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luna-nigthshade-wood · 8 months ago

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What they don´t know, will hurt them

Summary: Dean Winchesters attempts suicide on a dirty motel bathtub, ending brain dead on a hospital. A trickster promises John and Sam that he will save him for “free”, as long as they both get through watching a series of Dean´s memories, good and bad. The twist is that they will feel everything Dean did at the time and they can stop it at any time, but then Dean will die. They both accept thinking it cant be that bad. Spoiler: it is worse.

Chapter 37

Sometimes, back when his sons were young, John used to fantasy on the What if´s? What if Mary hadn’t die? What if their house hadn’t burned down? What if his kids had grown up in a normal safe environment? Would Mary and him still be together? Would he still have had an unhealthy relationship with alcohol? Would Adam still exist? Would Sam had still loved school? Would he had still gone to law school at Stanford or would he have chosen a different path? Somehow the what if´s that kept him up at night weren’t these, the ones that prevented him from sleeping were the ones regarding his oldest. Would Dean had gone to college? Would he have been a scholar or a jock? Would he have been more social or have few trusted friends? John´s mind was full of what if´s, but perhaps if he had paid more attention to the reality, none of this would have happened.

The screen lights up once more, and Sam almost chokes recognizing which case their past selves are heading, would it have been too much to ask that they skipped this one? Back then, Sam hadn’t given any thought to his brother´s inner struggles, hadn’t really care to figure why Dean was so adamant to return to their childhood home, and yes, they have saved the day at the end, but Sam didn’t want to uncover the hurt he had put his brother trough.

The scene doesn’t stop though, and it shows Dean trying to find a new case, while “Sam” all but ignores him, drawing something in a note pad. Dean questions his brother, until “Sam” tells him that they need to go back to their childhood home, “Sam” shows his brother and old photo and suddenly sadness and nostalgia fill the room as Dean looks at it. “Sam” keeps talking on the background of the screen, but to Dean (and therefore the viewers) it sounds like miles away, until one sentence catches Dean attention and he snaps back of the trance he was in

-This is going to sound crazy, but the people who live in the house, I think they might be in danger.

-Why do you think that?- Dean asks confuse and nervous

-You gotta trust me on this okay?- “Sam” says ignoring Dean completely

-Trust you? Yeah, I think that I will need a little more than that- Dean says pissed off, but the nervousness is still there- I am not going anywhere until you explain

-I have these nightmares- “Sam” confesses- and sometimes they come true- he tells Dean and Dean´s face goes pale as “Sam” continues- I dreamt about Jessica´s death for days before it happened

-Sam- Dean says sitting down- People dream terrible thing all the time- he says but his voice is shaking

-I dreamt about the blood, about the ceiling, the fire, and now I am dreaming about some woman screaming for help, and that has to mean something- “Sam” says, Dean losing color the more he talks, and John wants to reach out inside the screen and hug his oldest, as he watches the lost look on his face

-I don’t know- Dean says looking lost, the world coming out slightly slurred

-What do you mean you don’t know?- “Sam” screams- This might be the thing that killed mom

-All right. Just slow down, would you?- Dean says, shaking slightly as he buries his nails inside his thighs, a movement only perceptible by the sting the Winchesters get. Dean stands up, and Sam cant honestly keep track of his brother´s feelings, before he exclaims- First you tell me, you got the Shining and then you tell me that I have to get back home. Especially when…

-When what?- “Sam” says

-When I swear myself that I would never go back there- Dean says, tone vulnerable and soft.

-Look, Dean, we have to check this out, just to be sure- “Sam” exclaims, and the mask goes up once more on Dean´s face as he nods and the scene ends.

And Sam wants to rage and shout and his past self for this, this alone is one crime he could never forgive himself, for once in his life Dean was letting the mask slip, his brother was as close as begging for him not to make him go, to the place where his life had burned overnight, and Sam refused him. The walls his brother put had quickly gone up, because Sam hadn’t care to find out what was wrong, he hadn’t care beyond some callous words, because he always had to be right, doesn’t he?

John takes a deep breath knowing what case his sons are working, and it would be a lie if he told himself that he wasn’t close to tears just by the opening. Before this “experience” he was too busy playing the victim to think what his sons had lost, but now, seeing the devastation on Dean´s face he had a clue of what was to come. He also remembered a particular voicemail that he hoped wouldn’t be shown (as if the Trickster would let him get away with it)

The scene progresses and this time it shows the brothers pulling over outside of the house, Dean´s house visibly shaking. They knock on the door, which is answer by the new tenant named Jenny. “Sam” introduces both of them with their real names, and the woman lets them in, telling them she found old pictures of them while cleaning the attic. The woman introduces the brothers to her kids and Dean tries to make small talk to fish for information but his attempts fall flat, with “Sam” having to take the lead. The awkwardness and discomfort Dean is feeling is felt by his family like invisible ants crawling inside their skins, and both of them wonder how Dean was able to stood there long enough without bolting.

Sari, Jenny´s daughter, tells the brothers that she saw a flaming figure and both brothers´ hearts almost stop. They make their excuses and rush out the door, with Dean almost tripping in his haste to get away, “Sam” hot on his heels, all but screaming at his brother his theories about how it might be the thing that killed their mom, with Dean rationalizing that they cant take the people out of the house without investigating more. The brothers drive away to a gas station, with “Sam” asking Dean how much he remembered about that night

-Not much- Dean says and somehow it tastes like a lie- I remember the fire. The heat. Then I carried you out the front door- he admits

-You did?- “Sam” asks surprised, and the Sam in the room feels a pang of hurt just thinking about it.

-Yeah, why, you never knew that?- Dean asks, with “Sam” shaking his head quietly, before Dean continues- And well, you know Dad´s story as much as I do, he found Mom- Dean says, before losing his voice for a couple of seconds and then continuing, with every word almost getting dragged out of him- Whatever out her there was long gone by the time Dad found her

-And he never had a theory about what did it?- “Sam” asks, and Sam gives a side glance to his dad, who avoid his eyes, they both know the answer to that

-If he did- and this sounds sarcastic in Dean´s tone- he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.

-Okay- “Sam” says with a small voice- So we have to figure out what happened that night and see if it is the same thing- the younger says before adding- Does this feel like a normal case to you?

-I will be right back- Dean says ignoring the question- I gotta go to the bathroom

Dean walks towards the bathroom, but only once he is away from “Sam” does he lets himself lose composure, his fingers tremble as he pulls his phone out of the pocket, a couple of stray tears falling from his eyes, as he dials a known number, getting the voicemail once more

-Dad- Dean says, voice breaking- I know I have left you messages before. I don’t even know if you get them. But I am with Sam and we are in Lawrence and there is something in our old house. I don’t know if it’s the thing that killed mom or not…but… I don’t know what to do- Dean says before breaking down- So whatever you are doing, if you could get here. Please. I need your help, dad- Dean pleads, before he hangs up the phone, and yes maybe, John should have expected the punch to the face that Sam gives him

-He asked for your help- Sam says, once the flow of blood slowed down- He practically begged for it and you refused.

-Sammy, I…-John says trying to excuse the inexcusable

-No, dad- Sam furiously says- Don’t even try to explain. Dean, who never asked anything from you, asked for your help and you ignored him, just like you ignore him every single need or want he has. What possibly stupid reason would you give, that would excuse this, huh?- Sam asks screaming

-I did go- John confesses and Sam has half a mind to punch his father again- But by the time that I arrived you two had practically solved the case

-So what?- Sam retorts- You didn’t think that perhaps you could have talked to us, instead of leaving us hanging?

-You have to understand, Sam- John tries to defend- The demon was after me, I was protecting you

-No, dad- Sam replies with a hollow voice- You were protecting yourself- he says and well what can John respond when presented with the truth

The memory continues as Dean slowly sinks in the ground, disappointment and desperation filling him, before shakenly pulling his phone out once more and making another call, the first sentence he says making John´s stomach turn

-Give me a reason why I shouldn’t just blow my brains out and be done with it?- Dean says as soon as the call connects on the other end

-Because your family will miss you- a familiar female voice tells him

-They wont care- Dean laughs humorless- Hell, they will probably be happy to get rid of my useless ass

-I will miss you- Faith responds

-You will get over it- Dean retorts, tears falling freely

-I wont, and that is something you cant refute, because it involves myself and you know it- she tells him- Also you will be flanking on your promise, and that is an insult to fae culture

-What are you gonna do?- Dean asks- Kill me? Make my life a living hell? Because trust me, it already is- he says, but even with the grim topic the Winchesters realize that Dean has finally stop shaking

-Maybe revive you- Faith answers- You know, as punishment- she says, getting a small laugh from Dean, before she asks- What happened?

-I am at Lawrence, in a case that involves my old house- Dean answers- I guess, I kind of got lost inside my head.

-Do you need help?- the Fae asks with no hesitation

-No- Dean says- At least I don’t think so, I think I just needed to talk to someone that would listen. Thank you- Dean tells her, with the tears finally stopping

-Happy to serve and be of service- Faith responds- And I am serious, if you need help, you can call at any time.

-Thank you, F- Dean says one more before disconnecting the call, as the scene ends

The fact that something (someone, his mind reprimands) that he would have called a monster and gank without a second thought shows more kindness and support to his son that his own father, hits something deep inside John. Because the truth is that there is a monster in this narrative, and he sees it everytime he looks in a mirror.

Sam, for his part, is stunned into silence. He never acknowledged Dean´s struggles with more than a path in the shoulder and perhaps a quick hug, and then proceed to never mention it again. He never knew how close he was to lose Dean (he never knew how close to the edge his brother was)

The memories continue this time showing the boys at the garage that John used to own, bringing back memories to the man that had long been forgotten. The brothers interrogate John´s partner at the garage asking him if he knew something about the Winchesters disappearance, the man tells them that after the fire John claimed that something caused the fire and killed Mary, even though it was an “accident”, starting to read odd books and seeing a psychic in town. Afterwards, “Sam” starts to research psychics in town with Dean recognizing the name of Missouri Moseley as one he had read at their dad´s journal, so they head to the woman´s house to speak to speak to her.

Missouri recognize them upon arrival, giving his condolences to “Sam”, while also telling them that she doesn’t know where their father is. Dean doesn’t take the news well and makes a verbal jab towards the psychic but she rebuts telling him that she can only read thoughts and energies. She tells the boys, she is the one that told him the truth about what was out there and if the Winchesters hadn’t been paying attention they would have missed the barely there resentment that Dean quickly feels and dismiss. He recovers quickly asking the woman if she knows what killed their mom, and she tells them that she went to the house with John looking for clues, but she doesn’t know what it was, only that it was evil. “Sam” tells her that they think the creature is back in the house and that it might be related with their missing father and Jessica´s death. Dean and Missouri both getting pale at hearing this.

The scene moves on, showing the boys and Missouri going to the old house. Jenny opens the door and tells them it is not a good time, Dean, clearly off his game, tries to interject but Missouri slaps him on the back of his head, and tries to explain to the frighten woman was going on. All in all, a normal for them conversation but a phrase that Missouri says repeats inside the Winchester´s head:

-Forgive the boy- Missouri says- He means well. He is just not the sharpest tool in the shed. Now hear me out…

But whatever she says next, they don’t quite hear, too busy getting confronted with Dean´s feelings of hurt and self-hate, that he quickly tries to contain to keep his mind on the game.

Whatever Missouri says works, because Jenny grants them access to the house. They climb to Sam´s nursey and for a moment Dean feels panic as he tries to do anything possible to block bad memories from resurging. Missouri tells them that it is not the same thing that kill their mom, but it is related. She thinks that the creature that is terrorizing the family is a poltergeist that was attracted by the evil energy related to the house and that there might be a second more benign spirit. She tells them that they need to purify the house to expulse the creature.

The three split up to cover more ground and Dean takes a deep breath as he starts to work, a noise is all the warning he gets as his instincts kick in managing to duck before a knife invades itself where his face was a second before, he doesn’t hesitate either using a table as a cover and managing to put the herbs in place. He rushes upstairs to find “Sam” getting strangled by a cord, that only stops when he puts the ingredients in the spot in the wall, a white light is seen before it disappears, with Missouri exclaiming that is finally over, even if “Sam” is not convinced.

“Sam” convinces Dean to park outside the house for the night, telling him that something isn’t right, with Dean secretly agreeing that things seem to have been too easy. “Sam” looks at the window and sees Jenny asking for help making the boys jump into action. Dean hurries to the woman´s bedroom trying and failing to open the door, before kicking it out, managing to get Jenny to safety, Jenny´s kids come out the door soon after, but there is no sign of “Sam”, the little girl claims something grab him, so Dean hurries and tries to enter the house taking down the door with an ax.

Dean enters the house, finding “Sam” and a fire figure, he goes to shoot but “Sam” stops him, and Dean´s heart (along with John´s) skips a beat at seeing his mom´s ghostly figure.

The sight leaves Dean speechless, with a wheel of emotions intermixing. The moment last only a few minutes tough and as quickly as Mary appears she disappears taking the poltergeist with her.

The scene jumps to the next morning showing Jenny thanking the brothers and giving Dean some photos she found. The nostalgia Dean feels is mixed with melancholy, before he locks them inside one of the boxes inside the trunk of the Impala, before he and “Sam” drive away closing the scene and finishing the memory.

Sam stares at the blank screen for a minute, trying to keep his emotions at check. Now more than anything, he regrets not having pay attention to his brother. Through the whole case, Dean was struggling, with reason, trying to keep his head in the game, without letting it show how it was affecting him. The nostalgia and melancholy still in the air, but there is bitterness in there too, bitterness at thinking of the life they could have had in another life, and Sam doesn’t know how to process this new information

There is something inherently broken in his family, John thinks, something he broke and never bother to try and fix. Because, back then Dean needed him more than ever, and he gave excuses once again to avoid confrontation, prioritizing once more his own feelings, telling himself that Dean was going to be okay. But Dean wasn’t okay and he hadn’t been okay for a while. And one day, near the future of the memory, his eldest would climb into a bathtub and (try to) kill himself and he wouldn’t ask for help, why would he? He had no reason to believe someone would help him.

AO3

Masterlist

#supernatural #spn fic #supernatural fic #spn au #supernatural au #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #mary winchester #missouri moseley #suicidal dean #bad parent john winchester

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thecameronchronicles · 2 years ago

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Foster Part 2

TW: slight angst. Language.

SUMMARY: Your arrival in the Outer Banks doesn't go as expected…in more ways than

WORD COUNT: 1100

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

The Foster Part 2

"Hey!" A voice booming, suddenly forced you awake along with the grip around your wrist.

"Thanks for the ride..." John B teased as you realized you had been uncovered for not having a viable ticket. Pushing through the crowd gathered to collect their loved ones, you were torn beyond the unfamiliar faces before finding refuge in an alcove between two businesses. His body pressed against you just as before. Only now without the tension of uncertainty.

"Bree?" A slightly accented tone brought your eyes to witness an attractive surfer extinguishing a cigarette once making eye contact to John B. It was only once noticing the incoming side-bro-hug that you made this connection.

"Guess you came back the same way you left, huh?"

"Only this time, I'm not going back."

"Gotta say, Pope said that they wouldn't get you out of town, let alone out of the state, we had a bet on it...Kiara explained it was only because of the fact you were born in-" He paused, eyes widening when realizing you were not some tourist in passing.

"JJ..." John B summoned his friend's focus.

"I knew you were a smooth operator man, but you weren't even gone a week-"

You offered your name, explaining that you had come of your own vindication.

"Actually, she blackmailed me-"

"I like you already..." JJ grinned. "Pope is gonna lose his shit to know you brought a girl back-"

"It's not like that-" You and John B spoke in unison.

"See, already finishing each other's sentences..." JJ set a hand to his chest, his dramatics unappreciated by both you and John B. Ultimately, the moment came to an end as JJ led the way to a more secluded part of The Outer Banks with water set to the west and a run down cabin-type residence to the right.

"The Chateau..." John B explained.

"Make yourself at home...we have..." JJ set himself on the couch, legs spread across an effortlessly beautiful girl as she cast him an expression of annoyed disgust until noticing you.

"Um...hi..." She scowled at John B. Her skeptic chocolate irises widened to him before ultimately narrowing to you. The way she kneed the bookworm too focused on the pages of The Odyssey to notice your arrival had been enough of an understanding that she was "marking her territory".

"She is the only reason I got back here so you guys can at least say hi." He directed his words towards her, who gave a half eye roll.

"Who is she?"

"John B's new girlfriend. They even finish each other's sentences..." JJ teased.

"She happened to be going this way too...that's all. But make her comfortable and stop acting like being nice to her will make you sick or something-"

"You DO realize that being here, they're gonna look here first." The soft spoken among them explained.

"We'll deal with that when it comes. We have a...other stuff to focus on..." He spoke in some kind of code as this brought the more reserved "pogue" to his feet.

"Did you tell her?!"

"No."

"Tell me what?" You inquired before everyone began to look at one another before ultimately looking at you.

"About the Kooks. Pains in the ass... They're so obsessed with us, they never leave us alone…"

"Yeah...I heard..." You explained, unaware just how JJ had directed the conversation to such a vast contrast to the truth. A truth you couldn't possibly have known as it was too outlandish to comprehend. Relief came over the face of his friends before he moved to his feet.

"I think you need a proper tour of OBX. I'd have our trusted homeboy give it to ya, but anyone sees him and...well...he'd be sent back to where you came from...where did you come from?"

"Enough with the interrogation, JJ..."

"Just curious." He shrugged, flipping his lighter between his fingers, an obvious tick.

"Kitchen. Bathroom. Bedroom. There. Done." John B spoke somehow charmingly, an arrogant smirk drawing your eyes to his lips before you noticed one door he hadn't described.

"And that one?"

"My dad's office..." The atmosphere suddenly turned somber. Almost sour.

"Anyway...I say we celebrate my return...fire tonight?" Smiles returned to his friends.

"I'll get the supplies. Coming, Kie?"

"Oh, so you mean you're stealing them..." Kiara narrowed her eyes.

"Charity. The JJ Maybank need to party charity. A worthy cause. Keeps me out of trouble but gets the girls of the Outer Banks something to-" Kiara pinched his arm and pulled him from The Chateau as "Pope", a name you only knew from the conversation, explained he'd make sure they didn't kill each other. Once again, you were left alone with John B.

"So was your dad a spy or something?" He ran his hand nervously through his hair as you spoke.

"No he's uh...he's missing."

"Oh shit...I didn't..."

"You'll learn soon enough. At least it was more exciting than just some deadbeat..."

"Oh?"

"He got uh...lost at sea actually." You looked at him unsure how to respond. Having only known him less than twenty-four hours, you weren't sure if he was pulling some proverbial chain with this attempt at dark humor. But with the sincerity in his face, you found it to be his truth.

"Wow..."

"Yeah. Anyway...that's why I was in the system...What about you?" You hesitated, not wanting to offer more than the basics as you didn't want to be some little sob story.

"Same..." His brows raised. .

"Didn't realize it was a common occurrence these days."

"I just meant they aren't around." He held his hands up to surrender.

"I get it. You don't want to tell me. That's fine...But we definitely need to get you out of those clothes." Your eyes widened in more humor than the horror that rose behind his.

"I mean you'll draw too much attention." You covered quickly, the blush on his tan cheeks visible from anywhere in the Outer Banks from now.

"I'm sure Kie has something you can wear..." He left you to survey the space around you, a littered scene of half consumed beer bottles and evidence of marijuana. Somehow both you knew were left by JJ. But each pogue left something set within The Chateau. Pope left behind his book and a bag concealing the same literary accompaniments, where Kiara left a sweater and a bracelet. All identifiable, even in the short introductions, or lack thereof, you came to know.

"Here..." John B returned, a tank and shorts over his arm.

"I think she might mind..."

"Nah, Kie's cool. "

"More like frigid" , You thought to yourself.

"She just takes a bit to trust ya, is all. But I'm sure you'll be friends in no time. But I guess that depends how long you're staying." You paused, having only thought of getting here, not remaining.

"Oh umm...just going with the flow I guess."

"Lucky for you, that's what pogues do best...."

A few hours later, you found yourself nursing a warm beer, watching how everyone welcomed John B back as if he'd returned from some grand award. An apparent silent rule of keeping his presence quiet among them.

"Why the hell is she here?" Kiara grunted as a beautiful blonde made her way from the shadows and to the fire.

"Who's that?" You asked JJ, the only pogue who seemed to actually find comfort in your presence.

"That's the kook princess, Sarah Cameron-" Your heart stopped.

Cameron.

The reason you were here, walking towards you, completely unaware of just why.

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916

MASTERLIST

JOHN B ROUTLEDGE MASTERLIST

THE FOSTER MASTERLIST

MARCH MADNESS MASTERLIST

#john b routledge fanfiction #john b fanfiction #john b routledge #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #outerbanks fanfiction #outer banks #outerbanks #obx

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clay-cuttlefish · 1 year ago

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Rebirth time, all the way to Event Leviathan. Already bracing myself for some of these, but there's some decent stuff in here too, just gotta pick through the sludge.

Renee spends 2016-2018 bouncing around various Bat comics with a handful of lines an issue like she did pre-character-development, but she mostly works with Kate, which is a bit of a silver lining.

Batwoman #17-18

Kate and Renee get back together and it's cute enough I'm willing to stop being annoyed while I read it.

Almost all their previous romantic moments are immediately followed by divorce so it's nice to see them just being goofy and adorable.

Is this trying too hard? Maybe. Am I charmed anyways? Yes.

Action Comics #1005

Vic's back! Running around Metropolis and not explaining anything!

Genuinely this is such a fun way to reintroduce him, it feels fitting that it's unceremonious. You get no context for who he is, no explanation for why he's here, he's just Doing Things.

Doomsday Clock #9

I feel like I have to mention: Geoff Johns was the one that suggested Renee become the Question. He's also specifically credited with a couple good moments in 52, so clearly he's capable of understanding Vic, he's just chosen not to here for the sake of putting more Watchmen references in his Watchmen crossover.

God Doomsday Clock is so stupid.

Vic does get to save Ted for a panel so that's nice I guess.

Batman #66

The idea that Bruce is so unbelievably bad at processing his emotions that he had to dream up Vic as the fucking Divorce Understander is hysterical.

They haven't been in a comic together in nearly 20 years, Vic just lives rent free in his head that much.

Terrible comic but remembering it makes me laugh.

Action Comics #1009

Back in Metropolis, Vic's chilling out investigating Leviathan.

I'm not a big fan of this look, it's a little too Rorschach for me, but hey it's nice that he's here.

Also not super into his dialogue but it works alright as deadpan snark.

Lois Lane #1

WE ARE SO BACK

You would think a character who's been around for this long would have multiple good writers but nope Rucka is singlehandedly carrying her.

Critically: it's about journalism! That's pretty much the ideal way to smack some characterization back into Renee. So much of O'Neil's Question is about that rift between Vic the reporter and Question the vigilante, and about the ways in which those roles can do good, so drawing on those themes grounds this progression even as it's a sharp course correction.

I'm not a big Superman guy, he's neat but doesn't grab me, but the bits of Clark from Lois' perspective do more to sell me on him than any event I've read. They remind me of my parents and that's 100% a good thing. It's adorable.

The snippets of other news stories about how heroes impact the political landscape do more to create a world that feels alive than, like, 90% of comics I've ever read.

Lois Lane, dyslexic icon.

It's got everything. Intrigue. Drama. Worldbuilding through trashy TV. Renee breaking and entering. Lesbian flirting. Compelling mysteries. DC's best het couple. Comic books are good, actually.

The only thing better than one Question? TWO OF THEM.

Looking at them hugging is not enough I need to eat the panel.

The long silent sequence into the action scene into them hugging is perfectly paced.

Somehow, despite how unwell Vic and Renee make me, Clark and Lois are nearly as good here.

"You were my best friend, you saved my life. And then you died." "I know who you are. You're my friend, you're Renee Montoya, and you're my legacy." They are everything.

It's so good that them catching up is a strange, quiet moment. Yeah, the cause of this is cosmic weirdness, but the effects are so personal.

I can't help but read Lois' "Sage. You're off your beat." to Vic as exasperated. Respectable. He's exasperating.

Vic and Renee both crushing on Lois is cute.

I love how self-assured Renee is here. She's the Question, and she knows exactly how cool that is... but "being the Question with fresh eyes" means having to relearn the limits on violence. Beating people up is one thing, interrogation is another.

Event Leviathan

I've put this all in one chunk instead of trying to interlace it with Lois Lane, since it ends right before issue 6 and there aren't any great ways to spread it out more.

The event so pointless Jimmy Olsen spoiled the reveal.

None of the plot is interesting to me, but Vic's fun, I always like Lois Lane, it could be worse.

I like this characterization for Vic. He's chilled out since he's came back from the dead, and he's got less of a personal stake than most of the others so he's decent at staying on track, but he's also quick to play into whatever dumb banter's going on.

#clayposts #clayreads #the question #vic sage #renee montoya

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mimdyluv · 7 months ago

Note

"you can't talk to mimi like that" drabble;

Sitting silent and defeated in the sand meant self-reflection is inescapable. Each member of the group goes through their separate journey of overthinking, picking apart every detail about what went wrong. Pope's nostrils flare as he breathes hard through his nose, a nervous habit that makes JJ glance at him every so often to hint his annoyance. While John B taps his foot, Kiara rolls her eyes. Nobody wants to speak first. Even Indy is uncharacteristically in bad spirits, rolling his tongue in his mouth as he stares hard into space, a hand flicking a quarter between his knuckles.

A stomach growling is loud enough to draw attention, and Mimi holds a hand to her angry gut as if to sooth it. Sheepish, she averts eye contact with anyone that curiously scans her. None of them had had anything to eat, and barely any sleep.

"Guys, this is ridiculous. Maybe we should split up and regroup." Kiara is the first to say, breaking the illusion of quiet and individual contemplation. "We're exhausted, this isn't gonna work."

"We just need a new game plan s'all." JJ retorts, rerouting the growing consensus. Running on fumes meant whoever's the loudest usually gets the vote. "Home stretch, we can't quit now."

Offended, Kiara gestures her flat hands pointed towards her chest. "I didn't say anything about quitting." she objects, frowning at JJ who'd insinuate such a thing.

"Kie, we need to get moving and we need to get moving now. Sucks but we really can't afford a break." John B adds on, standing from his seat on the porch of the Chateau. His hand reaches to clap against the old wood beam, leaning on it. She blinks hard at him, and makes a show of looking to her left and to her right as if searching for who asked him.

"So I suggest we take a second to breathe and now I'm the bad guy?"

"Not the bad guy, just a bad idea." Pope grumbles, picking his legs up to hug to his chest.

"We're not getting anywhere sitting here feeling sorry for ourselves, you know." Indy breaks his reticence, gaze flickering up to the conversation as it escalates to new heights.

"'Sorry for ourselves?' That's rich coming from the guy that cost us the time. If we'd gotten there earlier, then maybe the gold'd still be there!" JJ just wants something to yell about, raising his voice as he straightens to tower over Indy in his seat.

"Oh, c'mon, you saw the dig site. They got there hours, maybe days before us. My stop didn't affect shit." Indy responds flippantly, not affording JJ the dignity of eye contact.

Mimi hates being in the middle of this, gaze bouncing off of each person to the other with each argument that gradually overlaps one another. She can understand both sides here, but it's hard to gather the courage to interrupt a brewing feud.

"God!" John B interjects through the chatter, kicking that wooden beam with his foot hard enough for a coat of dust to puff off. "Shut up for a second! We've gotta put our heads together. We know who took it, it's just a question of how to get it back." No sooner had he finished his statement than an eruption of backlash caused virtually indecipherable din. It shifts through blame, course-of-action, and anger. It all comes back to that initial exhaustion, and Mimi can't deduce any of it. No one can hear her points through the sea of arguments.

Pope picks himself up from his chair, getting on JJ's and John B's level as fixes his posture, "Everybody be quiet!" The strain of his voice causes the vein in his neck to swell, and the throng's volume descends at the sight of someone so level-headed reduced to a mediator. "Ideas, go." he demands.

Mimi finds her strength in the silence, forcing herself to speak before someone else does and she loses her way again. "We should go home." All eyes are on her again, and he throat closes up. Originally she intended more of an explanation that that, but it didn't get across.

Pope scrutinizes her with an incredulous expression, animating it with his entire body as if to judge her for backtracking to the very beginning of the conversation. "Mimi, no offense, but you should sit this one out and let us talk this out." It's a subtle jab on plenty of things, one being her place within this group, as if her opinion doesn't matter. It's everything wrong that's talking, certainly not his view of her. It's his hunger, his frustration, his sleeplessness. And everyone else didn't quite catch how deeply that would pierce her.

Dejected, she deflates, eyes glued to her hands in her lap. Indy, who tries to remain as objective as possible, can't help but step in. "You can't talk to Mimi like that." The quarter in his hand has stopped moving, falling into his fist as his focus narrows on the way Pope stares at him like a deer in headlights. A little life is breathed back into her at the mention of her name, cautiously peering at the sight in front of her as Pope stammers.

Defiantly, her expression hardens, frowning at Pope in a way that helps him understand how he'd alienated her. At first, she hadn't felt like she had the footing to deny it, but having someone put context to it for her opened her up.

Indy shrugs. "You gonna apologize or what?" It's met with more silence, processing what just occurred. "She's as much a part of this as any of you, she says she wants to go home and regroup, and I agree." His tone is firmer than usual, and his sheer patience wears ever thinner. So he stands and scoffs. "Forget it. I'm heading out."

yes

0 notes

ficsnroses · 4 years ago

Text

—𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒎. 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑾𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓—

summary: John comes home from a job, and you take care of him by tending to his aches and bruises, and helping him in the shower.

warnings: smut. all fluff. minor talk of pregnancy. x f! reader. (5.3K words).

notes: buckle up friends, I need to stop accidentally writing like...three fics in one. gotta love soft john. I hope you enjoy! ilysm xx

please leave feedback and comments, I really need them after this clusterfuck lmao.

You remember everything.

The softness of his lips that first kiss, how they curled against yours so delicately. The gentleness of his palms, his reluctant gaze when he’d told you he loved you, fearful you might not say it back.

That joy that once flowed scarce now comes easier.

You remember everything.

The security of his arms, how they’d wrap around you like irons. Your teeth scraping his collarbone when you kiss him everywhere, the gentle hum of his chest that makes you sigh. Warm gazes, tender chuckles, his hand holding yours with a love you’d only ever dreamed.

Your window is a little doorway to the universe. A gentle breeze wafts, brushing whispers in a cold sear on your skin. Arms bundled around yourself, you gaze the distant planes, the forestry, the trees. John would be home soon; the thought of being reunited with him always sends a flutter of pure happiness brimmed inside each and every inch of your body. A warm comfort, a bliss indescribable. You see flowers in the garden below, flowers he planted for you.

You remember everything.

His fingers tracing your skin on early mornings, lips slow and searching as he kisses you awake. Warm arms draw you in, his stubble tickles a scrape to softer skin when he nestles, the feel of his limbs tangling, his face in the crook of your neck as holds you achingly familiar.

John Wick is an old soul; a softness lives in him that only you have the pleasure of residing in each and everyday. Something special grows inside him,

You live in daydreams with him now, his heart is yours, and only yours to keep.

Memories, gratitude fills your mind. Even on quiet days and somnolent nights, you find yourself with him on your mind. John is quite literally, always on your mind. Even during days like today, where his body isn’t physically near to curl into you, you find yourself still indulged in him. John is like a comforting shadow; an embrace like no other, the only thing in the entire universe that sends a warm buzz flowing through you. From your heart to wispy fingertips that hold him near; John is the one thing in the entire world worth dying for.

Deadly and petrifying to others, but never to you. Because no one knows like you, all the good that lives inside him. How good he dreams of being, how escape from the ghastly hands of the dark is all he craves. How good he wants to be for you.

You didn’t expect to feel his arms curl around you.

To feel his lips pressed to your shoulder,

gratified sigh seep his throat.

You didn’t expect to hear the deep timber of his voice, and the sound of your name on his lips after oh so long.

You didn’t expect to smile. Smile more than you’d smiled in the last 2 weeks away from him.

“Hi,” was the richness of his voice, warm breath simmering against your skin as he pulls you into his chest with a hug from behind. He rests his chin to the silky dip of your neck; leaving a few love seared kisses to the sensitive area.

His hold around you tightens so much, that you feel the beat of his skin to his heart, the blood rushing through his veins and the electrifying buzz of life in his body. Being this close to John wasn’t unfamiliar, in fact, you had never felt more at home.

“Jonathan…” you quietly whisper, tug of a smile at your lips, eyes shutting to the feel of him connected to your body. It was the feeling that keeps you alive, the win that fixes all. Being apart from John always felt devastating. His name leaves your lips in an exhaled whisper, yet in a breath that fills your lungs all the same. As if having him back felt as if finally letting go of a breath you hadn’t even known you were holding.

You turn in his arms, finally meeting your favourite set of coca eyes. Callous hands never leave your waist; they only draw you closer with a wrap of his bulky arms around you. John’s lips wear a smile so big; a flicker of something in his expression makes you melt for him. He looks at you as if you’re the only thing in the entire world worth looking at.

He did that often. So often, you’d seldom find yourself blushing under his gaze even all these years later.

“You’re home..” you’d whispered, soft of your palm upheld to place on his perfectly groomed cheek. You shiver at the feeling of him under your touch. A deprivation you’d faced far too long. Rubbing the pad of your thumb just on the sheened apple of his cheek, you swallow back a lump in your throat and felt an electrifying buzz jolt your own veins.

It’s hard to be away from what gives you purpose.

His lips part as if to say something, yet the only portrayal to leave his lips was a gentle kiss to your wrist that holds his face. Eyes closed and collected, that familiar smile never leaves his compose, and he lets his lips linger on the sensitive skin for a moment longer.

Your heart skips a beat.

Or two.

John only nods, leaning into your hold with his eyes peering down at you with longing. Your fingers grasp onto his suit jacket and John sighs to feeling you fold into his arms yearningly.

Where you belong. Where he belongs.

He leans in, replenishing a stray lock of silken hair behind your ear before a gentle kiss places to your forehead. John’s eyes relish shut, and you almost crumble breathing in the profound scent of his woody cologne deep in your lungs.

Your heart skips a beat.

Or three.

Delicately, you respire a smile with a glimmer of something sad in your eyes. John made it back to you, yet not without minor freshly carved cuts littered to his face. Something inside you withers to the sight, tenses your shoulders and makes you swallow thickly.

John sees his work in simple terms. Assignment and completion— nothing else matters. Hunt or be hunted.

You see it in shades of grey.

Hurting, hurting, hurting —him hurting.

You’re so close, your nose is almost touching his, and he feels that flutter in his chest he still hadn’t quite gotten used to. Decades of feeling nothing but ache, at times your love only seemed far too good for an old, bruised and battered soul like him. “Baby,” blue, quiet was your tone. You were sure John’s bruises hurt you more than him. Each purple jab to his skin left your heart in shambles. “You’re hurt…” a frown daubs, and you thread frail fingertips into his lengthy coffee strands, your spare hand drawing him closer.

You touch him carefully, reverently, as if in disbelief that he’d ventured out again, got hurt again. A fragile shift moves to John’s arm, and you delicately sooth his shoulder, yet still eliciting a soft groan off his lips.

John’s shoulder aches often. It only intensifies tenfold when he works. Through half managed endeavours and breathy reassurances, John executed best attempts to waver it off, always trying to ease your worry. “I’m okay, sweetheart.” he affirms, hands slow and gentle as he holds your skin. “I promise, nothing some rest can’t fix.”

A kiss; delicate and carefree brushes against your cheek, before another finds your lips. “I’m home now.”

So hopeful, so unguarded.

John wanted nothing more than this big, beautiful life with you. This beautiful dream he lives everyday.

Your gaze lowers and you know he’s come home on achy bones and a dreaded wear of exhaust that’s stabbed each nerve in his body. John would never show weakness in front of you; he’d never want your worry to triumph. With your hands slow and delicate, you pull him closer by a grasp of his suit jacket, smoothing a wrinkle in the fitted fabric to his chest. Tender lips leave a gentle kiss just there, above his beating heart and you look up at him with pleading eyes when your lips part with the words. “Please let me take care of you?” you breathe in quiet understanding, thumb softly brushing to his cheekbone lovingly.

“Of course.” he says faintly, eyes gleaming with something that makes you exhale softly. “You know I love when you take care of me.”

Smiling. Warm. Those thin lines that kiss the corners of his eyes perk upwards, a twitch of happiness exaggerates in his eyes similar to the way when he’d laugh. That familiar laugh that you adore when it rolls up his chest.

When worry rattles in your bones and all else in the world seems wrong, your favourite antidote is John’s laugh. John’s smile, John’s joy.

The kind of happiness on his face you’d die for.

“Just like you take care of me.” you return easily, registering the way you effortlessly, thoughtlessly lean into his embrace, opting to rest your head on the comforting refuge of his broad chest. John curls a smile and only draws his arms around you further. Your head reverts to rest on his shoulder, and John tucks his face into the crook of your neck, losing himself in the feel of your body wrapping tightly around him.

That fire, that rage that lived inside him before you has doused, only embers remaining during times he holds you close. Tightening, tightening, tightening— he feels selfishly, fiercely protective of the moment. Each moment with you, each scrap of happiness with you. In your arms he remembers a foreign comfort, love he never had in a cruel childhood. Love was never an option before,

But now, always, each and everyday, until the last breath rattles his lungs.

Love is only you.

that fire has doused, only you remain.

The joints in his neck creak as he pulls away gently, wanting to see your glistening eyes. Fingers gentle and grasping, he lifts your chin with a soft kiss to your forehead, smiling when your lips part. “Have you been eating properly, John? I’ll make you a fresh meal right now. And what about your aches? Please tell me you iced and rested up whenever possible. Your skin, honey…” a soft frown crawls up your lips and you gently touch a cut on his temple. “I’ll help you in the shower, baby.” Expression softening, your voice washes over him like rays of the sun, finger cautiously lingering the plains of his bruises. “Does it hurt?”

A squeeze.

A twitch in his heart.

A look into your eyes that says a million words all at once. He shakes his head ‘no’, sinking into you further.

“I love you.” was his whisper.

He’d known it since the second he’d gave his heart to you. The moment you gave him yours. He’d burn it to ashes— the world that refuses to let him go. Burn their temples, destroy what may. Leave them in ruins.

To hell with fealty.

But that, will come later.

First, there is you.

In this moment, together.

Only ever you.

A hum.

Voices.

Your voices, meddling, smiling, whispering.

The security of an unyielding embrace.

Inhaling deeply, letting the damp shower steam sit at the back of your throat for a moment, savouring the slight ache that accompanies it. A relaxation simmers in it, fills your lungs. Almost as if a cigarette, withholding the smoke. Over the curve of John’s long shoulder, a steady stream falls; you see it in small torrent.

A simmer.

Warmth.

His chest; your personal haven.

It’s in intimate moments like these you realize how much he means to you. Close, vulnerable, bare. Skin to skin, no barriers between. Like offering the deepest parts of each other, knowing you trust the other with them. John’s arms hold you and you hold him, relishing with your eyes closed as the gentle stream patters on your skin. Steamy and smug, there’s an unbending calmness in the air, something you know John direly needed. The shower window remains cracked lightly ajar, filtering mist in the open.

The breeze was gentle against your skin,

and the smell of wildflowers, pine and treetops yield it harder to open your eyes. John’s chest rises and falls in familiar rhythm, and a callous thumb of his unmatched touch soothes mellow circles to the dip of your back as he holds you. There’s a fragility about the quiet moment you can’t bear shatter— steam solders your skin as so does his touch. His touch fixes everything.

A slight hum skims against your ear and you shiver at the deep baritone. You feel it through the deep, exhilarating vibration in his chest; John feels safe. Welcome. At ease. Home.

With your arms curled around his shoulders, you lift the shell of your ear off his chest, contemplating up with a gaze to his dark features. Rogue water droplets drip down the crease of his nose and mouth, globes gathering across thin taut lips. His hair falls in wet strands, captivatingly dark, lengthy as it frames his face. The spray is pacifying, much needed relief to tense and ached muscles. John’s scars have been stripped of the dried life that poured from his cuts, blush remains washed away with the water’s journey.

He looks so damn beautiful. Big, warm, beautiful.

The curve of your palm is gentle when you cup his cheek. “You’re okay, baby? Does it burn?” was the calm of your voice, muffled by the seeping drip.

Fragile fingers press closer to this skin, soothing the aches and kinks around his collarbones. The powerful dips and slopes of his bare back and chest kill you, some new bruises painted onto his skin.

Some were familiar, though. Ones you’d kissed for him before, poured love onto before.

You lick your lips and suppress a tightness in your chest, John’s body resembles a roadmap of catastrophe. Tragedy, pain, misfortune. A broad back kissed with bolded ink also hosts familiar burns, scars, flushes.

Yet, you don’t mind them.

Simply marks of survival. Marks that show he found his way to you, still.

You often litter his pain with something sweeter. Affection. His eyes drift open and he feels a shudder roll through his body. Light burns around his eyelids, yet he still finds himself unable to look away from you.

The one that made it all worth it. Scars were worth being worn if it meant they’d be kissed by you. “I’m okay, sweetheart. Promise.”

Reaching over, you squeeze a serve of shampoo into your palm as you gesture John closer, lathering the treacly soak into his hair. The chill of it’s feel coming in cold contact with his scalp causes a sizzle in his breath, but he finds it warmed in no time with the soothe your warm hands work in his mane. Pulling him closer, a soft giggle elicits your mouth when John sulks his nose into the crook of your neck, leaving soft, discreet wet kisses along the curve of your neck as you massage his scalp. Trailing, trailing, trailing— he leaves doused pecks of affection on you too, some to your collarbone, some to your ear, some to your jaw, marking your skin his personal canvas.

The naked curve of your chest presses to John’s body, swollen buds of your modesty hardening when John’s kisses send a shiver down your spine and an ignited fire in the path they trace. Softly, he pressed a kiss to the valley of your breasts, pulling back to gaze you as you lather conditioner in his raven locks. His lips twitch, head tilting. “What did you do while I was away?” he wonders softly, touch amused as he unravels under your lull.

You continually focus on his hair, making sure to smooth in an earnest layer of treatment before rinsing it out for him.

“Close your eyes.” you softly smile, accompanied by a light kiss to the corner of his lips. He abides, and his lips twitch feeling the rinse of the shower stream rid all chemicals from his head. When he opens his eyes again, you throw weak arms around his neck, drawing him closer. “Not much, did some gardening. Some cleaning…oh! I was able to finally reorganize our wardrobe!” A chuckle rolls up his throat, and he smoothes his hands up and down your hips. “Colour coded.” you pride, and a grin tugs the corners of your lips. John laughs, offering a thankful kiss to your forehead. You perceive a trickle of his gaze down between your connected bodies, and John’s large palm moves to rest to your belly. “Do you feel…any different?” he wonders in cautious, silent hope. The pupils of his eyes shine, and that familiar mocha tinge you’ve come to adore sparkles with each syllable. Your eyes shut at once, feeling him shift, and you breathe in a deep calm.

John and you had been trying.

He wants a family, to build a home with you. You patiently await the day that dream comes true, you want to give him everything.

A heavy sigh slips out, and you brush your thumb to his cheekbone lovingly. “No,” a gentle frown. “Not yet.”

His eyes flutter, thumbs brushing your knuckles. “Guess we’ll just have to keep trying then, kitten.” he smiles, and you swore a part of you melts for him through each vibration of his words.

Water droplets coat his features, gathering in wet lashes and dripping down his nose. To strangers, John’s face appears stoic. To prey, it’s stripped of any signs of humanity. But to you, you knew his face in the most intimate of ways. Knew each crease, each curve, each ridge so intimately. You could read his soft longing, his kind nature in each inch, in the way he silently flutters his nostrils or in the way his temples tense when he reads anything but joy on your face.

A smile.

Soft, running water.

His arms bundled, holding you tender.

Sometimes you despise sleep, because it means you might be without him for a moment.

His face is the one you want to see even in your dreams.

“Hi,” you smile warm, tone a quiet melody, barely above a whisper. Entering the room, a glass of water equips in flimsy fingers, and you hold an assortment of two lesser tablets in the other. “Take these, babe.” joining him beside your bed, leaving a small kiss to his head. “It’ll help relax your muscles.”

John positions in the bed, rested against the headboard. Dressed in gray sweats and a white cotton tee, the kiss you left in his hair manages warming a scorch its way up his veins— far more feel good chemicals than any pills could work on him. Lost strands of hair pepper in his eyes, and you tuck a lock behind his ear as you allow yourself a seat beside him, fingers trailing the sensitive skin of his facial features as you guide way to a hold of his cheek. “I can make you Chamomile if you’d like?”

John shakes his head in polite decline, threading callous fingers with your smaller ones as he holds loose to your hand. “You know, I can still hold you.”

You felt yourself smile.

His unwillingness to be parted from you makes you smile. It wasn’t that John couldn’t exist with you; human bodies are simple nonetheless. It was the fact that he doesn’t want to exist without you by his side. Life is merely physical— autonomic functions, beating of the heart, meaning of the brain. It’s the simple truth that keeps him alive. You are his heart; without you there is no meaning.

No purpose to the loud beating in his chest.

To his offer, you beam. John’s fingers trace over the slope of your waist and you part your lips when he stares them in warm longing. Shifting, the reach of your limbs leans over, fluffing his pillow with a firm gathering movement. “Do you need more pillows, love? It’ll only take me a moment—”

John simply leans closer to you, holding your gaze for a tender moment before laying down, opening broad arms for you to tuck yourself into. With a crisp smile, your eyes roll in tender joy to his cheesiness; a trait you’d grown rather fond of over your years holding his hand.

each step of the way.

Settling in, you lean into him instead, perk of your nose against the juncture of his neck and he almost shivers. With the movement of your head now residing to his chest, you feel John’s arms slipping around your waist with his face burrowing in your hair and he simply breathes. Inhaling your scent, that familiar floral shampoo. Eyes gentle and tender, you lift your head to look up at him as you hold each other, the base of your hand drifting into his brunette mane.

an exhale,

a whisper.

Love laced and understanding. ‘Stop working so much..’ was your quiet plead, fragile fingertips ruffled in his hair as you twist and linger mild touch. Calming, massaging, gently massaging in comfort.

A soft kiss to his chest where your fingers soothe wrinkles in his shirt, and his own drag down your spine; a deliberate, slow motion as hearty exhale evacuates his lungs.

It hurts you how hard he works. How much pain inflicts, despite his unwillingness to show. A sear trembles in the tight crease of your chest, and you feel a heaviness in your bones to a simple truth you know all too well. John works hard for you. He kills himself for you, to keep you safe, to keep you sound. To provide you with all you deserve for giving him this perfect life with you in it.

You’d vowed it from the second he called you yours. The second he gave you all you ever wanted— just him.

You’d be happy living on scraps and pennies if it meant he’d always be yours. You’d live between four small walls and on leftover meals if it meant you’d still have his chest to call your shelter.

It warms your body in ways you still don’t understand, the love you feel for him. You’ll whisper it in his ears each and every night until your dying breath. No one can take you from him. No one can take you from him.

Deliberate movements measure as you shift in his hold, leaning up on the pads of your elbows as an intent gaze watches you move. John allows a content hum when you drape a leg over his waist, moving slow as you ask. “Is this okay, honey? I don’t wanna hurt you.” John only smiles, allowing a favourable nod as firm hands plant to the curves of your hips.

Straddling and connected, your body on his. His fingers lazily slide up the inclines of your lower back, and you sigh softly at the sensation when his fingers journey into the seams of your shirt; cold fingertips meeting the warmth of your skin in captivating contact. Your skin tingles where his rough fingertips stroke, and you lower, arching into his touch with a small sigh. Pressing closer, you lay a tender kiss over his heart, allowing gentle palms to hold the sides of his face as you just stare.

Stare at him, because it had been far too long without. Fingers brush his stubbled cheek as you leave a kind, soft kiss under the skin of his eye; another to his cheek, another to his jaw, another to his neck, to his collarbone and another and another and another. Muffled groans leave his lips as you soothe his shoulders, rubbing his arms in tender need.

You swallow an affectionate laugh at the sound he makes.

You savour that sound; a sound you hear often. One of your favourites.

“I love you, John.” you tell him, and a slow breath escapes his parted lips. Savouring the sound, a sound he hears often.

His favourite.

“Let me show you?” your words linger, quietly, a mumble under your voice. You drawl with a slight, secretive smile and lean closer. John only nods in soft plea, gazing the way your skin glistens under barely filtering moonlight into the room. “Let me make you feel good, baby…” you allow, kisses still smothering his skin.

Your fingers graze over the tender bulge in his sweats and his breath hitches.

Within moments, you hastily pull John’s cock out his sweats and boxers, discarding your own pajama bottoms in a swift abandon. John’s arms slip around your waist again, and you rest your hands on his pecs. Foreheads touching, you reach between your bodies, offering a few measly tugs to his swollen length prior to lining him up with your growingly drenched entrance. Slowly, sensually, you sink onto his arousal, feeling him disappear as he drowns inside you.

The sting he leaves is delectable; you find yourself needily rolling your hips on his length, stifled moans and whispers of praise clouding sex smitten air when your bodies move in sync. John lightly thrusts up into you, meeting your hips hallway.

Thrusts deep and slow, yet quick all at once. John is a master of pace, and you find your eyes already stinging with a sheened wetness from the way he feels buried inside. The stretch he leaves is so sweet, the sweetest love you make. John’s breathing intensifies, and you lower your lips to connect to his neck as you savour his skin in tender kisses, his member reaching your deepest points of pleasure effortlessly. You feel everything; each ridge, each vein, even the weight of his swollen tip grinding your g-spot as the sound of his thick balls loudly slapping against your tight pussy folds perverses.

Tension builds, bubbling in the lowest pits of your mid as you whimper for him, sighing softly through needy moans when the pads of his fingers dig into your hips. John rasps under you, groaning, moaning in pleasure when you cocoon his length oh so well. His cock twitches between the lips of your perfectly tight, wet womanhood and his lips shape your name.

He repeats your name again and again and again and he recognises he can’t stop. You warm every inch of him, and the aches in his bones thaws with relief to each movement. “I love you, y/n.” John whispers in a shudder, as you desperately attempt to hold back sobbing moans. Controlled thrusts jolt into you as you move on him, his cock gliding effortlessly as the bed frame creeks underneath. You cradle his cheek, watching his jaw clench and peppered glisten on his forehead. Movements become sloppy as you give him your all, feeling yourself crumble on top of him, shockwaves of sheer pleasure building with the friction of his thick manhood slicking inside.

It had been over two weeks since you felt him this way, and you feel everything tenfold being deprived of his love for so long. You moan his name softly, grasping his skin, feeling him trembling underneath you. Moans of each other’s names melt on your tongues, and you twitch when John softly allows a few wet, lapping kisses to your breasts. Waves of pleasure surge and he throbs inside, leaving you an unchecked, whimpering mess of bliss.

Despite how many times you’d had him, you’d never tire of the way John makes you feel so, so good. So perfectly his. Only his.

You clench around him as you tug him closer, arms wrapping his neck with your foreheads now connecting. His breath is hot against your lips and his eyes drift shut in unison with yours. Behind closed eyes, all that triumphs is the feel of your bodies sinking into each other. John’s massive size leaves you sore already, the ache he leaves making you delicate for days to come for sure.

“You feel...” John stutters, shallow breaths and rugged tone. “So good, sweetheart.” you continue your roll of hips on his length, offering butterfly kisses and a cup to his cheek when he moans softly. “I’m close,” he warns a gravelly whisper, and you nod gently, allowing him to rest his head in the valley of your breasts as you put your all into finish him off.

Tender rolls.

Controlled thrusts.

Desperate holds of each other’s body.

You continually bury yourself on him before your orgasm jerks your body whole, that familiar sear washing over you when his cock hits all the right points. You moan loud, and John finds himself not far behind before he too, unravels. Inside you, barely managing a coherent response when his entire body shivers and he stills deep, deep inside your tender haven, twitching as hot streams of thick, glossy white cum shoot ribbons in your cunt. The sounds of your beautiful moans had pushed him over the edge, knowing his cock was making you feel that way. Riding out highs, you breathe breathlessly against each other, holding close, offering tender strokes to each other’s skin. John finds himself buried in your breasts, sighing when you kiss his hair, whispering quiet ‘I love yous’ for him to relish. He stays sheathed inside your warm wetness, and you rest your weight on top of him as you pull him closer.

With deliberate movement, John shifts back, drawing your body with him as he lays down on the mattress once again, pulling you down with him. In the softness of the moment, you find your arms connecting around his neck as you rest to his chest once again, John’s nose burying in the maven locks of your sex strewn tresses.

Softly, his palms smooth over your bare back, your nude figure pressed to his as warm skin sticks together. A callous thumb coaxes gentle strokes to the lax skin on the dip of your back, and you close your eyes as you nestle into him further, still feeling the thickness of his member sheathed inside you.

You didn’t expect the deep timber of his voice to cause a sear in your eyes. Against your weak ear, the sound vibrates off his chest.

“You are my everything. Don’t ever forget it, Y/N.”

There’s such a simple comfort to be held by the one you love. Feeling a warmth that is capable of wiping every bad thing on your mind, every place that hurts. Your heart jolts to his affirm.

He reminds you often.

He reminds you so often, you sometimes fear you aren’t deserving of him. Of all the good that is him.

You curl into him, and it was in simple, mundane moments like these that John remembers what everything was for. For this beautiful life with you, for this dream he lives everyday with you.

It was in moments like this that he remembers,

—the joy that once flowed scarce, now comes easier. With your hand holding his.

You curl into him more, hugging him with so much need. He feels your heartbeat, the signal of electrifying life buzzing in your veins. He remembers the softness of your lips, the gentleness of your touch. The security of your arms, the way you hold him like he’s the only thing in the world worth touching. He remembers the way your love sounds on your lips, how his name is all that lives on your tongue now. The way you nurse him to health without hesitation, the way you take care of him, fiercely protect him, selfishly love him. He remembers a simple truth; you are his and he is only yours for as long as that electrifying buzz flows through your veins. He remembers it all,

He remembers everything.

a/n: I still don’t know how I feel about this, lemme know what you think! It really means the world and helps me write more!

my taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

#John wick x reader #Keanu Reeves x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #John wick fanfic

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lottiebagleywritesobx · 3 years ago

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Tequila confessions

JJ lets out a sigh at the sight of his best friend. He'd been late to the kegger and more than ready to relax and have fun with his friends, he knew almost immediately that his plans were going to be very different.

"JAIII," She's slurring as she shouts, stumbling a little over nothing as she approaches him.

"Hey sunshine," He coos lightly, tucking her into his side as he points Kie a sharp glare.

She holds her hands up in surrender "That girl is crazy," Kie defends, causing the girl to let out a gasp, turning to fight back but seemingly forgetting she was mad in the first place when she actually sees Kie, instead moving to go and hug her friend, she's kept in place though by JJ's arm around her shoulder.

"Seriously Kie, I asked you to keep an eye out for her for like a couple hours cause I had work," JJ complains, it was no secret amongst the pogues that she couldn't hold her drinks, she could casually drink on the boat all day but the minute she was in a party setting she would wind up pissed.

"It's not my fault girls from school wanted to do tequila shots and-"

"Shit! You know she voms on tequila," JJ grumbles

"No, we don't all know every little thing about her," Kie defends, JJ rolls his eyes, glancing to see if she had realised what Kiara meant, she seemed to be entertaining herself by playing with the ends of his fingers that hang around her shoulder. "C'mon, I'll get you a beer," Kie offers.

JJ sighs, he does want to drink with his friends, smoke a bit too. It had been a long day and he needed to relax. He knows though that if his best friend has done tequila shots she'll be feeling ill within minutes and he wants to be able to look after her properly.

"I should probably skip, get this one home," He admits, squeezing the girl in his arms a little, seemingly drawing her attention back to him.

"I'm not going home," She argues, still slurring

"Sunshine, you gotta. You'll be feeling poorly soon and-"

He cuts himself off when she makes a dash for it. Leaving his tight grip and sprinting across the beach to John B who reaches out immediately to steady her and stop her from falling.

"Fuck it. Where's the beer Kie?" JJ decides.

He settles at the campfire, drinking slowly so as to stay sober and look after her when she inevitably needs him. A group of touron girls are talking to him, pawing for attention and he's half listening, his eyes are zoned in on her though.

He watched as she danced with Sarah.

He watched as she played beer pong with some kook boys, not sure if he was mad because she was already drunk enough or because they all kept trying to touch her. He figured it's probably the latter.

He watched as she splashed Pope in the shallow water.

Unable to help himself, a large grin spreads across his face as he watches her approach him. She's reaching out and making grabby hands at him, confidently shoving her way through the girls surrounding him to sit next to him. She doesn't need to worry about it, he's always dropped everything to be with her.

She sits silently, head cocked to the side, eyeing JJ with great concentration despite her glassy eyes. He takes the moment to look at her, glowing in the light from the fire and biting her bottom lip slightly, she always does when she's focused.

"Your face is stupid but I like it. I like your stupid...it's so...I like it. Can I touch it?"

"Course you can sunshine," He's grinning widely and can practically feel himself melting when her hand reaches out, stroking his cheek gently.

"JJ can I tell you something?" She's trying to whisper but her voice is no where near quiet, hand still cupping his face.

"You can tell me anything," He reassures, hand going to her knee to rub comforting circles on the skin

"I feel icky,"

"You wanna leave?" He asks, his voice soft

"I wanna be with you,"

"Well obviously I'm leaving with you, christ sunshine, wasn't just gonna let you wander off home all alone,"

"But you just got here and then I'll ruin your night-" He can tell she's about to ramble so he decides to cut it off quickly

"I'd rather be with you anyway. Alright?" He speaks so softly that if anyone who knew him and hadn't seen him around her before were to see they'd struggle to believe it was him at all.

JJ prides himself on how attentive he is to her needs. No matter the situation he knows what she wants.

Tonight is no different, she's leaning over the toilet of the chateau, JJ is standing behind her rubbing her back comfortingly as he holds her hair back.

She pulls away from the toilet, her face a little sweaty and immediately JJ is passing her a glass of water. She pats the floor next to her and JJ immediately sits. "I wanna give you something," She sighs, her head falling to JJ's shoulder as she hiccups a little

"What is it?" He asks, hand once again finding it's home on her knee, his thumb rubbing gently

"My heart. I wanna give you my heart. How do I do it?" She springs up off his shoulder again, looking at him intensely

"Might take a surgery, we'll leave that one for tomorrow yeah?" He questions gently. He knows he can't let himself, even for a second, think she means what's she's saying. She's intoxicated and she's a sappy drunk and he can't set himself up for that kind of heart break.

"Tomorrow though?"

"Yeah sunshine," He nods.

"You're my best friend JJ, but don't tell Kie," She whispers, although it's still not quiet

"You're mine. But don't tell John B," He hums in response, watching her with a wide smile as she grins, rocking back and forth a little.

"I really love you," She admits, her eyes almost look scared

"I really love you too,"

"No like I really love you. Like I wanna have your babies and be with you all the time kinda love you,"

"You are drunk. You don't know what you're saying," He's more telling himself than her.

"NO!" She shouts, gasping dramatically as though she's offended. "I'm not drunk. If I was drunk could I do this?"

He sits silently for a few seconds, watching as she seems to glare at him instensly.

"What is it you are doing sunshine?" He questions

"I-I'm sending you my love. Did you not get it?" She almost looks like she's about to cry and JJ acts quickly, pulling her into a tight hug. "Can we sleep now blondie?"

"Of course sunshine," He agrees immediately. He lifts her from the floor with ease, placing her onto the bed in the room that might as well belong to him. He makes her down another water, helping her out of her jean shorts and crop top and helping her into one of his tshirts. Passing her a cotton pad with her makeup remover on.

She snuggles into the mattress pulling the duvet up to just under her eyes as she watches JJ get ready for bed. He turns around to face her "Thought you were taking your makeup off sweetheart?"

"No. I want cuddles,"

"You can have cuddles after you take your make up off," he instructs, she sighs dramatically but rubs at her face with the cotton pad.

He climbs into bed next to her, opening his arms and immediately she snuggles into them, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her arms around him, he holds her close, rubbing her back gently.

"I really am in love with you JJ,"

"Tell me again after you've slept and I'll be yours. Okay sunshine?"

"Okay," She agrees, smiling when she feels him press a kiss to the top of her head "You'll say it back though, right?" She questions, her voice slowly becoming more drowsy

"I promise,"

JJ wakes up to see her still in his arms. She's awake though, staring at him from his chest.

"Are you watching me sleep like a creeper?"

"Are you gonna say it?" She enquires immediately, he doesn't like the way his heart swells, maybe she meant it? maybe it wasn't just her drunk ramblings?

"You need to learn how to hack a drink," He scolds lightly

"Not that JJ,"

"I'm in love with you," He speaks quietly, she jumps immediately, sitting up to straddle him and pulling him up with her.

"I wanna kiss you,"

"Then kiss me," He grins, he doesn't think he's ever been happier.

"I haven't brushed my teeth,"

"I don't care," He laughs a little and she giggles

"I do. C'mon," She pulls him from the bed to follow her.

They brush their teeth, JJ's arms wrapped around her waist as they do so and the second both their toothbrushes are back in the little holder his lips are on hers.

He kisses gently, like he's been waiting for this his whole life and he wants to savour every last second. She figures that maybe he has been.

"JJ, did I mention having your kids last night?" She whispers, foreheads pressed together.

"Yeah. You are never living it down sunshine," He's beaming as she giggles, leaning up to press her lips back to his.

#jj maybank #jj #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #obx fic #obx #jj maybank fic

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years ago

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The Four Corpsmen And Their Cheerleader

Lanternsis x Lanternfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.3K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I am obsessed with the Blue Lanterns you guys. Like they're legit my favorites. And since blue and green rings work best with one another...here's a story of that happening! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

The guys were at their wits end against the troop of Yellow Lanterns; which wasn’t a common occurrence—being at their wits end that is, Yellow Lantern attacks were actually fairly common. Kyle winced as another barrage of yellow energy blasts hit the construct he’d formed; the eyes of the other two Lanterns turned to him.

“You good, Kyle?” Guy asked, pressing his own hand to the construct to pour power into it.

He nodded, though the strain was evident on his face. “Yeah, I’m good.” He shut his eyes and forced another surge of power into the construct, keeping it up and around them. “Have a plan yet, John?”

Their leader shot a quick glance from the side. “Hal’s keeping them busy at the moment, but his fly-boy distractions are only going to last for so long.” He looked at them. “We need to—”

“Coming in hot!” They all looked towards their rings at the voice and then Hal darted over the side, grunting when a yellow flash shot him in the side. He sunk down the construct wall. “Okay,” he breathed out in shock. “New plan because distraction’s gone out the window as of now.” He glanced at Guy. “Kick their asses?”

Guy snorted, cracking his fists. “Thought you’d never ask, Jordan.” His green eyes fell on John. “Any big speeches before we go in?”

John merely grinned but before he could speak, a scream pierced from behind the construct wall, and everyone shot each other confused glances because no one had moved or formed a new construct besides the wall guarding them. Kyle warned them as he dropped the barrier and they all saw a blue figure darting between the yellow suited Lanterns.

A nova of aqua shot out from the mysterious person as they flew towards them and they rose, the blue cape billowing around them as they cheekily grinned, “I thought we agreed that the four corpsmen needed a cheerleader?”

Hal matched their smirk. “(Y/N)! What are you doing here!”

She merely raised her hand and cool aura surrounded them as their rings recharged, powers surging to the highest levels without overpowering them. “Well, it seems I’m bailing my big brother and his best friends out of trouble.” (Y/N) turned and raised her hands, surrounding her own body with an aura. “Leave now or face the four corpsmen and a Blue Lantern!”

The fear-wielders practically hissed at her, and she tipped her chin up. “Corpsmen! To me!”

“We’ve so gotta talk about you thinking you’re bigger than us,” Kyle griped, even as he flew to her right just as she’d ordered; she snorted as Hal took her left, Guy and John on either side of the other two men.

“Please, I don’t think, Kyle.” She winked at him. “I hope.” Reaching down, she took Kyle and Hal’s hands. “Mind if I borrow some power?”

They merely smiled in return, and she shut her eyes, drawing deep from the well of hope inside her. She let the power flow evenly between the men holding her hands who in turn took Guy and John’s hands, letting the power even between the five of them.

“In fearful day, in raging night, with strong hearts full, our souls ignite…” The Green Lanterns beside her joined in on the oath, all speaking in unison, mighty and powerful. “When all seems lost in the War of Light, look to the stars—” (Y/N) opened her eyes and they glowed a beautiful blue. “For hope burns bright!”

The cosmos seemed to still as the power exploded from their bodies, and they watched as strong green and blue arcs echoed outwards. The Yellow Lanterns across the expanse of space screamed as the waves hit them and soon, they were turning around and fleeing.

Satisfied that their enemy had been defeated, she let go of their hands and rose a few feet up and away from them, a mile-long grin on her face. “Now that that’s over with…how about we go back to Coast City and hit a bar?”

Each of them smiled and nodded at the idea, when suddenly Kyle pointed. “(Y/N) look out!”

She barely had time to spin around when the space around her warped and a Yellow Lantern came into sight. A gasp escaped her as they thrust out the construct blade in their hand into her gut and she bent forward. The men around her shouted and instantly the enemy was being yanked off her, probably being pummeled into a pulp, but all she was concerned about was the fizzling blade that disappeared from her gut.

Someone put their hand against her stomach, and she collapsed into their arms, realizing it was Kyle. “Hey, I’ve got you,” he worried, pressing tight to her abdomen. “You’re going to be okay, (Y/N).”

“Don’t get blood on your suit,” she joked, and he frowned at her, concentrating hard to heal the wound.

“Don’t make me laugh right now. This is serious.” He gazed into her eyes, whispering, “I can’t lose you.”

(Y/N) took his hand and forced him to look into her eyes. “Kyle Rayner, you needn’t be afraid when I’m here. Even if I’m wounded.” She smiled and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. “Fear is merely the belief of imminent demise.” She shut her eyes and exhaled, the pulsing blue aura coming again as they held each other. “Hope, however, is the belief of imminent success. And I will always believe that.”

The aura was blinding and even the other men had to shield their eyes as it grew brighter and brighter, lasting for what seemed like forever, then it faded and (Y/N) stood before them, healed, as if she’d never experienced the wound—though her suit was new.

A deep blue, off the shoulder, long-sleeved dress/leotard that parted down the middle of her chest and back, turning sheer as it flowed down at her hips. Her gloves had morphed too, now a silver ring around her middle as the white sleeve stretched up her arm; her boots differed too, no longer closed around her feet. Instead, a silver ring was around her second toe, sapphires on the silver chain that wrapped around her ankle and calves. Her head was adorned with a silver and sapphire diadem, and around her neck was a silver band, and in the center was the symbol for the Blue Lanterns, growing bright as the day she received her ring.

(Y/N) opened her eyes and smiled, holding out her hand to Kyle. “Beloved.”

He matched her smile and pulled her into a hug, lifting her in the air—well, the space around them—and breathed, “(Y/N), you look like a goddess.”

“I’m your goddess,” she murmured, placing her hands on his shoulders.

They seemed to be lost in their own little world of love and devotion, and Guy blinked, looking over at John. “It’s so sweet, I almost don’t want to warn them that Hal here is about to blow his afterburner.” John cracked a toothy grin as Hal exploded in anger.

“CAN SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE FUCK I’M LOOKING AT! BECAUSE IF IT’S ONE OF MY BEST FRIENDS AND MY PRECIOUS BABY SISTER I’M LEGITIMATELY GOING TO COMMIT MURDER! QUIT FUCKING LAUGHING GUY! IT’S NOT FUCKING FUNNY, YOU DICK! WAIT! DID YOU FUCKING KNOW ABOUT THIS!”

John rested his hand on Hal’s shoulder. “Hal…everyone knows about Kyle and (Y/N).”

“WHAT?!”

“Yeah, why do you think the two of them always ‘patrol’ together?” Guy asked.

“WELL, I DON’T KNOW! MAYBE BECAUSE OUR RINGS WORK BEST IN THE PRESENCE OF A BLUE RING, GUY! AND MAYBE I JUST ASSUMED THEY WERE SUPPORTING AND ENCOURAGING EACH OTHER!”

Guy snorted. “Yeah, ‘encouraging’. More like fuck—”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP! KYLE YOU’RE DEAD!”

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self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2 · 2 years ago

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Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 02x19

Folsom Prison Blues

“No shit. I mean he’s doing a job in a prison.” “what did he do? Go off to murder another inmate? Thats my guess” “wanna fuck with a bunch of inmates? Flick the lights after having them watch this kind of shit” “eating a sandwich and watching porn. Something” “he’s going to be a stain on the wall by the time you get there” “about to get fucked by a ghost man” “jumpscare in 3…2…1” “close” “that’s what we call rehabilitation” “three months later” said in the SpongeBob transition voice

“Are they really that dumb to trip up the alarm like that? They’re usually better than that.” “They’re too white for the cops to shoot them? If it was literally anyone else, the cops would have shot them” “slutty” “Jensen is really have fun with Dean now” “this was intentional wasn’t it?” “gotta get your butthole scanned” “and you’re talking about it NOW while you’re in line to get butt scanned?”

“That’s funnier now that I know they’re both from Texas” “they desatured the food in post production to make it seem more shitty” “they’re in prison and they hadn’t talked all through this before?” “isn’t the whole point in solitary to not talk to each other?” “what the fuck is that thing? that’s pretty wild. I don’t remember that. It’s more of a jumpscare than their usual” “fkn asshole. He’s a cop not a prosecutor” “does dean even smoke?” “Currency of the realm. What a fkn nerd” “yikes” “right. Sure. There’s not a single fkn camera in the kitchen?” “that’s safe. No cover plate on the breaker panel” “is that really going to do anything?” “haha John Winchester metaphor” “delicious” “not enough time to draw yourself a circle? Come on.” “RIP that guy I guess” “that was the whitest thing you could say dean - look at me. I’m not the bad guy?” “this is a weird scene with the man hugs” “ouch. Why the fuck would you want it in the face? You wouldn’t want that brain injury; it’s not worth it” “time to go boys” “I would never tell the FBI guy anything if I were defending Sam and Dean” “just normal everyday stuff. Breaking out of prison. Heading straight to the cemetery to dig up a grave. Desecrating bodies. The usual” “So rusty” “that was fkn quick” “did the lawyer tell the FBI the wrong cemetery?” “Does the lawyer disappear forever? Is she a Man of Letters or something? That would have been a good explanation”

#beautifulspouserewatchesspn #supernatural s2 #supernatural rewatch #supernatural

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sugar-petals · 4 years ago

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BTS Scenario: Dating a Tall Girl

a/n. inspired by anon who like me is a honorary member of the ‘taller than my bias’ assembly so let’s treat ourselves shall we 💃

warnings ⚠️ none, all fluff :)

➸ Taehyung Listen, listen. Here is the MVP. I mean think about it. Why’d you not put a model next to the shining man who embodies Gucci, Dolce, Gabbana, Versace, Armani, Prada, the Italian and French spirit! He can’t help but wanting to put designer clothes and accessories on her and show up together with her to stun at social events. That’s a lot of press and praise they’ll be getting. It’s only logical. Presents galore are on their way, she will be terribly spoiled and revered and he’ll admit he’s absolutely overdoing it. And then again, she’s also his number one cuddlebot and girl to hug in his sleep. No longer embracing pillows for this gent, and you can imagine he is in good hands. To summarize: It’s an all-round good idea.

➸ Seokjin Has been praying for a 6′2 queen for years. Being way on eye level with the number one worldwide handsome man sure is like a knighting or hitting the jackpot. Definitely knows how its like up there and will laugh at silly or embarrassing head bumping stories together with her. Tall life is like being a disoriented stormtrooper in a tiny ass spaceship, let’s be honest. Or they go on endless rants about never finding the right trousers because legs legs legs. Some Jinmoney has to solve that problem with a personal tailor am I right. As for their favorite activity: Jin will paddle out on a lake regularly to do some fishing together. Four long arms have a better chance than just two, so. It’s not the biggest ever deal to him, Seokjin doesn’t think it’s her utmost defining feature in their relationship.

➸ Yoongi Our open-minded fella (funny way to put it but you’ve heard him destroying ideal type stereotypes at fansigns a hundred times) who, despite being the smallest in the group, aims high in his usual manner. What Yoongi wants, Yoongi loves, and Yoongi gets. Or... does he date her to feel extra cute? Maybe so, maybe so! If he admits it, he’s a little bit jealous of her height, but also deeply protected. What other gf could feel like home and have such major roommate vibes. In his practical mind, and with time in particular, things get much more sorted out. If she has what he can’t have, and he himself is perky pocket size, why not fully capitalize on it. Yoongi will also draw inspiration for his songs out of her looks.

➸ Jimin So, the sweet mochi man it is. A more difficult case. Will, as you might already suspect, take some time to get used to this when it plays out in daily life. But I think he’s gonna realize something. Just because he’s the tiny one, it doesn’t mean he’s less loved or gets overlooked because that’s what he fears, not actually being too smol. In fact, he owns his height really well once he knows he’s not ignored. Now: All the heaps of her affection arguably can’t be stored in his height but surely in his fluffy hair that can hold all the compliments in the world. So there’s that. What is gonna be immense fun to him is doing athletic activities with her. It’s always a sexy thing to do couple yoga or latin dance as a height difference pair. I think at the bottom of his heart, Jimin knows he makes the best little spoon.

➸ Hoseok What he thinks about her height? Swag! Looks up to her literally and figuratively and he enjoys it. Meanwhile, a lot of situational comedy will arise, I’m telling you. Hobi is going to tease her a bit for her occasionally lanky dancing if he dares. Maybe after a beer or two. She will simply say it’s ‘exquisitely Namjoonesque’ and call it a day. Nobody in their right mind will argue about their own jopping skills in front of Jung Hoseok. Now, in all seriousness. If his mixtape is blasting she will unlock new levels of moving her body, what did you think! He is definitely impressed by her physique and you know... the making out will be steamy out in public because this girl makes Hoseok reckless oh my god.

➸ Namjoon Talk about Joonie. We’ve heard he likes tall girls. And hey, the man is equipped with delicious logic, he got this figured out from the start. You gotta make the couple proportions work you know. So of course he won’t hesitate to ask her out once he worked out her character and if he’s her taste. Past that point, overcautious Namjoon is out the door, RM will take over from there. All of town quickly spreads the word because this double tower power simply cannot be overlooked strutting down the pavements. And, man. If Namjoon doesn’t come along with someone who can’t pinch his dimples, all that architectural efforts that God exerted when creating RM was for naught. Yeah boy, this is what a viking couple looks like.

➸ Jungkook Frequent things he will say under his breath in reaction to her: “Just like Tyra Banks!” — “Blake Lively style!” — and even: “That was like Namjoon did it!” — Long story short, Jungkook can’t really hide his mixture of complete adoration and envy. How the world is like in her eyes is the most interesting thing to him, no wonder he’s always found by her side. So, it takes him a while to settle for a more moderate feeling about the height difference. He’s the kinda guy who formerly wished to be taller but has started to accept that he is somewhere in the middle where it’s actually a very comfortable spot as he learns. He likes to sit down with her to brush her hair or give a back massage.

art: Windflowers (1903) — by John W. Waterhouse

#bts scenario #bts #bangtan #bts imagine #bts hc #bts headcanon #bts fluff #jimin #jungkook #taehyung #yoongi #namjoon #hoseok #jin

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sh1tbird-shantytown · 3 years ago

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part two to this :)

request for @mediocre--writing and @castielle711 <3

the heist

—

to say john harrington was a kindhearted and devoted father would be a lie. he was in his robe and slippers on a tuesday while his son was going through something serious off who knows where. the guy obviously didn’t like hopper or joyce, even more obviously believed he was above them. wouldn’t even acknowledge billy.

“harrington, where is steve?” hopper demanded. his hands were up in a mock surrender under mr. harrington’s glower.

“he was causing mayhem,” john dismissed and went to close the door. billy stepped back with the ghost of a smirk when joyce immediately deflected the door with a fist. hopper held a hand out as of to refrain her. she shoved him back without looking over.

“you will tell us where he is, and then you will bring him back. now!” she poked his chest.

mr. harrington rolled his eyes but he relented, “the church took care of it. i’m not sure where they took him.”

hopper gently pulled billy back, “the church?”

the door shut and locked without anymore talk.

billy cleared his throat, “i have a feeling i’m not the only one who’s thinking this.” hopper and joyce turned around and regarded him as though they had been struck. “but i don’t think the church are the right sort to deal with harrington’s ptsd.”

“no,” joyce brushed her hair back, “they’re not.”

hopper dug his keys out of his pocket, “i gotta go meet up with murray. if anyone’ll know what this shit is about, it’s him.”

—

hopper didn’t let joyce or billy follow him through to visit murray. and when he returned he was fuming.

“it’s equivalent to torture what they’ll do to him.” hopper jammed the key in and twisted it to start the engine. joyce covered her mouth and reminded billy of how a chihuahua shakes.

“he doesn’t deserve this,” her voice muffled against her palms. “and after the russians ordeal.” she shook her head and hopper leaned back into his chair as though already accepting some part of defeat.

“i won’t blame him if he never recovers from all this.”

billy leaned forward, “don’t know if this is the wrong time. but…russians?”

joyce sat up and wiped at her face, “oh, right. you don’t know yet.” billy made a disgruntled face.

hopper u-turned back onto the road, “strap in, son. both metaphorically and literally.”

—

the building was bleak and crumbling. billy almost thought he’d seen it before in the black and white horror tapes his mother would play on halloween nights years ago. not a plant or even a weed alive on the lawn. there was definitely a basement, there were barred windows that proved it.

hopper, once again, returned in a fit of internalized rage. “they’re not budging. the nuns here are like statues and the pastor looks like the boogie man came to life.”

joyce covered her mouth again, “oh god.”

billy opened the van door and eyed the rectangular windows aligning the church’s perimeter. “what if i look through those windows and see if i can find steve? we’ll work through it from there.”

“absolutely not,” hopper turned in his seat with a finger already pointed out for scolding.

at the same time joyce perked up interestedly with brightened eyes, “it’s worth a shot!”

hopper sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “joyce, we can’t risk it.”

joyce slapped the man’s shoulder, “we need to get steve out of here. and if that includes taking risks, than so be it.” she crossed her arms and winked at billy before he took the hint and left the vehicle before hopper lost his lid.

it was dusty as hell with all the upturned road and falling stone from the bell tower. when he was low enough he could tell that the bars were rusted. the rooms inside were overly lit up. as though they wanted to be able to see through the windows.

the first room was empty but he could already tell it was meant to be used as a sort of cell. he blanched at the thought that steve was being held in one. with all the shit he heard, this was certainly not a safe place for steve’s head to be stuck in.

the next one held a middle aged blonde woman. winkles adorned her forehead while the rest of her was oddly smooth. she looked at him and then away, uninterested.

the next one held a boy no older than eight with shaggy, dark hair. colorful sketches and drawings were attached around the walls of the room. rainbows and animals and buildings from dreams and memories. definitely nothing found around the location presently.

finally, the next window he looked through held steve harrington. his hair was droopier and his face was hidden, but it was no doubt steve harrington. he was dressed in grey woolen trousers and what looked to be a simple cotton dress shirt neatly tucked in. whether it was what he’d been dressed in when admitted or not, billy never would find out. his face was obscured due to the fact that he seemed to be crying into his own bent knees.

he bolted back to hopper’s van and knocked repeatedly on the window before it was rolled down. hopper got out while joyce made her way over to the driver’s seat. ready to make a getaway.

“i found him,” billy mentioned as hopper gathered a crow bar. he watched after pointing to the correct window as hopper managed to pry off the old and rotting material. when they leant down to check the situation inside they were both startled to find steve standing directly under them and staring unsurely.

hopper knelt on the ground, obviously not caring about the sharper gravel pieces against his knees. “come on, steve, let’s get you out of here.” harrington didn’t make any sort of move, just gaped with wide, wide eyes. “can you open the window?”

it was then that steve jumped into action, he reached up and flung a clasp over before shoving the window open. he immediately had shaky hands pushing the screen out before grabbing onto the edges of the window. a door swung open behind him and yelling broke out.

someone on the other side grabbed harrington’s legs just as billy grappled into both of his hands.

“kick, harrington,” he ordered as he yanked with all his might. nothing much budged until steve started squirming with his brute force on the opposite end.

with a few moments time and hopper’s assistance, steve was out and panting. he clung to billy and didn’t let go all the way to the van. he had to pull them both up and into it so hopper could close the door. it was messy and there would be a few bruises from hitting the ends of different parts of the car, but steve was solid beside him.

he couldn’t say he was annoyed by the desperate hug-like attachment steve was frozen in around billy’s waist. although, it was obvious steve was horrified and even more traumatized, and that just made billy want to back and kick the idiot people’s teeth in.

he smoothed steve hair back with gentle touches all while whispering to him. “you’re with us now. you’re with your real family, steve. you’re safe now. all safe. we won’t let them get you again.” he slowly wrapped his finger around steve’s limp one. “i pinky promise.”

hopper smiled at him while billy begrudgingly stuck his tongue out. he didn’t stop giving attention to steve though, didn’t even think about it, even through hopper’s silent teasing. joyce radiated pride and maternal engrained worry as she constantly checked on all three of them.

he watched the old man buckle his seat belt, “one more stop and then we’re all out of here,” he promised.

steve whispered thickly against billy’s shoulder, didn’t even lift his head, “all of us?”

“all of us,” joyce accentuated, “i’d die before it were any other way.”

#tw dark themes #i think. there’s not much mentioned #there’s some confinement but just for warning either way #billy hargrove #jim hopper #joyce byers #steve harrington #stranger things #billy/steve #harringrove

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ray-ray-writings · 4 years ago

Note

Dude, dude, dude you probably know already but I’m a huge techno simp and I just gotta ask, Sheriff Thompson? Can I have some wild Wild West headcanons? Or even time traveler Reader headcanons where they take the place of Karl or partner up with him when his memory issues get to bad and he needs a break? I just adore every single iteration of Techno and J need Billiam and Thompson content!

Also a little reminder- Your stories are absolutely amazing! I adore reading all of your little imagines and they make me all soft and happy (even the non technoblade lolololol) Your work is amazing and be proud of it! Love - 🌻

(I love you so much. Thank you so so so much that really truly means so much to me and that is just so nice of you to say <3)

Did I watch the tales of the SMP out of order so I could write this for 🌻 ? Yes. Do I regret it? Nope lol. I hope you enjoy.

Listen, you and Techno are soulmates. You’re soulmates in every life that you travel to and so it's no surprise when you and Karl show up to the Wild West that Sherriff Sherman Thompson is immediately drawn to you. You and Karl get there and walk into the bar and immediately make friends with John and accidentally piss off the “democrat haters”. And so you and Karl join forces with John and begin walking around town looking for more people to join your group to try and take down the bandits. You three walk into the jail and your heart immediately pounds in anticipation as you see your soulmate sitting behind the desk. Once he looks up and his eyes meet yours and for a moment time stops. Karl, not meaning too, breaks the moment by introducing himself and you before asking for the man’s name. Sheriff Sherman Thompson. The rest of the time the two are talking, the Sheriff is stealing glances at you the entire time. And once you five leave the jail, he’s glued to your hip. He never lets Crops get close to you, which you find very sweet. As well as, every time he mentions that he’s a week away from retirement, he always looks to you like he wants to ask you if you’re busy next week but he never actually says anything. Sheriff Thompson is glued to your side the entire time you’re walking around the town and he makes sure that you feel comfortable around every new person that you are introduced to. At some point, he begins to call you “darlin” and it just makes your whole heart flutter every time you hear it”

(Listen I could not stop thinking about this when I was watching this scene and I want this so bad) So the time comes when the eight of you go to the shooting range to practice shooting for the duel. The Sheriff is kind of helping everyone and everyone is doing pretty well, everyone but you. So the Sheriff comes over to you and does that cliche thing where he wraps his arms around you from behind and places his hands on top of yours and helps you aim and shoot and together you two get a bullseye. Once this happens you let out an excited squeal and turn around in his arms and throw your arms over his shoulders and around his neck and pull him into a hug. He’s a little frozen in shock, but he melts and wraps his arms around your waist and hugs you back. The two of you stay like for a few minutes, just soaking up the affection before someone clears their throat and the two of you quickly let go of each other, a soft blush coating both of your cheeks. But you turn back around and shoot once more, missing. You pout and load another arrow/bullet and look over your shoulder at the still blushing Sheriff, “Help?” you ask. And who is the sheriff to deny you. “Of course darlin”

You sit next to the Sheriff at the campfire. His arm is slung over your shoulder holding you close to his side and your head is resting on his shoulder. No one says anything about it, they just let you be so you can have your moment of peace before the duels. So then the Democrat Haters show up for the duels and the eight of you huddle on the bridge and the bandits settle on the other side of you. You all form the plan of who’s dueling and you can’t help the nervous feeling in your gut when it is the Sheriff who goes first, even though you know that he will be just fine. He leaves the small huddle on the bridge to go to the small strip of land where the duels were taking place. Before he gets there though, you break from the huddle as well and rush toward him. “Sheriff Thompson!” You call out to him. He immediately turns around with a curious look on his face, “Something I can help you with darlin?” Your heart pounds in your chest as you draw near to him. You stop right in front of him, your bodies pressed kind of close. “Yeah actually, there is” and then you lean up on your toes and you kiss him with as much passion you can muster. The Sheriff seems a little surprised at first, but instantly melts into the kiss. (if you saw my post. This is where it happened lol) The fire inside you sparks and burns bright at the fact that you are kissing your soulmate in this life. Realizing that the Sheriff was literally in the middle of going to a duel, you pull back from the kiss with a sheepish grin, “Come back to me yeah?” You ask. Sheriff Thompson gives you a grin, a wink, and a nod, “Of course darlin. I’ll always come back for you, especially if you give me more of those.” He leans forward, pecks you lips, before continuing the small walk to the dueling ground. You make your way back to the others and Karl cheekily grins at you and bumps his shoulder against yours, “Yeah?” he teases causing you to roll your eyes and push his shoulder, “Shut up”

I’m sorry this is so short, but I hope you liked it all the same!!

P.S. I almost ended this angsty where you and Karl duck out and go to a place where you can time travel out together and the Sheriff would grab your arm and be like, “where you going darlin” and you would smile sadly at him, cup his cheek, and kiss him softly and just say, “I’ve got to go now. But I’ll see you again and I promise I’ll remember you… Even if you don’t remember me” but I thought maybe that was too sad lol.

#mcyt #mcyt imagine #mcyt drabble #technoblade #technoblade imagine #technoblade drabble #sheriff thompson #sheriff thompson imagine #sheriff thompson drabble #tales of the smp #tales of the smp imagine #tales of the smp drabble #drabble #ray responds #🌻 anon #anon #asks

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maybankiara · 4 years ago

Photo

YOU’RE IN MY HEAD

pairing: Footballer!Rafe Cameron x Reader

summary: When he keeps putting you off your position during matches, you decide to take it up with him -- unbeknownst to you, there’s more to Rafe than just wanting to prevent you from being a good football player (and it’s called unresolved sexual tension.)

w/c: 4k

a/n: happy valentine’s day!! @drewstarkey and i have a whole football!obx au (soccer, for you americans) planned that i keep putting off, so here’s a little something loosely inspired by the idea, until that finally arrives. also, in this universe, football is a unisex sport. i’m not a football expert so there may be some inaccuracies. i hope you enjoy both the day and the fic! (and do let me know if this football!fic is what people are interested in.)

masterlist

It’s the half-time of one of the better matches the team has played this season and, of course, Rafe Cameron ruins it by uttering a single sentence: ‘Y/N, you’re swapping positions with Kiara.’

The captain’s orders don’t end here, and he decides to implement some more strategies the team has practiced before, adapting the approach to the heavy-defence strategy that North Carolina is playing tonight. Sarah gives you a sympathetic look and a tap on your hand, but all you can do is shake your head.

This is the third time in a row Rafe has put you on the sidelines, basically. Always swapping with Kiara, whom everybody knows to be a lot fiercer right back than you, or anyone else on the team. Just like you’re better at being in the front, charging for the goal.

When the changes are in place and there’s about five minutes left, Rafe asks if anyone has got questions. Peterkin stays quiet and lets Captain Cameron take over, just like she always does.

You raise your hand, and Rafe calls on you. ‘What the fuck, Rafe? Why are you putting me in the back again?’

His jaw clenches. ‘We need someone firmer on the front.’

‘But you also need a firm defence,’ you argue. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

He stares at you and you hold his gaze, unwavering, feeling his sister stir next to you. On the other end of the locker room, Kiara pulls her jersey down, biting her lip. ‘Y/N’s right—’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ Rafe cuts her off. ‘Now let’s get back on the field.’

You listen to what he says, but not without letting your disagreement with his choice be written all over your face. When you’re headed out, he’s waiting to be the last, and you bump into him as you’re walking out, shoulder to shoulder, torso to torso.

He glares, and you clench your teeth, trailing behind Pope.

Back on the field, time flies. You warm up quickly and it’s back in the game again, only on a different position than where you started. Kiara offers you a sympathetic glance, much like the one Sarah gave you, because everyone is starting to notice that Rafe is treating you differently.

As you run, a little out of the grounds he told you you’d be covering, saving the ball more than a handful of times, you feel his watchful eyes on you. You’re not meant to be playing the right back but you’d rather do your best, even if it means overexerting yourself, just to make sure you don’t lose.

You foul an opposing player and drop to the ground, feeling your ankle get sore; Rafe’s the first to get to your side, helping you up. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

It’s a free kick, but not a yellow, so you say, ‘Whatever it takes.’

‘Don’t go breaking your legs, Y/N.’

You pull your arm out of his hold, sending a glare his way as you go back to your position. You should keep paying attention to the ball, because it’s about to be kicked, but you can’t help but shout, ‘If you let me play what I’m supposed to play, maybe I’ll listen!’

The game picks up. You dive a few more times, Kiara gets a nasty foul that has her off the pitch for about half a minute, Topper gets a cramp, JJ fouls in the front and gets a yellow, John B and Rafe nearly start a scrap when someone gets Sarah to the ground – but you win.

That should be what’s important, you think as the entire team is hugging and celebrating, but your heart isn’t in the right place.

Playing football is far from fun when you keep being treated like a lesser player than someone else.

Time wears on, the team gets changed, and it’s time for a proper celebration, down at the Wreck. Sarah tries getting your spirits up, even Kiara tries telling you that at least you evaded getting fouled like that, Kelce tells you that you saved his ass, but none of it matters – not when Rafe celebrates as if what he’s doing is right.

Seriously. Three matches. It’s fucking ridiculous at this point.

You approach Rafe without hesitation, but still keep your voice hushed, because you’re not exactly trying to ruin everybody’s happiness with your tension. ‘Can we talk?’

He glances at you as he pulls his jersey over his head – your eyes drop to his lean torso, despite the fact you see it on an almost weekly basis.

‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ he says, and takes his shorts off. ‘You were good today, as a right back.’

‘That’s not my— Jesus, do you need to be half naked right now?’

‘What?’ he asks, almost innocently, but the grin betrays him. ‘I’m getting changed. Why are you getting so worked up?’

‘I’m not—’ You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out an exasperated huff as he takes off his socks, too, and is now wearing literally just boxers. ‘You’re ridiculous.’

He chuckles, dropping down on the bench. You half-wonder what Topper, sitting next to him, must be thinking – and realise that most of the team is taking selfies and chatting in the other end of the locker room. It’s just you and Rafe.

Good.

He looks up at you from the bench, manspreading with his back leaning on the wall. ‘What do you want?’

‘I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m kind of trying to have a serious conversation with you right now.’

‘Yeah, I got that.’

He’s hot. Okay, he’s hot and the reason why you’re so bothered about him being almost naked is because it’s taking your mind off of what you’re wanting to talk about, and giving a different meaning to you being “worked up”.

So you gather all your courage and bring your eyes up to meet his, trying to exude as much fierceness as you can muster. ‘I need you to let me play on my position. I’ve had enough, you can’t keep doing that if you’re not training me to play Kiara’s.’

‘Easy,’ he says, shrugging. ‘Then we’ll train you.’

Your jaw drops. ‘Are you being fucking serious right now?’

Before he gets to answer, JJ calls from the other end that they need to hurry up, if the team wants to make it to the Wreck at a normal time. It breaks whatever moment you and Rafe were sharing and, telling him the conversation isn’t over, you retreat back to your locker. It takes all you’ve got to not let this affect the celebratory mood, because winning 2 - 0 is pretty damn good, and you should take some credit for that. Even if it wasn’t on your position, for half of the match.

It ends up not being so difficult, actually, to not think about what happened. Once you’re back in Kildare and at the Wreck, food and drinks are flowing, and as long as Rafe is out of your earshot and sight, it’s good. He tends to stay away from you most times, anyway.

(Which, okay, you can admit now sometimes bothers you, you’ve had a few drinks.)

It’s not so difficult, until JJ lounges in the chair next to you, beer can in one hand and a donut in another, asks, ‘What’s up with you and Cap’n?’

‘Don’t even get me started,’ you sigh. ‘I don’t know what crawled up his ass.’

‘Language, Y/N.’

‘Fuck off, Maybank.’

The blond just grins, probably happy to see you slightly irritated – but not at him.

He pushes the chair back from swinging into its normal position, resting his elbows on the table. He leans towards you as if he’s about to tell you a secret – even his eyebrows furrow, the ever-present smile shaping into a frown. ‘Seriously, he keeps pushing you in the back. He’s gotta have a reason for that.’

‘Not that I’d know of,’ you admit. You shrug, lightly, despite the actual weight of the subject. ‘I thought we made a good team in the front. He assisted me, I assisted him… It’s been working well.’

JJ nods, pondering. ‘It was the game against New Jersey, right?’

‘The last time I played without the change?’ You play until JJ nods, then sigh, playing with a broken piece hanging off the wooden table. ‘I didn’t even get to play, since that bitch nearly sprained my ankle.’

‘It’s always your ankle,’ JJ says, chuckling.

His thoughts take him to stories of all the injuries you and the rest of team have gotten so far, drawing a couple of your teammates into the conversation. Rafe slips off your mind for the most part, as you laugh along to the ridiculous number of times Kelce has faceplanted while tackled, or to Pope is retelling how he defended the goal by getting the ball in his nuts, which made him fear for his offspring (it was all fun, and makes for a hilarious story).

It’s only when you glance around the table and catch him in conversation with Topper, or James, or Sarah, and his eyes are trained on you for just a moment before they’re gone – as if he wants you to see him, but wants you to question whether it was an accident. You feel yourself growing stiff; when it happens too many times, your mind flashes back to the locker room – you, trying to talk to him; Rafe, half naked, grinning at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

He’s conceited. He’s selfish. He’s attractive, with that prep-boy look around him that falls apart when he’s leading the charge on the pitch – when the wisps of blond frame the sharp lines of his face, and he embodies the look of the leader he’s become.

It just sucks that you don’t quite agree with his leadership, and he doesn’t quite agree with you speaking up about it.

Night wears on, and your teammates flock to their beds, one by one. You’re only staying at the Wreck, the local hotel, for a night – tomorrow’s a new day, a new tournament. It would be smart to go to sleep early. Get the energy you need for tomorrow, because tomorrow’s filled with press conferences, which you don’t tend to enjoy.

It would also be smarter to deal with the captain tomorrow morning, when you’re both sober, instead of the buzz running through your veins right now.

By the time it hits midnight, it’s only you, JJ, Pope, Kiara, Rafe, and Topper. Instead of taking the big table at the wreck, the few of you retreated to a secluded one in the corner of the hotel’s dining room. Topper’s beating everyone at cards, but Kiara’s at his neck, and everyone has downed enough drinks for the night to be called quits soon enough; you are starting to sober up, and can already feel the headache looming.

Inadvertently, you glance at Rafe. He’s holding his cards in one hand, spread evenly, long fingers adorned with rings keeping them in place. Across from you, his eyes don’t meet yours, as they look around the table, through everybody’s poker faces – you notice the angle of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his jawline, the unstyled hair having the slightest bit of a messy wave to it. You hate how much attention you pay to the parting of his lips, and the line of his nose, the curve of his eyes; his Adam’s apple bobbing as he taunts Pope across the table, trying to get him to break the cards.

When he turns as if scalded and his eyes meet yours, you don’t avert your gaze.

It might be the alcohol, but the room is starting to feel a little stuffy, a little warm; you’ve never realised how intense his gaze can be. It’s almost as if it’s unguarded, spiked with the few drinks everyone’s had.

You clear your throat, looking at your cards – you’re definitely not going to be the one winning anytime soon. ‘I think I’ll head to bed, soon.’

If anybody notices the fluttering of your voice, they don’t comment on it. Kiara nods, JJ boos you, and Rafe says: ‘We should all probably head to bed if we want to be ready for tomorrow.’

‘Okay, Cap’n,’ says Topper, resting an arm around the blond’s shoulders. ‘You go get your beauty sleep, me and the boys are going to let you know how it went when you wake up in the morning, princess.’

Kiara clears her throat, drawing the attention to herself before quirking an eyebrow at Topper. ‘What’s making you think you’re getting rid of me?’

There’s a collective of ooh’s, and you think about staying, but it wouldn’t be smart. Rafe’s right, you all would be better getting some sleep, but there’s also the fact that you’re pissed at him and you’re drunk enough for that to be making you seem in a bit of a different light.

(You’re still struggling to breathe, a little bit. Hopefully no one has noticed.)

In the end, you bid everyone goodnight, pay your bill, and head for your room. You’re still not feeling well and there’s a water dispenser in the ground hallway, opposite end of where the stairs to the upper floor are. You think about making a cup of tea, but settle for water – water is good.

Cold water should unhaze your mind.

You stay in the hallway, for a little pit – it’s peaceful here. Hallways have meant something to you ever since your team’s career started to take off two years ago. Wherever you go, rooms and places are different, but hallways are nearly always the same. They’re always just transit spaces, connecting point A with point B; it’s not quite a liminal space, but it’s where you feel like nothing can hurt you.

That is, until you’re about to set your foot on the stairs, and you see Rafe walking out of the toilets.

His eyes settle on you at the same moment and both of you freeze; the hallway is quiet, save for the music reaching it from the dining hall. You can almost hear your heart beating.

‘Thought you were going to bed.’

You raise your glass, which you refilled just before embarking for your room. ‘Had to stop for a bit.’

He nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Outside of the locker room, outside of the dining hall, he doesn’t seem like the overconfident Rafe you’ve got so much against. He still is the same – it just doesn’t show that much.

‘I meant what I said earlier,’ he says, slowly, as if the words are hard to push out. ‘I think your should train to be right back.’

If you had half a shot more, you would’ve thrown the water into his face. Now, all you do, is say – ‘You’re an asshole, Cameron.’ – and go up the stairs. For a moment there’s nothing, but then there’s rushed footsteps coming up the stairs, and you feel a hand on your wrist, and his voice calling your name.

You don’t turn around instantly. You’re too angry for that – you close your eyes instead, and breathe, before collecting yourself enough to not explode.

He’s still holding your wrist when you turn around, and he’s close enough that you can almost feel the heat radiating off his body; the cologne mixed with the scent of fresh clothes.

‘Please don’t be angry with me.’

You scoff, pulling your hand out of his grip. ‘You’re ruining my life. You know how important this is to me, and you keep— you keep putting me where I don’t belong!’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and he sounds earnest; he sounds the way his face looks – a small frown on his face, lips quivering breathlessly, the wrinkles around his eyes almost pleading with her. ‘I’m just doing what’s best for everybody, Y/N.’

‘I don’t play defence. That’s Kiara’s job, but apparently that’s not good enough for you. You know where I’m good at.’

‘You’re good playing any position.’ He says it quick, as if the words escape from him. He swallows loudly enough that she hears him and takes a step back, shaking his head. ‘Look, you’re one of the best players on the team. That’s why—’

‘Then why don’t you put me where I can be the best?’

‘Y/N, just trust me, okay?’

‘No,’ you say, crossing the distance he created between the two of you until his back’s pressed against the wall, and you’re right in front of him, a finger jabbed into his chest. ‘I want to know why you’re doing this.’

He hesitates; you feel his heart beating faster than you thought possible. ‘We were playing against rough teams. I couldn’t let you get hurt.’

You scoff again, half-laughing as you rub your forehead with the back of your hand. ‘That’s bullshit. Jesus, Rafe, you’re spewing shit.’

‘Look, it’s the truth. I couldn’t take that risk.’

‘But you could take that risk with Kiara.’

‘Yes.’

No hesitation; no wavering. It’s something he must’ve thought through, over and over again, for the answer to be so certain. You’re a little taken aback, and your finger falls from his chest, but the distance is still almost nonexistent.

It’s because I’m good, you tell yourself, that’s why he’s keeping you safe, but it doesn’t ring true. Not when you can smell his cologne and not when his eyes drop to your lips, cheeks flushed.

So you decide to ask why.

He hesitates again, and you feel his shoulder slump as thoughts run through his head. Whatever he settles on, he’s certain, and you can see it. His voice is almost sad when he admits, ‘After the game against New Jersey, I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt. I couldn’t lose you on the pitch, because when you weren’t around, it was like I couldn’t get my head straight.’ He pauses, and then: ‘I’m sorry.’

Rafe breathes slowly, carefully, but your heart is racing around your ribcage, threatening to break through. His words echo around your head as you try to make sense of them – make sense of the way he felt like it was more than just a admission of being a good team – make sense of the way he’s looking at you like he’s expecting more than a reaction to the recognition of your worth as a teammate.

There’s a feeling in your chest that you can’t describe. It’s in your throat, in the back of your head, burning through your ears – a thought almost too scary to form, but then it does, and it refuses to leave.

So you swallow the gulp in your throat and ask, ‘Is my being good on the pitch the only reason?’

A beat. ‘No.’

You nod, slowly, as if in a trance. His eyes are gazing into yours with intensity you’ve never felt before – it’s as if he’s asking you to say something, to do something, to show that you understand what he’s saying without saying it.

And you do.

You do.

You nod, and your lips are on his before you get the chance to think this through. His hands are quick to grab your waist as your fingers get tangled in the soft waves of his hair, bodies pressing against one another in a heated rush.

‘We shouldn’t be doing this,’ he mutters, a moment before his lips find your neck, fingers slipping underneath your top, dipping into the skin on your back. You moan, a little too loud, and he laughs against your neck. ‘We really shouldn’t.’

‘Yeah, we shouldn’t,’ you agree, watching him as he pulls his head back to look at you, a dazed smile on his face. ‘My room or yours?’

Rafe’s grin is enough to set your body on fire. ‘Yours is closer.’

He kisses you again, a firm kiss planted on your lips, before taking your hand and letting you lead to your room. The moment the door is locked, your lips are on his neck, clothes are clumsily coming off on your way to the bed, and you only have a second to wonder how long this has been inevitable until his lips hit the right spot, and every thought is as good as gone.

When you wake in the morning, you’re half-surprised to find him curled into your side, head resting on your shoulder and an arm draped over your stomach. He’s still asleep, and you take a moment to think about how calming—how right—it feels to be here, with him. The hotel room is nice, a quiet rose gold, and the light coming through the windows is making it almost ethereal.

It doesn’t feel like a mistake. You’re still a bit angry about being pushed back, but things seem a little different now that you know he wasn’t trying to hinder you, but protect you.

(You still need to tell him that you don’t need protecting; you know what you got yourself into when you decided to play the sport.)

With a smile on your face, you start playing with your head. He wakes within five seconds, with the same dazed look on his face from last night. His eyes find yours and he pauses for a moment, as if he were taking it all in, before his lips find home in yours. Neither of you think about morning breath, or about the fact that you should both probably go for a shower before leaving the hotel, because Rafe snuggles into your shoulder, pressing butterfly kisses to your collarbone, as his hand traces circles around your stomach.

You take it upon yourself to ask, ‘No regrets?’

‘None.’

‘You should have one,’ you tease, and only let him be frightened for a moment. ‘Pushing me into the back.’

He sighs, burying his face in the crook of your neck. ‘Are we still arguing about that?’

‘We will be, until you let me play offense again.’

‘If it was you instead of Kiara yesterday, it could’ve messed with your leg,’ he says. Before you get to respond, he pushes himself off the bed so he can look at you. ‘I know your ankle is still hurting from New Jersey even if you’re not saying anything.’

You can’t deny the truth.

Rafe kisses your forehead. ‘Just promise me you’ll be careful.’

‘I always am.’

‘More,’ he says, breaking into a smile. ‘I need my partner back.’

‘If you promise to never make decisions for me without consulting me first.’

He squints, as if thinking about it, but you can tell he isn’t. ‘I promise.’

‘Okay, then.’ You wrap your arms around him and pull him down, kissing him softly. ‘I promise to be more careful.’

In the end, it’s like he promised – you go back to playing offense, in the front of every attack, and you and Rafe are back to being the dynamic scoring duo you’ve always been. Except this time this dynamic extends to beyond the field, and you support each other when the football isn’t around. Nobody is surprised by the turn of the events – you’re not entirely sure, but JJ passes Kiara a few bills when you and Rafe break the news to the team, and you think there was bets going around.

Things get back to fine. Things get better. You end up winning the tournament, and Rafe kisses you with the cup in his hand, and the next morning, the headlines are full of your and Rafe’s names more so than your team’s, but that’s fine. You’ve made it.

You’ve got everything you need – you just never thought it’d be no one other than Rafe Cameron, the Captain himself.

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #obx fic #my fic #i even made a wee graphic for it bc i was born but also bc it's not a usual fic #it's a gift <3 #anyway i might be willing to explore football!rafe a bit more in the future if there's interest #no clue if the obx fandom is even alive rn #anyway the left pic is bc that's the rafe i imagine being here #the smoker posh boy kinda type #you know the kind that fleur likes (not that i'm exposing her or anything)

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