#john gets the rose behind the ear because i drew it and i get to make the rules

[orangelemonart]

ht tp:// oran gelem onart . tum blr . c om / post / 157180957444 / oran gelem onart-i-beg -for-atten tion-in-small rip this , what was it

Could you have possibly posted that link in a MORE annoying way anon lmaooooo. For the record when you send links in asks you really only need to ad one space after each period and slash.

https://orangelemonart.tumblr.com/post/145996580114/i-beg-for-attention-in-small-doses-leave-the

It’s Karkat

[thran-duils]

Lost in Zero Gravity (P.7)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Seven) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 2,118 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior Author’s Note: This is more fluffy smut. I needed some buffer before the next drama drops!

Part Six || Part Eight || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Steve was gone when you woke up. Probably for the best because you were still a little on edge about the name issue. Stretching, you looked at the clock. He left very early apparently because it was almost 6:00am now. You kicked the covers back and got out of bed.

Picking up your phone, you saw a text from Elisha. She wanted to see you and visit your place.

Texting Steve, you asked, Can I have someone over?

He did not respond for a few moments as you sat there waiting for the three dots to show up to show he was typing. Exhaling disappointed, you decided to go take a shower and tried to enjoy the warm water. When you got out and got dressed, he had still not responded.

A friend. Elisha. Not a john.You sent, hoping to clarify if there was any doubt about your intentions of having someone over.

That seemed to do the trick because he responded almost immediately as you walked towards the kitchen to make breakfast.

Soon. Get settled in first.

Sighing, you tossed your phone back onto the counter and went back to grabbing eggs out of the fridge.

<><><>

They had not visited for a couple days and you had enjoyed the solitude to be honest. No schedule, no one else taking up your space. You were standing in your kitchen in a lounge bra and your underwear, eating a bagel you had just toasted.

It was later than normal than you would wake up. The blame could lie at the feet of the fact you had stayed awake to the wee hours of the morning binge watching videos on your phone.

You noticed your phone light up as you took another bite. Chewing, you leaned forward, seeing it was Tony.

Get ready quick. We’re going to go get your cat.

You only sat there for a second before your face broke out into a smile and then you shoved your bagel in your mouth, finishing in a rush. It was short notice, but you were excited about the cat for one but also to get out of the apartment. You had been in here for a damn week.

Rushing to your room, you threw on some casual clothes. You stopped for a moment in front of your mirror and sucked in your bottom lip. Should you have something a little sexier on? You debated for a few seconds before you waved it off; this was to get a cat, not give a lap dance.

Tony arrived not more than thirty minutes later, and you were pacing, ready for him in the living room when he let himself in.

He stopped, narrowing his eyes at you. You asked, “What?”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans before, that’s all.” He dragged his eyes down and snapped them back up to meet yours. “The fit is nice.”

“Glad to know my outfit is approved. You’re also wearing jeans. Are we going?”

Tony chortled, “Impatient. After you.” He followed you out of the apartment, locking the door behind him.

Terrence was waiting in the hall and he asked, “Who is driving you today, boss?”

Tony told him, “I’m driving.”

Stalling your stride, you looked at him shocked. “You’re driving?”

“Yes, why do you look shocked? I can drive,” Tony told you, his arm slipping around your waist as he led you to the elevator. “I’m an adult, I have my license. I assure you.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you drive yet.”

“Seems like today is having a lot of firsts already.”

His car was waiting out front, one of his people keeping a watch out on it. They moved away as soon as they spotted him coming out. Tony came over to the car, opening the passenger door for you.

“A two-seater convertible?” you asked. “Really? You think the cat is gonna like that? Or me for that matter? Having to hold the carrier in my lap?”

Tony gestured you in, “Get in, baby. I’ve got someone following us.” He threw his hand up behind the car to the black SUV parked behind. The person who had been standing by the car was sitting in the driver’s seat. “They’ll bring the cat back with them. Enclosed space. I’m not a sadist. I just wanted to have a fun drive with you.”

You refrained from commenting about wasted gas as you did as he asked, him closing the door behind you and coming around the front of the car to get into the driver’s seat, adjusting his jacket.

“It is a nice car,” you admitted, buckling in. “What is it?”

“An Audi,” Tony said pressing the start.

“I saw that. I’m not an idiot, Tony. What model?”

Tony smiled at your scorn. “I know you’re not. A Spyder.”

You frowned, “I’m not sure I’m fond of that name—”

You yelped as he pulled away from the curb, shooting off into the road. Tony laughed amused at your reaction at the sudden movement.

“Oh, love, just wait until we get out onto the highway,” Tony smirked. “I’ll show off this engine for you.”

<><><>

“It’s pretty, but the hair,” you commented as Tony pointed out a Persian cat at the shelter.

Tony eyed the cat closely as you moved on.

“Oh my fucking god!” you said excitedly, coming up to the next cage to a cat already pressing its head against the gate for pets.

Tony came up next to you and said, “So what was that complaint about hair…?”

“Yeah, but this is a Maine Coon! A mix, but still.” You saw he looked confused, and you said firmly. “I want this one.” Tony rose his brows now, giving you a challenging look and you pressed, “They’ve got great personalities! I had one as a kid. They act like dogs but they’re just big ass fluffy cats! And look, it’s a Tuxedo!”

“The hair,” Tony repeated. “My suits. You know, I’m really rethinking this now…”

“You cannot tell me you brought me in here just to not take one home. That would just be cruel.”

Tony smacked his lips and said, “You’re right. Carry on. No white hair though.”

“She doesn’t have white hair. It’s browns and greys,” you pointed out as you continued petting the Maine Coon. “Look at the little marking on her forehead! And she likes me! You can’t leave her here now!”

He stared at you for a few seconds before closing his eyes and exhaling. You held back from bouncing on your heels, knowing you had broke him. You turned back fully to the cage and stuck your fingers back through, her brushing her head against your head in earnest.

“You’re coming home with me,” you told her excitedly.

<><><>

On the way back home, your arm reached across, your fingers tip toeing up Tony’s thigh. The wind was whipping around the two of you as he sped down the highway. You saw that the SUV had lost the two of you a while ago since Tony had kept passing people, weaving into the left lane to jerk back into the right lane around curves. The danger was hot and you wanted more.

Your fingers brushed his crotch and he shot you a quick look, shaking his head. You pouted and he said loudly over the wind, “No.”

“Have you ever had road head?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

You shrugged, “Just thought you would like it!”

“Yeah and if it’s on a drone or helicopter cam somehow – cause if you haven’t noticed, there’s no roof on this car – that I had some woman going down on me on the highway? How am I gonna explain that?”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually starting to grow a conscience, Tony.”

That drew a grin out of him, shooting you a mischievous look. He cleared his throat and pressed a button, giving a bit more space between his lap and the steering wheel. Second time breaking his resolve today. It did not seem to take much when it came to you.

Unbuckling yourself, you leaned over the middle console working on his zipper. You pulled his cock out of his jeans, running your hand up and down it sensually. He tasted like salt and sweat as you took him into your mouth, trying to help it along quicker. Tony groaned, and you felt him tense. You imagined his hands tightening on the wheel, trying to keep himself focused on the road.

“I gotta pull off,” he grunted.

This did not stop you from working your mouth up and down his dick. The car veered a little, into a highway pull off you concluded.

He pressed a button the steering wheel. He pulled you away from his dick, and blocked access. Or tried to. You moved down, running your tongue across his balls, flicking.

It was too much apparently.

“Give me 15 seconds,” he breathed at you, blocking you again from swallowing him. You kissed his hand, running your tongue up his fingers. His lips twitched despite himself and he cleared his throat roughly. He jerked his hand back, giving you a light, discouraging slap. You moved back then, and he leveled you with a look. Pouting, you laid your chin on his thigh. His hand came to run over your head before straightening up when a voice came over his speaker.

“Boss? Are you alright?”

“No, go on if you pass me. I’m pulled off. I’m fine. Just take the cat back.”

“It’s crying a lot because of the weaving highway.”

“I know it is, I can hear it.” That was not a lie; it’s whines were coming over the phone call. “I’ve got something to finish here though, so just go on. Like I said! I gotta go.”

As soon as he pressed the button on the steering wheel, he tapped your head. “Alright, resume, love.”

<><><>

When you got home, Tony encouraged you ahead; he needed to talk to Daryl really quick. When you got into the apartment, the cat was nowhere to be found. You took off, throwing your bag onto the counter, searching closets. You found her cowering under the bed up against the wall. You tried to coax her out with soft noises and holding your hand out but she just put her ears back, snuggling closer to the wall.

Tony’s footfalls came down the hall and you heard him come into the bedroom.

Pushing yourself up from underneath the bed, you came up onto your knees.

“She’s hiding,” you told him, standing up.

“Maybe try with the treats you bought later,” Tony suggested, his hands in his pockets.

You shrugged, “Maybe. She’ll come out for food when she’s ready. Probably when I’m asleep.”

You walked over to your closet and closed the door to shut off another place for her to go and hide. You wanted to be able to check up on her and limiting the spaces to search would help.

“Well, I have to go do some work today at some point, so, that’s now,” Tony commented and you turned back to him, finding him close. “You can get the letter box and everything set up?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Good,” he said to you, giving you a peck on the cheek before turning away.

Suddenly, it came to you again, the last night with Steve. Maybe Tony knew, although a part of you was screaming at you to let it lie. But, despite your better judgment, you reached out, stopping his movement. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Who’s Cecile?”

Tony looked at you with all shades of suspicious, his mood completely altered by the question. There was a dangerous underlying tone to his question, “Why do you ask?”

You shrugged, letting your hand fall from his arm, suddenly not interested based off his reaction to the question. “Never mind.”

“Why do you ask?” he repeated more forcibly.

Trying to be nonchalant, you said, “Steve called me it when we had sex last. It was just weird. He’s never done it before. It threw me off. That’s all.” Tony ground his teeth, watching you intently, not saying anything. You forced a small smile. “Really, it’s not a big deal. He did not seem to even realize he had done it. I was just curious.”

He obviously did not feel the same. Tightly he said, “I’ll leave you to help the little runt settle in.” He left you then in the bedroom without a second glance.

Something told you that you should not have asked about it and that was not where that conversation was going to end.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics

[katebishopofearth]

Captain’s Orders [an Our Flag Means Death fanfic]

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death Pairings: Stede / Ed Characters: Stede | Ed | crew of the Revenge Rating: T (for canon typical swearing) Other tags: cat fic | cat parents | idiots in love

Captain’s Orders

“What the fuck is that?!” Ed’s screech rang loud across the deck of the Revenge, drawing the crew to where their co-captains just emerged from the cabin.

“Oh, this?” Stede said, blinking innocently, as though he wasn’t holding a ferocious beast. “A kitten.” He grinned, pure, simple, childlike delight shining in his face. “I found him on the docks today, chased off a few meagre scraps by other stray cats, poor thing.” His lips turned down and – fuck it Ed knew just how soft they were.

But he refused to be undermined by a pitiful pout. “No pets on board!” he demanded. “They shed, they make a mess, they piss everywhere, they give your crew allergies, they run underfoot, they wander off when you make landfall and you have to spend three whole days looking for them through the streets of Pirate Republic until you find them digging through Spanish Jackie’s stores –”

“That sounds awfully specific,” Black Pete muttered, and Lucius snickered conspicuously.

“No pets!” Ed declared gruffly. “Captain’s orders!” He added with a toss of his tangled silver hair.

“Well, co-captain’s orders say yes!” Stede said, hands on his hips. He would have looked a lot more firm if he wasn’t struggling to hold a squirming, mewing kitten.

Helpfully, Roach took the little creature from him. Frenchie shrunk to the opposite side of the boat, muttering under his breath about cats and curses.

Blackbeard drew himself up to his full height and glowered at Stede. In the dreadful voice of Blackbeard that sent chills down many a seafarer’s neck, he said, “We just won’t see eye to eye then, Captain Bonnet.”

Stede’s skin flushed – because he was under the sun and definitely not because he was under the intensity of Blackbeard’s gaze. He wasn’t going to give in, not after all the hours he spent coaxing the kitten out from its hiding place behind some crates in a filthy alley. So he stood up straight and met that burning gaze. “I suppose we won’t, Blackbeard. And when the co-captains can’t come to an agreement amongst themselves, I say we ask the crew. What say you, lads?”

Sounds of assent from the crew.

“I’m with Blackbeard.” Of course it was Frenchie who said that. “Everyone knows cats are evil.” A collective groan. “How else do they turn up in places they’ve no way of getting into?” He spread out his arms. “They’re like some sort of... ghost. Or a furry vampire.”

“Thank you.” Ed extended an arm towards Frenchie. “Someone here is talking sense.”

“Thanks for the support, man,” Stede muttered through gritted teeth. Frenchie gave a sorry-not-sorry shrug.

“I vote we keep him.” Fang had a smug look on his face. “Since the Cap’n made me send my dog to doggy heaven, I say we put him in kitty hell.”

“Hold on a second –” The wheels clicked in Stede’s head. ”You mean doggy heaven is literally –” He looked at Ed in horror.

There was a look of open confusion on Ed’s face. “What did you think it was?”

“Isn’t it some sort of pirate slang for – I dunno – maiming, or...?” Stede stuttered and trailed off.

“No.” Fang’s brow creased up and he looked like he was about to break into tears.

“Oh – sorry,” Stede mumbled. He looked to the rest of the crew for help. But not a single one of them were looking at him. Every pair of eyes was on the kitten, who looked even tinier in Wee John’s large but gentle hands. Olu ran a hand down his back, the Swede tickled his chin, and when Roach scratched him behind his ears, his eyes narrowed in bliss and he let out a steady purr. A collective awwww rose up from the crew.

Stede shot Ed a pleased smile, and Blackbeard’s stern expression, despite himself, softened a smidge.

“Well, gang? Shall we keep him?”

[continue reading on AO3]

[tsarisfanfiction]

Libel

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, John

Words are powerful weapons.  It doesn’t matter how popular you are when the rumour mill turns against you.

Day three “Sticks and stones may break my bones but...” of @whumptober-archive and we’re using the prompts insults and “Who did this to you?” today.  Romantic trouble ahead, with cheating and nasty false accusations.

Scott slouched against the wall, feeling the cool but rough texture of the bricks pressing against the bare skin of his arms.  The day had been hell from beginning to end, and now he just wanted to go home, but it was a Tuesday and Tuesdays were special.

On a Wednesday and Thursday, he had to leave school the moment class let out to pick up Alan from daycare, because Grandma had her own commitments that she couldn’t reschedule and Dad was always too busy with work.  On Mondays and Fridays, John stayed behind for extra classes, so Scott would go home alone – or hang out with friends, or-

Well.

On Tuesdays, John had no extra classes, Grandma was free to pick up Alan, and Scott’s schedule was clear, so they made a point of going home together.  It was a routine they’d settled into almost immediately, and Scott enjoyed the quiet time with just his immediate brother before they returned to the chaos that was the rest of their family.

John’s last class was the far end of the campus from the gates, so Scott always made it to the meeting point first by a few minutes.  Sometimes several, if the quiet ginger got caught up talking to a teacher about an assignment, which happened more often than not.  Today, he’d been waiting for five, and there was yet to be a sign of him.

Today had been rotten. Scott didn’t want to still be on campus, conscious of all the eyes boring into him as his year mates moved past in packs.  None of their gazes were friendly; several were outright hostile, and he pressed back a little further into the wall of the math block in a vain attempt to escape.

His phone was in his hand, a message typed out by trembling fingers and waiting to be sent.

Sorry, something came up. I’ll see you at home.

A thumb hovered over the send key.  All it had to do was descend and then he could slip away from the hoards and their accusing eyes.  Escape from school and hide out in the woods for a while to try and come to terms with exactly what had happened before slinking home in time for dinner.

It would spare him John’s reaction for a little while longer, too.

But while John never said it in so many words, Scott knew that he looked forwards to their once-a-week walk home, too.  He’d be disappointed if Scott bailed on him – and confused, because Scott hadn’t bailed on him once all year, despite occasional social invites.  With four brothers, one-on-one time with any of them was precious, and Scott was always at loath to give it up.

“Sorry I’m late.” John was talking even before he rounded the corner to their meeting place, and Scott dropped the phone back into his pocket, unsent message still taking up the screen.  He hadn’t decided in time, or maybe he subconsciously just wanted to get the judgement over with.  “Mr Kemp-”

Scott looked up as his brother’s voice cut off, unable to muster even a faint grin at the sight of him. Turquoise eyes were wide with horror as John stared, whatever Mr Kemp had said or done immediately forgotten.

“Hey, John,” he greeted. His voice fell flat even to his own ears, and he watched as John stashed the tablet perpetually in his hand into his messenger bag before he hurried the last few paces towards him.

A pale hand rose up and lingered in front of his face, not quite touching as it traced something on his skin.  The black eye that had swollen his left eye almost shut, probably.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was glacier cold, and barely above a whisper.  It was less a question and more a demand – a copy of Scott’s own attitude whenever he found out someone was hurting his brothers.

John always was observant.

“It doesn’t matter.” It wasn’t a story Scott wanted to tell to anyone, and if it hadn’t spread far enough through the school to reach John’s ears during the day, then he wasn’t about to provide a second wind. “Let’s get out of here.”  He pushed off from the brick wall, gallantly ignoring the screaming protests of his battered body at the idea of moving.

Scott was pretty sure there was nothing serious, it just hurt and no doubt his skin was varying shades of bruised.

“Scott,” John warned, but he didn’t try to stop him.  Maybe he knew that Scott needed to get out – then again, Scott suspected that he was broadcasting that painfully loudly to his brother.

They left the safety of their meeting point and joined the throng headed for the gate.

“Bastard.”  It wasn’t clear where the word came from, but it was from somewhere in the masses of teenagers they were forging through.

“Creep.”

“Sick.”

“Filthy.”

“Slut.”

Each word, each insult, crashed into him and suffocated him a little more.  It hurt, pain adding onto the pain that had started it all in the first place – hurt more than his physical wounds, an almost-negligible throbbing that would probably make its presence known sharply once the haze of disbelief and emotional impact faded.

Beside him, John seemed to stand a little straighter, a little taller in a reversal of their usual stances, where the ginger was the one that tended to aim for invisibility and Scott was the one that strode ahead purposefully.  He cut a swathe through the milling, jeering crowds, forcing a path to open up for them.  If Scott could look anywhere other than the stained, chewing-gum riddled tarmac, he suspected he might find that John’s face was thunderous enough to cut through even the upperclassmen he usually ignored.

He was jostled suddenly, someone crashing into his shoulder hard enough to drive him staggering into John, and the cacophony of noise continued as he stumbled back upright with his brother’s hand now lightly holding his arm.  In his periphery, he saw John pluck his own phone out of his bag. For a moment his brother did nothing about whatever was on the screen, but then he was tapping out a message Scott couldn’t read before sliding his phone away again.

His other hand didn’t leave Scott’s arm.  Not when they reached the gate, and Scott stumbled over a stray ankle suddenly in his path, or when they passed it and a moped sped past close enough that he could hear the rider’s snarled insults over the roaring engine.

Not even when he diverted from their route home all of a sudden, nudging Scott down a narrow alley that led towards the woods, losing the crowds and replacing them with large, old trees packed closely enough together that the casual observer couldn’t see between them.

It was Scott’s favourite place to retreat when he needed his own space, and John – unsurprisingly – knew that.

“Scott, what happened?” John drew them to a halt under the reaching arms of a particularly large tree, branches thick and low and almost forming a cavern of brown and green.

He shook his head, not sure he could trust his voice not to betray him.  The soft fingers left his arm, and John moved to stand directly in front of him.  Scott looked at the ground, littered with broken twigs and the occasional fallen leaf, rather than meet his eyes.

He should’ve known better than to hope John would leave it alone.

“Something happened with Christie.”

It was too confident to be a guess, but that was John all over, putting the facts together and reaching the logical conclusions.

Scott sank down to the ground, his bag landing heavily beside him.  John followed more gracefully, crouching in front of him.

“Did she dump you?”

The noise that forced its way out of Scott’s throat was best described as strangled laughter, driven by despair rather than humour.  “No.” The word cracked in half.

Morning recess, leaving the cafeteria with her favourite chocolate in hand as a surprise. Rounding a corner into the locker corridor.  Christie with her tongue down another boy’s throat, top riding up indecently high with the guy’s hand clearly snaking inside her bra.

Heartbreak.

“I ended it.”

His brother inhaled sharply. “What did she do?”

What didn’t she do?  Breaking his heart was just the start; he was popular, but so was she, and the person who cried out that they were a victim first was almost always the one believed.

Popularity meant nothing against the rumour mill, and something Scott had never realised was how good an actress Christie was.  While he’d spent the rest of recess hidden away, choking out tears of betrayal and shock, she’d-

He didn’t even know why she’d done it.  It felt like a revenge tactic, but Scott had no idea what she was avenging, why she was suddenly so determined to ruin him.

Coming back to class, eyes still stinging, to find metaphorical daggers pressed to his throat by every student in the room, had been a shock.  Christie had been sobbing into the chest of Peter, a boy Scott normally got on with fine but suddenly looked like he wanted nothing better than to murder him where he stood.

It wasn’t until lunch time that he found out what she’d told everyone, letting the story spread like wildfire across their year group until Scott was the scum of the earth in the eyes of everyone.

She’d dumped him, the rumour mill said even though Scott knew for certain that he’d been the one to tell her we’re over while fighting back tears.  The chocolates had fallen to the floor and he had the stain on one sneaker to prove he’d accidentally stepped on them, too.  She’d dumped him, she’d claimed amongst floods of tears and ruined makeup, for pushing too far, for ignoring her boundaries, for taking more than she was willing to give.

They’d never even got as far as she had with the random guy he didn’t know in the corridor.

“I- I can’t,” he choked out, tears spilling out and stinging his cheeks as they slid down.  He swiped at them, trying in vain to hide them from the little brother regarding him with an ever-growing fury he knew wasn’t aimed at him.

“Tell me who beat you,” John insisted, thankfully changing tack although Scott knew the topic of Christie was only temporarily shelved.  “Did you see the nurse?”

Christie had two brothers, twins in their final year and both demons on the football pitch.  They’d always been reasonably chill towards Scott, at least much as older brothers would be, but just like any decent big brothers, took the distress of younger siblings very seriously.

They also had several friends who likewise adored sweet, charming Christie.

Even if he wasn’t still reeling from finding his now-ex girlfriend shacking up with another guy, Scott would never have stood a chance against the pack of upperclassmen. Stunned by the accusations hurtled his way, he’d been easy pickings.

He shook his head.

“Scott…”  John swallowed and slender fingers brushed against the side of his face, where he was no doubt a deep purple from the fist that had crashed into it.  “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but if that crowd at the gate were anything to go buy, it’s only a matter of time before the whole school hears something. I can’t help if I don’t know what we’re up against.”

“We?”  The word slipped out without permission, a startle against his brother’s proclamation.  “No- John- This-”

“They hurt you.”  John’s voice was laced with stubborn steel.  “I doubt Grandma’s going to let you out of her sight for the rest of the week at least.  Talk to me, Scott.”

He shook his head.  The tears kept flowing, periodically yanking sobs from his throat; each one had him hunching over further, coiled across his tender abdomen as he continued wiping away the salty liquid to no avail.

John edged closer, slender hands gripping his shoulders lightly.  “I’m here,” he promised.  “I’m here, and I’m not letting them hurt you again.”

It shouldn’t be a younger brother reassuring an elder – that went against the rules engrained deep within him – but John was exuding confidence and protectiveness in a way that was reassuring.  After a day of being destroyed both emotionally and literally, the tattered remains of Scott’s psyche found themselves clinging to every word and gesture.

It was enough to, haltingly, summarise the story.  No details, no explanations, just a shaking recounting of how she’d cheated on him, how she’d fuelled the rumour mill, how her brothers had reacted.

The hug his brother pulled him into, gentle and warm but firm and protective, promised safety and love. Promised that John believed him, a fear he hadn’t even realised was lurking until it was dismissed.

"You’re not going in tomorrow,” John told him.  “Not with these injuries, and not with that mob.  Grandma will back me up on that.”

Scott wanted to protest, but even the thought of walking back into school again, with the hissed words following him and aura of menace honing in on him, was enough to have his heartrate picking up like a rabbit’s.  He said nothing.

John didn’t need him to, and the two of them sat in near-silence, wind rustling the leaves and tears dripping from his eyes onto his brother’s shoulder.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that as his tear ducts ran dry and eyes transformed into crusty, stinging messes.  Eventually, John pulled back slightly.

“Ready to go home?” his brother asked.

No.  No, Scott was not ready to go home and face his family looking like this, but he didn’t have a choice.  They’d find out sooner rather than later, and the longer he and John took to get back, the more Grandma would worry.

She was probably already frantic, he realised as his vision focused enough to register that dusk was hitting.  They must have missed dinner.

“Don’t worry.”  John pulled out his phone.  “I told Grandma we’d be back late.”  Scott caught a glimpse of Scott’s upset, we’ll be back late, and an answering I’ll save you some dinner, don’t stay out too long, amongst several messages of concern from her in the interim.  The timestamps were from just after he’d met up with John after school – long before he’d started talking to his brother.

He blinked.  That didn’t make sense.  How did John know?  Actually, how had John known that he needed to come here, and not home?

The phone disappeared back into John’s bag, but not before Scott spotted his name high up in the message list.  Too high, considering he hadn’t sent him a message in days.

He fished his own phone out of his pocket and glanced down at it.  Notifications of messages from half his classmates sprung up everywhere, the message previews full of nothing nice, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

Sorry, something came up. I’ll see you at home, the screen said, the same text he’d composed while considering ditching John and running.  The same text he knew he’d never actually sent.

It was on read.

A split-second memory of being jostled while passing through the gate flashed through his mind.

“Thanks for deciding to wait for me after all.”  John plucked the device from his fingers, and scowled down at the screen.  “I’m holding onto this for a while.”

Scott didn’t bother arguing, even though he knew full well that John would be collecting as much data as he possibly could from every single threatening message and probably had less than friendly intentions for doing so.  He was just too drained to do anything about it, and now that he’d exposed the situation onto his brother, it almost felt like a relief to let someone else handle things for a while.

“Ready to go home?” John asked him again.

Home meant worried family and an inordinate amount of fussing over the injuries he had.  Home meant burnt dinner leftovers because it had been his turn to cook.  Home meant more questions to field when he just wanted to bury his head in his pillow and pretend the day hadn’t happened.

Home meant a family who would believe his side of the story.  Home meant unconditional love and support.

Home meant safety.

He nodded and let John guide him back to his feet, his brother keeping a supporting arm around him even once he was vertical.

Home sounded like the best place to be.

[thalys-artcorner]

A Cause to be Bothered By.

A oneshot in which Homelander actually gived a damn with the charity event assigned.  Canon divergent that allowed to write...wait for...actual fluff. Bet you didn’t see that coming.

*Note: I don’t wanna say @kayemagistro​ made me do it, but she did provide the initiative xD Based on this post.

She wasn’t sure how much of a good idea it might be to bring Homelander along, but the powers from above had insisted, and there was only so many strings she could pull before they put her back in her place. It was a miracle already that she had managed to pick her own charity work.

But having Homelander with her? For starters, he loathed charity work. It was a waste of his precious time, devoting attention to causes he did not care for nor did he even bother to look up. He hated the idea of taking care of others, he hated the cameras following, the million questions hurting his senses, and above all, he hated weakness. And wasn’t charity all about weakness? Of helping those not strong enough to make it out on their own?

If that wasn’t enough reason, he was in one of his moods that day. One fo those unstable, volatile, violent moods in which he might even turn around and bite his own leash off just to take it out on those around him, hate them and hurt them so he wouldn’t have to face the consequences of his own emotions. He’d even lashed out at her, not caring in the slightest for the fact that she loved him, forgetting that he loved back. Then again, she had been genetically manipulated so that his powers had no effect on her, just as her own had no effect on him. Not that any of that had ever stopped them from trying in the past.

But the media loved them together, probably because they got to see so little of their relationship. That was another of her personal little triumphs. She’d managed to keep Vought’s media team out of her own relationship after showing them that the public responded better to couples who weren’t flaunting their feelings about every single day. It made them more believable. What little the public got to see of Homelander as a boyfriend humanized him in their eyes (which she knew he hated, and it had taken a whole lot of convincing, fighting and angry sex to finally get it through his thick skull that they had to feed something to the masses). Hence, him coming along to the animal shelter with her, with that cold, shiny fake smile he’d been trained to put on his face like makeup whenever the cameras flashed in their direction.

At least, so far, he looked only irritated, which was a welcome cry far from the usual expression that looked like he was wondering whether if snapping some snotty brat’s arm “by accident” might wriggle him out of the event. Probably because he was not being pestered. She hadn’t chosen an animal shelter charity thinking that he would come along, but because she loved animals. Yet it was turning out to be a smart move. “At least you won’t have anyone asking you for autographs and pictures” she’d pointed out just before coming. She’d received a bad-tempered grunt in response, which was better than some snappy remark.

After the usual tedious talk with the owners of the shelter and the promise of a considerable donation and all those annoying displays that involved actual human contact and during which she was really fearing he might break the glass of water he was holding and throw a tantrum, there came the actual interaction with the actual animals. They were brought to a wide backyard in the center of the kennels, in which they were greeted by a hoard of enthusiastic puppies of all sizes and colors, that demanded pats and kisses and belly rubs. She immediately dropped to her knees and opened her arms wide, letting them jump all over her and whimper and place lots of sloppy, wet kisses on her face. She could almost here Homelander saying “I’m not coming anywhere near you covered in dog slobber”.

She looked around for him and noticed him closer to the kennels, his back leaning against one of the cages and his bad mood strong enough for the puppies to sense it and steer clear away from him, even if the humans did not. Suddenly, his nostrils flared, and he turned around, peering inside the kennel he had been leaning against moments before. She caught sight of a figure lurking on a far corner in the back, it’s beady eyes sad and resentful. She could the white of its teeth as its upper lip curled slightly in a snarl.

“Why is this one locked up?”

Homelander surprised everyone when he spoke up after being unusually quiet during the entire event. One of the caretakers of the shelter stepped forward at a prudent distance and cleared her throat “Oh, that’s one of the newbies, sir. He arrived some time ago, after they found him in a compound that raised puppies to become dog fighters in the pit. He’s been abused pretty roughly for one so young, and he’s very aggressive. We have to keep him locked for the moment, for his own safety and those of the other puppies. Sir”.

“It’s not his fault though, is it?”

“What was that, sir?”

Homelander made a gesture with his hand, brushing off the comment “Nothing”.

She hadn’t missed the whole exchange, but as it seemed he wasn’t going to add anything or elaborate, she returned her attention back to the puppies, smiling and asking questions about them, their stories, their health to the various caretakers, while the cameras buzzed around capturing the best moments of her interaction with them so that later, thousand upon thousands of celebrity sites and talk shows would replay them over and over again, sighing over the shadow heroine who took time off fighting crime to think about the well-being of the innocent creatures nobody else bothered to think about.

She was in the middle of answering a question about the animals she had had back in the farm, when there was a sudden exclamation of alarm from one of the caretakers.

“Sir, please, you can’t open that cage!”

Homelander, without anyone really noticing, had opened the door to the aggressive puppy’s cage, and was kneeling by threshold, looking inside at the snarling animal. She could see his lips moving, all though he was murmuring too softly for anyone else to hear. One of the caretakers stepped forward, and the hero immediately raised a hand in the air to stop her.

“Stay back” he ordered through gritted teeth, his jaw set, a small muscle twitching.

“But-”

“I told you to stay back”. His voice was hard and authoritarian. And it had that dangerous edge it had been carrying all day. Yet after a moment, his jaw relaxed ever so slightly, and he started murmuring to the dog inside the kennel again.

It was time to intervene.

She rose to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest “Everybody leave us for a moment, please. Take these little fellows too, if you would be so kind”.

For a second, nobody moved. She glared at the owner director of the shelter pointedly, a stare that allowed no argument and that she usually reserved for criminals. It worked, and everyone, including the camera crew, were soon hurrying out, picking up the puppies with them, until the backyard was completely clear, except for her, Homelander, and the puppy inside the kennel. Slowly, she approached them, until she was able to crouch beside him and gently rest a hand on his shoulder.

“John?” she called out now that they were alone.

He didn’t reply, still focused on the dog in front of them. It had stopped snarling, and was now standing a few steps away from them, its belly pressed to the ground as he slowly, warily, crawled towards Homelander’s extended gloved hand. Its black lips twitched from time to time, and its hair was standing on end, but he nonetheless drew closer, until his nose was only a few centimeters away from Homelander’s hand.

“Make way for him” the man whispered, as he too took a step to the side, clearing the doorway for the dog. It hesitated. And then, finally, stepped out onto the grass with unsure footsteps.

For a long moment, the puppy simply stood there, as if it could not quite believe it was outside, free, and nobody was stopping him or forcing him back to his cage. It looked like a mixed breed, something halfway between a Pitbull and a Rottweiler. How stereotypical. It blinked under the sunlight, and then, finally, sat on its hunches first, and then extended out his front legs, and laid down in the sun.

Then Homelander reached out to him. The animal immediately snapped and revealed its fangs once more, growling. Homelander pulled his hands back, an obviously outraged frown on his face. And for a moment, she feared he might cut it in half. But his expression eventually softened. He peeled off his glove, and reached out again, this time ever so slowly, making sure the puppy was catching every one of his movements and not taken by surprise. The puppy didn’t growl but stared at him warningly. Finally, it allowed the superhero to rest his hand on its back and pet him. The hair along his back stopped raising, and suddenly, its eyes weren’t glazed with anger anymore.

She released the breath that until then, she hadn’t realized she had been holding, still not quite sure what it was that she was seeing. He’d actually taken the time to coax the puppy out of its cage, and instead of lashing out when it had rejected his initial approach, changed his strategy to suit the animal’s needs. She had never seen him go to such effort for someone else, not in a long, long time; except perhaps for her.

Slowly, mimicking his actions, she reached out to the puppy, whispering soothing words to it. It allowed her to pet him too, and while Homelander scratched it behind the ears, she ran her hand along its back.

And then, as if the entire situation wasn’t already unexpected enough, the little fellow flopped onto his back and exposed is dark brown belly to them, demanding belly rubs. Belly rubs!

“John” she called at him again “What the hell are you doing exactly?”

“Aggressive my ass” he finally said, his eyes never leaving the puppy as it started to twitch one of its hind legs “He’s just tired of being locked up in a fucking cage, with people ordering him about and calling him out”.

Suddenly, everything made sense. Her eyes opened in realization, and she breathed out softly “Does he sound familiar to you?”

Homelander finally lifted his face to look at her. His blue eyes were soft, showing genuine emotion for the first time that day. It seemed like his anger had finally subdued. In his gaze, she actually saw the implicit apology for his behavior towards her earlier that day. Homelander never apologized, but she knew how to look for that feeling in his eyes. They could be almost naively transparent when he wasn’t thinking.

“Someone should have bothered to ask him what he wanted. Maybe if they stopped treating him like a potential killing machine, he wouldn’t be all growls and snaps” he shrugged.

The puppy emitted a playful yelp. It sat back up, and stepped closer to Homelander, until it rested its snout on top of his knees and looked up to him. Grateful. Trusting. Every so slightly, its short tail wiggled.

And then, without any explanation, Homelander scooped him up and rose to his feet. She rose with him, still not quite believing her eyes. “I know that look. What exactly are you planning?” she knew that determined set on his jaw when he set his mind on something.

“I think he’s seen enough of kennels to last a lifetime. I’m taking him with us. If these people won’t bother to actually treat him according to his needs, then…” suddenly he stopped, as if he had just realized what he had been about to say. His expression was almost comical as he cleared his throat “Well…he shouldn’t be here anyways”.

She cracked a grin, and took a step closed to rub the puppy’s head. It had started to doze off in Homelander’s arms. The hero, after a moment, reached out and wrapped his free arm around her waist.

“You do realize they’re going to lose their shit back at the tower with a dog running about, right?”

Homelander looked at her, his face serious. He didn’t care. He’d do as he damn well pleased. She knew that look. It said mine. Suddenly, he grinned at her, before looking down at the dozing pup in his arms. “I’d be disappointed if they didn’t. How about you, buddy?”

[katerix]

Hey @pinyapple​! I’m your Secret Cupid! Here I am jumping from the horse into the last wagon of the event train:D I hope that the story is interesting, and you’ll enjoy it! @rdr-secret-cupid​ 

Pairing: John Marston\f!Reader Warnings: fluff\angst&comfort\a hint of smut - 3in1: a little bit of this and that Words: 3434 (picture is not mine \ credits to the author)

“Morning, my dear girl,” said your father when you approached a big wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. “Good morning, dad,” you smiled, sleepily rubbing your eye.

It was a Saturday morning and today you woke up exceptionally late, about 1pm.

You were living on a small farm with your father. It was located a few miles away from the nearest town and it would’ve taken a half an hour to ride there.

You loved to take an old Travis the horse from the stable and ran away where the sun was waking up early. You liked to dream about travelling, adventures and far lands in the shadow of a big tree not very far from your house.

“I’ve been in town this morning,” said your father. “Did you? You never told me that you were going to. How was the ride? Everything was fine?” “Yes, sure. I saw Mrs. Anderson. She sent her regards.” “Oh, I appreciate that, thank you,” you smiled at him.

Mrs. Anderson was a nice woman who had a small flower shop and always gave you some flowers when you attended the town.

“I will drop in during the next visit,” you said while making yourself tea and sliced some more bread. “That’s what I’d like to hear!”, he replied.

Mr. (y\second name) was conservative when it came to the questions of manners. You were always expected to be a polite girl from a good family and you definitely were. But the young blood always desires venture. May it be caused by the stars location or chaotic decision of capricious gods, but something led you to the meeting with a man called John Marston on that fateful evening.

You opened the newspaper which was on the corner of the table and looked through some articles before you turned to your father.

“Dad? I wanted to go for a walk tonight. I heard that this evening will be special and the starfall must be observable from our part of the world!” “What do you say!” “Yes! I heard it from Mr. Douglas a week ago.” “You want to go out alone at night? You are a grown up lady and it’s not my privilege to tell you what to do, but don’t you think it’s a dangerous idea? There’re criminal elements in this area, you know that." “Oh don’t worry papa, I won’t be alone. I arranged to get together with our former sheriff’s elder son. He likes astronomy, do you remember that?” “Sure I do,” - he kept silent for some moment then said, - “Well. I think I can agree on that.”

Sheriff’s elder son was a man in his early forties and was married to a town girl and had already earned himself time to do astronomy, so there was nothing to worry about. Of course, getting such an alibi was a bold action, because if your father decides to ask about observing the stars, just from the point of good manners, the truth will be brought to the light. Your actual plan was to meet with John today. You also wanted to discuss a family dinner. The truth was that none of them knew about it - that’s why you were feeling a little nervous about the upcoming meeting. You wanted to introduce John to your father, but he always wanted you to unite for life with a noble young man from a prospective family, occupied in, let’s say, sales. Somehow you and John could hide your relationship for more than a year. His lifestyle, his bonds with the gang were making you question the possibility of your fine peaceful life together one day. And the fact that Mr. Marston never protested against these dreams of yours, was inspiring a warm feeling in your heart. 

“So when do you want to leave?” “Around half past nine, it must be almost dark.” “You sure you don’t want me to escort you there?” “No-no, there’s no need for such sacrifice,” you giggled. Your dad gave you a delicate smile and sipped from his cup.

*** There was nowhere to rush now, when the father approved your little prairie voyage, so the rest of the day you spent in the garden behind the house. The territory of the ranch was quite big but the main part of your property rendered suitable land for agriculture. A small piece of it was gifted to you in order to plant flowers there. A lot of seeds were bought from Mrs. Anderson's, and sometimes you even brought her some of your own for sale. Roses of any kind and size, some tiger lilies and peonies- that all made your flower garden look great.

The closer to the time, the more excited you were. You dressed in a shirt and trousers with boots, with a thin fur jacket - for the night ride it was the best option - and took a creamy pink rose to put it in your hair once you are beyond the fence. You went down to find your father and say him goodbye.

“Dad, you here? I’m leaving!”

You looked into the living room, expecting to see him there with a book or at the table, writing another business letter, but it was empty. Then she heard a noise from the second floor and saw your father on the staircase.

“Already going?” “Yes, it’s high time. I’ll do my best to come back before dawn!” “What are you doing to your old man, young lady!” he laughed, making his way down the stairs to give his daughter an embrace. “Don’t worry, I will be fine, I promise. Please, you should think about your heart, papa,” you smiled widely, hugging him in an answer. “Be careful, my dear.” “I will,” you waved with your hand.

*** You almost approached the meeting point, when you felt your horse getting worrisome and saw the skies turning dark quickly. Rains in this area were starting as fast as they finished and you could only wonder “why now?”. Deep dark heavens didn’t condescend to the answer, so you just rubbed your legs in disappointment and continued riding to find a hideout before the first raindrops. You purposely avoided the Thieves Landing, so there were not many placed to hide from the rain on her way. During your and John's last meeting some days ago you decided to meet in the woods in West Elizabeth where there was a perfect spot upon the cliffs to watch the grand river from a distance, where not a single soul could disturb them.

Suddenly she heard a horse neighing then she saw a rider coming from behind the hill. At first you were dismayed as you didn’t have any weapon, but a moment later you recognized a familiar figure.

“Hey, sweetheart, isn’t it dangerous for such a pretty lady to ride alone at night?” then a low laughter followed.

When John’s horse got closer, you couldn’t help but resent:

“You scared the hell out of me! I thought it was a gangster who tracked me down.” “Well, actually I am a gangster, you see!”

As he hoped, your frustration was softened by his silly joke. It always gave him a warm feeling, because his sense of humor left a lot to be desired, but you always found it funny.

His horse drew level with yours, and he leaned down to kiss you, grinning when he saw how modestly you hid your smile.

“Oh no, y\n, do not hide this beautiful smile from me!”

You raised your head and looked at the man. His hand reached out to you and gently touched your chin, leaving a deep kiss on your lips.

“How was the road? Got without troubles?” asked John, picturing the way from the ranch to this point in his head. “As long as troubles don’t follow me - it’s fine by me. Why?” “It’s nothing really. On the way here I saw some gentlemen, heading west.”

John looked up in the sky and his eyebrows got together as he noticed how lightly you were dressed and how the sudden gust made your hair fly. “I know an old abandoned household not far from here. If we move right now, we can reach it before the storm.”

“I feel that something worries you.” “No-no, that’s totally fine,” he replied, taking a last look in the direction you came from.

After a while you finally reached the mansion that John was talking about. In real life it turned out to be bigger and more of a manor than “an old abandoned house”. Suddenly the skies split up in two by bright lightning, then a remote thunder hit your ears. You shuddered. What got into you? You were never afraid of thunder or darkness but this time something was scratching your heart with little iron claws.

You didn't notice that John had already dismounted, came over to you and put his hand on your leg, gently running it up and down.

“We going? Or you prefer to stay under the rain?” “Ah? Yeah,” with these words you tried to get down from the horse, only to end up in his arms, as he readily caught you up. You felt your heart beat faster against his chest, so you even wondered if he felt it or not, when you saw a dorky smile on his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. That, obviously, was not the most non-banal compliment, but he couldn’t help but admire your features and the flower in your hair, which so perfectly accentuated the color of your eyes. John didn’t let you stand on the ground and carried you all the way to the mansion.

When you entered the building, you stood on the floor and looked around. Tall walls were covered in old, almost destroyed by dampness, dull red wallpapers. You walked around the room and stopped next to the beautiful, probably, handmade sofa. John walked up to you and cuddled you from behind. His hand traced along your stomach and slid to your leg. You felt his warm breath on your neck. You turned around and kissed his jawline, moved up to the lips. He answered with a deep, passionate kiss. Then, with a sharp movement, he lifted you up and put you down, pinning down onto the couch.

*** “John?” “Yeah?” his voice sounded low and lazy. “I need to tell you something.” “I’m all ears, sweetheart.” “Do… Do you love me?” you felt how your cheeks were becoming hot. You also realized how silly this may sound, but you couldn’t take your words back.

John looked down at you lying on top of him and thoughtfully twirled a lock of your hair around his finger.

“Of course, princess. Why’d you ask?”

You were not sure how to reply so you didn’t rush to look in his eyes.

“You remember my father? Mr. y\sn.” “I’ve seen him in the town once. But never after that. Is that about him? Did anything happen?” “No, everything is fine. I just wanted to ask if… Would you come for a family dinner tomorrow? I’d introduce you to my father…»

He kept silent for a while. So you started to feel nervous and asked yourself why you even initiated that conversation. But then he answered:

“I’m not in my best shape to show up in higher society, you know..”

Again you looked up at him. Then smiled and gently touched his cheek, fingertips slowly stroking his fresh scars.

“I absolutely love your current shape, John.”

You felt him pressing you against his chest closer, rubbing a little invisible patterns on your bare back.

“It would be a great pleasure to come, but… You sure your father would enjoy my company? Because I’m not sure at all.”

Now it was your turn to make a pause.

He chuckled:

“Let it be.” “So will you come tomorrow?” “I’ll be there. I promise.”

The second you heard that, you felt like a huge rock got down from your shoulders, finally letting you breath.

You spent some more hours together in each other's embrace.

*** You were sitting on the doorsteps when you heard a noise from behind the barn. You didn’t expect John to come so soon and also why he didn't choose an open road to the ranch. After a long talk your father agreed to have dinner all together, so there was no need to sneak. The next moment you saw two riders, coming around the corner, your eyes got wider. Suddenly you heard the sound of a cocked gun to your left and shuddered.

“Hello, ma’am. Mind if I come in?”

You looked at the source of the sound and saw a middle aged man with shirt red hair and a whisker. You never saw him before, but you had no doubt that he was some gang leader. His hazel eyes were looking cold at you and it seemed obvious that an argument was not an option - a weapon pointed at you was a thing to be scared of.

“Move,” he ordered.

Two riders who were supposed to divert attention got closer, and you recognised two customers from the shop a week ago. Their leader with a rifle repeated in low tone:

“Go.”

You followed the order without saying a word. Men entered the house after you.

“Tie her up. I don’t like her sight, and I don’t want any surprise.”

Three more men entered the house and God knows how many of them left outside. One of the newcomers took off a rope and tied your hands up - you felt a slight pain caused by rough material.

“Good. And now, Mr.(y\sn),” he turned to your dad, “let’s talk.” The ginger man made an inviting gesture. You looked at your father and saw fear in his eyes, but he was acting totally cool and calm. Two men, standing next to the door, were holding rifles at the ready. Your dad nodded and went to the kitchen, followed by the ginger man.

You stayed alone in the living room, other gangsters were standing outside. You didn’t hear the conversation and had no idea about the reason for this attack, so you focused on the rope. An attempt to get rid of it has proven unfruitful, so you looked around to find any tool.

When you were about to stand up and search the desk drawers, a loud shot rang out behind the window. You saw three gangsters running out from the kitchen, swearing and shouting curses. You carefully approached the window and looked out. A splash of bright red blood covered the window glass and you staggered back, breathing heavy and fast. You heard a familiar voice from the distance:

“Don’t hide, cowards! Are you afraid of just one man?” taunting his enemies was so much like John.

You already started to worry - what if he would have changed his mind and would never showed up? You were happy that he appeared, and did it right in time. The sounds of battle continued unabated, and you thought that now was the best chance to get to the kitchen. The moment you were already next to the door your sight faced a dark shadow suddenly appeared in the doorway. You looked up and with a horror recognised the ginger man. You wanted to step away, but he grabbed you faster than you could blink.

“Let me go!” you tried to escape this tight grip but he was stronger.

You saw your father making an attempt to hit the bastard, but he didn’t seem to even notice that. He turned around and knocked Mr.(y\sn) down on the floor with his revolver.

“You son of a bitch! You will regret this!” you shouted at him. That was not a wise thing to do, but seeing him hurting your relative made you mad in a second.

“Language, lady,” the gangster chuckled, making an effort to hold you still, as you were kicking furiously, “Relax. I won’t hurt you,” his left, spare of a gun palm touched your cheek.

You were breathing heavily. “Where are you, John» you thought. Another one shot rang out louder , and you heard a voice screaming curses. For seconds you couldn’t hear anything from the outside. All outlaws were probably dead or wounded. But three gangsters were still inside the house - one behind the door corner, two others were next to the windows.

“C’mon, be a good girl,” said the gang leader and pulled you after him. Together you returned into the living room and the man stood behind a small purpur sofa, facing the doorway - the revolver at the ready. You couldn’t see your father was sitting beneath the wall, holding his hand on the forehead, a thin blood line was going down the temple.

The sound of shooting was getting closer, you heard how two or three bullets hit the wall. If earlier the gang leader was a picture of self-confidence, now this confidence of his started fading away. You kept quiet just continuing to fidget slightly.

The minutes seemed endless but the voice ripped you out of your thoughts:

“Hey mister, let the girl go. You don’t want problems, believe me!” “What about you taking your cowboy ass out of here, now?” “I’ll let you live if you free her.” “Put your weapon on the floor so I can see it and step inside. Or I'm gonna shoot this pretty face.”

John hesitated but then followed the order and put the rifle on the floor, slowly pushing it inside.

“I’m coming in. Don’t shoot.”

You felt how the ginger man swallowed loudly. He was nervous. You saw John entering. His right hand was close to body, another one slightly aside, demonstrating that he was disarmed. The gangster revolver was following the cowboy as he was approaching. He said something else, but you already stopped listening. You didn't have time to think that it could be dangerous but suddenly you kicked him hard on the leg with the heel.

Then everything happened too fast. You didn’t notice how John took out a gun with his right hand and shot right between the gangster’s eyes. 

“John!”

He rushed toward you, held your tied hands and hurried to untie them with his hands shaking.

“Shh-shh, you are safe, y\n, you are safe now, everything is fine,” he whispered.

Once you were free, he pressed you against him tightly, burying his face in your hair. You crossed your hands behind his back.

“You came!” “How could I not come?” he looked down at you, cupping your cheeks, and kissed you gently. 

You hardly kept a smile back. You two remained this way for a couple of minutes until your breath became calm and quiet. You were too overwhelmed with emotions that you didn’t even see a bloody wound on his shoulder.

“Oh no, your arm! You are hurt!”

“It’s just a scratch, baby,” he smiled at you, clumsily hiding a pleasure of you being so lovely and cute, and worrying that much about him. “Let’s help your dad,” said John and kissed your hand.

He stepped aside holding your hand in his and headed to the corridor. Your father was already back on foot and, when he turned to you, you saw an expression of relief on his face.

“Oh, you are safe, my dear girl, thank God!” you ran towards the oldman and hugged him.

John was standing a couple of steps aside with his head slightly bent down and a faint smile on his lips, leaning on one leg, left hand on his side. Only now you noticed that he was dressed not casually, but as festive as possible.

Mr.(y\sn) looked at John and you saw respect in his eyes. He approached the cowboy and held out his hand in order to shake in gratitude.

“To my knowledge, our hero must be John Marston,” he gave a fast glance in your direction, “you saved our lives, young man. I can never thank you enough for that.”

John shaked your father’s hand with a friendly smirk.

“Don’t worry, Mr.(y\sn). That was my duty to protect unarmed people from this bunch of bastards.”

“Well, don’t you mind going to the kitchen? Everything was prepared an eternity ago. Do you like whiskey, Mr. Marston?”

You came a little closer to them to be a part of a talk too.

“Sure, sir.”

Your father went away, and John softly touched your waist to let you go first.

[hotniatheron]

Team Free Will (ugh) and their stupid tattoos: 

Dean Tats: 

Tramp Stamp that says Holy Roller 

possession tattoo (first one) , but it’s on his hip.

FORTUNATE SON on his collarbones

stick and poke pistol on the curve of his hand to the base of his thumb. smiley face on his palm (sam put it there as a kid), wonky rose on his forearm.

Dagger down his side to cover up a long scar from a hunt gone bad.

Led Zeppelin Swan Song logo on his shoulderblade. AC/DC logo on the other (dumbass) 

Heart on his shoulder that says NO GUTS, NO GLORY that gets singed off by Cas’s hand.

enochian tat that cas drew out for him on his left ribcage 

After purgatory he’s got Cas’s angel blade on the inside of his forearm. 

dog on the back of his left calf mid snarl

nude silhouette of women on the back of the other calf

Ace of Spades behind his left ear. 

hot girl Lola (looney tunes) on his thigh. culturally significant. 

Mater Dolorosa on his other thigh

“Mary” in her handwriting is on the inside of one wrist. 

Sam Tats:

Rosary around his collarbone, the crucifix is over his heart

hand with dagger through it that says HANDS REMEMBER LONGER THAN HEARTS beneath his navel.

“What’s done cannot be undone” down his side.

Sun on right hand, moon on left,  eye on each shoulder where it meets his arm.

“Justice is not Law” across his shoulders (dumbass law student)

possession tattoo is on the left side under his heart. 

Romans 12:19 on the inside of his right wrist.

Quill pen on the inside of his upper arm (nerd)

Flower sleeve because it pisses John off. Shark on his other arm. “Because it’s cool Dean, >:(”

Distinct lack of tattoos about Mary. 

There is a pitchfork on the inside of one forearm. only he thinks it’s funny.

“Jess” in script on his left pectoral. 

Cas Tats (yes he gets tats):

Several protective enochian ones

A growing list of numbers down his side (important dates in his life on earth)

“ Vengeance is mine, I will repay.”  after learning how many times he’s been lobotomized, go on and get your reparations king. 

guns on his hips. (a drunk trip. he keeps them. dean stares)

sleeves on both arms that get more elaborate and cover more of his arms as the season go on. bright and abstract. how does an angel see things? like light refracted all through several prisms. 

wings on each ankle

strange old symbols that he remembers and phrases that are long out of use wrapped around his legs.

he does have a finger tattoo. a thick black line that goes around. on his ring finger. 

a simple stylized dagger at the base of his neck and down his spine ending between his shoulderblades. 

he’s got a little stylized grumpy cat on the back of one thigh bc he took claire to get a tattoo and she bullied him into getting one. 

dean’s name is tucked up high on his ribs and usually hidden by his arm

constellations across the backs of his hand. “My favorite siblings” he says softly, offering no other explanation. 

nude MALE silhouette to match dean’s on his calf.

The freedom is a length of rope quote is across his collarbones. 

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Welcome to Oblivion-Ch. 35

Chapter 35

           The super amazing Valentine’s Day plan turned out to be tacos drowning in queso from the local Mexican place and a marathon of John Hughes movies on Netflix. Dean blushed brightly as he confessed that it had been his job to get reservations for dinner and he’d forgotten because of a fight and his advanced engine mechanics exam. I just smiled and kissed his cheek as I passed by to grab my third taco. Roman chuckled from his place on the sofa, his feet propped up on the table next to a bouquet of pink, white, and red roses. They were sticking out of an empty spaghetti jar, but they were beautiful.

           “I’m sorry,” Dean said again as he plopped into place next to me. “I promise we had something really nice planned, princess.”

           “Stop apologizing,” I replied, bumping my shoulder with his. “This is amazing. I’ve never been one of those kinds of girls anyway. Plus, Ortiz makes the best tacos for a hundred miles.”

           Roman draped his arm around my shoulders and grinned. “While you might not be the kind of girl that likes that stuff, you deserve it. You know… getting showered with all kinds of amazing things. I mean… you do have two boyfriends.”

           My heart skipped a beat and a sensation of warmth and happiness bled through my body. It was more than just being caught up between the two of them on the sofa, their bulk radiating heat and the sweet scent of their cologne. Being with them made me feel at home in a way that I never had before. They made me feel like myself… the best version of myself.

           “I have two of the best boyfriends,” I said, tucking my feet up beneath me. “Who buy me tacos and watch sappy 80’s movies with me. There’s only one thing that would make this the most amazing Valentine’s Day ever.”

           Dean chuckled low in his throat. “And what’s that?”

           Before I could say anything, the apartment door burst open and Seth slipped inside. Rain settled on his shoulders and the beanie covering his dark hair. He cradled a white cardboard box in his hand. “Sorry, I know,” he said sadly. “I’ll stay in my room and not bother you guys. I picked up a cake from Maddie’s downtown. Red velvet with chocolate icing.”

           Seth slipped out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of one of the mismatched chairs by the kitchen table. He sat the cake on the counter and passed by with a worn, unhappy sort of smile. His eyes were dark and forlorn. The sound of his door felt like a heavy blow.

           The Breakfast Club played in the background, Judd Nelson going on about his horrible home life. Somehow, the mood in the room changed. Dean turned sideways, his fingertips tracing gently along the side of my face. He tucked stray hair behind my ear.

           “I see that look,” he whispered.

           “What look?” I queried, trying to look normal as I stuffed half a taco into my mouth.

           Roman’s hand curled around mine. His thumb rubbed slow circles along the back of my hand. “That endearing worried look. I’ve seen you look at Drew and Sonya that way. It bothers you that Seth is upset.”

           My heart fell into my stomach. I had a horrible sinking feeling in my guts. It was sour and bitter all at once. For some reason, the sensation felt familiar.

           “Maybe it does,” I replied at last. “I’ll check on him in the morning.”

           Dean pressed a kiss against my temple. Roman settled his chin on my shoulder. “Go ahead,” he whispered against my ear. “I know what he means to you, baby girl.”

           I closed my eyes, scrunching them shut as that sick, sinking feeling settled in my stomach. I pressed my lips together. Fought back vomit as it clawed up my throat. “No,” I murmured, suddenly desperately exhausted.

           Dean trailed his fingertips along my jaw to the point of my chin. “Go on, princess. It’s okay.”

           I couldn’t make sense of how the two of them could read me so easily. My heart squeezed in my chest. I wanted to be sick, I wanted to cry, I wanted to shout and whisper and wail at how much I didn’t deserve them. There was something wrong with me. Something so desperately, deeply, undeniably wrong.

           I smiled faintly at Roman and Dean, lucky to have the two of them. They understood me so well, even when I didn’t deserve it. I kissed Dean’s cheek and squeezed Roman’s hand as I passed by. Faint light filtered out from beneath Seth’s bedroom door. Time seemed to move slowly as I rested my forehead against the wood and knocked.

           “Damn it, I know, okay,” Seth swore as he thumped around in his room. His footsteps were heavy as he stomped to the door, yanking it open so fast that I very nearly fell over. “I’m leaving. Just give me a sec—”

           His brown doe eyes went wide. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to be there. My heart skipped sideways, and I couldn’t explain why. Something danced over his face, lighting up his expression, but it flitted away before I could make sense of it. “What are you doing here?”

           I leaned against the doorframe. He smelled like coffee beans and vanilla. The scent hurtled memories before my mind’s eye. The two of us sprawled in the floor of the living room, notes and books strewn over the table, plates scraped clean of Dean’s famous breakfast sandwiches mixed in with fast food containers and a cascade of coffee cups stacked everywhere. Standing in the hallway before our lecture began, leaning against the wall and arguing about music and bad sci-fi movies.

           Something tugged in the space behind my ribs. For a moment, I lost my breath entirely.

           “You looked upset,” I whispered. I had the strangest urge to hug him—to hold him and protect him from everything. “What’s wrong?”

           The corners of his mouth tipped upward in a poor imitation of a smile. “Stop worrying about me, Addy. Go spend your Valentine’s Day with Dean and Ro.”

           I blinked, trying to stop tears that appeared out of nowhere. I couldn’t understand why I was crying in the first place. “Don’t do that,” I gasped, robbed entirely of breath. “Don’t act like you don’t care.”

           Seth backed up a step, looking at me as if he’d never seen me before. His fingers twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out but was restraining himself. “Don’t care about what exactly?

           My throat closed. I felt like screaming. Like beating my fists against his chest until he admitted it. I couldn’t entirely figure out what I wanted him to admit, but the irrationally emotional side of me didn’t care.

           “You’re unhappy. You’re hurt. My God, Seth, you’re here on Valentine’s Day when you should be with… Oh…” The flash of anger melted in an instant. His eyes lost focus. “It’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

           “Don’t be,” he mumbled, propping himself up on the door. He was close, the scent of him stronger than before. “She had a very good reason for breaking up with me.”

           The urge to hold him rushed back at me. I had to restrain myself. I crossed my arms over   my chest instead. “And what was it exactly?” I heard the hesitation, the hitch in my voice, and hated myself for it.

           That look appeared in his eyes again—making him look impossibly dark and fathomless. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, clenched his fists at his sides. It was as if he were fighting a battle with himself—one that he was clearly losing.

           With a sigh, he met my gaze. “It’s hard to be in a relationship with someone who’s in love with someone else. Even if it’s someone they can’t ever have.”

           He looked… broken. There was no other word for it. I hated it. Myself for putting him in this position. For ruining him… for ruining whatever friendship we had. How could I do this? How could I keep doing this?

           The tears dripped hot and molten down my cheeks. I swiped them away frustratedly. Seth was in pain, and it wasn’t fair for me to break down in front of him. Not like this. I sucked in a deep breath and nodded furiously.

           “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, Seth. Becky doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

           I turned on my heel and walked away, holding my shoulders as steady as possible. I wanted… I didn’t know what I wanted. Everything about me—about this entire situation—was wrong. Damaged. Ugly and desperately, completely twisted. Sick.

           The overwhelming urge to curl up with Roman and Dean nearly knocked me to my knees. And yet… I wanted them to hate me. To look at me and see that I wasn’t worthy of them and their hearts. That I was a selfish girl who wanted everything and then more and more. They were good and kind and deserved far better than whatever I was.

           Simple Minds hummed from the television as I practically stumbled into the living room. Dean sat sideways, watching the hallway and chewing on the edge of his thumb. Roman leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a deep furrow in his brow. They both looked up when I stepped into the room, nearly stumbling over my own feet.

           “Addy,” Roman queried as he practically crossed the room in two steps. He wrapped me in my arms, catching me as I stumbled and fell against his chest. For a brief moment, I thought I’d passed out.

           In the next moment, I was curled in his lap on the sofa, Dean scooting closer. His worn fingers cradled the back of my head as he stroked the back of my neck with his thumb. Roman swept his fingers along my cheeks, wiping away the tears that still burned along my face. I ached in a way that I couldn’t explain. I hurt in a way that was more than I had the right to. It was a heartbreak that I hadn’t earned.

           “What happened, baby girl?” Roman murmured, his hand curling gently along my throat. “Did he say something?”

           Dean smiled against my shoulder. “Did he finally tell you the truth?”

           “The truth about what?” I whimpered, wanting to curl into a ball. It felt like a hole had been punched straight through my chest. “I thought he was my friend. I thought…”

           Roman kissed me gently, barely a brush of his lips against mine. “He is, Addy. He cares for you more than you could imagine.”

           Dean’s voice ran over me like water. He pressed his mouth against the curve of my throat. “He’s like me, princess. He’s just too scared to say it.”

Tag List

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@vebner37​

@lilred91​

@not-that-kinda-gurl08​

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@librathepheonix13​

[gumnut-logic]

A Minute

Okay, a few nights ago I was feeling crappy and vented into this fic. Unfortunately, because I was feeling crappy I couldn’t find the energy to finish it. So the last few nights have been spent wrangling with it.

The wonderful @tsarinatorment​ and @janetm74​ are amazing and say it works, but to be honest it is 1am, I have work tomorrow and I have been fighting with this for more than three hours trying to write the last six hundred words, and can’t see the fic for all the words splattered all over the page. So I’m dumping it here and running.

Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy it. Virgil, Scott, buckets of angst and hopefully a little comfort to help.

-o-o-o-

Her VTOL flared as she came to a halt above the ocean miles from nowhere.

Securing her autopilot, Virgil let his shoulders drop and his head fall into his hands.

Deep breaths.

His ‘bird breathed around him.

“Thunderbird Two, report. Why have you stopped in transit? Is there a problem?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t want to answer. Couldn’t answer. He just…

“Need a minute, John.” He waved his brother’s signal away.

And closed his eyes.

The throb of VTOL supported his heart.

“Virgil?” Scott’s voice.

No.

Just stop.

Need. A. Minute.

He pushed away from the dash as the comms on his baldric lit up, his big brother’s worried voice tinny in his ear. Standing up, he unclipped his baldric and dropped it onto his co-pilot’s seat.

Where Gordon usually sat.

He spun away only to be faced by the back of the cockpit.

There was nowhere to go.

His name issued from the dash again.

He clenched his fists.

He just needed a minute.

He stepped onto the hatch, grabbed a safety line and clipped himself to his ‘bird.

A shove and he threw the overhead hatch open. Wind whipped around him, tangling in his hair as the roar of his ‘bird battered his ears. But as he rose up into the cold air, it bit into the skin of his face.

He sighed and sat down on the hatch, falling rather inelegantly more than anything else. Cahelium vibrated through the material of his uniform, though his fingertips.

He closed his eyes.

Atmosphere combed through his hair and cupped his cheeks. The beat of his ‘bird echoed his heart and kept it going. And the sound encapsulated him, keeping the rest of the world out.

So he could stop.

Breathe.

Take a minute.

Gordon was okay.

It had been close, but he was okay.

Four had seen better days, but that could be fixed. He was taking her home himself while Scott flew their brother to London and to a very worried Penelope.

Gordon was fine.

Unfortunately, it was becoming very apparent that Virgil was not.

Why a close call like this was affecting him so badly was a question the analytical medic at the back of his mind was desperately trying to ask him. But honestly, he…just…needed…a moment.

He let his sense of touch steal away the terror of his little brother not answering on comms. The roar of his ‘bird shook the image of Four crumpling before him on the dash. Yet again. Again. He was losing his little brother again.

A sound issued from his throat, but he didn’t hear it.

But Gordon was okay.

He was okay.

Virgil’s hands shook as he wrapped his arms around himself and just hung on.

He sat there for he didn’t know how long. At one point he realised he was rocking back and forth.

A part of his brain was yelling at him. He couldn’t stay here forever. He was sitting on his ‘bird, for goodness sake. She needed attention. She needed him to fly her.

But he knew his girl. She was keeping him safe and could keep him this way for some time.

After a while, his mind shut down and gave him some of the peace he was craving. Caught between the roar of his beautiful ‘bird and the world around him.

His breathing slowed.

And an arm slipped around his shoulders.

He should be startled. Should flinch away. But there were only two people in the world who could approach him like this and both of them were brothers. So, instead, he turned towards Scott. Because it was Scott crouched beside him, jet pack strapped to his back, worry in his eyes. Thunderbird One hovered unheard over Two’s roar not far away behind him.

Virgil grabbed at his brother.

Scott’s eyes went wide and his mouth said something unheard as Virgil pulled him close and buried his face in his uniformed shoulder. His brother’s helmet clapped against Virgil’s skull.

Scott’s arms flexed against him, startled, but gripping him tight, nonetheless.

No words made it between them. But Virgil didn’t need them anyway.

He just needed…time.

But Scott was anxious and obviously wanted answers. His brother pulled away and reached for Virgil’s wrist control.

Tired of everything, Virgil let him have it, and quick fingers had the lift lowering before anything more could be said, verbally or not.

As soon as they cleared the overhead hatch, Scott shoved it closed with a grunt.

The quiet was startling and Virgil blinked, staring up at his brother as Scott turned around and pulled off his helmet.

“Talk to me, Virgil.”

Virgil looked up at him with eyes that wanted nothing more than to close and not open for a very long time.

“Is he okay?”

“Gordon? You know he is. Penelope has him. Virg-“

And then there were tears running down Virgil’s face and his throat was trying to strangle him.

Arms wrapped around his back, a hand gently nudged his head to a blue-clad shoulder, stroking through his hair, and his brother muttered worried words that tried to comfort.

It was exhausting, confusing and a little terrifying that he was reacting this way. But it was as if his body had taken over and was demanding release.

Tears ran off his brother’s uniform, the material ever water resistant.

Scott’s fingers were still in his hair, combing gently.

Words bubbled to the surface. “It happened again. I was up here and he was down there and the bridge. All that concrete. So close. So close. I thought he was going to die! Again!” A gasped-in tremble of a breath. “Why? I tried, but…” He pulled away a little and sought his brother’s eyes. “Why? Hasn’t he been hurt enough? Haven’t I…watched enough?”

Scott held his arms. “He is okay, Virgil. He is safe.”

Virgil wilted in his brother’s grip, chest heaving as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen. His forehead dropped to Scott’s chest and he closed his eyes. “I can’t lose him, Scott. Not Gordy, please not Gordy.”

Scott sighed and held him tighter, his voice parched. “We didn’t lose him. He is safe.”

Virgil heard the words, knew their truth, but he couldn’t escape the thought of next time. What would happen next time?

The possibilities leapt up and crowded his brain. But at the same time, he could see no solution.

“Gordon is Gordon.” Scott took the words from Virgil’s mind.

They couldn’t cage the fish.

The thought just wilted Virgil further. This was on him. Gordon was just doing…his job.

A torn sound dragged past his lips.

“Virgil?” Scott’s voice was ever so soft.

He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Scott shifted, curling around Virgil as he sat down beside him. Virgil’s face ended up nestled into his brother’s collar bone.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Scott’s tone tolerated no argument.

Virgil groaned quietly, slumping against his brother. Eyes closed, Virgil once again sought calm.

Scott’s pulse danced silently against Virgil’s forehead.

His brother spoke ever so quietly. “When I came back from…Bereznik…I had trouble sleeping.”

Virgil froze. Bereznik was taboo. Scott never mentioned it. No one mentioned it. Topic forbidden.

Because Scott had suffered so much more than just trouble sleeping.

“I tried to hide it, but Dad…Dad knew.” Scott swallowed and his pulse picked up, his skin warm against Virgil’s hairline. “I had trouble with…memories.” Another swallow and Virgil almost pulled away. But Scott must have sensed it and his fingers curled tighter around Virgil’s arm. “He caught me in the liquor cabinet late one night.” A disgusted noise rumbled through his chest. “I’d had it. I just wanted it to all go away. Joe, Sonia, all the faces.” A sigh. “It hurt.”

Virgil shifted, pushing himself up. “Scott, no-“

Blue eyes fastened on him and took his breath away. “I know it hurts, Virg.” Those eyes dipped. “I see him, too.” Scott looked away, but pulled Virgil to his side, holding him close. “Dad saw Mom.”

The lump in Virgil’s throat threatened to overwhelm him.

“I know you remember. You were there. Dad didn’t have anyone to pull him away from the liquor cabinet. I…I didn’t know.”

God, Scott. Again, Virgil tried to sit up, but this time his big brother simply just held him down. “Listen to me, Virg.”

Virgil swallowed and attempted to relax against his brother’s side. Perhaps Scott needed to say this as much as he wanted Virgil to hear it.

“I was angry with Dad for denying me that escape route. After all, it worked for him.” A grunt outlined exactly what Scott thought of that statement. “I wasn’t in a very good place.”

The hand on Virgil’s arm spasmed.

“Dad said memories are to be cherished. For…every bad thought, there is a good one. We can’t choose all of them, but we can choose some.” Another swallow. “I think if something did go horribly wrong, that Gordon would want us to be thinking the good ones.” A half-hearted snort. “Possibly the ones involving pink dye.”

Virgil’s lips pressed together. If only it was that easy.

“Mom had the most beautiful eyes. I can still see her smiling.” Scott looked down at him. “Don’t let her death take away her life.”

His mouth dropped open but Virgil said nothing.

Scott looked away. “It’s not a magic wand, but it is a start.” He straightened. “That and any help you need, Virgil. I’m not kidding. You need it, I’m there.”

And Virgil found himself drawn in close once again. Mouth still open, he let his brother hold him.

A moment and Virgil was returning the embrace, clinging to Scott with every heavy lifting muscle he had. His brother oomphed and almost ended up flat on his back. “Virg, god.”

Virgil had no words. His eyes squeezed shut, still wet with emotion.

He held on for quite some time. A hand returned to stroking his hair.

But reality and responsibility were always waiting. Eventually he pulled away, ever aware of the rumble of his girl, still hovering over the ocean.

Scott didn’t ask if he was okay. It was obvious he wasn’t. But his brother did help him to his feet. A trip to the head and he splashed cool water on his face and took just another moment to finally compose himself.

As his mind righted, embarrassment for his conduct began to swell.

But then Two’s engines shifted an octave and he staggered slightly as she started moving.

Hurrying back to the cockpit, he found his big brother in his pilot’s seat flying Virgil’s ‘bird while One kept pace outside.

“What are you doing?”

“Flying us home. You need rest.”

“Scott-“

“If you say you are fine, I will knock you on your ass. You need rest and home. I’m making both of them happen.” He waved at Gordon’s seat. “Strap yourself in.”

Frowning, Virgil stalked over to the co-pilot’s chair and, picking up his baldric, put it aside and sat down. It was much easier to secure his belt without all his tools in the way.

They sat in silence for a while, both just staring out over the ocean.

“Mom was beautiful, wasn’t she.” The words fell from Virgil’s lips with no thought.

Scott’s voice was quiet. “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”

Silence fell again.

Virgil broke it. “Thank you, Scott. For…trusting me.”

“I’ve always trusted you, Virgil.” Scott turned to look at him with the faintest of smiles. “Always will.”

Virgil stared back at his brother flying his ‘bird. His eyes tracked every line, all the shine and shadow, recorded everything about the man in that moment.

After all, memories were precious.

He might need this one.

-o-o-o-

FIN

[musedblues]

okay hear me out

you're a college freshman in the 60's and have a forbidden romance with your TA, john deacon

sorry not sorry for how long this turned out 😘

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

You floated through the library like you'd breezed into town with nothing better to do. Running the tips of your fingers across the spines of books as your eyes looked ahead to the upcoming shelf. Beyond spaces empty of volumes, you saw him.

John was hunched over a desk doing work with a look of concentration you'd come to recognize and adore. You breezed near, clearing your throat, sure that you were close enough for him to hear, and that no one else would. Like you knew he would, he looked up and saw you. But to anyone who might've noticed, it seemed he didn't care. You knew that wasn't true. You didn't have to look back, as you breezed behind the shelf again, to know he was going to follow you.

Funny. When you started uni, you had no idea what to expect. But besides the overwhelming amount of coursework, and the struggle you had finding friends who stayed sober enough to remember you'd become acquainted, one thing surprised you the most. Out of all the things you'd failed to properly prepare yourself for, getting caught up with a TA... with John Deacon, wasn't one of them. He was in his final year of uni, and a rather unassuming presence. He seemed to stick to the shadows, off-campus. And when he was busy with classroom duties, he was a man of few words then too.

Maybe his quiet nature was what drew you to him. You longed to know the sort of thoughts that ran through his head. If there were any of you... Or maybe it was the look in his eye, when he finally dared to look right at you. No one had ever looked at you like that. With such assuredness. Like something of you belonged to him, before he even knew your name.

After a couple weeks of gathering up the courage to trade longing gazes for something more, you'd planned to take advantage of office hours with your fingers crossed behind your back. You'd made it late that afternoon and John said,

"You shouldn't be here." As he sat hunched over a pile of work, then. Alway so determined with every task at hand.

"Why?" You dared to ask with every scrap of confidence you could feign. "Afraid you'll get in trouble?"

John shook his head of flaxen waves, ever so slightly, scribbling on the papers below his steady hand.

"Afraid you'll be a distraction."

And then he looked at you, in that way you'd come to recognize. But it was always a thrill, that stormy gaze of his. It took your breath away, and you wondered if he knew. If he'd meant to.

Now, like then, John was at your side before you could blink. His fingers lost in your hair, his mouth on yours. Every bit of him fit against you, in a way that made your heart ache at the very thought of him taking one step back.

You only had a few minutes to spare before you had to dash to a class. But you and John had gotten pretty good at this. You knew exactly where to find each other on any given day. And you knew exactly which corner of the room to escape to, where you might get to share something more than a quick kiss or two.

And besides classrooms under renovation or the restrooms outside the gymnasium that no one ever used, the back of the dustiest part of the library was easiest. With little to no traffic, and the perfect nook between shelves, you'd find John here more often than not.

He'd whisper things in your ear that echoed through your head as you sat through one of the lessons he was called in to teach. Here, he'd give you previews of things he'd invite you over to his place to put into practice on extra long weekends and rare holidays you each had nothing planned for.

But invitations over were as rare as holidays themselves. He lived alone, in the quaintest flat with navy walls and lots of extra blankets. And the nights you spent there were the highlight of every odd month.

It had gone on like this for so long, you were sure you could survive till he graduated. You'd managed to keep your distance when it counted, even on the increasingly frequent nights out with a set of mutual friends. His best mate hooked up with your flatmate, Casandra. She was older, and their match made sense. But how could you know John would be mixed among the crew you'd agreed to meet up with for drinks?

Casandra asked what had you looking so flushed as she shoved a shot into your hand. You shrugged, and said something about how bad the lighting in the pub was. And even though shaking John's hand like you'd never met before nearly made you laugh out of sheer nervousness, you managed through the night without a hitch. He kept his distance, and only shot you that thrilling look a handful of times. You didn't even talk about the run in next time you flagged each other down for a quickie behind the auditorium.

You just kept it up, crossing paths like you had been, and acting like you hadn't when your friends got together. There were ball games, movie nights, and birthday parties you'd breezed through without sitting too close together.

And there were still nights you'd stayed alone together, and those were becoming more common. John would ask you to stay over to waste days with him, and you tried your best at slyly accepting, as to not seem too utterly desperate for his company.

But you really had become attached. You weren't sure if he had, but suddenly, all you thought of was the next time you'd get to see John. Suddenly you didn't even care what it was you'd do together. Suddenly, when he caught your eye in class, you couldn't help but smile no matter who saw.

Then one of your friends bought a new place. And she invited everyone over. All the mates you'd come to love, and some new faces too, who flooded her sparsely decorated home and filled the countertops with sweets and liquor. You were the last to arrive, and when you spotted John across the room, he didn't look your way. You shrugged it off, realizing there were a lot of unfamiliar faces to be wary of, on your way to the kitchen. Still, you fetched a couple of beers and found John in the living room between a pair of art majors, rambling about something you couldn't imagine held his interest.

You approached him and extended the extra bottle, a gift disguised as a greeting- something you'd do for any friend. But without even really looking at you, John stepped to the side and mumbled something about getting his own drink. As soon as you whipped to watch him slink off to the kitchen, another pal slid up and stole the beer you had one too many of. You let him, and laughed a little, hoping to erase the furrow in your brow.

Had you done something? Stepped too close? Looked to John too fondly? Couldn't you still be friends, mixed among so many others? You had done a fine job as such so far, you thought. But something was up. You just had no idea why, or what to do about it. 

So as the night moved on, you just kept trying to act like his extra cold shoulder was in fact, the norm. You withheld a frown when John left the rooms you were in, and bit back frustrated tears when he rose from the sofa in a room sparse of people enough you'd hoped to ask him what the matter was.

And when you left on your own, you'd felt lonelier than any time just like this one. You didn't look back to see if John had rushed to meet up or stop you. Because you couldn't decide if it would be worse to find he'd followed, or not. So you went home and waited.

You lost yourself to a never-ending sea of coursework, and prayed that the next time you floated into the library that you'd find John there. You'd never questioned it before. He'd always been there.

But you were right too. Because John wasn't at the table with a stack of work under his nose, that week. You couldn't find him behind the auditorium, and the classroom was suspiciously closed during office hours. You tried not to worry. You figured maybe he needed space. So you debated for hours, the night you'd promised to sneak over to his next.

A ray of hope beamed from the light in the living room he always left on as a signal that it was safe for you to sneak over. But something was still amiss. And you knew John knew so too, when he opened the door with a pursed smile, instead of pulling you in with a sultry grin, like usual.

You lingered near the entrance with your rain-wet boots in place, your arms over your chest.

"What's wrong?" You asked with a waver in your tone.

John shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and let out a sight before uttering the word "Nothing." As if only to convince himself.

"Nothing?" You breathed. "All month you've been begging me to spend practical weeks here with you, but you wouldn't even look my way at Maureen's party?"

John paced before you, listening reluctantly.

"And I'm pretty sure they know about us, anyway. Last week Jery basically cheered us on when he noticed us trying to quietly sneak out of his walk-in closet."

John said nothing still, bringing a hand to his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose as silence stole the air from the room, and when John's silvery gaze met yours at last, it wasn't like all the other times before. There was a sadness there that drained the colour from your world, and as his mouth started to open to presumably let you down easy, you wouldn't let him.

"I'm sorry I thought this was something it wasn't." You choked out, before spinning to open the door.

John called out your name, then, and you could feel he was hot on your trail. He called for you to turn around and come back, when your feet hit the pavement. But you just kept going, too close to the verge of tears, and John couldn't see that. You marched away until his pleas for you to come back were echoes, and the sweeter things he said over the year mockingly rang in your head.

Cassandra worried over what was wrong as you stormed into your shared flat, and hurried to your room. You threw yourself to the shelter of your bed, and let out the worlds longest held breath. But you didn't let yourself cry. Not yet.

Not until the class he sat in for came around, and John wasn't there. Instead, the cynical old professor who found every reason to skip out on teaching that he could find. The guy started his course by saying something painfully vague about having to find a new TA. All during a dry lesson, you took notes and bit your lip to stop it from quivering. And when the hour was up, you hurried out into the hall and to the corner of campus no one would see you cry.

You wouldn't let yourself for long. You just allowed yourself a moment to let out a little of what you'd been keeping in for so long. All the frustration you'd been confounded by the past week, out of nowhere at all it seemed. Even the thrill of being with John was something you'd been keeping dormant, hidden away from anyone who might've caught a loving gaze or grazing of the hand. Your adoration for John and the hurt that came from his ignoring you all mixed together and weighed heavy on your heart. After your tears bubbled over, you started home with a reluctant plan.

Now, you figured it best to toss out that old jumper of his you'd stolen, the week and a half he headed home and left you all by your lonesome. You'd have to burn the notes he'd leave in your textbooks, the mornings you'd finish work at his coffee table. You'd have to spend the weekend getting over John Deacon, but you really didn't want to.

Out of all the things you'd come to expect from your first year of uni, falling head over heels for someone you just couldn't have wasn't one of them. You'd learned, over the course of time, when he'd pop into halls and pull you around corners that John was very good at catching you off guard.

So, on your sorry stroll home, when the guy on your mind suddenly appeared in the middle of your path, you couldn't be too surprised. It was like him to show up when you least expected, in good times and bad, it seemed. But the pace of John's walk stopped you in your tracks. He shouldered past groups of friends eager to kick off weekend plans they chattered about. And in a couple of strides, John was toe to toe with you. And his fingers were lost in your hair. And his mouth was on yours.

John kissed you, right there on the pavement, in front of everyone. He held you against him, a good thing too, because you couldn't be sure of your own strength to hold you from fainting into a puddle of shock. Surprise took such a hold of you that you hadn't even attempted to kiss John back until he was pulling away from you.

"I'm sorry." He breathed, searching your eyes with his in a way you recognized. "About the party, I'm sorry. Maureen asked me out for drinks and wound up finding out about us. She was so bloody pissed and we got in this big fight about morality. And she threatened to sell me out and cost my job a minute before you showed up, and I was just so caught off guard, but I should have explained so earlier." John told, keeping two firm hands on your shoulders.

Your heart sank with the weight of the realization, all too suddenly recalling Maureen, and the strange things she kept saying that night. About you, and where you belonged in the world. You figured she was just drunk, and maybe she was. But her ramblings about finding your way in life didn't seem so random now.

"So I worked it out. I managed to finish things up early. I've been here for so long, working so hard for this degree. But the moment you showed up I knew there was nothing in this world I'd ever want more." John rang, desperation pouring from his tone. His long fingers dug into your arms as he rambled, and his eyes peered into yours with such intent. "And, that can happen now. I just hope you can forgi-"

You threw yourself toward him, taking the collar of John's shirt in your fists and kissing him with all the stored up adoration you'd been collecting over the year, right in front of everybody. John held you against him, and you fit perfectly like you always had.

Then, with a coy grin, John took your hand in his and you started to walk together like a couple of bashful teens on their first-ever date. Your heart had belonged to his for a while now, though. But you could really get used to acting like it. And you didn't have to ask to know John felt the same.

[bktynes-writes]

As per the fantastic advice of the wonderful and amazing Mallory, @valleydean, I made some graphics for my fic, The Blood Of The Covenant. It’s a long, slow burn, Mafia AU, and I have no idea where it’s gonna end up, but I hope you’ll all reblog and join me for the ride. Here is the summary, and the first chapter is under the cut. Read on Ao3.

The Blood Of The Covenant The Winchester Dynasty will never fall.

At least, that’s what John and Mary, heads of the most powerful crime family in the city believe. They have built their empire from nothing, and are willing to do whatever it takes to maintain their control.

When a new family, the Novaks, threaten the delicate balance of power they have maintained for years, the eldest son, Dean, is tasked with infiltrating the ranks of the Novak’s organization to destroy them from the inside.

Dean has always been a soldier in his parent’s wars, never questioning where his loyalties lie, but when he comes face to face with Castiel Novak, one of the sons of the family threatening to destroy his own, he wonders if maybe there could be more to life than he believed. Maybe this blue-eyed stranger can offer him the ticket out he never knew he wanted.

They say that the blood of the covenant runs thicker than the water of the womb, but how do you turn your back on family? Will Dean choose love over loyalty? Will he leave behind all he’s ever known? Or are he and Castiel destined to just be pawns in the war for power that rules the city’s underworld?

Chapter 1: Dinner

The city at night always had a certain charm about it that Dean couldn’t put his finger on. Maybe it was the way everything lit up a bit more or the fact that the darkness hid the grime that clung to every surface like a second skin, but the alleyways and culverts of the buildings seemed more inviting when they were filled with shadow.

He loved this city. Every dirty stairwell, every seedy bar, every doorway that led to nowhere, Dean knew them all. He had grown up on these streets, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The sound of a car horn brought him back to reality, pulling him out of his nostalgic reverie and into the moment. He looked down at his dress shoes, sparkling in the neon lights against the damp pavement, and smiled. If there was one thing Dean Winchester knew how to do, it was dress to impress. His father had instilled in him that first impressions were important at a very young age, and how a man looks could change the direction of any transaction.

Tonight was the first Sunday of the month, which meant dinner with the Family at Cain’s. Dean never looked forward to these dinners - he found them to be mundane - but as the eldest son of the most powerful crime family in the city, he knew his mother and father expected him to attend.

Thus, he found himself in his best suit, pulling open the restaurant’s glass door and striding past the host stand like he owned the place. The young woman there gave him a nervous look, and he shot her his most charming smile, causing her to duck her head as a deep red blush crept up her cheeks. He passed by the other tables and made his way to the back of the restaurant, pointedly ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him from the other patrons. He was used to this behaviour. Anyone who was anyone in the city recognized the Winchesters, and their reputation preceded them.

He made his way past the kitchen, stopping briefly to say hello to Cain, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Dean!” Cain exclaimed, turning around and pulling him into a rib-crushing hug. “I didn’t think you were gonna show! Everyone else is already here.”

Dean laughed. In another life, he would have called him a friend.

But Winchesters didn’t have friends.

“Yeah, I figured they would be.” He said. “What can I say? Fashionably late is kinda my style.” He shrugged and smiled.

“That’s my boy, always gotta make an entrance.” Cain beamed at him. “They’re in the back room. I’ll get your usual added to the order. Hurry up before your dad tears a strip off you!”

“Thanks, Cain,” Dean said. He ducked past him and headed to the very back of the dining room.

Dean could now see the usual suspects gathered around their regular table. He spotted Bobby gruffly speaking to Ellen Harvelle and her daughter Jo. The Harvelles were powerful associates who owned many of the bars and rest stops along the freeway into the city, and Dean’s father liked to keep them close because he had been friends with Ellen’s late husband, Bill.

Ellen was a good source of information for the family. People let information slip that they shouldn’t after a few rounds of shots at one of Ellen’s roadhouses, and she and Jo had ears like bats. Dean was pretty sure the main reason she was included in these clandestine meetings of the family, though, is that his parents, despite their vehement claims otherwise, were a little bit afraid of her. He couldn’t blame them. He had grown up with Jo and, despite being six years older, had had his ass handed to him more times than he could count by the feisty blonde.

Dean chuckled to himself at the memory as he slid quietly into the seat next to his younger brother, Sam.

“You’re late,” stated the younger of the Winchester brothers, his arm draped lazily across his girlfriend Jessica’s shoulders.

“Yeah, I was over at the mill. Gordon owes us and is being…difficult.” He reached for the bottle of wine that sat on the table and filled his glass. He wasn’t usually a fan of wine, but Cain always brought out the good bottles for these meetings, and when he didn’t have to pay, it would be rude to refuse.

“Dad is gonna be pissed.” Said Sam, finishing his own glass and holding it out for Dean to refill.

“No, he won’t,” Dean replied, pouring too much wine into his brother’s glass. “He knows how Gordon is. He’ll just be glad I didn’t break too many of his fingers to get him to agree to pay his dues.”

“Whatever you say, Dean,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes. He ran his fingers through his absurdly long hair, and Dean found himself itching to strap his brother into a barber’s chair and order a buzz cut.

A clink of cutlery against glass brought the assembly to silence and drew everyone’s attention to the man standing at the head of the table. John Winchester was an imposing figure at the best of times, and his broad shoulders, clad in the threads of his fine Italian suit, added to his commanding demeanour. His neatly trimmed beard was flecked with grey, as was the perfectly slicked hair on his head. He stood with pride and demanded the respect of those around him with ease.

“Now that my son has finally decided to grace us with his presence, we can call this meeting to order,” John spoke with an air of distaste directed solely at Dean.

“Ah, you know me pops, better late than never,” Dean said nonchalantly. Sam was right; John was pissed.

“Indeed,” said his father coolly.

Dean tuned out most of the ensuing conversations. It was the typical discussion of territory, who was responsible for handling the gang activity on the west side, who was collecting from which businesses for protection owed and whether or not they had paid (Dean received a small nod of approval from John when he informed the table that Gordon would no longer be causing issues).

When the food came, Dean was treated to the most delicious looking plate of carbonara he had ever seen. Cain truly did know the way to his heart. Before he had the chance to dig in, a noise from the opposite end of the table drew everyone’s attention.

A beautiful woman with wavy brown hair rose from the table, and Dean rolled his eyes, huffing dramatically into his chair. Bela Talbot was always trying to draw attention to herself at these meetings, and tonight would be no exception. She wasn’t, strictly speaking, part of the Family, but she was part of a necessary evil alliance that the Winchesters had forged years ago to have hands in the art trade, and Dean had found her to be nothing but a nuisance ever since.

Her words dripped with a caramel sweetness, and despite his intense dislike of the woman, Dean couldn’t help but stare at her as she spoke.

“John. Mary. Dear Winchester Family. It has come to my attention that there appears to be a new family on the North shore. They arrived from New Jersey about six weeks ago and have been a thorn in my side ever since.” She scowled.

“Why hasn’t it been dealt with, Bela?” Asked Sam. “The North shore is your territory, isn’t it?” Sam was flexing his powers a little bit, addressing Bela that way. Usually, it would be up to John to chastise her for not taking care of a threat to their operations, but Dean could see the look of pride in his father’s eyes at Sam stepping in so willingly.

Bela’s face tinged pink slightly at the admonishing tone in Sam’s voice, and she puffed her cheeks out before speaking out again. “Under regular circumstances, Samuel, I would, but it seems that these Novaks are a bit better at playing cat and mouse than I would have anticipated.”

“Novak?” Dean snorted. “What is that, Polish?”

Bela glared at him. “I believe it’s Serbian, actually.”

Dean shrugged and twisted his fork idly in his pasta, hoping she would get to the point before it got cold. Sam continued to address her. “What’s the problem, Bela?”

“They’ve taken out three of my warehouses since their arrival, and the attendance at both the craps game and the pool hall is down by thirty-two percent.” She sighed, and Dean perked up. He almost wanted to shake the hand of anyone who could cause Bela this much distress, but this was clearly an attack on the family’s assets. “Half the shops on Arthur Street aren’t paying their fees because the Novaks have started charging them, and when I sent Ruby over to persuade them, she came back bloody and threatening to skip town.”

Dean’s smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Ruby was savage in the art of ‘persuasion,’ and he could hardly imagine anyone getting the better of her. He leaned forward, his brow furrowed. A new family trying to start a war with the Winchesters? The last time that had happened, Dean was a teenager, and, much to his dismay, his parents had insisted he not be involved. He had watched helplessly from inside the Catholic boy’s school his father had shipped him to, as his people were shot in the street.

But Dean was in his thirties now, and the prospect of war looming on the horizon made him giddy with anticipation.

Mary Winchester, who had been quietly observing her husband and sons until this point, suddenly cleared her throat, which made all the men at the table sit up a little straighter. She was a fierce-looking woman with high cheekbones, a square jaw, and deep eyes, all framed by locks of cascading blonde curls. It was easy to see where her sons had gotten their charming good looks from.

She sat forward and touched her husband’s forearm gently. “Bela. While I’m sure the loss of your warehouses is devastating, no one would be foolish enough to start a war with our family.” She smiled. “And if Ruby and the girls from Rowena’s can’t handle what is being asked of them, then perhaps it is time to remind them who it is they work for. I’m sure Sam and Dean would be happy to deal with the Novaks, right boys?”

Sam nodded at his mother, and Dean could feel his excitement bubbling. He looked to his brother and saw a dark glint in his eye. The two of them together were unstoppable.

“Anything for you, mother,” Dean said, and he basked in her pride.

“Wonderful,” John said, clapping his hands together, dispelling the tension surrounding the table, and causing Bela to sink back into her seat as her concerns were dismissed. “Now, let’s eat before the food goes cold.”

The rest of the evening dissolved into easy conversation amongst the members of the meeting. Sam laughed wildly at Bobby’s account of a man who he had once held over a woodchipper for his disrespect, even though he had told the story a hundred times. Mary and John spoke quietly with Jessica about her parents and how thrilled they were that her contacts on Broadway would benefit the Winchester dynasty. Dean occupied himself by kicking Jo under the table and watching her face go from mildly irritated to genuinely annoyed as she tried to maintain a discussion with her mother about liquor importing.

When the food and wine had been consumed, John stood again and waited patiently for the conversations to cease. “Thank you all for joining us this evening.” He spoke warmly to everyone. “I trust to see you all again next month.” A chorus of murmured agreement rippled through those assembled. John raised his glass, and everyone else followed suit. “To the family.” He toasted and drained the remaining wine from his glass.

The sound of chairs scraping back from the table filled the small dining room as the Winchesters and their associates made to leave. They passed the other patrons, enjoying their meals and trying obviously not to stare as the finely dressed men and women filed out the front door, thanking Cain with handshakes and smiles as they left.

Dean stepped into the street and stretched, breathing the exhaust soaked air deeply into his lungs and once again being reminded of just how much he loved this city. A large hand dropped heavily onto his shoulder, and he turned to find his gargantuan little brother towering next to him.

“You wanna come over for a beer?” Sam asked casually.

“Nah, man, I was thinking about heading over to Lee’s,” Dean said. His head was foggy from the wine, and he needed some real liquor to bring his senses back.

Sam scowled. “You know, Dad doesn’t like you going out without protection.”

“Always keep a condom in my wallet, Sammy.” Dean winked, and Sam rolled his eyes dramatically.

“That’s not what I mean.” He said. “If Bela is right and the Novaks are looking to start a war, none of us should be going anywhere alone.”

“Oh, is Sam freaking Winchester scared of a few Jersey boys?” Dean snarked at his brother, punching him in the arm playfully. “I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s Lee’s bar. I’m basically royalty there.”

Jessica appeared at Sam’s side and snaked her arm around his waist. She really was beautiful, far too good for his brother. Dean sometimes wished he had met her first, but he shook the thoughts from his mind. Sam was happy with Jess, and that’s what he deserved.

“Your parents invited us over to look over the blueprints of the new hotel, honey.” She said. “Dean, will you be joining us?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart, but hey, tell 'em to put one of those fancy water features in like they’ve got in Vegas,” Dean replied sarcastically.

Jess smiled at him. “You ready, Sam?”

“Uh, yeah, one second. Why don’t you go ahead with Mom and Dad? I’ll meet you at the car.” Sam said. He rubbed his hand across her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her sweetly. Jess cast one more smile at Dean before turning back down the sidewalk to where Mary and John stood waiting.

“What’s up, Sammy?” Dean asked. He knew there was a reason his brother was holding him back.

Sam stepped closer to Dean and quickly looked over his shoulder before shoving his hand into his pocket and producing a small black velvet box. “I was going to wait until tomorrow, but I can’t help myself.” He said, opening the box. Inside was a beautiful diamond engagement ring. The center stone was massive and cut into the shape of a teardrop. On each side were two smaller diamonds, surrounded by a cluster of sparkling rubies. “I’m gonna ask Jess to marry me.”

Dean laughed out loud. “Holy shit, Sam!” He blurted out loudly and pulled his brother into a hug.

“Shhh!” Sam warned. “Keep your voice down! I don’t even know if she’ll say yes.”

Dean scoffed. “Of course she’ll say yes! You two have been together, what, forever?” He grinned. “Although, if she does say no, you can tell her I’m available.”

Sam smacked him around the head, and Dean laughed. “Alright, have fun at Lee’s. Call Benny if there’s any trouble.”

Dean waved over Sam’s shoulder at John, Mary, and Jess, and gave his brother a nod before turning and heading down the dark sidewalk in the direction of Lee Webb’s bar.

Swayze’s was more than a few blocks from Cain’s place, but Dean didn’t mind the walk. He’d left his car at home after visiting Gordon this afternoon, and he enjoyed the refreshing night air against his face. The downtown lights glared into the sky through the ever-present smog rising from the city, and Dean hummed a little to himself as he walked. This was his city. The Winchesters owned these streets. He knew one day, the empire his mother and father had built would fall to him and Sam to manage, but that time was a long way off. John would never relinquish control of the family assets to his sons while he still drew breath, and without any heirs of their own to ensure the continuation of the dynasty, that was even less likely.

Dean smiled to himself, thinking of the ring currently sitting in Sam’s pocket. Jess would be an excellent addition to the family. Her parents were both high profile talent agents on Broadway with a lot of influence there and in Hollywood. There had never been a reason for the Winchesters to get into theatre, but he knew they wouldn’t turn down the opportunity if Jess said yes to Sam tonight. His smile faltered slightly. It had been a long time since Dean had been as happy as Sam was now. His last relationship had been with Lisa Braeden, and that had only lasted a few months. She had a young son, Ben, who Dean still saw on occasion, but he had left when things had started to get really serious. He wasn’t going to drag someone else’s kid into this mafioso life. It wasn’t his place.

The truth was, Dean didn’t even know if he wanted kids. He’d thought about it, sure, and his mother had been pressuring him since his mid-twenties to find a nice girl to make babies with, but Dean liked his hang-up free lifestyle. He was happy to carry out orders for his father, help the family, and maybe hustle a few out of town suckers at pool when the mood struck him. Sam was business-minded, and Dean was more than happy to allow his not-so-little little brother to take over for their father when the time came.

Dean had been so deep in his own head that he barely registered when he had arrived at Lee’s. He sat down on a barstool and scanned around the room. Dean sighed contentedly. As he had expected, the bar was devoid of anyone immediately recognizable save for Lee himself.

Dean rapped his knuckles on the bar top to get Lee’s attention. “Who do I gotta gank to get a drink around here, hey buddy?” He said as Lee tossed the towel he had been using to clean a pint glass over his shoulder and turned to Dean. His expression changed from annoyed to ecstatic when he registered who was speaking.

“Dean freaking Winchester.” Lee drawled. “It’s been a while. You too good to come see me anymore?”

Dean grinned. “Never too good for you, Lee.”

“What’ll it be? On the house.” Lee spread his arms, gesturing at the impressive selection of alcohol arranged along the wall behind him.

“Whiskey. Neat.” Dean replied. Lee nodded approvingly, selecting a bottle from the top shelf and pouring a heavy-handed three ounces into a glass. He slid it across the bar to Dean, and he took a sip, letting the liquid burn deliciously in his throat and warm him from the inside out.

“That’s good stuff.” Dean smiled as a low rasp crept into his voice.

“Only the best for you.” Lee matched his tone. “So, what brings you out tonight?”

“Dinner with the family,” Dean replied noncommittally.

“Yeah, you always did hate those.” Lee whipped the towel off his shoulder and picked up another glass, wiping the water from around the rim. “Anything exciting?”

“No, just business as usual. Bela is being a bitch, Bobby’s still telling the same stories he has for the past 20 years…” He paused before taking another sip of his drink. “Oh, and uh, Sammy’s gonna ask Jess to marry him.”

“No shit!” Lee said, his eyebrows rising in mild surprise. “I’d say that’s pretty exciting.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time coming.” Dean chuckled into his glass. “Never seen anybody as happy as those two. Kind of a miracle she hasn’t killed him yet with what a pain in the ass he can be.”

“Ah, you’re only saying that cuz he’s your brother.” Lee laughed.

“Yeah, well, brother or not, he’s still a giant pain.” Dean downed the rest of his drink and tapped the rim for a refill. Lee shook his head but complied.

“You feeling a little jealous there, buddy?” Lee smiled devilishly at him as he set the bottle down on the bar top.

Dean chuckled darkly. “Nothing to be jealous of. I’ve got my life, my health, my family,” he grinned at Lee over the rim of his glass. “And a buddy with a bar. What more could a guy need?”

Lee shook his head but said nothing. Dean appreciated the silence that fell immensely.

The sudden clatter of a barstool hitting the floor drew Dean’s attention to the opposite end of the bar. Two men stood chest to chest, shoving each other back and forth.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?!” One of them exclaimed.

“What’s my problem? What the hell is your problem?!” The other responded, punctuating his words with a shove to the man’s shoulders.

“Hey!” Lee shouted. “Take it outside, boys.”

“Yeah, some of us just wanna drink in peace,” Dean said.

“What the fuck did you just say?” One of the men said to Dean. Having found a common enemy in him, the two men turned towards Dean’s seat and advanced. He drew in a breath, immediately regretting his decision to speak up. They were both much larger than him by a wide margin, and Dean couldn’t help but think to himself ruefully that maybe Sam was right about needing protection.

As he balled his fists, ready to start swinging, he felt someone step into the space at his side.

“I believe both of these fine gentlemen just politely told you inbred walnuts to get lost.” The voice that spoke was low and gravelly, and Dean felt his stomach flip a little at the sound of it. He turned his head to identify the stranger and was met by a tan trenchcoat.

His eyes travelled upwards to the man’s face, and Dean felt his stomach do another small flip. A strong jawline covered in light stubble, slightly chapped pink lips, and tousled black hair were Dean’s first indications that the man suddenly standing next to him was unfamiliar. When the man cocked his head slightly, Dean caught his eye and felt his breath hitch in his chest. Framed by thick, dark eyelashes were a pair of icy blue eyes that Dean very quickly found himself staring at. He looked away as soon as he realized because, as much as he would have loved to stare, the two aggressively drunk men in front of him posed a much more immediate problem.

Returning his attention to them, Dean rose from his seat and drained the remaining liquid from his glass, vaguely registering that Lee had also rounded the bar and was standing behind him.

“Well, fellas. Looks like it’s two against three.” Dean said, gesturing at Lee and the stranger. “Not that I don’t like those odds being in my favour and all, but I’ll give you a chance to walk away before this gets too outta hand.” He heard Lee crack his knuckles and grinned. There was no one in this world Dean would rather have in his corner for a fight than Lee Webb, except maybe Sam.

The two men in front of him hesitated slightly before one of them let out a yell and charged towards Dean.

He reacted in an instant, ducking below the man’s outstretched arms and coming up under his knees to flip him over his back towards Lee. He heard the man hit the ground with a thud as Lee reached down and heaved him back up into the edge of the bar. Dean turned just in time to see the other man following his partner towards him, arms reaching out like some great ape. He didn’t have the forewarning or space to execute the same move, and so he simply ducked out of reach. As the man’s arms closed above his head, he heard the unmistakable sound of a fist colliding with a nose as the cartilage and bone crunched under the force. Glancing to his right, he saw the trenchcoated stranger land a blow directly into the second assailant’s face and smiled to himself. Not bad, he thought.

As the ape staggered back, clutching his now broken nose, blood streaming down between his fingers, Dean stood up and grabbed the man by his shirt. Together, he and Lee shoved the two towards the bar’s door and unceremoniously tossed them into the street.

“Don’t let me catch you goons in here again,” Lee shouted as they took off quickly down the alley.

Dean watched them go and shook his head ruefully. Even at Lee’s, trouble managed to find him. He looked to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Lee said, brushing him off. “Guys like that aren’t a problem. You and I both know I’ve fought worse.”

Dean laughed. “Ain’t that the truth.” They turned to go back inside, and Dean spied the mysterious stranger as he picked up a stool that had fallen over in the scuffle, cradling his right hand against his chest.

“Hey,” Dean called out to him. The man looked up at Dean, and he was pierced by the full intensity of his stare. Those blue eyes, which before had been icy and cold with adrenaline, were now pools of deep ocean blue, and Dean once again felt himself beginning to drown in them. He cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that was quickly forming there. “Um, thanks. For that. You, uh, you didn’t have to get involved. Lee and I could have handled it.”

Way to sound ungrateful, Winchester, he kicked himself internally.

The stranger cocked his head to the side as he stared at Dean, his eyebrows knitted together in the most perplexing stare Dean had ever seen. Lee walked up next to him. “Lemme get you some ice for your hand. If that dude’s skull is as thick as it looked, you’re probably hurting pretty bad.” He walked behind the bar and began filling a small bag with ice. “Oh, and your next drink is on me. Dean may not know how to actually say thank you but, we aren’t all as uncivilized.”

Dean felt the heat rising in his cheeks as he sat back in his seat, and Lee refilled his glass, adding a second one for their new friend. “Thank you.” The man said, taking the bag of ice and placing it over his knuckles. He took a small sip of his drink and set it back on the bar top.

Dean shook himself and realized the man was still staring at him, and being under his scrutinizing eyes made Dean fidget uncomfortably. He cleared his throat again. “So, uh, you got a name?” He asked. Then, because Dean was not one to relinquish the upper hand, he plastered on his charming Winchester smile and said, “Or am I just supposed to call you handsome?”

A small smile lifted the corners of the man’s lips as he extended his uninjured hand for Dean to shake.

“Novak.” He said, and Dean felt the colour immediately drain from his face.

“My name is Castiel Novak.”

[klovenhooves]

Johnny Lawrence and the Five Love Languages, Chapter Five: Words of Affirmation

Johnny yanked open his closet door, eyes searching the sparse offerings, brow furrowed. Behind him, Miguel shifted his weight onto his other foot, face similarly focused, eyes critically searching the clothes.

 “He knows what kind of clothes you wear, Sensei,” he started hopefully. “I don’t think you need to –”

 “So you’re just going to wear whatever, then?” he asked, his tone vaguely snappy, and Miguel pursed his lips. “You and I are both under the microscope, Diaz,” he said, turning back to the closet. “And I am always worse upon closer inspection.”

 “Sensei, don’t be ridiculous,” Miguel reassured, dropping a hand to Johnny’s shoulder. “He wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t like you.”

Which, fine, Johnny could accept that idea, but that didn’t make him feel any less nervous. It certainly didn’t answer the question of what he should wear to this ill-advised get together that he’d been invited to. He was reminded, far too often, of his first date with Ali, where they spent the whole night dancing around the idea of their first kiss, only to chicken out and then not, ultimately ruining the romance the first kiss deserved.

 In the months following, they laughed about that story like it was charming, but it always seemed weird to Johnny. Even now, years later, that was still an indicator of what overthinking could do, and now that he and LaRusso had been interrupted not once but twice, he had to wonder if the actual act would live up to the anticipation.

 “You and Miguel should come to dinner at my place,” Daniel had said over the phone, the tone of his voice alone telling Johnny that he was smiling. “Robby, Sam, and Anthony will be here.”

 “What, like a –” he caught himself before the word ‘date’ could come out, but the silence on the other end of the line told him that Daniel was waiting for him to finish the sentence. Stubbornly, he stayed quiet, Miguel, on his couch, looked at him in confusion.

 “Who is it?” he had mouthed, waving his arms to get Johnny’s attention.

 “It can be whatever you want it to be, John,” Daniel said into the silence that showed no signs of abating. “Will you come?”

 Johnny snapped his jaw shut where it had fallen open against his will. He wasn’t sure when he started to notice the innuendo in some of the things Daniel said, but now that he was aware of it, talking to the man was far more difficult.

 “Johnny?”

 “Sensei, why is your face red?”

 “When?” he asked into the phone, noticing as he spoke how rough his voice sounded. He cleared his throat.

 He could hear Daniel smiling again. “Tomorrow? 7.”

 “You free tomorrow at 7?” he asked Miguel, who looked at him with wide, confused eyes.

 “We’ll be there,” he said, shushing Miguel with a hand, eyes on the coffee table, listening for Daniel’s response.

 “Good,” Daniel said, satisfied. “It’s a date.”

 He hung up before Johnny could respond, but he kept the phone to his ear, spluttering, while Miguel stared at him with a half-smile.

 And now they were here, Johnny quickly realizing that he was probably going to need a beer before he even got to LaRusso’s place if he wanted to keep his cool. Miguel impatiently nudged him out of the way and started flicking through the shirts, making noises under his breath that he couldn’t decipher. Most of them seemed confused, but there were a few scoffs of disbelief in there, too.

 Maybe Johnny should go into his closet and do the same thing, see how the little twerp liked it.

 “Here, wear this one,” Miguel finally said, pulling a baby blue shirt out of the back of Johnny’s closet, so old he’d forgotten it was even there. “It’ll bring out your eyes.”

 “What am I, a girl?” Johnny asked, taking the hanger anyway.

 Miguel chuckled. “No, but you’re in looooooooove,” he drew the word out, dodging the shirt that Johnny threw at him, trotting down the hallway back to the living room.

 “Get out of my house, Diaz,” Johnny called after him, the boy’s laughter as good a response as he was going to get.

 ***

 “Dad, I made you some tea,” Sam gently set the cup on the edge of the coffee table, catching Daniel’s eyes on her way back up. “Chamomile.”

 He smiled at his daughter and took the cup. “That’s so nice, sweetie, you didn’t have to do that,” he said, taking a shallow sip of the still-too-hot tea.

 “I did,” she laughed. “You’ve been staring into space for like…half an hour. Figured you needed something to calm you down.”

 “Calm me down?” he asked. “I am calm!”

 She raised her eyebrows. “Sure, and your leg is tapping like that because…?”

 He looked down at his jumping leg and put a hand over it. “Habit,” he said with a shrug.

 “Dad,” she took the tea cup from his hands and sat on the edge of the coffee table. “Sensei Lawrence is coming here. For a date.”

 He laughed nervously. “It’s not a –”

 “I can literally hear all of your phone conversations,” she interrupted with a stern look that reminded him so much of himself. “You’re allowed to be nervous.”

 “Did I tell you that I invited Miguel, too?” he asked.

 “No!” she jumped up from her spot. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 “I forgot!”

 “I’m going on a double date with my dad and his arch nemesis,” she buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this.” She snatched his cup of tea off the table. “I need this more than you do now,” she said firmly, taking a long drink before stalking off, shutting her bedroom door solidly behind her.

 Daniel understood how she felt. Was it good to be nervous? Was that a bad sign? He couldn’t figure it out, and the longer he sat there, thinking about it, the closer the clock inched toward 7. He thought about Johnny, leaning on him on the surfboard in the middle of the night, head cradled by his arm. He thought about Robby, excited about the possibility of living with his father after sixteen years without him.

 He thought about Johnny under the stream of the shower, chest rising and falling under his hand, eyes clouded, deep in thought.

 They’d almost kissed twice – why was he nervous about the idea of a date?

 “Dad, I’m hungry,” Anthony whined, his voice shocking Daniel violently out of his thoughts.

 “I’m cooking dinner,” Daniel called out, knowing that his son was going to grab some junk food out of the pantry anyway and stalk back up to his room. Amanda was the one who was better at curbing Anthony’s impulsive choices – Amanda, who was in Malibu visiting her parents to tell them about their divorce.

 “Sensei Lawrence is coming to dinner, right?” Anthony asked from behind him, his mouth full. Daniel struggled not to roll his eyes. Trust his son to be predictable.

 “Yes, he is,” he answered, turning in his seat to see his son completely. “Be nice.”

 “I’m always nice.”

 “I seem to remember you telling Johnny that I would kill him,” Daniel recounted. Anthony grinned.

 “That was me being nice,” he said, rummaging in the bag of cheese puffs. “It was a warning.”

 “Be nicer, please,” Daniel pleaded, but he was almost smiling.

 Anthony shrugged. “I’m just trying to protect you, Dad. What if he takes your heart and karate chops it into little pieces?”

 Daniel squinted at him, suspicious. “Quit watching CW shows on Netflix.”

 “Tell Sam to stop watching Riverdale,” Anthony said, still unbothered.

 “Leave the cheese puffs in the kitchen, please,” he called, but Anthony was already halfway up the stairs, the cheese puffs still clutched in his fist.

 ***

 “If you’re worried about the first kiss, why don’t you just get it over with?” Miguel asked, safely buckled into the front seat of Johnny’s Challenger, flipping through Johnny’s tapes. “Do it first thing.”

 “I didn’t – I didn’t say I was,” Johnny stammered, hands white on the steering wheel. “You said I was.”

 Miguel shrugged. “You’re easy to read, Sensei.”

 “Shut up, no I’m not.”

 Miguel didn’t look up from the tapes, his finger tapping on top of Guns ‘n’ Roses. “Then why is your face red?”

 “Are you going to play music or are we going to talk about our girly feelings for the whole drive?”

 Miguel pulled free the tape and turned up the volume, leaving Johnny to marinate in his thoughts. As much as he wished he didn’t, Miguel had a point. Would he be able to sit through an entire dinner while he overthought everything that would come after? Would he be able to make the same mistake he made with Ali?

 He was still thinking about it when they pulled up to Daniel’s house and turned off the car. Miguel led the way to the front door, but Johnny could see the lights sparkling on the terrace, near the pool. The table was set and ready for them, the lighting dark and romantic. It seemed almost too pristine for something that was supposed to include him.

 Miguel looked back at him, almost on the doorstep.

 “You alright?” he asked, and Johnny so clearly saw himself, a teenager again, standing on Ali’s doorstep, nervously waiting to be scrutinized by her rich parents, all the while knowing they thought he was more like them than he could ever be. Yet here was Miguel, standing bravely on the doorstep, in a red flannel shirt and jeans, asking if the grown man was okay.

 “I’m fine, Diaz,” he choked out, and Miguel raised his eyebrows at him like he didn’t really believe it and rang the doorbell.

 Sam answered the door, in a yellow dress that Miguel immediately complimented, slipping an arm around her shoulders for a sneaky hug that he managed to get away with before Daniel appeared beside her, sleeves rolled up toward his elbows, a smile already on his face.

 He stepped aside to let Miguel through, offering him a hand to shake that Miguel took easily, and damn, when did that kid get so comfortable in his own skin? Johnny envied him – he wished he didn’t feel like such a kid when Daniel was around.

 “Johnny?” He pulled himself out of his thoughts to find Daniel looking at him curiously, the light of his home behind him illuminating him around the edges. Johnny felt curiously like he was looking at a painting from a museum he’d never think to go into. “Are you coming inside?”

 Why don’t you just get it over with?

 He reached out for Daniel, pleased when the man offered his hand without question, and yanked him out the front door and onto the porch.

 “What the hell –”

 He stumbled farther than Johnny imagined he would, and he caught him against his chest, one hand steadying Daniel around the waist. When Daniel looked up at him, confused and indignant, Johnny slipped his other hand around the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss that no one had enough time to interrupt because if someone interrupted him a third time, he was going to have to throw all of their children and surrogate children into the pool.

 Daniel made a confused sound against his lips, but his hands were clenched tightly in the fabric of Johnny’s shirt, pliant in his arms. Johnny pulled away long enough to see Miguel walking by, who gave him a wide-eyed thumbs up as he eased the front door closed. He rolled his eyes and let Daniel pull him in for another kiss, this one breathless and desperate and not at all like a first kiss.

 He had to force himself to pull away because he was maddeningly aware that the longer they were gone, the more likely it was that they would be interrupted. Daniel was grinning when he pulled back, all teeth and Jersey pomp, his eyes still closed, and Johnny wished he had done this thirty years ago instead of knocking the kid into the sand. They could have had thirty more years.

 “Does that mean you’re coming inside?” Daniel asked, his voice so soft it didn’t even sound like him, and Johnny tilted his head back to plant a kiss on his throat, backing him up so he was against the wall, the mostly closed front door on his left, the light from the kitchen barely illuminating them, the sound of their children a delicate soundtrack.

 “In a minute,” Johnny said, lips still on Daniel’s neck, and Daniel exhaled a shaky breath, dropping one of his hands to Johnny’s forearm, like he needed to be stabilized.

 “Take your time,” Daniel replied, head tilted back to the wall, eyes closed. Johnny pulled back for a moment to take him in, still perfect hair, slightly darker lips, face arranged in an expression he never thought he’d get to see, dazed and happy.

 He pulled him back in, taking great care to run his fingers through Daniel’s hair, feeling rather than seeing the mess of it he was making, Daniel groaning against his lips, thoroughly distracted. Johnny could get used to this – kissing the man to distraction. He made a brief mental note to thank Diaz for the idea later.

And then Daniel was turning him around so he was pressed to the brick instead and all thoughts of Miguel went out of the window.

 ***

 “Where did my dad go?” Sam asked, her eyes searching the empty kitchen. “He never leaves the kitchen while he’s cooking.”

 Miguel watched her eyes go to the slightly open front door and linger. He could see the wheels turning there. After a moment’s awkward silence, she gasped.

 “No way.”

 “Maybe don’t go out there looking for him,” Miguel said with a laugh, slipping his arm around her shoulders while he could.

 “Oh my god,” he thought she was angry for a moment, and then he looked down at her, and they both started giggling. “Thank God that finally happened.”

“Thank God what finally happened?” Robby asked, offering a fist for Miguel to bump.

 “My dad and your dad are totally making out outside,” Sam said, loud enough that Anthony, sitting in front of the television, turned around to join the conversation.

 “Ugh, Sam, too much information,” Robby groaned, but he grinned anyway. “So which one of us wins the bet?”

 “Bet?” Miguel asked, looking between them.

 “Well, I bet that they would avoid their feelings forever,” Sam said, counting them off on her fingers, “Robby bet that they were already hooking up, which, gross,” Robby shrugged. “And Anthony bet –”

 “I bet they’d do some dramatic confessing after dinner,” Anthony grumbled. “So none of us win.”

 “If I’m the one who told Sensei Lawrence to do…” Miguel faltered, trying to find the right word, “what he’s doing…does that mean I win?”

 Sam gaped at him, eyes wide. “Wh – what? What did you do?”

 He shrugged. “I gave him some advice. You know, strike first or whatever,” Miguel laughed.

 “He doesn’t win!” Anthony whined. “He didn’t bet!”

 “Didn’t bet what?”

 All four kids went still, frozen like they’d been doing something far worse than having a conversation. Miguel was the first one of them to turn around, trying to keep the smile off his face. Johnny’s barely concealed smirk told him he wasn’t being as sneaky as he thought he was.

 “Nothing, Sensei,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 “Are you kids gambling?” Daniel asked, his voice teasing.

 “If I say yes will you fix your hair, please?” Sam asked, hiding a laugh behind her hand.

 “What’s wrong with my hair?” Daniel asked, a hand already rising to smooth it back down.

 “Nothing,” Johnny said hurriedly, biting back a grin. “Nothing, it’s fine.”

 “It looks like sex hair,” Anthony half-shouted from his place on the couch.

 The room went silent. Johnny looked over to Daniel, who looked momentarily horrified before he just closed his eyes and started laughing. The rest of the room looked at each other, Johnny trying to hide a self-satisfied smirk before Daniel shoved him, playful and embarrassed, and everyone else started laughing.

 ***

 Dinner started out surprisingly successful – Daniel had always expected this dinner to be awkward, with Miguel and Robby at the same table, himself and Johnny watching their kids stumble through conversation, Anthony being antagonistic, as only he could be.

 But Miguel and Robby were fine, chatting amiably while Sam sat between them, happy and at ease. Anthony had his own comments to make, but Johnny handled him nicely, and even he had to admit that he was amused by Johnny’s newest nemesis. When he realized he was losing whatever conversational battle he and Johnny were currently entangled in, he switched to his usual home run shot:

 “My dad could kill you,” he said, but it didn’t have the venom it usually did, when he was saying it to people who might actually believe him.

 Johnny rolled his eyes. “Your dad is too much of a good guy to actually kill me.”

 Anthony shook his head. “He could still do it. He was a Cobra Kai once.”

 “Anthony!” Sam admonished from across the table. Daniel felt his limbs go numb.

 “No he wasn’t,” Johnny laughed, his eyes sliding from Daniel’s son to Daniel himself. Daniel, who felt the blood drain from his face the longer Johnny looked at him. Johnny stared, mouth slightly open. “You weren’t. Right?”

 “Maybe we should go –” Sam was halfway out of her chair already.

 “No, Sam, it’s fine,” Daniel reassured her. “It’s – it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t join Cobra Kai, I trained for a little bit with one of Cobra Kai’s…senseis.”

 “So you joined Cobra Kai,” Johnny finished. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 “Cobra Kai wasn’t around at the time,” Daniel pointed out. “The guy told me he was Kreese’s sensei, that Kreese was dead, all of that nonsense, and I needed someone to train with for the ’85 All Valley, so –”

 “What about –”

 “Mr. Miyagi didn’t want me to compete. But I was…” he struggled to find the right word.

 “Blackmailed,” Sam supplied helpfully. “He was blackmailed into competing. Some guy threatened to beat him within an inch of his life every day if he didn’t.”

 “And I needed a trainer,” Daniel finished with a heavy sigh, his eyes on the table.

“You didn’t tell me you were blackmailed,” Anthony piped up indignantly from the other end of the table.

 “Anthony only thinks Dad joined Cobra Kai because he found the gi in a box one day,” Sam added, eyes on Johnny. “Dad doesn’t…” she looked over at her dad, and then back to him. “Dad doesn’t like to talk about it.”

 Johnny nodded, tightening his jaw. Daniel could see him trying to decide what to do, how to move forward with their kids watching.

 “Then we won’t talk about it,” he said firmly, turning back to his food. He caught Daniel’s gaze and gave him a wan smile. Daniel didn’t know what to make of it.

 He still wasn’t sure what to make of it when dinner was done, and Sam met him at the counter with dishes, muttering that she was going to take Robby, Miguel, and Anthony to Golf ‘n’ Stuff for a little while, knowing that she was trying to give him the privacy to talk to Johnny without any interruptions. He thought about telling her not to; he didn’t want to tell the story, definitely didn’t want to see Johnny’s reaction. Having the kids as a buffer might be good.

 “If you really like him, you’re going to have to tell him eventually,” she said when he didn’t answer, clasping his arm for a moment before ushering everyone outside and into her car.

 He didn’t have to listen hard to hear Johnny’s careful approach. He didn’t have to look to know what he was doing – leaning against the counter, hands in his pockets, eyes on his feet.

 “We still don’t have to talk about it,” he said, and Daniel felt a surge of affection for him that almost knocked him off balance.

 “But you want to know,” Daniel said wearily, grabbing a kitchen towel to dry his hands, turning around to see Johnny completely. He could still see the wrinkles in his shirt where his hands had been clenched earlier.

 “Of course I do, LaRusso,” Johnny said. “But I’m not going to force you to tell me.”

 Daniel shrugged. “You already know most of it. Kreese told Terry Silver to make me bleed, to make me suffer for ruining Cobra Kai. And then Kreese appeared, back from the dead, and,” he shrugged, trying to fight the urge to turn away from Johnny’s horrified gaze, “tried to kill me. Typical Kreese.”

 “He made you bleed.” It wasn’t a question.

 Daniel held out his hands, knuckles marred with thin scars from the wood. “He succeeded.”

 Johnny took his hands in his own, eyes on the scars. Daniel could feel him shaking with anger. He looked up to his face, tight and stern, the very image of a terrifying fighter. “I know where he lives,” he said, his eyes rising to find Daniel’s. “Kreese.”

 “John, don’t,” Daniel pulled his hands back. “It’s not worth it.”

 Johnny scoffed, pushing himself off from the counter, where he was still leaning, to cage Daniel in with his arms. “It is worth it,” he insisted. “He shouldn’t have blamed you because we left.”

 Daniel shrugged, and Johnny made a disapproving noise.

 “That’s why you hated Cobra Kai so much when I brought it back,” Johnny said thoughtfully. He paused, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t blame you.” He brought one hand up to gently trace the line of Daniel’s jaw. “You didn’t need Terry Silver,” he said. “You’ve always been a great fighter.”

 Daniel stared at him, trying to think of something to say, coming up empty.

 “Terry and Kreese might have made you bleed, but they couldn’t really break you,” he continued, surveying Daniel’s face while still managing to avoid eye contact. “You’re too stubborn for that.”

 Daniel managed a weak laugh, the sound of which relaxed the tense lines of Johnny’s face. “Jersey tough,” he said quietly, and Johnny finally met his gaze, blue eyes full of something Daniel couldn’t really identify. It was painfully soft, overwhelming to look at for too long.

 “Yeah you are,” Johnny said softly.

 He pulled him in for a kiss instead of saying something else, frustrated with his son for making tonight too serious, wishing fervently that he could go back to the front step, before they had to discuss their pasts, before Johnny had to fluster him with pretty words.

 Johnny lifted him, like he weighed nothing, onto the counter, and dropped his hands to Daniel’s thighs, clearly deciding that he was going to kiss all of his seriousness away. Daniel let him, content to be pulled along by the sensation of his hands, of his lips. But this was unhurried, unlike their time outside the front door, exploratory, a different kind of intoxicating.

 Johnny pulled back, just far enough that Daniel became aware that he was taller than him this way, blue eyes gazing up at him, sparkling in the light.

 And then he sighed, almost like he was exasperated, even while he still looked at him with a fond smile, and pulled him back to his mouth.

 “I love you,” he said against Daniel’s lips, so quiet that Daniel could almost pretend he hadn’t said it at all.

 But he clutched him tighter, holding onto him fiercely, just in case he was thinking of backing away, of hiding. He could feel Johnny laugh against his mouth, the laugh almost a sob, and kissed him deeper, communicating what he was always too afraid to say.

 “I love you too.”

[fics-not-tragedies]

Fuckin’ February: Day 28

Today’s prompt was requested by @thesadvampire​.

PROMPT: “I love your new lipstick… can’t wait to see how this shade looks smeared on my cock.” ft. John Wick; Words:  1345, I’m sorry I snapped again; Warnings: smut, sorta dress play, John is posing as a police officer here;

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You felt completely alone in the world and capable of anything. Perhaps that was why you didn’t notice you foot pressing down on the accelerator, the speedometer in your car rising, the wind in your hair blowing stronger.

Not until the unmistakable sight of red and blue lights reflected in your driver side mirror.

Fuck.

You bit your lower lip as you glanced between the road and the reflection, the image of the police car growing bigger as it approached from behind. For a second, the crazy idea of taking off tickled your spine. But then the adult in you won and you regretfully parked your car tight to a fence on the left.

The police vehicle rolled to a halt behind you. You tried to spot the officer, but the sun was reflecting sharply onto the windscreen, making it impossible for you to discern anyone moving behind the glass. So you sat still, politely waiting with your hands on the wheel as you eyed the tips of your shoes.

At least I’m nicely dressed, you thought.

You were wearing heeled sandals, your skirt was black and fitted, and your maroon top cut loosely around your small frame. As the sound of a door opening reached your ears, you swiftly flicked a dried cornflake off your bosom and corrected the fabric to ensure no part of your red bra was visible down the opening.

The officer moved with slow steps. But you didn’t look up, you merely listened to the sound of gravel being kicked aside as a pair of boots nudged its way to your car. Only when a broad frame shadowed your right side you glanced outside.

There he stood. Broad and sturdy in his black uniform, the white collar peeking up from above the dark jacket. Atop, he wore a flat hat with a chequered band, and when your eyes dragged down his curly locks to his face, you met an intense pair of brown eyes.

You felt like they were eating you up. You shyly squirmed in your seat and muttered, “Good morning, Officer.”

“Ma’am,” the man offered back, his voice as gruff as he looked. He pushed at the visor, the shadow from it moving across his face as he tipped his head down to get a better look into your car. “In a hurry, are we?”

“Are you, Sir?”You said, choosing your words with care to ensure they sounded perfectly polite, “Well, if that’s the case, you shouldn’t have bothered pulling me over.”

The man smiled wryly, “What’s your name, Ma’am?”

“You already know it, Sir” you spoke.

He rested a hand atop your vehicle whilst the other closed around the bottom of the window frame. He was wearing gloves, you noted. The leather groaned as he tapped his fingers to the edge of the glass. “Now we know each other, I think we can stop playing games.”

“Didn’t realize we were playing any” you said, before adding, “Sir.”

John chuckled, “I see. Perhaps I wasn’t clear, Ma’am - I was asking why you’ve been speeding for the past few minutes. Are you in a rush?”

“In today’s day and age, aren’t we all?” You retorted, but somehow sensed you might be wearing the officer’s patience thin. You licked your lips as you glanced down his body before forcing yourself to look him in the eyes,“I fear I didn’t look at my speed.”

“Do you know the limit?”

You parted your lips to speak before they snapped shut with a pop. you glanced out of the corners of your eyes, silently hoping that a sign was displayed somewhere nearby but, seeing nothing but fields, you looked back at John as you shook your head, “No, Sir, I do not.”

“It’s sixty miles per hour” he said, and you nodded solemnly, “That’s the maximum, Ma’am, not a recommendation. Now, how fast were you going?”

You held your breath as you watched him; his square chin, nicely framed by his thick, black beards, his sharp cheeks, his ears hidden behind his curly locks. You resisted a need to push your hands through his hair to feel how it would tickle your skin.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’ve found yourself in a bit of trouble,” John spoke and smacked his lips with a headshake.

“Oh Officer” you sighed. You turned in her seat and pushed yourself toward him as you asked, “Have you never been distracted before yourself?” Your bosom rose. The deep cut was clinging onto the lacy top of your red bra. You could tell from the pink tint to John’s cheeks that he’d noticed how your shirt had shifted, yet he tried desperately to remain professional.

“We’re not discussing me” John said, and you shook your head.

“We are not, Sir, but perhaps we should be” you cocked your head to the side and licked your lips, your tongue sure to leave them glistening wet, “After all, officer, I admire how hard you work to keep our roads safe. A girl like me should be very ashamed not to feel grateful for your contributions.”

John’s doe eyes darkened with uncertainty. As he struggled to figure out whether you were mocking or complimenting him, you made a bold move; you undid your seatbelt, turned fully in the seat, and lean so far in that your warm breath crossed his lips. If you were to rock even half an inch closer, your mouths were sure to meet.

“Officer Wick” you said, your voice sultry, and you smiled a teasing smile, “please tell me - what can I do for you to make this situation better? There must be a solution that would be most, ah, pleasing to both of us.”

There was a tense pause as John stared into your eyes, and you felt goosebumps rise across your skin, worried if you might have crossed a boundary. More so when he straightened back up.

“Ma’am,” he said, his fingers correcting his hat as his eyes shortly glanced around them. He looked thoughtful, but only for a second - when he glanced back down at you, the amusing spark to his brown was gone. Instead, it had been replaced with a dirty darkness. “Lean out of the window,” he instructed, “I love your new lipstick… can’t wait to see how this shade looks smeared on my cock.”

His voice was commanding. Without pause, you climbed onto your seat, your heels dragging across the leather as you settled with your head poking out the window. You weren’t sure what about him was turning you on even more now, and yet you knew the moment you laid eyes on his crotch. Because as John unzipped his black pants and withdrew his cock, you were faced with his thick, throbbing member, and you felt your mouth water in the same.

Your body shivered with need when he stepped close to you, his cock just inches from your face, and you found yourself grabbing onto the sides of the window to keep steady as you leaned down toward it.

Yours lips hovered just above the cock’s head. When you breathed in, you could taste the sweat and salty pre-cum on him, his length already growing hard, and when you exhaled, you sensed your warm air embracing the sensitive skin, making John groan.

“Go on, Ma’am” he urged, and he leaned back onto your vehicle, one hand seeking the roof once more, “Thought you were a woman committed to speed.”

You rolled your eyes at his bad pun, yet you soon found yourself focused on his cock again. You parted your lips, allowing just the pink tip of your tongue to roll across the head as you wet it with his scent. The pre-cum left a thick line across you tastebuds.

“That’s a good girl” he grunted and pushed a hand through your hair.

You shivered at the feeling of his glove brushing across your locks. You weren’t sure what about the harsh scent of leather made your knickers wet, but you felt your knees drew together all the same.

[welllpthisishappening]

Undisputed, Photographic Evidence

Y’all can blame quarantine, my overall stress level regarding the immediate future of sports, John Carlson, the Moscato in my fridge, a New York Yankees souvenir glass and the following people: @shireness-says​ @distant-rose​ @initiala​ & @optomisticgirl​ for the nearly 3.5K words under here. 

What are those 3.5K words, you ask? Robin Locksley has the best ass on the New York Rangers and no one on the New York Rangers can cope with it. 

It is as absurd as it sounds, I guarantee. 

----

“Look at this.” Killian groaned, leaning away from Will’s outstretched hand and the phone clutched tightly in it. “Look at what, exactly?” “How can you miss it?”

“Well, you’re clearly not great at holding things, so.” Killian moved again, trying not to elbow Emma in the process, but she was already twisting around him and—

“Oh shit,” she muttered. 

“Right?” Will cried. “Did you know all of that was under there?” “I’m going to be brutally honest and tell you that I wasn’t really looking, but—” She clicked her tongue, a quick glance in Killian’s direction that probably would have had more of an impact if he knew what the hell was going. “Maybe I will now.”

Will snickered, another step forward and there wasn’t really that much space between him and Killian’s left shoe. He mumbled a few choice words under his breath when it became clear Will was not going to leave and was also trying to sit down, and all three of them sitting on the same side of a booth in the restaurant was not particularly comfortable. 

“You have very bony elbows, you know that?” Killian grumbled, but Will wasn’t paying attention to him. He had started pointing at the phone. 

And it only took a few more moments to realize it wasn’t actually Will’s phone. 

“Are you stealing phones now?” “Don’t be an idiot,” Will sneered, barely audible over the music and the TV and Emma’s laughter directly in Killian’s ear. There really was not much space on one side of the booth. Maybe he’d mention that to Eric later. 

If he could get out of the goddamn booth. 

“Cap, I need you to look at this. Seriously, it’s really—” Killian sighed, tugging the phone out of Will’s hand and he actually felt his jaw drop. It was absurd. As was the pinch between his eyebrows, furrowed slightly because he was suddenly a little confused and a little stunned and—

“Wow,” he muttered before he could stop himself, and he barely noticed Emma’s hand fly to her mouth. It didn’t help silence her laugh. 

Guffaw, really. Complete with wide eyes and shaking shoulders and Will kept nodding. Killian wasn’t sure what he was agreeing too, really. 

Maybe just the concept of this picture. 

Of Robin Locksley, laying flat on his stomach in what was clearly his living room, legs stretched out behind him with a t-shirt and shorts on. The shorts were really the crux of the problem. The very tight shorts. 

And the very obvious size of—

Robin’s thighs. 

Among other things.

“Shit,” Killian breathed, and he hadn’t really planned on saying that. His eyes were starting to water. Presumably from the lack of blinking, but Killian was almost positive that if he blinked the picture would disappear and he couldn’t really believe the picture was there at all. 

“Why do you have this?” 

Will clicked his tongue. “Gina told me to look at some email about some endorsement thing.” “And that led you to her camera roll?” “Oh my God, who says camera roll? Honestly?” “He does bring up a pretty good point,” Emma said, having to move her hand away from her mouth so she could speak. And hold both hands up in mock surrender when Killian’s head snapped her direction. “I just—” She leaned forward again, an arm on Killian’s shoulder because there was no room in this booth. 

He didn’t mind that part much. 

He minded...everything else. 

“Did you know this was a thing?” Killian asked. 

Will sneered. “Did I know that Locksley was packing that kind of ass under all that padding?” “Oh my God, why did you say it like that?” Emma mumbled. 

Will ignored her. “No, obviously not. That’s why I came over here to ask if you knew about it. Honestly I figured most of the ass was his pads, but this is—” “—Proof otherwise,” Killian finished. 

“Exactly.” Emma’s head fell, her whole body shaking with the force of her laugh and Killian was only marginally worried he was going to dislocate his shoulder when he moved his arm around her middle. “I think part of it’s the shorts,” Will added. “You know they’re...tight?” “Oh, phrase that like a question again, please.” “Do you not think those shorts are questionably tight?” “Have you not seen the pants Killian wears?” Emma asked. “He is not the person to ask about the overall tightness of fabric.” Killian’s jaw dropped again. He wasn’t entirely sure when he’d closed his mouth. “I’m sitting right here. We’re all aware of that right?” “Almost painfully so,” Will said. 

“That’s because you’ve got bony elbows.” “And you’ve got the second best ass of anyone on this team.” “Eh,” Emma objected. “I don’t know about that.”

Whatever heat exploded on either one of Killian’s cheeks was as surprising as it was nice, misplaced embarrassment that didn’t make any sense at all because he really did want his wife to think he had the best ass on this professional hockey team. 

“You know,” she continued, hair dangerously close to his mouth, “he has to order jeans. Like specifically sized for him?”

Will’s eyes widened to a circumference that could not have been healthy. “Seriously?”

“That’s because I’m a better skater than Scarlet,” Killian reasoned. 

“I don’t see how one has to do with the other.” “What’s your inseam measurement?” “That’s rude, Cap.” “You are stealing phones!” “Yell that a little louder, huh?” Emma laughed. “Here, here, let me look at that.”

The phone moved again, Killian doing his best to sit up a little straighter, but the booth was fairly unforgiving and Will’s elbow seemed determined to work its way into his pancreas. “I don’t know Scarlet,” she said. “I think your shorts theory is just that.”

“No, no, Em look—it’s because he’s laying on the floor, so the front of the shorts ride up and that makes everything look tighter.” “How do you explain the thighs then?” “I can’t think about Locksley’s thighs when there is so much ass to distract me.”

She dropped the phone, both Killian and Will making near identical noises that might have just been the word careful hissed out through gritted teeth and it really was only a matter of time before they drew an audience. 

“Why are you all sitting on the same side of this booth?” Ariel asked, sliding in across from them with a drink in her hand. “And what’s wrong with Cap’s face?” Will didn’t answer, just pushed Regina’s phone across the table. And Killian wasn’t sure what reaction, exactly, he was expecting, but it certainly was not passive indifference. 

Ariel shrugged. 

“Oh, yeah,” she said, “did you guys not know about this?” “This,” Killian echoed in disbelief. “You mean Locksley’s absolutely enormous ass? And thighs?” Will shook his head. “We just talked about this. We’re only focusing on the ass right now.” “Say that again,” Ariel challenged. Will was going to knock something over if he kept waving his arms through the air at his current rate. His right hand came very close to Killian’s water. 

“Why do you know about this?” Killian asked, well aware that it came out like an accusation even before Ariel’s eyes went dangerously thin. 

Emma was bordering very close to hysterical. “Are you under the impression that I don’t know what all of your asses look like?” Ariel asked, calm and even and Killian had no idea what to qualify the noise he made in response as. 

It was sharper than a scoff and harsher than a sigh, the feel of it scratching at his throat and the back of his teeth. Will appeared to be choking. 

On air, maybe. 

Or Ariel’s steady stare, wholly unperturbed by them and their reaction and the overall size of Robin’s lower body. 

And there were more footsteps coming their way. 

Belle dropped two plates of onion rings in the middle of the table before muttering “shove over,” to Ariel, seemingly unaware of what was happening or had happened and Killian still hadn’t closed his mouth yet. 

Emma’s right hand was back over her mouth. 

“Babe,” Will said, “are you aware that A is keeping track of the details regarding our glutes? And is now bragging about that?”

“I never once bragged,” Ariel argued. “You’re twisting my words.” “Someone’s twisting something here,” Emma murmured. 

Killian smirked. “Was that a workout joke, Swan?” “A bad one, maybe.” “Yuh huh.” To her credit, Belle only blinked once at their general ridiculousness, head at a slight angle, before her smile threatened to take up most of her face. She shrugged too. “It’s a medical thing, right? For Ariel, at least. I mean it’s not like you guys are constantly wearing pants during PT.” “This is the weirdest conversation we’ve ever had,” Will said. “And your fault,” Killian added, grunting when Will elbowed him purposely in the side. His pancreas might not survive this conversation. 

Ariel stuck her tongue out. “You’re the one making it weird, Scarlet. 

“Why are we talking about Ariel’s recollection of your guys’ glutes?” Belle asked. Will tapped the top of the phone, Ariel handing it off and it was probably inevitable that everyone in that restaurant got the opportunity to voice their opinion. “Whoa,” Belle said. “Is that Robin?” “I’m glad you haven’t memorized all of our asses,” Will mumbled. “Well, I’m fairly confident I could pick you out of a crowd, so—” “—Oh God, do we have to be here for this?” Killian grumbled. His arm was starting to ache a bit, still twisted around Emma and her laugh-prone body. She kissed the side of his shoulder. 

“I could tell it was you, waist-down,” she announced. “Without a doubt.”

“You think?” “You couldn’t?” Killian made another not-quite-human noise, regretting his middle seat more than ever. If only because he was almost willing to sacrifice his pancreas in order to find somewhere to make out with his wife. “I mean, the well-fitting jeans would definitely help,” Emma admitted. “But I think I’d be able to do it even if there were sweatpants involved, or something.”

“Where are you getting your pants tailored?” Belle asked, glaring at Killian like he’d been keeping state secrets. 

“Not tailored,” he corrected. “Just ordered from a specific company. Fits my thighs better. Why?” “We own so many belts. Like, it is absurd how many belts we own and how they’re threatening to take over the entire closet and it’s just—” “—I think she’s suggesting you’ve got small hips, Scarlet,” Ariel grinned. 

He flipped her off. “Can we focus? Please? And babe, seriously, you don’t think Robin’s whole situation here is getting accentuated by the shorts?” Belle’s eyebrows jumped, gaze dropping back down to the phone while her mouth twisted thoughtfully. “Nah,” she said after what felt like a small eternity. “That’s, uh—I think that’s all pretty natural. Look at how tight the shorts are around his thighs.” “I told you,” Emma said. 

“But how did we not know about this?” Will asked. “I mean it’s not like Locksley’s skating more than us.” “This is really messing with your head, isn’t it?” Will nodded quickly, chin nearly colliding with his chest in the process. And Killian’s other shoulder. “I cannot wrap my mind around it. Like—” Another over-enthusiastic arm wave. Killian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Under all that super dad exterior, and, you know, almost mild-mannered bullshit—” “—I once saw Locksley check someone so hard they nearly dislocated their shoulder,” Killian said. Will ignored him too. 

That seemed like a theme. 

He was almost waiting for Will to stand on the booth. 

“Beneath all of that,” Will continued, voice rising on every letter, “was the ass of a Greek god. Carved out of like marble or something. What did they carve Greek gods out of?” “I don’t think anyone was carving the gods specifically,” Killian said. Emma might have been crying. 

Ariel’s laugh was loud enough that it probably affected the ozone or something. 

“Ok, I’m not suggesting we literally carve up anyone,” Will argued. “God or otherwise. Just that...you know, Locksley’s got an ass.” “As opposed to not,” Belle said. 

“Babe! Look at this ass!”

That, it seemed, was the tipping point. Will’s voice cracked and he stood up so quickly, the table wobbled precariously, more than one hand reaching out to steady drinks and avoid any water damage to a phone they were not supposed to have. 

And drew another set of footsteps. 

That clacked pointedly when they moved. 

“What the hell is wrong with all of you?” Regina demanded. “Scarlet, did you read that email? Because we’ve got to get ahead on this and—”

Her teeth clicked when she snapped her jaw, gaze sweeping the table and the still-filled glasses. And the distinct color on every single one of their cheeks. 

Ariel tugged her lips behind her teeth. 

Regina didn’t say anything else for a moment — which was ten-thousand times worse than the opposite, a fact Killian was only too confident she was aware of. It kind of felt like they were about to get grounded. 

For the rest of their lives. 

Or, they just had to be on the receiving end of what Regina said next. 

“You could bounce quarters off that ass.”

Killian’s jaw was going to snap in half. His eyes watered again and his mouth went dry, every molecule of oxygen his lungs had previously possessed rushing out of him in a huff that actually forced him forward, the edge of the table colliding with his stomach. 

Will’s left knee bent awkwardly, as if it couldn’t possibly be expected to support his weight anymore, and Emma noticeably slumped on Killian’s other side. Ariel’s head fell to her arms, hitting the table with a soft thump, while both of Belle’s hands found her cheeks. 

Regina shrugged. 

“It’s true,” she said, nodding for even more absurdity. “Just like—comes right off. At a perfect angle and everything.” None of them responded. None of them were breathing. 

At least Killian wasn’t, staring at Regina like she’d yell psych at some point, but he was fairly positive that word wasn’t part of her vocabulary and he was really confident she would have been more upset about the phone-stealing thing. 

“Do you think we’re dead?” Will asked, the words not entirely sounding like words. “And like—I don’t know, this is hell or something? Purgatory, maybe?” “You’re really on this religious kick, aren’t you?” Emma quipped. “Between that and the Greek gods. Why only Greek, by the way? Do you think the Romans didn’t have good asses?” “I’m sorry, what?” Ruby snapped, appearing out of seemingly nowhere with her own phone out and maybe there were just magnets involved. Because her eyes fell almost immediately to the picture, darting back up only to flash back down. Several times. “Wow,” she said. “That’s—good for you, Gina.” “I know, right?” Regina asked, sounding especially pleased with herself. 

Killian was going to have to buy several packages of ChapStick if he kept breathing out of his mouth. “How are you not more mad about this?” “About my husband having a better ass than all of you combined?” Ariel guffawed, tears on her cheeks. “I don’t know, Rook is packing some pretty solid back-end stuff.” “Oh my God, phrase that better,” Will objected. “Do you all have opinions on this that we didn’t know about? Am I in last place?”

“Obviously,” Killian nodded. 

“Shut up, Cap.” “You brought this on yourself, Scarlet. I don’t know what to tell you.” “You have a dad butt.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Dad butt,” Will repeated slowly, like that would make it sound more insulting or less ridiculous. Neither one worked. And Killian glanced at Emma before he could stop himself. 

“Not true,” she promised. “Your jeans fit absurdly well. And—” Whatever else she was going to say was lost in yet another round of footsteps and questions and even Regina tensed slightly when Robin appeared next to her, an arm around her shoulder as soon as he was close enough. “Why are you guys all sitting on the same side of the booth?” “Nothing,” Will said at the same time Killian mumbled “no reason” and he could practically hear Emma’s eye roll. 

“Yeah, that all sounded real honest,” she sighed. 

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” Will asked sharply, and Belle’s head was buried in the curve of Ariel’s shoulder now. “Is it a lunge thing? Just a shit ton of lunges? How often do you lunge, Locksley?” “Are you insane?” Robin challenged. 

Killian nodded. “It’s entirely possible. But, seriously, if you had to ballpark, how many lunges would you say you do at home?”

Robin stared at them for a moment, the pinch between his eyebrows almost impressively deep before Regina whispered something in his ear and—he laughed. Louder than Ariel had and easier than he probably should have, not a hint of color on his cheeks. 

Which Killian found kind offensive, all things considered. 

“No extraneous lunges,” Regina replied. “He’s just better looking than all of you.” “Good use of the word extraneous,” Ruby muttered, both Emma and Belle humming in agreement. 

Robin’s arm noticeably tightened. “Do you guys not have lower-body muscle like that? You should learn how to skate better.” “Skating has nothing to do with it,” Killian argued. 

“I’m definitely a better skater than you, Cap.” “No. Absolutely not. Why are you posing for weird photos on Gina’s phone?” “Ok, several things,” Robin chuckled, holding up one finger when he started to list them off. “First, why are you guys going through my wife’s phone?” “Scarlet had to look at some email thing.” “And that led to looking at my camera roll?” Regina asked knowingly, Killian making some sort of triumphant noise. 

“See! I told you, Scarlet. Camera roll was not weird.” Will shook his head brusquely, eyes closed as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at any of them any more. “Doesn’t count, Cap. You and Gina have always had that weird mind-meld thing and—”

“—I’m not sure I want to meld minds with Jones,” Regina objected. 

“What’s thing number two?” Emma asked. Robin winked. Maybe this was actually some very lucid dream. “Thing number two,” he repeated, “is that I was laying down because, as you can see, with the photographic evidence, we were doing some pretty serious map-drawing for Rol’s social studies class and I needed more room to work.” “Because your ass is so big?” Will drawled. “More room for all that junk in your personal trunk?” “Jeez, Scarlet,” Ariel whined. “What was that about phrasing?” He rolled his eyes. 

And neither Robin nor Regina looked all that put out by any of this. Proud, even. 

It had to be a dream. 

“I do a normal amount of lunges,” Robin said. “For a normal person. Who just so happens to have been blessed with a much better ass than either one of you. That’s all there is to it.” “Honestly,” Regina added. “Something about a natural hockey player.” Killian and Will made more noise. Neither one of them were particularly dignified. “Buy shorts that fit,” Killian said, but the words failed to sound like the insult he wanted them. 

“Not your best work, Cap,” Will sighed. 

“Dad butt is not a thing.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Robin chuckled. “Does any part of this conversation make sense?” “The part where you’ve got the best ass,” Regina answered, eyelashes fluttering when Robin kissed her temple.

“Oh, yeah, that’s definitely true. Although Rook’s isn’t bad.”

“Flirt.” “This is an alternate universe,” Will declared. “And I am having no more of it. Locksley, I hope your massive ass slows you down on a breakaway at some point and then Gina will stop being so smug about this whole thing.” Regina held her hand out, waiting for someone to give her back her phone. So she could immediately stuff it in her back pocket. “Did you want me to be less into this?” 

“Gross, I hate it.” “Your fault, Scarlet,” Emma said again, only to get another glare and another middle finger and she threw an onion ring at him. 

He caught it. 

Ariel clicked her tongue in distaste. “That’s dumb. All of it and all of you. Absolutely stupid. And dad butt is not a thing. Medically, at least.” “Thanks a lot, Red,” Killian muttered. 

Emma pulled herself closer, the toe of her shoe hitting Killian’s ankle in the process, but he forgot about that rather quickly. As soon as she kissed his cheek and tugged on the front of his shirt. “I do not think you have a dad butt.” “You’re a beacon of support.” “Lunges are overrated anyway.” He scoffed, but the sound quickly became a smile and he’d never actually moved his arm. That made it easier to kiss her. 

And ignore the rather vocal cries of objection from the peanut gallery around them. 

They finished both plates of onion rings fairly quickly after that. 

[darnedchild]

Take Off Your Bra - SAW 2020 Day 3

Day 3 – Locked in a room/Trapped in a small space/ect

Take Off Your Bra

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe this is actually happening to me.”  Molly felt like smacking her forehead against the closest wall.  No, actually, she felt like smacking Sherlock’s forehead against the wall.  If anyone deserved to have some sense knocked into them in a painful manner, it was him.

“It’s not my fault,” Sherlock quietly replied.

“I didn’t say it was.” Molly held her tongue for all of three seconds before she broke.  “Although, it really is.”

She couldn’t see him in the pitch-black darkness, but she could hear the indignation in his hissed, “It is not.”

Molly scoffed.  “It wasn’t my idea to sneak into your suspect’s office building in the middle of the night.”

“I couldn’t very well do it in the middle of the day, could I?” Sherlock snapped back.

“I definitely did not ask to be dragged along on your little breaking and entering endeavor,” Molly continued, picking up steam.

“I told you, I needed someone with medical expertise to look at those files; and John is spending the week at his sister’s.”

“I most certainly did not shove myself into a stifling supply cupboard with a trick latch and a bloody stuck door!”  She might have been tempted to stomp her foot if there had been more room.

He drew in a deep breath and made an audible effort to try to defuse the situation.   “I understand that you are upset-“

“Do you?  Do you really?” Molly bit out.  “Because I’m not certain that you do.”

“Trust me, I am absolutely positive that you are upset right now.  You have made that abundantly clear.”

She huffed, then decided there was no point to continuing to argue.  It wouldn’t get them out of the cupboard any faster.  Also, she really hated it when they were cross with each other.

They stood in silence for a few minutes.  Long enough for Molly to have calmed down completely and started to consider different ways to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Take off your bra.”

There was no way he’d said what she’d thought he’d just said.  “Excuse me?”

“Your bra.  Your breasts are more pronounced than usual, indicating the presence of a brassiere designed to maximize cleavage with the assistance of an underwire support system.  Therefore, I need your bra.”

It was just as ridiculous the second time.

“I think you’d be better off with some duct tape if you really want cleavage that bad.  My undergarments are never going to fit you.”

“Hilarious.”  His tone made it obvious he thought it was anything but.

“I thought so.”  Molly could imagine the way he must have been rolling his eyes at that moment, and it made her grin.

“I want the wire.  I may be able to pick use it to open the door from this side.”

As much as she wanted to tell him ‘no’, the thought of getting out of the cupboard was more than she could resist.  “Turn around.”

“Why?  It’s nearly pitch black in here.”  

Molly crossed her arms and stubbornly refused to move.

She heard him grumble something unintelligible under his breath, but he did shuffle around so his back was toward her.  “Fine. I’ve turned round.  Now, can we proceed?”

It took a fair bit of scrambling in the small space to maneuver the undergarment off, but she eventually held it out and wiggled it around until Sherlock took it from her hands. Molly winced as she heard the lacy material rip as he non-too-gently took it apart.  

Sherlock knelt, forcing Molly to press her back to the wall of the cupboard to give him room.  A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.  The light from his phone came on, bright enough to practically blind her; and he handed the phone to her.  “Aim it here.”

She watched him work for a few short moments before her mind began to wander.  “Why were you noticing my breasts?”

The hand holding the improvised lockpick slipped and the wire scratched against the wood around the lock.  “Pardon?”

“It’s not the sort of things friends do, is it?”

He flexed his fingers and went back to work on the lock.

“I don’t pay attention to how perky my friend Meena’s breasts are on any given day.  Unless she asks me to,” she quickly corrected herself. “Sometimes you just want someone to tell you that your breasts look fabulous in that blouse, you know?”

Sherlock continued ignoring her.

“Or maybe you don’t know,” Molly conceded.  “Still, I don’t wander around looking at my guy friends’ crotches, trying to figure out if they look larger than they did the day before.  What is the male equivalent to a push-up bra, anyway?  I suppose it could be a sock?”  She gasped.  “I wonder if anyone I know does it?”

His shoulders tensed and rose up toward his ears as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

She could only interpret that one way.  “No! Oh my God, are you kidding me? Someone does?”

Sherlock pressed his forehead against the door.  “Do we really need to talk about this right now?”

“Yes.  Who has been shoving socks down their drawers?  Is it Mike in radiology?” she mused.  “He seems the type.”

He growled her name in a low warning.  She bit her lip and let the subject drop.  For the moment.

Another thirty seconds passed in silence before she spoke again.  “So… my breasts.”

“Fine!”  Sherlock pushed himself to his feet.  His glare was underlit by the light of the phone that she was still clutching in her hands.  “Yes, I look at your breasts.  I know what they normally look like in the purely functional monstrosities you wear to work.  I know what they look like when you’ve got them trussed up in a fancy bit of lacy like the one I just destroyed.”  His voice began to rise to a dangerous level considering they were still hiding in his suspect’s office and trying to avoid being caught.  “And I especially take note when you lounge around your house in your pajamas without a bra at all!”

Neither one of them dared to move for a long moment.  Molly actually held her breath.  Sherlock looked utterly mortified by his confession.

Eventually, Molly reached out with her free hand and placed it against his chest, over his rapidly beating heart.  “There, that wasn’t so difficult to admit, was it?”

“What?”  Sherlock blinked several times in quick succession. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m a woman, Sherlock.  I know when a guy is checking me out.”  She smiled as if she were about to share a secret.  “You aren’t as subtle as you think.”

Molly pressed his phone into his hand.  “You know, if you can get us out of here, I may be willing to let you see what my breasts look like fresh out of the shower.  For comparison purposes.  If you’re interested.”

He reached behind himself and pushed the flat of his hand against the door.  With only a small hint of protest, the door popped open.  “I meant to tell you the lockpick worked, but I got distracted.”

She stepped out of the cupboard, relieved to be able to spread her arms and stretch again.  “Did you need to look for anything else?”

Sherlock gave the office a cursory look, then shook his head.  “I’ve got everything I need.”

“Are you sure?” Molly asked.

He grasped her hand and pulled her into his arms.  “Very.” His lips brushed against hers in a feather light kiss.  “Shower?”

“That can definitely be arranged.”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Closer

John Wick x Reader. A/n I’ve been listening to Nine Inch Nails on repeat for days now and then I got to thinking, “I bet John Wick could be really rough in bed if he wanted to,” and then this happened .Reading and writing smut has always been very awkward for me, because really, I’m f**king awkward, I hope it hasn’t translated here though. Major NSFW warning.

“I wanna fuck you like an animal, I wanna feel you from the inside…”

Y/n walked a few paces in front of John her hips swaying in the tight fabric of her black jeans, her heels thudded softly against the carpeted floor. Before she could even get to her room, she was already peeling of her leather jacket, revealing the bruises that were littered up her arms. “This thing is filthy,” She held it up with her pointer and middle fingers, “And it smells like blood.”

“That’s your problem with this situation?” John scoffed, she always spent more annoyance on trivial things as opposed to things that actually mattered. “You almost died tonight. Fuck, we both almost died tonight.”

John didn’t see it, but he knew that she rolled her eyes, “Okay, attitude not necessary, and first of all, we almost die every week but we’re still here. And second of all, this is designer John. Cole Hann,” Y/n gave the jacket a playful shake.

John tried to laugh off her comment. Hell, he tried to listen to whatever snarky remark she had followed it up with. But he simply could not. John was too distracted by the sway of her hips as they drew closer to the end of the hall where their rooms were. How her weapon holsters were tight around her thighs, over skin tight jeans. They way the plain black tank top hugged her perfect curves. John found himself wondering if her skin was as soft as it appeared, if Y/n looked as good out of those clothes as he’d imagined. For a while now, John had found himself liking her in a way that friendship and allegiance couldn’t explain, but tonight, his crude thoughts had dominated his mind and was secretly the reason why they had almost gotten killed.

They stopped between the last two doors at the end of the corridor. John’s room on the left, Y/n’s on the right. As they lingered in front of her open door, Y/n met John’s gaze, she found that there was something in his eyes that made heat stir in her center. Y/n’s own sly, hooded stare darkened, accompanying a suggestive smirk. She’d be lying if she said that she had never wondered what John was like out of his signature suit. Maybe tonight she would be lucky enough to find out. “Want to come in?” Tension hung between them, “For drinks?” Y/n took her full, plum stained bottom lip between her teeth.

John didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, it wasn’t with words. His calloused fingers found the sliver of exposed sink between the hem of her top and the waist of her jeans and he crashed his lips against Y/n’s as she stumbled forward. “Yes or no?” He mumbled into her mouth, unable to form any other words that might have been more civil.

Y/n was already yanking John’s white shirt out of his pants, unbuttoning it from the bottom, “What do you think old man?”

“Old man?” John growled, moving his hands to cup her backside before encouraging her legs around his waist. Effortlessly, John lifted Y/n off the ground only to deposit her a top the soft sheets of the queen sized bed shortly after. “You should have some respect, little girl.” 

His words intensified the pooling heat in her center and at a painfully slow pace, John shrugged off his open jacket and shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Y/n scooted up higher on the bed, propping herself on her elbows to get a better look at him. He was much better a than she anticipated. His body was a firm work of art and had the slightest definition. John’s chest was littered with scars, shining in the low lighting and there were new bruises as well. 

Kicking off his shoes, John kneeled on the bed, between Y/n’s spread legs, harshly grabbing her by the feet, pulling off her shoes. Then, he undid her pants, slowly peeling them off, letting them fall where they pleased. His fingers slipped beneath the lace of Y/n’s thong and his pressed his lips high on her inner thigh, nipping and sucking the soft flesh. Her unmanned leg laid loosely, toes curled as John worked his way to so his face was pressed to the dampening fabric of her underwear, breathing in her alluring scent. She grabbed fistfuls of the sheets when he suddenly ripped her panties at the sides, discarding them near by. “John….”

He pulled her legs up, positioning them on his shoulders so half of her body was off the bed, and John pressed an opened mouthed kiss to her sex, his tongue dancing about the bundle of nerves there, sending pleasurable shocks that Y/n swore she could feel all they way in her fingertips. Her legs stiffened around his neck as he continued, her heels digging into his shoulder blades, “John,” she mewled but he didn’t respond. His tongue roamed lower between her folds as his hands travelled up her body, eventually squeezing her breasts, his fingers toying with her nipples.

Y/n gladly submitted to John, letting him have his way with her however he pleased. Her first orgasm came quickly and when John dropped Y/n’s legs to his sides, his scruff glistened as proof of where he had just been. He didn’t give a chance to catch her breath, taking her wrists in his large hands, pinning them to the mattress, right above her head, crashing his lips to hers. Y/n tasted herself on John as his tongue swirled around her mouth, establishing his dominance. Wrapping her legs around him, Y/n tried to rub her over sensitive sex against his erection straining against his slacks and boxers. Y/n didn’t want it to end until John had fucked her till she ached. “What does the little girl want?” He whispered harshly into her ear, biting the soft flesh at her earlobe. 

“You,” Y/n mumbled barley coherently, her hips bucking upwards. The rough fabric of his pants created friction, but it wasn’t enough. 

“Use your words baby, I want you to beg for it.” John ordered, “Beg for my cock to fuck you good.”

“John…..please. I want you to fuck me…” Y/n moans and John tugged her legs so she was half in his lap, his clothed erection is brushing her soaked entrance. “Please,” she begged. 

Quickly, and harshly, John flipped Y/n over onto her stomach, “Don’t move,” he ordered getting off the bed. In a few short, hurried movements, John got rid of his pants and boxers and when he glanced towards the bed, Y/n was sprawled out her stomach, her face turned to him. She bit her lip, admiring his naked form, brushing away messy hair from lust blown eyes. 

Climbing back onto the bed, John hovered over her back, grabbing a fistful of her hair, tugging roughly, “Didn’t I tell you to stay put?” Y/n swallowed thickly, trying to contain her excitement, nodding tightly against his grip. “Words,” he growled, his mouth close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

“You did,” she confessed, words strained as she arched herself to encourage him. John’s free hand skimmed the length of her body, his touch feather light and teasing, only lingering when he stopped to grope her hips and then her ass. Y/n squirmed beneath him, her body longing for more. “John,” she pleaded, “Please…”

In harsh, hurried movements, John flipped her again, so Y/n was on her back, her hands immediately raising to run her fingers along his chest, scraping her nails over the shine of old scars. Again, she bucked her hips and this time, involuntarily, John did as well, groaning as his tip brushed her wetness. 

Single-handedly, John squeezed Y/n’s hands above her head, leaning down so her hardened nipples were pressed to his chest as her legs snaked around his hips. Without warning, John slammed into her, the violent movement almost painful, jerking Y/n deeper into the mattress and further into the pillows. She yelped in surprised when he pulled out fully before thrusting back in, just as violently.

John’s slow, rugged pace continued for a while, with his face buried in her neck, sucking purple-ish spots into her silky skin. She tasted like perfume, salt and desire and John was reveling in every second of it. Neither of them wanted it to end just yet, no one had ever stretched her the way John had, reaching her deepest points of pleasure with each roll of his hips. 

Though, after a while, John grew impatient and Y/n’s pleas for, “Faster,” grew more frequent. Finally releasing her hands, John groaned as her nails dug into his shoulder blades. He held her hips in place, steading her in anticipation for a faster pace. Her sounds were some kind of corrupted heaven, the devil’s music bouncing off the walls just for him; as breathy yelps escaped her lips and she sung garbled pleas. 

As John drew closer to his climax, he pressed his sweaty forehead to hers, “Louder baby, let them know who’s fucking you good.”

Gasping loudly, Y/n’s nails dug deeper into his skin, “John! Fuck John!” She screamed.

“Good girl,” he managed before harshly commanding, “Come for me baby girl.”

Beside them, on the table, the phone shrieked angrily, probably with a pesky noise complaint on the other end. But neither of them heard it and Y/n unraveled, pleasure gushing out of her, leaking onto their thighs and sheets, “God, John!” 

Her cries of ecstasy were enough to have him following close behind, obscured, obscene praises grunted into Y/n’s ear as he throbbed and twitched inside of her, “Fuck Y/n, you’re so fucking good.”

After a while, John had rolled off of Y/n and they laid side by side. Their bodies glistened with exertion and their chests heaving with quick breaths. The phone had stopped ringing, with the caller probably growing tried of trying to reach them. 

It didn’t take long for the ache around her lower half to set in and Y/n knew she would be nursing it in the coming days, without the slightest hint of regret. As she brushed some hair out of her face, Y/n’s breathing evened and she laughed quietly.

“What?” John asked, turning his gaze to her profile, in awe of how she could still look so distractingly gorgeous in her disheveled state.

“Nothing,” Y/n propped herself on an angled elbow, tracing absent circles on his chest, “It’s just…you’re very rough for an old man.”

John scoffed at her tease, dragging his bottom lip between his teeth before gathering Y/n in his arms, “You’re still with that huh?” Her only response was a challenging smirk. John dragged her up with him and soon she was straddling his lap, “I’m going to have to teach you a lesson, little girl.”

“Oh?” Y/n pouted, her eyes still twinkling with mischief.

John urged her off of him, getting off the bed, expertly searching through the near darkness, only returning when he found what he wanted. “Yeah,” he grinned arrogantly and finally she caught a glimpse of what he was holding. “You should have some respect for your elders,” John mused, running the cool leather of his belt through his fingers. “Now, are you ready to learn, little Y/n?”