#john's family fics

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you have an fic recs involving John’s dad in the present? He’s usually a character that’s deceased in most fics but I think it’d be super interesting to have his dad and Sherlock meet. Thanks!

Hey Nonny!

Ah, you know what? I don't recall any at all, to be honest, or at least none that I have read. I'm sure there are a few though!

Anyone able to help us out with finding a few fics for Nonny??

[4vanaa]

— MODERN FAMILY.

an outer banks alternate universe

— PAIRINGS dad!rafe cameron x mom!reader | dad!jj maybank x mom!kiara carrera | dad!pope heyward x mom!cleo | dad!john b routledge x mom!sarah cameron | singlefather!topper thornton | uncle! barry |

— SYNOPSIS a slice-of-life series that takes you into the heart of one big, chaotic, and loving family. at the center of it all is you and rafe navigating the ups and downs of parenthood with your own kids—ranging from toddlers to teenagers—while trying to balance your relationship, your personal growth, and the wild, unpredictable moments that come with raising a family. but it’s not just about you, the obx cast is all here. they all have their own families, with different parenting styles, dynamics, and struggles.

— TROPES/TAGS established relationships, slice of life, chaotic family dynamics, fluff, very mild angst, humor, original characters, everyone’s married, parenthood, no real plot, everything is a standalone.

TEASER

—MEET THE FAMILIES 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 |

REQUESTS/DRABBLES.

HEADCANONS.

ONESHOTS.

SMAUS/TEXTS.

a/n: credits to @zyafics for the layout!! this work is also inspired by @papercranesandinkstains elementary smau. and credits to @vesearartistry for the dividers!! heavily inspired by modern family. there is no plot, every drabble/headcanon are all in the same universe but not needed to understand the other. if you’d like to request something you’d like to see just comment below here, or send an ask.

🏷️ taglist: if you’d like to be tagged for this smau, or any future or current ones, you can reply and i’ll add you!!

[ghcstao3]

johnny has always known simon to be quiet, introverted. it’s possible to get him talking when they’re alone, sure, but generally simon happens to be content listening to johnny speak, more than anything. a man of few words, as all the privates would say.

he expects it to be the same way when simon is at home, with family—but dear god, was johnny wrong to assume so.

it’s a whole new side of simon, when he’s with his family. and johnny kind of adores it.

simon complains when his mum asks for the nth time when’s the wedding? and looks pointedly at johnny. simon gets into lighthearted brotherly spats with tommy about the most insignificant things. simon and beth exchange their dry wit and shitty jokes. simon is loud and lively when he plays with joseph.

it takes some adjustment for johnny, at first, to get used to this strangely extroverted version of simon. but he certainly doesn’t hate it—if anything, it has him feeling inspired by simon’s mum by the end of the night.

maybe he’ll start asking simon when the wedding will be. perhaps that’ll speed things along.

[ghostbsuter]

The house of Nightingale & Constantine ( P. 1 )

> next part

.・゜-: ✧ :-

You know, when Batman reassured him (was it tho? His way of using words is a bit... confusing.) of bringing in a third person for their common problem, Phantom, Danny, didn't press nor worry.

He regrets it now, just a little bit.

—

Dick liked Danny.

The small guy has been an absolute delight!

(He isn't grinning when he and Damian duke it out, doesnt watch fondly when Danny and Jason exchange the most weirdest ways of insulting someone or when He and Steph gossip, Cass sitting behind him with her hands in his hair.)

(He can see from the corner of his eye the way Tim hides a grin behind his hand, texting Danny someone rapidly and their Guest laughing at random times, the way even Duke, despite wearing the sunglasses, seems to warm up pretty quickly to their new brother friend.)

(It's doesn't help that he has black hair and blue eyes either.)

Danny has been living with them for some time now, temporarily as it may be, and grew on them all pretty quickly.

Bruce told them when Constantine arrived at the cave, seemingly irritated for unknown reasons, and they all were ushered to the elevator.

There is no noise as they arrive, Danny few feet off the ground and engaged on a hot topic with Steph as they go down the stairs.

The moment Constantine is in sight however, has their resident ghost snapping out of the conversation and zooming in on the man from afar.

It's kind of funny? The way his black hair fluffs up like in a Ghibli Movie, the way his eyes narrow to slits, glowing a faint green.

Many shout in alarm at the sight of agitation (?), Dick sees Constantines own eyes glow a eery gold??

It's like two cats staring down one another, a showdown.

(Someone should record this.)

The two meet down in the middle of the cave, Danny is bristling and John scowling.

"Really Bats? A Nightingale?" The blond man scoffs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat, hands roaming for cigarettes probably.

"Excuse me? I thought the line of Constantine died out back then, with the way you handle your stuff." The teen hisses back, a hand running through his poofed up hair.

"Hah!" The Hellblazer gives a mocking laugh, cigar already in hand and lit. "'With the way we handle our stuff'? Weren't the Nightingales out of commission not so long ago?"

The glow might have died out, but the tension only rose higher.

Danny turns to Batman, glowering.

"Asking for the help of the house of Constantine? Are you crazy? Those nutjobs have no self-preservation!"

John's eye twitches at the remark.

"No self-preservation, my ass. Nightingales do nothing but mess with stuff they shouldn't, talk about self-preservation when you have it yourself, pipsqueak."

And Danny? Danny growls.

"All you do is trick every being to do your bidding! One day all of this will catch up to your house and me? I will watch as it burns."

The blonds cigarette snaps in his grip.

"Burn? Me? Doesn't the house if Nightingales hunt the beings we 'trick'? It seems to me that your lineage is already going down as we speak."

The argument (?) continues and the batclan does nothing but watch as if its a particularly interesting tennis match.

(John looks like he's about 5 seconds away from strangling Danny and the teen about to bite off John's head.)

"What's going on?" Finally, Batman steps in.

"What's going on? What's going on?? You said you'd bring in a third person! Not a constantine!"

The bat shows no signs of anything really, when both teen and man whip around to face him.

"I thought you'd know better than to involve yourself with the house of Nightingales."

"I was here first! No take backs!"

"And yet I know bats longer, don't I, pipsqueak?"

"Foolish trickster!"

"Imprudent necromancer!"

(Apparently, beef between two houses of dark exists and they had the chance to experience it first hand.)

(This is one of the many occurrences.)

[incorrect-green-lantern-quotes]

Currently drunk and imagining Green Lanterns being the resident alien experts in the Justice League/Titans/whatever superhero team they’re in

Like, when the JL first got together and Hal learned that two of his teammates were the last survivors of their worlds, he decided then and there that he would always support them in whatever way he could.

(Because as the first- and for a while, only- human in the Green Lantern Corps, Hal knew better than most what it was like to be the only one of his species in a room. It’s astonishingly lonely even when you know your planet and people are still alive and well.)

So Hal asks his ring for information about Krypton and Mars, which holidays their people had celebrated and held sacred, what foods they had enjoyed that he could recreate with ingredients available on Earth.

Hal ends up becoming the third JL member after Bruce and Diana to learn about Superman’s secret identity after Clark has to explain that he came to Earth as an infant and most of his own knowledge of Krypton is as secondhand as Hal’s is. J’onn however, is very touched by Hal’s attempts at baking N’bisko cookies, as it reminds him of when he would make them with his wife and daughter.

Guy inadvertently makes Hal's practices into a tradition when he gets roped into some Fourth World drinking games with Mr. Miracle and Big Barda. Apokolips might be a flaming hellhole, but it was still once home to them both and they do miss it at times. Even in his Warrior years, Guy keeps his pub stocked with food and drinks that are popular in space, in case he gets a hungry visitor from the stars.

From then on, it becomes a duty of their shared legacy. John in his rookie days didn’t listen much to Hal but this was one of piece of advice he did heed: You might end up with an alien refugee as a teammate at some point, and it is your job as a Green Lantern to be there for them when they’re homesick. John was never a member of the Titans, and he's certainly no mentor to the team's alien princess, but he does visit Starfire on days when her banishment from Tamaran weighs most heavily, like the Blorthog Festival.

Kyle had no idea about any of this when he inherited the last ring in the wake of the Corp’s twilight. Expecting him to pick up where his predecessors had left off would have been just another weight to carry on his shoulders. So instead the heroes who'd once been touched by a Green Lantern's kindness now return the favor for their only successor. They tell Kyle about the Corps that were the keepers of peace and justice across the universe for thousands of years. They tell him of how the emerald knights of Oa were brave and kind and loved by so many people.

They tell him these things because they see that the Green Lanterns were more than just an organization of lawmen. They were a legacy, a family, a culture. Unorthodox insofar as that every member was an adopted one, but that only meant Kyle is just as much a son of the Corps as Hal or Guy or John had ever been. He may be Oa’s last son, may not have known that he belonged to the Green Lanterns until their light was all but gone, but he would never have to be lonely.

[oceantornadoo]

love is a family business ch 1 (mafia lawyer!john price x mafia princess f!reader)

masterlist | next

follow and turn on notifications: @tornadoowarning

The thing about working for your family is that you don’t get a say, in well, anything.

“I still don’t understand why we have to do this.” You mutter, eyes stuck in a glare at your conversation partner, who just shrugs. “We need outside counsel to go legitimate, Dove. You know how tricky the Shadows can be.” You restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Your cousin, one of your family’s soldiers, likes to talk to you like you’re on the playground, toddlers arguing over toys. Always uses that nickname you hate - Dove. A trait he only shows with people his own age, never the higher-up bosses. 

“I get that. What I'm saying is, why Price & Partners? There are better barristers to go to.” Not to mention less overbearing, but you keep that bit to yourself. “It’s what Uncle wants.” You almost sneer at how he uses an informal title to refer to your father while talking down to the same man’s daughter, but you restrain yourself. “Ask him yourself, he’s your dad.” The linchpin to the problem - no one can stand up to you dad. You sigh, shaking off the instant regret that weighs itself on your shoulders. “You better have gotten the sister. I do not want John Price.”

John Price is in your office, caressing the spines of your books like he has the right.

“You’re in the wrong office. The Division for Pompous Assholes is downstairs.” You greet him with a glare, leaving your office door open in a clear message. He doesn’t receive it, another fault of John Price.

“You’re as cheery as ever.” Price replies, eyes flashing with contempt. He settles into one of the chairs in front of your desk, eyes flitting about as he takes in the office you never let him see. A bookshelf full of financial and self-help books takes up most of the wall, with your comfort reads hidden between tomes of theories and market analyses. Plants fill in the gaps, spots of green brightening the grey walls of your office. The visitor chairs are purposefully uncomfortable, dug out of the building basement when your father insisted that chairs were necessary. You prefer the couch off to the side, thrifted from your favorite discount furniture store that you know would be looked down upon if your family knew. It’s light brown, cushy with artfully bright throw pillows and perfect for a midday nap when you have the rare time. The desk takes up the rest of the room, dark wood to match the shelves and your name plated in gold.

Price taps the name plate with his finger, letting it vibrate on impact. You clear your throat in an attempt to go straight into business, but he gets there first. “Almost a real businesswoman.” Your eyes roll, unbidden. “Like you’re part of such a stand-up firm.” You bite out. When he shifts in his seat, you’re willing to bet your entire fortune that it’s because the gun in his waistband is digging into his spine. 

“Heard you’re trying to go legit.” Price replies, ignoring your question completely. Relieved to get down to business, you shuffle the folders left on your desk, trying to find your report. 

“Yes. The forecast I made-” 

“Surprised your daddy is letting you entertain this.”

Your head snaps up fast as a whip. “Surprised your sister let you come here all alone.” You retort, venom on your tongue. The invisible scales of your argument, tipping towards Price, suddenly straighten to a perfect balance. Your feathers ruffled, you straighten your shoulders and produce your calculations from your folder, setting the packet in front of Price. “Read it.” His calloused fingers brush the top of the paper, touching the spot your fingers just deserted. It feels strangely intimate, like he’s tracing the mark you’ve made. Your eyes meet, searing as something unknown and unspoken passes between you two.

“I-”

“Dove!” Colin, your secretary, knocks frantically at your door. He’s one of the few non-Made men that work in the building, paid more than he’s worth for his silence. “Your father needs you.” Colin reports. Price smirks at you. There’s practically a bell ringing in the distance, signaling he’s won this round. 

“Make an appointment for the next time you visit, Price.” You order him as you gather your things hurriedly. He grunts in the way that acknowledges your statement, but doesn’t agree with it. You make a grab for the report on the desk, but Price snatches it before you can grab it. “I’ll read it.” He explains gruffly. Shocked, all you can do is nod before leaving him there, staring at your desk.

“What’s wrong?” You ask Colin as you speed walk down the hallway. Your heels click rapidly, belaying your rising anxiety. Colin knows not to interrupt your meetings, which means this has to be important. “You know they don’t tell me these things.” Colin mutters. Despite his job, you’re around the same age, so he lets you nudge his shoulder in indulgent informality. 

“Be glad you don’t know. If everything works out, maybe we’ll be able to get more people like you working for us.” You reply, injecting forced cheerfulness into your tone. There’s already tension in your shoulders as you near your father’s office, on the opposite side of the building from yours. For a reason, so you don’t hear stuff like:

“Where the hell is my daughter!”

Your father’s voice reverberates through the walls of the building, echoed shortly by the sound of a pounding fist against a desk. You stand in front of the door, steeling yourself as you breathe in and out. One, two, three. You push through.

“There you are.” And there he is, in all his glory. Your father is standing, a hulking beast entrapped behind a mahogany desk. “Hello, Father.” The Chairman, boss of one of the major crime syndicates based in London. His hair, cropped close and rapidly graying in the past years, belays how frustrated he is. Its usual gelled stature has been interrupted, with a few strands laying this way and that. You’ve never seen him this out of control of his physical appearance, a sign that something is very wrong.

“Everything okay?” You ask timidly, a necessary change from your whip smart banter with Price. Father shakes his head, and a pit forms in your stomach. “Twenty dead. Thousands of weapons stolen. They took one of the MacTavishes, Charlie.” Your heart stops. The MacTavishes are one of your closest aligned families, known for supplying contraband items like weapons or documents. Charlie’s like you, determined to make something right out of all this wrong. He helped you prepare your report on going legitimate, using his extensive family connections for input on Scottish gangs with legitimate businesses. It’s symbolic that they only took him, when you know for a fact his brother Johnny was there as well.

Once a crime family, always a crime family. There’s no notion of leaving, of becoming a real company. A warning, written in blood.

“Who died? Is Johnny okay? Do they want a ransom?” You sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk, fingertips playing with the fabric of your slacks. Now more than ever is a time you wish for another sibling. One with the same violent tendencies of your father, ready to hit back with war plans rather than questions. Being an only child, and a girl at that, puts you at a clear disadvantage in the life you live. The disappointment in your reaction is written clear on your father’s face, forehead wrinkles crinkling as he purses his lips.

“Not important. You’re here for another reason.” You furrow your brows in confusion. His face is one of stone, purposeful to keep you in the dark. These days, he’s your Chairman much more than your father. Days of walking hand in hand, visiting your mother’s grave and laying down flowers, all fade to distant memories. “What do you mean?” Another timid question, another exasperated facial expression. Instead of answering, he sips from the glass tumbler in front of him, the dark liquid in it most likely being scotch. He swallows silently before answering.

“They’re targeting you. Words leaked out you’re the one who wants to take us legitimate. Your competence isn’t a secret anymore.” He’s referring to the strategy you formed together long ago. Keeping you out of the spotlight, letting you go to college in America to keep your intelligence under wraps. A picture perfect image of a mafia princess, innocent and unknowing of the blood on your family’s hands. Less safety issues for the heir if they think you’re useless, and probably not the heir at all. There’s been illusions to one of your distant cousin, Kyle Garrick, taking over, all while you’ve been prepping for years to hit the families with a force they’ve never seen.

It all assumes that you want this life, this blood on your hands.

A dangerous assumption to make.

“So what are you thinking?” You know better than to offer your own opinion. By the way he’s restraining himself, you’re sure Father already has a solution. He encouraged your education and your project, but there’s been an itching feeling that it’s all been to keep you distracted. To work up to whatever finale he’s planning to end these attacks.

“Marriage.”

Marriage?

It’s not like you’ve never heard the word. The timeline you formed for him years ago has clearly been abandoned. Marriage wasn’t planned for at least five more years, once the both of you decided which allies you could trust. To abandon the plan is a show of how desperate he is, how little he cares for your opinion. How little he trusts you.

“Father, I don’t understand.” You bite out. It’s the most you can show of your reaction without revealing your weakness, the shakeable wrongness of your position. Your hands sweat and you resist from pulling on your collared shirt. “A wedding, You. The Shadows and all the other families will have to be there. The perfect time to strike.” Father smiles when he says it, like he’s glad to commit mass murder on the day of your wedding. In hindsight, it is a good plan. Other than that and a funeral, there’s no other kind of event that will get all the families in one place. Your family, The Family, can pat them down and leave them weaponless, shooting ducks in a barrel. So why do you feel so apprehensive? Words escaping you, all you can do is nod for him to continue. 

“It’ll need to be to a family that isn’t directly part of the Outfit, one that won’t take weeks to negotiate. One that we can buy.” You’re glad to be sitting as your mind spins, dizzying questions of who and when and how floating around like a carousel. Your father seems to have no qualms with selling you off to any bidder willing. It’s clear he means to bring another exterior family under yours, one who won’t object as much as an enemy family like the Shadows or the Graves. Joining with them would be opening up the Family’s weaknesses for all to see. And God forbid the wedding didn’t go through, not to mention how evil the potential husbands might be.

You should be thanking your lucky stars that he wants to marry you off to a supplier or a smaller ally.

Should.

“Do I get to have a say in the selection?” You murmur, resolute that any outright protests will be met with a silent glare. You have no bargaining chip, and the freedom of your love life is worth being able to continue making the Family legitimate. It has to be.

“If you have any strategic suggestions.” Translation: don’t suggest someone you would actually want to marry. Although, there aren’t any names on that list either. In an attempt to paralyze him with too much information, you start listing off any names you can think of. “Well, there’s the MacTavishes, of course. Johnny, the twins, and Ben are all unmarried, though I’m not sure if they’re dating anyone.” A snort bursts from your father. You’ve already made a mistake - unmarried relationships aren’t taken seriously in lives like yours. It’s like a tax filing, single or married. You blame the insanity of the situation on your slip of tongue. Plus, while the MacTavishes are some of your favored suppliers, they’re already extremely loyal and wouldn’t bring anything to the table.

“Nikolai-” 

“Be serious, daughter. This isn’t a game. Someone who would give you an heir.” He’s referring to the unspoken relationships between Nikolai, heir to a transportation fortune, and countless male socialites back in Russia. Licking your lips, you contemplate how much longer you can skirt past actual candidates. By the tone in your father’s voice, you’ve run out of chances. Speed is the only card you can play.

“Dean Griffen.” Gun manufacturer.

“West Finnigan.” Explosives expert.

“Blake Massey.” Drug supplier.

“Theo Volker.” House of the Lords, but Made.

“John Price.” Mortal enemy.

“Lee-”

“Stop.” You look up, cheeks warming from the embarrassment of having suitable suitors memorized. Part of your job, but it feels salacious now.

“The Prices just got hit with a government investigation for evidence tampering. Something about pissing off the Graves.” Father says, almost to himself. He starts typing away at his computer, and you desire to throw it to the ground. Price was a stupid name to mention, a zero probability of an enjoyable marriage. Your game, usually both tactical and strategic, has gone out the window. “If they’re being investigated, shouldn’t we stay away? It wouldn’t look good, especially with Kyle being considered for appointment to the House of Lords.” A stretch, since you’re third cousins, but a plea all the same. Father shakes his head sharply and your heart stops. “Not if we can pull some strings. They’ll be in our debt. Kate will be desperate to keep her assets from being seized.” Finality threads through his words. You start to shake your head, one last effort.

“Father, please, I can’t marry John. He’s horrible. Give me a day and I can find you more names.” Your voice wavers at the end, begging him to remember his daughter and not just his heir. For a second, there’s a glimmer of hope. His eyes soften minutely. And then, it’s gone.

No.

“This is your duty to this family, daughter. This is what you’ve been preparing for your whole life. You do this, and I will consider your proposal to be legitimate.” A thousand butterflies erupt in your stomach at his last sentence. A chance to have your work listened to. To get rid of the guilt that haunts you every corner, knowing how many innocents get caught in the crossfires of what they do. Maybe, if your plan is successful, he’ll allow you a divorce or an annulment. Uncommon, but not unheard of. Hope. 

“Deal.” You stick your hand out for a handshake. There’s a moment when you don’t think he’ll take it, but eventually you feel his weathered hand in yours. When’s the last time they embraced? A goodnight forehead kiss or a hug after a long day? Years ago, before your mother’s death, surely. When Father squeezes your hand, it feels like pride in your business demeanor. You pull away and straighten your shoulders. It takes two steps for you to open the door to your future.

“Colin!” He’s down the hall, waiting patiently for you. “Yes?” His blonde eyebrows knit in confusion at your summons. You’re not usually so authoritative with him, but you don it like a shield in preparation. “Go find Price and tell him we have a business proposal for him and his sister. Make sure you emphasize the urgency of it.” Colin nods and speeds off, his leather work shoes clacking on the granite floors.

Married to John Price, the son of a barrister empire.

The one thing you know is you won’t be changing your last name.

The rest is up to your family.

[cluelessatthispoint]

Dragon's Hoard pt. 6

Warnings: mentions of force feeding, possible cannibalism, kidnapping mention, and hybrids not knowing to to parent a human child properly.

~enjoy~

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

Grumbling from your place under Price's thick arm. The none to suble rocking motion of his gait has you swinging from one side to the other. Despite walking as slow as he can without causing you much injury, he is massive compared to the average human male. A soft pout makes it to your features as the allure of being carried under a large arm, like a sack of potatoes looses its allure. Looking down nit too far you can see your feet dangling as he carries you with his muscular forearm around your middle. If you had any food in your stomach there's no doubt in your mind that you would have been throwing up your stomach contents.

"Let me down...hey! Let me down." You're tone is almost breathy with the way you feel your lungs being squished.

Kicking weakly for good measure, the dragon huff. His massive chest heaving out a lumbering sigh as if you were a toddler throwing yet another tantrum. With a slow swing of his tail, he wraps the end around your feet as he slowly sets you down. Gathering courage, you set him with the nastiest glare you can muster. In return all you get is a deep, rumbling purr.

"Cute, kid. Real cute."

The hand that comes your way nearly hits the side of your head with the way you flinch back. Price however ignores your action as he seems unbothered and used to such things. Placing his hand on your head and ruffling your tangled locks, he smirks as if pleased with himself.

"Tiny thing you are, well. Don't worry your lil head poppet. I hunt you a nice boar-"

"A boar?!"

The alarm and surprise in the tone of your voice makes the crows feet at the edges of his eyes crinkle into view. It almost makes him look more human. With the flare of his one wing, your surprise diminishes. Of course he would hunt you something to eat. A dragon has dragon instincts after all.

"Yeah, a boar. Unless you want a bear instead. Now I haven't had bear in a long time kiddo. Boar and bear are both quite tasty."

Despite his warm tone of voice, the tail around your legs that's keeping you in place seems to grow only the barest hint tighter. Swallowing up the whine in your throat, you cast a weary glance down. As if asking without verbalizing, if he intends to relinquish the hold of your legs now. The notion of running away would be ludicrous. If there was only one hybrid in the cave, then the idea of running away wouldn't be too outlandish. But with four hybrids total? It's impossible. Even with this thought in mind, Price seems bound and determined to keep track of you and your whereabouts one way or another. Too busy in your musings to notice, it doesn't come to your attention that he moved his tail up to your wrist. The very end of it wrapping around your tiny wrist, as if holding hands. Gently tugging you along, you follow Price deeper into the cave as he asses and checks the food supply. The darkness only grows, and the echoing of two sets of footsteps dance across the cave walls. The stalagmites glitter prettily off to the sides, as if the space in the middle were cleared out, no doubt by the dragon hybrid himself.

"What's bear taste like?"

It's almost strange to hear how your voice echoes faintly off the walls.

You can hear in the tone of his voice how Price is smiling as he speaks. The darkness doesn't seem to bother him as his eyes pierce through the inky black with relative ease.

"Ah, bear..let's see...depends on how you like it. Gaz like his bear as a jerky. It takes a while to make, but it's the best food he makes. Soap like his bear fresh as they come, almost as good as a shephar-..sheep. Yeah, almost as good as sheep."

The way Price stumbles over his words make you furrow your tiny brows, but other than that you say nothing. Your mind races. 'Sheep, Bear, Boar, what haven't these monsters eaten?' As if sensing that you were dangerously close to connecting the dots, Price shakes your arm lightly with his tail.

"Hey now kiddo, think any harder and your face will get stuck like that."

Prices words cut off your train of thought. Suddenly the muffled voices of the others waft from the nest. They sound like they're having a good conversation, but specifics are hard to make out due to the echo and the distance. Their amalgamation of voices sound so strange when mixed together. Their accents blending wonderfully to create a concophany of vowels and consonants that sound so human, and yet so uncanny. Squeezing onto Price's tail a bit tighter in return, the feeling of hot, scaled skin and its rough texture serve to soothe and ground your mounting anxiety. From above, the low tone of the Dragon's drawl clues you back in on your purpose here, so far away from the others and your controversial opinions of the safety of the warm nest. 'At least it was bright in there' You think ruefully to yourself.

"Now then, I think we have enough meat stored here. No need to go hunting." Comes the crooning voice of the dragon hybrid as he scoop you up once more. Placing ypu held firmly in his arms, the sudden swaying motion of him taking a seat has you clinging to his broad shoulders for deer life. In the dark, everything feels such more potent. The sounds as soft as some are, almost feel deafening.

"Open up treasure, try some boar." The feeling of cold, salted meat against your lips beckons a half shriek of alarm from your throat.

Within that split second of opening your mouth, a small morsel of said meat is ushered inside with little to no tact. The result, is a mighty grimace of distaste coloring your youthful features. Turning your head away, you find some room to spit up whatever parts came loose withing your maw. The taste of unflavored, too salty meat is pungent to your senses.

"Ugh! Ack-ah...it's gross! I don't like it!" With your cry, Price only holds on tighter.

"Easy now hatchling, it's good. It's good for you. It'll help you grow big and strong." His words sound like a bitter balm as he gently turns your face back and presses a large scaled finger to each side of your jaw. The pressure on your temperal mandibular joint coaxes your mouth open with such ease that it has you seeing red. The choked off noises of insult and anger seem to spur him on. His tone is chiding as if scolding a child much younger than you.

"Ah, ah, ah, don't give me that. The sooner we feed you, the better you'll feel. I promise."

A stray thought briefly crosses your mind. 'Eating in the dark? Why? What am I eating? Isn't boar supposed to be gamey or tough? This meat is soft- even salted and dried.' Closing your eyes, you eat reluctantly. Morsel after morsel, mouthful after mouthful. Price feeds you with a firm, but gentle hand. After each morsel is swallowed down his praise, as unwanted as it is, fills you with pride. As if all the times of missing out on what other children have with their parents is now coming back to you. 'Better late than never' the voice in the back of your mind chimes in.

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

Here we are my friends! Chapter 6! I'm so sorry about the delay. And soon I'm going to have the master list up and running. No more searching and scrolling, I promise!

[esteljune]

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish gifs [23/?]

Look at the size of this man

[velcroedshoe]

I just think John should’ve tried to kill Sam for the “greater good” of the world and to save Sam from what he’d become because he knew Dean couldn’t bring himself to do it

[lennadanvers]

His Home

Johnny Soap MacTavish x Ace!Reader

A/N: I'm a day late to Ace Week, but I really wanted to post this. I'd love to see more ace representation in fanfiction, so I'm doing my part. Plus, this kind of relationship has always been my favorite- there's something about undefined love that makes it perfect. I really like this one, so much that I wrote it while studying for my History exam. I hope you love it too, happy belated Ace Week!

Ghost is the first one to ask about it.

About you.

It’s late, you went to bed an hour ago, and Johnny offered him a beer. They’re looking at the empty front yard, a normal street in a normal neighborhood- a rare sight for soldiers of their kind. The food you and Soap made for the occasion sits warm in their bellies. The air smells of quiet and night.

Simon has known Johnny for a long time- and he has known him well. He didn’t know about this, though. He heard about you, of course. The first time Soap wasn’t sure if he’d make it back home, it was your name he mumbled. Instructions were clear: his dog tags were for you to receive. Along with everything else in his barracks. Ae dinnae care aboot all the rules. Ye gotta take me home tae ‘er.

Ghost knew you weren’t married- he would have seen it in his sergeant’s paperwork. He decided you were his girlfriend, then.

Until someone flirted with Johnny at a bar, and he happily told them he was single. Single. It didn’t lead anywhere, anyway; he came back to base with the rest of the team that night. Maybe he didn’t have a bird at home anymore, thought Simon.

But then there was the roommate. Soap was always talking about the roommate, how she would always leave hairs in the shower, how the laundry detergent smelled like flowers back home. It was said with fondness, the kind of affectionate jab one develops with family or very close friends. Ghost supposed you might be a childhood friend, then. Someone who had always been in Johnny’s life.

Come the end of their last mission, he had nowhere to stay at. His apartment was waiting for him, of course, but it was as empty and cold as any hotel room. His sergeant invited him home- tae meet ma girl. His girl. That was not a relationship status- no friend, no sister or girlfriend. Just girl, his girl.

He had to say yes.

Then there were you. Johnny’s age, bright eyes full of affection when you saw him. Small, soft hands ruffling the mohawk, saying it was getting out of hand. Nodding when he asked for another trim, bonnie, aye?

You hugged him around the neck, face under his chin. Ghost feared you would suffocate his sergeant. But Johnny’s face was pink, relaxed for the first time since before the mission. His arms were at your back, hands rounding your waist- they were used to that place. His nose deep in your hair- Simon felt like he was overstepping, like he wasn’t meant to see that. No one was.

Until you gave a step back- soft smile, soft eyes, soft Johnny- and welcomed him to your home. You called him L.T., like you knew him. Simon suspected you did. You didn’t try to shake his hand or- God forbid- hug him hello. You didn’t even risk a step into his personal space. He didn’t think it was out of fear- you didn’t blink twice at the black surgical mask. You just smiled and gave him a tour of the house.

That was another thing, the house. Tiny and tidy, cozy. Ghost didn’t have much experience with homes, but that’s what it looked like to him. A place lived in, well loved. A place with a past. Even more intriguing, a place with a future. By the way you talked, he gathered you weren’t renting. This place was owned. Something for the long run.

When you got to the hallway, though, you pointed to the last door. That’s my room! You can knock if you need anything, I’m a pretty light sleeper. Then to the one before that: That’s Johnny’s. Then the guest bedroom and the bathroom.

So you don’t sleep together.

Which would have been an answer to his curiosity, if it weren’t for the kitchen. After he left his stuff- a half-empty duffel bag- in the guest room, Simon went back to the small but charming space that is- all in one- your kitchen, living room and dining room. He was still in his soldier headspace, which means his steps were quiet. When he stepped into the kitchen, neither you nor Soap noticed him there.

You were laughing, hand on his bicep, eyes closed. Johnny was smiling. His shoulders down, his face soft. He grabbed your hand and brought you closer in a weird hug. You swayed together, and Simon almost heard the music you were dancing to. It went on for a while. Johnny went to grab a knife and you’d already placed the cutting board in front of him. You grabbed the oven mitt and he opened the oven.

You two are the perfect machine, always knowing where the other is going next. The smiles never falter. For the first time in years, Simon feels like he’s in a home. It’s confusing and startling. How come Soap has this waiting for him? How is he even able to go on deployment, knowing he might not have the chance to dance around you in the kitchen again?

The thought sparks memories. Soap’s sketchbook, a gleaming eye peeking from the page. His tactical jacket, jasmine perfume as they march through a field. A hair tie in the keychain. Gunpowder hands buying a bracelet in a faraway country. Making flower crowns while waiting for the target to show up. Dodging bullets with blue fevered eyes. Take me home tae ‘er.

He cleared his throat, and you handled him the plates to set on the table.

After dinner, you said goodnight. Johnny kissed your cheek; I left some beers in the fridge. Another kiss on the forehead. You waved at Simon, sweet and tired. Soap’s eyes followed you through the hallway.

Out in the cool night air, Simon asks.

“Tha’ ‘er?”

Soap flinches in his seat. The bottle in his hand twinkles under the stars. Doesn’t seem willing to reply. Maybe he doesn’t know how.

“The one from yer drawings?”

The nod is soft.

“Aye.”

Interrogation is an art. Ghost knows many ways to get information out of people. None of them work better on his sergeant than silence. The man has a need to fill empty spaces.

So he waits until Johnny takes the bait.

“A’v always known her.”

Another silence. Simon doesn’t need to ask the question out loud.

“We arenae datin. She isnae ma girlfriend. Or wife,” Jhonny’s voice is warm and liquid. “She's the love o ma life.”

Curiosity bubbles again. How does this life fit with the man out in the field? How come a cozy little house is home to a demolition expert?

“How’s tha’ work?”

Soap’s shoulders tighten, preparing for a defensive stance.

“She doesnae want sex.”

That’s not quite an answer, so Simon waits. Johnny’s back relaxes slowly, as if relieved by the lack of a reaction.

“But ‘a dinnae care aboot all that stuff. She's here whan ‘a come home, an she takes care o’ me. A tak care o’ her. Thare's nothin more than that.”

Nothing more he could ask for. Nothing more he’d ever want. His eyes glow blue, melting ice in the night. Ghost wonders, surprised, how he never saw it. How he didn’t realize.

After that, he doesn’t ask any more questions. There’s nothing else he’d need to know, really. When the bottles are empty and the air a little too cold, they retreat to their rooms.

The next morning, Simon stays in bed a little longer than usual. He listens to your soft steps in the hallway, the little knock on the door and Johnny’s raspy laugh. He hears the sheets and the whispers, the way he tells you stories about their last deployement- some true (only the lighter ones), the rest made up, with a handsome, Scottish hero. He pictures you tucked in Johnny’s side, his hand in your hair, easy smiles lighting up the room. And he understands. Once again, his sergeant’s words sound in his head.

A dinnae care aboot the rules. She’s ma girl, L.T.

[starlightvld]

Allowances

For @baohanhanesel - happy holidays! Have a little hurt/comfort, MacTavish family Christmas vibes, and Simon beginning to find his place among them (and a bit of sappy romance at the end).

(Also on AO3!)

---

"Dinnae fash, Simon. They're gonna love ye."

Ghost stands perfectly still beside the car as Johnny rounds the boot to step up beside him. They make a pair, with Johnny in a new bright red cable-knit sweater, jeans, and a navy blue knit cap that brings out the blue in his eyes, while Ghost is dressed down in his usual black shirt, black hoodie, and a black medical mask. His faded blue jeans are the only spark of color, as old and worn as Johnny's are crisp and new.

If he were a better person—a better partner—he would've worn something nicer. As it is, he's a split second away from turning around and disappearing into the Scottish twilight. The only thing keeping him rooted in place is—

A warm hand slips into his hoodie pocket and curls around his balled up fist. Ghost sucks in a deep, slow breath, and as he exhales, he releases the fist to clasp Johnny's hand palm to palm.

It terrifies him, the comfort a single touch can give. He knows how easily comfort can turn into soul-wrecking pain. Yet he clings to Johnny's hand with the kind of desperation Price would no doubt find concerning for a whole host of reasons.

"We dinnae have tae go inside," Johnny murmurs. "I can call mam from here and—"

"'M not gonna melt, Johnny. Just... gimme a minute."

He's already ruined Johnny's Christmas enough by bowing out of the actual holiday. But the aching despair of the anniversary always winnows him down to his basest self. Even three days later, he feels hollowed out and cold, his sole point of warmth the callused palm and strong fingers clinging to his as they huddle closer against the chill winter air.

Johnny doesn't know the sordid details, but he knows enough about special ops life to fill in the blanks. Every operator has their demons. Simon Riley's are just a little more harrowing than most.

At least the MacTavishes like to celebrate the winter season all the way through New Year's. Or so Johnny says. Ghost suspects the post-holiday get-together might be an allowance made specially for him, but he's certainly not going to ask about it. So here they are, standing in front of Johnny's childhood home outside of Glasgow, store-bought biscuits in hand, while a multi-colored glow spills through the frost-edged glass into the rapidly darkening outside world. It beckons them inside with the promise of warmth and joy and all the other things those trite holiday cards claim for the winter season.

Ghost doesn't move.

The blinking Christmas lights taunt him through the front window. Memories loom from the dark corners of his mind and threaten to upend the one thing he desperately wants to give Johnny—time with his family.

He takes another deep breath, taking care not to let the exhale shudder on the way out.

He's only met Emma and Grant MacTavish twice in passing at Johnny's medal ceremonies for Las Almas and then for the Chunnel op. The latter medal, a Victoria Cross, was officially for exceptional heroism in the line of duty and unofficially for assisting in the dismantling of a major bomb threat and taking down Makarov with a well-aimed stab. He and Johnny weren't in a relationship then, and even if they had been, it would've been inappropriate to mention it on base. Even so, he remembers the overflow of unearned gratitude in Emma's blue eyes—exactly like Johnny's—as she wrapped both of her warm hands around his and thanked him for keeping her boy alive.

The words still ring hollow as he thinks about Johnny collapsing on the cold concrete after clipping that final wire with Price.

He almost died in Ghost's arms that day, and Ghost hasn't been the same since. For one, he kissed his subordinate in the hospital the instant he thought Johnny was coherent enough to remember it and hasn't stopped kissing him since.

Completely unprofessional.

And utterly worth it.

With a final deep inhale and slow exhale, he straightens his shoulders. He can do this. Even if it makes his stomach cramp and his palms sweat with anxiety and the Christmas decorations seem to taunt him with memories of a family forever lost to him.

For Johnny, he can do this.

"Alright," Ghost murmurs—more to himself than to Johnny—as he slides their clasped hands from his hoodie pocket and pulls him toward the door.

It opens before they can knock, flinging brilliant light, excited conversation, and upbeat music into the night air. Emma MacTavish greets her son with a wordless exclamation of joy as she throws her arms around him in a tight hug. Somehow, Johnny manages to return the hug and answer rapid-fire questions about their journey all without letting go of Ghost's hand. Cold air pricks at the exposed skin around his medical mask, but Ghost is too focused on processing and cataloging every detail to acknowledge the physical discomfort.

Johnny looks more like Emma than he does Grant, sharing those bright blue eyes, dark hair, and a brilliant smile that could melt a glacier. Peas in a pod and, according to Soap, often partners in pranking crimes. All Ghost can see is warmth and light—pouring from her, from Johnny, from the home that was never riddled with suffering and people whose lives were never cut short by an evil too insidious to anticipate.

When Emma pulls back from Johnny, she keeps her hand curled around his bicep as she turns the full power of her warm gaze on Ghost.

"And Simon—may I call ye Simon?" Emma asks.

"Yeah," Ghost replies before clearing his throat and adding, "Hello, Mrs. MacTavish."

The smile she gives him sends a shock of pain through his chest even as a flood of comfort flows in behind to sooth the ache.

It's kind. Compassionate.

Motherly.

And it's directed at him.

It gets worse—or better?—when she reaches out to gently clasp his bicep too, connecting the three of them in a circle of touch. As if he's somehow a part of this world. As if he deserves a second chance at family despite dooming his own. The connection is both suffocating and freeing, as if he's taking his first breath of fresh air in years all while a boulder crushes his chest.

She squeezes his arm, and her smile widens into something familiar. Maybe a bit teasing, too.

"Call me Emma, love. I'm so glad yer here. Both of ye. Now, come in out of the cold, will ye? My bones are already aching."

Ghost flounders as the onslaught of pain and comfort slices straight through the layers of armor he's built up through the years, exposing his soft insides.

He wants to fall into the touch.

He wants to run away.

He meets Johnny's gaze, and the softness and understanding he finds there is a balm to his spiraling emotions. Despite everything inside screaming at him to shut down, to not let anyone else into that secret part of him that Johnny breached with the ease of a demolitions expert, Ghost is helpless to do anything but follow Emma inside.

For the first time since he lost his family, he dares to let himself hope.

-

Hours later, Johnny pulls Ghost into bed with a gentle hum, guiding his head to rest on his chest. The heavy thud under Ghost's ear is like scissors to a puppet's strings, snipping the tension away and leaving him boneless and overwhelmed.

"Alright?" Johnny murmurs in his ear before pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head.

"Not made of glass," Ghost grumbles.

Johnny knows him too well to take him seriously, even now. "Nae, yer made of sterner stuff. Gunpowder, madness, and pure spite."

"Spite can be motivatin'. Just ask any of the rookies who've had me for drills."

Johnny hums a laugh, and Ghost presses his ear harder into Johnny's chest to catch every vibration. Fingers trail through his hair, and he sighs.

"How shite was that, scale of one to ten?"

"What?" Johnny mumbles, his lips once again pressed to the side of Ghost's head.

"How bad an impression did I make?"

A hand grasps his hair to gently tip his head up. Their eyes meet, and the genuine confusion in Johnny's expression gives Ghost hope.

That he didn't fuck everything up. That Johnny's family won't try to convince him to stay away from Ghost.

"Mam was absolutely charmed, Ghost. I think she'd adopt ye on the spot if she could."

Ghost blinks. He replays the evening in his head—from the homemade dinner to the impromptu after-dinner sing-along between Johnny and his niblings to the softer conversation between the adults once the children had crashed. He can't think of anything he did to warrant such a reaction. In fact he barely talked at all, content to let Johnny answer questions for both of them and only interjecting when someone spoke to him directly, which happened rarely enough that Ghost was positive Johnny had asked them to make allowances for him. He both hated and loved it—hated that it made him feel weak, like he couldn't handle himself or his emotions, but loved that Johnny was clearly thinking about him and ensuring he would be as comfortable as possible.

He doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve Johnny at all if he's being honest with himself. The man is too good—all righteous fire and burning passion. But with that honesty comes the acknowledgment that he's far too selfish to ever give Johnny up.

At this thought, a faint memory surfaces of Emma's soft look when Ghost wrapped his arm around Johnny's shoulders as they settled on the couch. It's how they always sit when on leave because they can't risk it on base. Ghost loves the feeling of their bodies melding together, a line of heat at his side and Johnny close enough for Ghost to mumble inappropriate comments, bad jokes, and blush-inducing innuendo into Johnny's ear.

Apparently Emma MacTavish thinks it's a good thing, too.

"Well. Good then?"

Johnny hums another laugh, making Ghost's cheek buzz. "It is good, love. Very good." He tightens his arm around Ghost's shoulders. "Thank ye for coming with me."

Ghost swallows. Despite their solid relationship status, they haven't exchanged more than joking admissions of their mutual attraction. He feels the lack all the more as the worst of his holiday malaise falls away in the face of so much care and affection. Something wiggles loose in his chest, a sensation of free falling as his lips form words he hasn't said since before Roba took his family from him.

"Thought you woulda figured out by now that you've got me wrapped around that trigger finger of yours." He swallows. Takes a shaking breath. "You're the only thing alive in this world that I love."

Johnny stills under him. Even his chest is unmoving, breaths locked up with a quick inhale.

And then it all comes out in a rush.

"Simon... d'ye mean tha'?"

And though it means losing the comforting thud of Johnny's heart in his ear, Ghost answers by leaning up, gripping Johnny's chin with his fingers, and pressing a soft kiss to slack lips. When he pulls back, Johnny is staring at him, tears welling in his blue eyes and a wide grin replacing his shocked expression.

"Love ye, too, ye big bastart," Johnny whispers before diving in for another kiss.

And maybe it's not perfect in an objective sense. Maybe he still misses his family and what could have been. But in this moment—with this man and his gracious family who went out of their way to make him feel welcome—it's the closest to perfection he's ever been.

[4vanaa]

—PILOT “Family Dinner (Or Whatever This Is)” outer banks modern family au

[It’s family dinner night at Pope and Cleo’s house—an attempt at a civilized gathering that, predictably, turns into an absolute disaster before it even starts. Each family is scrambling to get ready, kids are causing havoc, and in classic Modern Family fashion, the confessionals, give us an inside look at just how unhinged this crew really is.]

[LO: CAMERON HOUSEHOLD]

The camera cuts to Rafe standing in the living room, staring at a screaming Poppy (3), who has decided she doesn’t want to wear clothes. Milo (10) is sitting on the couch, fully dressed but casually eating a Pop-Tart, while Ava (15) is still upstairs, refusing to come down.

CONFESSIONAL Rafe & You

YOU: deadpan “We’re supposed to leave in five minutes.”

RAFE: chuckling, gesturing to the mess behind him “Yeah… that’s not happening.”

YOU: “Ava won’t come downstairs, Poppy is running around naked, and Milo—” glares off-camera“—MILO, STOP FEEDING THE DOG CHIPS.”

RAFE: shrugs “At least the dog’s eating.”

—Cut to Ava upstairs, dramatically lying on her bed, scrolling on her phone.

CONFESSIONAL Ava

AVA: “I don’t even know why we have these family dinners. Every time, someone storms out, someone cries, and last time Uncle JJ almost set the backyard on fire.” pause “It was kind of iconic, though.”

—Smash cut to Rafe yelling up the stairs, “AVA, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE OR YOU’RE GROUNDED.”

CONFESSIONAL Poppy

POPPY: grinning, wearing fairy wings and no pants “Daddy said a bad word.”

[LO: MAYBANK HOUSEHOLD]

The Maybank house is too calm, which is a bad sign. Jax (7) is fully dressed but covered in dirt, while Maya (12) is filming a TikTok dance in the kitchen. Kai (16), still shirtless, is texting someone suspiciously while JJ is making nachos instead of getting dressed.

CONFESSIONAL Kiara & JJ

KIARA: “JJ doesn’t understand the concept of—” hand quotes “— getting ready.”

JJ: mouth full of nachos “That’s because dinner is at seven, and it is currently—” checks phone “—not seven.”

KIARA: death glare

Meanwhile, Jax is whispering something to Milo(who is FaceTiming him), clearly planning some kind of mischief.

CONFESSIONAL Jax & Maya

JAX: grinning mischievously “Milo and I are bringing stink bombs.”

MAYA: rolling her eyes “This is why we’re never invited anywhere nice.”

—Cut to Kiara snatching JJ’s nachos, forcing him upstairs. Kai is still standing there, texting, when Kiara calls him out—

KIARA: “Kai. Shirt. Now.”

KAI: grinning “Ava likes this one.”

JJ: (off-screen): “Damn right she does—OW! KIE!”

[LO: ROUTLEDGE HOUSEHOLD]

Sarah is running around, trying to wrangle Lily (9) & Bennett (4) into their shoes, while Carter (14) is sitting on the counter, eating chips, and doing absolutely nothing to help. John B is... well, he’s looking for his shoes.

CONFESSIONAL John B & Sarah

SARAH: exasperated “We’re late every. Single. Time.”

JOHN B: defensive “Okay, but, like, time is a social construct.”

SARAH: “Tell that to Cleo when we show up forty-five minutes late and she glares at us until we die.”

—Smash cut to Carter smirking.

CONFESSIONAL Carter

CARTER: “Mom and Dad are always late. I don’t even try to get ready until at least ten minutes after they freak out. At this point, it’s a science.”

[LO: HEYWARD HOUSEHOLD]

Pope and Cleo are setting up dinner, the only responsible people in the entire family. Zara (13) is helping, while Jude (8) is sneakily trying to set up a booby trap near the front door.

CONFESSIONAL Pope & Cleo

POPE: stressed “This is a simple dinner. Why is that impossible?”

CLEO: deadpan “Because we’re related to crazy people.”

The doorbell rings. It’s Topper, who has arrived early with Finn (15) & Ruby (6).

CONFESSIONAL Topper

TOPPER: smug “I don’t know why it’s so hard for everyone to be on time. My family runs like a well-oiled machine.”

—Cut to Ruby throwing a juice box at Finn’s head while he scrolls through his phone, completely unfazed.

༝ Your family shows up fifteen minutes late, and Poppy is still wearing fairy wings (but now has pants).

༝ JJ & Kiara’s kids immediately run off with Jax’s stink bombs.

༝ John B & Sarah arrive last(again), and Cleo just glares at them.

༝ Ruby and Bennett start a war over the last dinner roll.

༝ Ava & Kai are flirting, which makes Rafe visibly twitch.

༝ Jude’s booby trap actually works, and Topper gets hit with a bucket of water.

CONFESSIONAL Pope

POPE: staring blankly at the camera, wine glass in hand “I hate them all.”

CONFESSIONAL JJ & Rafe

JJ: “See, this is why we don’t try to be responsible.”

RAFE: “You don’t try because you’re lazy.”

JJ: grinning “And yet, here we are. Surviving. Thriving. Watching Topper get hit with a bucket.”

—Cut to Topper still dripping wet, cursing under his breath as Ruby and Bennett cackle.

CONFESSIONAL Poppy & Bennett

POPPY: whispers “Uncle Barry said this family is crazy.”

BENNETT: nodding seriously “Uncle Barry is right.”

—Smash cut to Barry arriving fashionably late with a six-pack of beer and a bag of chips, looking at the disaster in front of him.

CONFESSIONAL Barry

BARRY: grinning “Yeah, this is exactly why I don’t have kids.”

[cloakedsparrow]

Bat Family 'Bruce is Tim's biological parent' AU Idea #1

Wherein Jack Drake: a) Regularly tags along on archaeological digs despite not being an archaeologist. b) Commonly smuggles home archaeological finds despite that not being legal. c) Does not believe in curses, hauntings, or any mythology despite the world that he lives in being populated with *gestures at comics* all that.

As a result, Jack is like a magnet for cursed objects and keeps smuggling the damned things home.

The first time little Timmy suspects this is happening, he knows his dad won't respond well to him suggesting the most recent package he sent home is haunted. He knows he'll respond even worse if he tries to get anyone else involved. So he sends his mom a private email explaining what's going on. Janet replies that he's right to be suspicious, that this has absolutely happened before, and that he was right to contact her. She tells him she's sending over a friend who can help and gives him a password that she'll tell the friend so he knows it's okay to let him in the house.

John Constantine shows up within the hour. Tim is certain he didn't drive there (the alert that someone passed through the gates never went off and no one put in a code to open them) but there is a cursed object in his house and John knew the password Janet gave him, so he's mostly just happy to have an adult there to handle the situation. Even if a somewhat bizarre adult.

John takes care of the cursed object and is impressed that Tim reacted to it much faster than most do. He gives Tim his card with instructions to call him if anything like what was happening starts to happen again or if anything else weird starts happening after his father has been to any digs or sent home any strange packages.

As Jack is the aforementioned cursed object magnet, Tim ends up calling John fairly often for someone who doesn't actively work with the occult and is, in fact, a child. John keeps praising him for catching on as quick as he does and giving him information to catch onto other types of mystical/magical wickedness. Tim gets really good at recognizing when magic/curses/spirits are at play.

Then, Janet dies and Jack goes into a coma. Tim is fostered by Bruce for a year and a half and doesn't have to worry about curses or haunted objects for all that time. When they do come across something of the occult, Bruce/Batman has his own contacts, so there was never a reason for Tim to bring any of it up.

Then, the events of Identity Crisis/Crisis of Conscience occur, and Bruce doesn't want to talk to Zatanna (his usual mystic go-to) if it can be helped. He doesn't want to call in anyone connected to most of the Justice League if it can be helped.

So when they come across a cursed object, Tim immediately identifies it and tells Bruce not to worry, he knows a guy who can handle it. The man knows his civilian identity, so they'll have to pretend Bruce bought the object as part of an action or estate sale lot.

John comes and handles it. Before he leaves he comments that he's glad Tim's biological father finally decided to step up and that Bruce better take good care of the boy.

When Tim explains that Bruce isn't his father, the look on John's face clearly shows that he's trying to figure out how to back-step, but not in the expected way. More in the 'I let on information i wasn't supposed to' way.

Which is how Bruce and Tim end up running a paternity test in the Cave at four am.

Alfred and Dick are delighted by the results.

[Alternative ending: John pulls Bruce aside to let him know that Janet told him Jack wasn't Tim's father and that both he and Bruce were on the short list and he hadn't known Jack died or he'd have contacted him already. They have to wait to find out which of them is the lucky one. Either Bruce turns out to be the father and John just lets Tim know he can still call him whenever needed or it turns out John is the father and they decide Tim should still stay with Bruce but John has visitations. Also, Tim might have been showing signs of his Homo Magi heritage when he recognized all these cursed objects. John insists on teaching him to use his magic despite Bruce's unease with it.]

[itacats]

Operation 141: The Family Business

FT: TF141 x gn!reader - Mafia AU

Warnings: mafia themes, stalking, use of the name "sweetheart", please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: Welcome to the underground, where secrets are currency and alliances are as fragile as glass. Part 1 of our Mafia AU story is here, ready to pull you into a world of shadowy deals, unexpected loyalties, and high-stakes drama. Step carefully, but don’t look away—you won’t want to miss a thing!

Read Part 2 Read Part 3 Read Part 4 Read Part 5 Read Part 6 Read Part 7 Read Part 8 Read Part 9 Read Part 10

Part 1: The Hidden World

The dim lights of the bar flickered, casting a soft amber glow across worn wooden tables and well-worn stools. The low hum of the jukebox played in the background, mingling with the clink of glasses and the steady hum of conversation. The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, a constant reminder of the bar's gritty charm. This was no high-end joint — just a dive, a haven for the forgotten and those who preferred to keep their lives in the shadows. For years, you’d been part of that rhythm, the steady beat of routine keeping the world at bay, making you feel just detached enough to avoid the spotlight.

And then they walked in.

Members of the 141 Mafia.

For months now, they’d come in like ghosts slipping through the shadows — deadly, enigmatic, and utterly out of place in the world most people knew. To the outside eye, they looked like any other patrons, but the air around them was charged, like a storm perpetually on the horizon. The kind of tension that made you realize they weren’t just men who had seen an unspoken battle, but men who carried it with them, like a weight that could never be set down. But to you, they were just regulars, faces who blended into the dim light like anyone else. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

John "Soap" MacTavish was the first to break the ice. His boyish grin and easy banter disarmed you from the start, making you forget, if only for a moment, that he was part of something darker. He’d sling a joke your way or toss a casual flirtation across the bar, a half-finished beer in hand. His carefree nature seemed almost out of place, but when you caught the flicker in his eyes — a fleeting darkness — you knew there was more to him than the easy charm. He often asked you to stay after closing for a drink, and though you’d laughed it off the first few times, lately, you found yourself lingering a little longer, drawn to the mystery behind his laugh..

Then there was Simon Riley — Ghost. Silent as a shadow, he would plant himself in the farthest corner of the bar, a hood pulled low and that eerie skull-patterned mask always hiding his face. No one dared approach him unless invited, but his eyes, constantly scanning the room, missed nothing. His mere presence sent shivers down your spine, though not from fear — it was something else, something deeper, as though he carried the weight of a hundred lives on his shoulders. Whenever Soap got too close, Ghost’s gaze would darken just a shade, his silent watch never breaking, as though ensuring nothing more than words passed between you two.

John Price was different — a man who exuded authority and a weariness that came with a lifetime of hidden battles. He’d sit at the bar nursing a tumbler of whiskey, sharing stories that sounded more like fiction than fact. 

And then there was Gaz. He brought a breath of fresh air to the heavy atmosphere. His laid-back attitude, the way he could light up the room with a joke or a quick challenge to a game of darts, made it easy to forget that he too was part of this group of regulars. He’d always laugh at your terrible aim, encouraging you despite the fact that you’d never win, but that was the charm of it. He had a way of making you feel like you were in on the joke, like you were part of their world, if only for a moment.

But tonight was different.

The bar, usually bustling at this hour on a Friday night, had grown unsettlingly still. Midnight had come and gone, and the usual hum of late-night laughter and drunken banter was absent. You were meant to take your break, but something gnawed at the back of your mind, keeping you anchored behind the bar. There was a heaviness in the air, a stillness that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t quite see.

You wiped down the counter, deciding that it’d be better to call your boss and close up  instead of standing around, casting a glance toward the door. Nothing. No one. Even the regulars had slipped away without you noticing. The quiet was unnatural, as if the bar itself had exhaled its last breath. The jukebox continued its soft, haunting melody, the only sound left in the deafening silence. As you reached for a bottle to busy yourself, your fingers brushed against something cold.

A folded piece of paper.

It sat there on the counter, exactly where an afternoon patron had been sitting earlier. Your heart thudded in your chest as you unfolded it, the jagged handwriting making it somewhat hard to read:

"I’ll see you later, sweetheart…"

Read Part 2

Part 1 just scratched the surface of what’s to come! Thanks for taking this first step into the underworld with me. The stakes are only getting higher, and Part 2 will be here before you know it!

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

BTW RONAN RAFTERY I AM IN YOUR FUCKING WALLS FOR PUTTING THIS ON THE JIRV PLAYLIST

[ellieslittleburrow]

requested by : @skyhighwriter : Yeet what if Sam and Dean had a sibling who chose to leave to California with Sam for her music career. When Dean goes to get Sam he finds out she is playing a show soon. (Probably plays rock music similar to halestorm of the pretty reckless)

Warnings : Swearing, some family angst nothing big.

A/N : sorry you had to notify my dumbass for me to finally post it. i've been having this weird anxiety whenever i write something that pulls me miles back. Anyways, enough with the excuses-enjoy!

------

"Whoa, easy tiger."

Sam is pinned under his brother. Whom he just recognized-"Dean?" The oldest triumphantly sneers. 'You scared the crap out of me."

"That's 'cause you're out of practice."

A few moves, and Dean finds himself pinned beneath Sam's clutch.

"Or not-" The older brother breathes a laugh. "Get off me."

Sam gets up and pulls Dean with him. "Dean, what the hell are you doing here?"

...

As the conversation went on, Dean found himself out of words, yet still not ready to speak of the main subject. Finally, he locks eyes with Sam.

'Where is...where is she?" Dean's eyes discreetly search for you but little does he know..

"she.." A nervous cough escapes Sam's throat- unfortunately for him, Dean recognizes it. "She's not here"

"Okay. " The older one nods. "Where is she then?"

Sam sighs and darts his eyes around. "Not here."

Dean rolls his eyes in response. "Okay smartass. Take me to her-come on." Before the future lawyer gets to objectify-he finds himself being nudged toward the door.

Not long after that...interaction, the car comes to a stop at a bar parking lot. And Dean's body stiffens. It's quite late. So his sister is either :

working here(bad)

Drinking her brain off(bad bad)

Working here(very bad)

All three of these send Dean into a very silent fury and Sam is quick to pick up on that. So he rests his hand on his brother's thigh.

"Don't worry Dean, it's none of what you think." The words might've sounded reassuring but Sam's voice stank of a mockery. Toned with the kind of lightness you'd use when reassuring a small child. And so Dean fully ignores it , leaving the car without a word.

As the bar doors swing behind him, he scans the room for that familiar figure he'd seen grow up. But it was nowhere to be found.

He spins around, searching for Sam. "W..Where is she?"

Sam's features soften when he notices the worry etched across Dean's face. "She'll...." Drums suddenly pierce the greenly lit space and Sam's head swings up. The hunter's eyes follow- locking onto the stage. There-There's that figure, that of his little sister.

------

Shoulders burdened by the sacrifice

O' the promises the boy and his father pledged.

But the others fought and fled. Just as the father lost his head

And the boy turned into a man, shoulders heavier as that was always the plan

And he alone he hunted, like a big dark wolf,

No vows, no voices, no one to run to.

----

Cheerfully applause fills the room as the instruments quiet down. You wipe the sweat off your cheeks as you glance around the room, your intestines tightening the more you look around. You saw someone-or you think you saw someone?

As you step off stage, you softly push through the crowd as they congratulate you until you find yourself face to face with Dean.

His face is as easy to read as a children's reading book. As emotions ripple through his face, his chest heaves. And so does yours-just when you think about it. A lump winds up at your throat and you come to a halt.

"Dean."

His name betrays you- It almost feel foreign as you haven't said it out loud in a while. Between you and poor Sam, it's usually him or he. Phrases like where is...he? And is...is he doing okay? are his only chances to exist in your world-or so you think- Always accompanied by that hesitant silence. But not this time-this tim-

Dean leaps forward and before your body gets to jerk back, you find yourself locked in his embrace. And for a moment, the silence over on your left ear sends warmth down your body-and it's almost like you're whole again, but the outside world quickly returns, causing you to push back against your brother's chest.

You're still angry at him. for what reason? not sure. Maybe because he stopped calling? Maybe because he's not supportive enough. Maybe it's simply because he gave up on you.

"What are you doing here, Dean?" You ask coldly. And Dean quickly responds with a retort, earning a disappointed head shake from you.

"I should be asking you the same question, kid, what are you doing here?"

You turn your back to the crowd and to the stage, raising your hand in defiance. "I'm where i belong, Dean. I'm where i want to be."

Your older brother scoffs and you exhale. My god is this man tired. And this conversation too, like we haven't had it a million t-

"This? You don't belong here, kid-"

"Oh i belong with you? In a fucked up world full of injustice and death, Dean? Is that where i belong?" You raise your voice, attempting to bore through the noise-and to yell at him-simply. "In nasty motels and no life?"

"You belong with us-hunting- making the world a better place- actually doing something useful-"

Your heart stings as you process his words-which he himself weighs-later than he should have-and before he continues, you tsk. "No no"

You shake your head again. "I'm not having this conversation-Not until you tell me why you're here- if it's to get me back-Dean- get out-" You violently point at the door. "Get out because it's not happenin-"

"That's not why i'm he-"

"You could've called-You could've texted, man." You cut him off. "You could've asked about how i was doing-what i was doing. But you were simply too much of a coward to reach out-"

"i had nobody-honey-i had no one left. Not you- not Sam- Not dad.You left me just as i let go of you." Dean leans in and you step back. "Do not put this on me, kid." He tilts his head menacingly and you squint your eyes at him in response. "You chose this over me. There was nothing for me to do about th-"

"So it's my fault?! Is that what-"

"THAT'S NOT-" As he's about to lose his temper, the man runs a hand through his hair. "That's not why I'm here." He lowers his voice. "Please-let's talk outside." Your brother holds his hand out, his eyes pleading but you cross your arms over your chest, looking for Sam's eyes-searching for an answer from him. He won't answer, though. He had held his head down the whole time, he wouldn't break that now.

Your cheeks puff as you blow a breath out, brushing past both of them and heading for the door.

---

Outside, you sit down on the side walk and pull out a pack of cigarettes, taking one before pointing the pack at Dean, motioning for him to make himself comfortable. Instead, he narrows his eyes at you and glares in a disdainful manner.

"Oh and you smoke too?" His voice is not so bitter but- you want to be-

"I don't recall you participating in the birth of me, Dean. You might've raised me but you sure are not my dad, so back off."

Dean purses his lips before taking a leap towards you. "That's not what i meant-dumbass." Towering over you, he pinches at the cigarette resting in between your lips. "These are not good for your vocal chords." He snatches it and tosses it to the ground and your mouth falls open. Pure disbelief!

"Oh so now you're worried for them? but earlier-" Anger resurges and you get off the cemented floor. "You said they weren't useful."

"I-" Dean starts but quickly subdues, bringing his arms down to his hips. "I didn't mean what i said, okay?"

You falter, calming down before you're even conscious of it. And something itches at you-curiosity, causing you to stare at the man-hopeful and impatient.

"I didn't mean what i said-I....I like..." He hesitates. "I like that i can very easily notice my influence on your music taste. I mean those solos and that makeup and those lyrics." Dean snorts a laugh. "That's totally me."

A tiny chuckle leaves your lips. Though the answer is not the one you wanted, it is one you expected. You glance around, away from Dean.

"I don't have..much time left before my next song, so...." You swing your foot unattentively, shifting in place. You feel Dean straighten up.

"Are you happy here?"

The question sends a shiver up your spine and for some reason, your stomach tightens again. Because yes. yes you are. But before you get to answer that. Dean speaks.

"Of course you are-what a silly question." He mumbles and you sigh, guilt suddenly creeping in.

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"No..No-of course not-I just-" He chuckles, though it sounds sad. "I...I actually don't know what to say, kid."

"Maybe be happy for me?" The words are barely audible as you're too hesitant, eyes still avoidant.

"I am-I really am. I just-I just don't understand why you left-" Dean takes a step closer to you.

"Dean-i'm actually-i matter here-"

"But you also matter when you hunt, kid-"

You finally snap-gently-firmly grabbing his arms. "But you don't need to hunt to make the world a better place." You finally find the courage to meet his eyes. And the frown shaping his forehead makes your heart ache but you continue- "As silly as this may sound to you-i too am making a change in the world-You know what- a week ago I met a little girl who told me my music saved her-Dean-do you realize how amazing that sounds?" Your words come out faster and faster. "I am doing something-I didn't leave just for the music and the crowds. I left because i knew that i belonged elsewhere-I belong somewhere on a stage- with a mic a few inches away from my lips-I-"

As Dean lowers his head to the ground and nods, a sense of sinking-doom settles within you. And you find yourself taking a step back, unable to hold the whimpers in.

"So this is it, huh?"

You step back even further as tears gather at your eyes. "It..It doesn't necessarily have to be?!"

One more try.

"Why can't i have both of you?! The music and you? Why is that so hard to accept, huh?"

You walk back to the door, swallowing the lump in your throat. "You know what-If you still can't have that-leave right now-Dean and i mean it-do not come anywhere near this door." A tear slips down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away. "But if there's a chance for us to be a family again, stay. This place holds many more secrets than you think. You never know what you might find here."

----

Hurrying inside and over to the stage, you blast a forced smile as applause fills the room again. You'd look at the far back b-you can't-you can't-the reality of the situation is too harsh-it would break you. But as the song begins and the instruments pound your eardrums, a familiar silhouette you've grown up seeing keeps stepping closer and closer to the stage, to you. And just as the lights flash white-

Your eyes are met with your brother's.

-----

so so so so sorry for that delay, again 👀 i am my worst enemy when it comes to writing. Alsooooo, I wrote that little stupid verse hehe I love being extra. Please let me know if yall enjoyed this and see you next tiime! 🌹🌹🌹🖤🖤🖤