Chapter Text
You had never been the one to picture yourself married. It wasn't because you'd witnessed bad marriages or had a cynical heart; you just thought it all sounded a bit boring to spend endless years with the same person.
Oh, but don't you want that stability? Coming home and knowing someone's there? You'd shrugged and gone along with it, agreeing on principle, but privately wrinkling your nose at the image.
Meeting, and subsequently dating Captain John Price, was a slow battering ram to the scaffolding you'd erected for your future. He'd smiled down at you, arm snug around your shoulders, calling you a non-traditional girl he'd take home to Mum. You just wanted to sleep with him. The notion of sleeping with someone with security clearance above Top Secret was a thrill, but you hadn't actually expected him to stay persistent. The sex was good, the money was better, and when he suggested you move in with him, you said no until he wore you down; ate you out from clit to ass, knowing you weren't getting it any better anywhere else.
The "Mrs. Price" jokes followed once you moved in. Any time he introduced you at a party, you were the missus that isn't hissus yet. You laughed each time he cracked the joke. Ribbed him in the sides, rolled your eyes, and performed the role of a lovingly exasperated girlfriend. Cute, you'd mutter under the crook of his ear.
Over the various work parties that were few and far between, you met 'the lads' you'd heard so much about; Johnny with his charming words (you're so pretty, we didnae think the Captain had it in him to catch such a lovely thing like you), Simon and those big flat doe eyes that seemed to see through every light laugh or sarcastic joke you'd make, and Kyle coming around with a drink refill for you without you needing to wait or ask.
On the drives home, you'd idly stroke John's arm hair and talk about the different folks at the party. So-and-so is getting a divorce, which'll make it his third. John'd tut disapprovingly; he held strong feelings about divorce. 'm never gettin' a divorce once I marry 'er, no matter what. You'd listen to his rants and hum along. You didn't really have a dog in the fight. You'd met plenty of happy people who'd been married plenty of times and figured maybe that'd be you too one day.
He encouraged you to redecorate his flat from something utilitarian and grey to something homey, something he'd never be able to achieve without hiring someone, and what's the point in that when he's got the loveliest girl who's got an eye for design and knows what she wants to wake up seeing every morning? His budget is no budget at all, leaving you baffled until he shows you that he truly means for you to spend whatever you like.
Nearly two years in, with no warning at all other than his incessant jokes, John got down on one knee on a winter morning, eyes beaming up at you, nearly gone under the crinkled skin and the one charmingly heavy lid. Your stomach railed against itself and you were struck dumb, actually speechless. When you met him on your knees, he kissed you hot and open-mouthed, laughed into the kiss, and fucked you on the carpet.
Later, retelling the story, you'd laugh, I'm not even sure I said yes.
You were somewhat surprised that he didn't want a big do for the wedding. It was a simple affair, small and intimate, and he paid for it in cash. His lads were his best men, of course; Johnny cried during his speech, which got him laid that same night by one of your bridesmaids. Kyle would sling an arm around your shoulder, dance with you when John was at the bar with Simon, murmur that you were the most beautiful bride he'd ever seen. It was a sweet night.
But it was just one night.
Dating John when he wanted to lock you down into marriage was dating a man who texted back as soon as he could, paid attention when you were in a bad mood, and generally gave of himself.
Being with John who has now gotten what he wanted was like watching all those traits die on the vine in slow motion.
Now, the wedding faded years behind you, the image of John has been rebuilt. He's not just a workaholic who tries to make a work/life balance for his wife; he's a workaholic who disappears into work for ages, leaving you like a salt flat, desperate for his attention. He's a man who gets defensive and petulant when you mention that his administrative assistants seem to get younger every few years. You're not even the jealous type.
The image of you has also needed to be rebuilt. You had once been independent and thriving, now stuck in a beautiful home with nothing to do but masturbate or work out or get drinks with friends. All house labour was outsourced to housekeepers and gardeners and all manner of people who eyed you up, knowing you were just a spoiled stay-at-home wife. For a long time, you chatted with them as if they were peers, because you once had been, but you no longer feel comfortable. It feels too much like you're being condescending, so you escape off to aerial silks class or lunch by yourself or hide in a room while they work around you, cleaning up your messes.
You're exactly what you've hated your whole life, and the money keeps you there, fat and discontent.
John can tell you're getting antsy in a new way. Can tell because you no longer even text him to check in. You brush past him on the days he's home, eyes not even flickering up to meet his handsome face. John, who will never ever get a divorce, knows you will ask for one. Probably suspects you've already begun talking to a lawyer.
Sweet'art, I love you. You know that, yeah? I'm tryin'. His fingers under your chin as he slowly fucks you, making your firm frown dissolve into an open mouth like he wanted, making you look up into his eyes. I'll make it right, okay? You believe me? Say it.
A couple weeks later, he brings home Kyle.