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tetragonia · 2 months

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A Wave of Feelings

Rafe Cameron x F!Pogue!Reader

Blurb: Rafe and (Y/N) got into an argument for God knows how many times, about literally anything when they breath the same air, ranging from a small accident to a heated one about their cultural beliefs. But something in the air was different this time. Or was it only in the air? Not something in their heart and mind when the two of you finally realize something big that could change your lives?

Note: I have always wanted to write an angst especially for this character and it has occurred to me one day that arguing/miscommunication plot is kind of my fave trope so here we are lol.

Warning: angst, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, argument, bad writing lol English isn't my first language. also, soft!Rafe in the end!

Words: 1490

The sun hung low over the Outer Banks as Rafe Cameron and you found yourself embroiled in yet another heated argument. This was clearly not the first time you both got into an argument. Some of them were heavy like that one time when your best friend asked you to go to the party just to talk to Rafe (which she did) but then he dumped her after the party and she cried for weeks on your shoulder, or some Kook-owned properties that limited your access, or some insulting banter between Rafe and your friends (that got you realized how much he hated JJ).

But most of the time it was just about silly things: when he knocked up your beer accidentally, when you sailed in front of him and accidentally splashed some water (it didn't even make his already oily hair wet), or when you were napping in a near beach and he claimed that it was his territory (he was in the Cut area, for God's sake!). You two always found a way to argue.

This time, your voices clashed like crashing waves, echoing off the walls of the old shipwreck where you had sought refuge.

"You're impossible, Rafe! Always acting like you own this place, roaming around thinking that you're so much better than us Pogues," you exclaimed, your voice tinged with frustration. Pogues always owned this place, not some rich snobby kids like him, you thought.

Rafe's jaw clenched, his temper flaring and pride wounded. He hissed, "Maybe if you Pogues have some ambitions, you wouldn't be stuck in the same place your whole life!"

Oh, this was definitely one of those heavy arguments.

Your fists clenched at your sides as took a step forward. Your voice trembling with emotion. "You have no idea what it's like to struggle, Rafe. You've always had everything handed to you on a silver platter."

For a moment, you needed to convince yourself that you saw Rafe's gaze softened. You wanted to believe that a flicker of remorse crossed his features before he quickly masked it with a defiant glare. "At least I don't have to scrape by just to survive. Maybe if you Pogues worked harder, you'd actually amount to something."

His words struck deep, a painful reminder of the challenges you and your community faced every day. You recoiled as if struck by a lightning, your eyes stinging with unshed tears and your face was red, "You don't know anything about me, Rafe. You don't know what I've been through."

Your argument drew the attention of Sarah who was nearby with John. She was one of your best friends and you felt nothing but pity every time you realized that she shared the same blood with Rafe. With a furrowed brow, she stepped between you two, her hands raised in a gesture of peace trying to calm you down.

"Hey, what's going on here? Can't you two go five minutes without arguing?" Sarah pleaded, her voice filled with concern and annoyance. She must be tired with all these arguments, you thought. But those were all about Rafe's incapability to control his temper! And that might or might not be your issue as well...

Rafe shot you a scorching glare before turning his attention to Sarah. "Stay out of this, Sarah. This doesn't concern you."

Your eyes flashed with defiance as you stepped forward beside Sarah. "You're the one who concerns everyone with your existence!"

"What did you say to her, Rafe?!" Sarah looked at you with a concern. You were one of her strongest friends and she rarely saw you tremble like this. "Come on, talk it out like an adult, will ya!"

Rafe's fists clenched at his sides, his frustration boiling over. "Talk? What's there to talk about? I said, stay out of this, Sarah."

His gaze turned to you, "You think you know everything, (Y/N). Being the weaker one of the community, blaming us for having some money. If you said that I don't know anything about you, then you also don't know anything about me!"

His words cut like a blade across your pain. Your expression softened, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes and you were not sure whether Rafe realize that or not. "Let's just cut it out. You would never understand what I've been through. What we have been through. Let's go, Sarah. Let's get out of here."

Sarah watched the exchange with growing concern, her heart aching for her brother and her best friend. She knew there was something deeper at play here, something that neither of them wanted to admit.

"Come on, you two. Let's take a step back and calm down, especially you, Rafe," Sarah suggested, her voice gentle yet firm. She glared at his brother. His face was as red as you, his forehead frowned deep.

You and Rafe exchanged a wary glance before reluctantly exhaled a deep breath. As much as you hate him, as much as you didn't want to admit, you really want him to apologize. The tension in the air began to dissipate, replaced by a palpable sense of unease.

Sarah sighed, running a hand through her hair as she tried to find the right words. "Look, I know things have been tense lately, but I really can't bear another sight of you guys bicker over things. If you still want to do that, please not where I can see you. I need you two to be in your best behavior when I'm around. Especially with you, Rafe. I have enough of you already."

Rafe's gaze softened as he looked at his sister, a pang of guilt tugging at his heart. "You're right, Sarah. I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

Sarah still held her concern, but she relieved to see them finally finding common ground. "It's okay. Now I'll leave it up to you. I can't mom you around like this, geez."

She walked away from you both. She lived long enough with both you and Rafe and there was no way she did not realized that beneath the surface, there was a different kind of tension simmered—a tension born from unspoken feelings and unacknowledged desires.

You stood still, refused to meet his gaze. The wind blew your hair as the sun began to set. You started to feel the chill and instinctively hug your own body, fixing your shirt together. You accidently drew a sharp breath when a cold wind sent chills down your spine. You sniffed and looked over the horizon. Refusing to take even the tiniest glance at him, you kept looking at the sea while stroking your upper arm.

Despite the heat of your argument, Rafe couldn't ignore the way the cold seemed to seep into your bones, making you appeared small and vulnerable against the vast expanse of the beach. His heart ached at this view.

You didn't see that he wanted to reach out, to wrap his arms around you and shield her from the biting wind; his hesitation to offer you warmth and comfort in the midst of your argument.

But his pride held him back, a barrier he had built long ago to protect himself from vulnerability and pain. Yet now, standing on the windswept beach with you before him, he couldn't ignore the truth any longer.

With a heavy sigh, Rafe took a step forward, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. "(Y/N), I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I was out of line."

Your eyes widened in surprise at Rafe's apology, your anger momentarily forgotten as she regarded him with cautious curiosity. You had expected him to be stubborn, to be the usual Rafe: to dig in his heels and refuse to back down. But instead, here he was, standing before you with such humility you'd never seen before.

For a moment, the two of them stood in silence, the only sound the crashing of the waves against the shore. And then, slowly, hesitantly, you took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

"Rafe," you said softly, your voice barely audible above the wind. "Thank you."

And with that, Rafe's resolve crumbled completely. Ignoring the voice of doubt in his mind, he opened his arms and pulled you into a tight embrace, provided you with the warmth of his body against yours. He could feel the softness of your hair against his cheek and he kissed your head softly it almost gave you a heart attack.

So you were not hallucinating all this time. The glances, the gestures, the underlying concern for her.... He felt the same way, too.

In that moment, with the cold wind whipping around them, you knew that he had finally acknowledged his feelings for you. And as you stood together on the windswept beach, you both vowed to never let your pride stand in the way of your connection again.

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salbei-141 · 15 days

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Daddy Issues (John Price x Reader)

Masterlist

word count: 1.4k

warnings: 18+, fluff, angst, comfort, suggestive themes, daddy issues, confession, praise, etc.

a/n: I have exams, but this obviously takes priority (if y'all are doing exams, go revise loves, don't be silly and procrastinate like me, I believe in y'all more than I do me)

I can't lie I may be tempted to write a smutty part 2 to this I dunno...Price is a DILF and I know me and you both got daddy issues - I'm writing Captain Price fanfic after all, and you're consuming it, so I feel like part 2 is may be necessary...

Code name: Scarlet

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

You had missed 48% of your shots today, which was well below your usual average accuracy score. You felt yourself getting frustrated knowing you were better than this - you were a good soldier, you had made it to Task Force 141 all by yourself despite the setbacks.

Reloading your pistol, you moved yourself into the correct position and breathed in deeply, then pulled the trigger. You watched as it hit the outermost line on the target. What was with you today? You stood in silence staring at the target feeling dread crawling up your spine - maybe you weren't as good of a soldier as you'd believed you were. You felt yourself remembering the harsh words of your father reminding you that you were just a useless little girl.

Huffing to yourself, you slammed the gun down in front of you, rubbing your hands over your face, feeling that stinging in your throat. Were you really about to start crying? "Get a fucking grip", you muttered to yourself.

That's when you heard the familiar heavy footsteps of your captain. And before you knew it, his voice was coming from behind you, making you shiver lightly with its deep rumble, "You'll have some catching up to do Scarlet - Gaz and Soap are way ahead of you".

You don't know what it was, but the blatant disappointment in his voice had you wanting to hide away and sob - you were supposed to be his best soldier. The frustration and upset overwhelmed your senses, and you turned to face Price with a stoic expression and snappy tone, "Look can you just fuck off? You think you're making this any easier by standing there and breathing down my neck telling me I'm not good enough?".

He looked surprised - you had never snapped at him like this before, especially in front of other soldiers. He then knitted his brows together, staring deeply into your eyes with a blank expression that felt like the calm before the storm and spoke with a low tone, "Get in my office y/n." He watched as your eyebrows furrowed further and your eyes grew darker, as you went to open your mouth and assumedly defy his order, "Now y/n", you shut your mouth instantly and walked to his office as he towed behind while there was a gentle echo of whispers behind you.

As you opened the door to the office you walked into the centre of the room staring outside the window overlooking the premises. You refused to take a seat - it was defiant, but you also didn't want to get comfortable, you knew you'd fucked up royally.

The fire in you just 5 minutes ago had dwindled - you weren't aggressive to your peers, let alone your superior. But you bit at him - you weren't an aggressive person, just overwhelmed - you hadn't meant it.

You stood rigid and on edge - unsure how Price was going to respond to you. You watched as he rounded you, opting to stand tall in front of you, instead of sitting at his desk as you had hoped for.

"Want to explain what the fuck that was?" He stared down at you with piercing eyes that you were struggling to hold your gaze with his, his voice was gruff and stern.

The fire had dwindled in you completely, and you didn't know what to do or how to respond. You stared up at him looking lost - completely bewildered by your own actions, "I'm...sorry"

He watched as your eyes glazed over, he hadn't expected this when you were raising your voice at him mere moments before.

"What?", his brows furrowed confused by your sudden shedding of tears. You weren't an overly emotional individual and he'd never seen you shed tears during some of your most harrowing missions together.

You looked up at him ashamed - feeling like that useless little girl your father had said you always were, "I said I'm sorry John".

The use of his first name changed everything - it felt informal - he felt like he needed to comfort you as a friend, not as your superior.

"Come here y/n", he beckoned you into his arms, letting you wrap your arms around him and softly cry into his chest. He gently ran his fingers through your hair - unsure of what you needed from him right now, but the calming of your breaths reassured him that he was doing enough.

"What’s wrong?”, he pulled back slightly to see your face - your cheeks had flushed red and your eyes remained glossy with tears.

You shift your eyes around him, trying to avoid his gaze and his question. However, you feel as he gently lifted your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his as he waited for an answer.

“I’m just…overwhelmed”, he raised a brow at this - it was obvious that there was more going on.

“Can you tell me why?”, he sounded so gentle - he genuinely wanted to know - he cared.

You continue holding his gaze feeling the newly familiar burn in your throat as you tried to keep your tears at bay - not that it worked as you felt a few escape and trail down your cheeks again, being caught by John's thumb as he wiped them away.

“Do I disappoint you, John?”

"What?", he looked confused - you were probably his most hard-working soldier - getting this far wasn't easy, and it certainly wouldn't have happened if you were a disappointment.

“Do you ever think that I was a poor choice for 141?”, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing - he’d never doubted your abilities since the day he saw your first induction day to the SAS.

"Not at all love, why?"

"You said that I was falling behind...and my father used to tell me if I wasn't the best then I was just another person wasting everyone's time pretending to be something I wasn't, so I should just give up", you held your breath - never having admitted that.

He held your face gently, "Your father's a fucking idiot then love", you chuckled softly and he smiled seeing this - you weren't the same little girl your father would relentlessly put down; if your 10-year-old self could see you know, she'd be so proud of you, you knew that. John was right - your father was a fucking idiot.

"I couldn't be prouder to have you as a member of 141...but you're more than just a soldier love - I think the only time you've disappointed me was the day you got shit-faced with Johnny after your birthday last year"

You stared at him confused, absentmindedly placing your hands over his wrist that held your face, "Why?"

His tone changed - you'd never heard it come from him, "Because I had planned to ask you out -and finally taste those lips of yours"

Your cheeks felt hot as you blushed, shocked by his confession, "Why haven't you said anything?"

He leaned slightly closer to you, smelling the perfume that clung to your skin, "Lost the courage like the idiot I was"

You smile at him, your eyes having dried from the previous tears, "Well don't be an idiot again".

He chuckled lowly, "Don't plan on it love".

He pulled you closer to him, leaning down to meet your lips, kissing you softly, tasting the salt that lingered on your lips. He felt as you gently nipped his lip, feeling the way you smiled into him. He gently pushed you up against his desk, intensifying the kiss, as you both started to feel hotter, your senses overwhelmed by your captain as you felt his body pressed against yours. You gently pushed at his chest, making him pull away and look down at you - your pupils were blown, making him smirk.

"Take me on a date first?"

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead and spoke lowly, "Of course love - as much I want to fuck you against my desk right now, I think I'd rather take you out first and fuck you in my bed, hm?"

You blushed hard at him, "Maybe you'll get to fuck me against your desk another time"

"I hope so love", he smirked stepping away and holding his hand out to you, "Best get back out there before someone comes to check on you thinking I've lost it on you, huh?"

You smiled at him stepping around him to leave, "Good girl", you stopped in your tracks, ready to turn back around.

"Didn't tell you to stop", you sighed as you heard his low laugh as you left his office to go back to your target - everything before being forgotten as your Captain preoccupied your mind for the rest of the day.

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ofstarsandvibranium · 2 months

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Playing with Fire: The Photobooth

Fandom: Marvel (Dad's Best Friend AU)

Pairing: DBF!Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: Your dad's coworker and best friend, Bucky, decides to tag along with you on your errands after your boyfriend bailed on you last minute.

A/N: Bucky is in his late 40s, reader in her mid to late 20s. inspo came from these recent pics of seb.

The Book Store

Further into downtown, you stop at another store that sold different types of knick knacks and gifts.

Bucky follows you out of your car and towards the store, "Yelena's birthday is coming up so I figured I can check this place out for some stuff for her."

"I'm following you, sugar," Bucky says as he enters the store and is immediately met with a plethora of color and trinkets.

You zero in on a shelf that displays little crystal figurines. You smile at the ones shaped like animals, some shaped like Pokemon and Sanrio characters.

Yelena always had a thing for elephants so you immediately pick up an elephant carving made from amethyst.

"Those are cute," Bucky says as he looks over your shoulder.

You turn to him with a grin, "Right?! Lena, would love this," you hold up the elephant with a wide smile.

"She likes elephants?"

You nod, "She likes how smart and cute they are."

Bucky watches as you head to the pay counter and ask the cashier if you could place the crystal carving there for now. When the cashier nods, you thank them and head back to Bucky.

"I just wanted to make sure I don't accidentally drop it while I look around."

Bucky continues to follow you around the store until his eyes land on a photobooth in the corner. His eyes brighten, "Oh, hey! Check this out!" He takes your hand and leads you to the booth, "Haven't used one of these since high school."

You scrunch your face up as you think, "I don't think I've actually used one of these before."

Bucky looks at you in surprise, "Really?" You shrug and he opens the curtain to it, "Well let's do one then."

You snort, "Seriously?"

"Yeah, c'mon. Better late than never, right?" He takes your hand again and pulls you in. He sits on the bench and you do your best to squeeze in beside him.

"This isn't gonna work out, here," he has you stand and then he pulls you onto his leg, "Better?"

You gulp, "Y-Yeah."

You try not to pay attention to the hand that rests on your hip as he pays and picks out the amount of pictures and strips. He leans back and points at the screen, "Okay. It's gonna count down for us before every picture. There'll be four pictures all together so be ready."

"Right. Got it. What should we do first?"

"Uuuuhhh happy?"

You giggle and you both smile when the screen counts down to one. You two work quick, "Sad?"

The both of you do your best to look sad. You frown while Bucky straight up looks like he's wailing. When the camera snaps, you lose it. You find Bucky's face absolutely hilarious and he's watching you laugh at him. You're too caught up in the moment to realize that the countdown started and took your picture.

"Oh crap. Uuuuhhh, silly face?" he asks and you nod.

You blow out your cheeks and cross your eyes. He pulls out his ears and sticks his tongue out.

He pulls back the curtain again and has you step out first. You realize how warm you are now so you start to fan yourself. He walks out with a grin, "That was fun."

He leans against the booth while waiting for the pictures to print, "I can't believe you never used one of these before."

"Just never caught my interest, I guess. But I definitely see the appeal now. I'll have to come back with Yelena to use it."

Bucky cocks a brow, "Not your boyfriend?"

Your smile weakens at the mention of your boyfriend, "Oh, um, John doesn't like taking pictures together. He thinks they're dumb."

Bucky's brows raise, "Thinks they're dumb?"

You shrug, "He thinks taking pictures together and posting them is like showing off. So he said he doesn't need to show off our relationship because we both know we're in one. I don't really get it, but I got tired of arguing with him on wanting to have keepsakes for memories," you look down in shame. The only person who knows how John is like is Yelena. When around your dad, John puts up a front. Like he's the perfect guy to you. He's not bad, but sometimes he's not good either.

"And this is the same boyfriend who ditched you today?" Bucky asks with a look on his face you can't even decipher. Is he mad? Annoyed?

"He didn't necessarily ditch me, Bucky. He had a deadline to meet for his capstone project."

"Right and I'm sure he already knew of this deadline and proceeded to procrastinate anyway."

You cross your arms over your chest defensively, "What's your issue with him? You don't even know him, Bucky."

"You're right, I don't, but from just the little information you've given me today, I don't think he's the right guy for you."

"Don't think you have a say in the guys I get involved with, Bucky," you say with a scoff and turn around to walk away but he grabs you by the elbow, "Wait, wait."

You turn back to him and raise a brow, arms crossed over your chest. He sighs, "I'm sorry. I just know you deserve better."

"Thanks but I'll be the judge of that, Bucky. I'm an adult. I'm responsible for my own decisions."

"Yeah. I know, but still. You deserve to be with someone who isn't afraid to show you off, ya know? Makes time with you and does everything to make you happy."

You nod, "I know. Thanks, Bucky."

"Sure," he lets you go to continue to shop for Yelena.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dbf!bucky #dbf!bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #f!reader #fem!reader #female!reader

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runnning-outof-time · 5 months

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John & "Listen to yourself.”

Angst to fluff!

Thanks for sending this in, anon! I’m sorry it took me a bit to get to write it! I hope it’s along the lines of what you were thinking of! Also just try to imagine it’s (Y/N) instead of Esme in the gif - I felt that it fit the scene and couldnt help but use it! Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration - find more stories here!

But I Got Your Mind Off of It

John Shelby x Reader

Warnings: language, mention of a weapon

Word Count: 1111

Summary: John manages to talk (Y/N) off the ledge before she blows up the longest relationship she has over something so silly…which happens to be something she’s also done before.

The sound of the bang that the door closing made was even loud enough to make John Shelby jump. He scrambled from the table he was sitting at to get over to the concealed hole in the wall where a revolver was nestled. He was just about to access it when he noticed who had slammed the door.

“The fuck was that for, (Y/N)?” he asked his wife, his brows furrowing together in confusion.

(Y/N) didn’t hear him though. She was too busy pacing the floor while muttering unintelligible things. Something about someone being stupid and never wanting to see them again. John wracked his brain for a moment, trying to figure out if it was something that he’d done.

He decided to finally approach her when he came up empty. “What’s goin’ on with you, love?” he asked her, hoping that his voice was level enough so that she wouldn’t get set off…even more than she all already had been.

“I just can’t believe she did that to me,” she finally spoke clear enough for John to hear what she was saying.

“Who did what?” John still didn’t quite understand what was going on.

“Mary,” (Y/N) snapped, as if she was annoyed that John hadn’t come into the conversation with all of the details.

But that didn’t stop John from asking more questions. “What did Mary do?” was his next one.

“She stood me up. We had an entire evening planned and then she cancelled last minute!” she didn’t hesitate in sharing her frustrations, aggravation starkly present in her words.

John furrowed his eyebrows as he took a moment to figure out which way he should approach the situation. (Y/N) was not one to be messed with when she was hot about something, and he hadn’t seen her this worked up in a long time. But before he was able to do anything however, (Y/N) was turning to leave the shop.

“That’s it!” she proclaimed as she made for the door, “I’m going to give her a piece of my mind!” She then started angrily walking towards the door. Just as her left hand reached for the knob, her right was pulled backwards. She gasped as she was spun and within seconds, her back was pressed against the brick wall. Her eyes widened as she looked at her husband, who now had her pinned so that she couldn’t leave.

“You’re not going anywhere…not like this, at least,” he told her, speaking in a calm voice because he knew that if he raised it, all hell would break loose.

“Let me go, John,” she huffed, trying, and failing, to break from his grasp.

“Why did she cancel?” he asked, not giving into her wishes.

Lucky for him, (Y/N) was all for giving the details now. “She ditched me to spend time with her new man. We had this night planned for weeks just to have her call me earlier today saying that he’s asked her out for dinner. She’s ditching me for dinner!” She was fuming by the end of her explanation, all of her anger washing back in again. Who ditches their best friend of over 10 years to have dinner with a guy?? The thought of it was absurd!

John searched her eyes for a moment, waiting to see if she had anything else to add. When she stayed silent, he couldn’t help but break into stiffled laughter. This made (Y/N)’s brows furrow. “What the fuck are you laughing about, John?!” she asked incredulously, not sure if she was now more upset with her friend or her husband.

“Listen to yourself, (Y/N),” he began, surpressing his laughter so that a more serious air would fall over the conversation once more.

“What?” she snapped back at him.

“What Mary’s doing…” he started, shaking his head slightly as he snorted to himself, “you did the exact same thing to her when you started seeing me.”

“I did not!” she immediately proclaimed, shocked that he wasn’t taking her side on this matter.

“You absolutely did,” he stood firm with his point.

“Yeah? When?”

“One of the first dates I took you on. I brought you out for dinner, and you told me that you felt so bad for having to cancel your plans with your best friend.”

“Yeah, but…but I felt bad about it,” (Y/N) was quick to point out.

“You don’t think Mary feels bad about it?” John asked with raised eyebrows.

“At least I didn’t cancel the day of!” she pointed out another - what she at least thought was a - flaw in John’s argument.

“Well maybe unlike your amazingly considerate then-boyfriend, now-husband, her boyfriend doesn’t have the same regards to the possibility that Mary had other plans.”

“You’re so full of yourself, John,” (Y/N) snorted as a smile broke passed the deep frown she was wearing.

“Just stating the facts, love,” he winked at her, making her roll her eyes in response. “But I got your mind off of it, didn’t I?” he questioned then.

(Y/N) pursed her lips as she realized what he’d done. Then she silently cursed him and his ability to make her mood change on a dime. She waited a few moments before she, begrudgingly, replied: “you did.”

“Good. Mission accomplished,” he grinned, finally letting go of her hands so that he could settle both of his under her jaw. “Now what I’m hearing from you is…” he paused, licking his lips as his grin grew bigger, “that you’ve got the night free.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes again, trying so hard to keep up the act that she was angry. But it was so damn hard with him looking at her the way he was. “My night is free now,” she finally answered him.

“Which means you’re able to spend it with me?” he checked.

“You don’t have any duties to carry out at the Garrison?” she responded with a question of her own.

“None that are as important as me wife,” he grinned.

“You can be so cheesy sometimes.”

“But I got your mind off of what you were mad about, didn’t I?”

“Just take me out on the town…before I go and change my mind,” she dismissed his question, though the look on her face told him immediately that he was absolutely right.

“You don’t need to ask me twice,” he grinned before he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. “Let’s go,” he said after pulling away, reaching down to take her hand in his and lead her out of the betting shop.

**tagging in a reblog so the notification gets sent out!

MASTERLIST

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby x y/n #john shelby imagine #john shelby blurb #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #k’s 3.5k celebration

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princessbrunette · 6 months

Note

protective stepbro!jj when a guy hurts/makes reader cry 🥵

ALL SQUARE ♡

CW: mentions of JJ’s dad abusing him briefly at start, violence, step-cest, angry JJ !!

JJ was pretty shitty with his feelings. God, he’d die before having an ‘open conversation’ with someone about ‘boundaries’ or writing in a diary like that mandatory counsellor who visit him after his dad had left some gnarly knuckle stains on his face for the trillionth time had suggested. No, it wasn’t his style. You keep moving, keep talking, keep runnin’ and nothing can catch up with you. Nothing can hurt you.

You were so different.

It was almost painful, how sensitive you were. Your lip quivered at those TV commercials where they’d show the abused puppies in cages waiting for adoption, JJ often having to beat you to your phone before you donated a handful of the money you didn’t have. Your eyes would drop to your lap in humiliation when his asshole father would make some kind of offhand impertinent comment about the bunnies on your pyjamas or the fact your fresh nail polish on your toes was making the living room stink of chemicals. No longer abusive, but still an insensitive asshole. JJ didn’t know how your mother subsisted, but then again she wasn’t like you— soft and saccharine, she was tough. She kept his father in his place, he needed that.

Your common sensitivity was why his heart only leapt halfway out the confines of his ribcage when he found you. He’d come home around 4ish, having stayed over at John B’s, something he used to be able to do for weeks on end but now couldn’t bare to leave you lonely in the house for longer than 2 days. He remembers now, your work uniform, when he sees the back of you first— white polo top hugging you, skirt bunching a little from your feet being curled beneath you on the futon, gold clasped necklace kissing the peach fuzz at the back of your neck. He smiles before he notices the way your shoulders are slumped dejectedly and you sniffle wetly into your knuckles.

He doesn’t greet you in his usual silly way, this time traipsing around the futon in the living room with his brow pinched until he was met front on with the confirmation that you were crying.

“What happened?” He sighs. Undoubtably, you’d watched a Tiktok of ‘Cats who didn’t get picked at the adoption centre today’ or accidentally smashed one of your pink plates you insisted you ate off.

“I hate this job, J.” You bleat, lips turned down and gloopy eyes flickering to him a few times. He sits at your side, hand hovering over you for a moment before deciding on your shoulder what he hoped was comfortingly. Okay, that answer was pretty valid. You’d recently picked up a job at the golf course, Kook central. He hated the idea of you shuffling skittishly around after those belligerent assholes, having them peak up the pleats of your skirt when you bend to fetch a ball or to snap their fingers at you when you don’t retrieve their champagne fast enough. But, you’d needed a job and he respected you for trying. He fought with everything to hold in the “I told you that place was bad news.” until he couldn’t, and said it anyway.

“I know.” You mewl pathetically, wiping your glossy nostrils on the back of your hand leaving a snail trail of snot down it.

“Talk to me, c’mon.” He shuffles a little closer, eager to hear the details, to find out who / what had made his sweet little step-sister so downcast. His brain flashes to what he might think would be the usual culprits. From what he’d seen however, Topper was oddly respectful to the help, Rafe didn’t care enough to bully them and Kelce just did whatever Rafe did, so maybe not.

“Y’know that property salesman guy, the — the one who’s got his picture plastered on all those benches outside the town square. I kept gettin’ in his way and,” You hiccup harshly, taking a moment to swallow it down as you collect yourself. JJ stares at your profile attentively, eyes wide and jogging his knee. He wish you’d hurry up and get to the point. “He kept yelling at me. Callin’ me names, like stupid and useless.” Your eyes finally meet JJ’s, flickering around for a moment hesitantly. He has a fresh cut on his jaw and through his eyebrow, his blonde hair sticking out his backwards cap curls at his temples, his eyes are a little tired and bloodshot but still wide and beautiful. Oh, you hated to see him mad. You push your sleeve higher up your arm, and look equally shocked to see the fresh bruise had darkened, the shape of yucky thick fingers curled around it. “He yanked me really hard n’I lost my footing and fell.” Your face crumples again, hot tears squeezing out your eyes.

JJ goes very still, his knee frozen and he barely breathes. Not only had someone been mean to you, but they’d laid their hands on you.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.” He seethes and you’re already shaking your head desperately before he’s even finished his sentence. “Yes, yes I am— not only, okay — not only is he laying his hands on a woman, alright — he’s laying his hands on you. That behaviour needs to be straightened out, and if no one’s gonna do it well —” He was up, pacing infront of you, looking around for something, some inspiration on what he could do to this degenerate Kook.

“Jayj!” You snivel, and it sounded so sad and small that it actually stops him in his tracks. He didn’t wanna scare you, no. Not you of all people, not when you’d been treated like this. He had a temper, it was true— his father’s son, but he was trying to be there for you. Be a good big step-brother. He sighs, rubbing his hands down his face a good few times trying to wipe off the anger, for now atleast. You could see the self restraint in him, his biceps were tense and his hands were flushed with colour and veins from the strain of it all. Made your tummy go all weird.

“Alright.” He relents and sits down right next to you again, taking off his cap and tossing it aside carelessly to run his fingers through the tangled locks, snagging half way through.

“I need this job.” You speak after a moment, and he turns his head to look at you. You looked so pretty, even when you’d been crying, snot and all. He rubs his lips together, eyes casted away once more as he nods.

“I know.” He wrings his wrists, the signs of restlessness still residing in him. “Sorry I freaked... C’mere.” He turns back, windscreen wiping the inky droplets of watered down mascara from beneath your eyes, hot hands cupping your cheekbones. “People are assholes, babe.” He lets the nickname slip out and your face gets a bit warmer. “You’re so much better than them, y’hear me? You’ll be alright.” He leans in and presses a kiss to the centre of your forehead. It feels appropriate, but he’s not sure what that means anymore — the line between the two of you having been crossed in such demented ways before. God, you look up at him so sweet when he pulls away, big watery eyes that would put a baby cow to shame. “You’re tough.” He lies, because you’re not tough, you’re so far from it— but your cheeks push up anyway, easily subdued by his care and affection.

“Yeah?”

“The toughest girl around. Even I’m scared of ‘ya.” He jokes and you giggle. Mission accomplished, for now anyway. The first part of the mission. He’d sweet talked you enough to have you curled up on the couch, exhausted from your long and stressful day, some reality show he couldn’t care less about buzzing on the TV. Yeah, that’ll do— some form of promise to go and grab some icecream to bring you leaves his mouth when he jogs out the door pocketing his keys and you believe him. He’s sure he can pick some up on the way home anyway.

But he passes the convenience store and heads all the way to the golf course. One of JJ’s many rules to mischief and misconduct was that if you walked with enough purpose, no one will question whether or not you belong somewhere. Which is how he strides straight in, past all the Kooks in their crisp shirts and board shorts, a jolly atmosphere in the air as the sun starts to set. Oh happy day, JJ thinks, how nice to be this ignorant to the world around you.

He all but skids to a stop when he spots him, the man he was looking for. Mr Mattegar, top salesman to Kildares richest idiots. Overpriced houses and redecoration jobs that remove any historical significance from a property? You best believe it’s Mattegars handiwork. He lounges at the bar, reddy-orangey cocktail in hand as he laughs obnoxiously loud amongst friends. JJ hangs back a little, nose twitching in anger as he disguises himself clumsily behind a large decorative plant. He’s lucky Kooks are so self absorbed, because no one spares him a glance.

Finally, the successful salesman departs from his table, heading towards the car park. Perfect, JJ notes, makes my job a hell of a lot more easy. The car park is secluded, away from the resort, and as JJ keeps his eyes trained on the Kooks back, he plucks a golf club from a passing trolley, clutching it in his tightly wound fist. He was going to find out which obnoxious Rangerover belonged to the culprit and partake in some much deserved vandalism, but this was better. His chest feels hot with vexation.

Another one of JJ’s many mischief guidelines fell along the lines of ‘Don’t think, just do.’ He stayed true to his word when he yanked up the paisley bandana tied around his neck to cover everything but his eyes and yelled out “Hey asshole!” Once the two of them were alone.

He didn’t think when he swung with the club, the metal head cracking against the aged man’s cheekbone. He yelps, falling backwards, and JJ is still yet to think when he swings again. “S’what you get! Laying your hands on little girls just tryna do their jobs!” He should have started thinking. The more he uses his voice, spitting out the expletives as he gives him a good few kicks to the rib, the more identifiable he’d be. This was a hit and run so uh, run.

He takes off, yanking his bandana off to pant wetly by the docks, tossing the golf club and watching it sink. He wasn’t sure why he’d referred to you as a ‘little girl’. It made him feel icky, weird, perverted. He leans over the side of the wall, watching the metal club disappear into the inky water as he catches his breath. Murmuring out a ‘God damn’ before continuing on home briskly, not even forgetting to pick up your favourite Ben & Jerry’s on the way home. What was that flavour you liked again? Phish Food?

You’re conked out when he gets home, lips parted and curled infront of the TV with a blanket draped over your legs. He exhales through his nose, placing the tub of frozen dessert aside on the table along with his keys as he slowly approaches, a small but anxious smile on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, but for you there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do. He pulls the blanket over you a little higher, dropping a kiss to your temple. He’ll share the tub of icecream with you when you wake up.

#tw stepcest #stepbro!jj #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank drabble #jj maybank blurb

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ruewrote · 1 year

Text

𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑑.

PAIRING: jj maybank x fem!reader WARNINGS: none GENRE: fluff, f2? SONG INSPIRATION: just cant get enough by black eyed peas WORD COUNT: 868

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you never had much money. living as a pogue proved that, but you didn't care.

you didn't keep up with the latest cosmopolitan since you were out surfing instead.

getting dirty looks from kooks as they judged your worn-out tops to your ripped vans, but you had no shame about it. holding your head high as they whispered behind you.

from time to time you wondered how it'd be to live big and fancy, but wouldn't trade what you had with your friends for anything else.

from the lazy hangouts at the chateau to the risky adventures, the bond that pogues had was unmatched. they were your family.

so when you started your new job working at the kooks country club you wanted to show your gratitude and bought each of them small gifts.

a golden turtle broch for kiera, an expensive pair of trainers for pope, and so on and so forth.

everyone was hyped about their gifts, you received many hugs and thanks but not jj. he sat on the sofa, rolling the black marble ring that you had gotten for him between his fingers.

an appreciative smile displayed on your lips, standing up and walking over to you, interrupting the conversation that you were having with sarah. giving you a knowing nod, she sat on john b's lap across the room, her arm around his neck, his hand on her waist.

"is everything okay?" concerned as jj sat beside you, his knee knocking into your own whilst doing so.

"i cant accept this." that made you frown and your brow furrow.

"of course you can, i wanted to spoil you a little. it's well overdue from all of the times that you've either paid for my food or i've stolen yours." playfully nudging his arm with yours, jj still didn't look convinced.

"you deserve this. as much as you're talking yourself out of it, it's true. its about time you got some well-deserved appreciation." you persisted, nudging the ring gently back to his chest.

still looks doubtful you made a promise.

"okay fine if you take this, this one time, no more expensive presents. only because i have one to match." lifting your hand gesturing to your pinky, slipping his on, and wrapping his finger around your own.

"promise?"

"promise."

you stuck to what you said to jj, you hadn't bought him a single expensive item, maybe treated him to dinner from time only after arguing back and forth about it, it ending in him giving in.

you had also made it your life's goal to make him gifts, whether it be finding pretty shells on the beach or decorated notes of appreciation.

yeah, it might've been insignificant to anyone else, but you felt a sense of pride when you watched his face light up at the silly little homemade trinkets.

from then on it just became a random thing you did for him even if you didn't get the others anything.

both of you agreed for him to sleep at your house since his dad was not having a... particularly good day and obviously not wanting him to be at the receiving end of it, he crashed at yours. this happened often enough that your parents let him stay over as long as the door was open.

so now you stood over the stove, stirring the pasta that was bubbling for the mac and cheese that you were making. jj making it ten times harder as he started doing stuff to distract you like eating the pre-grated cheese.

your hand slapping his wrist as he yet again went to reach his fingers into the bowl.

"i swear to god if i have to tell you again jay!" he giggled and ran out of the kitchen as you grabbed the cloth off of the side, following not far behind him.

after a while of chasing each other around the house, you finally cornered him in the living room, trying to whip the material.

unfortunately for you, he managed to snatch it out of your hands, wrapping his arms around your body and falling onto the couch on top of you so you couldn't do anything.

"let go of me!" wriggling around to find a way out.

"why would i do that when i know what the outcome will be? hey im dumb but im not that dumb."

letting out a huff, you relaxed into his arms knowing there wouldn't be any way of getting him to budge. he overpowered you every time.

"ugh fuck you dude!"

"you wish sweetheart!" jj winked at you, it wasn't until then that you realized the position you two were in.

he laid on top of you, in between your legs. faces two inches apart. your mouth went dry, looking at him was an even bigger mistake because when his eyes flickered from your lips to your eyes... you melted.

jj leaned in closer, your lips nearly touching when the smoke alarm goes off.

"shit the food!" you both dashed to the kitchen, turning off the fire, and making sure everything was fine. it was. laughing relieved.

you both wished deep down that the alarm had never gone off.

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johnwickb1tsch · 3 months

Text

Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 5 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and now featuring @tammykelly

Original Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

Lovely Readers! You can now follow the tag # Wicked Johnson Fic to follow along more easily! ❤❤❤

Johnwickb1tsch:

John lets you rest after wrecking you for the umpteenth time, disappearing off somewhere. You put off leaving the bedroom for as long as you can, but in the end you can't stand it anymore. You rummage in the closet for a new shirt. Your choices are black, black, and you'll never guess... black.

This house must belong to John.

How many safe houses does that man have?

When you walk out of the bedroom in your new getup you find Tex in the living room watching TV. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“We have got to get you some clothes, baby girl.”

You shrug. The boxer t-shirt combo is actually pretty comfy.

You think you might make your way to the kitchen, but Tex snaps his fingers at you as you try to walk past.

You turn to look at him with a raised brow.

“Can I help you?”

That was the wrong thing to say, obviously.

His grin is that of a hungry wolf.

“I bet you can. C'mere, darlin'.”

You sigh, but after your little lesson with John, you're not quite so inclined to defy him.

Yet.

You're going to have to get smarter about how you expend your energy.

Easier said than done.

You pad over next to him. He pats his thigh in invitation, but you opt to sit next to him instead. This lasts for about two seconds, before he hauls you into his lap with his big hands and his strong arms.

Goddammit.

“That's better,” he says with a sly grin, holding you close.

You take a moment to look at him—really look at him, from up close. The sweep of his almond shaped eyes, his high cheek bones and the short scruff of his beard. He stares back at you, unabashedly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes at you, bumping his forehead with yours. You wish it wasn't adorable. Fucking man child, making you feel things.

“Wanna watch tv?”

It beat anything else he could dream up, so you agree. You hadn't forgot that he still owed you for your flipping of the bird earlier. You're sure he hasn't either.

He turns on some stupid gratuitous action flick, and you kind of zone out. Your thoughts drift to John, and the things he told you in-between fucking you silly.

He'd said that he and Tex would not take on the FBI just for a plaything, or a whore. Deep down, you knew what that meant.

It meant, they had no real intention of letting you go. The thought filled you with equal parts dread—and wonder.

Why the fuck would not one, but two fine ass men like this want you, for keeps? It's beyond your comprehension—and if you're honest, kind of flattering. Bat shit fucking crazy, but flattering.

Either that, or it's just...convenient. Your circumstances created a perfect storm from which to snatch you without a trace or a person to care about getting you back.

"Want to see somethin'?" asks Tex, interrupting your reverie.

"Okay?"

He clicks play on the remote once he has your attention. You watch as a 1970s muscle car jumps an impossible ramp, then lands roughly on the other side of a canal. "That was me."

You lift an eyebrow, looking back at him. "In the car?"

"Yeah."

He's grinning like a little kid, clearly proud.

"You were a stunt man?"

"Uh huh."

You tilt your head, trying to put pieces together and failing. The square block is not fitting in the circle hole.

"Then why...?"

"Killin' people pays better, believe me. Less dangerous, too."

A chill runs down your spine.

"Oh."

Your gaze drifts away, but he turns it back to him with a hand on your chin. Those jet black eyes bore into yours, like he can see into your soul. His eyes flick down to your mouth, a moment before he leans in to kiss you. Your first instinct is to offer teeth, before you remember if you have to have sex one more time in the next twenty-four hours, you might literally die. You slip your tongue into the seam of his lips, and feel him smile against your mouth.

"Mmm. A man could get used to this."

He slides his hand up your thigh, fingertips sneaking past the loose hem of your boxer shorts.

You wrap your fingers around his, praying. "Tex, please."

"Like the sound of that," he says between kisses, outmuscling you to move his hand higher.

"I'm so sore."

"Sounds like an excuse to me. John gets you to himself but I don't?"

"It's not my fault you're both hung like horses."

This appeal to his ego makes him grin. "Ain't you a lucky girl?"

"Only if you don't hurt me."

He has the gall to give you a pouty face. Again, it should be fucking ridiculous, but somehow it's cute. He cups the side of your face, pushing his thumb between your lips. "How sore is your mouth?" he asks, eyes glittering.

It's not high on your list of things you want to do, but you're having to weigh your options these days. You suck his thumb, and you swear you watch a fire ignite in his eyes.

"Also sore," you say around his digit, sounding ridiculous as he presses down on your tongue. Your jaws hurt. Even your mouth is bruised from kissing. Jesus. You're not a goddamn python.

You try to retreat, but he forces his thumb deeper.

Absolutely out of instinct to defend yourself, you start to bite him.

Maybe you stop yourself before it can hurt or you break skin, but for the wicked gleam in his eyes you know it doesn’t matter. Suddenly you find yourself flipped on your stomach over his lap, as though you are nothing but a doll.

“You are a nippy little thing, you know that?” When he wrenches down your boxers, propping your ass in the air with his trunk of a thigh beneath you, you’re afraid you know exactly what he has in mind.

“No—”

His hand between your shoulder blades pins you down. “You’re just going to make it worse for yourself,” he says in a sing-song tone, almost as though he hopes you will fight him more. His fingers fanned out over your butt cheek rub lightly, soothing over your copious bruises. It feels so good that the first stinging smack makes you jump sky-high.

“Hey!”

“Hush and take your licks, little girl.”

“I hate you!”

“I was gonna say five, for flippin’ me off, but now it’s six. Comprende?”

You whimper, but for the first time since this whole fiasco started, you do the smart thing and shut your dumb fucking mouth, hanging your head in the pillows with resignation.

He’s just spanking you, you reason. How bad can it be?

He has a hand like a catcher’s mitt and arms corded with muscle.

Bad. The answer, is bad.

Yet he doesn’t lay into you immediately, soothing you with featherlight touches over your buttocks and the backs of your thighs. That part feels good, actually, and fuck you if you don’t start to feel the stirrings of desire between your legs.

What. The ever loving. FUCK. Is wrong with you?

“So pretty,” he says, toying with the bend of your knee. It makes your toes curl, and he offers up a deep chuckle that you almost feel more than hear. “You like that?”

“Yes,” you answer meekly, closing your eyes.

“See, I can be sweet, if you’re sweet to me.”

The next smack on the other cheek makes you jump again, but this time you do not protest.

“Ahh. She can be taught.”

You whimper, but keep your expletives to yourself. This is not exactly what you would call sweet…but the contrast of the stinging blows with his featherlight touch afterwards is doing things to you that you do not understand.

“Take this off,” he demands, lifting the hem of your shirt up your back.

For once, you obey him the first time, squirming in your awkward position on your belly and pulling it over your shoulders, leaving you bare and totally exposed upon his lap. He runs his fingers up the curve of your spine, making you shudder upon him. You can’t see his smug grin, but you know, you just fucking know it’s there.

Smack.

You can’t help but cry out, but the pleasure and the pain is strangely starting to meld together. Your treacherous, stupid little cunt has begun to throb, and as his fingers caress dangerously close to your crease you find that you wish he would touch you there.

By the time he’s finished with your licks you are a finely trembling, aching mess on his lap, your fingers like claws in the throw pillow, your ass in the air as though begging for it of its own volition.

Finally he does dip his thick fingers into your weeping slit, groaning to himself for the wetness he finds there. He circles your bud with the thick tip of his finger, making you moan and arch into him like the stupid little hypocrite you are.

“That’s a mighty nice little pussy you’ve got there,” he says, his voice turned pure gravel with desire. “Too bad you’re too sore.”

He withdraws and shoves you off his lap as he stands, leaving you in a heap of pliable naked limbs on the couch. The frustrated sound that escapes your throat is barely human, and the grin he pays you is the baring of teeth from a predator to a rabbit across the wood.

“Now don’t let me catch you touchin’ yourself,” he warns, looming over you. “You won’t like what happens next.”

On that note he struts off, and you watch him go with a glare, unable to stop yourself from thinking he has the nicest, tightest little butt this side of the Mississippi river.

Bastard.

Sweetwolfcupcake:

You sit there for a good few minutes--- letting yourself just feel and realise what has happened.

No, because you realise it now-- so much has happened, you have sort of developed a temporary immunity to it all. A coping mechanism for your mind.

That is what it does when things go very wrong very quickly-- bolt out of the blue? Worry not, you won't even register it properly.

That is how your works, you realise as you slowly begin to dress yourself again. The slick between your thighs is hard to ignore but the ignited desire begins to subdue as you focus on making yourself aware-- really aware of what has happened.

John's words regarding Bradford felt like a promise and as you realise that he is gone, you fear he has gone after the agent.

You hope and pray that he is not as impulsive as you consider him to be because, with your time spent with Bradford, you have come to know of two things-- one, he is very resourceful, and second, he is no fool. He is an exceptionally intelligent, stubborn man-- whom you considered to be moral, almost idealistic. So, his betrayal has come as a shock to you.

You can't swallow it, somehow-- and his actions are not helping either. If John has bribed him and he accpeted-- why is he still messing with them, then?

What does he really want?

He has a family--

You blink.

Teenagers, he said. He isn't that old. Until...

Until he was a college dad or something. He never even mentioned a wife.

You lick your lips dress yourself as quickly as you can and rush out of the room. Finding Tex in the kitchen, you almost call for him.

Almost because you stop.

Baffled at your own instincts.

What are you doing? Don't you miss your previous life? Don't you want to be free again?

You realise you still do but you can't see them hurt. You don't want them hurt, in any way, under any circumstances.

They make you feel like a battlefield-- a battlefield for your mind, heart and body. You just stare on, lost in thoughts and questions. But Tex senses your presence.

"Sit down, accidentally added an extra egg to my omelette." He says while plating an omelette and bringing it to you-- it does not look like an accidental extra, but you chose not to comment. "Why aren't you sat?" He asks with a tilt of his head, but amusement is dancing in his orbs.

And he's back at his assholery again, just when you begin to think of him as 'not too bad'.

You sigh, too many thoughts running around to even try wiping off that annoying smirk out of his unfairly gorgeous face. You simply steel yourself and sit down-- refusing to give him the satisfaction of any reaction from you. You grind your teeth in silence, tensing up at the ache when you feel the cushioned surface against your clothed rear-- at least it isn't only wood-- that would have been way more painful. But it still hurts. Yet, you don't show it.

You've had enough of their games. Whatever they are doing, you realise that they are, perhaps winning at it. You were going to warn Tex about Bradford? You don't want John to go after Bradford-- and the first reason you think of is 'What if it's a trap'? And not 'What if Bradford dies?'

This change concerns you. You still haven't decided what you wish to do. Tell them that Bradford's actually too young to have teenagers? Are they foolish enough to not cross-check? You decide on a different approach.

"Where did John go?"

The question comes off in low, uncertain whisper, but Tex is already seated beside you with his own plate.

When did he even do that?

Tex raises an eyebrow and scoffs but holds your gaze for a moment.

"You're not worried about that agent, are ya?"

His ability to guess your thoughts (partially, to your fortune) catches you off guard and of course, it shows on your dumb face as he smirks. This time though, it does not seem as playful as before. This time, it puts you on edge as you let out a measured breath, feeling more alert than you have been in John's silent presence before.

"No--I...." You almost spill out the truth, before breaking the eye-contact and getting some hold on yourself "I was just...wondering."

"Don't worry, he went to get you somethin' to wear, so that you don't keep dirtying ours."

Your hold on the spoon tightens at that jab. It's lighter than most of his earlier ones but it somehow irks you to a certain point of burn.

You assume he is clever enough to not give you a fork because, at the moment, you want to poke him with one.

"I'm done."

You declare curtly before letting your spoon fall on the plate and pushing it away. You need some time away from their overpowering presence, you need your sanity, your rationality intact, after all.

Rising from your seat, you rush towards the bedroom with the hope of some solitude. You need that.

Tammykelly:

You barely get to the bedroom on the second floor, the forever lingering ache between your legs and anger in your heart not letting you think about anything else but a much needed distraction.

This bastard is fucking diabolical, you think to yourself, hoping the negative energy of your denial will give strength to your knees and outweigh how much your body is screaming at you to take care of the little, annoyingly loud problem created by Tex. God, they’ve trained you well.

After you’ve freshened up in the master bathroom, you sit down in a big armchair, next to the bed, still feeling frustrated, though mostly at yourself and the hopelessness of your situation.

You glance around the room once again, remembering where they’ve locked their tools, including knives that you’re pretty sure are sharp enough to cut through anything with ease. You lean back, lost in thoughts, letting your back rest against the soft cushion. You close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing pattern, after a while feeling like your body reflexes have started to calm down and the blood in your veins has acquired breath of its own, as you begin to watch yourself, as if from the third person pov.

The shrunken space of your focus seems to have been expanded, simultaneously, the room seems to have been sealed in a vacuum bubble, it’s just you and the memory of where the knives lay. You get up with determination, feeling confident enough to try anything within the boundaries of what’s allowed but timid enough to be mindful about possible consequences.

You can surely just look at them, they won’t punish you if you don’t use them.

You think about an array of ways how you’d break the lock before opening the cabinet, and run your fingers over the blades that you know could easily cut you in half through the application of force necessary to do so. You take one out, studying it, as if trying it on, wondering how much this razor-sharp knife has seen and will witness. You twirl it around, pondering whether you’d be brave enough to use it if the opportunity arises. You feel almost mesmerised by it, neither hearing anything, apart from the ringing in your ears, nor seeing anything, apart from your reflection on the blade.

“You’re sure you know how to handle it?” - a deep breathy voice comes from behind. You jump, almost dropping the knife, your eyes meet John’s obsidian ones, boring into you, making you feel like you’re being poked by the needles that lay in the cabinet next to the knives.

“Be careful not to cut yourself, rattlesnake”, - an amused voice adds and you watch Tex step into the room, as your cheeks flush red. “We were wondering how come it’s so quiet up here”, - he adds, not breaking the eye contact.

“I was napping” - you blurt out, quickly putting the knife down, nervously watching John walk closer in a lazy, almost calculating manner only a predator uses when the prey has been caught in a trap.

You catch his movements until he’s standing behind you, his chest touching your back, his arms on either side of you, capturing you in a cage that is his strong body against your frozen one. You look over to Tex and notice him leaned against the wall, watching you two with curiosity.

Fuck

John picks up the knife you’ve previously chosen and holds it in front of you, his lips close to your ear, his voice so dangerously low, you swear he sounds like he’s about to devour you in one bite.

“Want me to show you how to use it?” he nonchalantly whispers, sending cold shivers down your spine, his lips inch closer, “since you’re so curious about it”. You pray he doesn’t feel the deafening thumping of your heart.

“I was…just…uh…”, - words barely escape your dry throat. You hear Tex walk over and it makes you feel even more on the razor edge that is a mouse trap of your relationship with these men. You feel Tex’s fingers under your chin, when he pulls your face to look up at him.

“Isn’t it what you wanted?” - he clicks his tongue. His glimmering eyes shine with built-up darkness lay beneath, a hint of disappointment flashes through it when you don’t reply, “all talk, no action?”

Tex is akin to a fiery pit, predictably unpredictable in the sense that you have an idea of what to expect of him - stand too close and you get burned, bite too hard and you get splashed back with fire. But when you watch the flames, especially when he doesn’t notice you studying him or pretends not to, there’s a strangely comforting warmth to him, flickering through the coal cracks of his man-child nature. John, on the other hand, is akin to an abyss, swallowing you whole with his presence. He’s dangerous in a way that a calm untamed tiger is, for even domesticated, it still remains a threat at all times. You don’t see what’s beneath all the layers of what he masterfully conceals and you’re not sure you should want to find out how much of a predator he actually is.

“Make your choice” - you hear John’s raspy voice bring your attention back to him.

“What?” - you blink, your mind going over multitude of possibilities this could play out. Tex takes the knife out of the other man’s hands.

“Who do you prefer show you how to use it?” - he explains, but his expression says anything but teaching you about self-defence. You feel John protectively wrap around you and you don’t need him to say it. If Tex does anything out of line, this playground will become everything a human would fear to step into. You can see that the feeling’s mutual, in the way Tex glares at John.

Maybe this is the code to freedom, let them prey on each other.

Tex’s eyes move to yours, seeing the way you lean into the man behind you.

“Oh, you think Johnny boy will save you?”- he chuckles darkly, “dream on”, he tells you before motioning for John to bring you over to the bed. Your heart drops.

They sit you down on the bed, both of them circling you, akin to eager hawks, ready to rip apart and devour anything in their sight. Suddenly, you feel John’s hands lock yours in a tight grip behind your back, which makes panic arise in your chest.

“The fuck you’re doing?” - you want to sound mad but the voice that comes out of your mouth sounds like it belongs to someone else caught in a web of pretence and lies. Tex waves his hand for you to keep your mouth shut.

“You forget your place, rattlesnake”, - he laughs, though not an ounce of warmth strikes you, just sharp fire burns.

“You’re a fucking asshole”, - you growl lowly, looking him right in the crazed eyes, while John shifts to a more comfortable position to hold you still.

Bastard

“Touché”, - Tex brings his face close to yours, his hot breath on your skin making you flinch, “Biting won’t help, darlin’, you’re forgetting who you’re up against”, he finishes, placing the cold blade on your cheek before you start protesting, and moving it down your jawline, throat, collarbones and stopping at the hem of your shirt, tantalised, watching the way your chest rapidly rises and falls. He’s so gentle with it, though, but his eyes tell you he could switch up in a heartbeat.

“Sorry, John”, - Tex breaths out and doesn’t wait for either of you to reply, grabbing the fabric and making the blade slide through it with lightning speed like butter. Your wide open eyes look at him with shock, only now noticing John pressed up against your back, like an unmoving statue. You lean back, wiggling your body, seeing how hard it is for Tex to resist touching you with his hands. He extends his arm to place the knife onto your skin.

“Don’t fucking touch me”, - you glare up at him, which makes a loud bark of a chuckle escape his lips, though he doesn’t stop. You begin to shake your head and move your body, knowing he won’t do anything in this case, as not to hurt a single strand of hair on you, for John might kill him right then and there with that said knife, otherwise. Abruptly, your body freezes when Tex’s calloused hand find its place around your neck, urging you to hold your anger in and to look up at him.

“You don’t want me to hurt you, do you?” - he growls, his fingers tight around your throat, “you can’t keep playing the game you can’t win”, he smiles, placing the blade in the centre of your breastbone, the coldness of steel arising goosebumps throughout your body. Your eyes lock on his, studying the way he’s holding back the desires that will leave him hanging onto the thread of life had he acted upon them. You want to believe he’d never hurt you but you never know how far his self control and possible feelings for you can contain the boundaries of his flames.

Is it your or John’s power over him?

Tex’s knee moves in between your legs, inching closer to where you needed him when he bent you over downstairs what feels like an eternity ago. But your body responds in raging flames, lit up by the myriad of matches that are the manifestation of his power over you.

His fingers inch the razor-sharp steel closer to the centre of your neck, so infinitely slow you think you might die just from waiting for what comes next.

And what comes next is John’s lips on your skin, your temple, behind your ear, on your shoulder, his tongue tasting the heat, engulfing your body, the effect of which comes off in a form of a shuddered breath that doesn’t go unnoticed. Tex moves the blade up until it reaches your mouth, keeping it there, until you get the hint. You stare at his darkened, ravenously glowing eyes. You feel one of John’s hands come up gliding over your body up to your neck, tilting your head up, as he’s shifting his weight so you can look up into his eyes. The look you’re met with is not the one you were hoping to see, for instead of a soft and gentle one, your gaze gets sucked in by a black hole that is a pair of nearly jet-black, hungry, unmoving and barely patient eyes.

“Sorry, baby”, - John rasps.

You open your mouth, falling deeper into his void, before closing your eyes.

Your eyelids flutter open, as your breath and racy heartbeat warn you to steady yourself before gradually coming back to a stable pace, as you lay in bed.

You listen in to the sounds of an awfully quiet house, making you wonder whether you’ve been left alone after all. The clock arms ticking rhythmically, blending in with the soft, almost faint whirring of the bedroom mini fridge where the boys keep cooled bottled water for you. The sound of electricity inside the walls and static in your ears suddenly becoming louder once you focus on it instead of the faint noise of the outside world. You look around, chasing the frisky sunset light, playing on the space around you through the cracks between the slightly moving curtains. You glance at expensive looking boutique shop bags standing near the wall. For the first time you pay attention to the way the colour palette of the place is almost seamlessly blended by the dreamy fog, though you’re not sure if it’s the floating in sunlight specks of dust or your own blurry vision, for you’d just woken up from your nap. You raise your hand to cover your eyes when the sunlight makes its way onto your face, then close your eyelids, folding your hands on your lap, letting yourself bask in the vague warmth. You take a deep breath in, your senses catching a very indistinct smell of the fresh evening air, when the wind outside blows through the trees, the rustling of which you can catch a sonic glimpse of, fresh laundry and the scent of your shampoo.

But the smell of two men pervades you the most, you can practically taste the last night with John and today’s morning with Tex on your tongue and skin. You’re sure you smell like them by now, akin to a cat acquiring the smell of its owners over time, becoming one with the small nuclear tribe. It’s shamefully intoxicating how well they’ve imbedded themselves onto your body and into your mind, molding a new, unrecognizable version of you, so perfectly suited for their needs.

And you’re sure they like everything about it, especially the way they can smell themselves off you, like you belong to them, cooped up in this place away from prying eyes, their $5 million secret, just for them to play with and ravish. You can feel it sometimes through the way they touch you when passionate waves are mercifully on hold, replaced by the monumental promise of another outburst. You remember the way their fingers linger on your skin a bit too long, the way they hug you close to their bodies late at night when they think you’re too fucked out to notice - John - in a protective embrace, Tex - more on the possessive side.

The way John gently brushes your hair after blow drying it and resists leaning in to smell your freshly showered self, for every time you can feel the heat of his body getting close to you and, regrettably to your disappointment, pulling away at the last moment. The way Tex traces his own bites and hickeys on your skin when you’re in the bathtub with him or glides his fingertips over them under the covers, thinking your blissfully unaware self doesn’t feel his surprisingly delicate leisure wandering. The way neither of them want to leave the bed in the early hours of the morning, too entranced by your warmth and the feel of your body against theirs. The way one day you made each of them sigh in surprise when you’d pulled them closer, praying they explain it as your sleepy subconscious making the decisions for you, when, in reality, it was you pulling the strings of blurry lines in between sanity and conscience mistake of trying to savour their comfortingly strong bodies. You couldn’t decide which one of the duo was worse. John, who treats you like a gentleman but often fucks you disrespectfully, or Tex, who annoyingly makes every particle of your body and soul boil in every sense possible.

You tip your head back, eyelids closed, taking deep breaths in to calm your heart and mind. You have no idea how long it’ll take for the masks of sanity to slip, revealing the true nature of those men. Whatever sanity means anymore in this situation. You start feeling like their influence on you begins to seep beyond physical form.

Suddenly, you hear John quietly calling out to you: “Y/n. You here?”

Your eyebrows slightly twitch, as your eyes open to the starry sky above the balcony where you and John are standing next to one another.

“It’s like you were just here and then you were gone”, - he chuckles, his voice soft and comfortingly deep.

Fuck, the mask’s slipping.

You take a long look at him before smiling, his eyes so gentle, you almost [want to] believe he’s not faking it for you.

It’s time for a cat to come out and play with fire.

“Hi”, - you tell him, reaching your fingers out to him, finding it so irresistibly hard not to put a loose strand of hair behind his ear when you see him admiring the perfect way the clothes he’d bought hug your body, as if tailored to your exact measurements but you don’t delve into it deeply for the sake of your sanity. “Hey”, - John replies, letting your hand slip back, not showing you how much he wants to catch it and kiss it.

The serenity of the passing intimate lace comes crumbling down when Tex cheerfully comes up from the back and hugs you from behind, loudly leaving a wet trail of kisses from your ear down to your shoulder, so casually mundane, as if he’s been doing this for years.

“What are you two whispering about?” - he inquires, not removing his lips off you. “Certainly not you”, - you tease. “You don’t like me?” - he mumbles back. Now it’s your turn to laugh: “Why should I? This is just a transaction, no?”

Instead of pulling away, Tex grips you harder: “Aw, my rattlesnake, I was about to say how sweet you are when you don’t bite”.

“Thought you liked it?” - you let him feel you lean into him, which he eagerly reciprocates. “Oh, is that why you do it? You do it for me?” - he asks, as you turn around in his arms, tilting your face up, batting your eyelashes. “Dream on”, - you reply before breaking away from his embrace.

You walk over to the balcony sofa, sinking into the big pillows in a relaxed way that exudes you’re not afraid of either of the two. You let yourself be watched by their intense gazes, shamelessly scanning you up and down, as you throw one leg over the other. Moments pass before you speak again.

“I can’t quite crack the code”, - you tell them in the most couldn’t-care-less tone, “what is it that you get out of this? Apart from the obvious”. You trace your body with your fingers, John’s eyes on yours and Tex’s following your silhouette.

Tex is the first to reply: “You said it yourself, this is just a transaction”.

“Is it really?” - you inquire in a way that it sounds more like a statement.

“Why do you wanna know?” - Tex responds, keeping his eyes trailed on you.

You lean further into the cushions, trying to sound as innocuously as possible. “To manipulate you, of course”.

Silence hangs in the air, making your cheeks grow redder, though you hope they can’t tell under the starlight. Tex walks closer to you, saying: “Don’t get ideas into that pretty head of yours”, he grabs your face with one hand, “wouldn’t want you to get burned, mhhmm?”

You swallow. “Wouldn’t even dream of it”, - you tell him, holding the eye contact. Unexpectedly, Tex does nothing but lets you go and walks to the chair, near John. It makes you uncomfortable, their watchful eyes not leaving an ounce of your conscience not feeling exposed.

“What game are you playing at?” - John finally speaks up, his voice so quiet you know he’s not playing games with you anymore.

“Nothing”, - you simply say, your gaze locked on his. Hiding in plane sight, you think. Instead, you continue: “I can’t outplay the player when I got no game, yeah?”

Tex snorts: “Oh, you definitely do have game”, eyeing you. You turn your attention to him, scoffing just like he did: “Clearly, if that’s what you wanna call it”.

“I just want a lock in my room”, you add.

“My, my, Johnny boy, she not only bites but wants to have leverage over us”, - Tex chuckles.

“How’s having a lock mean leverage?” you bat your lashes.

Okay, playing dumb it is.

Tex doesn’t make you wait for his reply: “It’s not about the lock. It’s about access”.

Got you, you say to yourself.

“I’m sure other hunters, like you two, would just love that, access at all times”, - you muse, looking from one man to the other.

“We won’t let that happen”, - John’s stern whisper comes.

“Mhmhm, sure, with $5 million on the line”, - you shrug. You catch Tex’s eyes.

“Dream on, babygirl”, - he muses back.

You sigh, getting up, making your hips sway just a tiny bit more than usual. Your arm gets caught in Tex’s strong grip. “What are you doing?” - he growls, as you turn to look up at him. You look behind him at John, then back at the man in front of you. “Take a wild fucking guess”, - you retort. Tex steps closer, cornering you further to the glass door, leading into the house. “Use your pretty mouth like that, I won’t care if you’re sore or not anymore”, - he smiles sickly sweet, making your stomach turn. You ignore him and connect your eyes with John’s, who holds the same expression, not much different from Tex’s, letting you see in that moment, how titillated he is by you.

You’re fucked and you’ve walked right into it.

“Let me guess, “dream on”?” Tex mocks you, placing a hand on the glass, near your face.

You work up a smile, though you hope they can’t see it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m going to sleep. Aren’t you boys coming?” you purr, before wiggling your way out of Tex’s arms. The men look at each other before following suit, exchanging malevolent glances.

The code is crackable. For it’s not the “how” but the question of who’ll be the first to crack.

Tex. John. Or you.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

Goddamnit. Where is the motherfucking pancake batter? Does John not have PANCAKE BATTER in his goddamn house? What are you supposed to do? Make pancakes from scratch? Fuck.

Your internal thoughts are being monologued by a sailor, apparently - and he’s in a shit mood. You woke up lying in vacant sheets, minus either of your human heaters, shivering in the conditioned air.

Your bargain was simple, or at least you thought so - they could keep the temp at 62 degrees in this room (psychos) if they both slept beside you and warmed you cozy. So, when you found out they were gone and didn’t even bother to pull a blanket over your naked body in their haste to leave - okay, maybe it was actually you that kicked the comforter off, but you’re still gonna blame them - you got heated, and not in a good way.

Pretty soon, and far too late, you realized that you felt abandoned without them snuggling you like two big, bed hogging dogs, and that made you much more angry because… Well. If you’re being honest with yourself, you are far too attached to these men. In too deep. “Dug up more snakes than you can kill,” as Tex would say. You can barely function when they’re not around. So much for strong, independent woman. You’re a whitehead on the face of feminism.

And now you can’t even make pancakes. Out of frustration, you slam a cupboard shut and bustle a carton of eggs off the counter. And, of course, they land face down with the top open wide. “Fuck. Me.”

“Bad day?”

You spin on your heel, hip catching the counter painfully, although you barely register the sting, too busy clenching fists at your sides from the immediate recognition of that voice. You glare at Bradford, lip curling into a little snarl, the rattlesnake in you coming to bat. “It is now,” you snap.

Bradford sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, don’t be like that. I told you I’d protect you, y/n, and that’s what I’m here to do.”

You burst into a crazed giggle fit, fists clutching at the sundress fabric over your belly, eyes watering from the sheer audacity of fucking men. It takes you a minute to collect yourself.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, you pompous asshole.” You’re still smiling at him, that little leftover sanity and hope slipping right through your fingers and landing in a sticky puddle with the smashed eggs.

He frowns, hands jammed into his pockets, this stupid look of concern coming over his face that makes you want to choke it right off. “Listen, y/n, whatever they did to you - however they hurt you - it’s okay. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’m here to take you away and undo all this shit they’ve put in your head.”

“You think that’s going to work on me after what you did?!” You hardly recognize your own shrill screech, don’t realize you’re jamming a finger into his chest until your toe to toe with him. “They might be assholes and manipulators, sure, Bradford, but you-“ You poke his sternum hard, make him wince and love that pained look on his face more than you should - “you’re much fucking worse. Because at least they care about something other than themselves.”

His expression is one of pity, like he’s looking at an abused, bite happy dog about to be put down. “You think they care about you?” His voice is quiet, sympathetic, overly kind, it makes your stomach turn. “Oh, sweetheart-“

“Oh, sweetheart,” you mock, the acid in your body leaking and bubbling from your throat. “Do me a favor and get out. I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody.”

He seems entirely unaffected by you. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”

You feel a tiny sting in your shoulder, look down to see a needled splinter sticking out, reach to pull it free, but it’s far too late, because your hand doesn’t work. And neither do your legs. You black out before landing face first into the eggs.

They’ve got you trussed up again. Pretty silk ropes dimple your skin. John finishes the knots on your thighs, fingers tickling lazily over the fabric and making you squirm and whine. “Comfy?” He asks, kissing your cheekbone and smiling at you.

You nod, pull at your bonds, become thrilled when you realize you’re not going anywhere. You wiggle your toes, testing circulation by gauging feeling to your digits. Perfect, as always. John’s handiwork is unmatched. And you are absolutely drenched and throbbing by the time he gets done tightening his last little tie.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose into your hairline. You shudder and giggle, melting under that praise he has grown fond of giving. His balmy voice gets your toes curling instead of flexing.

Tex comes back into the room with the bottle of sandalwood and vanilla oils. It smells heavenly and makes you clench hellishly as he works it into his bulky palms and grins at his favorite girl. “You ready for that massage, pumpkin?”

Something slams violently close to your ear, startling you out of the dreaming memory, making you gasp and flinch. You can’t go far, because you’re handcuffed to a metal chair. Hands and feet. Too tight. Fingers and toes already numb and cold. Your face feels sticky and itchy. Metal scrapes metal in a terrible symphony that jabs behind your eyes and gets them open.

You’re in a white, windowless room, far from John and Tex, but close to agent Bradford. He’s smiling now, pleased about something, leaning over the silver table to examine your face. “That’s a nasty bruise, kid,” he says, pointing to his own forehead. “Sorry I couldn’t catch you.”

You scowl at him. “Yeah, whatever.” Your head does hurt, though, and you feel like you’ve been run over by a monster truck again. Still, that fire in you doesn’t seem to want to die, and you’re incredibly grateful for whatever miracle furnace is fueling it. “Are you gonna tell me why I’m here? Or just stare at me like a fucking creep?”

He chuckles. “Do you know where you are?”

“Oh yeah,” you spit, “I definitely remember this windowless white fucking room from good times growing up.” Rolling your eyes hurts more than you think it will.

“You’re under possession of the FBI, y/n, and if I were you, I’d be grateful we didn’t just hand you over to the Bratva ourselves. Because they would have done much worse to you than we’re about to do.”

Johnwickb1tsch:

As your mind clears from the drugs Bradford gave you, you start to think a bit more critically about your situation. The fact that he has taken you hostage without the fanfare of an official FBI raid suggests he's still working under the radar. He must have baited your boys with some convincing ruse to make them both leave the house.

"You should really do yourself a favor, and return me to them," you advise. You flex against the cuffs, trying to get circulation. They really are too tight, and you can't help but compare it to the careful way John always bound you. Who is the bad guy here? All the lines have blurred.

"I can't help but notice you're not asking to just be let go."

It's a development that surprises you too, but you don't feel like analyzing it right now. All you know is that you miss them, like a crucial piece of your heart has been plucked from you. And maybe it's fucked up, but you want the man responsible to pay.

"I'm not as stupid as you are, apparently. Don't you understand who you're dealing with?"

"Tex Johnson, former Marine, dishonorable discharge in his first tour of Iraq, turned Hollywood stunt man and mafia hitman. John Wick is harder to put a thumb down on. Bogus birth certificate, it's doubtful it's his real name. He was probably trafficked into the country as a child from the Soviet Union by one of the syndicates. He's been associated with various underworld groups since he was a teen."

This was, in fact, way more than you knew about your boys, but you were loathe to admit it.

"What I mean, is if you keep this up you're a dead man walking. They'll do anything to get me back."

"It sounds like you want them to get you back."

"At this point? I like them a lot better than you."

"Yeah, you seemed pretty cozy there. I think you have a touch of Stockholm Syndrome."

The thought of this man, of all people, moralizing at you and basically calling you mentally ill, pisses you off even more.

"Did you know Stockholm Syndrome is a bullshit diagnosis favored by law enforcement, invented by two male psychologists to describe a woman who had been in a hostage situation, who they had never even met? She was held hostage by a bank robber in Sweden, and as she watched the police completely bungle the situation she was afraid they would come charging in and kill everyone in a hail of bullets. She advocated for a more peaceful solution that didn't involve her getting shot, and was branded as neurotically sympathetic to her captor for it. But you've been through Quantico. You should already know this."

Bradford frowns down at you, and your inconvenient penchant for facts.

"Alright, smarty pants, be that way. But when the media gets a hold of you after this, you're going to want something to blame, believe me."

"How about you, you crooked son of a bitch?"

"Me? I'm going to be the agent who single handedly brought down the Nobokov Bratva, two wanted contract killers, and saved their hostage. I'll be a hero."

"What about the money you took?"

"Playing a role, all part of my master plan."

He smirks at you, letting you know that at least some of that money is not going to make it into evidence.

"Wait...isn't Dmitri Nobokov dead?"

"As a doornail. But his son is still around, and he wants blood."

You think about this a moment.

"And you're using me as bait?"

"Now you're catching on. You've got a date with Igor Nobokov tonight."

"And you're counting on...them all killing each other?"

"Something like that."

You just laugh.

"Right? I think it's funny too."

"I'm not laughing at that."

"No?"

"No. I'm laughing because my boys are going to fucking kill you all."

You find that you truly believe it, to the marrow of your bones.

Bradford just smirks. "We'll see."

You certainly would.

His phone starts ringing, and he reaches into his pocket for it. "Bradford."

"Well hello, Agent Dipshit."

"Tex. Thought you'd never call."

gif by johnswick

Just hearing his ridiculous, stupid, wonderful voice, even tinny through the phone, sends a wave of relief through you.

"Gotta say, I took you for smarter than this."

"How you figure?"

"You're an FBI hotshot with a fancy degree. I'm sure you've got a profile on me. Narcissistic psychopath, is what Uncle Sam told me. That means there aren't many things in this world I care about outside of yours truly, but you've managed to take one of 'em from me. Can't say that bodes well for you."

"I guess that's a matter of perspective, Mr. Johnson."

"Proof of life?"

"She's right here. Say hello, y/n."

Glaring at Bradford, you speak into his outstretched phone. "Tex, it's a trap!"

Bradford reaches out to smack you in the mouth, staring you down.

"Ow! Motherfucker!"

For a moment there is a deadly silence on the other end of the line.

"My turn. Say hello, Mrs. Bradford."

Bradford's face goes white as a sheet. "Anthony? I'm scared. Please, just do whatever they say."

"Veronica? It's going to be ok, honey, just stay calm. If you fuckers hurt her so help me God--"

"Maybe we will, maybe we won't. All depends on you, son. So listen close."

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

"Who knew this AI shit could be so handy?"

John just nods, utterly stoic, closing the laptop. After feeding multiple insufferable Facebook videos about cooking and keeping house by the lovely Mrs. Bradford through a program, they were able to create a perfect facsimile of her voice, good enough to fool her husband over the phone.

Now Bradford would meet them in a location of their choosing. The advantage was theirs.

Or so they hoped.

Either way, Bradford was dead meat.

#wicked johnson fic #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #john wick fic #yandere john wick #keanu reeves x reader #tex johnson #yandere tex johnson #john wick x reader x tex johnson #tex johnson x you #tex johnson x reader #tex johnson x y/n

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kittyball23 · 6 months

Text

The Vesting (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: Some years before Branch’s birth, Floyd gets officially inducted as a member of BroZone

A/N: Taking place before TBT

__________________________________________

The room was dark.

Floyd tried squinting, trying to adjust his eyes to make anything out, when all of a sudden, he was blinded by a bright light. He yelped and stepped back a little, the shine of the glowbug that had been lit startling him for just a second as it helped illuminate his surroundings. There, contrasted with the sharp light were his three older brothers standing across from him. John Dory was in the middle, holding the glowbug in his hands right under his face, as though he were holding a flashlight and about to tell a spooky story. Spruce was to his left and Clay was to his right. Floyd in the meantime stood there, uncertain of what was happening.

John Dory narrowed his eyes, and then suddenly began speaking in a deep, mysterious voice.

“We’ve gathered here today to undergo the most revered of ceremonies....”

Then, JD reached into his pocket and thrust a paper into Floyd’s hands. The magenta-haired Trolling, growing even more confused by the minute, gave a meek little “Huh?”

“Go on, read it!” John Dory urged.

Floyd looked down and skimmed through the words first, his brows furrowing. “Is this an oath?”

JD rolled his eyes. “No dude, a BROath,” he corrected.

“Which is pretty much like an oath,” Spruce clarified.

“Only ‘better’!” Clay added, making the word better with airquotes.

“Well it is,” JD said. He nudged Floyd. “Go ahead, dude, read it!”

Floyd shrugged. He may as well. He looked down at the page silently. He was only able to catch the first couple of sentences when the sound of a throat clearing made him stop. Floyd jerked his head up to find JD glaring down at him.

“Out loud.”

Floyd blushed. Whoops. After mumbling an apology, he cleared his throat and, as instructed, began to read the words on the page aloud. Or, as the title at the top was written, the ‘BroZone Credo.’

“’ 1) Family is numero uno. As fun as performing is, I promise to put bros before shows every time. 2) All bros are made equal, but we are not all the same. We have different colors, sizes, shapes and ages. I won’t judge my bro by his taste in music, but by his character. 3) A bro is not afraid to admit when he’s scared. When I am, I promise to confide in my bros and summon the Pop Power of all the brodacious superstars that came before us so that we can use all the love, all the smarts, and all the bravery we got to accomplish the ultimate Family Harmony. 4) All bros can make mistakes. I will admit when I’m wrong and work at it to make things right again. 5) Bros were born to sing. I promise to share my talents with others and not keep them all to myself. To earn my spot – ‘”

“Ooh, wait, wait, wait!” John Dory interrupted, waving his hands. “Stop there for a sec. You gotta raise your right hand now!”

“What?” Floyd shot a glance at Spruce and Clay. In return, they gave him a look that communicated Dude, we did this too. The magenta-haired Trolling shrugged and raised his right hand.

“Okay, good,” JD said. “Now you can keep reading.”

So Floyd did. “’To earn my spot within this band, I solemnly swear to uphold this oath – I mean, BROath – and honor it for the sake of my family.’”

“Forever?” JD asked him.

Floyd looked up from his paper and gave a small nod. “Forever.”

The BroZone leader smiled. “Good.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Spruce! Clay! Grab the item,” he commanded. The purple and yellow Trollings went off, and JD turned his attention to Floyd. “Floyd, arms up and eyes closed!”

By this point in the initiation, Floyd was still a little confused, but he’d learned to just go with it. He did as told (hoping he didn’t look too silly in his T-pose), and waited to see – or rather, hear – what was happening next. He heard some shuffling next to him, and then felt something being placed at his arms. Floyd began to open an eye, hoping to see what was going on, but he instantly shut it again at JD’s shout.

“Hey! No peeking!”

As the something was continued to be adjusted on his arms and then against his body, JD spoke.

“By the totally brodacious power invested in me – with an emphasis on the vest” – he paused to laugh at his own joke (one that Floyd was about to understand in just a few moments) – “I now pronounce you an official member of BroZone!!” He whooped and then clapped his hands. “Alright, now open ‘em up!”

Floyd blinked, and then looked down and gasped. A smile grew on his face as he beheld the elegant, magenta, polyester puffy jacket of a vest that was on him. It was pristine and brand new, fresh and perfectly form-fitting. It went with his hair, as each of his brothers' vests did, and he didn't need a mirror to know that it made him look, as John Dory would put it, totally brodacious! He turned this way and that, appreciating it no matter what angle he viewed it.

“Welcome to the band, little bro!” John Dory exclaimed. Spruce and Clay added in their own “Woo-hoo!”s and “You got it!”s to the chorus.

“Awww, well thanks you guys… thank you so much!” Floyd cooed, beginning to sniffle. The brothers already recognized the signs of oncoming tears, but didn’t badger the little guy about it. Classic Floyd always cried, but he had reason for his happy tears. This was a big moment! Another bro had just joined in on their special pact, and they were going to only continue to live up to their full potential. Before JD could help it, he thrust his hand out in front of him. Spruce recognized the motion and placed his hand on top of his, and then Clay on top of Spruce’s. Last but not least, Floyd still with tear-stained cheeks, placed his hand on Clay’s. They threw their hands up in the air together and chanted out.

“IT’S BRO-TIME!!”

Laughs and brotherly pats on the back followed… as well as an authoritative female voice from just the other room.

“No, it’s BEDtime,” the voice of their Grandma Rosiepuff called out, just before she appeared at the doorway of their room with her arms crossed. “Boys,” she continued, giving them a stern look. “Do you know how late it is?”

Groans came from the Trollings. “But Grandmaaa,” John Dory whined. “We were doing The Vesting!”

Grandma Rosiepuff snickered. She had seen JD do this special little ceremony of his for Spruce and then Clay when they were younger. JD pushed Floyd forward and beamed up at her. “See? Check out how he’s flexin’ the drip now! Pretty sweet, huh?”

Floyd looked up at their grandmother hopefully, his eyes shining. Grandma Rosiepuff smiled down at him. “It is ‘sweet,’ dear,” she said.

Floyd blushed while JD pumped his fists and Spruce and Clay high-fived.

“But do you know what else is ‘sweet’?” Grandma Rosiepuff continued. “Dreams.” She pointed a finger to the beds and the boys sighed, knowing that she was right. One by one, they slipped out of their vests and hung them at their bedposts (Floyd taking one more minute to admire his before he too did as his brothers had), and then they slipped into bed. Grandma Rosiepuff then made her rounds to each brother, helping to tuck them in. When she was finished, she turned off the glowbug and allowed it to flitter out the window.

“Good night,” she whispered to them.

And “G’night!” came the response of the four band members she was proud to call her grandsons.

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #floyd trolls #john dory #spruce trolls #clay trolls #grandma rosiepuff #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes

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hashtagdrivebywrites · 4 months

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I am *dying* to know about #12 rn. Care to let me see a snippet? Maybe expound on its virtues? 🥺

-Faer

Ahhh okay, so this one started as a silly "wouldn't it be hilarious if Jason's dad was actually John Winchester" thought exercise (because my sense of humor is shot) after I forced one of my friends to watch UTRH with me, and it just. spiraled, violently. It's still ass-deep in chaos page hell, but I've been describing it as, "Red Hood and Justice League Dark: Great Value Edition".

* Older Scooby Gang * Sibling/Family Reveal * Reverse Identity Reveal (the bulk of the team doesn't know Jason is Red Hood (or an active vigilante at all) until the situation calls for Red Hood-level interference) * Danny "I am in desperate need of a trusted supportive adult" Fenton * Good Friends Tucker and Sam * Clueless Dean and Sam

"So," Sam opened both hands and held them apart, gesturing first at the little-big asshole that had kicked everything off just by existing, "you were dead."

Jason shrugged his stupidly huge shoulders, "I got better." The following 'And?' went unspoken but clearly implied.

Oh, Bobby was going to lose his damn mind when he got a hold of this kid.

Sam paused, needing a moment to process the fact that they were too late, again, before he angled his disbelief at the skinny little punk standing with his hands in his pockets and flanked on either side by his friends like bodyguards.

"You were dead."

The teenager coughed into his fist, "Uh, about that."

Sam paused. "You…weren't dead?"

The kid made a face and wobbled his hand in the air, all 'so-so' like.

"What," Dean shifted, every Hunter-honed instinct firing off in the back of his brain, "What the hell does that mean. Did you die, or didn't you?"

"I'm," He stopped himself, brows furrowed as he looked up thoughtfully, "An overachiever?"

"Technically you're an underachiever since you can't commit to a bit," The Kid Body Guard in the Beret helpfully pointed out.

The "underachiever" in question looked like he might argue, but ultimately agreed with a loose shrug of his shoulders. "Rude, but okay."

"What the hell does that mean. Sam."

"I don't know, Dean."

"And both of you have died," A woman cut in, heels clicking on the tile, "I was dead for fifteen minutes while on a case in Star City last December. Legally, Velma is also dead. You boys aren't special."

#ask games #fanfic #fic wip #crossover #Older Scooby Gang #The spiderman meme except its everyone whos died pointing at each other #Dean and Sam found out they had another little brother and it's a race against time to get to him before something else does #whoops lmfao #The Scooby-Doo cartoon and movies exist in this 'verse and the gang quietly hides their actual weird-mystery operation under it lmao #May or may not also include Eddie in it as one of the "team supers” - I'm catching up on comics and don't know a lot about him yet so #This group would technically be assigned “weird hopefully-not-apocalyptic level missions no one else wants to touch”#At least we hope lmao

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writtenontheport · 10 months

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Hey, would you write Anthony Lockwood x reader, in which George and Lucy are fed up with the reader and Lockwood arguing and lock them in the basement for the whole night until they reconcile, and at the same time profess their love for each other. Thanks in advance

Skeletons in the Closet but it’s Actually Just Us

Anthony Lockwood x (gn) reader

Warnings/Tags: Romcom levels of fluff, You’ve Got Mail level of romcom, no suggestive content, Lucy and George friendship, They are deeply fed up, ‘Locked in a cupboard until they confess’ trope, Lockwood is a silly guy, confessions, Reader is a bit of a grumpy person, Valid tbh when the love of their life is some self-sacrificing bozo, A bit of angst given the nature of the Problem, mentions of death,

Notes: Just reviewed all the romcoms I’ve watched these past few weeks so this might be extra cheesy. Also I am rereading your request, anon and I am so sorry but I misread it so BAD 💀But also I changed the time a bit from it being night to it being right after a case! I’m so sorry this isn’t how your request put it 😭 I have terrible reading skills VERY LOOSELY EDITED AND SHORT

Summary: You and Lockwood are unable to voice your own feelings for each other, which frustrates Lucy and George enough to take action. An argument, locked storage, and a heart to heart about the nature of your world later, you’re setting up… a date..???

Anthony John Lockwood was an annoying prat who strutted about like a peacock in desperate need of a slap. Now this frustration is usually the result of something smaller; minute, you might even say, but today— oh, today.

“You ran straight into danger—“ You repeat yourself for what must be the 4th time the past hour. Anthony is sitting across from you in the kitchen “—even though George and I had specifically warned you—“

“Lucy went in too!” He blurts, throwing his shoulders up.

“Keep me out of this,” Lucy hisses, narrowing her eyes at him, “I actually brought iron chains with me.”

You gesture at her wildly, nodding in vindication as you turn back to Lockwood, “Exactly. Lucy knew what she was doing, you were just being reckless! I basically had a heart attack when that Visitor nearly ghost-touched you because you—“

“I didn’t need you to push me aside and put yourself in danger, though!” He hissed, just as frustrated. “I knew what I was doing. I’m very well aware of how it looked like, but I swear I knew what I was doing. Even if… I did need your help getting out of the trouble I put myself in after.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air, frustration and worry laying under tension so thick you could it with a knife. You look away first with a defeated huff. Lockwood raises a brow and his lips split into a wobbly smile, the charming bastard. He lounges back into his seat and rests one arm on the table in front of him— a gesture for your hand. The look would have been more impactful if a bruise wasn’t already forming on cheek and there wasn’t blood drying on his brow. Still, you make your way over to him to fix his tie (which had gotten caught on banisters during the case) and push his collar up. He beams at you when you pat his jacket neat, but you’re still upset.

“Reckless… stupid prick…” You mumble, brushing his hair with your hands.

Under you, Lockwood’s grin grows just the faintest bit soft as he lolls his head back just to watch your frown.

“I think, hear me out, this is just because you’re worried about me,” Lockwood hums.

You scoff, tugging his tie down harshly, “Someone has to with how little you seem to worry about your own life. Like, seriously Anthony? Our lives are on the line—“

“Want to go on a date?” He asks, interrupting you. You choke on air and quickly let go to swat at his chest. Even if he meant that jokingly, something blazing seemed to unfurl in your chest and stuttered your breathing. You’re usually warm around Lockwood, human heater that he was, but this was a feeling that had your palms clammy and your teeth burried into your lips.

“Now is not the time to joking, Lockwood,” you grit out.

“Well I’m not. I really mean—“ he starts, but the sound of a clang startles you both. Lockwood springs up and takes your hand in his, putting himself between you and the basement door. You look around to find Lucy, but her chair’s empty and pushed in. Worry seeps into your bones with a familiarity like the hand holding yours.

“Lucy? George?” Lockwood calls out, stepping closer to find the door ajar.

Distantly you hear both of them call for you and Lockwood, sounding distressed. You push yourself in front of Lockwood into the spiral staircase down, dismissing the small click of his tongue from behind you.

“You’re being reckless now,” He whispers harshly, which you ignore.

It’s a quick trip to the bottom (with Lockwood likely frowning the whole way down), as you rush into the basement. Lucy and George are standing by the ‘high security’ storage room, something unreadable and determined in their expressions. You rush forward, checking on both of them and giving each a hug after.

You flutter about them both, brows furrowed in worry, “Are you two alright? Are you hurt? Is everything—“

From behind you, Lockwood’s hands rest on your shoulders then rub up and down along your arms in a soothing gesture. “What’s happened?”

Lucy gives George a look, and he clears his throat to say, “We found something in the storage. I couldn’t see it that well, and Lucy—“

Lockwood, the absolutely reckless prick, was already making his way inside. You take a breath through your nose and follow right after him, sending reassuring smiles to Lucy and George as you step in. You whip back to glare at Lockwood’s head, ever the reckless hero he was.

“Lockwood don’t just walk in without even hearing about the situation.” You check a shelf for the sources you keep locked away, Lockwood taking the opposite. A quiet moment passes as you run a hand along the line of the shelf, trying to sense for anything out of the ordinary.

“Probably a Visitor took a break from being in one of our… usually foolproof containers.” He looks over a small, see-through box to check for any cracks or breakage.

You whip back to glare at him, feeling not only worried, but frustrated as well. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t have just waltzed in, Anthony. This is exactly what I mean when I say you’re completely reckless sometimes—“

The door to the high security storage clicks closed, and you both startle. You make your way over to push the door open, but the lock is keeping it shut.

“Shit,” Lockwood rasps out. Yeah, that’s fair.

When you got home from the case that day, you didn’t think the rest of the night would be spent being locked in the basement storage for the next morning. After a quick argument with Lucy and George (who promised to be back whenever ‘you two (you and Lockwood) had stopped arguing and acting like idiots’) where they had insisted they wouldn’t be too far and to just yell for them if anything went wrong.

Now, Lockwood sat beside you with your backs to the door. Lucy had had the foresight to leave you behind with medical supplies, and you found one of George’s sticky notes on a tray of quick snacks. Messily scrawled in the way only George ever could, was Get yourselves together, thanks.

If getting yourselves in order and making up looked like awkward silence and Anthony’s self-soothing stretching and everything you did to self-soothe, then it was looking fantastic. Lockwood had yet to say anything but a few curses when he tried to open the door, though he’d given up half an hour in. Now it was just you two munching on biscuits in a semi-awkward silence.

“I meant it, you know,” He says suddenly, as you’re patching him up and cleaning his wounds. His eyes don’t mean yours when you look up, but you know what he means.

“It was a terrible time to suggest that kind of thing, Anthony,” You bite back, careful to dress his wrist properly.

“I meant it though.” He says sincerely; challengingly. He was always like this, baiting for you to fight back or ague for more, even if you could never tell why.

“Then we’d go on a date, do whatever it is people who like each other do, then I…” you rest your fingers over his open palm, and he slides his own in the spaces between yours “… I watch you throw yourself into danger— into sure death and just wait for either our talents to dry up or for either of us to die?”

“No,” he hums, peering at you through his long lashes, “Well, sort of, just—“

“What else, Anthony?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.” He squeezes your hand and you purse your lips. Here you are with someone you love dearly wondering if the next time either of you go out there someone dies.

“Then how would you word it, Lockwood?” You want to hope, voice cracking under the weight of your need. Your soft heart lurches from the thick walls of your chest— through the ribs and the muscle and whatever the fuck else was there— reaching with its sharp claws for a scrap.

“We… go on a date. Because I like you and you like me, and because even without the problem hanging over us, we could die at any minute. I, for one, wouldn’t want to waste any of it I could have with you, now or after.” Like a ray of hope, the twinkle in his eyes. Like a ray of hope, that punchable, kissable grin. Your heart lurches and your breath stutters.

You take a free hand to tuck loose strands of his hair out of his face, humming, “How are you so sure I like you, Lockwood?”

“I don’t,” he admits sheepishly. He’s boyish like this, whispering and grinning at you with something not so cocky and infuriatingly cute. “Just a guess really.”

“George told you.” Even though you never told George.

“George did tell me he had a theory, yes… Backed it up with evidence and everything”

You glare at him for a moment, this ray of hope your heart has chosen to cling onto in these times and troubles, and find yourself faltering.

“One condition. Then we can go on however many dates you want for however long you’ll have me,” you offer, dropping your hands down to look proper into his face.

“Anything,” he says easily, shuffling closer to you.

“Try not to be so reckless. We can’t have you dying before even the first one— or any of them, understand?” You pinch his nose lightly, earning a gentle swat back from him.

“You have to try, too. I can’t lose you either.” He brings your hands to his lips, pressing kisses along each knuckle.

I love you goes unspoken, but he sees it in the way you smile so warmly at him, and you see it in the way he holds your hands like it’s the world. Not today, but maybe someday you will tell each other. Today you yell for George and Lucy to finally let you both out and face the world hand in hand.

A/N: I’m such a fan for the “couple who’s not yet a couple bicker endlessly with each other over every little thing” cause I find it so cute. I am a ‘love at first argument’ girlie to the core. Some of my most major crushes have been people I argue with near constantly. Also, because you didn’t anon specify I flipped a coin and it landed on (gn).

Side note: This is especially short because I’m still thinking on how to go about a few things I’m writing. Been having ideas for an angst fic for either Lockwood or Lucy (x reader, ofc) and continuing George’s series because I am deeply in love with him

#anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #portie writes fanfic

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