#like a child and john got t I

[gonzodangerfeels]

Today the winds call out to some ass-tastic flip if the script

We love our Danny boi but hate musky masa

[deadsetobsessions]

It takes a lot to break a ghost. After all, even death didn’t keep them down for long, not in any way that mattered.

There is, however, a sure fire way to utterly crush a ghost’s core without even touching it.

Find their grave, and defile it.

It is the height of cruelty. It is the ultimate act of disrespect. It is violation, of the deepest kind, an act that can never, ever be allowed to go unpunished.

As Danny stared at the remains of the toppled over rock tower that Tucker and Sam had made for him all those years ago, to honor his death, he wasn’t sure if he could survive this.

——

Please.

Zatanna looked around. The magician knew better than to write off the sound as a trick of her mind.

You have to help him. Please. He’s just a child.

“Who? What’s wrong?” Zatanna asked, heart aching for the grieving whispers of the young voice.

My brother. His grave. It’s been destroyed. Please.

Zatanna’s hair stood on ends. “What’s his name? Where is it?”

Amity Park. His name is Phantom. Please. Hurry.

Her heart skipped a beat. Phantom. The name of the Infinite Realm’s Champion, the future king.

“Shit. I’m on my way. Can you lead me there?”

I can’t. I won’t be here for much longer. Tell him Jazz sent you. Please. Help him. Help him.

“I will.”

When Zatanna portals out of her dressing room, she catches a flash of red hair.

——

“CONSTANTINE!”

“Gah! Zatanna?” John Constantine fell out of his chair, legs slipping from their place propped onto the table.

“Emergency! Infinite Realms level. Someone destroyed Phantom’s grave.”

Constantine scrambled upwards, pulling on his coat as his mind all but bleated like a highland goat at the sound of “Infinite Realms” and “Phantom’s grave.” Destroying a ghost’s grave might destroy the ghost, but if they survive the initial splintering, right before their final death, they’ll explode in a ball of fury. Normally, it would be slightly less of a problem. Normally, it wouldn’t be the most powerful ghost in the Infinite Realms. Normally, this wouldn’t happen. Normally, even if it did, it wouldn’t risk a war none of the universes would win. The Infinite Realms loves prince Phantom. Their grief over this… even if he survives, the consequences would be unimaginable.

“You contact the League. I have to go fix this, right now.”

John doesn’t bother going for his hottle, because he unfortunately needed to do this sober.

“Go, go!”

——

Danny doesn’t turn even as he hears the crunch of grass blades. He sits, staring blankly at what used to be his grave marker.

“Hi, there,” it’s a woman. She sounds sad. Danny understands, because all he feels is a whistling hole where his heart used to be. “Are you Phantom?”

Danny sighs, ice crackling at his lungs. He knows, when this is over, he’ll find it in himself to rage. If he doesn’t shatter from this, he knows he’ll take Amity out. Perhaps he’d spare this one. It’s been a long time since anyone bothered visiting or even knew about his grave.

“Your highness…your sister sent me. Jazz?”

That got Danny’s attention. Glowing green eyes peeked from the curled ball of ghost to stare Zatanna down.

She swallowed.

“She… had red hair?”

“Why are you here?” Why did she send you? He doesn’t say. Zatanna seems to understand anyways.

“To help. Please, will you let me help?”

Danny looks down at the ice freezing her feet to the ground and thinks of the kind set of her eyes, the steel backing her spine, the carefully nonthreatening posture. Yes, Jazz would send this kind of person to help him.

The ice melts.

“Thank you.”

Danny watches as she approaches his destroyed grave. She glances back for his permission. He shrugs. It’s destroyed. Nothing would ever bring it back.

And then, he was proven wrong.

Zatanna’s eyes glow, and the stones began melding itself back together- no, it was reversing the damage and zooming back to its proper place.

“Oh.”

The damage to his core was still there. But… he won’t kill this one at all.

Or her friends, who stand at the edge of the clearing with the soul-torn one standing at the helm.

“Is this… alright, your highness?”

Danny stares at Zatanna. His voice is hoarse but… but it’s not on the verge of insanity anymore.

“Do you always come to graves without an offering?”

He knows he’s being rude. He’s past the point of caring. Zatanna’s response is to pull a bouquet of lilies from behind her back.

——

Phantom’s face is so young, and it’s even younger when he smiles.

“Not always,” Zatanna replies, rolling her eyes. But when she settles the flowers down, they’re gently placed.

“Can you magic clovers around it?” Phantom asks, that note of painful hope cracking her own heart. She wonders how old he was when he died.

“Of course.”

A field of clovers surrounds the rock tower, and Zatanna adds four layers of heavy wards around the area when she grows them. Phantom notices, and looks up at her with… trust.

“I am Zatanna. Your sister, Jazz, sent me.”

“Okay. You can call me Phantom.”

——

“I want their heads.” Danny says.

“We don’t kill.”

“Then hand them over to us, for they have hurt the Great One. They will answer for their crimes.” Frostbite settles a hand on Danny’s shoulder.

“Alright.”

“Constantine.”

Constantine somehow manages to drag Batman away to hiss in his ears.

“Shit in a hole, Batsy, I’m not fucking with the Infinite Realms. My demons won’t fuck with the Infinite Realms. Destroying a ghost’s grave is an act of war, and an act of complete violation, and we’re lucky Phantom liked Zee enough not to completely bring ruin to our universe. So shut up, and get the bastards that did this.”

“Hm.”

——

Zatanna sits in the visitors chair, Batman’s and Constantine’s disgruntled selves standing behind her.

“How old are you, Phantom?”

“Hm?” The future King looks exhausted, understandably. “Oh, sixteen.”

“You’re… sixteen? That’s how old you look, right?”

She’s hoping that he’s older, that he’s a millennia and a half years old. Because if he wasn’t, whoever broke Phantom’s grave, broke the grave of a child.

“No, I’m sixteen. My body looks fourteen. I died when I was fourteen.”

Constantine swears.

Batman straightens and walks out, fists clenched.

Zatanna eases the hum of hunting magic at her finger tips and smiles at Phantom until he sleeps.

Then, she gets up, and hunts.

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 6)

It was getting colder, the days shorter, the nights longer... which meant, you were now stuck with John and Simon buying clothes.

You all ate relatively quickly before that, considering you barely munched in a small burger and fries before giving all the rest to Simon, and soon enough, you were all in a children's clothing store.

You insisted that you didn't really need many clothes, maybe just a jacket, since you didn't have one, and going out without a jacket in this temperature is pratically a death sentence for a human.

So, at first, you did agree to buying clothes, they did seem worried too, so you figured, why not?

But at this point, as you watched them get way more than you first imagined, you were starting to panick a bit.

"I-I really don't need that many, r-really...!"

"There's no way we are letting you out when it's getting close to snowing without proper winter clothing." John huffs slightly, his voice sounding rough this way. "I know how delicate humans are to the weather, you need gloves, thick socks, beanies, warm jackets, pantyhoses..." He lists casually, not even looking your direction as he goes through the toddler's section of the clothing store.

You could only feel yourself being gently bounced on Simon's arms as he tries to reason with you.

"We do have a few clothes from our kids' younger years. But it's not that many, and we don't have socks, or gloves, or beanies, this small anymore."

You frown a bit in nervousness, not sure about all this, but there's little you could do against the stubborness of a dragon.

"Okay, this should be enough." John smiles, taking the bag of clothing to the cash register.

You sigh a little, tiredly leaning against Simon. You got used to him carrying you around, considering he has been doing this for a few hours without tiring at all.

And you also got used to the stares people threw your way... and the coos and aww's too....

But at this point, you were tired. So freaking tired. You weren't one to usually go out, like, ever. So, here you were, drooping slightly against Simon, your breathing getting slower.

"I know, I know, we're going back after this." Simon murmured close to your ear, adjusting your position on his arms so you could lean more against his chest and shoulder, a heavy, giant hand rubbing against your small back.

"Mhm... why... why didn't... the others come too...?" You mumble softly, not managing to contain yout curiosity any longer as you watched John pay for the clothes a few feet away.

"Johnny and Kyle are making last minute adjustments to the house." Simon answers simply, even tho you clearly had a confused expression on your face now.

"Adjustments....?"

"Just some simple stuff. Do you remember how you had to use a car seat to get here due to your height? We got the car seat before, but we still had to do some repairs around the house to be a better fit to your size."

"T-That's... Ah... o-okay..." You nod quietly, not knowing what to say to that.

Tho, you were pretty curious to know what kind of adjustments they did around the house.

"Ready to go?" John asks as he comes back close to you.

"Yeah. The kid's tired." Simon nods easily, already starting to make his way back to the parking lot, John right behind him.

"Of course they are. Let's hurry home then."

After waking up, strapped to the car seat as you felt the car come to a stop, John gently unbuckled you and set your feet on the ground, pushing you softly so you could go into the direction of the entrance, where both Johnny and Kyle were already waiting for you.

"Wee lass, come 'ere!!" Johnny smiles excitedly, only to scoop you up from the ground as soon as you got close enough.

It seems he couldn't hold his instincts in any longer. But... that's okay, considering you were in Simon's arms just some time ago.

Johnny immediatly started to nuzzle into you, taking you inside the house as his tail wagged behind him easily.

"Do ya wanna play with me, pup?" He asks, soft, but excited at the same time.

"They're tired, Johnny." Simon says as goes inside, giving a kiss to Kyle as they pass by eachother, John coming right behind with the things they bought. "Put them to nap a lil'."

Johnny pouts a little, ears pressing down and tail stopping.

"I really wanted to play with the pup..." He almost whines, holding you closer to him.

He felt so damn warm...

"Tav, remember when we had the babies for the first time?" Kyle comments, a soft smile on his face. "Imagine it's like that once again. No playing yet."

"Aye, aye." He sighs, and you try to contain a blush at how they talked about you like you weren't even there. "Time to sleep, yeah, pup? Maybe a bit of cuddles?" The hand that wasn't holding you against him goes to your wrist as he gently pushed his hand under your sweater sleeve, frowning a bit as he felt that you were indeed a bit cold. "Yeah, cuddles, pup. Warm yah right up, yeah?"

He was murmuring softly like he was deep in his instincts, that damn babyish talk coming out once again as the werewolf walked easily all the way back to your room and went inside, closing the door behind him, not bothering to turn on the lights.

"Need warm clothes now, saw that John got you some, very good..." He mumbled like he wasn't even talking to you, affected by his protective instincts. "Gloves, and a wool beanie, wee pup... all bundled up, and warm... let's get warm, yeah? Let's lay down, here..."

And he took you straight to the middle of the room, where the nest carved into the ground was. He didn't even hesitate as he simply threw himself onto the soft blankets and pillows, laying against them confortably and immedaitly putting you against his warm side, tucked between his chest and arm, pulling a blanket to tuck you in gently.

You could barely process what was happening, but you let him, actually feeling... confortable. It was warm, he was warm, and the weird nest thing was definetly soft. And you were tired... so tired, you spend a long time out of the house...

It wasn't a surprise that you fell asleep quickly against him, swearing that you could hear some kind of weird noise and fell some kind of weird vibration by your side. Do werewolves purr?

Well, you could always search later. Right now, you were busy napping against the big and warm werewolf, who thrilled and cooed happily at you.

Part 5 / Part 7

[areyougonnabe]

do you have any book (or other media) recommendations for someone looking to go completely insane about arctic exploration now that they've finally caved and watched the terror after holding strong since 2020? i'd love to dive more into the franklin expedition and especially fitzjames and crozier but i'm also very interested in this cherry dude you've been posting about recently.

NONNY OF COURSE I DO. the last time i got an ask like this was over 2 years ago, so i am eager to deliver a refined version of my POLAR FLOWCHART...

SO YOU JUST WATCHED THE TERROR. AND NOW YOU WANT TO READ BOOKS.

A) Do you want to read more about the Franklin Expedition specifically?

If YES, go to B.

If NO, I'M OPEN TO WHATEVER, go to C.

B) Do you care about super detailed historical accuracy or do you just want a fun breezy intro book? Alternatively do you like ice mummies?

If YOU ARE KIND OF A STICKLER, go to D.

If YOU JUST WANNA VIBE AND LEARN THE BASICS, go to E.

If YOU WANT THE FUCKING ICE MUMMIES, go to F.

C) Do you want another story where people die and are sad and fucked up but also hold each other and experience intimacy in extremis?

If NO, YOU KIND OF WOULD RATHER HAVE AN UPLIFTING ONE THIS TIME, go to G.

If YOU DEFINITELY JUST WANT MORE POLAR MISERY, go to H.

D) Would you rather learn more about what happened before the expedition or what happened during/after?

If you want the JANKY FRANKLIN SHITSHOW PREQUEL, try The Man Who Ate His Boots by Anthony Brandt.

If you want the AMBIGUOUS HORROR OF DYING WHITE MEN INVADING A LAND THAT ISN'T THEIRS, try Unraveling the Franklin Expedition by David C. Woodman.

E) Would you rather have a polar-specific overview or a more general book on exploration history of the era that includes polar stuff?

If you want ICY BOYS ONLY, try Erebus: The Story of a Ship by Michael Palin.

If you want to read about GUYS HAVING A BAD TIME IN HOT PLACES TOO, try Barrow's Boys by Fergus Fleming or James Fitzjames: The Mystery Man of the Franklin Expedition by William Battersby.

F) STRONG AS FUCK ICE MUMMY MONDAY

The ONE YOU WANT IS Frozen In Time by Owen Beattie and John Geiger.

G) Is your vibe more "the power of friendship and brotherhood to overcome immense challenges" or "worst fucking rich boy gap year of all time" ?

If you want to be stirred by fine leadership qualities and hope against all odds, try Endurance by Alfred Lansing.

If you want to be entertained by awful leadership qualities and deranged crew antics, try Madhouse at the End of the Earth by Julian Sancton.

H) Would you want your dead heroes to be beloved and valorized or ignored and forgotten?

If you're all in on posthumous legends, try A First Rate Tragedy by Diana Preston or The Worst Journey In The World by Apsley Cherry-Garrard.

If you want to be one of the only ones who care, try The Lost Men by Kelly Tyler-Lewis.

BONUS RECS

If you want to know about ghosts, mediums, and the psychic ghost child Little Weesy who is one of the most legendary Franklin-adjacent curiosities: The Spectral Arctic by Shane McCorristine

Either before or after you read Worst Journey (before might be better if the full book intimidates you, but only if you've prepped with the Preston): the Worst Journey In The World graphic novel by Sarah Airriess

For after you have loaded up on Franklin and Terra Nova lore (the book doesn't hit as hard without deep emotional attachment to both imho): I May Be Some Time: Ice and the English Imagination by Francis Spufford

If you need to know more about the Discovery expedition-era Toxic Polycule (Scott/Shackleton/Wilson): Shackleton's Forgotten Expedition by Beau Riffenburgh

(very selfish recommendation motivated by wanting more people to care about him) If you want vivid detail on the day-to-day life of the Terra Nova expedition: With Scott: The Silver Lining by T. Griffith Taylor

and lastly but CERTAINLY not least:

If you are "very interested in this cherry dude i've been posting about recently" and have prepped with the Preston and/or WJ: Cherry by Sara Wheeler ... then you will understand.

[fanficsdumpomg]

Brozone x Reader (As Parents Headcanons)

John Dory:

*John Dory always dreamed of starting a family of his own during his young adult years but after brozone broke up and him hiking/adventuring the last decade that dream seemed further and further away.

*All that changed when he met you during his travels you too had a meet cute and after some slow burn you had finally gotten together! Suddenly John Dory felt a little less alone in his life, with his brothers back you both discussed starting your family together, and while you weren't actively trying; John was excited

*Which leads you to today, when you had woken up you discovered a turquoise egg with (H/C) nesting in your hair.

*John was ecstatic when you told him, to say the least, already planning many family adventures for your family.

*During the egg's nesting cycle you will have to fight this man to hold your child, he will constantly be bringing the egg everywhere and anywhere showing them new sights and smells. Also likes showing off the egg to other trolls, Like a toddler saying look at this cool thing i made!

*His bro's got him some dad-themed merchandise i.e. coffee cup that says world's best dad, a t-shirt that says which says soon-to-be dad which he wears with pride.

*Once the egg does hatch, he is going to be emotional all day.

*Y'all have a daughter who has his skin color and your (H/C).

*John Dory and you are pretty mellow parents, you let your kid do whatever as long as they are not breaking any laws/committing genocide/murder.

_________________________________________

Spruce:

*Bruce never had dreams of starting a family of his own, he was content with his life and when Brozone broke up he was content to go find a new purpose with his life.

*And that's when he met, you! You were a troll working for Brandi on Vacay Island and when she introduced the two of you, you hit it off and formed a relationship.

*Y'all were content with your lives and not looking to add anything else in the mix but all that changed when you woke up one morning with not one but two turquoise/purple eggs with (H/C) nesting in your hair.

*Bruce was nervous, you were nervous; what if you weren't ready to be parents? But Brandi and the other vacay islanders were there to assure you that no matter what they would be there to support you and be your family in this next stage.

*You both traded off in nesting the eggs, Bruce would take mornings and noon to let you rest and you would take afternoons and evenings to let Bruce rest.

*Bruce loves talking/snuggling to the eggs during his shifts. even though the little trolls had yet to be born he wanted them to know how much he loved them and that they'd always be a family no matter what

*When the eggs hatch, y'all are going to be swarmed with two hyperactive boy babies but honestly, you and Bruce wouldn't change anything and actually start trying for more once the twins have grown a little.

*Y'all Rock those Milf and Dilf vibes

_________________________________________________

Clay:

*Clay plans his life down to the very last scenario, even during his "fun boy" days he always planned on meeting the "one" and having a couple of trollings.

*Clay and you had met when he joined Putt-Putt village, you escaped with viva during the troll's escape from Bergen town. You and him had hit it off and with a little push from Viva you two had finally gotten together

*Clay and you are married for a year before you start actively trying for trollings.

*After a couple of months you both had given up hope of having trollings, I mean the other villagers could do it so easily why couldn't you??

*However your bad luck turned around when one day after waking up you noticed a bulging knot in your hair. Two small turquoise/lime green eggs with your (H/C) were nesting in your hair.

*Clay and you were ecstatic!! So was everyone in Putt-Putt Village; your small family finally felt complete.

*Clay is super annoying during the egg's nesting period, constantly following you around to protect you, limiting what kind of work you can do, how much rest you get, and what you eat. Honestly, you're pretty fed up with this man after this.

*When you're resting, he likes to keep the eggs safe in his hair. Man is like a feral dog with a piece of meat, will not let anyone near his eggs not even Viva; he will growl.

*Finally after a long two months, you're twins finally hatched! Two turquoise girls with your (H/C).

*Clay is definitely the strict parent, those protective instincts that arose during the eggs' nesting time are amplified to 100%. You are totally the girl's fun parent. Despite the differences in your parenting the girls love and respect the both of you!

________________________________________________________

Floyd:

*Floyd like his older brother had always wanted to start a family but that became like a distant dream after Brozone broke up, starting his solo career, and getting kidnapped by Velvet and Veneer.

*After his eventual rescue and recovery with Branch in Troll Village, he met you; a friend of Poppy's.

*Poppy saw how hard the two of you were crushing on each other and pushed the two of you together which led to your eventual dating and marriage!

*A month after the marriage, to your surprise; you had found a turquoise/red egg with your (H/C) nestling in your hair.

*You were ecstatic but Floyd was nervous. He had always wanted to have a child but what if he screwed up his relationship with them like he did with Branch.

*But after some gentle reassurances from his brothers, Poppy and Viva; he felt ready to take on this next phase of his life albeit anxiously.

*Cries every time he receives gifts for the baby, cries when he feels the egg kick inside its shell, and cries every day about how lucky he is. Man is taking all the emotions during the incubating period.

"Floyd would be too nervous to nest the egg in his hair so you would be the main nester for the duration of the incubation period.

*When the hatching day is here, Floyd is a bubbling mess. Cries throughout the entire day but those are happy tears that your baby is finally and your family is complete.

*Y'all have a healthy boy troll with your (H/C). Your baby is so chill too, rarely cries and loves to play and giggle

*As your child grows, Floyd is definitely the parent who would let the child get away with everything. You are going to have to be the rule-setter.

_________________________________________________

Branch:

*Branch has been alone for a long time, his brothers left him and his grandma had gotten eaten trying to protect him from a Bergen. So he had a deep desire to recreate the feeling of family he had once lost.

*But you had always been by his side since you two were you and through everything so it makes sense about the major crushes you two had on each other.

*After regaining his colors, Branch finally had the confidence to ask you out and you happily accepted; (even though you loved Branch no matter what).

*Y'all dated for a couple years and then were married before he discussed wanting children with you. To his surprise and excitement, you too had also wanted to have kids.

*So began your journey of trying for little trollings.

*A year after getting married you were surprised and excited to spot three turquoise/blue eggs with your (H/C) nesting in the knot in your hair.

* Branch goes feral during the nesting time. you will have to fight/argue with him to leave the bunker because he will try to keep you down during the nesting period.

*Will growl at anyone who comes near you and the eggs; only lets his brothers and poppy (with supervision) come around and see you and the eggs.

*Branch loves to carry the eggs in his hair when you need a break. Spends time talking/reading to them and telling them how much he loves them and can't wait to meet them.

*Poppy, Viva, and his brothers throw a baby shower for y'all and while Branch cringes at the dad-themed merchandise he is gifted, he secretly loves them and wears them all the time around the bunker with pride.

*Then when hatching day comes along, Branch is in a panic. What if he wasn't a good dad, what if they hate him?? But after he sees his little trollings, those worries dissipate.

*Y'all have two healthy boys and one healthy girl.

*Branch's protective instincts go from 100% to 10000% after the trolls are born. Your children definitely have Branch wrapped around their fingers and can get anything if they look cute or beg hard enough.

__________________________________________

[missmarveledsblog]

What best friends are for (Bucky Barnes x Reader ) 18+

SUMMARY : When john walker makes off handed remarks about the newest female avenger not taking into the account she is the female best friend of bucky , well it snaps something in the former assassin , when he goes to confess his feeling he catches reader in a situation of her own .

warnings : yes this bitch is a smut so if under 18 do not read . it's a bucky barnes smut that should be warning enough, goofy fluffy smutty fun

"STANK DID YOU EAT THE LAST OF THE POPTART " YN voice called through the compound .

"Ok first of stank really .... that was good but uncalled for second of all before you go blaming me remember point break is the pop tart addict in this household baby avenger " Tony grinned thinking he got away with it little did he know the evidence was all over his black sabbath t-shirt.

" For a genius mind stark you sure are dumb thor's been in new asgard for last 3 months and you've pop tart all over your stupid face and shirt " her foot tapped the floor increasingly annoyed. After her long as mission she just wanted to burrito herself in a blanket eat pop tarts and binge a series or two . Tony praying for a miracle and looking for an exit strategy when his miracle walked in with Steve and nat .

" hey Yn what's wrong " Nat being Nat making sure one Y/N was ok and two well any reason to slap start was welcome .

"Stink ate the last of my poptart " she pouted breaking not only nats heart but Tony miracle escape plan bucky opening his mouth and saving the day .

" come on малышка ( baby girl) . I hid some for you " bucky grinned as her face lit up . Ever since y/n came to the compound he swore life gotten a million times better , this woman who was sarcastic ball of sunshine . It also helped that she's most beautiful woman he's ever seen , spent most of his time making sure he could make that smile happen .

He never believed in love and first sight til she walked into meeting two years ago asking fury " aye nicky where can a girl get some good food around here " . The room went silent Tony being the first to break out laughing the rest following suit some agent paled at the words being so chill with one of the scariest men in the world in their eyes .

......

As now sat in a Burrito cocooned blanket , her eyes couldn't help stealing glances at the beautiful specimen she called a bestfriend the light of life itself and the supplier of a poptart habit that could rival the god of thunder himself .

" I've to tell you something buckshot it kinda of important .... you saved dipshits ass today I could be on the raft by now " he chuckled thinking it was her sense of humour when in fact it was a confession changed because she chickened out midway through , common problem she had around the man .

" yeah I just couldn't deal with the headlines imagine iron man dies due to poptart issue , fellow avenger charged " he tried to hold his laughter .

"Well well well who do we have here " her whole body cringed at the voice behind, there stood John walker America's wish version of Steve Rogers stood his eyes draping over her body , making her want to bathe in a volcano alone .

"Ah the poster child for Chad's everywhere is gracing us with his presence what do we owe the dishonour " y/n smiled so sweetly .

"Yn be nice he only here to collect something for fury " Sam quipped as he walked into the room .

" well buckshot , birdbrain I'm off to soak my troubles away enjoy wannabe cap " they watch her flip john the bird and skipped off not wanting to be in the room any longer making bucky want to pout at the loss of her company ... or at least he thought he wasn't but .....

" you got it bad my man I'd skip a girl like that she nothing but trouble, I could take her for you I'm sure I could handle her better since i am more this time " John stupid mouth began to move while Sam was texting nat to get John size for casket .

" A dame like her doesn't need a dipshit like you and son you couldn't handle her, she would kill you quicker than you could draw you a breath out of your measly body " he snarled as his body stiffened at thought of this man even trying to get her attention .

" FURYS BITCH MR STANK WOULD LIKE YOU TO COME TO THE LAB " .

"YN STOP HACKING F.R.I.D.A.Y BUT ALSO NICE ONE ON THE FURY'S BITCH " Tony voice echoed through the intercom .

"Fucking bitch , nevermind she's lost her chance " John snarled leaving Sam and bucky laughing til the cried .

"Language " .

" really steve " Sam laughing harder than he was before .

"It just slips out but I will admit Yn hacking F.r.i.d.a.y was hilarious I wish I was here to see John or Tony's face " steve couldn't hold the chuckle coming out . Bucky head moving in different direction, that direction was to her , for two years she was in his head non stop and if she wasn't in his head , the two were doing everything together and the countless night he thought of her under him didn't help either .

" I gotta go tell her " suddenly braved he ran to find her , his own thoughts not wanting to waste anymore time . He couldn't think straight knowing john walker or any man could try stake their claim .

As she lay in the tub overjoyed at latest achievement wishing she'd seen John stupid face falter when F.r.i.d.a.y called him furys bitch but also knowing she could get the footage later in the evening . Yet her mind kept wandering to her best friend , how he would cheer her up , make her days brighter and how he made her clenched your thighs . past the point of feeling guilty and becoming wetter as her mind thought about him fucking little pussy hard . nor she couldn't help the hand slipping down between her legs like it had a mind of it own , running it through her folds as thoughts about bucky thrusting in her pussy while a firm grasp lost in her hair , the sickening sound of skin slapping against each other .

"Oh fuck. Fuck yes just like that sarge " she whimpered circling now puffy Clit . moans drowning out the noise of the bedroom door opening as bucky made his way in .

He didn't want to stay but hearing those moans fuck it he felt like he died and went to heaven , angels singing just for him . His body betraying his mind as he opened the bathroom door the sight nearly killed him alone beautiful soaking wet body arched and sweet moans filling the room .

" yess just like that sarge fuck " those moans and sloshing water like a sweet melody to his ears . The sentence that stop her dead in your tracks a deep growl making her eyes flying open " FUCK doll you make a lot of pretty sound but I can make you scream them " . Before she could react bucky kissed as he stripped not wanting to waste a second more . It felt right, like it was normal for them ,something in it it that made sense . Moaning into the kiss she rose from the bath pulling back baring herself for her best friend .

" please bucky " she cried as her lips hit his again .

The clash of tongues and teeth the raw passion hitting both. Knowing the border between bestfriend's was so far away , would need to flight to reach it again . None of it mattered the feelings clear enough in the kiss alone knew this was real .

" please sarge I need you " sweet little kisses down his neck . There and then bucky knew he was never letting go .

" so needy my little baby doll " grinning as he took her nipple in his mouth wanting to hear those moans coming from her mouth like he was addicted to them , fuck he was addicted to her and he was finally getting his fill. Dreams becoming reality kissing down this body, one he dreamt of most nights to keep the nightmares at bay . Each touch giving him the clear sign he was one causing it. her body was his to have and he wasn't giving that up . The smell of her arousal taunting and teasing to send him almost primitively feral . It was sweetest smell that ever filled his nostrils . Jesus he knew it would be sweeter than anything he could or would ever taste , almost like the apple that tempted eve . Kissing soft plush thighs as he took in the vision of her bare pussy staring right at him . It was better than any dream or thought he could ever have .

" please James stop teasing me " .

"What do you want baby doll use your words " he wanted to hear those sweet lips tell him .

" I need to feel you ... touch me, fuck me please sarge " .

That was it he was gone eye so dark with lust as he licked teasingly long stripes of your folds.

" Oh fuck baby doll you taste heavenly " his tongue exploring her folds like it was his sole mission , before his mouth greedily sucked her clit. too good she was sure she drowned in the tub and this was heaven . Crying out in pleasure as the man she was undisputedly in love with devoured her like it was his last meal and first meal all at one . the feeling of his tongue alone had the coil tighten with each movement but when he began to slip a finger in it felt like heaven on earth .

" oh fuck bucky i'm going to ... .hey what the fuck" she cried at the lost of contact , brows furrowed in such confusion .

" im sorry baby but when you cum i wanna feel you on my cock " he chuckled at her desperate whines ." you ready doll i need your words " he beautiful ocean filled eyes stared into her soul and telling him with a little nod.

" please bucky i want you to you to fuck me " pussy clenching at nothing desperately hoping for for some release . the pornagraphic moan that came out of her mouth bucky could of came at that alone, she really didn't understand it , how much of a hold on the man she had from the first time he ever saw her and yet she was gonna find out .

" fuck baby your pussy was made for me so tight you're mine baby no one can fuck this pussy i'm gonna make sure shes ruined for anyone else " he groaned each thrust getting harder and deeper .

" fuck bucky i'm your only yours , i've only ever been yours " she cried in pleasure never feeling something so perfect ,the coil tightening more and more, .

" cum for me baby be my good girl ".

the dirty filth coming from his mouth was enough to push over the edge walls clenching around his cock and screams of pleasure filling the room was enough to send bucky over edge his seed hitting her cervix and painting the walls of her cunt .

the room filled with panting both in their own pleasure filled states as bucky lay beside laying her on his chest so tenderly a completely different contrast in his movement before . he couldn't love her anymore than he did and yet it felt like it was .

" i meant what i said buckshot im yours i dont think i could be with anyone else " she said nuzzling herself further into his neck.

" and i'm yours baby doll i always was that day you walked into the meeting i was a goner " kissing her head then her lips . both hearts feeling complete of love as they both dosed off clung together in perfect bliss .

bonus :

"remind me to add sound proof to her room " a scarred tony walked out out the room .

" so furys bitch i see you were wrong it seems our soldier can indeed handle our little spit fire "nat smirked walking to her room .

" as much as i love that they proved him wrong i am traumatised and steve's been a tomato i think they broke him " sam wince joking as his super soldier friend was blushing beat red .

both following the widows lead and leaving a defeated walker to collect his ego and files wanting to leave as soon as possible.

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 21 - "Just in case this doesn't work."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: -

A/N: Inspired by this Post about Danny bullshiting his way by saying he is Tims future kid. Also once again posting this early, cause I need to destress tomorrow and not worry about writing or work or anything.

Edit: Thanks to @kisatamao in the comments I found the post again that inspired this and linked it!

"Chronus"

"Nowadays I go by Clockwork."

"Fine, Clockwork then."

"John Constantine."

The Ancient of Time and Justice League Dark members stared at each other blankly. Until the ruler of time smiled and Constantine sighed. "How is the time baby doing?"

"Very well. Your timeline is safe. There was an incident that could have possibly splittend the timeline again and in a way it did but the destruction timeline was once more prevented, by the child himself like I hoped for. Three times now."

Constantine grunted, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. "You know if Bats or any of his kids ever learn about this I will be the one to take the burn right?"

Clockwork only smiled a knowing smile and Constantine paled. "When?"

"Where is the fun if you knew. The little Drake has been quite unpredictable and entertaining." The Ancient mused floating around the room and Constantine's eyes narrowed.

"There won't be a paradox?"

Clockworks tilted his head with a mischievous smile on his face. "Well the timeline in which he was born no longer exists and his father of this time line has ceased his efforts in cloning. He never even got to the point of trying to combine his own DNA with the one he so desperately wanted to clone."

"I feel like I am hearing secrets I definitely do not want to know. Just tell me if this timeline is safe or not now."

"It is safe. Your timeline has now a true Ancient of Balance in the making and just in case this doesn't work, I have anchored Daniel's existence in this timeline with several means one of which was his own time clone created from a split of destruction line."

Constantine's eyes twitched. "For all of our sakes I hope Bats never finds out about this. If he ever learns that I replaced a still born with a grandson of his from a different destruction timeline… You know what, I am not nearly drunk enough for any of this mate!"

Clockwork chuckled, his eyes glinting with unhidden amusement. "Well John Constantine, would you like a word of advice?"

The JLD member took another long drag of his cigarette before flicking the butt of it somewhere to the side. "No riddle."

"When 17 turns to 4 it is not the grandfathers, you should fear."

"I said no riddles!" Constantine huffed as clockwork disappeared from his side. He brushed his hair with one hand, glaring at the spot where the Ancient of Time had been. He should have never agreed to help that damned being 15 years ago, having been somewhat of a beginner then John did not realize what kind of deal he had agreed on.

Now he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or fearful of the consequences. Especially now that he had worked with the Bat Family a couple of times already.

Exactly one year later Constantine decided he was fucking fearful!

Unknown to the Brite a lot of things can happen in three years. Like Parents turning on their child after accidentally learning about a truth. A teenager that was already hurt trying to salvage whatever peace he could.

—--

"Mom! Dad! I swear it's still me, Danny!"

"Give me back my baby boy you monster!"

—--

A governmental organisation committing mass genocide on an interdimensional species.

—--

"Ember, get out of here! Now!"

"Baby Pop! What about the others?!"

"Dan already released them! Get out of here! I will hold them off and keep them busy!"

—----

The interdimensional species try to convince said teenager fighting for them to forgo humanity.

—--

"Welp, this can't go on. No hunt is worth this much."

"Give it up already. The humans made their decision."

"They broke too many rules, it is time they suffer the consequences."

—--

A heavy conflicted ending with the teenager receding into its core and getting picked up by one of his papa from a different timeline.

—--

"What kind of crystal is that? It radiates a pretty strange but familiar energy."

"I wanna see! I wanna see!"

"If it's not dangerous, why not keep it?"

"It looks like there are snowflakes in it."

—--

The kid then reformed out of his core in his ghost age instead of human age with a green note appearing on his forehead. Said note confusing the kids papa making him contact the kids dad.

—--

"Tim you won't believe this…"

"Kon you sound weird, what is going on?"

"Remember that shiny crystal I picked up at the end of our last case?"

"The one with the snowflakes in it, yes."

"I think I just became a dad."

"WHAT?!"

—--

Which then led to the dad overanalyzing the note while the kid insisted that a certain ghost was involved. The child's grandparents then getting tipped off through the grandchild of the Ancient Constantine still curses in his mind.

—--

"So Pandora mentioned something to me."

"Hn."

"Have you tried asking Constantine about it? He is apparently in contact with a being that likes to write cryptic messages on green notes, or that's what Pandora told me at least."

"..."

"And your new grandchild came with such a note right?"

—--

And now John Constantine was fearing for his life, because Batman had tried to contact him several times now. Several times Constantine had found reasons to ignore. Only for the Bat to come knocking on his door -well more like rudely kicking it down- with fucking Super too! He was cursing up a storm internally and thinking of how best he could get out of whatever had crawled up the two hero's asses when right behind the two hero's stood another set of hero's he did not want to face especially when he noticed one of them holding a four years old toddler in his arms.

"Chronus you fucking asshole!" The Brite muttered to himself as the four hero's plus time baby stood before him demanding answers.

That was when the toddler piped up, eyes glowing a bright green. "So Clockwork does have something to do with this! I knew it!"

"Danny, sweetheart not now. You can tell us you were right after we figured out what timeline you are from and if we need to send you back or can keep you." Red Robin calmed the now pouting toddler Super Boy was holding and petting with a small chuckle. While Batman and Superman turned on Constantine.

[featherandferns]

daylight - two

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 2 of the daylight series | read part 1 here

content warnings: drinking, mentions of sex

word count: 3k.

blurb: you join jj's friends at the chateau and find yourself playing hot seat.

“No.”

“Come on! It’s cute!”

“I mean this with all due respect: burn that top.”

Rolling your eyes, you look down at your t-shirt. You’d thrifted it from a shop near the harbour. Born to fish, made to work. You thought it was hilarious, and it was washed and worn-down into comfort. Stretched at the collar and slightly big on your frame, you fell in love. Mimsy? Not so much. 

“It’s funny. I think it’ll go down well,” you tell her, keeping it on. You tuck the front into your pair of shorts before sitting down at your desk. Grabbing your hair brush, you begin taming your hair. 

“This is the first time you’re meeting hot-mechanic-man’s friends and that’s what you’re wearing?” Mimsy says, disapproval heavy in her voice. “God, you really are lost without me.”

Mimsy had dubbed JJ ‘hot-mechanic-man’ after you recounted the story from two nights ago, when your car decided to call it quits on some random country road. All you’d done was tell her his name and that he was from the Cut, and she’d stalker master-minded her way to his Instagram. It was just as you had pictured it to be. Snaps of him surfing, some shirtless (score), and photos of him smoking. His friends were on there too. You’d counted it as homework for tonight in your sleuthing. John B with a head of brown-ish hair, curled and fairly long; Kiara with a brimming smile and ‘save the turtles’ branded backpack; Pope with his awkward grin which did not match his well-toned body. They seemed fun from the photos.

There was a video on his Instagram which you think Mimsy might have watched fifteen or so times. It was of JJ shot-gunning a beer with John B, stood in a yard beside a campfire. You’d watched it too, eyes fixated on his bobbing Adam’s apple, and promptly clicked out of the video. So, despite your teasing, you were grateful for Mimsy’s talents. 

“How’re you getting there? Parents giving you a ride?”

“I’ll skate,” you say. 

Mimsy nods. “Is it a good skate scene out there?”

“S’alright,” you shrug. Flashing her a smile through the camera, you say, “would be better if you were here.”

“Yeah, well, most things are,” she jokingly returns. The smile that follows is solemn. The two of you missed each other like crazy. 

Mimsy looks past the camera into a mirror and continues working glitter onto her eyelid. It sparkles against her tanned skin. She's going out tonight to your usual haunt. Fake IDs got you into a social-club style bar in your local area, where most of your friends went. You missed the smell of liquor that clung to the walls and that uncomfortable tackiness of the floors. 

“You nervous about meeting his friends, then?”

“I guess,” you say. “Kinda nervous about meeting him again.”

“Yeah, hot guys will have that effect on you,” Mimsy returns with a cheeky grin. 

Rolling your eyes, you go to fire something back but get interrupted by a crackled yell through the speaker. Mimsy turns around in her chair, towards her door, and hollers back to her mother in Spanish. 

“Pol el amor de Dios,” she mumbles as she turns back to the camera. “Sorry, babes. Gotta go.”

“Have fun!” you grin. 

“Oh, you too,” she returns with a telling wink. Then she clicks off the screen. Your room is unnaturally quiet without her voice and company.

Checking the time, you get to your feet, pull on a pair of beat-up Reboks, and grab your bag and penny board. Jogging down the stairs of the two-story home, you call out to your parents. Your dad mumbles his reply just as you slip out the door. You take off down the street and head towards the address JJ text you. Your backpack is heavy with beer cans and unopened chips, and your cased digital camera. It felt wrong to leave your house without some form of camera: polaroid, digital, disposable. You were attached like a child to a safety blanket. 

As you pull onto the road which supposedly leads up to John B’s house, the amount of tarmac depletes. Making the rest of the way on foot, you’re only semi-cautious as you start down a dirt trail to an old fish shack that’s only just visible through overgrown shrubs and trees. The echo of energetic chatter which carries to you calms your worry. You round the corner to find JJ stood on top of a tree stump, arms expanded as he tells a story. When his eyes catch yours, he stops mid-sentence and jumps down. 

“Yo! You made it!”

The rest of the gang turns as JJ bounds over to you. He grabs you by the shoulders and coaxes you into the gathering. 

“This is the girl I was telling you guys about,” he says to his friends. 

They nod, wave and smile their greetings. JJ stands behind you, hands planted on your shoulders, and announces your name like you’re visiting royalty. 

“That’s John B, Kiara and Pope,” he introduces. You think you do a good job acting like you’ve never seen any of them before. 

"You're the damsel in distress JJ's been telling us about?" Kiara asks.

Laughing, you say, "that's not how I'd describe myself but sure."

The group smiles. John B nods down at the penny board you’re carrying. “You skate?”

“No, no, I just carry it around for street cred,” you dryly return. Pope sniggers. 

“See! Told you she was funny!” JJ says. He makes his way to the beer cooler. “Beer or seltzer?”

“Beer,” you reply.

He tosses a can to you like he did at the garage. You catch and crack it open, and then take the empty lawn chair beside Kiara. She’s sitting crossed legged, nursing a bottle. The only lighting comes from the porch behind you. Everyone is sat in a wonky circle, lounging in their various seats. JJ has claimed the hammock. Chickens coo in a run not far from the group. The marsh water near John B’s home soothingly laps at the land. Crickets and owls accompany the quiet hum of music playing from a beat-up Bluetooth speaker. 

“You came at the perfect time,” Kiara tells you. “JJ was just telling us a very interesting story.”

“Thank you, for that,” he replies, gliding past the almost-insult. “As I was saying, Priss snuck outta the party and nobody knows where she's at, right? Then, I'm heading out and guess who I fuckin' see her mackin' on? Fuckin' Bradley G.”

"You're so full of shit," John B snorts, shaking his head.

"I swear on my life! I swear on my God blessed grave, Priss and Brad G hooked up at that keggar the other night!"

You glance at JJ's friends and nobody seems very convinced.

"You're not allowed to go to parties unsupervised anymore," Pope says in a matter-of-fact manner.

"Shut up, Pope. Like you ever go to parties anyway," JJ mutters before taking a hefty swig of his drink.

Rolling her eyes, Kie looks to you. “Anyway. JJ says you’re new to Kildare?”

“Yep,” you reply. 

“Where abouts you living? On the Cut?”

“Yeah, about ten minutes from here, actually,” you say. “Thanks for letting me hang with you guys by the way.”

“Course,” she smiles. 

“Oh!” You suddenly remember your bag. Delving in, you produce two large bags of chips. “I brought snacks and drinks too.”

John B gets up and gladly takes the beers from you, placing them in the cooler with thanks. Kie tosses a bag of chips to JJ before opening the other, offering it around.

For a while there’s little chatter as you all relax. Kie hums along to the Bob Marley song that plays and Pope reads. John B’s head is reclined back, eyes shut, and a cloud of smoke sometimes billows out from the hammock cocoon JJ’s placed himself in. It’s reminiscent of how your friends used to be back in Vancouver. Chilled and cool, no pressure. 

JJ breaks the quiet with a groan, shifting to sit up. “A'right. I’m bored. Let’s play a game or something.”

“Not strip poker again,” Pope demands. 

“Oh come on! Why not!?” JJ protests. 

Kie rolls her eyes. “Because you’re a card shark.”

“And because you always end up getting your dick out,” John B tags on. You snort into your can. 

“Alright, alright, what then? I can’t be arsed setting up beer pong,” JJ grumbles, plopping himself down in a seat just opposite you. 

“What about hot seat?” you offer. The group looks to you. 

“Hot seat?”

“Yeah, it’s when someone sits down in a chair and they’re grilled for five minutes by the group. Any questions, no rules. If they don’t wanna answer, they drink,” you explain. “It’s fun.”

“I’m down,” Kie shrugs. 

“Me too,” Pope agrees. John B nods. 

JJ gets up, grabbing another abandoned seat (I mean, are these things multiplying?) and placing it in view of everyone, mimicking that of a courtroom layout. 

“Alright, who’s first?” he asks. After a round of highest-lowest, Pope winds up in the hot seat. He shifts nervously as Kie readies her timer. 

“Ready? Go!”

With that, an influx of questions follow. They range in severity: some joking and trivial and others bordering on existential. Pope drinks only once when asked if he’s into anybody, and before more prying can follow, the timer goes off. 

“Now you get to choose who goes next,” you explain, somewhat giddy with the others. 

“John B, you’re up,” Pope prompts. They swap seats and the group eggs the brunette on as he steels himself for questioning. The timer starts and the questions begin. 

“Blow job or hand job?”

“Blow job,” John B answers JJ. 

“Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.”

“Do you think the Royal Merchant is real?”

“Damn straight,” John B replies. You frown. Royal Merchant? 

“Hottest girl in the county?”

John B deliberates. When he seemingly can’t decide, he takes a drink. More silly questions follow, most of which stem from JJ, and the group starts to crack up. The alcohol helps, easing everyone out of any boundaries. When John B’s round finishes, it’s followed by Kiara. She takes a joking bow before hopping into the seat. She’s calm and collected under their scrutiny. Rolls her eyes at JJ’s prying queries and entertains your own curious questions. From the way the group answers, and what they answer, you gain a better sense of their personalities. JJ is the next one up. He throws his hands up as he walks over, as if he’s heading into a boxing ring. He then man-spreads in the seat, shorts hitching up his muscular quads, and vapes as Kiara resets the timer. As your eyes skim up and down his body, they return to his face to find him watching you, amused. 

“Timer’s going,” Kiara says. You snap your eyes away from his.

“Favourite sex position?” John B asks. 

“Damn, that’s a tough one,” JJ replies. His finger swipes his lip almost tauntingly as he deliberates. You’re shamelessly intrigued. “Toss up between doggy and missionary.”

“Weed or beer?”

“What!? That’s evil!” JJ argues. “Weed, I guess.”

“Surfing or fishing?”

“Surfing. No! Fishing. No, no, wait…Can I choose both?”

You chorus with the others: “drink!”

He does as he’s told, swigging back his can. Nods when he’s done to prompt another question. 

“If you could travel somewhere in the world, where would you go?” you ask.

JJ looks to you. His answer comes quick. “Anywhere. Fuck it - everywhere! I’d go to Mexico, and then Brazil, and then Argentina, and then I’d go to the Caribbean islands to see what’s happening there. And then Japan and China and all those places, and then a little backpacking stint around Europe and stuff. Finish off in Africa with the elephants and shit.”

The group hums their approval. As you glance around, you get the sense none of them have been very far. Neither had you. The farthest you’d ever been was North Carolina. Your family had never ventured out of Vancouver before; the only reason your parents had settled on North Carolina was because of your dad’s ties. He was born here and grew up not far from Kildare, in Wilmington. You think he might have been chasing nostalgia when he announced that you were all moving to Kildare. 

“You into anyone right now?” Pope asks. 

“Why? You offering yourself up?” JJ teases. Pope rolls his eyes, mumbling jerk under breath. “Yeah, I am.”

“Who?” Kie prompts, curious. 

JJ’s eyes flash back to you and a telling smirk sneaks onto his face. “She already knows who she is.”

The group’s low whistles and ‘oo’s aren’t the only cause for your flushing. JJ’s stare is too. It flits down your figure tactfully before returning to your eyes, smirk only wider. You clear your throat, press your legs together and sip your beer. The timer goes off. 

“Who’s up?” John B asks JJ.

“New girl,” JJ replies, clearing the seat for you to take his place. You gladly do so, laughing at the applause and whoops that come from the others. 

“Do your worst,” you grin, squiffy from the beers.

Kiara starts the timer and the gang comply with your request. 

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” 

You bark out a laugh at Pope’s question. “Shit, starting off heavy. Um…Crashed my friend’s bike.”

“As in push-bike?”

“As in dirt bike,” you cringe. “Brand new dirt bike.”

“Damn, that is rough,” John B chuckles. 

“Thing you like the most about yourself?”

“We talking physically or...?”

“Intellectually,” Kiara clarifies. 

“And physically,” JJ happily tags on. 

“Physically? My wrists, I guess. Don’t ask, I know that’s weird,” you laugh. “And intellectually…” Your eyes downfall to the grass ahead as you ponder. “Maybe my faith in others? I always try and see the best in people.”

Kiara nods, content with your response. 

“What about the thing you dislike most about yourself? Intellectually, that is,” Pope wonders. 

Your smile twists. “My faith in others.”

It was a double edged sword: you’d learnt that the hard way. You wash down the memories with a swig of beer. 

“Body count?”

The sudden change in tone makes you laugh.

“You can’t just ask a girl her body count!” you exclaim through your giggles. JJ exaggerates his shrug. 

“Why the hell not!? Anything goes right?”

You shake your head with a smile. As you sip your drink, you stare JJ down. 

“Alright, favourite sex position then,” Kie says.

You comply with that question. Grinning, you say, “cowgirl. Or reverse cowgirl. Either, really.”

John B whistles as Kiara teases, "okay, girl, okay."

“If you had to hook-up with anyone here, who would it be?” JJ asks. 

Laughing, you look to the sky as you toss back your head. “I met most of you guys like two hours ago!”

“Going off first-impressions, then,” JJ says. You can hear the grin in his voice. 

There’s an obvious answer, at least to you. It’s the blonde who you’ve spent the whole night trying not to stare at. His rugged handsomeness and bedroom eyes mixed with the sheen of daytime sweat and sunscreen that settled on his skin, bathing him in beauty...Fuck, it’s not fair people like that exist. You want to know the recipe God used to make him. Want to keep it to yourself so he can’t make it anymore.

Fixing your posture, you train your eyes on JJ. Then, you take a long, long sip of your drink. Kiara laughs under her breath with John B. You swear you see JJ’s demeanour darken. It’s like a game of who can break first. In the end, it’s you, thanks to the surprise of the timer. 

“That’s time…”

“John B. Get your butt back in this chair,” you say, getting to your feet.

He does as asked whilst you return to your old spot. When you glance up, you find JJ watching you. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips and a barely-there expression on his face, but you can’t decipher what either means. There’s something uncomfortably familiar about it though. Reminds you of the same type of smile you saw almost a year ago, back in Vancouver, on a different guy's features. You look away and wash it down with your drink.

The game eventually dies down after two more rounds, without you or JJ returning to the hot seat. By now everyone is bordering on drunk.

The energy has amped up and the atmosphere is upbeat. As Kie, Pope and John B fall into a loud debate about something or other, JJ finds the spot next to you. He nudges your leg with his. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you smile. “Thanks for inviting me along tonight.”

“Course. You thinking you might a Pogue?”

“Maybe, maybe,” you reply non-committedly. You take another sip of your beer. 

“Look, uh, I’m sorry if I weirded you out at all tonight, with all the hot-seat things,” JJ randomly says. 

Frowning, you look at him. “It didn’t weird me out. I told you that at the garage, didn’t I? That it doesn't bother me?”

“Yeah, but, after tonight…Just don’t want to make you feel weirded out around me,” he replies. 

It’s sweet that he cares about that. JJ seems the kind who talks first and apologies later. Whilst you know half of it's joking, you appreciate him checking that you’re comfortable with it. You’d had flirty guy friends before. Hell, you had flirty girl friends too. Mimsy, to name one. Maybe the different thing here was that you wouldn’t exactly turn JJ down. It wasn’t him that was keeping you at bay.

“Nah, you’re good,” you say. Glancing down, you watch your sneakers fidget in the grass. “I just, uh…I just have a lot going on right now and I don’t wanna jump into anything. Even if it’s casual, you know? At least not until I figure things out a bit more and get settled.”

It’s only half of the truth. There was something deeper holding you back. You could feel it now, creeping up behind you, always looming since December.

But you just met JJ. He didn’t owe you anything the same way you didn’t owe him. And trauma dumping isn’t the most certifiable way to make friends. 

“Nah, I get it,” JJ hums, nodding. “Sides, if you’re gonna be one of us, we have rules.”

“I’m sorry, you have rules?” you snigger, looking to him. 

JJ laughs. “Alright, alright, I know it sounds intense but hear me out! They’re to keep the peace and stuff. Keep us together.”

“That’s sweet. I, too, often trap people into friendships with rules,” you sardonically return. JJ nudges your leg away in joking disapproval. You laugh. “Go on, then. What are these rules? Should I get a notebook or…?”

“Alright, rule number one: no pogue on pogue macking.”

“Macking?”

“Kissing. Hooking up. That sorta thing,” he explains. 

Pursing your lips, you nod. “Guessing that came about after your collective balls dropped and you realised Kiara’s hot?”

JJ doesn’t speak but his silence is answer enough. You laugh. A particular outburst from Pope catches your joint attention. John B and Kiara fall into hysterics and you smile at their joy. It distracts JJ from further rule-telling. Reaching down into your backpack that’s nestled under your seat, you fish out your camera and settle it on the trio. You snap a few shots. They’ll look perfect with a black and white filter. JJ watches you flick through them. 

“You a photographer or something?”

“Kinda,” you reply. “I do it for fun, mostly.”

“Wanna take one of me?” It seems a rhetorical question.

Chuckling, you lift the camera and snap a shot of a grinning JJ. In one hand he holds up his drink and in the other he makes a surfer symbol. It’s cute. Shows his dimples and crowsfeet by his eyes. It reminds you why you were so infatuated by him at the kegger. The way the camera paints him is like a Monet. Before you can protest, JJ takes the camera from you and turns it. You complain as he snaps a shot: it feels unnatural being on this side of the lens. You snatch it back. 

“Dickhead.”

“What? You look cute! Especially in that shirt - I fucking love that.”

You try to hide your fluster by placing your camera back. JJ gets to his feet. Offering out a hand with a smile, he helps you up. The casual touch somehow feels like you're shaking on something. An agreement, to be simply friends, at least for now. So, passing a smile and naturally retracting your hand from his, you follow him to the others.

“What we talking about?” JJ asks.

“Oh, shit! You guys have got to hear this story!” Kiara struggles out.

They all shuffle to make space for you and JJ. John B wordlessly offers you another can whilst Pope recounts his tale. As you settle into laughter with the others, cracking up at JJ’s teasing of his awkward friend, you find yourself happy with the thought of becoming a Pogue.

read part three here!

taglist:

@princessuki21 | @psyches-reid

[ianthewife]

The Titania&Ulysses and Gideon parallels are honestly making me so insane. With U- and T- John claims to see them as his children. Then he puppeteers them, drags them around like a favorite toy, plays house with their corpses as dolls, he even names one of them after his childhood dog??? Sir, this is not even near to how one treats children, dear God, you got lost in the necro-sauce—

Then this man lives for ten thousand years and now he has Gideon and he brings her into the world the second time, he constructs her, he renames her and proceeds to play mother-daughter with a new miserable corpse. This man just doesn’t learn, does he. But oh well, this time the corpse is a willing one, isn’t that great! Because Gideon got so tangled up in the desperate desire to be a tool, a weapon, a sword hand, a cavalier. Her “mother” crafted her to be a weapon, a bomb, but didn’t get to use her. Harrow refused to use her and if broke Gideon’s heart. But oh-so-luckily, now she has a father who is willing to use her and her sword, to use her as his sword. Surely this means he loves her. And the worst thing is that I think John truly thinks that is how you love your child.

What can I say, such a wonderful family, they are totally normal and well and definitely aren’t enabling the worst patterns of each other *eye twitching, ripping my hair out, chain smoking*

[tavolgisvist]

That evening in the dressing-room of the cinema at York two girls came in and asked to interview them. They said they wanted the interview so they could make a tape of it for a third girl who was ill in hospital. John sat in a corner away from the group. ‘It’s probably just an excuse to get into our dressing-room,’ he says. ‘Anyway women should be obscene and not heard.’ ‘Switch it on now,’ says Paul conducting the interview for the bewildered girls. ‘What’s your name?’ he asks Ringo. ‘John’, says Ringo. He then asks the girls their names. ‘How did you like Germany when you were there?’ asks the girl whose name is Eileen. ‘We liked it fine,’ says Paul. ‘It was hard work,’ says Ringo. ‘Yeah’, says George. All during the interview they sign autograph books that had been sent to their dressing-room, and when they aren’t actually answering a question they read letters from fans. The girls walk over to John. ‘How do you write the songs ?’ says the girl whose name is Daphne. John doesn’t answer. Paul shouts across the room in a voice you use to an errant child, ‘Tell us about the songs, John, tell us about the songs.’ ‘Sometimes we write them together’, says John. ‘Sometimes not. Some of them take four hours; some twenty minutes. Others have been known to take as long as three weeks.’ ‘What’s your favourite song that you’ve written?’ ‘I think “Glad All Over”,’ says Paul, opening his eyes even wider. ‘No, I’m kidding. I think at the moment it’s our new record “I want to hold your hand”. Is that all right ?’ ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ says Eileen. ‘Thank you very much indeed.’ ‘Oh dear,’ says Daphne. ‘It doesn’t seem to have been recording. Sorry about that.’ <…> Inside, the compere is asking: ‘Do you want to see John?’ (Screams.) ‘George?’ (Screams.) ‘Paul?’ (Screams.) ‘Ringo?’ (Pandemonium.) They appear, and all during their act a man in a dinner jacket stands in front of the stage looking bewildered. The girls wave, hold up pictures, and scream. <…> Paul runs off stage shouting, ‘Oh my God, my ulcer. Nell, do you have a ciggy?’ Aspinall alternately hands him a cigarette and leads him toward the stage door where their car is waiting to take them to the hotel. <…>

The Beatles are in their hotel bedrooms finishing their dinners. George feels tired and goes to sleep. John, wearing a T-shirt and an old pair of trousers, wanders down the hallway past the guard, into the room shared by Paul and Ringo. The table filled with the empty dinner dishes is at the foot of Ringo’s bed. Ringo, dressed in pyjamas, is sitting up in bed. Paul, also in pyjamas, is talking about a film, The Trial, which he has just seen in London. He is describing a scene in which there is a misunderstanding about a word, when the telephone rings. ‘Hello, helloho,’ says Paul in a falsetto and then, realizing it is a friend, says Hello seriously. <…> ‘What I liked best in The Trial’, he says, ‘was when they walked quietly through the concentration camp. It was so dead quiet, just like another world and Elsa Martinelli in the background just necking like mad.’ <…> ‘Uh, I need another drink, baby,’ says John. Paul goes to the phone. ‘Hello? Yeah, send us six single Scotches - No, make it doubles, yeah, doubles.’ <…> They started discussing the feelings of adults towards pop music. ‘We’re definitely fighting a prejudice,’ says John. ‘That’s why I’m interested in John getting his book out,’ says Paul. ‘I mean, I haven’t got a cut or anything. It’s just that one of us would be doing something to make people notice. I mean, it’s the same as if one of us wrote a musical. People would get rid of their prejudice and stop thinking that pop people can only sing or go into a dance routine.’ <…> ‘You remember after that big spate of publicity we got in the national papers,’ says John, ‘which was uncalled for by our office. We were news at the time, and it only just happened we clicked in fourteen editors’ minds at the same time. One day Paul was ill and I believe one of the papers wanted a picture of him. Nell told them they couldn’t have it, and the photographer said: “You mean, after all the publicity we gave them – we made them.” I’d like to meet this fella who said it.’ Paul explained that they never talk to the teenage magazines. ‘They just make it up. I think they prefer it that way…’

(Love Me Do. The Beatles Progress by Michael Braun, 1963/1995)

Part (I), (II), (III), (IV), (V), (VI), (VII), (VIII)

(+ about Paul's flue)

[futuremrscameron]

meet puppy!reader

puppy!reader grew up in a cult. she very traumatized when they got raided by the fbi when she was 9 and she was placed in the care of her much older sister in outer banks after their parents went to prison for child endangerment

it took her a while to trust this sister she’d never met and adapt to her new life on the island. she would skip school and try to get a ferry ticket to go back home. ran away three times before her sister sat her down and explained why she never met her, why their parents were in prison and why she couldn’t keep running away from this problem or any problem she had

immediately gets along with the pogues because their tight knit bond reminds her of life on the commune. this is during kiara’s kook year so the boys are a bit reluctant to make a news friend in hear of replacing kie and getting abandoned another friend but puppy makes it clear that won’t be happening through their actions

outfits color palette is so bright you need shades just to look at her. she’s got the entire rainbow in her closet, in long skirts, tube tops, and shawls and that’s not even getting into her jewelry

smokes weed like a fucking chimney. it’s one of the reasons why she’s so calm. that and the calming techniques she picked up as a child

spends her time working at the country club, teaching yoga to the bored housewives of figure eight. she hates it but it pays well and she’s saving up to move out of her sister’s

puppy!reader moves into the same trailer park as barry at 18. he hates being her neighbor because ‘her girly shit (bright blue camper) makes him look soft in front of customers’ and thinks it’s an eyesore

what did megan say? i love to switch up my shit every day? that’s puppy. rocks her natural hair in different styles s1-2 and locs s3-4

no one knows what the hell her and john b are and no one wants to know. it’s messy, they love each other but they don’t wanna fuck up their friendship, she doesn’t wanna be tied down and he doesn’t know what he wants

raspy voice but soft spoken so everyone’s shocked when she cries in front of them for the first time cause she’s a wailer. this girl is loud as fuck when she cries just sobbing. the raspy voice makes it sound worse than it is too

meets kiara just before the events of s1 when she’s fresh off her kook year and surprises the boys when they get along like a house on fire. kiara loves that she never feels judged by her and puppy loves that kiara always says how she feels, no bullshit.

the only one john b trusts to drive the twinkie. jj thinks it’s unfair that she “doesn’t even have to ask or beg” and that john b’s “playing favorites”.

puppy!reader can’t help but feel like a placeholder for sarah sometimes. john b is so nonchalant she can never tell where his head at even when he’s proclaiming his love for her. she’s got more of his shirts in her closet than her own st this point but they’re not official. she knows him and sarah are “complicated” but it doesn’t feel good to be used as a bed warmer when him and sarah are on the outs

sarah and puppy are those girls that you see and school and can’t tell if they’re gay or just super affectionate friends. sarah sees puppy as a fragile soul in need of protection and puppy admires her resilience even after all she’s been through. think ellen and anna in nosferatu

the pogues are her family but she still misses her parents and everyone else she grew up with on the commune that’s either behind bars or off the grid. the anniversary of the fbi raid always gets her down and she likes to be alone on that day, won’t even smoke with jj which is how he knows it’s serious. they have a strict routine.

john b may have too much on his plate to be emotionally ready for a relationship but he does care about puppy. they were friends before anything else and she was the best listener of the group. when he’s running around kildare with his dad in s3 he almost tells her about el dorado and his dad killing that guy but he doesn’t want to burden her with that secret so he pushes her away

pope and puppy are the skeptic/spiritual duo. he doesn’t dismiss her beliefs and even helps her shop for ingredients needed for her special teas that she’s started selling at an outrageous price to kooks. she likes that he’s confident about his intelligence but isn’t averse to learning new ways of thinking

tries to stay out of the pogues’ treasure hunting business but always finds herself helping them out whether she’s patching them up, lying to the cops, or hiding them in her sister’s house

puppy!reader’s convinces her sister to help hide them for the weekend when she comes over for their weekly tea party. it takes some convincing since she’s not too fond of the “troublemakers” pogues but she helps cause puppy barely asks for anything and she feels bad for not being there when she was under

opens a herbal tea shop in the cut after getting fired from the country club (told a kook to go shove his silver spoon up his ass after she overheard him shit talking sarah and john b after their disappearance)

cleo thinks she’s a little sketchy because of her bubbly nature contrasting her soft spoken voice. puppy does play this up to scare her from time to time but it’s all in good fun

visits the pogues shop in s4. customers can find her mostly sitting on the counter talking to sarah, helping kie out with the garden, or smoking with jj on his boat

advertises her tea shop and yoga class during the pogues’ ad for their bait shop

the one with the pregnancy scare instead of sarah. makes her think about what she wants in life and stop being so lasse faire with life. also gives hier an identity crisis

puppy!reader loves her friends so bad but they’re nothing like her commune growing up which she soon realizes is a good thing. they’re actually kind and selfless instead of just claiming to be or only acting that way in hopes of reaching eternal paradise. they share clothes, food, weed. they look after each other and they’re accepting. they’re everything she’s been looking for

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material - (Captain Price Fic) - Matchmaking Chapter 1 (Shorter Version)  Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 (Last Chapter)

A/N: I hope you guys can be patient with me as I set up the scene and context for the story! I know you might be eager for Papa Bear John, so if you can't wait, feel free to scroll all the way down or check out the short version. But if you’d like to enjoy the full background and get all the details leading up to the moment, stick around here for the original version. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! Warning: Mention of child abuse in the story. Summary: Y/N is a reserved former constable and master sniper in the London police force, now working full-time as an artisan. She reconnects with old colleagues at a grill house for a catch-up, where her former junior, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, tries to play matchmaker. Gaz’s attempt to set her up with the retired SAS and Papa Bear material, Captain John Price, is met with resistance as Y/N is caught off guard by the unexpected attention.

Y/N stepped into the familiar warmth of the grill house, the smoky aroma of sizzling meat mingling with the distinct hum of rugby commentary from the TV above the bar. The place had that well-worn, comfortable charm—like an old friend. She spotted her old colleagues almost immediately, seated around a table, beers in hand, laughter spilling into the air.

“Oi! Look who’s gracing us with her posh, artsy presence!” came the teasing voice of one of the officers. “You still wearing them fancy shoes, Y/N?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a half-smile playing on her lips as she made her way over. "Oh, please. I’d have to sell a few more prototypes just to afford these," she said, giving her Gucci Princeton Leather slip-ons a quick glance. "You know, designing and crafting, prototypes for others, specially demanding architects and students—it's harder than catching a criminal on a Sunday shift."

The group laughed, and one of them raised their glass. “Come on, that’s not true. Bet you’re all over the art scene now, living the dream!”

“Sure,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she slid into her seat, “if by ‘living the dream’ you mean sometimes starving in a studio, getting rejected by every gallery in town, and designing things no one’s ever heard of, yeah, it’s just like the movies.”

They all burst out laughing again. One of the lads signaled to the waiter, who was making his rounds. "Oi, get her a proper drink," he said with a grin, "she looks like she needs it."

A tap of beer was quickly placed in front of her, and she gave her colleagues a mock glare, but couldn't help but smile. "You lot are too kind. Just wait ‘til you see my next masterpiece—a painting of you lot after too many pints."

As the laughter faded, they began catching up, each group diving into stories and teasing. "Any funny incidents lately?" one of the officers asked, a grin spreading across his face.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh, plenty. You lot wouldn't believe half of them, but I'm still waiting for the call-up for my big art show... not holding my breath, though."

The conversation shifted, and soon enough, someone asked, “When’s your next reservist shift, then? You’re still doing that, right?”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, taking a moment before answering. "Ah, next month. Got my refresher course first, so I'll see you lot after that." She picked up her glass, the cool beer sliding down her throat as she sighed contentedly.

It had been a long day—too long. But, she was glad to be here, catching up with these old faces, the familiar rhythm of their banter and laughter settling into her. The worries of her day faded, replaced with the warmth of good company and the taste of a well-earned pint.

The table buzzed with laughter and the clink of silverware as everyone dug into their meal. Y/N, content with a bite of lamb chop, was about to take another when Kyle’s voice broke through.

“So, Y/N,” he said with a mischievous grin, leaning forward, “how long’s it been since you’ve been single?”

Y/N paused, looking at him like he’d just asked if she wanted to run a marathon. She narrowed her eyes, the chop still in her hand. “You’re not about to start playing matchmaker, are you, Gaz?”

Kyle shrugged nonchalantly, completely unbothered. “Well, you know... I might have a perfect guy in mind. Could introduce you next time.”

The table erupted into teasing shouts, and a few of the women at the table nudged her playfully. “Ooh, a ‘perfect guy,’ eh?” one of them said with a sly smile. “Sounds like someone’s trying to get you out there, Y/N!”

“Yeah, yeah,” another girl chimed in, grinning. “You can’t stay single forever, love. You need to live a little!”

Y/N laughed, raising her glass of beer to her lips. “I’ve been living plenty, thank you very much,” she said, taking a sip. “I’ve been single since I was 22. Too much going on in my life. Can barely keep up with myself, let alone anyone else.”

One of the guys leaned in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t just keep dodging the love life thing forever. You’ve gotta try at least once. Who knows? Maybe this ‘perfect guy’ will be just what you need.”

“Or,” another woman piped up, waggling her eyebrows, “he’ll just be an excuse for a nice date night and some free food. Win-win.”

Y/N put a hand on her chest, feigning shock. “Oh, I see how it is. You lot just want me to get free dinner at someone else’s expense!”

Kyle laughed, raising his beer. “Well, if you don’t like him, I’ll pay for the meal myself. But I’m tellin’ ya, he’s worth a shot.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her tone dry. “Tell you what—if I get to choose the place, I’ll consider it. But no more ‘perfect guy’ nonsense, alright?”

Her colleagues cheered, raising their own glasses. “To Y/N’s perfect guy!” someone shouted, and the table erupted into more laughter.

Y/N just rolled her eyes, taking another bite of her lamb chop. “Alright, alright. You lot are relentless.”

As the teasing continued, Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “Alright then, who’s this ‘perfect guy’ Gaz has in mind? One of your mates?”

Kyle leaned back, clearly proud of his matchmaking skills. “Yeah, mate. His name’s Price. Former SAS, top bloke—don’t let the gruff exterior fool you. He’s solid. Got a good head on his shoulders.”

The table went silent for a moment. Some of the guys and girls exchanged glances, clearly impressed by the mention of SAS.

“Ooh, SAS, huh?” one of the women said, grinning. “That’s like, the real deal, right? Tough, mysterious, probably has a six-pack or maybe even eight! Hidden under all that tactical gear.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” another guy added, practically waggling his eyebrows. “Rugged, muscular, probably a bit brooding. Can already see the whole ‘I’ve been through the worst’ vibe.”

“Sounds like someone’s got a lot of mystery about him,” one of the other women teased, nudging Y/N with her elbow. “Could be just the thing you need, Y/N. A real adventure.”

Kyle, clearly delighted by the reactions, went on, “Yeah, you’ll like him. He’s been through the ringer, mate. The kind of bloke you don’t wanna mess with. Tough as nails.”

The group went on, each person adding their own humorous speculation about Price’s rugged, mysterious persona—tough military training, intense eyes, dangerous aura. The teasing was infectious, and everyone was in on it now, laughing and playfully suggesting how wild or sexy Price must be.

But Y/N’s expression had already shifted. Her hand, still holding the lamb chop, froze mid-air, and she stared into the distance, her eyes darkening as she took in what Kyle had said. The laughter around her faded into the background, her own thoughts taking over.

One of the guys, noticing the shift, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Y/N?” he asked, clearly sensing the change in her mood.

Y/N blinked, breaking out of her thoughts. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Yeah, fine,” she said quietly, but her tone was noticeably subdued.

Kyle, still excited, didn’t notice. “I’m telling you, mate, he’s a proper top guy. You’ll get along fine with him, I’m sure of it.”

But Y/N’s eyes had taken on a more somber look. “Yeah, maybe,” she muttered, her voice much softer than before. “Look, I’m not saying all military guys are the same, but…” She paused, her hand tightening around her beer glass. “My father was ex-military. Bit of a bastard, to be honest. Mentally and verbally abusive. So, I’ve... never really been into that kind of thing, if I’m honest.”

The teasing stopped abruptly. The table grew quieter as her words sank in. Kyle, finally sensing the shift, looked at her with a soft expression. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything heavy, Y/N. Just thought I was being helpful…”

Y/N gave a small, weary smile, waving it off. “It’s alright, Gaz. You didn’t know.”

One of the women, noticing her mood, reached out and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Hey, you don’t have to meet him, Y/N. No pressure.”

Y/N nodded, the smile returning just a little, though it was faint. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’s a great guy. Just not sure I’m ready for... anything like that right now.”

The table grew quieter as the conversation shifted away from matchmaking and towards other, lighter topics. Laughter bubbled up again, but Y/N’s mind wandered back, the memories creeping in despite the cheerful chatter around her.

Her father… It didn’t take much to bring his image to the forefront of her mind. The memories of him were sharp and unpleasant, lingering like an unshakable shadow. He’d been in the military for years before moving into MI5 when she was a child. After he retired, though, he never really left the mindset behind.

She could still hear his voice in her head, cutting through the air, as if he was right there. The constant little digs—his sharp tone when he'd see her, trying to maintain that military discipline, as if he could control every aspect of her life. Every time he looked at her, it felt like he was seeing an enemy, like she was still just a soldier under his command.

He’d belittle her. Criticize everything, from her clothes to how she held herself, as though she were an extension of his authority. It wasn’t just the verbal abuse, though. There were moments where the anger would spill over. He’d hit her, sometimes, not out of frustration but out of a need to keep her “in line.” If she argued or disagreed with him, there were times he’d drag her out of the house, leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere just to teach her a “lesson,” and then come back hours later, violently pulling her into the car as though nothing had happened.

Y/N shook her head, pushing the dark thoughts back. She’d spent so long trying to bury them, trying to focus on anything else that didn’t make her feel like a child again, helpless under his control.

It wasn’t until that one night when she was 19—kicked out of the house, no place to go, just a bag and nothing but cold streets—that she decided enough was enough. She didn’t have the luxury of time or an easy choice. She’d had nowhere to go but a friend’s couch for a few nights, and that’s when she made the decision: she would join the police force. She needed the money, the stability, and more than anything, the chance to break free from the past.

The police program offered her a way out, an escape, a way to stand on her own two feet and start building something for herself. At the time, it also came with education, which was a huge draw. She could pay for her tuition while working, get the training she needed to eventually leave all that behind. She’d never intended to stay long in the force, but it turned out to be the best decision she could have made, even though it came with its own set of challenges.

Her eyes flickered back to the table, the laughter still ringing around her, but now muffled, distant. She had come a long way since those dark days, but sometimes—like now—the weight of it all crept back in.

It was easy for her to laugh along with the others, easy to let the jokes flow. But sometimes, when the noise died down, she could still feel the sting of her past, just beneath the surface.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present as someone nudged her elbow. “Oi, you alright, Y/N? You went all quiet there,” one of her friends said, concern lacing their voice.

Y/N blinked, shaking herself free of the memories. She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah,” she replied, taking another swig of her beer. “Just a long day, that’s all. Don’t mind me.”

They didn’t press further, thankfully, but she could feel their eyes on her for a moment before the conversation shifted again.

The laughter from the table faded as everyone began to gather their things, slipping out one by one into the cool night air. Y/N lingered for a moment, the clink of glasses and murmurs of her friends still echoing in her ears, but it felt distant now—like a tune she was no longer part of. As she stepped outside, the damp pavement underfoot caught the glow of the streetlights, each step sharp and purposeful. She let out a long breath, the chill of the evening sinking into her skin. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d needed this—quiet, space to herself, far away from the constant chatter and noise that seemed to follow her every move.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, snapping her from her thoughts. She glanced down at the screen. An unknown number. Normally, she wouldn’t even bother answering, but something told her to check it.

She unlocked the screen and swiped open the message.

"Hi, Y/N. John Price here. Gaz gave me your number. We should grab a drink sometime. Maybe chat about a few things. Cheers."

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks, eyes narrowing. Her thumb hovered over the screen as her mind scrambled for a reaction. John Price. The John Price? The former SAS legend, now retired, and apparently still involved in some highly classified business? What the hell was Gaz thinking?

"What the fuck, Gaz!!!" Y/N hissed under her breath, staring at the message with disbelief. Her gaze snapped up and scanned the street. She could see her friends walking ahead, far down the street now, their backs turned. Gaz, that bloody menace, had passed her number along without a second thought.

She stormed a few paces ahead, but her steps were more frustrated now. Her mind raced as she considered her options. She didn’t want any part of whatever ‘chat’ Price had in mind. She wasn’t a fool—she knew how these things worked. She could already picture the smug look on Gaz’s face when he thought he was doing her a favour, setting her up with some ‘good guy’ from his circle of military buddies. But military men… well, she had enough of that in her life already.

Y/N scrolled through her contacts, her fingers moving like clockwork. She was about to fire off a quick response to tell Price to kindly go to hell when she caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. Her face looked tired, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to her. She could feel the cold seeping through her coat, and for a moment, it was like the weight of everything—the years of trying to make it on her own, the trauma, the nightmares—settled right back on her shoulders.

She quickly closed her phone and shoved it back into her pocket. A drink with John Price? Yeah, that was definitely not going to happen. But Gaz? He was going to hear about this. She didn’t care if he was busy with some top-secret ops or whatnot—this was a step too far.

"Next round’s on you, Gaz," she muttered to herself as she walked toward the corner, feeling the familiar mix of annoyance and amusement begin to churn in her stomach. ----------

Y/N's eyes fluttered open to the soft light of the morning, spilling through the gap in her curtains. The events of last night—Gaz's matchmaking attempt and the unexpected message from John Price—already felt like distant memories, lost in the haze of sleep. She groaned and stretched, her arms reaching out before she swung them over the side of the bed and planted her feet onto the cool wooden floor.

She was hungry. More than that, she was starving.

With a deep sigh, she pushed herself to her feet, feeling the weight of yesterday’s long hours still in her bones. Her body moved on autopilot as she made her way to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee hit her senses before she even flicked on the kettle. The day ahead was full—pottery to finish, pieces to deliver, and the usual grind of meeting deadlines for design projects. But the pottery was the steady foundation. It brought in consistent income each month, even if it required hours of backbreaking work.

The market was always a good outlet for her—hands-on, personal, where customers could appreciate the craftsmanship and effort she poured into each item. She enjoyed the physicality of it, the quiet satisfaction of shaping clay into something functional and beautiful. She had a reputation for it, too—well-known in the area for her distinctive, handmade pottery, with a smooth, glossy finish that always caught the light just right.

After a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, she shuffled into her workshop. There was something grounding about the familiar rhythm of her craft. The kiln had cooled overnight, and her latest batch of pottery—plates, mugs, vases, and a few statement pieces—was ready for inspection. Y/N carefully removed the items, one by one, from the kiln. The glaze had set perfectly, giving each piece a rich, lustrous shine. She ran her fingers over the smooth surfaces, admiring the precision of her work. Her hands were still stained with the evidence of yesterday’s labor, but it didn’t bother her. It was part of the process.

As she carefully packed the finished pieces into protective wrapping for transport, she nodded in approval. She may have put the hours in, but the result was always worth it. The market would love these.

Later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, examining her reflection with a critical eye. She’d always believed that people treated you better when you looked your best—when you seemed approachable and friendly. And since she was about to step into the public eye again, it was important to put a little effort in. She applied her makeup with precision, the soft strokes highlighting her features, then slipped on a small pair of gold-plated silver earrings that added a touch of chic to her look.

She was wearing a loose white linen shirt with long sleeves, its cuffs casually rolled up. The shirt was light and breathable, perfect for a day of carrying boxes and setting up her stall. Over it, she tied her craftsman apron—dark, worn from years of use, but still functional, with enough pockets to hold all the tools she needed.

Her wide-legged chinos reached just to her ankles, the fit comfortable and practical, paired with her slip-on loafers—a soft, leather pair she’d had for years. It was casual yet still put-together, an outfit that made her feel at ease while still ready for whatever the day might throw at her.

She practiced her smile in the mirror—a grin that wasn’t too forced or strained, but warm and inviting. Some days, it felt like a performance. But she’d learned long ago that a good smile could sell a piece of pottery. And that was what she needed today: to sell, to engage, to make her art speak for her.

With a deep breath, she adjusted her apron, straightened her shoulders, and gave the mirror one final smile before grabbing the first box of finished work.

She had a day of selling ahead. And though sometimes the world felt heavy, she was ready to face it head-on. Her pottery, her designs—they were the bright spots in her life, the reasons she’d fought so hard to keep going, to stay grounded.

With another steadying breath, she stepped out into the cool morning air, the day ahead waiting for her.

-----------

Once Y/N had finished unpacking and arranging her wares at her stall, she took a moment to step back and admire the display. The pieces were neatly arranged—vases catching the light, mugs stacked just right, and her signature pottery glistening with its smooth, glossy finish. She felt a small sense of pride bubble up, but it was quickly tempered by the hustle of the market around her. There was no time to linger; there were customers to engage, products to sell, and a whole day ahead.

Grabbing her phone, she tapped into the group chat with her friends, which, of course, included Gaz. A small smile tugged at her lips as she typed out a quick message:

“Hey guys, I’m set up at the market today—stall 30 if you’re in the area and fancy dropping by. Would be good to catch up if you have the time! 😎”

She added a few relevant emojis, then hit send, tucking her phone back into her apron pocket with a sigh. If they could make it, great. If not, no big deal. It would be nice to see a familiar face, but she’d already grown accustomed to the solitude of her work.

As she glanced up from her phone, she was met with the hustle and bustle of market-goers milling around her stall. Some stopped to admire the pottery, others just passed by, lost in their own little world. Either way, it was all part of the game. She adjusted a few pieces that had shifted during the unpacking and waited for her first customer of the day. -------------

Y/N was arranging the last of her pieces when a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped up to her stall. She glanced up, quickly taking in his dark blue shirt, trim hair, and the kind of build that made him look like he could carry a truck on his back if he wanted to. The guy looked like Papa Bear material—muscular, solid, and with a presence that seemed to fill the space around him.

He stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning over the pottery on display, then back at her. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly attractive he was. He had the kind of look that made heads turn, even if he didn’t seem to be trying. She could feel a little flutter of nerves creeping in, but she pushed it away, focusing on the pieces in front of her.

"Hi there," she said, forcing a smile as she adjusted a mug on the table.

"Hey," the man replied, his voice deep and steady. "You’ve got some brilliant work here."

Y/N nodded, her hands still busy with arranging. "Thanks. I’ve been at it for years, trying to get the perfect finish."

There was a pause as he looked at her again, this time with a more direct gaze. “You’ve definitely nailed it. Everything looks... well, perfect.”

Y/N felt a little warmth in her cheeks. What’s with this guy? she thought, still unsure of why she was feeling so off-kilter. He didn’t strike her as the type who would be interested in pottery, let alone strike up a conversation about it.

Then, with a small smile, he stepped forward and said, “I’m John, by the way. Gaz sent me.”

Y/N blinked, her heart skipping a beat at the mention of Gaz’s name. Gaz? The first thought that shot through her head was, No, no, not this again. Her stomach turned as she realized that Gaz hadn't given up on matchmaking her with this Papa Bear of a man. Gaz!! You matchmaking bastard, why'd you do this to me!!

She tried to shake off the feeling. "Gaz, huh? Of course. I should’ve known."

John’s smile softened. “Yeah, he said I should come over and introduce myself. Said you’re someone I should meet.”

Y/N gave him a wry grin, glancing at the ground for a moment. "That sounds like something Gaz would say." She forced a casual tone, but inside, she was already second-guessing everything.

There was a brief, knowing pause between them before John continued, his voice a bit quieter but warm. "I’ve seen the pictures Gaz sent me... you’ve definitely exceeded that. And you look even better in person."

Her heart pounded, and she could feel her pulse picking up, but she didn’t want to let him see how much his words affected her. Gaz... you absolute idiot.

John continued, stepping a bit closer. "I don’t usually do this, but I’d love to take you out sometime. Dinner, drinks... whatever you fancy."

Y/N felt a flush creeping up her neck. This was it, wasn't it? Gaz and his matchmaking nonsense had really gone this far... She looked up at him, her expression softer now, but still holding a hint of surprise. This guy wasn’t just tall and fit; he was exactly the kind of person Gaz would go on about.

“Look, I am a little busy right now... uhhmmm,” she said, but there was a small, teasing smile playing at her lips.

John smiled, his eyes twinkling with something playful. “Take your time. I’m patient.”

Y/N sighed inwardly. Gaz hadn't given up on this... She couldn’t help but feel the pressure of it all, even as she admired John's presence. Big guy, military background, and that soft, paternal charm. She’d met her fair share of tough guys, but there was something different about John Price. The way he carried himself—genuine, steady, and disarmingly kind—was impossible to ignore. A/N: I do hope you enjoyed that one! I’ll be writing another chapter when inspiration strikes, or feel free to drop any suggestions you might have! On to the NEXT CHAPTER ----->

[sgrplumditz]

Simon falls for Johnny’s wife…

render by @ave661

a/n: I’ve been working on this for a hot minute, but ended up having it sit in my drafts for a couple months :(. these images were released and it definitely struck a chord in my delulu mind. hence why i decided to finish it..

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"I've got a bad feeling about this one, Johnny," she said to the Scott with a shaky breath. Their toddler clinging to his mother's leg while keeping a tight grip on his father's finger. His little hand too small to grip the entirety of his hand.

She couldn’t help but notice his worrisome sigh as he looked for the comforting words, "Eh, don't you worry, Darling. I always come back don't I?" he replied enthusiastically as he embraced her figure, his chin resting on the top of her head and his free hand caressing the back of his son’s head. Johnny always knew how to comfort her, but she couldn’t shake her nervousness and doubtful thoughts as he said goodbye to her husband and the father of her only child.

The memory of their final interaction as a family replayed in her head continuously as the rain created soft tapping noises on her black umbrella. The pattering of the water creating an almost hypnotizing effect on the new widow that kept her mind on the only aspect that was left of her late husband -- memories.

The toddler, a three-year-old boy, who like most of the time clung to his mother's body. Except this time he was fully embracing his mother, his little face placed into the crook of her neck as the pair stood together at the outdoor memorial service. She could only stare blankly at the urn that held the remains of the love of her life. Through her observant stare she took note of the simple, yet lovely set up of white roses, numerous awards and medals. All of which surrounded a framed photo of her Johnny — her favorite photo. A candid picture snapped of the blue eyed, dark haired man by his wife — the woman he kept a secret from his work life. Not out of shame, or malicious secrecy — Johnny loved his wife and his child. Love them so much that he couldn’t be bothered ever putting them in any sort of danger.

She could feel numerous pairs of eyes prying into her and her son as she stood amongst the medium sized crowd of individuals. She assumed all of them were teammates, Co-workers, or people simply paying their respects. she knew he was a highly decorated soldier, but he was far more than that. None of them knew about his personal life, and nobody knew about the widow and small boy he had left behind. Nobody but Captain John Price knew about Soap’s little family. In confidence, Soap had asked Price to maintain word of his wife and son under the rug of the sake of their safety. Although they were hidden, he always carried pieces of them with him wherever he went — attached to his dog tags were two small and silver flat pendants that had been engraved with his wife and son’s fingerprint, his wedding band usually accompanying them on the same chain whenever he was deployed.

When Johnny was home he never removed his ring. He would often complain about how difficult and stubborn the piece of jewelry was when it came time to remove it for work. Johnny thought he was as discrete as he could be when it came to protecting the two most important people in his life, but there was a certain masked individual who took notice of the tan line that marked his left ring finger, the sudden dark under eyes and disheveled appearance that started 3 years ago when they would meet early in the morning for briefings, and when he caught sight of a vomit stain decorating the left shoulder of his black t-shirt — he just wasn’t one to pry.

Those same observant eyes were glued to the grieving widow and the blue-eyed toddler.

Her mind was pulled out of thoughts as Price approached her with a warm and tender expression in his eyes. In his hands were the dog tags, along with his keepsakes of his beloveds and in a small box was the wedding band. All of his personal belongings packed neatly into a box. Price knew he didn’t have to say anything to her for her to know that he was paying his respects to Johnny’s wife. Prior to the memorial service she had made it clear to Price that she wanted him to keep his ashes. She found they would get at least some closure from releasing them.

As Price drew her small frame in for a polite hug her son grew restless in her arms. She knew he was too young to understand that his father was gone, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable and upset from the lack of him. "Mama, it's cold" he fussed as he smushed his face farther onto her neck, "and your feet are getting wet. You're gonna catch a cold". She gave Price an apologetic smile as she turned her attention to her son now — Price had taken it as a signal to retreat. He now stood with two other men.

She couldn't help but smile at the innocence and kindness that exuded from her son. She gently patted his back to soothe his discomfort, "How about we get out of here and get some lunch?" she tried to speak in her most joyful tone, but even then it was coated in sorrow. The boy did not catch on to her somber response, and instead eagerly nodded his head as he perked up to look at his mother. That is when she realized how similar their son, Samuel, looked to his father. He mirrored him in nearly every aspect -- the eye shape and color, the dark hair, and even the mannerisms were similar. This could all be a fragment of her imagination -- she thought. Maybe it was part of her grieving process. She missed him so much that she began to look for him and could only find him perfectly in their Sammie. She was so consumed by her thoughts, that she had not realized the single salty tear that slipped out of her eye and down her cheek. Samuel hated to see his mother cry, he quickly brought his tiny hands up to her cheek and wiped it away with a slightly heavy palm. Usually, he would verbally comfort her — as best as a toddler could do, but all he did was lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his mother's forehead, "This always makes you feel better when Daddy does it". Does -- in present tense.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She could not tolerate being at the memorial service for much longer, and neither could Samuel. She had buckled him into his car seat and handed him a strawberry and banana squeezable fruit pack and crackers to ease his rumbling tummy in the meantime.

However, as she closed the car door and turned her back to face the crowd of people one last time she was instead met with a tall, burly build of a man. His face was hidden by a balaclava, leaving only his eyes on display. But the rest of his face was not necessary to note that he was also grieving. She noticed him within the crowd of the memorial service as well -- she assumed that was one of Johnny's friends, but did not bother to congregate with anyone since Johnny kept his personal life completely separate from his work life. And if she was being honest with herself, she did not have the emotional stamina to socialize with people that spent months out of the year with her late husband.

"Sorry. Can I help you with something?" she asked the brute man. She stared up at him with her eyes slightly shut to avoid water from getting into them.

"He’s Johnny’s" was his only reply. For a moment she only blinked and stared at him and noted the heavy English accent. The mention of her late husband’s name stung as she now was fighting back tears. Yes, he is Johnny's son. His pride and joy -- was what she wanted to say, but she could barely muster up the strength to nod her head.

She could tell that the individual's lips tightened into a line by the way the fabric of his mask slightly stretched. "My name is Simon. I was a friend of Johnny's..." he attempted to continue speaking, but all he did was nervously rub the back of his neck. "Johnny meant a lot to me, a real friend of mine..." he trailed off again.

She knew he was grieving, but it was a different type of pain. She sensed guilt within his sadness, but she knew better than to ask about any specifics. Her kind nature and maternal habits took over as she saw Simon struggling to find his words. For whatever reason this man decided to make himself emotionally uncomfortable to introduce himself, she figured there would be no harm in easing his mind.

She knew who Simon was since Johnny would bring up his friend "Ghost" every now and then "I know who you are" she smiled warmly trying to be the emotional rock between the two, "How about you join us for some lunch. I think Sammie would love to talk to and get to know his Uncle Ghost" she spoke eagerly in an attempt to lighten the mood -- something that was usually Johnny's role.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The three of them sat in a booth within a homely diner. The rain had completely let down at this point, the large drops of water hitting the roof of the diner with loud individual pats. Her hands were wrapped around a warm mug of coffee as she stared out the window watching blades of grass be temporarily smooshed by the inclement weather. The waitress had refilled her mug causing her gaze to turn towards her, her eyes softened and she gave the waitress a subtle nod to thank her. It was then that she realized that her son was wearing the ghost mask that was once on Simon. There was a glimmer of joy in Sam's eyes as he stood on the booth and gently hopped toward his mother to show her the "cool mask".

"I look so cool!" he exclaimed which only caused a chuckle to leave both her and Simon's mouths as the toddler's face was completely exposed through the eye hole on the mask -- his features obviously too small to fill the mask in the same manner. Upon hearing the slight laugh she turned to look at Simon, who she was surprised to see with dirty blonde hair. He was overall a handsome man, something that anyone would notice at first glance, but his eyes always conveyed a lot of emotion. Right now it was amusement tinged with pain as he stared at Sam. She knew he also noticed how strongly he resembles Johnny, and a part of her found comfort in knowing that she was not grieving alone. The way he looked at Sammie made her feel warm. She sensed that Simon knew Johnny deeper than most of the people at the memorial service — knowing that she found herself smiling at the thought of her being able to cherish Johnny’s memories with someone else.

The waitress had arrived with everyone's meals. Sam did not hesitate to dig into his plate. The toddler abruptly grabbed the bottle of syrup and drenched his pancakes in it. His careless behavior causing some of it to spill onto to the table, "Use your table manners please" she spoke sternly, but softly to the boy as she slipped him a napkin and a set of covered utensils.

"He looks just like him" he spoke in a gentle and respectful tone. His eyes rested on Sam -- who was now too focused on using his utensils properly to pay attention to the conversation happening in front of him.

Her hand wiped a strand of dark stray hair away from his forehead before she turned her attention toward Simon, who was now looking at her, "Yeah. Carried him for 9 months and he's got the nerve to look just like his father" she shrugged with a pained smile — her attempt to lighten the mood once again failing, "but I wouldn't have it any other way".

Simon took note of the sorrow hidden within the smile as his own face mirrored it out of empathy.

A few minutes had gone by and Samuel was still working on his meal, Simon had quickly eaten his, and she played with her food, tossing it around all over her plate in a desperate attempt to distract herself. How embarrassing would it be to break down at a family diner. "You should eat your lunch" he spoke. The deep voice dragging her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She glanced down to look at his empty plate and her contrastingly full one. Casually shrugging off his suggestion she set her fork down and let out a soft sigh, "I'll just take it to go. I don't really have an appetite at the moment" she spoke in a casual tone — too causal of a tone. She was normally a social person, the type to be able to engage in conversation with any type of person for hours. Her personality was magnetizing in the sense that she was an incredibly open minded person, which only made her a vessel for hundreds on conversations, all of different topics and tones — a quality that Johnny loved about her. She was one of the few that would keep up with his mindless thoughts and nonsense ideas. That is where she was at the moment. In her mind she was thinking about the woman she was before she got the gut wrenching knock at her door. The knock where she was told by Laswell and Price that her husband was gone. “Killed in Action” were the words they used. “He died saving the world” was something Price added.

Sure he had died saving the world, but her and her son’s was destroyed. She was never a selfish person, but in that moment she wished the world would burn if it meant he was in her arms instead of merely a memory. She hadn’t noticed until recently that tears were flooding her cheeks and spilling onto her meal. Simon had been observing her for a moment as she watched her fall into deep thought, but once he saw her tear stained face he acted quickly.

He swiftly took his wallet out of his pocket and placed a $50 bill on the table to cover their meals and a decent tip, “Come on” he spoke in a demanding voice, his tone remaining soft enough for her and Sam to remain calm. Sam was oblivious to his mother’s current state as he had now distracted himself with the crayons and the kids menu.

She looked at Simon as she attempted to regain her composure. It was long gone, she was an emotional mess at the diner — exactly what she was trying to avoid. “It’s alright.” he coo’d as he took Sam into his arm. With his free hand he guided her out of the booth and to the exit.

He took the initiative to get the mother and son home as soon as possible. The three of them approached her car, “Get in and take a few deep breaths, yeah?” he instructed while simultaneously holding the door open for her. Sam had been buckled into his car seat, which Simon struggled to figure out, but the toddler being incredibly intuitive had seen his mother and father do it hundreds of times and was able to talk Simon through it.

If that had happened under different circumstances she would have been able to congratulate Sam and let him know how proud she is of him, but she was far from being in that state of self awareness and state of mind.

She was a wreck in the passengers seat of her own car. She was heartbroken in the passengers seat of her own car. The severity of it all finally setting in making it nearly impossible for her to get ahold of herself.

Is she just exhausted from the days leading up to the funeral? A weeks worth of concealed emotions finally spilling out in front of her. She is definitely overwhelmed, but this time she subconsciously feels safe and secure enough to let go of her broken front.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Months had gone by since her meltdown in front of Simon, and he never once brought it up. He was well aware it wasn’t something she was proud of, nor did she want to talk about her grief. Simon had been coming around her and Samuel a couple times a week just to check in on the pair. He felt it was his responsibility to keep them safe now — the least he could do for his recently deceased friend. Everyday he spent with the two of them he realized why Soap had kept them a secret. They were truly too special to put into any risk; especially her. She was a walking breath of fresh air, not something anyone encounters often in their lifetime, especially not in their line of work and the lifestyle it supplies. Now it all made sense. Johnny was always the most eager to return home when they’d be out in the field, said he had “something special” waiting for him, but everyone would shrug it off.

He grew to understand Soap’s decision to keep his family hidden from the world he worked in.

Even though Simon was consumed in his own thoughts he was still able to be completely alert as the mother and son played on the playground.

Her laugh. It stripped him away from his spiraling memories and muses. His gaze snapped to her body on the floor covered in wood chips, she had clearly tripped and stumbled while playing with Samuel. She was laughing at her clumsiness, laughing at how attentive Samuel was to his mother as soon as she hit the cushioned floor, “Sammie, I’m okay” she soothed him as he clung to her — small and gentle laughs leaving her full lips as she reacted to the entire scenario.

That was the first time Simon had heard her laugh.The sound of her sweet tone intoxicating to him. He couldn’t get enough, is what he mentally told himself as he walked over to her to help get back on her feet. Her soft and polished hand nestled and firmly gripped onto his rough and calloused one as he pulled her off the ground.

Guilt lingered in his being upon realizing how much he liked being around her, but he needed to be there for them. The conflict was clear within him, and something he figures he’ll eventually learn to accept and move forward with. He knew he would have to set aside his audacious feelings to respect her and more importantly to respect Johnny. He would be there to protect them as much as she allowed him. He wasn’t planning on getting emotionally attached to the the pair, or her alone.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later that same evening, Simon had made the decision to pay her and Sammie a visit. He stepped out of his car with a bag of Chinese takeout in his hand. Chinese food had become the only thing she would willingly eat ever since Johnny passed. A swift hand smoothing his plain black t-shirt before he began walking toward her front door, but as soon as his hand left his clothing he realized what he was doing. Bringing her favorite food to her and her son with no real reason to be seeing her, checking his appearance — something uncommon for the typically aloof man. A lingering hint of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach as he treaded towards the front door of her house. No, Simon was only supposed to be there for the mother and son duo as an aide during this severe loss. He felt that’s what he owed to Johnny since he felt partially responsible for his death. A cocktail of traumatic thoughts and memories invaded his mind . The grip on the take-out bag grew stronger, the same strength being felt in his chest as his heart pounded in its cavity

Upon reaching the front door he heard what sounded like a glass had broken — as if it had fallen off of a surface, which isn’t a big deal, she had a bad habit off leaving glasses on the edge of countertops and tables, but the yelp that followed only made Simon react in the most instinctive manner. He rushed inside the house and into the kitchen where she was found with a dish towel wrapped around her hand and a grimace on her face. Her nose scrunched in reaction to the pain.

Simon raised an eyebrow at her as he approached her with swift and long strides. His demeanor was urgent, alarmed and slightly panicked as his body was still in a reactive state from his memories, but how could she know that? She stared at him with the same expression, but she had more reason to. His breathing wasn’t heavy but it was slightly sporadic. At the same time, it was still controlled, his body was tense, but most significantly, his eyes looked panicked and unsettled. “I didn’t know you’d be visiting tonight. You should have let me know,” she spoke casually as she continued holding pressure on her fresh wound, “Or else I wouldn’t have-“ her words stopped flowing when Simon grabbed her hand and began to examine the brand-new cut. She watched his concerned expression lighten when he confirmed that the abrasion was small enough to heal on its own, “- let my mom take him for the weekend.” She finally completed her sentence when his large brown eyes met hers.

She knew exactly what was happening to him. She recognized the wide, alert eyes, uneven breathing, and tense mannerisms. This was a common occurrence that she witnessed Johnny experience. Her husband was gone, but there were constant reminders of him everywhere -- and one thing she hated seeing was Johnny struggling with his PTSD. Just like Johnny, she couldn't tolerate seeing Simon in the same condition.

Using her unharmed hand, she grabbed Simon's calloused one. Her movements were gentle and fluid as she guided their hands to the left side of her chest. With his palm now resting on her chest she looked into his eyes before speaking in a nurturing tone. "Slow and steady. Count it for me" she said as she placed her own hand over his chest. It was then that she noticed how hard and fast his heart pounded. "I’ll count yours until we match pace. One, two, three..."

Eventually, Simon counted with her, his heart rate slowing gradually as his mind remained distracted from the trauma and focused on her. On her beating heart, on her nurturing voice, on her full pink lips, on her long dark eyelashes, on her soft delicate hands. Her. His mind consumed by images of her, his newfound serenity.

Simon cannot help but feel guilty, but his pleasure and serene state strongly blinds him from this feelings. This is exactly what he didn’t want, but he can’t help but relish in it.

[vimbry-moved]

*if you've heard a couple songs but don't really know much about them, or haven't listened in a long while, you can play!

update: the highest votes went to gudetama. but was it correct? here are the full titles and albums.

❌ "put your hand inside the puppet head" - they might be giants

the opening verse makes reference to leaving one's job and how "it's sad to say, you will romanticise all the things you've known before. it was not, not, not so great". according to flansburgh, "the lyric revolves around the idea that looking back on anything colors it in sentimentality".

❌ "I'll sink manhattan" - they'll need a crane (ep)/miscellaneous T

this is a flansburgh song, but linnell explained its meaning in a 1989 interview with NME as "a song about a guy who somehow figures out how to sink the island of manhattan just to kill his ex-lover, so it's his apology to the other people he's gonna kill in between. he's just gotta do it!"

❌ "meet james ensor" - john henry

it's about james ensor (belgium's famous painter).

❌ "wicked little critta" - mink car

from the tmbg unlimited collection: "forged in the crucible of an eastern massachusetts junior high, this song expresses the dreams, fears and hopes of a new england young adult" the lyrics seem to suggest said young adult fantasising about being a sports star alongside bobby orr and john havlicek while goofing off outside.

❌ "working undercover for the man" - mink car

from flansburgh: "it's more a meditation on the "mod squad" [a 1968 crime series about cool undercover detectives] than anything else. the idea of the narc just seems... like, those episodes of "dragnet" where they have the young undercover dress in a hippie suit."

✔️ "talent is an asset" - kimono my house

the lyrics illustrate an overly-cautious family shielding their very gifted child from others, to keep him studious and soak in all the glory, and is heavily implied to be little albert einstein through puns on relatives and relativity. it's not by them, tho. it's by the band sparks. it came 2nd, so I think many of you recognised it (or really wanted to see the results!)

❌ "bee of the bird of the moth" - the else

"this is a song about a creature called a hummingbird moth, which imitates another creature, which imitates yet another creature. it's completely fucked up, and can only be explained in song!" so they did.

❌ "2082" - join us

thewrap's review of the album describes this song as, "a science-fiction short story (...) a protagonist who travels into the future, finds himself hobbled but still unhappily alive all the way into the next millennium, and travels back to the title year to smother himself with a pillow in a mercy killing". fun!

❌ "call you mom" - nanobots

referred to by linnell as an "oedipus pan" song, the lyrics follow an unfortunate young man beginning a relationship with a woman, getting dumped due to his behaviour of treating her like a mother figure, then infantilising a possibly younger woman in a different relationship and in turn leaving her, who goes on to experience the same issues. fun! (altho, the final chorus actually still refers to her Mom leaving, not her dad, I got the details wrong there in the poll).

❌ "gudetama's busy days" - dial-a-song / my murdered remains

yes, that's a real song. quote flansburgh: "(...) it is really just about feeling isolated from the world, even if you are in a crowded place and manically trying to keep up with your life. the character of gudetama appealed to me because he is such a mopey sad sack."

❌ "marty beller mask" - album raises new and troubling questions

this is real, too! it's just about how marty beller was actually an alter ego of whitney houston the whole time. he's not, but wouldn't that be interesting. the song name-checks multiple of her own in the lyrics. it was temporarily retired out of respect following houston's death (4 months after its release), returning to live performances ten years later in 2022.

[touratoura]

TV Show idea: A Christian woman named Juliet moves into a new neighborhood, hoping to find a husband and have a child. After moving into her new home, she goes to meet her next-door neighbors - and is horrified to find out it’s a loud, party-girl, dirty mouthed black lesbian named Maggie Dalene and her smart, CEO girlfriend Mary (played by Laverne Cox). Juliet does everything she can to try and turn them to Christ. She does it both forward and subtle. While she does this, she also meets and falls in love with a man named Paul, and starts visiting the local orphanage to bring the kids there to faith.

The main plot points of the first season:

Juliet’s (failed) attempts to convert Mary and Maggie. They keep running into each other. Maggie goes the opposite way and tries to get Juliet to relax a little. Juliet is especially concerned when Christmas comes around and they bring out the Menorah.

Juliet meets three triplets at the orphanage named Jesus, Emmy, and Susej. Susej is the only girl. Juliet tries to get the three Jewish kids to convert, but they refuse. She also tries to get Emmy to go by his full name, Emmanuel - but he finds it stupid.

Lucifer and Abbadon (Lucy and Abby) are a gay gender-unconforming couple who have extremely random jobs everywhere. They seem to be working everywhere. Cashiers, fake-Gucci boot sellers, librarians, janitors, shelf restockers, anything. They’re there. No one else mentions it. It drives Juliet insane. She finds the idea of them being feminine men disturbing, but she can’t call them anything but Lucy and Abby as she refuses to say the Devil’s name. She also finds Abby being black disturbing.

It’s often hinted at that Susej is the Antichrist. And by hinted at I mean she’s always staring piercingly into empty space, whispering threateningly, and is always there when things go wrong. Also her eyes occasionally go black and she starts floating and speaking ancient curses. Juliet is terrified. No one else notices.

Jesus is friends with a group of 12 boys from the orphanage, named Peter, James, John, Andrew, Phillip, Judas I, Matthew, Thomas, James A, Bart, Judas T, and Simon. Jesus goes by Jeezy-boi. The others go by Peezy, Jazzy, Jozzy, Azzy, Pheezy, Jewzy, Meezy, Teezy, Jameezy, Beezy, Yeezy, and Seezy. They’re all played by 12-year-olds, except Yeezy, who’s played by a Kanye West-lookalike. It’s never remarked upon. He talks like Kanye.

Juliet tries to get Mary to turn to God. She will often compare her to her “namesake”, Mary of Jesus fame, to show her the “right side”. Mary takes none of it and points out that Mary and Jesus were Jewish. Mary is very no-nonsense when it comes to these things. Mary is heavily implied to actually BE Mother Mary as she knows things the church doesn’t.

Paul keeps accidentally calling Juliet Jennifer. She doesn’t notice. He’s often drunk and rude to waiters and retail workers. Juliet is too, mind you. He hides his phone and yells a lot. He complains about Juliet’s decision to “wait until marriage”, but doesn’t mind her being anti birth control.

At the end of season 1, Juliet gets married to Paul. He barely gets the vows right at the wedding. Mary and Maggie go out for an unknown trip. There’s a time skip of a few months. Maggie and Mary are celebrating outside of their house, because Maggie just won a Noble Prize in Chemistry. Maggie is yelling “I won! I won!” Juliet smiles and says, “No. I won.” She’s holding a baby in her arms. Maggie paused for a moment and responds “No baby, I won. Paul’s gonna leave yo ass in 3 seconds. You gon have to raise that baby alone. And who says we ain’t got kids?”

Jesus skates by on a skateboard with a cowboy hat. He tips his hat to them as he passed. Emmy is running behind him in a pink skirt. Juliet places her baby down momentarily to talk with them, as Susej comes up and starts whispering to the baby. It nods, and she smiles, before disappearing in a cloud of black smoke. She reappears behind Mary. End of Season 1.

This isn’t a prompt but I would gladly accept criticism and more ideas. And characters. I’m open.

[3amfanfiction]

It's Just Dinner pt 3

John needs another date and Kyle is very convincing. MDNI cw: gazlighting, manipulation, forced prostitution 2.8k First || Previous

Thankfully the next few weeks pass quietly. There's no surprise dates, no uncomfortable conversations. Just you and Kyle, like it used to be.

You're tentatively relaxing into the rhythm when the next bombshell goes off.

Kyle's running around, getting ready to head to base early in the morning, talking to you over his shoulder when you hear, "Price has an opera he needs to see with one of the brass this weekend and he needs a date. I told him you were free," finishing with his shoes he grabs a jacket, coming over to give you a dirty kiss complete with a healthy grasp of your ass. "We'll go shopping when I get back," —assured, nonchalant, just another day.

No. No! You're not doing this again!

"Kyle! You can't just volunteer me—"

"Bye, babe!" echos through the entryway as the door slams shut.

Conversation over.

///

You fumed for hours. How dare he? How DARE he? Did he think you were a child he could make decisions for? Absolutely not.

You were ready for him now.

You'd spent all day preparing and when Kyle got home tonight you were going to sit him down and you were going to be firm. You weren't going to let him talk over you, you were going to stand your ground tell him you wouldn't be going on any more dinner dates with John Price.

Simple.

But as with any battle plan, it only lasted through the first encounter.

"Why are you acting like this?" Kyle frowned, not understanding. You crossed your arms defensively where you were standing in the bedroom, having followed him in when he got home. Why did you feel defensive?

You watched him pause, holding his t shirt in one hand as he looked over to you, head tilted in confusion. "You said you'd go, I already told him you agreed." He stepped towards you, dropping his shirt back in the drawer before stopping a short distance away, "you can't back out now babe, he's already booked the reservations."

Stop. Take a breath. You're not going to lose your temper.

"I never said I'd go, Kyle."

"Yes you did!" he insisted, eyes wide in disbelief, rolling right over your moment of breathing, "I was standing next to the kitchen table this morning—putting on my shoes—and you said yes."

He took a small step, bridging the distance between the two of you.

"Are you feeling okay, love?" his concerned voice made annoyed pinpricks creep up your spine. "You've been awful stressed lately. Is something going on at work? Anything you want to talk about?"

For one moment you imagined dumping it all on his shoulders, hysterically yelling, I'm pretty sure your boss tried to kiss me! to see what he would do with the information.

Kyle lifted his hands to cup your face, rubbing your noses together gently before you could do anything hasty. "We're partners . . . you know I've always got you, right?"

And just like that, the annoyance dissipated.

"I know, Kyle. That isn't what this is about," you reassured, leaning into his warm calloused palms, taking strength from his presence. "I just don't want to go to an opera this weekend."

You never brought up the half-kiss John had pressed to the corner of your mouth. After your bathroom pep talk you had met back up with him and he behaved himself for the rest of the night—there was no reason to worry Kyle about it.

But it still festered in the back of your mind.

His brow furrowed while he looked disappointingly at you, "Love, it would look really bad if I had to go back to my superior officer and say, 'sorry sir, she changed her mind, we can't help you.' It puts me in a bad spot when he's counting on us, on you, for the night."

His expression turned sad, "I wish you wouldn't have agreed if you had reservations about this."

Did you agree? He seems so certain, remembers it so clearly, maybe you did indicate acceptance somehow this morning, unwittingly.

"No—no I didn't agree, or at least, that's not what I meant," you capitulate, giving ground, shoulders rounding ever so slightly.

You have been stressed lately.

Maybe he's right.

He pulled away to frown down at you, "why are you so against going to dinner this time? Last time you were excited to go."

"I wasn't excited Kyle," you stammered, "I told you I wasn't sure about all this."

"No babe, you told me you were nervous," he pauses to smile at you as if you were in on a secret together, "after all Price is a handsome man and anyone would be nervous to have his full attention on them," you firmly don't think about the swoop in your stomach when he had cupped the back of your neck, the static shock that skated up your spine when his lips brushed yours, ever so slightly.

"—but then you had a great time." you focus back on what Kyle is saying, pulling your wandering mind under control, "I don't understand why you're being so skittish about this now."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest before shuffling the both of you over to the bed. Sitting, he moved you into his lap, chest to chest so he could look into your eyes.

"Are you sure no one said or did anything?" His voice dripped with sincerity, looking for something to fix, some way to help, "You know you're my best girl, right? I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Fuck. How do you keep messing this up? Now you're sitting here crying as Kyle promises to protect you. Should you just tell him? Get it over with, off your chest. Would that unlock the chain that was dragging you down? You wanted it to go back to how it was before.

No. You weren't a child and you didn't need to be babied. Nothing truly happened so there was nothing to tell Kyle.

But without telling him, you didn't have a valid reason for not going this time.

So you sat there in silence, unable to give ground any further. After a few moments of this, Kyle continued, tone lowered —assured, "Who's always looking out for you? Making sure that you're safe and you're happy, hmm?" he used his thumb to wipe away the tear tracks on your face.

"You," you assure quickly. This at least came easier, "but Kyle, this is—"

"Pet," stern, direct, "you're getting all twisted up in this when you don't need to be. You trust me right? You know I'm always doing whats best for us?" he holds your gaze, forehead pressed against yours, watching every flick of your eyes. "I love you more than I ever thought possible, but if you don't trust me . . . that's a hard thing to come back from, you know?"

"I do! I do trust you Kyle, I'm sorry. I don't know why I feel this way," rushed, pleading.

"I told you, even though you're my best girl, your head still gets in the way. We need to turn that pretty brain off, don't we?" He kisses you sweetly, as if you're everything he could ever want. "I've got us, baby. I wouldn't steer wrong."

Breathe.

"Okay," you give in after one more moment of resistance, tired of the pushing and pulling, the cyclical conversations, "okay, I'll go. But this is the last time, do you hear me Kyle Garrick?" You pulled back to show him your no nonsense face, "I'm not doing this again."

Kyle laughs as if you'd stomped your foot in assertion, something too cute to ever be taken seriously, "I hear you, babe. Thank you for coming around to see my side of things," he squeezes you to his chest, your face tucked into the warmth of his neck, "you're going to have a great time, you'll see."

He leans away to take you in, "How are you so wonderful? I feel like I must've saved an orphanage from a fire or something to have gotten you in my life."

Smiling at you as if he could see the universe in your eyes, "it's you and me, right sweetheart?" he questions, a child looking for benediction.

"You and me," you assure, disquiet bubbling softly in the back of your mind.

///

You saw John before he saw you.

He was standing in the foyer, looking at his phone, dressed to the nines.

His snug black suit emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, biceps bulging at the seams. His button down shirt tucked into his pants emphasized his thick waist, the muscles of his core covered by a healthy layer of fat.

His thick gold rings caught the light from above as he swiped through his phone—

Was that your living room on his screen?

The thought was derailed almost as soon as it formed due to John noticing you. He turned with a beaming smile as he locked his phone and slid it into a pocket. Holding his arms open he ushered you into a hug.

The smell of his cologne was earthy, loamy—it curled up in your nose and sunk its tendrils into your brain. How did he always smell so good?

Tensing slightly as his arms closed around you, he did no more than press a firm kiss high on your cheekbone. "You are a vision, my dear," John said in awe, pulling back slightly to take you in from head to toe. "Every time I see you, you end up more stunning. How is that possible?"

You laugh, charmed despite yourself. It's hard to keep up walls when John Price is looking at you like that, "You're too sweet, John," you demure, intending to have a good time tonight, "shall we find our seats?"

///

Several hours later, when the night was all but over while waiting for your car, you don't notice at first that John has taken a step closer. You're too distracted by the chill breeze that has sprung up, attempting to keep your skirt where it belongs.

You realize how close he had gotten when his hand comes up to brush against the skin of your jaw, fingers trailing softly as if dragging against spun gold.

Something precious. Something treasured.

You inhale shakily, unsure of where this was leading but wanting to stop. To take a step back onto stable ground.

"John—" is as far as he lets you get before his mouth covers yours, his other hand coming up to cradle your face in his palms while he devoured your mouth.

Because there was nothing timid or hesitant about this kiss. He claimed with it. His tongue pressing into your mouth at the first sign of weakness—the smallest gasp you couldn't control.

His fingers tightened against the side of your head as he groaned, angled down from above, making sure he was all you could see, all you could hear.

After what felt like years he pulled away, panting like he'd just ran a race, "Fuck me, sweetheart, but you taste even better than I'd hoped."

You stand there, eyes wide as you hold onto his wrists, one hand covering the smooth face of his watch. "You—you kissed me," you murmured, only just loud enough to be heard, "you can't kiss me, John."

He smiled as if you said something cute before pulling you back in. His lips had just brushed yours when you wrenched your head back, desperate to put space between the two of you.

"No, John," shaky but as determined as you could make it. You watch as something rises from the depths behind his eyes. A leviathan observing you, deciding where to bite first, where to grab as he pulls you into his depths, his maw closing around you . . .

Only for it to sink back below the surface, John's blue eyes clearing once more.

"Of course, of course, you're right doll, we shouldn't be doing that here." He continues talking over your spluttered here? as if you never said anything.

"There's your car anyways," the brakes squeak ever so lightly behind you, the thrum of the engine filling the night air, "you be good, sweetheart." A smile as John steps back, holding your door open for you. You climb in quickly, not wanting to spend any longer in his presence than needed.

John looms over the open doorway, forearms braced against the roof, "until next time." He winks at you before shutting the door, a soft double tap on the roof his notice to the driver.

As the car pulled away from the curb your thoughts began to spiral and you started to hyperventilate.

You had to tell Kyle now, you should've told him before but you can't go changing the past.

As soon as you get home you'll sit him down and talk to him. You'll tell him everything.

You ignore your slick thighs and the pressure of your underwear on your throbbing clit.

///

You made the car drive around the block—twice—before you worked up the courage to go inside.

Time to face the music.

"He kissed me, Kyle," you say, bracing for the explosion. You were still reeling from the evening, light tremors shaking your limbs, making your knees feel like they were knocking together.

You know you have to tell him everything, you can't keep something like this quiet. You have to lay it all out and hope he doesn't lose his mind.

Kyle froze. You watch him swallow, noticing his pupils expanding to eclipse the brown of his eyes. You hoped it wasn't in rage.

He quickly gathered himself as youlet out a broken sob and launched yourself at him, tears already streaming down your face.

You cried into his chest, latched onto him in search of strength. He pressed soft shh shh's against the top of your head, cradling you close to him, trying to coax you to breathe.

Eventually you were able to draw in a semi-steady breath without it immediately devolving into a sob and found yourself apologizing to Kyle, "I'm so sorry, I don't know why he kissed me—" breaking off into another wet hiccup.

"None of that now, you're making it a bigger deal than it needs to be," Kyle promised sternly, squeezing you tightly to him, "I know it's not your fault, you did nothing wrong." He soothes you when that causes another round of sobbing to begin.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," he announces quietly, with a somber air, once the tears began to peter off. "It might cause some . . . friction on the task force but if it's made you this upset then I'll handle it."

Why? Why does John have to be Kyle's boss?

It made everything so complicated.

If it were anyone else, you'd be able to trust Kyle to set them straight, no concerns about consequences. But with John . . . he had control over Kyle's life. Is a kiss worth it? Is anything worth risking Kyle's life?

No.

You'd decided before that you wouldn't risk bad blood between them. You held onto that decision even now, even as things have gotten heavier, more complicated.

You bury deeper into Kyle's chest, arms wrapped as tightly as possible around him, "No, I don't want to cause trouble for you at work."

"Doll, it's no-"

"No, you were right, I'm making it a bigger deal than needed. I was just worried, that's all."

He hunched down to rest his chin on top of your head, "worried about what?" he presses.

"Just that . . . that you're saying it's okay when it's really not. I don't want you to be upset with me." Your eyes started to well up again but you blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears from falling down your cheeks.

He slips an arm free to tilt your chin up, angling your face towards his, eyes locked so you have no way of hiding from him and what he's about to say.

"I'm not upset with you and you did absolutely nothing wrong," holding your gaze, chin firmly grasped. "Do you think I care about the captain kissing you?" —amused, placating almost— "I care because you care, love," he looked down to your lips, pursed slightly from the pressure of his grip.

"Here," quiet, sensual, "I'll show you."

When he pulled you into the kiss it was warm coffee on a cold morning, it was waking up to realize you have an hour left on your alarm, it was the house lights being on when you get home at night.

It was comfort.

You chase after him slightly when he pulls away, wanting to continue. He smiled and gives you another peck. "You taste," he murmurs, lips brushing yours with every word, "utterly delicious."

You pant softly, waiting for him to press into you again. He smiles and gives another soft kiss, "chapstick and cigar smoke taste perfect from your lips."

Next

Story Repository || Main Repository