#deacon the mysterious

[sassenashsworld]

Actual works on Ao3

Smut challenge

Don't read if you are not a consentant adult

Deacon :

He prolongs the kiss as she want, his lips moving against hers with a tenderness that belies the possessiveness of his grip on her. He lets his tongue sweep into her mouth, tangling with hers in a slow, sensual dance.

Hancock :

"Oh, and Bitch," he mocks, "Next time, come to the State House directly, and maybe I will show you how is it to make love."

She watches him walk away with a mixture of anger and satisfaction. She knows damn well that he’s won this round, that he’s completely and utterly dominated her. But at the same time, she can’t help but feel a sense of pride for being able to make him break his control like that.

Notes about it :

I have study both a little more deeper, to be able to to see what might be beneath these men, beneath their public actions

I doesn't read a lot of smut--all kind of NSFW work about them, and I wanted to give it my own interpretation

About Deacon, I had come to the conclusion that if he was about to give in for anyone, he would do it all, passionately, without restraint of his soul, but with such a tenderness that the clown doesn't shows like in any other part of his life. Other than that, he has to be a mixture of all he is, all he shows and all he hides.

I mean, he is sneaky, and it's it takes some attention, a minutie to the details, a self-control that an impulsive person CAN'T have. And that's why when he should finally love, he love all, he give it all, with sweetness, tenderness in his passion.

But also, he give it all and wait nothing less from his partner. Under the intimacy, the door closed, she/he/them shouldn't even a single THOUGHT for anyone else but him. He is all for she/he/them, they should be all for him.

I then worked it about a mixture of it all; possessiveness, tenderness, control and abandon.

As for Hancock....

Oh, the blast!

Because, while I haven't delved far into the smut works of others, I have read a lot of fanfic, comments, analyses, and headcanon on Tumblr and elsewhere.

Overall, in the intimacy, Hancock is delicate, soft, and subjugated. The man has fallen hard and cannot believe he is love, therefore he acts as if the earth SoSu walks on is a divine surface to embrace.

And that wasn't where I wanted to go.

I wanted to portray that he was dangerous, something to be afraid of. This Mayor, the King of Zombie, is domineering and merciless.

The background is not love, but sex, and harsh sex, from enemy to lover, enticing Sosu into his dominance.

And that was extremely enjoyable.

Hancock, the Mayor before Fo4, was a bold, untamed man who let no one mock him.

And Sosu--Nora--learns a hard lesson here about thinking she can play with him.

Soon on your screens on Ao3 in my work A smut for a Companion

[astrophysicist-guitar-god]

Tee shirt worn by John Deacon, as seen in this post by @riaaanna (in her post, riaaanna thanks 7SeasOfQ for a head's up about the pics).

Unless my eyes deceive me, the print above the illustration (in the red stripe) reads Roger Taylor. There's more print in the yellow stripe below, but I can't begin to guess what it says.

The figure in the middle appears to be a very stylized man wearing black boots? It almost (alllllmost) looks like a very exaggerated Tom of Finland-inspired figure??? Kind of??? A little???

Does anyone know anything about this shirt, or has anyone seen other pics of John wearing it? I seem to remember discourse about John wearing a t-shirt of or about Roger before, but my memory is even worse than Brian's. I swear, this seems familiar in the most incredibly vague way possible.

Is this our Roger? Or maybe it refers to Duran Duran's Roger Taylor??? I'm getting dizzy.

Anyway, thanks in advance!

EDITED TO ADD: See reblogs for @riaaanna's knowledgeable addition! Thank you!!!!!

[fuckyeahdeaky]

I miss John Deacon so much??!!!!! Like I need more of the John Deacon lore!! I need more stories about John so that I could learn more about him and his personality!!! Sometimes I really wish I could figure out his views on the world and life. Like John Deacon is such a big mystery to me that it actually drives me crazy sometimes to think about it. I sometimes wonder how / what john felt/thought when he realised they were making it big. Like it's so obvious it was a side gig to him and he never intended to make it his job or life. What was his exact thought? Did he weigh the pros and cons ? Did he think it'd be fun at that time? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!!

[jimintomystery]

Album art for Queen's News of the World (1977), by Frank Kelly Freas.

[apenitentialprayer]

In the first image, we see a theme to which [Maurice] Denis will return again and again: the depiction of the Archangel Gabriel as a deacon bearing a book, almost as if Our Lady is the priest at the Solemn Mass to whom the book is being carried to her to kiss. In this very early depiction, painted when the artist was 19, he has even included a couple of acolytes bearing tapers. We something similar in this depiction ca. 1914, except that here the deacon-angel bows his head and raises his arms in a gesture of homage, while Our Lady bows her head in a reciprocal greeting. She is dressed as a bride.

One of my favorites is a depiction in which we see the familiar deacon-archangel holding a Gospel book, accompanied by the candlebearing acolytes, approaching the Blessed Virgin on what appears to be a rooftop terrace, with the sun streaming behind her (which is somewhat unconventional; usually the beam of light comes from across the scene from the other direction). The sublimity of the setting and its vertiginous perspective hint at the lofty grandeur of the miraculous conception.

Top Image: Mystère catholique, oil on canvas, 1890. Middle Image: Annonciation d'Assise, oil on canvas, 1914. Bottom Image: Annonciation à Fiesole, oil on canvas. Quotations by Peter Kwasniewski, "A Modern French Painter in Love With Our Lady: Maurice Denis' Remarkable Annunciation Paintings"

[somethingaboutmint]

"My demons holding me back from rambling about my sole-" JUST KIDDDINGGGGGG LMAAAAAOOOO look at her. Shes not having a good time adjusting to the wasteland (banged up hard) but is enjoying her new purpose of working with the minutemen and helping people. Teen mom swag

[here-have-some-stories]

Massacre Masquerade Chapter 12

Chapter 1 Chapter 11

“Should we show this to someone?” Bailey asked, indicating the smashed remote.

“Probably,” Leon replied, “even if it isn’t a murder weapon or anything it could still be useful.”

“How?” Deacon asked. 

Leon shrugged. “I don’t know. The investigators can decide that. They’re supposed to be smart.”

“Supposed to be?” Deacon muttered but Leon didn’t hear him. While they were talking he had spotted Terry through the crowd. He gently took the wrecked object out of Bailey’s hands and walked towards the head investigator. 

“Terry!” Leon called out, pushing his way past people. Terry turned around at his name. He looked stressed, Leon noted. That was to be expected. Having to try and calm everyone down while they were people being murdered, while simultaneously having to try and solve those same murders would be a very difficult job. Leon hoped that showing him the remote would help with the case, not confuse it even more.

“Yes…” Terry paused for a couple seconds, trying to remember something. “What was your name again?”

“Leon.”

“Right, yeah. Yes, Leon?”

“Um, Bailey found this on the ground over there.” Leon pointed to the area where Bailey had been knocked to the ground, a little bit away from where the ceiling fell. “It’s smashed up but we think it might be a remote.” He handed the device to Terry who took it carefully and inspected it.

“Could be,” Terry muttered, more to himself.

“I think it could have something to do with the roof.” Leon was startled as Deacon appeared behind him. So he’s still sticking with that, Leon thought, grinning to himself. He was amused by his friend's insistence on his theory. It was kind of cute.

“How so?” Terry asked, looking up curiously. 

“Maybe the remote activated the roof to collapse, and then maybe whoever did it dropped it, maybe on accident or on purpose, and everyone crushed it when they were running around.”

Terry was nodding as he listened to Deacon explain. “Maybe,” he admitted. “That is a possibility. But then again it's also a possibility that it's just a random remote. Might not even be a remote. Either way, I’ll get some people to take a look at it, try and see if we can get any fingerprints. Thanks for this guys.”

“Your welcome,” Deacon said, proud that his idea had been taken into consideration.

“Who found it again?” Terry asked.

“I did,” Bailey, who had also seemed to appear at Leon’s side like Deacon, replied. 

Terry nodded to her. “Well done. You’ve got a good eye.”

Bailey nodded herself, but in thanks. She couldn’t be bothered to mention that the only reason she had found it was because she had been bowled over like a sack of potatoes. Terry walked away, presumably to give someone the job of searching for fingerprints, and left Bailey, Leon and Deacon standing there.

“What now?” Deacon asked.

“Now we go back to what we were doing before,” Bailey answered him, “Nothing.”

Deacon groaned. “But that’s so boring.”

“Oh, poor Deacon,” Leon said sarcastically. “Is three sets of murders not enough excitement for you?”

‘It’s enough terror.”

“So then we should try and do our best to avoid any more of that, and go sit down,” Bailey said and she began to make her way back to their favourite corner.

“Sitting down isn’t going to stop the murderer from murdering again,” Deacon muttered, but followed Bailey anyway. 

Deacon couldn’t sit still for the life of him. He wanted to be doing something, but at the same time was too scared to walk around. Everyone in the building was distrusting of each other, and there was no way of knowing when another incident might happen. But he was still so bored. This was not how he thought this night was going to turn out. After changing positions what felt like a million times, he found himself lying down on Leon’s lap. He was zoned out and lost in thought when it happened, but he remembered fidgeting around again, when Leon's arm was suddenly wrapped around his chest and pulling him back to lay on him. Now Deacon was laying on his new friend, Leon’s hand resting on Deacon’s stomach. Like usual, Deacon was overthinking. Was it a sign Leon wanted more, like earlier in the night when they kissed? Or was it the man’s way of getting Deacon to stop squirming around and sit still? Because that method certainly worked. Deacon lifted his eyes up to Leon’s face. He didn’t look nervous or awkward. His expression was calm and he didn’t at all have the look of someone who had a man he just met lying on top of him like a married couple. Deacon calmed his overactive mind with that. It probably was just nothing.That’s how most things turned out in the end.

Leon, even though his face didn’t show it, was sweating internally. It had been a spur of the moment to grab Deacon to force him down. He didn’t even know why he did it. Deacon’s moving around hadn’t been annoying, just a background occurrence to him. He had already come to terms that he liked Deacon in more than just a friend way. He wasn’t going to lie to himself and he wasn’t ashamed of it. He had long since come to terms with his sexuality. But the problem was he didn’t know if Deacon wanted more. They had kissed, yes, but that doesn’t automatically mean feelings and relationships. His hand was on Deacon as well, but he was in too frozen a position to move it. And, if he has to be completely honest, he kind of liked it where it was, and Deacon hadn’t made a point to move it, so maybe he was alright with it as well. 

Bailey was minding her own business and couldn’t care less about what the other two were up to. She was staring ahead, imagining scenarios about what might happen when everything was over and when she could finally start being a proper knight. She was in the middle of a fantasy of saving a child from a burning building when Terry approached them. 

Deacon sat up as the head investigator approached and began speaking to them. 

“Just thought I’d let you know,” Terry said to them, “we looked at the remote you found, and we can’t identify what it might be for. Then again, it is very smashed up, but we wouldn’t be very professional if we dismissed theories and possibilities.”

Deacon perked up a little at that. “Are you saying it might actually be related to the roof?”

“It’s a slim possibility,” Terry admitted, “but like I said, we wouldn’t be very professional or good if we dismissed a theory just because it was unlikely. And slim possibilities happen all the time. We’re just being cautious and considering everything, so we checked for fingerprints but couldn’t find any.”

“So whoever had the remote was probably wearing gloves?” Bailey asked and Terry nodded.

“Probably. Either that or they’re an alien with no fingerprints. There’s a high chance that if it was related to the murders, then whoever used it probably took the gloves off, but it doesn’t hurt to look around.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Leon asked.

Terry shrugged. “The best you can do is just keep an eye out and tell us if anyones acting suspicious. And look out for anyone wearing gloves.”

Bailey nodded as Deacon replied with, “will do!” Terry nodded his thanks to them and turned away, presumably to continue his hard work of catching a murderer.

I feel like there was a lot of character nodding in this chapter. Also I know this took a long time, but I've been busy with exams and being lazy. I wanted to kind of explore Deacon and Leon's romance and relationship a bit more, and since this chapter didn't have to much stuff happening, I felt like this was the best place to do it. I think this chapter turned out pretty well if I do say so myself. If you liked it feel free to leave a like, comment or reblog so all your mutuals and followers can also read my beautiful fabulous work and the gay men. Just a heads up as well, the next two chapters will be the same sort of thing, and it won't really be centred around Bailey, Leon and Deacon. They might get a bit boring because it's kind of the same thing, and they probably will be a longer than normal. Maybe. I was going to have it as one chapter, but thought that that would be too long. They still might be super long, but I'm telling myself to only have two chapters for them. Anyways, hope you liked it, next chapters coming whenever my writers block goes away when I actually have time to write.

[fallout-fucker]

Crows Of The Commonwealth

I was on CrowTok and it made me come up with an idea.

So, obviously a lot of the crows in the Commonwealth are made by the Institute, though I personally like to believe that there are still a lot of crows that are regular ones, too.

Crows are an incredibly smart species of bird, which makes sense as to why they're the ones the Institute use. To my memory, I don't think there are any other birds in the game. Again, I'd like to headcanon that they're not the only ones left but if only a few species of birds managed to survive the bombs and the aftermath, I wouldn't put it past crows to be one of those species due to that intelligence.

Crows are known for recognising people, which also works in favour of the Institute as to why they'd choose them specifically. If you are able to tell the difference between individual crows, you'll be less likely to question if a specific one if following you if you are aware they likely recognise you.

However, they're also known to bring gifts and trinkets if treated right, or actually attack people who don't. And they remember faces. I don't get the impression that the Institute treats them too kindly if they don't even consider Gen 3 Synths as people, who are literally created with technology and human biology/DNA.

If we imagine that the Institute Crows work like Synths do, then that means that they are also able to become independent like Synths can. We know they have the level of intelligence, more so than another species of bird, to perhaps reach that level of independence. That's exactly why the Institute picked them. Wouldn't it be ironic if that became part of the Institute's downfall.

So imagine a Sole Survivor, fresh out of the Vault, scared and cold on their first few nights. Hungry, tired, likely sick, grieving. Alone. They have Dogmeat. They have themselves. A few strangers they saved. Nothing else.

They're trying their best one night to settle. They've only been unfrozen for a few days by now, but have yet to leave Sanctuary. They chose to stay for a couple days to prepare for their long journey ahead, and rebuild their home so they had somewhere to go back to. Preston has taught them basics self defence and survival, Sturges has helped them temporarily fix the holes in their walls. They're not close to these strangers yet, but there's a small comfort in knowing there's still people, and people nearby to run to if anything not friendly comes knocking on their door.

They're picking at a 200 year old box of stale cereal, not able to stomach the taste just yet. In the end, they end up leaving it in a bowl for Dogmeat to have, preferring to sleep, hunger be damned. They sleep on the floor that used to hold the dinning table, not ready to sleep in the now-too-empty bedrooms.

By morning, their sleep is interrupted. Not by the cold October air that their thin, makeshift blanket- That doubles as their coat during the day- barley keeps away. Not by the sunlight that seeps in by the broken shards of class where the window used to be. Not by drops of rain that fall through the cracks in the ceiling. Not even by Dogmeat licking then awake, like he did yesterday morning. This time it's the sound of pecking and squawking that has Sole prying their eyes open.

A small group of grows picking at the bowl of cereal. They must've gotten in through what once was the window, or literally any of the holes of missing metal panels scattered throughout the building. Sole barely has it in them to care. They know they shouldn't waste food that could've gone to them or their new furry friend, but they truly cannot bring it in them to mind. They wonder if the birds have a hard time finding food, too, and decide it might not be a waste at all.

They sit up. A few of the crows fly up onto the windowsill at their movements, one stays enjoying their breakfast, unfazed. Sole waits, sitting still until the birds realise they have no intention of harming them. They glide back down onto the floor, going back to eating.

After a few moments, the crow that stayed perks his head up, neck twitching into an angle that lets him look at Sole. He hops over, stopping just before he reaches their lap. Sole raises their hand, thumb and index finger moving slowly until they land on its neck. His feathers bristle under Sole's pets, his feet dancing happily beneath him. The other crows finish their breakfast. Salem, Sole decides to call him, joins his friends who hop back onto the windowsill. They fly off. He turns his head to the side, a beady eye looking at Sole again. He squawks at them before flying off to join the others.

Sole spends the rest of their day taking metal panels from some of the completely collapsed houses to fix the holes in their walls. They're able to find paint at the old Red Rocket down the road when looking for more equipped tools. Repainting isn't exactly their priority right now, just making sure the house will be fit to stand against the weather, and for when it gets colder in the next few months. The paint will be useful when they get to the stage of being able to consider making it look presentable, however. Unfortunately, the only paintbrush they find is snapped in half. They toss it in frustration. Less so because of the brush itself, and more so because Sole has a lot of anger built up from the events of the last few days that they have no other outlet for.

They end up going home when the sun starts to set, having avoided the empty tomb of memories for as long as possible. It wasn't safe to be out so close to dark.

When they set down their tolls by the door, something on the kitchen counter catches their eye.

Upon inspection, they realise it's an intact paintbrush.

Their confusion lasts barely five seconds, as they hear a familiar squawk. Hoping on the windowsill is Salem. His eyes study Sole. He's waiting. Sole smiles, pulling open the duffle bag they'd taken on their supply run. They pull out two wild mutfruits, which they'd harvested from bushes near the station. Sole cuts them into smaller pieces, before tossing them gently into the grass of their back garden from the car porch. Salem glides to the pieces, now satisfied in knowing that Sole approved of and appreciated his gift. Sole looks up to the trees that border their garden where other crows have started to also descend from to join in on the food offering. Apparently, there's a lot more in this group than what Sole had assumed from the smaller one earlier. About twenty feathered creatures dance about on branches decorated by orange and brown leaves or nibble at the mutfruit in the grass.

Salem flies over once he's had his fill, taking a seat on Sole's shoulder. His friends also begin hopping over gradually, and Sole ends up sitting down to welcome them and pet their small heads. Dogmeat also seems to love the attention, or perhaps just the warmth that radiates from Sole's body as he curls up next to them. Every so often, one of them drops a trinket into Sole's lap as they snuggle into them. A random screw, some gears, even some bottlecaps. Bits and bobs that a few days ago, Sole would've considered mostly junk, even if they'd still been appreciative, but everything now is useful. They even drop a few things by Dogmeat's snout, who sniffs them, tail wagging. Sole doesn't think Salem appreciates the happy licks Dogmeat gives him, though.

Regardless, Sole breathes out slowly, deeply, as they take in the sunset and birdsong before them. It's the first time they've honestly felt any peace since leaving that godforsaken Vault.

Sole makes a mental note to redesign the kitchen window when they get around to fixing it so that it'll be able to open widely. They also begin thinking about designs for birdhouses, feeders, and small fountains.

It's safe to say Sole feels slightly better than they did when they went to bed last night.

They feel less alone.

For some reason, as Salem nestles into their lap, against their stomach, a small pressure builds in their gut. They can't quite shake the instinct, the thought that comes with it. The feeling that Salem feels less alone now, too.

[crassinova]

Linguistic manipulation

[lockhart-investigations]

@neondistrxt (For Deacon)

"I'm telling you, Enzo, I saw people going into that church acting all jumpy." The young woman argues with the older man accompanying her, pointing to the old North Church of downtown Boston. They were scavenging for supplies in the city, dodging the detection of the Super Mutants and Deathclaws wandering about.

She went silent quickly when she detected the aura of someone else nearby coming from around the church. Usually she'd get a good read on the other survivors to determine if they were raiders or not, but she was having trouble with this lone aura. They were still too far away and there was a certain unease she got from detecting them.

~~

"It's not that I don't believe you Meia, I'm just saying I'd rather not check it out. Groups larger than two moving all suspicious like that are the last thing we need." Enzo pats her shoulder a bit before going back to pulling out some metal salvage for their base. It was really lodged under some concrete rubble, so wrenching it out quietly had been tough.

His attention turned to Meia when she fell abruptly silent, tracing his own gaze to where she was watching intently with that concentrated expression. He'd gotten used to being able to tell when she spotted someone beyond traditional vision, and knew to worry when she made a face like that. Setting down the scrap he swung his rifle down off his back and pointed it to where she was looking. Even if he couldn't see them yet, he trusted his sister was seeing someone beyond a wall.

"We know you're there, so come on out!" He called out, making it clear to the mystery individual that they knew where that person was.

[pali-and-proud]

My finals ended yesterday and I ended up sleeping for 11 hours. I can think again.

I want to take a moment to just talk about perspectives. How Buddy percieves Chase, how Chase percieves Buddy, and how Deacon percieves both.

Buddy's POV of Chase is so beautiful to me because Chase is just such an enigma to him. He's so quick to bicker and insult, and he routinely says the most ridiculous and outlandish things that Buddy can't even respond to, and then he turns around and is so selflessly caring and kind and considerate that it nearly always takes Buddy off-guard. Buddy knows the more about Chase than vice versa, and yet Buddy never seems able to expect what Chase is going to do.

I could be wrong, actually, but I think almost all of their conversations end with or include Buddy being confused by something Chase said, or something Chase did. And Chase is doing it all with a shirt, guys.

Chase's POV of Buddy is nearly the exact opposite. Chase knows NOTHING about Buddy, outside of phobias and fashionware, and Deacon's the one who has to remind him about that. Chase is good at reading people; we already knew that. Chase is GREAT at reading Buddy.

He's aware of Buddy's need for attention. He's aware of Buddy's barbs--knows when Buddy's being mean, and when Buddy's trying to be nice. He's aware that Buddy's situation is concerning enough to warrant outside help, and that Buddy won't ask for it. Buddy isn't really a mystery to him--the only real question is how to get Buddy to trust him. Which is insane, really, since we've seen in the current arc (vampire) that Buddy did genuinely trust Chase.

(I could go so far as to say the only part of Buddy that Chase doesn't easily/accurately understand is how CHASE fits into Buddy's life, but I will digress)

Deacon, though? Ohhhh, Deacon. Deacon's role is SO much more important than I think people give it credit for. Deacon is the only way we get a true outsider's glimpse into Chase (he tells us about Chase's money problems, he explains why Chase loves new stuff, he reminds us that Chase's dream to be a singer/dancer/idol isn't realistic and that Chase logically knows that, and he breaks down some of Chase's quirks.)

Deacon is also, uh, how we see Buddy respond to someone he doesn't have an embarrassingly obvious crush on. It's so easy to forget that Buddy is actively trying to treat Chase better until you see Buddy interact with Deacon for two seconds, in which Buddy's managed to be both smug and/or jealous. Yes I haven't forgotten that Buddy is jealous of Chase's cousin. Yes I do think thats the funniest reoccuring joke.

So Deacon having a really good view of both characters--where he can trust Chase's judgement while also being the logic that Chase sometimes forgoes AND can be cautious of Buddy due to past actions while also understanding that Buddy is more complicated than initial assumptions--it's important because it helps ground the characters.

And in direct contrast: Buddy's dislike of Deacon is completely rooted in his terrible understanding of Deacon's role to Chase. Buddy's first conversation with Deacon is him telling Deacon he should stop doing the stories because he's in over his head, despite Deacon having prepared more than Chase ever did. Buddy continues to yell and berate Deacon for his choice in book, despite Deacon actively choosing books he/Chase would enjoy, which is what you (according to Buddy, at least, and my inferences) should ideally do.

Chase's POV of Deacon is a bit more convoluted, and this post is already pretty long; I don't know if anyone's actually reading all this. He's just such a younger cousin; he doesn't idolize Deacon, but he does expect Deacon to have the answers. They're such older/younger brother coded. From the beginning, Chase has wanted to hang out with Deacon. It's almost tragic, honestly, that Deacon has such a high opinion of Chase that he never really shares, while Chase shows his high opinion of Deacon so often that a completely separate person was able to get jealous.

I took my psych final yesterday. Surely this is what my professors would want me to use my knowledge on.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Folsom Prison Blues | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, sexual harassment, crude sexual comments directed at reader, mentions of rape, panic attacks, sexual coercion, blackmail, recovery from an assault (PLEASE PLEASE EXERCISE CAUTION WHEN READING THIS CHAPTER IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANYTHING PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED! Please take care of yourselves, lovebugs.)

Word Count: 5303

A/N: This is definitely one of the darker chapters I’ve written. I just wanna reiterate that if you are at all triggered by mentions of rape or sexual harrassment happening toward the reader, please skip this chapter. However, there are no explicit scenes of assault. I always feel like that crosses a line when writers add those really descriptive scenes.

Remember, if you are a victim of anything like this, you are loved and you are not defined by what happens to you. As a victim myself, I completely understand if you make the decision to skip this week's chapter.

Again, please, please, please take care of yourself while you read this chapter. I love you all! And minors, definitely do not read. doooo notttt readddd.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

“Have I mentioned that I hate this idea?” you said to Dean harshly, standing outside of the Impala.

Dean chuckled. “I think a few times.” He kissed your forehead. “Look, Deacon’s a friend of ours. He’s got you covered. See you in a few days, okay?”

“I fucking hate this idea,” you groaned.

Dean leaned down to kiss you, effectively cutting off your sentence. “Just trust me, okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. See you, Dee.”

And with that, you set off to meet a friend of John Winchester’s, Deacon, at Green River County Detention Center. Several men had been brutally murdered in the B-block of their men’s prison, and Deacon, the warden at the prison, had come to the Winchester brothers for help. Reluctantly, you agreed to pose as a guard in-training to be right there with the boys the whole time and to assist with their escape. 

Your plan was only able to be accomplished due to the fact that the FBI hadn’t gotten a clear photo of you; not from the bank and not from your previous arrest. Your mugshot from Baltimore had “mysteriously disappeared.” However, Sam’s and Dean’s photos were all over the place; Dean’s from St. Louis and a sketch of Sam from a witness in Milwaukee. The two boys were going to purposefully get arrested to be able to get into the B-block of the prison. That was why you hated the idea so much. 

Deacon was tough, you wouldn’t lie, but no tougher than your father. His whole “ex-military” thing didn’t intimidate you at all, and perhaps that was what kept the other officers from messing with you. You’d proved in your “training” how capable you were, and Deacon claimed that was part of the reason they accelerated the hiring process for you. 

However, your tough, impenetrable attitude didn’t deter the inmates from making jabs at you. Your first day on the job, a scrawny inmate with rotting teeth smacked your ass harshly in the cafeteria. You promptly had him on his stomach with his arm twisted behind his back. Deacon called you into his office afterward to fill out an incident report.

“Guessing you guys don’t have that many female hires, huh?” you asked Deacon upon entering his office.

He chuckled. “That’s a nice way of saying it. Most girls wouldn’t be caught dead in here, and we pretty much don’t hire ‘em. Just for their own safety.”

“Don’t you think that’ll raise some red flags, then? Especially given the fact that I appeared out of nowhere and ‘accelerated through training’?” you questioned.

“(Y/N), we don’t exactly hire the best and the brightest. Besides, that sort of thing happens with the guys all the time. Some get transferred from other prison, for others, this is their jumping-off point before they start workin’ for the police force. Actually, I think a lot of ‘em are too excited to see a girl to even think about where you came from. Trust me, nobody’s paying enough mind to your circumstance to notice any of the cracks,” he assured you. 

You let out a breath. “Okay. The boys get arrested yet?”

He nodded. “Should be on their way over now. Just finished questioning them a few counties over.”

“Wait, questioning them? How serious of a questioning are we talkin’ here?” you asked.

“Uh, I don’t know. That’s above my paygrade, kid,” he replied. “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you. This isn’t gonna be a cakewalk for you. I run a tight ship, but you’re fresh meat. Some of these guys haven’t seen a girl in fifteen, twenty, thirty years. When they see you, be prepared for some wild animals. What happened earlier isn’t gonna be an isolated incident. 

“But one of ‘em even looks at you funny, you tell me. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble, though. Keep your head down and only jump in when you absolutely have to. I have you on patrol of the cell blocks so there’ll at least be a barrier between you and them. At meal and rec time, though, I can’t protect you from what’ll happen.”

You nodded, bile rising in your throat. 

“Why don’t you get outta here? I’ll see you around, okay?”

You nodded again and smiled a little before turning around and heading out of the door. Some of the male guards snickered as you walked past them through the hallways of the prison, but you paid no mind to them. You were focused on seeing your boys again. 

“You don’t belong here,” one of the guards called after you.

You turned on your heel sharply. “What’d you say to me?” 

“You heard me, toots. Go back where you came from,” the guard replied, a foul smile across his face as his buddies snickered.

You gave him a challenging glare. “I’m gonna say this as politely as I can: get fucked.” 

You turned back around and walked away, only to feel a harsh yank on your arm to turn you to face the man. “What’d you say?”

“You heard me, toots,” you said, mocking him. “How small is your dick that a third-grade insult from me got you all fired up? And holy shit, do you need some listerine. You got halitosis? What’s going on there?”

The guard’s friends began to laugh, too, much to the chagrin of the man still holding your arm. He released you roughly, and you knew it’d bruise tomorrow. “I oughta teach you some respect,” he said.

“Oh yeah? And risk losing your job?” you questioned. “You make one wrong move, and I start screaming.”

He scoffed. “Whatever. Just fuck off.”

“That’s what I was doin’,” you replied, turning away again. This time, he let you leave, and you were grateful. You were trying to remain as unnoticed as possible during your time here; despite the fact that being the only female guard put an immediate spotlight on you. 

You continued down the corridor to your assigned patrol; right outside the doors of one of the cell blocks. You tried to seem as unfazed as possible in your nerve-wracking situation and walked with authority; as much as you could muster given most of these men towered over you. You mentally cursed your father for stunting your growth by starving you to make sure you stayed small for hunting purposes. Your baton in hand, you walked up and down the cells. 

“Hey, they got us a hooker,” one of the men from the cell laughed. “How much for the hour, sweetness?”

As that man’s cell erupted into laughter, you walked past another where a man was pleasuring himself in plain view of the hallway. You knew he was doing so to get a rise out of you, and you swallowed your nausea and continued walking. 

“I’m gonna fuck you real good, sweetheart,” a man growled from behind his bars. “At rec time, your ass is mine.”

Again, you just kept walking, ignoring their lewd and offensive comments. You prayed to see Sam, Dean, or Deacon sooner rather than later to continue going through with this. And for a moment, you wondered if this case was even worth it. ‘If these fucking scumbags are the ones dyin’, I’d be okay with that,’ you considered. 

***

At the prisoner’s scheduled lunch time, you held up the end of the line of prisoners heading to the cafeteria. Every time the men at the back of the line tried to turn their heads to sneak a glimpse at you, you used the butt of your baton to hit them on the back of the head and turn their gazes forward. You weren’t completely comfortable doing that, but you were doing your best to prove that you weren’t someone to be messed with.

When you arrived with your group of inmates in the cafeteria, you saw Sam and Dean sitting alone at a small table and talking in hushed voices. You hoped your face didn’t convey your relief to see them. Even though they were in orange jumpsuits, just the sight of the Winchesters made you feel safer. Dean caught you staring at him and smirked a little before turning back to his plate. You forced yourself to remain stoic and keep your hardened expression on your face. Dean got up from the table with his tray to go throw his food away, and Sam followed. Sam somehow didn’t notice a heavily tattooed prisoner with a thick goatee heading straight for him, and he crashed right into him.

“Sorry. I—” Sam tried.

“Watch where you're going,” the man said.

The brunet stumbled over his words. “Yeah. Sure. I just—”

Dean walked up in front of Sam, voice darkening. “He said he was sorry.”

“You talking to me?” the man scoffed. “Are you talking to me?” 

“Great, another guy who's seen Taxi Driver too many times,” Dean quipped. “Yeah, I'm talking to you. Trust me. Let it go.”

The tattooed man walked away, and Dean turned around to Sam. He said something quietly and winked at his brother, making Sam roll his eyes before catching sight of the much larger man the tattooed prisoner was walking back over to them with.

You tried to keep your composure when the man swung a punch at Dean. Dean, however, caught him and held him in place from behind. “We can end this right now. No harm, no foul,” the Older Winchester asserted.

The prisoner soon broke from Dean’s hold. He grabbed him again and slammed him against a wall. The man stepped back on Dean’s foot, and Deacon subtly jerked his head at you for you to step forward to help break up the situation.

“That’s enough!” Deacon commanded, walking over to the man Dean had brought to the floor. “On your feet, Lucas.”

The tattooed man, whose name you just found out, stood. “Yes, sir, boss.”

Deacon held out his baton and pushed Dean’s chin up with it. “What's your name?” he asked him.

“Winchester.”

“Well, Winchester, not a good start.” Deacon stared him down angrily. “Solitary. You too, Lucas.”

You immediately grabbed Dean’s wrists and began pushing him in the direction of solitary confinement while another guard grabbed Lucas. 

“Are we having fun yet, huh?” Dean called over your shoulder to Sam.

You roughly shoved him forward, making him face ahead again. 

“Y’know, I usually don’t let girls tie me up without a first date,” Dean quipped. You knew he was trying to rile you up and get you to break character for his own fun.

“If you wanna keep your tongue, I suggest you keep your mouth shut,” you replied forcefully.

For some reason, that comment seemed to excite Dean. You fought back an eye roll at his amused expression. You roughly shoved him— not too hard, just hard enough to sell it— into the solitary confinement cell and slammed the door shut. 

Dean smirked at you. “See you around, sweetheart.”

You tried to fight the heat rising to your cheeks, upset by how easily he could get a rise out of you. You left him in solitary confinement and followed the guard who’d brought Lucas to solitary back to the cafeteria. 

“The boys seem to like you a lot,” he sneered. “Havin’ fun yet?”

You recognized him as one of the men who’d taunted you after you left Deacon’s office earlier that morning.

“Buckets,” you responded dryly. 

“I can think of a few ways we could have some more fun,” he said to you, backing you into a wall. 

“Get off me!” Your breath quickened, and without even thinking about it, you used the flat part of your forearm to push his chest away and kneed him in the groin.  

“You bitch!” he yelped. You took off running back to the direction you thought the cafeteria was in, taking a moment to steady yourself against a wall. You couldn’t seem to catch your breath, and you slumped down against the wall, clutching at your chest. You closed your eyes and did your best to steady your breathing and thankfully succeeded. You wiped the few tears that had fallen from your eyes, and steeled yourself to go back out there. 

You rejoined your group of guards, including Deacon, and the other prisoners. Deacon seemed to notice you were upset but said nothing about it. All he said was, “You’re watching the bathrooms with Jones,” referring to your next assignment during the prisoners’ working hours and your partner for the time being. 

You were relieved to see Sam when you made it to your destination. He was having to scrub the floors with a mop that seemed to be more like ragged threads now than a cleaning tool. 

“How you doing?” Sam asked the older prisoner he was with.

“I’m fifty-four years old, mopping the floor of a crapper with bars on the windows. How you think I'm doing?” the man’s scratchy voice replied.

“Alright. Bad icebreaker. I'm Sam.”

“Randall.”

“Nice to meet y—” Sam cut himself off, seeming to have realized something. “Randall. Hey, weren't you there the night that guard died?” 

That caught your attention. You threw a look to the guard in the other part of the bathroom ensuring he was focused on other prisoners and not Sam and Randall’s conversation.

“Yeah,” the man replied.

“Well, what happened?” Sam pressed.

“They say the stress of the job got him.”

Sam stopped mopping. “Yeah? What do you say?”

Randall didn’t answer. “Why are you inside, kid?”

“ 'Cause I got an idiot for a brother.”

“That'll do it,” Randall replied. “Well, this place ain't so bad. Compared to the old cellblock, this is the damn Hilton.”

“You spent time in the old block?” Sam questioned.

“Oh, yeah, I was a regular customer.”

“Didn't they have Mark Moody over there for a while?” Mark Moody was the man who Sam and Dean suspected of being your ghost killer.

“He was there. Yeah I was there, too, the night that lunatic bought it,” Randall explained.

“Yeah? It was a heart attack, right?”

The older man chuckled. “Sure, his heart stopped right after the guard stopped using his head for batting practice. The next morning, I was in his cell, mopping up the blood. What a mess.” He shook his head.

“Wait. So he– he was beaten and– and nobody reported it?” Sam asked in confusion.

“You kept your mouth shut, unless you wanted to die from the same heart attack, y’know?” Randall chuckled; the gravelly sound almost sending a chill down your spine. 

‘This guy could easily play Hannibal Lector,’ you thought.

“Randall, exactly how much blood was there?”

*** When working time was over, the prisoners had an hour in the yard before dinner and returning to their cells. You watched from the far corner of the fence while he played poker with every man who was dumb enough to try him for cigarettes. You folded your arms across your chest and watched with amusement when Sam came up to him and began bickering with him about something.

Dean then stood and yelled, “Hey, fellas! Who's ready to deal?”

He played several more rounds of poker, and you did your best to pry your eyes away from him so as to not arouse suspicions of any kind. However, that proved to be the least of your worries.

The guard from earlier whose balls you’d kicked in came up beside you and nonchalantly leaned against the gate. “You’re playing hard to get. It’s cute. I like it,” he said.

“Leave me alone, please,” you replied coolly. You were ready to bash his head in.

“Or what?” he challenged, still facing forward. “I think you owe me an apology for earlier. I’ll have a real treat for you tonight when we get off work.”

You jerked your head toward him. “You try anything, and I swear to god I will gut you.”

“Easy there, princess. It’d do you well to get in good with me. I’ll be able to protect you from them.” The guard nodded out to the inmates who would turn their heads every once in a while in your direction.

“Not interested,” you said simply. “Besides, I think I need more protection from you than from them.”

You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your head. “Maybe so. Maybe if you don’t give me what I want, I’ll take it out on your little inmate friend over there.” He nodded toward Dean who was triumphantly fistpumping after winning another hand of poker. 

You looked back at him, worry swimming in your eyes.

“That’s right, I noticed how you keep looking at him. You’re not very subtle, I hope you know. And he’s definitely not,” the guard said. “So, if you wanna keep him alive, you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. I’ll see you tonight.”

You stared at the ground ahead of you in fear and tried to think your way out of your situation. All that played over in your mind was the sickening feeling of his body against yours in that cinderblock corridor outside of solitary confinement. Bile rose in your throat, and the only thing snapping you out of your trance was the whistle indicating the end of rec time.

You went through the motions of your “job” by escorting the prisoners from the yard into the cafeteria for dinner. Your head was not at all in the moment or in the case, and fear kept your adrenaline moving for the next several minutes. It wasn’t until Dean got in another fight and nearly got himself killed that your adrenaline surged for a different reason.

“If we'd waited any longer, you'd be dead,” Deacon told Dean.

“You waited long enough,” Dean huffed, trying to catch his breath.

Deacon shoved his baton into Dean’s stomach, and you nearly lunged at him for doing so. He grabbed the back of Dean’s head and told him, “Do yourself a favor. Don't. Talk.” The warden looked up at you. “Take them both up to the infirmary.”

You and the guard who’d been harassing you did so. Dean noticed how off you were, but did his best not to convey what he knew. When you got both Tiny and Dean into cells, you had no desire to leave with the guard; afraid of what would happen to you.

You were almost angry at yourself. You were (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You’d fought monsters, ghosts, and demons, and you were losing your mind over a guy that would shit his pants if he knew what you’d seen. However, the fact that he was still a very real threat drowned out those thoughts.

***

The man Dean had fought had apparently died in the infirmary; no doubt by the hands of the thing you were hunting. While Dean was fighting said man, Sam snuck to the room Moody had been murdered in and burnt the rest of the blood away, so you knew it couldn’t be him. All you could do was wait for the boys to talk to the other prisoners to get the name of your true target.

Later that night, you just wanted to make it back to the Impala when you got off your shift. You even waited a while after everyone else on your shift had left to make your way out of the prison. You hoped the guard whose name you didn’t even know wouldn’t make good on his threats. However, your stomach dropped when you saw him leaning against Dean’s car.

You stopped several feet from him.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he told you.

“How the fuck do you know what car I drive?” you questioned.

“It’s not hard. I mean, you’re the only ‘67 Chevy in the parking lot. Nice ride, by the way,” he said.

“Fuck you.”

In an instant, he was running toward you. You turned and sprinted away, only to be knocked to the ground by the man. He roughly pulled your hair back, yanking your head back against him. “Remember what I fucking told you,” he growled against your ear. “Are you gonna start playing nice?”

***

Everything felt wrong. No matter how many showers you took, you couldn’t scrub the feeling off your skin. Back in your motel room, you laid on your side wrapped in an oversized shirt. You stared at the wall in the dark, completely numb. You hadn’t even been able to cry since it happened.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t move. For hours, you laid there. You wouldn’t allow sleep to hold you close enough to darken the world around you. 

One thing you kept thinking was ‘I’ll never be the same again.’ The words played on a loop over and over in your mind. They danced around in your head for hours, taunting you. 

You wanted to climb out of your skin. Start the day over. You wished you’d fought back. Wished someone had been sound to stop him. The scrapes on your left wrist and arm were undoubtedly going to bruise in the morning, and your uniform wouldn’t exactly hide them. You knew Dean and Sam would ask questions, and the former would rip the guy’s head off. You didn’t even know that guard’s name. Everything just felt so wrong. 

But you wouldn’t let this stop you from doing your job. You wouldn’t let those boys brave that place alone with no word from you. And so, despite everything in your body telling you not to, you went back to the prison the next day.

***

You could tell Deacon knew something was wrong, but he didn’t press you further. The other prison guards didn’t seem to notice a difference in you; except, of course, the guard’s posse. They would snicker at you every time you walked past, and you could only imagine what your abuser had said about you. 

Thankfully, you only had to endure this last day of awfulness. Deacon was going to “fire” you right after rec time was over to give you enough time to get the Impala pulled around the back of the jail for the brothers to escape through. Your job was to wait for Sam to come over to you and give you the name of the person you were after and find what cemetery they were at. Then, you were going to get the boys the hell out of dodge. 

You watched the boys in the rec yard talking to Randall, the man Sam had gotten information from while they were cleaning the bathrooms. Then, the younger brother came over to you. 

“Hey,” he said, looking around to see if anyone was paying much attention to him.

“Hi,” you replied.

“Whoa, what happened to your arm?” Sam asked in concern, noticing your very obvious scrapes. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, I—”

“This guy bothering you?” That awful, familiar voice said from behind you. 

Without turning around to face your abuser, you replied, “No. Please, go away.”

Sam glared at the man behind you when he noticed how upset the guard’s mere presence made you. You could tell he knew the guard had done something to you; he was a smart boy. 

“Glockner,” was all Sam said to you before turning away. 

“Surprised you’re able to still walk—”

You immediately turned around to him and punched him square across his jaw. 

“Bitch!” he yelled.

“Fuck you!” you yelled. 

‘Deacon’s firing me anyway,’ you thought. ‘Might as well give him a legitimate reason to.’

You got down on top of the guard and started punching hard. His face was bloodied and bruised, the man barely hanging on to consciousness before you were pulled away, kicking and screaming by two other guards. They dragged you over to Deacon, who promptly made a scene of firing you. He escorted you out to the parking lot where he said the cops would be waiting for you to bring you in for questioning. 

Once the two of you were far enough away, he roughly spun you around to face him. “What the hell was that?!” he questioned. “You know they’re gonna be out for blood now!”

“I know that, Deacon! Maybe if your guards weren’t fucking scumbags, though, I wouldn’t have had to do that!” you yelled back.

“What?” his voice quieted considerably. 

“Nothing,” you said. “Just tell my boys I’ll be back for ‘em tonight.” You turned on your heel and walked away. 

“Hey, kid,” Deacon called after you.

You turned around. 

“Thank you. And… I’m sorry. For whatever happened.”

You nodded and turned back around again.

*** You discovered that “Glockner” was the name of a nurse in the seventies who’d been caught in the crossfire of the inmate uprising that occurred following Moody’s death. She’d been buried at Green Valley Cemetery following the severe cerebral edema the inmates gave her. 

You returned to the detention center under the cover of night and pulled the car around the back of the prison away from the parking lot where the guards were beginning to change shifts. You waited anxiously dressed in civilian clothes again for the boys to come out of the HVAC unit Deacon told you would be attached to the room he would be bringing the boys into following their staged fight. 

“Oh, man, are you a sight for sore eyes,” a familiar voice rumbled. 

Dean and Sam leapt over the fence separating you from them, and you couldn’t help but collapse into Dean’s arms. “Whoa, sweetheart, what’s—”

“No time, guys,” Sam reminded you. “You can reunite later. We gotta go.”

As if on cue, an alarm began to sound through the prison. Immediately, you nodded and broke away from Dean. You headed to the driver’s seat so Sam and Dean could change while you drove. Quickly, you headed to the cemetery Nurse Glockner was buried in. 

***

The brothers caught you up on everything that had been happening to them since you hadn’t been able to talk much over the last week.

“What?!” you exclaimed, following them through the cemetery. “Henriksen’s here?!”

“Yeah, which is exactly why I wanted to get the hell out,” Sam told you. “They were gonna extradite us back to St. Louis or Baltimore or something. Whatever was gonna happen to us, it wasn’t gonna be pretty.

“Jesus,” you responded. “And no doubt, they’re gonna be looking for me soon, too. I beat the fuck out of a guy who knows I drive a ‘67 Impala.”

“What?!” both boys questioned upon reaching the grave of Nurse Glockner.

You nodded solemnly. “Yeah,” you said. 

“I’m gonna need a bit more of a response than ‘yeah,’ sweetheart,” Dean grunted as he began digging.

“Later. Let’s just get this over with, okay?” you said, helping the boys dig faster. 

You could feel both brothers staring at you in concern, but you couldn’t look up at them. 

***

When Glockner had finally been salted and burned, you and the Winchesters returned to the Impala and quickly drove away. 

“You know, I almost wish I could see Henriksen's face,” Dean joked as the Impala’s engine purred.

“Really? 'Cause I'd be happy if I never saw him again,” Sam replied tightly. “I mean, we're not really out of the woods yet, Dean, you know? You thought we were screwed before?”

“Yeah, I know. We got to go deep this time,” Dean responded.

“ ‘Deep,’ Dean? We should go to Yemen,” Sam quipped.

“Ooh, I'm— I'm not sure I'm ready to go that deep.”

You were silent the entirety of the drive over state lines and to a motel in the middle of wooded nowhere. You were silent through the check-in process, and silent when Dean crawled into your bed behind you later that night. He began to kiss down your neck, and you wanted to enjoy the feeling so badly.

“Dean.” Your voice broke as you whispered his name.

Immediately, Dean took his face away from your neck. “What?” he asked, hearing how upset you were. “What is it?” 

“I, um—” you started, unable to turn to face him. “I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked softly.

“The guard—” you said. “—from the rec yard. He, um.”

Dean lightly turned you to face him. “(Y/N), what’d he do?” His voice had darkened considerably at the thought of someone hurting you. 

“He, uh—” your breath shuddered, and you were unable to meet his gaze. “He raped me.”

You swear all of the oxygen looked like it’d been punched out of Dean, his face hardening in the darkness. “Oh, I’ll kill him—”

“Dean, don’t, okay? It’s not gonna—” you protested, reaching up to grab his face to make him look at you. “It’s not gonna change anything.”

“I know, but—”

“Dean, I thought beating him to a bloody pulp was gonna make me feel better. It didn’t. I just feel more disgusting. Like, why didn’t I do that when it was all happening?” You began to cry. “I just— I’m trying to forget it ever happened. And I know I won’t. And it’s awful. And I just— I need time,” you explained.

Silence settled over the two of you for a moment.

“Do you want me to leave?” Dean asked softly.

“I— I don’t know. I just—” You took a deep breath. “I don’t really know how I feel about touching right now. Can you just lay with me?”

He nodded and climbed into bed beside you, the two of you staring up at the ceiling. Wordlessly, you slipped your hand under the covers and reached for his hand, lacing his fingers with yours and squeezing tightly. 

Your world was turning completely upside down. Your mind wouldn’t slow down, and you didn’t sleep much at all that night. However, you knew that whatever happened to you, Dean was there to keep you grounded. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[unreliablesnake]

Untitled. Part two.

[part 1]

Summary: The team finds out about Deacon and his girlfriend.

Note: Reader is a fashion model in her twenties. Deacon and Annie only have three kids. // I'm gonna write such short pieces about them because why not.

Warning: age gap, afab!reader.

You decided to bring a bunch of donuts to the station, strictly for the members of 20-David. Of course, knowing them, they would share it with the others, but you didn’t mind. It only proved how kind all of them were, looking out for every S.W.A.T. member there, even if they were on a different team. Chris led you and the delivery guy to the kitchen as secretly as she could, giving you the chance to talk alone before alerting the others about the gift. 

“So what’s this about?” she asked as she pointed at the boxes. 

A small laugh left your lips as you looked at your hand for a moment. “Deac’s been a little tense lately, I assumed you guys went through something rough he doesn’t want to tell me about. I mean, it’s okay, he will talk when he’s ready to share these things with me, but until then I just wanted to cheer him up.”

She rested her elbows on the table, then placed her chin on her hands as she watched you. “And if the team asks? Because they don’t know about the two of you, I doubt you want to reveal it now.” You shrugged, but the look on your face probably gave away that she would be your excuse. “All right, I’m the one having a bad week. But you owe me one for this. Maybe you should take me to a photoshoot or fashion show abroad. Just an idea,” Chris said with a wink. 

“Deal.”

When she glanced over at your shoulder, you knew you weren’t alone anymore. And sure enough, not two seconds later you felt a hand on your shoulder for a moment as this person walked past you. “What do we owe the pleasure of having you here? And I guess these are from you,” Street added as he reached out to open a box, but Chris was quick to slap his hand to stop him. “Hey, I only wanted to take one.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah, right. You take one, I leave the room to tell the others, and by the time I get back, an entire box is missing,” she explained in a semi-real grumpy tone that made you laugh. 

You patted the chair on your right to make him sit down, while Chris stood up and left to herd the rest of the team into the kitchen. Until they got back, you got lost in a conversation with Street and answered every question of his about a recent job of yours and a few more about a model that he followed on Instagram.

Hondo, Luca and Deacon showed up a few minutes later, and your boyfriend chose to stand across from you by the other side of the table, the small smile on his lips giving away that he was happy to see you. You explained that Chris had seemed a little off lately and you thought the whole team might need something to bring back the good mood. 

This little group of yours began a cheerful conversation while eating some of the donuts, but at one point Luca stopped everyone and asked you, “What was that look?” You gave him a questioning look, having no idea what he was referring to. He pointed at Deacon then began to explain what he saw. “I saw that look you two exchanged. You're hiding something.”

“Yeah, Luca’s right,” Street chimed in. “And it's not the first time he noticed something like this. Remember when you said he was looking at her for a little too long the last time she was here?” 

Luca playfully punched his arm to shut him up, but by now it was too late. Hondo glanced over at Deacon with a mysterious smile, while Chris’ eyes were fixed on you. You didn't know which one of you was supposed to say anything, if you even had to say anything. But these people were his second family, your secret would be safe here.

“We… are… seeing each other,” Deacon said after a while, his brown eyes falling on you as if he was expecting you to get mad at him for telling them the truth. So you nodded with a smile to assure him it was okay. “For four months now, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, something like that.” It was Hondo who asked about the kids, bringing up a topic you still weren't ready to talk about. “I haven't met them yet. It takes time, I don't want to rush things.”

Your boyfriend nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “But I've been prepping them for the meeting. They know there's a woman in my life who I love and they can't wait to meet her,” he said with a smile.

“Pay up,” Luca told Street with his hand held out. Upon seeing the confused look on your faces, he flashed a wide smile at the team. “I told him there’s something going on here, but he said I’m just imagining things.” He took the money from his roommate, then walked over to Deacon to pull him into a quick hug. “I’m happy for you. You deserve to be happy.”

A small smile crept on your lips when you saw your boyfriend’s reaction. He knew what Luca was referring to, and you were happy his closest friends were supportive. To be honest, until this moment, you weren’t sure if he had really been happier lately or if it was just your imagination telling you that you made him happy. But if they saw it too, it must have been true. 

When Deacon's eyes landed on you, he flashed a smile at you, one you returned without hesitation. You were head over heels for this man, and you thought maybe it was time to put some real effort into this relationship. You slid off your chair and walked over to him, taking his hand without thinking as you looked up at him.

“When's the next time you have the kids over?”

At first he looked confused, but once he caught your drift, he said, “This weekend. Does this mean you're willing to do this?” You nodded and he leaned down to capture your lips in a soft kiss. “Thank you.”

“It's time for me to do this. For you.”

[radrat-pack]

Deacon cannot (as much as he tries) CANNOT for the life of him conceal when he’s feeling anything strongly negative. his jokes don’t come out as smoothly, he’s quieter for the most part.

if it’s anger he’s poorly attempting to hide, he’s overall not awful at it. deacon is absolutely not one to lash out undeservingly (or deservingly tbh… he’s a bit of a coward when it comes to any kind of personal drama in my opinion). however, if you manage to get him talking about what’s got him so upset, he certainly gets fired up as he talks about it, a bit of his dramatic personality sparking out as he raves on about his personal troubles.

his sadness is definitely a bit more unnerving to be around, and he almost never actually tells anyone what his problem is, eventually it just passes and suddenly deacon is deacon again. when he’s upset, he’s almost dead quiet unless being spoken directly to. deacon’s eyes almost glaze over whenever he’s unoccupied. watching him sort of mindlessly lurk around headquarters looking for small tasks to distract himself, it’s unsettling.

in turn though i also believe that when deacon is truly overcome with joy and pride that is also contagious amongst the HQ. He can’t keep the smile off his face, toothy grins breaking out right before he starts boasting once again about how great his new recruit has been doing. his jokes flowing freely and joyfully, even des can’t help but turn away with an eye roll to conceal a small grin at the railroads success, yes thanks to the help of deacons new recruit.

so anyway yeah i think deacon is actually a super expressive person even if he thinks he’s all cool and mysterious he absolutely is not lol. i also think he’s the embodiment of those “the face i stayed silent with” memes :)

[passionwillow]

Family Matters

Hi guys! Had a request for poly LucaxReaderxDeacon and them wanting a baby.

Warnings: Smut! 18+, age gap reader

A poly relationship wasn't on your radar. Like- ever.

But when you met Deacon and Luca while working at SWAT, your whole word was turned upside down. In the best possible way.

They were hesitant at first, given the age gap, but after a lot of talking and debating, the relationship flourished.

Two years together and you couldn't remember ever being happier. The date nights, the love, how they absolutely smothered you in affection, the sex.. As far as you were concerned, everything was perfect.

Kids hadn't really fallen on your radar. Deacon had his kiddos, and you loved every one of them. But you having a child? You honestly hadn't thought of it.

Not until Luca and Deacon sat down with you one morning, one man on either side of you as you sat on the bed. You closed your laptop and looked between them, smiling and raising your brows in question.

The two men traded a look and smiled to themselves, Luca clearing his throat before speaking. "Baby, how would you feel about.. About making a family?"

The question was shocking, and the look on your face must have given you away. Deacon sat up and took your hand, squeezing. "You can say no, that's totally okay. We won't be upset. But.. Luca and I have been talking. And we wanted to discuss it with you."

You looked between them and stayed quiet for a moment, shifting and chewing at your lip. A family.. A little baby with the two men you loved? Growing your relationship with them? It would be-.. Perfect.

"I would love that." You finally said after a moment, and both their faces lit up into grins. "There's just one thing.. Which one of you.. Y'know. Gets me pregnant?"

That was something Deacon and Luca had already considered, and Deacon couldn't wait for this part. "We'll both just.. Fill you. Let it be a mystery."

The words, the insinuation.. Your toes curled in delight at the thought. You nodded quickly in agreement and laughed at Luca tackled you back, his lips meeting yours in an eager kiss.

The next few hours were absolutely mind blowing.

Each man taking a turn between your legs, devouring you and making you cum once each before you even got a moment to breathe. Fingers stretching you, tongues lapping at your juices like men starved..

They gave you a moment to breathe while they each undressed, letting you lay back and watch them with hungry eyes. They were both sculpted like gods, in your eyes. Deacon on the slimmer side, muscled and sculpted, Luca broad and built, equally muscled.

This was the part of the plan neither man could wait for. They must have discussed who would go first at some point, because Luca was between your thighs in no time. Deacon took the space next to you and held you close, lips and hands exploring while Luca sheathed himself in side of you.

All the attention, the sensations happened... It was enough to drive you mad. So much pleasure at one. Deacon's lips and hands, his gravely voice talking you through it. Luca's cock drilling and stretching you, hands on your hips..

Your moans and curses filled the room, and it was only a matter of time before Luca had you humming around him. He fucked you through it in order to reach his own high, your sensitivity from two orgasms, now three, making you a limp, whining mess.

Deacon held you steady through the whole thing, hand on your stomach as he cooed softly to you. Luca had barely pulled out before Deacon was taking his place, thrusting into you with ease.

Your poor pussy was a wet, aching mess at this point, but you were craving these men like there was no tomorrow. You were limp in Luca's arms as he held you close, his own breathing labored as he caught his breath. Deacon knew you were tired, and was a bit more gentle for this last round. His thrusts were hard and steady, but his hands were soft as he held your thighs.

Your fourth orgasm burned in your stomach as Deacon fucked you, and you were crying out in pleasure within minutes, legs shaking as it exploded unexpectedly.

Luca watched in fascination and hunger as you came for the last time that night, body shaking as Deacon fucked you harder and quicker, chasing his own release and groaning your name as he filled you.

You went limp and tried to catch your breathe, the feeling gone from your lower extremities. You didn't notice both men get up and leave, or come back with warm cloths and water for you. Luca cleaned you up as Deacon cradled you and held the glass to your lips, kissing your cheek and temple as you sipped.

Both men curled up beside you and cuddled up to you, smiling to themselves as you fell asleep with a content little smile.

No matter what happened next, you couldn't be safer or happier than you were right now with these two men. Two men who cared about you more than anything.

[bretonalchemist]

WAIT WAIT THE SOLE SURVIVOR IS FROM ARCHIVES AND THE STORY STARTS WHEN THEY GO TO THE UPPER LEVELS FOR THE FIRST TIME

IMAGINE ALL OF THE FALLOUT FACTIONS IN A COMPANY!AU

the railroad are I.T. (bunch of crazy nerds)

minutemen are security

brotherhood of steel are accounting (idk just imagining all these Very Serious™ gym bros in suits judging everyone else for their spending is immensely amusing to me)

institute are HR/direction of COURSE

children of atom are ???? (fill in the blank)

atom cats are the owners of the diner next door where they all go to eat during lunch break