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rin-may-1103 · 1 day

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The Wrong Robin Au (part three)

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Danny never said he knew what he was doing, but he thinks he's doing something right if the kid hasn't started crying yet. so you know, that's great. now, he just needed to get the kid out of here, so Danny could have a moment to mourn his retirement plans.

He wasn't going to blame the kid, ancients know Danny would have gone back to hero work eventually. He just couldn't let things go if he could help it, and he could in this situation.

"Alright, here's the plan." Danny announced, slapping his legs as he stood up. "it's late, you're a kid who needs sleep. let's get you home, then we can get a game plan on how to do this."

Tim had been nodding his head, even if it was reluctantly, before freezing in sudden realization. Danny raised his eyebrow in question, wondering what was wrong now.

"you want my help?" Tim asked, absolutely gobsmacked.

Oh, the kid thought Danny was just going to send him away like any reasonable adult would. Ha, Danny wished. but no. He had no clue what he was doing and this kid was his only trump card for making any of the half-assed plans still forming in his head work. AND he had a feeling if he didn't keep Tim close by, the kid would run off and do something stupid.

"Yep," Danny snorted, "you were smart enough to figure out who Batman was, and then you decided to take it upon yourself to help him; whether by convincing me to do it or yourself."

"Now then," Danny said as he walked over to the couch and pulled his hoodie from under Sam. Sam, to her credit, told him to fuck off and went back to snoring. Tucker, somehow having heard her, responded with a 'Go fuck yourself'.

Shaking his head, Danny turned back to Tim. "Let's get going. It's-" Danny turned to look at the clock, his eyes narrowing when he found it; 4 am. The kid was up and coherent enough to try and blackmail someone into being Robin at four in the morning. "-four. you seriously need to get some sleep kid. It's a school night." actually, what day was it???

Tim rolled his eyes but started to follow Danny out the door. "It's Saturday, and I've stayed up longer," he grumbled.

Danny snorted, "So have I, but we still need to sleep." He should probably try and prevent the kid from staying up longer than he should. Danny knows what years of not sleeping properly does to someone. The kid's obsessed with Batman and Robin, right? He'll just use them then.

"Robin needs all the sleep he can get. Otherwise, Batman will bench him. If Robin is benched, then who is out there helping Batman?" That's convincing, right? Does Batman even have the power to bench Robin? From the sounds of it, Robin is his kid's vigilante name. Which means he totally has the power to ground them.

Wait...

If Danny was going to be Robin, does that mean Batman would think he's his kid?

Oh, hell naw. He was not going to be adopted by another fruitloop! If Bruce Wayne even thinks about it, Danny will be out of there so fast even the Flash couldn't stop him.

Tim stumbled, his eyes wide in surprise. "Really?" he asks, turning to look at Danny in horror. Danny blinked, brain failing to remember why the kid would be surprised.

shit, what were they talking about?? Robin... It's four am... Right!

"Yep," Danny chirped, leading the kid to his car. "Now, I know everyone says not to get into a stranger's car and all that jazz, but it's the only way I'm getting you home. So, hop in."

Tim didn't even hesitate to jump into the passenger seat, pulling the seat belt across his chest. Danny stared at him for a second, before opening the car door and sitting down.

"kid, you do know you're not supposed to get into strangers' cars, right?" Danny asked, closing the door and buckling up. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his keys and started the engine.

"Well, yeah?" Tim replied, turning to face him, "But you're not a stranger. You're Robin. You protect people not hurt them."

and well? Danny can't argue with that, now, can he?

"Right, fine. Just promise not to get into strangers' cars. I don't care how much you think you know about them. It's not safe, and you could get hurt."

Tim hummed, thinking about it for a moment before nodding his head. "Yeah, alright. I promise."

"good." Danny sighed, turning to look at the road to see if it was clear. then he sighed again, "Don't tell strangers where you live, please."

Tim looked at him in amusement, a small smile spreading across his face. "Drake manor. 1015 Mountain Drive. It's in the Crest Hill community."

"You're killing me here, kid." Danny groaned, hitting his head against the steering wheel. Then he slowly lifted his head and turned to stare at Tim, "Kid. How the hell did you get all the way over here? Mountain Drive is all the way over in Bristol??? That's, like, twelve miles outside of city limits?"

"I have my ways."

Danny narrowed his eyes, "You bribed someone, didn't you."

Tim looked away from him, fiddling with his fingers.

sighing, Danny sat up and started driving down the road. They sat in silence for a while, just listening to the chaos that was Gotham City as they drove. Tim eventually slumped over, his head resting against the window.

It took a good thirty minutes before Danny could turn onto the bridge out of town. The traffic wasn't heavy, just the occasional car here and there. It was almost peaceful.

"Turn here," Tim suddenly instructed, startling Danny.

"Tim!" Danny cried, turning to look at the kid, then back at the road. although, he did do as the kid instructed. "don't do that! you'll give me a heart attack or something! Ancients!"

Tim blinked, then shrugged. "ok," he yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"my house is the one with really stupid-looking ducks carved into the gates." Tim supplied, waving his hand at the road ahead of them. "Bruce's is the one with bats, but you knew that."

"Right," Danny agreed. What were the chances that Batman happened to live in a place called Gotham and in a house with black iron gates covered in bats? It was almost as coincidental as Danny's last name sounding like Phantom. Fate really had quite the sense of humor, didn't they?

after they passed a few more dirt roads, Tim pointed at a specific one, "Turn here. The gates a little further back than everyone else's."

Danny hummed, turning the car onto the road. What was his life at this point? Driving children to their huge houses at four-thirty in the morning? agreeing to become Robin? coming out of retirement because a kid asked him to?

Bruce Wayne better appreciate all the effort this kid was going through...

A tall gate slowly popped into view, making Danny slow the car down until he could stop right in front of it. "Alright, kid. You're home. get some sleep. Go to school, I don't know, what do you rich kids do on the weekends? actually, you know what? It doesn't matter, do you have a phone?"

Tim blinked as he slowly unbuckled, "yes?"

"One that's not monitored by your parents or anyone else?"

"..."

Danny sighed, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his phone. "Here," Danny unlocked it, went to settings and pressed the factory rest option. Once the phone finished the reset, he quickly scanned through it to make sure it was all gone before adding his second phone number. once done, he tossed it over to the kid. "here, should work for now. Don't let anyone else have it."

If this was any other situation, Danny would have gone straight to the kid's parents; but considering it was past four in the morning and there wasn't a city-wide amber alert? He has a feeling the kid needs a safety net, and well? What better than a direct line to him?

"I can't just take your phone!" Tim cried, catching the phone before it could fall to the ground.

"It's my backup one. I tend to break my phone pretty often, so I always keep an extra one on me. my current number is saved on it, you can reach out and get in contact with me now." Danny waved off the kid's concern, reaching into the back of the car to grab a bag.

with how often his phone had broken during ghost fights and how frequently his parents dissected his phone for parts? It's a habit at this point to have a backup. or Ten. Pulling the bag to the front, Danny showed the kid what was inside.

"..." Tim blinked, then looked up at Danny. "why do you have a bag of broken phones in your car?"

"Because my phones keep breaking and I figured it would be easier to just keep them for extra parts than toss them. Now," Danny tossed the bag into the back, ignoring how it tipped over and spilled the contents all over the seat. He'd clean it up later. Maybe. "It's early. You need sleep, I need sleep. We can pick another day to sit down and build a game plan."

Tim sat in silence for a moment, staring at the phone in his hands, before glancing up at Danny. "You really mean it?" he asked, turning the phone around anxiously, "you really want my help?"

"kid, Tim," Danny started, tilting his head so he could make eye contact. "with how bad you say Batman's gotten? I'm going to need all the help I can get. Who better than the one who went out of his way to try and actually do something about it?"

Tim's eyes watered as he looked back at the phone. "ok," he whispered, nodding his head. Reaching up, he wiped his face clean before taking a deep breath and letting it out.

"ok," he repeated, voice stronger now. "I'll help. I want to."

"Good," Danny nodded in agreement, then smiled. "get some sleep kid, you need it."

"I don't need it," Tim grumbled, turning to open the door and get out. "but if that's what it takes for you to allow me to help, then I guess I can take a nap or something."

Danny snorted, watching as Tim closed the car door and started making his way to the gate.

as soon as the kid was out of view, Danny slammed his head onto the steering wheel and groaned. He had definitely jinxed himself earlier. How hard can being Ribin be? Yeah right. He hasn't even gotten to meet Bruce yet and he's already stressed.

...

Glancing up, Danny watched as the clock glitched then turned to five am.

...

Well then, he might as well do something productive since it was unlikely he'd be getting any more sleep if he went back. Sam would be up by the time he got there, which meant he'd have to answer all of her questions... which would wake Tucker up, which would mean Danny'd have to explain all over again.

Glancing around, Danny suddenly realized something.

Batman.

Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Bruce Wayne; as in, Gotham's own himbo billionaire.

Who lives in Bristol.

Which is where he is right now. Logically speaking, he'd be able to find it pretty fast if he just looked at the gates. It's probably just a few houses from Tim's too, now that he thought about it...

Oh, this was a terrible idea, but when had that ever stopped Danny?

Jazz was so going to kill him for this.

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theminecraftbee · 2 days

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as my frankly slightly embarrassing level of hyperfixation on survivor continues, I find myself trying to combine my two current interests in new and exciting ways. having fun imagining what the various hermitcraft guys would be like in survivor. some thoughts:

doc would ABSOLUTELY be one of the “villains” of the early season, strong and good at survival but terrible social gameplay. he would think he has fantastic strategic gameplay and his attempts to strong-arm camp to do what he wants are for the benefit of his tribe. his TRIBE would decide after about three days that they want him dead. not the first boot because he’s too good at challenges to go first but the first moment he fucks up at all he’s Gone. does not make it to the merge. is confused and frustrated by this the entire time.

scar, by contrast, is one of those players you watch and whisper to yourself “he can’t keep getting away with this”. he’s in like three mutually-exclusive alliances, but he’s so likable and charismatic you can kind of forget that his whole thing is lying to everyone all the time. every tribal council he’s in SOMEONE proposes him as the weak link in challenges and every time he’s managed to convince the tribe there’s some other, better boot. there’s probably at least one player (maybe grian) who knows he’s lying to everyone, is harboring a grudge, and has no idea why everyone keeps on going along with this man’s schemes. definitely makes it to the merge but from there it’s a toss-up if he makes it to FTC or if his dalliances come back to bite him. if he makes it to FTC though he has higher odds of losing in jury to everyone who he betrayed than he does managing to pull off a win, especially if his FTC is with people who can put challenge wins or loyalty in their speeches to the jury.

cleo strikes me as a player who ends up with an early alliance that she is doggedly loyal to until the end. probably fun to watch because her confessionals are sarcastic and she’s unafraid to insult her fellow contestants, but her loyalty to her day one crew makes her storyline come across as heroic. probably one of the better challenge players and would help carry her tribe, though she probably wouldn’t “lead” it. I can see her being the final surviving member of her alliance either in her tribe or post-merge, but I can’t see her wheeling and dealing into a new alliance if hers doesn’t end up as the majority alliance; instead, she does everything she can to save her allies, and then she goes out. a season she’d win is one where she’s in the majority alliance, seen as a lesser threat when she gets to the merge by the other players, and manages to go to FTC having made no one mad and with at least a few good plays under her belt. otherwise I see her as a late boot, but going out with her allies.

grian would make people MAD, but not in a “get rid of him immediately” way like doc. a bit of an agent of chaos, but if anything would set off grian’s bossy project manager instincts, survivor would. ends up kind of the “leader” of his tribe, both for good—he’s hard to boot early—and for ill—he pisses people off and he’s a very visible threat. I think he’d be good at finding idols and is good enough at keeping himself around. his survival I think depends on the willingness of other alliances to believe him when he flips his vote to save his skin and how good he is at keeping immunity; i think there’s not a world where he can manage his threat level well enough not to be targeted, but I think there’s a one where he manages to keep himself around despite that. if he makes it to FTC he either wins by being able to honestly say he had the best game or loses because the jury’s bitter against him, no in-between.

iskall would be one of the capital-c Characters of a season I think, whether he goes early or late. he’s friendly, decent at challenges, and, most importantly to the producers, just weird as hell enough to make good tv. probably gets more screen time than his gameplay deserves because he’s pegged as a potential fan-favorite. another player who makes a few close early alliances and sticks to them, but less doggedly loyal than cleo and more likely to seriously consider flipping. he DOESN’T, but he thinks about it. I don’t see him as a post-merge player honestly, I don’t think his strategic play is great, but I do see him as someone who gets to come back for another season to try again.

joe is already a capital-c Character. I think he’d be someone who is way too stressed out by survivor gameplay to play well, attaches himself to an alliance and then is Terrified for the rest of the game of messing up. however he’s ALSO fun as a guy and probably just Says Shit during tribal councils. that saying shit either gets him further than his gameplay would deserve or gets him booted SUPER early. he does not regret getting booted early; he wouldn’t quit but he would decide that it’s better for his heart to not be on the island. I think he’d be a surprise sleeper at challenges; not so much physically strong as someone who is VERY good at all the mental ones.

and these are just the ones I have thought of off the top of my head if anyone else has opinions. please share. this is fun.

#hermitcraft #also if you want to make a season of survivor. mcytblrsurvivor production apps end today.#but this post is mostly brought to you by me laughing about doc and scar as survivor contestants tbh

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akanemnon · 2 days

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a game that i found and like and want to shear

eastward

I frigging LOVE Eastward!

It's such a charming game and the soundtrack absolutely SLAPS! It's just sad not a lot of people talk about it.

(Old art lessgo!)

That is your cue to play it btw. Or at least check it out if you can. I am BEGGING you.

#ask #ask akane #eastward #my art

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falaihullo · 2 days

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Your beauty never scared me - Charles leclerc x reader

Warnings- none except for bad grammar

Charles has been around many models but none of them compared to y/n.

Y/n and charles had been best friends, so when he got into f1, she was happy for him. going to races until it became hard on her, Deep down he understood but he was hurt nonetheless. His head telling him, "She's supposed to support me every race, she's my best friend " leaving a bitter feeling in him.

After that conversation Charles gave up on asking her to come to races and started to avoid her.

And the truth of the matter is I never let you go

Y/nofficial

Liked by LandoNorris, DanielRicciardo, Carlossainz55 and 800,760 others

One of the two pieces I’ve been working on. Second piece’s inspiration left so might not ever get it.

User1: I need to be talented like you

LandoNorris: absolutely beautiful

Y/nofficial: Thank you Lan❤️

User2: YN wym inspiration left???

-User3: that’s what I’m saying

-user4: her and Charles haven’t been seen together in a while…

-user5: maybe they been busy(I’m crying)

Danielricciardo: stunning ❤️

Y/nofficial: thank you Danny❤️

Carlossainz55: Miss you but love seeing more of your art.

Y/nofficial: pick one sir☝️

Carlossainz55: just one race won’t hurt, maybe will bring back your inspiration.

Y/nofficial: soon 🙄

User6: y/n back in the paddock soonn

User7: more y/n Charles content

User8: girl is delusional (me too)

-There was no text or anything from Charles, it’s my fault for not being able to manage my time well but when I’m with him, it’s just easy to forget time even exist.

Y/nofficial: couldn’t leave you guys hanging while it was almost done. My inspiration changed so I changed the painting a bit. One for my person collection now.

User1: I’m not crying, I’m not crying

User2: WYM CHANGED

User3: did her aesthetics change dramatically?

-user4:yeah…

Carlossainz55: Amazing❤️

-liked by Y/nofficial

LandoNorris: You amaze me❤️

Liked by Y/nofficial

User5: maybe I’m delulu but Y/n hasn’t responded to other drivers

-user6: don’t make me cry (already am)

User7: WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT HOW THAT WAS THEIR HUG WHEN HE WON HIS FIRST GP

-user8:WAIT

-user9: she was working on painting their hug before he ditched…im crying so hard

The knock on the door interrupts me staring at whatever show was on. Opening the door, I move to side letting him in.

“For you” he says while holding out peonies, taking them from him I walk into the kitchen to set them up.

“I’m sorry for how I acted.” He starts carefully watching as I grab a glass vase.

“Yeah you’ve said you’re sorry but I want to know why instead of talking…you ignored me completely.” I calmly tell him, walking past him with the vase I start shuffling the flowers around to avoid looking at him.

“I missed you”

“You texted me everyday” I reply finally leaving the flowers alone, looking at him.

“I missed having you there”

“I’m still confused” I confessed finally just walking away from him back to where I had been sitting.

“I know, I’m sorry” he pauses sitting down next to me“I just…just have feelings for you so I was overthinking if you actually were working on painting or on a date.”

“Charles you should’ve said something”

“What do you mean”

“The painting I did was of your first F1 win”

“Yeah”

“The picture people took of our hug…” trailing off hoping he catches on soon

“Charles oh my god” I sigh looking at his confused puppy dog eyes, “ I have feelings for an idiot” smiling as he connects the dots. Putting his hand under my chin, he presses his lips to mine.

“I’ve wanted to do that for the past year” he says pulling away.

“Could’ve done it sooner” I reply.

Liked by Carlossainz55, y/nofficial and 6,300,899 others

Charles_leclerc: Her beauty never ever scared me

Y/nofficial: My love❤️

Carlossainz55: Finally

-danielricciardo: finally

-LewisHamilton44: finally

-charles_leclerc: shut up

Y/nofficial: You will never walk alone, you can always reach me

Charles_Leclerc: my love why that picture

-y/nofficial: I do what I want

Carlossainz55: finally

-danielricciardo: finally

-lewishamilton44: finally

-landoNorris: finally

-Charles_leclerc: shut up please

A/n: wrote this on my phone but will edit on my pc when I’m home from work

#f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #best friends to lovers #fala ihullo writes

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shaunashoochiebae · 2 days

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dating art!! part 2 here

side note: literally have never written for a guy in this light so. don’t eat me ty x

❀ cannot keep his hands of off you!!!

❀ yall could literally be doing anything, grocery shopping, at a bar, at a restaurant, WHEREVER and one of his hands is glued to you at all times

❀ loves talking about you to patrick, who doesn’t find you interesting all that much but nods along anyway

❀ tries to act manly in front of people to impress them but absolutely melts under your touch

❀ speaking of, he lovessss when you play with his hair!!! it’s literally his weakness

❀ “hey, art? can you go do something for me really quickly?” he looks over at you and sighs, “seriously?” and you’d pet his hair and he’d fold “yeah, okay, fine.”

❀ loves spoiling you no doubt. coming home from work/college one day and there’s a necklace on your bed with a note ‘just dropped by, left this here ;)’

❀ loves to cook for you even though he’s terrible. waking up in the morning and somethings burning, so you run downstairs and he’s just like “i wanted to surprise you with breakfast..”

❀ will try to get his way no matter what though. “c’mon, baby pleaseee?” he’d whine, his sad blue eyes only need to glance at you and you give in

❀ absolutely adores when you come to his matches!!! you think it’s just common courtesy as his girlfriend, but he thinks it’s so sweet of you. you give him a little wave as he walks onto the court and his cheeks get all red

❀ “you did so good” you’d tell him and he’d try to act all cool about it “yeah, thanks, i know” but in reality he’ll think about your compliment for the rest of the month

sorry this was so short, i can’t think of anything else to write lol

#daisy writes again #challengers #art donaldson #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fluff #challengers headcanons #art donaldson headcanons #challengers fluff #art challengers #what else do i tag this with #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x female reader #yeah those work #okay #bye!

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 2 days

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You mentioned ghoul scent markings-- can you elaborate on that? Explain it and dump any other thoughts you have about it?

So, I feel like ghoulification would heighten all of the senses (*within the confines of what tissues can remain intact over long spans of time, like centuries; we see older ghouls, especially, with things like cataracts, etc. that would would obviously impact your perception), but the sense of smell especially. Smell is widely considered to be the "weakest" of the human senses, but if you were constantly regenerating the smell receptors that are physically closest to your brain, along with having basically one massive nostril, I'd think you'd at least smell SOMEWHAT more effectively.

I've seen people assume that, as ghouls eventually lose their noses to decay, they have no sense of smell, and (absolutely no disrespect or anything) I find that sort of funny. The olfactory sense ultimately originates in the brain, like any other sense, and the smell receptors that pick up on odors are not only found in the cartilaginous parts of the nose AKA the part that would rot off.

Scent memory is also one of the strongest kinds of memory, as the olfactory bulb that processes smells is located very close to the amygdala and the hippocampus, the memory centers of your brain. For this reason, I think that many ghouls, but particularly ferals, would be incredibly sensitive to smells, even if their particular "nose" is weak from decay. I'd imagine that ferals, as they slip further and further into the sort of aggressive, rotting dementia state we see them in, would still be able to connect with some human memories through smells. I think this may be one of the things that draws them to people so easily, even when you're trying to sneak past them.

Imagine moldering away for years and years, rational and conscious thought basically lost to you, and then, for just a breath, you smell a long-lost loved one's perfume, a favorite food you haven't tasted in decades, a fresh rain after a long, long dry spell. Just for a moment...you can remember.

All that to say that I think smell would be a very big deal for ghouls. Especially the smell of people they care about. One day, the memory of that smell may be quite literally all they have left.

I'm not sure most of them would be conscious of the fact that it's scent marking, but it wouldn't be uncommon to find ghoul lovers (ghouls who are lovers AND those who love ghouls) swapping clothing, reveling in their partner's smell enveloping them and vice versa. Taking their lover around other ghouls and knowing that the fact that the others can smell them all over you means they know you're theirs. Ghouls smelling another ghoul on you and knowing all your business without you even having to say anything.

(Plus...it's just a fun excuse to not have to pull out, you know?)

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chaosbarelycontained · 2 days

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The English Captain

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, 18+, sexual content, 2nd person, no use of y/n

Words: 5.3k

Synopsis: Life is hard in the Scottish Highlands in the 1740s. When your brother, Johnny, returns after a long absence with not one but three hated Englishmen with him your relief quickly turns to fury. You couldn’t have predicted how effortlessly they would fit into your lives, particularly the handsome Captain…

(puthair = sister, mo cridhe = my heart)

Hoisting the laundry basket onto your hip, you made your way out into the courtyard, rocking slightly to compensate for the extra weight. You may have been lady of the house but in the wild, unforgiving beauty of the Highlands, everyone pulled their weight. You weren’t one for sitting idle and, with your older brother vanished for nigh on two years now, you’d had to make sure that your land and people were well taken care of. Times were hard but you MacTavishes were made of sterner stuff.

There were already a row of sheets and blankets on the line, swaying gently in the fresh breeze. You dumped your burden on the floor at one end of the courtyard and bent to retrieve a chemise from the top of the basket but as you rose a figure caught your eye, standing at the gate in the back wall. You straightened, your brain not able to process what your eyes were telling you to be true. Sheets wafted in front of you, blocking your view, and you cursed, batting them out of the way with your hand. They tangled around your wrist and arm and you yanked hard, almost dislodging them from the line in your frustration. Finally you were freed and you whipped up your head to confirm what you thought must be your imagination, but no. Your eyes did not play tricks on you. There he stood, boyish grin causing the bright, cornflower blue of his eyes to twinkle.

“Johnny,” you whispered in disbelief before taking off across the courtyard and launching yourself into your brother’s arms.

His deep, joyful chuckles resonated in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up into the air, twirling you once before setting you back down onto the cobbled floor. You stepped back an inch or two, eyes raking over his tall frame - leaner now than when you last saw him. He sported an impressive growth of stubble which did little to hide the angry red scar that traced from his ear and along his jaw and it was the sight of it that reminded you of why he left.

Anger rose quick and hot within you and you pulled back your hand and gave him such a smack across his cheek that it echoed across the courtyard, bouncing off the grey stone walls of your family home. His head whipped to the side and he gripped his jaw, wiggling it back and forth a little, but he snorted out another laugh as he looked at you fondly. You stood before him, five and a half feet of unbridled fury, with your hands fisted on your hips in an effort not to hit him again.

“It’s good to see you too, puthair,” he chortled, reaching out to ruffle your hair but you smacked his hand away with huff.

“Two years, John MacTavish. Two years since you went off galavanting, looking for a fight, and narry a word since. And then you turn up again with all your smiles and laughter as if you’d never been away?” You leaned forward slightly, your finger jabbing in his chest to emphasise your anger. “Don’t think for one moment that you’re getting the laird’s chamber back from me, you can sleep in the damn stables for all I care - you smell like you belong there anyway!”

“Definitely a MacTavish,” came a voice from beyond the gate. An English voice.

“Oh, absolutely,” sounded a second, and there was a hum of agreement from yet another.

Your hand went to the small knife that hung from your belt as your eyes darted agitatedly to Johnny and then to the wall, as if trying to see through the stones. Your brother held up his hand placatingly, although he began to look a little sheepish.

“Before you start raising merry hell, puthair, just listen,” he began, in the tone you had long known to associate with some form of mischief.

You crossed your arms over your chest and raised your eyebrow scornfully, waiting for what would surely be one of your brother’s most colourful tales. Before he spoke he called over his shoulder, inviting the owners of the voices to step into the courtyard.

“Ach, you need back-up for this, aye?” You sniffed, resting your weight on one hip and tapping your foot impatiently.

“These men are the best I’ve ever met,” Johnny said confidently. “I would not be back here now if it weren’t for them. At the least I owe them my hospitality. Gentlemen, may I present my sister, Mistress Galbraith.”

You bobbed down automatically, the politics of being lady of the house winning the battle with your anger and frustration, but the sound of that name caused a pang of grief to well up inside you. It passed over your face like a dark cloud and of course your sharp-eyed brother noticed.

“Where is Angus?” He asked. “Is he away to the village? We did not pass him on the road.

“Angus is…gone,” you said, your chin raised in defiant strength against your grief. “He passed from a fever not two months after you left, Johnny.”

“Ach, no,” he responded sadly, wiping his hand down his face. “I am so sorry. He was a good man.”

“Aye, that he was,” you agreed, “and he didn’t shirk on his duty to our land and people. He treated them with a fair hand.”

Johnny had enough good grace to look embarrassed; he had never planned to be away so long, or for his now-deceased brother-in-law to pick up so much slack.

“We are sorry for your loss, Mistress Galbraith. I see that our arrival here is inopportune. My men and I will take our leave and find alternate lodgings elsewhere. We do not wish to cause any problems.” There was a rich timbre and genuine emotion to the words and you found yourself being drawn to the speaker.

He was tall, a couple of inches taller than your brother, and bore himself proudly. A beard graced his cheeks, with a fuller moustache, and he had kind eyes beneath his dark felted cap. You took in more of his countenance but hissed at the sight of the battered and torn coat that he wore, the redness of it showing distinctly through the grime of the road.

“You’re not just bringing Englishmen to my door, John MacTavish, you’re bringing red coats? Have you lost your mind? What if the militia pass by, hmm? Do you want us all to hang?”

“Puthair, I owe these men my life a hundred times over. I could do no less than offer them place to stay and the food off my table.”

“Your table? It’s yours now, is it? Fine,” you spat, turning on your heel and stalking off across the courtyard.

Halfway to the house you halted, having heard no indication of anyone following.

“Well?” You snapped over your shoulder. “Do you want feeding or not?” With a jerk of your head towards the house you resumed your journey, a hidden smirk on your face at the sounds of four men scrabbling to follow along behind you.

Hums and mumbles of appreciation spilled from hungry lips at the food you’d set before them in the kitchen. It wasn’t great fare at such a lack of notice - cold meats, cheese, and hunks of bread - but the men acted as if it were the first proper meal they’d had in weeks. As you looked more closely at them you began to suspect that was not too far from the truth.

Through mouthfuls of bread and ale, Johnny began to introduce the men proper. There was Sergeant Garrick, Lieutenant Riley, and then their red-coated Captain, John Price. He humbly scoffed away Johnny’s attempts at explaining their escapades, saying that your brother had a talent for over-embellishing a tale. Whilst you knew the latter to be a common occurrence, there was something in Johnny’s eyes that spoke the truth. These Englishmen had risked their lives to rescue your brother from Fort William and you were grateful enough not to question their reasons for turning coat on their own army.

“Alright then, gentlemen, you may as well stay,” you sighed, as if it were the world’s greatest burden. “We have rooms enough but you’ll work for your keep, mind.” You waved your bread knife at them but your amicable threat was dulled by the blush that rose in your cheeks at the sight of the Captain’s grateful smile.

One night turned into two, and then more, and the three Englishmen became a common sight around the house and its grounds. They were with Johnny more often than not, helping out wherever it was needed, and you began to appreciate the hum of conversation and low chuckles of laughter. Your home had been too quiet for too long.

Having had the burden of clearing the supper table taken from you by the often-brooding Lieutenant Riley, you found yourself alone in your small parlour, relishing the quiet of the evening. You selected a book from the small collection that had once belonged to your grandfather, the leather-binding soft with age, and settled yourself onto one of the comfortable, overstuffed couches. You read with a rare self-indulgence, taking sips of whisky from the glass you had poured, and sighed deeply in satisfaction. Your little haven of calm was not to be such for long, however, and you rose to your feet, book in hand, when the door opened and a figure stepped inside.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Madam,” the Captain said, quietly apologetic. “I thought the room empty.”

“You are not intruding, Captain,” you replied. “I was merely reading.”

“Milton, I see?” He asked.

“Aye, not bad…for an Englishman,” you replied with a teasing tone to your voice and Price responded with a gentle, self-deprecating smile.

“It must not be easy for you, having us here.”

“I find I have grown surprisingly accustomed to the company,” you said. “This house has been quiet for too long.” You did not mean to taint your words with sadness but the astute Captain noticed regardless.

“Still,” he said, “three foreigners do not make for the ideal houseguests. I will take my leave and allow you your peace.” He placed his hand on his chest and bowed then, about to turn and leave.

“You…you may stay, if you wish,” you rushed out, making him pause. “It seems you know this book and it would be nice to have someone to discourse with. There is whisky in the cabinet too, Captain, if you would care for a dram?”

Price looked at you for a moment, as if he were searching for something, and then nodded brusquely, pouring himself a glass of Ferintosh. He took a seat at the other end of the couch that you occupied, angled to face you, and sipped from his glass with an appreciative hum.

“Considering recent events, I do not think I am able to wear the mantle of Captain,” he said with a wry smile.

“I may not care for the English,” you begin, your answering smile taking the sting from your words, “but I know that titles must be earned. No-one can take that from you.”

“Officially they can,” he said, taking another sip.

“A man should always be measured by his deeds, Captain. You brought my brother back and to me that is worth more than even the King could bestow. Now, tell me your thoughts on Paradise Lost.”

You talked long into the night, finding yourself entranced by the opinions and ideas of the English Captain. What began as an unexpected interruption continued into evenings of enjoyable companionship that you found yourself yearning for at the end of a long day running the house. At times you were joined by one or more of the other men but John Price became your constant.

Things had fallen into such a peaceful routine that the MacTavish household grew complacent and it was the panicked arrival of Rabbie, the stable boy, as you ate luncheon with your brother and his friends that sent you all into a frenzy.

“Mistress, the militia, they are…they are coming!” He wheezed, having run at full speed from the other side of the valley.

The four of you leapt from your seats and looked at each other in distress. If the militia found the Englishmen here they would be hanged and more likely you and Johnny alongside them.

“How long?” You snapped, your anxiousness making your tone sharp.

“A quarter hour, perhaps less,” Rabbie panted, bending over with his hands on his knees.

“Take a breath, lad, you did well,” Johnny reassured, patting him on the back.

You rested your fists on your hips and cast about for inspiration, chewing your bottom lip.

“We could ride…” Garrick began but you cut him off with a glance.

“There’s not enough time to saddle the horses. You’d be seen,” you said, and your brother nodded his agreement.

“Johnny,” you said, voice cracking like a whip. “Take the Lieutenant out to the water meadow. Put smocks on and from a distance you’ll pass as farmers. They’ll likely ride on by. I’ll hide the other two here and pray the thieving bastards only raid the kitchen.”

Your brother nodded, managing a laugh at your profanity despite the situation, and led the Lieutenant out of the back gate. You looked at the two remaining men, who seemed rather ready to fight, and tilted your head towards the back stairs. Without another word you guided them up towards the second floor. Reaching a specific point in the hallway you pressed on a section of panelling which moved aside to reveal a narrow stone alcove.

“Sergeant, if you would be so kind as to secrete yourself in here?” You asked, barely waiting for him to enter before you closed the panel behind him.

Despite the size of the house there were not many spaces large enough to accommodate even one burly soldier, let alone two. You paced the corridor, wracking your brain for a place to hide the Captain that you had grown so fond of. The clatter of hooves became louder as the men of the militia drew closer and your pacing became even more frantic, panic brewing at the thought of him being discovered above all others. A hand on your wrist stopped you in your tracks and you stared up into Price’s concerned blue gaze. He held his belt knife in his hand as he pulled you closer to him.

“I will not let them harm you,” he grated, his jaw set and determined.

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart began to pound with something other than fear. Your skin burned at the gentle hold around your wrist and you placed a hand against his strong chest.

“Let us hope it will not come to that,” you whispered. “I have an idea.”

Pushing him backwards into your chambers, you latched the door behind you and toed off your boots.

“What-?” Price began but you shook your head.

“Hurry now, get out of your outer clothes and climb under the covers,” you urged, turning your back to him.

A pounding on the large oak doors echoed through the house and you hurriedly divested yourself of your skirts and stays, leaving you in only your chemise. Thankfully, you heard the rustle of sheets and blankets and could only pray that the Captain had done as you asked. Loud voices and heavy footfall sounded in the corridor outside your room and then the handle of your door rattled ominously.

“Hide your face and say not a word,” you hissed over your shoulder as you waited another moment, taking the opportunity to muss up your hair a little.

Once the rattling handle changed into the pounding of a fist you hurried over to the door and, with a deep breath, turned the latch and opened it a crack.

“What do you think you are doing here, you oaf, disturbing a lady at rest?” You raged, your breathy voice and flaming cheeks giving your ruse an added realism.

The militia man before you peered over your shoulder at the moving figure in your bed and then glanced down at your state of undress. His face flamed but he maintained his confidence, even in the face of your cold glare.

“We’ve heard tales of Englishmen in these parts, Mistress Galbraith. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Does it look like I know anything about any Englishmen, Willie Morris?” You said, opening the door just that little bit wider and gesturing inside so that he could see the distinctly male clothing on the floor.

“Who’s tha- I mean- I didn’t know you had taken another husband Ma’am,” Willie said, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the man occupying your bed.

“What I do or don’t do is none of your concern. Now get out of here and make sure that the kitchen isn’t completely emptied by you and your scavenging companions,” you snarled, shutting the door in his face and fastening the latch.

You stood before the bedroom door with balled fists, vibrating with anxiety until the clatter of horses hooves sounded once more from the courtyard. As they died away a large hand landed gently on your shoulder and you turned and buried your face into the Captain’s warm chest. His arms wrapped around you, calming your nerves and he murmured words in praise of your bravery.

“I thought they would find you, John,” you whispered hoarsely. “I thought we were done for.”

“I’ve never met a soldier with such ingenuity as you,” he rumbled, his hand ghosting over the back of your head, clasping you to him as if you were his to protect.

You stayed that way, comforted in his embrace, until the sound of your brother’s voice startled you from your stupor. You opened your eyes to find yourself staring down at a pair of bare feet and legs covered only by the long tails of his linen shirt. It was then that you remembered your state of undress and you gasped, turning away from him with your face aflame.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked, moving to shrug back into your stays, resisting the urge to turn and stare, “but I would rather my honour be sullied than see your neck in a noose.”

You finished tying your skirts and slipped back into your boots before heading towards the door. As you reached for the handle so did John and your hands met awkwardly, causing you both to freeze. You looked up into the face you had grown so accustomed to in the candlelight of the parlour and drew in a shaky breath. His other hand reached out and grasped an errant strand of hair, holding it carefully, as if it were the most precious thing, and tucked it behind your ear. His fingers brushed over your cheek and along your jaw and his awed expression was one that you knew you would treasure for many a long year.

John parted his lips as if to speak but the door burst open and your brother appeared with Garrick and the Lieutenant; their relief at the sight of you was almost palpable.

“Where did you manage to hide?” Garrick asked, scanning the room.

“Under the bed frame,” you offered a little too quickly. “I convinced them I was changing the linens.”

Supper that evening was a little more raucous than usual. Even the stoic Lieutenant was into his cups and grinning along with the antics of the others, the tensions of the day obviously requiring some form of release. There were two who remained apart from the revelry, however. Seated at opposite sides of the dining table you tried to avoid paying any close attention to the Captain. Each time you caught his eye you were reminded of the warmth of his arms around you, of how tenderly he caressed your face…

You waved off any offers of help when clearing the table and tried to ignore John’s look of dismay when you announced you would be retiring straight to your chamber. Changing into your nightdress, you brushed out your hair and climbed beneath blankets and sheets that were still rumpled from your earlier escapade. You closed your eyes and tried to force sleep upon yourself but no amount of tossing and turning could find you comfortable enough. Thoughts ran rampant through your mind that you desperately tried to shut out; a gentle hand on your face, the rumbled vow of protection, the slight parting of lips that held words left unsaid.

Leaving the warmth of your bed you reached for the door handle but stopped, muttering curses to yourself as you paced nervously before your door. What would he have said if you hadn’t been interrupted? Your curiosity could wait no longer and you yanked on the door handle, pulling open the heavy wooden door and stepping out into the dimly lit hallway.

A movement at the other end drew your attention and you stilled, your heart pounding in your chest at the sight of the Captain, frozen just as you were, wearing only his shirt. He looked to be in as much disarray as you felt, his usually neat hair rumpled as if he had raked his hands through it a dozen times.

There was a moment of stillness and the world condensed into the space between you. Your chest heaved and your pulse fluttered wildly in your throat as the heat of his gaze fanned the flames of your own desire. He looked almost crazed as he stalked down the hallway towards you, his bare feet silent on the wooden boards, and you trembled with nervous anticipation.

He halted before you, a mere hair’s breadth away, his hands tensed at his sides as if he were desperately holding himself back.

“John,” you whispered, reaching for him and resting your hand over a heart that hammered as hard as your own.

It was enough to break the tenuous hold he had on himself. He cupped your cheek as his mouth crashed against yours with a desperate groan, the momentum carrying you backwards until you hit the doorframe with a soft huff of air. His other hand cradled the back of your head, making sure you were not harmed even in the throes of your passion. You wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to him as you gave in to your fervour.

Your bodies moulded together as if they had always done so and you threaded your fingers through his hair, moaning sweetly into his mouth as your kiss grew even more urgent. John’s hands slid down your body, tracing the outline of your curves through the thin linen of your chemise before coming to rest on your waist. A tightening of his fingers was the only indication he gave before he lifted you with ease. You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling him press against you as his lips left yours to trail hot kisses across your jaw and down the column of your throat, his beard scraping deliciously over your tender skin.

He broke away from you and rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathless and trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, pressing his lips reverently to your skin. “I shouldn’t have…I just could not…”

You tightened your legs around him, afraid that he might pull away and set you down and your actions caused him to squeeze his eyes shut and set his jaw as he tried to regain some vestige of self-control.

“No,” you said placing your hand on his cheek to force him to look at you, “John, please, don’t stop.”

His eyes fluttered open, meeting your gaze with a mixture of amazement and pure, unadulterated passion.

“Take me to bed,” you whispered, pulling his lips to yours once again.

Shifting his grip on you slightly he lifted you away from the door frame and carried you through into your chamber, fumbling blindly behind him until the latch was closed. By the depths of the desperation that you knew you both felt, you half-assumed he would toss you onto your bed but he did not. He crawled into the centre of the large oaken frame with you still in his arms and lay you down gently. It was only then that he broke away from you, his hands running down your sides almost reverently, skimming the edges of your breasts and across your hips as he sat back on his haunches.

John ran a hand over his face and he let out a huffed sigh of disbelief at the sight of you laid before him, your hair spread in a halo around your head. You lifted your hand and grasped the bottom of his shirt, pulling him down to you but the anticipated kiss did not come. His lips ghosted across your cheek, along your jaw, his beard leaving a tingling trail on your skin. You gathered more of the fabric into your hands and lifted, pulling the linen over his head with only a little assistance.

You let your hands wander down his defined chest, tracing the outline of his muscles and ran your fingers through the dark hair that decorated them before finding his face once more. His eyes never left yours, boring into you with such a passion as you had not felt in years and you almost squirmed beneath him as desire and impatience collided.

You felt his hand on your knee, firm yet gentle, gliding up over your soft skin and lifting your chemise with it. It was no effort at all for you to shuffle your hips and release the fabric from beneath you, allowing him to draw it over your head and bare yourself to him.

He whispered a curse, his eyes flying back to yours, the blue of his irises darkened to a storm-filled sky.

“Are you sure, my sweet heart?” He murmured thickly, scanning your face for any signs of discomfort.

“If you do not put your hands on me, John Price, I fear I will combust,” you replied breathily, raising your eyebrow in challenge.

Your words had the desired effect and his face brightened into a delicious smile.

“Well then, I mustn’t leave my woman wanting.” He smirked, leaning down and nuzzling into your neck.

“Say that again,” you breathed, arching into his touch.

“My woman,” he growled, nipping along your collarbone and when he slotted his lips against yours you met each tantalising stroke of his tongue with your own.

Your hands touched and explored every part of each other, ardently stoking the flames of your desire until they threatened to consume you both. Cupping your breasts in his large hands, calloused from years of toil with his regiment, John teased your nipples into firm peaks with his thumbs, sending a flash of heat straight to your core. You moaned into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip as you scraped your fingers down his spine before venturing even lower to squeeze the taut muscles of his arse.

Impatient and eager now to feel him inside you, you pulled away and scanned over his face. John looked as wild-eyed and breathless as you felt, his lips moist and kiss-swollen beneath his moustache. Gripping his hefty bicep you scooted backwards up the bed, pulling him half on top of you as you lay back and carded your fingers through his thick brown hair. He trailed his fingers over your soft belly and your hips, marvelling at the tingling goosebumps they left in their wake. The simple sensation of his warm skin against yours had you shivering with pleasure and, by the growing hardness that pressed enticingly against your thigh, you knew John felt the same.

You used the hand on his face to guide him back to you and he nudged his nose against yours with a smile of such heat and affection that it caused something to bloom to life in your chest. John’s hand trailed lower, closer to your core but he held your gaze almost in challenge, wanting to watch every nuance of expression on your face. He was not disappointed for, when his fingers slipped between your slick folds, your eyes widened and then grew heavy-lidded as he worked over your most sensitive spots, drawing out whimpers of pleasure from your lips.

Lowering his mouth to yours once more he rocked his hips against you in search of friction to soothe the ache in his cock. A gentle yet determined hand against his shoulder urged him to lay back and he went willingly, with your soft lips planting kisses over his jaw and down his neck. To his wonderment you moved your leg over his body and lifted yourself to sit astride his thick thighs. By his expression you thought he would have stared at you all night but his eyes fluttered closed and he groaned in pleasure as you took his cock in your hand, stroking his shaft in a tantalising rhythm.

Lifting yourself up onto your knees, you lined up the head of his cock with your entrance. John’s eyes flew open and he hissed out a curse as you began to lower yourself onto him. The delicious stretch as he filled you had you moaning salaciously and your head lolled back when you reached his base, stilling for a moment to relish in the feeling. Your name spilled from him in a cry of pleasure when you started to move atop him, circling your hips around as you raised them up and down. His hands gripped your waist, in truth to steady you both.

You gazed down at him, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes as you writhed above him. One of his hands left your waist, sliding down to tease the sensitive spot at the apex of your thighs, rubbing tight circles around it as you ground down harder against him. He bucked his hips, meeting you stroke for stroke, and planted his feet on the bed for extra purchase.

“Yes, John, yes” you gasped, gripping his thighs, your fingers leaving indentations in the hard muscles.

Your brows drew together as you began to lose yourself to the sensations running through you and your movements became almost frantic. He reached up to caress your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and finger, matching the rhythm of his hand between your legs and it was that which sent you over the edge of your pleasure.

Biting his cheek to stave off his own pleasure for a few short moments, John slowed his thrusts and eased you through your climax before pulling away just in time to spill his release over his abdomen with your name on his lips like a prayer.

You collapsed to the side of him with a breathless giggle, reaching behind you to pass him a crumpled shirt to wipe himself with. Nuzzling into the crook of his arm, you could feel John’s heart beating as rapidly as yours. He squeezed you tighter for a moment before loosening his hold to pull out the blankets from beneath you and covered you both. He wrapped you in his arms once more and pressed a kiss against your damp forehead.

“Have no fear, I shall sneak out afore morning,” John murmured softly. “But I would beg a few more sweet moments with you until then.”

“As lady of this house, Captain, I do declare that there will be no sneaking.” You poked his ribs playfully, earning yourself a deep chuckle. “I take no shame from this, mo cridhe, and any who say otherwise will not be welcome here.”

“No sneaking then, sweet heart,” he said, with a kiss so soft and gentle that your heart ached. “I could dream of no greater honour than to stand by your side, if you so wished.”

“I wish it,” you whispered, sinking blissfully into the arms of your English Captain.

#call of duty #captain john price #john price x reader #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #price x reader #john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you

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deerspherestudios · 2 days

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Small(or not) what if scene 👀 What if Mushroom Boy didn't have the ability to hypnotize people, but just read their minds???

Like an AU where his powers are different? I'll indulge since the scenario does seem interesting! 🍄

If Mychael didn't have hypnosis but instead read minds under cut:

Mychael's hypnosis is pretty much his main go-to for survival. As a pacifist (or at least he tries to be) the fastest way to de-escalate a hostile situation is throwing a hypnosis blanket over the threat and make them docile/non-aggressive. If it has a mind he can manipulate why go about it any other way? And keep in mind it's a one-way street. He can feed thoughts into your head but the only way he knows it's working is you reacting externally like with your words and actions.

But suppose he can't manipulate minds but only read them? I think it would shift his entire personality. Knowing people's true intent and what they think of him would change his survival behavior. Instead of placating the threat directly and just force people to accept his presence (albeit under mind control), he'd have to adapt on the spot more often.

He'd have to say and act in whatever way that would earn others' trust enough so they won't hurt him, or just turn and run if he feels like they're out for his blood. He'd be more manipulative, less open and honest, and wear several more masks than he already does now. He'd never give away that he knows what you're thinking at any time, since that's basically his only tool to survive so he wouldn't give up that information easily.

And I imagine after hearing "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT" over and over and over every single time he meets someone new, he'd just accept nobody wants him at all. So would he even begin to yearn for company? Absolutely not.

This was a really fun scenario so I made a quick doodle just highlighting their main mindsets:

#mushroom oasis vn #mychael ask #doodles #“small or not” DEFINITELY NOT BESTIE #bro i rambled AND drew something for an ask???#crayzee #i just cant stop thinking abt it sdfh he would be SO different if he didnt have his hypnosis ability #THANK YOU FOR SUCH A NEAT ASK!#update: someone pointed out i forgot the ears for mind reader mychael whoops #ears have been returned to their rightful place <3

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 days

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Hey I think there’s a risk of that BPD poster getting badly triggered by the results of their submission. I don’t know them, and I don’t have a say in how you run this blog, but I just want to say it concerns me.

Let me preface this by saying this is a very kind and caring impulse to have, and I appreciate people like you.

However.

It has been my position from the start of this blog that I am not going to second-guess submitters' decisions about their mental health and what they're able to handle emotionally. If you have sent in your story, I'm taking it on faith that you have analyzed how it would affect you to have that story judged on the internet and I'm not going to presume I know better about your own needs and well-being than you do. This is because, and I'm going to let you in on a rare piece of actual information about me: I am also a person who cares deeply for others and worries about them getting hurt. And I realized early on that I absolutely categorically cannot let that impulse get the better of me, or I will not be able to run this blog. So, I've put that one out of my hands. If the submitter does find that seeing judgments on their actions is bad for them, they can message me to have it deleted. But until that happens, I am going to assume they got it handled and let them handle it. It would feel presumptuous and condescending of me to do otherwise.

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gloomwitchwrites · 2 days

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Would love to see something on possesive/protective Alex Keller if you're up for the challenge! Otherwise let's go Soap! 😍

While I know Alex Keller from the game, I’ve never written for him, but I have written for Soap (a lot!) so I’ll be talking about Soap’s possessive/protective behavior.

Most of these headcanons are with gn!reader with one or two exceptions. Enjoy!

Content & Warnings (MDNI): possessive/protective behavior (obvi), suggestive themes, one brief NSFW headcanon at the end

Word Count: 536

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 1k follower event masterlist

Of all the 141, he’s not really one to hide his emotions or be silent about something that he doesn’t agree with. He’s fairly upfront, but in private, I can see Johnny being more protective/possessive with his significant other.

In public he might put an arm around his partner to show that they belong to him, but behind closed doors, Johnny is marking them. Loves bites are his specialty, and he always puts them in spots where no one will see them but him and his partner.

Johnny prefers it when you wear his clothes because it leaves his smell behind on your skin. It’s just another way for him to mark you, and while you might notice, Johnny does, which means others do.

While out shopping, running errands, etc., Johnny likes to act as a buffer. While he’s good about giving you plenty of space, he is also good about picking up on when others might get to close to you. Johnny is really spot on about making sure others respect your bubble. They can get in his, but not yours.

When it comes to social gatherings, events, and parties, Johnny is the life of the party, and he knows that you’re there to have fun too. While he will genuinely leave you alone to spend time with others, he is always keeping a close eye. If someone is being overly friendly, Johnny will step in but he’ll always be polite the first time. Second time? Not so much.

Sometimes Johnny can’t help himself when the two of you are out. If the two of you are at a party, he might insist that you sit in his lap.

Johnny’s protective/possessive instincts skyrocket if you’re pregnant. While he’d usually never outright act on these tendencies in public, he’s more likely to do so when you’re carrying his child.

Johnny would absolutely lean down to inhale your scent when its been too long.

Maybe it’s the stresses of his work, but sometimes Johnny can’t help but see danger everywhere. He doesn’t always fall into this headspace—and it can often be difficult for him to get out of it—but it certainly activates those instincts. He’s more likely to stand close to you, to give the people around the two of you the “stink eye” if he thinks they’re far too close (they usually aren’t).

Touching you in public is a show of possession. This could be something small like an arm across your shoulders but could also be his hand planted on your butt.

PDA is another way Johnny shows possession. He might hug and kiss you openly in front of others, and if he’s feeling really bold (especially after a few drinks) he might even smack your ass.

In public together, Johnny keeps tabs on you, making sure you’re always in his line of sight. Otherwise, if you’re going out somewhere, he’ll keep a close eye on his phone’s “find my” feature, making sure you’re safe and where you should be.

For a more NSFW headcanon: Johnny loves nothing more than finishing inside you, knowing that you’ll only do that for him. Might even pull your hair and call you “mine” during the act.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @miaraei

@coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @sapphichotmess @enfppuff @berarenado

@saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @thewulf

@lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien

@sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

@tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior @dakotakazansky

@talooolaaloolla @hantheconqueror @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah

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rreids · 2 days

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LIAR • S. REID X READER

gn reader; fluff despite the title; unestablished relationship; kissing; a little banter; like ~1k

Rossi’s house was beautiful. Even having been over dozens of times, you find yourself drawn to explore and wander on the property to admire the architecture.

It’s also a good excuse for when you’re found out for having left the gathering, well over thirty minutes ago. You step out to be alone and catch a breath, and when Morgan or JJ finds you? Just one quick ‘oh, I just got distracted by this part of the stairs and its railings! I had been reading about the origins of this style and why it grew in popularity, do you want to hear? was enough to get a polite smile and your peace and quiet back.

Unfortunately, this tactic didn’t work on Spencer.

“What are you doing out in the garden?”

“Just looking at the roses!” You smile up at him sweetly, bat your lashes. “I heard there are new roses being bred to have more natural resistance to insects. You think I should talk to Rossi about it? He complains that his bushes get eaten.”

Spencer hums. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Just… um, just in an article. I forget where I read it.”

He levels you in his gaze. “You know, you’re an awful liar.”

“That’s not true,” you mumble, turning your chin down and to the side. “I’m great at lying.”

Spencer chuckles. “Really? And you’re proud of it?”

“Mhm. They call me the best liar in the West.”

“You live in Virginia.”

“And, somehow, I’m still the best in the West. So I’m really, really good.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Can I meet the people saying this? I doubt they’ve met many liars, if you’re their golden standard. Because, as a profiler, I think you’re an absolutely awful liar, __.” You pout and turn to meet his gaze again. “You’re an open book. Everything’s laid out on your face.”

You try to school your expression quickly but fail, smiling and laughing softly. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah,” his voice is softer now. You can’t put your finger on what’s so different, but it has you relaxing without meaning to. “You wear your heart on your sleeve.”

He takes a step closer — just one — but your breath hitches slightly. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth radiating off him, a nice contrast to the night air, and smell a mix of wine and his cologne.

“Maybe it’s just to me.” He sounds like he’s come to a revelation, in a way, features relaxing into the beginnings of a small smile.

“What?” you manage to ask, voice remarkably level for the way your heart is beginning to race as you study the shape of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the softness to his features among all the sharp angles and signs of age. As you look into his eyes, eyes that are clearly studying you, you see them somehow glow with a warmth and fondness that makes you ache.

“I think you’re only this open with me,” Spencer answers, voice softening impossibly more as his fingers wrap around your wrist. He can feel your pulse thrumming with your nerves and your hyperfocus on the way his thumb rubs your skin soothingly. “Why is that?”

“I’m open with everyone I care about.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “But I don’t think you’re like this with everyone.”

“Like what?”

“Vulnerable.” You don’t speak. You can barely even breathe. He’s so close to you. “I think,” his eyes drop briefly to your lips. “That you want me to understand your feelings. That’s why you wear your heart on your sleeve, don’t filter the truth of your opinions or thoughts from me.” Spencer’s head tilts down and to the right slightly. “You want me to see you.”

You nod. “Yeah.” It’s breathless, airy and a barely there whisper. “I do.”

Spencer kisses you.

Your fingers grab the sides of his jacket and pull him towards you with a weak tug. It’s everything you could have wanted, that you could dream of — that you have dreamt of, waking up hopelessly alone and frustrated when you realize none of the tenderness in his touch was real. It is like he sees you. Understands you.

His rhythm matches yours perfectly and smoothly, no awkward clashing of teeth or weird bumps of noses and foreheads. Just soft kisses that build and build, give and take in equal parts until both of you are breathless. He pulls back first, and your eyes flutter open to see red spots high on his cheekbones and a sparkle to his eyes.

“__,” Spencer whispers and you nod, hands still fisted in the fabric of his clothing. “Can I ask you a question?”

You tug him a little closer, smile as you say “you already did” before nodding.

“Am I right in thinking you would like this to happen more than once?”

You let out a sound that’s a mix of a scoff and a laugh. “No.” You can’t even believe your own lie, and he just grins. “Of course I do, Spencer. But you’ve got to at least take me out to dinner,”

He kisses your smile away and pulls back when he’s unable to tamper his own enough to kiss you properly. “Would you like to go to dinner?”

“You’re not full of carbonara?”

Spencer shakes his head. “I still have some room. I can manage some shitty fast food and fries over a milkshake. You know anyone who’d be interested?”

You smile. “Depends on the milkshake.”

“Chocolate, of course,” Spencer brushes hair off your temple.

You hum. “With whipped cream and you have a deal.”

Spencer smiles. “As long as the cherry on top is another kiss.”

It was. Along with another. And another. And a lipstick mark on his cheek that he told you he would get tattooed. Your horrified expression had made him laugh, and he told you he was a far better liar than you.

unfortunate but true: local girl has forgotten how to write and lost any semblance of a style she had going. i hate how this came out much like everything else i have written recently. big feeling of: i will never have a compelling way of writing that hooks the audience and feels natural everything is stilted and bad and not descriptive in the way i want.

#my works #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff

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