#and john you smug little bastard

[gay-dorito-dust]

Types of kisses that I’d -loosely- think these boys would suit…

Dick - playful, teasing kisses that made you feel light off your feet and your stomach feel as though it was harbouring a million restless butterflies. Kisses that made you feel giddy as a child in a candy store while also making you feel as though you could sprout wing and fly into the cotton clouds above. However the taunting rapid fire pecks often finished as soon as they start, causing for frustration to rise on the odd occasion, as you were forced to hold his face still between your hands as you gifted him with a proper kiss.

Meanwhile he smiles against your lips in victory knowing how easily you’ve taken the bait he shamelessly had laid out.

Jason - tender, slow, gentle kisses where time was no longer a thing. From the tender weaving of his lips, to the languid strokes of his tongue that had you forgetting about your bodily need for air as you indulged in the fantasy of your own making, up until your were abruptly pulled back into reality as your lungs were burning for rest and recovery. Then there’s also the tenderness in how you held onto each other so closely, almost as though you were afraid to loose each other within your accumulated love and affection for one another.

Time was no longer existent the moment your lips touched, and it didn’t exist when you were taking your sweet time rediscovering each others bodies with featherlight caresses, possessive grasping of the waist to pull the other in closer and firm squeezes of strong calloused hands.

Damian - kisses that were planted on the back of your hands in appreciation and made you feel respected, honoured and above all looked upon as though you were a priceless piece of artistry that was one of a kind; Blessed with being one of a kind, forever being replicated and imitated but never perfected and worshiped as a deity in your own right with devote followers kneeling at your shrine, your beloved being the most devote of them all. He would gladly forfeit his life for yours should the occasion arise but would never tell you.

Bruce - passionate kisses that only increases the more you were made aware of the fact that any day could be your last, a reality that was no more true when living in an extremely hostile city such as Gotham, and so you show your relief in seeing him come home with little less then a few scrapes and bruises is by pushing up his cowl and kissing him with everything you had. Every kiss pressed into each others lips acted like a wordless conversation between the two of you, confessions of happiness for the others return home and the fear that festered in your mind during his absence; to his attempts of reassuring your frantic mind into a state of calm and grounding you with his skilful touch.

John- rough, fast paced kisses that finishes with both of you walking away with bruised, puffy lips and severely out of breath. His kisses alone were another to set every never within your body aflame with a multitude of emotions such as desire, lust and restlessness; all of which would pile up on top of each other the longer this continued to the point where you were pushed to the brink of utter insanity. And of course the delicious prickling sensation of his stubble against you didn’t help make things any better, and the smug bastard knew this as he chuckled at how easily you feel apart in his arms, something he’ll tease you about later, but for now he’ll allow himself to indulge in the needy pull of your hands on the collar of his shirt.

[callumsturn]

Sweet John

Summary: John keeps finding ways to stop by the hospital to see you, until he finally gets what he wants.

Pairing: Major John "Bucky" Egan x female reader Content/Warnings: John Egan being a charming bastard, 18+ smut (minors don't interact), unprotected sex. This starts real innocent, but it's really not. Notes: If you have any requests you’d like me to write please let me know! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you!

As you're helping wounded soldiers, rushing through the corridors of the campaign hospital at base, you bump into none other than Major John "Bucky" Egan.

You look up to see his smug smile. "Sorry, sweetheart." His hand gently over your arm as a way to balance you.

If you didn't know better, you'd even believe he might have done it unintentionally.

"It's alright Major." You tried to rush past him, with towels in both your arms to the end of the corridor.

"You shouldn't carry all that yourself." He takes half of the load from your arms. "Let me help. It's the least I could do."

He carries on up the corridor, following close behind you. You turn your head to him for a few seconds. You know you should be resisting. But he's very, very persuasive. Even when his uniform is covered with blood.

"You have blood on your uniform." You simply state.

"Oh, yeah." He shrugs, not bothered to wipe it off. "You know how it is." he tells you "Can't even breathe at battle without getting some blood splashed on you." He looks at you. "You've got some on you as well."

You look down at your own white uniform. "It has seen better days, yes." You continue to walk to the end of the corridor, entering one of the patient rooms.

John follows after you and looks around as soon as you're inside. "Oh, you're taking these to..." he trails off a bit as he sees who's laying in that bed. One of the men from his squad.

"Hi Sergeant. How are we feeling?" You spoke to the man resting on the bed.

The Sergeant looks up at you. "I've been better." As soon as he sees the Major behind you he tries to sit up, still a bit shaky. "Major." he says, his voice hoarse.

"I'm gonna clean that open wound and switch it up, is that alright?" you asked the man in the bed.

"Thank you, miss." he adds as you begin to gather your tools.

You can feel the Major's gaze on the back of your head as he watches from the doorway.

"It's gonna hurt a little. Take this." You hand the patient a bottle of alcohol to drink.

He takes it, grunting a little from the pain of just moving. He takes a sip and sets the bottle down. As you pour liquid over the wound to clean it, the Sergeant's leg moves in pain. He grunts loudly and moves in his bed. You feel the Major aproach the bed and hold the Sergeant with no trouble. He tries to move again but the Major's grip is firm.

"It's alright. Just hold still now." Major Egan tries to calm the man. You see the compassion and concern on his face. His hand is still on the Sergeant's lower body, ready to steady him again if necessary.

You say nothing, continuing to clean the wound and prepare the needle to stitch. The Major remains close. He watches you work, and his focus is almost entirely on exactly that. The Sergeant squirms in the bed again, but the Major remains in place.

"Easy." the Major tried to calm him down.

"Almost done, Sergeant." you mention as you finish stitching him up.

"Th- thank you." The Sergeant glances toward the Major. "She's real good, I'm telim' ya, sir."

You chuckle as you begin bandaging his wound. "Now... you shouldn't get up. Just try to rest and no missions for a few days. This needs to heal properly."

"Roger that, nurse." the Sergeant replies with a smile. "Will do." he finishes. "Could I get some more of that bottle, though? You know how it is."

You smile as you hand him the bottle for the second time. He takes another sip, as you hear Major Egan chuckle, keeping his eyes on the man and then on you as you put the remainder of the supplies away in a near medical cart, back turned to both men.

"She's pretty, ain't she, sir?" the Sergeant asks his Major who's sitting beside him still, in a lower voice.

As you barely hear the Sergeants comment, you tried to pay no attention to it, not curious to hear the Major's response.

You hear the Major chuckle again. "She is. I'm sure she's even got herself a fella already. Some lucky bastard."

"Probably some high rank fella, too." the Sergeant continues jokingly.

"Not a high enough rank for that, no." You barely hear Major John say.

As you finish storing all utensils, you approach both men again. "You rest up Sergeant. I'll tend to other soldiers now."

The man thanks you, as he rests his head back on the pillow and closes his eyes. The Major still has his gaze on you as you walk past him.

You continue to go about your shift, working on other patients in other beds. You do your best to ignore the Major's gaze when he is watching you from afar.

"Am I under some kind of evaluation, Major?" You asked unfazed, not looking at him, but still tending to a patient.

Somewhat caught off guard by the question, the Major's calm demeanour slips a bit. "Uh... no. I was-" he clears his throat "Just... checking up on... on your patient care."

"On my patient care?" You chuckled. "How's that going then?"

"It's going very well." he replies a little too quickly.

"Well I'm glad." You paused. "Thank you for the help back there."

"Any time." he replies. You see that he wants to say something else, but stops himself. "You've got everything under control in here then?"

"Sure thing."

"Great." He clears his throat again. "I'm..." He's having trouble finding the right words. "I'll let you get back to work then."

"Thank you, Major."

"Yeah. Sure, no problem." He finally leaves the room. You don't see him again for a while, but notice his eyes on you several times over the rest of the week or so.

A few weeks passed and the hospital became less busy. Patients were recovering and the missions were being successful over all. You notice the change. It's more peaceful, which is just what both you and the soldiers needed.

But there is one thing that has changed your routine. Major John "Bucky" Egan has been coming by to see you more often. And each time he does, he stays a little longer and talks a little more. He always makes sure to pay careful attention to everything you say, and always makes an effort to keep the conversation going. You can feel the other nurses and doctors giving you disguised looks, wondering if there's something going on with the two of you.

The Major even shows up when you're not working, and seems to hang around to see when you start your shift or finish for the day. He's always just hanging back, not being too obvious about it. You found it quite charming actually, the effort he would go into just to talk to you for a little while. It was definitely flattering. He's a handsome man, and he's got a certain charm and confidence about him that you can't help but like. Although you're still unsure how to feel about all of the attention, and that uncertainty definitely shows on your face as he approaches you yet again, and starts up another conversation.

"Major Egan." You say after he approaches you.

"Nurse." he replies with a polite smile. He's carrying a coffee mug and offerts it to you. "I figured you might be tired after your shift."

You gladly accepted it. "That's incredibly thoughtful of you."

"I try." he shrugs his shoulders with a smile. You can see his gaze still on you as you take the mug. For a little while he doesn't say a thing, just watching you as you take a small sip from the cup.

Suddenly, he clears his throat a little and speaks again. "I was wondering... there's a cafe outside the base... I though it'd be nice to go there and get something to eat." he says. He's still looking you straight in the eyes while saying it, his body relaxed and his hand resting casually on the mug. "Would you like to join me?" he adds after a moment.

"Right now?" you ask calmly.

He nods after a moment. "If you'd like." he responds. "We could both do with getting some real food. Maybe something more comforting than camp rations." He gives you a small smile, still watching you carefully as he waits for your answer.

You smiled at him for a second. "I'd like that."

His smile grows a little wider. "Great." He starts to back away. "I'll... I'll head out there now." he says "I'll be waiting just outside. The cafe's not far."

"I'll be right there." you smile.

He gives you one more little smile before making his way outside and waiting just out front of the camp, leaning agaisnt the wall and looking out the gate.

You head to the locker room where you find a colleague. You head inside to change out of your work clothes.

"Hey there." she grins "how have things been with you?"

"Good." you smile.

"Major's been going around again today, hasn't he?", she asks, glancing over at you.

"Um... yeah, he has." you continue to change into your clothes.

"Yeah, I figured as much. He coming around more often now? Spending more time talking to you?"

You chuckle, embarrassed. "I guess, yes."

"Well, I figured he had a thing for you" she laughs. "It was only a matter of time before he started getting a little flirtatious. He's not very good at hiding it."

"I think he's just being nice." you said as you buttoned your shirt.

"Sweetie, he's more than just nice. Major Egan has a reputation aroud here, you know. He doesn't go around being sweet to just anyone."

"Well, I don't know. I don't want everyone to go around and talk about this. The other nurses are real nosy!"

"Oh cm'on, don't worry. They'll just tease you a bit if they can tell that something's going on. And besides, nothing exciting happens around the hospital, so they cling to anything." she paused "But you're lucky. The Major's a looker, and I'm sure that you wouldn't mind his attentions, huh?" She gives you a playful nudge as she asks.

You chuckle as you looked at her. "He really is a looker isn't he?"

"Hell yeah he is." she laughs "A real man after my own heart. And the more things continue like this between you guys, the more certain I am that you might be the lady that gets to keep him to herself."

"Well, I don't know about that."

"Oh, come on. Just look at him. Just waiting right outside for you."

"Alright now. Enough of this." you said as you put your coat on. "I'm heading out."

"I'll see you back here later." she chuckles as you head out.

You find Major Egan just where he said he'd be. As you pass him and make your way to the gates outside, he starts walking with you, keeping his hands in his pockets.

"That's your work done for the day?" he asks casually.

"I have to get back in a few hours.... night shift."

"Ah... sure. Night shift. Busy workload tonight?"

"I don't think so."

He keeps his hands in his pockets the entire time, but he seems comfortable, confident, and content. "I bet it'll get busy in there." he adds, pointing to the cafe. "They have some of the best coffee and food around here."

"Have you been there lately?" you ask.

"It's been a little while now." he replies. "I had some time off last night and was going to go there, but I ended up making a stop by the hospital." he shrugs a little. "Had to see if you were looking after these soldiers properly, of course." he adds jokingly, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Yeah, you've been a real caring Major these last few weeks."

"Well, I was just making sure you were up to the task of caring for our troops." he continues.

"Oh, your soldiers never complained."

He smiles at your comment. "Glad to hear it." He looks at you again, a small grin on his face. "Or maybe it's just that they have something nice to look at while they're recovering?"

"Alright now Major Egan."

"Oh come on, why don't you just call me John, hm?"

You looked at him for a couple of seconds. "If you're sure."

He gives you a little nod, still smiling. "Absolutely."

You approach the cafe and he holds the door open for you as you walk inside.

The cafe is busy as John said it'd be. Off duty soldiers fill the place with their drinks, raised voices and the smell of cigars. Most of them are playing a game of cards at the tables. Several are chatting and laughing with each other, making it a very lively environment. Major Egan steps inside and closes the door behind him.

"It is busy, isn't it?" he asks as he guides you to an empty table. He holds your seat out for you before sitting down across from you. "You don't mind it being so busy, do you?"

"Not at all."

He smiles, his hands still in his pockets. A waiter comes to your table and takes your order. John asks you what you want and then orders for you. You just smile politely at the waiter before he heads off.

"I'm glad you agreed to come with me this afternoon." he says after a moment in silence. You notice him leaning forward on the table as the conversation continues. He seems quite calm, but you can tell how focused he is on you.

At one point, one of the soldiers at another table glances over at the two of you, and then nudged the others at the table. There's a murmur of conservation and a few more glances as the others take note of the Major and the nurse sitting together again.

The Major doesn't seem to notice though. It remains a lighthearted conversation, but there's an undercurrent of something a little bit more going on underneath the surface.

Before either of you realize, both of you have been talking to each other for half an hour. The Major shows no signs of losing interest in the conversation.

After a while, a couple first year Sergeants approach the table curiously, excitedly presenting themselves to John.

"Major Egan, sir!" the first says confidently.

"Major." the second follows. They both glance at you a tad nervously.

The Major looks up at them and smiles, still sitting at the table casually. "At ease, gentlemen" he says, raising his hands off the table, but still relaxed.

"Sir, a few of the men were wondering if they could get an extended leave, due to the successful mission earlier today."

The Major stares at the first Sergeant for a second, and his eyes dart over to you. He's still smiling a little, but there's a serious side to him that comes through as he talks with them.

"I understand that you were planning on extending their leave to allow them to rest?" he replies to both men.

"Yes, sir." the first replies "if that's alright with you, sir?"

"It's alright, Sergeant." the Major nods again. "There'll will be no issue on my part in regards to that. How many days are you looking at?" he asks, looking between the two Sergeants.

"Around a week" one of them replied boldly "if that's fine with you sir?"

"A week, hm?" he stares at them for a moment. "A week should be sufficient for them to recharge, especially after a mission like this morning. Make it happen."

The Sergeants both nod their heads. "Yes, sir." They both give you a resrpectful salute before turning back around and walking to the larger table.

"Major Egan..." you say mockingly. He was so different when he talked to you.

He glances over at you with a little half grin. "Yeah?" He laid back in his chair as he waits for you to continue.

"And just when I was about to call you John." You say.

He chuckles softly at that. "Go ahead and call me John. If anyone around here is going to call me that, it should be you." he took a sip from his beer.

That gave you a chill down your spine, out of nervousness.

He sees that he has gotten some sort of reacting out of you, but that smile still remains on his face. "Go ahead, call me John."

"Alright, stop that." you chuckle.

"I just want you to call me by my first name. Is that too much to ask?"

You look at him in the eyes for a second, before smiling. "In here?"

"Here" he pauses "or anywhere else if you'd like." He lays back and continues to smile. That damn smile.

As you take in his comment, music starts to blast and all the soldiers rise from their seats and grab the women to dance. The cafe instantly becomes an athmosphere of fun and liveliness.

The Major glances over at the dance floor. "Would you like to join me?"

You nod your head shyly, and take John's hands as he pulls you into the dance floor. The music is a classic swing tune, and the soldiers all seem to know the moves perfectly, moving with rhythm and flow in a very playful mood.

Major Egan seems to be familiar with the dance, and as he moves with you his confidence and skill is undeniable. He leads you easily, gently pulling you around and twirl you in his arms, and all the while, he stays completely focused on keeping you steady, stable.

"You're a good dancer." he tells you, still smiling playfully as he does. He spins you around in his arms and then back around again, pulling you close enough so that his face is inches from yours. He's still maintaining a comfortable distance between you two, but it's evident that he wants to be so much closer.

The music begins to pick up more, and as it does, his moves become just a little bit more intimate and playful. His arms around your waist. It's clear that he's more than just enjoying the dance.

Moving his hands down to your hips as he holds you, not giving you quite as much space as before. He tilts his head and gets closer to your face, maintaining that same playful grin.

"Careful, John." you say over the music, teasing him.

He chuckles at the teasing, but he doesn’t pull away, nor does he stop dancing with you.

His movements get a little bit more playful now, bringing you in even closer.

"John..." you begin.

“Yes?” He stares at you with that same grin on his face, but his eyes have become more intense now, as if wanting to know where this is going.

"Kiss me." you ask.

His eyes remain on you as he stares quietly for a second, but then he finally leans in to meet your offer. There is nothing playful or light-hearted about this exchange. This is a serious and bold moment for the both of you. Major Egan goes completely for it, pressing his lips against yours. And as he does, his hands moves to your hips and pulls you even closer to him. The kiss was slow but eager, like weeks of tension have been building up. Every movement and gesture felt intentional. His hands on your hips feel more intense and firm now. You pulled back and heard the music echo.

The moment of silence was deafening.

The music was no longer all that you could think about. He stares back at you, clearly still wanting more, but he holds back from following through in that very moment.

"Let's go." you say looking up at him.

He doesn't answer, but simply nods his head. He takes your hand in his own, and together, the two of you exit the dance floor and leave the cafe. As soon as you hit the street night air, John grabs your hand and pulls you close again, his lips finding his way to yours. Your bodies are pressed against one another, and the intimacy of the moment is undeniable. His lips find yours again, this time, more eagerly. And he lingers for a second or two, savoring the kiss. This time, it feels like he’s taking it further, as his hands start moving down to your waist more playfully.

“You wanna take me to bed?” You simply say.

He looks back at you, a bit amused at the question, but also somewhat surprised that you had the boldness to suggest that.

He stares for a second, his lips partially parted. “Yeah. I do.”

His answers are blunt and straightforward. But there’s also a confidence and assertiveness about him that makes it very evident that he is completely and totally up for that idea.

You smiled. He smiles back at you, before leaning forward to take your hand again. But this time, he doesn't just hold your hand. He interlocks his fingers with yours, his hand more possessive now as he glances down at your interwined fingers.

He leads you back into the base, guiding you towards his quarters.

The silence between you two is punctuated with little whispers and small talk here and there, but overall, the atmosphere is very much still intimate and playful between the two of you.

You noticed your environment. You've never been in this part of the base before, as it was only reserved for the Majors. It’s clear that this is a very private side of the base, for these higher ranking officers to be able to relax in the company of their women.

As you walk down the corridor, you hear the song My Funny Valentine by Chet Baker echoeing from a hall near by. Major Egan guides you through the hallway, the two of you still following hand in hand, until you both finally arrive at his room. You enter and before you could assimilate the space around you, John grabs your waist from behind, spins you around and you watch him close the door behind him so effortelessly, just before he kisses you gently, but passionately.

Everything around you has become a blur now, but you feel his hand on your back, leading you closer to his bed.

You start to walk backwards as he guided you. You put your arms around his neck, looking for support as he kisses you eagerly now. You jump, clinging into his body, as he grabs the back of your legs with his hands, easily supporting your weight. You moan quietly as he starts to feel your skin under your skirt as he holds you with both his hands.

John exhales soundly. "God..." he trailed off "You even sound beautiful."

His lips attack yours once again, filled with desire. His comment gave you chills all over your body. You felt him sit on the bed, you now straddling his lap. Being this close to him left you intoxicated, even speechless. You had nothing to say to him. Your attempts seemed to only come as careless whispers or moans as he explored your body with his hands.

"John..." you finally spoke.

You felt him smile into the kiss. "Yes?"

You took a second to answer, processing his touch. "Fuck me." You finally said.

He couldn't hide his smile. "I wanted to do this right." he paused as you looked at him. "I wanted to make love to you first."

The smirk plastered on his face made you melt. His eyes glistening with adoration for you.

You retributed the smile. "Sweet John..." you began tracing his features with your fingers. "Please do that."

You saw his smile grow slightly wider just before he closed the gap between both your lips.

He held you closer, his grip on you more firm, but never once hurting you.

“I imagined this moment a lot.” He confessed.

You began to take his uniform off. His shoulders so broad and his arms like two comforters around your torso. He did the same with your clothes but taking his sweet time to take in every little detail about you. The curve of your neck, the shape of your breasts and the freckles on your skin. Most of all he noticed the way your expression changed slightly when you became blushed with arousal.

His pants were bothering you, they were in the way. Your hand flew to his belt, trying to unbuckled it with no success. You saw him chuckle, surprisingly out of nervousness, as he helped you take it out. You always thought the Major John Egan would be swift in these manners, he had experience after all. It was the only thing nurses talked about, how much luck he had with women, inside or outside base. Was it so hard to believe that he could be actually nervous because you were the one unbuttoning his pants and trying to discard them? That was hard to grasp.

John grabbed the low of your back with one arm, supporting the other on the bed to lay you on top of it. He stood sat on the bed even after kicking his uniform pants, watching as you lay naked waiting for him to join you.

His expression was a mix of desire and adoration.

"What is it?" You asked laughing.

He shook his head slightly. "Nothing." he opened his mouth for a second before speaking. "I just think you're the most beautiful thing I've seen walk this earth."

You visibly blushed. How could you not? "You're just saying that because-" he interrumpted you immediately.

"Clothed or not." He said plainly, guessing the rest of your phrase. He looked at your face for a couple of seconds, and you did the same with difficulty. He was so handsome, his hair dischevelled falling perfectly on his forehead.

Not bearing it being away from him one more second, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to lay on top of you, opening your legs, allowing for him to fit in the empty space.

He immediately kissed you, your bodies now glued to each other. You could feel his hard member press against your core. You bent your kness, allowing him access. Your way of letting him know what you wanted.

He positioned himself at your entrance, ever so carefully. He looked at your expression as you gasped slightly, feeling him. He then kissed you gently, but eagerly, as he pushed himself inside you, slowly. Your mouth hang open as you threw your head slightly back on the pillow. He looked down at you, and he swore he could come undone right then and there, watching you in that blissful state.

You felt his lips on your neck, beginning in the low of your jaw until the base of your neck. You exhaled when you felt his touch and he could feel the vibrations of your voice on his lips.

His thrusts were purposely slow so you could adjust to his size. Soon enough he started to go deeper as you dig your nails in his upper back muscles.

"Faster." You pleaded, your voice only coming out as a low whimper.

He could hear it alright. John picked up his pace and you moaned louder as you felt every inch of him molding you.

"You feel so good." you heard him say between grunts into your lips.

You brought your lips to his, kissing him deeply. You broke it to speak finally. "John..." you called out his name. "I'm- I'm close."

"I know sweetheart, I know you are." his voice intoxicated you with desire, you could barely control yourself. "I can feel you closing on me." he continued thrusting in and out at that perfect pace. "You can let go... I wanna see that perfect face when you cum."

That was enough for you to explode. You soon came undone, your voice a higher pitch when you moaned his name a couple of times. You felt his warm release spill inside you. His face inches away from yours, mouths open, exhaling as you both reached your high. The moment that followed seemed like completely silent, only your breaths almost in perfect sync.

He smiled after noticing tears of pleasure in the corner of both your eyes, kissing each one of them away from your face. You both moaned when he removed himself inside you, both still very much overstimulated.

He laid next to you, immediately pushing you into his chest, arms wrapped around you. There were no words needed. You guys didn't have to talk about what happened. It was clear.

A few minutes were passed in silence. You looked at the clock on his wall, which marked almost twelve.

"Shit, I have to go. The night shift." you grabbed a bed sheet instinctively to cover yourself as you sat up, looking for your clothes scattered on his bedroom's floor.

"No." his voice lingered, pulling you back on the bed again. "You're staying here tonight."

You smiled as you looked at his sleepy expression. "I don't think that's up for you to decide. The doctors do our schedules, I have to show up to work."

His voice became deeper with tiredness. "I'm Major Egan. I can make a few calls." He suggested, his voice now more playful. "If you'd like to stay here with me tonight." his demeanour expectant.

You looked at him for a couple of seconds, giving thought to his offer. A smile escaped your lips, as you lay in the bed again, slightly embarrassed.

"They can get by without you one night. I can't." he admitted while wrapping his arms around your torso, setting the covers on top of you both.

[wxnheart]

On today's episode of "My Simpin' Ass Friend Asks Horny Ass Questions": How would the boys react to you putting your hand in their back pocket and copping a feel?

Capt. John Price - Is startled to the point he drops his cigar. Oops. He's a little sheepish about it but it feels good knowing the old man's still got it.

Gaz - It actually didn't register because he was paying attention to something else; it takes you literally squeezing his ass for him to realize it. Jumps slightly. Will also hit you with the side-eye every time you point out how hilarious his expression was when he did it, too.

Ghost - Will sigh in long-suffering. Is just long-suffering in general. This is exactly why he doesn't bend over whenever you're nearby because you're liable to make a comment or two ("Nice ass, Lt."). Has gotten used to it to the point that he gauges your disposition by whether or not you cop a feel that day.

Soap - One of two things. Hits you with one of his signature smirks and steals a kiss or he'll giggle... snort. You are not allowed to talk about the latter. Your uwu golden retriever.

Alejandro - To your surprise, he hits you with that stare. Yeah, that stare. You know, the one where he's gonna give you something you can feel later on that night. Have you walking from side to side the next day *in my Ariana voice*.

Rudy - Actually jumped when you first did it. Tries to crack a joke to take away from the fact that he was caught off guard but all it did was make you laugh harder at him. No, his cheeks aren't red, what the hell are you talking about?

König - König.exe stops working.

Horangi - Does it back. Two can play this game. Caresses your ass; makes love to it with his hand. Leaves you horny and angry after he walks off all triumphant and shit.

Graves - "I've always been blessed, darlin'." This is accompanied by the most sleaziest grin you ever saw. Smug bastard.

[syoddeye]

souvenir

soap x reader | ~1k words tags: established relationship, semi-public sex, fingering, dubcon recording (photos) a/n: couldn't stop thinking about this, so.

“John—Johnny—Can’t, please, Christ on the cross—” 

Your whisper hisses out with a reedy whine on its heels, a boiling kettle left on a burner. Heat licks up your spine and stomach on twin tracts before rushing southward again, not unlike the drop tower you’d ridden on half an hour ago. Before this, before Johnny begged you to hop into the photo booth for a ‘quick one’. How naive you are to think your insatiable boyfriend meant a quick photo.

You’ve been on his lap for all of ten minutes, back to his chest, and he’s already working a third finger between your legs. There’s no prying yourself loose. You tried. He laughed at your blunt nails, then groaned something sinful when you reached back to yank his hair.

He noses your temple as his ring finger joins its neighbors, groaning at the slight give, the reflexive and pulsing clench. “There she is, knew she wanted it.” His tongue dips into the sensitive divot behind your ear. “She’s fuckin’ perfect, so fuckin’ tight every time.”

In your apartment, in bed, you’d swat him for that. He knows you hate it when he talks about your pussy like it’s a whole fucking person, some independent entity conveniently attached to you. Says it to get under your skin as if he doesn’t take up prime real estate in your life, doesn’t course through your bloodstream. Here, in a public place, Johnny knows you’ll keep quiet, though. He might be shameless, but you definitely are not.

You clamp your hand tighter around his forearm and stifle a moan with the other as he furiously thrusts his digits, slowing only to grind the heel of his hand to your clit. The lewd clap of his fingers into your pussy is wet. Probably dripping onto the floor with how he's angled you in his lap. 

The infuriating idiot has the gall to tut, his voice adopting a patronizing tone. “That’s right, hush now, don’t want to let people hear, right? Gettin’ off like this—we’re in public, baby.”

There must be people outside, but a frantic peek at the thin gap between the machine and curtain confirms there is not. Panning up, the sky looks like spilled ink, splotches of gray leeching into the blue. 

A hand curling over your low neckline snaps you out of your gawking. Johnny’s fingers feel for the ridge of your bralette, then yanks both it and your dress down. He strains the fabric, seams popping mutedly. You throw an elbow into his chest, which he takes with a grunt, and return the pain with a bite to your neck. Tucking the stretched material haphazardly beneath your breasts, his free hand paws at them, kneading and pinching.

“God you’re—desperate.” You snark from behind your palm, only half-annoyed when he syncs a plunge of his fingers with a roll of a nipple. 

The curl of his mouth against your neck tells you he’s smirking. “Says the woman whose cunt’s clenchin’ my fingers in a vise.”

“And–and who started it?” You gasp, head lolling against his shoulder.

Johnny chuckles, laving his tongue over a little nibble.“You when you wore this dress.” He buries his fingers, stilling them to work his palm against your clit once more. “Showin’ off those legs. S’practically see-through.”

“You can’t see—”

“I ken what’s up your skirt, waitin’ on me, waitin’ on a little attention. She–You were begging for it.” He grunts, bucking his hard length into your ass, rough denim meeting and chafing skin.

God, his stupid mouth. Juvenile, smug bastard. The worst is that he’s right, partly because you did want his attention, though you expected to receive it somewhere private. You’d rather jump off the pier than admit it.

The warmth in your middle sinks, adding pressure to the coiled tension already low in your body. All while grinding insistently, he spews another string of filth in your ear, some of it pure nonsense, all shock value. It’s always humiliating when it works for you, the way that vulgar shit bids your body to answer.

What sends you over the edge is unclear—the drag over your clit, the fingers stuffed inside, or his teeth to your neck—but you bite off the desperate moan that accompanies your orgasm. But instead of coaxing you through it, fingering you until you’re shaky and incoherent, Johnny slips his fingers out lightning-quick and presses the big red button.

You jerk helplessly in his lap. Four flashes follow rapid-fire, catching you in your most debauched state.

You whine, the words smothered by your hand, super-glued by embarrassment and sweat to your lips, but Johnny doesn’t answer. He coos, wipes his hand on your thigh, and bends, sandwiching you with his body to snake an arm out of the machine. His erection digs painfully into your softness. You groan, uncomfortable and dripping, but watch him blindly snatch the photo strips that appear in the slot. Kissing the crown of your head as he settles back into the seat, chuckling.

Just as you imagined, there you are on color film, spread wide and fully exposed. Framed by cartoonish hearts and looping cursive that reads, I Love My Girlfriend. Over your shoulder, Johnny smiles for the camera. He holds the four strips like playing cards.

“Johnny, you–you asshole!” You curse, trying to fix your dress and grab the prints he holds just out of reach.

He doesn’t have to try to keep them from you. “Stop fussin’, they’re for me. A souvenir from a perfect day. I’ll get rid of the extra three. Just want something to look at when I’m…” His chin knocks your skull, head turning toward the booth’s curtain. He draws it open a hair with his free hand, and the smell of rain drifts in. Droplets splatter the ground and swiftly pick up speed.

“Perfect fuckin’ day.” Johnny reaffirms, drawing the curtain closed once more. He bumps you off his lap to stand on wobbly legs and turns you around. The photos are nowhere to be seen, tucked away somewhere, and he beams. “My turn, baby. On your knees.”

It isn’t until much later, well after Johnny’s shipped out again, that you think to look for the other copies. To destroy them, because you know that dolt didn’t keep his word. But they’re nowhere to be found. And somewhere in the Caucasus, Soap slips one each into the rest of the task force’s bags, grinning like a madman.

[2kiran]

I don't know if you are still doing the 3K event, but if you are, can I please request subbot!John Price and domtop!m!reader with prompt O3.(be a good slut f'me and bend over, yeah?) and prompt 02. (take it - fucking take it.) if you don't mind? Maybe reader and Price are in a meeting and Price decides to be a brat and trys teasing reader under the table so after the meeting reader drags Price back to his room and teaches him a lesson?

JOHN PRICE X TOP!READER

prompts, three + two

John Price, the legendary captain that brought in an equally legendary task force. An attentive, calculated man whose needs are given to him without complaint. As much as he likes to simply receive, he prefers to take. The opportunity that built this particular moment was too tempting not to seize. Men and women surrounded the table, with him next to you. All of them were distracted, focused on the discussion, so where’s the harm?

He nods along, stretching one arm towards your lap. You tense up when you feel a hand palm your groin, hissing when you realize it was Price. Looking at him would raise potential suspicion, so you kept your outward attention on the person who was speaking. His palm rubbed in a circle, quick and short-lived. You manage to mask a surprised grunt with a cough, his fingers locking and squeezing you through your pants.

You’re about to rut into him until he takes his hand away. There’s a smug smirk tugging at his lips as he pats your thigh, returning to crossing his arms. This man. He’s skin-deep into trouble.

“What’s wrong?” Price questions.

You hurriedly pulled him to his feet right when the meeting was over, ignoring the confused glances that your colleagues gave you.

He knew what was wrong. The bastard’s heart skipped streams, excitement drumming an erratic melody in his system. Your grip on his wrist was firm, giving him the best bite of pain that’s out of the range of his imagining ability. “C’mon,” His legs struggle to maintain your pace, breath coming quick, “Answer me.”

Price doesn’t register that he’s in his own quarters until you spin him around to face his bed. Heat spreads through him, rushing south. He bites his bottom lip, a shudder ripping through him.

“Shut up.” The familiar clink of your buckle giving way has him itching to look at you. “What were you trying to do earlier, huh?” He whines at your tone, interrogative and so fucking mean. “Tryin’ to get my dick wet in front of everyone?”

“I d-don’t know what you’re—”

“Quiet.” You demand, stepping closer to him and he’s reduced to full irrationality. “Be a good slut f’me and bend over, yeah?”

His feet stutter into a few strides, acting faster than he’s able to make sense of it all. Vision darkening, his body cognizes a single purpose and it was to obey. He bunches up the sheets, no thoughts in his head as he leans over the mattress. Ass tilted upwards, feeling bare in spite of his clothing remaining intact. His cock throbs, a yelp tumbling from his lips when you yank his hips towards you. “Fuck me already,” he whines, the bubble of stubbornness exploding into a puddle of eager submission.

You don’t get to remind him when he mutters out, “Please.”

That was all that was necessary. You help him slip out of his clothes, the air caressing his sensitive skin sparks a shiver that you catch. “Where’s the—” He immediately interjects, “N-no. Use spit.” Nasty, but it would suffice. He makes haste to bring up your hand to his face, taking in two fingers. Drool piles on the floor of his mouth, his tongue pushing to coat the digits. “Mmm..” he moans, drawing them deeper with little sucks.

His saliva leaks out, dripping to your wrist. Slowly, you retract them and one finds his rim. He soothes his breathing, releasing a trembling sigh when you painstakingly thrust that finger in, rocking until he’s no longer struggling in spasms. He grunts, driving himself backwards to have you knuckle-deep, offering him a second one appreciatively. “Giv’ me it- nnnfg, that’s an order.”

“Give you what?” You spread the digits, opening him up more for you.

“Your, ah, cock. Please, want it so bad.”

Not one to disobey a direct order—not today, at least—you slide them out and fish yourself out of the confinements. Your dick swelled from the sight, wet tip circling around his hole. “Sure you can handle it?”

Before he’s able to bark out another command, you sheathe an inch into him. “Y-you—Fuuuck-” He groans, body working to lead you out, but you’re persistent. He’s throbbing around you, desperate to rut against the silky covers. Remembering your insistent instructions, he focuses his energy on relaxing. Breath after breath, face warm and sensitive. His head shook in a nod, incapable of finding the words to permit you.

Drawing your hips out, he nods again. “Oh, oh ngh!” He whimpers when you sink into him, rolling your hips until your cock is completely enveloped by his clutching warmth. Whining, his back arches as he lowers his upper body to the bed. Chest pressed to the mattress, resting his head on his forearms as he aches for the bind of release to snap at your will.

His ass is raised, jolting with each pound, practically urging him to break. “Still gonna act like a needy whore, huh?” You grip his waist, tight and bruising which offers him the constant reminisce of pain. “Gghf, ‘m-m sorry,” He shudders, clenching, “won’t do it again, ha-aah, I’m sorry.”

John Price, a man composed of muscle and earned achievements, lessened into a cock-drunk bitch. He begins to babble out whines, his speech incoherent as his brains tangle into jumbled wires. You faintly pick up on a few words switching from ‘slower, 's too much’ to ‘more, p-please, harder’. Tears pool within his eyes, and he attempts to blink them away.

“Take it,” You grunt, grinding deep into him, “fucking take it.”

He gasps, his dick twitching and yearning for a release. Fuck, he is taking it. So well, and so beautifully too. He hums in agreement, letting out a strangled cry. “M-mhm,” he huffs, small ah’s slipping from his bitten lips. John Price was in for a long night.

[ghostbsuter]

Magicians way [part 1]

.・゜-: ✧ :-

It's not often that he finds himself in such position, but it does happen.

John Constantine never would have thought he'd scratch the "tied up by a cult to be used as sacrifice to summon a powerful ghost" spot on his bingo card.

He doesn't even feel threatened by the cult, hell, all he will receive from this day is pure embarrassment if the summoning circle is really the one he thinks it is.

Great, it's glowing.

Little bastard knows and is on his way here.

Shit.

"Oh all mighty King of Ghosts! We summon thee! Appear!"

If he has to listen to that badly scripted American movie summoning ritual one more word, he's gonna do some serious damage.

The circle lights up in sickly green, the ectoplasm flooding the insides of the portal as it opens.

And there he stands, the boyprince of the Infinity Realms.

"Hey, dad!" The being greets, swinging a swift fist against one of the cultist.

The rest are frozen and now that they're alone John sees the shit eating grin on the gremlins face.

"Danny." He greets back, watching as his kid swipes some invisible dust from his hat and putting it on back.

"Man, this is so embarrassing for you. Let me just—"

To make matters worse, Danny pulls out his bloody smartphone and takes a picture of him tied up.

"I'm sending this to mom." He's fiddling with the rope, smug smirk on him that John would love to flip off if his hands weren't bound.

"Useless..."

Ah, here comes the blackmail. A kids after his own heart.

The little shit.

Visual picture of Constantine being embarrassed. (Yes, he's tied up with a RED RIBBON for funnsies.)

[majinbangus]

I saw this on ig and all I can think about is how undeniably this is soap

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C_vTWFlMxuI/?igsh=MW84M2Z2NmJweWhrNA==

I beg you to write smth based on this video 🙏

loosely based on the video, but no horsies, sorry

It's cute that you think you're slick, but he's a sniper for a reason.

They're at a park, attending a ceremony for something, it's not really important, but Soap and Gaz's presence was 'required' because the host needed the two sergeants- among a few others- there. Lucky Ghost and Price got out of it under the excuse that they had other responsibilities they needed to attend to because of their higher ranks. Soap and Gaz knows that's bullshit. The two pulled strings so that they wouldn't have to be here.

Bastards.

"Fucking hell," Gaz groans, pulling at the collar of his dress uniform. "How long do we have to be here again?"

"Another hour." Soap rolls his eyes. "At least the dobber finally stopped talkin'."

"Think the captain would be upset if we came back early?" Gaz asks rhetorically. They both know they'd get in trouble if they skipped, even though it's just the reception now. He scans the crowd, lips curving up at the demographic. "Lots of civvies here."

A lot of women, is what he's really pointing out.

Soap smirks. "Oh, aye? Noticed that too, did you?"

"Hard not to." Gaz shares a similarly smug look. His eyes sweep over to the side of Soap. "Looks like you have an admirer."

He knows. Soap clocked you the instant you entered his peripheral vision. "Bonnie lass that's been trying to get a picture of me? Using her friend to get the shot?"

Gaz chuckles, confirming, "That's the one."

He grins. "Watch this."

Gaz hangs back as he quietly strolls up behind you, keeping his gait casual. Your friend suspects nothing, and you're still adorably ignorant. It's only when he's right behind you, does he look at the phone, winking, and give you a light tap to your mid back. The cutest little squeal slips out of you, nearly jumping in the air.

"What-?" You turn around and freeze when you see that it's him. A sheepish laugh escapes you. "Oh. Hi... Officer?"

"Sergeant John MacTavish." Soap offers a hand, a lopsided smile on his face. "You know, if you wanted a picture, you could have asked."

You take his hand with an embarrassed smile.

"Sorry, Sergeant, I uh... thought you were cute..?" As soon as the sentence leaves you, your hand tenses in his, and you do your best to avoid looking at him, finding the sky suddenly very interesting. Behind you, your friend facepalms. "I, I mean-"

"You like a man in uniform is what you're sayin'?" Soap gently tugs you a little closer, holding in a chuckle when you gasp, placing a palm on his chest.

You gulp, but don't remove your hand from his chest. "Uh... yes?"

"Are you askin' me or tellin' me?" Soap puts on his sergeant voice, the one that gets subordinates sweating.

It works with you, too, though he thinks you're sweating in a different way. "T-telling." You bite your lip and tack on, "Sergeant."

He likes how it sounds coming from you.

"Atta girl," Soap praises, relishing your shy squeak, and maneuvers you so you're facing your friend again. He throws an arm around your shoulder, tucking you close to his side. "Now how 'bout that picture?"

And if he and Gaz happen to leave early on a double date with you and your friend, well, it would be worth the trouble they get in with Price.

[starsexplodeatnight]

John Price X Reader!

My first published piece!

Captain John Pricex Reader!

Minors do not engage!

You loved him, really. But, John Price is a lot to handle. Yes, he is a family man, a great husband, a wonderful provider. But he holds on too tight. Tight enough to strangle. You- You had to do it.

even though it felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest when he found out... Oh, his poor watery blue eyes you loved so much...

You cried your eyes out in bed that night, alone.

Price is eh, heh- heh, heh, heh. He's not letting you go, love. Not ever.

You live in this incredible house, curtesy of your husband's high paying career in the military. It's the perfect place for children to grow up...

Toxic Ex-husband Price never leaves. "The house is ours, love. Ours is ours." And leaves no room for debate. He'll live in the in-law apartment above the detached garage, yeah? He's not happy about it and uses every instance he can to weaken your resolve and stop this silly 'separation' nonsense.

Walk's out onto the balcony in the morning in his robe, coffee in hand. The robe is open, exposing his chest to the neighborhood. He doesn't care that the women jogging by can see and stare. He only cares when he sees you stop and stare out your bedroom window, all alone. Before you aggressively close the curtains, trying not to fall for his tricks!

Semi Toxic Ex-husband Price, who still wants all the gossip you used to share with him when you were married. He'll just stroll into the house from the back door and hear you chatting with your friend from Pta.

He does what he used to, sit his ass right next to you and press his ear on the other side of your phone. Does he care about the gossip? Not really, it's amusing, but not really his thing. What he loves? He loves how you used to turn to him and go off. You look so happy, chattering on and on about what you'd just heard. Including him in your life...

He says he doesn't really like the gossip but will get upset if you don't tell him every detail. His job is to know, love. You can't just leave him hanging! He will demand to know more about Patricia from the parent-teacher conferences. She slept with the teacher! You can't leave him hanging on that, luv! Just to get you to talk to him the way you used to.

Semi Toxic Ex-husband Price, who is your mother's favorite.

She hates your sister's boyfriend; she hates your brother's wife. You? You landed the cream of the crop!!!

How could you have left him??? Your grandma, your mother and your aunties LOVE him, smug bastard. He eats it the fuck up...

They greet him like the long-lost son they wish they had! Meeting him at the door with kisses on the cheek, beckoning him towards the kitchen, treating him like royalty. He is the favorite, and he's not even blood!

"Oh, such a handsome man! So nice!" "So polite!" "And respectful!" "Here, is she feeding you enough?" Oh, when they learn you've served him with divorce papers? They all cry out in alarm. Everyone, not just the women. Uncles, Grandpa, Cousins, all of them.

"What you talking 'bout divorce? fah! He still come to family parties!" They would totally be on his side… They all help in his case to get back together with you.

It'd make him so much worse….

Especially if your youngest kid is going to her first day of school. You both drop her off and you bawl your eyes out and he's there to comfort you, just like he had with all the times before… cradling you to his strong but soft chest. So warm... familiar... soothes the heartache you're experiencing.

Do you want another baby? You miss having a little one around now that your youngest is off to school, yeah? He can help with that…

Maybe- Maybe you... Maybe you were too harsh on him. Maybe, give him another chance...

[johnsbirdie]

blue collar!price and white collar!fem reader

cw: i don’t really know

(i just thought of this and was like this is like totally price)

john is on his break, his rough, callused hands, caked in grime and dirt embedded deep within. he’s smoking a fat cigar to ease the pain (in his knees), he’s getting old now, which is quite easy to tell because his beard is greying - but to his luck you can’t exactly see his salt and pepper hair because his wide-brimmed bucket hat fortunately covers that.

surely he looked disgusting to people outside of the job. the other workers on the site, simon, kyle and johnny, saw him like this everyday of their lives and shrug off the fact he looked like a pig after it rolled around in mud.

and it just so happens that the construction site he works on, there’s a little office building right beside it. how lucky is he?

the chain-smoking, rugged older man set his sights on a little birdie in a tight little pencil skirt. he whistles unashamedly, so you can hear it. he knows you heard him. and you did. you’re walking along, cup holders full with coffee to bring back for your boss, you were a little surprised when he told you to get what you wanted with his card, he seemed to be in a good mood lately.

the wolf-whistle is the thing that nearly makes you drop the coffee-filled plastic cups, and when you look over, there’s a man double your own age with a smirk on his face. what a smug bastard.

“oi, pretty! you in a rush?” he calls out to you, stepping off of some planks of wood he was stood on.

god, you really did not have time for any chit-chat at the moment. you had to get back to work, not that it was any better than the man who had whistled at you, because your quite the talk of the town in the marketing department. all the old men must really like you, huh.

“i am, actually. sorry about that.” you brush him off, the noise of your heels clacking against the pavement infront of the site increasing the faster you walk. you did not want to speak to some roughed up, man old enough to be your dad.

but, does that stop john? absolutely not. he catches up to you before you can even make it into the office building, and he blocks your path.

“nah, you can’t be in a rush, you’re stood here with little ‘ol me.” he says that just to spite you, and when you try to step around him, he blocks your path once more.

“i’m only stood here with you because you’re not letting me move.” you huff. did he not understand that you didn’t want to talk? he was probably just some creep that liked to hit on girls half his age, which, to be fair, is what he was doing right now.

“aye. c’mon love, giv’us a twirl.” he cocks a brow, looking down at you. he towers over you by nearly a whole foot if you weren’t wearing heels.

ugh, who was this guy? a complete and utter prick, you thought. you really shouldn’t pay him any mind.

“do you mind moving, please? i need to get back to work.” you look up at him, your lips pressed into a thin line. you were on the verge of just throwing the starbucks drinks all over him, just to be a bitch about it.

he stands there. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watching you with his piercing blue eyes. he knows he shouldn’t pressure you, he didn’t really mean to come off as a creep. he just thought you were a pretty little thing and he liked pretty little things. but you didn’t seem to like him very much.

“mm. go on. i didn’t mean to be a dickhead, sweetheart. i’m sorry.” he eventually speaks, moving out of your way. which surprised you initially, not expecting that at all from him.

“oh, i… yeah, no, it’s okay. thank you.” you say, your voice a little small as you give him one last glance before heading into work.

until next time birdie. he thinks to himself as he watches your figure disappear into the office building.

[ghcstao3]

OMG I NEED YOU TO WRITE THE NEIGHBOURS GHOSTSOAP FIC PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU PLEASE PLEASE PL

(part 1)

-

Ghost wakes up to the sound of someone knocking on his front door—to which he feels the need to frown at, because he hadn’t been expecting any visitors.

When he grumpily swings open the door to find John on the other side, his irritation subsides, just a little.

“Mornin’!” John greets, his grin far too bright for—Ghost lifts his wrist and squints down at his watch—nine in the morning. “Brought you something. Or, well. My Mam made them so I could bring you—“

Ghost raises a tired hand to wag his finger and point at the container in John’s hands, asking in lazy movements, “What is it?”

“Oh!” John blinks. He thrusts the container into Ghost’s unoccupied hand, and somehow his smile grows tenfold. “Tattie scones. Wasn’t sure what you might like, so. Went with something simple.”

Ghost squints at John a moment, before swallowing a yawn as he offers a mumbled thank you and pries open the lid. He holds it out to John, but he just shakes his head.

“I have my own. Just wanted to apologize for the noise.”

Ghost nods, stuffs a scone in his mouth, closes the lid. He then steps aside and gestures for John to enter the flat because he supposes it’s courtesy, and if he’s making tea for one he may as well offer for another.

John follows with a shrug.

“Tea?” Ghost asks. Then pauses, considering, before he scrunches his nose and signs instead, “Coffee?”

John barks a laugh, shaking his head again. “I won’t force you to make coffee if you hate it. Just water, if that’s okay?”

Ghost obliges, traversing his kitchen as John sits politely at the island. He feels eyes on his back all the while he fetches the water and puts on a kettle, but for once Ghost doesn’t feel unnerved by the sensation. In fact, dare he say he feels almost… comforted.

They sit in silence a while as the water boils and even a while after, nothing more than the shriek of the kettle to break it, and Ghost’s quiet compliments to John’s mother for the scones.

After a few tentative sips of tea and a refill for John, Ghost ventures to begin signing a question that had plagued him since meeting his neighbour.

He only mouthes the words as he signs, rediscovering that comfort in silent communication that he’d had to abandon in his retirement if only for not having anyone left to share it with.

“How did you…” Ghost pauses, wincing slightly as he questions, “…have you always been deaf?”

John’s smile has since dimmed considerably, though it’s no less friendly. He only uses sign for about half of what he says, and if Ghost could guess, it’s likely a clashing mix of habits.

“Not always,” John says. “I was in the military. Specialized in demolitions, got too close to an explosion, though my hearing was already shite by then. Had to retire early, but so is life, I guess.”

Ghost smiles weakly. “We’re not so different, then.”

John’s eyebrows knit together with curiosity, so Ghost takes the invitation to continue. Normally, he doesn’t think he’d ever be so open with a near complete stranger—but sharing that background, somehow it seems… easier.

He knows Price would be a right smug bastard about this if he knew.

“Also military. Retired from injury. Knee is fucked.”

John snorts. “I’m sure that’s one way of putting it.”

Ghost shrugs. They fall back into comfortable, companionable silence until John announces he should go, he does have work to attend to.

“What do you do?” Ghost can’t help but wonder.

“Boring office stuff from home,” John tells him. “Art commissions on the side, if I’m up to it. You?”

Ghost huffs. “Working on it,” he mutters. He doesn’t particularly care for John knowing about that.

The man seems to understand anyway, but says nothing of it. He just thanks Ghost again for the company, Ghost thanks him for the scones, and they bid each other a good rest of their day.

It’s weird—as Ghost hears John’s door shut across the hall, he finds he already misses his presence.

Maybe he should dig up some of his mum’s old recipes and return the favour. It’s definitely not an excuse, or anything like that, just… friendly neighbour activities.

Yeah. That’s all it is.

[l0velylecter]

how the cod:mw ii men show their love for you

— how the cod:mw ii men show their love for you + reference gifs ! rating : g for general and safe for work ( sfw ! ) pairing :  reader / simon ‘ghost’ riley,  reader / john "soap" mactavish , reader / alejandro vargas, reader /  captain john price, reader /  kyle "gaz" garrick , reader / phillip graves ( note : while descriptions show gn! reader but gifs used for reference shows f! reader ) tags : kissing, hand holding, hugging, fluff, pure fluff  fandom : cod mwii warnings : no additional warnings

01 |Even when he’s sore from the field or flat-out exhausted from month-long stakeouts, Soap still finds the strength to carry you on his back whenever you’re together. You can be out for a casual stroll when he asks if you’re tired, even if you just left the house five minutes ago. He will always make an excuse to hoist you up his back, wanting to be as close to you as possible. He says it makes him feel strong, but not only that, but it's also because he loves how it always catches you off guard. He can start running or jumping, and he loves to hear you squeal, especially when he can use this as a chance to squeeze your ass playfully. 

02 | It could be because he’s worried, he misses you, or because he loves you, Alejandro is always reaching out for your hands. He loves to intertwine your fingers together even as you sleep. Whenever he has to reassure you, Alejandro will bring your hands to his lips and kiss them — gently, softly, whispering sweet nothings to you. He will also absent-mindedly stroke your palm with his thumb, humming to his favorite tune. And when he has nightmares at night, you would always be quick to reach for his hand, letting him hold it even as you kiss.

03 | Just like everyone else, Price needs to be reassured, but he often acts like he doesn’t. As a captain, a leader, and a soldier, he’s always so used to just keeping everything inside. It’s not easy for him to admit defeat, and it's even worse to accept that he needs support. So his silent cry for comfort would always be through a bear hug, and it was in these moments, did you saw the love and trust he has for you reflected in the way his arms firmly hold you in place: your bodies warm and content against each other.

04 | With how kind, easygoing, and down-to-earth Gaz is, you can’t ever imagine him with a playful side. Thankfully, you’ve gone past his cool and calm exterior to discover that he’s a child at heart; so whenever you both feel on edge: either from exhaustion or the aftermath of a terrible argument, he’s always trying to cheer you up through the most creative ways. One of your favorites was when he created a makeshift water fountain in the park using the drinking taps to splash you with water, knowing that you’ve been feeling down lately with how much he’s been leaving for work. It’s good that he’s left behind a lot of good memories for you to replay in your head when he's not there, reminding you just how much you're loved by the soldier.

05 | As much as you complain to Graves about him having such a big mouth, you enjoy your little banters. Playful arguments are a way for you and Phillip to entertain yourselves. He loves how you keep him at his toes, and you adore how he’s the only person who can drive you crazy. He’s a cocky, smug, and arrogant bastard, but he’s your bastard. Besides, a little bicker here and there does wonders for the relationship and often spices things up — " You want me to shut up? Then make me, commander."

06 | It was hard to feel loved around Ghost, it was almost as if he didn’t exist. With him always away on missions, you barely spoke to each other, and as the days grew, you were starting to drift apart. The fear of having him fall out of love constantly haunts you, even while you sleep. So to one night catch him, stroking your head, gently, softly, as if not to wake you and get caught; it kept you going. Knowing that deep down, he cares. And that he was just too afraid to show you. So staying as still as you could, you pretended to sleep. So that in the midnight hour, when only the moon is awake as his witness, Simon can indulge in his feelings for you without guilt.

07 | Always too nervous in expressing what he feels around you, König resorts to saying ‘i love you through small gestures, one of them being: running his hand down your hair. He’d give your scalp a gentle caress when you’re suffering from a headache and kiss your hairline goodbye before he gets up to leave. He also thinks it’s safer than a hug because sometimes he gets too excited and needs to settle for a head pat to avoid crushing your bones. The soft strokes of his thumb remind you that when a man with the size and strength of König is this tender with you, there’s no way in the world he doesn’t love you.

a/n : and another round of fluff !! 

imagine the men of cod : mw ii getting their pictures taken with you

[womanmanipulator]

goodbye, yellow brick road.

spencer reid x gn!bau!reader.

synopsis: naturally, as a hard-headed and stubborn young adult, you’d chase after the potential unsub when he’s let go due to legality. having your heart set on getting a confession out of him. what could go wrong?

(content warning: graphic, somewhat detailed? major character death, stab wound(s)?, abuse, blood, very angsty. i did some research to write this.)

~

it’s pouring, hands grip the steering wheel tightly. speeding through the rain.

you were stubborn.

hard-headed.

cocky.

it was only natural, being new to the job. only five months in. you weren’t used to work sticking with you and chasing you around, even when you got home. the release of david sallow from the interrogation room earlier today didn’t sit well with you. you knew that sick bastard killed all those young men and women. and you were going to get a confession out of him.

sure, it was unprofessional. but the others wouldn’t even mind when you caught him and got a confession out of that asshole. that’s what you told yourself as you pulled into the gas station his SUV was parked at. you climb out of your car, striding towards where he stood. david was walking out of building when his eyes caught you. he furrows his brows, confused.

“you’re that person from the FBI.” he states. standing a little awkwardly with a smug look playing on his stupid face. you narrow your eyes. “i am.” you say confidently. “and i know you killed those people, david.” you add. getting straight to the point. “i didn’t, and you let me go today. leave me alone.” he says sternly, smirk now vanished. “i will. catch you. it all depends on when.” you glare. if looks could kill..

“admit it.” you press. he starts to get agitated. talking a bold step towards him, you get personal. an intimidation tactic. he isn’t fazed however, you are set on getting a confession though. “i don’t owe you shit, lady.” he hisses. “listen. if you don’t back off, somethin’ bads gonna happen.” he threatens.

“you killed all those men and women because they remind you of your mother and father, mr. wallows.” you say, a quietness fills the air. david’s fists ball up and a grumble comes out of his throat.

“your parents would abuse you. they’d hit you whenever they got the chance. they went so far as to make up things to be mad at you about so they could hit you, eventually they stopped giving reason and just took their frustration out on you. you want to get them back, except you can’t. you killed them, but that didn’t quench your thirst david, oh no it didn’t—“ you start to list off. you are cut off by a yell coming from the man infront of you. he charges at you with a knife.

everything happens so quick. how did you miss him grabbing his knife? you were know for being so attentive and quick thinking —

. . .

pain blossoms in the back of your cranium as you are knocked to the concrete. brain rattled, you’re confused. you try to reach for your gun but you’re stopped by the plunge of the knife in your abdomen. you can’t feel the pain, yet. the adrenaline overpowers it. coursing through your veins as your insides become outsides. a weak attempt to fight back is made, but you can’t do much with a two-hundred pound man above you, stabbing you.

i should have stayed on the farm.

i should have listened to my old man.

a warm liquid trickles out of you as your breath is knocked out of you lungs, another punch of the knife in your weakening body. you try to gasp for air but it’s as if your lungs are useless. you don’t even hear the store owner running out of the building and screaming at david.

he flees from the scene.

you know you can’t hold me forever,

i didn’t sign up with you.

when you gain a grasp on what’s going on, the store owner has sat you up against the brick wall of the building. propping you up. he has pressure on your wound as his phone wails out inaudible sound. they might as well be speaking another language. the pain of a thousand needles pricking you takes over your belly and side. trying to move and get away from the pain, you make an attempt to get up. you are held down though by a familiar face. it takes time to register it.

i’m not a present for your friends to open

blinking a few times to clear your vision, eyes heavy. you are met with spencer. “hey, hey, stay still. please.” he begs desperately. you’ve never heard him sound like this. it worries you. you don’t know when spencer replaced the nice man beside you, but you don’t think too long on it. as you can feel your heart beat in your side and everytime you try to take a deep breath it’s like a punch in the lungs. a sharp, aching pain. you aren’t getting any air. in reality you are, but. your brain can’t register it. more of the thick, scarlet liquid trickles and sprays out of your wound as you try to heave for air. you cant remember the name.

this boys to young to be singin’

the blues.

everything’s so distant and blurry. your body fights for life as pain washes over you in a new form. you want to scream, cry out but you can’t. spencer’s trying to coax you as he holds a crushing pressure on your wound but it’s like talking through a glass window. “you gotta stay awake for me, okay?” he says. tears pouring down his face.

that’s weird, you’d never seen him cry.

“wake up rookie, keep your eyes open.” he tries. speaking firmly. he wants to sound strong but fails. your ears start to ring and you feel as if you’re underwater. slowly, a black ring starts to creep into your vision. you want to close your eyes.

you’re really tired all the sudden, the pains disappeared. as if it was never there. it’s really peaceful. spencer slaps you in the face, knocking you out of your trance as you can hear sirens blaring loudly in the distance. “just a little longer, stay awake for me please, trouble.” he tries, his hands put more pressure on you. you barely register it though. eyes slipping closed again.

slap.

eyes slowly open, vision obstructed. you can barely make out anything as the black rings taken up 90% of your sight. everything sounds far away and echoey. the words he says come in one ear and out the other, rattling and bouncing around in your brain a first.

it’s really tempting to fall asleep.

so goodbye, yellow brick road.

where the dogs of society howl.

spencer knows as soon as you close your eyes you’re gone.

“we got a DOA.”

you can’t plant me in your penthouse,

i’m goin’ back to my plough.

. . .

oh i’ve finally decided my future lies,

beyond the yellow brick road.

~

wowowowoowowow

thsi was written in an hour. might be a little choppy, my first time trying to write smth longer than 400 words 😒.

lmk if ya want more 🎀

mwah mwah mwah

[stusbunker]

Spotless: En Cédant

Chapter Twenty Two

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Lee, Bobby, Sam, Annie, Kevin (mentioned)

Word Count: 2541

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, Aromantic Bela, more hints at bisexual Dean, unbeta'd

A/N: Dean's magazine interview is released and he asks a question he regrets.

Series Masterlist

Dean walked into the auditorium they’d been leasing for rehearsals with a gas station coffee and what John would have called a ‘piss-poor’ attitude. Sam had stayed over at Madison’s and gotten his own way to their last pre-tour play through. It was one of those rare mornings where their place felt too big, and Dean couldn’t kick the feeling that something was missing in his daily life. But it was too early for a pity party and too late to turn around and play hookey.

Not that he’d even dare that on this tour, not this close to showtime.

The energy in the hall did little to ease Dean’s annoyance, filled with quiet conspiring. Each person he nodded at seemed to be hiding a smirk or trying not to laugh out loud. Once he got to Lee, he’d had enough.

“Okay, what the fuck is with everybody today?”

Lee shook his head. “You don’t know, you poor bastard. Have you seen Trouble yet?”

“No— whyyyy?” Dean scanned the room littered with roadies and band members, lounging over the stage and the first rows of seats. 

“Look, man, it’s easier to show you than tell you.” Lee reached into his back pocket and pulled out a rolled up magazine, which was not what he was expecting. His sources of embarrassment primarily spread online these days.

But then he looked down and saw his own smug face staring back at him.

“Holy shit,” Dean said in a whisper.

“She’s got like a whole box of these, everybody’s read it or is currently reading it. It’s almost like you’re famous or inspirational or some shit.”

“Some shit is more like it,” Dean muttered and flipped to the page number next to the tagline, ‘Phantom Traveler’s frontman Rides the Road to Redemption’.

“Hey! Get your own!” Lee snatched the magazine out of his hand before he could get past the shot of him in Baby’s driver’s seat, eyebrows furrowed in the side view mirror.

“You sonuvabitch,” Dean threatened and went to steal it back when Bobby appeared with his ruffled mustache of disapproval.

“Okay, Fabio, go find Trouble, she’s got a whole case of those you’re supposed to sign before we get started.”

Dean wiped his face with his palm and braced himself for a long ass day. “Okay, any idea where she is?”

“First dressing room,” Bobby replied. “Don’t take too long, we want to run through some old stuff with Kevin so Charlie can plan out some lightwork with it, then we need to talk setlists for this weekend.”

“Yeah, of course, uh, I’ll be right back,” Dean said, turning to head to the pit. He turned and added over his shoulder. “At least I hope so.”

It was worse than Dean thought, but somehow also better than he’d expected from Meg.

Sam sat backwards on an old makeup stool as he read the article out loud, “‘even his timeless good looks couldn’t save him from the storm of controversy he unleashed after punching out photographer, Jared Bender, alienating his keyboardist and lifelong friend, Cas Novak to the point of leaving the band, and forcing his manager and mentor, Bobby Singer, to cancel their last North American tour with two months left.’”

Sam made a visible ‘yikes’ face and continued on as you listened, moving stacks of magazines around into manageable piles along the counter. 

“‘The man sitting across from me was neither the cocky dipshit I interviewed six years ago, nor was he the unstable egomaniac who caused those around him to walk on eggshells during their last tour. He was oddly zen, blunt as ever, and refreshingly humble.’---- Ha! Christ, did you pay her off?!” 

Dean decided he’d heard enough and cleared his throat. You froze and turned, but Sam just grinned wolfishly at him through the old spotted mirror, completely unsorry about being caught.

“There you are! Hot off the presses, man.” Sam flipped the copy he was reading towards Dean, which he caught against his chest with his free hand.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean grunted, splashing some of his coffee as he stopped the magazine from falling to the floor. “How bad is it?”

You chuckled. “It’s not— well, for starters, it’s the freakin’ cover! I was not— she was being purposely vague about the whole thing, even which issue it was going to be— I am kind of in shock still.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Dean stared at the cover, unsure if he dared read it with an audience. After the silence got too heavy, he buried his own sick curiosity and looked at you to keep busy. “So, Bobby said you’ve got work for me?”

Dean smiled too late, catching you entirely deflate from his terrible segue.

“Uh— yeah, it’s only 100 copies. We’re sending them out to bundle with tickets for radio stations in every city.”

Dean walked across the small room, set down his coffee beside Sam’s rumpled magazine, and picked up one of the metallic Sharpies you had left out. “You sure they want just me signing these?”

“Dude— none of us are in any of the pictures. And besides just verifying some details, she didn’t interview any of us.”

Dean spun on his heel. “She asked you if I was lying about stuff?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t like that— it was more of her trying to catch you in consistencies.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at how that was exactly what he had said.

Sam huffed and started rambling. “I mean it was about the tone of the album and the cohesiveness. It wasn’t bad, God, okay?!”

“You’re not really reassuring me here, Sammy.”

“Look, I’m gonna go set up.” Sam stood up. “But, we’ll talk it out once you’ve read it, okay? Just get these signed, so we can figure out everything upstairs. Maybe then Bobby doesn’t have an aneurysm.”

“We can only hope,” you tucked on, which took the words out of Dean’s mouth.

Dean nodded, sighed, and popped off the cap of the marker. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Sitting around haphazardly sprawled across the theater seats, the band and immediate support personnel plotted the first stretch of the tour. Dates were set, venues, everything important, but the minutia had to be finalized so everyone knew where to be and when.

“We’re doing in studio stops with stations here and Vegas. But we are doing phone in interviews with San Diego, Phoenix and Albuquerque. We’ll talk more, but I think we’ve got stuff lined up once we hit Texas,” you rattled off to the group, pen in hand, laptop on your lap and phone in hand.

Bobby had his day planner open on his lap and Annie added things into her phone as you went. Dean kept his calendar app open, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary yet. Once the tour got underway, things got easier with the practiced dance, but until then he was jittery and brooding.

He hated the build up, but knew it’d be over soon.

“Dean— we gotta talk later, figure out when Bela will need passes. That goes for everyone, please let me know who you’re bringing each night so I can submit the names to each venue.”

“How is that your job on top of everything else?” Bobby asked.

“You want to do it?” You countered, coyly.

Everyone laughed. Lee threw a balled up receipt at the back of Dean’s head, but he just flipped him off.

“Need to get you an assistant,” Bobby muttered, but Dean didn’t think it was a bad idea. 

The meeting continued, plans for press stops and casual drop ins for the first leg were cemented with your approval. The band’s image meant everything to you, not just because it was your job, Dean knew it was a deep seated loyalty and faith in them, both as individuals and as a unit, a family. You worked harder for them than any mere publicist would. 

And that genuineness came through to the fans. 

Then that respect and admiration was reciprocated. Sure, there were ones who were closer to obsessed than others, but even Becky, the fanclub president, had cooled down over the years. Things might get awkward amongst the masses, but it wasn’t dangerous. And it had been awhile since anybody had asked for a lock of his hair during an autograph session. 

He didn’t miss that.

Dean switched apps and snapped some quick shots of the group from where he sat, dazed and tired from the meeting, but still together and looking good. He typed a quick caption to the post: ‘Can’t wait to see y’all again soon, we’re back baby.’ He even remembered to tag the band’s account before posting. But he knew you’d go through and add hashtags and pin people’s accounts to their faces in each shot, eventually.

For now, he was just grateful that he was still doing what he loved with his people.

Not much later, Bobby called it and everybody agreed to meet at Elizabeth’s. After securing all the equipment and hugging Charlie goodbye, Dean helped you haul the boxes of magazines to Bobby’s truck to be mailed out later.

“You want to ride with us? Got that scheduling stuff to hammer out anyway,” Dean cleared his throat and nodded towards Baby on the far edge of the parking ramp.

“Uh, Sam left with Kevin, but yeah,” you said, looking over to Bobby and Annie. “See you guys there?”

“Sounds good,” Annie said.

“Drive safe,” Bobby warned and held the door open for his wife.

Dean felt weird with his empty hands and you bent over with your bag and your laptop case, but you seemed to manage. “How are you feeling about things? How long we got before shit explodes with that article?”

You hummed in estimation, “about nine hours? East Coast will get to it first so it’s gonna be another early day.” 

“Brutal.”

“It will keep me busy, but it will be a good busy. I’m sure of it,” you promised.

Dean huffed. “If you say so.”

He unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for you, the familiar creak in the hinge the only sound in the cement tomb of the parking garage. But it didn’t feel creepy, it felt nice to be alone and out at night. With you.

He let you drag your stuff into the footwell and made sure not to get your sweater caught in the door as he closed it. He rounded the front bumper and got into his spot. “Alrighty, let’s go get stuck in traffic for an hour.”

You smiled at him, without looking up from swiping through your phone.

“You posted?!” you shrieked in surprise not five minutes later.

“With my own two thumbs and everything,” Dean teased back.

“They are loving this.--- Dean, it’s already got like over a thousand comments.”

Hey, he could do the internet charm, when he wanted to.

“What are they sayin’? They pumped to see us live?” 

“Definitely! And then the usual: speculation on Lee and Pam, people begging you to father their children—” you laugh fondly, like at a child showing off a well known skill. “Kevin is starting to get a sort of following, and the younger crowd brings more enthusiasm. Plus, people are already speculating how long during each set before Sam loses his shirt.”

Dean cackled. “Sweaty bastard, even with all the box fans.”

He pulled them onto the freeway and wedged in where he could amongst the chaos, careful to leave breathing room for his girl.

“When you’re all done with that, we can talk Bela at the shows. I’m guessing you meant you want her backstage and easily seen from the audience and all that?”

“Pretty much, but also what works around what she’s doing. She can’t exactly tour with you guys, but we gotta make it look like she’s doing her damndest to.”

You spent a few minutes going through your notifications while Dean turned up the radio a bit to keep him occupied through the stop and go traffic. Must be a game somewhere, he thought passingly.

“So, uh—- how much longer do you think we gotta do this act? Seems like I’m looking pretty good these days in the eyes of the public. And if you’re sure Meg’s article will be good press—”

You put down your phone and turned on the bench seat to lean your arm along the back of it, putting Dean entirely in your focus. He swallowed and looked back at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Where’s this coming from? I thought it was working out good with Bela?” You were trying for neutral, he could feel it. But you were upset. Or alarmed at least.

“It is— just not really sustainable for the long run. Eventually she’s gonna find somebody she actually wants to date and I’m gonna be gone for like the next year.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Bela’s aromantic, Dean. She isn’t interested in relationships at all.”

“Wait— what? That’s a thing? Chicks do that?”

You glared at him. Shit.

He licked his lips and wiped his palm on the thigh of his jeans. “Okay, but people probably know that, right?”

“Yeah, but people have a way of thinking that eventually she’s gonna meet the right person and ‘settle down’.”

Dean groaned. “Are we playing up a shitty stereotype? Am I being a bad ally?”

You rolled your eyes. “Dean, shut up. You didn’t know, which I find odd, but I’ll talk to Bela about that.---- And we’re not getting graded on your allyship, because frankly that is an entirely different conversation.”

Dean closed his eyes against the accusation but got back into driver mode quick enough to remain safe. He sighed.

“Anyway, I was just curious if there is a timeline or an escape clause or something when the label won’t cut off my nuts for being officially single again.”

You turned back to face the dashboard and picked your phone back up. “I cannot believe you can’t keep it in your pants for one tour, Dean. Groupies and fucking syphilis boosters cannot be that fun.”

Dean swerved, but righted the car. 

“HEY! Nobody said anything about wanting to get my dick wet! I was just asking a question. You don’t gotta be shitty about it.”

Dean swallowed back his retort about not needing easy hook ups because Bela was more than on board for helping fill that particular outlet, but he had already dug himself into a hole tonight.

He inhaled and worked on calming himself down. He realized he was more hurt than anything, that that’s where your mind went for his reasoning. 

That was how you saw him.

He wasn’t a dog, not anymore at least. And if he had been for the few years after Jo’s death, it was something he had to get himself through. He should not feel ashamed for enjoying life. 

But apparently somewhere along the line you’d grown a superiority complex.

Your opinion shouldn’t matter. He only had to answer to himself at the end of the day. But shouldn’t didn’t equal doesn’t.

Which made him feel even more pathetic.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

Chapter 23: Furia

[auspicioustidings]

Ae Fond Kiss - Part 8 (Final)

A Red, Red Rose

Summary: A bombshell is dropped and you look to the future. Words: 2k TWs: mention of miscarriage

So I've lost interest in this fic hence why we have a rushed wrap up because I didn't just want to abandon it :') All parts - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

“We gonna do this forever then Johnny?”

It was a form of torture Simon was sure, them having lunch together once a week every week and making small talk. He missed his best friend. He missed being able to say something outrageous and knowing Johnny would call him a sick bastard and then immediately try to outdo him.

“Eat lunch?” Johnny replied a little miserably, shuffling pasta about his plate.

“Johnny…”

“What dae ye want me tae say LT?”

“Not your LT anymore, retired remember? And Price told me about your promotion.”

Captain John MacTavish did have a nice ring to it, and Soap had more than earned the stripes. In another world he’d have grinned at Ghost, smug as anything and making some comment about being able to order him around now. But instead he frowned and Simon hated it. 

“Talk to me for Christ sake!”

“I cannae! Ye want me tae tell ye how much I miss your wife? How it kills me that she’ll never forgive me and that she’s right about it?”

“Johnny…”

“Or were ye hoping tae hear that I dinnae even regret Las Almas? It’s ruined everything, but I’ve loved you since I broke my fingers on that stupid bloody mask and I didnae even realise until we nearly fucking died! Ignored it even when I did, had 9 years tae think about how either way I was breaking my own heart because it decided it loved two different people!”

Fuck. He was crying. Johnny was crying. And Simon was caught between wanting to kiss him or kill him. He had never expected to be loved back was the thing. He did something unbearably selfish on the understanding it was all one sided, that the fuck was just the adrenaline from thinking they were going to die and they’d forget it ever happened. And then everything had went to shit and he had fallen in love with Johnny’s widow. He’d already lost one person he loved because he was too scared to admit it, he just couldn’t do it again,  selfish asshole that he was. 

“You should regret it. You… we hurt her. Hurt her so bad that we might lose her.”

“Aye. I deserve tae lose her though, never deserved tae have her in the first place anyway. I just caught you in the crossfire of my sins.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Simon said with full derision.

This has gone on long enough. So what? Everyone was just supposed to be miserable forever? They were supposed to just lay down and take it? Johnny looked at him, hurt and confused. 

“I watched you fight every break up. You fought tooth and fucking nail to make it work. When you fucked up you made it up to her. When she fucked up you forgave her. And what? Now that Johnny is dead? Either you still love her and are willing to fight to get her back, or any part of the man I loved died in Russia.”

“You’ve lost yer fucking mind Si, she’s your wife!”

Simon stood, determined.

“And our wife needs to remember who she belongs to and who belongs to her.”

As he started marching off Johnny near choked and scrambled to follow.

“Ye cannae be serious! Leave her be Si! Ye cannae just barge in and-and-”

“And tell her she’ll try forgive us because we’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to her? That we can start right now by showing her how well you can follow orders and how well I can give them for her benefit? I bloody well can and I’m bloody well going to. Either you’re with me or you can stay and mope.”

“...aye sir.”

–

Once upon a time Joey being at a sleepover was exciting, it meant some much needed alone time with your husband. Now though? The house felt cold, empty. You considered asking Gaz and Price’s partner if they’d come round to hang out, but it felt so messy when they were just as much Simon’s friend as they were yours. It would somehow make you miss him more. 

Everytime he was at the house briefly and you made polite conversation you wanted to cry. You had a few times, only after he was gone of course. That big fucking lummox. You wanted to strangle him, but then again that wasn’t exactly new. And you wanted rhubarb and sugar. Oh you could murder some rhubarb dipped in sugar like your parents used to give you as a kid. 

The door went just as you finished pouring a large glass of wine. Simon stood looking like he sometimes did when you were about to get absolutely ruined in bed and you swore your heart nearly stopped. Johnny was by his side, pupils blown with a blush crawling up his neck as if he somehow knew exactly what images just popped into your mind. Oh. Oh you suddenly wanted them so badly it hurt. 

And damn them for knowing you so well, for being able to fucking tell. Simon’s lips were on yours as he walked into the house, you being led backwards. You were clawing at his shirt as he squeezed your ass until you bumped into the kitchen island and realised how insane this was, pulling away to try find Johnny. He had followed, was swallowing thickly as Simon started to kiss and nip a path down your neck. This was insane. This was certifiably mental. You could not… have a threesome? Have a threesome with your husband and your husband who had fucked each other ten years ago on a mission before one faked his damn death. 

“W-what are you doing? We can’t…” you mumbled, trying to get your head on straight since currently your brain seemed to reside between your legs.

“Tell me what you need princess. Want me on my knees begging against your pussy? Want Johnny to fly you to Hawaii and keep you in the lap of luxury for a month? Want us to be here every single day in the garden announcing to the neighbours that we deserve a fucking whipping for how badly we fucked everything up with the gorgeous mother of our child?”

Christ almighty. So much for Simon being the unemotional and ineloquent one. You couldn’t handle this. You couldn’t handle how much you wanted to just give in. He made it sound so easy, like you could have them both, like they would give you whatever you wanted just to stay by your side despite what they’d done. He was going to his knees in front of you.

“Rhubarb!”

The room froze for a moment as Simon hit the ground with his knees and just stared at you.

“...is that, uh, a safeword?” Johnny asked, seemingly surprised out of the slack jawed, dazed state he seemed to have been in. 

“No. I mean I… rhubarb. You asked what I needed. Rhubarb and sugar, but we have sugar in the cupboard so… just the rhubarb.”

“...ok, rhubarb. We can do rhubarb” Simon said after a moment, taking it in his stride as he snuck a peck to your stomach where his head currently was and then stood. 

If they just left and went to the shops maybe you could… you didn’t know. Maybe you could hurriedly touch yourself to get rid of the ache between your legs and then neck your wine to get rid of the one in your chest. Simon turned and nodded to Johnny and took a few steps, so you picked up the glass of wine to calm yourself down only for Johnny to pluck it out of your hands.

“Unless you’ve suddenly developed a taste for red wine I’d appreciate that back” you snapped at him.

“And since you’ve suddenly developed a taste for rhubarb I’m naw giving it tae ye.”

“MacTavish” Simon scolded, sure Johnny was about to ruin what he was hoping was some reconciliation here.

“That’s not…” you started before you went pale. 

“How ye been feeling recently hen?”

Oh no. Not now. You just assumed you felt sick because of the stress. But then the take away food had seemed so off despite you usually loving it. You kept having to throw up. You were lethargic. And now you needed rhubarb and sugar, something you had only craved twice in your adult life, the most recent being over a decade ago. The last time you were pregnant. 

“What’s going on?” Simon asked, not liking at all how your face just fell as he strode back to you. “What did you do Johnny? It’s ok sweetheart, I’m sorry we just showed up, seemed like a good idea at the time. Just missed you so much.”

The universe had a sick sense of humour. Over a year of trying for a baby with this man. 18 fucking months. And you get pregnant right before your other husband comes back from the dead, the one it turns out your current husband has slept with behind your back? This could not be happening, but all the signs were there. When had you last had a period? You hadn’t even noticed that you were late with everything going on. 

You tried to do the maths in your head. It had been a few months since Johnny had come back, so you were at the very least that far along. 8 weeks. You had miscarried at 10. Maybe you were further along, maybe you were past the worst of the danger. God you prayed you were past the worst of the danger. 

“Si, gie her some room would ye? We’re right here, if ye want us tae be. It’s up to you, you dinnae have tae…” Johnny said, struggling to get out the words.

There was no thought in your mind that you would get rid of this baby, but the fact that he was putting that option out there when he himself had always been so desperate for a big family was something you appreciated more than you could say. Goddamnit, he still loved you. 9 years away and he still bloody loved you. Would still do whatever it took for you to be happy. Even if in that case this meant not having another baby.

How strange that you thought of this baby as his. How strange that you just as strongly thought of it as Simon’s. If the past few months had shown you anything it was that you could look after a child between the three of you, so it wasn’t like they had to be with you to do it. Even if you’d like them to be. Despite it all, you’d really fucking like them to be.

“Princess?”

You took a deep breath and smiled softly at Simon who was looking increasingly alarmed. You caressed his face and it felt like relief to touch him. 

“Maybe we can go a trip to the doctor on the way for the rhubarb Casper. Think we might be pregnant.”

–

A very healthy baby girl with an incredibly healthy set of lungs. You sang to her, love like A Red, Red Rose for your little Rose. You bawled your eyes out when Joey refused to turn down his hearing aids even when she was screaming at the top of her lungs because that was his baby sister and he would never not want to hear her. It was a good thing you could all sign with the way she drowned you all out, even Johnny as clumsy as his hands were with it had dedicated himself to learning since he had got home. 

You were fairly certain your little Rose was making Price broody with Gaz and their partner finding their grumpy old man losing his mind over a chubby baby adorable. Although there was a good chance Price wasn’t making any babies with how you had planted your foot in his groin when he finally came out of hiding. 

You were still figuring things out, but right now? Right now you were happy. You had two perfect children by two imperfect husbands. It was up in the air what your family was going to look like in the future. Did you want to forgive them? Even if you did, would you be friends and co-parents or something more?

That you hadn’t quite decided yet. But you were determined that whatever the future held for you, it was going to be a future full of love and laughter.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Nicknames

Thomas Shelby:

Darling- 9/10, Uses it pretty often and loves to see how people react to such a cold person using such warmth in his tone only towards you.

Sweetheart- 10/10, Only used in front of family or yourself but uses it the most out of anything.

Dear- 7/10, Uses it when he's trying to butter you up or is trying to get your attention, but it slips without his thinking about it much.

Arthur Shelby:

Sweetheart- 8/10, No matter how hard up he is, he loves being soft for you with a kind touch it makes him feel better about everything he does.

Love- 1000/10, Uses it ALL THE TIME and loves making it known you belong to him no matter who’s around he’s saying it.

Little one- 6.5, Uses it when he just wants to prove he's older than you or if you're arguing with each other never really means ill will with it.

John Shelby:

Doll- 8/10, He’s so playful with you and loves having fun with you on his arm, but he also just loves showing you off.

Kitten- 6.8/10, Uses it when it's just you two alone but loves seeing reactions to it most importantly yours.

Darling- 8/10, Uses it anywhere and everywhere no matter who's around you both he loves seeing the reaction from you when he says this.

Ada Shelby:

Dearest- 9/10, She's just so soft and cute for this life and she just wants to be happy with you.

My love- 7/10, Loves to call you this and see your reaction but mainly calls you this in private.

Sweetie- 9/10, Uses it without thinking and even around others, but she just thinks it's a cute name for a cute person.

Finn Shelby:

Doll- 6.3/10, Uses it in front of others but mainly to seem tough like the other guys in his family or friends.

My Princess/Prince- 8/10, Adores this nickname for you but does save it for when it's just the two of you or if he really needs your attention.

Angel- 8/10, Took him some time, but will use this one out and about in front of whoever as well and thinks it's true.

Polly Gray:

Darling- 7.5/10, Uses it and doesn't care who is around when she calls it by this mainly because she thinks it's cute for you.

Pet- 9/10, Used it before you were together and still uses it even after you both got together.

Dragostea mea- 10/10, Loves being sweet and tender with you while speaking in Romanian to you but chooses to use this in private so it's special.

Micheal Gray:

Beloved- 7/10, This is how he introduces you to others or how he describes you to people not caring if it's used in private or public.

Baby- 2945602/10, Smug bastard says it with a smirk as well, mainly uses it in public but simply doesn't care and will just say it so casually towards you.

Honey- 5.5/10, Only ever uses it in private since he doesn't want others to see him so soft for you but also wants you to know how appreciative he is for you.

Isaiah Jesus:

Kitten- 20/10, He's so playful about it and mainly uses it in public and will make sure everyone knows he's talking to you.

Sweets- 1000/10, Loves seeing your reaction to this one but also doesn't care if used in private or public but will also use this trying to butter you up.

Angel Face- 9/10, Mainly used in private but also doesn't know how exactly this became a nickname for you all he knows is he enjoys saying this to you.

Bonnie Gold:

Honey- 9/10, Mainly used to get your attention and will use it on public not caring how anyone perceives him.

Angel- 7/10, Also used in public around others still not caring what they think but he thinks it's the cutest thing to call you.

Other half- 20/10, Only uses it in private with you so it can stay special for you both and only used it in public when you both got married.

Alfie Solomons:

Sweetling- 7/10, Uses it in private when just to both but also not as a serious nickname for you he uses it playfully.

Snookums- 20/10, Uses it playfully as well but also in public, making sure everyone knows he's talking to you.

Yaffe- 100/10, Uses it in mostly private but if he's busy and not thinking he'll use it in public but mainly enjoys saying it to you during any moment he can.

(Dragostea mea) in Romanian means my love

(Yaffe) in Hebrew means beautiful

[daughter-of-prospero]

Jonah Rant

Someone on Youtube reminded me that I rage-typed an essay-length tirade about Jonah Magnus and his status as a certified Bastard Man right after the finale. They asked if there was a chance they could see it, which was a good question because did I even still have it? Turns out: Yes! It’s evidently been chilling in Onedrive for ~2 years. So for those who wish, my thoughts regarding that awful little man are below.

Spoilers for The Magnus Archives.

I went into the finale fully ready to not hear from Jonah again. I thought ‘oh, cosmic horror, as important as he thinks he is, he’s inconsequential and John just zaps him with eye lasers or something’. I didn’t want it per se, but I thought it was plausible.

But no. Oh no. Jonah Magnus speaks again, and he hasn’t been around for all of season 5. We heard him on a recording and we heard him chanting in the background and also all distorted in a job interview flashback, but there has been no actual uncompelled words being spoken by Jonah Magnus in real time since 159.

Yes he wrote the incantation but, rather crucially, he did not read it.

I binged TMA right as it got up to the season 4 finale. I got through season 1 in one day, and season 2 the next, and then got through three and four in the days after that. I caught up just in time for 160 to drop.

So I, foolish, naïve baby that I was, had over a year to forget what this character actually sounded like, and just how much of a slimy, insufferable fucker Jonah Magnus is. Was. Bitch.

I’ve gone into this elsewhere so I won’t belabor it but one of the reasons I’m so viscerally miffed by him is because of every human character in this podcast, he is the only one that is never shown sympathetically. I’m not counting Nikola Orsinov, or NotThems, or other manifestations of the Entities. I mean of the human, or avatar-human characters he is the least grey. Morality in this show is complex and tough to think about in my brain and one of the great ways it does this is through having really layered characters with motivations that are, at least a little, understandable. Jude Perry was a violent, sadistic lady...she was also devoted to Agnes and in some ways I think you could argue they were each other’s only links to humanity until what’s-his-name came along. Coffee shop Himbo guy. Peter Lukas is a misanthrope to the max who will send people into a nether realm if they so much as look at him wrong – which is to say, look at him at all. He was also raised to know nothing but loneliness, and pursuing it was kind of the only way he ever got some sort of approval. Which also manifested as more distance.

We get these little nuggets of what brought a villain where they are now, and we certainly don’t have to excuse them, but we have some context. We have some understanding that there is humanity in there, and that understanding makes them all the more unsettling.

Not fuckin’ Jonah.

What do we know about him? He’s a couple centuries old. Great. He found out about the powers, was drawn to the eye, and decided to start body-hopping to cheat death. He’s been doing this for ages. He tried a ritual and it failed. He took his time then, plotting and planning, and being smug, and finally arriving at a hypothesis that had a lot of credence to it. Everything fell into place, he was right, its all or nothing with the entities but the Eye rules because it opened the door (or WHATEVER).

So his big motivator is he doesn’t want to die.

And you know what, this is super understandable. We don’t know what his childhood was like (Jesus, can you imagine him in a little powder wig, climbing a tree to get a high vantage point to spy on people and get blackmail on them?), but fear of death is almost universal.

And of all the billions of people on this planet, I cannot help but notice that we are not thwarting narcissistic necromancers every fifteen minutes. Because the world would have fucking exploded a long, long time ago if we had more Jonahs in it. i.e. the people who would make aggressive selfishness a full-time occupation.

There’s a sort of cocktail of shit that makes him a memorable baddie not the least of which is that he never even attempts to justify his abhorrent actions. He’s not lying to himself, or anyone else, he’s not serving a cult, or a bunch of worms. He’s in it for himself, and if he has to stack the corpses of every living thing on the planet to reach immortality he’ll fucking do it without hesitation. Couple that with his manipulations, his merciless psychological torture, and a low, smooth voice that is always so infuriatingly composed and you have a Hell of a villain.

(I maintain that one of the reasons he’s so effective is that he enunciates so carefully. He doesn’t run words together, or mumble, he never really raises his voice, he is always in control, and everything is a flex right down to the articulation. I feel like we associate crisp, clear speech with formality, presidential addresses, or theater, things like that. Where you know what you are going to say and so the recitation is more confident. We hear this happen in statements, to a certain extent, but there’s still a lot of emotional range. For 199 episodes we never heard Jonah lose this pointed, smarmy tone. People don’t talk so formally in life, or when they’re talking on the podcast. There is something unsettling and intimidating about hearing such clear and confident speech all the time. It sounds like he knows exactly what to say in any situation. It sounds like he is utterly confident in every word that leaves his mouth. It sounds like he’s in a scene and no one else got the script but him. Because that is kinda what’s going on. At the very least, he thinks that’s what’s going on)

When he drops from wherever he’s suspended in the panopticon, he, you know, sort of makes a noise because that’s gotta be jarring. And we for once, for once, for fucking ONCE hear him even vaguely uncertain. And stupido io, I thought he was finally brought low and we might get a tantrum or something.

But no. Jonah Magnus has a lot of lost time to make up for, it’s been 20 eps since he’s been able to serenade everyone with his unique brand of horny arrogance. This motherfucker has exactly a millisecond of confusion and grogginess before “I was having the most...wonderful dream”. You can hear him edging.

And he’s kiiiiind of surprised to see John by himself with a knife, but still, so blasé, so, ‘oh, is that all?’ He’s a liiiiitle regretful to hear it’s over, but immediately heads into waxing rhapsodic about seeing a thousand lifetimes and the rapture of infinite sight and suffering and other Hellraiser shit when John speaks for all of us and tells him to shut up. Yet another reason to respect him.

And John has a lovely little catharsis where he gets to tell this orchestrator of his despair that Jonah has failed because the Things that Jonah is so devoted to will die a slow death. How long has he been waiting to say that, do you think? I mean at this point there’s nothing that could do what he’s probably feeling justice but he says it himself he gets some satisfaction from “knowing that I’ll be leaving these things that you serve trapped and starving in their own private hell.”

And all Jonah has to say is: “That we serve.” To the bitter, bitter end he is determined to just...okay I was gonna say twist the knife but that seems a bit tasteless now...determined to cause even more hurt. He cannot resist, it’s kind of all he knows. He is at the edge of a cliff and taunting the person that’s about to push him off of it.

And if you ever need a posterchild for ‘hubris’ just pull up a sound clip of Jonah Magnus. He tries to play the old ‘alright, playtime’s over,’ card, brushing the dust and what-the-fuck-ever else off his suit and manipulate John again. He has the...not even audacity, he’s looped back around from being semi-omniscient, to being so confident in that omniscience he thinks he knows everything and therefore acts way more stupidly than someone without that surety. He is enough of a dipshit to try and say to John “we both know you don’t have it in you”.

Motherfucker, what have you been doing for this entire season? What have you been doing this entire show? You have purposefully created someone who has withstood the brunt of every entity and come out more or less intact. You purposefully guided him into honing his powers, and put him in a position where he has nothing to lose. Well, Martin, but Jonah can’t do anything about that. Not anymore. Because the one person who can protect Martin is coincidentally the same person who can, will, and reeeeeally wants to Kill Jonah.

“King of a ruined world and I shall never die” my ass. King? Really? You were a placeholder, my dude. The Eye didn’t give a fuck that you were at the top of the panopticon and it didn’t give a fuck when John pulled you out of it. You said it yourself, dipshit. You might have started the archives, but John IS the archives. He is the only person more powerful than Jonah and Jonah, of all people, should know this. Especially considering you could presumably see John cutting through the domains, dishing out biblical vengeance, on a warpath for your tower.

So of course, he decides to antagonize John even more if that is even possible by telling him they both know he can’t do it.

And John fucking punches him and it’s great. Extended sounds of brutal ass whooping, please and thank you.

And then we get one of two lines that sums up Jonah Magnus for me.

“P-please John, I don’t want to die”.

This guy. Who dedicated his several lives to ruling the world and feeding on everyone else’s pain. Who has committed atrocities that numerous to count and too horrible to name. Who is being confronted by the direct target of his machinations and who, I think it’s safe to say, hates him more than anyone or anything else in existence. Has the absolute fucking nerve to go “but I’m scared :(”

When he went ‘I don’t want to die’ I actually said to literally no one because I was alone in my room “HA, Fuck you.”

John puts it a bit more eloquently. “Neither did they”. Beautiful. And then he’s gutted like the repulsive little fish he is.

The second line that sums up this insufferable megalomaniac is a little earlier. It’s casual, neither of them makes a point of it. Maybe because it’s a little redundant. “Empathy only holds you back in the end”.

I don’t want to die, and Empathy only holds you back in the end.

I mean, that’s the thesis statement of the shit-eating essay that is Jonah Magnus.

He’s so far beyond regret, or anything that isn’t 100% self-motivated he cannot perceive that perhaps John will have maybe, I don’t know, changed a bit. Gotten used to horror. Killed. He cannot fathom anything outside the tower as more than a food source. He is so used to seeing people as pawns he dies not actually understanding why John killed him. “Good luck” are his last lines.

First of all, the direction is ‘wetly’ and on the one hand I know what that means, but on the other, I cannot think of a more fitting adjective to end on with this guy.

Second of all, the ambiguity of how sincere he is or isn’t being is enraging, and so classic and I hate him, which is to say fucking excellent job of writing and acting both.

He goes to his grave thinking John’s making a power grab. He cannot conceive of any other reason for John doing what he’s doing. They’re opposite ends of the spectrum. One who can think of no one but himself, and one who will sacrifice himself because he’s thinking of everyone else. You know how matter can’t be created or destroyed? I think guilt might be the same way. And Jonah found a handy receptacle for all the guilt he doesn’t have time for and that receptacle is named Jonathan Sims head Archivist of The Magnus Institute.

What a good villain. What an infuriatingly mellifluous bitch. The thinks he’s King of the World, he thinks he’s going to get such special treatment, he thinks consequences apply to everyone but him, he thinks this is a game he can win when he doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s playing.

As much as he looked at John and went “perfect, an insecure idiot”, the Web looked at him and went “perfect, a pompous ass”. He wanted to live forever, but now he’s dead. And he doesn’t even get to live on in memory. No one knew he was up there. No one remembered Elias, let alone Jonah. You think Georgie, Melanie, Rosie, and Basira are going to tell the world about him? What would be the point?

Congratulations, Jonah. You tried to ensure your immortality and ended up ensuring that you died both literally and figuratively. Before it got yeeted into another dimension The End must have had a fucking Field Day the second his heart stopped beating.

What a bastard. What an unfathomable bastard. Like he really thought this would all work out for him, that he was the most Important Thing in the world when, at best, at best he was a glorified fucking contact lens.

Ass.