#loved johns chapters

[andreai04]

It was bewildering how quickly the day went, when you had had the morning taken away from you.

“we were children—playing with the reflections of stars in a pool of water... thinking it was space."

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter Two - An Understanding

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Contains: No Y/N (Reader is an OC), Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

The captain looks at you for a long moment, dark blue eyes wide with surprise as he takes you in. You have to admit that he’s handsome, dark brown hair and well-groomed facial hair (muttonchops, no less) flecked with silver, and a nice nose that skews to the large side. It gives him a friendly, approachable demeanour, despite the weight of his stare. His heavy attention shifts from you to the other three, and his expression turns serious. “Lads,” he says, his voice a rumble that you can feel through your own body. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Weeeel. It might be,” Johnny says apprehensively. “But I did my research, sir. She’ll be perfect for ye, ye’ll see.”

“She’s a good girl,” Ghost adds. “Sweet as can be. Won’t be any trouble for you.”

“Already moved her in and everything.” Gaz gestures around the room, looking rather too proud of their work.

The captain nods slowly, taking in the new additions to the space. “So you did. And did this pretty little thing agree to having her life upended, or did you lads just decide for her?” His arms shift around you, and you feel almost protected, oddly enough, even though by the size of him, he’s just as dangerous as the others. Probably even more dangerous, the way they defer to him, standing in a line like cadets, eager for his approval.

“Not… Not exactly,” Gaz admits. “I mean, we didn’t ask. But this’ll be better for her. She was living in a real rat hole before. Tiny little apartment in a shite neighbourhood. Was only a matter of time before something bad happened. We’re just looking out for her.”

Johnny shuffles his feet. “Dealt with a few neds while I was doin’ reconnaissance, even. Poor lass coulda been in real trouble if I hadna been there. Bawbag employers would ask her to stay past the last bus to watch the bairns an’ no’ even offer her a ride or ta pay fer a cab.”

“It wasn’t that far a walk,” you protest, glaring at Johnny. As if it’s any of his business. “And they did offer to drive me, I just wasn’t— It doesn’t matter! You had no right—”

The captain shushes you, and your words wither on your tongue, your cheeks turning hot under his stern blue gaze. He cups your jaw and turns your head to face him again, the rough pad of his thumb stroking your cheek gently. “Sweetheart, you and I will talk in a moment. Soap’s right about that not bein’ safe, and you know it.”

Your stomach flutters nervously. He gives you a little smile, and his crow’s feet deepen, the lines fanning out further. There’s a moment where you’re tempted to smile back, but his legs shift under you, and you wince sympathetically instead. “Sorry, I should get off of you,” you say quickly. “I’m heavy.”

“I won’t stop you if you’d like to sit somewhere else,” he says, that cheeky smile deepening more. "But you’re not heavy, and I'd like it if you stayed put."

"Told ye he'd like her," Johnny whispers, loud enough that it shatters the isolated pocket of reality that, for a moment, housed only you and the captain. "Hasna even introduced himself an' he's flirtin' like mad."

"Soap!" Gaz hisses back. "Shut up."

Ghost scruffs them both. "Let's finish getting dinner on. Give 'em a minute to talk."

Johnny grins at you and gives you two thumbs up as he circles around to the kitchen, as if you’d actually been a willing participant in all of this.

"I'm John, by the way," the captain says, calling your attention back to him. He drops his hand and settles it on your knee, his fingers curling around the joint. "You alright, doll?"

A loaded question. "Well. Not really."

"You're keepin' it together real nicely, all considered. Wouldn't blame you if you were hissin' and scratching."

"I'm not much of a fighter," you admit. "And even if I was, I don't think it would do me much good."

John chuckles, squeezing your knee lightly. He's gentle, but there's power in those hands, the kind that comes from years of hard work. There's scars all over it, from his the tips of his calloused fingers up to the leather band of his watch, etched in evidence of violence. If there are scars further up his arms, their hidden by the buffalo plaid flannel. "No, it probably wouldn't."

"Are you going to let me go home?" you ask.

He sighs. "The thing is, doll, the boys have put me in an awkward spot here. If I let you go on home, you're going to get them in trouble, and I don't want to see that happen."

"I promise, I won't say anything, I just--"

He shushes you again, and you shut your mouth, biting your lip. "Let me finish, sweetheart. You're being so good right now because you're scared. But that's not gonna last, is it? And worse, it sounds like you don't really have much to go back to."

"I'll find a new job. I always do."

"With another family who doesn't appreciate the work you put in? That doesn't make you feel safe?" His fingertips toy with the edge of your skirt absently, but his eyes are on your face, studying your reaction with rapt attention. This is how a rabbit must feel, pinned under the stare of a grizzly bear, frozen in place and hoping that no claws come down on top of it. "I can read between the lines, doll. That man you were workin' for made you feel so uncomfortable that you'd rather walk through a bad neighbourhood at night than get into a car with him alone."

You can't dispute it, although you're surprised he can glean so much information from half an outburst. "It wasn't like that-- He wasn't that bad."

John hums. "You're tellin' me you've had worse?"

A dozen jobs with a dozen managers or coworkers that took your silence as permission to stand too close, or put their hands on you flash across your mind. Mr. Kinsey was just the latest of many. You know that the thought is displayed on your face, from the way his eyebrows pinch together just slightly, not angrily, but concerned. You try to deflect with a little laugh. "Oh, well. I suppose I have. But hasn't everyone?"

"Soap had a bad lieutenant once and locked the man in his own car when he was just a private. Just because you have a bad boss doesn't mean you have to take it." He looks at you so seriously as he speaks, his fingers dancing distracting circles against the top of your knee, rough fingertips catching on the nylons just slightly. The heat from the arm curled around your waist bleeds through the fabric of your dress, his hand twitching slightly, like all he wants to do is take a handful of soft flesh. “You should speak up when you’re not comfortable, doll. You just need some practice standin’ up for yourself, don’t you?”

If a statement could have teeth, this one would, and you’re not sure if agreeing or disagreeing will have him closing his jaws around you. He’s probably right, you do need to do a better job of standing up for yourself. But you’re certain that he doesn’t want you to start by standing up to him, or his three attack dogs either. “I’ll work on it,” you say meekly. You test his commitment to the statement by gently picking his hand off of your knee, although there’s nowhere to really put it either.

“We’ll work on it,” he agrees, lacing your fingers together. When he rests your now-entwined hands, it’s a little further up your thigh. “You want a drink, darlin’?”

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You wouldn’t mind another tea, but you don’t think that’s what you’re being offered.

The scrutiny he puts you under is intense, like he’s determined to figure out what every microscopic shift in your expression might mean. “You sure, doll? You gotta ask if you want somethin’, or you won’t get it.”

“I would like a tea. But I can make it, I don’t want to be trouble.”

“Nonsense. Lads?” he tips his head back slightly.

“On it, sir,” Gaz replies cheerfully.

Ghost leans over the back of the couch to hand John a tumbler. Whiskey or scotch, by the sharp smell that hits you. John pulls his hand away from yours to accept the glass. “Thank you, Simon,” he says pleasantly. "Good lad."

“S’your party, sir. An’ you’re busy, ain’t you?” Ghost rests his hands on the back of the couch and studies the pair of you, dark eyes gleaming with pride. The man has the demeanour of a cat that’s brought in a helpless little bunny to his master, while it’s still alive and struggling.

“Gettin’ to know our pretty guest.” John smiles at you over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Isn’t she just?”

“Could I, um, sit over there?” you ask, glancing at the chair. Somehow John had managed to distract you from the idea of moving for a while, but you were still eager to get a little space from him, especially with Ghost looming over both of you.

“Of course, sweetheart,” John’s arm loosens, and you quickly get up and move to the chair.

You almost feel cold, without the heat that radiates off of his body. His attention feels weightier now too, or maybe it’s just that his body isn’t shielding the stares from Johnny, Gaz and Ghost, and you’re subjected to all four of them watching you, like you’re either fascinating or delicious (or both). You cross your arms over your chest and shrink into yourself as much as possible, eyes wide.

"Here's yer tea, hen. And may I just say, ye've go' a fantastic rack from this angle." Johnny hands you the mug and sits on the arm of the chair, leaning over you. "Weel. Ye've go' a nice rack from any angle. Nice arse too. Captain's lucky I like him so much, or I'd've gone for you myself."

You breathe in steam, wrinkling your nose slightly. It doesn't smell quite right. "Did you put something in this?"

"Aye. Finger of whiskey. Ye look all stiff and peaky still. Need a pick me up, don't ya?"

You look at him reproachfully. He sighs and plucks the tea from your hands and takes a big sip. "There's nothin' else in there, if that's what yer askin', ye suspicious wee daftie. A little whiskey ne'er hurt no one." He hands the mug back to you, smile crooked, doing his best to be charming, but he's too intense, too fervent, to be anything but unsettling.

“Got Johnny checkin’ everythin’ for poison, do you?” Ghost asks, chuckling. “Can’t say I blame you.” He nudges John with the back of his hand. “She’s smart, worth keepin’ an eye on that. Know’s ‘ow to ‘old ‘er tongue, but she’s listenin’ and payin’ attention.”

“Of course she is! Wouldna choose a lass withoot a brain in her head. Wouldna be worth the captain’s time. Weel, maybe worth a wee bit of time.” He winks down at you. “But no’ wife material, ye ken. Chose her because she’s delightful, no’ just ‘cause she’s bonnie.”

The few times you’d spoken to Johnny before you’d thought that he was so nice. Laughing and joking with you in the pick up line while you waited for the children you were respectively responsible, greeting his niece and nephew with big smiles. And Finn and Rory were always so excited to see him, you’d chalked him up as harmless. Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention then, too focused on the Kinsey kids and your job, maybe. You hadn’t noticed that he was appraising you like a piece of livestock, judging your value like you’d been put up to auction.

The whisky-fortified tea is a bit on the strong side, but you take a few sips anyway. Getting drunk would be unwise, but you’re so tense that your whole body is starting to ache, and that’s not doing you any good either.

“Dinner’s ready,” Gaz announces, untying his kiss the cook apron and setting it on the counter. “Hope you’re hungry. Soap made a cake earlier too.”

John raises an eyebrow. “You can bake?” he asks, surprised.

“Aye, picked it up while I was gettin’ rehabbed for the big fuck-off hole in my head,” he replies airily. “Was goin’ mental putterin’ around Kirsty’s waitin’ for the bairns to get out of school, so Ah picked it up. Isnae so hard. Just chemistry, aye?”

“He did make a big mess,” Gaz says. “Had to wash about fifty dishes before I could get started on dinner.”

“Everyone’s a fuckin’ critic,” Johnny complains. “See if I bake ye a cake for yer birthday, Garrick. Ye’ll be sorry then.”

“Oh no, how will I survive?” Gaz clutches his chest like he’s deeply wounded by the statement, laughing. “I have two mums, I’m still pretty much guaranteed a cake.”

“Always braggin’ abou’ that. Thinks he’s more evolved than the rest of us just because his da’s a woman.” He hovers next to you as you get up, and sticks close as you walk over to the table. You don’t choose a seat, in case there’s an order to things you’re not aware of.

“Pretty sure the whole point is that he dun’t ‘ave a dad,” Ghost says. “Now sit down, mutt. Yer not sittin’ next to the bird. You’re botherin’ ‘er.” He points at a chair, and Johnny sighs and slinks into it.

“Here, sweetheart,” John says, putting his big hand on your back to guide you the last few steps and directing you to a seat. He slides the chair in for you too, masquerading as a gentleman, and sits next to you.

Gaz settles in on your other side, all smiles. “Feeling better?”

They keep asking you how you are, as if the answer is going to change. Like all you need to adjust to the reality of being kidnapped and relocated to some stranger’s house in the country is a little time. Like you’re going to be just fine, if you just get a few more minutes to adjust. “Not really.”

"Ah, don't worry, doll. Captain's gonna be real good to you. You'll get there soon enough. Probably'll feel better once you've had a proper meal."

At least they don't try to make you talk much at the table. They fall into easy conversation between them, and let you eat roasted chicken and potatoes and carrots with some kind of sweet and mildly spicy glaze. Ghost pulls the mask down to eat, so you're able to watch when he goes slightly pink from what barely qualifies as spice. Gaz gives you a little side-long glance, and you almost laugh. There's some solidarity to be had, even in a situation like this one, something funny about how a little more spice could probably straight up kill the other three men at the table. Maybe that would be the key to you freedom: Murdering John by feeding him something full of chilies.

Admittedly, you do feel begrudgingly more charitable towards them after eating. You could maybe blame it on the tea too, which, against your better judgment, you do end up finishing.

John stops you from helping clean up when you stand automatically and try to stack Gaz's empty plate with your own. "No, sweetheart. C’mere." He guides you to the door and out into the chilly evening air. You wish that Ghost had let you put on a sweater over your summery dress, but he had been so keen to show you off, and you’d been too scared to insist. You curl your arms around yourself for warmth, and keep quiet, watching as John trims and lights a cigar, looking out into the darkness beyond the porch.

Fear has morphed from pressing terror to something that gnaws at you from the pit of your stomach. You could try to run for it, but you’d probably roll your ankle wearing the stupid red heels, and you have no real idea where you are, or how far you are from someone who could help you. Outrunning John would be a feat anyway. He’s older than you, but he’s in better shape, nearly perfect shape, broad and strong, that long military career not yet forgotten.

There’s a bench by the door, so you sit down to take the heels off. You’re not used to wearing them, it’s so rare that you have anywhere to go that calls for spicier footwear than your comfortable, worn in trainers.

“Here.” John slides his flannel shirt off and drapes it over your shoulders, and kneels down in front of you, cigar clamped in his mouth, pulling your heels off for you. Smoke curls around you for a moment, thin and blue in the scant light, before a breeze carries it away. He leans on his one leg and studies you, but he doesn’t stand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You put your arms through the sleeves of the flannel, humming noncommittally. You know you’re pretty enough, by most standards, but you feel like his interest— And the interest of the other three— is disproportionate, too intense.

“I’d like you to stay a while, doll,” he continues. “I won’t force you, I’m not that kind of man, but I’d have a hard time letting you go back to living paycheck to paycheck in a bad nieghbourhood, workin’ for creeps that don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. You deserve better than that.” It’s as though he doesn’t even hear his own words though, or imagines himself better, because he absently runs his hands over your calf, squeezing the tense muscle gently.

“I have to work,” you protest, biting back a moan. You didn’t need to encourage him, even if you weren’t quite brave enough (or willing) to stop him. “I have student loans, and I send money to my lola in Vigan. I can’t afford to just disappear off the face of the earth.”

He nods thoughtfully. “How much?”

"Three hundred pounds a month to Lola. I know it might not seem like a lot, but it goes a lot further there."

"And the student loans?"

"Sixteen thousand. Not that much, I worked through my degree, and I inherited a bit of money from my parents. But I still have to--"

"I'll pay for both. You'll stay until you find a good job, and a safer apartment." He says it like it's a final edict, no room for argument.

You pull your leg out of his grip, tucking both further back under the bench. "No, John, I don't want to owe you either--"

"You won't. My boys kidnapped you and disrupted your whole life. I'd pay a lot more if it keeps you from going to the police over it. Least I can do is make sure you're better off when you do leave here, hm?"

You bite your lip. Starting over with a clean slate is tempting, but you're not sure you can trust John. He seems so earnest, blue eyes clear and guileless, but he can't be much better than the other three. Unless he was just holding their leashes tight as their captain, and had to let them loose when he retired.

"Can I think about it?" you ask.

"Of course." He puts his hand on your knee to steady himself as he leans across to ash the cigar in the ashtray that sits on a little table next to the bench. "But I think you'll say yes. You're a smart girl, hm?"

You're tempted to say no, just to test weather or not he's being honest about not forcing you to stay, but there's a niggling worry in the back of your mind that the veneer of civility will evaporate if you push him on it. He's nice enough now. And maybe that niceness isn't a show, maybe he has no darker side, maybe it's all just paranoia on your part. Perhaps the worst thing about him is his predilection to protect his "boys", even though all three are clearly insane.

Military is like that, isn’t it? The whole brotherhood thing? Maybe fighting for your life beside someone changes how you see them forever.

“How long did you all serve together?” you ask. “Johnny mentioned that he was SAS before— I asked about the scar once.” You tap the side of your head, the same spot where Johnny has a nasty bullet scar.

“Long time. Hand-picked Gaz and Soap for my taskforce about ten years back. Simon and I served together longer. He’s a captain now, even if the lads still call him LT. They’re both lieutenants, and Gaz’ll be a captain himself before long. Probably would’ve been already if he’d transferred out of the 141.” He gets up with a grunt and settles onto the bench beside you. “Don’t think Simon’s long for it. He’s only still in because he wants to keep an eye on Soap. Man’s a bloody romantic. Live together or die together.”

“I didn’t realize that they were together at all.”

“The way Soap’s been droolin’ all over you, I’m not surprised.” He puffs on his cigar thoughtfully. “But Simon’s just like that, as far as I can tell. The world’s divided into three categories. Enemies, his people, and everyone else. Enemies ‘n’ everyone else can’t touch what’s his, but he’s never given a damn about Soap sleepin’ with Gaz, or me.”

“I’m not his people.”

John looks at you and shakes his head. “Course you are, doll. You’re one of our people now. They might’ve gotten a bit overzealous, bringing you here the way they did, but those lads would do anything you asked of ‘em now.”

A bit overzealous. You laugh, but the sound comes out bitter.

"Relax, doll. I know you're determined to hate them, but they're good lads. Their hearts are in the right place." He pets a big hand over your head and rests it on the back of your neck, warmth seeping into your bones, relieving some of the ache from all the tension of the day. John has a way of soothing that terrified little animal in your chest that would otherwise threaten to kick it’s way free from your ribs and flee into the dark trees. “Lookin��� out for me, in their own way. Lookin’ out for you too. If your situation was a better one, they wouldn’t’ve plucked you out of it like that.”

There’s hope in his eyes when you look up at him, hope that you’ll forgive and forget, that you’ll come around to some kind of understanding in time. His thumb brushes a sensitive spot behind your ear, sending an awful, irrefutable thrill through you.

You’re worried that he might be right.

My favourite John Price to write is the sneakiest, most charming, manipulative bastard on the planet. I definitely take a lot of inspiration from 391780 's portrayal of him. The Rear Window and Neighborly have been forefront in my mind while working on this (Largely because I think my John would have taken a similar approach if the lads hadn't jumped the gun. The Rear Window is dark, so be warned! Early writes delicious dark fics, but that may not be everyone's cup of tea, so mind the tags.)

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[arthursfuckinghat]

Colter *⁠.⁠✧

[uhhlifeig]

Shiver - Dec. 17th - word count: 305 - @wolfstarmicrofic (slightly suggestive)

They were in Remus’s bed with the curtains drawn.

Sirius’s dress shirt was half-unbuttoned, showing his collarbones. He was grinning like a madman as he proceeded to undo the rest of his buttons and take his shirt off, but Remus still wasn’t paying attention.

Well, yes, he was, but he really didn’t show it. Remus stared intently at his book, not absorbing a single word but keeping up the façade so that Sirius would have to wait just a bit longer. 

They did have homework to do, after all.

“Moony,” Sirius whined after around ten minutes. “Stop reading. I want to have fun, not study.”

“Fine,” Remus grumbled, closing his textbook. Secretly, though, he was happy that Sirius finally gave him a reason to put the book down. “You’re insufferable.”

“Only for you, love,” Sirius grinned. “Now get over here, you swot.”

“Gladly,” Remus said, running his fingers down his boyfriend’s chest, making him shiver. “You’re so pretty,” he said reverently. “So gorgeous. Love you.”

He then took off his own shirt, exposing his scars. He had always thought that they were horrific, especially the one on his left shoulder, but he hadn’t felt disgusted by them in a while. 

Why? Because Sirius, of course. Everything always came down to Sirius.

“You too, Moons. You’re so beautiful. Always beautiful,” Sirius whispered back, peppering little kisses on the scars that he could reach. “Love you too.”

Just then, the curtains opened. 

“Oi, you two,” Peter muttered. “I’m trying to sleep here. Either sleep together- not like that- or put up a silencing charm. Listening to you two go at it is disgusting, and listening to you two sweet-talk each other is disgusting. You’re like a deadly concoction of sugar and spice and everything nice, good lord.”

“Wait, is James with-”

“Reg. Slytherin dorms.”

“That brotherfucking bitch-”

[cowtiekentos]

Zero The Assassin The Fangirl John Wick Chapter 3

[ghostbsuter]

The house of Nightingale & Constantine ( P. 3 )

> previous

.・゜-: ✧ :-

"Why are you avoiding me." Green eyes, sharp and unflinching, locked on Danny.

Startled, he turns to the younger boy, Damian? Bruce's only blood kid, he reminds himself.

"I'm not avoiding you." He denies, shaking his head, eyes trailing off.

But Damian knows, he learned and memorised the movements, signs, and behaviour of human kind.

"Do not lie to me, Nightingale."

The use of the name triggers something, and both Damian and Danny jump back, startled and cautious.

"What's the meaning of this!" The boy demanded, snatching his sword from the hilt.

The other raised his hands, pleading. "Look Damian– put the sword down and let me explain, please?"

They stood in tense silence, the sword pushed down reluctant and swiftly tugged back in.

"Explain."

Danny sighs in relief.

"You're more than aware of your parentage, yes?"

A nod, if not slightly confused. "Wayne?"

"No, al Ghul."

He keeps his facial expression and body language closed, obviously trained, and tilts his head to the Ghost. Listening, assessing.

Danny swallows as the air takes on sparks, dangerously close to one another.

If only Dick was in the mansion, maybe he'd cut the air with a knife followed by laughter and help him escape.

"The al Ghul line is in a delicate balance that can be toppled any time," he explains. "it's an old house, new compared to the houses of ancient, but powerful."

"You're saying," Damian drawls, carefully placing the words to form the sentence. "that the line of Al Ghul is... magic." He is studying the older, eyes narrowed and focused.

He knew such accusation would be called ridiculous by the younger. It would definitely earn him a few attempted kills.

"Not all dark houses are magic, just magic adjusted. The reason al Ghul is where it is today is that the founder, your grandfather, is still alive."

"You're aware such claims would have your head."

A wince.

"Fine." Damian scoffs. "We will go back to that after, tell me of the name triggering then."

"Names have power, but family names are more powerful, especially those of dark houses. If another dark house calls—"

"It registers as a warning and summoning." He finished, unfazed at the owlish blinks received.

"You were taught."

"I was, you're right, the al Ghuls are not magic. I haven't taken it seriously back then, I now see the error of my actions." The boy simply states, arms crossed.

"Calling another house of dark by name and immediately pulling a weapon is a declaration of challenge." Dannt adds after a moment of quiet. "I would rather not fight and make an enemy here."

"Not an enemy, but neither an ally?" Is quickly thrown back.

The Nightingale shrugs. "I'm not fond of your grandfather," he admits. "but it's known that every generation changes the house, I would not mind being the ally of the al Ghuls, if it meant you did the contract."

"Being an ally to my name only and to the al Ghul if asked." Green eyes, borderline neon, it reminds Danny of the zone. "Bold."

A grin cracks through, and Danny gestures to the door. "We can discuss the terms during snack time, if you wish, al Ghul."

A spark and Damian scowls harder. "Stop that." He says. "Let's do so, Father would be quite pleased knowing I've made more allies."

As he stomps to out, Danny follows with a jump in his steps, very pleased.

Nightingale 1, Constantine 0!

[starlightvld]

They breathe each other in. Heat rises like the sun on a summer morning, gradual but unrelenting. His body pulses with desire as Simon's fingers dig into the meat of his ass, pulling him closer.

"Careful, love," John murmurs as he rests a hand on the wall beside Simon's head to steady himself. "Cannae risk sending ye back to the hospital when I've finally got ye all to myself."

Simon doesn't respond, but he smiles against John's lips before capturing them again, more impatient this time. His hand moves under John's shirt to skim up the hard planes of his back before dipping down again to play with the waistband of his jogging bottoms. John's skin tingles everywhere Simon touches, a syrupy rush of pleasure soaking through his skin down to his marrow.

- Broken Bones and Shattered Hearts, Chapter 17

Art by the amazing @kibagib!!! So excited to have more art from Kiba to go with this fic!!

[lulublack90]

Prompt 27 - Candle

@wolfstarmicrofic October 27, word count 381

Remus squinted at the pages of his book. He only had a few more pages left of his chapter, but his candle had burnt so low it was barely illuminating the words any more. But he needed to finish the chapter. 

The candle was almost out, and he still had four pages left. He held his book as close as he dared to the sputtering candle when it went out. 

“Bugger,” He grumbled as he pulled out his wand. He could probably get away with it if he kept under the covers. 

“Don’t you dare, Moony,” Sirius's voice spoke softly in the darkness of the dorm room. “No Lumos, that was the deal. It’s too bright, even under your covers.” Remus put his wand back down, gutted that he couldn’t finish the chapter. 

Feet padded across the floor, and Sirius jumped into his bed, holding up his candle. “Here, finished your chapter, you nutter,” Remus grinned and stuck it in his candleholder, illuminating his bed again. 

“Thanks, Padfoot,” Remus grinned as he picked his book up again. Sirius yawned and laid himself down next to Remus. Sirius tended to crawl into bed with James when he couldn’t sleep, but on rare occasions, he chose Remus, mainly when he couldn’t be bothered walking the short distance back to his bed. Either way, Remus felt honoured when he did. 

Remus quickly finished the last few pages, and of course, it ended on a cliffhanger. He flipped to the next page, and just as he was about to start the next chapter, Sirius’s hand shot up and took the book. 

“Oh no, you don’t. It’s sleeping time now; you can read the rest tomorrow.” He picked up Remus’s bookmark off the bedside table and put it between the pages, so Remus wouldn’t lose his place before he blew out the candle. Remus rolled his eyes but wiggled down so he was lying next to Sirius. The bed wasn’t really big enough for the pair of them, but Sirius always found a way to fit. He flung his left arm and leg over Remus’s body and snuggled in tight. Remus kissed the top of his head and wrapped his arms around his best friend. Sirius sighed and snuggled impossibly closer as they both fell asleep.  

[the-abyss-of-fandoms]

John huffs as his hair falls into his face for the 5th time as he digs for his S/Os soon to be garden: For the last time….

Dog looks at John every time he huffs and mumbles:

Y/N notices John getting irritated with his hair as he works leaves the kitchen heading towards John

John notices their approach: What’s wrong

мое сердце? (stops moving their head as Y/N moves his hair back and puts something in his hair)

Y/N smiles happily at their work: There you go now you look cute and your hair won’t get in the way.

John looks at Y/Ns phone as they take a picture of him to see what they had done to him:

[mossy-rainfrog]

[ID: Several drawings of Calvin Wright, Tenebrosum, Arthur Lester, and John Doe. There are a few portraits of Calvin and Tenebrosum alone, and a few others of Calvin and Arthur kissing or otherwise intimate together. More detailed ID in ALT.]

FINALLY posting this on a random monday, here are some of my drawings from @croik 's Arkam Horror/Malevolent Crossover series that has made me category 10 unwell for months. I absolutely recommend this series, it's hot, it's got just a Delightful dynamic of jarthur x another possessed traumatized guy and his Personal Horror, it's got a plot so good it could be its own arc of the show, and also, its got The Horrors!!! give it up for the horrors everyone

Genuinely I have been SO obsessed with this series and ESPECIALLY their characters of Calvin and Tenebrosum. Thank you op for writing over 100k for these guys, i need to inject them into my brain. Calvin and Escuridão specifically are like catnip to me i WILL be rereading this many more times

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 15 all chapters

AUTHOR'S WARNINGS: N$FW, SEXUAL CONTENT, COPIOUS SWEARING

-You wake with a pounding head, and total uncertainty if your adventure the night before had all been a dream.

Did John actually tie you up with his belt? And did you beg like a hungry little kitten for his cock?

And he didn’t give it to you?

Jesus fucking Christ.

You know you’d sensed all along that there was something dark swimming beneath the surface in Mr. Wick, but you’re not quite sure this was what you expected.

You look down at the little purple bruise on the inside of your thigh, and you know it had all been real.

A hot flood of embarrassment fills you as you remember more from the night before. You are mortified, and frankly, a little scared. You’re not sure you can actually handle a man with tastes like Mr. Wick’s, and you also know that once you’re in his company again you won’t be able to think anything through, or frankly, deny him anything he wants.

He has this drug-like effect on you. You would like to blame the wine for the night before, but deep down, you know that mostly it was just hunger.

You could easily forget who you really are, caught up in the web of a man like John.

The first hint of morning light is peeking over the rooftops. You know that if you are going to make your escape, this is undoubtedly your best opportunity. You tie back on your shoes, preparing yourself for the worst walk of shame you’ve ever endured. Even with your new found flexibility, you are only able to get the zipper of your dress half up your back.

Motherfucker.

The morning concierge gives you a knowing look as you walk through the lobby, and you narrowly resist the urge to flip him off.

How ironic, that the day that you want to flee this beautiful city with your tail tucked between your legs, is the day you finally seem to get your bearings. You make your way back to your hostel, taking off your platforms and carrying them half way. When an early morning wanderer tries to hit on you, you finally snap, yelling at him in a mixture of English, Spanish, and broken Italian, so furious that he’s actually the one who flees. You catch the word pazza, which you think means crazy.

He has no idea.

When you get back to the hostel, hallelujah if the fucking door isn’t unlocked this fine morning. How novel.

Your beautiful dress is wrinkled from sleeping in it. You hang it up anyway, and hope no one steals it. You pound two Aleve from your toiletry bag with some stale water, and think a hot shower might fix some of your ills.

Too bad the water heater is only set to tepid. You wash away the grime, but not your anxieties.

You go to breakfast, completely stuck in your own head, when you hear, “Y/n?”

You look up to see Javi sitting at one of the tables with a cornetto and a cup of the weak coffee the hostel provides for free.

You offer him a tired smile and sit down across from him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and it’s a little touching that he knows you so well after only a short time in his company.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I had a…weird night.”

That’s when Kelsey, the Australian girl who helped you with your zipper the night before, saunters up with a shit eating grin. “There she is. Noticed you didn’t come home last night. How was your date?”

“It was…something,” you answer with what you know isn’t a convincing smile. “I’m tired,” you try to cover.

Javi is still looking at you, like he doesn’t believe any of what you’re saying.

Knowing you will not be able to process any of what just happened to you in the boisterous bustle of the backpacker hostel, you eat a quick bite and rise. “Think I’m going for a walk,” you say.

“I’ll join you,” offers Javi, and you can’t figure out how to say no without hurting his feelings.

You walk out the front door together, chatting about something silly. He manages to make you laugh, until you look across the street. Your mirth dies like a bird struck with a stone.

John is there, leaning against the building like a tall dark omen, and he does not look happy. He stalks over to you, giving Javi a forbidding look before turning to you.

“You shouldn’t have run off like that. I was worried.” There is something chilling in his tone. It reminds you a bit of the way he’d scolded Brian that one day, but times ten. Somehow, his teeth seem sharper in this tense moment in the buttery Venice sunlight. 

 “I’m a big girl, John.”

John glares at Javi again, but the younger man stubbornly stays at your side, not taking the hint. “We need to talk,” says John, taking your elbow.

“You don’t have to go with him,” says Javi with a frown, grasping your other arm. You feel like you’re stuck between two dogs with a bone, and it’s too much.

“Both of you, let go of me,” you snap.

Miraculously, this does the trick, though goddamn if there isn’t something like murder glinting in John’s eyes as he does it.

If you weren’t in public on a crowded street, you have a feeling it wouldn’t have worked at all.

“I am going for a walk. Alone. Thank you, Javi, you’re very sweet. John, should I choose to talk to you, I know where you’re staying.”

You turn on your heel, and flee down the street.  

[forsaire]

Next to you

Chapter 4 snippet of Please Say You Love Me where our two favourite boys are joking around and having a good time together 💖 (amongst other angst)

...

“What would you do if you won the lottery?” Soap suddenly asked out of the blue.

Ghost looked back over at Soap, a confused scrunch to his brow pinching up his face at the odd question.

“What?” he asked. “Where’s this coming from?”

Soap shrugged. “Just chatting. I can go first. I’d probably try to find one of those expensive and experimental medical trials taking place in some remote location like the Swiss Alps or something. Something that might help me get my memories back. The research would be controversial and exploitative, but the best ones are, aren’t they?”

“You’re willing to be a guinea pig?”

“I’m willing to do a lot of things right now. As long as it could help me.”

Ghost felt the same way, but he’d never put Soap in harm’s way or expose him to unnecessary danger for that to happen. He’d been through enough already. In a heartbeat he’d give his own body though.

“Oh, and then maybe charity,” Soap finished. “Depending on how much actual money there was. What about you?”

Winning the lottery was so out of the realm of possibility for Ghost’s life that he had never even hypothetically considered the question. With what little money the military gave him, lottery tickets didn’t seem like a good investment. He didn’t know when he’d have the time to enjoy the money anyway.

“I guess… I guess I’d try to find a house?” Ghost replied without much conviction. “Something bigger than my flat would be nice. But then again, I wouldn’t get much time to actually live in the house while working.”

Soap tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the answer. “You wouldn’t retire if you won millions of dollars?”

The thought of retiring for reasons other than natural old age or substantial injury hadn’t crossed his mind. He thought he was going to be doing this job for life.

“Hadn’t thought about it…” Ghost replied honestly.

“So… medical treatment, charity, and a house. Those are very respectable and responsible answers.” There was a mischievous glint in Soap’s eyes as a small smirk spread across his lips. “And what would we do selfishly with the money?”

“Boat,” Ghost answered immediately. “Big one.”

“Tiger.”

Ghost let out an incredulous chuckle and shook his head. “Tiger…” he repeated under his breath. “You know that tends not to work out for the handlers, right? Trying to keep a tiger captive is like accepting the loss of a limb as an inevitable part of life.”

“Not my tigers,” Soap replied with faux seriousness. “They’d behave. They’d have to respect me. I’d make them respect me.”

“I see no flaw in your reasoning.”

“They’re just big cats. They probably also love belly rubs and ear scratches.”

“You sound fantastically delusional.”

“I’ll open your mind to it, just you wait.”

The two of them quietly laughed, the sensation feeling amazing to Ghost. It had been so long since he laughed with Soap. There was no one that could ever make him laugh so genuinely and without hesitation like him. As Soap also laughed, his eyes crinkled and the smile on his face was breathtakingly stunning.

---

Full chapter <3

[a-chaotic-dumbass]

me and the hot bitch i pulled by giving her a sloppy toppy while looking like a soaking wet rat (our son is 4 years old)

[softestqueeen]

✧*̥˚ bbc sherlock masterlist *̥˚✧

✧*̥˚ key *̥˚✧

❤️‍🔥 smut 🌸fluff ⛓️ hurt/comfort 🖤 dark ✍🏻 request

-> back to my main masterlist

sherlock holmes x reader

i can't do this anymore! ⛓️🌸 When Sherlock overhears you talking on the phone, he thinks you're going to leave him.

let the light in 🌸 After a particularly frustrating case, all the consulting detective needs, is closeness.

misty mornings 🌸 When Sherlock Holmes awakes on his birthday, he doesn’t expect anyone to remember it. But of course, you do.

don't you forget about me, sherlock part 1 ⛓️ When Janine forces Sherlock to choose between being in a relationship with her and living with you, he has to make a tough decision. How will your feelings for each other be affected by it?

don't you forget about me, sherlock part 2 coming soon...

sherlock requests open! also for other characters within the universe like john or greg (also queer ships or queer x reader)

[lucasoliko]

Sillies...... will post the full thing later :3

[marauders-brain-rot]

How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)

Wrote a really heavy and quite depressing chapter today and needed to fix my brain by writing something cute and fluffy. So, here is 1,468 words of pure Wolfstar fluff. (No Voldy/war, honestly could be with or without actual magic, I don’t make it clear either way so if you want it to be a muggle au then it can be or if you just want it to be a no Voldy au that works too)

Sirius was almost certain he’d wear a hole in the carpet long before Remus got home. He’d been pacing for hours now, his stomach tied in knots thinking about that night and what would come of it. 

It was their anniversary, eight years together as an official couple and tonight would change everything for them. They’d had nights like these before, the kind that would imprint themselves on their memories and brand themselves across their skin, tying them irrevocably together in a way that no one else would ever understand. 

The first was when they’d confessed their love for one another, never ones to do things by halves, that had been the night they’d first gotten together. They’d danced around their feelings for a while before that, their friendship always coming first, until one night where they couldn’t take the tension between them any longer. There’d been a screaming match that ended in a passionate kiss and finally a confession of their undying love for one another. They ended that night wrapped together in Remus’s bed in the boys dormitory, foreheads pressed together and bodies intertwined to the point where it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. 

The next one had been when they decided to get a place of their own, another night full of tears and kisses. They’d gotten a place with James and Peter as soon as they’d left school, wanting to be out on their own but still with their closest friends, who had really become more like brothers. The years spent in that flat had been some of the best of their lives, the nights spent drunk on the floor and sprawled across the furniture would live in their minds forever, as spotty as those memories were. But, they needed their own space. It had been Remus who had said something first, though Sirius had thought it for a while. He loved their little flat with their two best mates, but sometimes he wanted to be alone with the man he loved, wanted to spend nights and days wrapped in one another’s arms without feeling like it was an intrusion on their friends' lives. And so, after a very long and very tear filled discussion, they agreed to start looking. 

Then, they bought their house together. A sanctuary for the two of them that they made entirely their own. Their first night there together was one that he hoped would never leave him, even on his last days on this planet. They’d spent the day unpacking, James and Peter had finally left and the house was quiet at last, something they hadn’t experienced possibly ever. They’d gotten their favourite mugs down from their new home in the cabinet to the left of the sink, poured cups of their favourite tea, put on their favourite James Taylor record and danced in the living room to How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You) together with the biggest smiles plastered on their faces.

Then came the night they’d gotten engaged, something that had been magical all on its own. Remus had asked him, because of course he had. Sirius had been planning on asking Remus, but of course he’d beaten him to it. It was private and intimate and unequivocally theirs. If Sirius closed his eyes he could see the rose petals strewn about, the lanterns that lit their home, could smell the undeniable scents of his favourite meal that Remus had spent all day cooking for him. Remus had said some beautiful, wonderful, magical words about how Sirius was his guiding light in the sea of darkness, how he’d have lost himself entirely without him and how he never wanted to bear the pain of living life without the man he’d loved since they were only boys. Sirius kissed him then, couldn’t stand to wait another moment where rings didn’t adorn their fingers claiming them for one another and as soon as Remus placed the one he’d gotten Sirius on his finger, Sirius had sprinted up the steps and practically flown into their room to get the ring he’d gotten for Remus. That night they’d fallen asleep together, their fingers interlocked and rings pressed against one another’s. 

Then, they’d gotten married. It was small, intimate and beautiful, another day with magic thick in the air. Their closest friends were there, and even Regulus came as he and Sirius had mended their relationship years prior, it was everything Sirius had ever wanted. To be able to look into the eyes of the man he loved and tell him how he was the physical embodiment of magic, how he’d loved him for over a decade and still found new reasons to love him every single day, how he had never really known what any kind of love looked like until he’d looked into his eyes. They danced to How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You) as their first dance and kissed under the stars in the company of those that loved them most, soaking in every moment of the night together and relishing in the complete togetherness they finally got to experience. 

All of that brought him to now, tonight, a night that would change the rest of their lives just like all the others had. He’d cooked Remus’s favourite meal, gotten his favourite cake from the bakery 45 minutes away and set the house perfectly for the mood. Everything was perfect, everything would be perfect. So why did he feel like something might go wrong? 

He heard the key turning in the lock and felt his breath leave him, there would be no turning back now. As soon as Remus opened the door and saw Sirius standing there a broad smile spread across his face, the confusion coming next as he saw the setting around him. 

“Sirius?” He hadn’t expected them to do anything tonight, Sirius had been planning this surprise for a week now and though their wedding anniversary wasn’t for another month, he felt tonight was the right night. 

“Welcome home, love,” he kissed Remus’s cheek before leading him to the table laden with candles. 

“What’s all this?” His smile was the brightest thing in the room and how Sirius longed for it to last a lifetime. 

“Eat first, we’ll talk after cake.” Was it a slightly cowardly move to put off this conversation? Possibly, but he didn’t want dinner or cake to go to waste if the conversation went how he thought it would. When they’d finally finished eating and the record had stopped for the second time, Remus finally turned expectantly to Sirius. 

“Want to tell me what this is about, love?”

“I want to start off by saying that I love our life here, I love you and I love our home and I love the life we’ve built for ourselves.” He paused, needing his words to sink in before he continued. “And I want you to know that this is because of how much I love you and how much I know you love me, I want us to share our love.”

“Okay?” 

“Do you remember my cousin, Tonks?”

“Of course I do.”

“Right, well, she’s pregnant and she can’t take care of a baby right now. She’s just getting started on her career and she has her whole life ahead of her, she’s in no place to be having a child. But, well, we are.” He paused, waiting for his words to sink in and once they did he watched as Remus’s face transformed entirely. 

“You want to adopt her baby?” The smile on his face rivalled all others Sirius had seen, it practically lit up the world with how brilliant it was. All Sirius could do was nod and swallow nervously. “I would be honoured to have a baby with you.”

That night they laughed and cried, they held onto one another tighter than they ever had before. They got their favourite mugs down from the cabinet to the left of the sink, poured cups of their favourite tea, and put on their favourite James Taylor record and danced around the living room to How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You). 

And how sweet it was, really, to love and be loved in return. To have a lifetime of memories together already and a lifetime of them more to look forward to. To know that their love would live beyond them and would change the lives of not only themselves but also of this new little baby they would be adding into their perfect little world and any others they might end up with along the line. They’d chosen one another, chosen love, and chosen life, and how sweet a life it was turning out to be.