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clxja16 · 10 months

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Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: betrayal (?)

Warnings: I think there's some swearing, angst

Word Count: 5K+

Author's Note: Okay you guys voted for this one, and honestly I thought that the fake dating trope was going to win but I guess not. also I kind of need help with the genre, because its not really forbidden lovers. Like is there a genre of your parents betraying your trust in the name of protecting you??? but anyway lmk what you guys think. Actually please tell me what you think, because I'm scared I made this too dramatic. enjoy though <3

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You lingered in one of the back halls before the start of qualifying. It was the Austrian Grand Prix. You looked around making sure that no one was in sight. Charles started to giggle at your antics of keeping this under wraps. You pulled at him, trying to push him right out the door.

“Go back to your garage,” you say gently pushing Charles further out the back entry of the Mercedes garage.

“After I get a good luck kiss?” Charles asks, as he holds his hands up in surrender.

You shake your head at him, before saying, “quickly, before someone sees us,” pulling Charles into a kiss, by his race suit. Charles grabs your face with both hands, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss further. You pull away first, worried about who might catch you sneaking about the garage halls, “okay now go, I’ll see you tonight.”

Charles doesn’t let go of your face, pulling you back in for a quick peck on the lips, “okay I’m going.” Charles finally lets you go, and shoots you a quick wink before walking off.

You turn back around to take your place in the garage next to your father, when you hear him calling out for you. You look back to see Charles has walked just far enough away to be out of sight, as your father turns the corner to come face to face with you. You let out a breath of relief that they missed each other. “y/n,” your father calls to your attention, “let’s get settled, qualifying is about to start.”

“Yes, daddy,” you answer, following after your father, to watch qualifying.

You have just finished your degree, a Masters in Business Administration from HBS and a Masters of Science from Harvard John A. Paulson SEAS. It took you nearly 5 and a half years to complete, but you did it regardless. Now, you attend the races to better learn how to apply the knowledge learnt in school to running a formula one team. This is all so that one day you will take over the formula one team from your father.

As you watched George and Lewis set out to do their first few qualifying laps of the session, you longed for it to be you in those cars. You really didn't dream of being behind the scenes, you dream of being up front and center, in the limelight, in the car. You wanted to set the fastest lap, you wanted to be getting grand prix victories, you wanted to win championships. However, you didn’t get a seat in formula 2, so your parents did the ‘reasonable’ thing and sent you off to school, instead of waiting around for the chance of a seat opening up.

“Look here,” your father spoke to you, as he pointed at some data on one of the many monitors in front of him.

“George is a tenth too early,” you say, trying your best to understand the data in front of you.

“Yes, exactly, good,” your father praises, before speaking with a couple of the race engineers. “Now we don’t want George to overly focus on what is going wrong, so we praise, advice and praise again.” You listen to the radio as the engineer, compliments George on his turn 3 and 4, critiques his turn 7, and compliments his turn 10 and 11. “When you take over, you have to remember that you are going to have to manage the drivers' psyche as well as their driving.”

“Father, I won’t be taking over for a long time, you’re gonna need to find someone in between you and me, to manage the team.”

“No,” your father declares, like his decision is final, “I will retire late, and you will start early.”

“Yes Father,” you say, no reason to start an argument now.

“Congratulations on another podium,” you spoke sweetly to Charles at the end of the Austrian grand prix weekend. You and him were hiding out in his hotel room, trying your best to stay away from the cameras, from fans and most importantly from your father.

“It’s only the second podium of the season,” Charles said as he dried his hair with the towel while walking out of the bathroom. “We’re so far behind this season, it’s laughable.”

“You could always make the move to Mercedes, Daddy would love to have you racing for him,” you say, as you wrap your arms around Charles, after he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

You can hear Charles chuckle a little, before turning around to face you. “Never,” he says with a smile, pushing you back down on the bed, kissing you deeply. You can’t contain the laughter that spills from your lips.

“We would make sure you win championships,” you argue, teasing Charles once again.

“And who’s giving up a seat for me?” Charles asks, as he moves from your lips down your neck, spreading his kisses all around.

“Lewis isn’t going to stay much longer,” you reveal.

“What?” Charles asked, as he pulled away to look at you. The seriousness setting in.

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” you start off, as you sit up in the bed, looking at Charles deeply, “Daddy offered Lewis another four years, Lewis said he only wanted to sign on for two more right now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, “believe it or not, Lewis does not reveal his intentions to me like you do.”

Charles cracks a smile hearing you tease, “well, maybe I could do Mercedes silver,” he says as he goes back to kissing you.

You and Charles spend the night together, as the two of you have done many times before. The next morning, you try to sneak out early enough where no one notices your empty hotel room. Charles makes your heart feel full, being around him makes you feel at peace, he wears your worries like his own. He’s everything you ever wanted and needed, and more. You know that there was no plausible way you could keep this a secret any longer. You love him too much to pretend nothing is going on. Although, you also know that your father would not be the happiest, he always said drivers weren’t the type of people you bring home. However Charles is different, you know he’s what you need, you know that you can bring him home.

When you did make it back to your own hotel room, you don’t think anyone checked in on the empty room. You made quick work of packing up your belongings, your father was flying out of Vienna this afternoon, to get a jumpstart on Silverstone. It being a home grand prix for both of your drivers, the entire week was packed with events. All events in which you had to attend.

After arriving in Silverstone, did you finally take a breather. George and Lewis both went to visit their families for the first day. This allowed you and your father to spend some time away from the race track. Father instead just went to the factory, and spent some time in the office. You on the other hand went out with Mamma, before she had to head down to Monza for the F1 Academy race.

“Mamma,” you called out to Susie, “do you think Daddy is serious about me taking over the team one day?”

Your question was enough to stop Susie in her tracks, “yes, I do think he’s serious about it.” She gave you a perplexed look. Your father has been talking about you taking over the team since you went off to college. He is determined that with his recommendation the board will approve for the team principal position.

“I don’t know if that’s what I want to do though,” you say truthfully. “I don’t know if I can handle being so close, but not being able to race.” As much as your mind was focused on being a team principal, your heart wanted to drive.

Susie came up to you, pushing your hair behind your ear, holding your face. She had a gentle smile on her face, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that you couldn’t place. “You are racing, if you take over the team, you are still a part of the race, but if you walk away, you will only be a spectator.”

You sigh, you know she’s right, “you’re right, like you always are.”

Susie laughs at your joke, “tell your Father because he never seems convinced that I’m always right.”

You laugh, as you and Susie enter the restaurant for lunch. “Mamma, can I ask you another question?”

“Of course sweetheart,” Susie answers worryingly, you are not normally this ominous.

“Would you be upset if I started seeing a driver?”

Susie doesn’t hide the shock on her face, after your question, “who is it?” She smirks at you, you weren’t the best at hiding your feelings from Susie. She was the first to know about your first boyfriend in High school. She was the first to know about the guy who cheated on you. She was the first to know about the college boy you wanted to bring home. And she was the first to know that none of them were enough to match you.

“It’s no one, it's just a hypothetical, Mamma.”

“Who, sweetheart?”

You debate for a second about how to answer, but you know you can’t lie. You gave away too much, and Susie knows you only use ‘hypothetical’ when it's real. “Charles.”

“Leclerc?” Susie doesn’t mask her shock for a single second.

“Mamma,” you whine at her reaction.

“Sweetheart, your father is gonna have an aneurysm when he hears this.”

“Mamma,” you whine again, this time more seriously, as you feel the water works coming on.

“Sweetheart?” Susie questions, her face going from shock to stone cold serious as she sees how upset you are. “This is serious.”

You sigh, “I really like him, Mamma. He makes me very happy.” You look at Susie, and you don’t like the look she has even more.

She looks very seriously at you, while also having the ‘its not good’ look. “Your father is not going to like this,” she says honestly, “but,” you watch Susie as she begins to smile, “if you’re happy, that is what's important.”

You begin to smile as well, “Daddy will get over it right?”

“I hope so,” Susie says truthfully. You were Toto’s oldest, nothing would ever be good enough for you. You were his pride and joy, you were the first, and as the first, you are everything to your father. Susie knows this, and she knows that no matter how much Charles tries, Toto still won’t think he’s good enough for you.

Susie reminds you that the best way to handle this, is to inform your father sooner rather than later. You agree, but you want to make sure that you and Charles are on the same page as well. Thursday night, once again you are hiding out in Charles' hotel room, instead of staying in your own room. The two of you cuddle together on the bed as a movie plays on the TV.

“Charles,” you start off softly, afraid to disturb the delicate peace that’s settled across the room, “where do you see this going?”

“What do you mean by that?” Charles asked, as he glanced at you.

“Us, our relationship, where do you see it going?” You stared at Charles, while listening to his steady heartbeat.

“I don’t know,” Charles answers, his answer holds a brutal truth that you don’t like, you sit up to look at Charles, “but, I hope it goes far and long.” Charles continues to lay in bed while you stare at him, “ I hope that it gets out of hotel rooms, and garage halls, and private phone calls. I hope it gets you into some red Ferrari gear,” you smile at Charles’ preposterous hope, “I hope that it gets further than this. I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” you reassure.

“Why do you ask me that ma chère?”

“I’m going to tell my father about us,” you say, “and your plans to move to Mercedes.” You just have to tease him a little bit.

Charles laughs at you, “you mean your plans to be a Ferrari fan from now on.” And he always knew how to handle your teasing.

You laugh going to kiss Charles, “that’s so much work,” you say with another kiss, “you should just switch teams.”

Charles laughs sarcastically, he loves the banter. “y/n,” he calls. It stops you, he never uses your name, “I really do love you.” He’s probably told you this same sentiment over a thousand times, but each time, it still feels like the first time.

Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling, “I love you too.” Somehow these ‘I love you's' are different, they’re more significant, more meaningful, more genuine, more heartfelt, more profound. They’re more serious, because they’re not just ‘I love you,’ they’re a promise, a commitment, a lifetime, together.

“Daddy, please can you be rational about this?” You ask as you follow your father about the Monaco home. Trying to get him to stop complaining about your choices in men.

“Why couldn’t you date George, at least you would still be supporting Mercedes,” your Father says as the two of you make your way into the kitchen to see Mamma and Jack.

“Mamma do you hear him?” You ask, indicating your father as ‘him.’ “George is very much in a relationship, Father”

“And what’s wrong with Lewis?” Your father clearly is not thinking about the age difference between you and Lewis.

You looked to Mamma to see if your father was serious, and even she was shocked with the suggestion, “you would be okay with me dating someone that is 14 years my senior?” you ask with a brow raised to your father, “you’ve convinced me Daddy, I will stop seeing Charles and start seeing Lewis.”

Your father sighs, “that is not what I…”

“Daddy, I invited Charles over for dinner, tomorrow night, that way you can properly meet him as my partner, instead of as a driver.” You tell your father, hoping that you're just imagining the steaming coming out of his ears, “one dinner, Daddy, that’s all. He makes me really happy.”

“Okay,” your Father says. You don’t miss the slight eye roll he gives though.

“Thank you Daddy,” you say, giving him a hug, before running off to your room like a teenage girl to call Charles and let him know about dinner tomorrow night.

After your father hears your bedroom door shut, does he turn to his wife. “Susie,” he calls out, still listening for you, to see if you were coming back out. “A word, privately.”

“Okay,” Susie answers a bit confused about the request, she turns to Jack, “why don’t you go play for right now.” Jack nods along excitedly, before running out the room. “Toto, what is it?”

“She can’t date Charles.” Toto says, turning his full attention to his wife.

“What?”

“Susie, I have seen the drivers in relationships. They have their girlfriend one weekend, then they have a club girl the next weekend, and then some lucky fan the following weekend. Charles is no different.” Toto doesn’t hold back in his recounting of the drivers stepping out on their partners, “y/n is gonna get hurt, and her entire image will be tainted by being cheated on by Charles.”

“Toto don’t you think you’re being a little unfair.” Susie tries her best to defend Charles, but she knows Toto is telling the truth. She’s seen it too, from a number of drivers amongst the ranks throughout the years.

“Charles is a hell of a driver, but I'm not gonna allow him to ruin my daughter.” Toto declares as final, “we need to find a way to stop them from seeing each other before the public catches wind of their relationship.”

“Toto,” Susie takes a breath, if they do this, they would have to tread very carefully, or they could end more than just your relationship with Charles. “If she ever finds out that we are interfering in her life like this, she won’t forgive us, she's not a kid anymore.”

“She wasn’t a kid when we pulled her from racing,” Toto drags up a long forgotten and regretted moment, “we do what we have to, to protect our children, regardless of how it may look.”

“We’ll need to play this close to the vest.”

To say the evening was filled with tension and awkwardness would be an understatement. Your father continuously gave Charles dirty looks throughout the night, and you wanted to slap him for being so childish. Susie was pleasant throughout the evening. Jack was just being Jack. He probably talked the most, asking Charles about what it was like to be a real race car driver.

“This is a very lovely meal,” Charles says to Susie. You appreciate him trying his best to not ruffle your father’s feathers.

“Thank you Charles,” Susie appreciates the compliments. She doesn’t know what is best, because Toto is determined to stop you and Charles from seeing each other.

“Charles, did you ever pee in the car?” Jack asks, as he shovels another pile of food in his mother.

“Jack,” you say in a scolding manner, while Charles just laughs at the question.

Charles has to take a sip of water before answering, “I try my best to make sure I use the bathroom before I get into the car.”

“Enough questions Jack,” you say to your little brother, getting irritated with how much he was talking.

“I just wanted to ask the racecar driver,” Jack pouts. He makes that face with an exaggerated frown, that almost makes you feel guilty.

“Jack, we’re all race car drivers. Me, Mamma and Daddy have all raced cars before and you never ask us.” you argue back, you almost feel stupid that you have to argue with a five year old.

“But you didn’t make it to formula 1,” Jack points out, and now you don’t feel guilty, you just feel sad that Jack had to point out one of your biggest regrets in life.

“Jack,” Susie says, scolding your brother.

“I didn’t know you raced,” Charles says, turning to look at you.

You smile, thinking back to the time, “Yeah, I did karting for years, then I did formula renault, F4 and F3.”

“Why did you stop?” Charles asks, wondering how you could give it up.

“I didn’t get a seat in Formula two, and the agreement was if I could get a seat I could race, but I wouldn’t pass up opportunities to race. I got into college, so I gave up racing and went back to school.” You reveal to Charles, he can hear the regret in your voice, but he chooses not to point it out. You don’t see that look Susie and Toto exchange when they hear your retelling of events.

“I see,” Charles says, “It’s a shame, I think you would’ve been a hell of a driver.”

You chuckle at Charles, “I would definitely have more wins than you by now,” you tease.

“Oh?” Charles smirks at you, “you would?”

“Of course I would, because I would be driving for Mercedes, for sure.” You chuckle at your own joke.

Charles shakes his head at you, his smile spreading far and wide. Susie watches you and Charles, she's been watching you throughout the night and she knows Charles is enough for you. She knows that this is your person, that they will never be another that will be able to compete with Charles. It's him or nothing.

You skip the Hungarian grand prix, especially as the media releases pictures of you and Charles, going back to the Monaco Grand Prix. Your father thought it best that you stay home, he wasn’t sure how people would react to the relationship news. You spent a few days before your father left for Hungary, arguing with him that it was unfair to bench you, because of the possibility that fans won’t like the news.

Clearly, your father won that argument as you sat at home in Monaco, watching the sessions through the TV, instead of being there in person. What Toto doesn’t tell you, is that he wants you home, so that he can meet with Fred without you getting suspicious.

After the qualifying session, Toto asked Fred, the team principal of Ferrari, to join him for dinner. As the two men met away from the paddock, away from the cameras, from the drivers, from the team. They sat in a private dining room, in an elite restaurant. Only here did Toto feel comfortable asking what he was about to ask.

“What are we doing here Toto?” Fred asks, as he sips the beer he ordered. Fred wouldn’t say it, betraying his French roots, but he always preferred a bottle of beer over a glass of wine.

“Fred, I have a favor to ask,” Toto requests, he ignores his gut feeling telling him that this is wrong, and continues on, “I want you to delay Charles' contract signing.”

“Why would I do that?” Fred asks, delaying a contract signing seems like it’s not a big deal, but there's many implications to what that could mean.

“You would do it, because then I will be in debt to you,” Toto says, he's thought about this, he knows his way through a negotiation.

“Okay,” Fred says, he has a reason to do so, but what is Toto’s reason for asking? “Now why do you need me to do this?”

Toto sighs, “y/n.”

“Your daughter, I saw the news about her Charles,” Fred pauses, taking another sip of the beer, “well actually Charles told me about the relationship back in Miami.”

“Miami?” Toto questions, “she didn’t tell me until after silverstone.”

“Charles said he wanted me to know before the public knew, would like to know what else he said?”

“What?” Toto sighs, once more.

“Charles said he wants to do this right, that he is serious about her,” Fred offers.

“We’ve both heard drivers say one thing and do another,” Toto fixes his posture, sitting up in the chair, “I won’t allow my daughter’s image to be run through by Charles.”

“So you want me to delay a contract signing, to do what? So you can scare Charles into picking a seat over your daughter? And what happens when he picks your daughter over his seat?” Fred sits up in his chair as well, looking Toto square in the eyes.

“If he picks my daughter over his seat, then I know he’s serious about her,” Toto stands upm buttoning his jacket, “but we both know he won’t do that.” Toto sticks out his hand for Fred to shake.

Fred stands to shake Toto’s hand, “this doesn’t mean I agreed to anything.”

“You will agree,” Toto smiles, a little amused at the situation, “we both know me in debt to you is too valuable to pass up.”

Since the news of your relationship has been made public, you and Charles are seen together around the paddock during the Belgian Grand Prix a lot more. Although you guys did try to keep it as professional as possible, there weren't any public displays of affection between the two of you. However, that went straight out the window after the race podium celebration.

Instead of watching the podium you stayed in the garage with your father, since there wasn’t a Mercedes on the podium. As soon as Charles was done with the podium celebration, he ran straight into the Mercedes garage to collect a celebratory kiss from you. His, sweaty, champagne-covered, sticky self, pulling you into a tight hug with a deep kiss. He had one arm wrapped around your waist, while his other hand held onto his trophy. You were taken aback by the initial kiss, but soon you cupped his cheek and held him close.

Charles would’ve kissed you longer, but he could feel the cameras on the two of you. When he finally did pull away, you were a giggling mess that you didn’t even notice the cameras at first. “Let’s go,” Charles whispers to you, “let’s get out of here.”

You wanted desperately to leave right then and there with Charles, “I can’t,” you say. You watch his smile drop just a little, “I have work to finish,” you say while giving the side eye to where your father sat in the Mercedes garage, watching you and Charles. “And you have a press conference.”

“Okay, after that then.” Charles says, kissing you on the cheek this time.

“After that.”

That night, while you and Charles celebrated his podium finish, the picture of you and him making out in the Mercedes garage after his podium celebrations, hit social media. That photo is more talked about than Max’s 8th grand prix win in a row. That photo is in all the group chats around the paddock. That photo makes it to the official formula 1 social media pages. And the biggest take away is your father’s face in the background of the photo. Everytime you look at it, you laugh knowing that your father most likely made that face subconsciously.

Since summer break has begun, you spend more time with Charles than at home with your family. Today, you just so happen to need a few things from your closet, that you stopped in the Monaco home. That is when you could overhear your parents talking in your father’s office.

“We need to be more discreet about this now,” your father says to Mamma.

“Toto, I don’t think this is right. It’s not fair to y/n or Charles,” Susie says. Normally you wouldn’t eavesdrop on your parents, but the mention of you and Charles caught your attention.

“I am trying to protect our daughter,” Toto says, and you can’t help but think. What is your father trying to protect you from?

“This isn’t protecting her, this is your fear about what could happen,” Susie says. You can hear in your mamma voice, she’s getting defensive.

“Like how your fear pulled her from racing,” Toto says in a raised voice. You’re completely confused as to what your father could mean with that statement.

There’s a pause. It goes silent for a second, and you listen closer. “I was saving her life, we weren’t sure what the FIA would do after Jules.” There’s a pain in Susie’s voice.

“Safety measures were put in place,” Toto argues.

“After you pushed back on them.”

“I have changed my position on the halo, you know that,” Toto says. Even though the wood doors separate you from seeing your parents, you can clearly imagine what this fight is looking like.

“After Lewis almost dies!” Mamma never shouts, is your singular thought after hearing that statement. “What if you had gotten your way and the halo was never placed? What if it was our daughter in that car? I pulled her from racing to save her life, because you sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.” Susie pulls open the office door to see you standing on the other side. You watch her face drop from anger to sadness quickly. “Sweetheart…”

“Mamma… you pulled me from racing?” You question as the tears begin to well in your eyes.

“Sweetheart…” Susie repeats, shes at a complete loss for words.

“You told me that I wasn’t picked up for a seat.” you take a breath before you start crying, “was that the truth?”

“Darling,” Toto calls out to you.

“Was it the truth?” You ask again, this time you make the hurt evident in your voice, “you told me a team didn’t want to pick me for F2, was that the truth?”

“You weren’t anybody’s first choice,” Susie pauses, “but you were on the list.” You feel your break, as you start to cry. “We worked a few negotiations to ensure that you didn’t get picked. We worked to pull you from racing.”

You were a hyperventilating mess, you couldn’t stop the tears, the sobs, the heartbreak from happening. “You told me…You told me, if I earned my seat without you or daddy interfering I could keep racing. You promised that you would let me race.”

“We wanted to protect you, we didn’t want what happened to Jules.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snap at Susie, “don’t use what happened to Jules as an excuse.” You walked away, racing up the stairs. Towards your bedroom, you could hear your parents rushed footsteps as they followed after you. You began to shove clothes into a bag, as you tried to violently wipe away the tears.

“Where are you going?” Your father asks in a calm voice.

“I’m gonna stay with Charles for a while.” When you mention Charles, you remembered the beginning of the conversation. You stopped packing your clothes. Slowly you turned to face your parents. “What did you do?”

“Excuse me?” your father questions.

“What did you do to Charles? Mamma said it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, whatever you were doing. What did you do to Charles daddy?” You’re out of breath, you fear whatever your father has to say.

You watch as your father sighs, he hangs his head. “I asked Fred to delay his contract signing. Ferrari wants to keep Charles, they’re going to give him whatever he wants. I asked for Fred to just hold off on signing the contract.”

You scoff at the revelation. “Just long enough to scare Charles into picking a seat over me. This is rich from the both of you.”

“Sweetheart…” Susie calls out to you as she reaches to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you snap once again. You couldn’t tell if you were really angry or sad or shocked, but you did know you were just hurt. Your parents had taken away your dreams, and they were trying to take away your love. “You took away racing,” you take a breath, you strip away all the excess, you let them hear the hurt in your voice, “I won’t let you take Charles away too.”

When you do make it Charles’ place. When he opens the door for you, he sees you silently crying and shaking. Your voice is hoarse already, that it’s only a whisper when you ask, “can I stay with you for a few days?”

“Of course,” Charles says as he welcomes you inside. When he finally closes the door, you drop your bag to the floor, and just hold onto Charles tightly. He wraps his arms around you, providing you with the comfort you longed for.

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Part II

#formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #charles leclerc #formula 1 au #formula 1 angst #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #scuderia ferrari #f1 ferrari #f1 charles leclerc #charles leclerc au #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc angst #toto wolff #toto wolff daughter #toto wolff au

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loveindefinitely · 5 months

Text

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

05 — THESE THINGS EAT AT YOUR BONES

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You were seventeen when you enlisted.

Obviously, you had to lie about your age – just a year off, not a drastic difference. The recruiters wouldn’t care enough to double check, anyways. Anyone willing to join their forces was good enough in their books.

You’d been desperate, desperate for a sense of community, for a home, for something to occupy your time with.

Things hadn’t been easy after your mother had passed.

She’d raised you on her own; having taken you from your father before you could realise what a father was. Said he was a bad man, didn’t deserve an angel like yourself. Sometimes, you wished that you’d known him, or at least had a father figure to look up to.

That was rare, however. Your mother had done a great job in raising you – making sure you had morals and looked out for others. Always had a roof over your head, food made with love in your tummy.

It was only three months prior to your enlistment that she passed.

While you were at school, she was shot and killed in your childhood home. The day you walked through that front door, backpack a hefty weight on your shoulders, and saw her wide-eyed corpse on the living room carpet, was the day that a piece of you died.

That night, with the cool fabric of the paramedic’s shock blanket around your frame, you looked up what happens after you die with shaky, blood-stained hands. A question you hadn’t had to consider. Not until then.

The police wrote down your stilted words in their government-issued notepads, attempts of sympathy on their faces.

All you could focus on was the tap tap tap of your foot against the carpet, the chewed up flesh of your inner cheek, and the burning of your eyes.

You had, thankfully, managed a choked up explanation of what you’d seen.

“I came home. From school. She was just. There. On the carpet. Her eyes were open,” you managed to whisper, eyes remaining in your lap.

“How did you feel when you saw her?” The officer asked.

You had half the mind to ask him that very same question. You didn’t, of course.

“I felt that she deserved a better death than this. Sir.”

The time after that passed in quick, blurry memories. A hand on your shoulder here, a trauma nurse there, all the while your mind could only supply you with the image of the one person you had. Gone.

“Here.”

You’d looked up with bloodshot eyes and chapped lips. The man looked to be in his late forties, with greying hair and saggy features. In his hands was a steaming cup of tea – extended towards you. With trembling fingers, you took it from the man.

“Thank you,” you’d murmured, before blowing across the liquid with a soft breath. It rippled with the flowing air, tea leaves simmering on the bottom. If you looked hard enough, you could make out a tree.

“Is it alright if I join you?” He asked, gesturing to the chair in front of you. You nodded, and he moved to get comfortable in his seat, eyes remaining on you. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

That was, funnily enough, the first time you’d heard those words said to you.

“I’m Herschel Shepherd,” the man supplied, with a small, comforting smile. He extended a weathered hand to you, and after a moment, you accepted it with a light shake. “I think I might know who’s responsible for your mother’s death.”

You swallowed. “What? Are you,” you worked your heavy tongue, “Are you in the FBI?”

He loosed a hearty chuckle at that, before shaking his head. “No, kid. I’m a bit higher up than that.”

You didn’t have it in you to push. Not then, not with the smell of blood a consistent rot in your nose. You just nodded, accepting that explanation, squeezing your hands together for comfort.

“There’s been some rumours,” Shepherd leaned his elbows against his knees, lowering himself to meet you at eye level. “Of a secret organisation, searching and killing those affiliated with the army. Especially those who served, and then ran.”

Your brows furrowed, mouth opening and closing around nothing. “What does this have to do. With anything – my mum, she wasn’t –”

“She was, kid,” Shepherd interrupted with a raised hand. “She was a renowned Lieutenant. Served for ten years.”

Tap tap tap, your foot goes.

“She would’ve told me,” you managed out, throat choking up and nostrils flaring. “She wouldn’t have hid that from me. I’d know. You’re lying.”

“She didn’t tell you to keep you safe,” he urged, resting his hand on your bouncing knee in comfort. “But… This is more than just her. This is an attack on our country, on you, kid. I’m investigating this group, their ideals, their plans. You can help.”

You shook your head adamantly. “No. This has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with you,” Shepherd immediately retorted, and you felt your chest caving in, your shoulders deflating. “It’s up to you. I hope to see you in my regiment, kid.”

Then, he’d stood, and dropped a card onto your lap. Without another word, he left.

It was later that night, when you found yourself near passing out, that you’d read his business card. It had his name, his title – Lieutenant General – and a regiment. You weren’t sure how any of it worked, if you could do this, if you were made for something like the army. That night, you’d studied and watched and learned everything you could about his regiment.

Three months later, you’d stood before him, gun in hand.

He just smiled, knowingly, and clapped a hand on your shoulder. He leaned down and whispered, “Together, we’ll avenge her.”

And you did, under his wing. You set things right.

Your ears ring, the bumps of the vehicle doing nothing to snap you out of your daze. It’s like your insides have turned inside out, every molecule of liquid evaporated with a single name.

“He’s a good man,” you manage to say, breaking the stunned silence of the 141. You don’t dare to look up, to see their expressions, their apprehension. “He saved me. Multiple times. He wouldn’t hurt anyone without a reason, he wouldn’t.”

Even as you say the words, try and plead, you find yourself losing faith. It’s a devastating thing, one that has you wanting to wretch your near-empty stomach.

“We did some digging,” Price murmurs, sounding sorrowful and almost guilty. “We found the truth.”

The entire time that Price retells the intel he and ‘Laswell’ found, you find yourself falling deeper and deeper into your pit of despair. Like you’re clawing with your nails to get out, yet all you’re finding is unrelenting stone, breaking the keratin with every scratch.

By the time that all the information has been told, your body feels as though it’s frozen.

It isn’t until you feel a thumb wipe against your cheek that you realise you’re crying. Finally, finally, you look up, and meet Soap’s mirthful eyes. His thumb is rough where it wipes away your tears, gathering the salty liquid against the ridges of his fingertips.

Could it get worse than this? Worse than being told that the only other man in your life – the only other person you’d trusted – was a bad man? Working with Graves? How hadn’t you known? Why hadn’t Graves told you –

Why. Why. Why?

“He was the closest thing I had to a father,” you manage, feeling almost manic with it. “He – he and Graves, they’re all I have, I can’t, you can’t–”

You barely manage to open the small window before you’re hurling your empty guts, nothing coming out but air and some bile burning the back of your throat. Your throat, eyes, your entire body aches.

Two large hands rub at your back, and you can hear words being said, but you can’t understand them, can’t hear anything but a low buzz in the back of your mind. Your breath comes out in loud, sharp pants, and you can’t help but sniffle as tears roll down your cheeks and drip from your chin.

Your entire life has just been flipped on its head, and you can’t handle it. You are a Colonel, you’re supposed to be impenetrable, but this, this is everything you ever had. Gone with a few words, a single mission.

“It’s okay, lass, fuck,” you can finally make out Soap saying, recognising one of the hands as his. It’s an, admittedly, comforting weight, one that you find yourself leaning back into. “Steamin’ Jesus.”

“Kyle, do you have water?” Price calls out to the front, and soon, a hand directs your head to enter the van once more, an opened water bottle being pressed to your lips. Price holds it, his hand stroking the back of your neck in support. “Have a drink, darlin’,” he encourages, tilting your head back as you swallow the ice-cold water. “There we go,”he murmurs, his touch unrelenting.

“You good, love?” Gaz calls from the front, brows furrowed where he’s half-watching in the rearview mirror.

All you can give him is a small, weak nod, but he seems to accept it.

Your mind is spinning at a mile per minute, shuddering when Price pulls the bottle away and Soap continues to rub your back in calming circles. This is, you think, the one time you’ll allow yourself to be comforted by them. This was already crossing too many of the boundaries you’d put up in your head, a clear violation of the separation you’d planned out.

Ghost, true to his name, remains still where he sits in front of you, calculating as he stares you down.

“What are the chances,” he begins, focus remaining on you even if everyone else’s is suddenly on him, “That General’s personal pet is also Graves’ girl who had a change of heart?”

“Si–” Soap begins, before Ghost cuts him off.

“How do we know she’s not a fuckin’ spy,” he spits out, glaring at you with everything he has, “And we’ve been too fuckin’ stupid to figure it out!”

You’re not in control of your body, at this point. Your emotions are.

With one breath, you pull out the blade hooked to your hollister, grip it in a fist, and grab the scruff of Ghost’s uniform and pull him close. Grabbing his hand, you slide the knife into it, grabbing his wrist, pulling it forward so the knife is pressed against your neck.

“Kill me,” you breathe, chest heaving, eyes burning with rage, “Kill me if you think I’m a spy. Slice the knife through my fucking throat, Lieutenant, do it.”

His irises are blown black, the white of his eyes stark against the grease paint smeared over his visible skin. You can feel his heavy breaths through his mask, brushing against your snarled lips. You pull him even closer, your fist unrelenting against the fabric of his uniform.

There’s an uproar around you, Soap yelling something to you both, Price trying to tug you away by his grip on your upper arm, Gaz trying to both focus on not crashing and whatever the hell is happening behind him.

You’re strong, however. Trained and built for hand-to-hand battle, and you don’t move an inch. Not when you’re so determined, so stubborn.

“Kill. Me.” You hiss, the words quiet enough to only be heard by the man holding a knife to your throat. You lean in closer, and you can feel a small trickle of blood fall down your bared neck, but it’s a thrilling type of pain.

“You’re a crazy bastard,” he spits back, but he notably eases the knife away from your skin. You just lean into it further, more blood being let. “If you keep tryna call bluffs like this, you’ll be sent home in a casket.”

“What home, Lieutenant?” You ask, almost desperate for his answer, a demand. You narrow your gaze, refusing to break eye contact. “If you can find where the fuck I belong, I’ll be happy to die within its walls.”

The two of you standoff, your eyes doing all the speaking, before Ghost allows the blade to fall from his grip, hitting the floor of the van with a clunk. “You win, Sweetheart,” he taunts, the words being breathed against your own mouth, mere millimetres apart. “Congratulations.”

You finally allow yourself to be pulled back, Soap shooting you a shell-shocked look, his jaw clenching as he looks between you both. Price finally eases his grip around your arm, barking, “Don’t pull that shit! One wrong move and –”

“My whole life has been one wrong move,” you grit out, falling back into your seat with shallow breaths. You drag your hand down your face, before resting against the sticky heat of your blood, pooling at the dip of your neck. “What’s one more?”

There’s no response. You don’t hope for one, don’t expect one, but it still leaves you unsteady. Unsure. Even when everyone just sits in an odd sort of limbo for a few minutes, you struggle to come down from that high, that overwhelming need for control.

“Here.”

When you look up, it’s to see Soap, a medkit in his lap. Price is sitting on the other side next to Ghost, talking quietly to him, stern expressions displayed on them both. They seem lost in conversation – a serious one, considering your current situation.

“What’re you doing?” You find yourself asking, watching as he rips open an alcoholic wipe and takes it out, your leg bouncing. He gives you a friendly smile, this side of hopeful.

“Patchin’ ye up, Sweetheart. Goes both ways,” he explains, and your eyes go glassy once more. “Can aye fix ye up?”

You don’t trust your words, so you simply nod, tilting your head back. You find yourself rocked by the rhythm of Gaz’s driving, finding solace in the comfort of semi-safety. Although not as safe as you would’ve been at Graves’ base, there was a sense of… protectiveness that came with being with the 141.

Wincing, you grit your teeth as Soap cleans up the blood from your throat, his gentle ministrations so at odds with his bumbling, charismatic character. He’s precise, careful to not hurt you too much, delicate movements made by harsh hands.

“You sure do like playin’ with fire, lass,” he murmurs, swiping the last bits of drying blood from the hollow of your throat, the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips. “Can respect that.”

“I’m sorry for… that,” you sigh, watching as he deposits the used wipe into a hazard bag. Good practice, you think, prioritising avoiding any bloodborne diseases. You’re silently impressed. “Didn’t mean to lose my shit. Just. A lot.”

“I know,” he returns, earnest, opening a bottle of sanitary cream and swiping some onto his finger, bringing it to soothe over your small wound.

“I don’t know who to trust.”

Those words aren’t exactly good ones to say, not to a borderline enemy with his hands on your neck. But it feels like an otherworldly force makes you say them, makes you expose yourself even further to this man. Maybe a taunt, maybe a small punishment for saving his life.

He pauses, but quickly covers up his hesitation with returned fervour. “I don’t envy ya, hen. It’s an absolute shitshow. But…” he grabs some medical tape, cutting it to length to put over your wound. Apparently it’s worse than you’d thought. “Ye heard what happened. Shepherd, Graves, they’re not worthy of ya.”

That gives you pause. Worthy. What made someone worthy? What kind of clarifications?

Did he think he was worthy? Ghost? Price? Gaz?

“You think I’m better than the General?” You raise a brow, attempting to goad him, spark that flame of banter that always seemed to haunt the Scot.

“I know ye are. Seen it with my own eyes.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“We’re nearly back at the safehouse,” Gaz calls from the front, tapping his hands against the steering wheel to a silent rhythm. Price grunts out a reply, and Ghost remains silent, watching. Always watching.

Finishing up his quick first aid job, Soap tilts your head back down with a grip on your chin, his thumb stroking along your bottom lip. “There we go, Sweetheart. Good as new,” he whispers, the corner of his lips tilting into a kind grin.

“How’s the arm?” You find yourself asking, looking to the bandaged ligament. “Feeling alright?”

“Definitely better than if aye’d let it get infected,” he hums, looking down to his arm. “Once this blows over, nurses on base will sort it out.”

You hadn’t noticed before, but you realise that his thigh is pressed against yours, and your leg has stopped bouncing. No more tap tap tap. Just… the feel of fabric against your own, heated by the flesh underneath. The comforting touch of another human, not sexual, not for any reason but to simply… exist.

Ten minutes pass of comfortable silence between you both, before the vehicle comes to a stop, Gaz turning off the engine with a turn of his keys, unbuckling his seat belt and hopping out of the car.

“Out we get,” Price says to you all, gentler than he’d been before. The doors burst open, Gaz flinging the keys back to his Captain, urging the four of you to hop out and head in.

You’re the last to get out, Gaz extending a calloused hand for you to take, ever the gentleman. Accepting it, you jump down, looking to the awaiting men. The Los Vaqueros are rushing inside, talking amongst themselves, relief thick in their words, hands being slapped against each other’s backs.

Price is looking at you as he says, “I think we have a call to make.”

As it turns out, the call is to the last person on Earth you want to talk to right now. In the middle of the same table you’d stood beside Rudy at, mere hours ago, is a computer.

One with General Shepherd’s face on it.

Price had given you the mercy in deciding whether you’d show yourself or not. You still hadn’t made the choice, instead standing off to the side, Gaz and Soap at either side of you. Alejandro stands at the right of the table, and Ghost has his arms folded over his chest at the left.

“You hid this,” Price grips the table, livid, “Why.”

Not a question, not really, more of a command than anything. An order from a Captain.

Shepherd’s response has your blood running cold, reality finally cementing inside of yourself. You claw at your palms when he responds, drily, “We all keep secrets, Captain.”

And, oh, what a slap in the face that is.

“Why the hell wasn’t I informed?” Price snaps, his shoulders rising and falling with each barely restrained breath. He seems to fill out his uniform more than he had before, in the dim light of the room.

The boarded up window allows for a small sliver of sunset to cast against all of you, a small joy in the darkness of the safehouse. And the situation at hand.

“Consider yourself well informed now, John,” Shepherd’s tone lowers, more grating, forceful.

“Oh, that's really fuckin' helpful, General. Thank you. But you're a day late and a missile short. There's three of them – we only found two.”

“Then point yourself in that direction, and fix it,” Shepherd booms, and you can’t help the instinctual flinch of your body. You’d grown up being frightened of his raised voice, the threat that came along with it. Even in the safety of this house, you can’t help your response.

Price scoffs a laugh with no humour, his mouth falling into a grim, dangerous line. “And who fixes you, eh?”

You can hear, more than see, Shepherd’s returning snarl. “I don’t need fixing. I’m a patriot protecting my country.”

Gaz and Soap share a look above your head, but you don’t care, not now. Not when Price stands up, slamming his hand against the table, not when Alejandro curses under his breath.

Not when all you can think about is the empty promises Shepherd made.

“You’re protecting your own ass,” Price cusses, turning back to glare at the man on the screen.

“I do what needs to be done, and no one holds me down with a roll of red tape. I know what's best for the cause.”

Price chuckles, eyes a fire of fury, leaning down once more to the laptop. “You’ve lost your mind, General.”

“And you've forgotten what you're fighting for, John. To do good, you gotta do some bad. When we shit, we bury it, that's how it works,” Shepherd replies, hard and strong in his belief.

You’re at the verge of losing it.

“Yeah,” Price begins, before pointing his finger to the camera, “But we don’t bury each other with it, do we?”

“You need to turn off that side o' your head and face down the real enemy,” Shepherd warns, and it’s the final straw.

“Isn’t that what you told me, Herschel? That the organisation was the real enemy?” You quip, and for a minute, you wonder if he’s ended the call.

That is, until, a choked off voice filters in, “Kid?”

Rushing forward, you turn the laptop to face you, and your entire system seems to revolt as you see the man you once cared for like a father.

“Tell me that you didn’t betray them,” you hiss, leaning in closer, your entire face filling the screen. “Tell me that you didn’t ruin lives – tell me you didn’t make a deal with my Commander behind my back. Tell me, Herschel.”

“You wouldn’t understand –” he begins, but that’s all you needed to know.

Stepping away, you give him a final, cold smile. “Was it worth it?”

“What –” he starts once more, before you grab the handle of your gun, pulling it up to rest as a comforting weight in your hand.

“Was it worth ruining my life? Was it worth ruining this mission?”

“You’re just a kid.”

“I am a Colonel!” You shout, emotions bubbling over as you slam the gun onto the table, eyes blazing. “And when I find you, you’re going to wish you never fucked me over. What was your favourite method? Flaying? Dismemberment?”

“You’ve always been too soft and easy to manipulate,” Shepherd snaps back, voice booming through the speakers.

Your voice is as dangerous as you’ve ever heard it.

“Immolation? That was your favourite, wasn’t it?”

His eyes widen on the screen, seeming to understand, to seemingly take you seriously. Too late. Too fucking late.

“Let’s see if it’s still your favourite when it’s your turn to be the victim,” you slowly say, annunciating every word with clear speech. “Thank you for your teachings, General.”

With that, you slam the laptop screen shut, and prepare to face the fire.

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee

author's note. im so hyped for all of the future plot points. and romance. ohmygod. yes, ghost does eventually come around. yes, he's the longest slow burn. yes, he's the most intense enemies to lovers. wbk. i also got covid so i have a lot of time to rot in bed and suffer while writing!! ALSOOO there is so much fire symbolism... ;)

your comments mean soso much to me, every time iread one i squeal and feel all excited!! thank u for ur support commenters, i DO read all of them. more than once. <3

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ebodebo · 1 month

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summary: you and ghost had a relationship before you went off to college for your master's and he comes back for your father's and his bestfriends, captain price, party he’s hosting.

pairing: dbf!ghost x f!reader

a/n: heyyy of course i write a tumblr fic instead of studying for my bio final hehe but i thought i would write something from a crumb i had in my notes app. ik i said i would write bridgerton (and i will, trust!) but i really wnated to flesh this one out. anyways...hope you like what i came up with! (legal age-gap!) also was thinking of making this a series..??? what do we think??

word count: 1.6k+

wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !

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Forbidden Fruit

"So, what are you celebrating anyway?" you ask your dad as he stands in the kitchen frosting cupcakes while you sit on the counter half-assisting him.

"Uh... nothing in particular," Price says as he carefully frosts a cupcake. "I just thought it could be nice since everyone's in town."

"Mhm," you remark as you stick your finger in the frosting. He stops frosting and stares at you. "Oh, come on, my hands are clean, plus no one has to know."

"I would know," he earnestly says, half joking, half serious. "And I'll tell everyone, you stuck your finger in the frosting. You might as well stick your finger in their mouth."

"Oh my God, you are so dramatic!" You exclaim, laughing. His laughs follow yours until you begin talking.

"So, who's all coming anyway?" You question finally picking up a cupcake to begin frosting it.

"Uh..just the usual." He continues. "Kate and her wife, Johnny, Gaz, and Simon." Your eyes dart up. "Simon?" He sets the frosted cupcake down. "Mhm- Oh damn it." He says, as he spills some of the frosting on his shirt. "Why?" He questions as he reaches for a paper towel.

"Uh...no reason. I just haven't seen him in a while." It had been a while or so since you last saw Simon. And saw him you did.

"I guess it has been a while. Well, you two can catch up. Talk to him about college." You half smile.

"I should go change," you say, sliding off the counter and heading towards your room. Your mind is clouded with thoughts of Simon.

These are mainly thoughts of the way he left before you went back to college to pursue your master's. You confided in him, cried to him, embraced him, and even loved him.

He said he would keep in touch, but that had been all of five years ago. You had not spoken to or seen him in five years. Of course, your father had no idea of the sentiments you and Simon shared. He could never know.

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You had sat in your seat for almost forty minutes. You were busy conversing with Laswell, mostly about college. You were just glad your dad answered the door for him.

Your goal was not to look in his general direction for the rest of the night, but your dad forced you to greet him. It's a good thing his greeting is pretty much always serious and to the point, so it wasn't odd to John that his daughter and Simon shared only one word.

However, then your dad had the grand idea to play a board game, which would force you to look at Simon. This would not do. You were looking for any reason to leave the table, to leave Simon.

Thank God Kate spilled some of her wine on the table. "No problem. Let me go get some napkins," your father chimed as he stood up.

"I'll get them." You stood quickly, heading to the shed before anyone could object.

You make your way outside to the shed to grab the napkins. You open the wooden door, which is surprisingly quiet, and step inside.

"If I were a napkin, where would I be." You whisper to yourself as you rustle around the knick-knacks crowding the shelves.

With no luck finding the napkins on the lower shelves, you investigate the higher shelves. You notice the familiar shade of white on the top shelf. "Bingo," you proclaim, but soon discover it would be impossible for you to reach. You scope around, noticing an old wooden box.

You drag the box in front of the shelves and stand on it, slowly extending your arms higher and higher until your finger grazes the napkin packaging. However, you feel the box holding you up starting to tilt—just your luck.

"Fuck!" You squeal as you feel your body falling, though you never do hit the ground. Instead, a force holds you up. You open your eyes to see Simon's eyes peering into yours as his arms encapsulate your body.

"You should be more careful," he gruffly states as he gently puts you down. You narrow your eyes at him. "What are you doing out here?" you question, irritability lacing your words.

"Price asked me to check on you," he says. “You were taking a while." You turn towards the napkins again. "Well, tell him I'll be out in a minute." You step onto the box and are expecting Simon to leave, but to your dismay, you turn your head to him in the exact same spot.

"This is usually the part where you turn and walk out the door." You chime as you place your hands on your hips.

He stayed stationary, no words coming out of his mouth. You narrowed your eyes again at his lack of action. "Simon," you annoyingly said as you impatiently tapped your foot.

He should most definitely not be thinking about you the way he is at the moment. You aren't just his boss's daughter; you are one of his best friends' daughters. It's unforgivable. You were off limits, forbidden fruit.

Forbidden fruit Simon Riley wanted to take a bite out of.

"Whatever." You scoff as you begin to reach for the napkins once again. "Stop." He bluntly says. You don't stop, though. You were going to get these God damned napkins one way or another.

"Y/N." He began, his voice becoming increasingly annoyed at you blatantly ignoring him.

You still stretched your arms, finally feeling the plastic bag holding the napkins between your pointer and middle finger.

"Enough." He sternly said as you stalked up behind you and roughly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you off the box.

"I almost had them." You breathed out, seething with anger. Though you were safely planted on the floor, Simon didn't let go of your waist. His hands stayed on your body.

Your eyes were staring into his. Your breath synchronized with his shallow breaths. "Let go, Simon," you breathlessly said, breaking the silence as you felt his hand grip tighten.

"No." He gruffly says as he brings you closer to him.

No, no. He wasn't just going to come back after years of ignoring you and years of your yearning for him.

"Your parents didn't teach you any manners?" It was a low-blow and you knew it, but you were furious. You didn't know the ins and outs of Simon's relationship with his family, but you knew there was some deep-rooted trauma there.

"I guess not." He plainly states, bringing his hand up to cup your face.

"Go figure." You whisper as you feel his hands on your face.

"Now that we know it's not my fault, can I kiss you?" He leans down, bringing his face closer to yours, his lips hovering over yours.

You are a weak woman, and you know it. It was just one kiss. That didn't mean you forgave him. I mean who are you to deny him one kiss?

You answer his question by hungrily connecting your lips. One of his hands slips into your hair while his other hand slides down to your waist.

Your hands instantly connect with his hair, slightly tugging at his roots and eliciting low grunts from him. He carefully slips his hand under your pale yellow sundress.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you whisper as he kisses your neck, moving to your collarbone. "What if someone finds us? My dad?" you question, worry coating your voice.

"You want me to stop?" He questions, slowly pulling his hand out from under your sundress. You eye him before grabbing his hand and placing it back under your dress, causing him to let out a gruff laugh.

"That's what I thought." He cockily says as he slowly rubs through your underwear, causing you to let out a moan.

"You've got to be quiet now." He continues rubbing light circles. "We would hate to have your dear old dad come in, wouldn't we?" You raise your hand to cover your mouth.

He shakes his head. "Move your hand." He commands. You hesitate for a moment. He raises a brow. You finally oblige, and as you uncover your mouth, he shoves your underwear aside and sticks his finger inside you. Making you open your mouth wide, but he is quick to slam his mouth onto yours, preventing the sound from escaping.

You bring your hands up to lock around his neck for support as he glides his finger in and out of you. He picks up the pace, grunting into your mouth as he feels you tighten around his finger.

"Gettin' close, huh?" He whispers into your mouth. You frantically nod your head. He curls his finger inside you, finally making you release.

He holds you up while you ride down your high, legs too shaky to stand up straight. "You know I'm still mad at you." You say as you place your hand on his shoulder for extra support.

"I know, sweetheart." He nods.

Your legs finally stop shaking, and you are able to stand without his support. Your eyes widen in horror. "What are they going to think? We have both been gone for a while." You start pacing.

"Relax." He gently grabs your shoulder. "They won't know a thing." He assures. You skeptically look at him. He tilts his head.

"You'll be fine. Come on." He guides you to the door and opens it for you.

"So, now what?" You question as you make your way to the backdoor of the house.

"Tell me about college." He says as he opens the door to the house for you.

Even though you were still furious with Simon for essentially ghosting you, you couldn't help the small smile on your lips at the thought of regaining the relationship you once had with him.

"Got a boyfriend yet?" He cheekily says.

Baby steps, you remind yourself.

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taglist: @yuenity @callsign-artemis @diedoverahat @lunars-somehow-alive @theloneshadow24 @minihotdog @harpsinfinity @mrs-marc-spector @babygirl-riley sorry if some of these don't work:,(

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month

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The Bastard’s Mistress ~ A Don John x Servant!Fem!Reader Fic

So I caught the don John brain rot this weekend…very contagious, 10/10 recommend. This might be @scarlettspectra ’s fault, from all her beautiful gifs she’s been posting!😆 I didn’t go full Shakespearean here but had some fun with the syntax. I apologize in advance. Reader is properly deferential for the time, but she’s got a little spunk.😬

Warnings: the line between dubcon and noncon here is VERRRY thin. I don’t even know. So if that bothers you do NOT read this! What else. Period correct misogyny and degradation. Corruption. I’m so bad at itemizing these things. Please take care. If u have squiks i probs wouldn’t read this…

You are a chambermaid in His Excellency don Alejandro’s hacienda. It gives you a certain distance from things, as you come and go, doing your best to keep the country house clean and stay out of sight. But don Alejandro’s bastard, the fire-eyed boy with such a burning contempt for the world, has always seen you.

When you were young children, don John would play with you all, the offspring of the servants who were too young to work. Not because he enjoyed your company, but because he delighted in ordering you all about. Luckily in those days he ignored you as often as he tormented you.

Then there was a time, when the two of you hovered on the precipice between childhood and adult responsibilities, that you had almost been friends. Or at least, not enemies. He, the bitter outsider with the privileges of a full blooded son, but none of the standing. You, unmoored in your fatherlessness, the fever having taken your sire when you were just a babe.

Don John goaded you into shirking your chores one day to go play in the hills. He’d only taunted you a little, as you played your silly games, which mostly consisted of him manipulating you, ordering you to do this and that, always testing just how far he could go before being met with rebellion. It was still better than working your hands raw in the laundry. “We should run away,” he’d said in that devil-may-care way brash young boys have, so sure the world is destined to fold for them. You, however, had begged to go home, for all it won you. Upon returning your mother absolutely tanned your backside, and you never associated with Don John in such a familiar way again.

You saw him around the grounds, of course, as you scurried from one backbreaking chore to the next, and as he went through the motions of learning how to become a gentleman. Amidst his riding lessons he would wink at you from astride his fine black horse, but the cruel turn of his mouth never failed to halt you in returning it, even if your heart quickened in your chest.

That did not mean you didn’t think of him later though, on your lumpy cot of straw, as urges began to awaken in your body that was well on its way to becoming a woman’s. You saw his face at night, so achingly handsome you could hardly contain your longing. It felt like madness, and so you shoved it down in the deepest dungeon of your heart, as far as it could go.

It was not helpful, or good, the times when young don John passed you in the halls, and you felt that he would like to just eat you up. He would tug at your apron strings with a smirk before striding on to whatever lark he plotted for the day. The unholy feelings just a look from that man called up in you had you reaching for your rosary–and late at night, when all others lay asleep, between your legs.

You’d felt a certain relief when he went off to war with don Pedro. Even though your heart ached for the inevitable change, a part of you hoped he would never return.

As it turns out, your hopes were not to be realized. He has returned to his father’s country house, on the tails of some scandal in Messina. His temper is even fouler than you remember. His scowl, crueler. He has met with some disappointment, out in the world. You hope he will not take it out on you blameless servants.

Perhaps that is too much to ask of the upper caste.

You feel his eyes upon you again, as in the old days, but different. There is a weight in his gaze that makes you uncomfortable in your own skin, as though it no longer fits upon your own bones. It makes you ache for something no pious unmarried girl should yearn for, something you cannot name, only feel in the darkest hours of night when you lay awake on your mattress of straw, your sinful fingers exploring the bud of flesh between your legs.

You decide don John carries the flames of Hell in his burning dark eyes.

You dream of him, as though he has possessed your flesh in your sleeping hours.

He corners you one day, as you are changing the linens in one of the many airy rooms of the hacienda. You eye him warily, as he shuts the door, his large and forbidding form blocking your exit. His dark eyes upon you are black as night.

“What a flower you have blossomed into, y/n,” he muses, stepping slowly into the room with the measured calculation of a predator stalking prey. “No longer the knees and elbows girl I remember.”

“You…have also changed, my lord,” you offer cautiously. No longer the awkward, rail thin youth, his shoulders have the breadth of a man who rides a charger and wields a sword. You have tried not to notice.

“How so?” he fishes, canting his head with a smirk.

Your face feels as though you have caught on fire. “You are…taller,” you offer, winning a cruel little chuckle.

“Oh? I do like the sound of that. What else?” Another step closer, his booted heel clicking on the floor, and you are veritably boxed in between the walls and the oversized bed.

“My lord?” you stall, mortified.

“Did you miss me, y/n?”

This question also takes you aback, and perhaps that is why you answer honestly.

“Sometimes.”

“Well. That is more than any of my relations here will bother to claim,” he answers bitterly. In that moment you still see a boy just striving, yearning for his father’s recognition. Perhaps it was ridiculous, but you always felt bad for him, in a way.

“Did you hear the happy news? Don Pedro has taken a wife, and opts to dwell in Messina,” snarls don John with a mocking brightness.

“How…fortunate for him.”

The man before you makes a sound that suggests he barely restrained himself from spitting upon the floor in his half brother’s name.

“Indeed.” He takes one more step, and you know you are done for, your heart in your chest. There will be no escaping now. “What of you, fair y/n? Assumed the yoke of marriage yet?” The disdain in his words hangs bitter in the air.

You are tempted to lie, but know no good should come of it. “No, my lord,” you answer, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“How fortunate for you.”

Perhaps in your fear, you forget yourself. “John, please–”

He moves to strike, and you are but a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, quick but not quick enough to evade him. His arm is like a band of iron about your waist, lifting you off the floor in his fury. He slams you down–albeit upon the feather mattress–a luxury you’ve never experienced for yourself, your back accustomed to scratchy tick straw.

“Insouciant wench! How familiar you are, to address me so.” He sounds so cruelly delighted by it, wedging his lean body like a knife between your legs, his narrow hips locked against yours. When you attempt to sit up he easily pins you down, his large hand spanning two of your wrists with ease, his other pressed lightly over your throat. You can hardly hear, hardly think, over the sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears. He can surely feel it in your pulse, fluttering against his fingers. You are filled with fear–and the sharp ache of desire, God save you.

“Please, my lord…”

He makes a low sound in his throat, his lips tracing your jaw. “Please what, pretty maid? I have a mind to make a meal of you.”

“Please…don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? That is up to you, my dear. I will have you. Sweetly, or by force, tis your choice.” Your heart lodges in your throat. Your mother warned you about this, time and again. Men are dogs and gentlemen the worst of them. Never let them catch you alone.

And in your darkest heart of hearts, you know that a part of you hoped don John might do just that.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, surprisingly gently for such a villain, but you attempt to turn away. It only wins his annoyance, his large hand turning your face back to him. Before he can press his mouth to yours you say, “You merely seek to make sport of me in your boredom here. It is not right.”

He laughs at that. “Sport, I shall make,” he muses, hiking your skirts above your thighs. “Let us test the truth of your righteous outrage?” Boldly his fingers climb the trail of your leg, to the apex where he finds the damning evidence of your treacherous loins. “My lovely girl, so wet for such a reluctant quarry.” His long fingers dip inside your weeping center, and the sound you make does not resemble protest at all. He smirks down at you like the very devil. “And a virgin my little rabbit is not.”

Javi the stableboy took care of that for you, in a quick and disappointing tumble in the hay. His touch…had felt nothing like this, if truth you tell.

Ashamed, and burning, you look away. Tears trail out of your eyes, and a part of you wishes it shall just be over soon. He frowns at the shining tracks of water upon your cheeks, a menacing scowl that makes your eyes screw shut tight.

“Do not seek to engage my sympathy or my better nature, for you know I have none,” he growls above the dip of your throat, his lips searing as a brand upon your chest.

“That wasn’t always true,” you dare, winning naught but a growl from this ravenous beast of a man above you.

“You are the only one who thinks so.” For the barest moment you see a flash of vulnerability in his eyes–the ghost of the memory of the boy he once was, there and gone like ripples in a pool. It is as though this second of softness spurs him on in his deed, as though he must shove it aside to enjoy his sordid pleasure.

Clever fingers tear at the laces of your stays; you are freed to breathe, but you are bared to his hungry gaze as he tugs down your shift for his delectation. “Such lovely fruits, just ripe for picking,” he muses, cupping your breast in his hand, suckling upon a nipple.

You never knew how such a thing could make your insides clench, your sinning cunt tightening in its aching emptiness. Your hips move against his of their own accord, your legs wrapping about him as you mindlessly seek some relief from this madness. He withdraws with a dramatic pop, laughing at your body’s treachery.

“You are a fiend.”

“Pray, tell me,” he taunts you.

“I hate you.”

“Is that any way to speak to your master?”

He is enjoying this far too much.

“You forget your place, don John, as ever.”

That is when he slaps you. Not hard, nay, your own mother has hit you harder, but it certainly gets your attention. “I will rule here someday, y/n. Have a care with that tongue. I can think of better uses for it.” His piercing eyes fix upon your lips, a moment before he falls upon you, kissing you as though he means to devour you. You tense, thinking to bite him for being so cruel, so conniving, for just using you for no other reason other than he can.

He plays a very dirty trick on you, though.

That dexterous hand slips under your skirts again, swiping up your slick before circling that small nub of flesh that causes you such great tumult and shame. You moan into his mouth, and you feel him smile wickedly against you.

This man is the very devil, you are sure of it.

“Now who is ready to forget?” he taunts you, rubbing you in slow circles that drive you mad, make you writhe for the unbearable tightness coiling between your legs.

You can only manage a small cry, words escaping you. You’ve never felt anything like this, not at your own hands, and certainly not with Javi the stableboy.

“Please,” is all you can manage, and you’re not even entirely sure you know what you’re begging for.

“I like to hear you beg so sweetly.” He reaches to free himself from his breeches, his swollen tip hovering at your entrance. “So beg, wench, what favour is it you ask of me?”

You should entreat him to leave you be–you should beg for his mercy. But the delicious weight of him atop you, this dastardly man whose touch is such sweet sin–you are not sure you wish for him to leave you be. Your whole life has been such a march of drudgery. Even just the possibility of feeling something that is not pain or exhaustion makes you willfully forget every lesson your mother ever taught you, every fiery sermon the Padre ever flung down from his pulpit. Tis easy to renounce the Devil, until temptation has you in its clutches.

“I know not what to ask for,” you answer cautiously, and that at least is true.

Don John smirks down at you, a wicked gleam in his dark eyes.

“Ask for my cock, you stupid girl, and if your quim pleases me perhaps I may be moved to share in the spoils.”

“Yes.” You strain your hips towards him, craving that satisfying, stretching burn of a man’s first thrust. That, atleast, you know something about.

“Yes, what?” he taunts you, delighting in your torment as he holds himself just out of reach.

“Yes, my lord,” you whimper, hating yourself as much as him in that moment. “May I have your cock?”

His smile widens in his devilish delight, almost showing teeth. “Remember that you asked for it.” But he taunts you no further, his thick head penetrating your weeping hole, the fullness of him stealing the very breath from your lungs. He groans once fully inside you, burying his face in your neck.

“I’ve always known you would have the sweetest little cunt in the sierra,” he growls against your skin, and he begins to thrust.

If there is one thing you have always known about don John, it is that he loves to hear himself talk.

“You are mine, little maid,” he goes on, filling you so deeply you fear he must be in your belly. You are not sure you like it, and you only whimper in answer, straining for a better angle against him, seeking that certain friction that made you see stars.

“Say it,” he demands, understanding what you seek very well. You whine, turning your eyes to the ceiling. You know you are a mere peasant, and you know you do not own anything, much less yourself. Yet some small defiance rises in you, for his demanding tone.

“Perhaps I shall, if you make it so.”

You wait for him to strike you again, but to your surprise he smirks with a sort of dark delight, only turning your gaze back to his with a rough hand upon your jaw. “There is the saucy wench I remember of our youth. Do you remember how you used to defy me?”

You don’t very much, recalling that he usually always emerged the master and victor of your games.

“No, my lord.”

“You do not recall striking me with a stick, in defense of a hapless bird?”

You blink, finding it rather unfair of this man to expect you to command the capacity to think in this situation. But then you do recall. You had all been small children. The boys sought amusement in throwing rocks at an injured sparrow. You had taken exception to it.

Don John had sworn he would tell his father and have you executed.

You’d cried for days, but the sword never fell.

You’d nearly forgotten all about it, perhaps willfully burying the memory out of shame and fear. Mostly fear.

The bastard had deserved it.

He never forgot a slight, it seems.

“I always told myself I would have my revenge for that,” he tells you with a smirk, pressing his thumb into your mouth. You try to shrink away, but he has you like a fish on a hook. “Suck,” he commands you. You do not understand why those jetty black eyes boring into yours, paired with that unyielding tone, makes your needy cunt clench around him, only that it is extremely satisfying to see his eyes flutter closed, even if just for a moment.

You do as you’re told.

He uses your own saliva against you, reaching between your legs with that spit-wet thumb to touch you again.

You forget everything else, but the carnal heaven that is his clever fingers with his manhood inside you. The sounds the two of you make are barely human, as you strain and writhe against each other, chasing your release from this hell. Those full lips made for sin devour you–his mouth on your breasts makes you see God, a searing pleasure crashing through you in a spine-cracking rush. How can something that feels so wonderful be so forbidden? Only then does don John truly let himself go, the sound of flesh striking flesh filling the room as he takes you with all his pent up fury. It is not long before he roars his release, filling you with ropes of his hot seed, his powerful body trembling in its tangle of limbs with yours.

For just a moment you wished would last, his fingers lace with yours rather than pin you, his head heavy on your chest as he catches his breath. Yet when he lifts his gaze to you, his eyes gleam with their usual malevolence.

“You will come to my chambers tonight,” he orders you. “For I am not finished with you yet by half.”

When your mouth opens–indeed to give protest–he silences you with a hard but heart-melting kiss, his long fingers tangled unforgivingly in your now loosened hair.

“Do as I say, servant girl. Though if you don’t, I may enjoy making you.” That proud mouth ticks as he seems to imagine it, that fire igniting once more in his mesmerizing eyes. The thought simultaneously makes your blood run cold–and a thrill of desire run raucous down your spine.

This man is the very devil. You are as sure of it now, as you know when the household goes to sleep, you will find your way back to his merciless embrace.

#don john #much ado about nothing #don john x reader #don john keanu reeves #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic

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wntrs0ldier · 1 year

Text

An Offer · part 04

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4,2k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.)

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series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: “Bucky…” You hesitated, taking a little more time to sort out what you should really say. “Helps me with some business.” You reached for the glass of wine standing in front of you and took a sip.

“Always helpful,” Rebecca sneered. You noticed that she has been passionately ignoring her brother, but until now you were convinced that this was just a mistaken impression. “And, of course, he wants the best for you, doesn't he?” She faked a smile.

The encounter with Bucky, which took place a few days ago, turned out to be a new source of worry, leaving you even more confused. Guided by common sense, you tried not to dwell on it, but every time you lost your guard and let your thoughts wander, you found yourself reliving that moment. And each time you asked yourself the same question, Why did an accidental contact lead to such a strong reaction? It wasn't that the two of you had started pawing each other; Bucky accidentally leaned against you. And then he looked at your lips to see if your body was thinking the same thing as his…

You drifted off again, and were made aware of it by the boiling kettle. The flashback of the touch immediately popped into your head like the words of a stupid song you couldn't stop humming. And although you lost your appetite for tea, you filled the cup with hot water.

Michael walked into the kitchen with a newspaper in his hands – the kind he used to bring your father every morning. With a heavy sigh, he put it down on the kitchen counter. When you peeked at him to figure out if that sigh meant he was in a bad mood, you met his gaze. Suddenly you felt uncomfortable.

“What..?”

“Stark is becoming impatient,” Michael began. “Since your father's death, no one really controls the distribution of Stark Industries products. If this outage continues, Stark will quit doing business with us,” he said. Having taken off his glasses, he massaged his closed eyelids. Working with Tony Stark was bringing in a huge amount of money for your Family. As such, you understood Michael's nervousness – you couldn't afford to dissolve your partnership. “In view of this, we have less and less time.”

Biting your lower lip, you ran your eyes nervously over the surface of the countertop. “What about Brock?” You didn't want to consider the possibility that Brock might have turned out to be your last resort, but you knew you should be prepared for it. “Any word from Rumlows?”

Michael shook his head. “I was approached by someone else,” he added. Your first instinct was to feel uneasy, but in the end you decided to give it a chance. It dawned on you that you had to stop being picky, even though it had seemed perfectly reasonable to you up to that point. You had the right to demand to be treated right by any person you were to marry. “John Walker would like to speak to you. Without me or any third parties present.”

This was exactly what you had feared – John Walker joining in. And while he didn't seem as harmful as Brock, you didn't see him as the ideal candidate. But for all intents and purposes, you didn't see an ideal candidate in any man around.

You swallowed hard. “Did he say anything else?”

“That he will reach you to discuss the details of the meeting.”

The conversation with Michael was still looming in your head, effectively hindering your preparations for dinner at the Barnes house. All you could do was turn up there and look good, and even that was difficult to achieve.

A long, warm bath has improved the state of your skin somewhat – until now it was a little too dry and ashen as a result of the stresses of recent weeks. However, it regained some of its softness. You dried and brushed your hair, moisturised your face and did your makeup a little more carefully than usual, trying to cover up every little imperfection – these, too, have intensified since the burden of serious decisions fell on you. You generally tried not to complain about your appearance, but lately you haven't felt particularly comfortable in your own skin. Still, you saw the positive side in worrying about your looks – it took your mind off the rest of your problems.

The day was inexorably turning into evening, but the weather had not changed much – the temperature outside remained pleasantly warm, perfectly reflecting the deep spring. So you decided to put on a white dress with tiny flowers; it had short, buff sleeves and reached past your knees. The hard part came when you had to deal with the tie at the back; it went in a zigzag from mid-shoulders to lower back.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you heard a quiet knock on the door – Suzie appeared just in time.

“I was just about to-” You looked back over the shoulder and felt a sudden wave of heat when you spotted Bucky instead of your sister. Although he'd announced to you that he was coming – this time he'd done it by text, not by standing outside your window – you hadn't expected him this early. And as much as you tried to push the memories of your last contact into some dark, forgotten corner of your mind, these blossomed with vivid colours. “I thought it was my sister.”

“I wanted to wait in the car, but she sent me here,” Bucky said, scratching the back of his head. “Need help with the dress?”

Staring at him blankly, you nodded after a while.

“May I..?”

“Sure.”

Bucky came closer to you, so you turned again to let him work.

“Try to straighten the string, okay?” you added quietly. You wanted it to be as perfect as possible.

Bucky let out a heavy breath and you felt a cool blow on your half-naked back; this in turn made you shiver, much more gently than last time. His fingers slid under the string, and so involuntarily brushed your skin. You felt him hesitate for a moment, but then his fingers moved along the underside of the string, complying with your request and straightening it out. Soon he grabbed both ends and pulled them so that the front of the dress clung to your chest.

“Too tight?” he asked, presumably having heard your sharp sigh. You couldn't tell what it was the result of – the squeezing fabric or Bucky's closeness.

“It’s okay,” you croaked and you almost immediately scolded yourself for how weak and pathetic you sounded.

Bucky tied the ends of the string in a double bow, probably as a precaution; in case it would come undone at the least appropriate moment. He did it in silence, and although this seemed perfectly natural for such an activity, you got the impression that an awkwardness had crept in between you, which you had managed to avoid at the very beginning of your relationship.

“Done,” Bucky said, and you turned around carefully. Just as carefully, you lifted your gaze to his face. He was surveying you, possibly even more intensely than usual. For a brief moment you wondered if he too was tormented by the same thoughts as you, and judging by the slightly pained look on his face, expressing some kind of longing, you could guess that he was indeed.

“Have you heard?” You spoke after a bit longer silence.

“About what?” Bucky didn't even for a split second seem interested in the answer that might lie beneath your question.

“John Walker asked me on a date,” you said calmly, moreover, you were almost tempted to smile – you didn't want to give the situation unnecessary tragedy.

A corner of his mouth lifted, but that gesture had not even a hint of enthusiasm in it. He didn't look surprised or angry. You figured the news had traveled fast, but even if Bucky hadn't been aware of John's offer until now, he predicted it – he told you about it at the very beginning.

“You look really nice,” Bucky’s voice sounded so soft that your face flushed. You wanted to check if he was telling the truth, but you were unable to take your eyes off his.

“Thank you.” You smiled slightly. “I’ll grab a few things and we can go,” you added. You had the irresistible feeling that if you didn't say it – didn’t say something – the mutual gazing at each other would get out of hand again.

“I’ll be in the car.”

You left the house with Suzie. Because of your hands being occupied with a cardboard box, she closed the door behind you, then you both headed to the gate.

Bucky stood with his back up against his car. Your knowledge of vehicles ended with the identification of brands, but even if that skill was even more limited, you would have easily recognised this one – mainly because of the distinctive wild horse logo. A thought unknowingly popped into your head that the black, vintage Mustang suited its owner.

Pulling away from the car, Bucky pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. He opened the passenger door and put the seat down, allowing Suzie to get into the back. As your sister slipped inside and the front seat returned to its place, you also got in. Bucky walked around the front of the car and sat behind the wheel, his gaze immediately falling on the box you were holding.

“I made a carrot cake,” you explained.

He raised his eyebrows with astonishment.

“Barnes don’t eat cakes?”

“We do,” Bucky differed. You glanced at the way his hand landed on the stick and put it in the right gear. He threw his arm over your headrest to look at the back window, and you felt butterflies in your stomach again. “It’s just… Baking is so…”

“Yeah..?”

“I don’t know, wifely?”

You watched the profile of Bucky's face as he focused on the road. “Is there anything else wifely in me?”

Bucky smirked under his nose. When the car stopped at the first traffic light, he leered at you. “In you? I'd have to check.” He shrugged. “But those nightgowns you wear…” He pressed his lips together, shaking his head slowly. “Fuck,” he said almost soundlessly, as if he didn't want Suzie to hear it.

You rolled your eyes and smacked his arm, and he snorted a quiet laugh.

For the rest of the way, you didn’t really talk. You were worried that Suzie might feel uncomfortable, or worse, pick up something she wasn't supposed to hear. She was nearly an adult, besides, she had grown up in the same environment as you, nevertheless, you preferred to spare her the awkwardness.

Not long after you had left the city behind, the car turned into a road along which big old trees were growing; their interlocking tops formed a kind of tunnel. At its exit was a large, green plot of land, and you couldn't really tell where it ended. The house on it – tall, with a surrounding porch and walls covered with ivy in places – was probably as old as the trees.

Absorbed in the views behind the window, you didn't even notice that the car had stopped. You only became aware of it when Bucky opened the door for you. You got out, still scanning the surroundings with your eyes, and Bucky freed your sister.

“This place…” You began, and only after a moment glanced at Bucky. He stood next to you and tilted his head slightly to the side. “It’s beautiful here.”

Bucky gave you a half-smile, and this time you could see an undeniable softness and happiness on his face. You were able to tell that he had positive feelings about his family home.

The front door – solid, heavy, with a colourful, floral stained glass window – swung almost wide open. And although you had never really met her, you recognised Winnifred Barnes in the woman who stepped out onto the porch. At first glance, you saw a striking resemblance between her and Bucky – he had her whole face; her big blue eyes, straight nose and strong jaw.

“Y/N, Suzanne,” Mrs. Barnes beamed warmly at you and your sister. “I’m glad you could make it. Come inside.”

“Thank you for inviting us.” You handed Winnifred the package. “It’s just a cake,” you rushed to clarify, seeing the premature delight on the woman's face.

“That is so sweet of you, Y/N. Jamie,” she turned to Bucky. “Take our guests to the dining room, please.”

Having climbed the few steps leading up to the porch, Bucky joined you.

“Jamie?” you repeated, your mouth curved into a smile.

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah.” He scratched his neck.

You got to the dining room, and although the number of people there exceeded your expectations, you didn't feel overwhelmed by the company. You recognised Timothy first, since you had seen him relatively recently, then Steve Rogers, as he also figured quite vividly in your consciousness. As for the rest, you weren't as sure.

You guessed that one of the young women sitting at the table, who was an almost perfect, and certainly the most faithful copy of Winnifred, was Rebecca Barnes. There was an infant on her lap, banging a spoon on the table top and bursting into laughter after every sound. Rebecca, most likely used to this kind of noise, didn't pay much attention to it; she was busy talking to the person sitting right next to her. This time you assumed it was Josephine Barnes. In fact, you were even sure of it, mainly because of the similarity she shared with Winnifred, Bucky and Rebecca. She only had slightly softer facial features and a not-so-piercing gaze; you also noticed the visible tan.

You almost missed the last one – with her nose in a book she was the least conspicuous. Mary, you guessed. You recalled that she was not much younger than your own sister.

“You okay?” Bucky asked quietly, and it wasn't his voice that revived you, but his fingers hooked on your elbow. You felt electricity radiating from that spot.

Before you had time to reply, something crashed into your legs and embraced them tightly. You looked down, where you spotted a little girl with a grin that missed a few teeth.

“Hi!” She exclaimed.

“Hi.” You couldn’t help but smile, too.

“Oh, Daisy,” Rebecca groaned, clearly embarrassed by the child's behaviour. You therefore concluded that Daisy was her daughter. “Stop that.”

“It’s all right,” you declared immediately.

Still, Bucky crouched down and pulled the child away from your legs, and this little fuss threw you into the spotlight. Everyone at the table stopped whatever they were just doing and focused on you.

“Jamie brought home a girl?” Josephine asked with surprise and a kind of hope. “How long have you been together?”

“Is that your girlfriend?” Mary joined the conversation. “Oh, she’s pretty.”

You pressed your lips together in a slight smile; you hoped to avoid becoming the main attraction, on the other hand, you could breathe a sigh of relief – your efforts to make your appearance tolerable had paid off.

“Alright, that's enough.” Bucky gave his sisters a threatening glare.

“They are not a couple,” Timothy, sitting at the head of the table, spoke, drawing everyone's attention. “As far as I know,” he added, raising his eyebrows. “Y/N,” he said to you, his friendly smile didn't match the mysterious expression on the rest of his face. “Sit next to Steve. I insist.”

You led your eyes in that direction. Indeed, there were two empty chairs between Mary and Steve – probably for you and Suzie. “Of course.” You nodded politely and made your way to that seat, peeking at your sister to check on her. Steve rose and pulled back a chair for you, and once you had taken your seat, you glanced at Bucky confused; Timothy's request seemed more than a little odd to you.

Bucky clenched his jaw. Previous experience allowed you to recognise when he wasn’t pleased, and that was exactly what he looked like at the moment.

Winnifred also appeared in the dining room. As the lady of the house, she sat at the other end of the table. Soon after, the first dishes were served and the room filled with sounds of conversation. The men were talking about baseball, then boxing, and although Bucky was actively involved in the discussion, he seemed a little distracted. Whenever you glimpsed in his direction, you caught him staring at you – you could see that he was a bit disappointed, perhaps even resentful, and there was something dark in his eyes; as if the sea in his irises was hit by a storm. Especially when Steve included you in a conversation, smiled or laughed at something you said.

Winnifred asked about your gallery, the upcoming exhibition, and about Suzie's school. She praised your cake. In exchange you learned that Mary was studying for her biology exam even at dinner, Rebecca had expanded little George's diet – the baby previously sitting on her lap – with more fruit, and Josephine had returned to New York on a short break from her college.

You were worried that you would feel uncomfortable here, especially as Timothy separated you from the only person you knew, but the atmosphere in the Barnes home was like a warm, safe hug. Even Suzie found common ground with Mary, so you didn't have to be concerned about her comfort.

“How did you two meet?” Josephine asked, and when you looked at her without understanding, she nodded discreetly at Bucky.

“Oh, but we-”

“Yeah, I know.” Josephine waved her hand dismissively. “But I'm interested in every detail. I can't remember the last time Jamie brought someone home.”

You plastered a slight smile on your face, knowing that it wasn't Bucky who invited you here, but his mum. “Actually, we met through your uncle,” you answered. You didn't want to spoil the mood with the subject of a funeral or an arranged marriage. “Bucky…” You hesitated, taking a little more time to sort out what you should really say. “Helps me with some business.” You reached for the glass of wine standing in front of you and took a sip.

“Rebecca, honey-” Winnifred interjected softly, and when she did, the table fell silent.

“No, mom.” She shook her head, as if that would prevent Mrs. Barnes from getting a word in edgewise. “It's not fair that some random girl can sit here with us and the father of my children can't.” Tears of anger shone in Rebecca's eyes. “Excuse me,” she said, then got up and left the room.

You felt guilty. Not because you may have actually taken an undeserved seat at the table, but instead of shame or anxiety, you were intrigued by this unexpected burst. You took another sip of wine.

“What happened to mommy?” Daisy asked.

“Nothing, baby,” Winnifred told her gently. “She’ll get better.”

With suspicion, Daisy turned her head at Bucky. “Is that true?”

He pressed his lips together in a pale smile. “Of course, Junebug. Cross my heart.” Bucky put his hand on his chest. “How about we watch ‘Finn and Jake’?” He suggested with theatrical excitement, which Daisy shared immediately – she nodded eagerly. “Yeah?” Bucky grinned again, more relaxed this time.

Daisy ran up to him, grabbed the hand he had held out and dragged him out of the dining room. Bucky glimpsed at you, giving you an apologetic look.

Josephine leaned out and laid her eyes on you. “I’m going for a smoke, wanna join?”

Josephine led you to a gazebo in the garden. As she said, she offered you a cigarette, and you both leaned against the railing. The evening gloom was dispelled by the lamps on the lawn and the lighting inside the gazebo; it was getting unpleasantly cold outside, but you preferred the low temperature outside to the tense atmosphere at the table.

“I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I don't want you to think that my sister is some spoiled bitch,” Josephine began, and you looked at her rather blankly. You didn't want to show too much that she made you curious. “His name was Robbie. The father of her children, as she called him,” she said with distaste. “He was part of the Family. Jamie recruited him, so the whole thing still bothers him. And Robbie was a fucking asshole from the beginning. He spent late nights in bars, gambled all their money away, hung out with other girls. When Daisy was born, it only got worse. He complained that Becca was neglecting him. Didn't help with the baby, disappeared from the house more often and for much longer…” She continued. “Rebecca's only problem is that she has a soft heart. She never said a bad word about Robbie, but everyone knew what was going on. She thought another baby would change him, that it would fix their relationship, but…” Josephine shrugged. She took a puff, and for a brief moment said nothing, staring into nowhere. “So Jamie got rid of him.”

Your brows drew together involuntarily. “What do you mean..?”

“No one knows what really happened to Robbie. He vanished into thin air and never contacted Becca again.”

You felt like a child who had just heard a blood-curdling ghost story. Actually, you only felt that way partly – on the other hand, you were even more fascinated by Bucky. “Well…” You sighed, shaking the excess ash off the end of your cigarette. “He did what he thought was right,” you commented. This time, too, you preferred to be careful, thus not claiming out loud that Bucky had done the right thing.

“Not according to Becca. She's better than she was at the beginning, but it's still a touchy subject for her.”

You finished your cigarettes in silence, and that silence helped you to sink into your own thoughts; to see Bucky in a slightly different light.

“Are you sure there's nothing between you and Jamie?” Josephine spoke, a teasing smirk on her face. “I saw the way he looked at you the whole dinner. I know my brother, and if I were Steve I would keep my distance from you,” she giggled.

Your lips twitched in a slight smile. You noticed it too, and although you weren't the only people at the table, you secretly hoped you were the only ones aware of what was going on.

You could have talked to Josephine about it; told her that Bucky had no right to be jealous. You were strictly focused on marrying someone and Bucky excluded himself at his own request. You could have shared all this with Josephine, thereby taking some of the weight off your shoulders. But you didn't want to involve her.

“I’m sure,” you said. “It's strictly business between him and me.”

“Speak of the devil.”

Following Josephine's gaze, you peeked over your shoulder. Bucky was heading to the gazebo. Having caught your eyes, he smirked softly. You struggled to take your eyes off his face and lowered them to his hands – he was holding a piece of cloth that you couldn't identify in the darkness. Only when Bucky got under the roof of the gazebo did you notice that he had brought a sweatshirt. Moreover, he put it gently over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you murmured, surprised at the gesture, and glanced at Josephine. From the expression on her face, you were convinced that she wanted to say, So there's nothing between you two, right?

“You sneak out to smoke?” Bucky addressed his sister, his forehead creased. “What are you? Sixteen?”

“Oh, fuck off.” Josephine rolled her eyes.

Bucky reached out his hand, so she handed him the packet and the lighter. With a cigarette between his lips, he looked stunningly – more rough and intimidating.

“I'll leave you two alone,” Josephine suggested, grinning. She pushed herself away from the railing, and you two watched her leave.

You slipped your arms into the sleeves of the sweatshirt and wrapped yourself in it, discreetly inhaling the familiar scent. You looked at Bucky, and he again gave you a gentle smile; it reached his eyes as well. However, it faded soon after.

“I’m sorry about before. Becca-”

“I had this conversation with Josephine,” you stopped him. “I know what happened and I get it. I don't blame her for reacting the way she did. Anyway, she was right. I’m some random girl who-”

“You are not,” he protested immediately. His mouth set in a hard line as he was staring at you. “I-... I like you, Y/N.”

Taking a sharp breath, you looked away. You shook your head in disbelief, tried to ignore the fact that your heart was beating harder than you would have wished. “I like you too, Bucky, but I can’t fall for you. I don’t want to.”

Bucky took his eyes off you only to put out his cigarette. Then he moved a step closer to you and hesitantly reached for your hand. You closed your eyes, then fixed them on his fingers – he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, and you didn't protest.

“I know,” he rasped. “But I just need to protect you. So please, let me protect you. Okay? Because I feel like everything is getting out of my control. And I’m fucking tired of it.”

You raised your gaze to his eyes. He glared into them pleadingly and with some kind of fear, as if your rejection would shatter him into a million pieces. You nodded slightly, unsure if you really did; if you really agreed to fall under his protection.

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leakingston

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x y/n #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #mob boss!bucky #mob boss!bucky x reader

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towriteloveontheirarms · 2 months

Text

You know I have no choice (JJ Maybank x Kook!Reader)

synopsis: You love him more than anything or anyone, but no matter how much you wish you could stay with him, it can never be. Not like this.

warnings: angst, break up, mentions of weed, mentions of difficult relationship with parents, afab reader

word count: 1.6k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you @valeskafics for making me cave and finally start watching obx, simply by posting your Rafe stories. I love you babes!💜

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

It had been the longest week in your life, you think as you plop down on your bed after coming home after a very tense dinner with your parents. Not that things had been any different ever. Especially after they had found out your friends were poor, because God forbid you had friends you liked. Everything sure did a turn for the worse when your mother found the smallest amount of weed and the pill, as well as some condoms hidden away in one of your drawers. What followed was a catastrophic afternoon that ended in you being grounded like a small child “Until you learned to behave and found friends that were fitting of your social standing.” Your fathers’ words not yours, obviously.

´I miss you so much. It´s so boring here without you and the others around.´ Your fingers fly over the keyboard of your phone to send a message to JJ. He had snuck into your room every day for the past week, but it just wasn´t the same as hanging out with him, Kie, Pope and John B all day doing whatever.

´I miss you too, pretty girl. It´s not the same without you here.´ Came his answer in a matter of seconds. Making you wonder once again how he could answer you so fast every time, yet loving it nonetheless.

´Are you coming by again later?´ You ask him hopefully, though the answer was already clear.

´Wouldn´t let you go to bed without a good night kiss, would I? You chuckle at the text, practically being able to hear him say the words in that teasing way only JJ could.

´I´m already counting the minutes.´ You add a mouth emoji before sending the text, biting your lower lip at the thought of laying in JJ´s arms, even if it was only for a couple of hours. Ever since you couldn´t hang out every day anymore your body began to crave his touch like nothing else and without the chance to always have at least one of his arms around you… it would be a lie to say it wasn´t becoming a problem.

With a huff you turn around in your bed, to face the window, with no idea what to do to kill the time until your parents went to bed fastest.

In the end you settle for mindlessly scrolling on your phone. A state that is broken by a few pebbles hitting your window. Finally. He was here. You open the window and watch the messy blond hair of JJ appear in it, seconds before the golden retriever of a person lands in your room.

“Jayj…” You whisper and fall into his already open arms, hugging him as tightly to you as humanly possible.

“Hey, pretty girl.” JJ rasps in your ear and kisses the crown of your head.

Without leaving his grasp for even a second, you manoeuvre the two of you over to lay back down on the mattress and bury your face in the space where his shoulder and neck met.

“I missed you so so much. You have no idea.” Your words are muffled by the pale skin.

“I might.” The blond chuckles lightly.

“You have to promise that you´ll never leave me alone again. Not even for one second.” You are dead serious in your words, even thought that could never come true as long as you lived with your parents.

“I promise, doll.” The air that releases from his lungs as he makes the impossible promise moves hair that is mussed on the top of your head from cuddling so close.

You fall into a comfortable silence. However, the peaceful moment between the two of you doesn´t last much longer than that. Your parents must have been awake still or somehow you were too loud and woke them up. You can´t explain how it happened, but only moments later the door to your room bursts open to them staring daggers into the two of you.

You don´t have to look up to know that you are royally fucked. Yet you are still surprised by how truly fucked you were. What you had thought they would give you as a punishment was more grounding and their usual bullshit about how the pogues weren´t the right people to associate yourself with. Well, at least you´re only half wrong about that one. Your mother pulls you out of bed and away from JJ, downstairs to the living room, but even from there your voices get transferred upstairs to a very confused and quite frankly scared JJ. And though he doesn´t understand every single word that is being said, the blond knows there would be nothing good coming out of this.

Downstairs you have a hard time fighting the scalding hot tears that burn in your eyes, sitting across your parents with crossed arms and a restlessly bouncing leg as they go on and on about your poor choice in company for the thousandth time. This time something is different though. You feel it before they say it and then your mother makes the outrageous demand.

“You will break up with that boy now and you won´t ever see any of them again!”

“Or what?” You yell back at her. “What do you want to do? I´m old enough to decide who I want to be friends with on my own.”

“You may think you are old enough, but you know nothing of the world. So, either you do as we say or you are no longer a child of ours. Do you understand me young lady?” Your mother´s words are a kind of cold that sends a shiver down your spine. She and your father look at you like they never have, and it hurts like a knife to the heart. Your mother raises a questioning eyebrow at you, waiting for an answer of any kind. Either decision would seal your fate to a path of hurt and unluckily for JJ, your parents were years of manipulation ahead of his positive influence.

“Can I at least do it outside, in private?” You sigh, reverting your eyes to the ground as you give in to the outrageous demand. A stoic nod of the head was your only indication that your request was granted.

Leading JJ outside by his hands and sitting down with him on the step to the front porch, has your stomach swirling with something akin to the feeling of leading a beloved dog into the yard to throw it´s ball one last time as a distraction before having to shoot it. Like in the movies.

His large hands holding yours feel so bittersweet and you don´t even dare to look into his eyes in fear of what would come from it. It feels like eternity that you struggle to find words that would hopefully hurt him the least, but in the end, you just blurt out a weak “I´m sorry, Jayj.”

The first tears spill over as you do so, burning their way down your cheeks.

“Don´t say you´re sorry, please. Nothing good ever comes after I´m sorry.” JJ´s own tearful voice quietly rings through the night.

You lean your forehead against his, like you so often had before, feeling him near for probably the last time ever.

“Please don´t make this harder than it already is. You know I have no choice.” Your voice breaks miserably as you try to hold yourself together as much as possible. An intention that fails just as miserably as your voice does, when he cups your burning cheeks in his warm hands.

“We can make it work. We always made it work so far.” JJ tries to bargain. Placing little, pleading pecks to your lips and all over your face in the hopes of changing your mind.

“How could we possibly? We got lucky with how things turned out this time. I don´t want to know what would happen the next time we get caught.” You hold onto his face too now. Daring to look up into his wet puppy eyes and your heart breaks into a million little pieces.

“But… I love you, pretty girl…” With every word exchanged between the two of you, the grip on each other’s face turns more desperate. Eager to ingrain the feeling of the other into your mind. Every little detail about the other every little feeling you felt while you held each other, even if it had turned bitter now. Even if you hated yourself more than ever for doing this.

“I love you too, Jayj. I will always love you, nothing and no one will ever change that. But I… I just can´t keep doing this to you. You deserve better than to be forced to sneak around and only have a few limited moments. You deserve everything. You deserve the world and I just can´t give that to you like this.” As much as JJ wants to beg and bargain with you, he knows that you are right. As long as you were in this situation, there would be no way for you two to be together in peace. And it wasn´t fair, but when was life ever.

The two of you are silent as you let the harsh reality set in. The sounds of your sobbing and the occasional car driving past are the only sounds around you two and for the fist time since you had met the blond, time seems to fly in his presence. There was no longer a bubble shielding you from the world around, only harsh reality all around you caving in steadily and robbing you of your last breath.

In the end there is nothing left to do, but to share one last kiss. One last lingering proclamation of love to seal your betrayal to the one person that truly loved you and the only person you would ever love. You don´t even get granted the relief of all-encompassing numbness as JJ slips from your touch.

#jj maybank #jj maybank obx #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank x you #outer banks #obx

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eating-plastic · 7 months

Text

Do the Killer Frequency Men Respect Women?

I'm a woman and this is from my POV, therefore my words are gospel/j

Forrest Nash: Yeah he does. Not much to say here. Dude doesn't have misogynous bone in his body

Brian Ponty: I mean...if it gets him business then sure, why not. Just keep in mind that his respect's dubious at best

Maurice: On a good day, maybe. Idk he just seems kinda assholey but he's like that to anyone regardless of gender so meh

Murphy: I think he does, yeah. He seems like he wants to raise his son right, and a part of that includes how to respect women

Plunker: Listen, I know frat boys got their stereotypes, the main one being that they're kinda douchy. Luckily he is absolutely NOT that stereotype at all. He gets a certified "respects women"

Eugene: He does, but to a kinda toxic degree. I'm talking neglecting his own self respect and wellbeing and that's not okay. Know your worth Eugene

Roller Ricky: um YES. He 110% respects women. He's like Forrest: not a single misogynous bone in his body. Hell he doesn't have a single drop of misogyny in his blood. He gets ten certified "respects women"s

Chuck: eh could be either or. He's kinda bland. Then again I don't like assuming the worst in people so I'll say he does

Jason: He probably does. Casey seems like a respectable woman who wouldn't put up with a misogynistic asshole. Also he's friends with a woman. Kinda hard to see a misogynist doing that

John: He's an old guy, which means old values. However I don't think he's a misogynist. I just can't see it. I think he was raised knowing how to treat women which he carried through his life. There are still a couple of things he might need to learn tho

Henry Barrow: I can see him respecting women. It would seem weird if Marie didn't teach her son that. I mean yeah she did groom him into becoming a murderer but still. She probably wanted to raise him to be a respectable man like his father was

Teddy Gallows Jr: Haha NO! Are you kidding me? The dude's reeks of misogyny. He'd probably be an Andrew Tate fan shilling hustlers university 😂. That's why I put his bitch ass down here at the bottom where it belongs

In conclusion, with the exception of Teddy Gallows Jr., the Killer Frequency men respect women to at least some degree. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk

#why did I make this #why did I take time out of my night to make this 😂#killer frequency #killer frequency game #too many fucking characters so I'll just tag the ones that matter to me #forrest nash #roller ricky #henry barrow

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not-my-final-account · 5 months

Text

A Ghost Can Still Grieve

“After centuries of protecting Amity Park the residents started to notice a pattern in Phantom. He would be there to fight for them everyday, except for one day. No matter what happens, he would never show up! And it was the same date every year, the 31st of October.

So the residents of Amity Park dressed up as ghosts every year on the 31st of October, hoping this would stop ghost attacks or lure Phantom out or something else. Nobody really knew how exactly it started just that it did and it was because of Phantoms disappearance. That is how the 31st of October because Phantoms day.” I said mysteriously

“Does he really not show up on Phantoms day?” Tucker asked worriedly “I though it was just called that because we were honouring him and everything he’s done for us.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the reasons it might of started. They thought that if we didn’t do it every year he’d think we’d forgotten about him and move on. But seriously, he never shows up and no one knows why.” I said

“Sam! Why are we going to a grave yard on the one day Phantom isn’t here to protect us from ghosts!?” Tucker yelled

“Sush, don’t be disrespectful and yell.” I said as we walked into the graveyard.

“Then why are we here?!?” Tucker whispered loudly, I rolled my eyes.

“We’ll be fine, come on Tucker. We come here everyday to hang out, just because it’s Phantoms day doesn’t mean a ghost is randomly going to show up.” I said, as I finished speaking we arrived at the tree we hung out at everyday before and after school. Bullies didn’t beat us up here because once a mugging happened in a grave yard and Phantom gave the guy so many bruises he looked like a ghost, respect for the dead I assumed but what ever it was we could at least stall until we got onto school grounds.

Tucker pulled out a salami sandwich and started chewing

“Eating isn’t disrespectful is it?” Tucker asked me

“Not unless you’re being rude about it.” I replied. We sat there for a while and talked about various topics, most related to graveyards or Phantom. It was relaxing and quiet which was a nice contrast to school.

Suddenly a figure flew down to some of the graves

“Is that Phantom!?” Tucker whispered

“I think so.” I whispered back

“But it’s you just said this is the one day he never shows up!” Tucker whisper-yelled

“I know!” I whispered, I stood up determinedly “Come on.” I said and I began pulling Tucker to Phantom

“But that’s Danny Phantom! This is such a bad idea!” Tucker squeaked

“He doesn’t even hurt the ghosts he stops. He’s a good guy. Good guys don’t hurt kids.” I said back

“Quiet!” Tucker whisper-yelled

“I’m sure he’s heard us by now.“ I said. I walked up behind him and looked at the graves in front of Phantom, there were four graves: John Fenton a beloved father and husband, Maddie Fenton a beloved mother and wife, Jasmine Fenton beloved daughter and sister, Daniel Fenton beloved son and brother.

Phantom had already started cleaning Jasmines grave and I noticed that while John, Maddie and Jasmines graves all had evidence of being cleaned each year but Daniels had years of grime and muck on it, Phantom had also only brought three flowers “Why not Daniel too?” I asked Phantom

“You don’t honour your own grave.” he said. Danny Phantom, Daniel Fenton, oh.

“Sorry.” I said, Tucker hesitated then spoke up

“How did you die? It doesn’t say.” Tucker said

“Mum and Dad were scientists and/or ghost hunters. I was cleaning Mum and Dads ghost portal, Dad insisted safety for situations like this wasn’t necessary and I accidentally turned it on. Activating it when it wasn’t ready made an explosion that killed them but I was in the portal, it saved me from the explosion but activated and killed me anyways. However the nature of my death meant I was different.” Phantom said

“I’m sorry.” me and Tucker said in unison

“It was years ago,” Phantom sighed “Just don’t ask any other ghost that question. Trauma and all.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Tucker said with a wince.

…

The next year when Phantom visited the graves of himself and his family he found his grave cleaned with black, white, and green roses left on it.

By the way, I don’t know what the cannon date of his death is so the Halloween thing is just made it up.

#notmyfinalaccount writes #danny phantom #danny is old au

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emeraldsummers · 4 months

Text

if it isn't too late

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester, HunterCorp!Castiel/HunterCorp!Dean

Summary:

Dean had been hoping that the alternate universe versions of him and Sam would leave as soon as possible, but Cas and Jack's arrival at the bunker leads to them staying for dinner. He's really been trying not to have to think about this damage-free version of himself, and he really doesn't want to think about why he's staring at Cas like that.

Or, HunterCorp Sam and Dean meet Cas and Jack during s15e13 Destiny's Child.

Word Count: 5.8K

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53934448

A/N: So hey, Supernatural has got me writing fic for the first time in over a decade. It's my take on 15x13 Destiny's Child, which I know has been done, but hey. Inspiration struck.

---------------------------

Dean had been planning on sending his and Sam’s alternate selves away as soon as he could. Seeing these bizzaro versions of themselves was messing with his head, and he needed them gone if they were going to focus on bringing down Chuck. Chuck had to be the priority.

However, Dean was trying to figure out the least impolite way to say “leave the bunker ASAP” when Cas and Jack arrived home, immediately changing the evening's plans.

He and Sam were in the library with their counterparts, listening to them drone on about the details of HunterCorp when the bunker door opened with a loud clang, and Jack’s voice became audible.

“It's just the parallel parking that I need to work on, I just haven't had the time to practice,” Jack could be heard saying.

“We'll get you more time on the road soon, okay?” Cas replied.

The Alternate Dean immediately reacted to the sound of Cas’ voice, snapping his head up and rushing to meet him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Castiel?” He gasped in shock.

Cas barely had a moment to react before Alternate Dean pulled him into a tight hug. Cas stiffened as he looked around and saw his Dean and Sam entering the war room, the other Sam following behind them.

“They're versions of us from an alternate universe,” Dean explained. “Their universe got destroyed by Chuck and they ended up here.”

“I, um, I guess there was a version of Cas in that universe too?” Sam wondered. He looked to his doppelganger for confirmation, but Alternate Sam was looking mournfully at his brother, who had released Cas and was standing close to him, staring at him in wonder.

“Dean,” Alternate Sam said firmly. When his brother did not look away from Cas, he continued with more force, “You know he's not our Castiel, Dean.”

“I know,” Alternate Dean hissed, staring his brother down. But his defensiveness immediately softened as he looked back to Cas. “But look at him… he's even got the same vessel… I didn't think…”

He shook his head to himself and turned towards Jack, who had been watching the scene with silent curiosity.

“Uh, hi,” Alternate Dean said awkwardly.

“Hello!” Jack greeted with a wave. “I'm Jack, and it's very cool to meet another Sam and Dean. Will you be joining us for dinner? I wanna hear all about your universe.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room, nobody quite sure how to respond. Dean most certainly did not want to spend any more time with his copy, especially with the way he was staring at Cas. But while he was trying to figure out how to kick the doubles out without upsetting Jack, Sam hesitantly replied that one dinner together might be nice.

Great.

Dean excused himself to the kitchen, ignoring Sam’s suggestion of ordering food. Dean figured that cooking dinner was as good an excuse as any to hide away from the doubles for as long as possible.

From what Dean had learned about their counterparts, most of the differences in their timelines stemmed from the fact that instead of joining the Marine Corps like their dad did, the alternate version of their father had instead gone to college and obtained a business degree, working in a corporate office when he started a family with Mary. When Mary had died, Alternate John jumped straight into hunting, just like their John did, but instead of slumming in motels for years, Alternate John immediately saw a way to make it an actual career, and HunterCorp was born.

Which somehow resulted in Alternate Sam and Dean being like… that. Dean found the other Sam to be completely insufferable, all of his Sam’s most annoying traits turned up to eleven and wrapped up in a man-bun. But it was Alternate Dean that freaked Dean out the most. Not just because looking at himself in the eyes was unnerving – at this point he’d seen much weirder – but because of all the things Dean couldn’t recognize. Alternate Dean had a lightness in him, a buoyancy in his step and a genuineness in his smile, which seemed to come easy to him. His whole planet had just been destroyed, but he still held a curiosity in his eyes for the new world he’d stepped into.

He was not someone who had cleaned up his father’s vomit after yet another blackout. Not someone who had ever watered down his canned soup so that it would stretch into another meal. Someone who had gone home with women when he really wasn’t feeling it just so he would have a warm bed to sleep in that night. All of the moments in Dean’s life that kept him up at night, his alternate never had to experience, and Dean didn’t particularly like having to see what he’d be like without all of that damage.

Well, Alternate Dean wasn’t completely damage-free. It wasn’t hard to figure out from his reaction that he and Alternate Cas had some kind of history, and that Alternate Cas was either dead or gone in some other way. But Dean didn’t want to think about that, and he didn’t want to imagine a version of himself comfortable with hugging that intensely with anyone, let alone him. With any luck, the alternates would be on their way by the end of the night and Dean wouldn’t have to think about any of this ever again.

An hour later, everyone was crowded around the kitchen table enjoying their Sloppy Joe's. Alternate Sam scowled when he learned the food was to be eaten without utensils, but he did not complain, instead deciding to ramble about HunterCorp’s record-breaking fiscal year. An awkward silence followed when he realized mid-sentence that HunterCorp would never have any fiscal years again, profitable or otherwise.

Alternate Dean, who was visibly struggling not to gawk at Cas, decided to break the silence. “So… Jack? Yeah, Jack. Uh, how do you know these guys? Are you a hunter?”

Jack snapped to attention at the sound of his name, looking thrilled to be asked a question. “Sort of”, he replied, “I've been learning more about hunting, but I haven't had that much experience. Sam and Dean say that in order to be a good hunter, I can't just rely on my grace.”

Sam glanced at the half-eaten food on Jack's plate questioningly. “You're an angel?”

“Sort of”, Jack replied again. “I'm a nephilim.”

“What”, said Alternate Dean. His voice was flat but it was clearly a question.

Jack was hesitant when he answered, “Um, a nephilim? It's a half angel half –”

“I know what a nephilim is”, Alternate Dean snapped. He quickly collected himself and looked at Cas. “He's yours?”

Cas looked panicked at that, and turned to his Dean for guidance on how to answer, but Dean stared resolutely at his plate

Jack answered slowly. “Cas is my father, yes. As are Sam and Dean. But if you're referring to the angel that helped create me, that would be Lucifer.”

The reaction was immediate. Alternate Sam sucked in a sharp breath and Alternate Dean dropped his knife onto his plate with a loud clash, meanwhile Sam and Cas’ postures quickly became defensive, leaning into Jack.

“He's a good kid”, Sam said firmly. “And he's our family.” He gave a pointed look towards Alternate Dean, whose jaw was trembling.

“Jack has already done incredible things to help not just our world, but other worlds as well”, Cas added. And looking directly at the Alternate Sam and Alternate Dean, “This is his home and he is safe here.”

Alternate Sam didn't look entirely convinced, but he looked to his brother at that. “Dean, it's okay. He's okay.” He gave his brother an intense look, as if telepathically willing him not to react.

Alternate Dean shook his head, opening his mouth as if to say something before he stood up sharply and wordlessly walked away, a deafening silence following the rough scraping of his chair.

Cas spoke first, “Jack isn’t going to be a problem, is he?” He held Alternate Sam’s gaze as he enunciated every word. “Because his safety is the most important thing to me.” The unspoken promise of retaliation if any harm came to Jack was clear.

Alternate Sam took a deep breath as he answered carefully. “No. There isn’t a problem. It’s just a – uh – touchy subject for us. For Dean.” He turned to Jack and said, “This is your home and we are your guests. I apologize on behalf of both of us.”

“Thank you,” Jack responded, not looking particularly bothered. “I understand that Lucifer’s name will often cause people to react. Usually if my parents come up I try to focus on my mother and the fathers I chose.”

“Your mother was…?” Alternate Sam trailed off as if he was half expecting Jack’s answer.

“Kelly Kline.” Jack said. Alternate Sam looked down sadly as Jack continued, “she died giving birth to me. But I’ve visited her in heaven and I know she’s proud of me.”

Alternate Sam gave a slight smile at that. “I’m sure she is. I’m sorry, Jack,” he said sincerely.

Dinner finished up in relative silence after that, with everyone quickly dispersing. Dean once again disappeared into the kitchen under the guise of doing everyone’s dishes as a favor, Alternate Sam requested Sam show him the bunker archives, Jack retreated into his room to watch TV, and Cas found himself wandering the bunker aimlessly thinking about the current situation. He’d been able to piece together that there was a version of Jack in the other universe, maybe not called Jack since his name didn’t trigger recognition, that Lucifer had caused some kind of trouble in that universe as well, and that Alternate Cas existed, was friends with the Winchesters, and was certainly dead.

Cas had pulled Alternate Sam aside after dinner before he went off with Sam and tried to find out more information about his alternate self’s fate, but Alternate Sam had shaken his head and said that none of it was his story to tell.

Cas realized his wandering hadn’t been as aimless as he planned when he saw he was approaching the bunker’s shooting range. He wondered if Alternate Dean would be similar enough to his Dean to have similar coping mechanisms, and he wasn’t surprised when he found Alternate Dean unloading round after round into the target.

Alternate Dean didn’t hear him coming, but he must have seen movement in the corner of his eyes, because he quickly turned around, slipping the ear protection off his head.

“Hope you guys don’t mind me using up a few bullets. Just needed to let off some steam.”

Cas hummed at that instead of answering, instead deciding to broach the subject by pointing out the obvious. “I guess I existed in your world. As did Lucifer. And Jack.”

“Yeah,” Alternate Dean said.

When he offered no more information, Cas decided to try a different approach. “How did you and I meet?”

Alternate Dean took a slow deep breath before answering. “Around 10 years ago, HunterCorp started getting a weird number of demon-related calls. Demons weren’t common at all, most on our staff had never seen one in person before. And suddenly demons were everywhere.

“One day, Sam and I are on a hunt when it suddenly feels like a tornado is about to run right through us. Lightning, thunder, the room was shaking, light bulbs smashing, and weirdest of all, the loudest ringing noise I’d ever heard. It finally ends after a few minutes, Sam and I wander outside, and in front of the house we’re investigating are two guys in suits. The lightning starts up again and suddenly they’ve got shadowy wings.”

Alternate Dean looked pointedly at Cas. “Zachariah and Castiel were their names. They tell us that they’re angels, because apparently those exist. And apparently Lucifer somehow got out and the apocalypse is about to start in a few weeks. And apparently Sam and I are destined to stop it.”

Alternate Dean sighed. “Well, long story short, the angels were lying to us. Sam and I did have a destiny, but it wasn’t to save the world, it was to help destroy it. The angels were the ones that released Lucifer in the first place and they had been manipulating us the whole time. Wanted us to say ‘yes’ to being angel vessels.”

Cas was shocked at how similar the story sounded to what had happened in this world, despite the vastly different set ups. Alternate Dean had apparently never been to Hell and had never broken the first seal, but the angels managed to set the apocalypse in motion anyway, with the angels manipulating Alternate Dean and Sam in the same ways.

“Before I knew the truth, Castiel and I fought alongside each other. We became friends, which led to him having doubts about his orders. He was the one to tell me the angels’ true plans and he was the one to eventually help me and Sam stop the apocalypse.” Alternate Dean paused as he let himself relive that memory, and Cas remembered his own experience with those doubts, how scary and exhilarating it was to feel for the first time. Feelings of compassion, a deep desire to protect the lives around him; feelings of grief, mourning souls he had never actually met. And above all else, inexplicably drawn to Dean Winchester. That particular feeling it would take Cas years to sort out.

Coming back to himself, Alternate Dean continued. “We were able to weaken Lucifer significantly, and he was forced into hiding. During that, Heaven was in a state of chaos, and some of the angels decided to act as soldiers for humans again. HunterCorp had a small angel division for appropriate cases. Led by Castiel, of course,” Alternate Dean said with a fond smile before drifting his gaze to the floor.

“Castiel and I stayed close. Stayed friends.” He lifted his gaze hesitantly to Cas. “Became… more.”

Alternate Dean held Cas’ gaze questioningly, but Cas did not outwardly react, his body stiffening as a distant roaring filled his ears. He couldn’t mean what it sounded like.

“You and Dean aren’t…?” Alternate Dean asked softly.

“No.” Cas didn’t know how to breathe. Didn’t know how to process the information presented in front of him. The implication of what Alternate Dean was saying was clear, but it made no sense. Cas’ own feelings, the ones he was constantly suppressing, felt nakedly exposed. It felt like the universe was mocking him. See, we know what you feel, no matter how hard you try.

“What happened with…” Cas drifted off and gestured in front of him, struggling to speak but desperately hoping to convey that he needed to know how this story ended.

“We had a good few years,” Alternate Dean started slowly. “Really, really good years. But then Lucifer came back, just like we always knew he would, except this time he was stronger and he was pissed. Wreaked havoc in Hell just so that he’d gain enough power to release some of history’s darkest souls back into the world. Processed political leaders all across the world and created geopolitical problems that would have taken centuries to correct. Destroyed massive parts of Heaven and killed countless angels. The whole damn world, light side, dark side, everyone was scared of what he could do.”

Alternate Dean hesitated before the next part, looking like he’d rather be talking about anything else in the world. “And then he did the worst possible thing.” He ground his teeth before saying, his jaw still clenched, “He created a nephilim.”

Cas stared at the floor, a sickening feeling inside him growing as he listened to Alternate Dean continue.

“It was when Lucifer was processing the president. He knocked up his staff member, some woman named Kelly Kline, who was none the wiser about her baby daddy being the devil. But everyone else knew, from the moment it was conceived. And everyone, Heaven, Hell and Earth, agreed that it needed to die. I’d never seen everyone agree on a damn thing before, but everyone, including Castiel, was working together on how to kill it before it was born.

“Until Castiel met Kelly, because all of a sudden he was adamant about saving it. We figured that the nephilim had gotten into his head somehow and was using him to protect itself. Castiel and I had never fought like that, but we fought. I’d never seen him so angry in my life that for a moment I wondered if he’d been processed. Thought he could never say stuff like that to me. Told me the only thing I could ever do to make him hate me would be to kill it.”

“It,” Cas interrupted. “The nephilim. Jack .” He couldn’t bear to hear any version of his son referred to like that.

Alternate Dean couldn't look at Cas as he finished his story. “We teamed up with Heaven’s garrison, found Kelly with Castiel shortly before she was going to go into labor. Castiel – he fought hard, but we were able to get Kelly alone. Were able to complete the mission.” His voice was flat, purely factual, but his body language and the look on his face displayed his shame.

Eyes still on the floor, he continued. “Castiel – I only saw him for a moment afterward. He wouldn’t speak to me, wouldn’t even look at me. But he was… I can’t even describe it...”

But Cas could imagine what his alternate self had been like. He had been forced to watch Jack die twice, both times the most painful moments of his existence. If Cas thought he understood human sorrow before that, seeing Jack’s lifeless body taught him he had known nothing of grief until then. Cas was pretty sure that the combined pain of Jack’s death and Dean’s ultimate betrayal would have been the end of him.

Alternate Dean’s voice had the tone of forced emotionlessness as he finished. “Never saw Castiel again. He went on the run and a couple weeks later the angels caught up with him and he was sentenced to death for his crimes.” He finally looked up to meet Cas’ gaze, the wateriness of his eyes betraying his emotions.

“It’s – all of it, it’s already the biggest regret of my life. I should have taken your side even if you were wrong. I should have protected you from the angels, not joined them. I could have –” he shook his head.

“And then today I find out that it – the nephilim – it was never evil. He was Jack, a normal kid that apparently saves worlds.” Alternate Dean’s voice was now thick with emotion. “And we killed him. An innocent baby and his mom, and then you died, and for what? It was for nothing. You were right all along.” The dam seemed to break and tears slipped from his eyes as he whispered, “I can’t get it outta my head. You begged me not to… she begged and begged. Why did I…?”

And Cas didn’t know how else to react. The shock of Alternate Dean’s words, the hurt and betrayal he felt for something that never actually happened to him were overridden by the emotion pouring out Alternate Dean, so Cas tentatively wrapped his arms around him in a hug. For a moment it felt wrong, Cas hyper aware of how touching his Dean for too long would certainly make him uncomfortable, but this wasn’t his Dean. This Dean responded immediately, pulling Cas in closer and gripping his jacket, burying his face into his neck.

Alternate Dean began to cry in earnest, Cas trying to remember if he had ever seen his own Dean cry this intensely, before realizing his Dean had never let Cas see him cry before at all.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Alternate Dean mumbled over and over, like a prayer, like if he said it enough times his own Cas might be able to hear him. And Cas just held him, this man that was sort of the man he yearned to hold but was mostly a stranger. His body was instinctively telling him to let go, that he’d crossed a line and was making Dean uncomfortable, but this Dean treated hugging like the most natural thing in the world. And Cas thought about his alternate self, who got to experience this every day but also had to experience Dean’s ultimate betrayal, and he too found himself mourning the other Castiel.

Having long taken his time tidying the kitchen, Dean found himself sitting at the map table with his beer, the bunker oddly quiet. He cursed Alternate Sam for being so fascinated by the bunker’s relics, cursed his own brother for being so damn eager to show off his collection, and waited impatiently for them to finish up so that Alternate Sam and Dean could just leave already.

He didn’t even know where his own alternate self was, and the fact that Cas was similarly missing was making him fidget. He didn’t want to think about what they were talking about. Didn’t want to think about the picture-perfect Alternate Dean learning about some of Dean’s most shameful deeds, didn’t want Alternate Dean to realize just how messed up this version of himself was. Not that he thought Cas would intentionally start gossiping about his secrets, he told himself, but still. If Cas was telling Dean anything about the past few years, Dean’s sins stained almost everything that had happened and Cas was bound to accidentally mention something.

Worse, he feared the secrets that Alternate Dean may be able to disclose to Cas. His alternate self may be a totally different person, but there was one secret that Dean was pretty sure he shared with Alternate Dean. The big secret. The secret that most days he suppressed so hard he was able to convince himself he was imagining it, the one thing he would never, ever tell Sam or anyone else because if he said it out loud, it would actually be real.

Except apparently, Alternate Dean did not consider it a secret. As he had scrubbed the pans over and over again earlier he had tried to tell himself he was wrong, but the way Alternate Dean kept looking at Cas with such naked longing, the way Alternate Sam had continuously glanced at his brother’s expressions as if he’d seen them a million times, it was clear that in their universe, it wasn’t a secret at all.

Which meant that Alternate Dean could tell his Cas without thinking twice. Which meant that Dean hadn’t been imagining the feelings he’d been hiding from himself. Which meant that in another universe this wasn’t one more thing for him to hate about himself. Great, yet another way in which his alternate self was less broken than he was.

His thoughts were disrupted by footsteps, and when he turned around he was looking at his own face, his alternate self’s eyes slightly red-rimmed. He was alone.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked, colder than he intended.

Alternate Dean stepped into the room, taking a seat at the war table. “I asked him to give me a couple minutes. I think he went to find the Sams, figured they’d be in the archive room all night if we didn’t pull them away.”

“Hmm,” Dean responded, not particularly excited to find out what his alternate self wanted to talk about.

But instead of talking, Alternate Dean just watched Dean as he sipped his beer wordlessly, his eyes intent and searching. When Dean poured back the last drop into his mouth, he got up to grab another one from the library’s minifridge, and that was when Alternate Dean finally spoke.

“You know, when you guys were out earlier, my brother and I were talking. We felt bad for you guys, what with Father being dead here, the motels, the bunker, the lack of money, the fact you’re both mostly single…” He gave a small laugh to himself. “Sam said this was the ‘universe where everything went wrong’. If we were God’s success story, you were the underdog story.”

Alternate Dean looked down at the table and continued, “I don’t think that’s right. As soon as I saw Castiel I knew that couldn’t be true.” He shook his head slightly. “Whatever successes we had earlier in our life, it doesn’t matter. At least here, my greatest failure never happened.”

Dean scoffed at that. “And you think I never failed? I get it, you got your Cas killed. You're not special. Join the club. I was just lucky enough that he came back. I can’t even say that’s the worst thing I’ve ever done to him before, can you believe it?” Dean didn’t know why he was saying all this, couldn’t stop the words from coming out, regrets he’d never spoken about. “You think you’re the only person that has hurt him?”

“I guarantee that whatever you’ve done to him, whatever your history is, you can come back from it. I – what I did – we never could. It was too late for us.” Alternate Dean stared at him, but Dean refused to meet his gaze.

Alternate Dean pressed. “Look, whatever is going on between you two, whatever happened – and I don’t know, okay? Castiel wouldn't tell me – just know I’m jealous. I’ll be jealous for the rest of my damn life. Whatever it is you regret, whatever you think makes you so evil, just know you still have your chance here.”

Dean didn't know how to respond to that, didn't even want to think about what he could even say and definitely didn’t want to think about what kind of chance he was supposed to be taking. Apparently Dean was a screw up in every universe, even ones where, for all intents and purposes, he had it made. In every universe where Cas met Dean, Cas was worse off for it.

“Look, you don’t…” Dean started.

“I know,” Alternate Dean cut in. He gave a flat smile. “Guess being stubborn as hell is a trait we share.”

Dean laughed at that. “You know, you’re not the first Alternate Universe version of me to say that. I think every version of us is like that.” Dean finally looked his doppelganger in the eye as he said, “And apparently not a single version of us deserves him.”

Alternate Dean did not try to rebut that, instead looking down at the table in contemplative shame. “Still…” was all he was able to say.

They sat in silence for a moment, the condensation pooling onto the table around Dean’s forgotten beer. Dean’s head was a mess of thoughts, most of them indiscernible from one another, the only feeling breaking through being the overwhelming shame. He needed his alternate self to be gone, needed to retreat into his room with a bottle of whiskey and push these thoughts back behind the mental walls he’s been maintaining his whole damn life.

Finally, finally, he heard the sound of conversation as Sam, Alternate Sam, and Cas made their way into the war room, Sam droning on about an ancient Mesopotamian text in their possession that was once sought by King Arthur himself.

Heading over towards the garage, Alternate Sam said, “The collection truly is impressive. And I appreciate your hospitality, but we really should get going.”

Sam said, “You sure you don’t want to stay here tonight before your flight tomorrow? We have tons of rooms.”

Alternate Sam gave a terse smile and looked around briefly, looking at the bunker as if it were made of filth. “Thank you, but with the credit card you gave us, I think we’d prefer to find a hotel.”

Sam nodded, looking only a little offended. “No problem. Uh, this was weird? I guess good luck.”

Alternate Dean responded, “Thanks. Um, you too.” He gave Dean a purposeful look. “Don’t screw this up. Defeating God, I mean. And uh, tell Jack it was nice to meet him.”

Dean rolled his eyes, shook the hand that was offered to him, and tried not to stare when Alternate Dean took Cas’ hand tenderly and slowly shook it. “Goodbye, Castiel,” he said softly.

Dean swore Cas sounded nervous when he replied, “Goodbye, Dean.”

After final handshakes with Alternate Sam, he and Alternate Dean were finally gone, on their way to Brazil to disappear and retire in the sun.

The relief that Dean felt to finally be away from them was immediate, but it was quickly replaced by the unease at what the consequences of their visit would be. Cas was right behind him as they stood looking out the door of the garage, and he knew that when he turned around that the awkwardness between them would be practically tangible. He didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to see in Cas’ face that this visit had changed something between them. He could feel it in his gut, that Alternate Dean had said something to Cas.

“Dean.” It was Sam. “Dean?”

Dean took a deep breath, taking a moment to methodically put all of his emotions back into place and school his face into something neutral. He turned around and laughed. It only sounded a little forced. “Well,” he said, “that was the weirdest thing ever. Let’s never talk about that again, okay? Damn. I’m so done with seeing my doppelgangers.”

Dean glanced briefly at Cas, who had an unsure look on his face, before looking around the garage, his eyes settling on Baby.

“Yeah,” Sam said, “it was weird. You okay?”

“Of course I’m okay, Sammy.” Dean replied, the annoyance clear in his voice. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” It was a challenge and a test. Don’t mention it, Sammy. We’re never talking about whatever you’re thinking about.

“Nothing.” Sam said. He sounded annoyed, but he wasn’t going to push. Good. “It’s late, and I still want to call Eileen before sleeping, so I’m off. Goodnight.”

And without waiting for a reply, Sam stalked out of the garage in the direction of the bedrooms, leaving Cas and Dean alone in the garage.

The silence hung between them for a few moments, screaming to be broken. Dean should have walked away right then, said goodnight to Cas and left, like he’d been wanting to do all damn night. But now, alone with Cas, he found himself unable to move. Dean could feel Cas’ eyes on him, but he couldn’t look up to meet them, instead staring fixedly at Baby and trying to remember why he was so desperate to leave just a minute ago.

What did he say to you? Dean wondered silently. What did he do?

“I’m sorry,” Dean said finally. It was the only thing he could think of. I’m sorry you met me. I’m sorry I happened to you.

Dean looked up at Cas, and the alarm on his face made Dean even more anxious. Huh, guess they did talk about something I’m not supposed to know about.

“He’s not you,” was all Cas could say. Dean gave a small scoff at that, and Cas tentatively approached him, putting his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean focused on not flinching at the physical contact, every touch feeling significant, and allowed himself to lean into the hand on his body.

“We’re… okay?” Cas asked hesitantly, his voice small.

Dean looked deep into Cas’ eyes, the bright blue looking glossy under the garage lights, his brow pulled tightly and his body stiff, as if he expected to be slapped away at any moment.

Finally, Dean responded. “Of course we are.” Dean forced a smile that turned into a genuine one as he clapped his hand on Cas’ back twice. “We’re always okay.”

That wasn’t true. Heck, just a few weeks ago they’d had the worst argument they’d ever had, Cas left and then they hadn’t spoken for weeks afterwards. Dean was sure he wouldn’t come back this time and deep down Dean knew it was his fault. But Cas had come back, eventually, as he always did. But things were different. The deep wells of resentment, mistrust, anger, and blame that had developed between the two over the years had left scars all over their friendship and sometimes, Dean wondered if it was only that scar tissue keeping them together at all.

If hurting Cas in every universe was just something Dean did, he hoped there was a version of himself out there that had allowed himself to love Cas before he hurt him so much. He needed there to be a version of them out there that had something that wasn’t damaged right out of the box. At least that would be something.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas said. He was letting Dean go. Right, Dean had been wanting that all night.

“‘Night, Cas. Thanks for… everything.” And with a quick glance back, Dean left the garage and headed for his bedroom.

Finally inside the safety of his room, Dean let out a sigh, took a swig of his trusty Jack Daniels before sitting on his bed. Forget, forget, forget. He was finally able to start working on those mental walls. It’s all in your head, Winchester. Except it wasn’t, was it? The night had been real. The look on Alternate Dean’s face had been real. Well then, it’s too late for us. It had to be. If it wasn’t too late, then Dean was the idiot who had let them get to this point.

With a groan, Dean took another swig before forcing himself to screw the cap back on and place the bottle back under his bed. He felt unsettled, but for some reason he didn’t want to numb it with alcohol. He wanted to feel it. As he lay in bed, the strongest urge to pray to Cas washed over him, the way he used to pray before bed when Cas had been taken by the Empty. Which made no sense at all; Cas was just down the hall. If Dean needed him so badly, he could just go see him.

No, Dean thought, I’ll see him tomorrow. Like always. He’ll still be here. And this mess between them would be here as well. After Chuck, Dean told himself. Whatever is going on with us – with me – it’ll be something we’ll figure out.

Alternate Dean had said it wasn’t too late for them. And maybe, if they survived Chuck, maybe he could be right.

Maybe.

#spn #supernatural #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #castiel x dean #huntercorp #huntercorp!dean #huntercorp!sam #destiel fic #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #destiel fanfic #ao3 #spn angst #spn fic #spn fanfic

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lulu2992 · 9 months

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From the Inquisitor to the Baptist: The Evolution of John Seed

Deducing John’s personality from early development pictures is not easy… Still, it’s possible to make conjectures based on his appearance and attitude.

All the sources and references indicated by the superscript numbers will be given in the last post.

Part 3: Personality and morals (concept art, promotional content, and side material)

In the early portrait of the Seed family¹, John’s formal and stylish outfit suggests he’s probably wealthy and takes care of his appearance. In contrast, the blood running from his knuckles, which can either be his or belong to someone he has recently punched, hints at the fact he’s a violent man. The way his foot is almost triumphantly resting on the crate gives the impression that he’s self-assured and not easily impressed. I would describe this John as a “classy criminal”: sophisticated on the surface, but also cold and brutal.

In the two promotional images inspired by The Last Supper², as well as the development visuals for the pictures³¯⁴, John looks confident and stylish again, wearing expensive-looking clothes and accessories.

In the first “Last-Supper-like” image, his smile is almost cocky and he apparently has just finished tattooing someone against their will.

In the second, he has a vaguely menacing look on his face, a revolver in his hand, and his foot resting on something (probably a chair or bench), which conveys a feeling of self-importance, self-confidence, and dangerousness.

His infantry tattoo might indicate that he was originally going to have a military background, but nothing is certain.

Far Cry Absolution was the first time John was given a “voice” and we could learn more about his personality. While the book was not written by a member of the Far Cry 5 team, its author, Urban Waite, explained in an interview that he got to meet “various heads of development”, such as Dan Hay (Executive Producer, Creative Director, and Writer)³⁸. What he wrote is based on the information he was given at the time, and it most likely had to be approved by Ubisoft, so even though not everything in the novel is still relevant, I think it’s a good indicator of what John was like in the game’s early stages of development.

In the interview, Urban Waite described him as “a loose cannon” (compared to Joseph) and Absolution’s “main bad guy”, but he doesn’t think they’re “completely evil”.

In the book, John is self-confident, calm, and speaks eloquently. When he threatens people, he does it politely, as if he’s simply asking something, but people know they don’t really have a choice... On page 48, he shoots at a bear with a rifle. He doesn’t kill the animal, which then runs away, but this scene is surprising because he never hunts in Far Cry 5, and no one says he likes to do so. That said, his ranch is still decorated with taxidermied animals, so maybe hunting indeed used to be one of his hobbies at some point during the development of the game.

In the novel, he clearly has faith in the Project. He still Cleanses people before hearing their Confession, gives them a tattoo that reveals what he thinks their sin is, and makes them Atone by cutting it out. Like in the game, while he uses Bliss to pacify the converts, he still asks for their consent. He explains to Mary May that Eden’s Gate can give her a new life and that they can be a family. She needs to Atone so her sin will not stand before her and the gates of heaven, and he can save her. “You have been alone”, he says on page 116. “You have lived without the word of The Father and now you will be alone no more.”

The hunting and the constantly calm demeanor seem a bit odd, but his beliefs, methods, and even “showmanship” (page 145) at times are consistent with what John does in Far Cry 5.

There is one thing, however, that is not.

While it’s clearly said in the novel that Eden’s Gate forbids alcohol, and this is something John apparently takes seriously (he “asks” Mary May not to serve alcohol anymore and comments that Lonny, a cultist, was “not a true believer” because he was still drinking), it’s not mentioned anywhere that they also disapprove of fornication, as we know they do in the game. It’s very likely that the rule simply didn’t exist yet in the minds of the Far Cry 5 writers, but as a consequence, in Absolution, John has a lover. Her name is Holly, and this is what she tells Will Boyd, the protagonist, on page 101:

I fuck John from time to time and he tells me shit. He tells me shit I shouldn't hear. I don't have a fucking clue about half of it, but the other half is fucking out there. The Father and his scripture and all this shit about the prophet and the coming fire of Hell. Sinners and saints. Salvation and damnation.

While Holly’s language is surprisingly vulgar for a cultist (compared to the way they talk in Far Cry 5), the fact that she reveals she sometimes sleeps with John is even more disconcerting. Not only is she also a member of the Project, so it seems strange that she would openly and shamelessly admit she regularly breaks its rules, but as I’ve just mentioned, John also seems to want to follow and enforce the rules, so being in a relationship with someone sounds out of character. Holly even says the “thing [she has] with him” is “serious enough to have [her] waiting” for him outside at night.

I can’t see this happening in Far Cry 5 at all, and while a character named Holly is mentioned (Holly Pepper, Henbane River) and they tried to make it look like she was the same woman, the Holly from the game has a different address and backstory, as well as a girlfriend named Charlie³⁹.

But, again, the “no fornication” rule most likely didn’t exist when Urban Waite wrote the book, so John didn’t technically break it in Absolution. While this seems out of character now, the novel suggests that, several months before the release of the game, it wouldn’t have been absurd for John to be in a sexual relationship with another cultist. To me, this is proof that his personality, as well as the Project in general, changed. And if the rule did exist at the time, that would mean John used to be a hypocrite. As you will see, other things suggest this was true at some point…

In Inside Eden’s Gate¹², John is eloquent and still has a vaguely menacing aura. His self-confidence is once again palpable; he looks like a man who’s totally in control of whatever situation he’s in and knows what he’s doing. He introduces the Father to a crowd, is in charge of baptizing new converts, and even actively helps track and find the movie’s protagonists, not once losing his cool or air of confidence. He looks even more stoic than Jacob, which is quite unusual if we compare this version of the two brothers to their in-game counterparts.

Like in Absolution, while it’s clear that he won’t hesitate to threaten or hurt people, he seems to always be naturally self-assured. This man looks a bit cold and scary, but he also seems emotionally mature and stable, and this is far from being the case with John in Far Cry 5. However, nothing in the film suggests he doesn’t believe in Joseph and the Project’s doctrine.

In the live-action TV spot “Anything Can Happen, Everything Will”¹⁵, we only briefly see John, but he looks the same as he does in the film: calm, confident, and not to be messed with:

In The Book of Joseph²⁰, as a child, John is described by his brother as “delicate” and sensitive. When he was adopted by the Duncan family, they essentially tortured him for years, thinking “the Evil within him had to be exterminated”, and they “turned an innocent child into a monster skilled at concealment and full of suppressed anger.”

When Joseph found him as an adult, he had become a lawyer, and while “physically, he was society’s very model of success”, John Duncan was also a heartless chameleon, able to show other people the face they wanted to see, so they usually felt comfortable enough to tell him everything, even their darkest secrets… and he could then (potentially) use that information against them.

He was rich, partly because he had inherited his parents’ fortune when they died, and powerful thanks to his job and numerous connections, but deep down, he hated everyone and everything, himself included. He was also suffering from a drug and sex addiction. After he was reunited with Joseph, John Duncan was free to become John Seed again.

While he’s still the Project’s Confessor, he’s not in constant disguise anymore or as full of hatred as he used to be. In the game, in the mission “The Confession”, he also briefly mentions his abusive parents, how their violence changed him, his past addictive tendencies, and how Joseph helped him see life differently, so the book doesn’t contradict what Far Cry 5 tells us about John; it only gives more details about his backstory.

In the video “Far Cry 5: Why John Seed Is Your Charmingly Deadly Enemy”²¹, Dan Hay (Executive Producer, Creative Director, and Writer) and Jean-Sébastien Décant (Narrative Director and Writer) talk about the character. The latter explains that John is almost “in charge of PR” for Eden’s Gate, but also that he’s “the most tormented and psychotic one” because of what happened to “the cute kid” he was. He also says it was Joseph who “brought him back on track” but that, now, John always wants to impress him, sometimes to the point of almost “[losing] it” and having to be “reigned back in”, and this is what makes him dangerous in the game.

As for Dan Hay, he says John has experienced “great trauma in his life” and, because he has survived it, “almost feels like he’s a superman”. He is a “potent character” who has been through everything, can hardly be surprised anymore, and “almost knows everything the player is going to do”. He also mentions that John mostly wants to impress Joseph and that this affects their relationship because, by trying too hard, John usually ends up not doing things right, and Joseph then has to intervene.

By the way, this is also what Drew Holmes, the game’s Lead Writer, explained in a now-deleted interview⁴⁰:

John Seed, who is the youngest, sort of wants to be recognized by his older brothers as having value. But he continually screws up, so Joseph chides him saying he’s not doing the things [he’s] supposed to do.

Dan Hay also says John is a complex villain who does “bad stuff” but will not hesitate to tell the Junior Deputy, the protagonist, that they aren’t irreproachable either. For the first time, the two writers also talk about John’s philosophy, The Power of Yes. They explain how it stems from his childhood and how he uses it for the cult, sometimes to the point of excess.

What they explain in the video is totally consistent with The Book of Joseph and what we will later see in Far Cry 5, but it contrasts a little with the John Seed we had previously met in promotional material, Far Cry Absolution, and Inside Eden’s Gate. This new version of John is more emotional, not as calm and collected as early versions of him seemed to be. He has evolved as a character, and deep down, he became quite tortured. He’s not as self-confident as he appears, and he strives to impress the Father because he cares a lot about his opinion.

More evidence of this evolution can be found in early and deleted content for the game.

To be continued…

#far cry 5 #john seed #joseph seed #jacob seed #faith seed #far cry absolution #inside eden’s gate #the book of joseph

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wishfulwithwine · 1 year

Text

sweet girl . six

Rafe Cameron x Y/N Thorton

Y/N was sick of being the goody two shoes - sick of everyone treating her like an innocent little girl.

How bad could a step on the wild side be?

No one told her how good bad could taste....

WARNINGS: THIS SERIES IS 18+. INVOLVES EXPLICIT/NSFW CONTENT. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF MINOR.

series masterlist

photo from pinterest

obxsweetheart can i get a little commotion for the back of the dress?

sarahhhcameron that ASS omg hottieeee

sarahhhcameron i have the hottest best friend

kookkingrafe hottest date award

topperthat kookkingrafe you might be my best friend but no. that’s my sister

Rafe felt like someone had knocked all the air out of his lungs when you walked down the stairs of the Cameron house in your midsummers dress. The dress he had already seen you in, but you were glowing now, with your makeup and hair done. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“You look beautiful, Y/N” Rose said, as you smiled her, before turning your attention almost fully to Rafe, who was staring at you blatantly. Ward patted him roughly on his back, startling him but it seemed to get him to focus.

“You look - you look incredible” Rafe said, a smile across his face, holding out his arm for you when you got to the bottom of the stairs.

You weren’t doing any better with your staring of him - in the light blue suit, he was extremely sexy.

You gave him a beaming smile, and held his arm close to you as the two of you followed everyone into the car to go to Midsummers

“Sweet girl, incredible is not even close to how beautiful you are” Rafe whispered, pulling you in close when the two of you sat next to each other.

“You look handsome too” You whispered back, blushing from seeing the smile on his face.

“I’m so glad your parents didn’t make you go with them!” Sarah said. “Now I don’t have to suffer alone!”

“I wouldn’t quite call walking in together suffering” You said, raising an eyebrow.

“You haven’t been given the Cameron inspection yet” Wheezie said, rolling her eyes. You looked between Rafe and Sarah, and they just shrugged.

“Okay, I think some more lip gloss will do for you, Y/N, but you look pretty much perfect! I’m so glad your parents allowed you to walk with us. You and Rafe look great together” Rose said, and you nodded, pulling out some more lip gloss to add. Looking over to Rafe, Ward was smoothing out his jacket. Rafe caught your eye, and smiled as you wrapped your arm in his.

“Do we look good?” You asked Ward, and he smiled, nodding at you.

“You two look great” He stated, before meeting Rose for the entrance.

Rafe let out a sigh of relief when his father was far enough away.

“I can’t wait to get you out of this dress later” Rafe whispered in your ear, as you clenched your thighs together.

How that man can rile you up with a few words, you’ll never know.

Well, game on. You can fight back.

“Will you tie me up with that bow tie or belt?” You whispered back, and felt him tighten his hold on your arm.

“You’re playing with fire, sweet girl” He whispered back.

“You’re so sexy, Mr. Cameron. It’s hard to control myself” You replied, with a smirk. Before he could say anything else, you all followed Ward and Rose for the entrance to the midsummers.

“Y/N! Rafe!” Topper and Kelce shouted, getting your attention after a few rounds of introductions, and you two got drinks. Sarah got pulled away by Wheezie, so it was just you and Rafe.

“You look beautiful” Topper said, giving you a hug.

“I don’t embarrass you anymore?” You teased and he rolled his eyes.

“I said I was sorry, okay?” He groaned, and you laughed.

It was a few more hours of talking, dancing and having fun before the boys saw John B talking to Sarah. It looked like he had put on a suit of some sort, pretending to be a waiter.

You were dancing with Sarah, and locked eyes with John B, who smiled at you. However, you looked over, and saw Rafe red in the face storming over.

Oh shit.

You immediately ran over to him, holding him tightly to try and get him to not follow his friends to chase John B.

“What are you doing, Y/N? That pogue shouldn’t be here” Rafe said, angrily. His jaw was ticking, and you knew you’d have to do something desperate to not get him to fight him right now.

“Fight him or fuck me, babe?” You whispered, holding his arm close to yours, as tightly as you could hold him from leaving.

“What?” He said, turning his head around to look at you, shock on his face as he couldn’t process what you were saying.

“Go on and fight them, or fuck me. Rail me till I can’t walk. Do whatever you want to me. Everything is on the table” You whispered, holding his gaze. You could see his pupils dilate, and he breathed out heavily. Rafe looked at where the commotion was leaving, his friends chasing out the Pogues, and then he looked at you, eyes blazing.

“Anything?” He asked, a smirk evident on his face and something dark swirling in those stormy eyes.

What were you getting yourself into?

You nodded, biting your lip. He chuckled darkly, holding you tighter, pulling you in tight to his chest, kissing the top.

“You don’t know what you just bargained” He whispered, and your thighs clenched with anticipation of his words.

He felt your thighs clench, and couldn’t help his dick twitching.

Ward’s POV

As soon as I heard the commotion, and running, I looked around to find my children - especially Rafe. He was sure to be causing the commotion, but I found him in Y/N’s arms. He looked like he was about to follow his friends, who were disrupting the party and chasing some pogue, but Y/N whispered something to him, to cause him to just turn back to her and keep him in her arms.

He was going to have to thank Y/N later for whatever she said to keep Rafe from getting into fights. For once, Rafe wasn’t going to be an embarrassment.

He needed to make sure Y/N stuck around if Rafe behaved like this with you.

“What just happened? Where’s Rafe?” Rose asked, seemingly annoyed like she knew what was happening would involve my son.

“He’s good” I replied, subtly guiding her eyesight to where Rafe was standing, still in Y/N’s arms. He had a smile on his face, one I hadn’t seen in a while.

“That girl’s a good influence. Lord knows what she did to keep him away from the fight, but he’s always been good when it comes to her. I think he genuinely likes her” Rose commented, and I nodded.

“They’re seeing each other, secretly. Topper and Sarah don’t know, nor anyone else. I think I’m the only person he told” I admitted, and Rose smiled widely, holding onto my arm in excitement.

“No, roses are too…mundane. Her favorite flower is peonies, light pink peonies. So I want a bouquet of those”

Ward heard a familiar voice, one he knew very well, when he went into the flower shop.

“What flower would you like with it?” The cashier asked.

“Rafe?” Ward asked, and his son’s head snapped over to him, surprise evident on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m - I’m buying flowers” Rafe said, almost stuttering.

“I can see that… for who?” Ward asked, coming over and looking at the order. Rafe looked down with a sigh.

“Y/N” Rafe admitted. “We’ve… we’ve been dating, but keeping it a secret. Please don’t say anything”

“Of course, son” Wade said, a bit proudly, as he put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Peonies go well with hydrangeas. Y/N seemed to like those when we planted them in our yard last year, right?”

“Thank you, Dad” Rafe said, before looking to the cashier. “A bouquet of peonies, light pink, with hydrangeas” Rafe stated clearly, as the cashier went to fix up the order.

“So, did you two have a fight?” Ward asked. Rafe chuckled, shaking his head.

“No, we’re good. Just dinner, but we don’t get to just be us often, so I want to do something special for her. She - she deserves it” Rafe said, and pride was building in Ward’s chest at how mature and selfless Rafe was acting.

“You really like her” Ward said, and Rafe nodded, shifting on his feet.

“I do, dad. I really do” Rafe admitted.

“Really! Aw I love that. How did you find out?” Rose asked.

“I saw him at the flower shop ordering flowers” I said, pride in my tone. Rose smiled, seemingly proud of him as well.

“How do we keep her around?” Rose stated, as I watched as the scheming began in her head. I chuckled, looking back at the couple, who were making their way over to us.

“Hi Mr and Mrs Cameron” Y/N said politely, smiling.

“Please, you’ve known us far too long and well for that. It’s Ward and Rose to you” I said, with a smile.

“Of course, Ward and Rose. I’m not feeling so well, and Rafe was going to drive me home. Is that alright? It was a fabulous party” She said, and although I knew she was lying, I couldn’t have been happier.

“Of course, Y/N! That’s very kind of you Rafe. Take good care of her. If you need anything, let us know” Rose said, with a smile. Rafe looked at me, and I nodded, smiling.

“Definitely. Take the car. We’ll find our way back” I said, handing Rafe the keys. He looked surprised, but happy.

“Thank you, Dad” He said, smiling, before he looked down at Y/N. Rose and I gave the two hugs.

“Thank you, and congratulations!” Y/N replied, as Rafe put his hand on her back and led her out.

“Definitely need a plan to keep her” I said, thinking in my head as I took another sip of champagne. Rose clinked her glass with mine, in celebratory.

Normal POV

“Sweet girl, my sweet girl” Rafe said, as he put his hand on your thigh when you two got into the Range Rover. Your body was buzzing with anticipation over what Rafe was going to do with you tonight. He still hadn’t explicitly said, which was keeping you on edge.

“So, what do you want to do to me, Mr. Cameron?” You said, trying to keep your voice calm and not expose how desperate you were.

If Rafe moved his hand a bit more north, he could feel how wet you were through your dress.

“It’s a surprise” Rafe said, grinning much wider than normal. You shifted in your seat, clenching your thighs.

“What are we doing here?” You asked, confused as Rafe pulled the car up to some stores. Raf grinned, going to your side to let you out of the car. Completely silent, he took your hand and led you into a tattoo parlor.

Oh what did I sign myself up for?

“Rafe Cameron” You whispered, and he looked at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get one with you” He said, trying to ease your worry. He could see clearly you were nervous, your little ticks on full display for him.

“Hello Mr Cameron! What can I do for you tonight?” The tattoo artist asked.

“Hey there, we want two tattoos - one for me, one for her. Do you - do you have a female artist?” He asked, looking at the man. He shook his head.

“Sorry man, it’s late at night. I’m the only one left” the guy said, shrugging. Rafe looked down at you, staring at your face. You knew something was coming, probably something you weren’t going to like considering you were in a tattoo shop and also he asked for a female employee.

“Alright, um, fine. She wants my name on her ass, and I’ll have her name on my chest” Safe said, as your jaw dropped, staring at him in surprise.

“Are you kidding me?” You said, angry.

“Nope. You’re mine, sweet girl, and I’m yours. I want it forever” Rafe said, lovingly as he wrapped you in his arms. You felt your anger subside, with his gentle kiss to your lips. With a sigh, you looked to the tattoo artist, and then back at Rafe.

“I did say anything” You admitted.

“Alright, then do you want it in block lettering, script, your handwriting?” The guy asked, getting you two set up.

“I think I want it in your handwriting, just not your rushed handwriting. Legible please?” You teased Rafe, and he shook his head at your remarks.

“However you want it. I want mine in your handwriting” He said, grinning, as he sat down and wrote .

You were getting his name on your ass. His name will be permanently on your body, forever.

“Alright, so where do you want it?” The guy said, leading us to the chair setup. You looked at Rafe with a raised eyebrow, still in shock that he wanted you to do this.

“It needs to be able to be covered by a bathing suit bottom” You stated, and Rafe nodded. “I think if you loosen the straps of the dress, I won’t need to take off my dress, the back will go down far enough”

Rafe helped you loosen the dress straps, and sure enough, you were able to lay down, and have Rafe move the fabric so part of your ass and thong was exposed. Rafe made sure the guy didn’t see much at all, just enough to put the tattoo.

“Alright so right below the thong strap? It’ll be able to be covered if you write it small enough” You said, twisting your arm to point where you wanted it, before looking at Rafe to emphasize the “small” part.

“Got it. Alright, you write it, then we’ll get on with it. It’s small so it won’t take too long” the guy said, and Rafe wrote it.

“Look ok?” Rafe asked, showing you his name.

It was just simply “Rafe” but in his cursive signature, and honestly, you were feeling better about it. You nodded with a smile, as you watched Rafe hand it over to the guy and he started work.

“Do you have anymore in that flask?” You asked, as Rafe sat next to you, holding your hand but had a full view of what the guy was going to do. Rafe nodded, handing you the flask and watched as you took a pull of the tequila. You felt the warmness in your body.

“Alright, please hold my hand” You said nervously, as you hear the needle gun start.

Rafe looked at you, holding your hand tightly.

“I love you” He said, causing you to gasp.

“I love you too” You replied, wincing as the guy tattooed. “Only you I would get a tattoo for, especially on my ass and your name”

“I know, sweet girl” He said softly, kissing your lips softly.

“You’re being such a good girl” He whispered, staring at you with such love and passion.

“I love you, Rafe Cameron” You said again, happiness almost overwhelming you.

“I love you too, sweet girl. Do you want sweet girl or Y/N on my chest? I’m going to have it right over my heart” Rafe said, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

“Y/N” You replied, and he smiled.

It wasn’t too much later when the two of you were walking out with bandages on your body, excitement coursing through your bodies.

“I can’t believe I got your name on my ass” You said, sitting in the car to make sure you didn’t sit on where the tattoo was.

“I’m the happiest man in the world” Rafe said, kissing you passionately. You kissed back, before Rafe started to drive to Tanneyhill.

sarahhhcameron isn’t my best friend pretty?

johnb_pogue your best friend is hot. bring her back with you

topperthat johnb_pogue my sister and gf aren’t going anywhere with you dirty pogue

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe x oc #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe #rafe x y/n #rafe obx #obx smut #obx

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misshoneyimhome · 8 months

Text

❧「KINKTOBER 2023」☙

The One With the Nanny I John Tavares

Summary; John Tavares is a recently divorced father of two and you as his nanny do your best to help the hockey captain; however, one night after the kids are tucked in, Tavares has a different need that needs to be dealt with;

Tags; John x reader; Kinktober

Warnings; nanny!kink?; bondage (mild); protected sex (p in v)

Words count; 1.9K

John Tavares had always been a hockey legend, but beyond the dazzling arena lights and the roar of the crowd, he was just a father trying to navigate the complexities of a recent divorce. Life had thrust him into uncharted waters, and the constant away games only added to the challenges of being a single parent to two young kids.

In your role as his nanny, your duty extended far beyond childcare; you were there to offer support in every possible way. Your friendship with John had deepened over the years, even before the divorce, so when he requested you to stick around after the breakup, your response was a wholehearted "yes." Evenings usually whirled by in a frenzy of after school activities, dinner, and bedtime routines, and you couldn’t help but observe John as he masterfully balanced his responsibilities both on and off the ice - yet it was evident that the strain from his personal life was taking a toll on his performance in the game.

Nonetheless, he deeply valued your assistance. The boys love you so much, and your seemingly effortless ability to guide them through after nursery school activities, tooth-brushing, and bedtime routines brought him a profound sense of comfort and happiness during his training sessions and road trips.

But one chilly evening, after successfully tucking the kids into bed, John returned home late. You were just finishing up cleaning the kitchen following the dinner and bedtime skirmish. On this particular night, the boys had been a bit more challenging to settle down because the Leafs had suffered a home game defeat, and the boys were determined to stay up until their dad's return. However, John had been delayed at the arena, disheartened by the loss, so you had to take charge and get the kids to bed.

As he finally entered his house through the front door, his head hung lower than usual. Only the comforting aroma of your cooking and the peacefulness of his home managed to lift his spirits even slightly.

"Hey," he said gently, entering the kitchen and leaning against the door frame, having just shed his shoes and coat. His footsteps had been heavy, bearing the weight of the recent loss.

"Hey, John..." you replied softly, giving the counter a final wipe. You could see the exhaustion etched on his face, the game's disappointment still lingering in his eyes. "I'm sorry about the game."

John simply shrugged, his disappointment evident in the slump of his shoulders.

"Would you like any leftovers?" You tried to offer him a friendly smile, but it was met with a slight shake of the head and a quiet 'no, thank you.' He seemed to have lost his appetite along with the game.

A brief silence hung in the air before you spoke tentatively, leaning casually against the kitchen counter.

"John, if there's anything I can do, please don't hesitate to let me know," your voice carried a sweet and gentle tone, and you did your best to offer him a reassuring smile. The warmth of the kitchen and the comforting presence of a familiar friend were there to offer solace, no matter how small, during this challenging moment in his life.

John replied with a gentle nod and even managed a small, grateful smile.

"Thanks," he said. "But I don't think you can do much - I'm just frustrated about the game, and I feel like this whole situation has had an effect on my play... which isn't good."

You offered him a sympathetic nod, fully aware that you might not grasp the full extent of his situation, but you were determined to provide support.

"Well, I'm still here if you need anything."

John stood in contemplation for a moment. He hesitated, thoughts swirling in his mind. Maybe there was something you could do to help. No, he thought, he couldn't ask that of you. But then again, you had been around in his life for a long time. You knew him better than most, even more than some of his teammates. You were familiar with his personal life, the life he and his wife had built in their home. Still, he couldn't bring himself to ask for more; you were his nanny, after all.

The slight smile on your lips had John thinking. There had always been a certain twinkle in your eyes, and he’d always felt a unique connection with you, though he had never really considered pursuing it.

What he didn't know was that you had thought about it. John was an attractive guy, and despite the small age difference, not a big deal at all, you'd always had a bit of a soft spot for him. But, because he was married, and you genuinely liked his wife - well, now, his ex-wife - you'd never dare to make a move. Professionalism and friendship boundaries were firmly in place, even if there was an unspoken connection in the air.

However, as you watched this man you cared about so deeply, an irresistible urge to step across that fragile line gripped you. Feeling a touch of boldness, you took a small step closer. Your eyes locked with John's, and you could practically sense the gears turning in his head.

"Anything?" he asked, his voice taking on a rough, husky quality.

You simply responded with a nod, moving even closer to him.

John straightened his posture, and as he softly uttered your name in a gentle whisper, a shiver ran down your spine.

An undeniable magnetic force continued to draw you closer, and against your better judgment, you yielded to its pull. As you stood closely to him, his body pressed against yours, your faces drawing nearer and sharing the same air.

"Are you sure?" his question was a low, hushed murmur, but it was the next part that truly piqued your interest. "You don't know this side of me..." his voice grew darker, causing you to swallow hard and release a shaky breath.

Your eyes remained locked as you gently parted your lips to respond. "Maybe I want to get to know that side," you almost whispered, your curiosity and desire outweighing any reservations.

John took a moment, making sure he had your unequivocal consent. Then, with a gentle touch, he led you upstairs, moving slowly yet with determination.

In the bedroom, he moved with a deliberate grace, adjusting the lights to create an intimate atmosphere. Finally, he stood in front of you, and with unhurried movements, he tenderly cupped your face, his lips gently meeting yours.

The kiss was far from eager or sloppy; it remained delicate and tender, his lips gently caressing yours, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch, lost in the moment.

Breaking the kiss, John's voice remained husky and low, issuing a firm command, "Lie down."

Without hesitation, you followed his instruction, reclining on your back on the bed. A subtle smirk played on John's lips as he settled himself between your legs.

"Lift your arms," he requested in a gentle yet commanding tone.

With care, he used his large hands to guide your blouse, inching it up your body and over your shoulders. However, just as it was about to slide over your head, he halted, leaving the blouse covering your eyes while keeping your arms raised, wrists crossed above your head.

You let out a small breath, as he started to untie his tie from his pre-game suit, adoring your exposed breast plunged nicely in your black lacy bra.

“You trust me?” his voice spoke, as his eyes moved up and down your slender body, while you only saw darkness, feeling the mattress shift lightly underneath you.

You nodded.

“Words, I need words.”

“Yes, Johnny – I trust you,” you spoke with a light whimper, and then he gently moved once again, this time hovering your body, his hands coming to gently wrap his tie around your wrists, tying a knot to keep them in place.

“Good girl,” he praised you with a whisper.

A part of you urged to move your hands, but John’s tie and your blouse kept them in place. Your body lingered with anticipation as your vision was blocked, and all control was taken away from you.

You then felt John’s fingertips working the button of your trousers, and gently he tucked the hem, and slowly pulling them down. It was thrilling and anxious having no ability to move or take part of the action, and you felt exposed. Laying there on the bed, bare and knickers on full display for him, as he pulled your trousers off your angles.

His hands then came to smoothly run up your thighs, gently massaging your tense muscles, earning them to relax. His touch was firm, yet careful and his hands came closer to your pooling core. And with another tender movement, he tucked your knickers down and off as well, before spreading your legs by your thighs, exposing your heat completely.

Once more, you felt John move around, coming off the bed, to why you assumed was to undress. You heard soft steps on the side of the bed, the nightstand drawer open and close, then a ripping of something, and a few seconds later, you felt his large body once again kneeling between your legs.

A light gasp then escaped your lips, as you suddenly felt his fingers coming to trace up your core between your folds, your needy cunt pulsating for more.

John took his time. And as you listened to his deep and steady breaths you felt his two fingers move gently inside your warmth, massing your walls, before pulling out again.

“You’re so ready for me,” he breathed out, before again hovering your body, and lining the tip of his cock with your entrance.

Painfully slowly, John pushed his cock inside of your heat, stretching you good, and filling the deep of your cunt.

Moans came from your mouth as a loud whisper, as you knew you had to withhold any noise, as the boys where asleep in their rooms just down the hall.

“Johnny,” you whimpered, as he pulled almost entirely out, and then pushing himself back in.

He began to rock his hips in a steady pace, and eagerly you tried to move your wrists apart, but it was to no use. John moved his hand to hold them down, as his thrusts sped up.

His cock hit deep inside you, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take. His name came off your lips along with more moans, as you informed him in between breaths that you were close to a release. And oh, how he let you come for him.

Arching your back and biting down your lower lip in order not to shout too loudly, he fucked you nice and good through your orgasm. And as your walls clenched tightly around this throbbing cock, he reached his own climax, spilling all his seed into the condom.

“Fuuuck,” John breathed out, as he gently moved his hips, coming out of the rush of his release.

He then gently pulled himself out of you, before he untied your wrists and moved your blouse all the way up and over your head.

With a satisfied smile, you helped him out, before you both came to lay in the bed, next to each other.

And with a grateful expression adorning his face, he offered you a soft smile, pulling you in for a cuddle. “Thank you,” John whispered, and you simply replied with a soft, ‘anytime’.

#kinktober 2023 #John Tavares imagine #toronto maple leafs fic #nhl hockey imagine #nhl hockey fic #john tavares

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rewatching-sam-and-dean · 1 year

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So, a post with a series of great reblogs came across my feed today -- here — regarding two concepts that are often discussed in fandom: Daddy Dean and Spoiled Sam (in a non-kinky way).

It's funny that this post came across my feed today because l've been thinking about Sam and Dean's childhoods a lot lately and how their different experiences, or perspectives, have shape who they are and how they express their emotions as adults. To start, I wanted to comment on these specific ideas that seem to pop up in fandom so often: Selfless Parent Dean and Selfish Spoiled Sam.

This one got long (shocking, I know), so if you’re interested, please do read on under the cut.

Dean: The Selfness Parent?

Do I think Dean was given too much responsibility, at a way too young age? Yes. Do I think Dean, even as a child, would have died to protect Sam? Yes. Do I think Dean's protectiveness over and love for Sam are two of his best qualities? Yes. Do I think Dean's influence contributed to the man Sam became? Yes. Do I think Dean did both some pretty general level (Lucky Charms, anyone?) and extraordinary sacrifices (giving up a chance to start over at the boy's home because he saw Sam in the car) for Sam? I do. Do I think this makes Dean the one who raised Sam, entirely on his own, acting as both a mother and a father to Sam? Kind of … there was also this other guy around who they called Dad (however absent he might have been, he still was a fixture in their lives). Do I think Dean could also have a quick temper (“Don’t you ever talk about mom, ever!”, be insensitive, and even neglectful (Sam developing Clown fears at Plucky's) at times. Yes. Do I think Dean could also be irresponsible (losing food money on gambling)? Yep. Do I think this makes Dean a bad person, or even a bad brother? No. He was just a kid himself.

So, this is where I balk at the reading of Dean as Sam's "real", selfless, supportive father, or mother stand in. Even at the time of Season 1 and 2, which were peak seasons for supportive and empathetic Dean, for me, he can still be a dick. Children and teenagers who grew up to be amazing people can even start out as jerks. So, I don’t understand where this idea of a perfect father-figure Dean comes in, especially when he wasn’t even a perfect father figure to Ben as an adult (snapping at him, pushing him and smacking him in times of peak danger). He was Sam’s protector, absolutely, but not this super-human provider of protection, and giver of affection and cuddles, that some fans insist on seeing him as. Dean, despite his heroism, bravery and love for Sam, is still a flawed character. And that’s okay. He was a brave and protective kid in a difficult situation, but he wasn’t perfect. When we woobify Dean, we miss out on the complete character and who he actually is, good and bad.

Sam: The Spoiled Selfish Brat?

Do I think that Sam almost come off as a little bit callous regarding his family when we first meet him? Yes. When the show begins, do I think Sam is maybe a bit arogant and ignorant to some of the things Dean did for him growing up? Yes. But, do I totally blame him for the latter? No, because he wasn’t told much by Dean or John, and he was a child when a lot of things happened. Does the fact that Dean started hunting at a younger age, and didn’t tell Sam about it at first, make Sam sheltered? Yes and no. I would argue that he’s been more sheltered than Dean regarding hunting, but he also begins hunting when he’s pretty little. In "just my Imagination" we see that Sam gets permission to joint John and Dean on his first hunt (by taking a bus alone, no less) when he’s 9. Even if Sam was more often the research guy than the actively hunting guy, he was still exposed to a lot of crazy crap and lived in near constant fear for himself, his brother and his dad. The fact that Dean started hunting before Sam also suggests that Sam spent more time fully alone than Dean did, not to mention, a lot of the time, Dean liked hunting and thought it was cool, and he did it with his dad who he idolized. So, while Sam was physically safer, more removed from the action, he also didn’t get the perceived "perks" (it feels weird to call them that) that Dean had, or to be with his family as often. So, do I think Sam is selfish for leaving a dangerous situation, where he was often lonely, to go away to school? Um, no. Do I blame Sam for feeling differently about family than Dean when he was also often the odd man out? Nope. We know that when there was family turmoil, Dean usually sided with John or at least appeared to (Dean himself says this a couple times). Finally, do I think Sam is spoiled or selfish for leaving his family at 18 (like many young adults do around the world) to get an education, on a full-ride scholarship that he somehow earned despite their crazy lifestyle, and escape a literally life-threatening mission and turbulent home life. Yeah, no. Do I feel bad for Dean who desperately wants his family to stay together? Absolutely, I sympathize more with him than Sam at first in the show. However, I think a lot of the things people hate on Sam for are actually pretty understandable or justified in the early seasons. So, it’s just as damaging to vilify Sam as it is to woobify Dean because we miss so much important detail about the characters. The same is true of the reverse, woobifying Sam and vilifying Dean, but I just don’t see that as often in this fandom.

The Winchester Family Experience: Dean vs Sam's Perspectives

So, another thing that I think gets ignored a lot is just how different Sam and Dean's early, early years are. Dean had almost five years of "normal" family life (Dean being born in January and Mary being killed in November of his forth year around the sun). That’s a tragically short amount of time with his family being whole, but Dean did know safety, comfort, love and affection in his earliest years, and those things leave impressions. In the opening scene of the pilot, we see an adorable little Dean kissing his baby brother goodnight, and getting affection from both parents, and even a hug from a comparatively soft John. In Contrast, what were Sam's earliest years like? From the time that Sam would be old enough to remember, all he knew was that he had no mom, but wasn’t allowed to talk about her. He had an older brother that he looked up to and who watched over him, but who was keeping secrets from him. And he had a grief and revenge fueled father who barked orders, was gone a lot of the time and who seemingly only ever hugged him in fearful relief as a child (from what we see as an audience), not in casual affection. Sam had no foundation of safety, or comfort. So, is it any wonder that he can’t see family, or their family, in the same way Dean does? The fact that Dean had that time to bond with John, and got to experience some softness does matter because, even though he had more responsibility thrust on his shoulders than Sam, he also had an earned connection with his dad, and at least some warm memories to fall back on.

Saying "I Love You"

I think it’s interesting how their different early childhood experiences, potentially as well as their temperaments, not only shaped who they are as people, but their ability to express emotions. In this case, I’m going to focus in on verbally expressing love in particular because this post Is getting very long.

Dean says "I love you" to a heaven Memory!Mary in "Dark Side of the Moon." He also tells a Mary inside her own head that he loves and hates her. He says, "I love you for trying," when Sam is begging him not to lock himself up in a metal box at the bottom of the ocean with Micheal locked up in his head. He says, "I love you, too" to John when he’s about to disappear in "Lebanon." And finally, he says "I love you … so much" to Sam in "Carry On." Dean's 'I love yous" are few and far between, but he can say it, and he only says it to his I’m immediate family. (Unless I’m missing someone.). It’s not like I think people have to say it all the time, and those words can be hard to say for a lot of people (myself included), but he CAN say them directly to the people he loves.

Sam says "I love you" to a Hellucination!Jess and to his mom's grave stone. Also, I believe he says it to Mary on the phone once? He says, "You’re my brother, and I still love ya" to Dean in "Sam, Interrupted." Can we count it if he’s tripping balls on medication and he says "ya" instead of "you"? Well, I’m going to. He also tells Dean, "We all love you," which I half-count because he lumped other people into his declaration. Sam does tell a young John that he loves his dad ("The Song Remains the Same”), but John doesn’t know he’s talking about him at the time, so it’s not entirely a direct declaration. And, I think, that’s it. So, does the fact that Sam says it less directly to his immediate family mean he doesn't love them? No, obviously. But, I think it’s interesting that the brother who had no memory of "happy family" (I know things weren't actually perfect with John and Mary) is the one who seems to have a harder time saying "I love you" directly, and with his full chest, to family. This sort of tells me that a) Sam, by nature has a harder time expressing deep emotion or b) Sam didn’t hear it much, or ever even, as a little kid, so it’s hard for him to say the words, especially directly.

So, why did I go down the "I love you" rabbit hole? Well, I think it has some merit in the whole Dean is Selfness and was a martyr vs Sam was selfish and spoiled debate. It also shows how close both brothers keep the verbal expression of that feeling to themselves. Obviously, both brothers are bigger on show than tell in terms of expressing love. Selling your soul or potentially dooming the world for each other tends to get the message across.

In short, both brothers are selfless and selfish at times, and both are flawed but heroic. If we stan one brother so hard that we refuse to see their faults while constantly vilifying the other, we miss all the nuance in the story. It’s really a disservice to ourselves to woobify characters, not in the harmless, "Sam/Dean Winchester has never done anything wrong in his life. End post" kind of way, but in the "This charter is perfect and only did good things, and never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it, and … and … and" kind of way.

Anyway, if anyone made it this far, thank you for coming along with me on my bumpy rambling road of thought on this. If I missed any "I love yous" from Sam or Dean, or if you’d like to chime in on the topic, I’d love to hear it.

#supernatural #sam and dean #SPN meta #my thoughts #sam winchester #dean winchester #the boys as boys #John winchester mentions #against the wooification of characters #thanks to the gif makers #not my edits

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