#why the big gulp john

[starfleet-lol]

so this is genuinely actually how my dual enrollment english teacher is

i hate him

Under communism the wait staff will not ask if Pepsi is okay. You will not even find out that's its Pepsi instead of coke until you take your first sip. Unless you train like me, to know the difference from the sound of the Fizz alone, that is the only way we can beat communism and I can teach you. Take my hand. Not like that you grabbed it gay. Stop. Giggles. I SAID STOP

[softaestluv]

Three’s A Crowd

Ghoap x Neighbor! Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5

Tags: Teasing, Flirting, Attempt at humor, Ghoap are cocky dicks, Who also have big d!cks, explicit smut in the last two chapters, double penetration, anal, butt plugs, lingerie, creampie, & all the works

Summary: When you moved into your new apartment complex you thought your biggest concern would be something practical such as mold in the shower or weak water pressure. Maybe even the smell of lingering cigarette smoke or marijuana from previous tenants.

You never expected it to be your neighbors who seemed to have a sex drive that rivaled any succubus or horned college teenager.

You were starting to think you had the worst luck under the sun. Or maybe your neighbors were the devil incarnate and had conjured together to ruin your life.

Your apartment complex was not fancy by any means, so tucked in the basement was a communal laundry room. You avoided going as long as possible, dreaded being stuck in the damp environment for several hours. Especially when other people were in there; you didn’t want nasty strangers to see your bras and panties, or have small talk with people you really didn’t enjoy the presence of.

A laundry room you were currently squashed in with your massive fucking G.I. Joe neighbors. It honestly wasn’t a surprise when you walked into the sight of John hoisted on a washing machine, the masked man standing between his thighs, swapping spit with each other like they were trying to suck the souls out of their bodies.

If they even had any souls.

You would’ve left, turned around, and ran up the flight of stairs to your apartment— laundry be damned. You could’ve made it work; they hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy moaning into each other's mouths to acknowledge your presence. You were even willing to go commando to work the next day just to avoid the awkward situation. Plus, you already had to hear them fucking every night; you definitely didn’t want to put an image to it.

God, did they just not care about anyone but themselves? Who makes out like that in public? You were sure you’ve never kissed anyone that aggressively or desperately before, let alone in public.

However, it seemed the gods above weren’t on your side today, or ever, really. You dropped your laundry basket in shock, dirty clothes spilling onto the concrete floor. Drew their attention with the loud thud, both swiveling their heads to the entrance, zeroing their focus on your baffled frame.

“Hi, Bonnie!” John greeted, a shit-eating grin spread across his lips.

You gulped, cursing yourself under your breath as you gave him a tight smile, bending down to gather your dropped laundry.

“What’s this, hmm?” The masked one asked, voice laced with amusement as he squatted down, looping his finger in the seams of a thong before holding it up.

Your eyes widened, mortified, thrusting forward to try and snatch it from his grasp, but he held it above your reach. You didn’t need a mirror to know your face was beet red; could already feel the heat scalding your cheeks when John cackled from above you.

It was a simple thong, pink lace adorned with two white bows on either side of the hips. The thong was dainty, you knew that, but it covered everything that needed to be. So why did it look so fucking small in his grasp?

“Do you like lace, doll?” He continued, mask still pushed to his nose so you could see the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“That’s none of your business.” You snapped, successfully ringing the pair from his grasp, the stitching tearing.

You didn’t even care. He could ruin them, rip the material in two for all you cared; you just didn’t want him examining them in the open air anymore. For anyone to walk in and see your dirty pink panties dangled from your neighbor's thick fingers.

Quickly you gathered the rest of your clothes, throwing them into the bin haphazardly before turning back to the entrance, every hope to escape the suffocating tension in the room. Though, the masked man stopped you, placing his foot in front of the door.

“Where you goin?”

“You ruined my underwear.” You remarked, tone more exasperated than you intended

“Do you want me to get you a new pair, is that it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest before leaning his back against the door frame just as he did before. Cocky asshole. “What size are you?”

“No, I want you two to stay away from me.” You spat, irritation pulsing your temples.

“Aw, whad I do, lass? Si’s the one bein’ mean,” John whined from atop the washing machine.

He tilted his head in response, not affected by the bite in your tone. Made a show of tracing his eyes down your legs, “Medium?”

You stepped forward, ignoring his inquisition because you definitely didn’t need him imagining what kind of underwear you were wearing right now. Didn’t want his eyes to bore through your flesh any longer than they already were. Especially when you were wearing your laundry clothes, frayed and torn items you scrounged for in the back of your drawers. Clothes that were two sizes too small from your high school days when you were much thinner. Shorts you should’ve thrown out ages ago.

Though it’s not like the pair was any more decent: John was shirtless, baggy gray sweats dangling from his hips, painfully obvious that he wasn’t wearing any underwear underneath them. Nipple piercings that you somehow managed to miss the last time they were half-naked in front of you glimmered off his chest in the dimly lit basement.

At least the masked man had a shirt on this time, tight boxers practically cutting the circulation off his thighs. Like they were sharing different parts of the same outfit.

You attempted your best to push through him, pinching your tongue between your teeth in determination, but he didn’t budge an inch. He exhaled loudly, jaw ticking when you kept trying, a disapproving noise that had you freezing immediately, flickering your eyes to his face.

His gaze focused on you, smirk since fallen, lips turned into a deep scowl. Domineering stare made the breath falter in your lungs, playful teasing evaporated from the air like he had become frustrated when you didn’t answer his questions, weren’t playing along in his game.

“Do your laundry.”

His voice was lower than before, more coarse than his previous tone.

A demand.

Chills ran down your back in response, holding his stare for as long as your racing heart and drying mouth would allow.

You don’t know why you listened, why you walked to an empty wash machine and began to deposit your clothes inside. Maybe it was because when you turned around John had a warm smile on his lips as if his presence would protect you from the masked man.

Maybe it was because the mask rolled to his nose gave you a view of his jaw, and the way it clenched tightly had nerves beading at your chest. Like you were afraid of what would happen if you didn’t listen.

Maybe it was because it would be less of a hassle if you just did it, like you knew they wouldn’t let you leave no matter what you said.

“Atta girl,” John said, clapping his hands in approval at your acquiescence, the masked man humming in approval as he walked behind you.

You hated how this had your skin heating once again. You felt so stupid; who the hell did he think he was to demand you around? And why the hell did you listen?

Even worse, why did it make you excited, anticipating what was going to happen over fucking laundry, of all things.

The pair didn’t seem to notice— or care for that matter. Returning to sloppy making out with each other while you stole fleeting glances.

[circe69]

ｂｏｒｎ　ａ　ｖｉｘｅｎ．

❤︎smutalicous, fem!reader is plus size coded, has a warped view of intimacy (but don't we all)

❤︎the task force was in desperate need of a distraction for their next mission, and while you're busy working in a brothel for extra money, your boss tells you that you have been chosen to assist.

❤︎ wc: 1.5k

"excuse me?"

you shifted in the uncomfortable leather seat you were perched upon in front of your boss, the lingerie you were wearing did nothing to prevent your thighs from sticking.

"look, i know it's inconvenient, but price called earlier, said he needed a favor, and i technically owe him ever since he saved my ass in a bomb attack years ago," your boss rubs his face in his hands, "and price never shuts the fuck up about a negative balance for favors in his book. so I'd really appreciate it if you would just go in peace like I know you are capable of doing. "

this whole thing just didn't make sense. it had been years since you had even heard from the task force, and had almost forgotten they existed. all you remember is that they're men. big, scary, trigger-happy men. and while you are unfortunately used to being taken advantage of in your line of work, you were not even remotely ready for the way these respectable men would look at you.

being fucked was one thing, being looked at in the eyes was another.

"fine."

❤︎

"so what, now we'll have a whore to look after on top of the missiles falling on our fucking heads?" john "soap" mactavish exclaimed as he sat at a bar stool with his golden beer.

"look at it however you want, this whore will help us survive for the next few missions, hell, for the next few months, so I need both of you to keep your damn act together and hands to yourself." john price gulped the last of his rum and knocked his head towards Ghost, running a glance down his biceps, "especially worried about this one."

"she must be a little thing then, yeah?" soap said while stabbing a rogue lemon slice with his knife.

price smiled into his nth drink, "there is nothing little about her."

and no one could see it, but ghost could feel his upper lip twitch from the tension of the thoughts.

❤︎

you and your boss started your way into the military base dining room, and you couldn't stop your own hands from strangling the other. "don't be nervous, okay? you're the best of the best, that's why they asked for you."

you nodded as he squeezed your shoulder. he's right.

you're hot as shit.

as your strides lengthened with a drip of confidence, the slit in your maroon lingerie cover up allowed for your plump thigh to peek through, and every step you took, you had calculated just enough sway in your thick hips and ass to seduce every man in a 30 mile radius. the lace was cinched at the waist with a harness, allowing for your tits to spill just enough.

high heels, long nails, shiny hair.

shaven legs, smooth skin, white teeth.

so, so nervous.

as you neared the conference room where you were meeting the task force, your boss stopped in his tracks, "you'll have to go in by yourself, red."

your jaw dropped a bit and eyebrows flew up as he waved and walked away, "wait-" the doors closed behind him. you turned around and took a deep breath before opening the second door before you.

after a small creak, you let yourself in and stood before one man.

a masked man, who was almost your height sitting down, who wore all black, who's blue eyes through the mask met yours after slowly skimming the rest of you from the floor up.

"hello, I'm-"

"sit." the man kicked the chair next to him out from under the table. as a small gulp escaped you, you slowly stepped over to the chair he signaled for you to take, "don't you need my name or something? my fucking social security number? or did my boss already tell you?"

a dry chuckle left the man, before he inhaled through his nose, like he was sniffing the air of you. "you're nervous aren't you, pup?"

you were speechless, jaw agape, as he grabbed the leg of your chair and dragged it closer to him, almost as slowly as your heart wished it was beating. from here, you could smell him. like leather and dark, peppery cologne.

"I'm not nervous," you whispered, as your eyes instinctively tried to go to his cloth-covered mouth, before jumping right back to his eyes. you could see though, the slight smirk.

"kinda wish you were, it turns me on when a woman's scared of me. especially women like you." he said before standing.

"the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you watched as he shed off his leather jacket, revealing a tighter-than-average shirt.

fuck me.

the man grabbed both of the arms of the chair you were sitting in and lifted it with you in it so the two of you were eye-level.

his eyes flitted to your lips, "supposed to mean that you strike me as a woman who think she's too heavy to be loved on," he launched you in the chair before catching you again in his hands, eliciting a sharp squeal from you and a deep chuckle from him, "whereas, I think, you're still too light for me to even bench and break a sweat."

he slowly put you back on the ground, still in the chair, before getting on both his knees, and grabbing your palm to kiss the back of it. what is happening?

"I know you're supposed to be the know-it-all of seduction, but I'd like to think I'm pretty good at it myself." the man winked through his mask and you couldn't help but fall victim to the corners of your mouth lifting.

"you're okay it it, I guess. could be better." you teased.

"oh yeah? how so, baby"

you looked him in the eyes for a second before whispering, "what is your name?"

the door slammed open as John price "simon, time is up, how'd she do?"

you jumped up from your chair, "the fuck?"

simon stood, "fine I 'spose," you looked at him confused and fuming, "best fucking rack I've ever seen." price snickered at the comment.

"what the ever-loving fuck is going on here?" you screamed and stomped over to price before shoving a pointed finger in his chest, "was this a test?"

price looked down at you and shrugged, "sounds like you passed so what does it matter?"

"pup, come 'ere, price, leave us alone for a minute, yeah?" simon said from his seat that he so quickly made himself comfortable in.

"no fucking way I'm ever being left alone in a room with that creepy fucker again," you spat before trying to exit behind price, but a large hand wrapped around your middle and yanked you back.

you landed in Simon's lap with a small scream, and his other hand wrapped around your mouth as you tried to squirm.

"so fucking tense, just relax, relax," he said as his hand came off your mouth and onto your thigh before squeezing. a few deep breaths came out from his lungs and into yours, it felt like. "there ya go, baby."

a few tears let themselves out of your mouth as you panted, "no, no no don't want you to *hiccup* touch me if you don't mean it." you hear rustling from your back and gasp when you feel Simon's lips on your neck, "yeah pup? tell me what else you don't want."

"fuck you," you spat.

"I meant it, y'know," simon said before leaving an open-mouthed kiss right underneath your ear, making you squirm, "really? you said.

"really. you definitely have the best rack I've ever seen," he chuckled and bit your ear lobe.

"fuck. YOU." you yelled while pushing yourself off of him and attempting to push him away before he grabbed both your wrists and held them behind your back, then pinning you against the conference table.

"see, you keep saying that but honestly, I don't think you could handle being fucked by me. I'd hurt you, pretty baby. hurt you so bad. you don't want that, do you? you don't want me to pin you like this on any surface I find and bury my cock into your pussy? I know you’ve felt a lot of them, but let me tell you right now," simon paused before leaning down to your ear, "I'd be the best one you'd ever felt."

you let out a moan and craned your neck to look at him behind you, "shut the fuck up, simon."

"mm, say it again, puppy."

"no."

simons knee separated your legs, dragging itself up and up till you were practically split on his knee. "do you want it or not?"

you couldn't speak, you were dizzy with lust and anger and, fuck, you did want it. Simons heavy arms circled around your hips and brought you to stand in front of him and grabbed your jaw to look to him.

"I'll take that as a yes."

❤︎ part 2 coming soon!!!!! -

[therookieimagines]

Not that he cares...or anything.. - Tim Bradford x reader part one

Summary: After an argument with your TO you request a change, after a rough fight at home it leaves your Training officer to not only save your life, but unknowingly give you meaning in life as well.

warnings: Details of being shot, shooting someone else, you almost dying, your roommate being a creep

You were a rookie with the LAPD, working alongside some of the best, trying your hardest to do whatever is right, but today, your head was foggy, you were going through a thing with your roommate who had a thing for you, and now after politely declining, he's kicking you out.

You were out on a call with your training officer, Tim Bradford, he was no doubt an amazing officer, but you also agreed he was hard on his rookies, and for you it hurt because you actually felt like you two were pretty close, most times not having to communicate with each other on calls, you both just understood the other. "God Damnit, Boot! RUN! The suspect is running!" He screamed as he took off over the fence, you snapped back into reality, taking off in a sprint to cut off the drug dealer on the other side of the alley, but as you rounded the corner, you saw that Tim had already gotten him apprehended, and you could tell by the deadly glare he gave you, you were on his chopping block. You followed behind silently as he shoved the guy into the back of your guys' shop, slamming the back door before taking a long deep breath "O-Officer Bradford I can-" He cut you off by walking away to the driver side "I don't give a shit get in" He snapped as he slammed his door, you gulped down tears as you took your seat in the passenger, he didn't speak a single word the entire way back to the station.

As you booked your suspect you made your way over to John sighing "I think I screwed things up with Bradford" You sighed slumping against the wall "I'm sorry, hey maybe we can get drinks after shift? Sorry Harper and I are about to leave on a huge lead, talk when-" He couldn't finish his sentence before your fate was sealed "Rookie! The shop! Now!" Bradford shouted from the garage door, you rushed over, holding your service belt to keep anything from falling out while you jogged, as you loaded into the shop you held your breath, waiting for the lecture. "So..should I just..shoot you now?" He asked, his tone dripping with anger "W-what?..why?" You asked, confused on why'd he'd ever need to shoot you "Because what if that suspect had a weapon?! part of being a cop is always staying vigilant! and you failed today!" he shouted, his hand smacking against the steering wheel, out of instinct from the last week you flinched towards the door, your hand immediately popping to the door handle ready to run. Tim took notice, he just didn't want to see you hurt or worse, especially under his watch..not that he cared about you..or anything.

Tim didn't see you the next day, you had showed up early to request a temporary T.O change, you just felt like you had crossed a line with Bradford and it'd be better to just give him space. Tim on the other hand was stressed the entire shift, making sure to listen to any radio calls from you or Detective Harper, not that he cared..or anything.. John had taken notice of Tim obvious behavior change "Forgive me if i'm wrong, but you're kinda acting like you care about y/n, alot" He suggested watching as Bradford shot him a dirty glare pulling up on scene to come in as back-up for you. "Listen here, rookie, I do not care for y/n, I am doing my job, They needed back-up, we're responding" He snapped getting out, following in behind you and Harper.

You sighed changing into your street clothes and heading to your car, trying to avoid Tim at any chance "Boot! Real quick!" You heard his voice shout as you went to open your car door "Listen, about yesterday-" You cut him off "Officer Bradford, really it's no big-" it was his turn to cut you off "It is, I lost my cool, and as a cop, training officer...and..friend..it wasn't okay" He admitted "So I'm sorry" You sighed "Tim, it's okay, I just figured you needed space, now I gotta get home, get some stuff handled" You smiled before getting in your car, starting it up.

Before you could realize you were home, you slowly approached the steps, still keeping your hand on your service belt, you had taken your belt home with you, signing it out just incase things went sideways. As you opened the door you could immediately tell something was off, the tv was on but muted, the stove was still on high with a boiling pot of some type of weird liquid, it wasn't just that though, you could sense something was bad, you slowly pulled up your radio, trying to stay quiet "This is Officer Y/n l/n badge number 49336, I need a cruiser sent to 39213 hollywood avenue for assistance in eviction" Tim heard you over his own radio at home, immediately running to his truck "Dispatch, This is Officer Tim Bradford Badge number 34831, please clock me in for duty, responding to Officer l/n's back call" He said into his radio as he sped to your address, knowing damn well something was happening.

You didn't even make it to your bedroom before you were body slammed into your hallway wall, you roommate yanking your gun out of your holster taking aim "You stupid bitch!" He shouted, you gulped, raising your hands as you tried to back into the wall further like it could hide you from the danger that was right in front of you. "L-Listen, We don't have to do it like this, you can just put the-" He cut you off by firing you gun, you couldn't feel the bullet bust into your stomach like you always thought, you just felt the stabbing burning pain it left as it went through your body. You fell to the ground watching as your roommate rushed to you pressing his hands down on your wound "I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean t-too" He shouted, you went into flight or fight, only remembering your training, you could hear Bradford shouting in your head 'take out the threat, rookie!' You reached the gun that he dropped next to the both of you, quickly firing two shots into his chest watching him fall back, you let your body go limp, taking a deep breath, closing your eyes, exhausted from everything that had happened that day.

Tim rushed in, two other on-duty uniforms following behind "You two clear the main rooms, I'll go in the back, check the bedrooms, she's gotta be here somewhere" He demanded, pulling his phone out calling your cell phone still holding his gun in the air as he cleared the rooms, dropping his phone whenever he saw the bottom of your work boot peeking around the corner of the hallway, a tiny trail of blood slowly running to Bradford's shoe "Y/n!" He shouted "I need an RA! Now!" He screamed, he wasn't concerned for your roommate at all, it was obvious you had lost a lot of blood, your uniform was soaked through, the white patches showing your rank were now dark red, along with your hair. He never left your side, he was the one preforming CPR until your pulse was back, he was the one by your bedside for two weeks, he was the first person you saw whenever you woke up.

You slowly opened your eyes, letting them adjust to the dark room, the bright wall clock telling you it was a little past one in the morning, as you looked around you jumped seeing a body sprawled out on a hospital bed somewhat close to yours, he couldn't of made it, you shot him repeatedly. You could hear your heart monitors beep increase as you went over every possibility of him living, there was no way, right as you thought you were going to pass out, the door opened with a nurse and doctor, and the man near you sprung awake, you were met with a shirtless Tim Bradford, with messy hair, that was normally always styled perfectly. "Look who's up" The doctor greeted as Tim bolted to your bedside "You're alright, boot, you were shot, but we got there just in time, you okay" He explained, you were slowly calming down, still confused on how you ended up shot, last thing you remembered you were finishing up a call with Tim about a robbery.

Tim explained everything over the course of the rest of the night, slowly he moved from his 'bed' to the chair next to your bed, to next to you in your bed as you both watched one of the uniform's bodycam footage per your request. Tim's eyes were on you the entire time, worried about how you may react seeing your own body basically dead, your eyes stayed glued on the scene, not realizing your smile peeked out a little seeing Tim already waiting by your door, his truck basically parked on your porch. Your body froze seeing the footage veer around your hallway to reveal the bloody scene, your eyes chose to focus on something other than the trauma that was everywhere "were you...holding me crying, Bradford?" You asked turning to look at him smirking "No! I was not crying! you couldn't tell but it was raining" He said, he couldn't help but smile at you "Fine! but..you weren't..you weren't awake! I-I thought I lost my first rookie on my watch" He explained trying to write it off as not caring that much about you still.

You just leaned into his shoulder pushing him a bit "Don't lie Bradford" You giggled, to your surprise he just sighed wrapping his arm around you "You scared me good..don't do it again..please.." He whispered pressing a kiss to the top of your head, holding onto you tight for the rest of night.

don't worry my children there will be a part two with so much more fluff and sappy Bradford, I just needed some good backstory lore ;)

[baohanhanesel]

Play fighting with your boyfriend

Mention: John "Soap" Mactavish and Simon "Ghost" Riley ( separate scenarios. )

Reader is a civilian in John's scenario and a part of the 141 in Simon's scenario.

John "Soap" Mactavish

You held your breath, your knees weak and hands were shaking while you tried to push John off of you. It was just a game. One you occasionally found yourselves in. You usually give up and tap out when he is all over you. Not that you are scared he'd actually hurt you, even if he did you'd know it was an accident. You just lacked to match his energy when it came to action. He is a strong energetic man, and you are a tired woman. You are famous for your talent of being able to break bones while walking on a straight road...

"Got the fight in ya today, bonnie!" He downright grunts the words to your ear with amusement. You grunt back, laughing and struggling against him.

"Fuck-- John!" You kicked his shin, and were maneuvered way too easily on your chest, he spread his fingers on your back and forced the heel of his palm in the middle of your spine. A loud crack and a pained grunt from your throat.

All action would have stopped if you were to just tap out, but the sound of the satisfying crack and the burning sensation took your mind away. You didn't stop him when he basically manhandled you, breaking your spirit to run away or tap out when he pushed you away.

It was light. It actually was pretty weak compared to what type of man John was. This must have been very hard for him to hold back all the hardness and strength, but the push still sent you down the couch.

Your chin met the ground with a thud and you hissed in pain.

"... Lass?"

You blinked, turning yourself around and laying on your back on the ground. You rubbed your chin mindlessly and looked up at John, who stared you down with mortified shot open eyes.

You felt the apology on the tip of his tongue and before he could get it out, you were laughing with tears in your eyes.

"Oh fuck" You exhaled "It hurts but--" You cackled, the giggle coming out of you was rather unhinged. "John help me!"

That did it. John scrambled to pull your arm. He grabbed your forearm. His big hand easily pulled you up on his chest and laid you back on the couch. You kept cackling, the redness on your chin was evident.

"Ah'm bloody sorry" He said, but then immediately frowned. "Why the fuck didncha tap out?!"

You felt his irritation and worry bleed into each other.

"Your hand felt good on my back for a moment, I forgot to tap out." What you couldn't say was I wanted to see if I could actually go through a bit of rough handling when it came to it, but no alive man would be able to take these words out of your mouth.

"Felt good?" John's brows furrowed further. He was glaring at you with a red blush on his tanned cheeks. "The crack?"

You gave him a nod, and his fingers came cupping your hurt chin. The redness was normal. Your skin got red to the slightest touch so it was fine. He just didn't want to miss it if it got purple or something. He placed chaste kisses all over your chin and you stifled your laugh.

"Yer the dead of me, ah'm telling ya." He genuinely looked distressed, you couldn't help but feel bad. Yep. You weren't playing tough anymore. You would definitely tap out next time.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You threw one leg over his hips professionally before getting shoved into the couch. Your legs locked themselves around his hips.

"Fucking hell, love." Ghost grabbed your wrists and tried to maneuver you around, but your legs kept you tight in place. You bit down on your bottom lip to gather strength and confidence before you kicked him in the guts.

The kick didn't move him an inch.

But if Ghost was any other man, he'd recoil with pain. You knew that. Sure of that, even. Because that was what happened to every recruit under your combat training.

"So that's how it is?" His voice was gravely low and threatening.

Your eyes widened. An audible gulp of fear heard from you.

"Obviously." You fake confidence. Fake it till you make it, they say.

Ghost suddenly takes a hold of your ankles and pushes you off, you try kicking him away and you know he would be off of you in an instant if you were to tap out.

You never tapped out. You always ended up on the ground with small bruises but it was okay. They hurt a lovable amount.

Ghost raised your leg, and squished his body through. He towered over you and you were finally aware of your incredibly inappropriate position.

Your breath hitched. "Simon." You warned, but he laughed.

"Tap out." He pressed, wrists tight in one hand while the other held your leg.

This was sinful.

"Oh of course." You taunt with a snarky remark, trying to wiggle your hips and get away. There is no getting away from Ghost's grip if he doesn't want it. And right now, he is not even playfighting. He is being fucking petty because you kicked him in the guts.

You would complain about it, but the feeling is getting to you. It burns in your belly and you are having a hard time thinking straight. You will get out of here and make him swallow this stunt.

You try again, but then an idea pops in your head.

You slam your head back and pull your other leg beneath your body. You move your body forward and bite his wrist.

"Love?"

You reply with a muffled hum. Your teeth sunken in his flesh.

"Down, girl." He sighs, tired. This is not doing anything to him.

You let his wrist go, and he lets you go at the same time. He pulls his mask off of his head and suddenly tackles you down.

You go down with a squeal before the mask is slid through your face.

The fabric rests comfortingly on your cheeks. You blink a few times to understand your position. He has his hands on your shoulders and you have a fistful of his shirt in your hands.

"Down, girl"? What the fuck, Simon. He is doing so many things to you and you are having a hard time deciphering them all.

You look at him with flushed cheeks, which are hidden behind the mask, and glare at him.

He is smirking bright and smug. "Just not in your dictionary is it? Backing down, I mean."

You groan, letting his shirt go and looking up at him. "You are a pain."

"Anything hurts?"

"My bleeding heart does!" You don't even feel humiliated. There is no need to because there is no defeating him. You feel incredibly bashful because of his actions though. His words. His mask.

Meanwhile Ghost is basking in the feeling of pride. The flushed skin on you. The red marks of his fingertips on your wrists and ankle while the mask stays on your face. Everything about your state screams; Lieutenant Simon Riley had his hands on you. And this brings nothing but satisfaction.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

i am here thinking again. what could be the moment that price catches nikolai off-guard for once? surely even the smoothest men can be caught lacking, eh?

Nik has an allergic reaction to viagra and gives Price a small fright.

cw: allergic reaction, erectile dysfunction

"Nik, ah, Nik, stop."

Price shoved Nik's shoulders and tried to shuffle up the bed from beneath him. Something wasn't bloody right. Nik was mute, none of the usual guttural moans, or slurred Russian filth, delirious with pleasure. Nik was vocal. It was part of the fun and it got Price goin' like little else.

Hell, this was the first time they had fucked in months due to a range of different reasons, from clashing missions to meetings to Nik's schedule, and Price was expecting Nik to be ravenous. Instead, he seemed to be struggling; his brow creased, his eyes foggy.

Nik slumped to the side, propped on his elbow, his big chest heaving. "John, is there... was something wrong?"

"Yeah, you, I'm worried... Nik, look at me, oi, look at me." Price grabbed Nik's chin and lifted his head from where it was tilted forward. "Bloody 'ell, you don't look right. Think it was the resta--? Nik? Nik!"

Nik stumbled from the bed, almost tripping over the tangle of blankets and pillows wrapped around his legs. He just about made it to the toilet before the expensive three course meal and the few glasses of Macallan they'd knocked back after became a wasted investment.

Price walked into the en suite after him, rubbing a warm palm over his back. "Ay, you're alrigh', deep breaths between." As Nik's body continued to seize and tense, Price looked the rest of him over. There were hives on the back of the hands grasping the toilet bowl and his skin was cold to the touch, clammy, not the flushed heat it should have been from sex. "Nik, 'm gonna call the infirmary."

"Nyet!" Nik near shouted into the toilet bowl, reaching out to grab Price just behind the knee before he could walk away. "Nyet, John... It will pass."

"Don't be a muppet. They'll give you a look over and make sure you don't need A&E." Price grabbed one of his travel mugs and filled it with water from the tap. Nik took it from him in a shaking hand and managed several gulps before slumping back against the wall, throwing the toilet seat down as he went. His chin fell to his chest, one forearm slanted across a raised knee.

"This... This is self-inflicted," Nik said. "I am already embarrassed enough."

Price squinted, sitting slowly on the toilet lid, nudging the flush down with his elbow. "Start talkin'. This ain't like you. And if I don't think you're bein' honest, I'm callin' Janie."

"She is the doctor who signed you off for your ACL surgery."

"The very same."

"I would be in trouble."

"Yeah, loads. Stop delaying."

Nik sighed, pressing his fingers into his eyes before his palm flattened to his chest. Price could see the flush of shame up his neck, the way his eyes stayed fixed on the floor rather than look up as he spoke. "I have an allergy to sildenafil."

Price wracked his brains and then huffed an incredulous laugh. "Viagra, Nik, I..."

When Nik turned his face away, swallowing, Price wanted to kick himself with steel toe-capped size twelves for being an arsehole of a partner.

"Ay, ay, don't... I'm sorry, that was... I was just... Why the fuck are you takin' viagra?"

Nik's jaw twitched from where his teeth were clenched, and he wiped one big hand down his face. The shame rolling off of him was palpable. "I am having... problems."

"Are they... Are we talkin' life-threatening problems?"

"Nyet. I simply cannot... it will not... you know," Nik waved his hand vaguely, "I... I was screened for some things. They said perhaps it is nerve damage from some shrapnel in my back, or perhaps it is all in my head, but I am... too ashamed to pursue more."

Price slipped from the toilet to sit at Nik's side against the wall, gently sliding his hand into the one dangling over his knee. Nik always spoke openly about sex, about their relationship, chuckling when Price squirmed and blushed like a prude. To watch him fumble and close up made Price's heart ache. "Why'd ya not tell me?"

Nik huffed dismissively, still looking away. "Da, how to say to your handsome, vigorous partner that you are unable to satisfy him in bed? That your body is... useless. That you are less than a man."

"Oh yeah, so the obvious solution is to take viagra, which you are violently allergic to. Absolute banger of a solution, Nik. Top marks," Price squeezed his hand, "and all this B.S. about bein' less than a man? Wind it in. It's bollocks."

"Zatknis, John..."

"Yer a smart man, Nik. But sometimes yer a..."

"...Muppet."

"Yeah, one of those," Price growled. "Yer seein' Janie in the mornin'. Not just for the allergy, for the lot."

"John, I cannot, it--"

"It could be a lot of things. Some of them more dangerous than others. Mine was stress."

Nik looked up quickly. "You have...?"

"Oh yeah. Mine stopped workin' fer about seven months five years ago. Coincided with a few large scale international fuck ups, a crammed schedule, an injury and some physio. Couldn't get it up fer the hottest piece of arse on Grindr, even if ya paid me."

"I did not know..."

"Course you didn't, we weren't exactly bumpin' uglies back then, were we?"

Nik smiled. "You have such a way with words..."

"Mhm." Price stroked his thumb over the back of Nik's hand, studying his face carefully. "You solid? No tight throat? You can breathe? There's an epipen in the first aid kit in the hallway."

"I am fine. This... It was similar when I tested it, but without the--" he gestured at the toilet, "my breathing is fine. I would... like to go to bed."

"Course." Price climbed to his feet, grunting at the clashing sensation of clicking knees and a numb arse, before helping Nik do the same. "Brush yer bloody teeth so I can kiss you."

Nik huffed softly. "Da."

When they climbed back into bed, Price kissed Nik gently, and then gathered him to his chest. Nik rested his ear over Price's heart and Price stroked his fingers through his hair. There was no fuckin' way he was sleeping that night. He'd stay awake and watch Nik sleep, listening to his slow breathing, checking the pulse at his neck. In the morning, he would let Janie eviscerate him for being so laissez faire with his health.

Then, and only then, they were gonna have a long chat about honesty, openness and trust. Cause knowing that Nik would rather poison himself than 'fail' Price in any way - regardless of how legitimate Nik felt that belief was - left Price with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

A Family Lost, a Family Found

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: you (8) are having nightmares, and Dean is there to help

Dean was gone—off on a hunt with Sam or something, you weren’t sure. It was just you, Ben, and Lisa—the only thing you’d ever remembered having that was like a normal family. Dean was just your big brother, but you didn’t even remember John, so he was more like your father than anyone. And Lisa was the closest thing to a mother you’d ever had.

You were sitting on the couch in the living room when the demons burst in. Lisa jumped to her feet, putting herself between the demons and her children. That meant she got stabbed first.

“Mommy!” You had never called her that before—too afraid that it would be awkward—but the danger of the moment turned off your more logical brain and put you into panic mode.

“No!” Ben cried, but he still had the presence of mind to pick up the tiny girl crying on the floor and try to run from the big men with black eyes.

He didn’t make it four steps.

One demon grabbed Ben and threw him to the ground. Ben landed on his back, his arms wrapped around you to protect you. Another demon wrenched you from his arms.

“No, no!” You cried, struggling against the man to no avail. “Leave Ben alone!”

It was too late. The demon that had thrown Ben to the ground was now lifting a knife, driving it down into Ben’s chest.

“No, no!” You sobbed. “Ben!”

The glint of the bloody knife caught your eye as the demon finally turned to you.

“No, no, no.” Your sobs faded to whimpers as the demon approached, raising the knife…

“No!” You cried out, and the sound echoed through your room. You took big gulps of air, glancing frantically around trying to get your bearings. You rubbed your eyes, and they focused; you were in your room in the bunker.

The tears were already flowing, and they kept on even after you realized you were safe—it was just a dream.

The ache inside wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t just fear either.

You freed yourself from your tangled sheets and found your way to your dresser, which you plunged your hand into and came out with a tattered photograph. You glanced around, as if afraid of being caught, before turning the picture over.

You, Dean, Lisa, and Ben. Your family…

Or it had almost been.

You stared at each face, convincing yourself that your dream was just that; that it wasn’t real. The whole reason you and Dean had left Lisa and Ben was to keep them safe after Sam came back. They couldn’t be killed by demons…

And you could never see them again. Even if you did, they wouldn’t remember you.

You hugged the picture to your chest. Your hands were still trembling, and your body rattled with every sob that escaped.

After a moment, you dropped the photo and focused your efforts on muffling your sounds—you didn’t want to wake Dean. As much as you needed him right now, you could never tell him why you were crying. Never.

“You ever mention Lisa or Ben to me again I will break your nose.”

“Dean—“

“I’m not kidding.”

Dean’s words to Sam—spoken just after Cas had erased Lisa and Ben’s memories of you and Dean—sent a shudder through you, just as they had the first time he’d said them. You were only around 5 or 6 when he said them, but you hadn’t forgotten. You’d promised yourself right then that you’d never speak of your old family again, and you’d kept that promise.

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice had you jumping out of your skin. You tried to put the picture back in your dresser, but it slipped from your fingers as Dean approached, and it fell onto your sheets.

“Hey, what’s wrong kiddo?” Dean asked, sitting on your bed. “I heard you crying. Did you have a nightmare?”

You just nodded at Dean as you rubbed at your eyes. You thought maybe you’d get away with just saying it was a nightmare, maybe he wouldn’t see—

“Hey what’s this?” Dean reached over, carefully picking up the delicate picture. His whole body froze when he saw what was on it.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, throwing your arms around Dean’s neck and hiding your face in his neck. “I’m sorry De, I’m sorry. Please don’t break my nose.”

“Whoa, whoa, what?” Dean demanded, gently prying you away from him. “Sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you, it’s ok. It’s ok, calm down.”

You tried to take deep breaths, but you kept sobbing between your words as you said—

“You…you told Sammy…that. I’m so…I’m sorry De!”

“Ok, hey now.” Dean pulled you back into his arms, tucking you against his chest and rocking you back and forth, his chin resting on your head. “Shh, shh, just calm down.”

Dean didn’t know if you were crying because of the leftover adrenaline from the nightmare, because you missed your family, because you were scared of him, or a mixture of all three. It didn’t really matter why—you were hurting, that’s all that mattered.

You took a few shaky breaths, and once you were no longer sobbing Dean spoke again.

“I’m never gonna hurt you for missing them, kiddo.”

“You told Sam not to talk about them,” you sniffled.

“I…I know I did. But I was just…I was upset. And Sam didn’t understand—they weren’t his family. But they were yours, sweetheart. You’re allowed to miss them.”

“I had a nightmare,” you admitted with a whimper. “The-the demons got Ben and mommy.” You were crying again, and you didn’t even realize what you’d said, but Dean did, and that’s when it really hit him.

Lisa was the only mom you’d ever known, and you were too scared of Dean to even say that you missed her.

“Nobody’s going to hurt Lisa and Ben,” Dean promised. “And nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

Dean rocked you back and forth, turning you around so you could see your picture that he was holding up. He didn’t know how long the two of you stayed like that, staring at the image of what you’d lost. What you could’ve had.

“Don’t ever be scared to tell me what’s going on with you,” Dean said finally. “Have you been having these nightmares for a while?”

“Sometimes,” you sniffled.

“Well.” Dean turned you back around so you could look at him. “Next time you have one, you come straight to me, ok?”

“Ok.” You rubbed your eyes. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Yup.” Dean patted your back. “And you’re coming with me, so grab on. This bed is too small for me.”

You giggled and rubbed the drying tears off your cheeks before wrapping your arms around Dean’s neck.

“I’m never gonna let anything get to you. You know that, right?” Dean spoke softly into your ear as he carried you.

“I know,” you whispered back.

“Good. Open,” he told you when he reached his door. He kept both hands holding you up while you reached back and opened the door to his room. “Ok.” He dropped heavily onto his bed, laying you down gently. “Let’s get some more sleep, alright?”

“Ok.” You waited for Dean to lay down, then dropped your head down on his chest and curled up with him as your pillow.

“Kiddo, I’m…I’m sorry you can’t have Lisa and Ben as family.”

“That’s ok,” you said after a moment. “I got you and Sammy.”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled, his arms tightening around you. “You bet you do.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[little-diable]

My last hope - Dean Winchester (smut)

A big thank you to @theanythingbuthuman for letting me ramble about this idea. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. Xxx

Summary: The reader is searching for her old hunting partner, John Winchester, so she seeks out a hunter others have told her about. Even though he is her last chance at finding John, he seems to hide something from her. Or: Dean lies to the reader and tries to help her find John even though he is long dead by now.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), angst, fighting, crying, lies, happy end though

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (4K words)

She had her eyes set on her cup, watching the heat of her coffee rise as if it was a shadow about to wrap her in its deadly grasp. Every now and then her gaze flickered from her cup to the guy who sat somewhat close to her, seemingly deep in thought. Even though she had waited for this very moment for weeks, she now struggled to move.

With a shaky breath leaving her, she finally pushed out of her booth, grasped her cup of coffee, and walked up to him. A pair of deep green eyes met hers as she plopped down in the seat across from his, studying him for a second.

He was handsome, more handsome that she had prepared herself for. He had his eyebrows raised, a soft smile playing on his lips while studying her, undoubtedly waiting for her to speak up. She had heard of him, and yet she didn’t know his name nor his age, only knew that a hunter was currently laying low in this very city who drove a 67 Chevy Impala and wore a leather jacket she couldn’t help but be jealous of.

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” His raspy voice made goosebumps rise on her arms, tingling with something that made her drown another heavy gulp of coffee.

“I’m a hunter, and I need your help.” Perhaps she should have built it up some more to ease into the conversation. Perhaps she should have flirted a bit with him for the sake of this conversation – not that it would be hard to flirt with a man this handsome after all. But she had already lost too much time, had lost too many sleepless nights to her racing thoughts.

“I don’t hunt with others, sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart.” The smile had been wiped off of his lips, replaced by something somber.

“I am not looking for a hunting partner.” Her fingers tightened their grip on her cup, eyes flickering to the window to watch the passing cars for a moment. “Well, I am. But not for a new one, I’m looking for my old hunting partner.”

“What’s your name?” His voice drew her focus back to him, eyes connecting with his confused ones once again.

“(Y/n).” A hum left the guy, making her wonder if he had heard of her before. “I was told you’d be able to help me find him.”

“What’s his name?” He sank back in the seat, arms crossed in front of his chest. The sound of his jacket moving rang in her ears, distracting her for a good moment.

“John Winchester.” Something tugged on his features, something she couldn’t see through just yet. “I have been looking for him for a long time. I know he’s out there, somewhere, he just doesn’t want to be found.”

Silence lingered between them. He seemed to be deep in thought as if the name had done something to him, as if it had awakened something he had tried to get rid of for years.

“Then why look for him? Were you lovers or something like that?” It almost sounded as if it pained him to speak the words, asking a question he didn’t seem to want an answer to.

“No, god no. He was just a really good friend who looked out for me when I had nobody else. We always worked well together. And then he just left one day, without a warning or any traces.” He hummed, took a gulp of his coffee and then began to fiddle with the napkin. “So, can you help me?”

“Do you even know who I am, (y/n)?” The question made her insides churn, wondering if she had missed something. Embarrassment began to thump through her veins, leaving a bitter aftertaste on her tongue.

“No, and I don't think that is important for this job, is it?” Perhaps it had been foolish of her to seek him out, and yet something she couldn’t pinpoint seemed to tie the two of them together. Something she didn’t dare question just yet.

“I guess you’re right, it isn’t. I’ll do my best to help you, sweetheart.” A smile tugged at her lips at his reply, and for the first time since she had started looking for John, she felt some kind of hope simmering deep inside of her. “My name’s Russell.”

…

“So, how do you know John? I was told you have worked with him before.” (Y/n) was sitting on the bed of her motel room, legs stretched out, fingers wrapped around a bottle of beer. He was sitting at the table near the window, eyes focused on the notes she had scribbled down ever since she had started looking for John.

“Something like that.” It was clear that he didn’t want to speak about his ties to John, but she had always been a nosy one, unable to stop asking questions when she clearly should keep quiet.

“C’mon, tell me. I always wondered how others felt about him, I didn’t meet many who wanted to tell me much.” She sank back in the pillow, no longer clinging to the beer as if it was keeping her from losing her sanity but slowly relaxing.

“I don’t know what to tell you, sweetheart. Ran into him a couple of times, but that’s about it.” He let go of a sigh, it seemed as if he was debating something, pondering a choice, but even though she wanted to dig deeper, (y/n) kept herself from asking another question.

“Well, I really appreciate your help, Russell. I kept away from all the hunter talk the past years, I barely interacted with anybody else. Some told me I should try my luck with John’s sons, but so far I wasn’t even able to find them.” While (y/n) got lost in her thoughts, he drowned half of his drink before rising to his feet. Slowly, he walked up to her and then plopped right down next to her, legs stretched out, gaze focused ahead.

“Why are you looking that hard for him? Don’t get me wrong, I get that missing friends sucks, but why give up your life for someone like him?” The words drew her focus back to him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. There was definitely something lingering in the air, something he wouldn’t tell her about just now.

“He’s everything I have left. I can’t give up, I just can’t.” He let go of another hum before emptying the beer, rising back to his feet to reach for his bag.

“It’s late, we should get some sleep before hitting the road.”

…

Music filled his car as he drove them down an endless seeming road. She had ditched her rental car near the motel, fully trusting the guy she seemed to feel drawn to, tied to him because of something lingering deep inside of her. He was her last thread of hope, the last shred of something tying her to the hope of finding John Winchester.

“How did you get into the hunting business?” Her mumbles filled the car, eyes set on his handsome face. She tried to count the freckles littering his cheeks and nose, building an endless canvass of light stars. Dark green eyes were focused on the horizon, both hands lazily holding onto the steering wheel.

“Because of my dad. My brother and I,” he stopped speaking as if he had said something he hadn’t wanted to share. He only shook his head, jaw muscles clenched to harden his features.

“Is your brother a hunter too?” No reply followed her question. He kept quiet, only reached for the radio to turn the music louder - clearly ending their conversation. Perhaps she had no right to ask these questions when he clearly didn’t want to share anything personal, and yet she needed to learn more about him, set on uncovering the layers one by one.

The sound of his phone ringing ripped him out of his state, hand reaching for the pocket of his jacket to free the device. For a second, his gaze flickered down to the phone, staring at it as the car slowed down. Wordlessly he parked on the side of the road, answered the call with a soft “Hello?” and stepped out into the quietness the day offered.

(Y/n) watched him for a second before quietly opening her door, just a few inches to pick up on the conversation she clearly wasn’t supposed to hear.

“No, Sam. Fuck, I don’t know. Give me a few days and then I’ll meet you there.”

Sam? (Y/n) couldn’t help but grow tense, wondering if this was just a coincidence. She had heard of Sam and Dean Winchester, John had never talked much about them but enough for her to get a feeling that the three of them had a struggling relationship. It was no secret that John wasn’t father of the year, but she had trusted him and whatever he had told her.

Could it be? Could it be that he was lying to her? But there was no reason to lie to her, was there?

Before her thoughts could spiral, he had found his way back to her, plopping back down in the seat to start driving again. He mumbled something she didn’t pay any attention to, grateful that the loud music drowned out any chance of them starting a proper conversation again.

…

The past hours had been filled with a tense silence, even as they had visited places where John had last been spotted or where she had a feeling he could be hiding at. Not many words had been shared between the two of them, both deep in thought. Ever since (y/n) had listened to his phone call, she hadn’t been able to shake off the sinking feeling that he was lying to her, hiding something that could answer most of her questions.

The door to the motel room they were sharing was pushed open as he stepped inside with a bag filled with food. (Y/n) watched him place the bag down before shrugging out of his leather jacket, back turned towards her while her curious gaze wandered down his frame.

“Beer?” His raspy voice filled the room, followed by nothing but silence as she kept staring at him. Slowly he turned towards her, eyebrows raised, clearly waiting for her reply.

“Is Sam your brother?” He froze, staring at her as she moved towards him, arms crossed in front of her chest. No longer was she held back by whatever had tried to stop her from spiralling into this very conversation. No longer did she fear what he could expose to her any second now. No, she was determined, set on getting the answers she deserved.

“What are you talking about?” She watched him reach for a beer, drowning a few heavy gulps before leaning against the table. His dark green pupils followed her every move as if he was preparing himself for a war neither of them would win.

“Your name is not Russell, is it? You’re John’s son, Dean.” A shaky breath left her, hands balled into fists. “I should have known, you’re exactly how he described you.”

His eyes fluttered close for a second while letting go of a sigh. She watched him move a hand down his face before answering with a simple “You’re right, my name is Dean Winchester.”

Her tongue kissed her teeth as angry tears welled up in her eyes. Shame flushed through her, mixed with a burning anger that began to choke up her throat. Her feet carried her away from him, taking a step back and another to search the distance now resting between them.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” (Y/n)’s throat grew tighter, unable to let go of any more words before her tears would begin rolling. She hated feeling this exposed, this bare in front of a man who had toyed with her, playing a game she had fallen for all too easily.

“I guess I wanted to see who the woman he used to spend so much time with was. You weren’t the only one who picked up stories and tales from him.” A humourless laugh ripped out of her, she angrily wiped her eyes, hoping to get rid of the tears. He wasn’t worth crying over, not even the bond that seemed to tie them together was worth any of her pain.

“Where is he? Where is your dad?” Dean toyed with the ring he wore, teeth nibbling on his lower lip as if he was seeking the strength he needed for this very confession he was about to share.

“He’s dead.” Two simple words. Two simple words that dug deeper than any blade had before. Two simple words that made her stagger back until she plopped down on the mattress.

“You’re lying. He isn’t dead, he can’t be.” Sobs wrecked through her, shaking her body as if she was a boat at sea, sailing through uneasy waves. He took a few cautious steps closer before he came to a halt with a pained expression. Dean’s hand found hers, trying to reach for (y/n) but she pulled back before he could move closer.

“Sam and I were the ones who gave him the hunter funeral.” Trembling hands were pressed against her face, body heaving with sobs. Pain stretched itself through (y/n) at the mere thought of having lost the one she could always turn to. All her hope had been torn to shreds with two lies, words that now made her doubt everything she had learned about Dean those past days.

“Why? Why did you lead me on? What did I ever do to you to deserve something this cruel?” Glassy eyes found his, staring at Dean as if every single answer was swimming in his pupils, ready to communicate with her.

“He left, for you. Whenever you called, he took off, leaving me behind because he had something better to do. At first I wanted to hear what you knew about him, and then I wanted to see what you offered him, something me and Sam never could.” Dean’s words only worsened the pain she felt. She was angry, so insanely angry at him, and yet, she could somewhat understand his motivation behind this all, at least parts of it.

“I didn’t know.” This time she let him take her shaking hand. Dean sat down next to her, holding her tightly as another cry left (y/n). No longer was she sobbing, no longer was she feeling as if he was her worst enemy. Anger was still clinging to her bones, but she began to see through the web of lies, searching for a path out of this mess.

“We deserved better, you and us. I am sorry for lying to you, I should have told you who I am and what happened to him.” (Y/n) sank into his grasp, head falling onto his shoulder. Her thoughts were all over the place, she was trying to stomach that John was no longer alive, while a small flicker of hope whispered to her - perhaps Dean and her were always supposed to meet this way. It would take her a while to forgive him, but something didn’t allow her to move away, seeking his closeness.

“I’d like to meet your brother too, get to know the sons he told me about.” Dean let go of a hum, head shifting so he could look down at her. His rough thumb moved over the soft back of her hand, feeling her calm down in his hold. Both couldn’t help but realise how perfectly they seemed to fit together, even after a confrontation this intense their bodies and souls seemed to ache for something they hadn’t experienced together so far.

Without saying another word, Dean’s hand found her chin, tilting her head further towards him to let his lips ghost over hers. He was testing the water, wondering if she’d even allow him to kiss her after he had confessed to all these lies. But (y/n) only pressed her lips further against his, closing the gap between them.

Their lips met over and over again, fuelled by a newly found need that made them feel as if they were robbed of any air lingering in their burning lungs. (Y/n)’s cheeks were no longer tear stained but filled with a heat so biting he could undoubtedly feel it beneath his fingertips.

Without breaking the kiss, she allowed Dean to push her back against the mattress while he rested his weight onto his left forearm. Trembling hands combed through his hair before moving down his neck to tug on the collar of his shirt, needing to feel more of him.

A part of her screamed at (y/n) to slow down, to relish in the moment and to give herself enough time to think all of this through. But the bigger and stronger part of hers won the upper hand, guiding her movements.

Dean exposed his naked upper body to her as she copied his movements, shirts long forgotten the second his big hands cupped her bra cups. The moan that clawed through her at the touch made a smirk tug on his lips, widening as she arched her back into his hands. Dean took his time undoing her bra, pushing the straps down her arms as his lips found her chest, kissing the skin until he found his way to her hardening nubs to suck on both of them.

“Dean,” she whispered his name, hoping that he’d touch her where she needed him the most, between her thighs where heat seemed to grow. The groan he let go of made her see stars, watching his hands find their way to her jeans to undo the button before tugging them down her legs.

“Move up the bed, baby.” No word managed to leave her as she followed the command, letting her almost naked body rest fully against the mattress while Dean found his place between her thighs. She could tell that he loved doing this, taking his time exploring her body, picking up on the sounds she made whenever he touched her at a certain place.

The second he exposed her naked heat, panties thrown to the floor, he pressed his tongue against her. She was a goner, head thrown back, eyes pressed shut, fully focusing on the way Dean moved his tongue.

“Fuck, De’, feels so good.” (Y/n)’s hands tugged on his roots, trying to draw him and his skilled tongue even closer. He kept her pinned to the mattress with strong arms, not giving her the chance to move as he ate her out. To both it felt like some parallel life, as if they had been thrown into some other dimension they hadn’t ever been part of before.

Somewhere between meeting days ago and getting stuck in an ugly situation, they had moved closer, forming a bond he was now signing with his tongue. A bond she could only cling to as her orgasm moved closer while he began to fuck her with two of his fingers.

“Tastes so sweet, baby, I could spend hours doing this.” Only a soft whimper managed to leave her, body trembling against the mattress. She could already taste her orgasm on the tip of her tongue, stretching through her system while Dean gave her the last needed push with one last swipe against her pulsing bundle.

He watched her fall apart, choking on gasps, holding onto the covers as if they were the last barrier she could cling to before fainting from the intensity of the sensation. It was a beautiful sight Dean wanted to etch into his mind, undoubtedly feeling as if she was the prettiest woman he had ever and will ever be with.

“I certainly won’t stop you from doing this for hours on end.” (Y/n)’s shaking whispers made him chuckle while she tried to catch her breath. She needed a second before shifting around and pulling him in for a heated kiss. Their bodies moved together, allowing her to undo his jeans and boxers and help Dean out of them before she straddled her thighs.

“This is a sight I could definitely get used to. Every damn inch of you is perfect.” The heat his every word made her feel seemed to be a steady companion by now, guiding her on as she grasped his hard cock. She spat down on him to lube him up, making it easier to slowly move her hands, making them feel as if they had all the time this life could offer.

“If you keep doing this I’m not gonna last, baby.” (Y/n) paid his warnings no mind, she was fully set on exploring his body, on hearing the soft groans he let go of as she kept stroking him. His soft skin felt all too perfect pressed against hers, drawing her back to the thought of how they seemed to fit together, something that must have been destined for a while now.

“Shit, (y/n), stop.” She instantly stopped moving, staring down at Dean and the pleasure-drunken expression clinging to his handsome face. “Gotta be inside of you, I want to feel you around me.”

“Condom?” (Y/n) kept her hand wrapped around him, only moving slowly to keep him pressed against her.

“In my wallet.” He watched her leave his side to reach for the condom, rip it open carefully, and roll it down his cock as she straddled his thighs once again. Both of Dean’s big hands found her waist, supporting her movements as she slowly sank down on him, making both moan in unison. With her hands pressed against his chest and to his tattoo, she seemed to find her home on top of him.

She took her time with adjusting, experimentally moving her hips to ease into this new sensation. Dean tried to give her as much time as she needed, but with every passing moment, he grew more impatient, wanting to feel more of her. One of his hands found their way back to her chest, cupping her breast once more to make her breath hitch.

(Y/n) began to fuck herself on his cock, feeling him press against all the right spots. She knew she wouldn’t last long, not when he felt this perfect buried deep inside of her, realising that sex had never felt this good until today.

“You feel that, baby?” Dean pressed a hand against her stomach, drawing a sharp gasp out of (y/n) whose fast rhythm began to falter. “How deep I am inside of you?”

“I do, fuck.” His hips began to meet her movements, fucking them both towards the edge. Neither Dean nor (y/n) wanted to put an end to this very moment and yet both were urged on by the need to let go for the first time together, hoping that their night wouldn’t end just yet.

“Let go for me, I have you, show me how beautiful you look when you cum on my cock.” It was as if his words had been the only thing she had needed to hear. (Y/n) came with a loud moan, allowing Dean to keep moving her while her walls clenched his cock.

The second he came with a groan, she collapsed on top of him with Dean still buried inside of her. Heart to heart they were pressed together, not daring to even think of parting.

“What happens now, Dean?” (Y/n) mumbled the question against his throat, lips making their way back to his mouth for a much softer kiss this time around. Their tongues moved lazily, drawn together to pick up on every single movement the other body made.

“In a few minutes I’ll fuck you in the shower, then again on this bed, and tomorrow we’ll figure out the rest. But for now you’re stuck with me.”

[oceantornadoo]

can be read as part of the duckie universe?? standalone tho. here

“‘ello, duckie.” john’s voice was smooth gravel in your ear, honeyed and sweet. “hey john. date was ok. won’t be a second one though, it felt like i was talking to a colleague, not a potential lover.” john was silent on the other end, just gruff breathing. you bit the tip of your tongue, cursing yourself for giving so much information. he was supposed to be your best friend, your confidant, but somehow this felt like crossing a line. but you weren’t anything, he never tried anything, so really this wasn’t even your fault.

“where are you?” what if you didn’t tell him? what if you ignored the fact that he has your location and was probably already on his way? what about the sound of an engine turning on in the background? “that one thai place off base. john i-“ “took him to our spot?” shit. you were in for it.

john pulled up ten minutes later in his worn truck, the transport he took when he was undercover or off duty. when he was wearing those jeans that hugged his ass way too well and that black henley you bought for him two christmases ago, his biceps practically bursting out of it. “john, it’s not a big deal.” he refused to meet your eyes, taking your bag and guiding you to his truck door, ever the gentleman. “get in, duckie.” instead of complying, you turned and placed a hand on his chest, an attempt to make him meet your eyes. instead, he gazed at your hand, your left hand, with its bare fingers. “don’t make me say it again.” to postpone a fight in the parking lot and to quicken the time it would take you to get home and out of these extremely uncomfortable shoes, you rolled your eyes and made your way to the passenger door. you ignored how he opened it for you, how he placed a hand on your ass to help you up into the truck, even thought it was just a few inches off the ground.

the ride back to base was silent, your fingers itching to press the radio button just to break the tension. the minutes passed quickly, john pulling up to his base quarters with practiced ease. he backed into a parking spot, a hand on your headrest that you tried valiantly to ignore. the smell of his cologne reached you anyways, a pavlovian reaction relaxing your body on instinct. he helped you out of the car despite his anger, rough hands guiding you towards the familiar path leading to his room. never mind that you desperately wanted to go to your own room, change into sweats, wipe off your makeup, decompress with a glass of wine or two. instead, you were walking to john’s room like a prisoner, heavy steps echoing your own as he opened doors and tugged you through them.

finally you were at his room, watching his nimble hands open the door with the slightest shake. that couldn’t be right. he only shook when he was angry and - you did a quick catalogue of his bunched shoulders muscling through the entrance, the sharp way he toed off his boots - maybe you were wrong. he knelt down before you before your brain could even register, grasping at your ankle and tugging off your shoes. he did it with too much force, causing you to stumble into him, stomach squishing against his face. “i’m sorry.” he grunted in reply, still not meeting your eyes. “sit.” you gulped at the sight of his bed, tucked in with military precision.

“explain.” john was looking down at you, arms crossed against his chest. instead of answering, you tugged him down to sit next to you. the fact that he let you? he wasn’t that mad. “we were supposed to eat at the pub but it was closed so that’s why we went to the thai place. and he suggested it, ok? it wasn’t on purpose.” he shook his head, shoulder brushing your own. “he’s a bloody idiot for not checking beforehand.” you giggled, laying your head against his shoulder. “right? i would never betray our restaurant like that, john.” john was silent, lost to his thoughts. the anger was still there, a simmer instead of a boil. he wasn’t hearing you, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

“john, you’re not listening.” you stood up, walking in between his open legs, your hand on his shoulders. his eyes were still glazed, brows furrowed. deciding on drastic measures, you dragged yourself into his lap, straddling him into the mattress. finally, his eyes met yours, all blue and wanting. his hands on your hip, your pelvises kissing. “duckie.” you shook your head, biting your lip. “there a reason why you’re so mad at me, captain?” john’s hands tightened against your body, holding you in place. “don’t play that, sweetheart.” you dragged your hands into his beard, tugging lightly on the strands. “then why did you pick me up all stoic?” he brought his face closer to yours, noses touching. eyes flickering to yours, searching for something. you were tired of this caveman act. “kiss me, john.”

his eyes widened. "stop playin', duck. not the time." you shook your head, giving him a roll of your hips. denim brushed on denim, stirring his cock to life. "don't you want to kiss your future wife?" his eyes widened at the mention of the marriage pact that usually only he brought up. "you told me to wait, so i'm waitin’, sweetheart." he wasn't getting it. you finally saw past it, past the wall of anger he portrayed. "well, if you won't, then maybe i'll call my date and-"

john's lips smashed against your own, his hands tugging you closer into his laps. he was searching, for what you didn't know, chasing you with a kiss. his cock was hard against you, the brush of denim against your clit sending shock waves to your system. "not gonna fuck you, duckie. not yet." you frowned, breaking the kiss. "why not?" he moved to your neck, kissing it frantically.

"'cause you're not as deep as i am. 's okay, i can wait a few more years." you started bucking in his lap, chasing the feeling in your stomach. "john, you're so hot when you're mad. please please please fuck me." he chuckled at your tone, one hand moving from your hip to grip your jaw in place. "y'r so whiny when you're horny, baby. can't wait to fuck you one day." his beard was scratching your neck, the sensation setting you on fire. you kept grinding, his hands pulling you in and own, helping you chase your orgasm. "gonna come like this for your husband?" you didn't even try to correct him, too lost in the waves of pleasure. just a bit more and - he bit your neck, sending you over the edge into blissful orgasm. you worked out the waves in his lap, slowing down as the exhaustion hit you. "john, i-' you ended with a yawn, sinking into his embrace. "'s okay, duckie. all the time you need. i can wait."

[hyperfixationgoddess]

Inspired by the fanfiction link above; kind of an aftermath scenario. I love the idea of Wayne being extra protective of Steve after Steve saved Eddie's life, and getting even more protective of him after he and Eddie start dating. What can I say, I'm a Wayne Munson simp. Also, while I might not have a lot of respect for him anymore, see if you can find the John Mulaney quote I slipped in here! @artiststarme I hope you like it!

Finally Protected

Wayne Munson was a lot of things. A salty grump, a loner, an uncle, a father.

But most of all, he was loyal.

Once someone earned his loyalty, it lasted for life. He would stick with them through thick and thin, and defend them against anyone. And against all odds, Steve Harrington had earned his loyalty.

Anyone with eyes could see that Steve was head over heels in love with Wayne's boy. Which was why he could not comprehend why it was Steve who was on the receiving end of all these goddamn shovel talks.

Found family, my ass, he thought to himself. Even that Buckley girl had given Steve a talk. Were they all stupid? They'd known Steve, really known him, for much longer than Wayne or Eddie had. How could they still think that Steve would hurt anyone, much less Eddie?

The worst thing about it was, Wayne knew that Steve would forgive them. It didn't matter how many times the Party hurt him, Steve would just shrug it off, like his feelings didn't matter. And considering Steve had already earned the loyalty of the Munsons, Wayne had a problem with that.

A big problem.

The day after Eddie apologized and the two boys made up, Wayne dropped by to talk to Steve. Even as he settled on the couch in the living room, he could see the tension in Steve's shoulders.

"You can relax, kiddo," he said. "I'm not mad at ya. Not here to give you another goddamn shovel talk, either."

Steve's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

Wayne nodded. "Eddie's an adult now, and he knows how to take care of himself. No, I'm here to talk about the rest of the Party."

Steve looked confused. "What do you mean?"

Wayne sighed. "Boy, you need to set some boundaries with these people."

"Boundaries?"

"Steve, I know this ain't the first time these folks have hurt you. Lord knows Eddie has gone on many rants about how the kids keep calling you an idiot, or how the Wheeler girl cheated on you after 'she ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it.' Eddie's words, by the way."

Steve looked uncomfortable, now. "Well, the kids are just messing around. And I shouldn't have tried to hold on to Nancy the way I did."

"The kids are old enough now to learn how to mess around without being disrespectful. And Nancy should have been honest with you instead of leading you on," Wayne countered.

Steve still looked apprehensive. Wayne sighed (again-he'd been doing that a lot lately).

"Look, Steve, I'm not saying you have to cut them out of your life. I know that'd be devastating for ya. But just letting them hurt you, and not saying a word about it... You deserve better than that."

Steve's eyes misted over. "No, I don't," he choked out. When Wayne opened his mouth to protest, the kid shook his head rapidly. "You don't understand, Mr. Munson, I was a really bad person in high school. The things I said about people... I'd tear them down without a second thought. I-"

Sensing that Steve was about to go on a self deprecating tangent, Wayne cut him off.

"Did you know that Eddie used to rant about you?"

This seemed to startle the kid. "Um... What?"

Wayne chuckled. "Yeah, I won't go into details, but he was very vocal about how much you bugged him... But then, out of nowhere, in 1984, he stopped. I asked him why, because I was curious. Do you know what he said?"

Steve gulped. "What?"

"He said, and I quote, 'he hasn't actually been an asshole in a while, and now that everyone else is trying to kick him down, I don't want to contribute to that.' You made a change, Steve. Not many people are willing to do that. Hell, most ain't even willing to believe that there's something wrong with em. But you were. I'll keep telling you, as many times as I have to for it to sink in. You don't deserve to be hurt."

The tears Steve had been holding back this whole time finally seemed to overwhelm him. Wayne scooched over to him and wrapped him in a hug.

"You've had to be strong for so long, kid. Let me look after you, yeah? Lord knows you deserve protection just as much as Eddie does."

Steve didn't answer, but he nodded. That was enough for now.

--0--

Wayne had been pacing around Steve's living room for about ten minutes when he finally heard the doorbell ring. It would appear that this group traveled as a pack, because every single member of the party was there.

That is, every member but two.

"Mr. Munson?" Dustin asked confusedly. "What's going on? Where's Steve?"

Wayne grunted. "All of ya just come in. I'll explain once you get settled. And I'm sayin this now, I expect you all to listen."

When everyone was sitting around the living room, Hopper was the first to speak up. "So Wayne, what's going on? Where's the kid?"

Wayne scowled. "If you mean Steve, he's at my trailer with Eddie. If that were big enough, we'd be there instead, but there's too many of you, and I need you all to hear this."

The Buckley girl looked extremely confused. "Why would you want us here if Steve isn't?"

Wayne took a deep breath in an attempt to control his anger. "Because it would seem to me that you lot forget just how much that boy does for all of you."

Joyce furrowed her brow. "Um... What?"

"You folks got a lot of nerve, acting like Steve is the one who's gonna hurt Eddie. He ain't a ticking time bomb, and you gotta stop treating him like it. After everything he's done for you lot, it astounds me how you can still treat him like crap. Found family, my ass."

Nancy Wheeler opened her mouth with an angry expression, but Wayne cut her off. "Don't go acting so high and mighty, Wheeler. Did you even realize that Steve still flinches when anyone uses the word bullshit? You tore his heart out of his chest and stomped on it, and then slept with another guy before you even broke up with Steve properly."

That seemed to shut her up. Good.

"And as for you kids, how many times has Steve taken a beating for you? The only ones that I've seen being respectful to him are Will and El. The rest of you... You've all been the victims of bullies, according to Steve. So explain to me, how in the hell can you justify the way you all treat him on a daily basis? Insulting his intelligence, bossing him around, disregarding the work he's done to change, all of that has to stop."

The kids tried to protest, but Wayne was on a roll. He rounded on Joyce, Hopper, and Robin. "Hopper, Joyce, Eddie is my kid. He ain't your responsibility. You had no right to give Steve that goddamn shovel talk as if he were still the guy he was in high school. And you, Miss Buckley? You call yourself Steve's best friend. You might wanna try acting like it.

"Now, I know that Steve sees you all as family. That's the only reason I ain't told him to cut you folks out of his life. But Steve has got no standard for how he should be treated as a human being. Whether you lot realize it or not, you've all taken advantage of that. He thinks that he deserves it, but I've seen the effort he makes every day to be better than he was. Most won't even accept that they need to be better, and it would seem that you folks are a part of that majority. I know that he deserves better, and I ain't even known him a whole year. That says something about you, don't it?

"Now, you are going to give Steve as much space as he needs. You won't ask him to babysit, you won't ask him to chauffeur you around, you won't ask him for money. You'll take some time to think about how you've treated him. And when you feel you're ready to apologize-not because of guilt or obligation, but because you mean it-you tell me. I'll let Steve know. But only when Steve is ready to see you all again, and not a second more, will I let you talk to him."

Wayne shared a vicious smile with El and Will, and then looked at the rest of them with a raised eyebrow.

"Now get the hell out of my future son-in-law's house."

Fin

[reveluving]

Hii!

I was just thinking Price with a wife who is insecure about her body because of things like stretch marks or chub finally working up the courage to do something like lingerie or naughty photos as a surprise for him ;D

Hi!! OMG. SWEATING. As someone who has stretch marks and a little 'cushion' here and there, plus is also a big fan of this trope(?), this thot is CALLING me! 😩🤌🏻

Includes: soft dom!price, unprotected sex (p in v), finger-sucking, size difference, petnames ('pretty girl', 'sweetheart'), mentions of lap dance/strip tease

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

No matter which lingerie suits your fancy, just know it will give your husband a heart attack. 

Why wouldn’t it? He already loves you for who you are—you can do the most mundane things and he’ll stare. A lot. You could be wearing anything, even if you think it doesn’t suit you, and he’d have to fight the urge to just have you for himself, be it at home or in public.

So, you want to thank your husband for being the hunky sweetheart that he is. 

He wouldn’t be home until a few hours, giving you enough time to execute your plan.

Hiding the lingerie you bought days prior is one thing, posing for the camera is another. The thought of having your ass up, face down or the strap of your bra or babydoll fall off your shoulders in front of the lens just causes your body to heat up immensely, even if it's just you. Possibly because it’s your first time taking photos of yourself in such a deliciously scandalous manner, but it also could’ve been due to the fact that you know exactly how John is going to react to them.

Especially since you’re planning to gift these polaroids for when he needs to leave for work—with no way to have you with him except for these priceless photos, specifically made for his eyes and use only.

But three polaroids aren’t enough for him to survive the field without you. 

Because as soon as he comes home to find these photos on the table, placed under his hat for his next deployment in the near future, expect to hear heavy footsteps approaching the bedroom, where you’re likely waiting for him—being struck dumb to find you sitting prettily on the bed in your new piece. 

His eyes are blown out, and you can’t help but gulp when he closes the door behind him too calmly before walking over to you. The way he stalks over to you ever so slowly prompts you to crawl back. Not because you’re scared, but you had to admit, your heart’s beating wildly, even more so when he begins taking off his clothes without uttering a word.

Your nails dig into the sheets when you have nowhere to go, feeling the headboard against your back as he traps you from the front—resembling a predator hunting its prey. 

“John…” You mutter, letting out a shaky sigh as he slides his hand up your leg, biting his lip at the sight; the stockings/garter belt squeezing the plush of your thighs just enough to drive him wild. He doesn’t even give you a second to utter his name once again when he yanks you forward, with John on his knees as he holds you to sit on his thighs, forcing you to look down at him.

“S’a really nice piece, sweetheart,” He purrs, his voice telling you that he’s holding himself back from just fucking you. He licks on the deep cleavage, the small, thin material leaving little to his imagination as it barely covers your tits, all while maintaining eye contact as a guttural groan leaves his lips. One of his hands moves to your front, playing with the hem of your stocking/garter belt, pulling it back before releasing it. His lips part in delight, almost mirroring the way you gasp as the tight material slaps against you with a light smack, “Is this all f’me?”

You nodded with the tiniest whine, holding onto him like he was your lifeline. 

Ignoring the dampness of your panties was useless since you knew he could feel it against his thigh. His stare becomes too much for you, and you can’t do anything else other than rest your forehead against his, feeling his warm breath against you just as he feels yours and begging him to have you. 

And how can he say no to you?

Especially since you’ve been a good girl at posing for him as he takes countless photos of you on the polaroids—from the more ‘innocent ones’ like having you drool on his fingers (“Suck on them real good. That’s it, my pretty girl”) to the lewder displays, where he has you on your side, taking you from behind before taking a picture or two your pussy tightly gripping and leaking around the base of his cock.

Now he knows he won’t be alone in his next deployment.

Bonus: Him asking you for a lap dance or a strip tease for him as he sits all smug at the edge of the bed or the bedroom chair. He does this thing where he throws his head back and bucks his hips when you rub yourself against him. Yes.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[thanksbutno98]

Dance

John Price x fem!reader

Authors note: @havoc973 I am so so so sorry this took so long! This is months overdue and I love you for your patience. I dropped hints in fics so you hopefully knew it was still on my mind. I’m finally happy with the product so I hope you enjoy.

Summary: For the third year in a row John Price is missing the daddy daughter dance. Now leaving his wife to deal with the aftermath.

Warning: swearing, abandonment issues, not edited.

——————

“Evelyn!” You shouted from the bottom of the stairs. There was no response as you stood there with your hands on your hips. Bringing your chipped nails to your lips you bit on them nervously. It was breakfast time and the seven year old was avoiding it like the plague. You knew your little girl was stubborn just like you so you chose to retreat back to the kitchen. It was a better move to ask her brother what was going on.

“Is everything okay with Evie at school?” You asked as you quickly moved toward the stove to flip the eggs you were cooking.

“Not really.” Jj said nonchalantly, holding out his plate. He was dressed in his school uniform with his hair a mess and sticking up in odd directions.

“Why?” You asked scraping the fried eggs onto his plate for his second serving.

“The daddy daughter dance is Friday.” Jj shrugged his shoulders and he doused his food in hot sauce. You stood there shocked at your sons words. Placing the pan back on the stove you turned off the burner. Taking a moment to think about what Jj had just said.

“I didn’t see anything about it in her folder.” You slid another piece of toast on the young boys plate taking the other half and eating it. He was just like his father having a huge appetite. Quite frankly you didn’t know where either of the boys put it since they were thin and mostly muscle. Jj was becoming lanky with how tall he was getting and you began to worry he would be taller than you in a few years.

“She probably hid it. The girls have been asking if dad would turn up. Well, more like teasing.” Jj stopped eating to look at you seriously.

“Turn up?” You asked crossing your arms and waiting for whatever your son was about to tell you.

“Yeah the kids in her grade say dad skipped out on us.” Jj frowned at the words. He didn’t want to be the one to tell you this because he knew it would make you upset.

“That’s not true!” The words slipped out without a thought. Feeling utterly horrified that the kids in Evelyn’s grade were teasing her about something so cruel.

“That’s what Evie and I say too.” Jj sighed as he told you. Then going back to inhaling his food, shoving his toast into the runny egg and eyeing the bowl of beans sitting just out of reach.

“You know your dad is sacrificing a lot to keep his country and family safe right?” The seriousness of your words seemed lost on your son as he focused on his food. His response shocked you because honestly he didn’t normally pay much attention to what you said; especially when there was food in front of him.

“I do. Not sure if Evie does. Dads missed every daddy daughter dance and he’s going to miss this one too. She probably needs a hug.” Jj looked you dead in the eye as he advised you on what his sister might need. You didn’t know what to say trying to gather your thoughts.

“I know granddads and uncles will do the dance with the other girls. I’ll dance with Evie if she really needs a boy there. I don’t care if it’s embarrassing.” Jj looked bashful as he told you this. He knew you danced with Evie the last two times and you happened to be one of the two women to step up and do so.

“Johnathan you are such a wonderful boy. You know that right?” Jj couldn’t help but smile at your words. He knew how loved he was. There was never a doubt in his mind that you and his father adored him.

“Course I do. I do miss dad. He’s away too much. And Evie needs someone like him. I know I’m not dad but I am her big brother.” The pride the swirled in Jj’s eyes had you gulping back your emotion. It was such a shame and yet a blessing John wasn’t here. It gave Jj the chance to have his valor shine but that was only possible with the absence of his father. All you could admit was that John would be proud of his son because he was turning out to be just like him.

“I know.” You smiled running your fingers in Jj’s hair and fixing it. He smiled loving whenever you scratched his head. John was the same way, it relaxed him to the point he’d fall asleep anywhere as long as your fingers scratched lightly against his scalp. You felt a heavy fog at how similar your son was to his father yet you weren’t even sure anyone realized it except you.

“Has it always been like this. Like before you two got married and had us did you know it would be like this?” Jj asked. He looked at you curiously, and your hand dropped and landed on the marble counter.

“Yeah. . . I guess I signed us all up for this.” It was a sheepish admission. Quite honestly you were nervous you might be blamed for things being the way they were.

“Well, Evie needs a sorry from you or dad. I’m not sure who.” The sweet advice your son had you feeling a little obtuse. How could he be so intuitive at such a young age?

“You don’t need a sorry?” You asked ready to pay your reputation and own up to your faults as a mom.

“Never. I want to be just like dad when I grow up.” Jj beamed with pride thinking you’d be happy with his decision.

“Over my dead body.” You warned not wanting either of your children to end up in the same line of work as their father.

——————

“Fuck, I feel like such a prick.” John was rubbing his hands over his face and then through his fair. You were staring at him through the laptop screen that sat at the foot of your bed. You were in your pajamas and braiding your hair as you two wound down to the end of your hour long conversation.

“Good.” You said simply with a shrug.

“Oi, aren’t you suppose to comfort me?” John’s head shot up from his hands, he looked offended by your comment and you knew he was about to pick a fight if you brushed him off. So you told him the brutal truth.

“Not this time. I get your jobs important but you need to show up for these important things or the kids will resent you.” John rolled his eyes at your words which had you doubling down with a response you knew would have him hurting. You weren’t doing it to be mean but only to make a point.

“I’m still not over you missing Lily’s birth and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. Do you really want your daughter feeling that way too?” You asked. It wasn’t nearly the same as the traumatic experience you had but if these moments continued to add up they would be the equivalent.

“Darling, I have no control over these things.” John was exasperated by your words. Feeling defeated and like a no good dead beat father.

It was far from how he tried to be and what you actually thought of him. The only thing keeping you so frustrated was the fact your children were incapable of processing John’s absence like you could as an adult. They didn’t see it as John’s job they saw it as their father had more important things to do and they were second place.

“Okay, whatever you say, John. But there’s a seven year old who’s been crying by herself in her room and pretending she’s fine to me. Now, you can either pull some strings or deal with the consequences when you get home.” Abandoning the braid you were attempting you shot a mean look into the camera.

John visibly cringed at your words. It hurt because he was a perfectionist at heart and to hear how he was failing as a father tore his confidence up. John stared down at his hands and thought about how big his children were and how he had large gaps in his memory of them because he wasn’t there to see them grow.

“Please don’t be mad at me. And could you talk to her for me. I feel horrible.” John was sick to his stomach. He knew you were right and was having trouble with the reality of the situation. That his kids one day might just give up on him and stop caring because he didn’t show his love for them by showing up.

“I’m not mad, John. I’m just over all of this. I can’t keep convincing them to not be upset with you about missing their milestones. They’re allowed to be mad at you.” There was no hesitation as you plowed through John’s self pity.

“I’ll make it up to her.” John looked straight into the camera and you knew he meant it.

“‘Making it up-“

“Isn’t the same as showing up.’ I know, you’ve hammered that one into me.” John finished your sentence as he ran his thick fingers through his hair. You stayed silent annoyed and somehow empathetic towards your husband.

“I love you, so much. I’m sorry for leaving you lonely.” John pulled the microphone of his headphones to his mouth, whispering his words like a confession.

“Just come home safe please.” You pleaded.

“I will. I promise.”

——————

Breathing ragged and sweaty palms was all Evelyn could focus on as she stared at herself in the mirror. She was standing on her bed to get a full look at herself in the mirror above her dresser, being too embarrassed to go look in your full length one. Evelyn knew you would fuss over her and tell her how pretty she looked and that you two would have just as much fun as you did the last two years. Her dress was tea green with sheer long sleeves that cinched at her wrist and fanned out. The top front portion had a woven design that looked like tiny flowers while the tool skirt had just a little bit of volume and came just below Evelyns skinned knees.

Playing with the sleeves of her dress Evelyn began the long journey most girls started at this age. She picked herself apart and felt uncomfortable in her skin, insecurity growing like weeds in her young heart. It was the first time she didn’t feel pretty and it wasn’t because of her dress or the matching bow in her hair. The little girl had convinced herself that her daddy was too embarrassed to come dance with her. That’s why he always missed these dances.

Evelyns small hand came up to her now rosy cheeks as she wiped away the mist that was forming in her baby blue eyes. She had begged you not to make her go, but here she was in her pretty dress and bare feet with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart there’s no need to cry.” Your voice came from Evelyns bedroom door. Standing there you felt your stomach drop seeing your little girl so dejected. A flash of your own childhood rearing it’s head as you thought back to all the times you wished your mother was alive to see you grow up. It was hard to see your daughter struggle with a similar feeling towards her father.

“I’m not crying. Its just dusty in here.” Evelyn ignored you as she jumped off her bed and went to her closet to slip on her shoes. She stole that line from you. It was one you used when John asked if you were okay while you two watched sad movies and you pretend not to cry.

“Ready to go?” You asked. You were going to do everything in your power to raise your daughters spirits.

“Yeah.” Evelyn passed by you and brushed your hands away when you tried to fix the bow in her hair. Telling you to stop being embarrassing.

You were dressed in a sage green dress to match with your daughter. It had a square neckline with three buttons down the center and short sleeves. It cinched at your waist and the cotton flowed down to mid calf, leaving your beige heels visible. It was a simple dress that allowed your daughter to stand out and be the center of attention.

It was a quiet drive to the ballet studio Evelyn attended once a week. Some of the girls in Evelyns class attended the same studio. You thought it would create friendships; not an opportunity for your daughter to be bullied.

For the first time you could remember your daughter sat silently in the back seat. There were no requests for music, she didn’t sing along to her favorite songs, no stories of what happened at school, and what really got to you was the lack of questions the little girl needed to ask most days. The car tended to be you and hers happy place where you chatted and jammed out to music. It was the only place she really heard you curse or laugh so hard by one of her stories you were in tears.

“Ready? Let’s go have fun!” You tried to be enthusiastic to get your daughter in the right mood. Finding a spot near the door feeling quite lucky to have gotten such prime parking. Maybe your luck was turning around?

“Let’s get it over with.” Evelyn muttered as she unbuckled and got out of your car. She waited at the front of the car for you because she knew you wanted to be by here side before she crossed the car park. It annoyed her how you treated her like a baby who couldn’t cross a street by themself.

Seeing how upset Evelyn was had you sighing. You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. She looked so cute in her tea green dress, matching flats, and a big pretty bow that tied up her ponytail. Sticking out your hand she grasped your freshly painted nails and followed you into the studio; her own nails matching yours.

Pushing through the double doors Evelyns eyes went wide at the decorations. This was the pretties dance the school had ever had. There were tables about that were covered in fancy white table clothes with flowers in the middle of each. The lights were dimmed, streamers and balloons everywhere. There was a station to take picture at with props. Fancy foods being served and the biggest punch bowl Evelyn had ever see. For you it looked like a stereotypical 80’s dance in the U.S.

“Woah, you were right mummy. We are gonna have fun!” Evelyns mood turned around instantly. She peered up at you and left all the sadness she felt right at the door.

“I’m so excited to dance with you.” You smiled down at your daughter as she beamed up at you.

“You look very pretty.” Evelyn told you as she pulled you toward the dance floor. You followed happily. Loving how your daughter didn’t want to wait for the actual dance to happen but wanted to jam out to what the dj was playing right away.

You laughed hysterically as you two danced poorly to some Ed Sheeran song. Doing funky little moves and spinning around so your skirts caught some air. You even lifted her up and spun her around, her legs kicking in the air. Evelyn was laughing so hard she had forgotten all the disappointing feelings she once felt. Evelyn was so happy to have you there making a fool of yourself as on looking parents judged you.

After two songs you two were eating finger food and drinking punch. Chatting like you always did. Evelyn told you all about the ‘stinky’ girls here and how they were real ‘meanies’ at school. She even went as far to say they were jealous because their mummy’s weren’t as cool as you. To say you were flattered was an understatement. Usually your children thought you were lame and embarrassing but for the first time in awhile you felt like the cool parent.

“Let’s slow it down. It’s time for all you students to grab your daddies or important people and bring them to the dance floor.” The DJ’s voice announced. The iconic record scratch sounded as a slow sweet song started to play. Evelyn grabbed your hand and pulled you forcefully to follow her. Only you didn’t budge. Turning the little girl looked at you rather annoyed, but you had the biggest smile she had ever seen on your face.

“What?” Evelyn was rolling her eyes at you, frustrated that you weren’t following. She looked at your arm that was outstretched and pointing in some random direction. Turning to see what you were motioning at, Evelyn froze. The music went silent for her and she felt like she was the only person in the room besides her and her dad who was smiling brightly at her from across the room.

John had just walked in. He was an hour late but he had made it for the most important part. John was still in his military fatigues, panting and sweaty having rushed to get here for his daughter. He didn’t have time to stop and change at home but he didn’t care how underdressed he was. All he cared about was the look on Evelyns face as she stared at him from across the room. God, his little girl looked so beautiful and cute in her green dress and hair tied up in a bow. John would never forget this moment as long as he lived.

Evelyn felt stuck until your hand lightly touched her shoulder, snapping her back into reality. She didn’t wait for what you had to say. John’s little girl ran as fast as she could toward him. Weaving thrown tables and people desperately making her way to her father.

Evelyn was crying and laughing all at once, a feeling she’d never experienced before spreading from her little heart and swallowing her body whole. It was a happiness indescribable and it would become the memory Evelyn sighted in her speech at her wedding about what love felt like. It was how a father should always make his daughter feel and this was far from the last time she would feel it.

“Daddy, daddy! You’re here!” Evelyn was yelling over the music as John met her half way. People were turning to see such a pure reunion. Light gasps and then out right clapping happening as John swept his daughter up in his arms and spun her around as he held her tight to his chest. John never wanted to let go as his oldest baby girl wrapped herself around him much like he had wrapped himself around her finger the day she was born.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. Now let’s dance, bug.” John had a nickname for each of his children that he used only in private or special moments; much like how you called your children baby. Jj was ‘little man’, Lily was ‘peanut’ and Evelyn was ‘bug.’ and she would always be bug; until the day he died.

“Can we dance for more than one song?” Evelyn was back on her feet dragging John to the dance floor. It was packed with other little girls and their daddies, uncles, or granddads. This was the first time Evelyn was able to feel like everyone else but for some reason fitting in didn’t matter. All that mattered was how happy she felt in her pretty dress and how she was about to dance with her favorite person.

“I’ll dance with you all night.” John smiled down as he pulled Evelyn close. That’s when John realized his daughter had no clue how she was suppose to dance with him. John had never taken the time to show her how to dance with him. Watching as she bounced back and forth from foot to foot to the beat. It was clear Evelyn only knew ballet or the side step you did with her during these dances. Leaning down John whispered into Evelyns ear.

“Step on my feet. I’ll show you how to dance with me.” Evelyn nodded up at her father and did as he said. Her tea green ballet flats stepping atop his dirty military grade boots. Hands grasping the other pair as Evelyn felt weightless as she was jostled back and forth. She couldn’t take her eyes off her father as he stepped for the both of them.

They swayed to the beat and didn’t stop as the next song faded into the other. John continued to dance with his daughter as the floor cleared. Happy that the next song was equally as slow and then continuing into a much faster beat that had children bouncing onto the floor to dance. John spun Evelyn around and made an absolute fool of himself trying to dance with her to a song he’d never heard.

You had pulled out your phone and recorded the whole encounter. It was something so pure and magical that you never wanted to forget. It had been so long for you to see your husband slip out of his rough exterior in front of a crowd. It was as if him and Evelyn were the only people in the room as they danced like no one was watching. You were seeing the man you fell in love with all those years ago appear in front of everyone. You laughed hysterically as John did the running man and Evelyn copied him.

John had called you and hour before you left for the daddy daughter dance. Telling you he had just landed and was on his way. You squealed in joy hearing that he had made it work and would be there for Evelyn. The love that spilled from your lips was uncontrollable. You told John how much this would mean to your little girl. Then explaining how much it meant to you to see him pull some strings and do everything in his power to be there. It was the beginning stages of healing for you as trust began to grow again that your husband wouldn’t leave any of you in the lurch. That his word held weight and he wasn’t just saying yes to you, that things would be different after Lily was born. Even if it wouldn’t be perfect every time you knew John would try his hardest to make it work and if it didn’t, now you knew he really did put in the effort.

Eventually Evelyn had tired herself out after five songs and was dragging John back to where you were. John looked relived but not in the way you thought he would. It was a relief that was sweet, seeing you happy with him was immensely satisfying to the 6’2 Brit. You saw in that moment he would have danced with Evelyn until they kicked you lot out.

“Hello, darling.” John didn’t hesitate as he took both hands and cupped your face.

Your cheeks squished between his calloused fingers and you breathed in sharply, the feeling of his skin shocking yours. You had missed him so much. Planting a firm kiss to your painted lips, John hummed in desperate approval, causing sparks to fly. The tingling sensation spread from your mouth and caught like wildfire making your body heat in a blaze. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head with how in love you felt. John was proving now more than ever that he would continue to be the man of your dreams.

“I missed you.” You whispered against your lovers lips, centimeters separating you. Johns stormy blue eyes bore into yours with such love and adoration. A cheeky yet charming smirk taking over his ruggedly handsome face. You could see in his eyes he was proud of himself and ready to sweep you off your feet next.

“How could you not?”

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

@exhaustedpotat0 @glitterypirateduck @ivymarquis @crazymela @what-0-life @boredfairy4 @hihhasotherfixations @stephanswhxre @shanjisan @k4es @luvleywrites @kita03-0 @midwesternwitchery @aleynaleia @suckerforbassist @misshoneypaper @theaonlax @blackstar9005 @tooterbutt @havoc973 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @freshlemontea @cosmoscoffeee

[as-is-above-so-below]

Cardigan - John Price x F!Teacher!Reader

Part 1: It Starts In A Bar

summary: your friends take you out to a local pub when you would much rather be grading assignments. a/n: hello! big surprise, me writing for john price! I don't know how long this will be, but I definitely have a general idea of where I want this to go. I hope y'all like it!

thank you @lethalchiralium for dragging me into the clubhouse kicking and screaming LMAO << Previous | Next >>

Why did they pick this place again?

Ah, right. “It’s a hometown pub, a staple to the community,” they said. That was clear from the couple dozen men and women, ranging from middle-aged to elderly, scattered about, and a few younger folks peppered into the crowd. It wasn’t run down by any means, just…a dive. You mindlessly picked at the peanuts and pretzels in little bowls, elbows perched on the edge of the sticky table, for hours. You chatted and occasionally laughed at the stories they shared about their homeroom students and the shenanigans the other grades got up to. You’d been teaching year thirteen for a while, students taking their A-levels in history. 

It was supposed to be a quiet evening, spent with a stack of papers to grade, surrounded by glowing candles scattered around your apartment accompanied by soft white string lights stretched across the ceiling. Instead, your friends somehow managed to drag you out of your cozy home to a dark dive in town. You loved them dearly (really, you did), but you had a routine. Your ideal Friday night wasn’t in a damp bar.

Your kids could be challenging at times in their late teens. They occasionally cause trouble, known for getting into fights, interrupting class, or bringing drama into the classroom. Nevertheless, you’d never had a set of students that was more than you could handle. They turned their work in on time and were always nosy about your personal life, which – much to their chagrin – was uneventful. Your love life was stale, to put it nicely. And your friends tried everything in their power to set you up on dates, every single one striking out miserably. It didn’t feel natural to meet some guy at a restaurant for a blind date.

One of them talked about themselves the entire time, barely letting you get a word in. The next ordered about three more drinks than you and a meal that cost twice as much as yours but demanded you split the cost of the date. You were all for splitting the bill but on the first date? Not a good impression.

The rest were uninteresting and immemorable.

“Seriously? You haven’t been on a date since – Oh, what was his name again?”

“Zachary,” you pointed out, taking a long sip of your drink. “You should know; you set up the date.”

“I know, I know. I didn’t realize he was such a bore one-on-one.”

“Thanks for that, by the way. Loved talking to myself for two hours.”

You all laughed at the memory, starting to finish drinks and gather belongings. “Let’s get to the next spot to find you a man!”

Bar hopping was the absolute last thing you wanted to do, but you knew better than to resist. It would all be over much faster if you just went along. Your companions were much quicker on their exit, considering the nearly-full drink that you felt like you just bought, and they were already moving on to the next dig. You threw the rest of your drink back, flinching as the big gulp of alcohol burned down your throat, and hurried to catch up with them. You took one of their outstretched hands, giggling as they just about pulled you into the circle exiting the pub–

“Excuse me, miss!” a deep voice called out. You’re not sure why, but you turned, feeling like the man was calling out to you. Your assumption turned out to be correct, and a tall, dark-haired man with a beard and a soft smile approached you. “Sorry, you left this.”

He held your cardigan to you. You must have abandoned it in your haste.

“Oh! Thank you so much. That’s kind of you,” you said, taking the garment back and draping it over your forearm. “I’d forget my head if it weren’t attached,” you added, tapping your temple with a soft chuckle.

“Quite alright.” Behind you, an elbow nudged your spine; you barely caught yourself from making a face and snapping at whichever acquaintance decided to egg you on. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but it seems you’re heading out.”

He certainly was handsome. His beard was well-groomed, just like his hair. It looked like he went to a barber fairly recently. He even dressed well, in a cream, ribbed polo tucked loosely into his jeans. Dark chest hair peeked out where the top two buttons were undone. It was an enticing offer…

“Um, yeah, but….” You looked over your shoulder and met expectant glances. Some looked like they were about to bust apart at the seams with glee, which made you roll your eyes. Clearly, you wouldn’t be missed. “I could hang for a little while longer.”

The man's smile grew, and his stance shifted to open a path toward the bar. “Are you sure? Y’don’t have to,” he amended, his hands in his pockets. His energy was warm and soft but still masculine. He held a confidence that not many people carried, at least not the men you’d been on dates with recently. And the Liverpool accent? Maybe things were starting to look up.

“No, no, I honestly need another drink.” You flashed your teeth back to him, folding your arms over your chest with your sweater in hand.

“In that case, after you.”

Before taking his arm, you realized you’d yet to even ask for his name. “Thank you…?”

“John.” John’s right hand hovered before you and he flashed his bright teeth. His hands were clean, nails neatly trimmed. Although, one nail bed was bruised.

Man, he’s pretty for a grown man.

“Y/N,” you replied with an easy grin. He kept a steady hold on your gaze, carefully examining the bright twinkle they held. You didn’t know it, but John had just returned from a long mission. One that had left him yearning for a shower, a haircut, and somebody to come home to. He’d never had anything to look forward to and stay alive for; no affection or comfort after a rough assignment, no one to care for and spoil.

And he wanted that.

“A surname to that, John?” you asked, sliding your hand through the loop he created with his elbow. Holy shit, he was strong. Your hand rested on the soft but well-built muscle of his bicep. You figured he must have a labor-intensive job, or he goes to the gym frequently. John didn’t seem like the type to spend hours at the gym in his spare time, so you went with the first option. You’d keep that in mind when making small talk later.

“John Price.”

“Very regal name.”

John scoffed but laughed nonetheless. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

John couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were unbelievably bubbly, especially for interacting with a stranger who only gave back your forgotten cardigan. He’d been watching you from his spot at the bar, laughing with your friends but zoning out every once in a while. He was no stranger to giving himself a mental break, particularly in a hectic environment like a packed bar on a cool, Friday evening.

“I’ll call you when I need a ride!”

You and John watched the giggly group exit the pub, happily waving as they piled into a cab. You waved back with your free hand, your other palm still pressed against his warm skin. They didn’t embarrass you too badly, thank god. You met John’s eyes, a dark color twinkling with mischief.

“Your friends seem chipper.”

“I’m so sorry. They’re just happy to see me talking to a man.” 

“Oh? Is that right?” he chuckled, nodding to your previously held table. John broke away briefly to retrieve his unfinished drink and denim jacket from the bar.

You followed his lead back to the booth, attempting to keep control of the flush you felt beginning to heat your cheeks. “They’ve set me up on many an unfortunate date. Not saying I don’t get along fine on my own, but–”

“It’s rough out there?” he finished, sliding into the cushioned seat across from you. When you nodded in return, John smirked. “Believe me. I get it. My career makes it difficult to find time for much of anything.”

“Yeah, well, I have sixteen kids.”

The man sputtered, choking on what looked to be an old-fashioned. Possibly a bad joke, but it was such a great opportunity; you were feeling frisky, and you couldn’t help the giggles that erupted following his reaction. “I teach history for year thirteen.”

“Oh, thank Christ.” John wiped the cocktail off his lip with the back of his hand, shaking his head at your laughter. “You had me going there. Five minutes into our date, and I’ve made a mess of myself.”

You quirked a brow. “So this is a date?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, I would consider it light conversation. Getting to know each other.”

“That’s a date.”

“Mmm, I’d say it’s more casual than that.”

“I’m not looking for casual, love.”

You paused, examining his calm demeanor. He didn’t seem cocky, but honest, a welcome change to the pattern you’d observed over the last few months. None of your dates had been so bold as to know what they want and make their intentions clear. Especially not so quickly. It was refreshing.

“Me neither.”

“Good.”

You both sat in peace, pausing your conversation for the waitress. You ordered another drink, as promised, and folded your hands on the tabletop, fingers laced. “So, what do you do, John?” you asked, tapping your thumbs together.

“I’m in the military.”

You paused, expectantly waiting for him to continue, only to be met with silence.

“Care to elaborate?”

He tutted once with his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth. “I would love to, but I can’t.”

Interesting. Normally, resistance like that would be a red flag. On the other hand, his job could be “classified” or whatever is said in the movies. No alarms went off in your mind; your intuition told you that John was trustworthy, so you let it go. The pretty brunette dropped your new drink off and another for John.

“I can tell you that I’m a Captain.”

“So you have pretend kids too?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he hummed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. A slight tinge of the citrus notes from the expressed orange peel wafted across the table. John’s laugh was distinctive, chesty and rumbly, inviting. “Of course. Mine are bigger, though, I’m sure.”

“Oh? They’re not scrawny little soldiers?”

“No. One’s almost two meters tall.”

“Jesus. How many?”

“Five. Gaz, Ghost, Soap, Alex, and Farah.”

“Well, I for one can’t wait to meet them.”

“Likewise.”

You fussed with your hair for about the thousandth time in your bathroom mirror and huffed when it wouldn’t settle right. John was to meet you in about fifteen minutes. Knowing him, that meant he would be buzzing up to your apartment any second. You’d been on a few dates and knew his date habits pretty well. If you’re not fifteen minutes early, you’re late. You had been out to dinner, grabbed coffee once or twice; you even grabbed an ice cream. So, it was a surprise when John suggested a trip to the museum. It didn’t seem like his thing, but you weren’t about to turn down a trip to the history exhibit.

As you expected, a familiar BZZT BZZT reverberated through your flat, signaling his arrival. The first time he picked you up, you let him into the building without using the intercom. You tried explaining that the speaker broke and your landlord had yet to fix it (shocker), but John wouldn’t hear it. You could have been letting in a random creep pressing buttons until some tenant unlocked the door. He insisted on creating a little system, so you would know it was him downstairs and not a kidnapper. From then on, he always rang the bell twice.

You gave up on your hair, switched the light off, and paged him in. Your unit was on the first floor (which wasn’t ideal), so it only took John a few seconds to reach your door. When you heard a knock at your door, you peered through the peephole (as promised) before unlocking the deadbolt, revealing a very well-dressed captain. John’s hair was a bit shaggy, but it suited him well. Your heart fluttered helplessly at the bright smile that appeared when he laid eyes on you, his gaze obviously taking in the sight before him.

It was a weeknight, and you didn’t have time to change between school and your usual errands. You threw a plaid skirt, thigh-high socks, and loose sweater together; just a sliver of skin showed between the top of your socks and hem of your skirt. You felt underdressed compared to John, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. 

“Hi,” he said, leaning to kiss your cheek. “You look lovely.”

“Same to you. You always clean up well.”

“If you saw the state I’m usually in at work – you’d understand why.”

John kept a watchful eye to make sure you turned both locks for your door before guiding you outside to a waiting taxi with a hand on the small of your back. He held the door to your building and the car open for you. The drive was short, but the weather was starting to catch a bit of a chill, and you didn’t want to walk too far.

Ever the gentleman, the captain followed closely behind you up the steps to the gallery. Even if he weren’t perceptive, with years of experience reading people, he could tell you were excited to be there; however, he wasn’t so experienced in the ‘romance’ department. John honestly couldn’t even remember the last time he visited any museum, let alone a dedicated history exhibition. But when he suggested it and assured you that he would have a good time, he was only being partially truthful. Secretly, the man just wanted an excuse to listen to you talk. What better place to bring you than an exhibit where he knew you would talk his ear off for hours?

You slowly worked your way through each exhibit, explaining some pieces you recognized and their significance to the period; at displays you weren’t familiar with, you both quietly hovered closer to the title cards, reading through the description. While that kind of date wasn’t John’s usual cup of tea, he was glad he planned it; it helped him figure out how to slow the fuck down and try to be normal outside of a military setting or a pub.

His breath nearly stuttered every time you laid a gentle hand on his arm and drew his attention to the next section, beaming as you animately but quietly pointed out the tiny details in a Renaissance painting hung on the wall. The man couldn’t help but stare at how your lips curved at every syllable, wide eyes glued on the intricate scene portrayed. John hadn’t spoken much so far aside from the occasional affirmation that he was listening; he was very much in his head, unsure if you were excited to be there with him or just excited to be there. But, standing in front of the big painting, you went quiet. You met his gaze, and his lips pulled into a lopsided grin, which you returned before you both shifted back to the artwork. It was peaceful, absorbing the atmosphere and just existing together. Suddenly, John was jolted out of his reverie by the feeling of something brushing the side of his palm. 

You were itching to hold his hand all night but were too nervous to take that leap. What if he rejected you? That wasn’t likely after so many dates, but still. Your nerves got the better of you for the better half of the self-guided tour. Regardless, you had managed to work up the courage, cautiously grazing your pinky against his wrist and hand before wrapping it around his. You didn’t look away from the illustration, but he did, moving to you, then down to your hands.

He simply stared for a moment, surprised but positively giddy at the same time. Surely enough, John took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and leaning just a bit closer to you. He could stand there forever, basking in your warmth and energy, the sound of your voice sinking into his every thought–

“Oh no,” you said, breaking the silence. You looked up at him worried, wrinkles forming between your brows. “I-I’m sorry. I was teaching again.”

He immediately gave you a reassuring squeeze, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Don’t be. I like hearing you talk.” Jesus, did he have a way with words. He liked hearing you talk? With that accent, he could spew nonsense, and it would still draw you in. But hearing John Price give you compliments and praise? Flattery? You were a goner. “Tell me more about the next one?”

As if he could get any more fucking perfect.

“Okay.”

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[bellarkeselection]

Kacey Dutton x reader

Readers out with kayce she hears a familiar voice and knows it's her abusive ex so she starts to run but kayce follows her in the restroom she tells him kayce calms her down " stay with me "

Dutton's Are Better

We got off of the truck walking inside the local bar. I found a spot near the bar that had two empty bar stools available. The bartender came over and we each got a beer. Kayce shifted the black cowboy hat on his head looking at me. “Sorry this isn't nothing fancy for date night.” 

“It doesn’t have to be. I've had a whole life of it.” Turning my head in the direction of the young Dutton. 

Kayce sent me a smile back. “Yeah.” 

Kayce and I had met the day after his sister came into a confrontation between her and my father Roarke Morris. The company he works for wants to build an apartment on the land that the reservation and the Dutton families own. I first believed it was a good idea to make some change but seeing it now it would be horrible to ruin this place. “So what is so different about this date night then any of our others.” 

“Why do you want to know?” He asked me sitting his beer bottle down in front of him. 

I take a drink from my bottle. “You told me this was going to be a little different than our others. I wanna know how?” 

At first we thought we'd always be enemies for as long as my father wanted to help destroy his way of life. He showed me the ranch one day when I was curious and wished to see it for myself. From that evening on some spark was born that we couldn't deny. Kayce reaches down into his pocket while getting down from his stool. “I was thinking we did this back at the ranch. But here works too I guess if you don't need some big spectacle.” 

“Kayce, I'm serious. You could propose to me with a lollipop ring for all I care and I'd be happy  - wait, are you actually proposing?” 

Sure enough before my eyes Kayce John Dutton lowered himself down on one knee. “Y/n, I love you. I didn't think I would give my heart to anyone else after my divorce and then you came around. I thought we were going to tear the other apart by how much we fought. But somehow we've made it past that. So will you marry me?” 

“Yes. I will-” 

“Y/n, is that you?” My entire body froze where I spun on my feet seeing a familiar guy walking up to me. 

I gulped nervously, bolting away from Kayce only uttering one name I wished I could forget. “Dylan…” Spinning in my boots throwing my hair around in the air leaving the young Dutton on a knee in front of me. 

“Y/n!” Kayce called my name getting up from the ground. 

Rushing my way through the hallway to the bathroom I pushed through the door. Shutting it behind myself I plastered my body up against the door. “He can’t be here now…he said he would never live out here.” 

“Y/n, hey are you okay?” I heard Kaycee’s voice on the other side. 

I croaked feeling a tightness in my chest beginning to form. “I’m fine, Kayce. I’ll be out in a minute.” 

“Did I do something wrong. I should have listened to Beth when she said proposing was too soon for us.” 

I snapped at him. “No that’s not it.” 

“Then what has you freaked out?” Kayce asked with concern in his tone. 

I slowly turned around on my feet staring at the door figuring he was standing on the other side of the wooden door. “I saw my ex Dylan say my name out there. I never thought I’d see that abusive asshole again in my life.” Threading my fingers into my hair I knotted it up, sniffing through tears I didn’t want him to hear me sobbing. 

“Y/n, listen to me. Please let me in. I can hear you crying darling.” Kayce spoke to me and before I knew it he pushed the door open and stepped inside. He stands in front of me gently closing the door behind him so we had privacy and locked it too. “Y/n?…”

I parted my mouth open slightly, mumbling out his name until I broke down sobbing. “Kayce…” 

“Woah hey hey. Come here, darling.” He paused, opening his arms out for me. I raced into his embrace clutching the fabric of his brown jacket in my finger tips. 

I cried into his chest for the next few minutes until I lifted my head up and he wiped the fallen tears on my cheeks. “What if he’s here to try and win me back?” 

“That won’t be happening, baby. I love you and I’m hoping that you feel the same and I can slip a ring on ya. That sends a clearer message than anything…but only if you want to.” 

I squeezed his hands in mine realizing I never told him my answer. “Yes, yes I'll marry you Kayce.” 

He smiled reaching inside his jacket drawing out a ring. The ring was simple with one jewel in the middle that I got to look at when he slid it on my finger. “Don't worry about Dylan if he tries to come over and touch you I'll set him straight.” Kayce holds out his freehand and grabbed the door to open it with his other hand. 

“Thank you, Kayce.” I placed my hand in his and we walked back to our seats. The evening went fine till we tried to leave so Kayce did end up knocking my ex on the ground with a punch. Thankfully no charges were put on him since we later found out from the sheriff that my ex Dylan was plastered drunk. 

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[abiiors]

HI HELLO HI this is a half-formed, fully horny, wedding guest ross concept. i'm not fully back to writing yet but ross in white is a damn good muse!!!!

cw: minors dni!!! smut, finger fucking in a bathroom, alcohol consumption, smoking, typos probably-i wrote this at work

you haven't really met a lot of john's friends yet, that's probably why you don't remeber seeing this handsome stranger across the bar, cigarette dangling between his fingers, a glass of whiskey in his hands that he sips from so lazily.

he's busy in conversation, you're busy gawking at him, wondering how you've never seen him before (and this you're sure of because let's face it, there's no way you're forgetting this man if you'd ever had the chance to talk to him before.) much to your surprise, he's alone--well, his group of friends is there and he seems particularly close with the groom but there's no date in sight. at least you hope not, because you've definitely caught him staring a few times--long, hard, lingering stares that make you feel like you're about to spontaneously combust.

"this seat taken?" he comes up from behind you just when you're think he's too busy socialising. you smile to yourself, throw him a coy smile too.

"not if you're the one asking."

"is that right?" he smirks and settles into the chair. up close he's hotter somehow--the white shirt clings to him in ways that have you drooling. he takes a quick drag of his cigarette and exhales the smoke to one side.

"ross," he introduces himself quickly, "no one told me there would be gorgeous bridesmaids."

you take a sip of your wine and tsk, "'m not a bridesmaid."

"so you're not off limits then?"

"off limits for...?"

he takes a sip of his whisky and leans in, almost like he's about to divulge a secret. then he looks you up and down slowly, gaze landing on your lips. you get the vague sense that he's undressing you in his head, and it sends heat swirling in your gut. "don't pretend like you weren't undressing me with your eyes, darling."

"and if i admitted to it?" you challenge, "what will you do about it?"

ross leans even closer, his breath fanning your face, his fingers are on your wrist, cool from the whiskey and deliciously callused. he draws circles on the skin. "i hear the first floor bathroom is not open to guests."

"is that right?" you mimic him, smirking when he nods.

"we can sneak in though. if you want?"

in one quick gulp you finish your wine and stand, smoothing down your dress that reaches just past your knees. he's up in an instant too, towering over you and so close that you can practically taste the heat radiating off him.

"lead the way," you giggle and he takes your hand in his.

--------------------

the marble edges of the countertop dig into your ass, his fingers dig into your thighs, and yet all of that simply fades to the background when you kiss--hungry and feverish, teeth clashing against each other, your lip caught between his teeth until you hiss and he slips his tongue in.

his hand snakes down your side, effortlessly undoing the hidden zip until you feel cool breeze against your ribs, and then his fingers--his big, warm, rough fingers, tracing the visible skin, leaving goosebumps behind.

hastily you loosen his tie and move on to his belt, fumbling with it until it's almost undone. ross laughs into your mouth.

"so impatient!" he tsks, "is that how much you want me?"

"the undressing with my eyes didn't give it away?" you retort, and finally undo the belt, sliding it out of the hooks and off his waist. it goes flying in some corner of the bathroom, clinks against a wall.

"turn," he pants, and the moment you obey, his hand are on the straps, pulling them down and off your shoulders until the dress falls just below your chest.

"fuck, darling!" he curses at the sight in the mirror--you, utterly breathless with messy hair and swollen lips. your peaked nipples are fully on display now. his eyes turn darker, taking you in hungrily, then he moves.

the moment his fingers close around your nipples, you moan, head thrown back and eyes closed and ass backed into his crotch where you can feel him completely. he's painfully hard and deliciously big and just the thought of him in you makes you clench around nothing.

"oh you are testing me," you grit out, desperate to be touched. his fingers circling your nipples feels good, his hand snaking down your body feels good, but you need more and more and more, you need him until everything other memory in you brain is replaced by the feel of his cock pounding into you.

he laughs, mouth hot on your neck, "what would you like me to do then?"

"touch me!" you hiss.

"like this?" his hand snakes down, bunching up the fabric of your dress until it's lifted up and around your waist. you close your eyes in anticipation, waiting, shivering when his fingers trace the inside of your thigh--up and up and up and---

"oops," ross grins, and rips the flimsy lacy underwear off you in one smooth motion. you gape at him in the mirror, but then his fingers are on you, circling your clit at a delicious pace and the buzzing in your head grows so loud, you forget the stupid underwear and forget the cold marble digging into your hips.

you moan, clutching on to the countertops when your knees threaten to buckle. "yes--god, yes, like that..."

tentatively he dips a finger in you and your breath hitches. ross clearly likes the reaction because a moment later he plunges a finger inside you, rubbing your clit with his thumb, thrusting the finger in and out and in and out until without warning he adds a second and you have to bite on the palm of your hands to stifle your scream.

"fuck, you'll kill me with those sounds you make," he growls in your ear, and increases his pace. you barely care to answer, mumbling something in gibberish, entirely focused on the feel of his fingers dipping in and out of you, of his thumb pressing into your clit and his cock digging into your ass.

heaven...is exactly how you'd describe it. your body agrees too--tensing and tensing until you're panting and barely even controlling the moans anymore. fuck it, it's fine if anyone walks in at this point. you and ross can put on a good show!

"'m so close," you moan, "ke-keep going, shit!"

and he does, his other hand snakes around your hips, holding you in place so he can reach deeper, hit your sweet spot with his long, thick fingers every time. your head spins, overwhelmed, dizzy and---

there's no warning like there usually is, all you know is that your vision goes white, your body feels slack and with a cry you cum all over his hand, holding onto the countertop to stay upright somehow. ross holds you too, dipping his fingers in and out slowly so you can ride out your orgasm. his hand feels wet and slick, your release coating his fingers. he looks like he's enjoying it though...

the moment you open your eyes, he holds your jaw in place, making you look at him in the mirror, them he places his fingers on his tongue, licking and sucking every corner, making you watch the filthy scene unfolding, making you wetter by the minute somehow.

"delicious," he moans, right in your ear. "ready for round two?"

you bite your lip and nod. "ready for round two."

[johnwickb1tsch]

Enigmatic Stranger ~ Part 3

a young!John Wick x fem!Reader roundrobin fic… by @sweetwolfcupcake , @treedaddymcpuffpuff , & @johnwickb1tsch

part 1 part 2

Johnwickb1tsch:

What's your name?

“Guess.” 

“I’m not playing the Rumpelstiltskin game with you.” 

He chuckles at that. “I guess you could call me…E.S.” 

Enigmatic Stranger. Like you’d called him in the poem you wrote. He hadn’t even made fun of you for that. He’d smiled at you in the café. A small smile, filled with…sadness? And maybe…regret. 

“You’re quite the poet,” he’d told you quietly, sliding your notebook back to you across the counter. 

You’d just stared like a starstruck little idiot, still utterly mortified that he’d read your private words, no matter what praise he offered you. “You shouldn’t do that,” you’d managed to get out past the lump in your throat, your words like sandpaper. “Read other people’s things. That wasn’t meant for you.”

“Why not? It was about me, wasn’t it?”

You swipe at your stinging eyes, feeling ridiculous, and small, and you wish he would just go away, with those midnight-dark eyes that manage to look right through you. You wished he’d stop showing up like this, and making you feel things that would never come to anything. This is what men do to you. They make you feel too much, and then it’s your fault, somehow, when they disappoint you.  

He’d pressed his lips, seemingly feeling guilty about it all. “Hey. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He’d reached for your hand, brushing your fingertips before you jerked away, as though he’d burned you. 

“Stop playing games with me,” you whimper, looking down into your cup of now cold chocolate. “Please, just go.” 

He had, without another word, just a kicked puppy dog look over his shoulder. You didn’t allow yourself to believe that look in his eyes was longing.

But now…he’s here, in your apartment again. 

“John.” 

You blink. John. Just like that…this man who has been haunting you has a name. A nice, normal name. It’s almost too simple.  

“Well, John. You should go.” 

He smirks at you, standing slowly. “If you want. Lock that door, y/n.”

***

Maybe it made a difference, locking the window, and the door. Because when they finally strike, it’s on the street, in the alley near your apartment. Two goons try to grab you, but John is there like a whirlwind, breaking limbs, knocking heads. You have never seen anything like it. Not even in an action movie. The carnage is unreal. 

“Are you alright, y/n?” John demands, rushing over to you. 

You are sinking down with his strong arms around you, your vision swimming. There is blood on his handsome face–and a needle still sticking out of your arm. The fact that you’re only vaguely alarmed about this, about all of this, doesn’t bode well. 

“I’m fine,” you say, and that’s when the pinhole of your vision fades to black.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

You wake to a cool washcloth pressed to your forehead, and an icy glass of water waiting for your parched tongue. It’s only after you gulp down the whole glass and give your fuzzy brain a wicked freeze that you notice you’re not in your own bed or even your own apartment.

Unless someone did some redecorating and remodeling. 

It looks a little like someone has placed a king size bed in the middle of a tidy, large living area complete with flatscreen TV on one wall and stuffed bookshelves on the other. It’s dark outside—you can tell from the yellow street lights glowing through black curtains. 

“Morning, sleepyhead.” The dark figure lounging on the big sectional couch reminds you all too much of a fairytale monster from your childhood, and for a good minute you have to remind your hazy mind that he’s just a man and you are not five years old cowering under the covers from the boogeyman. 

He’s not in a suit, for once. Sweats and a loose Henley. Domestic, normal, someone you could imagine your toes curling for. Oh, wait, they’re doing that anyway. You press the sheet tighter to your chest. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, sitting on the bed beside you and pushing some hair out of your face. It’s cold in here. Far too chilly for your liking, almost like he doesn’t even have his heat on at all, but he’s warm, and you unconsciously lean into his touch. 

He hums at you, and gifts you the heat of his skin on your face for a moment before pulling away. “I have some soup for you. I’ll heat it up.” He tips your chin with his fingers. “You’ll stay here for me?” 

You nod, mostly because you’re not sure if your legs will even work right now. 

“That’s my girl.” He smiles, then pads off into the dark, leaving your poor heart pounding in your chest.

Johnwickb1tsch

By the time he returns with a tray, you’ve managed to sit up in bed, at least. Your head is only spinning a little. The sight of him bringing you food does something unmentionable to your insides. How long has it been, since someone has cared for you when you weren’t well? Not since you lived at home with your family, what feels like a lifetime ago. 

They say you can’t go home again. In your case, truer words were never spoken. 

Gingerly John sets the tray down in your lap. The smell of chicken broth wafting up from the warm bowl makes your mouth water–you’re feeling better already. There’s a little dish of crackers on the side, and a cup of tea. He thought of everything. 

You will not cry in front of this man, you order yourself. Your chest is tight, and you’re not sure how well that’s going to work out for you. 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” He looks at you with a hairline crease on his brow, those dark eyes like lasers upon you. “Do you need help, or…?”

You pick up the spoon, and it only shakes a little in your hand. “I think I can manage.” 

While you eat he lays out across the foot of the bed, watching you. The bed is big enough that it’s not really an improper imposition, but you can’t help but liken him to a leopard lounging at your feet, watching you like he hasn’t decided if he’s going to eat you yet or not. 

“So…” he says as you finish your soup and crackers. “Are you finally going to tell me why those guys were trying to take you? Because if they just wanted to hurt you, I’m afraid they could have done it.” 

You play with the last dregs of soup in the bottom of your bowl, chasing one last little nibble of noodle. “What did you do to them?” you deflect quietly, your eyes all for the bottom of your bowl. 

“You know,” he answers in equally hushed tones. 

“I want you to say it.”

“I already warned you I’m a bad man, y/n. But they were bad men too.”

“You killed them.”

“They won’t bother you anymore. Someone else might though, depending where the money is coming from. There’s an open contract on you now.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you can’t go back to your apartment.” 

Panic rises in you “John…I can’t—” 

“This is serious, y/n.” 

“You…could just be making all this up, to keep me here.” 

He snorts, propping his head on his hand, and you can’t help looking over his long body stretched out at your feet. His broad shoulders and tapered waist, legs that go on forever, pale bare feet dusted with crisp dark hairs. Even his feet are beautiful. Why does he have to be So. Fucking. Handsome? You feel like you’ve swallowed a barrel of eels. Maybe if you puke on his bed, he’ll leave you alone.   

“I think you know I’m not. So…you going to tell me what’s going on?” 

A long sigh escapes you, while you look anywhere but at him. The decor of the room is dark. Masculine. A perfect echo of this dangerous man before you. You know the truth. No matter how you whine at him…you’re not going anywhere now, unless he wants you to. 

“It’s possible…I might have an idea of what this is about,” you admit quietly. 

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

Of course, you’re crying before you can even start telling your story. He grabs you a box of tissues and you have to take a minute to admire their plush, soothing touch before you begin again.

“My dad owed a debt to a very bad, powerful man. And he had to pay it with… with me. So-“ you’re sobbing, now, doing that little fish mouth gulp between whimpers and gasps, tissue pressed tight to your face. You feel like such a baby, and even more with him seeing you bawl like this. 

“Hey. Hey.” A heavy warmth settles on your calf, and you instinctually jump back, startled by the touch. That just makes you cry more. What’s wrong with you? Do you have to be so damn scared of everything? So hesitant? So weary? It’s exhausting. 

“Let me-“ he reaches out to you, although this time you don’t flinch away, just curl into your own shaking shoulders and try unsuccessfully to stop the ugly flow of water down your face. 

John sits on his hands, maybe to avoid grabbing you up and trying to soothe you, and watches helplessly. You almost feel bad for him having to see this—endure it—even though it is your sole burden to shoulder.

You try to continue through the choke of despair in your throat. “R-ran-I ran away. A-and now I’ll never-“ the most embarrassing sound wheezes up from your chest, and you see him visibly cringe, which makes you feel like…like…pathetic. “I’ll never see my family again.” 

“Fuck this,” he says, and pulls you into his lap, cradles you like a baby while you cry into his warm shirt, shields you from the outside world—now, if only he could protect you from yourself.

Johnwickb1tsch

It feels like an eternity passes before you are all cried out, laying like a ragdoll on John's broad, warm, chest. Your face hurts, and you're pretty sure you soaked his shirt with tears and drool and snot and he still holds you like you are something precious and breakable, stroking your hair with his long, clever fingers.

Those hands kill people.

Those hands killed people, for you, not even 24 hours ago.

That should scare the fuck out of you, but mostly at the moment you just feel numb.

"It's going to be ok," he keeps saying in that low baritone that crosses the wires in your brain, makes you think stupid thoughts like this man is friend shaped and not oh wow I'm in danger. "I've got you."

This is physically true at the moment--but you dare to think he means in a broader sense, and that almost scares you more than the hired toughs who attacked you in the alley. You have relied on yourself and only yourself for so long now, cut off from your family, your friends, just trying to live a quiet life and survive under the radar... Someone else reaching out a hand to you is as alien as it is unlikely.

You also can't help but think, as capable as John seems to be, the man whose grasp you fled might prove more than a match for the assassin who is holding you. He is powerful. Rich. Ruthless. He always gets what he wants, and he'd wanted you. He'd had no problem ruining your family in his quest to possess you, playing your father like a chess piece on his board. He's a master manipulator with a penchant for corrupting innocence. The reason, no doubt, he'd caught such an obsession with you.

"What's his name?" John asks quietly, once he thinks you can handle it. "The man who you're running from?"

You try to say it, but the words desiccate on your tongue. Saying it aloud almost feels like invoking the boogeyman. You take a deep breath to clear your throat, and even then you are barely able to speak above a whisper, a fine trembling running through your frame.

"Donaka Mark."

Sweetwolfcupcake

Donaka Mark

Being in the business has its benefits. Texting one name to the right people can bring you almost all the information you need. Almost.

This is no ordinary name, that much John understands with the amount of information he has received in a few hours. It's not enough, too little for him to even plan something. He glances at the shut door of your room. His room, technically, but he will take the guestroom for the night, you seem too shaken up to even move to another room.

Besides...

John sighs, shaking his head, admitting it has been more than kindness towards you. He likes your presence. He likes being near you, he likes you being within his sight and reach. It's somewhat frightening how much he likes that you are here, under his roof. His hold on the armrest tightens and he forces his gaze away.

He has only been, keeping an eye. Right? he admits that it might have escalated to more and that at least one of those men could have been left alive for more information, but everything happened so fast...

Sighing, he pours himself some bourbon. For the night, when you are so close yet so far away when he has so many unanswered questions, he needs something to keep him at ease. He does not consider himself intuitive, but John knows that he is about to sink his teeth for a big bite, but no bite is too large for him to chew down.

-------

When you wake up once more, you are greeted with a bedroom devoid of any traces of John and dimly lit. it's the bedside lamp, you notice. Waking up to complete darkness would have unsettled you. He is a thoughtful man. Regardless of what you have witnessed him do to your attackers, his background, and his morals, this man has been good to you, and you will eternally remain grateful for that. But you have seen what Donaka is capable of, and you do not want to put John in danger.

It's bothering enough that you already wish he were here with you, his arms have provided you more comfort in a few minutes than any blanket or bed in all these months of hiding. Living in constant fear, being haunted by the image of the man you have dared to run away from. 

No, John is kind, but you cannot take advantage of his kindness. As soon as dawn hits the sky, you will leave your home, pack your bags and fly away to a different country. if Donaka's men have already found you, it will not take long for him to strike again.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

Your bladder wakes you up as the cool morning light is just creeping in through the curtains. The house is more illuminated, now, modern and open-floored. You wish he would have given you a tour, because the bathroom doesn’t seem to be in any apparent place. Trying to get there lands you in the oddly clean kitchen, and John is there making coffee.

He’s not surprised by you in the slightest—of course with how clumsy you can be you’re not exactly shocked. You probably woke him up with all the noise you were making, roaming around and running into stuff. 

“Morning,” he says, setting a cup of coffee down for you. “Cream, sugar?” 

“Um, bathroom?” You say, standing awkwardly with your fists clenched in front of you. 

“Oh,” he says, “c’mon.” 

After you’re done, you join him back in the kitchen, climbing up on one of the bar stools and sipping your coffee, thinking about how you’re going to tell him in plain terms that your fleeing the country today and so need to excuse yourself. 

Sorry, been a lovely time, but I have to escape my evil fiance now.

“What’s wrong?” He asks you, noticing your face with the twisted up, frustrated look on it.

“Just thinking,” you say.

“I’m here if you’d like to talk.”

“Great. Thank you.” You know the brown of his eyes would be a lot more pleasant to stare at than the brown of this coffee, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him right now. 

“We’ll go get your things later,” he says, “I have something to do this morning, but I have a robe you can where while you shower and use the washer and dryer, if you’d like.”

That gets you to look up. “What?” 

“I would like you to stay while I take care of this issue for you.”

“No,” you tell him.

“Let me rephrase: you are staying while I take care of this issue for you.” He says it casually. It infuriates you.

“No,” you say again, unsure of how else to phrase it. 

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Please don’t run or try to fight me. Neither one of those things will result in your favor.” 

You blink at him for a few tense moments, then bolt. Jumping down off the bar stool, running for the door. 

John huffs. “Alright then.”

Johnwickb1tsch

He tries not to enjoy it.

He really does. But you're so cute, the way you scramble off the stool and around the furniture on your little feet towards what you think is the door (it's not).

You make it as far as the living room. One leap over the couch, and he has you in his arms, breathing heavily, your hair messy and your eyes wide like a woodland creature he could devour in one bite. It's all he can do, not to press you into the wall and slant his mouth over yours.

He just knows you would taste so sweet...

"Let me go!"

You struggle, and he holds your wrists, making you feel downright delicate with those paws for hands wrapped around you.

"Honey..."

"No!"

You kick him in the shin, and through gritted teeth he turns you in his arms, holding you in a modified bear hug. You're honestly not sure at this point if the giddy adrenaline racing through your veins has to do with fear--or the fact that you're in his grasp, the lean line of his body pressed against your back.

"Calm down," he tells you quietly, his voice low and smooth in your ear, the wiry scruff of his beard scratching your soft cheek. "I'm only trying to help."

"You don't understand. Donaka Mark is a very, very bad man."

You feel him nod against you, not arguing, letting you go still in his arms like he's your weighted blanket. Your heartbeat slows from a furious staccato to a slightly steadier dum bum dum bum.

"I believe you," he finally answers, speaking quietly like he might spook you. "That's ok. I am too."

Sweetwolfcupcake

You want to scream at him-

"No, you're not, idiot, and if you challenge a man like Donaka, you'll end up dead."

But all you can do is try not to sigh in his arms. He is so warm, his hold so gentle, yet so firm, it makes you want to lean back. You wish you wish you could, you would have if only you could.

The longer you stay, the closer Donaka gets to you, and this poor(but awfully stubborn, unfairly fast and devastatingly handsome) man will have to pay the price. Donaka is mad right now. As much as you know the man, you know this---he is going to make you pay for escaping him and hiding from him. He might even make an example out of this man.

"You don't understand---"

"I do, honey, I do. You need to understand that as long as you're with me, he cannot touch a hair of yours."

Is it just you or did he just lean closer? You can feel his breath. it makes you gulp. it's strange---how a man you barely know, can make you feel so scared and so safe simultaneously.

You do not even want to find out. All you want, is to live peacefully with your father. You haven't been able to call him in the fear of being traced.

"Please...It's for your own good..." You take a different approach, though your efforts to slip past his hold never cease.

It's infuriating, especially when you hear his quiet, breathy laugh.

"Uh-huh? You're so...cute."

Something tells you that he had something else in mind, but he simply watered it down. Wait, he thinks you're dumb? Or even worse, nut case?

Okay, maybe not a nutcase, because he saw those men.

"It's not funny..." What was his name again?

"John. John Wick."

"John..." You begin through gritted teeth "Can you let me go?"

"Only if you promise to not do anything stupid. You won't be worrying about a man miles away then, trust me."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Merely telling you about the consequences of defying me."

Donaka's face flashes before your eyes as you stiffen. Is he so different from the older man, after all?

You feel John sigh before his hold loosens, allowing you more room for movement yet no none for an escape. You turn your head to meet his eyes. They look quite similar, you realise. Even their eyes are of the same shade. Perhaps Donaka has darker eyes---you never took time to notice, he sacred you anyway. But you can dare to look into John's eyes, there's a kindness to it, there's melancholic depth and so much life. But they're not bright, they are soulful.

"I'm sorry, I just want to protect you."

You look away, memories of your narrow escape only harden your resolve. What does he think he is? Why even take the trouble?

"You can't protect me." You turn to look at him again and for a moment, you can only look, not think.

There's a shift---you see it closely, the soulful chocolate darkening into the hard resolve, a fire with a promise. This man's darkened stare makes you gulp. His stare matches the darkness in your so-called fiance's eyes but this is different. It's like there's a wild beast ready to tear out.

"I know that you're scared. And I appreciate your concern, but you don't need to worry about me. I am going to take care of this issue, and all I ask you is to cooperate."

You frown, ready with a retort but his landline rings. You are disappointed to find it close enough, had it been a little farther, you could take a chance. but at the moment, feeling the shift in the air, your instincts tell you to stay put for the sake of self-preservation.

"Yes? What did you find? Right now? Hmm." Even though he speaks into the phone, his sharp eyes remain on you.

"I need to leave for a few hours." He declares after putting the phone back.

So, this is your chance.

"Can I trust you to not try anything stupid?"

Yeah, of course, I will simply slip away and hopefully be on the flight to another country by the time you're back.

"Okay." You squeak out, trying not to seem relieved.

"No, I can't." He tilts his head, seeing right through you.

You do not even have the time to defend yourself before he has you in his arms. You realise what's happening only after he begins to walk.

"H-hey, hey, hey, what do you think you're doing? Put me down! Put me de dow..n"

And you are back in his bedroom again. He sets you on the bed as you finish your sentence.

"Here, happy?"

Your glare is met with a tinge of mirth in his eyes that still seems darker. But when he gets on his knees abruptly, you find yourself flinching. He simply opens the bed storage. Something glints in his hold, catching your attention. Oh, how terribly stupid you have been, looking into his eyes instead of his hold. By the time you realise what it is, your ankles are already in his grasp.

"No! What the fuck-- what the hell are you doing? I said I'll not leave--unlock that!" Your voice raises and cracks with increasing panic.

John remains undeterred, though, locking your ankles together with the cuffs. They won't cut into your skin, but they are tight.

"All done."

He dares to look fucking amused.

"Unlock that!"

"I will, once I'm back. It won't take long, I promise." He speaks softly and nods before placing a remote on your hand."There's TV. Feel free to entertain yourself while I'm gone."

"You can't do this!" This is madness. Utter madness.

"I wouldn't have to take such a measure had you not been so stubborn."

He studies you for a moment, contemplative before adding-

"Don't try anything silly while I'm gone."

John brings his knuckles to brush against your cheek. They're not smooth, but that isn't the reason you pull your face away, only to feel a faint pinch in your chest watching the slight disappointment in his eyes---they're soft again(thank God).

He says nothing more, walking out of the room, while you seethe, wanting to pull him back by his hair. He shuts the door on his way out before you hear the unmistakable sound of the lock. of course, he is not taking any chances.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

You end up watching cheesy game shows for a little bit, examining the fancy leather and metal cuffs binding your feet together. They’re not so much uncomfortable as annoying, because at one point you have to crawl to the bathroom once you try—and fail—to pogo jump there. This results in a little goose egg on your temple, a stubbed toe, and chafed knees. As you wriggle yourself back into his bed, grumbling like an angry caterpillar, you can’t help but wonder if those little shiny black dots on the corner of his high ceiling are cameras and he’s watching you embarrass yourself.

You imagine him laughing at your struggle, and before you know it, give a big middle finger to the air, the scowl on your face permanent even after the TV game shows become comedic. 

Upon flipping through the other channels, you find that John has all that good fancy stuff that you can’t really afford on your own TV. The just released movies, the music network, the live Olympics happening in Paris, a naked woman in the throes of passion…you flip back to that one…with a man between her legs. 

How long has it been? Since you felt anything remotely similar to what this porn star is feeling? The genuine pleasure on her face as the dark haired man shields her intimate places with his mouth. Have you ever felt what she is feeling, come to think of it? 

Most porn isn’t appealing, but this is different…maybe because you’re just that pent up or maybe because it’s focused on female pleasure entirely…you’re not sure…doubly not sure of how you end up hiding under the blanket with your hand shoved between your bowed thighs, working quietly at your cunt. 

And perhaps the handcuffs are helping just a little bit with your suddenly spiked arousal. Or maybe—just maybe—it’s the fact that the aroma of enigmatic stranger is pressed into every fabric within smelling distance, and you feel so horribly and pleasantly trapped and helpless, forced to inhale his fresh detergent and balmy sweat. 

Or maybe it’s because you’re just fucking stupid. Yeah, probably that one. 

You’re all erratic breath, face pressed against the soft cotton pillows, ankles straining against tight leather, sweat beading on your skin, whole body yearning towards that all consuming release that will solve every single problem even if for only a millisecond. And in walks John, carrying some fresh healthy takeout and a bottle of sweet wine. 

You can’t really shut off the TV and unstick your hand from yourself at the same time, so you end up doing neither, sending the remote clattering across the floor, smearing slick all over his nice Egyptian sheets, burning from head to foot, wishing that Freddy Krueger would hurry up and drag you inside the mattress with his sharp claws and rip your apart. 

He cocks a slick eyebrow and grins, before placing food and drink on the entryway table.

Johnwickb1tsch

"You look like you could use some help."

You can tell he's amused, but he's not laughing at you. He's looking at you with the sharp eyes of a wolf, stepping slowly on those long legs towards the bed.

Jesus fucking cRist, the porn is still playing on the TV.

He follows your longing gaze to the remote flung on the floor, glances at the lucky woman on the screen, before his eyes settle on you hiding under the blanket, your eyes the size of saucers. You are so mortified you can't breathe, can't think. Your face is on fire, and there is a fine tremor running through your bones. He takes another step towards you, and you kind of want to throw up.

"It's ok, sweetheart, you don't have to be embarrassed." 

Easy for him to say.

You babble, "I'm sorry. Please, take these things off me, and I'll..."

Jump out the window, if you please and thank you.

He sits down on the bed next to you, looking at you with that gentle smile that short circuits your brain, sparks flying out of your ears like one of those little robot toys with the flint inside it from when you were a kid. Oh, to be made of plastic and not feel anything.

"Relax," he soothes you. "I think you're beautiful. Do you not understand that?"

You shake your head, still so humiliated you could die. You try to hide under the covers again, because there is literally no where else for you to go, but he doesn't let you, pulling down the sheet. He doesn't stop touching you, with those strong, sure, hands, running his palms up your arms, cupping your cheeks in his hands and kissing you so sweetly it breaks your heart.

You've just been so alone for so long, and you know you shouldn't be going along with any of this, but his lips are so soft, and he touches you like he cares about you, and you are all out of fight. Good sense flies out the window, as one of his hands tangles in your hair, and his other slides down your body, over your soft curves--and between your thighs.

His blunt fingers are so much nicer than yours, curling against you in just the right way to make you forget everything else but this man in front of you. "Let me take care of you, baby," he whispers in your ear, the scruff of his beard a soft tickle on your painfully sensitive flesh, nuzzling into your neck, breathing you in like he can't get enough of you, and--

That's when you wake up.

Sweetwolfcupcake

Fuck!

Fuck! Fuck!Fuck!

You wake up, breathless, the stupid video still playing, the golden sunset slipping its last rays into the room through some gaps. You scramble out of bed, falling straight on your knees.

Of course!

It's painful but it makes your blood boil hotter. You can't find the remote for a while, but when you do, you drag yourself to it, feeling utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He has left you with cuffed feet---you cannot even stand and yet you've ended up fantasizing about this man!

Has one betrayal not been enough?

You waited for the man you loved in the rain that night, risking everything, and defying everyone important to you and you were left with nothing. He never turned up like the fucking coward he always was. he's dead to you anyway.

And if this wasn't enough, a demon named Donakla Mark had to latch onto you. And now this...this man, John Wick, making you feel things you have become afraid of. A stubborn, bossy, fool who refuses to see that he is heading towards a forest fire, and it will burn him.

Switching off the TV, you clean the remote and hope nothing is damaged. You cannot repay if anything is damaged. You crawl back on the bed, seething, and waiting for him to return.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

John showers downstairs so you don’t smell the blood on him. Of course, he doesn’t need to worry about that, because you’re knocked cold when he enters his room in the wee hours of the morning.

He looks at you for a long, long, long time, unsticks sweaty hair from your face, wonders why the scent of sweet arousal lingers in the room, and grins to himself. It’s cute, that you think he can’t see right through you, fucking smell you. 

He’s never been an untidy man. Socks always folded, sheets always fresh, but he won’t be laundering this bedding for a minute. 

He moves the blanket from your feet, slipping the cuffs off and rubbing the places where the soft leather indented. You stir, curling your toes back away from him, stretching on the big bed. “John,” you say, quiet and sleepy, as he gently pulls your feet back and inspects your pretty skin for any lasting damage. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and your half unconscious soupy brain absolutely believes that soothing, honey voice, but it doesn’t change the fact that your ankles are sensitive and he has the softest touch ever, and you giggle at him, pulling away again.

“Stopit.” 

He does, tucks your feet back in and fixes the covers and leaves a cold glass of water for you on the nightstand.

It’s all he can do not to fold you into his arms and keep you there for as long as he likes, which would be a lot longer than the time either of you have. Donaka Mark is an impatient man. 

Anyway, he needs to clear his head, tend to more physical indulgences before he can start properly thinking about how he’s going to single-handedly bring down the vile underground overlord. 

Here is the woman he’s been feral for, spread on his bed like fresh charcuterie, sticky and sweet and he absolutely just fucking knows soaked between her thighs, and he walks away to relieve himself quietly in the bathroom with every ounce of self control he can muster. 

If he were a more impatient man, he’d be buried inside you instead of his own fist. If he were a more impatient man, you’d be his and Donaka Mark would be a bloodstain on his lapel.

TBC…