by the ankles for it.” The snarky comment had you doubling down.

“I told you to keep the chickens safe, not start killing wild animals trying to survive!” You half shrieked being unbelievably upset with John’s lack of gun safety with children around. John didn’t seem to take much notice to your outburst and went back upstairs with Jj.

“I think dad and Jj have gone mad.” Evelyn whispered to you and you agreed.

Lily was tugging on your shirt so you would picked her back up so you did. You crouched down and hugged your girls. It seemed like you three were the only ones reacting like human beings to this. After a good hug and some calming breaths you made sure they were both okay and headed upstairs. Once upstairs John tried to give you a kiss which you dodged. You went back to the kitchen and checked on lunch.

“Darling, I know you grew up in the city but huntings normal around here.” John chuckled at you.

He loved when you got like this; pouty and ready to give him a hard time. Seeing you all riled up over something he deemed as innocuous tickled him. You found John condescending in moments like this because he found you so utterly endearing that it dismissed your frustration with him.

“You’re a lunatic.” You said matter of factly.

“Not my fault you Americans have such shite gun laws you panic at the sound.” You did not appreciate John’s dig.

He was completely right though. If you weren’t from the States you wondered if you would have freaked out so intensely. To you, guns going off meant hide for cover because someone was trying to make the news.

“Put the gun away.” You ordered your husband who was still chuckling at you. He walked over to take his plate for lunch but you snatched it and took it away from him.

“Away. Now.” You demanded. Holding his food hostage seemed to do the trick because after an incredulous eye roll John went downstairs to put his gun in the safe.

“Where are the foxes?” Jj asked you as he took his plate off the counter.

“How would I know.” You gave Jj a flat look which made him grin.

Now he was teasing you and you did not appreciate his father’s influence on him. John was grinning as he came up the stairs, having heard Jj giving you a hard time. After ruffling the boys hair John spoke.

“On the patio.” John motioned to four dead foxes getting blood all over the stone.

“Ew.” Lily wiggled to be put down and ran to the open back door.

She stared at the foxes quietly. One of her hands was playing with her left pigtail while the other reached out aimlessly for anyone’s hand to hold. You were expecting a much larger reaction from her. Lily was soft and sweet, dead animals normally upset her. She cried for an hour once when there was a dead pigeon at the park. Yet seeing dead foxes didn’t seem to bother her.

“Which chicken did they get?” Evelyn asked now standing next to Lily and taking her hand, the two of them staring at the dead foxes.

“Why are none of you reacting to dead animals!? Am I in the twilight zone!?” Throwing your hands in the air you felt crazy.

Even Evelyn had no reaction. You were expecting her to go start poking them with a stick or asking a million questions. But none of your children were upset, they treated this like an ordinary thing. As if you told them about the weather and you couldn’t figure out why for the life of you.

“Pepper.” John’s response made Lily shriek at the top of her lungs. It had everyone but John jumping.

“NOT PEPPER!” Falling to her knees Lily started to hysterically cry while also screaming dramatically.

It looked as if she were melting into a puddle with her fingers laced in her hair and sapphire eyes streaming with tears. It was quite the performance, she was putting Leonardo DiCaprio to shame with this meltdown.

Pepper was Lily’s favorite chicken, so this was going to be tough. The reaction you expected for the dead foxes came in full swing at the news you all lost Pepper. Lily was shrill and inconsolable as Evelyn kneeled on the floor with her little sister and hugged her.

“You can handle all that.” You took your hand and motioned to Lily’s utter histrionics as your doorbell rang.

You had a sinking feeling one of your neighbors were here to ask what the hell was wrong with your husband. But when you opened the door it was so much worse.

“Hello ma’am. I’m Officer Parker.” The police officer at your front door seemed unamused to be here.

He was tall like John, but not as handsome. It was definitely a ‘type’ kind of thing because the man was still good looking. Officer Parker had dark silver hair and five o’clock shadow. Despite his hair color he couldn’t be older than John, he even looked a few years younger. The sharp jawline, thick eyebrows, and peachy skin paired well together. His hazel eyes were stern and serious like a man of the militaries would be; not what you assumed a police officer was like. He was slender with an athletic physique with muscles not as large as Johns but they were still prevalent in his uniform.

“Hi, Y/N Price.” You felt like you looked guilty and you did.

Lily’s screams echoed down the hallway making the officer look over your head trying to asses if everything was okay. Gun shots and a screaming child wasn’t a good look for your family.

“Gotten some reports of gun shots. Been told the man who lives here is military and wanted to make sure everything’s all right.” The officer sounded like he was already accusing you of something.

But then his hazel eyes softened for a second seeing you go from nervous to defeated. That’s when he noticed you were quite beautiful. There was a sweetness that naturally exuded off of you and those eyes of yours were almost as bright as the summer sun.

“John! Police are here for you.” You half yelled for your husband to come deal with this.

Hearing you call for a man had the officer feeling somewhat deflated. He knew a man in the military lived here but was hoping he was of no relation to you. There was a small hope you were a guest of this home, not the mother of that screaming child and wife to the oaf shooting a gun for god knows why.

As you turned and waited for the man you called, Officer Parker took in your appearance. You were dressed in cute little black athletic shorts that ended just after the plump roundness of your bum. Your baby blue t-shirt was loose everywhere but your chest, fitting nicely over the curve of your breasts. With your hair tied back he could see the slender curve of your neck and that even from behind you were utterly gorgeous.

John appeared walking down the hallway towards the front door. Officer Parker wanted to roll his eyes at the sight of Captain Price. Of course this man had to be big, bold, and British. He looked like the type of rugged man that would have a woman like you swooning over him.

“She’s gonna need to cry it out.” John nodded his head towards Lily who could now be seen at the end of the hallway next to the kitchen, lying on her back. She was crying up at the ceiling with her small hands over her face.

“Pepper.” The guttural cries continued to echo down the hall as Lily called for her deceased chicken.

“She okay?” Officer Parker asked you.

“Yeah. Her favorite chicken got eaten by some foxes and she taking the news pretty hard.” Scratching the back of your head you gave the officer an apologetic smile.

God, he found you beautiful. Few words were exchanged but you were endearing and kind; that was obvious. There was something about you that was magnetic and had him enamored although no one could tell.

“How can we help you?” John was picking up on a strange vibe but wasn’t sure what it was. The officer at his door was as stoic as himself and John wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Hello sir. Reports of gunshots, know anything about it?” Without missing a beat officer Parker was back to the task at hand.

“Shot a couple foxes that were killing my chickens.” John spoke matter of factly, not knowing why that warranted police to show up.

“DADDY!!! PEPPER!!” Lily screamed in John’s direction but John ignored her. You couldn’t get yourself to respond either. Lily needed to work this one out since you and John were busy.

“Do you have a license.” The officer lightly chuckled at the little girl having an absolute meltdown over a chicken.

“Here.” Reaching into his back pocket John grabbed his wallet and handed over his hunting license.

Looking it over carefully, Officer Parker then leaned to the side to look between you and John. Down the hall he now saw two older children trying to console their hysterical little sister. The older little girl grabbed her smaller sister’s ankles while the boy grabbed her arms. They picked her up like a rag doll and carried her out of sight.

“No more shooting. Got it?” Keeping his eyes cast down the hall Officer Parker then saw the pile of dead foxes on your patio. Now with the story corroborated he handed John his hunting license back.

“Why!?” John’s strong reaction made your jaw drop.

What did he mean ‘why’?

“It’s a residential area. There are families and children around. Don’t do it again.” Officer Parker spoke evenly but you could tell he didn’t see why he even had to explain this.

“So the next time foxes are killing my chickens I just let them?” John was indignant and heating up to argue with the officer.

“Build a taller fence.” The response was short and to the point.

It was a fair response that had you nodding in agreeance. John didn’t respond but shut the door in the officers face. The abrupt reaction made you gasp.

“That was rude.” You were shocked at John’s curt behavior. John ignored you and locked the door. The look on his face was mean with his eyebrows knit together and lips fixed in a tight line.

“You know, for someone who’s a Captain in the military you’ve got a real problem with authority.” Challenging your husband didn’t seem to affect him as he moved to go check on the crying that was now off in the distance for some reason.

“I should be able to shoot on my own damn property.” John threw the comment over his shoulder.

“You have to know how ridiculous you sound.” You laughed in disbelief.

Opening the front door back up you saw the officer heading back to his car.

“Sorry about him! It won’t happen again!” You called to the man and waved goodbye.

That seemed to tickle Officer Parker because he smiled and laughed. The seriousness from before seemed to fade in your presence. He looked handsome with a smile and not so stern. There was a charming nature about him, one that was disarming and alluring.

“Keep him in line. I’d hate to come out here again.” The joke felt a bit flirtatious but you ignored that and waved goodbye.

You weren’t sure he’d hate having to stop by again from the way he spoke. A little flirting was a good ego boost especially in a harmless moment like this. It’s not like you’d ever see the man again.

Turning back, John had his eyes cut at you. You thought he would’ve been in the kitchen at this point but he clearly was suspicious of you.

“And you have an inclination for men of authority.” There was an accusation in those words that you decided to ignore.

“I do. But apparently I like gun wielding lunatics.” The cheeky comment got you a firm smack to the ass that made you yelp in surprise.

“As you should.” John’s flirtation was a lot more successful than the officers. It left you giving him a kiss and then ordering him to build a taller fence.

“Build a taller fence and please don’t do that again. Our neighbors probably hate us.” As you spoke John nudged you with his shoulder which had you instantly wrapping yourself around his muscular arm.

“Darling, I have a gun. They’re too scared to hate us.” The joke had you rolling your eyes. John chucked and kissed the top of your head sweetly.

Walking into your kitchen you saw your two oldest children sitting at the kitchen table eating their lunch. They were chatting about who would take the dead foxes, Ghost or Soap. You could faintly hear Lily crying but she was no where in sight.

“Where’s your sister?” John asked, he didn’t seem too worried as he started eating his own lunch while he brought it to the table.

“Laundry room.” Evelyn pointed at the shut laundry room door at the corner of the kitchen next to the pantry.

“What!?” You dashed for the laundry room to find your four year old lying in a basket of clean towels, hugging one to her chest and lightly sobbing while she whispered Pepper’s name.

“We couldn’t enjoy our lunch with her screaming like that.”

——————

“Hello, Mrs. Price.” The same officer as last time was at your door again.

He had a charming smile, seemingly amused to see you. The summer day was a lot hotter than the last. This left you trying anything to beat the heat. You had just slipped your two piece bathing suit on under your crop top and bicycle shorts. A dip in the pond would be nice and you promised Lily she could swim with you.

“I’m so sorry.” You sighed heavily already knowing why he was here.

“Where is he?” The officer also seemed annoyed by John but not by you.

It was a surprise to Officer Parker to be back at your house not even two days later. Normally he’d hate having to have a repeat visit, but not with you. The fact you seemed so displeased with your husband would hopefully bode well for him; because he wanted to make a pass before he left here today. He wanted to see if the stereotype of military wives being lonely and unsatisfied was true.

“I don’t think he’ll be coming to the door.” You spoke meekly.

John made it crystal clear last night that those foxes killing the chickens had it coming. You bent his ear about gun safety but it clearly didn’t get through to him. He ended up shutting you up with some groveling on his knees and mouth between your thighs.

“Well I need to speak to him.” By the way the officer spoke you could tell he would rather not, but unfortunately he had to do his job.

“He’s around back.” You stepped out onto the porch and motioned with your hand.

You did not want to deal with this. John got himself into this mess and he could deal with it on his own.

“A woman like you’s okay with him shooting while you have young children around?” The officer seemed to be trying to get you on his side.

You agreed with him but there was a twinkle in his eye you caught on to. He fancied you, and you could tell. Although you had no interest and were clearly married that didn’t stop the subtle flirting.

You were flattered but weren’t going to give him anymore attention than necessary. It was funny to you because he reminded you of Soap, in that charming lovable kind of way. And like Soap, Officer Parker seemed capable of getting laid by any other woman who wasn’t you.

“No, but they think it’s cool. We’ve got one chicken left standing and they want their dad to protect Nancy at all cost.” You shrugged not sure what else to say. You’d lost this battle with John as soon as the children took his side.

“Nancy?” He asked with a snort.

“My middle named her.” You smiled softly.

“And the others?” The officer was intrigued what other names your chickens had.

“Well they’re all dead now. But it was Pepper, Match Box, Dinner, and Pancake.” Leaning against the front door frame you gave into having a chat instead of doing some proofreading for work.

“Dinner?” The officer let out a loud laugh. He was hoping you were the one to come up with that name. It would mean you were funny and gorgeous.

“Yeah, that was my husband.” You snickered.

Officer Parker’s laughter died down, no longer finding the name funny.

“Speaking of, going to give him a last warning.” Taking a step back Officer Parker was about to head around your house to scold your husband.

“Good luck with that.” You meant it, John had his heels dug in on this one.

“Think he’ll listen.” With a smirk the officer asked you. The look slowly slid off his face at your lack of response.

You stared at him, mulling over his question. The officer watched your eyes glaze over for a moment as if you were lost in a memory. You stayed like that, spaced out, until he cleared his throat and you seemingly snapped back into reality.

“What was the question?” You asked.

You had been searching your brain for a time John listened to someone willingly, who wasn’t you. John didn’t like being told what to do unless he agreed with what it was. Still he could be obstinate if rubbed the wrong way but usually came around when it was you asking. And even then he tended to do what he thought best and ignored you when he wanted to. John didn’t take well to rules or orders which was surprising that he wound up in the military.

“Never mind. Fine if I go around back.” Pointing toward your yard Officer Parker began to jog down the front stairs.

“Yeah, go ahead.” With a heavy sigh you went to shut your front door.

“Oh, and ma’am I completely forgot to mention. I saw a young man in his mid twenties rummaging through your mail box. He said he was family.” Officer Parker walked back to the bottom of your staircase as he told you.

“What’d he look like? Got a Mohawk?” You were taken aback and stepped back out on your front porch.

“No, Mohawk. Black hair, nondescript, buggy looking eyes. He seemed a bit off, barely blinked- which was odd.” He told you casually. It was assumed you would know exactly who he was talking about.

“No. Doesn’t sound like any family of mine. My husband’s the better person to ask.” Finding this out had your forehead creasing from stress.

The last thing you needed was some creep sniffing around your children. John would go ballistic and definitely threaten someone with his gun if not blow their brains out.

“Said his last name was- ah bloody hell I can’t remember. It just wasn’t Price.” Running his finger through his hair Officer Parker tried to remember the last name he was given.

“Was it Y/L/N?” You asked.

“Yes, it was.” With a snap of his fingers Parker pointed to you.

“Fuck, that’s my maiden name. I don’t get any mail with that name anymore so I don’t know how anyone would know that.” This was officially creeping you out. No one here knew your maiden name besides the people at work.

“Strange. Keep an eye out. I will too.” The fact officer Parker didn’t seem too worried didn’t help you.

If anything you would want the police worried about a strange man going through people’s mailboxes in a neighborhood with a lot of children. Especially since your maiden name was used, it meant this person was looking for you or your children. Nothing like this had ever happened around here before. So you made a mental note to text a few of your neighbors to give them a heads up. You just hoped they didn’t call you out for the gun shots.

“Thank you.” You tried to sound calm although you felt a tightness in your chest.

“Of course, ma’am.” Giving you a cordial smile Parker went to go confront your husband.

The walk to the far right corner of your property was much farther than Officer Parker realized. Your property was huge now that he had a better look. Your red farm house sat atop a hill far from the street. To the right was your driveway and a sloping hill your kids would sled down in the winter. Once at the back of your house there were acres of land including a pond and forest.

The forest ran from the front of your property and surrounded it on all sides. The land behind your house was about the size of three soccer fields until it reached the pond that was to the far left and down a slight slope. There was even land around the pond but it was surrounded by tall grass in those areas showing how your family and children tended to not go over there.

In the far right corner near the edge of the woods was the chicken coop surrounded by a low estate styled fence. It was no wonder the chickens were being picked off by foxes with the coop being that close to the forest. Once over there Officer Parker got a better view of John Price and his three children around the coop. There was an old beat up truck a few yards away with the bed opened and a bunch of empty crates. A man with a Mohawk was taking the dead fox and tossing them into the bed and closing things up.

“Captain Price, there’s been another complaint about guns going off.” Officer Parker called from a distance away as he approached.

John looked up from the center of the fenced in area around the coop where he had just placed a white chicken down. John was dressed in dirty jeans that had a layer of dust and dirt on them. His white long sleeve matched the dirt of his jeans along with his brown work gloves. There was a faded beige boonie hat that sat atop his head that Officer Parker thought looked ridiculous.

“Why are you on my property?” John half demanded to know. He knew why but was not about to admit to it.

John’s two little girls stared intently at the police officer. Meanwhile Jj was spreading feed for the new chickens not paying him any mind. This was the first good look Officer Parker was getting at your children. The boy was a spitting image of his father while your middle was your mini me. The youngest who was pretending like he didn’t exist was a good mix of you and your husband. She looked like John in the eyes and nose but had your lips, hair type, and shorter stature. She also seemed more like you than either of her siblings, there was a natural sweetness to her. Whereas the two older seemed a lot like their father purely based off the way they sized Officer Parker up a he got closer. This only proved the Officer knew very little about you. Your kids could be spitfires, clever, and cheeky which they had inherited from you.

“OoOoooO, you’re in trouble.” Evelyn teased her father.

“I wanna name that one Salt!” Lily was pointing at the all white hen John had bought to replace her favorite one who died; Pepper. Her hand was stuck through a hole in the chicken wire and she quickly pulled it back when one of the chickens tried to peck her.

“No, Nancy! You have to behave.” Lily scolded the tawny brown chicken who then stared her down.

“Daddy. Nancy’s looking at me funny.” Lily whined which made her father chuckle.

“Don’t mess with her Lily. She’ll take your fingers off if given the chance.” The teasing tone put a frown on the little girl face. Soon enough she was hiding behind her big sister who was beaming like the sun.

“She’s my favorite.” Evelyn pointed to Nancy as she spoke to Officer Parker.

“The mean one’s your favorite?” Soap asked with a boisterous laugh. Evelyn shook her head proudly.

“Of course she is Suds!” Evelyn giggled while she bounced up and down.

“Well, I’m gonna head out. You three better get in to as much trouble as you can while I’m gone.” Soap pointed at the Price children who all gave him giant smiles.

“Tell Leena we say hello. Oh, and stop sleeping with Y/N friends, I think she’s getting ready to murder you.” John chuckled as he tried to convince Soap of something you had been on his case about.

With a laugh Soap waved Price off and got into his truck. The Price children yelled their goodbyes and Soap honked a few times as he drove off. Lily started to tear up at Soaps departure since he was one of her favorite people.

“Why are you here?” John asked the officer again but his focus was on the sniffling four year old. John walked over and whispered something to her that seemed to cheer her up.

“Your wife told me you were back here.” Officer Parker spoke to John but had his attention stolen as Lily ran to the back pack Soap left behind and fished through it.

“Traitor.” John mumbled under his breath. A second later Lily was running back with candy bars. She stopped and meekly offered a Milky bar to the police officer. That one was her least favorite but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Please don’t be cross with my daddy.” She whispered so quietly it was barely audible and then ran off back to her big sister. They tore into the different candy bars while Officer Parker slid the sweet into his back pocket for later.

“Have you seen anyone lurking around your property, Captain Price?” The question had John perking up.

“No.” John didn’t break eye contact.

There was no way someone would be lurking around John’s property without him knowing. Normally it would never happen but it was especially true now with how vigilant John had been due to the foxes.

“Any of you see anyone you don’t know? Or even a neighbor who doesn’t usually stop by hanging around?” Looking at the young children’s faces they were clearly searching their memories for anything like that.

“When I took Molly for a walk this morning I saw Mr. Patterson at the mailbox. Mum said he wrote us a nasty note yesterday so I thought he was leaving another and avoided him like you told me to.” Jj looked at John and recounted this to the officer.

John was shocked by that. He didn’t know about any nasty note or that Jj had seen their neighbor at the house. Mr. Patterson was not a fan of your family, in fact John would go as far as to say the man hated you all. He was an older man whose nephew lived with him and took care of him and his property.

You told John that the nephew gave you the creeps. It was to the point you and John advised your children to steer clear of him. That they were never to stop and chat or go near that house. Nothing had truly ever happened but even John saw what you were talking about. The young man was odd and John didn’t like the way he stared at Evelyn one time when John and her went for a walk around the neighborhood.

“I told your wife but a young man in his mid to early twenties who was going through your mailbox. Claimed to be related to your wife.” Officer Parker reiterated.

“Dark hair, looks like he could be anybody, and crazy fucking eyes?” John asked. He used his pointer and middle finger to aggressively gesture to his own eyes.

“I see you know exactly who I’m talking about.” The men shared a knowing look as if to say they agreed that this man had to be trouble.

“Patterson’s nephew. You probably want to keep an eye on him.” John told him. Officer Parker nodded in understating.

“I saw him too.” Lily spoke quietly.

That was a lot more alarming to John than Jj seeing anything. Lily was four and you two hardly let her out of your sight. How on earth did she see the nephew and John and you hadn’t?

“Where?” John asked trying not to sound forceful so Lily wouldn’t clam up.

“The shop! Mummy was talking to Siobhan’s mummy about uncle Soap never calling her back. I think they had a sleepover or something. Siobhan’s mummy was really sad about it. I think she-“ John cut Lily’s tangent off.

“What did Patterson’s nephew do?” It was hard not to laugh at all the unnecessary details Lily offered up.

“He waved at me.” Lily recounted the memory at the shop from a few days ago.

“What did you do?” John had to push down the anger building up knowing, that creep had waved to his daughter.

“Cried.” Lily spoke matter of factly as she took another bite of her sweet.

That checked out. John remembered you saying Lily had a meltdown at the shop because someone looked at her funny. It must’ve been the neighbor.

“Dad can we name that one Patrick.” Evelyn interrupted and pointed to a brown hen while snacking on a chocolate bar.

“Hens are girls.” The officer informed her.

“So?” She cocked her head to the side confused.

“Hey!” Lily whined when John took a sneaky bite of her candy.

“Salt and Patrick it is. That one will be Butter.” John spoke with his mouth full and pointed to a honey colored hen. He thought it best to move on so his children wouldn’t get spooked. You and him could talk about this later.

“Butter?” The officer looked at John wondering where that name came from.

“Butter chicken.” Jj started laughing until he was bent over and trying to catch his breath.

“Jj you get to name the last one.” Nodding his head toward the last white hen John waited for Jj’s name for it.

“Mum wanted to name hers Pudding.” With a smile Jj offered some feed in his hand to Pudding.

“Okay, we have Salt, Patrick, Butter, and Pudding.” John pointed in order of chickens and their names.

It was comical watching how your family behaved. As serious and unfriendly as John was he was very accommodating and sweet to his children. It was night and day how he treated Officer Parker versus you and your children. It was a horrible example on how to treat police but John wasn’t the biggest fan anyway.

“Gonna have to ask you to stop with shooting foxes.” Finally getting to the point Officer Parker was stern in the way he spoke.

“Okay.” Waving the man off John grabbed Jj and placed him on the other side of the fence by his sisters.

“What!? Do you want our chickens dead?” Evelyn turned to the officer in shock. She went from looking sweet to ready to murder.

“Noooo daddy has to protect Salt!” Lily shrieked.

“Gimmie the sweet back!” Lily demanded with her hand outstretched, as if this punishment would change the man’s mind.

“I don’t want to come out here again.” Officer Parker warned John while handing the candy bar back.

“We can agree on that.” John’s snarkiness was hard to not push back against.

“No shooting.” Pointing his finger at John, Officer Parker ordered him.

“I shot this one.” Jj smiled cheerily thinking that would get the officer off his father’s back.

“Say that again.” Turning slowly the officer looked mortified.

In no universe did he expect that as a response. What on earth would posses a parent to put a gun in their child’s hands. No wonder you were so fed up with your husband; he had to be crazy.

“Lads just taking the piss. I wouldn’t be irresponsible enough to put a gun in the hands of a child.” John reassured the man as he lied.

Jj took that fox out in two shots, the first one missing completely and the second being right on target. John made Jj swear to secrecy to never tell you or they’d end up like those foxes when you found out.

There was a long pause. The officer couldn’t quite tell if this was sarcasm or honesty. John was unreadable.

“Alright. This will go a lot differently if I have to come out here again.” Another warning fell on deaf ears.

“Do you want some eggs? We can give you as many as you want if you let our dad take care of those nasty foxes. If you don’t there will be no eggs to give you Mister Police man.” Evelyn spoke oh so sweetly.

“Are you bribing a police officer?” The question was forceful and Evelyn immediately felt like she was in trouble. So she hummed and pretend to not hear him and went back to eating her chocolate bar.

“My kids have a cheeky sense of humor.” John chortled, trying to deflect. He found them hilarious but knew their humor wouldn’t be appreciated right now.

“Your wife seems to be the only sensible one out of you lot. No shooting, no bribing, and for the love of god don’t make me come back here.” Officer Parker got louder as he spoke until he was almost shouting.

“Okay.” John gave the man a contemptuous nod.

“Bloody ridiculous.” The officer mumbled as he walked away.

On his way to leave the officer saw you on your back patio. You were hosing something off. The distance allowed him to admire you for a few moments longer. You were barefoot in black bicycle shorts today with a cropped white t-shirt with the AC/DC logo on the front. It showed off just above your bellybutton and part of your ribs. He was noticing that you had tattoos which he seemed to miss the last time he saw you. That fact had you going from gorgeous to sexy in a flash.

“Howd it go?” You asked as the officer passed by the patio

“Your children take after him? One claimed to have shot that fox and the other tried to bribe me.” The frustrating encounter was shared in a lighthearted way.

“Made it out lucky. Usually the little one takes a bite out of people.” It felt good to hear someone speak fondly of your children. They had the unfortunate effect of rubbing people the wrong way a lot of the time.

“You’ve got quiet the family.” The brightness coming off of him was more from having a conversation with you. His words did not match the sentiment of how he felt towards your family; which was detached.

“They keep it interesting.” Speaking sweetly, you took his words at face value. Thinking that he admired your children and you could tell in turn he admired you.

Officer Parker, who had been thinking of you often now had the chance he’d been craving. With a charming smirk and running his fingers through his thick hair he geared up to attempt to sweet talk you. He knew he was handsome and charming so he planned on using those to his advantage. You were far from the first married woman he had seduced.

“I dont mean to overstep. I can see how unpleasant your husband is, if you ever want a little less stress in your life I’d love to take y-“ You waved your hand assertively for the officer to stop.

“Don’t. I’m happily married.” You instantly knew where this was going and nipped it in the bud. You couldn’t help the sour expression that took over.

There was no way you were crossing that line and if John found out, he would kill him. You were instantly upset. You thought you had made a friend, but unfortunately, this police officer was making a pass at you. The unfortunate fact was, men tended to disappoint you in this way, instead of looking for friendship they looked for a shag.

“Of course. My apologies.” Officer Parker felt himself flush with embarrassment. Leaving quickly was the best plan of action. So he nodded and went on his way.

“Lucky bastard. John would’ve hunted his ass down if he heard that.” Shaking your head you made your way over to the chicken coop. You were contemplating on whether you told your husband or not. You decided against it, John already hated the man enough.

——————

“Mrs. Price I can’t believe I’m here again.”

“I swear he wasn’t shooting this time.” You gave the same officer a meek smile.

You were absolutely fed up with this situation. You hadn’t heard any gun shots so now you were starting to think one of your neighbors was out to get you. Or that this officer couldn’t take the hint that you weren’t interested.

With the look Officer Parker was giving you, you thought it was the latter. You were in a floral blue sundress since it was just you and John home today. The waist was cinched, accenting your curves while the skirt was loose and flowed down to mid thigh. It was your subtle attempt of getting John all over you with these thin straps and low cut neckline. You weren’t expecting any interruption but this didn’t count since John hadn’t caught sight of you yet.

The officer seemed to notice your outfit and how your hair was tied back neatly to show off your neck and shoulders. It was also to keep your hair out of your face in case John had you on your knees. You felt gross at the officers flickering eyes down to your exposed legs and then cleavage.

Crossing your arms over your chest and letting out an annoyed huff the officer seemed to snap out of it. He was embarrassed to have been caught staring especially after being rejected the last time he was here. His ogling was fast and if you hadn’t been standing face to face you doubt you would have noticed. He was still kicking himself for even asking you out and how unprofessional he acted. After the last time he was here and the pass he made at you, you no longer liked him and he could tell. So he decided to stop treating you special and went back to acting like he normally did toward any civilian.

“I don’t believe you. Your family is becoming a real pain in my ass.” The coarse remark had your hackles raising. It was a large shift from his wandering eyes admiring you to then insulting you and your family.

“Fine.” You spoke with evenness yet there was an undertone of frustration.

You weren’t some soft docile house wife this man clearly thought you were. So you shut the door in the officers face. You didn’t need him being so rude to you when you had been nothing but accommodating. It wasn’t your fault your husband wouldn’t listen. If you could have things your way you’d kick this guy off your property and then drag John upstairs because you’d much rather have his gorgeous blues on you.

The doorbell rang several times before you opened it again. Swinging the door open you greeted him with a cheery smile as if this was the first time he’d ever knocked on your door. Officer Parker held on to that indignant look then rolled his eyes as you played pretend nice.

“Hi. Wanna try that again?” You felt like a brat right now, speaking oh so sweetly, but you were honestly sick of this guy showing up and your husband wielding a gun.

“I’m going to have to bring him in.” The officer told you which made you snort.

“Good luck with that.” You joked then went to shut the door again. His large hand smacked against the thick wood stoping you from ending the conversation.

“Ma’am, are you eluding to the fact your husband is going to resist arrest?” Peering at you through his eyebrows he asked seriously.

This guy was a piece of work and you wanted to give him as hard of a time as you felt he was giving you.

“Ever heard of a joke?” With a monotone tone you volleyed back his retort.

Silence took over as you both held eye contact. Officer Parker didn’t know what to say without getting a smart ass remark from you and you were prepared to be a little shit. If he thought John was difficult he had no idea who he was dealing with now.

“This family seems to be full of them. Now where is he?” The officer demanded.

He wasn’t wrong there. Your family were a bunch of smart asses who didn’t shy away from giving people a hard time. It wasn’t just John who resisted authority, it was you too. Thinking anyone could boss you around or show up at your door demanding things was comical. Once upon a time you would’ve teamed up with this guy to get your husband to stop with the guns. But now? Absolutely not, you’d cover for John in every possible way purely because you didn’t like this guy.

“Go on. He’s around back.” You motioned with your hand.

Making a point to wave your hand to put the large rock on your ring finger in this man’s face. Officer Parker grunted in reply, catching on to your dismissal of his advances. He stomped down your stairs and went to make his way to the back of your home.

“Oh, and again. . .” You waited for the officer to turn around and look at you from the bottom of the stairs of your front porch.

“He wasn’t shooting this time. The man would be signing divorce papers if that were the case. And he’s not that stubborn.” Before you could hear a response you shut the front door and then ran like hell to the back patio.

John was standing at the picnic table dressed in dirty old jeans, an army green t-shirt with a half burnt cigar tucked between his teeth. He had thrown a burlap tarp over the table and laid out a bunch of tools used to fix his cherry red convertible. Jumping down the two steps to the patio you ran straight into John. It was like colliding with a brick wall the way he didn’t budge and was made of stone. He chuckled deeply at your urgency, his chest rumbling at how endearing he found you.

“John give me that- that cops here and said he was going to arrest you.” You immediately started groping your husband trying to find the gun on his waist.

Going as far as shoving your hand down the back of his jeans to check for a gun. John jumped at your wandering hand in his trousers and had to grab you by the wrists to get you to stop grabbing at him.

“Victoria backfired, love. I didn’t shoot anything.” John started belly laughing. His deep voice sounded lower as he spoke with the cigar still tightly between his teeth.

“oh.” You visibly relaxed.

“Plus, I’ve learned to use a silencer now and you haven’t caught on so theres no way that prick has either.” Letting you go John went back to searching through his tools that were neatly laid out.

He paused, it looked like a lightbulb buzzed to life above his head, something had just occurred to him. Looking back at you with a pensive expression, you expected John to tell you something important; but he didn’t. John’s large hand came over to you and tugged at the neckline of your dress and pulled it toward him so he could peak down at your breasts.

“John!” Your jaw dropped and again your husband’s burly chest rumbled with laughter.

“No bra? Trying to tell me something, darling?” That charming smirk had you sputtering like an idiot; he was right on the money.

This outfit was indeed a statement. You still had trouble handling how hot John was when he flirted with you like this. That cocky confidence could get whatever he wanted out of you.

“Captain Price, I told you I didn’t want to be back h- holy shit is that an Aston Martin?” The officer stopped in the middle of your driveway realizing the car that sat at the end with the hood popped was in fact a 1965 Aston Martin. John removed his hand from your dress and left you with a firm squeeze to your left breast. The officer was too distracted to notice.

“No.” John lied as he grabbed some tool you would never be able to identify. All you could tell was it was metal, shiny, and round on the end.

“Piss off, that is-“

“Why are you on my property? To gawk at my car and chat up my wife? Or maybe gawk at my wife and chat ‘bout my car.” Taking a long drag from his cigar John stared down the officer.

That seemed to instantly piss the officer off. You didn’t have to tell John that you had caught this man’s eye. John noticed it from the very start. So now it was John’s opportunity to flex and show off just how lucky of a man he was.

“I’ll have to take you in for shooting a gun in a residential area. I tried to warn you-“

John had walked over to his car and turned the key in the ignition. A loud bang echoed through the open air that sounded like a gun shot. It was now occurring to the officer that the call that came about a single gun shot was in fact this car back firing.

All Officer Parker could think was how this prick John Price was a lucky bastard.

“Fixing my car. That a crime?” John was enjoying himself way too much.

Smoking his cigar with his signature hat and looking smug suited him. Sexy didn’t begin to describe how attractive you found your husband in this moment. That smudge of grease on his neck only added to the rugged man he was. Bulging biceps, chiseled frame, tanned skin from working in the yard; you wanted to mount that smug smirk.

“Are you armed right now?” Officer Parker stepped on to your patio his eyes wandering to the cherry red convertible for a moment.

With a quirked eyebrow John looked at you and then to the officer.

“You can frisk me if ya’d like.” Throwing his arms out John motioned for the officer to come over.

“Yes, please-“ You slapped your hand over your own mouth for saying that.

Both men turned and gave you surprised looks.

“I’m sorry- I- wasn’t suppose to say that out loud.” Your entire body flushed with embarrassment for having no filter. You blamed John for this. You weren’t sure how it was his fault but you’d figure that out later.

“Later, darling.” John shot you and wink. He had you feeling like a teenager gushing over her crush. If he blew a kiss at you it would’ve knocked you over.

The cheeky comment had you stifling a laugh while the officer kept a cool demeanor. Watching you and your husband flirt was not on his agenda today. In fact he was suppose to be looking into the man who was going through mailboxes since he was in the neighborhood.

“Well, the call was a mistake. I’ll be on my way. let me know if you seen anything suspicious about the man lurking around.” With a nod officer Parker made a move to leave but once again was distracted by John’s car.

“Who’s been making the complaints.” John asked while pulling his cigar from his teeth and asking.

“I can’t disclose that.” The officer gave John a sharp look for the question. He continued on his way not wanting to deal with either of you anymore.

“Not even for a ride.” John nodded at his car.

“Do anything for a ride.” You mumbled under your breath to yourself. John didn’t catch it but the officer glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

“Is this where your daughter learned to bribe an officer!?” He turned back around and barked.

“He’s joking. Right, John?” Your pushing had John raising his hands by his shoulder, chuckling deeply then taking a drag of his cigar.

“‘Course I am. We know it’s the Patterson’s. You keeping an eye on the nephew like you said? ” The lack of response to John spoke volumes.

“Good day.” The officer forcefully spoke before leaving.

John chuckled as the officer left and then slammed the hood of the car back in place. Glancing over his shoulder John caught sight of you giving him big innocent eyes and a shy smile. Your arms were behind your back leaving John’s eyes to wander to your cleavage in that little sundress that drove him mad.

The prospect of having some privacy had you pouncing at the opportunity. Now it was your time to shine and get the attention you craved from your husband. So you flirted like a slag and decided some role play would be fun. John the mechanic and you some damsel who forgot her wallet.

“Thank you for fixing my car, sir. I don’t have any money but I’m willing to repay you in other ways.” You flirted shamelessly with John.

A thick eyebrow quirked and his lips turned skyward at your forward advances. The thick hair of his mutton chops looked tantalizing in the afternoon sunlight. You were drinking him in like a cool glass of tea on this hot summer day.

“I’ll take payment in full.” That deep British accent made you weak in the knees.

You let out a yelp as John grabbed you and man handled you. He had you perched on the hood of his car with his hands under your skirt and dragging your panties down. His hands were rough against your soft skin and that confidence from before only grew and surrounded you. It felt like he was going to eat you alive and savor every bite.

“John the officer hasn’t left.” The sound of your quiet squeal was muffled by the officers car door thudding shut.

“Just want him to know how good I’ve got it. A house, family, classic car, and a wife who’ll let me fuck her on the hood of said car.” John all but purred against your neck as he laid open mouth kisses over the shallow teeth marks he left behind.

“John, you’re gonna get us in trouble. And I’m not going to let you fuck me on the hood of the car. Not with some creep wandering around the neighborhood?” You giggled when he snapped the band of your panties against your thighs where he had dragged them halfway down.

A tingling sensation ran up your spine but it wasn’t from your excitement. In a flash you felt watched, like two eye were boring into you. It was a visceral reaction that you instantly felt like prey. Looking to your left you stared into the forest. It no longer looked like it always did but had this darkness seeping out from it. And for a second you swore you saw something shift behind a tree. Blinking a few times you decided your eyes were playing tricks on you. No way would someone be watching you with John here and a cop sitting in your driveway.

Both men were too distracted by you to notice your eyes locked on something in the forest. All the officer could see was John’s broad shoulders and back. That and the exposed skin of your knees and shins on either side of the massive frame of your husband. It wasn’t lewd from this angle but it was clear what John was saying without words.

She’s Mine

“C’mon darling, we won’t get caught. You know he thinks you’re pretty. Especially in this little dress. Let me rub it in.” There was a dark chuckle that followed John’s sultry words.

He pulled down the strap of your dress so it hung limply off your shoulder and exposed how you weren’t wearing a bra. The action had that sinking feeling in your gut intensifying. John wasn’t the only man looking at you right now. There was no way to prove it, you could just feel it. You gulped down the rock in your throat not wanting to make a big deal on what you were chalking up to anxiety.

Turning to look at the officer, John and him shared an intense look. It was one of pride for John and jealousy on the officers end. John smiled like the smug bastard he was and waved goodbye. The officer didn’t look away as he started his engine and you hid behind John, feeling utterly embarrassed by your husband’s audacity. He was waving you around like some prize he won.

You made eye contact for only a brief moment over John’s shoulder when he dipped down to pick you up and bring you inside. There was no doubt Officer Parker officially hated the Price family but in the second your eyes met he saw your fear. He wondered why all of a sudden you looked like that and if your husband was someone who scared you. This made him hate your husband for being so arrogant. It was clear John was about to bed you and have his way, which was only insult to injury for the officer. But now he wondered if something else was going on.

You just hoped the next time John started shooting foxes it would scare off whoever had been lurking around the neighborhood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter: Secret Admirer

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[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part three, final part two cw: dubcon, noncon, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome (kind of), endearments, vague/implied first time, grief, guilt, mild body horror, pregnancy mention a/n: many thanks again to the anon who originally suggested this. part one | part two | masterlist 🦢

The lake is choppy the day John marries you, its surface churned by a coming storm.

Cold water laps at your ankles, bare feet numb in the shallows. The hem of your dress drinks deep from the surface. Soaking up what memories it can before you're further bound to man.

John says marriage is sacred, unbreakable. A higher purpose. It's a slap in the face to what you lost.

The nameless friend he brought stands smirking between you, reciting empty words. Invoking a god you do not recognize, but curse all the same. You answer only when John squeezes your hands. The veil, stitched from your ruin, is a mockery. A whisper-thin shield.

John lifts it with reverence, eyes bluer with the lake beside him, darkening at the edges where clouds gather. He looks at you the way he did that night. Hungry and triumphant.

After slipping a thin gold band on your finger, he kisses you, deepening it until his friend chuckles. Holds your face as if you are delicate and cherished. And for one fleeting second, you hate him less for it.

But when his lips leave yours, you feel it. That hollow space. The sore spots between your shoulder blades. A rift not easily mended.

His friend claps him on the shoulder, bids you both well, and winks as John steals another kiss.

Thunder rolls over the water, threading through and shaking the trees in warning. You doubt he hears it that way. To him, it's nothing but weather. 

The first drops hit before you reach the cabin, cool pinpricks that swell into a downpour. John's grip tightens, tugging you along as the storm swallows you both. He laughs as you stumble inside, slamming the door behind him, bracing against it like you've outrun something wicked.  

His laughter fades as his eyes rake over you. Your dress clinging, veil slick to your skull. Shivering. He watches for a breath too long before turning toward the hearth.

"Strip," he says, kneeling to coax the fire back to life. "You'll catch your death."

He tells you he overspent on dinner, whatever that means.

The honeycomb drips viscous gold, pooling in the flat of a salted biscuit before spilling over your lips. John hums, pleased, pressing the next bite to your mouth. You chew, tasting the wildflowers.

His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, solid and warm, still slightly damp. Tracing whorls of hair with your eyes. His arm is heavy around you, holding you firm in his lap, as if you might slip away between bites. He feeds you another, thumb brushing your lips.

With the fire and rain pattering the roof, it's almost tolerable. Nice. 

Then his fingers bump against your lips, sticky and insistent. The last of the honey, scooped up and offered. You hesitate. He does not. Two fingers slip past your lips, pressing sweet and heavy against your tongue.

You suck them clean, head buzzing as he pets your tongue. Their rhythmic draw over the muscle elicits a ghostly tug at your nethers. A string of spit breaks and splatters on your breasts when he extracts them. He gathers it as he did the honey, then drags them between your legs.

Outside, the storm howls. The cabin groans under the wind, trees clawing at its walls. Rain batters the roof, thunder cracks, lightning splits the dark.

He puts you on your back. It's only proper, he says as he climbs over you, for a man to first lie with his woman this way. Separates them from the animal.

You don't bother pointing out that it's foolish, him justifying his acts. That you expect him to do whatever he damn well pleases.

Your tongue stays fastened to the roof of your mouth, holding back words that wouldn't change a thing. Self-loathing leaking out with every pulse of your puffy, needy cunt, your feathers soaked from his attentions.

What a creature he's reduced you to.

You go rigid when it's clear he's done playing around, that there will be no more easing you into it. You fold your arms tight, the same as when he sets down a plate of something unappetizing and expects gratitude.

John merely exhales through his nose, a near-silent huff, and keeps on. He grabs an ankle, yanking you closer with an unbroken focus. Your display is nothing more than a child's sulk.

"This was meant to be, honey," he muses, tucking his hands under your knees and opening them. "You and me, right here." 

A heavy, hot weight slots into the crease of your thigh, and your head jerks up, unable to stop yourself from looking. It's flushed, redder than you imagined. Thicker, too. Crowned with a thatch of coarse, wiry hair that looks like it'll pull at your feathers.

He strokes himself, fist tight enough to push pearls from the tip, dribbling them over your swollen clit. You shudder, torn between repulsion and enthrallment, each equally strong and disorienting.

John licks his lip. "Arms around me."

You hug yourself tighter on instinct now that you've seen, up close, what he intends to shove inside you. He bristles.

"Fine. Be difficult." 

Surprisingly, he doesn't force the issue, but—

"No matter how you deny it or fight it, this is where you belong." His jaw clenches, fingers flexing on your hips like he's barely keeping himself together, thumb pressing a shade too firmly into your skin. Like the fact of finally having you underneath him is almost too much. "Me and you. Me and my wife."

He nudges your lips apart with his length, exposing the core of your heat to it, and glides through until you're squirming. He keeps bumping your clit, purposely nudging the rim he worked open by the fireside. Then it catches for real, and the head alone makes you dizzy. Much bigger than his fingers. A blunter, harsher pressure. 

You fought him on that third finger, back on his lap. You regret it now.

When he starts to push in, you picture egrets skewering fish. Impalement. Gasping, wide-eyed, and belly-up. Your arms fly open, startling a laugh out of him, abruptly cutting into a grunt as your nails sink deep into his furry chest.

John exhales hard through his nose, adjusting his grip, palms slick with sweat as he pulls at your hips. "Hell's sake, Shy," he mutters, voice threaded with frustration, but he tamps it down quick, replacing it with something softer and meant to soothe.

A hand lifts, and his thumb strokes over the hinge of your jaw, coaxing it loose. You're tense all over. His eyes are darker now, a thin ring of blue around the black swell of his pupils. The coldest part of the lake, where the light can't reach.

"Ain't doin' yourself any favors, it'll feel good, promise," he says, bracing an arm beside your head. Crushing your chest with his for another kiss. "Relax."

A deafening crack of lightning follows his words. A tree could come down on the cabin right this second, but he wouldn't even blink. Nothing would draw his attention away. That's obvious when he raises slightly and starts again with renewed purpose. 

"John," His name cast as a lifeline. Desperate, grasping. "Too big."

"You're alright," he grits out, voice tight, breath uneven. His cheeks, florid beneath his whiskers, lift in a grin when he takes another inch. "That's a girl."

You hiss angrily, spitting mad. Pinned and helpless. Humiliated even as your heels jam into the small of his back.

It keeps doing that, your body. Moving of its own accord, traitorous thing. Clinging when it should let go, leaning in when it should recoil. Caught between the urge to shove him off and the quiet, irksome need to let him in deep.

In, in, in. Your head presses into the pillow beneath it, mouth falling open as he makes a place for himself in your body. 

The pain blurs at the edges, numbing into something almost unrecognizable. No, unfathomable. A creeping, repugnant pleasure germinates where his cock drags. And just when your toes start to curl, coming around to the idea of it, to acceptance—he stops.

Confusion fizzes and pops between your ears, leaking steadily through the sieve he's punched in your skull. You slur the beginnings of a question, but the words sharpen, solidifying when he withdraws too suddenly. Something within stirs, sensing his intent, desperate to intervene.

"S-Said you'd take care of me," you choke out. "Be nice. Be nice." 

John falters, swallowing hard. He stares down at you, so intensely you think he'll lash out, every bit of him flexed.

"This you saying you'll behave?"

You don't answer right away, breath hitching when his thumb drags over your ribs, just shy of tender.

"Well?" His patience draws taut over the word, a fraying thread poised to snap like his hips. "Say it, honey."

There's but one answer he'll accept.

"Yes," you lick your lips. "Yes, John. Please."

He waits a moment, waiting for you to take it back, then tests: "Arms around me."

This time, you oblige.

How kindly he keeps this promise. The minute shake in his arm from the restraint he shows from not simply barging in. Sweat sluices over the swell of his bicep, tracing the ridges of muscle and the veins pulsing beneath the hair on his arm.

His eyes brighten—just barely. A flicker of tenderness, the same glint you've caught in stolen moments. The longing he's kept at arm's length, from across the table, from the beam outside the cabin, from the doorway. Burned into the back of your neck at night where he confesses but never apologizes.

This time, he unhurriedly feeds you his cock again, bottoming out with a groan, and rubs a circle into your hip.

"This is where you belong," He echoes, half-growling the sentiment with a grind that has you noiselessly pulling him closer. "Not in the muck, not in the grass. Bet you were a pretty thing with wings, but as a woman?"

John doesn't finish the thought, instead fixing his gaze to where you're stretched around him, silently deeming you acclimated. He kept his word, now to keep the others. It's like he said—he'll teach you every little thing you need to know. He'll make it good.

You're not naive about what's happening when he begins to move. Apart from the men you've spied on, you've seen wild animals. But knowing doesn't stop your breath from catching in your throat or the moans that follow.

Noises indecent enough to heat your face, each languid thrust finding its mark. They'd scald you with white-hot shame if emptiness didn't seem so awful a notion now. His cock jerks at a particularly sweet sound that stutters and skips like a stone over water and ends with his name on a sigh.

His fingers dig in, guiding the roll of your pelvis to meet his, grunting out filth. How wet you are, how right you feel.

"Don't even understand what you do to me, do you?"

You don't. Haven't since you arrived. It's still a mystery why he chose your dress from the dozen on the shore. Surely, he hadn't known it was yours. Hadn't picked you especially, hadn't spied you before—your mind severs the thought at the root, a little hysterically.

John switches arms, planting the other elbow beside your head to bear his weight. The other disappears, but you don't follow its path. His breath grows rough, eyes half-lidded and weighted with devotion and its twin. He picks up the pace, rolling his hips harder, bludgeoning his thick cock into you with urgency.

He surprises you by wedging his hand between your bodies, trapping it on the feathered slope of your cunt. He thumbs your pearled clit, stroking over it in tight circles. It makes you clench down greedily, rewarding you with a roll of his eyes and flash of gritted teeth.

It's—He's—

You've no point of reference for this turmoil.

The closest thing is the storm outside, wild and unrelenting. Rain pelting the earth, flooding the soil, swelling the lake beyond its banks. A force that drowns and nourishes in equal measure, tangling ruin and rebirth.

And under your skin, your blood simmers into a rolling boil. It spreads, curling through every inch, pooling under your navel and tightening.

"Give it, honey. C'mon, can feel it," He rasps, punctuating his demands with an ungentle grind of his cock and a quick succession of firm pats to your clit. "C'mon, on my cock, now, Shy."

You don't fight him, but you don't make it easy either. 

When you come, euphoria wrestles with doubt. A current that sweeps you away from him, tumbling hard and fast, only to throw you back, gasping for air. And through it all, John's voice, steady as the shore.

"That's it," he rasps, preening, "Knew you had it in you. My good girl."

Your vision returns in fragments, palms sliding from his shoulders, falling limp to either side of your head. He's still moving, the lewd slap of flesh on flesh and squelching loud in your ears. He's fully abandoned his earlier pledge, any pretense erased. Rutting and battering your walls with a singular goal. Exploiting how you've unraveled beneath him. Gives him the perfect excuse to unleash weeks of pent-up frustration, you think hazily.

He bears down on you when he gets close, breath heaving against your neck, your forehead. Chasing his release with such an effort, part of you understands why he must've played the waiting game with you. He's saved his fury, all of it, for this.

John finally follows with a prolonged groan, head tilted back, sinking to the hilt to spill deep. Cheek to cheek, whiskers scraping and sopping up stray tears. Shuddering above you, crushing until your ankles unhook from his back. Until the tension bleeds out of him, freeing him to move. Sated at last.

He lifts enough to press a lingering kiss to your temple, his eyes tiredly twinkling as he drinks in whatever stupefied expression you must be wearing. Then, with a sigh, he finds your mouth. 

"Did so good, honey," he murmurs, "Knew you'd be perfect."

He lies with you for a couple minutes, humming at how you tremble around his softening cock as it drags out of you. Pulling out spend which he gingerly pushes back in, mouth twitching at the quivering of your thighs. He stands, wipes his hand on his flank, then staggers away, knees popping, to fetch a towel.

He cleans his excess spend from your thighs and lips, then tends carefully to your feathers. Though in the lantern light, it's as if a different veil has been lifted. All you have is the aftermath. 

A belly full of cum. Finger-shaped bruises. A fierce ache. The spell breaks, and whatever idea of romance you had vanishes.

He stole your dress. Plucked and stripped you of your feathers, offering no alternative but the cage of his arms. Earthbound and alone, save for him. You're not yourself and never will be again.

Outside, the night hangs unnaturally still. You know it's a false hope. That this is just the eye of the storm.

When John crawls back into bed, his hand finds your stomach. He murmurs about the future—how fine a wife you'll become, how fine a mother you'll be.  

His breath stirs your hair as he chuckles. 

What'll it be, honey? A baby or an egg?

You nearly break apart all over again.

Babies. Cygnets. You don't know if it's possible. This union, this wretched coupling, is the first of its kind that you know of.

But from how he takes you again in the morning, nesting within you until he softens, if there is one man who could make it happen—

It's John.

You don't know what you want. Maybe you never did. The thought of leaving gnaws at you in the quiet moments when the fire is low and John's asleep, one heavy arm slung over your waist.

You could slip away. You could try. 

But then what? 

The forest is vast. The lake depressingly empty. The town full of strangers. And you are neither swan nor woman, not truly. There's no going back to your sisters, no wings to carry you home, wherever that is now. And even if there were—would you take them?

Would you abandon the warmth of his hands, the way he looks at you like you belong to him, like you belong somewhere at all? More precious than the matching gold on your fingers or the money hidden beneath a floorboard.

The guilt coils tight, constricts your ribs. You shouldn't hesitate. Shouldn't find comfort in the rough edges of this man, in the way he steadies you, feeds you, calls you honey and darling like he means it. 

He stole from you. He broke you open and reshaped you into something else that fits into his world, not yours. He doesn't even know your true name.

And yet, when his fingers trace lazy circles against your skin, when he murmurs Shy in the dark, you wonder—if you had the choice, would you take it?

It's best to tuck away your past life. Fold it like the lace in the trunk beneath your marriage bed. Shove it into a dark corner and relegate it to a memory to take out on rare occasions, softened with time. Best to recall the sweetness and not let the bitter ruin it.

Months later, you wake from a nap and find feathers strewn across the bed. Your heart stops.

With a trembling hand, you reach for the small of your back, and feel smooth, bare skin.

A wail rises in your throat, but then a tiny kick flutters deep in your belly.

You swallow the grief.

[thewitchblue]

"Get your hands off that, Richard John Grayson!"

You stole your potion back while swatting his curious hand away. You sternly say,

"This will liquefy your bones. What if you tripped?"

You were about to continue your worried rant, but Dick cringed at the words liquefied bones. You decided he's had enough of a punishment. He'll forever be cursed with the knowledge you can liquefy bones.

You sighed. You had not anticipated Tim's siblings to be so... grabby, so to speak. They don't leave anything magical alone. Jason has been caught reading a "spell book" (he didn't know it was a baking book with cute Halloween themed baked goods, but you kept that knowledge between the two of you), Dick has tampered with your potions, Damian had read all your dark witchcraft books, even Cass has meddled by touching your hex powder. Tim is the only good one, as expected.

"Can't you leave my potions alone? Do you not remember what happened last time? You had to live with backwards joints for a week while I made a remedy."

Dick rubbed his elbows subconsciously. How could he forget? He had to learn how to fight like a contortionist instead of an acrobat.

You sighed. The wedding is in a couple of hours, but you've been running everywhere trying to control Bruce's borderline feral children for months now.

"Tt. Remember when Todd tripped and became a pile of glitter?"

You frowned at Damian. Jason has been a lot better since then. He's still covered in glitter six months later. You noticed an empty beaker to Damian's left and immediately asked in a warning tone,

"Damian, what did you drink?"

He was holding his hands behind his back too innocently. You narrowed your eyes at him. He retained his innocent act by saying,

"Nothing. Why do you ask, ummi?"

You raised your eyebrows at him. Yeah, right. His legs are starting to fuse together.

"I don't know, maybe because your legs are turning reptilian."

Damian, now caught, began to beg,

"Ummi, help me. I don't want to miss the wedding."

You almost laughed as you walked to your bookcase and pulled out the right spell book. You looked at Damian and then at his now merged legs. You grimaced as you said,

"Anguis mutationem."

Damian hissed in pain as his legs split in two again. You winced. The bones had fused then. They were cracked in half like a christmas cracker. You said sternly,

"Nobody is allowed in the magic room until they can prove they can be responsible."

You ushered them all out of the room as you put up spells. Nobody is allowed in except Jason and Tim, as they are the only two to respect magic. Not even Bruce is allowed in.

Once satisfied with your wards and spells, you left the room. You need to get ready with your girls.

You had no idea why Bruce insisted on a normal wedding, but you humoured him. You allowed the girls to fuss over you like the wedding means something more than a lavish party. You left Bruce to do all the planning, who then left it all to Alfred, who handed it right back to Bruce with a fatherly glare, so then Bruce pawned it off to the girls, who then pawned it off to Dick because he's the oldest. Steph said with a grin,

"You're so beautiful."

You sighed. You look like a swan, in your opinion. You told Tim to order you whatever because you didn't care. In your eyes, you and Bruce are already married, so why bother with a wedding? You both signed the contract to merge your souls together.

Maybe that is why you don't care. Bruce's soul is moody and broods more than speaks. Like a broody hen trying to awkwardly engulf your own soul in the weirdest hug ever. His very essence was nestled alongside yours.

Tim also didn't care. He knew getting you to care about the wedding would be like giving a feral cat a bath: it just won't happen. You cared for Bruce, deeply at that, but you can't care about silly traditions like weddings.

"Can I at least set up runes to keep out criminals?"

You had asked Bruce the night prior. He countered with raised eyebrows,

"You can do that?"

You nodded like that wasn't a game changer for Gotham as a whole. Maybe you could reverse some of the curses on Gotham.

"Yeah, of course. Runes are picky when it comes to interpreting what does and doesn't count, but I can easily do that."

Tim wanted to help, to your delight. He made sure all the runes were correct as you set them down. He was even double-checking the designs in the book to you and reading the runes as you placed them. You taught him basic witchcraft as a kid, but he shined when it came to runes. It's like learning a language, and you helped him become fluent.

Within the hour, you had placed a long list of runes all over where the guests will be and around the alter currently set up.

Now you're here in all your swan glory. Everybody already walked down the aisle, but you, and suddenly you were anxious. Your runes covered everything, and your wards protected every innocent bystander from harms way. Why were you nervous?

"Are you well, my dear?"

Alfred asked at your side. You weren't, but you nodded. You hesitated but slowly walked down the aisle.

You acted almost as if you were trying to approach a cornered animal with every tentative step forward.

The entire family looked wonderful together, despite none of them looking uniformed. Nothing looked like it matched, but you loved the chaos of everything.

If you didn't know better, you'd think the wedding was circus themed with all the bright saturated colours and the cake Dick insisted on designing after Jason baked the tiers.

Jason, at the time, sighed heavily but allowed it and immediately regretted the decision when the clown sprinkles came out from behind Dick's back. Dick thought he did a pretty good job, but Jason winced when he saw it. Bruce would have been furious if it hadn't surprisingly fit.

Damian set up the decorations, and it showed. Everything was set up in a way that nothing could be used as a weapon, and there was nowhere to hide. When questioned by Bruce about the odd arrangement, Damian had said he would be the only weapon allowed. Bruce didn't bother questioning him further.

Bruce's colleagues showed up to the wedding in civilian clothes as well. Clark and Diana were ecstatic to see Bruce find love despite his loner nature.

Oliver was surprised Bruce would ever marry someone, especially a civilian. What else is the Bat hiding from him? That you're a witch? Ha! Bruce hates magic. He would never date, let alone marry a witch.

Diana fell in love with you immediately and told Bruce to marry you before she does. Bruce, evidently, took that as a threat and married you magically that night.

Martian Manhunter is the only one who knows about your witch background, and that's solely because he accidentally read your mind when he met you. He knew Bruce had the tendency to chase after women who were generally unobtainable, so it was unsurprising to him.

Hal was the last to know about a wedding happening. He has no idea Bruce was even in a relationship. Who is crazy enough to marry Batman? The stoic Batman revealed nothing.

Clark was the one to let it slip, and Bruce gave him the silent treatment for weeks. Bruce even hid his heartbeat from Clark, which caused a panicked Superman to go on a hunt for the stealthy Knight. How does he do that? WHY does he do that? He knows Clark will panic. He knows Clark likes listening to his heartbeat to make sure he's alive and relatively safe.

"The League can leave my relationship alone."

Bruce had grumbled as they pestered him. He was reluctant to invite them to the wedding at all. He had hoped they would leave him alone, and Diana would stop threatening him if he brought you to the watch tower. He was wrong. He was forced into inviting them all. With a combination of Tim and the League pestering him to marry you, he conceded to pushing the wedding along faster than he would have liked.

Tim was about to cry when he saw you walking down the aisle. You are his mother, and he was so happy to see you permanently join the family.

You smiled fondly at your family. You raised Tim, but you felt like you became their mum, too. Who knew you'd become a mother of eight?

[leyavo]

How do you think the tf141 guys would react to saving a civilian? Like doing a rescue mission for a freaked out torture survivor?

[Masterlist]

I created different scenarios for each one:

Gaz is probably the most vocal one, taking the time to talk you through everything’s he’s doing as he goes.

“I’m just going cut the bindings around your wrists, okay?” He waits for a subtle nod, blade slipping underneath the rope. He’s quick to free you, catching your slumped body as you fall forwards in the chair.

You’ve been left in the darkness for days, throat burning and limbs aching as you waited. Waited for them to come back in, to listen for the echoes of their footsteps and try to gage how far away they were before you took another hit.

But Gaz, that’s how he introduced himself, he spoke into that void. The small ball of light bobbing on his cap and the sliver of light entering with the open door, the first scrap of life, in you don’t know how long.

Part of you thinks it’s a a sick dream, that you’ve passed out on the cold concrete floor. But his gentle touch grounds you, tells you that he’s right there. That this is real.

His gloved hands framed your face as he pulled back from you. “Now we’re not completely out of the woods yet, I’m going to need you to listen and react as soon as say.”

You nod, your tongue heavy and jaw throbbing. He removes the cap from his head and puts it on top of yours, dark sunglasses shielding your eyes from the daylight as you step outside for the first time since…

Gaz lifts your hand and places it on his arm, “You’re doing great, just little bit further and you’ll be safe.” His rifle sweeping the area as you follow after him, he’s talking to his team and reassuring you that you’re almost there.

He makes sure you’re seen to, hovering about as the medic checks you over.

Even in your darkest days, your memories, you think of Gaz and the light he let in.

Price is all action first and talk later when it’s safe. His number one priority is no casualties.

John rips the passenger door open, dragging the man out beside you by the scruff of his neck. You’re kicking at the hands trying to grasp your ankles, boot slamming into your captors face.

Blood trails down your nose, tongue swiping the coppery tang as you traced your split lip. The car door slams shut again and the bearded man rounds the armoured truck, climbing into the drivers seat.

You’re running on adrenaline, blood pumping in your ears.

Bullets drum against the windows, faint cracks denting the shielded glass. The car swerves and you slide across to the other side of the seat, your fingers curling around the headrest in front of you.

His gaze connects to yours in the rear view mirror, “I’m John, stick with me and we might just make it out of this hell hole alive.” A body rolls over the bonnet, John cursing and stepping on the pedal. Your back hits the seat and you duck as another round of bullets hit the side.

“Climb in the front,” he snaps, gesturing to the glove box. “Check for weapons.” You fumble with the clasp, trembling hands lifting the pistol from the compartment. “Check under ya seat.” You don’t question him, anything not to hear the firing of guns or the raised voices at your back.

You twist, reaching underneath for the case and pulled it out. Some sort of gun in multiple pieces, John talks you through putting it together. Makes you take the steering wheel as he leans out the window, gun fires echoing down dirt track. A car swerving off the path and into the cluster of trees.

It’s not till you’re out of danger do you sit back in the seat, realising your hands are still cuffed. The pounding in your head amplified as you settled in silence.

“You did good, you’re safe now.” He lets you sleep off the headache, not once stopping on the way.

You’re jolted awake, John offering his hand to help you down from the armoured truck. Your body trembles, knees buckling as he catches you before you fall. He helps you through the safe house, sticking around whilst you get the wound stitched on your shoulder and the blood cleaned up on your face.

It takes you days even weeks to process what happened to you, but John is that one piece of hope you hold onto.

Ghost is careful, given the opportunity to take his time now that your captors are all put down. He’s the first to barrel through the locked door and he pauses over the threshold, palms raised as he shushes your trembling form.

His mask adding to your fear, he doesn’t think taking it off will comfort you much either. The men he’d stepped over in the hall wearing the same red demons mask, a scare tactic that no doubt would taint your dreams and your reality.

You’re pressed up into the furthest corner of the room, as if you could increase the distance between him and you. Wrist cuffed to the radiator. Your knees tucked under your chin, but your gaze doesn’t leave his as he creeps forwards.

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” He drops to his knees, trying to make himself smaller as he gets closer. He pats the flag patch sewn to his vest, your head lifting from atop your grazed knees.

He removes his vest, pulling his hoody over his head and throws it to the side, you glance at the heaped fabric too distracted to realise he’s breaking the chain of the handcuffs and freeing you.

You’re frozen in fear, no fight left as you do the one thing you haven’t in ages.

You trust him. Trust the eyes behind the skull mask as they soften beneath the dark fabric.

There’s still a metal cuff circling your wrist, but you don’t care as you cradle it to your chest. The tears blurring your vision sting your eyes as you sob. You don’t know why, but you can’t stop and he slips his hoody over your head, wiping your tear stricken face with his rough gloved hand.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now.” You lean into his touch, the only way you can give your thanks. No voice, you don’t know if you’ll be able to speak again. You open your mouth, shutting it when nothing comes out.

Everything else is a blur, but you remember him. The way he asked you to close your eyes as he carried you through the hallway, all so you couldn’t see the destruction laid at his boots.

You still look at his hoody tucked away in the back of drawer, a reminder that someone found you. That someone didn’t you hurt you.

Soap is the calmest one to approach you, his thick brows furrowed.

His steps calculated as his eyes flit to the tiled floor and the four walls keeping you in. The b0mb strapped to your vest ticking away. You’ve been waiting for them to find your position in the building, watching the clouds skim past the large windows in the conference room. Wondering if time would take you before they did.

Hours upon hours, tied to the chair. And one wrong move would be your end. You hate the repetitive tick, it’s all you can hear.

“Just breathe, I got ya,” he says, kneeling down and ducking under the cable as he inspects the leads on your back. Asks you random questions as he assesses the situation, little things to make you think of anything else.

Doesn’t want you to panic. Finds a common interest and talks about it nonstop. He doesn’t even mention the timer or how he’s trying to figure out the tangled wires.

An explosion rocks the foundations, his hand squeezing your shoulder. “Just a distraction, you’re walking out of this. We both are I’m not going anywhere.”

You exchange names, talk about your childhoods and how you both miss your family homes. A glimmer of hope in the tone of his voice when he says “you’ll get to see it.” And you believe him.

You hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut, clippers cutting through the wire. Soap exhales, his gloved hands helping you slip out of the vest. “Told ya, we’d make it out lass.”

He walks you through the building, finger still hovering close to the trigger of his gun. His team have already apprehended the men who’d kitted you up, the muffled sound of them in his earpiece.

Soap, talks and talks. You’re thankful for the distraction, anything to keep you going as you make it out of the building.

You think of him every time you hear the ticking of a clock, each time a lound noise draws a flinch out of you. How even in the midst of chaos someone was there to help.

✨ Thanks for reading I hope you liked it :) there might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces - Leya

[quarterlifekitty]

its so embarrassing to ask about this, but thoughts about rough and humiliating sex !virgin reader with John Price, who is surprised at how his innocent and modest darling is depraved in bed, filled my head..... (John likes it)

You know I do have some thoughts about this. Hope you don’t mind if I twist your prompt around a little.

Also uhm. I went crazy. Don’t look.

cw: dacryphilia, virginity/innocence kink, use of the word daddy, dubcon (?), humiliation

So I think John has been there for the birth of many whores. By that I mean he’s fucked a lot of women who just didn’t know getting fucked could feel like that, and suddenly wanted that all the time. And for sure I think he has an innocence kink. A bit of corruption going on. The idea that he’s the only man that exists in your sexual history… it appeals to him. So when he shoves his cock in you, ramming your cervix and pinching your mouth open so he can spit in it, and you moan like a bitch in heat? For your first time? He loves that. And he’s not gonna let you ruin your track record by running off to some guy who’ll just disappoint you. He’ll be keeping you close.

But on the flip side. Reader who acts like a little minx. Always flirting and making filthy jokes. Talking about how much she loves older men. But it’s all talk, and John can tell— he’s calling her bluff.

And she freezes up, eyes in shock when his hot, heavy cock is slapped against her stomach, leaking pre almost at her navel. He licks up the fat, hot tears she’s crying when he splits her open on his dick, cooing condescendingly like

“What’s wrong, sweet thing? Thought you couldn’t wait to get fucked by this thick, daddy cock? Thought you said you were a big girl, darlin’, can’t take a bit o’ dick knockin’ at your fuckin’ womb? That’s right, cry, sweet girl. Lemme show you what happens when pups try to play with wolves—“

And he keeps making her cum on him, whining and keening with her heart about to burst from how hard it’s thumping, until she essentially passes out. And it’s only in the morning when he sees the blood on her sheets and on his cock that he realizes she wasn’t just inexperienced with older men.

And it gets him hard again.

[marstons-angel]

lucky bastard

john marston x fem!reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader, gendered language, established relationship, outdoor sex, lots of dirty talk, john being an idiot, mentions of sex work, all of this is very consensual reader is just shy. 18+

✧ wc : 1k

✧ a/n : this guy makes me insane against my will. everyday of my life.

✧ synopsis : john is full of bad ideas.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

"John Marston," Your voice is stern, harsh as you whisper. Both hands on his shoulders pushing yourself from the grasp he keeps you in so tightly. "Get the hell—"

"Don't be that way angel." His words are sweet but his voice is filled to the brim with snark. Edge to edge. "What? You too good for fuckin' in the woods now? Too much of a lady?"

You smack his shoulder. His response is to keep you exactly where you are - which is in his lap on an open trail, later at night. No blankets, bottoms discarded in a heap besides you since John insisted on getting you skin to skin.

You're not fucking in the woods, you're fucking just outside of them - a place to camp near the trees in the Grizzlies East - near Moonstone Pond.

You're right besides the trail, right where any down and out bastard could trot their horse through and get a clear shot of what's going on. There's better places to do this. Deeper in the trees where there's no chance of of somebody finding you both, for one.

But John seems excited at the idea of getting caught. And when John gets in one these moods, there's no reasoning with him. He gets caught up in his wants as always, foolhardy and crass. Though you mind it less than you're honest about.

His hands find your hips, blunt nails grasping at you for life as he moves you. Doesn't move himself, but rather - moves you, slides you up and down on the hard length of his cock with a smile just short of smug and just past mesmerized.

In the dead of night, it's easy to hear how he makes you feel. What he does to you. The wet lazy sound of thrusts of his dick in you drown all noise of the lonesome evening. You wrap yourself around him in a fit of desperation, hitting your fists weakly on his back. He laughs in the way he always does, presses a kiss to the parts of you he can reach while you throw a fit.

"You're such a rotten, no good, irritating bastard, Marston."

"And you just can't stay away from me, can you sweetheart?" He holds you in place while you bottom out and you can feel him swell when you say it. You almost want to sneer. "It ain't like you to play coy."

"I'm not playing anything. Someone's gonna come out here and see and—"

"And what? Some poor bastards gonna ride through here and see you split open on me and wish he was me? You feel sorry for him? I sure don't."

Your voice catches at the sudden change. The change in pace, the change in tone, the change in demeanor. His hands grip you tighter and he flips you until you're laying in the grass on your back. His dick kisses your cervix at the new angle, legs wrapped around his waist and blinking in surprise from where he looks down on you. More scar than man, all sharp lines and dark hair barely failing away from his face.

He leans down that time. You think to kiss you but instead he hikes you up until your spine arches so slightly and he thrusts that way. Fucks his cock so deep into you, it feels like all the airs been punched out of your lungs. It's more invasive than it's been all night, bigger and thicker - makes it feel like your cunt is being pulled open. The tip dragging on your insides, sticky and sensitive on each motion.

You gasp his name out, hands find his hair - tugging just to have something to hold. "John,"

"In fact, if anything - we're doing 'em a favor. Only time they see a woman at all is when they're paying for her. They could only be so lucky seeing a woman as beautiful as you feeling so good for me for free."

You make a whimpering noise and swallow it down. John laughs, scruff against your shoulder. His teeth tug at your ear lobe as he positions you - hand sliding between your bodies as his thumb finds your clit.

"I'd put a bullet clean between their eyes before they touch you, you know that? But I'm a decent man so," He laughs breathless. "A look is all they're gonna get. Charity, ain't it? In a way.''

You make a face at him, disarmed - weak, purely and plainly in a way that makes his laugh go from smug to charmed, affectionate. He kisses you on the lips that time. Corner of your mouth, your chin and cheek and shoulder. His arm cradling you easy in his grasp as you keep your legs up for him to fuck you.

Fire runs through your nerves as all the sensations settle in at once. The pleasure of having your clit rubbed even clumsily is enough to make you whine out in pleasure, especially in pace with being fucked so hard again and again. Something turns in your belly, honeyed - hot, like pouring sugar over a flame. You feel the warm iron of your own want be shaped by John with every consequential knock and thrust.

You breathe out as his attitude slows to merciful. He gets like this when you get close - gets all softhearted and gentle even as he's fucking you senseless.

You sniffle. "You're such a bastard, Marston."

"Don't I know it," He hums, easy and keeps going. "Getting close for me, angel? Gonna make me a nice little mess to clean up?"

"Shut up,"

He chuckles. "C'mon. You gonna let go for me?"

You swear. "Y-yeah."

"Good girl," He praises. You can't even pretend not to keen when he says it. "Go on then. Show me. Let me see,"

With another unceremonious thrust, you unravel in John's arms like the threaded frayed ends of a piece of twine. Pulled apart, you cum on his cock hard - a tingling sensation spreading through your whole body as your back curls up. Your legs force John to stay bottomed out as you shudder. The overwhelming pleasure doesn't seem to end.

You only breathe after a few minutes. John coaxes some comfort from you with a kiss to your collarbone.

"Still mad at me?"

You roll your eyes and smack his head lightly. "Shut up, Marston."

"Shut up ain't much of an answer." He says, pretending to sigh. "Guess I'll have to make you go one more to earn that forgiveness huh?"

Your lips quirk. Idiot. "Guess we'll just have to see."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[dvchvnde]

EXCERPT: JOHN PRICE, WINTER SOLDIER AU.

You're still getting used to the sight of him—bare faced in patches: the beard shorn off into a mere shadow of what it was before; a choice he'd made for himself after scrubbing down in a long shower, refusing any help or medical aid—and he doesn't make it any easier for you in these brief, uncomfortable stages of acclimation you suffer through.

Hands lashing out into dead air. Fingers catching, unyielding and firm, on your skin. Nails—split and jagged; regrown in patches after being ripped off over and over again (for hree years, is the mocking whisper snaking along the nausea when you look at the pinked-tinged beds)—burrowing into your flesh. Anchoring you in place as he bends down, moulds his frame around you. Malleable shadow eating you whole.

Indomitable.

John Price was always an intimidating man.

Towering. Broad. Gruff. Surly. Mean old man was often thrown around amongst the new recruits, ones too scared to voice what they really thought:

Miserable fucking bastard.

His weight thrown around like an extension of himself—all raw, barely contained anger trembling out through the cracks. Lashing thick, brutal lines across his forehead. In the sharp, downward tug of his mouth tucked behind a bed of brunt umbre hair.

He was difficult to deal with on a good day, even when he'd offer that mocking smile of his. A parody of geniality—lips split upwards like a crocodiles maw.

(come, come, put your hand inside this beasts jaws; he won't bite—)

As fucking if.

You've only known him in pieces. Patches. Barely enough to make a whole picture, but you could still fill in the empty spaces with that grizzled anger of his that seemed to roll off of him in waves.

(no wonder he burns so hot—it's all that fury.)

Mostly, he'd come to dress you down in front of everyone watching. Snapping at the sight of your desk—organised chaos a true oxymoron (and for the most part, that seemed to be what he thought of you: a moron)—and how you handled files, and how you waltzed around like you owned the place—

and do you, sweetheart? do you own this place, mm? is that why you never listen to a goddamn thing i tell you?

All-in-all: a miserable fucking man.

And one made of sharp, brutal contradictions. Paradoxes layered over each other. Sealed with fury—of the righteous, pragmatic kind—and reinforced with an utilitarian core. Forlorn hope in the distinct shape of a man, one always readying himself for a pyrrhic victory (but a victory, nevertheless).

Easy, in hindsight, to deal with when you knew how to navigate the frothing gyre of anger and juxtapositions that made up the man who brute force, physicality, to get what he wanted.

By sharp contrast, the version of him who stands before is more enigmatic than the mangled mess of savagery and labyrinthine defenses. Almost unknowable. Unfathomable.

Even more so when he lifts his hand—scarred up, still blistered and bruised from fighting his way through fire and kin to get to you—and presses those mangled knuckles to the swell of your cheek, as tender as a man like him could ever allow himself to be, and runs a soft, shallow line down the side of your face. Eyes—still that same, dizzying blue—darken into liquid sapphire as he stares at you. Inexplicably soft. Lids crested. Half-mast in pleasure as if staring at your face was relaxing. Comforting.

Something swirls in those deep, endless lagoons. Some implacable emotion—all at once too much; too heavy—frissoning over his feature. A paroxysm. You can't catch it. Can't define it.

It's unquantifiable. Unknowable. And yet—

You know, instantly, that John Price would never look at you with something this archaic, this intense, brimming up like geysers in the endless spill of blue that can't seem to look away from you.

This man is not John Price.

But when he pulls you into a kiss—one softer and sweeter than you'd ever imagined the infamous captain could ever be capable of—you let him.

In fact, you kiss back.

And you'd really rather not think about what that says about you.

[macgyvermedical]

Um... What is whump 😅

Well, like a number of fandom terms, that's a lot of different things to a lot of different people. If you look on a bunch of whump blogs, you will see almost as many answers to this question.

I personally feel it boils down to a genre founded on the way of showing a character's vulnerability in fiction without the necessarily using romance or sex. So generally that means some kind of illness or injury, where one character has to take care of another (or the much more recent version, which is one character hurting another character, with or without the care aspect).

It's been around in a variety of ways since fandom was a thing. The first name for the genre probably originated out of the Star Trek fandom, whose authors wrote "Get!Character" (for example, Get!Kirk or Get!Spock) fanfic in paper zines in the 1960s. The next term, "charactertorture" (for example, muldertorture) came out of The X-Files fandom in the 1990s. Livejournal and Fanfiction.net preferred the term "Hurt/Comfort" to refer to the genre as a whole, without tying it to a specific character or fandom. Finally, around 2005, we started seeing the actual term "whump" gracing entries to Gateworld forums, though originally it referred to "ShepWhump"- injuries and illnesses befalling the character John Sheppard of Stargate Atlantis, which later broadened to include characters from Stargate SG1 and then any other fandom or character. At this point, people who enjoyed whump were called "whumpers".

Around 2016-2018 there was a shift to include explicit torture without following it up with the care and comfort that had long been part of the genre. Now instead of the vulnerability coming only from opening oneself up to care in a dire situation, the vulnerability could be forced onto the character by another character. It is still to an extent accomplishing the goal of causing a character to experience vulnerability, but it depends on the author/reader/watcher as to which definition of whump they ascribe to. At this point, the term "whumper" started to refer to the character who was doing the hurting/torturing within the story, if there was one.

It's honestly been a relatively big split in some parts of the community, which is why you saw the poll I reblogged the other day asking whether people preferred whumperless whump (old definition) or whump with a whumper (new definition).

[arcadelife2021]

Proper Dialogue Punctuation Master List

Because I'm apparently illiterate when I write, here's the list I made to keep track of proper punctuation with dialogue — Enjoy!

Use double quotation marks to enclose spoken words. "I can't believe it's already Friday," Sarah exclaimed.

Place commas, periods, question marks, and exclamation points inside the closing quotation marks when they are part of the dialogue. "Have you seen my keys?" John asked. "I've looked everywhere!"

Use a comma to separate the dialogue tag from the spoken words:

Before the dialogue: Mary whispered, "Be quiet, they might hear us."

After the dialogue: "I think we're lost," Tom admitted, looking around nervously.

Start a new paragraph for each new speaker. > "Did you finish your homework?" Mom asked. > "Almost," replied Jimmy. "I just have math left." > "Well, hurry up. Dinner's almost ready," Mom said.

Use an em dash (—) to indicate interrupted speech.

For abrupt interruptions: "I was about to tell you that—" "Stop!" Jake shouted, cutting her off mid-sentence.

For self-interruption with action: "How on earth"—he shook his fists—"do I punctuate this?"

For interruption by another speaker: "How should we edit—" "Not we, Bob," Whitney said. "Fixing this punctuation is all on you."

For trailing-off speech, use ellipsis (...) inside the quotation marks. "I thought I saw something in the woods..." Jeremy whispered, looking around.

When dialogue is split by a tag, use a comma after the tag and lowercase the first word of the continued dialogue. "If we don't leave now," Dad warned, "we'll miss our flight."

For questions within dialogue, place the question mark inside the quotation marks. "Where did you put my glasses?" Grandpa inquired.

When the entire sentence containing dialogue is a question, place the question mark outside the quotation marks. Did she really say, "I don't care about the consequences"?

Capitalize the first word of dialogue, even when it follows a dialogue tag. The teacher announced, "Everyone, please take out your textbooks."

For dialogue interrupted by an action, use commas to set off the action. "Okay, here's the plan. I think we should go here, and," he rifled through the papers and maps, "if we don't find what we're looking for, we can move on."

When using exclamation points or question marks in dialogue, the first word of the following dialogue tag should be lowercase. "Watch out for that car!" he yelled. "How did you know?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

When a character is quoting someone else in dialogue, you should use nested quotation marks. "I couldn't believe it when Sarah said, 'I'm moving to Paris next month.' It came as a complete surprise," John explained.

When a character is summarizing someone else's words in dialogue, you don't need to use quotation marks for the summarized speech. "I talked to Fred earlier," Mary said. "He told me he's been feeling overwhelmed lately and isn't sure how to handle his workload." "According to Sarah, the meeting went well, and everyone agreed on the new project timeline."

When punctuating thoughts, capitalize and punctuate thoughts as you would spoken dialogue. Use thought tags ("he thought," "she wondered") to orient the reader, similar to dialogue tags. She thought, When this week finally ends, my troubles will be over. Where did I put my keys? he wondered, searching his apartment. I wonder what he's thinking, Sarah mused as she watched John across the room.

Good Rules of Thumb:

If it's spoken (dialogue tags only, "he said," "she whispered") with no action, use a comma.

If it's an action while speaking, use a comma.

If it's an action completed before speaking, use a period.

If it's an exclamation mark/question mark before the dialogue tag, lowercase the pronouns following but capitalize all proper nouns (names) always.

If it's an exclamation mark/question mark after the dialogue tag, use a comma.

If it's the start of a standalone sentence, capitalize pronouns and proper nouns.

If you're confused about which to use (a comma and lowercase pronoun or period and capitalized pronoun), think "Are they doing this while speaking or after/before speaking?"

If your character is thinking, treat it like they're speaking.

If you're struggling to be consistent when writing, remember: it really doesn't matter. Perfection is an illusion, just write and use tools that make you happy. If you make a mistake, English is so complicated that most of the time, no one will notice. Now go write some great dialogue!