#john is very kind

[fictionallymeg]

john marston; stitch me up, buttercup

a/n; mfw i go into a coma after every post, anyways this has been collecting dust for ages and i don't know why i didn't post it? figs def helped me write it tho. props. I FORGOT TO MENTION ty for also being an awesome photographer @thisfanisgonesorry hugs!!

cw; john takes care of you after a cougar attack, he's a bit of a grumpy pants. fluff.

wc; 1730

You rested your head on Arthur’s back as your arms stayed wrapped tight around his waist, trying to not wince or groan as he rode you into camp, Charles close behind. Blood was coating your entire lower half, a good portion of your pant legs being ripped away from your body. Camp was getting closer, you could tell, the familiar scenery that surrounded your temporary home becoming visible to you.

Shifting slightly, you lifted your head off of Arthur, who had been silent the entire ride back besides the occasional panic, bickering, and checking if you were alright. You groaned at the movement.

“We nearly there?” You mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear you. The sunlight peeked through the trees, almost blinding you entirely.

Arthur exhaled. “Almost, you alright?”

“I think so.” He nodded, Charles coming closer to the two of you to speak.

His smile was sincere, trying to cover the obvious concern on his face. “How’re you feeling, y/n?”

“Like hell, but I’ll be ‘right.”

“John won’t like hearing about this,” he said, raising his brows and looking over to Arthur.

In response, Arthur chuckled, the vibrations sending shivers as you rested your head on his back once again. “He ain’t gotta find out.”

Raising a brow, you took a mental note of the severe pain you were in, extremely doubting Arthur’s words. “Not find out that I’m covered in blood? Really? Camp ain’t blind.”

He nodded, fully aware, though he didn’t say anything. Probably exchanged a glance or two with Charles.

You closed your eyes, the ambience of camp coming into earshot. Probably the usual bickering and people crowding around the campfire, like usual. Made you wonder how they’d feel when they saw you. “I don’t want no trouble,” you said. “Just wanna get some rest.”

Arthur mumbled something in agreement, as Charles moved in front, probably to shield whoever was around. You lifted your head, acknowledging your surroundings. Everyone was either at the campfire, playing poker, or doing chores. It was then that you noticed John tending to the horses, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to hide your quite obvious injury.

It seemed neither Charles or Arthur could, either. The minute they both went to go hitch their horses, he immediately noticed, stopping the two of them, which included you on the back, dead in their tracks. Whether he noticed the blood or you first, who knows, but he didn’t look pleased. The hay bale he was holding hit the ground with a ‘thump’ as he dropped it, storming over. Tears began to form in your waterline as you turned your head away, knowing you wouldn’t be able to bear his reaction.

Charles tried to make conversation with him, meanwhile you sobbed quietly as Arthur poorly tried to comfort you. “Shh, we can’t have him knowin’ ‘bout this.” He knew there wasn’t a lot he could do, but he was trying his damn best.

Eventually, he sighed, as John approached the two of you. You turned your head back to face him, the tears streaming down your face as you were drenched in your own blood. He looked pained to see you.

“Y/n? Who did this?” he snapped, his raspy voice making it all the more intimidating, as he stared holes through his metaphorical brother.

“We went on a hunt, as you know, and, well.. it didn’t go all too well.” He wasn’t wrong. There was a cougar worth good quality that the three of you were set on killing before anyone else could. You each split up your own ways, your dumbass going the way towards the predator. Before you could even defend yourself, it attacked you, leaving you practically near death as the two men tried to shoot it, but it simply left. “Cougar, it was. The one we wanted.”

John immediately reached for you, helping you to dismount Arthur’s horse, as he wrapped his arm around you, supporting your weight because he knew damn well you wouldn’t be able to walk anywhere alone. “Did you kill it?” he asked, glancing around to notice no one else was nearby, taking a few steps away as he glanced at you, frowning.

“Well.. No.”

His eyes widened as his brows raised, looking absolutely gobsmacked. “You’re fucking kidding me? Y/n nearly DIED and you didn’t KILL THE FUCKING THING?!”

“John-”

“No, no! That’s the most bullshit I ever heard outta you!” he said, raising his voice and throwing his free hand up. “Someone nearly got killed, and you’re just gonna let the fucker live? You’re outta your GODDAMN MIND!” 

Hearing the commotion, some of the camp rushed over, including Dutch. “What the hell’s going on?” 

“Three of ‘em went hunting’, not only did Y/n nearly get killed but they didn’t even kill anything! Dumb bastards can nearly get a girl killed but not bring any game!” John yelled, the music from Dutch’s monograph in the faint background.

“Sort it out, will you? I shouldn’t have to parent grown men,” Dutch plainly said, not paying you any mind, and walked off, the rest of camp lingering to see what happens next. Hosea walked after him, most likely to have a talk about the interaction that just happened.

Now that he was gone, John took the opportunity to get closer to Arthur’s face, speaking in a hushed tone. “I don’t care if you nearly die doin’ it, but you’re both goin’ back out there and you’re not coming back till it’s fuckin’ dead.” To which he simply nodded, said something to Charles about ‘leaving these two be,’ and they both turned, riding out of camp and back into the wilderness they just returned from. You could hear Charles mock Arthur, saying ‘John ain’t gotta find out,’ as they did so.

He turned you towards his tent, slowly walking the two of you there, enjoying the silence, but most of all, your presence. Whether he’d like to admit it or not, he knows you could’ve died out there, and he’s grateful to have you. When people would approach, asking what was wrong, he’d hush them and say he had it covered. As the two of you approached his tent, he opened it, sitting you down on his cot, taking the moment to really take in your state.

“John, he was hurt too. You didn’t have to do that,” you said, weakly putting a hand out to grab his wrist.

He took note, sitting down on the bed next to you, staring into your eyes as he wiped the tears and blood off of your face. “He’ll manage, love. I’m worried about you. I mean, look ‘atchu. Still pretty, of course, but beyond fucked up.” Reaching to grab a box, he gave you a peck on the lips, opening it and grabbing out a few items, setting them down on his lap. “I’m gonna have to stitch you up, that alright?” You nodded, as he grabbed a cloth, dunking it in a bucket of water, as he cleaned the blood off of you in a nearly tender way. “You’re gonna be alright, I promise.” John’s voice that was yelling a few minutes ago had quietened down to soothe you, occasionally kissing you.

Afterwards, he picked up a different rag, dousing it in whiskey before using it to disinfect your wound. When you’d clench your teeth, or ball your hand into a fist, he’d notice, mumbling quiet words of praise

You smiled softly, looking down at the deep wounds. “You don’t have to do this, y’know.”

“‘Course I do,” he grinned, in an almost joking way, as he reached for a needle and a thin string. “Had to do this to myself, you’re lucky I’m a professional now.”

“You should be a doctor.”

“Hell no,” John responded, laughing for a moment, starting to stitch your wounds up. Occasionally, you’d make a squeamish face or grit your teeth together, to which he spoke in an attempt to comfort but also lighten the mood. “Got mauled by wolves ages ago. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it?” “You don’t say,” you commented in response. You remembered hearing briefly about this, but most of the camp agreed to not bring it up. He chuckled quietly, but didn’t comment.

John’s dark eyes softened as he continued to take care of you, humming to himself as he cleaned your wounds and stitched them. The warm lighting from the lantern shining on him in just the right way, and when he finally finished, he sighed.

“How’s that?” he smiled, putting everything back in the box and setting it aside once again.

“Still feel like hell, but better.”

He nodded, muttering a ‘good, good’ as he got up, grabbing a pair of his pants from his wardrobe, setting them down on the bed. “Wear those instead.”

Instead of trying to argue, you did just that, casually changing in front of your lover, even though he promised to not look, standing in a corner with his back to you. When you gave him the clear, he got back on the cot, laying down and tapping next to him. “You should rest.”

“In your tent?”

“Yes, in my tent. I don’t bite.”

“Bet those wolves did.”

He seemed taken aback by your joke, but laughed anyway. “I’m being serious. You need sleep.” You gave in at the promising offer of cuddling up next to John, as you laid in his arms, his hands running through your hair. 

“John?”

“Hm?” he said, looking down at you.

“Know I’ve said it a hundred times, but you didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

In the moment, he brought a finger to your lips. “Shh, let me feel proud, buttercup.” To which you nodded, and the two of you cuddled in peace.

Suddenly, he spoke up, breaking the silence.“You’re so pretty, you know that?”

“Really?” You whispered, looking up at him, as he looked head over heels for you.

“Yeah. Even when you’re all bloodied up, ya still look perfect.” He mumbled, pausing briefly, before continuing his love drunken ramble. “Just glad to have you, that’s all. Happy nothing worse happened.” You snuggled into his touch at his sweet words, as you dozed off in his arms, knowing that even if you didn’t get the cougar, you instead had John Marston all to yourself.

[bluegiragi]

ghost gives konig a private lesson feat. soap as a very happy spectator.

read updates early on patreon

[s0fter-sin]

soap's whole deal being sniper and demolitions gets me going bc on the surface they sound so different but when you get into it, you realise it's bc soap's smart

sniping is all math; calculating distances and wind interference and bullet drop. something i think people overlook is he was listed as a sniper first so it can be implied that he's better at it than demolitions. he does more sniping in both campaigns than demolitions work; in capture or kill, ghost specifically calls on him to take down the aq snipers

and demolitions is math with a hit of chemistry; knowing what mixes with what, knowing how much to use, recognising environmental factors and adjusting accordingly. it's not just about the boom; so much work goes into contained/ planned explosions. especially when having enough power for a breacher charge and not bringing down the whole building is the difference between mission success and failure

the chemical bombs he makes in alone can't just be any old cleaners, they have to have the correct reaction to each other; he just knew off the top of his head what would mix with what to create what reaction. he would also potentially have to recognise them by sight/smell bc they would’ve been written in spanish

soap would also have to know architecture; recognising structural integrity and weak points so he knows exactly where to plant a charge to bring it down and how it'll come down

he has an incredible soldier's mind people just forget that bc he's sociable which itself is a skill

we know he tends to buck against orders he doesn't agree with like when he pushes back against ghost in capture or kill and shepherd when he tells them to release hassan

he gets closer to people and sees if he can trust them and that's when he follows them without question. really think about how he talks to alejandro and rudy; he asks about their home and alejandro's family and rudy's relationship with him. those aren't questions you ask a stranger after a few hours of knowing them. that's not even touching on his relationship with ghost

he also deliberately brings people of higher ranks down to his level; talking informally with ghost and giving him a shoulder punch, addressing alejandro (a colonel!!) by his first name and rudy by his nickname despite literally just meeting them. he personalises all of them and it’s in direct opposition to the reason most characters do that; it’s not due to insubordination or lack of respect, the more he respects and trusts someone, the more casual he is with them

he digs into people; he wants to know what makes them tick and that determines if he can one, trust them and two, follow their orders. once he decides that, he's the ultimate soldier; he bleeds loyalty which makes him vicious when that loyalty is taken for granted

he isn't naive or bubbly or insecure; he's an incredibly smart and aware soldier. he's aggressive and bloodthirsty and loyal and intuitive and i love him so much

[neostellarjpg]

Omg I love your art, you’re so talented!! I humbly request a drawing of Vriska! and/or John :)

been thinkin about her 2day #vriskapilled

[eliotquillon]

i think a lot about john and ian and their strange, implicit estrangement. it is never explicitly addressed but it is there. blunt going out of his way to say that ian was a good agent but john was a better one. alex always being compared to john despite ian being the man who raised him. ian never telling alex anything about his parents. john never sparing a thought for ian in the snakehead coda. ash being chosen to be the best man at john's wedding and alex's godfather instead of ian. ian being recruited to mi6 straight out of university while john went military and none of it mattering in the end because it was still john who was chosen for the scorpia mission, john who died the hero, john who got blown up and martyred while ian's own death barely registered. you're twentysomething years old and your older brother has just been murdered after being better than you at the one thing you are defined by and you will spend fourteen years raising his son, and none of it will matter. here's a question: why does ian hate being called 'uncle' so much? here's another: can you still be an uncle without a brother?

[windybluebelles]

Bernard Dowd is approximately 15 years old, has just had his allowance cut off, was fired from his job, and is 99% sure that both his best friends are somehow involved in the mob.

(I mean he wasn’t entirely wrong on either front but hey ho, no use dwelling on it)

All this means is that he has no money and no good way to spend his free time as Tim and Darla are always “Busy”

So when he hears of an up and coming crime lord just desperate for new recruits, he jumps on it!

(Guys I swear he’s a good person most of the time, he’s also a teenager who is rude or die and if his besties are involved in the mob who’s to say he shouldn’t be?)

Jason Todd (who was really only mildly desperate for new recruits, thank you very much) takes one look at clearly a child Bernard and immediately turns him down.

Bernard does what everyone else in his generation did and just ignores him and starts following him around everywhere.

Hey! Atleast he doesn’t have a camera and isn’t in a cape!

Jason falls victim to the same thing that Bruce did and realises that Bernard will continue doing what he wants and the only thing he can do is either help him or break his legs. Unfortunately he has a policy against hurting kids, even bitchy annoying ones with stupid sunglasses.

Several years go by,

He no longer has those friends, he doesn’t speak with his parents, and he’s about to enter college. He really doesn’t have time to be one of Hood’s merry men anymore.

He quits the life of crime, accepts his last pay check, and gets given a personal number from his boss.

(Of course they aren’t friends, don’t be silly! Jason is glad to see the stupid kid gone, gone off to civilian life where he’ll never see him again!…)

Bernard starts college, a dual major in Medicine and Cookery cause he hates himself, and almost immediately joins a cult!

…Should he have stayed with the Crime Lord?

Probably! ANYWAY-

Another year or so passes, he leaves the cult, starts dating Timothy Drake-Wayne, eventually finds out his boyfriend is Robin, yadayadayada boringggg

Bernard is at Wayne Manor one day when he hears a voice he never thought he’d hear again.

And then it’s like that spider man meme idk, I can’t write guys I’m so sorry

[megatronusprimedecal]

"Don't forget, this is your first day at school. The worst part is you'll get used to all of this."

Welcome to Korea pt 2 || Episode Two || Season Four

[flamingpudding]

I have a new prompt idea and it's dark

So the Nightingale / Fentons are a pretty curse family and one of the curses is one where any Nightingale that tries to leave behind the family name will either greatly disappoint their family or Die because of being curious

It's a long curse starting all the way back to there great great great uncle Kingsley (Klarion) Nightingale because he was the sibling of the original Nightingale it started the The witch Hunt because he didn't get magic but Klarion he started killing which is one of them curses entire family not knowing that the rest of them were witches

Which cost to chain reaction to every Nightingale that tries to walk away from a family suffering a terrible fate like Thomas Fenton Nightingale who ran away and change his names in Thomas Wayne and was able to rebrand his entire but died with his wife after they got too curious of the Court Of Owls

Cursing his family for always being on the bad side of History cuz a few of his cousins were working with the court of owls

So when the original Nightingale started to finally pick off his family that was trying to run away from The Nightingales Kingsley was burned alive cursing the Nightingale Fenton name

Or Danny Fenton who died in the portal accident came back alive and disappointed his parents were setting with the ghost instead of hunting them

How this is all figured out is Constantine is checking over Batman for curses when he's like oh you have a family named curse and I like oh the lame one he's like no your father's real name he ends up finding out all of this information

Can you even affect Jason because he was adopted by Bruce making him technicality a nightingale and he died being mad at Bruce for not saving him and came back still cursing Bruce

So this could be a crack prompt or a really angsty one depending on how you view it because Batman is finding out that he's really into all of these people but he somewhat knows or realizing that he definitely affected all of his robins due to a family person to give no he actually had

Which continued

Interesting Idea... I like some of the premises... here and many ideas are really interesting!

> So i took a spin at this throughout several weeks. yes this has been sitting in my drafts for a long time and i added things slowly but in the end it still is a pretty short piece... sorry... writing really has been hard for me lately again...

Though I think i might have gone a little astray from what you originally had here though or didn't include it enough.

Hope you will still enjoy the following!

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

John Constantine sometimes really hated having to work with the Bat and not just because he was one of these spandex wearing goody two shoes heroes. Okay maybe goody two shoes was a stretch but Bats was one of the heroes that annoyed him still. There was also another reason. Something he had slightly noticed since the first time he had meet the man. But back then he had ignored it.

Like hell was he going to get involved more than necessary with the bat suit wearing hero.

Well with the passing years it more and more became something he couldn't ignore any more. Especially since whatever it was had a certain stink to it that John really hated right now. Not just because he was forced to sit in one of these many Boy Scout meetings because Zatana was busy. It tickled his mage senses, but not in a good way. No it was the way that really made him want to take a swing of his flask, he would take one if he wasn't running the risk of his flask getting taken away from him by one of these heroes.

"Yre fucking cursed to hell and back, mate." John decided to speak up instead anyway with a dead-stare at Batman and interrupting whatever else Sups was going on about. Okay so maybe in reconsideration, John should have waited until after the meeting to say anything at all, really. But in his defense, Batmans curse was stinking even more now. Like it had been freshly activated by something.

Great thing, whatever the meeting had been about before got completely forgotten as everyone focused on the fact that THE Batman apparently had managed to get cursed given his history with magic. Bad thing, Batman pressured John into investigating what kind of freaking curse stuck to Batman. And boy, can he say that explaining to Batman that he was stuck with a centuries old course that was pretty much affecting anyone he sees as family was not fun, nore was explaining that this wasn't a recent curse but one he had very much inherited from his father.

"Nightingale, the name ringing any bells Batsie? Curse is tied to that name apparently." Was what he ended is explanation with only to get a stoic stare and a grunt as answer. Sometimes John really wanted to wrangle that hero in particular.

"Can you trace it back?" John side eyed Sups who looked worriedly between him and Batman.

"Can you trace it back..." He repeated with a mocking mutter, who did they think he was? Of course John could trace it back, he wouldn't even need to sell his souls for the x-time to do that. Not like he would for Bats of all people, but then again, he had sold his souls for less before. "Of course I can trace it back, mate."

John took just a little bit of pleasure in the fact that he was in a position to demand something from Batman when he pestered the man for a bit of his hair or fingernail clippings to use as a medium to trace the origin back. It wasn't nice anymore when he traced it back to an area that was the magical equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle. Ground Zero. A No-Go. Do not Touch with a ten foot pole. The Do Not Enter of the magical world.

To say the heroes weren't impressed when they saw him taking a very needed swing from his flask was an understatement. Because seriously John needed a stronger Whiskey for this shit.

"What the hell do you have to do with Amity Park!?"

Danny meanwhile felt a shiver going down his spine, but he shock it off as he souped Skulker for the 3rd time this month. His eyes surveyed the area for a moment wondering what was going on before he once again choose to shrug it off. His legs turning into his ghostly tail as he flew back towards Fenton Works. Unaware of the storm brewing far away, while Clockwork was cackling in his tower contemplating if he should give his ghost child a heads up or not.

[annabelle--cane]

john and wake trying to co-parent gideon would just be them having some blow out fight where they're both equally furious but john keeps his voice at a speaking level while wake is fully yelling and after she storms out john goes to gideon's room all contrite looking and says "sorry you had to hear that 😔 I've tried to ask her not to start those kinds of conversations when you're in the house, for your sake if not mine... but... she just holds so much anger in her heart... so much hatred for me for reasons that I can't understand... and the fact that she isn't willing to control her temper, even for her own daughter... she's such a troubled soul..."

[kayomin]

normal jovier enjoyer

[bats-in-the-attic]

Obsessed with the idea of going clubbing while on leave with the 141.

Price claims he's only there to be the designated driver. Simon claims he's only there to keep you lot from giving Price the slip and getting into trouble, but he's standing with John and nursing his own drink. He's had several at this point, says it's the only way he can stand being in a place like this. Secretly, they're both there because they saw your skimpy little outfit and decided the club didn't sound so bad if they got to watch you move around in that. And god, can you move. They're both intently watching you dance sandwiched between Kyle and Johnny, wondering what else those hips can do. Kyle and Johnny are absolutely entranced. They've been getting closer to you with every song, and at this point, it feels like you three are in your own little world. Kyle has his hands on your rib cage while you grind back on him, Johnny's got his on your hips, and you've thrown your hands over his shoulders.

Johnny looks over to where Simon and Price are standing and notices the look on Simon's face and the fact that his drink is empty and immediately sets out a plan to get Simon to loosen up a little. He gets Kyle's attention and motions Simon over and tells him to keep their bonnie lass company while him and Kyle go get drinks for everybody. Kyle raises an eyebrow but follows him to the bar anyway. The song changes to something slower and you, in your infinite drunken wisdom, take Simon's hand and spin yourself so he's got you wrapped up in his arm with your back to his chest. Were he sober this would never fly, but he's got a good buzz and he's wanted to sink his teeth into you all night, so he puts his other hand on your hip and stands there and sways with you for a minute. Johnny, never one to miss an opportunity, promptly places a shot for you into Simon's hand, says something you can't quite make out, and heads back to the bar so him and Kyle can watch this all unfold.

Simon holds the shot up in front of you and you ask him what it is. With a smirk he says "Johnny called it a Jolly Rancher shot. Said its something fruity for our little tart". You scoff at that. You tell him you've never had one, he says he hasn't either and then does what Johnny expected him to do. Instead of letting you take the shot out of his hand, he places it at your mouth and takes a half step away from you so he can hold it while you knock it back. What Johnny didn't expect him to do was immediately bring his other hand up to your throat to keep your head tilted back so he could bend over you and lick into your mouth. Your tongues tangle briefly before he pulls away, keeping his hand on your throat. Your breath catches and he says "Johnny was right, the shot was fruity". The only thing you can focus on is Simon's tongue as he licks his lips.

Suddenly Price has his hand on your shoulder and says it's time to go. On the way back to base you lock eyes with Price in the rear view mirror and blow a kiss. You giggle when his grip on the steering wheel tightens. Kyle and Johnny both place a hand on your legs and you get the feeling that you've still got a long night ahead of you.

[arthursfuckinghat]

Arthur has had a lot of bad close encounters, like Sonny, but sometimes I think we don't talk enough about the whole Edmund Lowry Jr thing.

Arthur was stalked by an absolutely terrifying sadistic serial killer and led to his hideout via multiple mutilated bodies and cryptic clues placed across high traffic areas on the map.

If you choose to find Lowry in his hideout, you will see a gruesome display of many body parts and carcasses strung up like christmas decorations all over the place. Arthur will get knocked out by Lowry after venturing in further and tied to the ground, he will then threaten and taunt Arthur with a knife once he wakes up.

This all happens in the span of like five minutes, and how did Arthur escape? He had to throw a severed head that was on the ground next to him at Lowry. And if being stalked, knocked out, kidnapped, threatened, exposed to a gross display of mutilated bodies, tied up and examined like a piece of meat wasn't enough, Arthur had to save Sheriff Malloy from getting his face bitten off by that sick freak too.

I mean, holy fuck right?

The only justice was being able to shoot Lowry, but he had killed so many people and he took pride in that, shooting wasn't enough. Sadistic is honestly an understatement, it's shown through newspaper clippings in the hideout that he enjoyed toying with his victims for long periods of time before murdering them. An article by the missing poster for a woman named Eliza Bloom in his basement stated that he enjoys his victims like 'trophies' - And Arthur was scarily close to becoming another one of them.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't write about the encounter in much detail.

"Found the murderer, man named Edmund Lowry. Took him into the sheriff in Valentine after he nearly killed me. He jumped the sheriff. I killed him. Nasty bastard he was."

[kaiserouo]

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strength +???%

[noodles-and-tea]

you single-handedly got me into sherlock holmes lmao- ive been tryin to find new stuff to watch so i just turn on whatever you post about lol

In my defence, he’s just like me fr

[franabz]

★ Post-mission comfort

The day after missions was always the hardest, especially for you. Sore and achey muscles, constant migraines, hypersensitivity, though after having been on the Task Force for a few years now, you grew used to the early morning splintering ear rings from the unsuppressed guns, fellow soldiers shouting commands into your earpiece, and grenades falling way too close for comfort.

Today was no different, an off day in the base was the perfect grounds for hiding away from COs and curling up in your barracks while being spooned by blankets and pillows, letting a Tylenol's sink through your system to numb the aches and pains of post-deployment.

You close your eyes and let your weary muscles relax against your bedsheets, practically melting into the mattress beneath you and tuning out any distant noises or voices from behind the security of the walls of your barracks. Nothing could ruin this-

Knock knock knock

Your eyes open slowly at the sudden sound of knuckles rattling against your door, a heavy sigh escaping your lips and a small pang of irritation crossing your features. "Who is it?" You called out in a hoarse voice, the sound of your exhaustion even surprising you.

"Its J-"

"Come in." You replied before the voice could even finish their sentence, knowing exactly who it was just from their accent alone. The one man that was practically at your hip after missions, Soap.

Like you, he was just as pissy and whiney after missions as you were. Only difference was that he was much more verbal about it than you.

He pushed the door open the second he got the OK, wearing a baggy blue t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, hands shoved lazily in his pockets. He practically kicked the door closed behind him and immediately made a bee-line for your bed, flopping down beside you on his belly, face buried in your pillow with a leg dangling off the edge.

You sighed and shifted over slightly to face his face-down figure, forcing back a small fond scoff. "You too?" You spoke quietly, tucking a hand under your pillow and lying on your side, facing him.

"M' fuckin' tired..." He complained per usual, causing you to fight back a smile. "Me too." You hummed languidly, feeling your eyelids growing a bit heavier in the stillness of the room.

Soap faintly tilted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes just as heavy as yours were as his soft blue stare met yours. There was a small period of comfortable silence between you two, simply staring at one another, wordlessly expressing your combined exhaustion in the warm room.

Without a word, he closed his eyes and wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you closer to him and burying his head in the crook of your neck, his forehead resting against your shoulder and his arm tucked comfortably under your arm.

You were a bit surprised at first at his sudden advance, but quickly adjusted and let out a small warm huff, your own body shuffling closer to his and wrapping your arms around his neck and carding your fingers through his mohawk with one hand.

You two have been through a lot together, that was a known fact. You two have been through life or death situations and would take a bullet for one another in a heartbeat if needed. You both grew to deeply appreciate the comfort you two would bring one another, knowing the high stakes of the job and relishing in the moments when you two could just... relax.

"M' tired, dove..." Soap croaked, his voice a bit muffled against your shoulder.

"Then go to sleep, dummy." You smiled slightly, subconsciously holding him a bit closer. He muttered something inaudible that you didn't quite pick up, though you assumed it was probably something dumb and sappy.

You two simply relaxed again one another, enjoying the cozy moment as if it was the last.

[leathfaic]

Ghost is a man who never needed to do much to draw attention when he goes clubbing. His impressive frame ensures he gets plenty of attention. That natural air of authority honed over years as a commanding officer ensuring he has his space if he wants it, unwanted approaches stopped before they even begin.

Still lots of eyes stick to him casually leaning against the bar. Always had an easy pick of those brave enough to approach him. Even before the scars in his face he attracted a certain type, the twinks that wanted to be thrown around, bears wanting to play with someone in their own weight class they weren't sure they could out-wrestle and everyone in between who just likes tall, strong blondes. Ever since the scars that has only intensified, might be that he loses out on some vain types, but the daredevils flock to him even more now.

So really he can't complain. He's not the biggest fan of the places, avoids scrungy punky ones altogether for very personal reasons, but they serve their purpose. Finding a quick lay mostly. Sometimes just enjoying a space where he's not the only gay man for miles and miles.

When he starts to go clubs with Soap though, it becomes a very different experience.

First of all he's not looking to take anyone home or to a convenient dark corner.

No, he's here because Johnny likes dancing and what Johnny wants he usually gets. Simon could never deny him anything.

So there is no one Ghost is looking at but Soap. And bloody fucking hell it is worth looking.

Johnny's easy confidence bleeds off of him and mixed with his natural charm he commands the entire rooms attention. His body helps, sure, sculpted muscles barely hidden by a mesh shirt and jeans so tight there's nothing left to the imagination, but there's plenty of good looking men around.

None of them carry themselves like Soap does though.

He watches as Soap enters the dance floor, seeming to melt into the beat. Dancing as effortlessly as he cleans an entire building of hostiles. A fucking vision in strobing lights as he let's the rhythm dictate his movements. Wide fucking smile painted on his face.

People flock to him, wind themselves around him in more or less proficient dance moves, probably hoping to leave an impression over the gaggle of obvious suitors.

Soap toys with them, dancing with those he finds entertaining, neatly sidestepping those he doesn't. Bathing in the attention of wandering hands and lips.

Ghost wonders if they can feel how dangerous of a man he really is. If they can smell the slight hint of sulfur from the demolitions workshop he's been crammed in all day. If they can see the edge in his eyes, that predatory glint of a man trained to kill walking through a crowd of unaware civilians.

Most probably can't.

Some who can probably find it exciting.

In the end none of it matters anyways.

Because it is Ghost's gaze that Johnny seeks when another man winds around him, littering his neck with kisses. And it's on Ghost's wordless command that he abandons the crowd of hopefuls. Meandering over to him, well aware of all the looks following him as he sprawls himself in Simon's lap unabashedly.

It's a unique rush of power having the man they all want at his beck and call. To take a sip of whisky and shamelessly kiss it into his mouth. Making sure just a little spills over painting a golden line for him to lick up.

Keeping his eyes on the crowd and bathing in their envy, their hunger and their shock.

He indulges for a few minutes, let's Soap shower him in affection while keeping him and the room in check with his dominance over the situation.

It's a game they both know Ghost will lose down the line, will drag Soap out of the club like his life depends on it. Maybe throw him over his shoulder just to make a point.

But not yet. Now he makes sure Soap drinks some water and sends him off again with a well aimed slap to his arse.

And Johnny smiles bright and wide. Drifting into the crowd, the crowd that is apprehensive at first but before long they can't help themselves. There's some wary glances shot at Simon, but his ongoing indifference seems to embolden them. Crowding Soap like moths would a light.

And Ghost finds himself suddenly enjoying clubs a whole lot more. Revelling in Soap's obvious bliss and the knowledge that the man who drives the whole dance floor senseless will follow him in the blink of an eye.

Let them get their hopes up, he's got nothing to fear, to be jealous over because he knows the only thing that matters:

Soap commands the whole room without even trying, but Ghost is the only one who commands his attention.