#cause he still thinks John betrayed him

[roaringheat]

MICAH IS DEAD !!! KILL KILL VIOLENCE

[killerpancakeburger]

PULL ME CLOSER

SUMMARY: After a mission gone wrong, Soap narrowly cheats death. When visiting him in his hospital bed, overwhelming relief emboldens you, making you do something you regret. So you flee, resolved to avoid Sergeant MacTavish until the end of your days. 

But Johnny is done letting you slip through his fingers.

Part 1. Part 2.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (reader has boobs, that's it)

TAGS: A pinch of angst, then tooth rotting fluff, Civilian!Reader, Anxious!Reader, Depressed!Reader, inexperienced!Reader, Desperate!Soap, Soft!Soap, mutual pining, first kiss, confessions, dirty talk, making out. Bit of a chase, but it's fluffy. Protective!Ghost bordering on controlling but he works on it. Swears, blood mention, injuries, miilitary inaccuracies, suggestive content.

WORDS COUNT: 5.6k

A/N: aaaAAAH F I N A L L Y! ITS KISSING TIME BABEYYY 💋 For @glitterypirateduck COD Vacation Mode challenge, prompts 32 with Ghost and 58 with Soap.

"Hey author, this is Soap x Reader, why is Ghost there...?" Because he just! Won't! Leave! 🙃 *you can now picture me trying to push him out of the room with all my meager strength but he doesn't budge an inch* 

As you pace around the office for the umpteenth time, you can tell from the glint in Ghost's eyes that he's seconds away from telling you to take a seat and stop writhing uselessly. 

When did you become so accustomed to the taciturn Lieutenant's expressions - or more accurately, lack of -, that you could figure out what was going on behind the mask? You couldn’t remember.

He's been keeping his gaze on you since you've sat down after learning the harrowing news; or, more exactly, since he's sat down and you've been fidgeting relentlessly.

You're feeling like a shark - to stop moving won't kill you, but it will cause the whole world to come crashing down. It will allow reality to become clearer, sharper, inescapable.

The arrival of Price in the room captures his lieutenant's attention before he can scold you. Gaz follows close behind. He offers you a reassuring smile before his captain addresses you.

“He's going to make it.”

Relief overwhelms you with just those five words; a colossal wave close to sending you tumbling down. Ghost's mask fails to hide his own calming.

Price sets his hands on his hips. His voice is gruffed but composed.

“All he needs now is rest… and some blood.”

“I'll do it,” you blurt out resolutely, taking a step towards your boss.

“No,” snarls Ghost, tone adamant.

You snap around to stare at him in shock and disbelief. He never raised his voice at you before. And, most importantly, he never tried to dictate your behavior. 

“Who do you think you are?! I'm not one of your fucking recruits-”

Price loudly coughs in his fist.

“Easy there.” 

He raises both hands in appeasement. “We don’t even know if you're compatible.”

“I'm a universal donor,” you counter immediately, determination unaltered.

“Course ya are,” scoffs Ghost derisively.

You glare at him with open animosity. What the fuck is wrong with him!?

“What is that even supposed to mean!?”

You throw your arms up in irritation.

“Enough! Both of you.”

John's tone extinguishes your shout with redoubtable efficiency. He's already not someone you would dare cross on casual days, but hearing him raise his voice makes you sheepish.

Nonetheless, you turn towards him, outraged and betrayed. "Both"!? Why both!? I'm not the one being an asshole for no reason!

“You've done this before?” the captain asks, looking at you.

You nod vigorously.

He indicates the door with his chin.

“Fine, then. Go see the nurses to set you up.”

You bolt out of the room without further ado, determined to not let Ghost get another word in. But you can still hear one last sentence as you hasten.

“As for you, Simon…It is none of your business.”

Giving blood has never been a walk in the park. Every time, you have to actively handle your nerves; resort to trusty relaxation methods, such as focusing on your breathing, or counting the tiles on the ceiling.

The stab of the needle is unpleasant, to say the least, but the wait between the jab and the removal is almost as challenging.

Nonetheless, you've done this before, you succeeded, and for Johnny, you'd be willing to do it for hours.

Power of will doesn't compensate blood loss however, and when you get up from the bed, you feel dizzy, your bandaged arm sore and stiff. The idea of meeting with Soap shortly helps you power through, and soon enough you’re sitting at a table in the canteen, empty at this hour of the day, stuffing your face with whatever snacks and drinks have been put aside to aid your recovery.

With nothing but concern for Johnny busying your mind, you end up eavesdropping on a couple of nearby cafeteria employees.

“You think that's really him?”

“Ain't that many guys going around with a skull mask.”

“I heard he killed a man with only a pen…”

Your eyes widen at the mention of a mask, and you groan in annoyance before turning around to see where the staff is looking.

Near the entrance, casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Ghost is watching over you like an overzealous bodyguard. He finally swapped his mission outfit for his trademark black hoodie and grey sweatpants. 

Exasperation flashes through you and you proceed to fling at him a cake wrapped in plastic. Your aim's never been anything to be proud of, but he's large enough that you manage to brush his shoulder.

“Get away from me, you creep!” you yell loud enough to be heard by him.

He gives you an inscrutable gaze before leaving the room, probably settling right on the other side of the door, not one to admit defeat so easily.

Minutes later, you leave the room to visit Soap, and observe with spiteful satisfaction that you were right - Ghost adopted the same position as before, against the corridor's wall. You glower at him as you pass by, and of course he remains unfazed.

You scoff with irritation before deciding to ignore him and focus on Johnny, accelerating the pace.

“Wait.”

You halt with a vexed sigh.

“If you intend to berate me again, I'm not gonna stand there and take it.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

You pivot to face him, exasperated by his sibylline remarks. He moved away from the wall and approached you while you had your back on him.

“Once again, what is that even supposed to mean?”

His cryptic attitude makes your blood boil with anger, one that could almost mask the feelings of hurt and betrayal he begets inside you. At some point, you've genuinely started to believe that you two became some kind of friends. Turns out that you've been naively imagining things this whole time.

“The whole self-sacrificing bullshit.”

You stare in incomprehension, searching his concealed features vainly for a clue, wishing you could rip that stupid mask off his face.

“I'm not sacrificing myself. It's just a bit of blood.”

He crosses his arms.

“We have stocks for that. And it's not just that. When he got into trouble with Price for making you skip work, you tried to take all the blame.”

“He did it to cheer me up-”

He keeps talking like you didn’t intervene.

“And when he pummeled that officer, you pretended it was all your fault.”

“I-”

“Luckily for you, Price's no sucker.”

You wince with distress.

“I just wanted to help. I hate being… feeling useless.”

“That's my problem. I swear it feels like you’d slash your own wrists if you thought it would ‘help’.”

You grimace but do not contradict him. It's actually kind of scary how much he figured you out.

“Let him take responsibility for his actions. He may look impulsive most of the time, but he knows what he's doing.”

Arms folded, you gaze fixedly at the floor in silence, not knowing what to add.

“I’m sorry.”

He talked loud enough to be understood, but the content of his sentence makes you doubt what he said as much as if he whispered. You stare at him with wide eyes, speechless. It's not that you categorically believe Ghost incapable of self-reflection, but at the same time, he's always striked you more as the type to never admit any weakness - except maybe in front of a trusted superior and longtime friend like Price.

“Shouldn't have tried to boss you around. Only made things worse. What happened with Johnny… made me…”

He acts like articulating an apology out loud has on him the effect of enthusiastically biting into a lemon - an irresistible temptation to annoy him emerges inside you. No harm in a little well-deserved payback.

“On edge? Touchy? Cranky? Irrita-”

“That'll do. Go, now.”

You turn away with an amused smile on your lips.

Witnessing the wounded sergeant in a hospital's bed is like a punch to the stomach. Maybe an actual punch would be more merciful.

Inside you, gratitude for his miraculous survival battles against sorrow caused by his pitiful state. An impressive bandage is wrapped around his head, one arm secured in a cast, the other bearing a couple of compresses. His face is littered with scratches and contusions.

When he notices you, frozen on the threshold, he beams.

“How's my little firecracker doing?”

That nickname. That damn nickname. He started using it after he caught you red-handed giving the middle finger to a rude officer who was leaving your office just as Soap was entering it. You tolerated it until you realized it was a reference to his love of explosions and all things blow-able, which made you ridiculously pleased, yet self-conscious all at once.

Your legs were already unsteady, so the complimentary alias almost finished you off. 

“That's my line, you Scottish bastard.” you retort, voice devoid of hostility despite the insult.

Closing the gap between you two with a few strides, you stop at what you consider a respectable distance.

“Why, I'm alive and kicking. No need fer ye to look so dejected.”

You scoff, both annoyed and moved by the attempt to console you. It's unbearable to see him so shattered and yet so upbeat, while you don't have a scratch but came so close to breaking down.

“I hate you,” you mumble.

“Ye love me.”

If you only knew… you wouldn’t dare to joke like that.

You smile ruefully, despite yourself.

“I'm serious. For a moment I…I really thought you… you weren't going to… shit.”

You furiously blink to get rid of the rising tears stinging your eyes, looking away shamefully.

“Hey, hey, hey, c'mere.”

He pats one side of the bed with his free hand invitingly. You obey, positioning yourself near the mattress close enough to touch. He grabs one of your hands and gently squeezes it.

“M sorry.” 

His tone is gruff, maybe a bit abashed. A pang of culpability pierces your heart. 

“What could you be sorry for? You were doing your job. I need to get over it.”

You’re not mine to lose.

“Fer makin’ ye cry. I hate it.”

Why does he have to be so kind?

You persist in trying to prove that you’re the one in the wrong here, not him.

“I shouldn't be crying. You’re the one who went through hell.”

He snorts.

“What's so funny?”

“Not funny, just… Ye didn’t even shed a tear when that bastard jumped ye the other day. Yet here ye are, crying over my sorry arse. Yer somethin’ else.”

The compliment takes you aback, and as his eyes sparkle with nothing but honesty, you fiddle with the bandage you received from the blood donation in a desperate effort to collect yourself.

“What’s that? Ye hurt?”

The concern in his voice warms your heart, even if it is unnecessary.

Soap rises from his pillow to some extent, pain obvious in his restricted movements. You react immediately, clicking your tongue in disapproval. Before you can think twice about it, you set your hand between his pecs and push him back, careful to not harm him, but firm.

“I didn't give you my blood just so you could spill it right away!”

He shouldn't be so easy to put back into his place, even with his wounds. Yet he goes down smoothly, docile under your imperious touch as if he was the unassuming civilian and you the imposing soldier.

His eyes linger on your hand before setting on you, the intensity and the heat of his gaze taking your breath away. His expression is one of surprise, but not of annoyance or revulsion, or at least that's what you hope from what you can read on his face.

Sinking into the lagoons of his eyes, you stare back in a daze. You can feel the rhythmic motions of his well-defined chest under your palm, rising and lowering as he breathes. Suddenly the contact becomes intolerable as your cheeks catch fire. You begin to withdraw but he grabs you just in time.

“Ye gave me yer blood?”

The urgency in his tone takes you by surprise, and so does his expression, one that's contemplating you like you've just announced that you've run in front of a truck for him.

“Price said you needed it-”

“Yer. Blood. We have a stock fer that!”

“I know, I just- I was there and I wanted to do something.”

“And they just let ye?”

“I asked real nicely.”

“Would have liked to see that.”

There's a challenging spark in his eye that you choose to ignore.

“It's just blood,” you mumble, shying away from his gaze, embarrassed by his reaction. You didn’t do this in the hopes that he would express eternal gratitude, nor that he'd be admiring of you.

“It will reconstitute on its own.”

He scoffs, unconvinced. Yet he doesn't sound too mad. There's a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and he's looking at you like you hung the moon.

“Let's talk less about me, and more about you, ok? How are you feeling?”

“Parched,” he retorts while reaching for the water bottle on the nearby tray table.

Of course he's not expanding further. Johnny's the kind to dramatically whine over a paper cut for fun but somehow when it comes to serious, life-threatening injuries, he becomes stoically reserved, almost stingy with words.

You almost throw yourself at the bottle when you notice the slight wince of pain in the line of his mouth - despite his efforts to conceal it - and hand it over to him.

“Just ask me if you need something.”

“Oh bonnie, ye dunnae know what yer getting yerself into with promises like that.”

You openly roll your eyes. If he can make that sort of comment, surely he's not in that much pain after all.

“Let me guess: you’re gonna ask me to kiss your boo boos better.”

You regret your jibe the second you finish talking. You were supposed to only think those words, not pronounce them. He's the gorgeous individual who can take the liberty of flirting with anyone, but you… you’re not.

His only reaction is a chuckle.

“Hmm, what if ah did? Ask fer a kiss?”

His tone is provocative, his pout sultry and his eyes pleading.

You stare at him in thoughtful silence, cogitating your answer. 

He misinterprets your lack of response, and backpedals, stuttering while doing so. He starts to apologize, plainly, apparently convinced he went too far, ashamed by his own conduct.

You let him stew in his embarrassment a bit, not out of sadism but curiosity, rarely being granted the opportunity to see him so insecure.

This could be the chance to put an end to his flirting for good. The chance you've been waiting for. It's what you should do.

But there's a part of you that is fed up. Fed up of this pretty man and his pretty words, of this blue-eyed casanova that must see you as another conquest and nothing more. You’re sick of passively enduring his quips, his seduction, his winks, his smirks. So yes, you could ask him to stop.

Or you could give him a test of his own medicine.

Lifting his hand towards your face, you lock eyes with him to be certain he's watching, then tenderly press your lips to each of his scarred knuckles.

The ensuing quiet is deafening.

He half-opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. You never saw him so flustered. Is he… is he blushing?

Somehow, seeing his flush sets your own face on fire. The reality of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train.

Panic surging inside you, you deal with the situation the way you know best when no other solution comes to mind - you flee. Pretending you don't hear Soap calling after you, you scramble out of the bedroom like the devil's on your heels. Ghost, settled on a chair in the hallway, throws you the closest thing he must have to a bewildered gaze in his repertoire as you storm off by him, gaze that you ignore vehemently.

The following weeks are spent visiting Soap only when he's asleep. Kyle is nice enough to let you know when that's the case. You can tell by the interrogative way he looks at you that a bunch of questions rush on the tip of his tongue: what happened, why are you not simply seeing his teammate when he's awake with the rest of them. But he's either kind or polite enough to not formulate his concerns out loud. Or maybe he thinks it's a private matter between the two of you.

Either way, you’re grateful, and you repay the favor any time you can, filling the break room with his favorite snacks, making him tea or ensuring his gear gets maintained first.

At some point Ghost half complains to you, half reprimands you - since Soap is one part of his current problem and you another.

“Fuckin’ hell, never been easy keepin’ Johnny in medical, but since ya visited him he's worse than ever. Care to explain?”

“I fucked up,” you confess, without adding anything else.

“Fucked up how?”

“I can’t tell you.”

He curses loudly, dragging a gloved hand over his face, appalled by your demeanor.

“Why the fuck not?”

“I'm taking my secret to the grave. All I can tell is that I made an absolute fool of myself, and therefore I can never appear in front of Johnny again.”

He half sighs, half groans, and rolls his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You dramatic little…”

Soap eventually gets released from medical.

You spend a couple of weeks avoiding him to the best of your abilities, even though you can tell that Ghost is frankly sick of your antics, Price is five minutes away from berating you, and even Gaz starts to look at you with something that resembles disappointment. 

You actively despise yourself for ruining a perfectly good friendship. Especially because of a five seconds long action decided on a whim and carried out out of spite. You find yourself on the edge of tears a couple of times, yet unable to cry. Familiar rooms and corridors feel empty and awkwardly silent with his absence.

There are a bunch of close calls, and the base, or at least the part of it that you’re accustomed to, suddenly feels cramped.

But you hold on. 

Until you don't.

You're caught completely unaware, entering the break room as usual to get some coffee.

Only to freeze on the doorstep. Johnny's right there. Barely two meters away. It's the first time you lay eyes on him in what feels like forever. You can’t help but drink in the view.

He's sitting at a table, elbow leaning on it, cheek resting on his closed fist. Your eyes linger over the blue cobalt shirt he's wearing, your favorite of his, and his black fingerless gloves, which you've always had a weakness for. The corner of his lips are down, his eyebrows lightly frowned. Staring into space, he seems sullen.

Your heart tightens at the sight.

However you barely get the opportunity to indulge into your guilt, because next thing you know, your gazes meet. He perks up, eyes widening in surprise. You tense like a deer in the headlights, holding your breath. Dread swells inside you. You’re no braver than last time.

You turn around and decamp.

It's fine, you can come back later. You just need to unearth a hiding spot for now. The object of your affliction - on top of your affection - will probably be vexed enough by your reaction that he won't seek to confront you.

Yes, everything is just fine, you assure yourself - for no more than a handful of seconds.

Without warning, brawny, familiar arms close around your shoulders from behind, pinning your back against a muscular torso.

“Gotcha.”

The word is barely above a whisper, more a growl than anything else, enunciated right into your ear, sending shivers all over your body. You don’t find anything to do but clutch with both hands one of the tanned forearms pressed beneath your collarbone.

Fighting him off doesn't even cross your mind. It's not that you think you'd fail - you trust him to let you go at the first stern summon. You just don't want to forgo his embrace. He hasn’t hugged you since that time you've been mugged and one moment was enough to make you realize how much you’ve missed it.

“Dunnae whether to be upset ye ran away again, or to find it cute that ye thought ye could actually outrun me.”

You gulp, heart pounding and cheeks heating up.

“Johnny…”

A host of pitiful excuses accumulates behind your lips, but somehow none manage to make its way out.

He briefly tightens his hold, but the gesture feels more like a hug than a restraint. Did he… did he just squish you? Like some kind of… cuddle toy?

“Got nothin’ to tell me?”

The question is a taunt as much as a hint at reconciliation.

You try to pace yourself, and think logically about this predicament of your own making. You need to devise a strategy to come out - more or less - unscathed of this.

Soap sounds more smug than mad, but still, passably angry. Maybe there's a way to fix this. Be friends again like nothing happened. Maybe he can forgive you.

First, do not worsen things.

Two, apologize. Properly.

Three, keep your fingers crossed …?

“I'm… sorry?”

He chuckles darkly.

“Gonnae take more than that.”

You try to resist the effects this sentence, his husky voice, his proximity, his laugh have on you, the way they make your stomach twist in apprehension and… indisputable arousal. Resist the temptation to close your eyes so you could focus on his voice alone, on the warm breath brushing your skin, on the lips so close to your ear; to let go in his arms, lean with your whole weight on his body.

Focus, damn it, you admonish and beg yourself all at once. On something else. Anything else.

You’re about to argue that he cannot possibly expect you to succeed in making amends when you’re in this compromising position, but you don't get the time.

Johnny hauls you away inside the nearest room. In a split second, he flicked the lightswitch on and nearly slammed the door behind you.

Cleaning products and exiguity surround you, illuminated by a cheap light bulb.

A closet, helpfully supplies your mind. 

You barely have time to digest this information that Soap cages you against the wall, resting his forearms over your head. He contemplates you with a mix of melancholy and longing that renders your knees weak and sends a pang in your chest.

“Been going bloody mad with thoughts of ye.”

His voice is smooth like silk, tone sweet like honey, caressing your ears, warmth dripping inside your chest, making your head spin; or maybe it's a result of his closeness; or a consequence of his cerulean eyes boring into you.

“Ye got any idea how it felt to see ye leave without being able to do a bloody thing ‘bout it? Wanted nothing more than to rip off the tubes, get up, grab ye and lay back in bed with ye in my arms.”

He's intoxicating. He has to be, with how high, euphoric you're feeling, all your problems swept away, insignificant.

“Tell me to fuck off.”

You blink in incomprehension. Drunk on him, you may have lost track a little.

“I'll back off fer good.” 

Bliss makes way to horror.

“Look me in the eye and tell me ye hate me. Tell me I disgust ye. Tell me ye wish ye never met m-”

“No!”

Your shout has the merit to make him stop, even if you didn’t mean to yell. Your scream disconcerts him for a second before an exultant grin stretches his lips. His smugness is back with a vengeance.

“So ye do like me.”

“How could I not,” you mutter, capitulating, but avoiding his gaze.

He refuses to let you, and cups one side of your face to make you look at him. As you meet his eyes again, his thumb tenderly strokes your cheekbone. You feel your insides melt at the gesture.

“I like ye. A lot.”

He licks his lips, as if to grant himself some time to mull over his next words, and you automatically follow the motion.

“And I want to kiss ye. A lot.”

His hand slides from your cheek to your chin, slightly tilting your head back.

“Can I?”

It takes a moment for you to regain your voice. When you woke up this morning, you most definitely didn’t expect to receive a confession from John Mactavish. Your brain goes into overdrive.

Is this real? Am I dreaming?

“Johnny, listen…”

The gaze he's aiming at you glows with hope.

“You don’t want to be with me. I'm…” 

What? A shell of a human being? Broken?

“…a mess.”

Expectation is replaced by resolve in his turquoise pupils.

“I know exactly what I want. And it's ye. Wouldn't be here otherwise.”

His patience seems to unravel with each passing second, as he stares at you with something akin to desperation written on his face.

“Want me to beg? S’that it?”

“What? No-”

“Cause I can. Beg real pretty. Bet ye'd like that. Saw how ye looked at me the other day when I got on my knees for ye-”

He keeps babbling sweet and filthy nothings that set your face ablaze. He saw how you looked at him? Mortification briefly flares up inside you before you notice the amusement in the corner of his lips, the playful glimmer in his glance, tangled with the neediness - he's joking around. You adopt a stern expression to chasten him but quickly realize he's way too busy staring at your lips to get the message. So you grab both sides of his face to get his attention - two can play this game.

The sheepish, sad puppy face he gives you in return barely makes a notch in your firmness. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, right before diving into the unknown.

“Yes,” you profess - and before he can tease you for clarification - “You can kiss me.”

But as he leans forward to obey, an incriminating detail surfaces in your mind.

“Wait, wait…”

You cover his mouth with one hand. Then immediately regret it, with how his eyes devour you the way his mouth can’t, not helping your flustered state at all.

He gently grabs your wrist and removes your hand, before pressing a kiss into your palm, your wrist.

“Now, better say something, or I'm gonna kiss my way up.”

He hums pensively.

“Scratch that, I'm gonna kiss ye everywhere.”

Pleasant tingles travel your whole body at that. He looks up from your hand to stare at you, and there's a devious glint in his eyes that tells you he caught sight of it.

“I have never.. done this… before.”

This confession means a lot to you. It's a well-kept secret, as long as people don't already deduce it from your lack of social skills. You’d rather it stays this way, but you don't see how you can start a relationship while withholding this truth.

All you can hope now is that Soap will react in a manner you consider appropriate. If he judges you, if that fact makes you go down in his estimation, or if he starts seeing you as some sort of innocent, naive individual that he could get off on corrupting, you’re not sure you'll be able to recover from it.

All playfulness deserts his face. He observes you with a mix of solemnity and compassion.

“Oh, bonnie… I don't give a shite ‘bout that. We'll go as slow or as fast as ye want, aye?”

Stirred beyond words, you nod your assent.

Not wasting any more time, he presses his lips to yours. They're soft and warm. You expected a surge of unbridled desire, but he takes his sweet time with you, to become acquainted with your mouth. 

It only lasts a moment though; as he seems to gain in confidence and deepens the kiss, his motions fill with fervor, turn frantic. Hunger rivals devotion.

They say the greatest pleasure possible a human being can experience isn’t, well, pleasure; it's the end of pain - and he's kissing you like he's been aching for it, for so long, and he's finally getting relief. He's clinging onto you like the separation of those past weeks put him in severe withdrawal.

You probably would have let him continue if you weren't compelled by the imperative need to breathe. You turn away, panting.

Not interrupted in the slightest, he simply latches onto your neck instead.

Floating in a daze, you absently close one hand on the back of his shirt, and fondle his mohawk with the other.

“Hold on to me.”

The instruction takes a ridiculously long time to reach you. Thankfully, Soap picks up on that and grasps your hands to place them on the back of his neck. You only understand his goal when his fingers slide behind your thighs and he lifts you up effortlessly, wedging you between the wall and himself.

Once he gets his fill of your throat, he sneaks one forearm under your rear and lets go of one of your thigh, somehow managing to keep you in the air one-armed, to tug at the opening of your top.

Seeing him struggle to open your blouse one-handed, you reach down to assist; but just as you do that, he grabs one side of the clothing between his teeth, and pulling the other with his free hand, he rips off the first three snap fasteners in one go. Your eyes go wide, your mind torn between finding the gesture arousing or risible. 

You settle for a fond scoff.

“You animal.”

The name feels all the more appropriate because when he looks up at you, releasing the cloth, the hunger in his eyes is striking, and the wolfish grin he grants you is the one of a ravenous predator.

“You could have just asked-”

“S'faster,” he shrugs, at least as much as possible in his current position.

You barely notice the staple of your bra opening; he hauls you slightly higher, bringing your chest to mouth level, and dives between your breasts like a man starved. The contact makes you tilt your head back against the wall, sighing in pleasure. The sensation of his lips and tongue against your sensitive skin makes you coil: your fingers grasp the back of his shirt and his hair, pressing his head impossibly closer, your thighs clench around his torso, your toes curl.

“Fuck, Johnny.”

He moans your name in response, albeit a bit muffled. He sounds as afflicted as you are, if not more. The idea turns you on terribly.

You look down to see him, and the vision of his face feverishly pressed to your skin is almost unbearable.

Suddenly he recoils, eyes meeting yours, and opens his mouth to stick his tongue out, right in front of your nipple, holding still in silent question. Your crotch throbs with arousal and you bitterly regret your earlier assessment - this view is much harder to endure, by far. The deep, honest eagerness in his gaze, coupled with the absolute submission to your will he demonstrates…

That doesn't stop you from frenetically nodding your head in agreement. His lips close around your nipple and the flick of his tongue against it draws a whine out of you. His free hand softly squeeze your other breast.

If he wasn’t holding you, your legs probably would have given out.

A faraway ringtone painfully pierces through the torpor you’re deliciously lost in. Your ringtone.

Johnny swears under his breath and blindly gropes your ass to silence your phone lodged in your back pocket.

Your eyes snap open in horror as you abruptly emerge into reality.

“Shit, shit, SHIT! Put me down!”

You repeatly hit Soap's shoulders to get his attention and convey urgency, without putting real force behind it. He complies immediately.

Your soles barely reached the ground that you’re already whiping out the device from your pants. Your coworker's name is displayed on the screen. Turning your back on Johnny, you pick up the call in a panic.

“Hey… yes. Yes, I'll be there in a minute. …They're not here yet? Thank fuck.” 

As you sheepishly reassure your colleague that you’ll be there soon for the meeting that should have already started, you feel fingers fiddling with your blouse. Your first instinct is to bat Johnny's hands away, before grasping that he's actually putting your snaps back in place.

“Hm? Oh no, nothing bad. … I, uh… I just got held back. Anyway, see you soon.”

You hang up with shaky hands and a weary but relieved sigh.

The Scotsman's arms wrap around your waist from behind and he lovingly nuzzles his face against yours. His stubble prickles your skin, but the gesture is too endearing for you to spurn him.

“No more running away, aye?”

He exudes peacefulness, every muscle in his body content and relaxed. Where did Ghost's vicious attack dog go and who's this teddy bear?

“No more running,” you acquiesce.

“Good lass,” he purrs.

Normally, you would have gotten back at him for that patronizing comment, but you still feel bad for the way you treated him, so you just grunt.

“We'll pick up where we left off, hmm?”

Your cheeks burn furiously as you realize what he's referring to - his kisses wandering lower, to fulfill the “everywhere” part of the pledge he made earlier.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Monster Part Two

Description: Part Two of the Monster series.

Here’s the first part: Monster

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 2,748k

Billy was going crazy by the second. He was seeing things like his wife and Joe and now Y/N was with his worst enemy. A member of his team betrayed them. He didn’t want to kill her but if she truly got in the way he would. Soulmate or Not. After the text Y/N couldn’t sleep and she hated that Billy was right. He did need to die but she couldn’t help them do it. She loved him too much, as shitty as that was. “Are you okay?” He asked her as she stared up at the ceiling. She thought he was asleep and nearly jumped at his voice. She looked at him and sighed, “I’m fucking the enemy and no matter how things end I’m gonna hate it.” She whispered tears brimming her eyes. “You care about him.” He whispered.

She looked at him, “Billy? I mean of course I do but I care about you too that’s why no matter the ending of this I’ll hate you.” She said. John wanted to scream at her and tell her she was stupid for caring about Billy but he knew that he was a monster and that she shouldn’t care about him either. They stared at each other for what felt like hours. He had no words for hers and she couldn’t say anything else without wanting to cry. She leaned up and kissed him hard to distract herself from the text Billy sent. He kissed her back and brought her to lay on him. The kiss turned sloppy and lustful. They were already naked so it made things a lot easier for them.

His hands moved down her body to her butt and she began moving her hips against his. His hard on grew with each thrust of her hips. She felt him on her thigh and once he was rock hard she sat up. He looked up at her as she stared down at him. The fear and worry in her eyes was gone and replaced with lust and love. Her lips were swollen from their kiss. She looked beautiful to him and he could wake up like this every day. He stared up at her like she was everything to him. It made her smile. The Homelander worshiped her. She took his dick in her hands and lined him up with her entrance. She was leaking all over him and sliding him in her was easy. She let out a moan as he let out a groan. “I love the feeling of you in me John.” She moaned and he grabbed her hand. “It’s like you were made for me.” She whispered and looked down at him again.

“I was made for you. Every part of me was made for every part of you.” He told her and brought her hand to his lips to kiss it. She felt herself fall so much more in love with him causing her to start crying. He sat up not caring that they were having sex and wrapped his arms around her. She sobbed in his arms and he let her. “I’m sorry this was supposed to be a fun moment.” “No. You have a lot you’re dealing with and no matter what I’m here.” She pulled away from his arms and she let out a sigh. “You know you’re still extremely wet.” He joked and she laughed. “And you’re still extremely hard.” “Yeah, can you blame me? You’re extremely pretty. Even when you cry.” She scoffed at him and pushed him back down. “Way to ruin the moment.” She says. 

Billy glared at Y/N as she walked in. She tried not to look at him but that was hard. Everyone else was civil with her. Billy however hated her right now. She sat in her chair not sparing a glance at him. “So are we never gonna talk about the fact that one of our members here is fucking the enemy?” Billy asked. “We have Billy. You just weren’t there.” She stated. “That wasn’t a question for you to answer. You don’t get a say in any of this.” He yells. “Billy I understand why you feel the way you do but-“ “Clearly ya don’t now do ya? If ya did ya wouldn’t be fucking him.” Y/N sighs and stands up. “I know he’s fucked up and a monster. But we are soulmates Billy.” He rolls his eyes at her words.

“Your soulmate took my soulmate away from me. You think I give a bloody fuck that he’s your soulmate?” “No I don’t.” “There isn’t anything you could say to change this. If it was up to me you wouldn’t be here anymore.” She nods. “Okay Billy.” He walks up to her. “He’s going to die, luv. And there ain’t shit ya can do to save him.” Billy walks out of the room leaving Y/N there with the rest of them. “I get why he feels that way.” She said to MM and Hughie. “He just doesn’t know that we are cool with it for the right reasons.” MM said. Y/N was actually in love with Homelander but the others weren’t aware of that.

They thought she was using him for information and she wasn’t. She couldn’t. But when Homelander invited her to an event with Victoria Neuman and the rest of the seven she couldn’t say No. The Boys planned to sneak in to also get information. Y/N felt very uncomfortable being at the Tek knights party. Hughie showed up in Web Weavers costume but Y/N had no idea it was him at first until she got a text from MM saying that it was Hughie. Unfortunately she wasn’t able to leave Homelander’s side unless it was business related but even then he kept a close eye on her. Firecracker glared at her the entire time she was there but Y/N didn’t care.

She knew that it was jealousy and it was even funnier when she tried to get into a conversation with him but was told to leave. Y/N held back a laugh as she stormed away. A-Train showed up and Y/N knew that he wasn’t on Homelaner’s side anymore so he was also a good help. “Are you enjoying this?” Homelander asked as she sipped on her drink. She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “Yeah just a lot of business talk.” She said. “Yeah I’m sorry about that. I’ll make it up to you later.” He winked. She stood up and faced him. “Will you now?” She asked with a teasing smile. “Oh baby I’ll be making it up to you for hours.” He said and wrapped his arms around her. She looked up at him and finished off her drink. She held up the glass, “Be a doll and get me another?” She asked with a wink.

He playfully rolled his eyes and grabbed the glass from her hands. She smiled as he walked away to get her another drink. While he was away she checked her phone for any messages. Nothing which was weird so she texted MM. She looked around the room and noticed the A-Train was no longer there and nor was Sage and Firecracker. “Here you are.” John said handing her the drink. She took it and smiled, “Thank you much.” She said. “Have you seen Sage or FireCracker?” She asked him. He looked around and noticed their absence along with A-Train’s. “No I haven’t actually. A-Train isn’t here either.” He pointed out.

She had no idea what was going on. “I can go look for them?” She offered. “Be safe.” He said and she showed the gun in her purse. “I think I’ll be okay.” She said. She walked off and thanked god that he even let her do this. Wow he trusted her. She heard loud noises coming from a door and decided to open it in time to see A-Train and Kumiko arguing with MM on the floor. “Holy shit what happened?” She asked covering her mouth. They both looked at her. “You can’t be out of his sight or he’ll know you’re helping them.” A-Train said. “I asked him to look for you and the other 2 supes that wandered off.” She said and got on the floor by MM checking his pulse. She looked up at A-Train “You need to take him to the hospital.” She said. “No I already told her I wasn’t-“ Kumiko held up a book that said “for the sake of his daughter.” A-Train sighed. “Get the door.” Starlight opened the door as he picked up MM and took him.

“Y/N you can’t be seen with us.” She said. Y/N rolled her eyes, “he knows I’m looking for Sage and Firecracker.” She said. Y/N looked and saw a spot of blood on the floor. “ what the hell?” Kumiko texted her saying it was from Sage. “Sage was here too? What about FireCracker?” “I was dealing with her.” Y/N sighed but nodded. “You need to go though.” Starlight said pushing her out of the room. Y/N wanted to protest but knew better. She left the room without a trace and headed back to the living room where they were all talking. She saw Sage there but she wasn’t acting like herself. “What happened to her?” She asked John. “I don’t fucking know.” He groaned.

“Firecracker is M.I.A as well.” She said. “ whatever.” He groaned, annoyed about Sage. “Hey.” She said putting her hand on his chest. “Everything’s okay. And plus tonight we are having fun.” She winked. He held back a smile and took her hand, “why wait?” He said and grabbed her hand leading her to the bathroom. “You wanna fuck me in a bathroom?” She asked him. He shrugged and closed the door, “I’d fuck you anywhere.” He pointed out and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck kissing him back as he pushed her up against the door. “You look so sexy in this dress.” He said against her lips and pulled on it.

It was a red silk dress that went down to the floor. She leaned her head back against the door as he attacked her neck. “Fuck me in it then.” She said and bit her lip as he bit her neck leaving a mark. “Oh I plan on it.” He growled, lifting her up. Her dress was pulled up around her waist. “No panties?” He asked with a teasing smirk. “Easy access.” She winked. He groaned and pulled down his pants. He entered her with one thrust making her gasp out. He wasted no time and started pounding into her. Her hands gripped his shoulders and her moans were loud. Her heels were digging in his ass leaving a print. It hurt him a little but felt so good.

“John fuck.” She sobbed. His pace didn’t slow. He was able to hold her up with one hand and pinned one of her hands above her head. “I’m really the luckiest guy on the planet.” He growled. Her eyes started rolling back. Her mouth dropped open. He felt her clench around him and he growled. “You feel so fucking good.” He groaned. She nodded and sobbed. “John, I'm so close baby.” She whined. “I can feel it.” He groaned. She whined his name loudly and he felt her cum. Her thighs were shaking as she came. He released with a moan. She placed her forehead on his. “I love you.” She said out of breath. “I love you more.” He said and kissed her. 

“Hughie, what the fuck happened?” Y/N asked after hearing about it from Starlight. “So you heard?” He asked with an uncomfortable laugh. She sat next to him. “Yes I did.” “She tickled my feet as she came.” He said with disgust. Y/N cringed at the thought. “That’s wow. I’ll never look at her the same.” “Did you find anything out?” He asked. “Unfortunately while he was talking about it I was looking for FireCracker and Sage. But when I got back Sage wasn’t acting like herself.” “What do you mean?” “She wasn’t smart anymore. She couldn’t even form sentences.” She said. “Huh that’s weird.” 

“She did what?” Y/N asked, laughing. Homelander wasn’t laughing. “Her milk hit me right in the face.” “I didn’t know she was pregnant.” “She’s not.” Y/N looked at him confused. “She took a pill to make it that way.” Y/N laughed. “That’s crazy. She’s so obsessed with you.” He rolled his eyes, “yeah it’s annoying.” Y/N crawled over to him, “I would do anything for you. Anything you ask.” She mocked FireCracker.

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “You doing that is hot.” “If I say I would do anything for you?” She asked. He nodded, “well maybe I would.” She said and straddled him. “Maybe I would do anything for you.” Her hand ran through his hair and he moaned. “You would take the pill?” He asked. She shrugged, “Or you would actually get me pregnant?” She suggested. He looked at her with a straight face, “are you being serious?” He asked. She nodded. “I- that could kill you.” “Maybe we shouldn’t then?” “Take the pill.” He said and they both laughed. “I don’t know how to get it.” “Ask her.” He joked. She shrugged, “I would love to.” She giggled. 

Y/N woke up with a call from Homelander asking her to come to the tower. He sounded very upset. She got up and got ready. She wondered what it could possibly be. She got to the tower and walked in. She knew the exact room to go to and in the room was FireCracker and Sage with Homelander. “Uh what’s going on?” She walked over to John. “Did you know about A-Train?” He asked.

I saw the tears in his eyes. “Know about him?” “That he was a leak? That he’s working for Billy.” He said. “You wanted to keep that stuff out of your relationship.” She stated. He took a deep Breath. “Did you know?” “Yes.” She said. FireCracker smirk. “What the fuck are you smirking at?” She asked looking at her. “You think he’s gonna want you?” She asked with a laugh. She walk up to her, “there’s a reason I’m his soulmate bitch and not you.” “Sage you’re fired.” He said and her jaw dropped. Y/N’s eyes widened. “John what are you-“ Sage cuts me off. She tells him that if he wants to spend his time with us (firecracker included) then that’s on him. She walked out and her eyes darted to him. “I’m sorry sir you didn’t deserve that.” Firecracker said.

“Shut the fuck up.” Y/N said. She looked at Y/N. “I don’t appreciate the way you are talking to me.” She said. Y/N rolled my eyes. “The way you treat this man and lie to him I mean how could you?” John’s jaw clench. “Lie to him? I didn’t lie to him about anything.” “You should have told him you knew. I would have.” He stood up, “GET THE FUCK OUT.” He yelled at her. “Sir-“ “YOU AREN’T GOING TO DISRESPECT HER LIKE THAT. I’M NOT INTO YOU. I DON’T YOU ATTRACTIVE. I HAVE THE PERFECT WOMAN I DON’T NEED YOU.” He yelled at her. Y/N saw tears form in her eyes. A part of her felt bad but the other part wanted to laugh. “Get out.” He said and she did.

He sighed and sat back down. “What do you want me to do?” She asked and he looked at her. “What do you mean?” He asked. “Do you want me to leave?” He shook his head, “No.” “then what?” “I’m sorry she said those things to you.” Y/N shrugged, “I expected it. She wants you.” “Still. I should kill her.” He said. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” Y/N joked. “Just don’t kill A-Train.” She begged him. “I have to.” He said. Y/N sighed. “John-“ “he betrayed me and I’ll find him and hunt him down if I have to.” “He’s gone?” She asked. “You didn’t know?” She didn’t. But she was happy because she liked A-Train a lot. He was a good help. “Well it’s over for him.” He shrugged. Y/N had to change his mind so maybe she could convince him just to kill FireCracker. But he had this look in his eyes and she wasn’t sure what it was but she knew it wasn’t good.

[trypoed]

I'm just thinking.

Hoffman’s path as Jigsaw's apprentice began with revenge, with the desire to inflict suffering on the one who had caused him pain. And his path ended with revenge as well. His final act of vengeance was not only against Jill personally, but also against John. It was as if he was trying to make John suffer by taking the life of someone John cared about.

It doesn’t matter that John was already dead. It doesn’t matter that killing Seth Baxter wouldn’t have brought Angie back.

Revenge is blind.

"Fix me, motherfucker," Amanda cried to John. Nothing changed for her.

"Fix me, motherfucker" - this is precisely what Hoffman could have snarled in fury and despair, feeling betrayed, if John were still alive. Hoffman was hurt all over again, and the only way he knew how to cope with his pain was by inflicting it on others in revenge. For him, too, nothing had changed.

Both Amanda and Hoffman were ultimately defeated because John didn’t fix people. He broke them further. And they were both undone not by John’s hand, but by the consequences of his designs.

And I am curious about how John would have reacted to what happened to Jill. Would he have been as lenient with Hoffman as he was with Seth Baxter? “Everyone deserves a chance,” he shouted directly into Hoffman’s face, speaking about the man who had so unfairly and cruelly taken the only person he held dear from him. “You didn’t see the blood! You didn’t see what he fucking did to her!” and John showed no trace of understanding or sympathy in response. But what would he have said if he had seen Jill’s blood? If he had witnessed what Hoffman had done to her? Would he have given Hoffman the proverbial chance? I’m not sure.

[krahk]

Blood for Ruin

Part One : Part Two : Part Three : Part Four : Part Five : Part Six

Masterlist

Alastor x OFC/Reader (no use of Y/N)

Part Seven

(Or, Alastor and the infuriating woman across the hall and her bad decision making)

Minors DNI, 18+ below

Across the hall, Alastor sat on the edge of his bed naked except for his unbuttoned shirt, head in his hands. He stared down at the proof of his lack of control, his seed that had been captured in his handkerchief and left on the floor as a reminder of this act of weakness. What was happening to him? He had never felt such urges of a sexual nature before, there was always a better way to spend his time. Even overworld, he was ambitious in his passion - there was no time to dilly dally with the fairer sex, broadcasting was an aggressive career path, even more so for a mixed person like him. He required focus, driven to prove himself to those who doubted him.

When his mother fell ill, his sisters - married with children, did not ask for but received his help. He moved his mother into his home for a comfortable life with visits from doctors as her body betrayed her. It was difficult watching her waste away, and he used his extracurricular hobby to distract him from watching her deteriorate. He couldn’t remember the exact reason for the first murder, his routine had not been established yet. But the thrill, the joy, the stimulation of taking the life of an undeserving human blessed with a healthy body while his mothers failed hers gave him a high like no other.

He was quite aware that becoming a prolific serial killer was not the best way to process grief and trauma, nor was it what his mother would have wanted from him. But it seemed like the best way to punish god for taking from those that deserve, that praised him, to enrich the lives of those that mocked. He did commit murder, yes. But it was morally argued (to him) that those lives he took were unwarranted of such a gift. They were liars and cheats, rapists and abusers - one of his final victims he discovered on the same burial ground where he discarded bodies, while this stranger was disposing of his own victim.

He was well deserving indeed, the cause for many young women disappearing off the streets. Mimzy had told him of a John coming by and taking women out who would never be seen again. Once they discovered each other, there was a fight in the bayou, one where Alastor would come out on top but the thrill of fighting his victim became part of his routine, unable to match the same energy without it. He held no qualms about his final actions in life, he had made his choices and Hell was the place to reflect on it but not regret it.

Redemption was not in his cards as he did not feel he would be able to even regret killing the people he murdered. Each and everyone deserved it. Likely the only regret he carried was that one night he did not come home, his death resulting in his mothers inevitable loneliness paired with the discovery that her son was a murderer. He might not have been considered a ‘good’ person in the end, finding more joy in murder than anything else, but he did think he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted.

Since your arrival, his entire being has shifted into something…new. Beyond the bond the two of you shared through his reckless behaviour on earth, you were a fresh sinner. You still acted, spoke, dreamed like you were alive. He heard you constantly correcting yourself when talking with the others, to remember you were dead. Though your own task work through the hotel had been quiet, seemingly boring, you did it with a vibrancy he had not felt himself for decades. Your heart rate would increase when laughing with Angel, your cheeks would burn when Husk would give you a strong drink - things that made him live through it either in his room or while he lurked in the shadows. Nothing he did was ever alone anymore. You were something else entirely, and he was unsure if he would not be feeling anything with regards to your presence, you reminded everyone around you what it was like to be alive.

Yet there was a small voice that betrayed his very way of thinking, one that caused grief when it came to you. He knew very well that without your accidental completion of the half witted, unfinished spell work he truly did forget about, your soul would likely have gone to heaven. Though the judgement between sinners and ‘winners’ was not absolute in who was allowed to ascend, souls like yours did not settle with the scum that was found traversing the streets of Hell. You found a radio while cleaning up for a family you did not know, on break from your simple, modest lifestyle splitting your time from volunteering, or running marathons, or bouncing from one job to another trying to find your path through life. You rarely said anything negative, about anyone, unless it was an honest truth needed to be heard from the one you were talking to. Even then your words were gentle and caring. It was very clear it was his fault you were here, with him. Your soul came to join with the linked soul…and he was here first.

His hands fisted the hair on his head, eyes furrowed and smile shaking. Was his divine punishment supposed to continue with the fact he knew he sabotaged your afterlife? Or that the new emotions and sensations he was feeling were undeserved of someone of your calibre? Did you have similar thoughts? These questions plagued him for a multitude of reasons. For one, it was unlike him to care what anyone thought of him, for another, it was unlike him to care for another. Especially to lust after another. Sexual relations had been such an easy thing for him to avoid that now it seemed his mind was trying to make up for lost time. Everything you did was beginning to send him into a spiral, and much of the time he spent around you was containing his physical reaction to the simplistic things you did, that he would twist into something sinful.

Like today, when you were finally given breakfast, your eyes closing and lips licking as you ate whatever over sugared pastry Lucifer had grabbed for you. It was easy to imagine you in another situation, one away from prying eyes. Where the two of you could push and pull differing sensations through your bond, linking the two of you through sin. Or earlier this week, when you were reading a book in the sitting room, focused on the words on the pages, licking your fingers to turn a page, or wetting your lips during an intense storyline. He was entirely too focused on you and your actions, and the worst part was he was unsure if he could simply blame the tainted magic of your bond.

You were a demented reminder of what he had denied himself in life, a ballooning heart at every fleeting touch. He was having a difficult time remembering what he used to do or what made his mind content before you. He needed to revisit old haunts. Perhaps today he would take a walk through the doomsday district and take a few people out of their misery. Since he introduced you to Rosie she was likely not a safe place to ignore your presence as you had never once brought anyone of considerable interest for her to meet before, she would have some interrogating for him once he revisited Cannibal Town.

Yes, a visit through a district where people were. Most itching to get the worst of it over with, it was already expected by them. His presence would be doing them a favour, really. Yes, a reminder of what used to get his blood boiling before you came crashing down into his life would be an excellent distraction. Mind set on his next move, he cleaned and dressed himself for a night on the town, silently exiting the hotel with intention.

The next morning after your very intense and unexpected kiss from Alastor, your body still felt exhausted, almost like you had overextended yourself. You didn’t remember your dreams, but you were sure they were a mental drain considering the headache you were nursing. Coffee was in the Lounge, and Vaggie was sitting alone on a couch, still silent and distressed from her past coming out to the hotel. You had already reassured her that none of you really cared, this was hell, after all. But for her the only person who mattered was still avoiding her. She had been staying in a vacant room since the meeting with heaven, wanting to respect Charlie’s wish for space. You decided to enjoy your coffee on the veranda outside, wanting to give the other woman some space, and hopefully aid your head with some fresh air.

While you were checking the Hellblazer News, a small independent paper produced out of the business district, Angel came home from what was obviously a long night at the studio. When he noticed you he came and sat beside you, groaning and sinking into the chair.

“Val has been dogging me since we went out, he is so much worse than usual.” He complained, checking his phone notifications, clearing all the ones from Val, which were nearly all of them. “I’m not saying that I regret what I said, because there was no way I was lettin’ him touch anyone, but I wish I could do more than just pay for it later.” You nodded at his statement, but said nothing to encourage him to continue.

“When I came to hell I carried my sexuality like a burden, like I did overworld. It was way easier to get drugs down here, and I was easy to manipulate. I know it was my fault I gave my soul to Val because I thought he loved me, but I wish I could go back to my old self and let him know I didn’t need his love to feel good.” He sighed, enjoying a moment of silence while responding to a few texts. “Please tell me you have had shit men ruin your life too, miss girl, this can’t just be a one way street.” He smiled at his own statement, winking at you when you chuckled lightly at his self deprecating comment. You gave him an apologetic look, as your experience with men in general was pretty limited.

“My dad died when I was little, so no daddy issues…or does that give you extra daddy issues?” You said more to yourself, but Angel laughed out a ‘yea baby’ at your expense, “My mother was paranoid, positive every man ever was going to kidnap me. When she died I dated for the first time, straight out of high school, but he wasn’t bad or anything…just…I don’t know, someone to kill time with. I had no one around me, my family was small except for my Mum’s distant family in Louisiana, so I just used a dating app to waste time. But overall, my experiences have been pretty uneventful.” Mind you, this was all before Alastor, which you would not be discussing with Angel.

Angel was nodding, likely half paying attention as he was yawning every other minute, but just engaging in the conversation was good. These regular gossipy conversations distracted from your situation, which though you had mostly processed, still didn’t mean you always remembered you were in Hell. Even when you thought you knew what hell really was you were reminded of worse things you dealt with when you were actually Alive. Hell had friends, at least. Something that was sorely lacking in your life before.

“So are ya tellin’ me you don’t gotta lot of ‘experience’ with the opposite sex, girly?” He waggled his eyebrows, a smirky grin present. OH now he was engaged, because he was nosy about your sex life.

You laughed at him out right. “I’ve done…stuff, Angel. No like…actual sex, but like…oral and hands and things. The guy I did it with was selfish, and he hurt me when he tried using his hands - not a good listener. So I broke it off before we could go further. I had a feeling I wouldn’t enjoy it much. I’m pretty in tune with my own body though, and I did have some personal aides on earth. But I’ve always been more comfortable with myself.” Angel gawked at you during your ramble, you knew what was coming. “Are you tellin’ me that you’re basically a virgin?” You groaned.

“No. I mean, in the most literal sense? Yes. But I have used toys, and have had sexual contact with a guy, but honestly I don’t think of myself as one. I know what I like, and I’m totally content with that. There haven’t been many opportunities for me to hook up. Especially now, cause like…we’re in hell.” Angel burst out laughing.

“Hell is WHERE you get these opportunities! You are hilarious. Funny girl, you kill me.” You frowned at him in humour as he lost his composure. “This is where I have experienced most of my sexual escapades, and I am sure glad for it. No judgement here, that already happened.”

You spoke up in defence of yourself, “well what if I’m still waiting for a deeper connection?” He scoffed at you, back at his phone, “I can get ya a deep connection, if you get what I mean.” Eyebrows taunting you, and you burst into laughter again, causing him to join in. After a good chuckle, you both settled into your chairs, just enjoying each other's company as Angel scrolled through his social media and you hit the bottom of your cup. It was him who broke the silence.

“I gotta real question for ya though. What is your deal with Alastor?” You tried to snort and look indifferent to him, but Angel was so goddamn good at reading people you were unsure if it would work. “What do you mean?” Attempting to sound confused at his insinuation. His deadpan look of reply made you groan inwardly. “Girl, I’m good at lots of things, but I’m best at picking up tension. Especially of the s~exual nature.” He ran his tongue over his teeth and gave you his famous seductive eye. You thought you were keeping yourself together, hopefully you could keep it going.

You laughed, swatting your hand at him, “Me? And Him? Wait no, Him? Sexual anything? Are you sure we're thinking of the same Radio Demon? He can barely stand me, Angel, I’m sure whatever tension you’re picking up on is simply murderous.” You couldn’t meet his eyes however, staring at the horizon instead, scared the contact would break your composure.

He hmphed. “Girl, if it was murderous you couldn’t be here after he left your room last night.” Shit, he saw Alastor leave your room? Sloppy on his part. You had to go into damage control. “Nothing happened, Angel. Lucifer, Alastor and I went out earlier. And as you know, Alastor does not care for Lucifer. He was merely confirming some of the final details of Lucifer's plans, as he chose to ignore the man for a majority of our excursion.” Man, Hell was making you a great liar.

“Girl.” Okay, maybe not a great liar.

“He was zoned in on your room. On my way back to my room, he flew out of his like a bat out of here, and the vibes he was givin’ was not ‘just wanna double check a few things’, it was obvious. Plus, I didn’t hear no talking, cause your door was open. I heard some other stuff though. Sounded hot.” This was when your face broke, and a blush flew across your face. Angel’s laugh of confirmation got you to look over at him.

“Re-Lax. As if anyone would believe me if I said anything anyway. He’s a creepy mystery. And if he’s hot for you, you’ve gotta be some kinda creepy mystery as well. Cause whatever you did last night made him terrorise the doomsday district after.” He had stood up at this point, stretching so much his back cracked and he sighed in relief.

“Wait, what?” You said once his words caught up to you. “What did he do?”

Angel yawned, and tucked his chair in, leaning on it towards you. “Last night, after he left your room, he went and went full Radio Demon on their asses. Like, mass genocide shit.” Another yawn, he waved a hand at you, “I’m goin’ to bed doll. I’m beat, but yea. You wanna keep thinking nothing is happening between the two of you, you can join me on a double tonight.” You were so concentrated on your own whirlwind thoughts, you asked him to repeat himself. “You wanna join me on my double?”

“Double?” Double what? He groaned. “Fuckin’ virgins man, a double date. Cherry was gonna join me but she’s just bailed, something about blowing up a building on the edge of Vee town. Can’t blame her for wanting to but I can’t go, Val would literally kill me.” A double date? Good grief. Was that a good idea? What exactly was going on with you and Alastor anyway? It wasn’t like you two had any real discussion, you both were just playing a game of touch and go (quite literally). You hadn’t thought too much about him outside of that though. You obviously were physically attracted to him, somehow, despite his frightening existence. But was it because of the bond or because of the growing tolerance to each other's presence? You supposed there was only one way to start figuring it out.

If Alastor needed to kill a bunch of people to figure his shit out, perhaps you could do the same with dates. Angel was right, you didn’t have a lot of experience with men. Maybe you could have a similar connection (though not so binding), at least emotionally, with another person? Who knows. You reluctantly agreed to join Angel, deciding getting out of the hotel, away from Alastor, might help you think. After getting the details from him he left, and you sat in your chair, instantly regretting what you had just agreed to. And regretting that you would have to convince Husk to 3rd wheel with the two of you. You groaned, rubbing and squishing your face with your hands.

Later that night, after complete Radio Silence from Alastor save for his actual broadcast of jazzy upbeat lackadaisical tunes, Angel dressed you up like a little doll and the two of you all but skipped downstairs, geared up to go. You were going to be walking to this club called ‘Lounge’. It served appetisers, cocktails and had live music. It really sounded like a good time and when you focused on that part, not the date, you were pretty stoked. The dress code was semi-strict, according to Angel, and he had chosen a tight black turtleneck dress that went down to your knees, but lacked sleeves. Because of this, the black gradient on your arms made it look like you were wearing opera gloves. Paired with strappy black pumps, you felt pretty fancy. Angel had dressed in a similar style, but instead of a turtleneck, the neckline was sweetheart, and on the stomach was a cutout in the shape of a heart. He wore his standard black boots up to the top of his thighs, and his hair was more tousled than usual. You hair had been pinned back into a loose updo, and the both of you had little gemstones sprinkled in your hair. Husk promised to follow behind the two of you, Angel oblivious to your little shadow, chattering about whoever it was that his date brought for you.

As you entered the club, you kept looking back, nervous until you saw Husk enter and make his way to the bar. You joined Angel in a booth, him texting presumably your dates and ordering the both of you cocktails. Whatever a Blue Hurricane was, it was delicious. But remembering the last time you got drunk you were certainly going to be taking it easy.

As the missing pair arrived, it was obvious that you would not be having a good time. The friend of Angel’s date was a weasel demon, which was the first warning. One bit you when you were a kid and the scar was still present to prove it. The second was when you first met, he was so vulgar that Husk almost got involved, thankfully catching you shaking your head furiously. You let the man talk, on and on, about what he did, liked, positions…Yea, this was a shit date.

He finally picked up that you were uninterested entirely, or he thought hitting on the waitress in front of you was smooth, you texted Angel that you were going to walk home (no worries, it wouldn’t be alone) and thanked him for inviting you out. He read it at the table and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek goodbye and you left the table. Weasel demon nowhere in sight. You noticed Husk had left the bar, and you caught him as he was walking out the door, following your lead at the table. When you caught up to him, his sly smile made you laugh. “Did it look as bad as it went?”

”Dunno, how bad did it go?” The face you gave him made him laugh. “Bad. Really bad.” He smiled, “Well then yes. It looked bad. A shame really, you don’t get out much.” The two of you engaged in some polite conversation as you walked back to the hotel, Husk talking about how he used to wine and dine women when he was alive, how his luck wasn’t limited to just the table and blackjack. He was certain he had more than a few illegitimate children running around, he played fast and loose in all games, with all genders. By the time you both arrived back home, Husk was reliving how he would go to a hangout and dance all night with any girl he wanted. When you admitted no one had ever taken you dancing, he held out his hand and asked you to join him.

”But there’s no music! I may not have been dancing but I know you need music.” You exclaimed, finding the suggestion silly without the complete experience. Husk started to hum a song unfamiliar to you, and you chuckled, grabbing his hand and falling into an awkward waltz. Or at least you thought it was a waltz. It was some form of a box step, but it seemed like Husk wasn’t so much a dancer as he was a charmer. Though it appeared both of you had no structure, you were having a good time, until Husk stopped suddenly and took a step back. Your arms still lifted up, as if they were waiting for him to step back into place, and you faced the direction Husk had started to glare at.

Alastor.

He was at the very bottom of the stairs, head tilted. “What~ever are the two of you doing?” He began to come towards you as your hands lowered. Finding yourself less afraid of him these days, you spoke up. “I’ve never been dancing and I just had the absolute worst time on a date with Angel. Husk was cheering me up, and for that-“ You faced him, “I thank you. Best part of the night, although I wish the music was a bit clearer.” He smiled slyly and tipped his hat to you as he bowed, “Pleasure was all mine. Alastor, give the kid a break, she deserves a nice night out. Not tonight, but eventually.” Alastor had raised a brow and inspected your outfit, nodding in approval to the other man’s words.

”I see. That will be all Husker, you may leave.” Alastor waved him off, telling him to leave rather than suggesting it. Husk made eye contact with you and you shrugged. Alastor was picking under his nails with the same hands claws, seeming bored. Husk rolled his eyes and gave you a salute as he walked down the hall to one of the lower rooms for residents.

“Well my dear, I am afraid that you simply keep making mistakes, what a shame.” You groaned at his tone, closing your eyes to maintain composure.

“What do you mean, Alastor? Agreeing to be Angel’s ‘double?’” You finger quoted at the last word, making an obnoxious face to lay it on thick. “I know. Never again, I don’t know why I listened to him in the first place.”

”Well yes, that too I suppose. But I meant having Husker show you how to dance! Why I’ll have you know I was quite the dancer back in my day,” He pointed his microphone at the Radio in the Foyer and it started to play an upbeat, jazzy melody. He conjured his microphone away and grabbed your hand, leading you into a fast paced dance. You didn’t know what on earth was happening, but Alastor was an excellent lead. You found yourself laughing as he spun you about, trying to keep up with him - he wasn’t kidding, he was fantastic at this! He held on to both of your hands, which was great because you were so focused on his feet and trying to copy them, by the time the 3rd song started you were a bit more confident in your footwork but you were already out of breath. Holy crow dancing must have been a requirement in the 20s and 30s because Alastor barely looked as if he shed a drop of sweat yet. When you finally met his eyes, his smile wide as always, he let go of one of your hands to put you into a spin and bring you back.

The song ended, and he brought the two of you to a closer, slower dance, the song slowing. You found it hard to meet his face, but he thankfully broke the silence first. “How was that?! Quite the dancer, aren’t I?” He smiled at what looked like it could have been…real? Realer than most of his smiles. “Yes! I am impressed! Quite the dancer indeed. What was that dance? What did I do very terribly there for the last 15 minutes?”

He laughed at your joke, “That was the Fox-Trot dear, and something called the Black Bottom, though I mix it up a bit to keep it interesting.” He let you go entirely and the music faded into the background. You took a moment to catch your breath and race through the events that just happened. Date = bad. Husk = adorable. Alastor…Considerate? This was the most physical contact the two of you had with one another, and it certainly made you think. Just earlier today you assumed that your connection with this demon was only because of the bond, but here the two of you were, simply dancing like idiots in a Hell Hotel foyer, Alastor now rambling off about the songs he played and the meanings. You politely followed along without really listening, hyper focused on what you were feeling.

He just showed you he could be gentle, and fun. Patient when you stepped on his feet, and considerate as he gave you the instructions on what step to take next. Now he was looking at you and talking to you - honestly. Why was he constantly putting you in a state of confusion? 20 minutes with Alastor was proving to be leagues better than the hour plus date you went on tonight. Obviously your revelation gave you a certain look, because Alastor had interrupted your thoughts with a question. “And what, may I ask, are you in such deep thought about?” Raised brow, microphone back in his hand as he used it to lean on with both hands.

You quirked a lip, trying to figure out the right words to use. “I’m thinking about how 20 minutes with you had been a great end to my date since the first 2 hours were garbage. I am also thinking about how this is one of the first times we’ve spent time together that didn’t end up getting…a little heated.” He made a small noise of understanding before the two of you fell into a silence.

Ah yes, you were a mood killer. Grand. You kicked at the absolute nothing on the rug and announced you were heading to bed. You thanked him for the dancing, did a curtsy in response to his polite bow, and headed up the stairs.

Shoes and dress off, shower done and makeup removed, you were resting on the bed in your pyjamas, a button up short sleeved silk set with shorts. They were in a deep burgundy colour that flattered your colouring. The entire shower was spent thinking about your time with Alastor downstairs and how he obviously had no freaking clue what was going on, just like you had no idea what was happening between the two of you. It was clear there was more than just a physical connection, judging by how you were over analysing everything you had ever said to the man, hoping you never really sounded like an idiot after that first couple of days. There was a small knock on your door and when you opened it, Alastor was there, though he was a couple steps away this time.

”Evening my dear, I hope you have had time to freshen up.” He said, dipping his head a bit. “May I…come in?” You stared at him, unsure of what you were to do.

“Do you…do you think that would be a good idea?” You asked, not entirely against it but also confused by the fact he would even want to come in. “Well,” he started, picking off some non-existent lint from his microphone in an attempt to look nonplussed, “that depends on what sort of night you want to have, my dear.” Oooh trouble. That voice meant trouble. The kind of trouble that went straight to your crotch and lit your body on fire. Alastor’s facial response to your physical change was a toothy grin and a ‘mmhmm’ reverberating from his mouth. Embarrassed, but curious, you walked backwards back to the bed, sitting on the edge as Alastor came in smoothly and shut the door. He took a moment to look around the room you had attempted to make your own, inspecting every little addition, every detail. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke.

”I find you infuriating.”

“I…beg your pardon?” From the way your imagination was spinning all sorts of potential scenarios, this was not one of them. “Could you…elaborate?”

“I find you infuriating.” Okay, double infuriating. You waited. “Since you have arrived, I am unable to rid my thoughts of you. Your very presence has been invading my routines, my self expectations and responsibilities. I find myself skirting around more urgent matters just to catch a glance at you from a distance. You are making my mind and body betray the very way that I am! It is confusing, irritating and I am unsure if I would be willing to change that now that it has happened.”

You processed the words. Did he just imply he was glad all these things were happening? “Angel said that you went on a killing spree in the doomsday district, did you?” A slight tangent, but your curiosity was itching to find out. “Yes.” Was his curt reply. “Was that because…of me? Us? This-“ you guestured between the two of you, “-thing?” He came to stand between you, eyes lowered but not angry. He was quite unreadable at this moment. “Yes…and no.”

He bent over and grabbed one side of your collar to stroke the fabric between his thumb and 2 forefingers. “I went there because Hell needs a reminder that I am around, and I haven’t changed. But I also went-“ He popped the top button of your shirt open, “-because after our…moment, I felt a certain way, and I was concerned about how far I would deter from my pattern of behaviour if I stayed only across the hall from the source of all of these changes.” Button number two popped open and he lifted your chin to guide your eyes to his. “May I?” He asked, waiting for permission. You could only nod, your cheeks flaring up and you could feel this blush start to spread down your chest and shoulders. What the fuck was happening?

He unbuttoned the next 3 buttons that fastened your shirt together before putting his hand on your sternum and gently pushing you back so you were laying on the bed, looking up at him while your knees dangled off the edge of the bed. Your shirt covered a majority of your skin, but he took his claw and ran it up from your exposed navel to stop at your collar bone. The movement sent chills down your spine, but you laid still, hands beside your hips and formed into fists. He then ran his claw back down, and the resulting effect was a very small moan from your lips.

He brought his hand back up, his knuckle coming to rub the rib underneath your left breast, the movement causing the shirt to fall to the slide, exposing you. Your nipple started to peak slightly, but only for a second before Alastor bent down and took it straight into his mouth. Your shoulders jerked in response, and you could hear a tandem moan to your own. He was carefully toying with your left nipple with his teeth, while his left hand performed similar ministrations to your right nipple. Almost immediately you were over stimulated, pussy throbbing and clit pulsing. Alastor jerked his own hips as you smacked your head back against the mattress and fisted the blankets beside you.

He swapped his mouth to the other side, repeating the same actions, humming while he held them in mouth, causing you to groan. His knee came to rest on the bed, forcing your own knees apart. He was still fully clothed, and he brought his knee up until it rested against the heat of your cunt. He put pressure on it, and you groaned loudly, the sensation overwhelming. He was barely even touching you with his fingers and he had you soaking. Very quickly you felt the familiar build up at the bottom of your stomach, it was happening so fast it was nearly painful. The combination of his knee moving against your sensitive clit, the pinching and biting of your nipples mixed with the reflective arousal that you could feel from the bond with Alastor - who was just as tense with pleasure, had you slipping into despair chasing that release.

You raised your hands and brought them to his head, running your hands up behind his neck to run your fingers through his hair, only for him to grab both of your wrists and pin them beside your head on the bed. He was just slowly teasing one nipple at a time, puckering one up and blowing air on it, shifting his knee to change the pressure to your crotch, smiling wider as your moans escaped your lips. You tried to look down at him while he was overstimulating your body but it was too much for your brain to handle. How on earth had things come to this? You said his name in a shakily manner, stuttering over the first syllable and he hmmd a knowing response, picking up the pace of his ministrations, focusing his mouth on what the two of you discovered was the more sensitive one, knee pushing hard into you. Your hips were moving in a rhythmic motion to increase the friction, and your head was nodding back and forth as you allowed the buildup of pleasure to create a knot in the bottom of your stomach. Suddenly the knot tightened, and then snapped as your orgasm flooded through your body. Your moan of release was animalistic, unlike any sound that had come from you before, and your chest raised, having your head balance on your crown as your body arched to aid in release. A second after you started your release you felt Alastors body jerk in response, moving his hips to help with his own orgasm.

The two of you rode it out together, before he settled on his elbows on either side of you, allowing his body to rest on top of yours. His knees lowered to the floor at the foot of the bed, your own knees closed around his hips as the two of you caught your breath. It was suddenly stifling in your room, the smell of sex strongly pungent in the air. You stared at the ceiling, processing what was easily the strongest orgasm of your life as your mind raced.

Looking down at Alastor he was breathing deeply through his mouth, but his eyes were closed and furrowed. You tested his boundaries by letting your hands wander to his arms and let them rest on him. He didn’t move, and you didn’t push further by going farther, but the two of you laid there until your heartbeats settled. It was clear neither of you knew how to proceed, you were still confused about the turn of events and Alastor was confused how he allowed his basic instincts take over his better judgement.

He initially came to your door to…well for what, he didn’t even know. It certainly wasn’t thought out to pounce on you like a wild animal and bring you to a very intense orgasm that wracked through his own body and presumably ruined a perfectly good pair of trousers. This touch and go, push and pull bond between the two of you was making things difficult to process what he was actually thinking. Lately he was finding it harder and harder to avoid wanting to seek out these responses for you. His own lack of experience and overwhelming emotions that your presence had sparked in him has flipped his world, and he was unsure of how he would, or even if he could revert back into the cool, unaffected overlord demeanour that he had spent nearly a century perfecting. Where did he find those ritual runes again? Someone would have to pay for it, yes decades after the fact.

As you patiently waited, you fought a silent yawn, and found yourself slowly slipping into a comfortable state of pre-sleep. Alastor’s weight on top of you and your recent orgasm was a perfect concoction for restful sleep, and as your breathing slowed down and your lids became heavy, you slipped into slumber hoping that you weren’t coming across as rude (hey, he wasn’t saying anything either) but a part of you that was larger than you thought wished he would be there when you woke up.

Alastor however was grateful you were losing your battle within yourself and falling asleep, because it would make the next few steps much easier and far less awkward for him. He felt perhaps like a hormonal youth would, his lesser brain controlling the body devoid of any intellectual thought. As your breathing steadied into a rhythmic pattern he knew it was safe to move. He braced his head up off your chest and put his chin on his folded hands, propped up by his elbows that still rested on either side of you. He looked down at your peaceful face, content and already with a look of someone in deep sleep. Your face still had a residual flush on it, and your lashes twitched as his own breath hit your face after a long release of air he had been holding in.

Honestly if he was to be linked with someone in such a way, he considered himself lucky it was with someone like you. You were polite, very intelligent about the things you loved, held great conversation and, most importantly, you generally listened to what he had to say. And not that he put much merit into it being in hell, but you were also very pleasant to look at. Beauty fades on earth, but Hell was ageless. Though your demon form had been clearly influenced by his own, he was unsure of what other form you might take had this not happened. Still prey, he noted strongly, perhaps a rabbit or a dog - you were entirely too energetic and loyal. A thought he would focus on another day however, right now his task at hand was to escape without disturbing anyone or anything and clean himself up.

As he rose your body shifted immediately seeking out warmth. He used his tendrils to assist in moving you under the covers, fixing your shirt before using his own hands to tuck you in. He did not have a good answer to why he chose to do that himself, but as he left, the warm light dimmed as his shadows took him into his own room to address his mental anguish alone. He needed to sort out this thing that was starting to build up inside of him, and quickly. This extermination was suddenly far more complicated then the ones that preceded it.

Time was running out, and everyone knew it.

______

I know Alastor is an only child in canon, but he is so scripted as a man with sisters and therefore I live in de-lulu and write it as such.

Sorry for the delay, I’m trying my very best to make sexual moments not awkward and believable. And the idea that real people read it gives me anxiety.

@queermaxwooo @drawings-by-meh @sirens-and-moonflowers @looking1016 @mo-0-o @blakeaha @mutifandomkid @ministarheaven @nightingale0603 @loadedwafflefries @rizzscary @bishiglomper @vividachromatic @fluffy-koalala @mkaella @readergirlstuff @xalygatorx @otherthoughtsofbu @phamtasic @midorichoco @hazbin-h0etel @white-00-7 @little-slyvixen @zzzykiek @iheartalastor

[artyandink]

amoralism | fourteen

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Dean’s the mole, the Sucide Squad formation and it being a train wreck, a bit of family problems, angst

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: Tears of Gold - Faouzia

chauvinism

The mission had been in the works for two long, grueling weeks, and it still felt like a long shot.

You, Sam, Bobby, and the so-called "Suicide Squad" had spent hours in the Bureau's underground briefing room, a place so buried under layers of concrete and steel that cell reception was a distant memory. The air inside was thick with the smell of stale coffee, sweat, and stress—everyone had been pulling double shifts, and no one was more wired than you. The clock was ticking. Dean’s files were being held under lock and key by Raphael Deacon, the Director of the FBI, and a man with more power than the President on his worst days.

But the files—Dean's files—were the key to everything. They held the proof, the answers. The only way to clear Dean's name or understand why he had betrayed you all. You needed those files, and there was only one way to get them: a heist.

It sounded absurd, like something out of a bad spy movie, but it was the only plan anyone had that made sense. Bobby had been pacing the front of the room, whiteboard behind him filled with diagrams, maps, and hastily scribbled notes as the rest of the team crowded around.

“We go in quick, we go in quiet,” Bobby muttered, pulling the cap off a dry-erase marker with his teeth and slashing another line across the board. “We got exactly one window where Deacon’s gonna be out of his office, and that’s when we make our move.”

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, trying to ignore the tension building in your chest. You’d been part of risky ops before, but this? This was borderline suicide.

“You really think we can pull this off?” you asked, glancing at Sam next to you. His brow was furrowed, a hand running through his long hair as he scrutinized the plan for any weakness.

“We don’t have a choice,” he said quietly, eyes meeting yours. “It’s the only way we find out what’s really going on with Dean.”

His words weighed heavily on you. It had been weeks since you last saw Dean, and the encounter had shaken you to your core. You hadn’t spoken to anyone about it—especially not Sam. You swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts of Dean to the back of your mind. Focus. You needed to focus.

Across the table, Charlie Bradbury was furiously typing away on her laptop, her fingers moving faster than you thought was humanly possible. “Okay, okay, I think I’ve got it,” she said, her voice cutting through the room. “I’ve hacked into the security system. We’ve got a thirty-second delay between when a breach happens and when it gets reported. That’s our window.”

John Winchester, his arms folded over his chest, grunted from his spot near the back of the room. He hadn’t said much throughout the planning—just his typical gruff one-liners about security, strategy, and how this was a fool’s errand. But when he spoke, everyone listened.

“And what happens if we miss that window?” John asked, his voice low, but enough to send a ripple of unease through the group.

“We don’t miss it,” Bobby snapped, glaring at John. “We can’t afford to miss it.”

Rufus Turner, leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on the table, gave a lazy grin. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. Haven’t done a good ol' heist in years.”

Next to him, Agent Jack Kline, the youngest member of the team, looked more nervous than excited. He had the look of a deer caught in the headlights, but he was trying to mask it with a look of determination.

Mick Davies, sharp as ever in his suit, spoke up next. “What’s our exit plan? We can’t just waltz out of the building with federal files in hand. Deacon’s got eyes everywhere.”

Bobby paused, pacing again, his boots heavy on the floor. “We’ll split up. Create enough chaos that no one knows what’s happening until we’re gone. Charlie, you’ll jam the internal comms, give us time to slip out without alerting the entire Bureau.”

Garth chimed in, tapping his chin. “And what about disguises? We can’t exactly stroll in looking like this.” He gestured down at his casual clothes.

“That’s where I come in,” Mick said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ve got some connections. We’ll have uniforms. FBI suits, maintenance workers, delivery personnel. The whole nine yards.”

“Sounds like a damn circus,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your temples.

Bobby shot you a look. “We’re working with what we’ve got.”

The plan was as convoluted as they came—deceit, manipulation, distraction, and everything in between. There was no room for error. One slip, one wrong move, and the entire operation would be over before it even began. But you were in too deep now. Backing out wasn’t an option.

The day arrived sooner than any of you were ready for. You could feel the tension in the air as the team gathered in the Bureau's underground garage. Everyone was dressed to play their parts—uniforms, IDs, all fake but polished enough to pass a casual inspection.

You tugged at the stiff collar of your maintenance jumpsuit, feeling out of place but determined. Sam, standing next to you, adjusted the lapels on his fake FBI suit, his eyes scanning the group.

“Everyone know their role?” Bobby asked, his voice hard as he gave one final look at the team.

Charlie was the first to respond. “I’ll be in the van, controlling the security feed and hacking the system as we go. If anything goes wrong, you’ll know because all hell will break loose.”

John, dressed as a janitor, grunted his agreement. “I’ll make sure the halls are clear.”

Garth, in his delivery uniform, gave a thumbs up. “I’m your distraction. Trust me, I’ve got this.”

Mick and Jack were already in character, blending in seamlessly with the handful of actual Bureau agents milling about the garage. It was showtime.

The mission began like clockwork. Mick and Jack were the first inside, walking through the front entrance with forged IDs and briefcases in hand. They passed the metal detectors, nodding at the guards with an air of confidence that only agents from another division could pull off.

Meanwhile, you, Sam, John, and Garth entered through the back, where maintenance workers were busy hauling in cleaning supplies and equipment. John’s hard glare kept anyone from asking questions. The man had a presence that made you glad he was on your side.

Charlie’s voice came through the earpiece in your ear. “Alright, you’re clear for now. Thirty seconds until the first security sweep. Move fast.”

Your heart pounded as you made your way through the narrow back corridors, trying to keep your footsteps light despite the rush of adrenaline in your veins. Sam was right behind you, his eyes darting between you and the path ahead.

As you rounded a corner, you caught sight of Raphael Deacon’s office—a heavy wooden door guarded by two agents. Garth was already in place, wheeling a large cart of ‘deliveries’ toward the door. You watched as he fumbled with the boxes, pretending to lose his balance.

“Oh no, shoot! Sorry, fellas, can you give me a hand here?” Garth asked, flashing his best disarming smile.

The guards, caught off guard by the seemingly harmless delivery guy, bent down to help him, just as John slipped past them into the restricted hallway unnoticed.

“Ten seconds,” Charlie’s voice warned. “You better move fast.”

John reappeared moments later, his expression tense as he gave the signal.

The door to Deacon’s office clicked open.

Inside, Raphael Deacon’s office was as imposing as you expected. The walls were lined with bookshelves, legal documents, and awards, but the real prize was the locked cabinet at the back of the room. Dean’s files were inside. Somewhere.

You rushed to the cabinet with Sam while John kept watch. Time was ticking. You grabbed the small lock-picking kit Mick had given you, your fingers trembling as you worked the lock. The seconds felt like hours as you concentrated, sweat beading on your forehead.

“Come on,” Sam muttered beside you, glancing toward the door.

Click.

The lock gave way, and you swung the cabinet doors open. Inside, stacks of files lay neatly arranged, but it only took you a second to spot the one marked with Dean’s name. You grabbed it, stuffing it into your bag just as Charlie’s voice cut through the comms again.

“We’ve got a problem. Security’s onto us. They’re not buying Garth’s act anymore.”

“Time to go,” John grunted, pulling you and Sam toward the exit.

The building was already buzzing with movement as you slipped back into the maintenance hallways, but just as planned, the chaos was enough to keep most of the agents off your trail. Garth had done his job.

Back in the garage, Charlie was already in the van, her fingers flying across her keyboard. “You’ve got maybe thirty seconds before they realize what’s missing. Let’s go!”

Everyone piled into the van as it sped away, the sound of sirens blaring in the distance. You sat back, heart racing, the weight of the stolen file heavy in your hands.

It was a victory. But as you caught Sam’s eye, you both knew this was just the beginning. The contents of the file would tell you everything—or nothing. Either way, there was no turning back now.

The mission was chaotic, convoluted, and dangerous. But somehow, against all odds, you had pulled it off.

Now came the hard part.

The adrenaline from the mission was still pumping through your veins as the van sped down the back roads, far away from the FBI headquarters. Charlie, behind the wheel, navigated the narrow streets with sharp precision, while the rest of the team sat in tense silence. The stolen file, Dean’s file, sat heavy in your lap, the weight of its contents unknown, but it was the key to everything.

You looked over at Sam. His eyes were fixed on the folder, a mix of worry and determination etched on his face. Bobby sat across from you, arms crossed, looking out the window. John was muttering to himself in the back corner, probably going over every tactical mistake you all might have made. Garth, still in his delivery uniform, was looking out the window with a goofy grin as if the whole operation had been some kind of field trip. Mick, ever the polished MI6 agent, looked almost too calm, while Jack sat quietly, fiddling nervously with his hands.

The van rattled as Charlie took a sharp turn, and you tightened your grip on the file.

“So, what now?” Charlie asked, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “We just crack open this bad boy and hope for the best?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said with a grunt, shifting in his seat. “But not here. Too many eyes around. We need a safe spot.”

Sam finally spoke up. “We can go to my place. Jess is out of town visiting family, and it’s secure.”

You nodded. “Sam’s right. Let’s go there. We can regroup, figure out what’s in this file, and plan our next move.”

The ride to Sam’s place felt longer than it should have, despite the fact that it was only about twenty minutes away. The tension in the van was thick, and you could tell everyone was on edge. After the chaos of the heist, it was hard to believe you’d actually pulled it off. But as much as you wanted to feel victorious, you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Dean was out there somewhere, possibly on the run, possibly still with the syndicate. Or worse, maybe he was exactly what the files would say he was. The thought sent a chill down your spine. After everything, after all the years you’d known him—had Dean really betrayed you all?

Charlie pulled up in front of Sam’s house, parking the van in the driveway. Everyone piled out, and you all made your way inside. Sam’s place was quiet, almost too quiet, the kind of stillness that made the atmosphere feel heavier than it should’ve been.

Sam locked the door behind him, and the group settled in the living room. You sat down on the couch, the file still in your hands, and the rest of the team gathered around.

Bobby leaned forward, eyeing the file like it was some kind of dangerous artifact. “Well, kiddo,” he said, looking at you, “you gonna do the honors?”

You glanced around the room, feeling the weight of everyone’s anticipation. Your hands shook slightly as you undid the clasp on the folder, opening it to reveal the contents inside.

There were several thick documents, each stamped with confidential seals and the unmistakable insignia of the FBI. You sifted through them quickly, scanning for something, anything that would make sense of this madness. There were surveillance reports, witness statements, memos—all detailing Dean’s activities over the last year.

Your eyes caught on one page in particular, a detailed report from Raphael Deacon himself. You skimmed it, your pulse quickening as you read the words:

"Subject: Dean Winchester – Special Agent, suspected mole within the FBI, believed to be in contact with syndicate leader Lucifer. Operative is highly skilled, with extensive knowledge of Bureau protocol. Unclear how deeply involved he is with the organization, but intelligence suggests infiltration may have been premeditated…"

You swallowed hard, passing the page to Sam. His brow furrowed as he read it, a deep frown forming on his face.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Sam muttered, flipping through the pages. “Dean wouldn’t do this.”

John scoffed from the back of the room. “You sure about that, Sam? People can change. And sometimes, they don’t turn out to be who you think they are.”

Sam shot him a glare. “Dean wouldn’t betray the Bureau. Not like this.”

You stayed silent, your mind reeling as you tried to make sense of everything. The reports, the surveillance footage, the classified memos—they all painted a picture of Dean as a double agent. But something wasn’t adding up. Dean was reckless sometimes, sure, but he wasn’t a traitor.

“We need to dig deeper,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “There has to be something we’re missing.”

Charlie leaned over, scanning the files over your shoulder. “There’s a lot of redacted information here. They’re definitely hiding something.”

“Could be a cover-up,” Bobby mused. “Deacon ain’t exactly a trustworthy son of a bitch.”

“Then why’d Dean run?” Jack asked, his voice quiet. “If he’s innocent, why hasn’t he come back?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswered.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I don’t believe for a second that Dean’s in on this. Not fully.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. “We need more information. Something solid. These files... they’re not enough.”

Mick spoke up for the first time in a while, his voice smooth but thoughtful. “Perhaps there’s a lead we can follow. If Dean’s gone dark, there must be a way to trace his movements. Off-the-books contacts, safe houses, something he would’ve used to stay hidden.”

Rufus, who had been oddly quiet until now, nodded. “Dean ain’t dumb. He’d know how to cover his tracks. But he might’ve left a trail for someone who knows how to look.”

You stood up, pacing the room as the ideas swirled in your mind. Every second that passed felt like you were running out of time, like Dean was slipping further away.

“Charlie, can you dig into these files, see what’s been redacted and maybe trace where this intel came from?” you asked, knowing full well that if anyone could break through encrypted data, it was her.

She gave you a thumbs-up. “Already on it.”

Sam rubbed his eyes, the exhaustion evident on his face. “We should keep looking for leads, but I agree with you. Something’s off about all of this. Dean wouldn’t just run unless he had no other choice.”

The thought of Dean being out there, alone, possibly in danger, made your heart ache. You hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that there was more to this story. But the mission wasn’t over yet.

The prison was cold. It always was. The kind of cold that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore. As you made your way down the long, sterile corridor, your footsteps echoed against the hard concrete floors, bouncing off the walls in a rhythmic, lonely sound. The guard leading you said nothing, his face impassive as he swiped his keycard to open another set of heavy metal doors.

It wasn’t your first visit here. You’d been coming to see Eleanor, your mother, for years now. But no matter how many times you passed through the gates, through the searches and the checkpoints, it never got easier. You felt the weight of it all pressing down on your chest with every step you took.

And today, it felt even heavier.

Your mind was a whirlwind of questions, of uncertainties. The mission had been chaotic, the files had been convoluted, and worst of all, Dean was missing. A mole. An alleged traitor. But none of it made sense. None of it fit with the Dean you knew. You hoped that your mother, with her past connections to the criminal underworld, might be able to shed some light on the situation.

The guard finally stopped in front of a small, enclosed room—a visiting room. "Five minutes," he said gruffly, as though the kindness of a full hour was something prisoners rarely deserved. He unlocked the door, then gestured for you to enter. You nodded and stepped inside.

Eleanor was already sitting at the table, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her expression as calm and composed as ever. She had that air about her, even in prison. A woman who had lived through chaos and come out the other side unbroken. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, streaks of gray more prominent now than they had been the last time you saw her.

When she looked up and met your eyes, her face softened, just a little.

"Hey, kid," she said, her voice carrying a warmth that you hadn’t expected.

"Mom." You managed a small smile, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down. You placed your hands on the table, feeling the cold surface beneath your fingers, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to figure out how to start.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it never had been with Eleanor. She was patient, observant. She had a way of waiting you out, of letting you come to her when you were ready.

You glanced up at her and took a deep breath. "I need to ask you something."

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed slightly. She tilted her head, her hands still resting lightly on the table. "What is it?"

"It’s about Dean," you said, the words feeling heavy as they left your mouth.

Her expression didn’t change much, but you could see the flicker of concern behind her eyes. "Dean Winchester?" she asked slowly.

You nodded, your heart racing. "Yeah. There’s been… something’s happened, and I need to know if he’s involved with the syndicate."

Eleanor blinked, clearly taken aback. She leaned back in her chair slightly, her eyes scanning your face for answers that weren’t yet spoken. "Dean?" she repeated, almost incredulous. "Dean Winchester is involved with the syndicate? The same syndicate I used to run with?"

"That’s what I’m trying to figure out," you admitted, your voice quiet. "There’s a file, reports… all pointing to him being a mole inside the FBI, working with them."

Eleanor looked at you for a long moment, her gaze unblinking. And then, almost abruptly, she let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, that doesn’t make any sense."

"I know it doesn’t," you replied, feeling a mixture of frustration and desperation rise up in your chest. "But it’s there. His name’s all over the files. They have surveillance, they have witness accounts—everything points to Dean."

Your mother’s brow furrowed, her fingers tapping lightly on the table as she considered your words. "I knew Dean," she said finally, her voice steady, as though she was sorting through facts in her mind. "I worked with a lot of people who were mixed up in some dark stuff, but Dean? He wasn’t one of them."

You leaned forward, pressing her. "But could he have been involved without you knowing? Maybe something happened after you were arrested. Something that pulled him in."

Eleanor shook her head firmly. "I don’t believe it. Dean’s a lot of things, but he’s not reckless. And he’s not stupid. Getting involved with the syndicate? That’s a death sentence. And it’s not something he could’ve hidden easily, even from me."

You stared at her, trying to make sense of it all. "But what if… what if they forced him? Or what if he’s been playing both sides, working undercover?"

She leaned forward, her gaze sharp now. "Listen to me," she said, her voice low but intense. "If Dean was involved in the syndicate, I’d know. They don’t operate in a vacuum. Everyone knows everyone. And if Dean was in that system, his name would’ve come up long before now. You said there’s a file on him? Well, I can tell you one thing: Dean’s name isn’t in any of their systems."

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had been hoping, deep down, that she could give you some insight, some hidden piece of the puzzle that would make everything click into place. But instead, it only raised more questions.

"Then why are they saying it’s him?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Eleanor’s eyes softened slightly. "It sounds like someone’s setting him up. They’re using his name, his reputation, to cover their own tracks. And you need to figure out who’s behind it."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. Could it be true? Could someone really be framing Dean, manipulating the FBI into thinking he was the mole?

"But why?" you asked, more to yourself than to Eleanor. "Why would they choose Dean?"

"Because he’s good at what he does," she said, a hint of admiration in her voice. "And because they know that if you believe he’s guilty, no one will question it. Not even you."

The words stung, but you couldn’t deny the truth in them. If someone was framing Dean, they were doing a damn good job of it. And they knew exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you doubt everything you thought you knew.

You looked down at the table, your hands clenched into fists. "I don’t know what to do," you admitted, your voice small and defeated.

Eleanor reached out, placing her hand on top of yours. "You do what you always do," she said gently. "You dig. You find the truth. And you don’t stop until you have it."

You nodded, the resolve slowly returning to your chest. She was right. There was still a lot you didn’t know, but you couldn’t stop now. Dean’s life—his reputation—was at stake, and you couldn’t let him go down without a fight.

"Thank you," you said, meeting her eyes. "I’m sorry to have dragged you into this."

She smiled softly, squeezing your hand. "You’re my kid. You don’t need to apologize for coming to me for help."

The guard knocked on the door then, signaling the end of your visit. You stood, feeling the weight of the conversation still heavy on your shoulders. As the guard escorted you out, you glanced back at Eleanor one last time. She gave you a nod, her eyes filled with the kind of strength you always admired in her.

As the doors closed behind you, the coldness of the prison faded, but the uncertainty lingered. Dean wasn’t in the syndicate. You were sure of it now. But that meant someone else was pulling the strings—someone powerful enough to frame him, to make you doubt him.

You stepped outside into the crisp air, your mind still racing. There was more to uncover, more pieces of the puzzle to find. And now, you had to figure out how to put them together before it was too late.

Because Dean’s life depended on it.

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[lazypapers]

Hey! You said you wanted someone to write O’Driscoll Arthur right? I’ll do it for ya, but I need for info.

🤔 Well, I guess I can give you the base of what the AU is about. But I would like people's interpretation of it. Cause first I don't want to restrict anyone and people can write whatever they like. Second, I already have my own thing I'm thinking of doing.

Calling this ShowPony AU

Basically Arthur was on a job with Dutch. Things don't go as plan and it gets really bad (similar to that one mission at the oil place) Dutch witnessing Arthur's "death" (the scar on his neck) he felt he had no choice but to leave him. Arthur is still conscious and witnesses his mentor leaving him. He feels absolutely betrayed.

Later Colm and the gang will find injured Arthur and nurse him back to health. Like a snake, he will plant ideas and really push that Dutch never appreciated him (which he did). He was once a Showpony and now he was nothing but workhorse. A workhorse that ran it's course. Colm will definitely utilize Arthur's low self-esteem and feed into the negative aspect thus creating a low-honor Arthur.

With John, Arthur felt jealous of him. He felt that Dutch was a bit easier with him. He was the new model, the younger Golden Boy. He left and abandoned his family and Arthur was the one that stepped up. And when John comes back, Dutch forgives him and welcomes him back with open arms for his prodigal son. Arthur will be conflicted because he knows it's not John's fault for Dutch's shitty personality. But he gets so resentful.

[nthspecialll]

American Venom, what happened?

When it comes to American Venom there are about as many theories as there are players of red dead two, so I would like to give my two cents of thoughts and we are going to start with Dutch.

Why was Dutch Van Der Linde together with Micah Bell? The man who helped cause the downfall of his family, the man who he turned his back on and left on a mountain, the man he hadn't spoken to for eight years? Why were they speaking? I think we find the answer with Arthur.

John says himself that Dutch Van Der Linde is a very colorful character, yet also points out that he might not be any longer because what happened changed all of them. And I think he is very correct here, Dutch is a colorful man, or was a colorful man. The Dutch that we knew from before the downfall would never go eight entire years without drawing attention to himself, yet he did now. He changed.

Dutch went eight years keeping to himself, hiding in a cave probably, all alone, without a gang for the first time since 1875. I wonder what one does when isolating oneself for eight years. I imagne one thinks.

I think that Dutch spent all that time thinking, most likely about what happened with the gang and Arthur. I am not the best at facial expressions but I don't think it was anger that he looked at Arthur with in the high honor staying with John. It looked more like regret, frustration, sorrow. The curl of the brow, his entire face squinting together around the nose, that is a face I have only seen in people who just realized or heard something they wish they hadn't.

The way he looks at Micah too, it isn't anger, it isn't surprise... It is just... Hurt. I don't think in this moment he realized Micah was the rat, I just think he realized that he had been foolish, his family was gone and there was nothing he could do about it.

I don't think he thought "Micah, you betrayed me" I think he thought "Micah... I failed them."

When finally having time to think, I think Dutch realized something, no matter how much he liked to think otherwise, Arthur was still his son and he failed him. No matter how many fancy words and fancy speeches he created he still couldn't save the people whom he had cared for. I don't think he necessarily thought he had done wrong, I think he just thought he hadn't done enough.

When it comes to American Venom itself, I think he was there for closure, maybe even revenge. I don't think he was there necessarily to kill Micah in the end but maybe more to find out what really happened, to hear it from another person. I do however think he was ready to kill Micah if the answer wasn't something he liked, such as Micah's talk of "cutting off the weak" or "it had to happen" because Dutch never believed that, even in the end.

That said, I do not think he had planned on doing it when he did, I think the timing was a split-second decision. Was it because he didn't know Arthur was dead? No, he knew, but I do have two theories here.

One, the human mind is great at one thing and it is protecting itself, pushing away the memories that simply hurts too much. You know but you don't know, you don't accept. One thing is knowing Arthur is dead but being able to push it away and doubt your own mind, maybe, maybe he did survive, another thing is hearing someone say it, someone acknowledge it, someone making it real even though it was already real all along. That shock could easily have driven that decision.

Second, Arthur was Dutch's son and I don't think he expected Micah to joke and taunt his death. A man whom he already had a complicated relationship with, taunted his son, it can't have been a hard choice.

What about John and Sadie? I don't think Dutch cared much about them in the end, but why would he care for Arthur and not John? Dutch cannonly thinks John is the rat, I imagine he just saw Arthur as a follower, as someone manipulated by John, that is my belief. Does he still think John was the rat in the end? Maybe, I don't think he cared.

He used to be a man of ideals but as he said himself "I don't have much to say anymore." It was ideals that drove him but he doesn't have them anymore and I think he realized it doesn't matter who did what, it doesn't change anything and so far revenge hasn't done him anything good.

The loss of ideals was what changed Dutch and that is my two cents of thoughts.

[x-reader-theater]

Frozen Waste

summary: Taking refuge in a cabin safehouse in the middle of a snowstorm is cold.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male!Reader

category: Gen

word count: 2012

warnings: There are brief mentions of the reader having a more masculine body, but there are no pronouns used. However I made it male reader so those who want gender neutral readers wouldn't feel betrayed.

a/n: i stole this from a bunch of SoapGhost fics.

"God fucking fuck fuck FUCK!" You should over the roaring of the snowstorm around you. Your arms are wrapped tightly around you in the absolutely freezing weather. 

"Keep it together, Sargeant!" Ghost commands over the chugging of the wind. "We're almost at the safehouse. I can't have you losing it in me now!" 

You shake your head at him and sigh. "Of course not, sir!" You shout back. "How could I go insane with you right here!" 

You can't see it behind the reflective ski goggles he's wearing, but you know Ghost is just rolling his eyes at your terrible attempts to flirt. It's the only way you won't go crazy, though. Some little sense of normalcy in this fucked situation. 

"Like I said, only a little longer to the safehouse! Then I might be able to put some distance between us!" Ghost shoots back quickly, without missing a beat. 

Now it's your turn to roll your eyes as you say, "You'll freeze to death without me to help warm you up!" 

"No innuendoes in the field, [L/N]!" Ghost barks. 

You scoff even though it gets lost in the wind. "Not an innuendo Lieutenant!" you shout back. "Just stating a fact! It's fuckin' cold as balls out here!" 

Ghost doesn't say anything else as the two of you trek your way through the snow covered landscape. 

Eventually, you see the almost completely snowed-in cabin that is the safe house, and you find yourself picking up your footsteps and walking just a little bit faster at the promise of warmth. Ghost seems to keep pace with you and walks quickly up to the cabin. You have to dig out the door a bit but you thank whatever higher power is out there, if there is even one, that the door opens inward. You and Ghost use your full body weights to push the door closed behind you, trying to get as much snow that fell in, back out. 

When the door clicks shut with a finality that would normally worry you, you sag against the door in relief. 

Ghost instantly goes to the small fireplace in the one room cabin, the only other doors being to the extremely tiny bathroom and a backdoor to the cabin. He kneels before the fireplace and throws in a couple of the already stocked fire logs by the fire and gets out his tinderbox while you rush over to the bed to start pulling off as many layers of wet clothing that you have. Your boots, socks, and pants are all taken off, as well as your heavy, waterproof coat, leaving you in your vest and sweatshirt, as well as your thermal layer that covers from your neck to your ankles. 

"Wh-wh-why di-i-i-id Pri-i-ice ins-s-s-sis-s-s-sted on-n-n no wo-o-ol?" You shiver out as you drag your wet and damp layers to the now growing fire and lay them out on the hearth in front of the mesh fire screen. 

Ghost just looks at you, and while you can’t tell what he’s thinking, you can see his muscles trembling in shivers. 

You strip down to your underwear, as even your long johns have been soaked through. You sigh as you finally peel off the last layer, stretching out, but pulling your limbs back into your body as the cold air causes you to shiver once more. You walk over to Ghost with your wet clothes and spread them out by already warm fireplace while Ghost goes and checks around the place. You sigh as you feel some feeling return to your fingers and warmth return to your bones. You glance over to Ghost, who’s looking around the safehouse, making sure it’s not compromised. You can see he’s still shivering. 

You scoff as you stand, saying, “Take off your clothes.”

He freezes and turns his head to look at you, but doesn’t move other than that. “What?” 

“You’re shaking,” you say, gesturing to him. He stops shaking as soon as you point it out. “You’re freezing. If you stay in those wet clothes any longer you’re going to get frostbite.”

You cross your arms and tap your foot, trying to convey a look that brokers no argument. It seems to work, that or Ghost actually knows you’re ultimately right, and he makes his way over to the fireplace. You smile at him and shake out your limbs, before moving towards where the attached bedroom is. There’s only one bed, however there’s no fireplace in there, so it’s pretty useless right now. You go and grab a few blankets from the bed, the extra fluffy comforter and the quilt that’s currently on the bed. For a rarely used safehouse it’s remarkably clean. 

You walk back out of the bedroom and almost drop the blankets you’re carrying. 

Standing in the glowing light of the firelight is Ghost, with almost all his skin on glorious display. He’s pale, which makes sense for a man who spends 90% of his time covered up. What surprises you however is just how many scars litter his skin, and the entire tattoo sleeve that spans his right arm and up to his shoulder. He has a healthy layer of fat over what has to be incredibly strong, corded muscle. He’s not small, you never thought he was, but seeing just how much of Ghost is muscle, how little he actually wears as padding to make himself bigger shocks you. 

You clear your throat and get a better grip on the blankets as Ghost looks up. He still has his balaclava on his head, but other than the very tight boxer briefs he’s wearing, the rest is all laid to bare. You hold out a blanket, your cheeks feeling warm, and you hope Ghost attributes it to the warmth from the fire, but you’re not holding your breath. Ghost doesn't miss anything. 

However, he doesn’t make any indication that he knows as he slowly reaches out and grabs the quilt. You plop yourself in front of the fireplace, wrapping the fleece covered comforter around your shoulders, but you’re still shivering after being away from the fireplace for so long. Ghost joins you, sitting next to you at a respectable distance, but it’s as if Ghost is stealing away all the heat from the fire and leaving none for you. 

Your teeth chatter and you feel yourself shaking. Ghost sighs next to you and opens up his arm. 

“Here,” he says, his voice low and gravely. You look over and see he has his arm out. You look at him shocked, but all he says is, “Bare skin contact can help you heat up faster.”

You nod slowly and push the comforter from around your shoulders. Ghost grabs it and slings it over his back and you crawl over and into his arms. Immediately you feel your chest warm as your back leans against his chest. His arms encircle your waist, and you sigh as you finally feel like you’re warming up. 

You look up at the underside of Ghost’s chin, still covered by the mask. You stare up at Ghost, trying to discern anything from what is showing, but Ghost’s mask is not just the one that covers his face. 

“Eyes forward, Sergeant,” Ghost orders. 

You feel yourself jolt and your cheeks heat up even more, that familiar tingle of embarrassment prickling underneath your skin. “Sorry Sir,” you mutter, twisting your head so you’re facing forward once more, watching the fire crackle in the hearth. You feel your cheeks heat up even more before you say, trying to stop it but failing, “You’re really hot.” 

You stiffen in Ghost’s arms, and you almost think he gets warmer, but you can’ be sure, being surrounded by all the heat. 

“Is it too warm for you?” Ghost says hesitantly after a moment, going to take his arms away from your body, but you grab them, pulling them back to your bare chest. 

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say, still feeling overly flushed. Ghost seems to relax again, as much as he can relax, and you feel yourself shifting slightly into his lap more. You can feel your eyelids and limbs getting heavy, the muscles finally relaxing after an entire day of walking and shooting and yelling and action. 

“Get some sleep, sergeant,” Ghost says. 

You smile sleepily and nod. “Alright. Yes Sir,” you say, your voice trailing off as the warmth seeps into you and you begin to fall asleep. 

When you wake up, it’s slow, and much colder than how you went to sleep. You blink slowly, gritty corners almost painful in the cold, dry air. You wrap the blankets that have been placed around you tighter across your bare back as you sit up from where you were laying on the floor. You look behind you and see it’s empty. The space Ghost occupied is empty now, and the fire on the other side of you has burned down to embers, a reflection of the blaze it once was only a few hours ago. 

As you sit up you start to hear quiet talking in the background as your ears begin to work again become less fuzzy, not filled with the proverbial cotton. You rub your eyes as you look over towards the single, small table in the open space, where you see Ghost, still wearing nothing but his mask and underwear, bent over a small radio in his hands, talking with someone. You watch him as he talks quietly, the sun that now glints through the open window turning his skin from a pale moon to a golden glow, his scars that litter his body almost blinding in the light. 

You watch him for the time it takes him to communicate back and forth a few more times before he sits back in the wooden chair. Your eyes trail up from his thick, muscular thighs and over his slightly protruding belly covered in a small patch of blonde hair that trails beneath the waistband of his underwear. Your eyes gracefully rove upwards towards his scarred chest, protruding collarbones, wide shoulders, over his stretched neck that’s half covered by his balaclava. 

He looks over at you and you feel your face heat up as you look away, clearing your throat. 

“Ah, ahem, who-who was that?” you ask, taking a deep breath and trying to school your expression as you look back at Ghost. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him leaning back, facing you, with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You breathe through your teeth, trying to keep your face cool. 

“That was Price. We need to suit up and meet them at  exfil,” Ghost explains, and you nod. 

You drop the blankets with a shiver and push yourself to standing, stretching out, joints popping and muscles tensing before you relax. You can feel Ghost’s eyes on you until you bend down to grab at your now mostly dry clothes. When you look back behind you, you can see Ghost stand up and walk around you in a way that means his eyes don’t have to be on you. 

You smile and shake your head as you collect the rest of your clothes, and start putting them on again, facing away from Ghost as the both of you suit up in your damp tactical gear, When you’ve both finished, you turn to look at Ghost, who has his rifle in his hands and is standing by the door. You collect your own and walk over to Ghost, and go to open the door to leave when he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to stop you. 

“We’re never talking about what happened here,” Ghost says. 

You nod but something sharp- heartbreak?- lances through you and your smile is strained. “Of course.” 

“Already Sergeant,” Ghost says, clapping you on the shoulder in a stilted, overly friendly manner. “Let’s move out.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” you respond shortly, saluting before leaving the cabin, and the peace you found together, for the cold, uncaring snow-covered landscape. 

[borrelia]

Sonic Old Man Yaoi/Old Woman Yuri Knockout

TWO pairings with the LEAST votes will be eliminated

Intros to each pairing below

Gerald Robotnik was Eggman's grandfather, introduced in Sonic Adventure 2. He made a false deal with Black Doom to create Shadow the Hedgehog in exchange for the Chaos Emeralds, making them both Shadow's dads. They definitely banged and had some kind of toxic mess of a relationship.

Grimer Wormtongue is a nasty little assistant to Ivo Robotnik in Fleetway Sonic the Comic. He is extremely devoted to his cruel master, which is for sure a sexual thing.

Ebony the Mystic Mog and Pyjamas the Psychic are two characters from Sonic the Comic who appear briefly in a Knuckles story, then become minor recurring characters that take in Super Sonic from the streets. They appear as old friends in their introduction and are implied to live together. If these two aren't married, it's only because Mobius is homophobic.

Blockhead Bill is Mighty's dad in Sonic the Comic. He is a very confused old man who convinces his posh "business associate" Society Max to assist him in taking down his nemesis the Crimson Cobra. This involves Max eating a magic mandrake root and becoming a giant dinosaur, which Bill rides around to cause destruction. idk about you but I'd only let someone do that to me if they were my funny little lover.

Mephiles the Dark and Iblis are two halves of the sun/time god Solaris, introduced in Sonic '06. Iblis is kind of just a big fire monster I think but Mephiles orchestrates this whole plot through the course of the game to re-merge with Iblis and form Solaris. Which sounds like some pretty twisted villainous gay devotion to me.

Ixis Naugus and Ian St. John are characters from the Archie Sonic the Hedgehog comics. Naugus is some kind of evil wizard who enlists the help of Geoffrey St. John, Ian's son, with plot things. I can't decipher Archie plots sorry. When Naugus first contacts Geoffrey, he expects him to be his father Ian. From @mischeva: "why are you wanting to talk to geoffrey’s dad? hm naugus? kinda….kinda interesting." Image also provided by mischeva, ty :)

Starline and Eggman were allowed in by popular vote, mostly by Eggman's qualifying age. Dr. Starline is a character from the IDW Sonic the Hedgehog comic. He is a fanboy and devotee of Eggman, restoring Eggman's lost memories and assisting him in his Metal Virus plot. Starline eventually plots to betray Eggman, as he believes himself smarter and more genre-savvy than his idol. He is of course wrong and Eggman beats the shit out of him and kills him to death. Starline is sort of like gen z's Grimer, kind of the tumblr sexyman dark academia Grimer, in that he's younger and prettier than Grimer, but he probably still wants to fuck that old man so bad.

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #25 intuition

White Pony Tattoo - Part Five (intuition)

Sherlock took a sip of his tea and John felt a wave of jealousy for the teacup that was embraced by this perfect cupid’s bow of Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock swallowed and John mirrored the movement subconsciously, fascinated by Sherlock’s bobbing Adam’s apple.

He’s far too beautiful to concentrate, John sighed internally, how will I even survive getting tattooed by him, with his hands all over me? Well, all over my arm at least. But he will be so close. I’ve never met a person who at the same time is such a seductive menace and an annoying dick. Seems like he’s just my type, dear me.

“So,” Sherlock stood up again, unable to contain his excited energy about explaining his deduction, “how did I know?”

“I’m all ears, oh great Meastro.”

Sherlock flashed John an amused smile.

“When I first saw you, you had pulled off your jumper and were looking with disdain at the Virgin Mary tattoo on your upper arm. It sports the face of a real woman, your ex-wife apparently because of the marks on your ringfinger where your wedding band had been. Ergo she left and betrayed you and you’ll be divorced soon and want to eradicate every memory of her.”

“Okay, I get this. But the soldier? Getting shot and surviving in Afghanistan?”

“Your whole stance and demeanour screamed ‘military’. You still cut your own hair in short military style. Scar tissue on your shoulder peeked out under your vest. You’re not shy about showing off your naked arms but hate the scar. I’ve done a lot of research on skin and also cover-ups. I know a gunshot wound when I see one, one that got severely infected by bacteria and you survived sepsis. The skin is badly healed, so a quick emergency job. There are tiny spots of sun damage on the skin of your neck, they are fading but still visible. Ergo, you’ve been in a hot country with a war going on and got shot not very long ago where the British have fought, so soldier in Afghanistan or Iraq.”

“Amazing!”

“You think so?”

“Sure. What about the doctor part? Intuition?”

Sherlock snorted. “No. I don’t deal in intuition. I knew you were a doctor already, even before we talked about achieving perfection in our respective trades.”

“How so?”

“The position of getting shot in your back while you were kneeling. Exit wound is on chest, causing an intermittant tremor in your hand. You hate the scar tissue on your shoulder, you conceal it as it insults your ideals as a doctor. Only a doctor would have scrutinized my frontroom for cleanliness like you did. You saw the flyers about proper hygiene and skin care after getting a tattoo. You appreciated the skin care products I sell in this shelf here, obviously acquainted with them and knowing they’re the best you can get.

Also, a doctor because it’s the only logical reason why you should have been kneeling and bent over in such an unusual angle, so helping a comrade wounded in action. You wouldn’t have been distracted otherwise and missed the shooter because you automatically scanned the shop for any possible dangers when you entered and subconsciously stand at attention when you have to face a perilous task…”

“Perilous task as in getting you to tattoo me?” John intterrupted with a grin.

“Obviously, do keep up, John! You loved being a soldier and wanted the happy memory erasing the one of your ex-wife. You’re attracted to dangerous situations and people, they make you feel alive. Final conclusion, you wanted a soldier in full combat gear for a cover-up.”

“Holy Christ, you’re spot-on.”

Sherlock beamed, not hiding being very satisfied with himself.

“And are you?” John continued.

“What?”

“Dangerous to me?”

“Of course, I am. Firstly, I’ll come at you with a loaded gun…”

“…a tattoo gun…”

“…that still can cause a lot of pain and damage to your skin if wielded incorrectly.”

“I’ll give you that. And secondly?” John asked and took a sip out of his cup.

“Secondly, you find me dangerously attractive.”

John spat some tea onto the coffee table.

+++++

tagging some people @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at @calaisreno

[xmalereader]

John Price X Vampire! Male reader || ONE ||

—

|| Masterlist || TWO ||

-

Authors note: I’ve been wanting to write a vampire reader for one of the characters and thought this one would fit, I do have another AU in mind but it’s taking time to figure out on who I want in this other shot, but either way enjoy this first part!

Summary: Reader is a vampire who works in the task force alongside his husband. His profile is classified and no one knows about his biology and what who he really is, what happens when his new team finds out about him?

Warnings: Blood, violence, reader wears a face mask, language, price is overprotective, mentions of death, death threats, task 141 is cautious about reader, reader is a softie, price and reader are married.

Word count: 2.9K

-

—

John knew the trouble he would bring if he was to get his husband involved with his team. They have been through hell together and have been betrayed by two great people that his team had grown cautious whenever a new member tried to join or get to know the team. They always found a way to get rid of them or force them out of the team without trouble. John was risking a lot with getting his husband involved with his mission and team but, knew that it was worth it. He worked with special ops and gained a few titles with time and John wanted him on his next mission.

It took some time to convince Laswell to let him on his team. She was stubborn and refused every time he asked. She wasn’t rejecting him because she didn’t think he was capable of doing his job but because he could bring danger to the team and to John. His husbands file as classified, hidden deep away from any other governmental prying hands who tried to get access to his information and if anyone got their hands on or they wouldn’t find much.

Only a simple name and title, nothing else. He was a ghost to the world. It took some time to finally convince Laswell to allow his husband to join, causing the women to cave and sending his husband to his base where he stood waiting for the plane to land.

“He is your responsibility, John.” Laswell had said. “You keep him in check and make sure that he’s stocked with food.” She was looking out for her own, but even she was cautious of Johns partners whereabouts. John already knew the drill of bringing his husband along. He had told the team ahead of time that a new member would be joining them for some time and to welcome him.

When the helicopter finally lands and his husband steps out with a bag slung over his shoulder he can’t help but grin at the sight of his favorite man. He wore all black from head to toe, face mask over his nose and mouth as he makes his way over to John, giving the man a bashful wave as he smiled under his mask.

“Hello, love.” John says in a soft tone while his husband chuckles. “Not on base.” He reminds the captain, knowing that the two are to keep their life together a secret and remain professional when around each other. “Right, don’t want any questions from the others.” Price nods towards his base and guides his husband inside.

The two are speaking in a soft whisper. “I want to remind you that my team doesn’t know about your biology. Will have to keep it on the down low.”

Y/n frowns under his mask and nods either way, understanding the casualties and danger he could bring. It always upset him, knowing that his new team wouldn’t like having a vampire walking around base knowing that they could be attacked or killed. John knew that Y/n would never hurt anyone, he’d learned to control his thirst for years and only drank animal blood. He still had the ability to eat regular human meals and could last weeks without blood. He always made sure that he was packed with stored blood, hiding them deep inside his bag.

The two walked down a hallway and reached an open room where prices team stood waiting for them. Upon entering the team turns their attention to them, causing Y/n to freeze up. He

has killed, tortured, chased, and beaten hundreds of people when out in the field and yet, here he stood. Anxious and nervous to meet his husbands teammates that he always spoke highly about, afraid of them hating him if they were to find out what he really was.

“Everyone.” John calls out, approaching the team while Y/n followed quietly in his steps. “This is Y/n, one of our new recruits.” He announced while the others eyed him up and down. “What’s he good at?” Asked Soap who stood next to a larger man with a skull mask over his face. The two staring down at him while Price crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s got good eyes and ears; sniper shooter. Never misses.”

“I work in the dark well.” Y/n cuts in. Soap chuckles. “You a good shot?”

“I can prove it.” His response is fast with narrowed eyes. Even though he wanted to be on their good side he can’t help but let his ego show a little.

“You can prove it when your out on the field.” Price steps in, giving him look that meant ‘no fighting’ before turning back to his team. “This is Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.” Price finally introduces them to him. Y/n had heard about the three and had only met Gaz a few times due to him sticking with price majority of the time, never leaving his side.

Gaz had heard stories about Y/n from price who spoke highly about him. Gaz always wanted to meet the famous sharp shooter that price wouldn’t stop rambling about whenever they were together on missions. “It’s nice to finally meet you, price speaks about you.” Said Gaz, giving him a firm nod.

Y/n smiles. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course.” Gaz chuckled softly.

It wasn’t until Ghost stepped in to ask him. “Got a call sign?”

Y/n clears his throat. “Tick.” He mumbled out. His call sign wasn’t very creative but the story behind it tells the team how he got the name. There were many times where he wished to change it but it stuck and everyone knew him as ‘tick’ reminding everyone that he will always be a ticking time bomb that’s ready to blow up. The only time that he actually blew up was during his fifth mission in Russia. One of his team mates had gotten ambushed. He was still a kid and young only to be ambushed by Russian soldiers who planned to torture him for information. Y/n had snapped and attacked the soldiers, using his strength and stealth to take them all down, getting blood all over his gear. He hadn’t eaten well that day and had tasted human blood after years of being clean. His team saw who he truly was and they all feared him.

After that mission he was replaced from his team and taken to another base the same day. Y/n had gotten scolded by Laswell and calling him reckless for letting himself snap. After that he’d learned to never go back, no matter how much his team needed him he always looked ahead and completed the mission. That was his job.

“I’ll help tick settle in his new room. We have a meeting at 0700 tomorrow.” Price let’s them know while responding back with a ‘yes, sir’ while getting dragged away from his team. Once the two are alone again he feels johns eyes staring at him. “John—“

“You alright?” John cuts in, giving his husband a worried look while they walk to his new room that was across from Johns. “I’ll be fine.” Y/n whispered back, nudging the door open and setting his bag on the empty table that stood in the middle of the room. “I promised to be careful and besides I won’t be here for long. I saw the way your men watched me—they don’t trust me.”

“Not yet.” John closed the door behind him. “Have you eaten, yet?”

Y/n shrugs his shoulders. “I had a decent meal yesterday before I was brought here.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Johns voice is stern as the two stare at each other until Y/n finally gets what he’s saying. “If your asking if I had blood then yes, I took some two days again. I can last a few weeks without it.” He reminds John that he wasn’t a starved monster who searched for blood everyday. He had control over it and wouldn’t attack anyone if he were to smell blood from miles away.

“I’m looking out for you.”

“You have been for the last five years we’ve been married.” Y/n smirks under his mask, unzipping his bag and began to put his clothes away, keeping them folded and neat. John had looked inside his bag and reached in to take out a blood bag. “Where will you hide these?” He waves the bag in front of him as Y/n looks around the room, not finding any good spots to keep it hidden. “I’ll leave it in the bag.” He takes the bag from John and shoved it back inside, zipping it up and placing it under his bed.

“It’s only for a few days.” He reminds himself, turning to face John who sighed deeply and pulled him close into a tight embrace. “Get some rest.” He mumbled against his neck as the two pull away. Y/n nodded slowly and watched John exit the room, leaving him on his own as he sat on top of the uncomfortable bed. He grew restless during fast changes, traveling from one place to another and not giving him time to get some rest. He’s lucky to have his own space in case he were to ever wake up with red eyes.

It only ever happened when he was really tired and hungry, which is why he keeps everything in check and makes sure it doesn’t happen. The first time he woke up with red eyes was the day of his and Johns honeymoon. They had traveled to Greece in order to spend their special day together and when John first saw his red eyes he nearly gave the man a heart attack. The captain already knew about his biology and the things he did to survive, there was still certain things that caught him by surprise.

It took some time for John to grow used to his habits to the point where he would be the one reminding Y/n about eating properly and to not forget to pack his samples. His husband had grown annoyed at the constant reminders that he’d tell John that he knew when to eat and to let him know if he ever needed blood. Right now, he was in good health with no urges of needing blood. He instead was tired and needed the extra sleep in case he was to ever go out on a mission. He would go across the hall to sneak inside johns room and force the man to cuddle with him but, at the moment the team was wary of him and probably had eyes everywhere. So, he instead removes his gear and plops down face first into the pillow and passing out.

—

The next morning he makes sure to check his eyes. Not seeing a hint of red and getting the go of leaving his room and joining the rest of the team for the meeting that price had arranged. He arrived a little earlier than what he was told and expected to be the first one there but is surprised to see everyone already there. Technically waiting on his arrival.

Price had gotten the meeting going, informing them of their mission and who their target is. They were to be heading out in two days, giving them enough time to get their things ready and to make sure that they have a plan to get things done. After the meeting had ended the team had some time to actually talk, leaving y/n standing near the door as the other either spoke about the mission or had plans to get back to bed and get some extra shut eye.

Soap had glanced at him and asks. “Ever take off the mask or are you like ghost who never does?” He was curious to know as Y/n gives off a sigh. “You wouldn’t like to see what’s underneath.”

“Are you ugly?” Soap pushed on.

Y/n looks over soaps shoulder to see John frowning deeply, causing him to grin. “No, ask your captain. He can give you all the details.” He teased, causing the Sargent to turn around and face price, asking him if he’s seen him without the mask. The captain responds back with a gruff ‘yes’ and nothing else. Y/n chuckles at his teasing and focused back on his own task, working on checking their weapons and listening to soap and ghost argue with each other about the mask.

He didn’t wear a mask because he was afraid of showing his face. He wore a mask because of his teeth, giving everyone clear view of his sharp fangs if he were to ever smile, talking was enough to keep them hidden too afraid of causing problems. John was never bothered to see the fangs so up close and getting a chance to see them clearly. He hopes that the mission goes well and doesn’t slip up with showing what’s underneath the mask or perhaps messes up with his eating schedule. He’s gonna make sure he gets everything ready before they are to leave in a few days.

Y/n gives John a glance before turning around to leave the room. He’s used to not seeing John around the base or back at home. The two were always working and rarely crossed each others paths until now. When Y/n heard that John wanted him on his team he grew excited to see his husband again after weeks of no communication but before he was sent to see him he had a small briefing with Laswell. The women was rough and honest with him when it came towards his job, telling him that if anything happened with him he’d get sent back home. During his time working for the military he had thoughts about retiring or leaving and never coming back.

He was often seen as a liability, even though he had good hear and eyesight. People still feared his lust for blood which later had him thinking as to why John married him. Why did he start dating him and not run away when he first found out what he was. He’d ask John many times and always get the same response back.

“Because, you’re the one for me.”

Y/n sighs deeply when he arrived to his room, kicking the door behind him and walking over to his bed. He gets on his knees and take out the bag full of blood bags and unzips the bag to count how many he brought. He could last weeks without having to drink blood but the smell of it during the field can trigger his hunger even faster and wanted to be prepared. He counted the bags he had before storing them away again.

He had a total of eight, which should be enough to last him for the time he would be here. He’d been distracted thinking about his food supply that he doesn’t hear John entering the room, startling him when he hears him close the door behind him. He turns to glare at the intruder but softens when he only sees John. Sighing in relief and standing back up. “Thought you’d be here.” He says while walking over and sitting down on the empty bed while Y/n shrugs his shoulders. “Where else would I be?”

“Thought you’d give yourself time to know the team.”

Y/n hums. “I think it’s best that I don’t. I wouldn’t want to create a strong bond with them only for it to come crashing down when they found out about these.” He lowered his mask to show off his fangs, frowning a little.

“They won’t, I trust them and know that they won’t treat you differently.”

“You don’t know that.” Y/n whispers, tossing his mask on the bed and sitting next to John, leaning against his shoulder and nuzzling his side. “It’s best that I get the mission done and then leave...” he bites his lip. “I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you about something.”

John stiffens, afraid of those words but Y/n reassured him quickly. “It’s nothing bad.” He chuckled. “I’ve been thinking, after this mission I want to return home. Permanently.” He clarified, glancing up to John to see his reaction expecting him to be upset but instead he gives off a small nod and agrees with him. “If that’s what you want then it’s your choice—don’t forget that I won’t be around. Sure you’ll be fine on your own?”

Y/n tilts his head to the side as he thinks. “I think I’ll be fine.” He’s grown used to being on his own and wouldn’t mind seeing John every few weeks, knowing that his husband could spend months without seeing him. “I’ll write so, that you don’t feel lonely without hearing from your husband.” He joked out while John chuckled at his joke.

“Make sure to send plenty.” John leans down to kiss his temple, pulling him close in his arms and sighing into his neck. The two always enjoyed these silent moments before anything dangerous is to happen. Y/n wanted to finish things fast and get back home and try to start a peaceful life. All he needs to do is get through this mission. Nothing could go wrong, right?

[totally-not-fandom]

In regards to nikprice

I am always a supporter of Nik meeting this clean-shaven blue-eyed Brit and immediately deciding to see how far he can get this to go, no questions asked. Always a fan of Nik having been hopelessly devoted to John's intelligence and stubborness since day 2.

But I really should consider the opposite more. We all should. It's funny. Nikolai who is having a terrible time since betraying his faction, now has a guard dog named John Price who won't leave him the fuck alone despite not speaking Russian very well at all. The audacity! Nik just wants to topple the Ultranationalists, get his country back to its proper glory, and get his life back on track.

John meets their Russian turncoat, sees him smile one (1) time, and suddenly finds himself doing anything he can to see it again.

Somehow they still end up "friends" for years before they figure it out and kiss about it.

I'm a big fan of this idea and also of these two kissing about their problems! I also love the image of Nikolai ranting about how fucking annoying this random brit is to some friends(? co-workers? allies?) in Russian all the while John is standing to his right with his hand on his gun, glaring fucking DAGGERS into who ever it is Nik is talking to. OR John did something stupid, probably also dangerous, and Nik is fucking SCREAMING at him, both in Russian and in English, for being so reckless (even though he would do the exact same thing and actually thinks what John did was kinda cool as shit) and John just stands there with a big smile on his face, his eyes bright with joy. Every on looker can tell that if John had a tail it would be wagging like crazy and no one can figure out what the hell is wrong with this kid cause this is the scariest any of them have ever seen Nikolai be and John just takes it with a simple "yes, sir" and goes back to following Nik around like a lost puppy

[whollyjoly]

alright we doing crazy predictions for 911 tonight??

here we fucking go:

tim nash isnt going to be bobby's brother, he's going to be bobby's dad in a flashback

hear me out-

john brotherton, who's listed as playing "tim nash" on the imdb page for step nine, is 15 years younger than peter krause. now, it could be that bobby just has a much younger brother. BUT, i think with that age (44) being peak Dad Age, it makes a whole lot more sense to me that its flashback!dad than brothers

the synopsis for 7x08 says that "bobby delves deep into memories of his childhood, unearthing moments from his fractured past" and like...if we're going to see memories of his childhood, again a 44 year-old playing "tim nash" makes a lot more sense for a dad!!

we've heard a bit about bobby being a third generation firefighter, and its something that he's very proud of. i think it would be really interesting not only to see his dad as a firefighter, but see that hero worship from bobby towards his dad, and his early love for the work and for saving people...especially in the context of dealing with the trauma of the apartment fire.

if bobby has always wanted to be a firefighter, watched his dad saving lives and heard stories of his grandfather doing the same, what would his young self think of the man who caused so much grief and pain, of the man that amir thinks he is, of the man who cost 148 lives?

maybe, just maybe, "step nine" isn't just making amends with amir, but making amends with his past self, the one who just wanted to help people, who he feels like he betrayed??

because i would LOVE to see that kind of angst - the reconciliation between the man bobby dreamed he would be and the man he is now.

and like....thats not even approaching the question of bobby's "fractured past" that the synopsis talks about, which i have...so many questions about

we know basically nothing about his family - what if bobby's dad also struggled with addiction? or had something happen at work that also cost lives, and young bobby was never able to forgive him for that? maybe bobby sees the anger amir holds towards him, and realizes that he still holds something like that towards his own father?

bobby has talked about a brother before, but i think the only time that he's mentioned it was in a story about playing "lawn darts when they were kids". maybe something happened to his brother, and he's held his father responsible for all these years? in the same way amir holds bobby responsible?

i have!! no idea!!!

i dont exactly know what they're going to throw at us (shakes fist at tim affectionately), but i think that with where this season has been going - focusing on the cornerstones of our main characters, of the things that run the deepest and are haunting the narrative (eddie's catholic guilt, buck's bisexuality, chim's journey and love for his family, doug, kevin, shannon) - it would make sense for us to take a look into bobby's childhood, something we basically no nothing about.

and with that, i truly think that "tim nash" as bobby's dad makes a lot more sense than it being his brother, and that's who we're going to see in flashbacks tonight.

but, whatever happens, i cannot WAIT to see where the angst train takes us! ✨

(bonus, since im thinking about that sweet bobby angst: do you ever think about whether bobby feels a deep sense of failure and guilt that, because of him, there will never be a 4th generation firefighter in his family? do you think the first time bobby told his dad he wanted to be a firefighter when he was a kid, his dad looked both so proud but also so worried? and when asked about it his dad just said "you'll understand when your kid says the same to you"? and that bobby realizes he will never understand because he took that chance away from them?

...cause yeah, i think about that sometimes)

[vixendoesstuff]

Fuck it, I'm embracing the cringe

Trolls AU where everything is relatively the same except Branch is a Techno Troll, purely for the reason that those guys are my favs out of the tribes and nothing else

Like maybe his egg somehow washed up to the Troll Tree from some event I haven't made up yet, and he's found by maybe John Dory or Grandma Rosiepuff and was brought into the family

Same thing happened after he's hatched, he got into BroZone as the weird looking but funky Troll baby Bitty B, the thing happened, the band broke up, leaving Branch alone with his grandma

Then she got eaten (cue the meme)

Poor Branch then turned grey due to the trauma he went through, like

More or less he looks like this for 20 years, with the addition of his pixel heart being split in two for added angst

Same thing happened as in canon afterwards; Branch is the village grouch and self imposed exile, except maybe his treatment is sort of worse here 'cause he's not like the others. Evidence, he has fins for legs, fins for ears, his hair can't stretch like all Pop Trolls can, and just generally the "don't sing or dance or hug" thing. Hence, he's a bit more bitter and more towards the village and more willing to lash out more than he did in canon (or atleast what we're shown on screen anyway)

I don't think his poor treatment would go too far since I see King Peppy sort of protecting Branch as best he can by redirecting the villagers' anger away from him. Maybe due to him thinking his treatment from the civillians were too cruel, or it's 'cause he knows Branch is a Techno Troll and felt bad for suffering this fate from the other Pop Trolls and being separated from his own people, so he did his best to accomodate Branch (doubtful, but no one is perfect I guess)

(Will Peppy tell Branch the truth about him, though? Lol, hell no, he's too much of a wuss to do that)

So I guess in a way, he's more or less on good terms with King Peppy, but not enough for him to consider him a friend or anything. Branch just trust Peppy's judgement a bit more than in canon (still think he's an idiot, though)

But anyway, same thing happened, Poppy hosts the biggest and loudest party ever and got raided by the Chef Bergen, Poppy and Branch sets out to Bergen Town to rescue the kidnapped Trolls, set Bridget up to a date with the king, Branch explains his sad backstory, Creek betrays them and got the whole village snatched up, they all lost their colours, Poppy and Branch sings True Colours to get their colours back and subsequently got Branch's colours back (which I'll make a drawing referencr later 'cause I'm still debating on what he'll look like), and they sang to the Bergens to make everything sunshine and rainbows, The End

So yeah it's all the same with the added edition of Branch being a Techno Troll. Other than gags and jokes about him being different and a sprinkle of added stuff to his lore on why he's different, nothing really changes

But when World Tour happens

Oh boy

[ludwigoat909]

(Alittle disclaimer that what I'm about to say is absolutely not directed towards anyone in particular, it is just something I saw a lot of times)

This is something I've noticed a while ago but never really dared to talk about this. But while the milgram fandom has been known to have a lot of cases where they would woobify characters or victimize them to make them more sympathetic. There's also this other side of the spectrum that I don't see anyone mentioned where people feel the need to have the characters be completely and utterly terrible people simply because a part of us tend to find these more palatable.

If this sounds like this is about Muu. It is not. Ironically, the reason Muu had so much hate is because of the way she herself was very much victimized at first, only to have "betrayed" her audience once her crying had stopped and became more comfortable to be who she truly was.

An exemple would be how there's this theory that the reason Yuno got into milgram wasn't because of abortion but because killed a man. While I don't have anything against the theory itself... I can't help but think that origins and reasons for why a lot of people choose to believe it is.... very strange. To me, it seems the reason this theory feels more like a cope out for people who simply hate the idea that her crime is just simply abortion. As if abortion is what makes her character less intresting. And I just find it so weird.

Another exemple of this is Mikoto. Mikoto went from this extremely popular character with so many theories to just "oh yeah he exist" and it sounds like I'm exagerating considering how he is still one of the most beloved characters in the series with an absurd amount of fanart but... when it comes to analysis it's just... good lord

It seemed like the moment Mikoto was confirmed to be a system, the interest for him amongst theorists just dropped dead. Back then, when we weren't too sure if he had DID or not, Mikoto was extremely popular character amongst theorists because of how cryptic his case and character were. Yet when he got confirmed to be a system, people completely gave up on him and really just chose to boil down his character to "shitty did murder trope" and never pushed far beyound (in fact, even before milgram confirmed it, people were still very against the theory that he was in fact a system, never mind how a lot of the people that pushed the theory were also system themselves). They ended up his case "boring" because he turned out to be just ""the good one"" who is being wrongfully blamed and then claimed that the only way he would be interesting is to ngl this is genuinely frustrating to watch. Especially when these are the same people who say they prefer John way more yet fail to even make analysis on him as well. It's almost like Mikoto had the opposite situation as Muu's were while Muu became more hated for not being as innocent as she was protrayed in her mv, in Mikoto's case case he became less loved because he turned out to be a lot more sympathetic then he was in his mv.

This is coming from someone who actually do believe Mikoto was the true murderer here and not John. Mikoto has never been "more boring". A lot of previous analysis of his character from t1 are still very much applicable to this day. He is still the man broken by Japanese collectivism. He is still very much the guy who feel like he needs to fit in to the point of breaking. Still the guy who was very dishonest about his true feelings. What y'all can't stand is that he is also not that oh so much more "intresting" silly funny guy who goes "hehe what do you mean a murderer you're so cruel warden-kun you wouldn't want too piss me off do you cause I could beat you with this bat! Not that I would actually do anything like that lololol *threatnening glare*", and never has been.