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mrcowboydeanwinchester · 24 days

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🧡 The Past and Pending 🐎

jo & young claire fic - 4.7k - rating: G - canon compliant - read on ao3

Jo watches the family hold hands over her shitty bar food and close their eyes in grace, in prayer. Even when they’re all hungry they take the moment to thank their god for their meal. Claire looks like a little blonde angel as she mouths along to her father’s amen. Jo supposes she once looked like that, too.

16th May, 2004. Nine years to the day since Jo's father's death, she is nineteen and working her usual shift in the Roadhouse bar. The Novak family stop by during a summer storm as they travel through the state, and Jo has the chance to bond with a seven year old Claire over horses, their love for their fathers, and leather jackets.

written for my 2024 jo's joyous birthday celebrations!! prompts were orange, horse girl, and leather jacket, which were fun to weave in. enjoy <3

read below the cut!

16th May 2004.

It’s been a slow day at the Roadhouse, the tepid May heat turning beers warm but the bouts of summer rain keeping Jo from her usual restless walks outside. The bar is gloomy and a little stifling and it’s nine years to the day since the death of her father.

By the evening Jo is working the bar, in view of the entrance. Every time the door scrapes open and the creaky floorboard goes, she is hit with one of two alternating images. The first is her father, home from his hunt, leather jacket fitted on his solid body with a smile on his face. His arms are spread wide waiting for her hug. Each time it is not him, she is forced to remember how his leather jacket is hanging emptily from a hook behind the bar and that every time she pictures his face she gets it a little more wrong.

The second image is of Uncle Bobby, hunched and sad, his grief silhouetted in the doorway light as he brings the sorry news. Her dad’s leather jacket in his hands, all that was left of him. What news does he bring this time? How many dead? The first image fills her with sorrow, the second with fear, both memories rising to the surface on the anniversary like crumbs in beer.

Jo mindlessly wipes down the bar, any tears that land on the countertop instantly disappearing beneath the cloth. It’s just one of those days. Ellen is in the back, unpacking the delivery that came in the morning, also quieter than usual. At least they’re not screaming at each other. That’s something.

The front door scrapes the floor as it swings open and Jo is called back to the present. She brushes her eyes once with the back of her hand, the one holding the rag, as if she’s only wiping sweat from her forehead. When she turns to face the new customers Jo knows no one will be able to tell she was crying. She’s good at things like that.

“Heya, what can I get for you?” she calls over the bar, and then instantly sighs as she sees the newcomers. Neither of the images in her head have materialized, but a third, more frustrating one has: civilians.

A man and a woman, married, but still fairly young, hover uncertainly in the doorway. The wife’s hair is that uninteresting midway between blonde and brunette, cut sensibly to her shoulders but clearly styled. The husband’s hair is much darker and would probably curl if not for his serious and slick side parting. The first thing Jo notices about them is their hair because this is the most immediately interesting thing about them; other than that, they look incredibly boring. Normal.

Then, from behind the man’s legs, peers a young girl. A child with a sweet tangerine gingham dress and curious eyes, maybe seven or so. Jo watches the girl take in the Roadhouse, with its burly, surly hunters hunched uninvitingly over tables marked with the questionable stains from fights and alcohol which make every surface slightly sticky.

The husband is shaking his head, gesturing round at the bar with a displeased hand. “We should go,” Jo catches him saying, “this isn’t our kind of establishment.”

Jo is too used to this happening to be offended. Besides, she always thinks why cater to civilians anyway, when they’re a hunter bar first and foremost?

But the wife stands her ground. “She needs to eat, Jimmy. We all need a break, we’ve been driving for so long. And the sooner we get home, the sooner we outrun that storm.”

Jimmy sighs, then nods. The trio shuffle awkwardly towards the bar, the child nervous at her father’s heels. She’s very blonde, as blonde as Jo.

“I know we look like it, but we don’t bite,” Jo says, mainly to the girl. She earns the trace of a smile for her troubles.

Jimmy has the decency to look a little regretful. “I’m sorry, it’s been a… long drive. We haven’t had to travel quite this far before.”

“Well, that’s what the Roadhouse is here for. What can I get you?”

The options are limited, so it doesn’t take long for the family to decide on burgers, fries, and juices all round. Jo manages to keep her face straight at the drinks order. Most of the Roadhouse clientele would drink the rainwater outside rather than order fruit juice. If it wasn’t obvious enough already, the glimmer of evening light making its way through the window catches on the cross pendant visible through the open top button of Jimmy’s collar, and confirms the family’s faith.

They go and find a table, choosing one by the window, to sit and drink their juices at. Jo sets about sorting the rest of their order, pottering about between the kitchen and the bar to serve it all up.

She’s halfway through plating the fries when movement catches the corner of her eye and she spins to see the young girl clambering up one of the high stools at the bar, the seat teetering a little under her weight.

“Hey,” Jo says, maybe a little meanly. Mostly caught by surprise. “What are you doing?”

The girl’s face falls into a round, guilty oh as she finally settles, kneeling, on the seat. “I just wanted to see what was behind.”

Jo nods, calming now that her initial panic at the girl’s movement has subsided. “That’s fine, just make sure you’re careful up there, alright? It’s a tall seat and you’re a—a small little body.”

“One day I’m going to be bigger and every seat in my house is going to be a tall seat,” the girl decides with a jut of her chin.

The comment hits Jo at such an angle it cracks her, and she barks out a laugh. “Sounds like a plan, kiddo. What’s your name?”

“Claire,” she answers. Then, with the precision of a child who has had politeness strongly instilled in her, asks, “and what’s yours?”

“Jo.”

“I thought that was a boy’s name.”

“It is,” Jo says. She gets a familiar burst of pride with it, but it feels awkwardly shallow with Claire looking up at her, so she follows with, “but it’s a girl’s name too. My full name is Joanna-Beth.”

Claire breathes a little woah . “That’s such a pretty name.”

“Huh. Um, thanks,” Jo manages. She’s never liked it, the way her mom only uses it in anger, the way her dad never used it. Joanna-Beth is someone else. Joanna-Beth is a bad daughter. Claire, though, doesn’t know any of that.

As Jo’s cheeks tinge pink, Claire’s mom comes hastening over, ready to lift Claire down from the bar stool and back to the table.

“Is she distracting you? I’m so sorry. Claire, love, come on—”

“No, it’s fine, really,” Jo placates earnestly. “I really don’t mind it. I was enjoying our chat.”

Claire beams at her. “So was I, mommy.”

Claire’s mom looks between the two of them—Jo wonders what goes on in her head as she does, two such naive-looking girls set against the backdrop of the Roadhouse—and then nods. “Well, you just give me or Jimmy a shout if you need a hand.”

“Thanks. I’m not great with kids, so I might need to,” Jo answers with a smile. It’s the truth; she’s never had much practice.

The woman raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Well, you seem to be doing a good job so far.”

Jo nods, unsure what to do with the praise.

“I’m Amelia, if you need me,” supplies Amelia instead.

“I’m Jo.”

“It’s short for Joanna-Beth,” Claire pipes up, the awe still palpable in her voice.

Amelia laughs, nodding, and runs a hand through Claire’s sleek pigtails. “Pretty name,” she tells Jo, before heading back to her husband at the table.

It’s the complement of the hour, it seems. Jo nods again, head bobbing unassuredly like one of the lame figures in Ash’s room, as she gets back to plating up the meals under Claire’s careful surveillance.

“You’ve got horses on your butt,” Claire says after ten full seconds of silence.

“What? Oh,” Jo laughs, turning in vain to glance at the horses embroidered over the back pockets of her jeans. She found them in the thrift store in town. They weren’t cheap, the horses stitched in mid-gallop over the pockets boosting the price considerably. But it’d felt wrong to leave the horses trapped in the sterile light of the thrift store. They deserve some warm lighting, Jo’d thought, where they can complete their run for freedom when no one is looking. The jeans are just a tad too small, so the plushy middle of her stomach bulges over them slightly, but she tries not to mind it. Anything for the horses.

“Do you like them?” she asks, wiggling her butt a little, much to Claire’s delight.

Jo normally keeps her movements minimal, behind the bar, knowing how hunters’ eyes glue grossly to all the places she’d least like them look. She often feels like somewhat of a dancing monkey because of it, but here it’s an innocent movement with no repercussions other than Claire’s laughter.

“They’re so fun. I wish my dress had horses on like yours,” Claire says with a plaintive sigh which sounds amusingly beyond her years.

“You like horses?”

Claire nods eagerly. “For my next birthday mommy says I can have a riding lesson.”

“Woah! That’s so cool!” Jo says, and she’s genuinely quite excited at the idea. “I’m jealous, I wish I could ride. Then I could saddle up and go wherever I wanted all by myself.” California, she’d decided sometime long ago. Or maybe Arizona. Just somewhere west of this wasteland.

“I’ll come back and teach you once I know,” Claire answers, so earnestly Jo knows she fully believes it.

Somehow, she can see it: Claire with her little arms crossed staring up at Jo perched precariously on a horse, calling instructions up to her. “I’d like that,” she says with a grin. “Where will you ride to, once you can ride absolutely anywhere?”

Claire considers the question deeply, the cogs whirring away visibly behind her eyes. “Well, I’d have to teach daddy and mommy how to ride too. I don’t want to go anywhere without them. But then I don’t mind.”

Jo hums. It’s a cute image, the three of them as one family riding off into the sunset. Not lost, because they’re together. It feels distant, familiar in the way the memories of a dream are; foreign. Whenever she has those fantasies of riding away now, she’s alone. She supposes that wasn’t always the case.

“That sounds real lovely,” she finally gets out, staring down at the burger she has started stacking. She hadn’t really realized she was doing it, just running on automatic. Thinking of her father and running on automatic, the story of her life since she lost what Claire still has.

But Claire’s concentration has dwindled and she wriggles in her seat. “Are you going to be done soon? I’m starving .”

“Hey, you’re the one distracting me!” Jo rebuts, shaking her head clear with an exaggerated sigh for Claire’s benefit. “But tell you what, I have an idea to help you grow bigger so you can always sit on the tall seats.”

“What?” Claire asks, perking back up with excitement.

Jo hunkers down to Claire’s level on the bar, resting her chin on her arms so they’re completely eye to eye. “If you help me carry the food to your table it’ll be like lifting weights and then you’ll get big and strong,” she says, voice low like she’s letting Claire in on a secret.

“You mean it’s ready?”

Jo pulls away with a roll of her eyes and fishes the basket of burger and fries from the countertop to present them on the bar. Impatiently, Claire reaches out to grab one, but Jo bats gently her hands away.

“Hey, kiddo, gotta get down from the seat first.”

“I can do it myself!” Claire protests.

But still, she doesn’t struggle as Jo comes around from behind the bar and helps lift her to the floor, Claire steadying herself against Jo’s arms. Once her feet have touched the floor, she prods at Jo’s toned tricep again with a podgy finger.

“Your arm isn’t soft,” she points out, rather frankly.

Jo gives her arm a squeeze in the same place Claire just did, to feel for herself. She always thinks she is too soft, too willowy; china doll in a bull farm. So although she trains as much as she can, shooting with her bow and arrow in the yard and sparring with the other hunters when they pass through, it never feels like enough. At least Claire thinks differently.

“It’s because it’s all muscles,” she explains. She give the smooth, plushy skin of Claire’s arm a gentle poke in return. “See, you just haven’t got any yet.”

Claire frowns as she squints down at the difference between them. “I didn’t think girls could have muscles.”

Sometimes Jo looks at herself in the mirror and wishes she’d never trained at all. That she looked like all the other girls her age. Even like Claire. Here she is, jealous of a seven year old, yet knowing that this world of comparison is what Claire will inevitably grow into. Distantly and regrettably, she reminds herself of her mother.

“All girls can have muscle if they want to, and train enough,” she says, trying to keep her words on an even keel. It feels important. But she attempts to imagine little Claire in her gingham dress with muscly arms and fails.

Claire giggles, gorgeously oblivious as she jabs at Jo’s arm again. “None of the girls at school or Sunday school are like you, Jo.”

Her throat gets a little dry. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Just a thing,” Claire notes absently, before taking the basket of greasy food from Jo’s distracted hand and sauntering over to her family with it clutched tightly in her fists. She hands it straight to her dad, who runs an affectionate hand over his daughter’s head.

“Thank you, sweetheart, this looks very lovely,” he says patiently, as she scrambles over him and onto her own seat. “Have you been kind to the nice lady?”

Jo doesn’t like that word but doesn’t have time to deal with that, recovering as she is from Claire’s rapid-fire insights. She follows the kid to the table and slides Amelia and Claire their portions, receiving grateful smiles from both Amelia and Jimmy.

“Thank you,” the family chorus, their voices naturally falling in a pleasant harmony.

Jo’s voice is lonely in comparison as she asks if she can get them more drinks. They turn down the offer and thank her again, Claire’s eyes glued to her food now that it’s properly in front of her. Slowly, Jo returns to her spot behind the bar, unabashedly gazing at the family from across the room.

She watches them hold hands over her shitty bar food and close their eyes in grace, in prayer. Even when they’re all hungry, when Claire has confessed dramatically to starvation, they take the moment to thank their god for their meal. Jo doesn’t think any food prepared by her hands is really worth it, but the prayer comes out in a low and sincere murmur from Jimmy’s mouth. Claire looks like a little blonde angel as she mouths along to her father’s amen . Jo supposes she once looked like that, too.

The next half hour passes with little incident, aside from a repeat round of whiskey for Shawn, Jake and Caleb in the far corner. Jo mainly watches Claire and her family eat their blessed dinner and chat, the flow easy between them. They don’t talk like most people in the Roadhouse do. They sound posher, somehow, their sentences free from apostrophes and curses. Jimmy eats his burger with a knife and fork.

Another shower of summer rain falls, the noise heavy on the Roadhouse roof. Jo expects it to pass, but instead the weather settles like that, a consistent rumble over the bar. The storm she heard Amelia mention earlier must have caught up with them, despite their desire to outrun it.

Jimmy and Amela must notice this too. They peer out of the window by their table into the ever-murkier evening, resignation growing on their faces.

“We need to make a move,” Jimmy says. “Get ahead of this before we get stuck.”

As if to emphasize the point, a crack of thunder echoes out around the Roadhouse. The sound travels potently over the flat Nebraska plains and the din of the first clap gives even the hunters in the corner a start. Claire lets out a small yelp and buries herself into her father’s side.

“It’s just thunder, sweetie,” Jimmy pacifies.

Claire mumbles something into his middle in return, but Jo can’t make it out.

“You guys finishing up?” she asks, walking over and clearing the baskets. “I’d head out before it gets worse.”

“Yes, we’d like to,” Amelia agrees, “but someone here is a little bit scared of the thunder.”

“I’m not scared,” Claire grouches, lifting a protesting head from her dad’s chest. Jo knows a liar when she sees one, knows it as she knows herself. “I just don’t want to get wet.”

Jo choses bravado and Claire choses nonchalance, but it looks like they both bury their fear. She remembers the performances she used to put on for her father to show she was capable enough to keep up with him, how loved it made her feel when he believed in her. An idea, easily shattered, starts growing in her mind, and she surges forward with it before it can break.

“So we gotta get you out to the car without getting wet, hmm?” Jo poses quizzically. Claire looks at her suspiciously, but nods along. “I have an idea,” Jo draws out, hands on hips. “We’ll have to go behind the bar to make it work…”

Claire leaps up from her seat, curiosity winning out over anything else. Jo hasn’t even got to ask Amelia and Jimmy’s permission, their looks of gratitude are already enough. They start gathering their jackets as Jo leads Claire around, to the tantalizing world behind the bar.

“Cool,” Claire whispers. It’s the closest thing to slang she’s said all day.

Jo smiles despite herself, then readies to go through with her idea. She’s sharing the one thing of her father’s which is truly hers. If it were anyone but Claire, she wouldn’t be doing it, but something about Claire makes it feel different—makes sharing feel more like a gift which grows rather than diminishes.

“This,” Jo says, gently lifting the supple material from where it hangs dutifully on its hook, “is my daddy’s leather jacket.”

She takes a deep breath and kneels beside Claire, offering the leather up to her for her little hands to touch. Despite the warmth of the day, the leather is still cool, and Claire’s smile grows as she slides her chestnut-sized palms along the smooth material.

The leather is brown and worn, but still in pretty pristine condition for a jacket now going on thirty years old. Jo doubts Claire even notices the small set of hand stitches around the collar from when she stupidly tore it and needed to fix it up. It had taken her a whole afternoon tucked away in her bedroom to stitch it back together, but she’d played her dad’s vinyls the whole while and the time had spun away quickly. Even her mom was impressed by Jo’s handiwork, in the end. This jacket is the one thing of her dad that Ellen lets Jo keep, and Jo keeps it well.

Claire’s blue eyes are wide and wondrous in her head. “It’s very nice,” she says shyly.

Jo smiles. “I know. And it’s really special to me, because my daddy isn’t around any more, so we’re going to take good care of it together.”

“Why isn’t your daddy around?” Claire asks, her forehead wrinkling with the question. She’s a kid clearly trained in courtesy, but the constant frankness to her questions give her a harder edge. If the questions didn’t sting so much, Jo would love it about her. Claire continues, “my daddy loves me so much I think he’ll be around forever.”

“Well,” Jo says carefully, slowly, stringing her words along the tightrope of her taut throat. “Sometimes it’s not a choice. My daddy died nine years ago.” She swallows the ‘today’ she could add onto the end of that sentence, feeling that detail might be a little too much for both of them in this conversation. “Here’s something I find very important to remember: just because someone leaves, doesn’t mean they stop loving you. And it doesn’t mean you stop loving them.”

Claire looks as if she might start chuckling, but then catches onto the sincerity in Jo’s tone. Her mouth falls open slightly and her plump fingers squeeze tighter at the leather jacket. “I don’t want my daddy to leave me.”

“I bet he won’t,” Jo says, placing her hands over Claire’s. They’re so small beneath her own. Warm too, like holding a little heart between her hands.

Jo looks up at Claire, at her sandy blonde hair tied neatly into pigtails and the pretty orange gingham of her summer dress. Seven years old and so sure her daddy will never leave her. It is only the crystal blue of Claire’s irises that differ from the umber of her own, but even then, Jo supposes that they both have their father’s eyes.

“I think we’ve got the best daddys in the world,” Jo whispers. “They love us all the time. When they’re out at the shops, when they’re away with work, when they’re up in heaven. They love us right now.”

She swallows, hard, blinking away the tears that are refracting rainbows in her eyes. There’s a burning in her throat but she’s glad she managed to say those words, to finally get them out into the precious ears of a young girl. She smiles. Her vision is still slightly watery but clearing when she realizes Claire is giggling, a sweet blush on her cheeks. Her laughter is light and bubbly, like a stream tumbling over rocks in the sun. Like if Jo bathed in it, she would feel clean.

“Come on, we can use my daddy’s leather jacket as an umbrella to run out to the car,” she says, the idea finally coming to fruition as she stands back up again and dusts the Roadhouse floor muck from her knees. “I’ll hold it over your head so you don’t get wet.”

Claire rolls her eyes, something Jo wasn’t sure seven year olds knew enough to do, but apparently so. “But then you’re going to get wet!”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m big and strong! I can take some rain.” Jo makes a performance of flexing her arms, the odd proportions of her wide-muscled shoulders and lean frame suddenly a cause for celebration rather than insecurity when looked at through Claire’s eyes.

“Hmm.” Claire ponders hard at Jo’s words, those cogs visibly turning again in her brain. “Okay. But you’ll have to be fast to keep up with me!”

The kid makes a dash for the door and is surprisingly speedy on her little legs, her gingham dress swishing behind her. Jo starts after her, pitching both arms upwards so the jacket hangs from them like a tent over Claire’s head. They dash out the front door and into the delicious rain, giggling all the way until it turns into full belly laughter. The lights of the car flash when Jimmy unlocks it, and Claire kicks up water as she runs to fling open the backseat door. Jo’s jeans are splattered with it, but the rain is coming down in sheets so her whole body is soon soaked through anyway.

Another roar of thunder booms across the open space but Claire doesn’t even notice, too busy sheltering under Jo’s jacket as she scrambles up into the car. Jo slides the leather jacket on to free up her hands and help Claire wriggle into the backseat. The girl is a step ahead of her, and clicks her seatbelt into place with a smug little grin at Jo.

“See, I am faster than you!”

Jo laughs, feeling rainwater pool in the corners of her mouth as she does so. “Okay, you win. But I did help keep you safe from all the horrible rain and thunder.”

“Yes, you did,” Claire concedes graciously. She clearly has a self-righteous streak. Smiling, she opens her arms wide for Jo to hug her, but Jo backs away.

“I’m very wet still, I don’t want to make you damp after all this.”

“Oh, okay,” Claire says, looking crestfallen. “But I want to hug you anyway.”

Jo pauses. “You sure?”

“Of course!” Claire says, the words come on, silly, evident in her tone.

Jo grins, and wraps her drenched, leathery arms around Claire. Squeezes her tight. With her face buried in Claire’s hair, she inhales the strong and familiar scent of strawberry shampoo, the kind she used to use when she was small. She’s got a young girl’s warm body in her arms, and the scent of her dad’s leather and her childhood shampoo mix in the May evening air.

“I want to be just like you when I grow up,” Claire’s voice whispers in her ear.

Jo wants to sob, but doesn’t. She instead gives Claire one last, big, humongous squeeze and untangles herself, her arms leaving damp patches across Claire’s dress. Claire doesn’t seem to mind, she’s only seven.

“I was just like you when I was small,” Jo manages to reply. She doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing anymore, or if it’s just—as Claire said—a thing. Some small part of her feels like she’s damning Claire as she says this, to a life like her’s. But then again—maybe it’s just a thing, and her life is neutral. There does not have to be a curse to pass on. She smiles. “It’s been really nice to meet you, Claire.”

“And it was nice to meet you too, Jo!”

They do a final high-five (Claire’s hands only spanning Jo’s palm) before Jo steps back into the rain proper, closing the car door in front of her with a wet thunk.

The driver’s door opens and shuts beside her, Jimmy having climbed behind the wheel. Amelia’s footsteps splash around to the far side of the concrete and then the whole family is sheltered in the car, safely stowed together behind the windows.

In the low lighting of the Roadhouse sign, for a moment Jo looks into Claire’s window and only sees herself, rain pouring down her face and shoulders wide enough to fill her father’s jacket. Then the driver’s window rolls down and Jo steps to meet it.

“Thank you,” Jimmy says. He has dark hair and a face she will meet again. “You were very good with her. Your parents should be proud.”

Jo goes to shake her head but then allows herself the nod, to tentatively agree. Her wet hair is plastered to her scalp, but the rain isn’t cold; it’s just right.

“Have a safe journey,” she calls. Then repeats herself as the man revs the engine so Claire, winding the window down too, can still hear her. “Have a safe journey!”

To where, Jo realizes she isn’t quite sure.

Both her and Claire wave like wild things as the car turns back out onto the road, Jo chasing the car for a few meters, to Claire’s growing grin. As the car pulls away Claire’s blonde pigtails are the last thing Jo can make out of her.

She stands there, in the parking lot outside the Roadhouse where the dust is being beaten into the road by the summer rain. The taillights of the car rumble out of view and Jo still stands, waving, unsure if she’s just met the past or future, until her mother comes and beckons her inside.

#i started writing this yesterday and so it's slightly rough BUT i stand by it all !!#this concept is so precious to me. my author's notes on ao3 go into that with more detail #this most defintely exists in the same universe as jo daily btw <3 fun to write her a little younger than i have before!#and write jo interacting with children... my heart #anyway i hope you enjoy reading another roadhouse jo fic from your roadhouse jo girlie #jo harvelle #claire novak #jimmy novak #jo & claire #spn fic #spn women #josjoyousbday #ola writes

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valiantstarlights · 9 months

Note

Heya! I'm the facesitting Hob anon (Never thought I would introduce myself that way)

Thank you for fulfilling that ask. It got me through a hella rough week at the office.

Hello, face-sitting Hob anon! 😊 Nice to see you again 🥰

You're very welcome, and I hope you'll only have good days ahead of you. ✨️ In the meantime, I wrote more personal trainer Dream AU face-sitting stuff to give you more good vibes 😊

So! As thanks to Dream for humoring(?) him about the face-sitting position, (not knowing that Dream is actually very into it) Hob plans a surprise for Dream on the weekend. 🥰

Dream has been working really hard lately, and Hob notices him absently massaging his stiff shoulders. So what does any good boyfriend do? He looks up massage therapy video tutorials and buys massage oils with calming properties.

When the weekend comes, Hob tells Dream that he wants to give him a full-body massage, and Dream bluescreens at first because his mind is living 24/7 in the gutter when Hob is involved. 😂 But as soon as Hob explains, red-faced, that the goal is relaxation and stress relief, and look, he even bought some lavender massage oil--

Dream falls in love with him more. 🥰

And like, Dream does go to chiropractors occasionally, but having his lovely boyfriend spend his free time learning massage therapy, buying massage oils, and dedicating an entire weekend afternoon just so Dream could feel better??

(They get sidetracked for a while because Dream has to show his appreciation first with ten thousand kisses and a schmoopy make-out session filled with 'I love you's and 'you're amazing's and 'I'm so lucky's.)

Anyway. 👀 Once Dream is dressed down (naked except for a medium-sized towel covering his pelvic area), Hob has him lie on the bed face-down, and starts massaging him beginning from the top.

Hob is very focused in his task. He's an academic at heart, so you know he took notes and dragged Jo and Ric to review his skills until he's deemed good enough. (Ric is very thankful for Hob's shoulder massages because life as Jo's manager is very stressful. 😂)

Dream is horny, of course he is, but his boner surprisingly takes a back seat as he lets Hob do his thing. He's a natural at this, and Dream feels very lucky to have such a thoughtful, caring boyfriend. 🥰

When Hob gets lower, though, he starts to become a blushy mess. He often clings to Dream when they have sex, and he remembers quite vividly some of the times when his nails would leave red marks on Dream's body, but especially on his back when Dream fucks him into the mattress.

But he manages to massage Dream's entire back area, including his arms, legs, and feet without stopping halfway and begging prettily to be fucked. He's so dazed that when he goes to wash his hands, he realizes that he forgot to tell Dream to turn over. 😂

Anyway, once he returns, he apologizes for spacing out and has Dream turn to lie down on his back.

Dream goes to do that without complaint, feeling relaxed and even a little sleepy. But then he sees Hob's flustered face, and him squirming when Dream slightly flashes him for a second while adjusting his towel, and it has him alert and wide-awake in 2 seconds flat.

And now Hob has to massage Dream's front while having Dream looking right at him, knowing exactly what's going on inside his mind. u///u)

It's a very tension-filled hour. Because while Hob is adamant to finish the job as professionally as he could, Dream has no qualms showing off his oiled body and asking Hob to massage certain areas more, like his pecs, which has Hob straddling him if he wants to be able to massage them properly.

So we have Dream, eyes dark and intense, and Hob, biting his lips hard so he can focus on his task instead of being reduced to a horny mess, because this hot guy he's currently straddling is in fact his boyfriend, and they could stop at any point and just go straight to fucking if he just says the word.

(Hob isn't going to say the word because he's the one taking care of Dream for once, and a relaxing full-body massage is something that Dream actually needs.)

(Dream thinks he's adorable and also how he wants so badly to be the one biting Hob's lips.)

As Hob's hands steadily move downward, his blush spreads and he looks away every time his gaze lands on the towel, where he could clearly see the outline of Dream's hard cock on it.

And maybe Dream comments that now Hob knows what Dream goes through every time they have a gym session where he's supposed to act professionally.

Maybe Hob replies with an apology for making things hard for him, and Dream smirks at his wording and uses that comment to shift his hips a little. Just enough so Hob could feel just how hard he currently is for him.

Maybe Dream even says something along the lines of, "Once you have finished, I would very much like to show you what I have been imagining ever since I turned over and saw how needy you look."

(Hob wants to protest that he is not needy, but that would be a blatant lie. He's also hard and leaking inside his cotton panties, and Dream looking and sounding seductive is not helping at all.)

Hob (miraculously) manages to finish giving Dream a non-naughty full body massage. 👏 He immediately flees to the ensuite and washes his hands, trying desperately to calm himself down. He knows he has to face Dream again, and he has to remember to ask him what he thinks. Was Hob's kneading too rough? Too gentle? Maybe there are areas that he didn't pay enough attention to?

Once he exits the bathroom, though, he forgets literally everything he's supposed to do, because Dream is still on the bed, but now he's lazily jacking off. Hob moans involuntarily at the sight, then slaps his hand over his mouth. How shameful!

But Dream just smiles and beckons him closer, and states very casually that he wants Hob to sit on his face again, except this time, he wants him to sit while facing the headboard. Why? Because this time, Dream wants Hob to just feel good without worrying about getting Dream off. Dream is fine. He's already feeling good. And now he wants to reciprocate.

Hob wants to object because the entire agenda this afternoon is making Dream feel good, period; but he can't bring himself to say anything when Dream adds that he wants to reward Hob for his hard work. Not just for the actual massage, which was wonderful, but for everything that came before. Watching tutorials, taking notes, buying oils, etc.

With some more coaxing and reassurance, Dream gets Hob to undress shyly for him, and Hob very carefully maneuvers himself up and up on Dream's body, until he's straddling Dream's head while facing the headboard. He is blushing all the while, and the lovely shade reaches his gorgeous hairy tits.

As soon as Hob lowers himself, hands and forearms firmly on the headboard, Dream reaches up and starts massaging Hob's tits like he has been wanting to this entire time, his hands still a bit slick from the oil. And while he's doing that, he's also kissing Hob's hairy thighs, murmuring about how much time he spent since Hob sat on his face for the first time, wanting so badly to do have Hob sit on his face again.

Having Hob's weight on him, feeling his body's little twitches, his legs trembling and squeezing the sides of his face, Hob's taste on his tongue, hearing Hob's sweet voice moan his name so prettily--

It's the best.

Hob hides his face behind his hands and implores Dream to stop talking because he already feels so close just from his words alone.

Suffice to say, after that entreaty, Dream goes to town on him.

Hob tries to hold most of his weight off Dream, even as Dream's clever tongue licks and laps at his hole, and one of Dream's arms holds him still so he cannot squirm away. Hob's arms are shaking in his effort to do so, and his legs have started to shake as well.

And then he hears slick sounds behind him, and when he turns to look, he sees Dream with one hand around his thick cock, getting himself off as he eats Hob out. Hob salivates, wanting to taste Dream as he gets eaten out, like last time. It's always a heady feeling, tasting Dream's delicious cum. It always makes him want more, and he feels like a cumslut when sucking him off.

And that's when Hob's arms give out, the visual proving too much for him.

Dream, sensing his opportunity, pulls Hob even lower, making him sit his entire weight fully on top of his face, and really tongue fucking him like rent is due.

Hob mewls at Dream's show of strength and cums as soon as Dream's tongue reaches deeper. And Dream, cock in hand, groans and cums a few seconds after Hob does, tongue still inside Hob, getting rhythmically squeezed by his rim.

(Do they make this an every weekend thing? Not really, because sometimes Hob has to attend an academic seminar, or Dream has corporate meetings with his siblings, but Hob does schedule hours of massage time for Dream every once in a while, and Dream always looks forward to those days, because he almost always get Hob to sit on his face once they're done.)

(And of course, Dream relearns his massage therapy lessons and massages Hob as well. 🥰 Those sessions are usually interrupted midway though, because Hob is still so sensitive to his touch after all this time, and Dream can't help but fuck him until his toes curl for being so sexy. And fucking midway through does have the added bonus of massaging Hob's round ass and seeing his own cum trickling out, so really, it's a win-win situation.)

#personal trainer dream AU #I almost typed this tag without the word 'trainer' in between 😂#now wouldn't that be nice? 😏#ask and you shall receive #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #good job my thumbs

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kiddycup · 10 months

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heya, I just posted a detailed breakdown of my comic process alongside my rambling thoughts abt it. you can check it out on my ko-fi if you're a part of my members tier patrons (it is just four fifty a month to see everything I'm working on!!)

#artists on tumblr #indie comics #comics #wlw #ko fi memberships #ko fi support #queer art #ko fi promo

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tenderribcage · 9 months

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heya heya, apologies if someone asked asked this before buuut

is Cain's name a play on "cane"? also is there any ~Cain and Abel~ significance to it?

btw hiii I've been following your stuff for a good while now, I'm very soft about John and his brobro (apologies of that's not like. the right name or anything. I'm gonna be honest I only went snooping to find out recently and drew some conclusions from there given the designs shown in the burn for you animatic)

Burn For You is a very, very old animatic!! It's been a hot second since I've updated anyone on John-boy and Koen, but things have majorly changed, and for the better! :))) I'm so glad you asked about them! Jo-Ann (originally John-Boy) goes by she/her pronouns! She has a twin brother named Jim-Bob, and their master/caretaker is Koen Murphy, the vampire king >B)

As for Cain, yes! It is both a pun on the word cane, and also a eerie reference to Cain and Abel :) Fun fact, his brother's name is Abel!!

#chronictale

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octoberautumnbox · 2 months

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Heya, can I ask for a Jo Yuri all-time vocals appreciation post? :>

Contrary to popular belief I'm not as horny for this girl as I let on, more than anything else I'm really enamored by her vocal ability and how she carries herself both on and offstage. I have huge respect for her as an idol and actress and I'm very much in love with who she is as a person :))))

This is Casualty of Love, originally by Jessie J, which she covered twice before this that I know of (can't post those bc UA):

She also covered A Poem Titled You by Taeyeon in a show called Reinterpretation (I think Chuu was supposed to appear in this too?) and as for original songs you really should listen to my namesake 가을 상자 and Rolla Skates

She may not be a very notable idol or vocalist compared to everyone else and that's fine if you think that, but she holds the #1 spot in my heart for a good fucking reason <3

#jo yuri #octoberautumnbox #have a yuri

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leonsliga · 8 months

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Heya Bri, I was wondering what your best gifs/pictures of Leon are to stomach his (hopefully short) dfb lay-off? I’m extremely lucky to be able to go to the Germany-France match but still feel incredibly sad that Leon won’t be there and need some happy Leon content to cope

Heya :) hmm…happy Leon, you say? Your wish is my command!! I think we all could use a little happy Leon in our lives lately, so hopefully these help soften the blow of that DFB layoff 💜 this is gonna be a long post, so I’ll include my gifs below the cut:

And here’s one last addition to my Leon care package: some very smile-heavy gifsets 💌

Cuddling Pep Guardiola

Wedding vows to Bayern

You’re at your best when you’re having fun (goofy!Leon gif compilation)

Meeting Nina Chuba

Bearded Leon appreciation

Laughing at Thomas’s shenanigans

Giggling with Max Meyer

First Bayern Oktoberfest

Goofing off with Serge

Getting silly in Telecom ads

Facing the press

MEISTER SAMMA

The votes are in: Leon has the biggest upper arms in the squad

Discussing his midfield partner Jo while glowing uncontrollably like a schoolgirl with a crush

Das ist mein Pokerface

Locker room shenanigans with Jo, Thomas, and Manu

Baby Schalke Leon

Imparting wisdom on the next generation

😊 personified

Hearing Jo’s voice

A true model

An arteest 👨🏼‍🎨

Heart eyes for Jo during wer kennt mehr

Hopefully these lift your spirits, even if it’s just a little bit 💜💜💜 that’s so cool you’ll be attending the Germany-France match!! I know Leon’s absence absolutely sucks and I’m sure you’ll miss him, but I hope you have an amazing time regardless!! Say hi to Die Mannschaft for us, ok?

#anon 💖#leon goretzka #fc bayern münchen #fc bayern munich #fc bayern #die mannschaft #dfb team #dfb #german nt #germany nt #my asks #gif asks #bri’s gifs

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wormstacheangel · 2 years

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Suptober Day 11: Drag

Dean’s favorite day of the week was Saturday. It was usually his busiest day considering Charlie's bookstore held a bunch of Queer events that day and his cafe gave discounts on every purchase but he couldn’t wait for that day to come back around.

If he stood by the display food he could get a view of the reading area where every Saturday morning, just about brunch time, there was a Drag Queen Story Hour for the kids. It was a big community effort that they got the place so crowded but just about a month ago, the most beautiful man started to show up with his kid.

Dean’s only interaction with him was taking his order of an iced mocha cold brew while his daughter ordered an iced hot chocolate, chocolate milk at this point. He knew the little girl’s name was Claire but the handsome Dad has remained a mystery. Same order, cake pop and all, and then they will disappear until next Saturday.

This time though, Dean was determined to make a little bit of small talk with the hot dad. Maybe slip in his number with a free slice of pie. There was never a ring on his finger so there was no harm in a little flirting with the single dad.

“Dean!” Someone whispered close beside him before he felt a slight pinch on his side, making him jump just a little. “Hot Dad is walking this way.”

Dean met the familiar gaze from across the room, watching as he was being pulled right over to the cafe area of the bookstore.

Another pinch from Jo is all he needed to stumble his way over to the register, his gaze never dropping until Dean could let out a stupid breathless, “Hi.”

Hot Dad smiled back before saying hello back. “Um, Claire wanted her snack first this time.”

“Oh!” Dean picked up the plastic kid-sized cup, writing Claire’s name with little flowers around it. “Iced hot chocolate for Claire, right?” Dean addressed the little five-year-old who gave him a thumbs up before quickly adding the extra whip cream with a serious look that Dean matched. Then Dean looked back at Hot Dad, “And what name should I write on your Dad's cup?”

“Oh, um, I’m her Uncle actually but just Cas is fine.” Cas then looked at Dean’s name tag before looking back up at him with a shy but devastatingly handsome smile. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean winked at the man writing his number down beside Cas’ name, “Heya, Cas.”

#suptober22 #wormstachewrites #if youre reading this i was gonna make jimmy the drag queen

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writer-zie · 8 months

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INBOX STATUS MEANINGS

OPEN: open for requests, asks, and everything else!

L-OPEN: open for everything, but responses will be quite delayed.

R-OPEN: open for everything, but I don't reccomend sending anything, as I might not reply to it for a long time.

CLOSED: please don't send stuff

----------——

Heya! Zie here! I write for the fandom and ships below (assume I write for the character if their name is in a ship):

The Uncanny Counter:

Ji Cheong-Sin x Reader (AKA: adventures of Yeong-Nae[1], [2], [3], [4])

Ms. Chu x Chairman Choi

Ms. Chu & Ga Mo Tak

Ga Mo Tak & So Mun

Ga Mo Tak x Reader or OC

Hwang Pil Gwang (possibly)

Alice In Borderland:

Honestly depends on what yall ask, but I don't write for Heiya, Ann, Kuina, Risa, or Usagi(unless it's both her and Arisu), nor do I write smut, maybe suggestive content but no smut :/

All Of Us Are Dead:

Lee Cheong-San x Reader or Nam On-Jo

Lee Su-Hyeok x Reader or Choi Nam-Ra

Yoon Gwi-Nam x Reader or OC

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wh1msic4alwasab1 · 1 month

Note

heya jo! i would like to request for body shots/food play with gallagher 🤭

here’s the link 🤭 I ACTUALLY JUST GOT HIM TODAY TOO OMGGGG

#anon #asks

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twofrontteethstillcrooked · 1 year

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Suptober 31 Oct.: Costume

When Dean hesitated, Cas added, "I don't have any party food on hand, but I do have a pot of homemade vegetable soup we could heat up." As if to emphasize the point, a sharp breeze bore down on them, and both he and Dean shivered.

deancas ust, full au, no hooky-spooks, human cas + real toddler jack

Extra thank you’s and a million full sized candy bars of her choosing to @winchester-reload for all the wonderful prompts and running Suptober once again! It’s been a ton of fun. 🧡 Happy Halloween, everybody! 🎃

Unlike the woods, Dean's porch was neither lovely nor deep and was in fact currently festooned with about 900 feet of orange and black crepe paper, but it was mostly dark, despite the orange and purple twinkle light filtering through from inside his living room, and it would suffice. He sat heavily on the swing he'd installed a few months ago and focused on the bass thump of whatever monstrosity Ash was spinning. Occasionally someone would make a spooky howl or send up a cheer, probably when someone else drank something that might have been on fire.

Dean was glad the party was a rager. He just didn't actually want to attend it. Out on the porch it was him, the crepe paper jiggling in a damp wind, and a half dozen plastic skeletons hanging off of the gutters. Respite.

Something was picking its way up the shadowy walk to the porch steps. Dean crept over to say hi. Before it reached the stairs, the creature let out a pitiful cry; Dean's arm hair literally stood on end. The wail was so much that of a child, he felt his heart crack open.

"Dean?" a deep voice asked.

Dean almost tripped over his own stack of pumpkins. "Cas?" He flailed around for the flashlight on his belt and clicked it on.

"Hello, Dean." Cas waved as the narrow spotlight fell upon him. He stood at the bottom of the steps holding an unhappy bundle. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Sitting the flashlight upright on top of the banister, Dean clomped down the stairs, buoyed by pure relief. "Heya, Cas. No problem."

In the skittering moonlight he could see Cas was, predictably, still wearing his usual: trench coat, loose tie, suit almost a whole size too baggy. At the comic book store Dean owned, Cas was known as an unintentionally consummate Constantine cosplayer. Dean's business partner Charlie had informed them recently that Cas's shtick was additionally cool because kids today – she used air quotes – loved Columbo. Cas didn't seem any more aware of who Columbo was than he ever had Constantine, but he didn't also didn't seem to mind.

Tonight, he had an accessory.

"Hi there," Dean said to the toddler in Cas's arms.

The little ladybug, maybe two years old, rubbed his eye with his knuckles and scowled at Dean.

"This is Jack, my godson." Cas wiped a few lingering tears off of Jack's face gently. He lowered his voice to say, "His daycare class didn't take a nap today because they had a Halloween party."

"Oh, buddy," Dean said, rubbing Jack's velvety back. "That's rough."

Jack peeked at him and finally started to give him the smallest of smiles.

Dean smiled back. And smiled at Cas, whose return smile, though tired, was the best thing Dean had seen all week.

Of course, it was only Monday. But Cas was pretty much always the best thing Dean laid eyes on. Dean hadn't been able to figure out where the line was – Cas had become a loyal customer, and wasn't there something a bit skeevy about using that pond to fish in? And he immediately corrected it in his head, 'cause Cas wasn't just a customer. He was a friend. He'd spent as much time in the shop's reading nook talking to Dean about any and everything for the last year as Lisa or Benny or Jo had, and smelled better and was nicer to look at and was all around funnier than the three of them combined.

No offense, Dean thought, remembering that those friends, as well as four dozen others, were somewhere in his house, crunching monster munch and slurping up a thousand dollars' worth of poison apple punch.

"Your firefighter gear seems to still fit," Cas said.

Dean looked down at himself, the turnout coat and pants dusty with past soot and current cobwebs, the yellow-toed boots he'd only worn half a year before early retirement.

"Does it provoke any nostalgia?" Cas asked, tone respectful and curious.

"Nah." Dean took off his heavy helmet and scratched his fingernails over his sweaty scalp. Ahhh. "I mean, honestly – some days I miss being a big damn hero, yeah." He noticed that Jack was suddenly fascinated by the helmet. "But the time was right for me to go, so. I went." He held out the helmet and Jack's eyes grew even bigger. "You wanna try it on?"

Jack nodded, and sat up in Cas's arms a bit more. Dean put the helmet on his head carefully but didn't release it. Jack's entire skull was covered down to his shoulders. The toddler started giggling and it damn near made an echo, the helmet was so much bigger than he was. Dean whisked it back off of him and Jack squealed.

Cas bounced Jack once and Jack collapsed in more giggles on his chest.

"Uh oh," Dean said, "I think the slap happies have arrived."

"Oh yes," Cas said. "We are familiar with that this time of night." His tone was wry but his eyes were merry.

Dean couldn't look away. His stomach fluttered at the realization that Cas wasn't looking away either.

"Oh, hey. I haven't even invited you guys in." Dean glanced up the stairs. A lot of people were leaning against his living room windows, and someone had changed the orange twinkle lights to a disco setting – blink blink, blinkblinkblink. He recognized the opening chords to "Bela Lugosi's Dead" so at least Ash's taste had improved. Another thought occurred. "It might not be overly, um. Kid friendly."

Cas chuckled. "That's okay. We just wanted to stop by and say Happy Halloween."

"Hoppy Hallofeen," Jack mimicked in his tiny voice.

"I didn't realize trick or treating ended so early," Cas said. "We were going to visit a few houses but I think it's just as well we've almost missed the time frame."

"Would you mind the company?" Dean startled himself by asking. He gave a small cough. "I know a couple of places near here that are a sure thing even this late."

Cas looked at him like he was offering to pay for Jack's college tuition or something. He tipped his head. "Aren't you the host of this party?" He pointed up the steps.

"Yeah, but Sam'll take care of things. It's his house too."

Sam was in there somewhere dressed like a pirate for the third year in a row.

"I thought he moved out ahead of the wedding." Cas adjusted Jack to his other hip.

Dean sighed. "Yeah, he has, technically. But the wedding might not happen."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I put my RSVP in the mail Saturday." Cas's eyebrows drooped with concern.

"Sam invited you?" Dean smiled involuntarily at that. "Nice."

"He's become a good friend too. I always look forward to our book discussions at the shop. But I didn't know there were…problems between him and Eileen."

Dean shook his head. "Well, there aren't, really." He swallowed down that needling, hollow feeling that rattled around in his chest every time he thought about Sam and Eileen being on the other side of town, in their own little world, doing their own things. As far as Dean was concerned Sam wasn't old enough to buy beer yet, or vote, or join the military, or have a mortgage payment, much less a wife or, potentially, some day, a kid of his own. He shook his head again. "They're fine."

Cas gave him a long look with soft eyes. "You're welcome to join Jack and me tonight, if you'd like." He looked down at Jack, who was half asleep, clutching onto Cas's coat lapel like a baby monkey. "Though I imagine it'd be best if we skipped the candy grab."

Dean made an executive decision. "That sounds great. Are you parked down the street?"

"No, we walked over."

"Wait, how far away do you live?"

Cas looked away for a second and seemed to have to tap some inner strength. "I live over on Elmwood."

"Dude," Dean said, eyes popping. "That's not even half a mile away. You've lived half a mile away this whole time we've known each other?"

The apples of Cas's cheeks were pink. Dean tried not to be gleeful or lewd about it inside his own head.

"We've never…" Cas cleared his throat. "We always meet up at the shop, so. I didn't want to outstay my welcome."

"First of all, come to the shop any time. All day, every day. You could do your work from home stuff there, if you wanted. I'm not gonna mind, and neither would Charlie. Secondly, we live like nine blocks apart. This whole thing where we've been doing classic-movie marathons over text is finito effective immediately; we're doing the next one in person, for pity's sake." Dean flailed his hands and huffed for emphasis.

Cas bit his lip for a second. "All right." He squared himself. "Well. Soup."

They'd traveled a few blocks when Cas said, "You know, you're still a big damn hero as far as I'm concerned. You run a shop that's a safe space for everyone who's in it, which is children a lot of the time. I've seen you call in favors from all sorts of people to help customers who're having a hard time with any number of things – paying rent or having enough to eat or dealing with rotten families. Or just needing their car's oil changed." He waited, like he thought Dean might respond.

Dean wanted to, but his throat hurt too badly. Under a street light he paused and Cas paused beside him.

"It's just a little shop that sells comics and old records and posters of Wonder Woman," Dean said finally.

Cas looked at him with the utmost kindness in his eyes. "You know it's more than that."

Dean wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. "Sometimes it's a place for nerds to argue who would win, Thorn versus Hulk."

Jack perked up and started making growling noises and beating his fists on Cas's shoulder.

"That's right," Dean encouraged. "Hulk smash!"

"RRRRRRrrrrr," Jack said.

Cas gave them both tolerant looks. Jack hid his face in Cas's chest, giggling.

They kept walking. Another block, and Dean was able to say quietly, "Thanks, Cas."

"You're welcome." Cas bumped into him. Probably by accident. After five more minutes he stopped in front of a small brick house with an autumn leaf wreath on the door, a light-up jack o'lantern in the window, and a swing on the porch. "We're home," he said, glancing at Dean.

The phrasing rattled around in Dean's brain for a moment, but he found himself once again unable to look away from Cas.

Oh, he thought. Yes, we're home.

#suptober22 #deancas #destiel #spn #fic #snippetfic #suptober

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leopardom · 6 months

Note

Heya I hope you feel better soon, I started following you for BC and I'll stay no matter what 💕 you helped me get into JO as well, you're a gift to the fandom and I luv u

now this is too kind, but thank you for the words 💜

#ask #anon

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b1mbodoll · 8 months

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Heya gabi 🩵. So quick question, u write for &team hyung line….does that include Yuma? Also can I be ❄️ anon if it isn’t taken.

I’m new to ur blog so I also wanna give some love 🩵🩵🩵🩵

hii of course u can be ❄️ anon !! and yes it does include yuma! jo as well but i havent written anything for ‘em yet :p

#♡.signed. sealed. delivered.#♡.sweetheart: ❄️

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one-and-lonely16 · 1 year

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Heya!!! How are you on this fine day :DD How have you been? Also i cant do the tag thing rn but thank you for tagging me :D you said you could go into intense detail yes? Please do if u wanna :D

omg hey! im doing pretty decently today :) oh thats fine, do it when u can. and now my explanations:

lance - literally so me. like whenever i write him, i am projecting onto that man so hard u dont understand. hes so easy to write bc i just write how i would react in those situations. and there are so many things he says in the show where its just "same"

reki - the way he gets so excited about things, the whole "tried so hard at something to perfect it, finally got it then someone i know got it so quickly and everyone focuses on them". those heavy reki-angst eps in sk8 hit me hard

luz - the not fitting in, being very out there, again just her mannerisms with things, crushing on amity, her need to help all her friends and fix everything even tho she cant

amy march - this one was very difficult but just the way she had such big dreams only to realise thats not how the world works and it would probably be best if she settled. also the whole "so i'm giving up all my foolish artistic hopes... talent isnt genius. and no amount of energy will make it so. i want to be great or nothing" is very much relatable. used to think i was jo but i think i a bit of both tbh

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sleepy-achilles · 1 year

Note

Currently in work but need to put in this ask before I forget:

Hbtaker and baby john fluff, when john is first opening up to taker being his dad 🥲

I adore the young Shawn being a wrestler and a dad and just being the best at it.

The Family of Destruction- Big changes.

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

Shawn was stressed as it was, he didn't need more shit with the hart boys. "Again! Again!" He hears his young son chant. Shawn turns from his bag to see John sat on Kevin's shoulders. "Ah I'm sorry buddy but me and uncle Scott have a match. But look, papas back" Kevin smiles lowering the boy. John runs up and hugs him. "Hey papa" johns smiles. "Hi baby. You have fun?" Shawn asks running his hand through the blonde locks. "Mhm! Lots." John nods. "You alright?" Kevin asks Shawn. "Yeah..just tired." Shawn sighs. "Alright, see you in a bit" Scott calls. Shawn just nods and turns back to his bag.

"Am I gonna be able to see gramps before we leave?" John asks sitting on the bench. "Uh.." Shawn glances at the clock. He still had to shower. "Maybe. I can't promise that." Shawn admits before looking back at his bag. "Okay papa" John accepts. Shawn can't help but smile. What did he do to deserve John? The boy suddenly let's out a quiet squeal and rushes off. "Jo-oh.." Shawn trails off as he looks to see John stood infront of the wwes deadman.

Taker glances down at the boy. "Hello takes!" John beams. Taker can't help but crack a smile as he kneels down. "Hello John. You behaving?" Taker asks taking his hat off. "Of course I am!" John smiles, nodding his head as all kids do.

As shawn watches the pair he can't help the way his heart skips a few beats. It did hurt though. The man barely looked his way but would gladly smile at his son.

Shawn shouldn't be thinking about it. His mind was already a mess today.

Taker glances at shawn. "Ill watch him when you go shower." Taker states. "Oh..really?" Shawn asks quietly as Taker stands, lifting the boy. "Of course. You look like you need some quiet time." Taker nods. "Thank you" shawn whispers, his cheeks heating slightly. Taker can't help but smile.

Maybe this could be the start of something beautiful.

------------------------------------------------------------------(yes I'm sorry, that's the end of baby John as technically John is a tween (ish) when Shawn and taker finally reveal the truth. Dont ask, i hate timelines. They never work for my ideas)

John yawns as he walks down the halls. "Heya kid, you going to meet your pa?" Kevin asks. "Mhm, why?" John asks. "Ask him to meet me after his match okay?" Kevin asks. "Sure thing" John nods before continuing.

He reaches the kliqs lockeroom and pushes the door slightly before pausing at the voices inside. "We don't have to tell anyone." Taker sighs. "Thats not true. I have to tell John. Especially if your serious" Shawn whispers. "Okay. We tell John. He deserves to know." Taker agrees. "I just..the last relationship I had that he knew of..didn't end well...I don't want..-" "I promised you, I'm not him. I will never let harm come to you or John." Taker promises. John's heart races as he watches Taker hug his Papa. "I love you Shawn. Both of you." Taker promises.

John jerks back from the door. Oh wow. He always dreamed that something like this would happen, either with taker or Kevin. But for it to actually be happening? Mad.

John composes himself and knocks the door. "Papa?" He calls before walking in. "John" Shawn smiles standing infront of taker. "Whats going on?" John asks. "Um me and taker wanted to talk to you about something..something important" Shawn states. "Okay?" John murmurs. "Me and your pa are dating." Taker gets straight to the point. John's eyes widen slightly. "Seriously?" Shawn snaps at him. "What? You wanted to awkwardly beat the Bush?" Taker asks. "Around the Bush and yes" Shawn sighs. "Are you really dating?" John asks. "Yes, we are. Is that okay?" Shawn asks. "Okay? This is awesome! So does that make you my dad now?" John asks with a big smile.

Shawn is now in shock. "Oh no. Shawn will alway-" "always be my papa. I don't have a mom but I have papa and well that means there's room for a dad. Well I do have a mom i just don't think she wants me" John rambles. Taker kneels infront of him. "Her mistake honestly. Your a great kid and if that's what you want, then that's what I'll be. It will take me sometime but I will try my best" Taker tells him. "I sometimes call uncle kev dad. Will that upset you?" John asks. "No. I understand he's been there a lot longer than me. I would expect you to view him as a father figure." Taker nods. "Are you gonna marry my papa?" John asks. "Whenever I can" Taker nods. "What about other kids? Can we finally get a dog?" John asks. Taker smiles. "I can get you a dog. You will have to wait a bit for a sibling" Taker chuckles. "I can wait." John nods. Taker smiles.

Shawn? Shawn is watching them with tears rolling down his face. Taker and John have been close for awhile now, he knows that, he just didn't think John would be so accepting of their relationship. "Shawn?" "Papa?" Both ask. "Sorry" Shawn whispers wiping his eyes. "Its okay papa. We can get whatever dog you want" John smiles. Shawn chuckles. "Thank you baby" Shawn nods. Taker stands up. "I know you expected him to take this big change a lot harder but...it could still take him time to adjust. And we will be there to help" Taker tells him. "I know. I'm just glad...glad he finally has a family he wanted." Shawn whispers.

"Me too."

It turns out, the big change wasn't a challenge for John. It was for shawn. Shawn finally realised he could be loved for all he is. Him and John would find someone who would honor and protect them. All they needed was a deadman apparently.

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NOTES

This is shit. I'm sorry. I really wanted to do it tonight. Its 1am as I finish this, I'm about to goto bed.

I would actually really like more John asks though. I might also go into more detail of John and takers relationship if I remember to tomorrow.

If I don't feel free to bully me.

I just needed to get this out before I forgot the initial idea. And yes I can draft it but last time I did that. Yesterday btw. It deleted the whole fic. So that sucked.

So yes I'm opening my inbox for more family of destruction John cena asks.

Baby John and stressed dad Shawn are my precious babies.

#wwe #shawn michaels #the undertaker #wwf #hbtaker #undertaker x shawn michaels #shawn x undertaker #john cena

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