#i just love the idea of John “ill keep you warm as long as you ignore the wandering hands” Price pouncing on a wife the first chance he gets

[dvchvnde]

In hindsight, sneaking aboard a doomed whaling ship disguised as a cabin boy probably wasn't your best idea to escape the eventuality of a brutal marriage to an ornery old man.

Then again, neither was making up some harried excuse of chest lumps to a superstitious old doctor to keep him from seeing your bare bosom and uncovering your secret.

Now, feverish and sick, and having been accused of an illness you don't have, you're unceremoniously cast from the ship and wash up, miraculously, on the desolate shores of northern Newfoundland with only the mutinous former captain, John Price, for company. An ill-tempered man who is slowly losing his mind in the great, icy white abyss, and seems to think you're his late wife.

A peculiar sort of tragedy, you suppose.

But you slowly realise that man isn't the most dangerous animal in this frigid wasteland when you come upon a strange, uninhabited shack on the island.

And that, perhaps, John's mind hasn't deteriorated as much as you thought it had.

[fingersinmyhair]

Heey Billy I saw that you wanted some Eric newlon/ John Carver requests so here are some different fanfic ideas ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

1. Eric takes the reader on a date but everything that could go wrong does go wrong. For example the restaurant messed up his reservation so they have to go somewhere else and then it starts raining. So at the end of the night Eric all bummed out that his date went all wrong but then reader tells him that they had a great time because they got to spend time with him and that they didn't care what they did as long as they were together

2. Let's say John was about to get rid of another victim but when he's about to do so he finds out that this man is an alcoholic and treats his spouse or kid (up to you really) really shitty. The man berates them yells at them saying they can't do anything right and that they wish never married or had them and that they were a mistake and wish they just never existed and how they're the reason he's like this

3. You know the scene where Eric was questioning one of the main girls about the Black Friday night You could do that but with the reader maybe they work there that night and they got hurt maybe they lost an arm or leg and was very hurt when they saw that douchebag's video that was making fun of everything that happened that night they goes to Eric and tells him everything they knows

4. Maybe you could do headcanons about Eric and his daughter from that previous request I sent you or a part two of the fic or a fic about how he found out she was being bullied. Or maybe her perspective when her parents were divorcing

5. And if you want to fic with no reader you can make one about John Carver questioning the dude who made that YouTube video talking about all the deaths that happened on Black Friday the year before and how we thought they were so funny. so funny enough he made a video about it and that he inspired him to make his own video but with different targets.

6. You could write a fic about John's perspective when he's doing all these killings What was going through his mind at the moment. Maybe he felt guilty at the beginning or maybe he got a sick thrill from it

7. What if you changed what happened at the end of the movie instead of the final girl revealing that Eric Is John what if he realized what she was doing and instead made it sound like the final girl was John Carver instead and that she got punished for his crimes so he In the end he got away with it scotch-free

8. Maybe you can do a fic about Eric and Amanda and how they first started their affair and what sparked their desire for each other maybe it's the reason Eric's wife left him

I hope this helps you Billy I really like your fics and headcannons Have a fantastic day and night Don't forget to eat and drink water (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

6. Through his eyes

All he felt was rage, desire to end the life of everyone involved in the death of the family he was building. Every time he imagined Amanda in the hospital giving birth to their baby, every time he imagined holding that sweet little thing for the first time... He wished he had an endless supply of heads to axe open.

He did, here in Plymouth, but he had a mission and he was going to keep it.

He tormented the woman in the diner, Lizzie, ripping the skin off her face as she'd been responsible for scalping the love of his life. With a fucking shopping cart.

He only started to feel guilt after the fact each time, having no time to feel guilty compared to the thrill he got from serving justice, warm and comforting. He was comforted. Nobody else was. That was okay with him.

When he'd pretend to be sick and tell his men to cover it up, he would have a sickness in his gut, an ill feeling he needed to get out of him.

(( Ill be saving some of these for later as well omg THANK YOUUUU

[cozycompositions]

@febuwhump Day 7: Forced to Watch

Hello, Lovelies! Big thanks to @that-gal-kay for helping me with this idea! Many many a credit to her!

The fever was ravishing the camp like a new plague. The doctors tried to quarantine it, that didn’t help anything. Eventually the doctors ended up sick, as well. Whatever this sickness was, it was fast and aggressive. Men were dropping like flies, it seemed as though this illness was taking more lives than the entire cause.

General Washington pleaded with Congress, for more medicine, more doctors, anything. Congress did nothing.

So the anger Washington felt when Alexander Hamilton fell ill was entirely directed at them.

And at himself. And at whoever Hamilton got the fever from. And at Alexander for not staying inside, where it’s safe.

Washington was sat in the chair next to Hamilton’s cot. He hadn’t left Alexander’s side since the news of his illness had reached him. One of the last remaining medics, a transfer from Albany, had tried his best to keep Washington away from the boy, (no force on Heaven or Earth could ever do so) Washington would catch the fever himself. They could not afford to lose the general.

Nevertheless, Washington had rushed to the boy’s side, taking care of him as only a father could. The boy was laying in Washington’s own room, he would not allow Alexander to catch even more if his death in the medical tent. He had been asleep for nearly eight hours, occasionally spasming or moaning softly in pain.

Washington did what he could; keeping a cool cloth on the aide’s head, changing his sheets often, holding him. George didn’t have a care in the world for his own health - he just wanted Alexander to be okay.

Hamilton stirred, for the first time since he had been moved to this room. Washington perked up, quickly lighting a candle on the bedside table. Night had long fallen at this point.

“Mn… Sir?” Hamilton groaned softly, his voice hoarse with sleep.

“Hamilton,” Washington smiled. He was thrilled to see his boy awake.

“Wh’a time’s it?” Hamilton worried, attempting to pull himself into a seated position, “I can work… din’t mean to fall ‘sleep… sir.”

Washington gently pushed the boy back down. “No work for you, dear heart. Just rest now, it’s okay,” he cooed.

“Sick?”

“Sick.”

“Like Jack?”

John Laurens, Washington cringed. Laurens has been taken by the fever a mere month prior. Washington remembered how Alexander had shut himself away, literally and metaphorically. He became even more withdrawn and distant than usual, everyone could tell the death of his best friend took an incredible toll on the boy. They all knew it was just another loss to add to the list.

Washington recalled how Hamilton had sat by John’s bedside just as he was now.

“Yes,” Washington ground out. “Like Jack.”

Hamilton was already asleep again.

He didn’t wake again for another few hours. It was just before dawn when Washington felt the small hand in his own shift. He lifted his head, gosh how his neck ached from sleeping in this chair, to see Hamilton stirring restlessly in his sleep, tossing his head side to side with his sweaty brow pinched together.

“Alexander,” Washington gently shook his aide. “Time to wake up son, come on. You can do it.”

Alexander jolted awake with a gasp. In the candlelight, George could see the tears that burned in his cloudy eyes.

“Oh, dear boy,” Washington sighed. He took the now warm cloth from where it had fallen next to Alexander’s head, and rose to soak it in the basin.

“Pa…”

Washington froze at that. He spun around, and yes, Hamilton was looking at him. He was delirious, Washington knew that, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart swell for Alexander to call him that.

George made his way back to the bed, drawing the cloth over Hamilton’s skin. Alexander sighed at the cool water.

“I’m right here, Alexander,” George cooed softly.

“Pa, it hurts.”

“What hurts, dear?”

“Everything. And… and here,” Hamilton moved to touch his chest.

“You’re sick, Alexander, it’s okay. The pain will be gone soon. You just need to rest.”

Alexander recovered quickly after that. When he awoke the next morning, he had no recollection of their previous interaction. For George, it was a blessing that Hamilton did not remember, lest he become cross over the attention he was receiving.

Despite Washington’s protests, Alexander was back to work within the week. George told him, he had told the stupid boy he should rest more, that he was no good to the war if he worked himself ill again.

“I’ve pressing things to do,” Alexander would always respond.

There was one day, six evenings after their conversation, when Hamilton’s condition worsened again. It had just been a small cough at first, no more than the boy inadvertently clearing his throat. Then it became coughing fits, teary eyes. His writing never stopped. By that evening Washington was done watching the poor boy do this to himself.

“Time for bed, Lieutenant,” he said with no aggression behind his voice.

“I cannot possibly rest now, sir,” Hamilton said without looking up, the movements of his quill never stopping. Washington sighed and moved to grab the boy’s arm to pull him up himself. As soon as George’s hand touched Hamilton’s arm, the boy heaved a sudden sob and shot out of his chair.

“Don’t touch me!”

Washington took a startled step back. Hamilton’s chest was heaving as he dissolved into another fit of coughing - choking. George reached out to steady the boy, only to be pushed back again.

“Please, sir, you may get sick,” Hamilton pleaded. Washington was mildly offended at being shoved away, not realizing it was Alexander’s fear of losing him the way he did John, his mother…

Washington did know the boy was not in his right mind, because he had tears running down his flushed face. Hamilton would never allow Washington to see him cry.

George moved the chair out of the way and grabbed the boy’s shoulder’s to stop his swaying (and hold the child still when he fought against his hold).

“So you are with fever, yes?” Washington asked gently. Hamilton sniffed and nodded. George turned and entered the hallway, stopping a servant boy and requesting for him to bring the medic to his rooms, Hamilton was ill again. When he turned back, Alexander was pressed against the back wall, crying still, but staring at something beyond Washington.

“Come to me, son. Let’s get you into your bed,” Washington prodded, moving closer to the delirious aide. When Hamilton didn’t respond, Washington’s brow furrowed in concern. Hamilton had never failed to answer his call before now.

“Son?”

Hamilton tilted his head and furrowed his brow, still gazing over Washington’s shoulder as if that wall was so interesting.

“John…?”

Then suddenly, he was pitching forward into Washington’s arms.

[lacelynpage]

do you have any preferences for how they would make up with their s/o after a fight?

A/N: I do now! thank you for the wonderful idea, Darling! I hope everyone enjoys this one. ill see you all he same time next week, yeah?

Making up with you after a fight ~ Sherlock Preferences

Sherlock: 

Sherlock doesn't really do wrong. Well, he doesn't really admit he was wrong. It takes a lot for him to say those words so you don't often try to make him. He will however realize when you are upset and understand that those feelings are his fault. When this happens he will come up to you and give you a simple “im sorry” before hugging you. It's not a lot but you know what he means. After that he will take you out on a date or adventure just so he can see you smile. He loves you and is never trying to upset you, he just isn't always the most polite person.  

John:

When John is trying to make up after a fight he will do anything for you. This normally means he will clean up your place or get you dinner. He strives to make your life easier for you in everything he does but puts in extra effort if he knows he messed up. Once you're home he will present you with whatever he has done then sit down with you and talk about what happened. He explains himself and emphasizes that he knows he was wrong. John is an excellent listener and will always listen to what you have to say. At the end you both walk away with a better understanding of each other and hopefully an even healthier relationship. 

Mycroft:

Apologies will never come easy for Mycroft. He is a proud man who can often be stubborn and a bit passive aggressive. At the end of a fight you both end up doing the cold shoulder routine. It can take a while for the ice to melt off of the two of you but eventually someone caves. Once he has actually accepted that he was wrong, Mycroft will come to you. Maybe he will surprise you with a lunch date or maybe he will just bring it up that night, you never know. He always makes sure to tell you how amazing you are. How smart, amusing, and simply wonderful you will always be to him. When he is wrong he showers you with enough affection to flood the planet. 

Greg:

After a fight Greg is just tired. He is always worried that maybe it's the first of many and that the two of you will end up like his last marriage. He can't stand the idea of losing you though. He does everything in his power to make sure you know he is sorry. If the fight is in the morning he will turn up to your job, coffee in hand, and apologies tumbling from his lips. It's honestly quite sweet to see how hard he tries to keep you. It always warms your heart a little and makes it a bit easier to forgive him. You love him though and will never leave him. 

Moriarty:

You never stay mad at Jim for too long. All he needs to do is make you laugh and it melts away. He tends to start serenading you with some of his favorite songs. He will sing and dance until you can't help it and join in. you both have so much fun together that it's hard to take each other seriously. You end up jumping around your room until exhaustion takes over and you fall onto the bed together. Nothing is ever going to stop both of you from having fun and being together, especially not a silly fight.

[babayagakeanu]

Some of that good lovin’

Pairing: Johnny Depp/Reader

Warnings: nsfw 18+, tour bus sex, Johnny being a sexy goofball as usual, subtle mention of breeding kink

Summary: johnny needs some good lovin’ after the last show

requested by a lovely lil anon

You could feel Johnny’s guitar riff reverberate off your body, the pride evident in the big smile that’s on your face, and as Johnny’s eyes land on you backstage, he throws you a saucy wink, making you clench your thighs together in order to keep the horniness at bay. He had asked you to come on his last tour with him before the band takes a break in between to put out some new material, and you’ve never seen London, so you had to indulge him. 

The show finishes, and the crew thanks the crowd, disappearing backstage and Johnny greets you with a hearty kiss and a warm embrace. 

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” You greet Johnny, giggling at how elate he was to have you in London with him. His large hands rub at your hips, squeezing at the round flesh of your ass. “Hmm, by the looks of it, that baby I’m gonna put in you, tonight.” His hand lands a sharp slap on your ass, causing you to jolt in his arms, gasping at the crudeness in his voice. He’s never been too vocal about sex, it’s something that he likes to keep between you and him, but maybe it’s the few scotches he’s been sippin’ on between breaks and before the show. 

“Johnny,” you whine, “other’s might hear you.” You rub his chest, knowing it’s something he loves, usually telling him that you want some of that good lovin’. His deep laugh vibrates against the warm palm of your hand, and without warning, he bends down to scoop you and throw you over his shoulder, ignoring your squeal of surprise. 

“John Christopher! Put me down, right now.” It wasn’t long till you reached the tour bus, Johnny throwing you down on the queen bed that lay in the back of the bus, closing the door and putting the privacy lock on. Alice, Joe, and the others left for the bars to party and if you’re being hones, you plan to fuck Johnny all night. 

“You better keep your promise about that baby, Depp.” You had planned to surprise him with some new lingerie tonight, and he has no idea so you couldn’t wait to see his face when he unwrapped you. You had settled on this black lace number; a balconette bra with little bows on the straps, complete with laced crotchless panties. It was something more extravagant than he’s seen you in, and you couldn’t contain the excitement building up inside you. 

“Oh, sweetie. Have I not ever kept any promise?” He crosses the room in long strides, loosing the loose v-neck before reaching the bed. You marveled in the site that was your Johnny, has he been working out more? He kept himself in shape, that’s for sure, but he was even more toned, and his pecs popped a little bit more. Your mouth was practically begging to taste him, and once his lips were on yours, you weren’t planning on stopping. Your lips and teeth clash together in a frenzied haste, tasting and dipping into each other’s mouth to satisfy your cravings for one another. He tasted like scotch and a finished cigarette from earlier, and you craved more than just a taste from him. 

“You taste like heaven,” you say, gasping in between kisses, and the moment you waited for finally arrives. You push him off of you, flipping him over to straddle him. You wiggle out of the ill fitted corset top you were wearing, and watched as Johnny’s lust-filled eyes grew darker as they land on your breasts spilling over the bra. He sits up, his hands smoothing up your hands to cup your breasts. Cheekily, his teeth sink into the soft flesh of your breasts, growling as he does so, and your hips reflexively thrust into his, moaning as your cunt meets his clothed member. 

“Johnny, baby, take my pants off. It’s a little hard since they’re leather.” You were lying, because they were pleather pants, and you knew Johnny had an inkling to your lie because as he takes your pants, he notices the small area that your underwear isn’t covering and almost loses his self-control. “You little minx, you had crotchless panties on this whole time and didn’t tell me?”

“wanted you to focus on your music. Surprised?” You grin up at him, hands moving down to touch your cunt, moaning up at him. His growl seems to shake off the walls, and as his head dips down to taste your slick cunt, your hands reach to grab at his growing locks. 

“Surprised is an understatement, my dear. Tonight going to long, hard, and rough.” His hand comes to wrap around your neck, slightly adding pressure. “You up for it?”

“Less talking, more keeping to your promises.” His grins is alike to the Cheshire Cat as he moves his face closer to your cunt.

“Sounds good to me, princess.”

[reincarnated70sbaby]

linger

listen before you read!

robert plant xfem!oc

warnings : drug use, swearing, trucklot of angst ;)

word count : 2.1k

an: was listening to ‘linger’ by the cranberries and I couldn’t pass up this angsty idea I got 😎 timeline is off but yolo ig...

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

Sloane leaned down to the table to take an extra line for her pre-performance nerves. She felt a little more nervous today, this particular concert being one of the largest yet. She was the front woman of The CAPs, who were opening for Led Zeppelin for their summer of ‘69 tour. This was exactly the break the band needed, finally getting recognition for all their talent and hard work over the last two years.

She applied a little powder to her face, and patted on her classic red lipstick to her slightly chapped lips. Securing the clasps of her platform red heels, she shook her body in hopes of shaking away her anxious jitters. Once she had finished her body-shaking ritual, she walked out from the wings of the stage.

As she walked across to centre stage, wind blowing through the holes of her white crochet dress. The crowd cheered loudly as the band waved to them.

“How’s everyone doin’ today? It’s so hot today, my boobs are sweating off!” She greeted the crowd with her bubbly nature. Adjusting the mic stand to her height, she continued to address the huge crowd. “Today’s set list will have a slight adjustment to it, we’re starting off with a new song I wrote just last night. It’s a little softer than our other music, so just sit back- or should I say lean back on the person behind you - and relax. This is called ‘Linger’ "

While she was speaking to the crowd, a teenage roadie ran onto the stage and placed a stool, for Sloane to sit on, and disappeared again in a heartbeat. The crowd, didn’t even take notice of the young boy, entranced with the tawny blonde singer as usual.

Sloane sat down, crossed her legs and nodded toward Rory, to begin. Rory started picking a simple guitar melody on his trusty Gibson acoustic, the first guitar he ever picked up. Sloane swayed lightly to the rhythm, eyes on the horizon above the crowd. Soon after, Marshall joined in with quiet, but strong beat on drums. At the same time, Oscar added the baseline to the song.

Taking a deep breath, Sloane began the song.

If you, If you could return, Don’t let it burn, Don’t let it fade, I’m sure I’m not being rude, It’s just your attitude, It’s tearing me apart, It’s ruining every day

I swore, I swore I would be true, But honey so did you, So why were you holding her hand? Is that the way we stand? We’re you lying all the time? Was it just a game to you?

Sloane sang gently, her eyes closed with a pained look on her face. She thought back to the day before, when everything fell apart.

———

“Sloane, honey, please tell me what’s wrong! You’re being so closed off with me today!” Robert pleaded, grabbing her hand while she was walking away. Sloane yanked her hand away and walked towards an empty storeroom in the hotel corridor.

“Don’t get any ideas, we need to talk privately” Sloane commanded as she entered into the storeroom. It had barely enough space for both of them to fit, being crammed full with towels and bedsheets.

“Please, love, jus’ tell me what’s bothering you, I wanna make you happy”

“Oh fuck off Robert, you’re so fake and a liar. These past couple of months have all been a lie!”

“What’re talkin’ about? I have never lied to you once”

“Seriously? ‘I’ve never lied to you’? Are you actually for real right now? Do you know what I just found out Robert? You’re fucking married! And she’s coming here tonight! You didn’t think I would deserve to know that!” She yelled, ignoring her previous statement about keeping this private.

“I didn’t tell you because I was scared okay? I have never felt like this before with anyone else. All the groupies were just for sex, but when I met you I had fallen for you Slo, you make me a better person in every way”

“I don’t care how I make you feel, you’re still married! With kids! How would they feel if they found out their father was in a relationship with a woman other than their mother? I can’t believe you did this to me willingly, even after I told you what happened with my parents. That messed me up, seeing my father with another woman, and leaving my mother for her. Never seeing him again, choosing his new family over me and my siblings. That hurts me the most Robert, you knew my history and you ignored it!” Sloane cried out, tears falling freely on her face, running her dark eye makeup.

“I never meant to hurt you love, you mean so much to me. I just didn’t think- I never fuckin think, but I my feelings were so strong for you, I never thought about Maureen, I’m shamed to admit it” Robert plead, guilt weighing on his conscience. He reached out to wipe her tears away, but Sloane turned her head, the same pained look on her face.

“We’re done. I can’t stay with someone who could forget about their own wife and kids, and forget to tell their girlfriend that she’s actually a mistress. Goodbye” Sloane said, pushing her way out of the cramped closet, before running to the elevator at the end of the hall.

———

But I’m in so deep, You know I’m such a fool for you, You got me wrapped around your finger, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to? Do you have to let it linger?

Sloane sang emotionally, a single tear escaped her tear duct. She took the break for guitar solo to take a couple deep breathes, and to calm her heightened emotions down.

Oh, I thought the world of you, I thought nothing could go wrong, But I was wrong, I was wrong

If you, if you could get by, Trying not to lie, Things wouldn’t be so confused, And I wouldn’t feel so used, But you always knew, I just want to be with you

———

Sloane sat at the large round table, sipping her wine. The two bands had just completed all the concerts in France, and were having a celebratory dinner for the night. The lights were dim in the fancy restaurant, but Sloane could still see the heartbreaking sight of Maureen and Robert cozying up to eachother. She longed to be the one Robert was dedicated to, to be his Maureen, to be the one who sipped on his beer instead of her wine for a change, to rest her hand on his knee. She wished to be the one who would sleep with him in bed each night, without a worry of cheating or unfaithfulness. Her heart was also broken for Maureen, she was so inlove with Robert, as was he with her. She was also probably the greatest mother out there, being a single parent for a lot of the year.

Sloane switched her focus from the smitten couple, to Marshall and John Bonham's discussion on gongs, congas and all exotic drums.

Everything had been going so well, the concerts each night going to wonderfully, the bands got on great together. Even all the touring crew and management got on well with eachother. It was like one, big, slightly dysfunctional family.

Sloane wished she could vent to one of her bandmates about her case of ill fated love, but she knew if she told any of the CAP boys, tension would arise between the bands, and she simply couldn't bear to break the harmony.

“I’m sorry everyone, but I feel a bit ill and I think it would be best if I went to my room” Sloane announced, rising from her chair. She briefly locked eyes with Robert, before averting her eyes that threatened to fill with tears.

“Are you sure you’re okay Slo? I can come up and look after you if you feel faint or anything?” Rory asked genuinely, concerned for his little sister, he noticed she had been a little less bubbly than normal today.

“I’m fine Ror, I’ll think being on the go and travelling for the last couple of months has caught up with me. I’ll call you if I need you. Love you” she said, hugging him tightly.

“Love you, stay safe sis”

A chorus of goodbyes were heard as she left the table and walked out of the brassiere restaurant.

As soon as she entered her large room, she decided to clean up her stuff in order to distract herself. She folded all her clothes, tucked all her shoes into her suitcase, and cleaned up her makeup station on the vanity, placing the assortment of beauty products in the black makeup bag she owned.

After she was done cleaning, she ordered a couple bottles of wine, with some croissant from room service, taking advantage of the readily available French delicacies.

Lowering herself into the warm bubble bath she ran while waiting for her room service, her mind wandered to the whole situation, creating lyrics in her head. Luckily she brought her songbook, so there was no need to get out of the bath in search for it. She poured her heart out into the lyrics. After finishing the lyrics up, she soaked for a little longer, until she felt herself pruning and wrapped the fuzzy bath robe around herself.

She was about to turn off her bedside light to sleep, when she heard a light knock on the door. Her head scrambled, trying to figuring out who it was. Must be Rory checking up on me she thought. Opening the door, her heart skipped a beat at the visitor.

“Sloane let me-“

“Robert, please, I told you we were over”

“Will you let me speak, I need to talk to you”

Sloane stepped aside from the door, letting him in. She guided him to the seating area of the room, not wanting to risk being near the bed.

“Uh, d’want tea or something?” Sloane asked the blonde man, the air heavy with awkward tension.

“Yeah sure, love. That’d be great” Robert answered warmly.

“So, what do you want to say” Sloane asked, pushing his tea on front of him.

“Sloane, I’m sorry. I still do love you and I hate that I fucked everything up. I was just so infatuated- I still am, and I regret that I made you feel upset. I just want to say sorry”

“I- I still love you too Robert, it wasn’t just one sided, I really thought you were the one”

“Sloane, I don’t know what to say… If- if you ask me to, I will. I want you. I want to be yours.”

“Robert- I. I can’t do that. As much as I want to love you and be with you, I can’t be a homewrecker. I’ve seen the way you are with Maureen, you love her. I know in my gut that you’re better off with her. She loves you and deserves you 100%” Sloane’s face was wet with tears.

“Uh, okay. I’m sorry love, I really wish I didn’t fuck up our relationship. I really hope that one day we can be friends again, when you’re ready” Robert got up to leave, but was stopped when Sloane grabbed his hand.

“There’s a part of me that will always love you Robert. This was wonderful while it lasted” She spoke with a sad smile on her face.

Robert squeezed her hand in agreement, before exiting the room.

———

And I’m in so deep, You know I’m such a fool for you You got me wrapped around your finger, oh, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to? Do you have to let it linger?

Oh I’m in so deep, You know I still have love for you, My love has wrapped me round your finger, oh, Do you have to let it linger? Do you have? Do you have to let it linger?

The CAPs finished their song, and Sloane stood up to thank the crowd.

“Robert, darling, there you are. Was that singer at the dinner last night?” Maureen asked warmly to her husband, joining him in the wings.

“Uh, yeah, but she left early because of travel sickness y’know the sort” Robert answered absentmindedly, his deep blue eyes trained on the lead singer, who was preparing for the next song in the band’s set list.

“I must have missed her. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? I love that song she just sang, great voice” Maureen mused, admiring Sloane’s confidence , akin to her husbands.

“Yeah, yeah she is. She’s a beautiful person, inside and out”

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

my first Robert fic!!! I’m more of a Jimmy girl, but I love the golden god too (Leo men <3)

as always, any criticism/ideas are welcome in my inbox or comments 🤍

tag list : @dreamersdrowse @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @princesspagey ask me if you would like to be added!!

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

potent but not real, m | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader

summary: You kill people. Kim Taehyung doesn’t. He assisted you with one particular kill and then he kissed you. And, like a needle of methadone, the two of you chase the high again and again, knowing there is no hope for you. But there is for him. All Taehyung has to do is to walk away from your eyes.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of murder (non-graphic); sociopathic reader; unprotected sex (fem reader, sex in an office after hours, f-receiving oral, fucking against a desk, (symbolic) lipstick-covered motel sex, m-receiving oral, cowgirl); implied angst; non-idol!AU - office worker!Taehyung x assassin!reader (John Wick-esque)

Inspired by Methadone by Rise Against. The italicized bits are parts of the lyrics sprinkled throughout the story. If you like rock, check ‘em out!

--

The last time was a five-star hotel, but this time was a dingy motel, and you dressed appropriately. Thin-strapped flimsy black dress, kitschy animal print fur coat, strappy heels, and torn stockings, stumbling along the halls, ignored by others because you were mumbling under your breath, empty bottle in your hand, hair astray and makeup smeared.

No one wants a dirty-looking prostitute, and especially not a crazy one.

If anyone bothered to look at your face, they would have noticed how beautiful you were, caked under layers of makeup. They would have noticed that despite your erratic steps and nonsensical words, your eyes were shockingly clear, observing everything, hawk-like and hyper-focused. They would have seen that you took care not to move your left side too much, the thick fur hiding a barely-there lump.

You tipped into a door and tripped into the motel room.

The door instantly snapped closed behind your fallen body.

Locked.

love like a needle full of methadone

You rolled onto your back, looking up. Kim Taehyung stared down at you.

How did it come to this?

potent but not real, left you wanting more lipstick track-marks bleeding wet

It had only been a job, a woman this time. The higher-ups usually had you take the women. It was easy, but you needed an in, and Kim Taehyung had been that in. He was aware of what was happening and he was getting paid to keep his mouth shut. The first time you met him had been calm, neutral smiles as you greeted the tall, dark-haired man. You had worn appropriate office attire, slightly ill-fitted pants, starchy white dress shirt, big glasses, prim bun. Taehyung had greeted you at the door of the company he worked at. Your role was an outsourced advisor to help the company heads improve productivity and workflow. Taehyung led you around the floors, showing you various things, but none of it mattered. What mattered was the information Taehyung would provide you after hours. Names, schedules, addresses.

The woman had also worked at this company.

Had.

You did not ask for the reasoning. Embezzlement? Public shame? Had blackmail on someone? Had sex with the wrong rich man or woman? It didn’t matter. People die in senseless ways every day and one more meant nothing to you. That was your great skill, a skill unmatched by any other.

No remorse.

Perfect for the murder business.

And, like one truly born from the Eastern cultural mindset, instead of trying to get help or cure yourself of your apathy, you monetized your skill by becoming an assassin.

for us child, the stars refuse to shine why for us child, do the stars refuse to shine?

You followed the woman for weeks. The timing was important. Patience was key. Blending in, a different guise every week, a different method planned every day. The thing about killing for hire was that if you didn’t want to be caught, you couldn’t have a pattern. If you didn’t settle on a method, it couldn’t be connected back to you. That was the way you liked to do things.

The perfect weapon, a dangerous method.

The higher-ups were impatient, but you didn’t care. You knew what must be done and, when you’re the one doing the dirty work, you didn’t let them question you. If they wanted this to end a different way, they would have used a different assassin. But they chose you for a reason. You always had the cleanest kill, completely untraceable.

No one would ever know the Circle was involved.

It was a spotless erasure.

The reward was hefty, and, throughout the years, you earned far more than any human needed in their lifetime. Money was never your drive, but you took it all. You knew your own worth. Your work was too good to be underappreciated.

Taehyung was in on it. He knew it was going to happen. He gave you the name, the address, her usual timetable. He presented it all to you, without question, on a shadowy, starless night. You stared into his dark brown eyes, wondering why he could do such a thing. He held your gaze, dark hair pushed back, sculpted brows, serious expression. You wondered if he was broken like you, but that sort of thing was impossible.

There is no one as unhinged as you.

“Why are you this business?” he asked quietly in his deep, baritone voice.

It wasn’t accusing or beseeching. It was simply a question, no flaff attached to it.

“Because I’m well-suited for it.” You tapped the side of your head. Unsmiling. “Some screws fell loose when I was molded from the clay.”

Taehyung kept his gaze on you, blinking slowly. You expected him to recoil in disdain, be confused, or simply retreat from your unsmiling, vacant demeanor. Instead, he took a step closer.

“You shouldn’t need screws when molding from clay.”

One step closer, looking down, casting shadows all over his face.

“You only need screws when you’re making a machine.”

Taehyung leaned in and kissed you.

we wound up back here again

Fucking.

It was always a means to an end, something you did to fulfill that carnal need, a need that you did not understand very well, but it was there, and, like a starving beast, it demanded to be satisfied. Taehyung kissing you in a random office twelve stories up in a random skyscraper didn’t mean much.

But there was no consequence either.

You grabbed his head and crashed your lips to his again.

The risks were low. You knew everything about Kim Taehyung. The higher-ups of the Circle briefed you on him. You had his education history, knew every apartment he had lived in and every girlfriend he had ever dated. Had access to his credit card history, his medical records, everything.

He knew nothing about you.

Taehyung didn’t know you had no traceable past, didn’t know you had no home, didn’t know you belonged to the most powerful group of assassins the world has ever had the misfortune to create, didn’t know how many nights you spent in and out of consciousness, body traumatized and stitched back together, for you, a tool of the Circle, to be used once more.

This was your choice. Anyone could get out.

You just have to ask to die.

You sucked on his tongue and he groaned in your mouth, hands sliding between your arms to grasp your buttons and undo them one by one, thrusting his tongue in your mouth as he did so. Your breathing deepened, surrounding yourself with his warm herbal scent, fingers sinking into his cheeks, your shirt coming apart and his hands diving in, kneading your breasts with his strong hands.

Saying nothing.

There was nothing to say, because it was senseless, foolish, the worst idea imaginable. Yet, despite your demure and borderline unflattering appearance, Taehyung could see your hawk-like and hyper-focused gaze. You caught him watching you, not just your body, but your eyes, taking every opportunity to observe them. You could see his mind memorizing the shape, the iris color, the position of every lash.

Against your lips, he whispered, locking you with his stare.

“Your eyes are art to me.”

Taehyung knew. He must know that you were a highly trained assassin, which was only a pretty word for paid serial killer. It made you the lowest of the low, the worst kind of human being, the kind that does not deserve compliments or sweet nothings.

He pushed your head back and licked your neck, up your trachea, collarbone to chin, leaving a long, wet stripe of saliva.

The unnatural action made your shiver in his hands.

He kissed down, scooping your breasts out, nicking your skin with his teeth, not asking, but aware that you could break his neck at any second. The Circle could call you right now and tell you Kim Taehyung needed to die and you would kill him without hesitation or remorse.

His lips closed around your nipple and his dark eyes were on yours once more.

There were no stars tonight.

The world that you and Taehyung had created in this spare office was only lit from below by the unsuspecting city through the window.

He sucked hard. He used teeth. He licked and pulled and streams of saliva dripped down your chest, your body shuddering in his hands, hands falling back onto the desk and leaning back, Taehyung over you, your shirt falling down your upper arms, the euphoric rush almost unbearable, too much feeling for your empty heart.

No talking, no words, nothing but sound. Gasps, slurping, kissing down your stomach, skin being scraped with teeth and hands, Taehyung’s dark eyes on your face, always on your face, and you looked down at him, watching him undo your slacks, never losing control, not even as he pushed your panties down and snaked his tongue in between your folds. Your jaw clenched as his warmth invaded yours, your hand fitting on the back of his head, curling your fingers in his hair, a solid grip that could not be broken unless he finished his job. His tongue slid in and flicked your clit, stroking its ego, your hips grinding into his face, nearly suffocating him, but Taehyung said nothing, his stare never leaving, almost unnerving, but you didn’t care.

Slicker, stronger, rougher, his lips closing in, sucking and licking, teeth nicking your clit, his hands on your ass and nails digging in, pushing you to him and lengthening the stroke of your hips to his face, flooding his mouth with sweet honey and his ears with savage snarls, his eyebrow cocking, the only indication that he was asking for you to cum, fingers splayed over your ass cheeks.

You sucked in a breath and bucked into his face, hissing, clit almost painfully throbbing, and Taehyung finally shut his eyes, groaning as he drank it all like he was trapped in the desert and your leaking core was his oasis.

He didn’t bother murmuring your name.

It wasn’t your real name anyway.

like unstable chemicals combining only to explode

Assassins don’t need to procreate.

You were given options.

You chose complete removal.

Your uterus was probably in some biohazardous landfill, rotting away.

The only visible scar was mixed with the thousands all over your skin. It didn’t mean much to you.

Taehyung removed his face from between your legs, strings of your cum all over his chin. They snapped and hung downwards, so viscous that they just suspended there. He wiped it up his skin and licked it off, breathing hard.

Maybe that was all he wanted, but that was not all you wanted.

You yanked him up by his tie, nearly making him choke, and then his orgasm-stained breath was in your face. You pushed his face to the side, fitting your chin to his broad shoulder and inhaled that comforting herbal scent, the scent of Taehyung, and you unbuckled his pants, pushing them down, sliding your hand under the waistband of his underwear and pulling his already hard cock out. He gasped into your neck, grabbing your arm, but you growled, pumping his length roughly, making it swell to its full girth in your hand.

You knew how big he was. It was recorded in his medical record.

what would it take for you to notice

You pulled one of your legs out of your pants, fitted it around his waist, and shoved him inside you, grimacing, your ass against the desk. Taehyung pulled his head back, dark brown eyes wide, shocked that you took him so fast but, to you, pain was life, and this was nothing. In fact, it was welcome pain, being stretched out, sinking down on him, maintaining eye contact.

“What if–”

“It’s not possible for me to get pregnant anymore.”

He searched your eyes, looking for the lie. He mouthed the word, anymore, and there were questions, but you cared not for them, slapping your hips to his and he gasped, grabbing your leg and fucking you hard, right into the desk, sloppy, wet, but so much force, lifting you a little to sit you partially on the wood and then pound you harder, practically impaling you with his large cock. Even then, your back didn’t arch. Even then, your head didn’t tilt back. You were panting, primal noises at your throat, and his eyes were on yours, and then your moans and his moans matched, both of you committing arson, setting your worlds ablaze with lust, your nails scraping against the desk and his nails piercing your thigh, leaving bruises and marks.

Taehyung leaned in, a heavy sigh and wanton hiss, your hot breath mixing with his, loud slaps of skin on skin, his cock brutally slamming into you, your pussy tightening all around him. In an instant, one particularly jarring thrust and you felt the rush igniting all your nerves at once, a wordless gasp between your bodies as it all crashed down on him. He grunted, jaw set, closing one eye at the force of your orgasm milking his out, cramming your tightness full of his release, hot strings painting your insides, wasted in the name of senseless desire.

i am a heart on fire and all the world's a fuse so don't get close

And now, in this dingy motel, dressed like a cheap whore, you looked up at Kim Taehyung, clad in a plain green sweater vest and t-shirt, light wash jeans ripped up and showing off his muscular legs. He stood out more than you, his strong and handsome features far too difficult to disguise, but he was no one of note, a simple company man who would never be investigated for anything because he was insignificant on paper. There was nothing for Kim Taehyung to hide.

Nothing except his nights with you.

the trouble and the worth am i better off on my own?

You got off the floor and went to the bathroom to wipe off your face, frowning at the amount you had piled on to mask most of your features. Taehyung waited patiently, as he had all this time. He didn’t want to see you with all that on either. You washed your face and came out of the bathroom, shouldering out of your fur coat and draping it on a rickety chair, nearly collapsing it with the weight.

Revealing your gun holster.

It sat on your left side, within easy reach of your right hand. You had a limited number of bullets. You never wasted your shot. This wasn’t an action movie. You unclicked the buckle holding it against your body and set it on the table, the modern tool of murder looking ominously black against the cheap wood, machine-carved patterns trying to make it look fancy, but the poor staining gave away all the mechanical mistakes.

“Is that for me?”

You looked up to the deep voice.

Taehyung gazed back at you, expression unreadable, but clearly referring to the gun. His hair wasn’t styled, black-brown curls shading his forehead, parted in the middle. Hands in his pockets, ass against the end of the bed.

“No.”

A simple answer with no further explanation.

The Circle did not instruct you to kill Taehyung, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t at some point.

They were ruthless.

Taehyung was not looking at your skimpy clothes or your bare arms and legs. His eyes were on yours, as they always were, revealing his intent, hiding nothing. He had an intimidating stare and you had a pointed one, sharpened to drink in every observation until it was a part of your memory.

There was a bottle of red wine open on one of the nightstands, with one used wine glass.

Taehyung spread legs for you, as he did many times before.

You sometimes wondered why he continued with this. There was nothing he gained from it other than the actual sex itself. Did he feel sorry for you? Did he do it because fucking a murderer was an unattainable high in itself? Did he like you? Was he just killing time like how you killed other human beings? In some way you had contaminated him, and now Taehyung could not go back to his vaguely innocent life.

It didn’t matter what the reason was.

Better you not know.

He pulled one of his hands out of his pocket, opening an object with one hand. It was a black and gold tube of red lipstick. Shockingly red, far too expensive for someone like you, with those iconic overlapping C’s. He twisted it up. His other hand appeared and beckoned you to him.

You stepped up. Taehyung handed you the tube of lipstick, looking up at you, unsmiling but strangely satisfied. He produced a cheap pocket mirror from his other pocket. Held it in front of you.

You applied the red lipstick from the bullet, right onto your full lips.

Smooth, swift strokes.

Recapped the tube and handed it back to him.

Taehyung tossed it and the mirror onto the bed behind him and cupped your cheeks, kissing you right away.

damaged goods they soon forget in choking dust where we got left

Smearing the lipstick everywhere, red track-marks all over your neck and cheeks, lips and teeth working you. The satin finish was slippery, leaving streaks on his chin as well, heavy gasps of breath mixing between your bodies as you took his face in your hands, kissing him all over too, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling it back, painting smears like bloodstains all over his golden tan skin, Taehyung moaning depravedly under you.

Your teeth scraped right against his Adam’s apple and his eyelids fluttered, quickly righting themselves to look at you through his long, dark lashes.

He reached back and felt around for the tube of lipstick, holding it out to you once more.

The mirror was face up on the bed, reflecting a small slice of this particular circle of hell you and Taehyung had created in this motel room.

You took the red lipstick.

for us all the stars refuse to shine

His vest and t-shirt disappeared, suddenly fading into the background, body pushed back onto the bed by your strong hands, toned chest exposed and you climbing over him, lips painted already, quite accurately despite the mess on your face already. The tube was once again recapped, rolling across the cheap duvet. The bedsprings shrieked, metal grating against metal, but that was a common sound in this sinful place, a place where all bad deeds come to be executed.

Adultery.

Drug use.

Death.

All of the above, sometimes.

You stared into those dark brown eyes and sculpted brows, beautiful lips parted and smeared with scarlet, all the way down to his collarbones and you leaned forward, kiss prints all over his pecs, Taehyung’s rumbling deep baritone above you, noises of pleasure and praise, nonverbal but just as communicative, breath hitching as you sucked on his skin, adding purple to the red. Your tongue flicked against his dark nipple, staining it with red lipstick, the floral taste in your mouth now, but it didn’t matter. The pleasure more important, lips closing around the hardened nub, flicking it with your tongue, your hand trailing down his chest.

Taehyung touched your hand and turned one of your nails inward.

Your fingers curled and you raked your nails down his torso.

He moaned above you, arching his back to receive more pain.

so tap the vein and light the match we burn like stars before the crash

Every time, it felt better, more intense, your nails and your lips on his hot skin, his sound above your head, the depth of his voice vibrating his chest cavity. Down, down, undoing his pants, yanking down his underwear, and soon they faded into the background too, his naked body before you, covered in slashes of red lipstick, gasping for breath, dark brown eyes on yours.

He didn’t say your name, because he still didn’t know it.

There was nothing to know.

You didn’t have a name.

The orphanage picked one for you all those years ago, but it was no longer a part of you, lost in a fire that tragically killed your paper trail, turning you into a meaningless existence, merely a cog in the Circle’s machine. Cared for and shrouded by the shadows, adding you to a part of their watch.

You were a very important cog, but a cog nonetheless.

“Taehyung.”

Those brown orbs widened, stained lips parting.

“Yeah?”

There was too much fondness in that low tone.

but for you there's still a chance, just let go

You just stared at him.

His breathing deepened, swallowing hard. His long fingers buried into the cheap bedding, his eyes darkening as his chin lowered, licking his lips slowly. He watched you from underneath his lashes, cocking an eyebrow.

“Do whatever,” he finally breathed. “I’ll take anything.”

Your gaze flickered down and he was already hard. Something about your eyes. You dropped down, tongue sliding out, wetly running over the thick length. Taehyung sucked a breath through his teeth, hand coming up to wipe his mouth and plant back down on the bed, staining the sheets with marks of your meeting.

You wrapped your lips around it and it pulsed in your mouth, getting bigger as you lowered your head, still looking at his face, watching him shiver and groan at your lipstick-covered lips enveloping his throbbing cock. You took it all, hitting the back of your throat, so fucking much that you could barely breathe, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the sheer ecstasy painted over Taehyung’s handsome features, turning into drawn-out gasps as you began to move, bobbing up and down, your hands on the bed, neck straining from being stuffed full of cock. You could smell him every time you reached the base, that warm herbal scent flooding your nose, his thick length twitching in your mouth, fighting the tightness of your throat. You hollowed out your cheeks, tongue rubbing against the bottom, and Taehyung’s pitch hiked, biting his lip, lashes fluttering, pants shallowing.

“Fuck, oh, fuck…”

He was already filling your mouth to the brim, swollen head punching the back of your throat, bruising it in all the right ways, your moans trapped in your chest as you sped up, sucking harder, your fingertips brushing against his skin and spreading the lipstick-laced saliva all over his balls, adding to the sensation, Taehyung crying out as he looked into your hyper-focused eyes, his own pupils blown so wide they seemed to overtake the iris, starless and consuming all the pleasure you gave him.

He clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth, suddenly gasping as he came, shooting into the roof of your mouth, the scorching heat splattering against your throat and pooling there, so much and so thick that for a second you stopped to roll your eyes back, drinking his strong taste, before shoving his cock into your mouth again, fucking his cum down your throat so your were forced to gulp it down, barely breathing, enjoying your self-produced lightheadedness and Taehyung’s wail of protest, too sensitive to take your sudden rough pace, hand clawing at the air.

You slowed, licking him all over, soft, so soft, so much saliva, his stiff cock still dribbling out his orgasm for you to lap up.

His eyes on you again.

but now there's nowhere to run and yeah, there's nowhere to hide

And now you were naked, covered in red lipstick and his bites, straddling his lower torso, Taehyung licking between your breasts as you slid your ass down onto his still wet length, painted in Chanel, saliva, and cum, reaching down to reposition him at your entrance, his eyes shimmering, hazing out, high on you. Reflecting your form poised over him, a shadow with no morality.

You sank down and he moaned, low and deep, large hands on your waist and thigh, leading you. The thin walls of the motel did nothing to hide the screaming, the crying, the bed squeaks all around you two, above and below, whispers of devious deeds being performed meters away, but none of these things mattered. Your arms circled his broad shoulders and, as always, you were face to face, hawk-like, hyper-focused, and he was in front of you, fucked-out as your ass smacked into his balls, taking all of him, stretched out to an almost painful point.

He still didn’t know your name, so instead of saying it, his hand lifted and touched your chin, bringing your face to him, a slow, messy, pining kiss, your hips rolling into his, his moans wandering into your lips, eyes half-open to watch yours, your body shuddering with need, imploring you to fuck harder, rougher, to chase your pleasure, to chase it without abandon. You shoved Taehyung down onto the bed and smacked your hips into his, hissing at the jarring sensation of your tight hole being violently expanded by his long, thick length, nails digging into his tan skin. Taehyung harmonized with your lewd moans, husky depth adding to your heavy pants, following your rhythm and bouncing his ass on the hard mattress, hitting your deeper and more forcefully.

His hand fitted over yours, locking his fingers in between your spread ones, clutching tight, louder, louder, metal bedsprings screaming, your pants shallowing, staring down at Taehyung’s face covered with scarlet lipstick smears and dark brown curls sticking to his forehead.

what would it take for you to notice that i am a hand grenade pin already pulled so don't let go 

You wiggled your hips, smacking his hardness against your walls and clenching down, ruining yourself, ruining him, feral cries and satisfied hisses mixing with Taehyung’s deep baritone, one of his hands interlocked around yours, time ticking down and ready to detonate, trapped in the murky expanse of Taehyung’s brown orbs, heartbeat roaring in your ears, so loud it felt like it was the only sound you could hear, everything fading out except Taehyung’s face and you bouncing onto his cock, nails digging into his pecs.

“Taehyung…”

Your voice, wretched.

Like a guitar string snapping suddenly while being played.

You threw your head back, overtaken by the explosive fire racing through your gasoline veins, ignited by your orgasm shattering through your core and firing upwards, pussy convulsing and clutching Taehyung’s cock mercilessly, making his eyes roll back and his head slam into the pillows, knuckles white as he gripped your hand tight, whining on the top of his lungs, the high shooting from you to him, cock jolting and spurting thick gushes of cum upwards, right into you.

A violent crescendo of illicit ecstasy.

Someone smashed something against the wall next door, most likely a lamp.

You slumped onto Taehyung’s chest, body trembling with shivers of pleasure. His torso rumbled, struggling for breath, releasing your hand and wrapping his arms around you. Nothing romantic about being covered in red lipstick, saliva, and cum dribbling out of your hole.

Taehyung shoved his chin into your hair and trapped you there for a long while.

as we chase the sun my shadow slows us down

You didn’t say anything as he cleaned you up and you cleaned him up, both sitting in the narrow, half-full, yellowed tub, far too close together, practically in each other’s lap, using bleached hotel towels to wipe off the lipstick and cum with lukewarm water.

You raised your head, hair stringy and clinging to your skin.

His dark hair was plastered to his natural glowing tan.

You leaned forward.

Taehyung waited.

You pressed your lips to his.

A touch.

you're better off and i know

You drew back.

Remembering your gun sitting on the table outside the bathroom.

Remembering the man that you had shot hours before, staging it like a suicide.

What did that man do? You didn’t ask, didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. An old man who maybe had grandkids, great-grandkids. Maybe he ruined the lives of his hired labor, staining them with sin. Maybe he was at the wrong time and wrong place. Maybe he was guiltier than you, taking victims and leaving them to suffer with traumatic memories that could ever be erased.

You stared into Taehyung’s eyes, feeling no remorse.

Taehyung took your hand.

Squeezed it tight, so tight his knuckles were white and it felt like your fingers were being crushed.

You let him hold it for ten seconds.

Then you reached over and peeled his fingers off, one by one.

Got out of the tub, picking up the towel from the ground. Drying off your body, not looking at him. Put your clothes back on, hair still wet and cold. Holster on, jacket over it. The second you opened the motel door, you were the drunken, unstable prostitute once again, mumbling under your breath, speaking to voices unknown, pointedly ignored and avoided by everyone around you, even as you stumbled through the city, wet hair swinging, the only reminder that Taehyung had been with you, dripping water onto the sidewalk.

You looked down at your hand.

The hand that could kill.

The hand Kim Taehyung squeezed and would squeeze again, barring you didn’t kill yourself by being in the murder business. When Taehyung finally got out of the bath, he would once again find the large wad of cash you had left.

Money was never the drive.

Kim Taehyung made anonymous donations to various charities in your stead, his accounting background knowing exactly how to fumble the numbers and names. He and you would never be suspected. He was a real human being, one who cared about those around him. He would know where to put the money, know how needed it most. You wouldn’t.

You didn’t know anything about compassion.

You didn’t know anything about kindness.

You didn’t know anything about love.

you're better off and i know and i know

--

masterpost

[hb-writes]

Tidy Sums

Summary: Sophie Mason (OC) was John Shelby’s first friend and his first kiss. They’d never been in love, not in the way he’d been in love with Martha. Their relationship wasn’t quite so tidy, but that had never stopped them from loving one another in their own way and finding their own happiness in the mayhem. 

Characters: John Shelby and Sophie (OC)

Warnings: canon-content, mention of a sexual relationship, kissing/ touching.

--

If Sophie was being honest, and honest was something she usually was, the problem was quite simple. 

The numbers no longer made sense. 

They hadn't for some time now, the figures blurring together with the lines meant to keep each transaction separate, the columns and neat symbols representing the company's wins and losses jumbled in her mind although the tidy sums were somehow still accumulating on the bottom of every page. 

Sophie had been working with the betting shop's books for years now, more familiar with the content of the ledgers than she was with any other book she’d come across—the bible or the latest popular novel she’d taken out from the central library. She supposed the only other pages she knew as well as the ledgers were those of the children’s book John’s kids begged after anytime she sat for them, refusing sleep until they heard a tale from the old, worn tome that was so well-loved it was missing the cover page. Sophie could probably recite the story from memory, but she had no ideas about its proper title, not with the kids referring to it exclusively as “daddy’s story.”

Sophie had worked for the Shelby family in a somewhat official capacity since leaving school almost a decade earlier, but she had had her nose in their books for longer than that, ever since Polly realized the girl had a penchant for numbers. And it was Sophie who encouraged John to get involved with this side of the business when they were only fourteen, convincing him easily enough that the pair of them could get up to the same amount of fun in the betting shop as they got up to out on the lane. It was Sophie who had known, despite what his school records had to say on the matter, that John Shelby was good with numbers. 

But numbers were cleaner, less bloody, less exciting, and certainly more mentally taxing than playing at peaky boy, or at least mentally taxing in a different way. They had to generate their own sources of amusement within the walls of the betting shop. She and John had always been good at sourcing their own amusement though.

Sophie sat back from the books, taking a moment to rub her eyes with the heels of her palms. It was late. Scudboat and the twins had already gone, and John had locked her in when he went home to check on his lot, saying he’d be back to let her out and lock up once he got his kids down for the night. 

That was their routine these days. She’d spend an extra couple of hours each night with the books while John stole an extra couple of hours with his kids before putting them down for bed and coming back to number six to wrap things up for the night.

She startled a bit when John’s hands found her arms, his rough palms pinching and rubbing against the delicate fabric of her shirt. She settled as the warmth of his hands came through her thin sleeves and sunk into her skin, finally leaning her head back to rest against his stomach, tilting her eyes up to him briefly as the left side of her mouth pulled up. 

“Devils went down early tonight,” she said. 

He’d been gone for less than an hour. It was usually twice that before he made his way back and his return was usually accompanied with some sort of complaint about the kids’ behavior, about their refusal to go to sleep or eat the dinner he made them, something Sophie was always quick to remind him was simple coded behavior for them wanting more time with their father and being uncertain of a better way to go about it.

“Finn’s on devil duty for the night.” John shrugged. “Says he’s saving up for something, so he’s eager for the pocket money.”

Sophie hummed, tilting her head back down to the books as she picked up her pen once more. “A little devil put on devil duty,” she mused. “I’m sure that will turn out well.”

“I think you’ll find most of us Shelbys are devils,” John said.

“I don’t...” she started, pausing both her hand and her mouth as John’s fingers traveled up her arm, fingertips slipping across the smooth skin of her exposed collarbone and then her neck as he pushed her hair aside. 

She tried again. “I don’t intend...”

Sophie gulped, stilling for a moment as John’s lips found her neck. A deep breath came from her in a nearly involuntary capacity and her shoulders relaxed back. She was overcome by his slow focus, overcome by the simple way John could tease her. Despite his leisurely wandering, they both knew he was venturing towards the one spot he knew could have her entirely undone, have her forgetting her words and how to properly breathe, obliterating from memory the notion of responsibility and the company books entirely. 

“Don’t intend to what?” John mumbled the words against her skin as she tilted her head, exposing her neck as his fingers wound in her hair. 

“Fuck,” she breathed as his lips found her earlobe, his warm breath melting any remaining resolve as her back arched away from the chair. 

“No, John, stop.” 

John released her from his lips, straightening his back, and turning her face to his with the hand still entwined in her hair, the guidance gentle yet resolute. 

“You really want me to stop?” 

Her skin burned hot and her breaths had started to come a bit quicker, more shallow and less gratifying in meeting her need for air, her need for calm and control and the mysterious power she knew a steady cadence of breaths could hold. Sophie forced herself to deepen her inhale and pause before the exhale, forced herself to calm her racing heart and quell the more instinctual desire stirring inside of her, willing her mind and body to focus...on anything other than John.

“I want,” she started after a barely sufficient cycle of inhales and exhales, reaching up to wrap her hand around John’s forearm, “for you to let me finish these ledgers so your aunt doesn’t issue me a death warrant.” 

John sighed and rolled his eyes at the protest but removed his hand from her hair at the gentle nudge. 

“Or a boot. Or a smack upside the head,” Sophie continued, pulling a hair comb from her desk drawer and initiating some attempt at getting the hair out of her face, “or whatever retribution it is she’s offering us these days.”

“Pol won’t come after you like that,” John said.

“She’s done it before.”

“That woman hit you once, almost fifteen years ago, and we both deserved it that day. Scared the shit out of her playing in the Cut like that.” John rocked on the balls of his feet for a moment, thinking on the whiskey and cigars tucked away in his office before deciding to forgo both vices for now. “Anyway, we’re not kids anymore.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure Aunt Polly smacked you upside the head just last week.”

“Well, that’s me, not you,” he said. “She’s got a soft spot for you.”

“All the more reason not to chance it, then. One go around with her was more than enough for me,” she answered, finally succeeding at securing the bulk of her hair up, the loose bits falling back into her face just a few seconds after she tucked them away. 

John laughed as he moved to sit against the desk, crossing his arms across his chest. “Well, what if—”

“No, John. No what-ifs…What-ifs and…” Sophie glanced up at him, regretting it even before she met his mischievous eyes, lamenting the decision as soon as she caught sight of his lips, swollen and reddened from his previous endeavors. “What-ifs and that fucking smirk are what made me fall behind to begin with.”  

John chuckled. “You’re behind because you like doing me more than you like doing the books.”

She sat back in her chair, arms folding across her chest as she looked at John, his body shaking slightly with the laughter he only half-heartedly tried to contain. “You think so?”

“Seems like it. You were very diligent back when you were stepping out with that dim bloke. The one with the sweaty hands?” 

Sophie leaned forward just an inch and John held up a hand. “Now, don’t you go smacking me, too. You can’t dispute it because you told me yourself.” 

“This has nothing to do with Phillip’s sweaty hands,” she said, smirking back at John. “Maybe I’m behind because my boss is a hard ass who has put too much on my plate and not enough on theirs?”

John nodded like he was considering her words. “You know, I wouldn’t let Aunt Pol hear you speaking ill of her like that if I was you.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “I'm talking about you and you know it. I’m here late every night and you leave early every day to go home to those kids.”

John shrugged. “If you don’t want to be here every night with the books, you’re more than welcome to go mother my lot and make us dinner.”

She frowned as he said it, sighing as his playful demeanor didn’t quite stick, the note of his words far too hopeful and desperate and longing. 

“I don’t want to be a mother, John,” she said. “And you know I’m a shit cook.”

Sophie had made that much clear to him over the last year, both the bit about the mothering and the bit about the cooking. She was good with the kids, and would gladly watch them for a few hours or so when he needed, but she had no desire to raise a hoard of children, or even one child. Not someone else’s, and not one of her own either. She had other aspirations and they didn’t involve being tied to a home and a child, or even to a man. 

“I’m perfectly content being an almost auntie. I’m good with children so long as they go back to their parents when all is said and done.” 

“And the cooking?”

“You really want me cooking for you?”

“No, you’re right. You’re rubbish in a kitchen,” he said before picking up the tube of lipstick set on her desk. “You’re their favorite auntie though,” John continued, fidgeting with the tube as he spoke. The thing went unused nearly every day now that she was working late, passing the bulk of her evenings at the shop with John instead of out at a pub or dance hall, but the thing still sat on her desk just in case, a gentle reminder of the types of nights she used to have. 

“They’re always fucking asking after you,” he said.

Sophie pulled her eyes away from his hands to observe his face. “Well, they take after their father then because you can’t seem to get enough of me either.”

Sophie pushed some strands of hair from her face, only causing more to come loose from the hair comb. She pulled the whole thing out and began twisting her tresses up again as she continued speaking. “Constantly bothering me… keeping me from my work… never ending nonsense and devilment.” 

John snorted and pushed himself off the desk, taking the hair from her hands. 

“What are you doing?” 

Sophie turned towards him and John planted his hands on her shoulders, twisting her so she faced away from him once again.

“Fixing your hair so you can focus on your work, so do us both a favor and sit still,” he said, combing his fingers through her hair to release the knots, the nails of his fingers grazing her scalp as he swept the hair back from her face. 

“That’s not going to help me focus on my work,” she muttered as he began weaving her hair, the ritual a calming one, nostalgic even, reminding her of her youth, reminding her of when she had someone to plait her hair. Sophie hadn’t worn a braid in years. She was skilled at braiding other people’s hair, but she had never learned how to manage her own.

“No?” John asked. “You’ve got two free hands and two working eyes while I’m doing this. No reason you can’t be adding and subtracting right now.” 

She shook her head and John tugged the strands between his fingers tight, eliciting a howl as she reached her hand back. 

“What the hell?”

“Sit still,” John said, smiling into the words as he continued with his work.

“Don’t pull my fucking hair.”

He pulled the strands tight once again, laughter spilling from his lips before she even had a chance to react.

“I told you to sit still. You’re worse than Katie. Never have to tug on her braid more than once to get her to settle.”

Sophie huffed but followed his directive, knowing there was less than a minute left of John’s undertaking, and knowing he would have no qualms about tugging her hair again.  

“Remember how we said we’d get married if we both weren’t married by the time one of us turned twenty-five?”

A part of Sophie wanted to look at him, wanted to turn her head and meet his eye, to see what kind of expression graced his face while he brought up the pact from almost fifteen years ago, a silly agreement made between two kids who knew absolutely nothing of life, but John had told her to sit still, so while she felt his hands still winding in her hair, she did just that. 

“You’re turning twenty-five next month,” he said, finally tying off the braid. John stepped to the side, resuming his seat on her desk.

“You’re very good at that,” she commented.

“Good at what?”

She pulled the braid over her shoulder, admiring its neatness. “The braid. You’ve gotten good. You used to be quite abysmal with it.”

“You taught me well, I guess.” John rolled his eyes. “You had more patience with me than Martha did.”

“Well, could you really blame her? You were a horrible student, all fumbling hands and that fucking cheeky mouth running the whole time for no good reason.”

John smiled. “And you’ve gotten quite good at that,” he said.

“Good at what?” she asked.

“Changing the fucking subject.”

She sighed as she dropped the braid and looked at him. “We’re not getting married, John. Not because of some silly pact and not because your kids need a mother.” 

“What if it’s because we like each other?” he asked, tugging her up to stand between his legs. “What if it’s because we love each other, eh?” 

She chewed on her bottom lip and looked away, fighting only a bit when his hand caught her chin and tilted it towards his face. 

“You do love me, don’t you?”

“You know I do,” she said, “but not like you’re asking. And you don’t love me like that either.” 

“Love is love.”

She shook her head. “We love like friends.”

“Friends love like this?” John glanced down and Sophie’s eyes followed his gaze to see how their bodies were wrapped up together. Her hand had settled on his thigh, his on her hip, with both of their fingers idly caressing clothing seams while they were each thinking of caressing the skin beneath.

“Attraction and romantic love are different things, John.”

Sophie was always saying it, and he liked to argue with her even though he knew it was at least a bit true. John knew they were friends who happened to be physically attracted to one another, and maybe, if he’d never fallen in love with Martha, or maybe if he’d never had kids, or if Sophie had not gotten so close with Martha in the years he’d been away, things could be different, but as it was, Sophie was right and John knew it. Because he didn’t feel about her the same way he’d felt about Martha and she didn’t feel that way about him either.

Their relationship was a combination of friendly care and sexual attraction and the type of love that came from knowing someone for as long as it was possible to know another person who wasn’t truly family, but there wasn’t a true bit of romantic desire between them. 

“And I don’t want to be what you need your woman to be. You and the kids deserve someone who wants that life.”

“And what happens when I find someone who wants that life?”

“What always happens,” she said with a shrug, “we stop this and I catch up on the books.” 

“Is that what you want?”

Sophie was telling the truth, but she hesitated anyway. This was the longest stretch they’d done this, the longest stretch during which she’d not bothered with dates, and if nothing else, it was habit now, their ritual. It was a comfort. But if John found someone he wanted to settle down with, Sophie knew they’d put a stop to things, same as they’d done all those years ago when he fell in love with Martha and same as they’d done earlier this year when she’d decided to go on a few dates with Harvey Johnson or a few months later when she’d agreed to see Phillip Miller a few times.

It hadn’t bothered Sophie when he was with Martha, and though John had teased her about the men she’d chosen to step out with over the last year, he hadn’t seemed too bothered by it either, more concerned with expressing what he’d do to the men if she came out of it hurt. Sophie knew from experience they could simply stop. 

Stop the flirting. 

Stop the kissing and the sex and the nonsensical talk of being anything more than friends. 

They could stop with the rest of it and still be friends.

John wrapped his hand around Sophie’s braid, giving it a small tug to pull her attention back to him.

“Quit pulling my fucking hair.”

“It’s the only thing that ever makes you listen,” he said, tightening his hold a bit. “And I know you like it.” 

“And the only thing that ever makes you listen—” 

John caught her hand before she could reach high enough to smack him upside the head. “I’m listening. Answer the question.” 

“I already told you what I want,” she said, nodding towards the open ledger beside him. “To spare myself a lecture, hell, probably two lectures if Polly decides to let Tom know we’re behind, too. Your brother’s in a right fucking mood lately.” 

“Is that what you want? The end of this?” John asked, glazing over her chastising him about pulling her hair and her concerns about lectures and the hand she’d raised to smack him upside the head. 

Sophie shrugged, pulling her hand loose from his hold and absently rubbing at her wrist as she leaned against his leg. 

“C’mon Soph, I’m being serious.”

She pushed her finger into the corner of John’s frowning mouth, forcing a half smile. “John Shelby doesn’t do serious.” 

John moved her hand away from his face. “I’m doing serious right now.”

“Fine, John. I want to be happy. And I want you and the kids to be happy,” she said, turning towards him straight on and resting both hands on his thighs. “And someday that may mean you have someone to go home to, and those babies won’t be looked after by another baby, but for now, that means we do this whenever we can.

“I have to finish this work first though.” 

Sophie kissed him on the cheek then, squeezing his thighs once before she moved to sit back down, but John caught her at the elbow, holding her there in front of him. 

“What about you?”

She tried to pull out of his grasp, but John only gripped tighter and drew her closer. 

Sophie rolled her eyes. “What about me?”

“I didn’t hear anything about getting you your happiness.” 

“I’m plenty happy, John,” she said. 

He raised an eyebrow.

“You want the truth?”

John nodded, his hands slipping down her arms to hold her hands. She sighed, looking down at their hands entwined there together. 

The truth was Sophie was happy. The truth was she had always been happy with what they were and what they weren’t, content with the sum of things though it was by no means tidy like the lines of the ledger books they spent their days looking over.

“The truth is I think if you don’t let me finish these books I might not know happiness ever again,” she said, slipping her hands from his and stepping out from between his legs.

John pulled her back to him before she could slip into the chair though, reaching his arms around her body and wrapping his legs around hers, trapping her against him. “Well, if that’s the case, we’d better make sure you get your fill of happiness now then, eh?”

[collecting-stories]

Marks - John B Routledge

Request: Hi would you be able to write something about John b (outer banks) were the reader and him have been secretly seeing each other and one day they are all one the boat and she's wearing one of his shirts over a bikini and the others see the marks???? Love your work btw and sorry if this makes no sense and it OK if you can do it and thank you 💛🌻🌼

A/N: So I hope this is what you wanted?? I like how it turned out.

Outer Banks Masterlist

///

No one knew where the unofficial rule of Pogue life in the Outer Banks had come from but you all agreed that it felt like it had been around forever. Was it something Kiara made up in seventh grade when boy/girl parties meant more pressure to kiss whoever the cutest person in the room was? Was it something someone else made up that was overheard and adopted? Had it been around for a long time? It was hard to say, all you did know was that the rule was the rule, no Pogue-on-Pogue macking, and the rule was sacred. It hadn’t been transcribed in stone by a burning bush but it might as well have been the way that everyone talked about it. Some people broke the rule but never your group.

You’d kissed tourons, a odd kook once at a party that you never spoke of again for fear of retribution, but never a Pogue. It was a stupid rule, honestly, but it’d helped you not make terrible decisions. Like when you and JJ got so high in ninth grade that you almost kissed him. But even in the haze the rule was the rule and you didn’t break it.  

“How am I supposed to get a boyfriend when the guys I’m allowed to like leave after two weeks?” You questioned, laying on the end of the HMS Pogue. It was this very conversation that had changed your opinion of the rule. Before that afternoon you followed like it was written law and you were afraid of burning in hell for breaking it.  

But as you turned your head to the side to look over at your friends, at John B steering the boat through the marsh, it suddenly occurred to you that your question wasn’t a vague observation but rather a specific wanting. You didn’t want any guy to be your boyfriend, you wanted John B. You must’ve looked at him a thousand times in your life, you’d known him through bad haircuts, the summer before high school when his face broke out, the year he only wore stupid graphic tee’s from five below, and ill attempted bucket hat phase. All the unpleasant, unattractive moments in life that were supposed to deter you from even thinking about him that way didn’t seem to matter when you gazed at him across the boat. Tanned, unruly hair getting a little close to too long, some ridiculous Hawaiian shirt that he had the inability to button correctly.  

“I’ll be your boyfriend.” Pope offered, handing you a beer.

You sat up to drink and gave him a skeptical look, “you going somewhere I don’t know about?”  

“No Pogue on Pogue macking,” Kiara piped up like she was the spokesperson for it.  

“Oh my god; I know!” You groaned and Pope laughed, “why do you think I’m in this dilemma?”  

“You could date a kook,” JJ teased.  

“Fuck you JJ.”  

“Just mack on some Pogue we don’t know,” John B suggested. You looked over at him and took a long gulp of your beer, if he only knew.  

“You know everyone,” Kiara pointed out.  

“See, Kie understands my dilemma.”  

“Actually, I kinda prefer not being tied down.” Kiara replied.

“Okay, archaic...I’m not trying to be someone’s property or something but it’d be kinda nice to have someone ya know? To not have to flirt with rando tourists all summer.” You complained. It was a legitimate problem.  

“Sure. I hear that.” Pope agreed.

When everyone else had dispersed for the night, Pope back to his house, Kie to the Wreck, JJ to sleep in the hammock outside the Chateau, you and John B sat on the couch watching a movie on your laptop. You had your head on his shoulder and he was slumped against the cushions, far too quiet for a movie about a mega shark attacking people. He hadn’t said much else after your discussion about dating had died down. John B talked the talk, he flirted easily with tourons at parties but you never knew him to really be with anyone. You couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever called someone his girlfriend but you also didn’t know him to be the type to have random hookups.  

“You’re so quiet.” You observed, “we haven’t even ragged on the stupid CGI.”

“The CGI is stupid.” John B said, tilting his head to look at you and smiling.  

“Loser.” You shook your head. You wanted to tell him, you had decided on the boat that you had to. If he wasn’t interested in you, if the idea of dating one of his best friends freaked him out that was fine, you could be friends and move on. But if you just thought about it, obsessed over it, you would make it awkward. It would never be normal between the two of you because all you would focus on would be the what-ifs.

John B shrugged.  

“Hey John B, can I ask you something?” You sat up, shifting away so that you could look at him.  

“You just did.”

“Okay dad,” you rolled your eyes at him when he smiled.

“What’s up?” He asked, turning to face you, movie forgotten. The mega shark could eat whoever he wanted, John was focused on you and that was better than a movie.  

You were never sure how these things worked. Did you say that you liked him and you wanted to be in a relationship with him? Did you tell him you wanted to kiss him? How did you say okay to him when he inevitability said he wasn’t interested? He probably liked someone else. Sure, you had never seen him with anyone but that didn’t mean he didn’t like someone else...maybe Kie, everyone liked her. And if he did you couldn’t be mad about that.  

“Hey, E.T., phone home.” John B teased, waving a hand in front of your face.

You laughed and grabbed his wrist, “sorry.” You moved his hand to your lap and held it there, taking a deep breath. You could do this. This was John B, best friend, dork, treasure hunter. You talked to him about everything, you could talk to him about this. “The thing is-” You leaned forward, getting a rush of adrenaline as you closed your eyes and pressed your lips against his.  

John B’s eyes went wide as he sat there, his brain working overtime to catch up with what was happening. His free hand gripped the back of the couch as he leaned more into the kiss. When you’d mentioned wanting to date someone, he never imagined that you could be thinking about him. You’d been friends for a long time but that didn’t erase the fact that you were attractive. He’d never do anything that you didn’t want but there were plenty of times when he stared a little too long or hugged you a little too long. He was sure JJ and Pope had too, it wasn’t anything unusual for a group so close to have crushes on each other but he couldn’t even wrap his mind around the two of you.  

As the kiss deepened you let go of his hand to hold onto his shoulders, shifting yourself to straddle his lap. John B wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you against him completely as he laid back on the couch, the sudden motion making you yelp a little.  

“Oh my god, JB!” You laughed; foreheads pressed together as you laid there on top of him.  

“So uh, definitely broke a rule or two,” he joked. He watched as you sat up in his lap.  

-

That was two weeks ago and in that time you and John B had almost perfected your ability to sneak around. Though no amount of perfectly crafted excuses, late nights at the Chateau without your friends, or actively pretending you were interested in other people when you were at a party could have helped you avoid the most obvious clue that one of you might be fooling around behind the group’s back.  

You were on the HMS Pogue with the others, sitting cross-legged at the front with JJ smoking while Kiara and Pope swam. It would be dusk soon and the air was getting colder this far out. You would have just put your shorts and shirt back on but JJ had thrown you in the water earlier, fully dressed, and now you sat there, cold, with your wet clothes hanging over the side of the boat.  

“Just give me your t-shirt.” You begged. You’d been asking JJ for his shirt to keep you warm for the last ten minutes.

“No. Then I’ll be cold.”

“So much for chivalry.”

“I’m sorry,” Pope called, “is your complaint that JJ isn’t chivalrous?”  

“Yeah you’re right, my bad.” You stuck your tongue out at JJ and he smiled in return. John B was at the wheel, wearing your favorite of his numerous Hawaiian shirts. The one with the girls surfing. “Hey John B!” You called, leaning toward him and smiling.

“Yes?” John asked, smirking at you and raising an eyebrow in question.

“Can I have your shirt? JJ’s a douche and won’t give me his.”

“You’re such a baby.” JJ laughed.

“I guess I can spare it.” John replied, unbuttoning the only two buttons he’d done up and slipping the shirt off. You smiled, holding your hand out to him to accept the shirt.  

Once he handed it over he walked back to the wheel, JJ sliding his sunglasses down his nose dramatically and letting out a low whistle. “Hot damn John B, didn’t know you liked it so rough.”  

“What?” John whipped around, looking at JJ questioningly.  The other boy slipped his sunglasses into his necklace and signed toward John B.  

“You have, uh, scratches...on your back.” You supplied. JJ was still smirking.

“Wait what?” The commotion had caught Kiara and Pope’s attention, both swimming over to the boat and climbing in.  

John’s eyes shot instinctively over at you and you looked away as he reached back and felt the slightly raised welts on his back from the previous night. None of the other pogues had stuck around last night, leaving you and John B in the Chateau alone.  

JJ was watching your behavior and, when you turned away from him, noticed something off. “Hey Kie, hand me a water?”

“Seriously JJ?” She tossed the water at him as Pope followed up his “wait what” with twenty other questions. Who was it? When did you meet them? How long have you known them? Where they a pogue, a touron, worse? A kook?  

JJ, meanwhile, spilled some water on his fingers and reached over, rubbing your neck without warning, “what the fuck JJ!” You shouted, jumping to your feet and moving away from him.  

“Think I can answer your who Pope, unless that’s a coincidence.” He joked, pointing to the newly revealed hickey on your neck. You’d covered it with bronzer and foundation that morning but hours in the sun had sweat some of the makeup off and JJ had rubbed the rest.

“Oh my god!” Kiara grabbed your arm, turning you to look at the mark, “oh my god! For christ sake, we have a rule.”

“It’s a fucking stupid rule Kie and you know it.” John cut in immediately.

“Can’t argue with that.” JJ announced.

“Shut up Jay, you aren’t helping.”

“Guys...why didn’t you just tell us?” Pope asked.

“Cause I knew exactly how Kie would react.”  

“We have a rule for a reason! What happens when you break up and then shit is awkward because we have to choose who to be friends with?” She argued.

“We aren’t gonna break up.” You insisted.

“You don’t know that, all summer you’ve been ‘I just want a boyfriend to mack on, it doesn’t have to be serious’ and so what? Some tourist won’t do because two weeks is too short but you and John B are gonna hook up? Until when?”

“Whoa, don’t turn on me!” You snapped.  

“She’s got a point...not just you,” JJ quickly clarified. “But both of you...what happens when you get sick of whatever this is?”

“I’m not getting sick of anything and we’re not just hooking up for the summer Kie,” John B said, looking between his friends.  

“You say that-”

“I love her.” He cut in. Turning to look at you he continued, “I love you, not exactly how I imagined telling you but...I love you.”  

You bit your lip as you smiled, “I love you too.” You had known that first day on John B’s couch that there was no way the feelings you had for him could be contained to a random hookup. You weren't just dating for the summer to break up, this was something real. Something serious.  

“Good, now I’m turning this fucking boat around and all of you can go the fuck home.”  

“You’re kicking us off the boat cause Kie threw a tantrum.”

“I did not throw a tantrum JJ!” Kiara said, smacking his arm.

“You kinda did.”  

“I’m not kicking you off the boat cause you threw a tantrum-”

“I didn’t throw a tantrum!” She laughed this time as she cut John B off.  

“I’m dropping you off cause you definitely don’t wanna be around for the next couple of hours.” John B announced, glancing over at you and winking.

“Oh my god!” Pope groaned, “can you guys not talk about it.”

-

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @calumhoodsbuckethat @millie-753 

If you want to be tagged let me know! 

[clairenatural]

look at you, strawberry blond

destiel, 1.8k. pining, fluff, growing up together, etc! minor character/parental death, vague mention of John’s A+ Parenting. based on the mitski song  (this is a repost because the first one got deleted)

I love everybody because I love you

Castiel first learns what love is when he’s eight years old and Gabriel, sixteen, is grumbling about driving an hour out of his way to find his girlfriend the rare chocolates she likes for Valentine’s day.

“Why?” he asks his older brother, and Gabriel sighs, melodramatic as always.

“That’s love, little bro. Remembering the little things and then putting in the time to make it happen.”

Cas thinks about when he told Dean his parents don’t let him eat candy. He thinks about how Dean has given him half his Kit Kat bar every day for the last year.

He thinks about the time he scraped his knee falling off the jungle gym and Dean spent the rest of recess picking dandelions to make him feel better. Yellow is his favorite color.

“Oh.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older, Cassie. Love is about sacrifice, and commitment--” he goes on, but by the time Michael cuts him off, yelling from his office that you’ve only been dating for two months, Gabriel, stop preaching to Castiel, Cas has already sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom.

A broken piggy bank, $1.50 in pocket change, and several pleas to Gabriel later, and Castiel tucks a king-sized Kit Kat into Dean’s valentine box.

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

When you stood up, walked away, barefoot

It’s eight years later, one summer in high school, when Castiel realizes that there’s a difference between loving and being in love, and that he is, in fact, in love with his best friend.

He realizes this as he watches Dean walk away, sandals discarded and unnecessary in the soft grass, back to the picnic tables to get them both more fruit punch. It’s the annual junior class picnic, the official welcome to being upperclassmen, and the August sun casts a warm glow over Dean’s freckles, and Castiel knows.

Two seconds later, he watches Dean nearly get hit by an errant frisbee and completely forget his punch mission in lieu of playfully tackling its thrower, Benny Lafitte. He watches Lisa Braden, giggly and glowing and perfect as always, yelp as she’s almost caught in the crossfire, and Dean winks at her as he releases Benny.

He swallows thickly and turns his attention back to the patch of grass they’d been laying in, flattened where Dean had been just a few moments before. He wishes he hadn’t come to this particular realization.

And the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape I looked over it and I ached

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

I love everybody because I love you I don't need the city, and I don't need proof

Castiel goes to college in Chicago and pretends like the two-hour drive between them doesn’t mean anything. And it doesn’t, until Dean’s father gets a job back in Kansas halfway through his freshman year. Dean goes with him even though he’s an adult because the alternative is letting Sam deal with John alone, so Castiel spends most of that summer in Lawrence, dodging both his friends in the big city and his family back in Pontiac. He tells them all that he’s studying Kansas’ role in the Civil War, assisting in research back at the University, but he and Dean spend two months going on road trips with Sam.

His sophomore year John dies and Castiel flies back for the weekend, explaining his sudden departure as a family emergency and getting an extension on two papers. Dean holds his hand at the funeral but won’t look him in the eyes for two hours after, even as he refuses to leave Castiel’s side.

The boys move in with Bobby but that summer Dean shows up in Chicago, explanations lined up about not worrying about Sam anymore and wanting to see what about the city made Cas keep coming back. Castiel gets an internship and pretends like that was the plan all along. He quietly cancels his plane tickets to South Dakota.

All I need, darling, is a life in your shape I picture it, soft, and I ache

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

Reach out the car window, trying to hold the wind You tell me you love her; I give you a grin

Dean stays in Chicago. He moves into Castiel’s empty room when his original roommate moves out, he finds work at an auto shop, and he starts taking mechanic classes at a community college. Castiel isn’t sure why—he doesn’t want to ask. Afraid to look the gift horse in the mouth and risk having his happiness bitten off.

Then Dean starts talking about a girl. Then Castiel meets the girl, Cassie Robinson, and it all makes sense.  

He pretends it doesn’t sting every time Dean brings her up, that the way his face lights up doesn’t burn, that he doesn’t feel physically ill the first time he meets her.

By the time Dean tells him he’s in love, gushing about Cassie in a way eerily reminiscent of Gabriel twelve years earlier, it’s turned into a dull ache that Castiel has mostly contained in the back of his chest. They’re on their way to Cassie’s apartment, the first stop on their way to a cabin spring break of their junior year, and the ache is suddenly threatening to break through his ribcage.

But the sun is warm on his cheek, and the radio is playing a soft summer soundtrack, so Castiel allows Dean’s happiness to wash over him long enough to forget who—or, more importantly, who isn’t—causing it. He grins at his best friend before turning his gaze back out the passenger window of the Impala.

Oh all I ever wanted was a life in your shape So I follow the white lines, follow the white lines, Keep my eyes on the road as I ache

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

Look at you, strawberry blond

Dean and Cassie break up, and Dean drinks for a month, but Castiel getting into Stanford for grad school distracts him just long enough to go back to normal (a normal that does not involve thinking about how Dean nearly kissed him when they were both drunk the night he got his acceptance).

This new normal involves staring graduation in the face, and California beyond that, and moving out of his Chicago apartment somewhere in this middle, which also involves coming to terms with moving away from Dean.

Until Sam gets his own acceptance to Stanford a few months later. Then Dean starts sending him links to two-bedroom apartments, and using “we” when talking about the move, and looks just as confused as Castiel when he asks about it.

“Well, yeah. I mean, with you gone, and now Sam—You thought you were going by yourself?”

And even though Castiel vaguely thinks this is a bad idea, and living with his best friend who he’s been in love with for his entire memory had been hard enough for the two years they’d been doing it, he can’t say no. Because every time he gets up the nerve to say something Dean calls him over and shoves his laptop into Castiel’s face, talking about hiking trails and flower fields and front lawns and dogs, and that quells any doubt he had.

They move to Palo Alto, into a townhouse with a lawn and a communal garden. Dean adopts a golden retriever.

Fields rolling on, I love it when you call my name

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

Can you hear the bumblebees swarm? Watching your arm

Two months into Castiel’s first year of graduate school they have a picnic, taking advantage of the lingering warmth of the California fall. Sam is off in the field playing with Zeppelin, obviously having used the ‘come meet my brother’s dog’ excuse to invite the pretty blonde woman (Jess?) chasing the golden with him. Dean is rambling about Star Trek and Castiel is paying half attention, the majority of his focus on the reading in front of him because professors don’t consider picnics an extension-worthy excuse.

He’s just started to get invested when he hears a yelp and looks up to see Dean Winchester, his best friend, most trusted confidant and the possible love of his life, swatting a bumblebee. Cas gasps, reading forgotten, and lunges across the picnic blanket to grab Dean’s wrist. “Dean.” He chastises, and Dean gives him a look.

“It’s a bee, Cas.”

“It’s a bumblebee, which are essential—”

“To our ecosystem, yeah, but it’s pretty essential to me that it doesn’t sting me.”

“It won’t sting you if you don’t swat at it.”

“You didn’t see the look on it, man. It meant business.”

“Bees are attracted to sugar. You probably just smell good.”

Dean grins. “You calling me sweet, Cas?”

And, well, no. He isn’t. He’s talking about the empty pie tin next to Dean. But the words make him realize just how close they are, how far he’d moved into Dean’s space in his efforts to stop his hand, how the force of the movement had pushed Dean almost back onto his elbows.

He opens his mouth to respond the way he usually does to Dean’s cavalier flirting, but the words don’t leave his mouth—which is, somehow, he swears, closer to Dean’s than it was a second ago. Just as Castiel is preparing to push back, clear his throat, and add this moment onto a growing list of almost-but-not-quite moments stretching back years, Dean sucks in a breath and closes the gap.

Castiel reacts before his brain can fully comprehend what’s going on, bypassing any shock entirely and kissing Dean back immediately. He lets go of his wrist, instead bringing his hand to the side of Dean’s face, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. Dean pushes himself back up and wraps an arm around Castiel’s waist, pulling him essentially into his lap, and then they’re kissing, and Dean smells like summer and tastes like apple pie, and Castiel suddenly understands more than ever why bees are always buzzing around him.

It feels like a lifetime until it’s over, until they’re just staring at each other and out of breath, both scared to say anything and break the magic they’d accidentally created. The silence is only broken by a shout from across the grass, followed shortly by a tennis ball that nearly misses them, followed by 65 pounds of golden retriever that does not miss them and nearly topples Castiel in his pursuit of the ball. And then Sam comes running after the dog, still shouting—apologies, this time—and then there’s Jess, laughing hysterically, and then Castiel has to scramble out of the way because Zeppelin has made a U-turn, interpreting the whole commotion as a game of keep-away.

Dean meets his eye above the chaos and grins, and the sunlight hits his dirty blonde hair, and it’s so breathtaking Castiel almost forgets to smile back.

I love it when you look my way.

[e-luxion]

Can you please explain Johnny’s chart now that we know his rising? I never saw him as a Virgo rising but people say it makes sense and I’m like??? I’m not too into astrology to know

Yeah I agree with you, virgo was the last thing on my mind, even tho I think I first typed him as Leo Rising after thinking I was like 100% earth (more Taurus than anything) + 5th house placements so I wasn't wrong, but not right either 😂 I am actually excited to do this

𝙒𝙝𝙮 𝙞𝙩 𝙈𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙎𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙅𝙤𝙝𝙣𝙣𝙮 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙑𝙞𝙧𝙜𝙤 𝙍𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜:

It is not the Virgo Rising itself, it's actually where his planets fall that makes perfect sense imo:

Sun and Mercury in the 5th house 

I say Johnny has 5th house energy a little too much but I never actually explain why

Sun in the 5th house people are m a g n e t i c. Whether they want to or not, they unconsciously end up being the centre of attention. More times than not people with this placement feel like they were born to do ‘more’ and to shine

5th house suns are warm, generous, creative and for the most part, can be very confident in who they are depending how well or bad aspected this placement is

Even if they are less confident deep inside, they try to be confident and to be that light for others

MERCURY IN THE 5TH -- holy shit, I share this placement and yes, some people find us a bit annoying but we don’t talk about that 

People with this placement tend to be very talkative, they don’t seem to run out of topics to talk about, you could put them in a room with anyone and they’ll find a common ground. 

Natives of this placement tend to also talk almost with hidden meanings, there is always a tone of innuendo, there is always a joke in there somehow

This placement is very much “primary school teacher energy”

Not great at concentration cos there is just so many things they want to do, they always want to do something new and fun. Mercury shows us how we communicate but also how we think, and in this house it becomes... a lot.

Moon in the 10th house

This placement is very interesting, imo the moon is the most important thing in our chart. It shows you not only what makes you feel comfortable and how you feel, but your relationship with your mother, how you were raised, it’s a one of the most decisive pillars of “you”

It’s cause and consequence, it shows you how you were raised and how that affected present day you

This is stereotypical but his career and status is truly very important to him, he needs it to feel safe and fulfilled. It makes sense how no matter how hard it got, how much they pushed his debut to later, he persevered and is such a hard worker.

A m b i t i o u s 

People with this placement are actually very sensitive and have a natural need to care for others, they are easily affected by the outside world which makes them want to almost protect others

It’s honestly such a dad placement

Things associated with this placement are definitely a parent sort of vibe, they are responsible and caring, they worry about others around them

Fun Fact, people with this specific placement tend to attract admiration from others, they inspire security and trust. Other musicians with this placement are John Lennon and Kurt Cobain, both people who inspired millions of people and to this day are remembered

Venus in the 4th house

This is another thing that just painfully makes sense 

You know how this man is always like blah kids, marriage, sentimental shit?? THIS is why! This right here, is a big reason why Johnny is the way he is half of the time I swear. The homey romantic vibes? Heavy 4th house venus shit

4th house Venus people are so nurturing, sensitive and calm? Venus most commonly tells you how you are in love, what kind of partners you want but it shows more than that, it tells you how you look after things, your possessions, your aesthetic... 

Johnny’s love for soft toys, oversized fluffy clothes, all of that is due to his 4th house Venus. He is also probably very sentimental with things from his childhood, or things that remind him of home 

When they fall in love, it is serious because their mentality is for the long term, they are very family oriented hence why they can be wary of who they date

People with this placement have the nicest houses and rooms cos they just know how to make a house a home, it’s always so cozy and dating them would probably feel like like an early morning, wrapped in multiple blanket with the fire place on, hot cocoa and the rain outside

On the downside, people with the placement can be TOO sentimental, to the point where is hard for them to let go of things 

Mars in the 12th

Actually this was the only one which was surprising to me, but tbh this is not a side we would often see of Johnny since we don’t know him like that. And 12th house “hides” whatever it falls on, it internalises it to an extent that the native might not actually be aware of this energy

His Mars in Leo makes him quick to anger, but mars in the 12th house makes him hide that anger, bottle it up until it comes out in a scary way because it was left undealt with for too long

Other things in his chart tell us that he has no problem going after things, like going after his career or pursuing hobbies and success. But this right here shows me that in some ways, he is scared to fully express himself due to an unconscious fear to be vulnerable

Sometimes they focus to helping people too much to hide this vulnerability and their own issues

Coming to terms with his own sensitivity and release toxic mentality is something he probably struggled with at some point 

On a positive note, people with this placement tend to be very welcoming and open-minded towards other, they show the kindness to others that they don't necessarily show themselves

a lot of bitches with 12th house placements in nct damn

Jupiter in the 3rd 

At its most basic, this literally tells you that his talent (Jupiter) is in communication (3rd). Very agile minds, who love learning and acquiring information about different topics, people, things, everything

People with this placement lead the conversation, very positive and enthusiastic in the way they talk with others. Sometimes can be a bit preachy but for the most part they’re open minded, curious, and say what’s on their mind, super expressive when sharing their ideas

@/astroismypassion mentioned that Jupiter in the 3rd native might have moved hometown more than once in their life which I find very interesting as this man moved across the globe to make his dreams come true

Philosophy, arts, cultures, stuff like that is very interesting to them and travelling is a form of mind expansion for them

Jupiter shows us where we have privilege and here it’s education, and a larger than life mentality that them well received by others; they are gifted at communication which means that people usually take them seriously as they can be very eloquent 

Saturn in the 6th

Another placement I share with Johnny which I think would be a flex if it wasn’t for the fact that Saturn in the 6th is actually a very difficult position to have. Saturn is not necessarily happy in this house

It shows an obsession with work, keeping a routine, organising but also struggling in all those areas. For example, you obsessively plan your life because you really struggle naturally to follow plans, timetables and stay organise

People with this placement have a tendency to overwork themselves until they’re ill, so health problems might be occur often due to this. You fear failure so it feels like you can never stop working hard, just in case you fall behind. Anxiety, self criticism is very common here

Honestly he has a couple of placements that just scream chronic workaholic 

Pisces Descendant:

I don't know if this is weird but I thought he had to have Pisces in a “favourable” house, because he seems to attract or get along with people who have Pisces placements specifically so this is not surprising at all.

I’m ngl this man probably daydreams about his s/o, if he is single he’ll just make up little scenarios in his head or has a very clear idea of the kind of interactions or person he wants

Very idealistic, gentle and compassionate in love but also wants partners that match this energy. Heart on his sleeve kind of vibe

He probably attracts slightly chaotic partners, the dreamy artists types 

This man clearly doesn’t want just any love story, he wants the sort of fairy tale romance he can tell his grandkids 

7th house is also like enemies and shit, but I’m not going to talk about 

Gemini Midheaven 

When you meet someone, there is 3 main things you see about them and that is Ascendant, Mercury and Midheaven. Especially when it comes to celebrities, we see their midheaven more than anything 

Gemini MC people always have something going on, they have like 5 careers at the same time, very multi-faceted people. They’re not quite happy at doing one thing but they’re also very adaptable 

In the work environment, he could adapt to others and very much go with the flow of things, jack of all trades. Whatever happens, he can do it and does it well

For now I am going to go on more explaining why everyone is like uhh it makes sense and later I'll actually make a post with more information, in my drafts I have this one post by xx saved from like a year ago of their personality analysis of Johnny, in which they asked if any astrology people could you know back this up. I had written a whole response to it but now that we know I will make a more detailed response and analysis of his birth chart 👁️👁️

𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊, 𝕷𝖚𝖑𝖚 𝖝𝖔𝖝

[stxvercgersslut]

Always Here

Prompts: “Please don’t go”

A/n: I just had to make this with these promps 😂 @stargazingfangirl18 @navybrat817 this was my fave to write! Also I have nails on that may prevent me from actually writing the correct words sometimes so I apologise 😂

Description: y/n got horribly sick the night before Chris had to go for a huge life changing interview forcing the actor to chose what’s more important to him.

A/n; in this specific oneshot the reader is 3 years old so still a toddler ☺️ I also switch from she/her to you/your quite often. Divider just marks where point of view changes 💞

Temporary tag list: @et-lesailes @jtargaryen18

Warnings: mentions of vomit and over all tones of fluff

Chris Evans x Daughter! Reader

“Yeah yeah, John I’ll be there in around 30 minutes. I’m just about to leave the house now. Just have to drop y/n off at Scott’s for the day and then I’ll be on my way.” The 39 year old actor spoke through his phone whilst juggling not only eating his breakfast but also having to make his little 3 year old, y/n’s, breakfast too all the while having a conversation with his manager about his latest interview. Of course making sure that he was concentrating on cutting Y/n’s toast in to perfect triangles, if they were anything less then perfect of course she would just point blank refuse to eat it, just barely listening to Jake at this point. Even if he didn’t understand her peculiar routine, Chris would never say no to her. He couldn’t help it, she was just too damn adorable.

From the moment that Y/n had been placed in his arms exactly 3 years ago, the actor had vowed to always protect her from demons that lerk around them until the day that he too his last breath. Which he of course prayed wouldn’t be too soon since he longed to watch his precious angel grow up into the strong confident women he was positive she was going to turn into. “Okay well make sure you get here quickly. You’re already fifteen minuets late Chris. I don’t know how much longer I can stall them.” The sigh of frustration coming from the other end of the phone line was pretty damn obvious as John thought about the next words he could say. It was almost extremely audible to hear the cogs turning in his head. But Chris couldn’t have been more pissed from his managers choice of words if he tried. However, he attempted to keep his cool. If not for his sake then for his 3 year olds sake. She really didn’t need to hear him get angry. Especially not on the phone. “Okay okay! I’m sorry, y/n’s been awake all night with a cough.” And with that Chris finally wrapped up his conversation, hanging up the phone and leaving the kitchen, Y/n’s perfectly neat triangle toast in hand.

By the time chris had walked back into his toddlers room he found that she was unfortunately still passed out in her miniature toddler sized bed. Snuggled firmly into the blankets looking like a beautiful angel from where he was standing. How could he wake her up from such a deep slumber when she’d only just managed to fall asleep nearly an hour ago? Exactly! He just couldn’t. She looked so peaceful laying there with the blankets draped across her, almost as if she had no care in the world. Her y/h/c locks smushed across her face hiding the otherwise noticeable flush of red on her cheeks from the fever that she had been running. Any other day Chris would have cancelled to stay with her, but today he couldn’t. Not when his career needed the extra little boost.

But then again what mattered more to him? His career? Or the physical well-being of his 3 year old daughter? Now that was a question that hardly needed an answer! Especially when it was clear as day that Chris would choose his little girl in a heartbeat if he could. No matter what! But this situation was different. Unfortunately he couldn’t just say no to his manager without a good reason for cancelling, although Y/n being incredibly sick was definitely a good enough reason right?

❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅

With a great big sigh the actor finally placed your toast on the side before gently pulling the blankets from over you, exposing your tiny little figure to the welcomes cool air. “Sweetheart? Y/n? Can you wake up for me please?” Your father soothes as he attempted to coax you into waking up, but he should have known better. If he wanted you to wake up quickly then he should have thought of a better way of doing so then just shaking you. But with you being so weak from barely getting any sleep? He wasn’t exactly sure you would wake up. “Come on baby...can you wake up for daddy?” This time Chris managed to pick you up, rocking you from side to side like he had when you were barely hours old but this time being a little firmer with his rocking in his arms to make damn sure that you did wake up. And soon enough you finally did.

Slowly but surely your eyes opened, taking in your surroundings once again as your eyes adjusted to the agonisingly bright room, working hard to bring yourself back to reality. “Morning bubba” he cooed, seconds away from offering you toast before you once again began to cough harshly. Pulling a cringe like expression into his face. “Awe baby, I hate leaving when you’re like this, but I really don’t have a choice....will you be okay with uncle Scott for a few hours?” Chris questioned whilst still rocking you ever so gently, his right hand beginning to rub and pat your back In hopes that it would somehow help you stop coughing. Or at least just help you settle. At this point Chris seriously was considering just cancelling the interview with Jimmy Fallon so that he could stay with you. Once you’d finally stopped with your god damn awful coughing fit that your body had subjected you to, you were finally able to speak. “Daddy no leave! Daddy stay! Please don’t go”You spoke hoarsely whilst snuggling closer into Chris’s chest making his heart begin to tear due to how sick you were. Now it really was difficult to pluck up the courage to leave you. “Daddy can’t stay baby, I have to go to work. But you’re going to have a lot of fun with uncle Scott okay? He’s going to take care of you whilst I’m not there” The Male spoke as he kissed the top of your sweaty forehead, grimacing at home warm toy actually were. Which of course seemed to make Chris slightly more curious as to if you were fit enough to even sit in the back seat of his car where he wouldn’t be able to see you.

Thankfully Chris’s trail if thought had been paused when the sound of his ring tone echoed around the room, finally hitting his ears and startling you in the process. Quickly fishing out his phone only to find that this was in fact Scott calling, making his eye light up. Now was his chance to help you as much as physically possible. “Hey Scott, what’s up?” Chris spoke as he finally answered the phone, sitting down on your bed with you still in his arms as he attempted to get you to at least eat one piece or toast. Which at the moment you seemed to just completely refuse. Making Chris even more concerned, meaning that he really wasn’t paying much attention to his brother. In fact, he had completely missed everything that Scott had said, humming in agreement even though he had no idea what he was even agreeing too. For all he knew he was agreeing to sky diving.

❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅

Did Chris really think he was born yesterday? Apparently so. Come on Chris it really didn’t take a genius to realise that his own brother wasn’t paying attention. So instead of babbling on about whatever he has been trying to speak to his brother about, because at this point even he had forgotten, he did the decent thing and made sure to check on his older brother. “Ch—“ the younger sibling questioned before being stoppe by the stomach churning unpleasant sound of his usually bubbly niece coughing harshly through the phone. The sound in itself was enough to shatter Scott’s heart to pieces. He loved that little girl with a passion, always asking about her whenever he talked to Chris, so to hear that she was so ill seemed to spark worry in the younger Evans sibling. “Chris? Don’t go to that interview and don’t even think about even putting her in your car!” The Male demanded as he grimaced at the sound of his niece coughing a lot more violently now, until the sound of her throwing up and Chris’s loud sigh could be heard from the other end of the phone. Oh that poor girl. She really was having the worst time right now.

❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅

The line went dead for a solid 3 minutes as Chris hurried to the bathroom, never stopping the slow motion of his hand rubbing small circles on your back in hopes that, if you needed to throw up again, the small gesture would help to prevent you from having to force the vomit out of your throat. “Okay baby okay....that’s not gonna come out of your hair on its own...I’m gonna need to bath you” the actor explained to you whilst helping you stand next to the toilet, directing your head into the bowl as you threw up again. Of course, forgetting Scott was even on the phone until the sound of his brother deliberately shouting int the phone for a response seemed to startle him. Quickly picking up the phone before they started their conversations (italics is Scott normal is Chris.

“Chris?! What the hell just happened?”

“Y/n threw up all over herself and me. I need to go call John and let him know I’m gonna be later then expected.”

“Don’t you dare! Send me Johns number and I’ll call him, you’re not going to leave the house! Instead you’re going to stay with your daughter and make sure she’s okay! Y/n comes first always”

“Funny thing is you’re not actually the boss of me”

“No I’m not but that doesn’t mean I won’t beat your ass if you don’t stay with your three year old daughter!”

“Scott this interview could be career changing!”

“And if you don’t stay with y/n it’ll be life changing!”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. If you leave Y/n then something could happen whilst you’re being interviewed. Do you really want to risk that chance?”

“No not really”

“The stay with Y/n and send me johns number.”

Chris’s groan wasn’t barely above a whisper as he pressed his phone against his shoulder, keeping his ear firmly against it to prevent any unwanted accidents whilst he filled the bathtub with warm water. Of course grimacing every time you threw up into the toilet. Oh how he wanted to take this dreadful bug from you. But he just couldn’t. “Okay okay fine!” And with that Chris ended the conversation with his brother, swiftly hanging up the phone and forwarding his managers number to Scott before switching his phone off. There was no need to keep his phone on now since you were all that mattered to him right now. Besides, if he did answer his phone or even keep it turned on then he’d 100% end up arguing with his manager about ‘not taking his job seriously’. That just couldn’t happen right now.

Soon enough Chris halted the flow of warm and cold water, quickly dipping his elbow into the mix to make sure it wouldn’t scold you before he finally turned to you once it was deemed child friendly. “Alright pumpkin, lets get you all cleaned up and into some new pjs. Hopefully your fever will go down after your bath.” The Male soothes as he waited for you to finally finish throwing up before picking you up to bath you. Oh he was most certainly in for a tough day.

[castielific]

Title: Fancy and the tramp

Story status: Complete, 8 chapters

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dean/Castiel, Alternate Universe, Fake boyfriends, pretend relationship, homeless!Dean, rich!Cas, family, angst with a happy ending, temporary breakup, getting back together, coming out, past!homophobia, self esteem issues, Dean Winchester has a sexuality crisis, first time, homelessness, bed sharing, pining

Sex tags: anal sex, switching, bottom!Cas, bottom!Dean, first time, frottage, marking, blowjob, fingering, barebacking

Special warning: Contrary to what the title may presage, there are no spaghettis in this story. 

Summary: 

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods.

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new fake boyfriend. What a weird day. 

Link to AO3

Chapter 1 under the cut:

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

"Come on Ricky, you owe me that money!" Dean says on his phone, taking a step forward when the line of the coffee shop shortens. 

"I don't owe you shit, Dean. You still owe me the last three months of your rent," his ex landlord says on the phone.

"And I'll pay you, you know I will. But to get the money, I need a job, and to get that job I need some new clothes and-"

"Yeah yeah, I know the deal. You think no one has told me that one before? No bueno, man, I'm keeping your deposit," Ricky grumbles. 

Dean groans in frustration. "Come on, all I need is fifty dollars so I can buy a pair of pants without any holes in it. You give me fifty, I get the job and I pay you back, how does that sound?" he tries to negotiate. 

"Like a fucking lie," Ricky spits just before hanging up.

"No Ric-fuck!" 

The woman in front of him in line sends him a dark look. Dean rolls his eyes at her. Like she hasn't heard worse before. 

Ricky was his last shot. It was a long one, he really does owe that bastard some serious money. Guess he can kiss the job interview at two goodbye. It's some kind of assistant job. It sounds easy enough, buying coffee and picking dry cleaning and stuff. It was still a long shot anyway. Dean's only real job experience is being a bagger boy when he was seventeen and it lasted about two months before his dad decided to move them further east. 

So far, he'd always managed to get by doing repairs or cleaning at gas stops and motels. The older he gets and the harder it gets to find that kind of random job. People are more willing to give a few bucks in exchange for manual tasks to a kid than they are to a nearly thirty years old guy. Now they just tell him to fuck off. 

And since it's always been casual and off the book, the only official work experience he has is the bagger thing. He doesn't even have a high school diploma because he dropped out long before that. Not exactly a stellar resume. Which explains why he hasn't found work in eight month and is currently living in his car. Thank God he has Baby. 

He had been too ambitious thinking he could get his own place. It could only pay rent for about five months before he went broke. He's never had a home before, and had no idea that having an apartment cost so much. In motels, you don't exactly have to pay for water or heat or utilities. There was a bunch of stuff he hadn't planned for that ate up the last of his meagre savings. Ricky threw him out after three months when Dean couldn't scrape up enough money to pay rent anymore, putting a violent stop to Dean's pipe dream of living a normal life. He hoped it would be simpler to get a job if he had an actual address, had even thought about scrapping up enough to maybe get his GED. He's not sure what he's going to do now. 

He's always wanted to be a mechanic. If his dad ever taught him anything, it was how to take care of the Impala. John taught him all the basics and Dean got the knack of it. As a teen, he spent days reading car magazines and working on the Impala, trying to learn as much as he could about how cars worked and how to repair the different parts. He knows enough by now that he could easily work in a garage, but he's got no diploma, and hasn't found anyone willing to hire him on faith alone. 

The line of the coffee shop shortens again, the barista asking her order to the goody-two-shoes in front of him. Dean looks regretfully at the display of sandwiches. He searches his pockets and only comes up with three dollars. Of course, the cheapest piece of food cost four dollars. Dean sighs. Guess just a coffee will have to do today. 

He won't have another choice but to go to the soup kitchen tonight. He hates it there. The food is crap and he wants to punch the prancy people serving it. They always try to give him some Jesus bullshit with his food, like Jesus is ever gonna put a roof over his head and find him a decent job. Neither Jesus nor God nor whatever gives a crap about him. Not that he blames them. Hell, if they exist they're probably not big fans of the guy that used to slip into church as a kid to pick the lock of the donation box

"Just an americano, please," Dean says regretfully when the barista asks for his order. At least it will keep him warm and fill his stomach for a short while.

Halloween just went by and the weather is becoming really cold. He should use the last of Baby's tank to go as far south as he can before winter really hits. He probably won't get farther than Wichita though, and the thought makes him shiver. No one wants to get stuck for a winter in Wichita. Maybe he could go and see if he can make a few bucks at the nearest motel, that kind of place always needs a handyman's help. He hasn't tried the one on Corn Street yet. He's noticed only two lights are still working on their sign, he could offer to help with that. If he makes fifty bucks, he might be able to reach Austin. 

Dean stops on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, pondering if he should walk to the bar a few streets down or the motel. Sometimes Benny, the owner of the bar, lets him use the sink in the back to wash up. If he's lucky, he'll even get some leftovers from last night. It's generally just some stale pretzels, cold fries on good days, but it's still better than nothing. He's got two cans of beans and a car with an near empty tank to his name right now, so he's not picky. 

Dean takes a look at his watch. It's eleven thirty already, the leftovers are probably already in the trash at Benny's. The motel is probably his best bet. 

"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you pretend to be my boyfriend." comes a hoarse voice, way too close to his ear. 

Dean jumps, nearly spilling his coffee on himself. He spins to the right to face the man who just talked and is met with a pair of clear blue eyes. Way too close again. He waits a second for the man to take a step back as he realises as close Dean turning brought them, but the guy just continues to stare at him, head slightly tilted to the side. He's wearing an oversized trench coat over a dark blue suit that looks expensive. He's so close a gust of wind makes the bottom of his coat brushes Dean's shin. 

"Dude, personal space," Dean reproaches, taking a step back. "And fuck off, I don't swing that way," he adds, not meanly. It's not the first time he's getting hit on by a dude. Sadly, not even the weirdest. He's strictly into chicks though, so no dice.

"Two hundred bucks," the man insists. He looks ready to fall on his knees and beg, eyes going wider and wider as he throws a panicked look to the right of Dean's shoulder. "It won't take more than ten minutes and all you have to do is nod along," he begs, making Dean wonders if he's in danger somehow. Maybe he has a stalker or an abusive ex? 

Dean follows his eyes to a woman coming closer. She's very elegant in a grey pantsuit and a long white fur coat as she walks straight toward them. He can feel her eyes judging him even from thirty feet away, looking at him from head to toes. If he wasn't already self-aware of the number of holes in his jeans, he would definitely be under that gaze. 

"Five hundred dollars," the other man whispers just as the blond woman reaches them. 

"Castiel, dear, you should have told me we would have company, I would have notified the restaurant," the woman says, sending a clearly disapproving look toward Dean as she deposits a kiss on the other man's - (Castiel, apparently, what kind of name is that??) - cheek. 

"Mother, let me introduce you to my boyfriend," Castiel says, looking ill at ease. He's obviously not a very good liar. 

Dean blinks a few times as their attention turns toward him. Castiel seems to be trying to communicate something with his eyes, and Dean frowns in incomprehension for a moment before he gets the hint. 

"Huh. Dean. Winchester," he finally says. "Ma'am," he adds when she just continues to stare at him like he has grease smeared all over his face. He's pretty sure that she wouldn't want to touch his hand if he were to offer it to shake, so he doesn't. 

"Naomi Novak," she introduces herself. "What a delight to finally meet Castiel's new companion," Naomi says, her deadpan tone contradicting her words. "Of course, I would have preferred not to be ambushed by such an announcement. Castiel, you know, that Le Délice hates it when we change our reservation last minute. Who knows if they will even have a table for three," she declares, already composing a number on her phone. 

"It's okay, mother, Dean won't be joining us for lunch."

"Oh, is it because your attire isn't appropriate?" Castiel's mother asks, looking at the holes in Dean's jeans and the big leather jacket that used to be his dad's. "I assure you they won't say a word about it if you're with us," she reassures. 

Dean squirms a little, wondering what the hell is even happening. Ten minutes ago he was buying a coffee and going at his day like a perfectly normal person (well, albeit a homeless and jobless one). Now, his fashion sense is being criticized by the mother of a man who is pretending to be his boyfriend. Did a piano fall on his head or something? Has he finally lost his mind?

He looks to the man beside him. He's scratching the side of his neck in nervousness. The move makes his coat fall a little over his wrist, revealing a freaking Rolex watch. Dean looks back to the woman, eyes sliding on her diamond earrings and the huge rock around her neck. 

You know what? That's not okay. His stomach has been crying for food since last morning, and he's what? Supposed to help this stranger by saying no to free lunch at one of the most prestigious restaurants in town? Fuck no. He's gonna eat like a king and make a few hundred bucks off the back of those rich assholes. 

"In that case, it would be my pleasure to join you," Dean announces with his most charming smile. 

"What?" Castiel can't help but bark. "But y-your work thing?" he tries, sweating. The round panic eyes are back. Dean sends him his best shit eating grin. They both know he now either has to invite this stranger to lunch or reveal the lie to his mother. The guy is trapped and may as well continue to play along.

"It's not as important as a chance to finally get to know your mother, honey," Dean answers. "He's told me so many nice things about you, Naomi. Can I call you Naomi?"

"Of course, dear," Naomi says. She looks a little wide eyed too, probably thrown by Dean turning on the charm to the max.

"Perfect! We shall go now, we don't want to miss your reservation. I do hope it won't be too much of a bother for them to add a chair to your table," Dean says. He should probably tone it down with the pompous tone, because he nearly added an English accent here. 

Naomi leads the way, and Dean is going to follow when a hand grabbing his arm makes him fall a few steps behind. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Castiel hisses.

"Acting as your boyfriend?" Dean says innocently. By Castiel's glare, he's not fooled. 

"I asked you to nod silently for ten minutes, not to do method acting for a whole meal," he reproaches. Naomi sends a look behind her shoulder and Castiel smiles at her like there is no worries, indicating for her to lead the way, 

Dean shrugs. "I had some free time."

"I'm not giving you more money than planned, if that's your goal," Castiel says with a suspicious squint. 

"I'm fine with the five hundred as long as you're also paying for lunch," Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows as they walk toward the restaurant. Something passes on Castiel's face that Dean can't quite identify. The other man stares at him for so long that it's a wonder he doesn't trip. He finally relents with a long suffering sigh as they enter 'Le Délice'. 

Apparently, Naomi Novak is prominent enough that they don't mind changing her reservation after all. They're seated at a table near a legit indoor fountain. Dean is looking around, trying not to let show how impressed he is by the place. The walls are made of stone and covered in frescos that he always thought you couldn't see outside of a church or castle. A waiter gives him a leather covered menu and Dean opens it eagerly. After a few niceties to Naomi, they're asked what they want to drink. Dean has an inkling that he probably shouldn't ask for a beer in an establishment like this. 

"Same for me, please," he says after Castiel ordered some wine with a name Dean can't pronounce. At least, he hopes that's wine. Who knows. Hell, in this place the bottles of water are probably more expensive than his usual brand of beer. 

Dean starts to second guess his decision when he realizes that the menu is in french. What is it with rich people and France? He just wants a damn steak, how do you say that in french? Is there even steaks here or is it just frog legs and snails? Oh god, he hopes not. 

"I think I'll take the duck today," Naomi notes. "Nobody cooks it better than chef Francis. How about you Dean? Have you ever come here before?" There is a mean glint in her eyes that says she knows perfectly well he hasn't. Hell, from the side eyes he got from everyone as they crossed the room, everyone here knows he's not from their world. There are three holes in his jeans, threads hanging from the bottom and his dad's leather jacket probably should have ended up in the trash about three years ago. Even now, it's still too big for him and the sleeves are so scruffed that they're nearly paper thin. The original dark brown color has turned to a light beige in most places from wear. His scruff is just the bad side of too long now, and he hasn't had a haircut since April, strands starting to fall into his eyes. At least, he's wearing his best plaid shirt and managed to wash up last night, so he's not smelling too rank. Why would Castiel pick him out of all the people in the street at that moment to play his boyfriend? It makes no sense at all. From the guy's obvious discomfort as he hides behind his menu, he probably realizes it. 

"Actually, Naomi, duck sounds like a delicious idea," Dean says, voluntarily ignoring her question. To be honest, he’s never even eaten duck before, but it's poultry so it probably taste like chicken. You can't go wrong with chicken, right? His stomach certainly likes the idea, gurgling so loudly that he has to hide it behind a cough. 

Castiel ends up ordering some fish and soon their drinks arrive. Dean barely has time to sip at his red wine before Naomi pounces. 

"So, tell me everything, how did you two meet?"

Dean nearly chokes on his drink. Castiel seems to gulp down his whole glass. 

"We met at a coffee shop. Dean was in line in front of me and we started to talk," Castiel explains, not quite meeting anyone's eyes.

"How quaint!" Naomi exclaims, clasping her hands in delight. "I'm just sorry that you didn't tell me about it sooner, Castiel. How long have you been keeping this charming man a secret?"

"Not-," Castiel clears his throat, "-not long."

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you Dean. I sure wish this luncheon will give me the chance to learn everything about you."

Luncheon? Who even talks like that outside of Downton Abbey?

"I do hope I'll get to keep some mystery, we wouldn't want this guy to lose interest," Dean says with a wink. He pats Castiel's hand on the table. Should he hold it or something? How open on PDA are gay people those days? Not that he knows more about how heterosexual couple act in public anyway, especially in those crowds. It's probably safer to keep the PDA to a minimum here. 

"You have to at least tell me some things. For one, what career path are you on?" She looks like a shark circling her prey. 

"I'm a mechanic," he lies. He'd rather stay as close to the truth as possible. It's a little unfair that Castiel is letting him do all the talking when his initial demand was that he stayed silent, especially since it's his skin that Dean is apparently saving, but the guy looks like he's swallowed a potato whole. 

"Oh, that's...interesting," Naomi says in that insincere tone of hers. She looks like he told her he was fucking children’s corpses every full moon. He's two seconds away from telling her that he's actually jobless, penniless, and homeless, just to see her face, when Castiel intervenes. 

"How is Anna's engagement party coming on?" 

Thankfully, this seems to be a subject Naomi loves because she tells them about every aspect of the future party all the way through their meal. 

Duck, as it turns out, is actually very good. It's more like red meat than chicken, which is a great surprise. Although, Dean isn't a fan of the way rich people put tiny quantities of food in very large plates. He eats all the dinner rolls and scrapes every single bit of sauce out of his plate, yet he's still hungry by the end of it. He nearly starts crying when the waiter asks them if they'll take dessert and Naomi declines. He's starting to wonder if that little piece of duck was worth sitting through lunch with her. 

"That sounds like you're turning this into a wonderful event, mother, Anna must be delighted," Castiel compliments. 

"Oh, you know your sister," Naomi waves it off. "It sure feels like a nice opportunity to introduce your new beau to everyone."

Dean frowns. What's a beau? Is that him? That's not him, right?

"I wouldn't dare take any attention away from Anna," Castiel tries to refuse. 

"Don't be daft, you know your sister won't care. Everyone will be so happy that you've finally found-" she passes a long look, over Dean, like she's doubting anyone would actually approve of him. She certainly doesn't seem to, "-someone," she finishes lamely. 

"Oh shoot, I don't think I'm available that night," Dean tries to play off. 

"I'm not sure I've told you the date of it yet."

"Cas did," he says. The other man perks up at the surname, but whatever, 'Castiel' is a mouthful. "And I have this huh work thing, you know? Bummer," Dean says with a fake pout. 

"What kind of 'work thing' can a mechanic possibly have on a Saturday evening?"

Dean tenses up, pursing his lips. "One he can't get out of?"

"Nonsense, you're coming," Naomi brushes off. And that is that apparently. Shit. There is a vein about to pop on Castiel's forehead. "Castiel, dear, you look a little white. Was the fish okay?"

"I-Yeah-I-Actually, do you think we could possibly cut our lunch short? I am indeed feeling quite unwell."

"Of course, my dear," Naomi says, leaning forward until her hand touches his forehead. "You're as clammy as a fish. I should come home with you, and make sure you're okay," she announces, taking her napkin off her lap and deposing it on the table, ready to stand up. 

"No!" Castiel stops her, a little too brusquely. "I-Dean will take good care of me, don't worry," he says, getting up and grabbing Dean's arm so he does so too. Dean follows his lead, all too happy to get out of here. "Stay and enjoy your tea, mother."

"If you say so," Naomi says, sending an unsure look at Dean, obviously upset at being brushed off in his favor. "Call me this evening, or I'll worry all night."

"Of course, mother," Castiel acquiesces, kissing her cheek. Dean hovers behind him. Is he supposed to kiss her too? Wave hello? Shake her hand? 

"Dean," she says as what is apparently a sufficient goodbye. Thank God. "I'll be sure to see you on Saturday," she reminds just as they're walking away. 

Cas turns on him as soon as they're outside the restaurant. 

"What was that?!" he asks, not quite yelling. He starts pacing, rubbing a hand through his already pretty ruffled hair. 

"You owing me five hundred bucks? Dude, you're lucky I don't charge you more for the fresh hell I just lived through."

"You went through hell? You?!" his pacing gets faster and Dean has an idea that if he stops pacing he might punch him in the face. 

"That's what you get for asking this kind of stuff from a perfect stranger," Dean shrugs, pushing a pebble with the point of his shoe. His red sock is peeking out from a tiny hole near his big toe. It's such a contrast to how grand everything and everyone looked in there. It's making him feel like shit. He's maybe feeling a tiny bit guilty for trapping Castiel like that too. He doesn't seem like a bad guy, albeit one with a psycho mom.

Cas turns on him, eyes glaring and mouth open in what will probably be a flow of reproaches. He stops himself before he says anything though, seeming to deflate. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe instead, shoulders falling. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should be thanking you. I have no right to make you any reproach when I brought this on myself."

"It wasn't so bad, though, was it? I mean, I think I sold it?" Dean asks, a little hesitant. He even used pedantic talk and everything. 

"You did as well as could be expected."

"That's not much of a compliment…". 

"I shouldn't take more of your time," Cas apologizes, taking his wallet out. Dean goggles at the amount of cash in there. 

"You really shouldn't have that much cash on you, that's, like, asking for trouble."

Castiel squints at him like he's wondering if that means Dean is gonna rob him for a moment, before he hands him a wad of cash. 

Dean's eyes bulge out, "That's way more than five hundred dollars."

"There's also an advance in there to buy some clothes for the engagement party."

"The what now?" Dean blinks dumbly for a second until his brain catches up to what is happening. "Dude, no, I'm done!" 

"You were the one to push it so far in the first place," Castiel reminds. Accuses, really. 

"I just wanted to eat fancy food, okay! Not, like, go steady."

"There will be lots of food at my sister's engagement party," Castiel tries to persuade. Badly. 

Dean gives him a nonplussed look. The cash feels heavy in his hand. He's never had so much before. This could help him get a new start. What's a night of playing Downton Abbey compared to the many many nights he might not have to freeze his ass off in the backseat of his car thanks to it?

"Why are you even doing this anyway? And why would you choose me? Do I look that desperate for cash?"

"No," Cas says after what's definitely a too long pause. Dean scowls. "You were in front of me in the coffee shop line. I heard you talking on the phone. You said you needed some cash to buy a new outfit for a job interview. Begged, really."

"Where the fuck do you get on listening in on other people’s conversation?" 

"I didn't listen, I just heard."

"You know, what? Fuck you," Dean spits, "I don't need that bullshit in my life right now." He has enough cash to get to Austin and replenish his stock of food, even buy some new clothes. At least this way he can keep his dignity rather than being insulted by a bunch of rich assh-

"Please," Castiel begs, following him as Dean storms away. "You don't understand…"

"Oh I understand perfectly," Dean says, stopping and turning around so brusquely that they nearly bump into each other. "You think you can shit on other people from your high horse and that they'll still do your deed for a few hundred bucks. Well, I'm not your freaking puppet, man."

"I have never shitted on any-" he stops himself with a frustrated groan, before turning on the puppy dog eyes. "Dean, please. Listen to what I have to say at least?"

"I know what you're gonna say. I've seen that movie before, Cas. You're going to bring me to that party, so you can parade me around like I'm some earned price or some shit. Meanwhile you get to appease mommy dearest and the clan of hyenas putting pressure on you to find a husband, while still having the satisfaction of giving them a huge fuck you by bringing a guy like me instead of the golden boy they're dreaming of."

"I-" Castiel stops himself, pursing his lips. "That's actually not that far from the reality."

"Of course it isn't. Told you, I've seen that trope before. Except this is real life and your plan sucks, so you can keep your money and I'll keep my dignity. Just grow a pair and tell them all to fuck off, will ya?"

"You sure do like saying that to people," Castiel sulks. "Are you sure you can't do it for me?" 

"Oh believe me I would love to tell your mom to fuck off, but I like my balls attached to my body, so that's a hard pass."

Castiel laughs slightly at that and Dean can feel his own anger start to abate at the sound. "Good self-preservation instinct on your part," Cas mumbles. The puppy look is still there, except now it's making him feel like he's kicked the puppy.  

"You know, we're in the 21st century, right? You shouldn't feel pressured to the point of inventing a boyfriend. Who gives a shit about that nowadays?"

"My family does," Castiel answers in a long sigh. "You don't get it, how could you... I have three brothers, Dean," Castiel explains. "Two sisters. My little sister, who is just nineteen, just got engaged. I was already seen as the irremediably unwed one and now I…," he pauses, sending a nervous look at Dean, looking ashamed.

"Oh come on. How hard can it be? You're rich, objectively good looking. Do you have weird kinks or something?"

 "I-I wouldn't know. I've never even been in a relationship before," he confesses, looking at the ground.

"When you say 'relationship', you don't mean you've never…" Dean inquires. Cas' cheeks redden, and Dean blows like he just got punched. "Wow. That sucks."

"Yes, it's very pathetic."

"What? Eh no, it's not pathetic. Surprising, yeah. But, to each their own, you know?"

Cas inclines his head like he's not sure he does know. 

"I'm sorry I tried to drag you in all of this. You seem like a good man. You don't deserve-"

"-to be served on a platter to your family?" Dean asks, searching Castiel's gaze until they exchange a smile. 

"Yes. That." The man is still looking dejected. The money is still in Dean's hand. That duck really was good. Damn it.

"The food better be freaking awesome," Dean relents with a frustrated grunt. Castiel seems instantly relieved. "And you're not pretty woman-ing me," he warns, pointing a finger at the other man. "I'm choosing my own clothes and I don't give a shit if I don't know which fork to use for fish."

Castiel's head is tilted and he's blinking owlishly, like he doesn't understand a word that Dean is saying. Figures. He's not sure how he could convince anyone that he's this dork's boyfriend, honestly. Naomi certainly looked like she wasn't fooled. 

"I'm sorry for the way my mother behaved toward you. I assure you, being yourself will be amply sufficient to the task."

"Dude, the way y'all talk, where do you come from, Victorian England?"

"I-I don't think I have English ancestry, no. Why?"

They blink at each other for some time. 

"I must be a freaking masochist."

Cas' face scrunches up even more in incomprehension. 

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so: no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods. 

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new boyfriend. What a weird day... 

You can read the rest on AO3

[gumnut-logic]

The Tattoo (Part Ten, Bit 2 - The End)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven - Bit 1| Bit 2 | Part Eight - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Part Nine | Part Ten - Bit 1 | Bit 2

Okay, I’ve been staring at this all day. I have no idea what I’ve written anymore so I’m just going to dump this here and run ::hugs::

For @vegetacide​ cos it is her fault. Many thanks to @tsarinatorment​ @vegetacide​ and @scribbles97​ for the read throughs, plot help and support. This was a bloody hard one to write. It started with Virgil, but Scott ate me alive. 2848 words, fic total 18,111 words.

I hope you enjoy whatever the result was.

-o-o-o-

“Son, sit down.” He waved him to a chair across from him.

A sigh. So, interview it was.

He loved his father. Would go to the ends of the solar system and beyond for him, but some things never changed. Jeff Tracy was a determined man.

At least Scott knew where he got it from.

He killed the coffee machine and made his way back to the table, this time taking up a seat that set his back to the shadow of Mateo.

Grey eyes latched onto him.

“I’m proud of you son.”

Blink.

His father reached over and took his hand.

Scott’s eyes widened. Dad had never been one for a great deal of physical contact, but that had changed since he came back. Scott stared at the scarred fingers holding his.

“Son, I…” His father swallowed. “I need to know your brother is okay.”

Scott frowned. “Virgil is okay, Dad. I promise.” It was what he had been saying all along.

A drawn out sigh. “I need to know if being part of International Rescue is in Virgil’s best interest.”

Eyes widening, Scott pulled back, his hand slipping from his father’s as his back straightened. “Dad, no.”

A held-up hand. “Hear me out.”

“Dad, this happened a long time ago. International Rescue is our lives, Virgil’s life. You can’t take it away from him.” A pause. “I won’t let you.”

Those old grey eyes latched on to him and his father’s lips thinned. “Is he on medication?”

“Dad, you need to speak to V-“

“Is he on medication?”

“Yes. It is handled and monitored. Virgil is fine, Dad!”

His father made a sorrowful sound that cut Scott to the quick, before burying his face in his hands. “I wish…” It was muffled, but Scott heard it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. If I had known…” But his voice drifted off and Scott was left staring at his father, his heart sinking more by the minute.

“We made it, Dad. We’re okay.”

His father’s head shot up. “How can you say that? Virgil is suffering from a mental illness exacerbated by his job. Yet you tell me he should keep doing that job despite what it is costing him.”

Voice quiet but firm. “It is his decision, Dad.”

“And what happens if it becomes too much? What if-“

“Dad! It is under control. Virgil is an adult. He knows what he is doing and yes, if something does go wrong, he has all of us. We back each other up. None of us are perfect. We work as a team.”

Grey eyes snapped at him. “What else don’t I know?”

Scott held back a snarl. “What else do you want to know? If you think I’m going to give you the lowdown on all my brother’s personal information, dream on, Dad.”

Those eyes didn’t falter. “Then what about you?”

“What about me? Have I had moments? Of course, I have. You know this job, Dad. It can be hell. And yes, there is a whisky stash in your desk. There always has been.” He returned that piercing glare with one of his own.

“I never claimed to be perfect, son.”

“And neither did we. Virgil’s mental health is his business. He prefers to keep it to himself. I’m aware of it. It is being managed. End of discussion.”

The steel in his father’s eyes did not vanish. “I only want what is best for my children.”

Scott’s lips thinned as he stood up. “We’re not children anymore.”

“I know that, son, but I’m still your parent.”

The tension in Scott’s shoulders only tightened. “Dad-“

“You know, I always remember Scotty being a bit of a clone of you, Dad, but up until now, I’d never really seen how much.”

A blink as Gordon slipped out of the darkness beside the stairs. He had his swimwear on and a towel thrown over his shoulder. His posture was casual, but Scott could see the tension in his shoulders. “Gordon-“

“Hey, Dad, welcome to the whacky world that is International Rescue, your local rescue organisation run by five brothers of questionable sanity. Here be the eldest, a strong, masculine heartbreaker who has an obsession complex that can drive the whole family out of the solar system. His back up and apparently medicated…” He glared at Scott. “…second in command, artist and sensitive type who takes on far too much and suffers for it. Coordinated by our communications guru who is so introverted he can’t go to parties without breaking a sweat. Not to mention our aquanaut who suffers from PSTD because his body was broken six ways to Sunday and yet still managed to survive. And finally, our kid brother who has yet to be traumatised enough to sport a mental illness, but give him time.” A sigh. “Honestly, Dad, what did you expect?”

“Gordon!”

“Scott, c’mon! Face it. It’s a hard job. We do it. Shit happens.”

Their father climbed to his feet. “Are you finished, son?”

Gordon glared at his father. “That depends.” His lips tightened. “Are you seriously considering pulling Virgil from IR?”

Scott flared. “That is not on the table.”

That earned him a brown-eyed glare. “Isn’t it? The fact you are questioning Virgil’s ability to do a job he has excelled at for years…” The glare returned to his father. “I just thought I’d let you know that if you do choose to do that, you can go find yourself another aquanaut. Because Virg goes? I’m going with him.”

“Virgil isn’t going anywhere!” The mere thought of losing any of his brothers… “Gordon, Dad just had some questions-“

“Yeah, questioning if the heart of this outfit was able to do his job.” Gordon rounded on his father again. “If you had seen what Virgil is capable of, you wouldn’t have any questions.”

“Gordon, for god’s sake!”

Their father held up a hand. “It’s fine, Scott. As you said, Gordon has a right to his opinion.” His voice was quiet enough to bring Gordon’s ire to a halt and the sudden gap in conversation let the sounds of the ocean in through the open doors. “But as your father, I have a right to my opinion also. I need information. Scott has been in command for those eight years, so I am asking him for a report.”

“On our brother.”

“On a staff member of International Rescue.” An indrawn breath. “And my son.”

“Then perhaps you should speak to your son.” Those brown eyes flared.

“I intend to.” Those grey eyes turned back to Scott. “However, I was hoping to put him through the least amount of stress by gathering enough information beforehand, in particular what instigated this issue.”

Scott straightened again. “I’m sorry, Dad. That is not my story to tell.”

“Even as Commander of International Rescue?”

Ever so quiet as his eyes held his father’s. “Even then.”

They were all interrupted by the whine of a not-quite-out-of-teenagerhood-despite-being-an-adult at the top of the stairs. “Oh, c’mon, John. I don’t need a warm milk.”

Smooth musical tones. “You had a nightmare, Alan. Warm milk is the best option for a quick return to sleep.”

“Really? Have you got a stash up on Five? Doesn’t that UHT milk taste vile?”

“It’s an acquired taste.”

“Blech!” His little brother caught sight of the three of them. “Wha-? What’s going on?”

Scott just felt sad as Alan and John took the last few steps into the room. But then John’s eyes had that wiser-than-you-know look about them and Scott’s shoulders knotted just that bit more.

Hiding anything from John was futile. And Alan?

John played for keeps.

As if subjected to an antibiotic for anger, Gordon’s stance changed immediately. “Woah, John, you got the squirt up before the sun? How did you manage that without the side effect of death?”

“He had a nightmare.” There was something in his brother’s eyes.

“John! Geez, it was only a bad dream. I’m not a little kid anymore!”

“One that had you screaming.”

“John!”

Scott stepped around the table. “You okay, Allie?”

“Oh, god, John. Now look what you did.”

The elder astronaut had a rather knowing smirk on his face.

Scott glared at him.

He put a hand on Alan’s shoulder anyway and squeezed gently.

His little brother growled at him. “I’m fine. It was time to get up anyway.”

“It’s before noon, Alan.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“Hey, I just have your teenage need for sleep at heart.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“That’s enough, you two.”

“He started it!”

“Alan.”

“Scccottttt…” It was pure whine and a strong sign that Gordon was probably right. Alan needed more sleep.

“You going to grab some warm milk?”

“Heck, no. That was John’s idea. I was just going to plug in some tunes, but he demanded I come down here. What are you guys doing anyway? Dad?”

Scott shot John with his eyes. This was worth a discussion later.

The smart ass just shrugged and smiled that smile of his.

“Dad?” Alan left Scott and hurried over to the table. “You okay?”

Scott spun to find their father reaching for his cane. Alan was there in a second and handed it to him. His little brother had an arm wrapped around his father and whether his help was wanted or not, he gave it.

“Are you okay, Alan?”

Alan rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Dad. Johnny is just making a big thing out of nothing.”

As usual, the ‘Johnny’ moniker riled the astronaut. “You were calling Virgil’s name.”

The room froze.

Alan shot daggers at John from under his father’s arm. “Thanks a bunch.”

John tilted his head. “Well, you were.” He held up his hands. “Just trying to help.” But his eyes flickered to Scott.

He glared back. Yeah, right.

John’s small smirk just wound Scott up further.

But he would kill his middle brother later, right now, Alan was the concern. “You want to talk about it?”

“Nooo.”

“Is this about Virgil’s tattoo?” His father’s voice was quiet and a little sad.

“I’m fine, Dad. I’m eighteen. Not a kid anymore.” It wasn’t a ‘no’.

“Age has nothing to do with dreams, son. I have nightmares all the time. Even some about you.”

Alan shrunk back just a little. “Me?”

Their father nodded and Scott’s heart finished its plummet somewhere amongst the flagstones.

“About all of you. Sometimes you’re calling out to me and I can’t answer. Sometimes you’re hurting and I can’t help. Sometimes all of you are just gone.” He looked up at Scott. “In more ways than one. That I’ve lost you. That my one misstep cost us everything. Even now I find it hard to believe that all of you are here safe and sound.” His voice hitched on that last word and Scott knew the truth. Knew that they weren’t as sound as they could be.

“We’re here, Dad. All of us.” Alan was looking up at his father in that same way that eleven-year-old had looked up at Scott all those years ago. Eighteen years or not, his little brother still had faith.

“I know.” He tilted his head and caught Alan up in his arms, burying his face in his youngest’s hair. “It doesn’t stop the dreams, though, kiddo. I’m still scared.”

Scott swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” It was muffled against their father’s shirt.

“Not your fault. I just wanted you to realise that we all have bad dreams from time to time.”

“Heh, I know. Gordon walks and talks in his sleep.”

“Hey! I’m over that!”

Alan poked his head up. “Newsflash, bro. Virg had to lead you back to bed three nights ago. Found you by the pool at two am talking to your ‘coach’.”

“Aw, shit.”

“Language, son.”

Gordon ignored his father. “Why didn’t Virgil tell me?”

Scott was more concerned as to why Virgil hadn’t told him.

“Dunno. You’ll have to ask him.”

Gordon muttered to himself about locks and tying himself to the bed.

Dad looked at Scott. “How long has this been a problem?”

Yet another sigh. “Long term, Dad. Left over from the Olympics. Flares when he’s worried. Hasn’t happened for a while. We have strategies.”

“Are there any other issues I don’t know about?” It was asked of the room at large, but Scott knew it was aimed at him. He pressed his lips together.

“Plenty, but they are all managed and safe.” The familiar baritone echoed down the stairwell and Virgil, trailing Grandma, was the last brother to join them.

His dark eyes ranged over the family gathering, obviously making an assessment and drawing conclusions. “Did I miss a meeting?”

His brother’s arm was strapped up but he was otherwise shirtless. It was obviously a statement because Virgil never went shirtless…ever.

He looked tired and worn.

“Virg, what are you doing up?”

It was Grandma who answered. “He needed his medication and I thought he could do with something in his belly before he goes back to bed.” She stepped past her grandson and headed towards the kitchen.

A quick glance at Gordon and the aquanaut was moving. “Hey, Grandma, let me help you with that…” He followed her into the kitchen proper obviously vetoing any villa-burning-down attempts in the making.

Virgil took the last few steps onto the flagstones and eyeing all of them, made his way towards Scott, suspicion on his face. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Some.”

“Obviously not enough.”

He turned to their father. “Dad, you’re up a little early, too. Anything I can help you with?”

It was a blatant barb. It was obvious Virgil thought he was the topic of discussion and Scott didn’t blame him.

“Just finding my feet again, son.”

Virgil nodded once before turning to Alan who was still holding onto their Dad. “You okay, Allie?”

“He had a bad dream, Virg.” It was shouted from the kitchen.

“Gordon, I’m gonna kick your ass!”

“You and what army, squirt?”

“Gordon!” It was choral – Scott, Virgil, John, Dad and Grandma.

“That army, idiot!”

“Alan!” Same chorus, younger name.

“He started it.”

“He always starts it and you always fall for it.” Scott glared at his little brother. He really was too tired for this. “It’s early. Get yourself some food or drink and back to bed. I’m going for my run.” The early morning pre-dawn glow was now bright enough to see by and not kill himself. God, he needed some time alone.

The expression on his father’s face clearly showed the man wanted to talk further. “Dad, give it time, please?”

His father blinked, but didn’t say anything.

“Trust me.”

He straightened. “I trust you, Scott.”

“Thank you.”

Scott turned to Virgil. “And you, wear your uniform next time. Don’t think I didn’t notice, Thunderbird Two.” He threw a glare at his second for emphasis.

That brought his brother up short. “FAB.”

“And fix whatever caused the accident so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Uh.” Virgil appeared suddenly panicked.

“Virg? What did cause you to fall?”

His brother’s face fell and he slumped with a wince. “A bat startled me.”

“What?”

“Did I just hear that correctly?” Gordon was far too gleeful in the kitchen. “Did you get scared by a bat?!”

“Shut up, Gordon.” It was the chorus again.

The aquanaut might have said something more, but a small explosion on the stove had him yelping and hurrying to wipe milk off the walls.

“It was a bat, okay? It startled me, I stepped back and fell. Can we ignore that now, please?”

“I’ll speak to Brains about finding a bat deterrent to keep them off the ‘birds.” Scott was firm.

Virgil turned to him and there was nothing but gratitude in his eyes.

“And if I hear anyone bugging Virgil about this, they will be cleaning all six of Two’s modules with a toothbrush. Is that clear?”

There was a muttering of assent among his brothers.

Gordon had milk in his hair.

Scott turned to John. “You and I will be having words, Thunderbird Five.”

“What did I do?” The astronaut was innocence itself.

“Strong words, Thunderbird Five.” He glared even more for emphasis.

John shrugged. “FAB.”

Alan. His littlest brother was still holding their father and didn’t appear to be separating from him any time soon. “Allie, you want to talk. Any of us will listen, you know that. Dad included.”

The young astronaut looked at his feet. “I know, Scott. Thank you.”

“We all have bad times. We get through them together.” His eyes drifted up to his father. “We do this together.”

Those strong arms held Alan even tighter and his father gave him a single nod.

Scott took a step back and stared at his family, wishing briefly that Kayo was home and Penny, Parker and Brains were there as well, even if just to complete the picture.

“Grandma, I love you. Gordon, don’t burn the kitchen down.”

And with that, he turned towards the pool, ran out on the deck and into the beginnings of the day.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[anonymous0writer]

Sick Day

Author: @anonymous0writer​

Summary: After you fall ill, your boyfriend, John B. decides to take care of you for the day.

Warnings: Cursing. Bad writing

A/N: I wanted to make something for John B. because I haven’t done a fic for him in a long time. I’m still working on Not Together Anymore, sorry!

Also, an update on my writing and what I’ll be doing for Not Together Anymore and Pretending: I will be doing one more part of Pretending. And possibly three but two more of Not Together Anymore. And then I will start a new series with a Kook Reader. (And I will share more about that later. I have lots of ideas!!) And of course, I will keep working on JJ smut, and other OBX characters and fics for them. 

You woke up with a sore throat and a fever. And it seemed to get worse. Not wanting to get your friends sick, or move off the couch, you texted them saying that you wouldn’t be hanging out with them at the beach. 

You had texted that to Kie, but of course, she told everyone else. Including your boyfriend. John B. had called you immediately after, asking what was wrong. 

“Are you sick? What’s wrong?” His voice came from the other line, worried. 

“John B. I’m fine. Just sick.” You reply.

“Do you want me to come over?” He asks. 

You do want him to come over, but you don’t want to get hi sick or drag him away from a fun surfing day. 

“It’s okay. Have fun surfing- I’ll be okay.” You reply, smiling softly even though John can’t see it.

“Really?” You could hear his reluctance. “You don’t need anything?”

“I’m okay, John. Promise.” You loved how intent he was on making sure you were okay and had what you wanted. 

He hummed on the other side. “I’ll come over in an hour, okay?”

You laughed. It seemed that there was no room for debate, so you agreed and hung up. After the call, you took a long, warm shower. You tried drinking tea to soothe your throat, but nothing was working. So you resigned to lounging on the couch, drinking tea, and watching TV. 

And just like he said, John B. knocked on your door and allowed himself in. 

“Hey baby,” He said, smiling. 

The whole, you felt disgusting and horrible, but now, with just one of his smiles, you felt better. And prettier. You grinned and sat up straighter. You waved the remote around, 

“Care to join my binge watching of The Office?” You asked as your boyfriend came to place a bag down next to the coffee table and then sit next to you. 

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Of course-” But then he looked at you, “You feeling okay? Do want soup?”

You nodded. “Seeing you made me feel better, but no. My throat hurts like hell but I could go for some soup.”

John smiles. “Great.” He leans to kiss your hair and then goes for your lips. You push him away slightly, hands on his shoulders. He frowns. 

“I don’t want you getting sick. I don’t want you to have to suffer through this.” You explain. He smiles, 

“I don’t care.” And he kisses you. His lips are soft and warm. You grin as he pulls away. 

He goes to make you soup as you continue watching The Office. You’ve watched the show plenty, each episode at least five times, but it still makes you laugh and you still binge watch it. It’s a good show.

“Here,” John B. says, handing you a small bowl of soup, and a spoon. He swings himself over the couch and plops down next to you. He snakes an arm around your shoulder and presses another kiss to your temple. 

You eat the soup slowly, because its hot and your throat hurts. But it’s good and slowly makes your throat get better. Once you finish, you put it down and snuggle into your boyfriends side. He hugs you close, pulling a blanket around you two. You continue to watch the show, laughing and providing commentary.

After a while, you start to feel much better. Your sore throat is gone, and your fever breaking. You kiss John B. unexpectedly. He blinks, smiling down at you. 

“What was that for?”

“Because you cured me.” You reply.

He kisses you again. “Does that mean that now I can kiss you without getting sick?”

“Yes.” You giggle as he leans closer. He starts attacking your faces in kisses, making you laugh wildly. Once you catch a breath, you grin at him, running your hands through his hair. You lean forward, whispering in his ear. “You can do a lot more than kiss me.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

i never see top lock anymore, and i get why— but do you have a list of sherlock being dominant? i love when he’s possessive over the people who he loves.

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: do you have a master list of toplock?? i just love seeing sherlock jealous of possessive over john :)

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: do you have any possessive smut fics with sherlock topping? (or just rough sex in general) i really love jealous sherlock.

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: Hi, do you have any top!lock stories? It can be fluff, or smut. I really was in the mood for some top Sherlock, and if you could maybe some Jealous top!lock too. Thank you very much!

Hey Nonnies!

I hesitate to say you’re all the same nonny, but the wording is very similar and these all came a few days apart. If you aren’t please accept my apologies, for that and for the delay; when I get fic requests for fics I know I have a decent amount of, it takes me awhile to go through all 1000+ of my bookmarks to pick fics to rec for y’all. That said, I know I don’t have EVERY fic I have bookmarked with toplock in it, but I do have a few already tagged, so that’s what this list is for you today

Hope you enjoy, and as always, lovelies, please add your own fics or recs to this list! haven’t added ALL my fics with toplock in it, nor fics with switchlock (that will be a separate list when the time comes), so I’ve definitely missed some fics I’ve recced in the past

TOPLOCK

See also:

Omegaverse

Jealous & Possessive Sherlock 

Possessive Sherlock Pt 2

Husband by jinglebell (E, 2,003 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., PWP, Anal, Multiple Orgasms, Fluff) – Sherlock orgasms when John refers to him as ‘husband’.

Caught in the Act – by Mycroft by ShirleyCarlton (E, 2,040 w., 1 Ch. || Unintended Voyeurism, Mycroft’s POV, Blow Job, Humour) – Mycroft had only planted the camera for Sherlock’s own good, simply to keep an eye on his little brother and make sure he was alright. He hadn’t quite meant to see his brother this content, however… Part 4 of Caught In The Act

Stay by msdisdain (M, 3,561 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Angst / H/C, Bed Sharing, Nightmares, Blow Jobs, Anal) – John’s nightmares are nothing new. Sherlock’s inability to ignore them, however, is.

Wasted Hours by songlin (E, 4,973 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || O!John/A!Sherlock, Pining, UST, Angst & Porn) – John is respectful. John keeps his distance. He doesn’t look at Sherlock when Sherlock decides trousers are for dull people. He doesn’t breathe in and savor it when Sherlock flings himself onto the couch first thing in the morning, wafting alpha scent, dressing gown settling around him in a cloud of blue silk. He doesn’t linger when he’s piecing Sherlock back together after a fight, even though he’s half-dressed and beautiful and right there. He can ignore it. He can control it.

See Recipe for Details by pandoras_chaos (E, 4,981 w., 1 Ch. || Oral / Anal Sex, Food, PWP, Fingerfucking) – John knows Sherlock’s mouth will never water over the sweet smells of baking chocolate biscuits or a lovely roast chicken, but he’s watched Sherlock nick mince pies out of Mrs. Hudson’s fridge often enough to deduce that the man does have taste, albeit confusing and obscure. So John makes a list: Things Sherlock Likes

Caffeine and Adaptive Programming by DemonicSymphony (E, 5,540 w., 1 Ch. || Androids AU / Bond Fusion || Android Sherlock, Coffee Shop AU, Pining John Hinted Bond / Q, Toplock) – Sherlock is a coffee shop android slowly falling for a regular customer. But he’s not supposed to be able to feel emotions.

The doctor is in by PlainJane (E, 7,581 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Sex Therapist, Anal, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock is a young alpha with an aversion to his cycle. John is a gender medicine specialist. Nothing could possibly go wrong… Part 1 of Doctors and detectives

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by “accident”, it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

And if you say the word, I could stay with you by CaitlinFairchild (E, 12,842 w., 1 Ch. || Domestic Fluff, BottomJohn / Topping from the Bottom, Fluff and Romance, Dirty Talk, Proposals) – What Sherlock thinks is, On the day I die, be it in a dirty alley at forty or in my bed at eighty, the last thing I will remember is tonight, the way you looked at at me on the snowy pavement, cheeks pink with the cold, breath puffing in frosty white clouds, your heart in your eyes and snowflakes in your hair. I will remember that single perfect moment in my life, that moment I knew I had everything I ever wanted, and whatever happens next, I will die content. What he says is simply, “Marry me.”

Take My Breath Away by Quesarasara (E, 14,240 w., 1 Ch. || Emotional H/C, Angst & Fluff, Toplock, Smut, Lingerie) – Sherlock opens his eyes and looks at his friend—his best friend—and slowly tips his chin down until his forehead rests softly against John’s. They stay that way for a long moment, lips just a whisper apart, warm puffs of air mingling as each of them struggles to breathe. It’s no wonder they ended up here, really, locked in this breathless moment balanced on the cusp of something new. They’ve spent years taking each other’s breath away…

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John’s preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they’ve made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

The Whore of Babylon Was a Perfectly Nice Girl by out_there (E, 32,897 w., 1 Ch. || Past Drug Use, Blowjobs, Toplock, Mentions of Switching, Rough Sex, Background Cases, Sherlock’s Past, Sherlock’s Sexual History, Experienced Sherlock, Past One Night Stands, Fingering, Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Paris Holiday, Bed Sharing, Naked Lie-Ins, Bathing Together, Confessions, Worried Sherlock, Laying in Bed All Day, Meddling Mycroft, Naked Lazy Day) – Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John’s head.

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, MollyxJohn [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon…or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn’t know what Molly’s up to…but he knows he doesn’t like it.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Bloody But Unbowed by BeautifulFiction (E, 43,211 w., 8 Ch. || Abduction, John Whump, Mild Torture, Background Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Post-TRF / S3 Rewrite, Hurt/Comfort) – When a familiar argument threatens to destroy the last remnants of John and Sherlock’s failing friendship, both men are left questioning their worth to one another. Before either of them has the chance to make amends, circumstance intervenes. John is left at the mercy of his abductors, and this time, he’s not sure Sherlock will bother coming to his rescue.

Triage by scullyseviltwin (E, 51,612 w., 14 Ch. || Character Injury, Introspection) – Sherlock’s mind goes exceedingly, devastatingly quiet and gray-blank. When he speaks it’s through a thick haze, it’s through molasses, he’s so disconnected from the words that it may as well be the unconscious shooter speaking.

Uphill by scullyseviltwin (E, 77,750 w., 18 Ch. || Olympics AU || Sherlock POV, Skier!Sherlock / Medic!John, Rivalry, 2014 Olympics, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is striving for gold in this, his fourth and final Olympics as a downhill Alpine racer.

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 83,535 w., 9 Ch. || Sentinel / Guides Omegaverse AU || Adventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he’s kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 85,535 w., 9 Ch. || Sentinel / Guides AU, Omegaverse, Aventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he’s kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

A Fold in the Universe by darkest_bird (E, 152,869 w., 26 Ch. || Omegaverse / Prime Universe Crossover || OmegaJohn / AlphaSherlock, First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Angst, H/C, Dub Con, Humour) – Alpha Sherlock and Omega John are in a relationship. Prime Sherlock and Prime John are not. So what happens when a freak fold in the universe switches one John for the other?

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.