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divinepoints · 5 days ago

Text

the heart of the matter.

pairing: john walker x reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: kind of vague suicidal ideation that's not ever acted on. john is a dick. reader is also kind of a dick. bucky meddles. so much swearing in here your toes might curl. i've never done a reader-insert before so i'm bad at this. this is me showing you my metaphorical fanfic dick please respond

a/n: as hinted above, this is my first foray into the reader-insert game. constructive criticism is welcome but if all you have in your heart is haterism please keep the thoughts inside. exes to lovers kind of except the ending is vague. follow up definitely possible. i don't really take requests but you're more than welcome to drop some thoughts/ideas in my inbox and if inspo strikes i will oblige. uhhh that's all i think? john walker girlies rise. stalking the tag is what brought me to this.

(also, not edited because i can't be bothered since this is all in good fun)

You had never thought that life would lead you back to John Walker. Or perhaps, that life had led the both of you back to each other. After all, this had been your world first.

You’d been an unfortunate accident long before anyone thought there would be a need for a successor to Steve Rogers. It wasn’t really worth recounting, given it happened as so many things did, something in a lab went wrong, and it broke you. Okay. Maybe broke wasn’t the word. It had changed you into something simultaneously greater and far worse. Whatever. It hardly mattered at this point. What mattered was that it was odd someone from your small, bullshit town had become an Avenger, odder still that it had been you. You hadn’t thought there was anymore odd to go around.

(You were deeply, deeply misguided.)

It had never truly been decided amongst you, Bucky, and Sam whether John had been picked partly because of you (John himself would insist it had nothing to do with it). Bucky was one-hundred percent convinced it had been done on purpose. It’s easier to swallow, he’d said, because people know how close you were with Steve, and since you and Walker have… a past.

Calling it a past was generous. You’d dated in high school, when you were a little dumber and he a little less obnoxious, then he’d enlisted and you’d gone off to college. It was an almost entirely expected and underwhelming end to what had been a classic high school relationship. It was hardly a past, it had really just been growing pains. With Steve, however, it was an on-again off-again situationship that felt far too juvenile at your big age, but had gone unexpectedly public.

So now you were the woman who had dated not one, but two Captain Americas, even if you were quick to insist that John had been little more than captain of the football team at the time. The general public had eaten it up when John was given the shield and still now, while Valentina was parading around her so-called New Avengers. A grave misnomer, you thought, considering this wasn’t exactly your rookie year. It was a hard pill to swallow.

Yelena insisted that you all as a team owned Valentina. You thought it felt a little bit like the other way around. At the same time, you knew it would take all of five seconds for you to tear the entire charade apart. As withdrawn as you were from, well, everything since Thanos, you knew you still held enough public interest that you could get on a stage and rip Valentina to shreds and end it all. But you couldn’t. There was just something about the strange little group that tugged on your remaining heartstrings.

It had been a fight, at first. Sam had been furious, but it had weighed far more heavily on Bucky than you. At the very least, you could look Sam in the eye and remind him that you had been around before the Avengers were even really a team. You’d been part of Nick Fury’s cobbled-together collection of misfits that could hardly be called a group, let alone a team. Sam might have been Captain America, but you were essentially the only original left. Tony and Natasha were dead, Steve was old, Clint and Bruce had families, and Thor was somewhere of in space doing… well, whatever the hell he wanted to, you supposed. You remained, heavy with loss and silently happy to see another group of misfits learning to stitch themselves together. Even if this time it was much, much messier.

Still, you resented the government control, and that John was involved.

You took it upon yourself to constantly remind him that he was only still around because you tolerated it, which he hated. It wasn’t that he was your ex, though you loathed to call him even that. It was that he’d take Steve’s legacy, tried to turn it to dust, and was still clinging to it. He insisted he was doing what he could with what he had, you insisted he could do better, and so the carousel turned.

The only argument he ever won, not that you’d ever admit it out loud, was when he reminded not just you, but everyone that he’d had you first. There was no argument against the truth. Even if you could insist that you were more serious with Steve (you weren’t), or that you’d loved Steve more (you weren’t even sure you’d been in love with Steve at all), it all circled back around to an undisputed fact: John Walker bested Steve in approximately one race and it was having you.

He had brought it up again, and you knew it was because he was feeling sensitive about something. You were fed up, and had snapped back a scathing remark you’d only ever thought before. You know, you keep bringing that shit up and someone might start to think you’re in love with me. You hadn’t said it because you thought there was any truth, but because you knew it would piss him off, because you were taking the one thing he could hold over your head and turning it back around on him. Bucky had openly laughed, which certainly hadn’t helped things, but John didn’t give into the fight you were expecting.

It gnawed at you all night and then began to worry you in the morning. You’d only ever known him to snap and give into baser instincts. Even in high school when he could have been called more mellow he’d always been ready to throw a punch or two. No response you’d ever seen from him consisted of steely silence or any kind of restraint. Though you wanted to take it as a sign of personal growth, you were more inclined to think it was something much worse. You imagined a brewing rage eating away at him like acid, and you had to wonder when it was going to boil over.

It wasn’t until Bob, sweet and generally unconcerned with John, mentioned it that you decided it was time to do something about it. Haven’t seen Walker all day, he’d remarked about the second most loud and imposing member of the team. Ava remarked that she was pleased with the development, but even Yelena looked disturbed. Alexei could not have cared any less as he shoveled Wheaties into this mouth, but Bucky… Bucky had leveled you with a look that suggested he thought something needed to be done too. That was the straw, you supposed. You might have been able to fight your own instincts about it, if Bucky had not looked at you like that, like he thought this might really become a problem sometime soon.

You sighed heavily and lifted yourself off the couch with a dramatized effort. Bucky indicated downstairs in the direction of the gym rather than above to the quarters where you all had your personal spaces. You briefly wondered if you could convince Bucky to have a man-to-man conversation with him rather than leaving you to make nice with your most irksome teammate. Ultimately, you realized that Bucky likely would rather put himself in the ground. Annoying, emotionally-constipated super soldiers were really fucking your life up.

(Pot, kettle, Bucky would probably insist, even if you were more super and less soldier.)

Inside the gym, you found yourself realizing that other than you, John and Steve had something else in common. They both liked to treat punching bags like they’d been done great personal offense by every one of them. Even in his occupation, you knew he noticed you. Or, at the very least, he’d noticed that someone had joined him.

“Your absence is troubling Bob,” you stated simply.

He didn’t pause his assault on the bag, but he did choose to switch sides to look at you. “I doubt it.”

“He said he hadn’t seen you all day. Mentioned, therefore noticed, therefore…”

“Therefore you drew straws and you’re the unluckiest of the bunch?”

You wished you’d drawn straws. “If only that had been part of the equation. No. Believe it or not, I figured this is mostly my problem.” You left out the fact that Bucky had too. John didn’t have anything to say about that, but he did pause and begin to unwrap his hands, preparing for what you also imagined was going to be a very tedious conversation. One that, apparently, you were going to have to take the reins of. “I’m more than willing to fight this out, but just know I’ll wipe the floor with you.” He didn’t take the bait. “Seriously, what the hell is going on? You’ve been on my ass since day one about what feels like fifteen million years ago, but I make one comment and you’re— you’re…” You had no clue how to finish that sentence, but you certainly weren’t going to apologize for anything.

He finally opens his mouth to actually say something, but it’s far from anything you’d have expected. “Does it really bother you that much? Thinking about back then?”

It was a pivot you hadn’t been expecting and it left you floundering for something to say. Did it bother you to think about? No. No, what bothered you was that it was constantly brought up in the context of being a thing to have been had, or a measure by which to pick who could have the shield. What irked you, was that John kept bringing it up like you were some kind of trophy rather than a person. Otherwise, as just something that had happened, as a relationship you had, there were fond memories if you didn’t apply the present-day John Walker of it all.

“It’s not important,” you decided to say, rather than admitting that he was constantly tainting what had previously been a genuinely pleasant example of what a first love could be. “It was forever ago, but you keep bringing it up like it’s another medal on your chest.”

And of course he zeroed in on what affronted him most. “Not important.” He was muttering to himself, mostly, but you heard it. “Just, you know, half of the sum-total of all my relationships in life. Not important.”

And that irked at you, when he’d gone onto have a wife and a kid and a brief white-picket-fence life that you’d probably never get to see because everyone in the world looked at you like some kind of commodity. A weapon to save the world, a face to plaster on tv and advertisements, a figurehead to say hey, look, this group must be good!

“My god, John,” you snapped, “you have a family. What the hell does some bullshit high school girlfriend matter? We were both nobody back then.”

“Because the family thing worked out so well for me,” he retorted.

“That was your own fault and you know it.”

A low-blow and you knew it, but you’d never be able to understand why he wasn’t constantly fighting tooth and nail to get back to them. You knew he missed his son, often caught him looking at photos that he’d gotten from somewhere. You weren’t sure if Olivia was doing a kindness and sending them, or if he was finding them by less-than-legal means, but you knew he looked at them longingly and still did nothing about it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, always fucking everything up.”

You exhaled frustratedly through your nose. This was not going how you’d planned. It had gotten far more hostile than you’d intended. “I’m not trying to dog on you.” Though it would have been so much easier, if you were being honest. Which, you weren’t being, you knew. Being honest would have meant just telling him that you were tired of being a referred to as a possession, and how every time he brought it up, it felt like a reminder that even your pathetic high school partnership was the closest to serious you’d probably ever be able to get. “But you’re the one who brings it up like it’s a joke, not me.”

His head snapped to you, gaze torn away from the mindless packing of his gym bag. “I’m the one making a joke out of it? You’re the one who wants to act like it never even happened.”

“Because you’re the one ruining it.” You weren’t yelling, not really. But the whole thing was striking a sensitive chord that you’d never intended on even acknowledging. “You’re the one acting like I was a trophy you had and then threw away. So excuse me if I’m not looking back with fondness at being a thing.”

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”

If he was being serious or purposefully obtuse, you weren’t sure. Realistically it could have been either. He might have trying to turn the tables on you, to move away from his nearly twenty-four hours of petulance that you were supposed to have been addressing. Or, maybe he really didn’t know that he’d been biting away at decently pleasant memories ever since he decided to try to be Steve. Maybe he was just that ignorant. And maybe you were kidding yourself in thinking he hadn’t been your first love, even if he hadn’t been the great love of your life. Yeah, you would perhaps admit in the deepest recesses of your mind, maybe that was a big part of it all.

Regardless, it was becoming exceedingly clear that perhaps neither of you were in the proper mindset for this conversation to go anywhere. John’s ego was clearly too bruised from your brief ribbing to think of anything beyond how things affected him, and you were just… well, you supposed you’d been hurting too much about everything for far too long.

At least you could tell Bucky you’d tried.

⊛

Another team was falling apart before your eyes, which meant you weren’t sleeping. Or, at the very least, sleeping as little as you could without being plagued by memories turned nightmares. So maybe that was why you were particularly sensitive, which was perhaps why you felt like bursting into tears all the time.

It had been a shit week, though, so you were giving yourself some grace. You’d allow yourself tears if they really wanted to come, if you even had any left.

The tension with John had gotten worse, and now there were sides to it all. Bucky was on yours, unequivocally, always. The rest of the team flip-flopped back and forth depending wholly on mood or which one of you had pissed them off more that day. Bob was the only one who sat entirely neutral, though you were certain that the whole thing was stressing them out. And all of it was, albeit on a much smaller scale, reminding you of years ago which made the whole thing more unpleasant.

In the end, it made you wonder if you were still cut out for this.

Losing another team would break you, you were sure of it. Even if it was a patchwork team filled mostly with people who grated on your nerves like it was a full time job, losing it would break you. So, you were kind of thinking it was time to remove yourself from the situation. Retirement wouldn’t have looked so bad, if you weren’t going to be alone in all of it.

That all being said, it had not been a good decision to think about it all in Tony’s old tower, looking to space from the spot he’d built to land the suit. Valentina had called it good optics, but you thought it was more bittersweet memory. Things had been good here, then bad, then good again, and then nothing. Now it was… well, you weren’t sure what the hell to call it because everything reminded you of something else. Everything reminded you of them and it damn near tore you to shreds.

Yeah, you were really beginning to think that you weren’t cut out for this anymore.

Bucky appeared from a dark corner as he so often did, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to joke when he asked, “Do I need to be worried about you?”

Either way, you knew it was a lie when you said, “No, just can’t sleep.”

When you looked at him, you knew that he knew you were full of shit. So, it was like that then. He sighed heavily and stretched out on the floor next to you.

“I’m going to stay here until you talk to me.” You knew he was serious, unfortunately. You’d uttered the same words to him years ago when Steve had you and Sam chasing his tail. “Or until we decide to kill Walker.” You looked at him sideways. “I’m mostly joking. But I did catch him drinking milk out of the carton again, so.” He shrugged as best he could while horizontal.

“This is not John,” you said. At least, not entirely. Sure, the tension still grated on you, but it only really served to point out how much everything started to bother you when a single element went wrong. One piece out of place and all you could think about was everything you’d lost. “It’s— it’s this whole fucking place, Bucky. I don’t think I can be here anymore.”

“This doesn’t work without you,” he says firmly. “You leave, this whole thing falls apart like a house of cards. I’m sorry, but it’s true.” You couldn’t help but think that was bullshit, and the way you looked at Bucky conveyed as much. “I don’t do this without you. Already told you, where you go, I go.”

The worst part was you knew he would. If you left, he’d follow just like you’d stuck to him like glue after Steve left to chase happiness. Steve might have said until the end of the line, but you and Bucky were the ones holding the rope. But even though you thought the team could pull themselves together without you, you also knew they had no hope of doing the same without him.

“I can’t lose another team,” you admitted. Even with the admission you held back. Your natural, instinctual follow-up was that it had almost killed you last time, but you knew from your time in Bob’s void that it all still haunted Bucky. He still blamed himself for splitting the Avengers. “This is too good for you— all of you, for me to ruin it with all my bullshit.”

It almost looked like Bucky was considering it, the way his brow knit together and his eyes squinted ever-so-slightly. So, it took you by surprise when the man who’d been flying by the seat of his pants so recently looked you dead in the face and said, “If you’re willing to hear me out, I have a plan.”

⊛

You did not think Bucky’s plan was a good one, nor did anyone else. When he remarked vaguely about switching some things around and off-handedly mentioned bonding, you had not expected to end up here. This was what you got for hearing him out. Goddamn fucking nonsense.

“This is elaborate joke, yes?” Alexei asked.

“I look like I’m joking to you?” Bucky asked, frowning.

“I think we all wish you were,” Ava retorted.

Yelena nodded and added, “This is going to get someone killed.”

If Bucky’s plan was to unite you all against his asinine games, he’d succeeded. Nobody was sure how he’d convinced Valentina to fork out the funds to reserve an entire camp usually used for corporate retreats, but he’d done it. It was a forked tongue of an idea, really. It got you out of the government-funded press tour that was previously scheduled, but it also meant a week with only each other doing trust falls or whatever other crap white-collar idiots did to encourage teamwork.

Despite all complaints and reservations, you all piled into the car and allowed Bucky to cart you off to the middle of nowhere, albeit entirely silently. A butterfly landing could have frayed your last nerve, which was exactly what happened when you saw a file marked cabin arrangements. It had to have been a sick joke. You had half a mind to casually remark, hey, if you wanted me dead you should have just told me, but you didn’t think he’d have taken kindly to that and you weren’t in the mood for an involuntary psychiatric hold.

Instead you told him, “I think this violates the Geneva conventions.”

“You and Walker have the most issues,” he responded. “And you said you’d hear me out. I really think this is going to work.”

Yelena was right, this was going to get someone killed. It didn’t matter if there was an assembled team of professionals waiting to teach you how to play nice with each other, either you or John would be dead come morning. Everyone else would just have to spend the rest of the week with the corpse. At least then there’d be an even number.

Only out of respect for Bucky did you swallow your pride and stomp off to your assigned cabin with John following close behind. Otherwise, you might have started a fight then and there, but he was right: you’d promised to hear him out, even if this was the last time you’d do it.

Your so-called cabin reminded you more of a dorm room than a woodsy vacation. It was closer-quarters than you’d been with anyone since being on the run. It was just one room with two beds on either side that you likely could have reached at the same time if you stood in the middle and stretched a little. The only comfort was indoor plumbing. You might have become immediately homicidal if there had been any mention of an outhouse.

“Gonna kill him,” John was muttering as he unpacked.

Part of you wanted to tell him to get in line, but a much bigger part of you wanted another hours-long stretch of silence. This was your life for the week, whether you liked it or not, and you wanted to keep the baseline peace for as long as possible. It was hard to do, though, when the second you’d unpacked your own belongings and decided to relax on the bed, someone was knocking at the door. A voice you didn’t recognize cheerily announced that you were to meet at the fire pit for introductions. You plotted Bucky’s slow and painful death as you forced yourself to follow orders.

Ten minutes later, you were all gathered around the unlit fire-pit looking at not just each other, but four very normal people who looked nervous just to be there. How they were supposed to help you all get chummy when they could barely look you in the eyes, you had no clue. It was the woman who you suspected had also been the one to summon you that clapped her hands together and declared you would get started. Though she seemed to be putting her best foot forward, you saw the light in her eyes dim when Yelena drily marked there was no reason for introductions because you all knew each other already.

“Well, okay,” she said with her forced smile, “how about, a fun fact about each of you!”

You could think of a glorious list of fun facts entirely centered around the torture you had in store for your so-called best friend, but you didn’t say that. Which, of course, was not to suggest that the “fun facts” to go around were not equally horrifying. Little miss sunshine was more unsettled minute by minute, and her own staff looked ready to bolt. You reiterated to only yourself, this was not going to work.

It was not working when they put you in their “state-of-the-art” escape room which lasted all of two minutes before John kicked the door open. It was not working when they had you doing child-level arts and crafts on an assembly line, which ended promptly when Ava put scissors through Alexei’s hand. And it was definitely, most certainly, absolutely not working when you were eating lunch and Bob accidentally started a food fight, not in the fun way. It was a lost cause, and it harrowed the staff.

The cheery instructor was holding on by a thread when she declared that she thought some self-reflection time was due and so sent you all off to your respective housing. You swore you saw Bucky’s eye twitch as he headed off towards his own, blissfully single accommodations. Only a few hours in and the plan was falling apart like a child’s blanket fort.

You showered mashed potatoes out of your hair, beating John to the bathroom by seconds to his great frustration. You were not reinvigorated when you emerged clean, but you at least felt less heavy. As John brushed past you on his way to his own shower, you breathed a sigh of relief at the prospect of a few moments truly alone. Three hours and you were already tearing your hair out.

For Bucky, you wanted to put your best foot forward. He was serious about leaving with you, if that was the choice you made, but that pained you. He had found something here, something that could be important and do good, and you weren’t sure if it would kill you more to stick around miserable, or to tear him away. Still, you had told him the truth that night, you weren’t sure you could do it anymore.

Miserably and embarrassingly, a dam broke inside and you burst into tears at the exact moment John exited the briefest shower in human history. He looked at you alarmed and you promptly squeezed your eyes as tight as you could. Perhaps if you couldn’t see him, you could pretend it wasn’t happening at all. If he hadn’t been there hovering, waiting for who knows what, you maybe could have, but he did. John stood there statuesque in exactly the same way he had when you were teenagers, always unsure what to do when you cried.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “The hell did I do now?”

You wanted to scream that not everything was about him, that you’d been miserable long before he ever reentered your life but there was no space in your lungs left to do so. Which meant you just sat there heaving sobs in front of the last person you ever wanted to show a vulnerable bone in your body. If he wanted to see you beaten down by life to feel good about himself, you were certainly giving him the show.

He took you back to high school again, which was both humiliating and a horrifying comfort. He’d never known what to do while you cried, but he’d certainly had a routine for after. You weren’t sure where he got the water bottle that he thrust into your hands ten minutes later, nor did you notice him disappear into the bathroom again for a toilet-paper sub for tissue, but he had. The whole time you shook while you cleaned yourself up and rehydrated so thoroughly you felt like puking, he sat on the floor with his back against your bed, radiating body heat against your leg without touching.

Then he asked you what he always had, and it still sounded like it pained him just like before, “Do you want to talk about it?”

No. You thought you wanted to die, really. You thought that maybe Bucky had needed to worry. And you were thinking that John was still a better man than you gave him credit for, despite all the space and time. Horrifying discover after horrifying discovery. Why you admitted the truth to him you’d probably never know. Why he shared the same would always make you wonder.

“I think I don’t want to be here anymore,” you said, cracking through chesty mucus that had settled in your lungs. The look on his face suggested he knew you didn’t just mean the cabin or trip. Soft eyes, like the very idea of it haunted him even though he shouldn’t have cared any less. It wouldn’t have removed the feather of you from his cap. He still could claim it: I had her. What a shame things went the way they did… It should not have mattered to him. He’d never given you any indication it would.

“I think,” you continued, “that almost everyone I’ve ever loved is dead or gone, and I’m wondering why I didn’t end up there too. So fuck you for thinking it’s you I’m crying over. I was miserable before you. I’ll be miserable after.”

He invoked again through a sigh and rose. “I’m going to go get Bucky.”

Your hand shot out and gripped his wrist as tight as you could. It wouldn’t bruise a super-soldier but he got the point. “You get Bucky and I’ll kill you, John.”

That would be the last straw. Bucky saw you like this and everything would be a goner. He was your best friend, and he’d do anything in the world for you, which made it so damn hard for you to do everything in your power for him. Bucky would never know.

“You’re goddamn demented, you know.” He relented despite what seemed to be protestation. “Fuckin’ crazy. Threatening to put me in the ground for trying to help you.”

“Fuck you,” you repeated, heatless and bland but all you had. “You aren’t helping shit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying here, baby.”

If you had anything left to give besides the barest of oxygen in your lungs, you might have cried all over again. You could imagine clawing at him for having the audacity to call you that, accident or not, but your very bones denied it. Something must have leeched the calcium right out of them, the way you might have buckled if you had been standing. All while your blood was turning to sludge in your veins, John Walker muttered the first apology you’d maybe ever heard from him. Force of habit, he added, like the last time he had any right to say something like that wasn’t years ago.

There was a stretch of silence that could have been hours for all you knew. There were knocks on the door that you both ignored for some reason you’d never be able to explain. There was probably a search party underfoot, but it all seemed deeply inconsequential. At some point, you’d drawn your knees up to your chest, and he’d ended up next to you. Just the barest brushing of skin.

“I want this to work,” you admitted against all better judgment. “For Bucky. For me. I miss having people to rely on. I always liked having people in my corner.”

“I’m getting divorced,” he offered, a piece of his hurt for yours. “Liv might let me see my son. She had some real choice words when I called. So, I guess it would be nice to have some people in my corner, too.”

A real pretty picture to paint, to be sure. Far from being possible just because you decided there was really nothing left to lose. Even so, there was nothing left to do but try.

⊛

So maybe Bucky Barnes was some kind of closet genius.

It was a bit like puzzle pieces clicking when you decided to give it a real go. You still wanted to kill John sometimes. A lot of the time. Maybe even most of the time. But you’d looked straight into each others’ gooey centers, and that would have changed things for anyone.

When you asked where the hell a plan like his had even come from, Bucky admitted it had been far more Sam than it had him. Couple’s counseling, he’d remarked which had explained a number of disappearances he’d previously left up for debate, we’d been going for a while, and when I was telling him he said it was too bad I couldn’t make everyone go. So I found a way. You’d just smiled and said, Fucking weird plan, Buck. You couldn’t deny the results though.

The next time you caught yourself gazing up at the stars recounting what you’d once had, it was John that joined you instead of Bucky. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t leave you with a bone-deep pain to talk about what had been. You grew to understand how Bucky held no resentment to Steve for chasing his own peace, even if it meant leaving forever. It didn’t freeze you to the bone to tell someone, even if it was him, that Yelena was reminding you more and more of Natasha with each passing day. It no longer felt like pulling teeth when you admitted that sometimes when you had a drink at the bar you thought about Tony. Now, when you looked at the sky you wished Thor only the best, rather than cursing him for leaving you for so long. Sometimes, John would tell you about his son and you’d smile for Bruce and Clint.

Part of you recoiled when he echoed Bucky’s words to you. “I need to be worried about you?”

“Nah,” you said, the truth this time. “I’m… solid. Putting in the work. Therapy, medication, all that jazz.” It being mandatory now was only about half the reason you still visited a professional weekly. “I’m doing good, I think.” John repeated good several times as he nodded mostly to himself. You turned it on him. “I gotta be worried about you?”

At that, he shook his head. He echoed your sentiment about putting in the work at mandatory therapy. He was solid too, good even, practically verging on great. His fingers brushed yours as he explained he was having his first unsupervised visit with his son. Not at the tower, nowhere near the tower if he could help it. Not that it was a trust thing, he made sure to add hastily. He thought that maybe there would be a day he could show his son what “work” was now, just not so soon. You were genuinely glad for him all while ignoring a pesky blooming warmth in your chest at a tentative grasp of hands.

John Walker still had roots in you, that was certain, and you had a feeling you had a home somewhere in his ribcage too.

“We were best friends once,” he remarked sometime after your pulse had stopped thrumming in your ears. “Think it could happen again?”

A small smile broke through very thin resistance, and you hummed for what seemed to be dramatic affect. “Spot’s taken… think I might have something else in mind for you, if you’re up for the challenge.”

Clasped hands raised, lips meet the inside of your wrist, your pulse flutters again. “Up for anything, baby.”

#john walker x reader #john walker fanfiction #thunderbolts fanfiction #us agent x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction

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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Smoke Eater - Part 15

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: Thank you as always for the lovely responses on the previous chapter! It was a long one, so thank you for sticking through with me. We're about to lighten up a little with some Christmas spirit! ❄️🎁

**Also, if you're a fan of The Boys (and Soldier Boy), there's an awesome book you can check out, called Supes Ain’t Always Heroes: Inside the Complex Characters and Twisted Psychology of The Boys.

If you want to learn more about the book (including cast interviews and a character study on Soldier Boy), I wrote a review about it here!

Otherwise, on to some more firefighter!Dean!

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, tinge of angst, hurt/comfort, lots of feels.

Part 15: “The Good Part”

“How many damn arrests does that make?” Daniel asked. He gripped his pool cue with both hands while he leaned on it.

His son stood at the other end of the pool table, lining up his shot. He paused to think.

“Six,” Nick replied. His cue released, and it knocked two of his balls into the pocket.

“Six,” Daniel repeated, while Nick came his way to find an angle for his next turn.

Daniel shook his head. His lips were angrily pursed. His eyes might’ve been on the pool game, but he was playing chess in his mind. He had underestimated John Winchester for far too long, it seemed.

The man was stubborn as all hell. And he’d been busy lately, getting “Azazel’s” men busted for all manners of bullshit.

“Alastair’s mole says Winchester’s been calling in favors from his old friends in Narcotics, trying to bust our small fries,” Nick reported. “Getting them on everything from petty theft to drug possession, with intent to sell. But it’s nothing we can’t pull ‘em out of.”

“Time, money, added risk,” Daniel cited on his fingers all the reasons why John Winchester was a pain in his ass. “It’s only a matter of time before they get a warrant to rip apart Savage & Co., sweep the whole damn building. For forensic evidence, our files, all the jazz.”

Daniel’s fingers drummed thoughtfully against his chin. “A damn cop thinks he’s being cute.”

Nick missed his second turn. His hand fell against his thigh in annoyance, but he looked up.

“Dad, it’s your move.”

Daniel rubbed at his chin. His eyes were no longer seeing the board in front of him. Eventually, they slid up and met his son’s gaze.

“We’re going to start from the beginning,” he said.

Nick’s face gave away his confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

Daniel just smiled.

It was Christmas Day, and John was late. Sam and Dean were used to that drill, so they weren’t expecting him until dinnertime.

Meanwhile, it gave you a chance to find your footing as you got to know Eileen. She had helped you bake the pies that were now cooling on the counter (pumpkin and berry crumble), and a few of the side dishes for dinner. Sam had covered cleaning up the rest of the house, while Dean tackled his favorites: the ham and the mac and cheese.

Now the guys were in the living room watching football while you and Eileen were still in the kitchen, decorating some gingerbread cookies you two had made. She enjoyed it; doing holiday crafts with her students had been bringing out her artistic side, she told you. You were happy for the help and the conversation.

You later tried to cover up your snort of laughter as she finished telling you the story of how Dean once dared Sam to wear women’s underwear for a whole week.

If he managed it, Dean had promised to do all the household chores for three months. If Sam couldn’t make it the whole week, then he would face the consequences: Dean would tell their dad about the bet.

“How old were they?” you asked.

Eileen scoffed. “Sam was a senior in college.”

You burst out laughing again. “So too old, is the answer… Did he win?”

Eileen gave you a mischievous smile.

“He did,” Dean said, as he appeared in the kitchen doorway with a familiar smirk. “I’ve got photographic evidence. It was a cheetah print thong, in case you were wondering.”

Your eyes widened on a laugh. “Oh my God.”

Cheetahlicious, you couldn’t help joking in your mind. Even if you’d rather not think of Sam wearing a pair of Victoria Secret’s best.

Eileen giggled with you. Dean’s amusement gave way to curiosity as he eyed the little gingerbread men you two were icing. You warned him off with your eyes, but it took Eileen batting his hand when he tried to steal a cookie.

“Hey! Wait ‘til after dinner,” she said.

Dean pouted. “Come on, don’t be stingy.”

Rolling her eyes, Eileen sighed.

“You’re like one of my kids,” she said, while signing with her hands. But she caved and handed him a cookie. “Here. To tide you over.”

Dean smiled and signed back to her in ASL, Thank you.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he said. He leaned down to kiss her cheek in a brotherly gesture.

He shot you a wink before taking a bite of his prize. You shook your head at him, even though you were smiling. He came around to your side of the table. His hand rested on your back and he bent down towards your ear.

“I actually came over for you,” he said. “Got a minute?”

Your brows rose, but you turned to Eileen in askance. “I’ll be right back. Is that okay?”

She nodded and made an “OK” gesture. “Of course.”

You smiled and let Dean lead you out of your chair, and even out of the apartment. He made sure you both grabbed your coats by the front door.

“Where are we going?” you asked. While you put on your coat over your sweater and jeans, you didn’t notice him grabbing two sets of keys.

“Just downstairs. No big deal,” he said, hefting on his own leather jacket.

You eyed him with some suspicion, but you walked with him down to the elevators and let him keep you close to his side. He smelled like the cologne you bought him for Christmas, and he was already wearing the new watch as well.

You’d struggled to find him the right gift. Nothing felt quite enough after everything he’d done for you the last few months. He’d assured you that he was grateful for both gifts, and had even tried to say the watch looked too expensive. (You’d shut him up with a kiss.)

Now, you had to wonder what he was up to as he led you into the parking lot, but not toward Baby. Instead, you two stopped in front of a shiny silver Chevy parked in a guest spot.

“Dean, what’d you do?” you asked, both excited and worried. He shot you a grin and dangled the keys in front of you.

“You like her?” he asked. His eyes were dancing. “You could keep her, if you ask nicely.”

Your face slackened. You looked between him and the sleek looking car.

“What?” You covered your mouth with both hands. Even after a few moments, your brain was still having a hard time computing. “No…what? Oh my God!”

You grabbed onto his jacket, just in case your legs failed you. Dean laughed and gathered you up in his arms. By the time you peeled your eyes away from the silver beauty to look up at your boyfriend, there were tears already swimming in your eyes.

“Dean, this is really too much. Where’d you find—”

“Bobby had it sitting in his garage for years,” he explained. His hand came up to brush your cheek, and the tears there. “I cleaned her up, dropped in a new engine, safe-proofed with new tires, new airbags, the works. Got her purring like a kitten.”

Your eyes grew a little wider with every admission. Then you softened, gripping the edges of his jacket while you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling.

“How much did he sell it to you for?” you asked. Dean dropped his head back with a sigh.

“Don’t you wanna take a test ride before we start hagglin’?”

You lightly smacked his chest. “Hey. How much?”

He let out another heavy sigh, but you eventually got it out of him. While the price wasn’t as bad as you might’ve expected, you still shook your head.

“I still have a decent chunk of insurance money left. I’m giving you at least half,” you said.

Dean shook his head. “This is my gift to you.”

Your lips pursed, despite the smile that wanted to peek through.

“Nice try,” you said wryly. “You already got me perfume.”

“That was just the decoy.” He grinned, and held you a bit tighter against him. He nodded towards the car. “She’s the main event.”

You wanted to sigh, but this conversation wasn’t over. You were definitely not letting him buy you a whole new…old car. You turned to look at it again.

“What model is this?” you asked.

“2002 Camaro Z28,” Dean rattled off. It sounded impressive, but you didn’t know much about cars.

He let go of you so you could get a closer look. Your hand passed over the hood, but didn’t touch, as if you were afraid of staining the paint with your fingerprints. He had to admit, he’d waxed it up good and managed to get rid of a lot of superficial nicks and scratches.

What he said was true though; Bobby had given him a frankly ridiculous deal. Because when Dean had told him what you’d been through after the car accident, dealing with your grandfather’s passing, and now your ever-mounting expenses, Bobby hadn’t let him walk away from Singer Salvage with anything else but this car. He’d even helped Dean get the new parts he needed to fix it up.

“Is it automatic or manual?” you asked, trying to peer through the driver’s window. “I haven’t driven stick in a hell of a long time.”

Dean came up from behind you and his warm hand found your hip. You let him draw you back into his arms, leaning against his chest.

His lips were close to your ear when he said, “I think you’re damn good at driving stick.”

It took you a second, but the heavily laden innuendo in his deep voice was hard to miss. You uttered a laugh and swatted his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. You were still smiling when you turned and twined your arms around his neck. Then you leaned up for a kiss—one that kept getting deeper with the full force of your gratefulness, and your love for this man.

“It’s an automatic,” he answered, between kisses. You giggled against his lips.

You barely felt the chill on the air. Your heart was beating fast, even when you pulled away from him. Your eyes slowly opened and met his. He smiled down at you and curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. As usual, you had most of it clipped up.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was quiet, but steady.

You let out a shaky breath. Emotion was clogging your throat, making your tears burn anew.

“This is a bit more than a Christmas present,” you said. He gave a more self-deprecating smile.

“Well, it’s also kind of an apology,” he said. “For getting you mixed up in my ‘family business.’”

He still felt guilt beyond belief for putting you in danger. For your life being threatened. For being the reason you couldn’t go home.

You just shook your head. Your hand raised to press against his cheek. Your thumb drew tenderly along his chin.

“I thought you said you were part of my family now?” you said. “We’ll figure this out together, like everything else.”

Dean’s eventual smile lightened you, and his kiss warmed you down to your toes.

“If you want, let’s go for a ride after dinner,” he said.

It was your turn to smirk. Your hands migrated under his jacket and teased at his belt.

“Well, I’m certainly down for a ride,” you said.

Dean laughed and squeezed your hips. “All right. I’m puttin’ you on my naughty list.”

When John finally arrived, the brothers welcomed him in first with big man hugs and good-natured ribbing for him being so damn late.

In Sam’s words, Upholding a Winchester family tradition.

John had taken that with a chuckle. “Smells damn good in here.”

“Yeah, food’s been done for an hour,” Dean prodded at him again. His grin betrayed his teasing, however. His welcoming hand stayed on his dad’s shoulder until they reached the living room, where Sam had set up a longer fold out table and chairs to function as the makeshift dining room, since the table near the kitchen only seated three.

There you were opening a bottle of Jack Daniels. You smiled up at John.

“Figured you were more of a whiskey than wine kind of guy,” you said. You were a bit nervous to see him again, no doubt with flour in your hair and frosting staining your hands. He clasped your shoulder with a hint of a smile.

“You’d be right. Good to see you, darlin’,” he said.

“You too,” you replied. Despite the fact that the first and last time you two had met, it had been in front of your house as the police rifled through your life, looking for more explosives. He graciously didn’t bring that up as he greeted Eileen next.

Once dinner was on the table, there was a lot of catching up between the brothers and their father while you and Eileen continued talking, even through dessert.

“This really is amazing,” she told you, pointing her fork at her slice of berry crumble. “I can see why you went to culinary school.”

You blushed as Sam, Dean, and even John echoed her praise. All three men had generous slices of both pies.

“Well, thank you. I’m glad you guys enjoy it,” you said, and your smile was genuine.

You loved making good food, but you loved feeding people even more. Whether it was a simple hearty soup or a rich dessert, you liked putting smiles on their faces and giving them a good experience; one they could share with their family and friends. Even better if it was your family.

Or as Dean would say, Your people.

To you, that was life.

“I’m tellin’ you, if you opened up a bakery you’d make a killing in this town,” Dean said. He nudged your hand with the one that held his fork; it held a precarious piece of pumpkin pie.

You shot him an amused look.

“Don’t you look at me sideways, I’m serious,” he said, laughing a little, but his gaze was steady.

Your cheeks warmed against your will. He believed in your dream, even when you couldn’t quite let yourself.

“Hey, if you ever want to look into applying for a loan, I could help,” Sam said, earning your attention. “I have a friend who works at a bank.”

Your brows raised. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we were pre-law together back in college, but he figured he was better with numbers.”

You smiled. “Well, it would make it easier knowing I was dealing with your friend.”

“Yeah, his name’s Brady. Let me know if you want me to call him,” he said.

You bit your lip, but you nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe you should start to believe in yourself, just a little bit more.

“This was all real delicious,” John said to you, when you came back from bringing the leftovers to the kitchen.

Sam and Dean were already arguing about who was doing the dishes and who was drying them. Meanwhile, Eileen was putting away the food (and probably rolling her eyes).

“Yeah, it was a team effort for sure,” you replied. “Dean’s actually a really good cook.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, well, he didn’t get that from me. I can barely boil a damn egg.”

You smiled to yourself; you could imagine Dean got it from his mother then.

Meanwhile, John was watching you stack the empty plates as he grew more contemplative. He’d always been proud of his sons. They were good men, with strong heads on their shoulders.

He often looked at Sam and saw that he seemed happy. Despite the demands of his job, he was learning to balance that with the life he led with Eileen. As a father, John looked forward to the day when they made a firm foundation, taking the next step towards building a life together.

But Dean had seemed to him, a little unstable. John was still proud of his eldest, but while he’d seen a glimpse of it that day at your house, he saw it even more today. Like his son finally had an anchor, tethering him to dry land.

Even so, he couldn’t help heaving a sigh. And he asked you something he knew he shouldn’t.

“Have you given any more thought to filing a report on Nick Savage?” he asked.

You paused in your plate and cup stacking. You looked up at him with a frown, but you thought about your words before you said something rude.

“Yes, I did,” you replied. “I decided my life and my peace were more important.”

He let out a short sigh. “I understand—”

“I’m sorry, John, but I don’t think you do,” you said. Your words were matter-of-fact, if a tad more sharp than you meant them to be. Your hands were starting to tremble.

You crossed your arms to try and steady yourself, but Dean ended up doing just that, by joining your side and resting a hand at the small of your back. He was frowning, glancing between you and his father.

“Tell me you’re not talking about what I think you are,” Dean said, addressing John in particular. “Not on damn Christmas.”

“Like you said, it’s her decision,” John replied. His gaze once again focused on you.

You let out a breath, mostly of exasperation.

“I’m going to bottom-line it for you. If I report that man, and you can’t guarantee me a job and safety until it’s all over, then I’m not poking the bear,” you said. “I plan to keep my head down until I can find another job. Until then, you can have at him all you want. Just leave me out of it.”

Part of you felt selfish. You knew what John was trying to accomplish, and you knew how personal this fight was for him, and for Sam and Dean for that matter. You just couldn’t shake your gut instincts here. You knew Nick far too well by now, and you didn’t want to underestimate him again.

“I agree,” said Dean. You gave him a grateful look.

John conceded with a nod, but all of you knew he wasn’t satisfied. It became a bitter ending to an otherwise brilliant day after he left for the night.

In your mind, it wasn’t quite over yet though. You had a plan up your sleeve for one Dean Winchester.

Sam and Eileen had their own time together while you and Dean went for a drive in your new car. You’d have to transfer your plate and registration and insurance, so it was technically an “illegal” drive, but it was already late and traffic was scarce.

By the time you pulled back into the parking lot, you were smiling from ear to ear, and Dean was giving you that smug grin that said, Aw yeah, I did good.

You couldn’t even fault him for it, because he did exactly that.

Even when you and Dean were getting ready for bed, it didn’t quite feel real. You were living with your boyfriend of just a few months, you now had a new car, and a crime lord had threatened your life.

You chose to focus on the new car. And on your boyfriend, who sat on the edge of his side of the bed, rubbing his right shoulder through his shirt. You knew it must still be sore, though he likely wouldn’t admit it.

Hence, you were about to enact Phase 1 of your plan…

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

You withdrew your hand from his arm, but you spoke close to his ear.

“Are you asking?”

He let out a small sigh, despite his lingering smile.

“All right. Will you please give me a lil’ massage?” he asked.

He couldn’t see your triumphant smile, but you happily kissed his cheek.

“I sure can,” you replied. You laid gentle hands on his shoulders, however briefly. “Stay right here. Don’t move, but take off your shirt.”

“All right, Miss Bossy,” he grumbled. You knew he was teasing by the amused look he threw your way.

“I thought you liked that,” you teased back.

You climbed off the bed before he could playfully grab you, and you giggled all the way to the bathroom. There you began Phase 2 of your plan.

First, you collected a few different bottles from your designated drawer under the sink. Then, you made a quick wardrobe change, after popping back into the bedroom to grab something from your nightstand.

You also connected your phone to the speaker on his nightstand and put some music on a low volume. It was a playlist he’d made and shared with you a while ago, with songs he thought you’d like. The Eagles’ “Take It to the Limit” was definitely on the list.

By the time you returned to Dean, he was indeed shirtless, still in his sweatpants, and checking his watch.

“I’m here, I’m here,” you said. You climbed across the bed with your small haul—a difficult feat with your hands full, but you managed.

Dean turned to look at the bottles of moisturizer you dropped next to him on the bed. He rose a brow.

“Twilight Woods. Japanese Cherry Blossom. Appletini. Are these my only options?” he asked. His face was half bemused, half reluctant.

You almost burst out laughing. “Which one strikes your fancy?”

He scratched the back of his head. You opened the second bottle first (your personal favorite), so he could smell.

“Not bad actually,” he muttered. You bit your lip so you wouldn’t giggle, but you managed to open the other two for him to get a whiff.

“Eh, the first one I guess,” he said.

Japanese Cherry Blossom. AKA: a classic from Bath & Body Works.

You finally had to laugh. “Just kidding. I’ve got this.”

You held up a jar you’d been hiding behind him. Its logo said: Massage Oil.

“I just wanted to see which girly moisturizer you secretly wanna slather all over yourself,” you said.

Dean shot you a wry look, but only then did he see what you were wearing.

“Oh, hold up,” he uttered.

Your hair was let loose, how you knew he liked, and you’d teased it out a little. You’d had to give away the red lingerie you’d bought, to rid both of you of its lingering memories of your work Christmas party. Instead, you’d found something in a vibrant emerald green: satin and lace.

Dean’s hand reached for your waist, probably to bring you closer. But you playfully slapped his hand.

“Eh-eh! Not yet,” you said to his surprised face. You smiled. “I have a plan for you tonight.”

Slowly, he smirked. His eyes still dipped to take in the rest of you, from your pretty face, to exposed skin and cleavage, to shiny satin that clung to your curves and draped down to mid-thigh.

“I can see,” he said. His voice was a notch deeper. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Despite your blush and growing smile, you turned him back around by his shoulders.

“Just relax.”

You let your hands drift up the back of his neck to slide your fingers through his hair. There you began with a slow, gentle massage of his head. You felt him take a deep breath.

You couldn’t see it, but Dean’s eyes had closed at your ministrations. He secretly really liked the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. It made his shoulders loosen; with tension he didn’t know he had releasing from the neck down.

Aside from the rigors of his job, he also had to work out and condition his body to keep up his stamina. He probably didn’t spend as much time as he should on this aspect of things, making sure he wasn’t overtaxing himself.

He appreciated what you were doing though. He knew you cared about him, that you loved him. But he liked that you were also a caring person, who tried to take care of him. Dean hadn’t really had that…from anyone before. Sometimes, it was hard for him to let you.

…Damn, we really got too much in common, he realized.

When you migrated back down his neck, your hands left for a moment to gather up some oil. It was warm against his skin when you started between his shoulders, digging with the heel of your hands.

He groaned deep, surprising even himself.

Behind him, your brows were furrowed. “You’re really knotted up here. When was the last time you had a massage?”

Dean chuckled. “Never.”

You frowned. “Hmm. Okay, we’re definitely doing this more often.”

“No complaints from me,” he said with a grin.

Of course, you gave special attention to his right shoulder. You were gentler there, asking what was tender and what felt good, or too much. By then you had an easier time getting the truth out of Dean. He let you know when the pressure was too much, and you even helped him stretch out that arm until the muscles and joints were warmed up and the pain was gone.

You encouraged him to lie on his stomach in the middle of the bed, so you could start on his back. Your hands glided down planes of muscle and smooth slopes while you straddled his thighs. The only sounds you heard from him were occasional moans and rumbling, pleased sounds. That was also what let you know that he hadn’t fallen asleep.

“Okay, turn over,” you said, smiling when he groaned in protest. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

“What the hell’s the good part then?” he asked. His voice was muffled in the mattress, but when he turned around, flopping onto his back, his eyes once again took in the green satin and seemed to remember what your real intentions were.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. His grin was lazy, now that he was beyond relaxed, but his hands found purchase on your hips. You smiled down at him.

You let the remaining oil on your hands glide up his chest, until you lowered down for a kiss. It was unhurried and sweet.

“I love you, you know?” you said.

Dean swept his fingers through your hair, tucking a few strands behind your ear.

He smiled. “I’ve got some idea, yeah.”

You both laughed, soft and true. Your hand rested against his cheek as you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow at first, but soon gaining in both passion and urgency. You felt his grip on your hips tighten, grinding your center against his growing length.

He groaned. No goddamn panties on. Good.

You kissed your way from his lips to his neck. Your teeth grazed his ear while you rolled your hips into his. It was a tease for both of you, but not for long, as Dean grew impatient enough to slide his sweatpants down, followed by his hands slipping under the satin covering your thighs. They traveled further still, squeezing your breasts and rolling hardened nipples under the pads of his thumbs.

Your breath hitched, and your pleased hum was music to his ears. By now you were bracing yourself against the mattress, but you used his shoulders as leverage to raise yourself up.

You took his hands and encouraged them to bunch up the satin and pull it over your head. Dean sat up with you still in his lap, and once his strong arm wrapped around your waist, it was skin to flushed skin.

You held his face and brought him down to you for another fierce kiss. He held you tightly against him, hands splayed across your back and tangling in your hair. His arms were a cage you never wanted to escape.

But you did press away from him, just for a moment, so you could reach down between your bodies to take a firm hold of his cock. You guided it to your entrance. There was already a small flood between your legs, and your core ached for him.

There was almost no resistance when you slowly sunk your hips down and down, until he was buried deep inside you.

You both made sounds of pleasure, with labored breaths as Dean’s hand cradled your cheek. He laid open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, teeth grazing down your neck.

You clung to his shoulders and began to move, slow in the way you let almost the full length of his cock escape you, before you slid back down. Dean moaned into your skin, and you let out a shuddering sigh.

You pushed at Dean’s chest until he was lying back, and you continued rolling your hips against his. He helped you create a steady rhythm on top of him, but he was being treated to a feast of the eyes as well as the pleasure rocking through his body. He watched the way you swept your hair back. The way your eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration as you bit your lip.

But he couldn’t stay still for long; he knew he was close enough to practically taste his end, but you had some miles to go. He gripped your thigh with one hand while the other glided up between them, to further part your folds. His fingers found your clit, circling insistently like it was a button. It had your hips stuttering.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. “Dean—”

He managed to smirk through panting breaths. “Right there, right baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You continued to move as steadily as you could, but the feeling of him deep inside combined with his talented fingers playing you like a five-string guitar—it finally made you tighten on him, shuddering deep inside. Tingles broke across your skin, zipping up your spine as you gasped.

Dean helped you with the last few hard thrusts that brought him along with you, and you felt his warmth spilling inside you.

It was a heady feeling, and you needed a moment just to recover. Even though you were on birth control, every time he came inside you still felt like a dangerous, delicious game.

But after you slid off his lap and practically rolled into his side, him welcoming you with an arm wrapping around your waist, it did make you think, as you caught your breath.

It made you think about the first time you and Dean slept together. It had been the first and last time you’d asked him to wear a condom. The next morning, he’d made a remark that still hung in the back of your mind…

“You like kids, huh?”

The thought still rattled through your mind now, after you and Dean shared a quick shower, ridding you both of the oil clinging to your skin. The thought remained when you slid into bed, under fresh sheets and thick covers, and close to your man. He cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

Contrary to what this night had been, the whole “moving in together” thing hadn’t been all that easy. You two had bickered about the way he often left drawers and cabinets open and dirty clothes on the floor.

He had made remarks about your hair products taking up too much space in his drawers. Not to mention how morning routines needed to adjust because Dean liked to shower in the morning, but you needed the mirror not fogged up in order to do your makeup.

Right now, however, you had peace. You felt safe here, and you weren’t alone in a huge house filled with far too many memories.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

Dean’s lips lingered on your forehead. “Hmm?”

“I know this situation is sort of temporary, me living here,” you said. “So much has happened that we haven’t really talked about…what we both want, down the line.”

He pulled back enough from you to see your face. His face betrayed a thread of confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean like…” you hesitated, but you realized you were probably going to have to be direct. “Are you a marriage and kids kind of guy? Is that even something you’ve thought about?”

Dean met your gaze. It took him a moment, but he let out a short sigh.

“You wanna know what made me want to start dating, for real?” he asked.

You blinked; you hadn’t expected that, but you nodded.

“I started thinking about what would happen if something happened to me on the job,” he said. You frowned, but before you could say anything, he raised a placating hand.

“I thought about what I’d leave behind,” said Dean. He quirked a wry smile. “It’s not much, besides my car.”

You frowned in earnest. Your hand flattened against his bare chest.

“That’s not true,” you said. “You have your brother, your father, and your friends. That’s plenty, Dean.”

He conceded that with a nod. “You’re right. But I just started thinking, maybe I want more. Like uh…like what my parents had, when they were happy. The house, each other, me and Sammy…a family.”

You couldn’t be certain in the near total darkness of the room, with only the moonlight filtering through the blinds and casting a glow behind him, but you thought you saw a shine in his eyes. Your hand crept up from beneath the covers to find his cheek. It was rough with stubble, yet you tenderly swept a thumb back and forth.

“I think that’s beautiful,” you replied.

Dean paused. He then huffed in amusement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, hoping he could see it.

“Then uh, is that something you’d be into?” he asked. You were amused by his tentative approach.

“With you?” You pretended to think. Your fingers slipped into his hair. “Yeah, I think I’m into that.”

He chuckled. “Okay, then. Good to know.”

He grasped your wrist and turned his head to press a kiss into your palm.

And he spoke into the dark. “I love you too, you know.”

Your smile deepened as you rested your head against his arm. You whispered into the small space between your faces.

“Yeah, I’ve got some idea.”

AN: All righty, how'd you like that fluff overload?

...Ready for some more drama? 😏

Next Time:

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

Keep Reading: PART 16

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#The Good Part #Smoke Eater #Part 15 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #Sam Winchester #eileen leahy #john winchester #zepskies writes

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evervigilantnightshade · 5 months ago

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The Line Part 10

Reader and John have always straddled the line between playful flirting and taking things further. However when they are forced into a safe house and a secret comes out will they be able to save what they were heading for or is all lost.

Reader x John Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Laswell, Original characters.

MDNI

Warnings: Angst, violence towards reader, reader attacked by men, a pup gets hurt (but don't worry he's ok) Blood, fluff, flirting, Death and killing on missions, Father of reader's death mentioned. Eventual smut.

MASTERLIST

They made their way towards the hallway and John grabbed his bag, having brought it upstairs not knowing where he was staying. Y/N led him downstairs again and went towards the door opposite of the cold storage room. She had left her bag outside the door so she grabbed it before she opened it.

She walked in and turned on the lights revealing a large room with a queen size bed on the right side and a large sunk in wall length bookcase on the left. In the middle of the book case was a TV and the shelves were filled with books, nick nacks and framed photos. There was a comfy chair and ottoman positioned facing the TV and to the right of that a small shelf with a record player and some records. Directly across from the door was a small hallway with a bathroom on the left and a walk in closet on the right.

She put her bag on the bench on the end of the bed and then awkwardly looked at John as he did the same.

“So this is my room.”

“I see that.” John said as he looked around.

He walked over to the bookcase and was looking at some of the photos. There were ones of her in her early military years, ones of her family, one of her and Si in full uniform, then one of her and an older man.

“Is this your da?”

“Yeah, that was taken a few years ago.”

He nodded and then noticed a picture of task force 141 and laughed

“I remember this. You were pissed because Johnny and Kyle kept making rude faces.”

“Yeah, well, I don't know why I thought they would take a normal picture in the first place. Guess I just wanted something with all of us in it. In case…”

“In case one of us leaves the team?” John asked but knew what she meant originally.

“In case one of us is asked to leave the team you mean.”

“Love I didn’t mean it. I swear. I was angry and drunk. I should’ve listened to you when you told me it wasn’t the right time.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately and yet you keep ignoring what I try to tell you. ”

“I know but I promise love, I’m listening now.”

“The thing is I’ve run out of things to say.”

He walked over to her and took her hands in his.

“There has to be more to say, I have so much more to say.”

She sighed and then took her hands from his and motioned for him to sit down in the chair. Instead he moved the ottoman and gave her the chair. He sat for a moment looking at her and then spoke.

“I’m going to start again by apologising. Honestly I’ll keep apologising to you for the rest of my life for the things I said to you, for the things I made you believe. I regret it all the moment I woke up the next morning. I know you’re not any of the things I said you were. You’re the complete opposite of that.

You told me that I was wrong but I wouldn’t listen and I have been so completely heartbroken since. I was hurt and embarrassed, I started thinking everything I had thought was happening between us was all in my head. But you told me you wanted me and I couldn’t understand why you would do that to me. Allowing me to fall for you only to rip it all away. I couldn’t think straight and was broken. I never thought I would have love, what we do really gets in the way of that. But then you came along and the first moment I saw you, you took my breath away.

You were so incredibly beautiful and so talented. So focused when it was needed but also brought joy to the team after missions. At first I thought it was just an attraction and I didn’t act on it because I was your superior. But damn you made that hard. You’re effortlessly sexy and I found myself wanting you in the most unrealistic scenarios. Watching you work on missions, watching you train, watching you make dinner. I couldn’t concentrate and was losing focus. You consumed my thoughts.

Then one day you flirted with me. It was small, you made a reference to how well the new fatigues fit me and I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face. From there it slowly progressed as you know. And then the stake out happened and I realized it was so much more than just attraction. The thought of losing you, it killed me. I wanted that life with you that I thought was always unattainable. The life where we have comfortable Sunday mornings reading on the couch, or Friday night movie nights, cuddled up together under the same blanket. Or days where we lay in each other's arms and spend the day in bed talking. I wanted it all. I still want it.”

He reached over and took her hands again and she let him hold them.

“I know I fucked up, I know I tainted this. I just hope that you’ll give me another chance. I promise I will never do anything like this again.”

Y/N looked him over, his face was so sincere she almost lost all her resolve and pulled him into her arms to comfort him. She shook the thought out of her head.

“Do you know there is a weather phenomenon here called a Chinook? It’s quite beautiful to see, the clouds form an arch over the horizon and warm wind blows down the mountains. It’s unpredictable and you never know when it’s going to happen. However every single time there is a Chinook it causes me to have an intense migraine. I always wonder how something so beautiful causes me so much pain.

I don’t want to just accept that at any moment you could hurt me like you did in Germany. I don’t want to live in fear that the moment something happens your automatic response is to kick me out of your life. To know that when it really comes down to it, you don’t actually trust me.”

John tried to interject but Y/N stopped him.

“And I’m not saying I’m not to blame in all this. I kept things from you, I wasn’t honest and I’ve lied to you multiple times to keep up the original lie. Not big lies, small ones. Like telling you Charlie was our family dog. To be honest this whole thing has made me stop and think about us. In the end we don’t really know anything about each other besides the basics that we see on a day to day basis or whatever's in our files.

For example I know you take your tea with a splash of milk and no sugar but I don’t know how many siblings you have. I know the type of cigars you smoke but I don’t know your moms name. And there’s so much you don’t know about me, hell you just learned today that I’m a twin. Maybe this was all going a little too fast to begin with.”

“So what are you saying?”

“Honestly I don’t know yet. On the one hand something in me is telling me to end this and run as far away from it as possible. Leave the team, leave you, leave all of it. On the other hand though I want to stay and fight for this, for you. I’ve never felt like this before about anyone and I want to see if we can salvage it.”

“We can. I promise we can.”

“Well it’s something we both have to think about. For now I need to take a nap. My head is killing me, I’m exhausted and I haven’t had a moment alone in far too long. Just give me a few hours in the room.

We’ll have a big dinner, Em should be here by then and after we need to sit down with my family and give them some sort of explanation as to why their lives have been disrupted. After that everyone will go to bed and I’ll sleep on the couch upstairs because I don’t trust myself to share a bed with you and control myself not to allow what we’ve both wanted for so long to happen. It will only confuse things at this point though.”

“Y/N that’s ridiculous. Let me sleep on the couch or even change rooms with Soap or Gaz.”

“Neither of those things are going to happen. I know this house and I’ve been sneaking around it since I was little. I know where to step where the floor doesn’t creak and I know how not to get caught. As for changing rooms, I won’t let that happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because I told my family about you. I told them I was falling for you and how excited I was. I don’t want to turn to them now and tell them what happened or even that things are different now. I don’t want them to hate you for the things you said. So no, we won't change rooms, and I’ll sleep on the couch for now.”

John just nodded and stood up to leave the room. He looked devastated and it tugged at Y/N’s heart. The urge to hold him came back and she didn’t want to fight it this time.

“Hey,” She called out to him and stood up walking over to where he was standing. “Do you think maybe… for just a moment… we can pretend nothing bad happened, that we are still in that place where I can hug you?”

John swallowed and then nodded, not trusting himself to speak, wanting this more than anything. Y/N closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around him, placing her head against his chest. His left arm wrapped around her back while his right hand reached up and his fingers intertwined in her hair. He pressed a soft kiss on the top of her head and then rested his cheek against it.

They held each other tightly, holding back the words they both desperately wanted to say to each other in this moment of vulnerability. John felt tears forming in his eyes for the first time in over a decade and tried hard to fight them back. Y/N however was letting hers flow freely and he could feel them soaking into his shirt.

“I don’t want to lose you.” He whispered causing a sob to escape her throat.

“I don’t want to lose you either.” She whispered back.

In that moment he wanted so badly to kiss her, to tell her over and over again how much he loved her and how sorry he was. He knew though that he had to give her the space she asked for, to let her think. He had to let go but it was so incredibly difficult. He gave her one last kiss on the top of her head and released her from his arms. She looked up at him with her teary eyes and he couldn’t help the tear that rolled down his cheek. She reached up and wiped it away, then cupped his face in her hand. He closed his eyes for just a moment, then took her hand in his kissed it and walked out of the room.

Y/N laid down on her bed and cried herself to sleep. When she woke several hours later she felt clearer than she had before. Instead of getting out of bed she laid there thinking things over. Maybe they could start over, build the trust again, this time really getting to know each other. Hell maybe they could even go on a date like normal people do. Something they hadn’t done yet. In fact the little time they got to spend together alone was happenstance. Like if the rec room happened to be empty or when they were on the stake out. They would talk for hours about books they were reading or past missions.

She knew deep down she wanted John, she wanted to be with him. She had been fighting it to protect her heart but maybe this was better. They rushed things before, got caught up with the physical side of things and they didn’t take time for the rest.

“But what if he hurts me again?” She thought to herself.

She got up and took a shower, before dressing and heading upstairs still feeling confused. She saw that some of the group was still in the living room but her mom, grandma and Emma were in the kitchen so that’s where she headed.

She walked up behind Emma and hugged her from behind. Emma was the only one in the family that was shorter than Y/N by quite a bit. She, like her sisters, had long brown hair with blue eyes.

“Hey sis.” She whispered and Emma smiled while turning around

They hugged and rocked back and forth.

“I was wondering when you were going to make your way up here.”

“Needed a nap and a shower.”

“I met your guys, they’re all so nice. Kyle is quite handsome.”

“Good luck getting anywhere near him, Si is watching the guys like a hawk.” Y/N laughed “He’s already split up Charlie and Johnny.”

“Well we’ll see about that.” She winked at Y/N. “Also met John…”

“Let me guess. He’s so handsome, he’s so manly, wow he’s amazing?”

“Well he’s all of that, yes. But I was going to say he looks sad. Did something happen?”

Emma the ever perceptive sister. Y/N sighed and then hugged her sister again.

“Everything's fine.” She lied while Emma couldn’t see her face. “What’s for dinner?”

Changing the subject seemed to work because Momma Lynn instantly put Y/N to work helping set the dining room table that was now set up on the side of the living room.

She grabbed the plates and cutlery from the cupboards and then headed into the living room. Putting the items down on the table and she called Meadow over.

“Here sweets, help me set the table.”

Meadow came over and grabbed the cutlery off the top of the plates. They worked their way around the table and when they were done Y/N put her arm around her and they headed back to the kitchen.

“You didn’t come say hi yet, what’s going on?” Y/N asked and then bumped her hip lightly into Meadow.

“Boy problems.” She sighed

“Oh babe, I know the feeling. Are you ok, want to talk about it?”

“Not when everyone’s around. Maybe we can go for a walk later?”

“Absolutely!” Y/N said quietly and then gave her niece a hug.

She had missed all of this. Spending time with her family, seeing the kids, they were all growing up so fast. She didn’t want to miss as much as she had, but it came with the job. She felt bad for Simon. Sure they were able to make it home for Clara’s birth but there would be milestones in his daughter's life that he was going to miss. It was inevitable.

Her mind shifted to John. She wondered if he wanted kids. He hadn’t ever mentioned it, but again they haven’t spent a lot of time thinking about those things.

They finished setting the table and when all the food was on the table Y/N went to let everyone know and they made their way to the table, she couldn’t see John though.

“Hey Kyle, where’s John?”

Kyle motioned to the back deck.

She made her way out there and saw John sitting under the gazebo in one of the chairs smoking a cigar, a look of deep concentration on his face.

She leaned against one of the gazebo posts, putting her hands in her pockets. He still hadn’t noticed her there.

“John.” She said softly.

He looked up at her and then smiled, but it seemed a bit forced.

“Sorry love, didn’t hear you come out.”

“It’s ok, dinners ready.” She motioned towards the door with her head.

He stood up and put his cigar out, making his way over to her. She turned to go inside when she felt his hand softly grab her waist. He pulled her towards him, her back still to him. He slipped one arm across her chest resting his hand on her shoulder, the other snaked around her waist as he buried his face in her neck, the smell of his cigar filling her nose.

Ever since they hugged in her room she ached to be held by him again. They had never been in each other's arms like that and it was so much more intimate than anything they had ever done before. Until now. Now with breath fanning over her skin she felt herself placing her hands over his and squeezing them so he was holding her tighter. She felt safe in his arms, loved.

The way he was holding her felt emotional, like he was desperately trying to tell her something without using words. Was this goodbye she wondered, having seen how serious his face was moments ago.

She had told him to think about things seriously, hadn’t she? To decide if they could salvage this. What if he decided they couldn’t. The thought caused a sharp pain to form in her chest. She inhaled sharply and squeezed his arms around her even tighter. If this was going to be the last time he held her she wanted him to hold her so tightly it left a mark on her. Tears once again filled her eyes.

Sensing that something was wrong John lifted his head

“What’s wrong baby?”

He’d never called her that before and felt her squeeze him tighter even though he didn’t think that was possible. He pulled her shoulder with his hand so she was facing him and he could see the tears in her eyes.

“Sorry,” Her chin wobbled. “All I seem to do is cry lately.”

“I understand. I’ve shed a few tears myself.” He admitted

She looked up into his eyes and then wrapped her arms around his neck. It was his turn now to inhale sharply as she raised herself up on her tiptoes.

“Kiss me.” She whispered and he hesitated.

Hadn’t she said she didn’t want this mere hours ago? Said it would complicate things?

“Please” She begged and all thoughts left his mind

He pressed his lips to hers instantly. Softly, intimately. His hands moving down, placing them on the sides of her hips to ground himself. This wasn’t a kiss that he wanted to rush, and it wasn’t a kiss of passion, it was a kiss of shared love.

He could taste the salt of her tears on her lips and he pulled his mouth from hers as he kissed the tears from her cheeks before moving back to her lips. In this moment everything fell away. The past was gone and it was just the two of them here, in this moment. A moment neither of them wanted to end, but knew it had too.

For the second time today John knew he had to pull away from her. Her family was standing on the other side of the door, waiting for them to join them for dinner. He just couldn’t seem to make himself do it this time. Not when he had all he wanted here in his arms, his lips pressed to hers.

They were so caught up in each other they didn’t hear the back door open until Simon coughed to get their attention. They slowly pulled away from each other and then looked over at him.

“Sorry, it’s just…” He motioned inside, embarrassment causing his cheeks to turn red.

Y/N nodded and ran her hands over her face, then her hair, straightening herself up before going in. Simon went into the house without them, and John rubbed her back as she took a deep breath.

“Are you ok?” His voice was soft and filled with concern.

Y/N chuckled sadly and looked at him.

“Are you?”

“No.”

They looked into each other's eyes for a moment and then turned to head inside.

#captain john price x reader #cod #john price x y/n #john price #captain john price #captain john price angst #captain price x reader angst #john price angst #task force 141

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darling-chris · 2 months ago

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RIP MARTY CALLNER

The director of the Mirage Tour film in ‘82 and some of Stevie‘s Bella Donna stuff passed away recently.

Here‘s what he had to say about Christine.

I hope you’re meeting again up there!

#rip #love #marty callner #director #fleetwood mac #christine mcvie #stevie nicks #john mcvie #mick fleetwood #lindsey buckingham #christine perfect

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bullet-prooflove · 11 months ago

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A quick round up of updates on the blog including new characters added to the ASK LIST and a list of fics that went out last week:

New Fics:

Chicago Med:

TheStudy!Part Seven: Cutting - Dean's surprised when Jack Dayton turns up on his doorstep.

Wild Flower - A gift from Crockett gives you the strength to move forward after the death of your nephew.

The Professor (NSFW) - Jack and you share an intimate moment in your office.

Cobra Kai:

A Loaded Gun - Terry begins to struggle after John Kreese turns up on your doorstep.

Pont des Arts - You and Terry stroll along the Pont des Arts.

Criminal Minds:

Red Dress - Luke has some regrets when he sees you in that red dress.

FBI Most Wanted:

Leaving Las Vegas - Remy has a revelation whilst in Las Vegas.

Fire Country:

Home Sick - Manny makes a decision regarding your situation.

Haven:

Sunflowers (NSFW) - Dwight likes your underwear.

Sundown - Dwight finds you on the beach after a trying day.

Law & Order:

Missing You - Vince can't help but miss you.

Law & Order SVU:

Good Morning (NSFW) - Grace and Joe give you an early morning wake up call.

Surprise Party - You throw The Wolf a surprise party. (Joe Velasco x Reader)

Mayans:

Lady in Red - You've never been a traditionalist. (Angel Reyes x Reader)

NCIS:

Just A Mug - Alden realises the true extent of your ex-husband's abuse.

Intimate Meal (NSFW) - You and Nick don't make it to his birthday meal.

NCIS Hawaii:

Black Dress - Jesse makes a decision about your saftey when he discovers some pictures in your door step.

Ophelia!Series Part Two: Taken - Charlie recieves news that you've been taken.

NCIS LA:

First Date - You commit several no nos during your first date with AJ.

Sabatino - You've forgotten how capable Sabatino is.

NCIS: Sydney:

Peppermint (NSFW) - JD isn't ready to let you go just yet.

Numb3rs:

Little Black Dress - It all comes back to a little black dress in a hotel bar. (Don Eppes x Reader)

The Rookie:

The Deepest Cut - Rosalind forces John to make a confession.

Yellowstone:

If You Want Me, You Can Have Me - They say that Rip Wheeler doesn't have a heart.

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krumpkin · 3 months ago

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Peter Green - Full Name ( Peter Allen Greenbaum ) .

He was the original founder of the group ( Fleetwood Mac ) The group got its name from the other two members Mick Fleetwood and John Mcvie. When asked why he named the group after them he said he wanted to make sure his friends and bandmates had something to carry on with when he left. He had zero ego and little interest in the money, in fact he gave most of it away to charity.

Fleetwood Mac began in 1967 in London and Green stayed with the group until 1970. The later Fleetwood Mac line up that most people know formed in 1977. This consisted of Mick Fleetwood, John Mcvie, Stevie Nick's and Lindsey Buckingham. Christine Mcvie had joined back in 1970.

Peter Green was an outstanding blues guitarist and regarded as one of the best by the likes of BB King and Eric Clapton amongst others. Apart from the guitar he also had a great voice.

He wrote Black Magic Woman which helped launch the career of Carlos Santana. I guess this shows his songwriting wasn't too shabby either 😉

I'll leave you with a couple of his videos, enjoy 😊😎

youtube

RIP Peter Green

Born - ( 29th Oct 1946 ) Died ( 25th July 2020 aged 73 )

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duranduratulsa · 8 months ago

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Up next on my Spooktober Filmfest...Halloween (1978) on glorious vintage Media Home Entertainment VHS 📼! #l#movie #movies #horror #Halloween #johncarpenter #michaelmyers #theshape #jamieleecurtis #lauriestrode #donaldpleasence #ripdonaldpleasance #NANCYKYES #NancyLoomis #pjsoles #CharlesCyphers #ripcharlescyphers #TonyMoran #nickcastle #KyleRichards #brianandrews #nancystephens #mickeyyablans #adamhollander #vintage #VHS #70s #Spooktober #october #mediahomeentertainment

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witty--fool · 11 months ago

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Hey, so y'all want a snippet of some Nick Valentine angst?

"Just what, Nick?" Hancock interrupted, his voice hardening,"You think she deserves less happiness because of what she's been through? Or because of what we are?"

"I never asked for this life, Hancock, Never asked to be turned into this shell of man. This mechanical fraud." Nick finally snapped, and anger boiling inside him. Hancock had chosen the form he now lamented, Nick was forced into existence. He thought about the John McDonough that had run from his problems. The John McDonough that took a experimental radiation drug that disfigured his body into that of a ghoul, the John McDonough that had donned the clothes of some bygone man and named himself John Hancock. And now, John Hancock held the heart of the gal he wanted so desperately. The gal his circuits ached for.

"But neither did she-she didn't ask to be turned into a human popsicle for two-hundred years. Didn't ask for her husband she'd had since 19 and son she was finally able to conceive at 29 to be ripped away from her." a frustration, a frustration about the lack of tears welled up within him. He missed being able to cry, being able to release that pain in such a manner. "We're both living in a world that's moved on without us." He sighed, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and longing.

If his mechanical body could produce tears, there would be a few rolling down his cheeks, "I can't, can't complicate her life like that. Not when" he choked slightly, "Not with the memories. The flashes of Jenny, the flashes of a Nick Valentine that was loved, truly and deeply loved."

“Shit…” Hancock deflated, realizing the error of his previous words, “Shit Nick, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“It doesn't matter how I feel.” Nick started up again, “She loves you. She’s the kind of woman that only loves one man at a time–and she loves that man fiercely.” he paused, “and that man is you, Hancock.”

Excerpt from an upcoming chapter of Rain in My Heart

#nick valentine #nick valentine fo4 #john hancock fo4 #nick valentine x female sole survivor #hancock x female sole survivor #nick valentine x sole survivor #hancock x sole survivor #hancock x reader #nick valentine x reader

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sophaeros · 2 months ago

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the strokes for rip it up - new zealand, october/november 2003 / no. 295

Scruffy, Sexy, Cool

The Strokes will make you happy again. A new album, lots of photos, and one sexy hangover after another is what they've got. It's all you'll need.

By Scott Kara

Julian Casablancas hasn't managed to make it to the interview.

He's keeping up appearances then. Two years ago this month Casablancas was two hours late to Rip It Up's scheduled interview to talk about the Strokes debut album, Is This It. Back then he was hungover and - in keeping with his scruffy, slept-in-his-clothes-look - was refusing to get out of bed.

Today, the Strokes front man is, yet again, otherwise engaged. We inquire of the Japanese record company person why Julian won't be doing the interview. "He hasn't come down for the interview," is the flustered response.

To be fair, it's not about refusing to get out of bed for anything less than US$10,000 like model Linda Evangelista did after being made famous by Casablancas' dad, John (who set up the Elite Model Agency).

Perhaps Prince Julian - crowned the hottest thing in rock'n'roll two years ago when Is This It was released - is hung over again after enjoying too many Kirin beers during the bands current stint in Japan? Who knows?

It's left to poor old Nikolai Fraiture - "the-shy-silent-bass-player" - to do the interview. Nikolai grimaces at the thought of more press but with all the partying, socialising and cavorting you've done lad, you should be used to talking by now. Fact is, he's not much of a talker. He's shy. It's hard to tell if his quiet demeanour today is annoyance that his band mate has decided to pull a fast one, or just because he plays bass and isn't used to media duties.

“There’s all the chaos around us that we just let happen.” Nikolai Fraiture, The Strokes

The Strokes are in Japan rehearsing and preparing for the double-barrelled Summer Sonic festival in Tokyo and Osaka — their first big shows since January. The festival bill also includes, Radiohead, Blur, AFI, Good Charlotte, Blink 182, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion and, New Zealand’s very own festival whores, The Datsuns.

At the time of talking to The Strokes they’ve nearly finished their new album, Room On Fire, and after Japan head back to New York to do “finishing touches”. One vocal track and some mixing remains to be done. It’s due for release this month.

"This album is kind of a continuation of the last one. Just a progression of where we came from and where we're going," explains Nikolai. "It's hard to describe. But the best I can do is, that it's a continuation of the other album along with everything we've been through since then. We haven't settled down, it's still about how we feel," he says calmly.

Is This It is about living, going out, partying, having fun, playing music, loving, losing and, because they were barely in their early-20s when it came out, it's about growing up.

The hype surrounding these scruffy young things back then is well known. The music on Is This It inspired predictable tags like the saviours of rock, and leaders of the garage rock revival. But The Strokes were more about a sexy swagger, and strutting their way through life, crossed with the danger of the Ramones, and the vitality of the New York streets. Is This It makes you fucking happy - perhaps that's why you can put it on now and it still sounds good.

And the Strokes image and looks made them sex symbols, not to mention the epitome of cool.

But Nikolai just wants people to listen to the music. "We don't really have any control over that other kind of stuff," he says. "It'd be nice it people just listened to the music, without any prejudice." He stops, and then reasons with a laugh, "Just listen to the new album without thinking so much about it."

The Strokes — Casablancas, Fraiture, drummer Fabrizio Moretti and guitarists Nick Valensi and Albert Hammond Jr. — first played together in 1998. After doing the rounds of seedy bars — and even rumours of playing Valensi's sister's 21st — they scored a gig at New York's Mercury Lounge.

Nikolai points out that it wasn't all plain sailing in New York being in a band like the Strokes around that time. Put it this way, it wasn't exactly the heyday of the New York band scene of the 70s. "When we started out there was a bizarre atmosphere in New York. No one was really that open to playing with us. It's funny that we're all lumped together now, because nobody wanted to play with us back then. It was hard to find friends who were musicians," he remembers.

"We were just trying to create a good vibe, y'know, like back in the late 70s when many good musicians got together and played together and got along, went out and got drunk and stuff. But it didn't really work that way in New York at that time. We kind of came back to ourselves and did our own thing. We really tried to write the best songs that we could and played our instruments as best we could and give a really good live show.

"We definitely wanted, and want to now, do something not only different — because sometimes different can be kind of weird — but just something that's not pumped on the radio, standardised, made for the record company, and so we can make as much money as we can. I think what we really want to do is work really hard on our songs and what our instruments sound like, and what everything actually sounds like, To us, that's the most important thing.

"It's our main goal to get better as musicians. And for Julian to get better as a songwriter."

So what about all the drunken revelry, the parties and the high profile shoulder rubbing? Nikolai is, by all accounts, the self-professed quiet one of the bunch and he goes all coy when confronted with this. "I don't know how to answer that."

He takes stock. "There is, of course, the direct effect of what's going on that we have no control over," he says in reference to the celebrity status, "but other than that, it's still the same for us, we're still good friends.

"Our only purpose still is to play music together. In that respect nothings changed, but then of course there's all the stuff, all the chaos around us that we just let happen and watch go by.

"We don't really do it [go hard and party] until we're done with what we have to do. It's a bonus for us really. It's the way we looked at it at the beginning and I think a lot of bands get that confused — get the whole lifestyle confused with the partying and getting fucked up all the time.

"For us, we're allowed to if we get our shit done," he laughs.

The majority of the Strokes new album was done after they finished touring in January. "And we started recording in June. We didn't want ourselves to wait too long because for ourselves, we don't really like stopping because you lose touch with what you're doing."

For Is This It the band started out with producer Gil Norton who worked with the Pixies, Talking Heads and Foo Fighters. But the band resorted back to their tried-and-trusted mate Gordon Raphael, who produced their first EP The Modern Age in 2001.

While working on the new album it happened again. They started out with producer Nigel Godrich (from Radiohead fame) but resorted back to Raphael once again.

"For the second album we were hoping to try different things. We did it as well for the first album — with Gil Norton. We were mixed about that and it didn't work. So we went with Gordon for the album. And for the second we wanted to try something else but, and I think Nigel Godrich is a really good producer, but it would have taken too long. So we just went back to Gordon.

"We're not completely done with the new album yet, so when we go back to New York we're going to finish that, then do a few more small tours and then do the long haul. We're thinking about doing the Big Day Out," he hints, full-knowing we're from New Zealand. Lock up your daughters.

Sorry Girls…The Strokes Are In Love

Any talk of The Strokes' love lives cuts straight to the man of the skins, Fabrizio Moretti.

It's for an obvious reason. He got a great catch in Drew Barrymore. Okay, so she's somewhat flighty. But it's for real this time. She married a bartender for 19 days and then married comedian Tom Green — no one can explain that one — for five months. If that rate of increase continues, we figure Drew and Fabrizio have at least three years of marriage, give or take.

The happy couple was rumoured to be engaged in January, after less than a year of courtship. Wedding plans are already racing through the media. The latest on the grapevine disclosed that Drew is planning a traditional wedding at her Confessions Of A Dangerous Mind co-star George Clooney's Italian villa. Another source reported a one million dollar wedding to be held on Drew's Godfather, Steven Spielberg's ranch with a Brazilian-themed reception to pay tribute to Fabrizio's heritage.

The rest of the band's love lives are not nearly as exciting as Fabrizio's. Front man Julian Casablancas remains fiercely loyal to longtime girlfriend Colleen Barry, a New York based painter. Guitarist Nick Valensi is rumored to have split with on-again, off-again girlfriend Amanda De Cadnet. The former Playboy bunny was divorced from John Taylor of Duran Duran fame at 22 and is now a photographer based in Los Angeles.

Albert Hammond Jr and Nikolai Fraiture nicely balance their spoken-for band mates. Both are single, and ready to mingle.

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The Strokes - When It Started

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