#johnny x baby

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[backtothestart02]

Not Just a First Love - 1/? | Dirty Dancing (2017) fanfiction

A/N: I just watched this remake of Dirty Dancing tonight, and while the original is better, I still got engrossed in this one and felt the need to change that ending! Who knows when I'll update again, but I'll be more inclined to if I get positive feedback! Check it out if you're interested! This first chap is just a tweaked version of the ending scene of the movie, but I have many more ideas for where this could go. Enjoy.

...

Synopsis: Nothing is ever by chance. Johnny Castle believes that especially when it comes to Baby.

...

Chapter 1 -

The play brought tears to her eyes, especially the choreography, and she knew why. It wasn’t just because the production took inspiration from her first novel of the summer her life changed forever.

It was the reason the dancing was so special.

It was…Johnny.

Ten years had passed. They’d gone on their separate paths, and though it was heartbreaking at first, they’d both moved on – she became a doctor and he found his true calling on Broadway. She was engaged now, that wedding just a month away now. And yet, as excited as she was for those upcoming nuptials, she felt those feelings of love and anticipation fade to the background as she was drawn back into the fairytale drama the summer she turned 18 had been.

She’d fallen in love for real that summer, and she could almost taste what that had felt like, watching the dancers and seeing the story unfold.

Inevitably though, the play ended and people started to exit the theater. She was the last one there in fact. Still wiping tears from her eyes at the memories the production had brought to the forefront of her mind and heart, she almost missed the individual whose mouth fell open at the mere sight of her.

She was older now, wearing make-up with a longer hairstyle, but there was no mistaking who she was. Just like him, looking a bit more dapper in more sophisticated clothing and something akin to bangs draped across part of his forehead.

“Baby?”

She gasped and turned around.

“F-Frances, I mean.”

He cracked a grin, the same one that made her weak at the knees at 18.

“You recognized me,” she said, smiling tremulously.

“Your face is on the back of your book,” he confided, and her smile widened. “Obviously I’ve read it a hundred times.”

She blushed.

“A hundred times, huh?”

And they stood there, bashfully smiling, living in the moment for as long as it would last.

“The play was incredible,” she said, breaking free of the web she was getting tangled in. “I noticed your choreography right off the bat.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She giggled. “Took me back.”

“Well, your book was the inspiration…and that summer. That summer changed everything for me, Baby.”

He was so serious now that she didn’t bother to correct him.

“For me, too,” she added.

“I never thought I’d make it on Broadway until you convinced me.”

“It definitely took some convincing.”

“Your words stuck with me.”

Her heart beat faster.

“Your dancing stuck with me.”

She licked her lips.

Then, from behind her a man came down the aisle, muttering to himself about something. Johnny wasn’t paying much attention, but Frances recognized who it was immediately.

“Frances, for god sakes, what is taking so lo-”

“Charlie,” she said warmly, ignoring his increasing temper. “I’d like you to meet Johnny. Johnny Castle. He did the choreography for the play tonight.”

Charlie blinked, confused, and then shook Johnny’s extended hand.

“Pleasure.” Johnny smiled. “And who are-”

“Charlie is my fiancé,” she said, avoiding eye contact from both men for a few brief moments.

“What a lucky guy,” Johnny said, and there was no mistaking how strained his voice was.

“Yeah. Right.” Charlie turned to Frances and whispered something that appeared to involve something quite urgent.

“Okay, I’ll be right out.”

He sighed, didn’t bother to look at Johnny again, and strutted back up the aisle into the lobby.

“He seems delightful,” Johnny commented, and she allowed herself to laugh.

“He’s just stressed, under pressure…I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

“I do.”

A brief moment of silence, and then—

“Well, I should g-”

“I should probably let y-”

A chuckle followed by a smile.

“It was good seeing you again, Johnny. Truly.”

He leaned in for a hug, and she gave it to him. More than, actually. She sunk into it, breathed it in, breathed him in, and was transported to another time.

When they parted, tears were in her eyes again.

“You still dance?” he asked. “I know that’s not in your bio.”

She laughed.

“I take a salsa class once a week just down the road from here. It’s all the time I can spare as a d-”

“Doctor,” he finished. “Sure.” He smiled. “Well, keep that up. Don’t ever stop dancing.”

He winked, and she felt them again. Butterflies.

“Goodbye, Johnny,” she said at last, forcing herself to turn towards the exit.

“Bye, Baby,” he called back, and she smiled to herself on the way out. No one ever called her that anymore, and she wouldn’t let a single soul…except him.

[ghostbsuter]

Danny loved this dimension!

First, the yellow ring powered attacks, and now the fear gas! Jazz would have an aneurysm if she ever found out how high he's gotten in the past week alone.

Now, if only he could shake off these pesky green lanterns and the giant bat guy.

Haunting this dimension seems like promising bonding activity between him, Ember, Kitty, and Johnny!

He really should hunt down that yellow lantern guy, tho, that stuff was great quality.

[tb-png]

Kissing n shit 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 🧼 ☠️

why is it so hard to draw people kissing lol, i draw so much ship art but i cant draw them kissing ever aaaaa

[hffhifjou]

RUGBY PT.3

[satoshy12]

Justice League vs. Danny's Rogue Gallery

After Vlad said something on his 20th death date party , Danny's villians finally connected 1 + 1 and got 2! Danny, their enemy, was not even a 1-year-old ghost!

So after a talk with Danny, they promised to not attack Amity Park anymore. At first, Danny didn't believe them. But after seeing them, not for a month! He accepted it and could talk with them. He loved to study again, and his schoolwork got better! He is now once again a normal boy with powers. +

What Danny doesn't know is that the Ghosts, with Vlad's help, found a new playtime: The Justice League. So while they left Danny alone, Danny's now-ex-rogues' gallery, including Skulker, Ember, Box Ghost, and Technus, began to cause havoc around the world. Danny didn't learn about it, as Amity Park news don't show anything with the Justice League and the ones who know about it find it funny. Let them destroy other cities.

Spectra had her joy with the Joker, Professor Pyg, Cornelius Stirk, and Mr. Zsasz. They really thought they could manipulate and corrupt her. Skulker hunted different kind of Meta's and was having joy. This Parasite is a joy to fight, like baby Phantom! Ember was with her Band in Gotham and flirting with Bruce Wayne the Prince of Gotham. Pro Johnny and Kitty were driving and destroying parts of places they were, and Technus wanted to steal the watch Tower. It would look much better in his zone.

A/N By Ghost Standarts Danny isn't even a baby more a infant

[cod-fishing]

New allies or new enemies (fools, all of them) assume when interacting with the 141 that Ghost is the unit’s attack dog. And those that get close enough to start reading into their team dynamic often assume that one Soap MacTavish must hold the leash, despite their difference in rank. After all, the Sergeant is the only one who seems to ever get close to the hulking Ghost, more monster than man. They assume this because they think someone has to. After all, a beast can’t keep himself on the lead.

But what they could never anticipate with their little pea brains is this - Ghost is in complete control. Sure, he postures, and he wears his mask, meant to ward off anyone who would even think of getting close. But the mask is as much of a target as it is a tool for his isolation. For every 10 men who steer clear, there’s one who picks a fight just cause he’s the biggest, scariest guy they’ve ever seen. And so he honestly has learned to keep his cool. To turn the other cheek. To know when it’s important to fight, and when it’s better to just let posturing idiots be posturing idiots.

Soap, however.

He’s young, and he’s strong, and he has a painfully endearing golden-retriever sense of justice. He has no idea how to back down when the fight isn't worth it, to him it's always worth it.

And the only one who he'll listen to, the only person on the planet who can call off his bite is Ghost. When Soap bristles at some rando bothering a girl in a bar, ready to start swinging, it's Ghost that steps in with a cool word instead, stopping the fight before it starts. It’s Ghost who puts a hand on Soap’s back when he can feel him tense, teeth barred, it’s Ghost who calls Soap back to the present with a quiet hey, not now. And miraculously, Soap listens.

He holds the lead. He always has.

And when people underestimate them, when they’re unprepared for Ghost’s patience and even less prepared for Soap’s bite, they feel the wrath of Ghost’s attack dog, let loose.

Ghost likes that he can call Johnny back in, but he likes letting him free even more.

[frogchiro]

Jesus Christ! The Gladiator AU got me feeling something! God and how you described them as Prideful Stallions when they show off it made me thing if something.

Imagine your painting them as they would spar with one another, when they realize your there they begin to hit harder; pushing themselves more because your right there! They want to show who the biggest and the strongest was; to show off for your attention to be on them. How they are the best pick to give you healthy babies!

It doesn’t stop there, it will also go to showing how strong and kind they can be. Got to move something in the pit to get to what you want? Better step back because what ever is blocking it is getting launched. Or it might just even be subtle ways; Standing up taller and straighter, rolling their shoulders back and making themselves much broader, even ruffling up their hair before looking at you.

These men are just all Studs looking to claim you and give you their seed, so no one can take you from them!

I love describing these huge, burly men as prideful stallions bc that's what they are :((

And yes you're so right!! They love love love showing off to you when you're studying/painting them and they will purposefully fight harder to show off even more! Because just look at them! Aren't they strong and powerful? Aren't they healthy and virile? Perfect candidates for a husband and to father healthy babies!

Soap, Gaz and the newest addition to the gladiators, a germanic warrior called König, are definitely the worst ones. They borderline go feral whenever the sleeve of your gauzy dress slips down as you focus on your sketch, always insisting on helping you with whatever even if it means getting yelled at by their trainer.

But they can't help themselves! You look like the muse of art, your soft body looks like it was made by the god of art himself so they feel the need to show off even more. But can you really blame them? Testosterone is pumping thick in their veins, they are adult men in their prime so they're bound to get hotblooded around a cute young lady like yourself; Soap would be particularly insistent and rowdy with his advances, walking around the pit or the barracks naked, showing his bulky, hairy body off, his cock hanging heavy between his legs as he stand purposefully taller around you or rolling his powerful shoulders and making sure you look at him with that dazed look in your eyes <3

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter Two - An Understanding

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Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

The captain looks at you for a long moment, dark blue eyes wide with surprise as he takes you in. You have to admit that he’s handsome, dark brown hair and well-groomed facial hair (muttonchops, no less) flecked with silver, and a nice nose that skews to the large side. It gives him a friendly, approachable demeanour, despite the weight of his stare. His heavy attention shifts from you to the other three, and his expression turns serious. “Lads,” he says, his voice a rumble that you can feel through your own body. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Weeeel. It might be,” Johnny says apprehensively. “But I did my research, sir. She’ll be perfect for ye, ye’ll see.”

“She’s a good girl,” Ghost adds. “Sweet as can be. Won’t be any trouble for you.”

“Already moved her in and everything.” Gaz gestures around the room, looking rather too proud of their work.

The captain nods slowly, taking in the new additions to the space. “So you did. And did this pretty little thing agree to having her life upended, or did you lads just decide for her?” His arms shift around you, and you feel almost protected, oddly enough, even though by the size of him, he’s just as dangerous as the others. Probably even more dangerous, the way they defer to him, standing in a line like cadets, eager for his approval.

“Not… Not exactly,” Gaz admits. “I mean, we didn’t ask. But this’ll be better for her. She was living in a real rat hole before. Tiny little apartment in a shite neighbourhood. Was only a matter of time before something bad happened. We’re just looking out for her.”

Johnny shuffles his feet. “Dealt with a few neds while I was doin’ reconnaissance, even. Poor lass coulda been in real trouble if I hadna been there. Bawbag employers would ask her to stay past the last bus to watch the bairns an’ no’ even offer her a ride or ta pay fer a cab.”

“It wasn’t that far a walk,” you protest, glaring at Johnny. As if it’s any of his business. “And they did offer to drive me, I just wasn’t— It doesn’t matter! You had no right—”

The captain shushes you, and your words wither on your tongue, your cheeks turning hot under his stern blue gaze. He cups your jaw and turns your head to face him again, the rough pad of his thumb stroking your cheek gently. “Sweetheart, you and I will talk in a moment. Soap’s right about that not bein’ safe, and you know it.”

Your stomach flutters nervously. He gives you a little smile, and his crow’s feet deepen, the lines fanning out further. There’s a moment where you’re tempted to smile back, but his legs shift under you, and you wince sympathetically instead. “Sorry, I should get off of you,” you say quickly. “I’m heavy.”

“I won’t stop you if you’d like to sit somewhere else,” he says, that cheeky smile deepening more. "But you’re not heavy, and I'd like it if you stayed put."

"Told ye he'd like her," Johnny whispers, loud enough that it shatters the isolated pocket of reality that, for a moment, housed only you and the captain. "Hasna even introduced himself an' he's flirtin' like mad."

"Soap!" Gaz hisses back. "Shut up."

Ghost scruffs them both. "Let's finish getting dinner on. Give 'em a minute to talk."

Johnny grins at you and gives you two thumbs up as he circles around to the kitchen, as if you’d actually been a willing participant in all of this.

"I'm John, by the way," the captain says, calling your attention back to him. He drops his hand and settles it on your knee, his fingers curling around the joint. "You alright, doll?"

A loaded question. "Well. Not really."

"You're keepin' it together real nicely, all considered. Wouldn't blame you if you were hissin' and scratching."

"I'm not much of a fighter," you admit. "And even if I was, I don't think it would do me much good."

John chuckles, squeezing your knee lightly. He's gentle, but there's power in those hands, the kind that comes from years of hard work. There's scars all over it, from his the tips of his calloused fingers up to the leather band of his watch, etched in evidence of violence. If there are scars further up his arms, their hidden by the buffalo plaid flannel. "No, it probably wouldn't."

"Are you going to let me go home?" you ask.

He sighs. "The thing is, doll, the boys have put me in an awkward spot here. If I let you go on home, you're going to get them in trouble, and I don't want to see that happen."

"I promise, I won't say anything, I just--"

He shushes you again, and you shut your mouth, biting your lip. "Let me finish, sweetheart. You're being so good right now because you're scared. But that's not gonna last, is it? And worse, it sounds like you don't really have much to go back to."

"I'll find a new job. I always do."

"With another family who doesn't appreciate the work you put in? That doesn't make you feel safe?" His fingertips toy with the edge of your skirt absently, but his eyes are on your face, studying your reaction with rapt attention. This is how a rabbit must feel, pinned under the stare of a grizzly bear, frozen in place and hoping that no claws come down on top of it. "I can read between the lines, doll. That man you were workin' for made you feel so uncomfortable that you'd rather walk through a bad neighbourhood at night than get into a car with him alone."

You can't dispute it, although you're surprised he can glean so much information from half an outburst. "It wasn't like that-- He wasn't that bad."

John hums. "You're tellin' me you've had worse?"

A dozen jobs with a dozen managers or coworkers that took your silence as permission to stand too close, or put their hands on you flash across your mind. Mr. Kinsey was just the latest of many. You know that the thought is displayed on your face, from the way his eyebrows pinch together just slightly, not angrily, but concerned. You try to deflect with a little laugh. "Oh, well. I suppose I have. But hasn't everyone?"

"Soap had a bad lieutenant once and locked the man in his own car when he was just a private. Just because you have a bad boss doesn't mean you have to take it." He looks at you so seriously as he speaks, his fingers dancing distracting circles against the top of your knee, rough fingertips catching on the nylons just slightly. The heat from the arm curled around your waist bleeds through the fabric of your dress, his hand twitching slightly, like all he wants to do is take a handful of soft flesh. “You should speak up when you’re not comfortable, doll. You just need some practice standin’ up for yourself, don’t you?”

If a statement could have teeth, this one would, and you’re not sure if agreeing or disagreeing will have him closing his jaws around you. He’s probably right, you do need to do a better job of standing up for yourself. But you’re certain that he doesn’t want you to start by standing up to him, or his three attack dogs either. “I’ll work on it,” you say meekly. You test his commitment to the statement by gently picking his hand off of your knee, although there’s nowhere to really put it either.

“We’ll work on it,” he agrees, lacing your fingers together. When he rests your now-entwined hands, it’s a little further up your thigh. “You want a drink, darlin’?”

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You wouldn’t mind another tea, but you don’t think that’s what you’re being offered.

The scrutiny he puts you under is intense, like he’s determined to figure out what every microscopic shift in your expression might mean. “You sure, doll? You gotta ask if you want somethin’, or you won’t get it.”

“I would like a tea. But I can make it, I don’t want to be trouble.”

“Nonsense. Lads?” he tips his head back slightly.

“On it, sir,” Gaz replies cheerfully.

Ghost leans over the back of the couch to hand John a tumbler. Whiskey or scotch, by the sharp smell that hits you. John pulls his hand away from yours to accept the glass. “Thank you, Simon,” he says pleasantly. "Good lad."

“S’your party, sir. An’ you’re busy, ain’t you?” Ghost rests his hands on the back of the couch and studies the pair of you, dark eyes gleaming with pride. The man has the demeanour of a cat that’s brought in a helpless little bunny to his master, while it’s still alive and struggling.

“Gettin’ to know our pretty guest.” John smiles at you over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Isn’t she just?”

“Could I, um, sit over there?” you ask, glancing at the chair. Somehow John had managed to distract you from the idea of moving for a while, but you were still eager to get a little space from him, especially with Ghost looming over both of you.

“Of course, sweetheart,” John’s arm loosens, and you quickly get up and move to the chair.

You almost feel cold, without the heat that radiates off of his body. His attention feels weightier now too, or maybe it’s just that his body isn’t shielding the stares from Johnny, Gaz and Ghost, and you’re subjected to all four of them watching you, like you’re either fascinating or delicious (or both). You cross your arms over your chest and shrink into yourself as much as possible, eyes wide.

"Here's yer tea, hen. And may I just say, ye've go' a fantastic rack from this angle." Johnny hands you the mug and sits on the arm of the chair, leaning over you. "Weel. Ye've go' a nice rack from any angle. Nice arse too. Captain's lucky I like him so much, or I'd've gone for you myself."

You breathe in steam, wrinkling your nose slightly. It doesn't smell quite right. "Did you put something in this?"

"Aye. Finger of whiskey. Ye look all stiff and peaky still. Need a pick me up, don't ya?"

You look at him reproachfully. He sighs and plucks the tea from your hands and takes a big sip. "There's nothin' else in there, if that's what yer askin', ye suspicious wee daftie. A little whiskey ne'er hurt no one." He hands the mug back to you, smile crooked, doing his best to be charming, but he's too intense, too fervent, to be anything but unsettling.

“Got Johnny checkin’ everythin’ for poison, do you?” Ghost asks, chuckling. “Can’t say I blame you.” He nudges John with the back of his hand. “She’s smart, worth keepin’ an eye on that. Know’s ‘ow to ‘old ‘er tongue, but she’s listenin’ and payin’ attention.”

“Of course she is! Wouldna choose a lass withoot a brain in her head. Wouldna be worth the captain’s time. Weel, maybe worth a wee bit of time.” He winks down at you. “But no’ wife material, ye ken. Chose her because she’s delightful, no’ just ‘cause she’s bonnie.”

The few times you’d spoken to Johnny before you’d thought that he was so nice. Laughing and joking with you in the pick up line while you waited for the children you were respectively responsible, greeting his niece and nephew with big smiles. And Finn and Rory were always so excited to see him, you’d chalked him up as harmless. Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention then, too focused on the Kinsey kids and your job, maybe. You hadn’t noticed that he was appraising you like a piece of livestock, judging your value like you’d been put up to auction.

The whisky-fortified tea is a bit on the strong side, but you take a few sips anyway. Getting drunk would be unwise, but you’re so tense that your whole body is starting to ache, and that’s not doing you any good either.

“Dinner’s ready,” Gaz announces, untying his kiss the cook apron and setting it on the counter. “Hope you’re hungry. Soap made a cake earlier too.”

John raises an eyebrow. “You can bake?” he asks, surprised.

“Aye, picked it up while I was gettin’ rehabbed for the big fuck-off hole in my head,” he replies airily. “Was goin’ mental putterin’ around Kirsty’s waitin’ for the bairns to get out of school, so Ah picked it up. Isnae so hard. Just chemistry, aye?”

“He did make a big mess,” Gaz says. “Had to wash about fifty dishes before I could get started on dinner.”

“Everyone’s a fuckin’ critic,” Johnny complains. “See if I bake ye a cake for yer birthday, Garrick. Ye’ll be sorry then.”

“Oh no, how will I survive?” Gaz clutches his chest like he’s deeply wounded by the statement, laughing. “I have two mums, I’m still pretty much guaranteed a cake.”

“Always braggin’ abou’ that. Thinks he’s more evolved than the rest of us just because his da’s a woman.” He hovers next to you as you get up, and sticks close as you walk over to the table. You don’t choose a seat, in case there’s an order to things you’re not aware of.

“Pretty sure the whole point is that he dun’t ‘ave a dad,” Ghost says. “Now sit down, mutt. Yer not sittin’ next to the bird. You’re botherin’ ‘er.” He points at a chair, and Johnny sighs and slinks into it.

“Here, sweetheart,” John says, putting his big hand on your back to guide you the last few steps and directing you to a seat. He slides the chair in for you too, masquerading as a gentleman, and sits next to you.

Gaz settles in on your other side, all smiles. “Feeling better?”

They keep asking you how you are, as if the answer is going to change. Like all you need to adjust to the reality of being kidnapped and relocated to some stranger’s house in the country is a little time. Like you’re going to be just fine, if you just get a few more minutes to adjust. “Not really.”

"Ah, don't worry, doll. Captain's gonna be real good to you. You'll get there soon enough. Probably'll feel better once you've had a proper meal."

At least they don't try to make you talk much at the table. They fall into easy conversation between them, and let you eat roasted chicken and potatoes and carrots with some kind of sweet and mildly spicy glaze. Ghost pulls the mask down to eat, so you're able to watch when he goes slightly pink from what barely qualifies as spice. Gaz gives you a little side-long glance, and you almost laugh. There's some solidarity to be had, even in a situation like this one, something funny about how a little more spice could probably straight up kill the other three men at the table. Maybe that would be the key to you freedom: Murdering John by feeding him something full of chilies.

Admittedly, you do feel begrudgingly more charitable towards them after eating. You could maybe blame it on the tea too, which, against your better judgment, you do end up finishing.

John stops you from helping clean up when you stand automatically and try to stack Gaz's empty plate with your own. "No, sweetheart. C’mere." He guides you to the door and out into the chilly evening air. You wish that Ghost had let you put on a sweater over your summery dress, but he had been so keen to show you off, and you’d been too scared to insist. You curl your arms around yourself for warmth, and keep quiet, watching as John trims and lights a cigar, looking out into the darkness beyond the porch.

Fear has morphed from pressing terror to something that gnaws at you from the pit of your stomach. You could try to run for it, but you’d probably roll your ankle wearing the stupid red heels, and you have no real idea where you are, or how far you are from someone who could help you. Outrunning John would be a feat anyway. He’s older than you, but he’s in better shape, nearly perfect shape, broad and strong, that long military career not yet forgotten.

There’s a bench by the door, so you sit down to take the heels off. You’re not used to wearing them, it’s so rare that you have anywhere to go that calls for spicier footwear than your comfortable, worn in trainers.

“Here.” John slides his flannel shirt off and drapes it over your shoulders, and kneels down in front of you, cigar clamped in his mouth, pulling your heels off for you. Smoke curls around you for a moment, thin and blue in the scant light, before a breeze carries it away. He leans on his one leg and studies you, but he doesn’t stand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You put your arms through the sleeves of the flannel, humming noncommittally. You know you’re pretty enough, by most standards, but you feel like his interest— And the interest of the other three— is disproportionate, too intense.

“I’d like you to stay a while, doll,” he continues. “I won’t force you, I’m not that kind of man, but I’d have a hard time letting you go back to living paycheck to paycheck in a bad nieghbourhood, workin’ for creeps that don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. You deserve better than that.” It’s as though he doesn’t even hear his own words though, or imagines himself better, because he absently runs his hands over your calf, squeezing the tense muscle gently.

“I have to work,” you protest, biting back a moan. You didn’t need to encourage him, even if you weren’t quite brave enough (or willing) to stop him. “I have student loans, and I send money to my lola in Vigan. I can’t afford to just disappear off the face of the earth.”

He nods thoughtfully. “How much?”

"Three hundred pounds a month to Lola. I know it might not seem like a lot, but it goes a lot further there."

"And the student loans?"

"Sixteen thousand. Not that much, I worked through my degree, and I inherited a bit of money from my parents. But I still have to--"

"I'll pay for both. You'll stay until you find a good job, and a safer apartment." He says it like it's a final edict, no room for argument.

You pull your leg out of his grip, tucking both further back under the bench. "No, John, I don't want to owe you either--"

"You won't. My boys kidnapped you and disrupted your whole life. I'd pay a lot more if it keeps you from going to the police over it. Least I can do is make sure you're better off when you do leave here, hm?"

You bite your lip. Starting over with a clean slate is tempting, but you're not sure you can trust John. He seems so earnest, blue eyes clear and guileless, but he can't be much better than the other three. Unless he was just holding their leashes tight as their captain, and had to let them loose when he retired.

"Can I think about it?" you ask.

"Of course." He puts his hand on your knee to steady himself as he leans across to ash the cigar in the ashtray that sits on a little table next to the bench. "But I think you'll say yes. You're a smart girl, hm?"

You're tempted to say no, just to test weather or not he's being honest about not forcing you to stay, but there's a niggling worry in the back of your mind that the veneer of civility will evaporate if you push him on it. He's nice enough now. And maybe that niceness isn't a show, maybe he has no darker side, maybe it's all just paranoia on your part. Perhaps the worst thing about him is his predilection to protect his "boys", even though all three are clearly insane.

Military is like that, isn’t it? The whole brotherhood thing? Maybe fighting for your life beside someone changes how you see them forever.

“How long did you all serve together?” you ask. “Johnny mentioned that he was SAS before— I asked about the scar once.” You tap the side of your head, the same spot where Johnny has a nasty bullet scar.

“Long time. Hand-picked Gaz and Soap for my taskforce about ten years back. Simon and I served together longer. He’s a captain now, even if the lads still call him LT. They’re both lieutenants, and Gaz’ll be a captain himself before long. Probably would’ve been already if he’d transferred out of the 141.” He gets up with a grunt and settles onto the bench beside you. “Don’t think Simon’s long for it. He’s only still in because he wants to keep an eye on Soap. Man’s a bloody romantic. Live together or die together.”

“I didn’t realize that they were together at all.”

“The way Soap’s been droolin’ all over you, I’m not surprised.” He puffs on his cigar thoughtfully. “But Simon’s just like that, as far as I can tell. The world’s divided into three categories. Enemies, his people, and everyone else. Enemies ‘n’ everyone else can’t touch what’s his, but he’s never given a damn about Soap sleepin’ with Gaz, or me.”

“I’m not his people.”

John looks at you and shakes his head. “Course you are, doll. You’re one of our people now. They might’ve gotten a bit overzealous, bringing you here the way they did, but those lads would do anything you asked of ‘em now.”

A bit overzealous. You laugh, but the sound comes out bitter.

"Relax, doll. I know you're determined to hate them, but they're good lads. Their hearts are in the right place." He pets a big hand over your head and rests it on the back of your neck, warmth seeping into your bones, relieving some of the ache from all the tension of the day. John has a way of soothing that terrified little animal in your chest that would otherwise threaten to kick it’s way free from your ribs and flee into the dark trees. “Lookin’ out for me, in their own way. Lookin’ out for you too. If your situation was a better one, they wouldn’t’ve plucked you out of it like that.”

There’s hope in his eyes when you look up at him, hope that you’ll forgive and forget, that you’ll come around to some kind of understanding in time. His thumb brushes a sensitive spot behind your ear, sending an awful, irrefutable thrill through you.

You’re worried that he might be right.

My favourite John Price to write is the sneakiest, most charming, manipulative bastard on the planet. I definitely take a lot of inspiration from 391780 's portrayal of him. The Rear Window and Neighborly have been forefront in my mind while working on this (Largely because I think my John would have taken a similar approach if the lads hadn't jumped the gun. The Rear Window is dark, so be warned! Early writes delicious dark fics, but that may not be everyone's cup of tea, so mind the tags.)

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[eracrow]

POV: Ghost and Soap met at the kindergarten

Ghost was too shy so Soap introduced him to the others. 💙

[buttdumplin]

Polariods Pt 2: You’ve got intense baby fever and Simon makes a complete meal out of it, especially now that he’s got his trusty camera.

cw: poly 141, afab gn!reader, breeding, handjobs, this one has a lot more of the boys amongst themselves

word count: 1.8k

Part 1

One of Simon’s favorite polaroids is from a spontaneous session. It’s the night of your solo date and you’re both getting settled for bed when you reach over to him with a whisper.

“Can I confess something?”

“Anything,” he’s worried he messed up on your date, missed something or overstepped a boundary.

“I’m drowning in baby fever.”

He blinks at you, all the tension in his body suddenly gone.

“Do you… want to go raw? I know we haven-”

Simon’s on you with a bruising kiss before you can finish. The sheets are ripped aside and you can feel his fingers dig at the flesh of your hips as he scrambles to get your clothes off. He grunts and pushes at your knee with his to get you to lift so he can slide your bottoms off before he rips them, and you quickly oblige.

You’re laughing against his mouth when he finally pauses. He sits back up to look you over, his panting loud, the tent in his gray sweatpants proud and straining. Once he’s made sure you’re okay, that you do actually want this, he reaches for the little pink camera from the nightstand.

“Yes,” he finally answers, “and I’ll keep going until it takes.”

You gasp and immediately the flash goes off. He’s captured you perfectly: a high blush on your cheeks, your sweet lips parted in surprise, eyes shining with hope.

Simon does keep that photo secret for a while. He knows for a fact you haven’t asked the same of the other boys yet, still a bit too shy to bring it up casually. The picture, he thinks, serves as a reward for being so patient and careful with you as he’s taken the polaroids. He’ll let himself be a little selfish with it, at least for a short while. The boys won’t hear a fucking peep about this from him, not until he’s gotten your express permission to do so.

Once you give him the green light, he takes his time, going after the boys when they least expect it. He wants maximum effect, after all. He’ll meet with one of the boys per week, swearing them to secrecy, wanting to keep the suspense and surprise for each of them. And each time, he comes back to report their reactions in exquisite detail.

~

He is watching a movie with Kyle when he tells him. It’s just the two of them, snuggled together on the couch, Kyle’s head resting on his chest. The movie was innocent enough, one they’d seen a handful of times already, though it had quickly become a source of comfort. Simon launches directly into it.

“They want a baby.”

Kyle leans up enough to look Simon in the eye. He instantly thinks Simon is talking about you, but he forces himself to slow his thoughts a moment. Surely it’s his own hopeful thinking, his own desires speaking. The hesitation is clear on his face.

Kyle whimpers, his heart pounding so hard that Simon must be able to feel it against his own chest.

Simon pulls out the picture from his pocket, knowing it’ll answer everything for him. Kyle isn’t even thinking when he takes the photo from him, the snatching making Simon chuckle. He stares at the polaroid silently, eyes moving to take in every inch of you in it. When he turns to Simon again, the sweet warmth of his eyes has been swallowed by blown pupils. He licks his lips slowly, pressing his throbbing cock into Simon’s thigh. Poor boy got so hard so fast it must have hurt.

“I know, sweet boy,” Simon coos, “You’ll get your turn.”

“You can practice on me in the meantime,” he whispers into Kyle’s ear.

Two days later, Kyle is handed a polaroid of his own. Your hair is splayed out on the pillow, your mouth slightly open, your eyebrows turned up in what he knows must have been you begging, and your hand wrapped around the base of your neck. Shadows hide the rest of the image, but he’s already fully aware of what’s there. He asks Simon to repeat every detail of your reaction over and over again as he palms himself through his pants.

“Let me help you with that, love,” he gently pries Kyle's hands away.

~

Johnny is fresh out of the shower, hair still dripping and a towel that’s definitely too short wrapped around his waist, when Simon tells him. He’s pulling socks from a drawer, his back is turned to the room, when Simon speaks.

“They asked me to fuck them raw. Fill them up.”

Johnny whips around, some droplets flying to hit Simon gently in the face. He chuckles as he wipes his face, not missing the sound of Johnny stomping towards him. He opens his eyes to see Johnny’s towel barely hanging on, his cock now straining against the material and pulling at the easy knot at his hip. Simon takes the picture out of his pocket to show him, describing what exactly led to the moment he captured. There’s a quick flash of jealousy in those sharp eyes, desire temporarily blinding him to the fact that he’ll get to participate as well. Johnny takes a big steadying breath.

“No contraception at all?”

“None.”

He sees Johnny’s body tense, muscles clenching and releasing, his body swaying a bit from barely being able to restrain himself from lunging towards the living room where he knows you are. In the back and forth, the knot of the towel gives up, exposing what little it was hiding to Simon’s eyes. He can clearly see Johnny’s cock twitch with excitement, a fat pearl of precum already at his tip. Simon wraps his big hands around Johnny’s hips, forcing him the few steps forward to lick at his slit. Johnny hisses at the attention, hands fluttering at his sides until Simon grabs one of them and brings it to the back of his head.

“Give it to me for now,” and Johnny is lost.

Two days later, Johnny’s polaroid is delivered. Shadows keep their secrets again, but he can very clearly see you sitting and leaning towards the camera, breasts pushed forward and arms holding you up, lips swollen from kissing and glossy with spit, an eager smile on your face. Even with the brightness of the flash, your irises are completely gone. After long moments of admiring the photo, Johnny crushes his mouth to Simon’s, pulling him down and shoving him onto the bed to straddle Simon himself.

~

John is the last one to receive his. Simon knows exactly how explosive his reaction will be, so he wants to give John all the time he needs. It’s just the two of them in the kitchen, finishing up the last touches of cleaning before tucking in for the night. Simon waits until he sees John no longer has something fragile in his hands when he pulls out the polaroid. John’s interest is immediate and undeniable, hands clenching and yearning to touch. Seeing you half naked will always cause that reaction in him. But then Simon speaks.

“Wants to be bred. Properly.”

His head snaps up to look at Simon, eyes looking for even the slightest hint of this being a prank or a joke of some kind. When Simon gives a small nod and smiles down at him, John finally lets the words sink in. He looks back at the photo, his sharp inhale loud in the empty room. His chest swells, holding his breath from the excitement of just hearing it and having it confirmed. Simon can’t help himself. He gently nudges John’s face back up, pulling him in for a needy kiss.

“We all get a turn,” he says into John’s lips, drawing a long moan out of him.

Simon well knows John will never make a move without explicit consent, so he wants to make things as clear as possible so John can enjoy this. He can already feel John’s cock hard against his own, but he wants the man to fully have this moment.

“You’re next,” he presses the words to John’s neck, and the older man’s knees nearly give out.

Simon wraps him up in his arms and lifts John onto the counter, making quick work of his captain’s belt. John’s panting breaths are loud above him as Simon bites and sucks at the flesh of his neck. He doesn’t give his back a second thought as he bends lower to take John’s nipple into his mouth, using his teeth to graze it lightly, and sucking hard, just as he knows John loves. John’s already lost in the moment and Simon can see it. His own actions and the sheer potential of these news overwhelming John with desire. Still, Simon can do more for him. He reaches down with calloused hands, teasing John’s cock through his boxers, fingers focusing on the growing wet spot over his tip.

“So sticky for me already. Gonna stuff ‘em full, aren’t you?”

Simon spends the rest of the night with both of their cocks in his hand, making John cum over and over again, telling him about the lovely little sounds you make as you take his cum.

Two days later, Simon gives John his photo, the pride in his walk evident. John almost wanted to take the photo himself, but he wouldn’t dream of overstepping. He’s well aware that this serves as a bonding ritual for you and Simon. He’s also not sure he could trust himself to be able to still snap the picture.

John’s picture is of you already flushed and messy, hair clearly having had hands running through, eyes shining with unshed tears, and the single most euphoric smile he’s ever seen on your face, even with your bottom lip bitten raw. The base of the photo wrinkles a tiny bit in his grip, even as John holds himself back, not letting his own hunger crush the precious item. He takes in a big gulp of air, and launches himself towards the bedroom where he knows you’re waiting for him. John’s a man on a mission now, and he’s going to do everything he can to recreate the image with you. Maybe add a couple of his own marks on your skin along the way.

Once he’s able to take a break and give you a breather, John goes back to thank Simon by dropping to his knees and taking that big cock down his throat.

And they won't say it, because they don't need to, but one of their favorite parts of their pictures is the fact that it's clear Simon is fucking you senseless in every single one of them. He may not be in the pictures, but they don't need to see him to recognize his handiwork.

AN: Bless the saint that is @mikichko, she's seen this in every stage and was always beautifully encouraging. I appreciate the fuck outta you, girl.

Pictures of the boys are next.

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco - AUs

Collection of AU works featuring the characters and relationship from Dead Disco. Dead Disco masterlist All works are 18+ Minors DNI. All works contain mature themes. READ THE TAGS.

Baby Trap AU: 18+ Dark and twisted themes. Explicit sex. Collection of asks revolving around Simon and Johnny baby trapping Darling by replacing her birth control with placebo to get her pregnant on purpose. Tag: baby trap au Original ramble here. Main asks: Breeding kink "What a good girl." List of things "You taste different." That little piece of foil "I'm not." Abortion Spits Grocery store Tranquilizer post tranq Ghost "I want to lay down." Grocery store pt 2 Sobs Darling dies "I need a break" Did you do this? Did you do this aftermath Phone call Hospital After hospital Doting and annoying Cramps cramps pt 2 Johnny "Darling, please!" Celestialpax - baby trap reverse uno card someone calls the cops Mango smoothie Team sport

Disco baby AU: 18+ Minors DNI. Mature themes. Collection of asks revolving around Darling getting pregnant on accident. Tag: disco baby au Main asks: Ultimate angst Cloud kick Hovering Cupcake Thoughts Birthday party You get it Johnny punches your boyfriend Baby girl Bee on the doorstep Bee and the guys after the doorstep The phone call - taken The phone call - angst The rescue insufferable

Omegaverse AU: 18+ mature themes. Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Explicit sex. Collection of asks/drabbles revolving around the throuple existing in omegaverse. Tag: dead disco omegaverse au Tamale anon "I think there are a lot of things we don't know." The suppressants What if Darling went MIA Lost and Found Pillow talk Warming You're safe Conversation Second heat

Zombie AU: Undead Disco 18+ mature themes. Collection of asks/drabbles revolving around the throuple existing during a zombie apocalypse Tag: dead disco zombie au or undead disco Ghoap x reader zombie au? What if darling was in Simon's place Immune darling humming Gollum Changes https-shogun Packing

Fantasy AU: 18+ mature themes. Collection of asks/drabbles revolving around the throuple existing in a fantasy timeline. The Seer Warprize princess If you're a... No notes Horseback

[postmortemnivis]

could be read as a part two of this post

“when i met you,” price started, “you were a mess of a man.”

simon grunted in response, his arms crossed over his chest almost as if he wanted to protect, shield himself from price’s words. each cut deeper than knives, aiming straight for the strong walls he’d built around his heart, the ones that only you had been able to tear down.

a mess of a man. he knew it, he didn’t need to hear about it too.

“at first, i honestly didn’t think you were going to ever become someone.” the older man admitted.

johnny’s laughter could be heard from the living room, where he and kyle were chatting about god knows what, probably the last poor girl johnny shagged in a bathroom stall at a pub the previous night.

“you didn’t?”

price shook his head. “as i said, a mess of a man, simon.”

a mess of a man. simon knew himself, he knew he was no saint, no good: he was a murdered, the angel of death that could be seen in the middle of the field, his dark glow foretelling the end of anyone who found himself in the middle of his bloody path. his hands were stained with the blood of many, the same hands he refused to touch you with; the only thing that kept him sane was knowing he wasn’t ghost, ghost’s crimes were shielded from simon by his black gloves and balaclava.

simon looked at price as his hand rested on his shoulder. he remembered what it felt to be neglected by his own father, and price knew it. price always seemed to know everything about his boys, he could see right through him. what simon needed was guidance, and price would’ve given it to him.

“nothing to be ashamed of,” he continued, “most of you boys are, you seek for something more. think of johnny, he enlisted when he was sixteen. you enlisted the day of your eighteenth birthday. we all know that if you’re a responsible man you don’t run to the army. we’re all crazy, messed up men.”

price also knew they were reckless, a suicidal loyalty bound to him. after all, their job attracted the beasts, the outcasts, the sadists, the worst of society.

simon rolled his eyes when price referred to them as boys. the man was less than ten years younger than simon, but he still felt the paternal pressure and instinct to protect the boys. his boys.

“wha’ made you change your mind?”

price motioned simon to move further into the kitchen, away from the people that were invited to his house.

“her.”

your voice echoed as you walked out of the bathroom, letting johnny finally hold his little niece. gary was walking behind you with the brightest smile on his face. gaz made a comment about how the three weeks old baby looked just like you, with simon’s dark eyes and pale blonde hair. if only he knew you helped simon dye it every month and a half, him sat on the edge of the bathtub and you standing between his thighs, his hands firm on your waist as he—for once—looked up at you instead the other way round.

you agreed with a chuckle, looking around for simon.

“look a’ the lassie, she’s already an uncles gal!” johnny’s laughter filled the flat. from the corner of his eyes, simon could see the person he’d grown to call his brother hold his newborn daughter.

“her?” he looked at you, the softest and most subtle smile crawling on his scarred face. simon struggled to hold back his smirk.

price nodded. “i remember we all could tell that you met someone. you’d become less… rigid. you’d smile more, were more clement with the recruits.”

“she changed me.” simon shrugged, attempting to hide the smile that would try to crawl on his face anytime he’d think about you. even after years, between a marriage and now a child, his eyes would light up at your thought alone. that’s the impact, the effect you had on him.

“that’s good, simon.” price spoke. “we’re all happy you’re doing better. we remember how you used to-”

“okay, got the message.” simon interrupted him. “loud an’ clear, john.”

his life before you seemed so distant and he almost couldn’t remember of a time where you weren’t by his side yet. like a far away dream, closer to a nightmare than a dream, but still something that didn’t look like the life he was living now. he didn’t need to remember a bit of it, what was the use? he had you now, everything before the day you met didn’t matter anymore, it didn’t exist anymore.

price sighed, looking to the ceiling as he tried to find something in his pocket. “coming outside for a smoke?”

simon shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. “nah, capt. quit a while ago.”

it’d been months since you’d showed him the pregnancy test that shook his whole world. he’d fallen to his knees in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by worried recruits, johnny immediately sprinting close enough to check whether his lieutenant was okay but far enough to give you two privacy.

“promise me ‘m not dreamin’.” he murmured, pulling you closer by wrapping his arms around your waist, hiding his face in your chest.

you brushed his short blond hair back, biting your lip as you smiled. you could feel your eyes tingling, tears threatening to spill at any given minute. “you’re not, si. we’re gonna be parents.”

you chuckled, leaning down to kiss his head and felt your white work shirt getting wet by his tears. you looked around at the faces of the confused recruits, and you smiled, because you knew you were the only person who’d ever truly know how the scary lieutenant, the ghost, really was.

“we are.” he whispered before kissing your still flat stomach, getting back up and giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. “thank you.”

in the nine months he’d been taking care of you like a person on their deathbed—really not necessary, si, i can still do the dishes by myself—he’d stopped smoking, and treated himself to just one beer every first sunday of the month.

he had worked on himself, hard.

for you and for your daughter. he wanted to be a better person, a good man. he wanted to be nothing like his father, that having haunted and scared him for so long and being the main reason he always tried to postpone having children, what truly held him back,, but he tried to be a better man.

that was what distinguished him from his father, he tried to be better.

leaving the military was sure next, after fixing the downstairs bathroom faucet and oil the doorknob of the closet. he wondered how the boys would take it, but in the end he didn’t really care, he knew they’d understand.

“quit.” price repeated, eyebrows raised as he put his lighter back in pocket. he wasn’t a social smoker, but knew better than to smoke near a baby, even if he would’ve excused himself to the balcony.

simon smiled as he heard you scold johnny for throwing the little girl in the air. “what if you drop her?”

“ah wid never, lass.” he reassured you, laughing at the slap he got on his scruff.

“you’re a good man, simon.” prices hand found its way on simon’s shoulder again. “you went through a lot, but you’re still fighting for a good cause, you didn’t let it change you. that’s what makes you a good man.”

simon was about to deny, say he wasn’t, he was the worst man there was, but then you walked into the kitchen, all smiles.

“hey si.” you smiled. “baby’s hungry.”

simon immediately stretched out his arms to hold the baby, a bottle already in his hands as soon as those words left your plush lips, your lashes batting up at him.

you wrapped your arms around one of his strong biceps and smiled up at him and then at price.

“cute, isn’t she?”

“is indeed.” john nodded, smiling under his thick moustache.

before he decided to leave the kitchen to leave you three some privacy and join the boys in the living room, where johnny had apparently put on a rugby match—“scotland-wales, for fucks sake, lad!”—he shot simon one final knowing glance.

simon returned the look, your eyes too focused on the little girl in her charcoal grey onesies to notice.

“you okay, si?” you whispered, but your husband's eyes were unfocused, staring off into space as price’s words kept replaying in his head like a broken record.

he nodded, kissing your forehead almost instinctively. “yes, love.”

you smiled up at him and then at your daughter, simon’s mind travelling an hundred miles an hour, waiting to crash on itself and get brought back to reality. price’s words echoed in the background of his brain, quieter each second that passed.

a good man.

tagging who asked:

@mr-sol @v1x3n @m4dyy @softangelheart @redzluvvesage @nittoka

[elysabeththequeene]

cause i've had the time of my life and I've searched though every open door til i found the truth and i owe it all to you bridgerton season two // dirty dancing (1987)

[livsjaded]

SOMEONE WHO DESERVES SO MUCH BETTER !! i hate the way the fandom treat her :( y’all don’t get her like i do 😒