#dad!john

“she’s fuckin’ perfect, cap’n,” kyle murmurs, grinning so hard it must hurt his cheeks.

john smiles just as wide, his pride a tangible thing. even the sleepless nights and the stress of a newborn couldn’t dull it. it suits him, all this newfound domesticity. they can all remember a time that the captain abhorred the very thought of it, would’ve scoffed if you told him what would become of him. that was before you, before her. “isn’t she? she looks just like her ma.”

“thank god for that.” simon bites, though even he’s gentled himself in the presence of such innocence. john pretends not to notice how he’s looking at johnny, how the lieutenant’s hand lingers on his lover’s arm as the scot coos at the baby. it’s not so scary, he wants to tell him. it’s nothing like they feared it would be.

johnny claps his captain on the shoulder, misty-eyed and starlit. “you did good, ol’ man. we’re proud of you.”

“thanks, sunshine.” john squeezes his scruff, his chest warming at his words. it means more to him than he can say, that pride. it means the fucking world. “m’glad she’ll have you, all of you.”

“she will.” simon vows, stern, final. “so will you, and the missus. you’ll always have us, cap’n.”

he’s never doubted that, not for a moment. they have, and always will be, john’s. just like you, just like this little life you’ve created. not even the devil could take them from him.

although, “there’s sumthin’ i ought tell you,” he’s been avoiding it. not because he’s afraid, or because he regrets it, but because john price’s never been very good at change. but he’s learning. sometimes, all you need is a leap of faith. now he’s finding his footing on the other end of that chasm. it isn’t so bad, with you around to stabilize him.

“i’m gettin’ out. i signed the papers monday morning.”

simon’s the only of them who isn’t surprised. his lips twitch into what could almost be called a smile. pride, is what it is.

kyle’s brows raise, his gaze soft, gentle but mournful. understanding, but still dejected. his first boy, his sweet gaz. he knew he’d take it the hardest. “yeah?”

“yeah. i’ve got new orders, straight from the top. a new mission. she’s it. they’re it.”

for a moment, it’s silent, but it’s not loaded. not the settling of dust in a formerly active war-zone, just the sun setting over something that’s long since due. it’s his boys coming to terms with the fact that they’ll have to fight the good fight without him from now on. but he’ll still be here. his home will always be theirs, a soft spot to land when it’s time to shed the kevlar and fatigues.

it’s johnny who breaks it, of course. he’s a mouth almost as big as his heart, that one. “good for you. you deserve it—all of it.”

“so do they,” simon adds, nodding at the angel-faced infant. him and john both know, better than most, that you cannot have just one foot in. it’s all or nothing. he’ll never be able to walk onto the field with the same confidence again, without fearing for what he’s leaving behind. that sort’ve second guessing is what gets people killed. and he won’t be the one to tell you your husband’s dead.

john looks to kyle then, and the sergeant softens. “m’happy for you,” he means it, too. john’s done more for this service than any of them. johnny’s right, he deserves this. every beautiful, hard-earned bit of it.

his daughter chooses that moment to stir, emitting a wail so loud that it seems to rattle the very walls. john only laughs, cooing at her as she wriggles and fusses, reaching into the cot to pick her up. johnny grins gleefully—he’s been waiting weeks to meet her, after all. they all have.

“oh, i know, i hear you. were you feelin’ left out, sweet girl? is that it?”

“i told you not to wake her up,” the sergeants jerk like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, wide-eyed and contrite, as they see you standing in the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest, despite the sheen of amusement in your eyes.

“i didn’t!” john protests, though the grin he’s fighting does nothing to argue his innocence. “she wanted to say hello to her uncles, is all,”

“mm. m’sure she did.” your front doesn’t last long. in fact, it crumbles the second john steps forward to press his lips to yours, ignoring kyle and johnny’s playful gagging. you melt into it, baby smushed happily between the two of you, grabbing at fistfuls of your hair and babbling senselessly at her parents.

john heads down the stairs after detangling your locks from her eager fingers, with two of three soldiers hot on his heels. you linger, waiting for simon, smiling gently when the lieutenant makes his way to you to wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“alright, si?”

“yeah, love, m’good.” his eyes crinkle as the sound of johnny’s sweet laughter filters through the house, following by john’s instructions to be careful of her head! it’s a far cry from the gunfire and carnage the 141’s so accustomed to. it’s a nice change. it heals something in him, cauterizes a wound that’s been bleeding for far too long. he has john to thank for that. and you, most of all. you’ve made a home, not only for yourself, your husband, and your child, but for this rag-tag family you inherited along the way.

“you’ll take care of him for us?”

“always.” you promise, and he knows it to be true. they kept john alive long enough to get him here. now, it’s all up to you.

The answer is simple; John Kreese was in the military in the 60's. Yikes!

I think his view and mistreatment of adolescent and teenage boys stems from the army (and the product of the times he was raised in), just like Terry's does. John merely observed boys aged, lets say, 17-19 and above being disciplined, hazed, hardened, put through rigorous, back-breaking training, shouted at by their drill instructors, shouted at by older soldiers, punished, often times beaten for all we know and ultimately tortured, captured, left handicapped, disabled and killed out on the battlefield by the time they would've been ripe enough to graduate out of high-school back home and this became normalized or at least so frequently observed in the war it merely turned into a rite of passage 'a young man goes through to become a real man'. Or a soldier goes through to become an effective combatant, on either side of the conflict. Might've seen Vietcong guerilla men younger even than the youngest soldiers at their base go into suicide mission as young as they come. War and everything you see in a war really changes a man, yes. Terry shares this philosophy. I think this is legitimately why bullying this specific age range target demographic is so frequent for both of them throughout their life. The institutionalized violence against teenagers in the army. They've seen it happen. It happened to them (especially in Twig's case, I bet). They've brought it back home. They did it to others.

Hurt people hurt people.

John Kreese might just feel (young) men are meant to withstand abuse.

Pain.

Anguish.

A good beating or ten, if you will. That's why man is a man.

He is one step away from saying 'When I was your age, I was in Vietnam".

It is not that John thinks women are weak damsels in distress (although, let us be real, for the longest time, he undoubtedly did around the time Betsy was around), but it is just that even when a girl is tough or a fighter, like Tory, John thinks that some things should never change and that men should still be expected to withstand and take hardships just by default of being men. Did this bleed into his treatment of Johnny Lawrence? Yes it did. Would it bleed into how he would treat figurative sons versus daughters? Yeah, probably. It is not that he loves daughters more and sons less, it is just that John loves them extremely differently because his own traumas would've so fundamentally shaped how he views manhood, masculinity, the role of a man, warfare and societal norms, that unfortunately, John has difficulties having a normal approach towards teenage boys even if he truly had it in him to do so. I think the ''gentlest'' he's ever treated a boy who would've been weak is Twig and that is the one anomaly in his philosophy. and which led to possibly the most innately complex relationship and friendship of his life as a result.

---

Also, another reason why John Kreese might be so close to being a misandrist; Have we ever considered that he grew up fatherless? With a sick, troubled mother? That he too passed through the societal stigma of coming from a broken, unprotected home lacking an authority figure and someone who would look after him and his mom? It would've been the 1950's and if there's anything worse than a mentally ill woman, it is a husbandless mentally ill woman. Gasp! Now that, is a tragedy, they'd say. People should consider, if we use our galaxy brains, that John's harsh view (and treatment) of men comes from an absentee father too. Before Vietnam. Karate. The cruelty of war. There was his dad who was never there. Men should be able to take a beating, withstand pain, the difficulties of life, they should be hard and strong and macho and heroic and they should take charge and lead; you know, all the things we can reckon that his nonexistent paternal figure never did. Meanwhile, his mother was a present figure, vulnerable and almost hallowed. Betsy was young and died young --- a first puppy love --- taking on the image of a near saint in his eyes.

The answer as to why John is the way John is?

A/N: Prompt #12 for @acdeaky ‘s writing challenge! I hope you enjoy some dad!Deaky because I loved it. (Also, we’ll pretend that 80s John exists more nowish because I couldn’t think of any 80s kids movies around Christmas)

Pairing: 80s John Deacon x Female!Reader

Summary: You, John, and the kids have a movie night.

Warnings: Fluff

Taglist: @queenlover05 @theblossomknows

 “Mummy! When is Daddy going to be home?” Your daughter, Nicola asked.

“Any minute, honey. Why don’t you make sure that the blankets are all in place?”

She nodded at you and then ran into the living room.

Your son, Nathaniel, looked up at you. “What can I do, Mummy?”

“Why don’t you get the popcorn bowls from the pantry?”

He grinned and ran to the pantry, happy to help. He brought you back the popcorn bowls as the front door opened.

“DADDY!” The children ran to the door.

“Oof! Well hello!” John’s voice floated in from the door. “And just what are you two up to?” John walked in, each one of the children clinging to a leg. “Darling, I found these adorable monsters near the front door. I’d thought that we should keep them. What do you think?” John walked over to you, the children still hanging onto his legs. He gave you a kiss and a smile.

“Hello, love.”

“Hello, as to answer your questions, yes, I suppose we should keep them.”

John looked down at the kids. “Good news, we can keep you, little monsters.”

Nicola giggled. “Daddy! We’re not monsters!”

“Oh, that’s even better news!” John’s eyes traveled to living room to see a fort, made of blankets and pillows. “And what’s going on here?”

“We want to watch movies in the fort tonight!” Nathaniel told him.

“What a fantastic idea, who is picking the movie?”

The children were talking about which movie they were going to watch. As they did, John joined you in the kitchen to get the popcorn and other snacks. You and John caught up with each quickly as you filled bowls and cups.

“Mummy! Daddy! We picked a movie!”

You and John walked out to the living room asking what movie you were going to watch.

“’Elf’!”

You and John exchanged a glance before he placed the food down, and went to put the movie in. You and the kids got comfortable in the fort, everybody making sure they could reach the snacks.

John came over and laid down so that the children were lying between you.

“Everybody ready?” John asked, already knowing the answer.

The four of you watched the movie in the fort. You watched as Nathaniel fell asleep next to you. You looked over to let John know, but noticed that Nicola had fallen asleep on his chest and John’s eyes were starting to flutter closed too.

“John,” you whispered to him.

He opened his eyes and looked at you. You gave him a soft smile, which he returned.

“Should we take them upstairs?”

John looked at the kids and nodded. Each of you gently picked one up and took them up the stairs to their rooms. You laid Nathaniel down and then went back downstairs. You got yourself comfortable in the fort again, bundling yourself up in a blanket.

“Room for one more in there?” John asked.

You lifted the blanket up and John settled himself next to you, under the blanket. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. You snuggled into him, breathing a sigh of contentment.

“Good day, sweetheart?”

You looked up at John and gave him a kiss.

i love the idea of his kid coloring in his tattoos. John just sits on the couch and lets them color them in. He’s just sad that he can’t actually see what they’ve colored (Don’t worry, you take pictures to show him). 

John loves doing skin-to-skin with his newborn baby. The two of you give the baby a bath one night, and John heads into the bedroom to get them ready for bed, but you walk in, you see john is always sitting in the rocking chair and both him and the baby are fast asleep. Wow, just made myself a little sad with that one. Imagine how cute they’d be ;-;

John getting the baby when it’s still fairly early in the morning and he brings them into your bed, and he lays them on his chest. they love his beard, so they just rub his beard until they both fall back asleep. neither one of them realize that it coaxes them to sleep every time.

This is like a Mentor!John x Young!Reader, requested by @depressed-comics

You never thought you'd be stuck under the thumb of the Russian Mafia, but your father made some pretty bad decisions, and had used you as collateral to try to spare his own life. So they took you when you were young, and had been training you ever since, trying to make you an assassin that could rival that of the Baba Yaga. They took everything from you, you had no semblance of a normal life, you were stripped of your empathy and emotions for others. The only things you could ever think about were death and destruction.

Those who had trained you in combat, weapons, and espionage had deemed you fit to start. It was only fitting that your first mission began on your eighteenth birthday. Most eighteen year olds would be hanging out with their friends, maybe getting a tattoo, not using the guise of an escort to assassinate a high profile drug lord with debts to the Mafia. Once you had gotten him alone in his room and put a bullet in his head, something clicked as you watched the life drain from his eyes. Your training failed you as you lingered rather than flee the scene. You had never killed anyone before. All of those years of being told to not feel anything, you couldn't help but let emotion wash over you as his blood began to seep into the bedsheets. Shock gripped you as a tear rolled down your check and you gasped as you heard the door crash behind you, before you could react two burly guards grabbed you roughly. You were still in a haze as you began to struggle meekly against the guards, with one swift motion one of them hit you in the temple with his pistol and your consciousness faded.

~

You awoke hours later, your head was pounding and you could feel that you were tied down to a chair. There was duct tape covering your mouth. You slowly opened your eyes, blinking to adjust them to the light. There was a single bulb above you, illuminating your figure. You could see the rough outlines of men that loomed just out of the light. Your training kicked in as you began counting silhouettes and formulating a plan to get out. One of the men stepped forward, you were confused as you realized he was one of the higher-ups in the Mafia's chain. Viggo's eldest son.

He shook his head softly as he approached you, "Oh little белладонна, you had so much promise..." He ran his hand down your face, before gripping your jaw hard, "But you showed weakness, you know my father will not be happy." He said, his tone still soft. "You will be punished."

You cursed inwardly, this must have been some test, and you had failed. Your mind was racing, you meant nothing to these people, so your punishment would most likely be torture or death. Or both. You inhaled sharply as another figure came out of the shadows and slapped you harshly across the face, and another came with a knife to slash you across your collarbone. You dug your nails into the wood of the chair as you saw the brother pull out a revolver, you were sure this was the end. But before he could raise the gun to you, you saw the door to the room fly open as a tall looming man came in, using the body of a guard as a human shield as he began mowing down the men in the room. Within an instant you recognized him, the Baba Yaga himself. Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you heard the sounds of bullets flying above you. You began trying to free yourself from your bonds as you prayed he wouldn't kill you too.

~

When John was infiltrating the safe house Iosef was being kept in, he did not expect to find a young girl strapped down to a chair being interrogated by one of the Tarasov children. He began taking down the men in the room, he didn't have time to reload as he was being approached by more guards, so he threw his weapon, smacking a man right between his eyes and sending him to the ground. He began fighting hand to hand. He observed his opponents and his surroundings. He was slightly outnumbered, there were still four men and the brother, and he had already been worn out. He was reminded by the dull pain in his lower abdomen as he began deflecting punches and flipping men on their backs.

He kept this on for a while, but he felt he was getting into a nasty situation, as he was being pinned to the ground with a knife dangerously close to him. Before he even realized what was happening, the scared little girl from before came back into action. You let out a yell as you jumped up, flipping both you and the chair back onto one of the guards, shattering the wood and freeing your limbs. Lightning fast after you had pulled that maneuver, you had grabbed a gun from the ground. The man who had John pinned looked behind him could only see the barrel of your pistol before you shot him. You slowly stood up and kicked the man's body off of John's.

John sat up and looked at you, then back to the corpse that had been a threat to his life just moments earlier. He looked back up at you, and just stared for a moment. You were so young, he definitely pegged you as a hostage of some sort, let alone someone with training. The thought of it made him angry, you were just a kid. No child should have to live the life of an assassin. John wordlessly stood up and brushed the dirt off of himself. "We should get out of here." He stated simply, and began walking towards the door. "I'm John, by the way." He grunted.

You followed. "(Y/N)." You said softly, still a bit in awe that you were spared by the greatest assassin you'd ever heard of. You knew you should fear him, but you trusted him. After all, without him you'd probably be dead in a ditch. You took the lead in guiding you and John out of the safehouse after he had killed Iosef. You knew the layout of the building incredibly well, as this was where most of your training took place.

~

You were sitting in the passenger seat of John's car now, you started silently ahead as he put the car into gear and began driving. Before long, he was the first to break the silence. "Why were you down there?" He asked, his voice gravely and rough but his tone was soft and inquisitive.

You looked at him before looking back down at your feet. "They were training me to be the perfect assassin, but when they sent me out on a mission I showed emotion and didn't live up to their expectations." You explained, your voice barely above a whisper as you stared out of the window.

John gripped the steering wheel, "You're just a child." He said, his voice becoming more strained, "Why were you down there, before that mission?" He looked at you, besides the large gash on your chest, you looked like an average teenage girl. He couldn't imagine how you had gotten ties to one of the deepest rings of the Mafia. The same one he was in before he had went into retirement.

You began to shake as you thought of your despicable excuse for a father, tears clouding up your vision. "My father, he..." you paused, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, "He has his debts, and instead of fixing them himself he decided to pawn my life to save his own. But they just killed him anyways." You let out a dry laugh, running your fingers through your hair.

John felt even more angry than before, how could anyone give away their own flesh and blood? Let alone give them right into the hands of a ruthless crime organization. "It sounds like he deserved it." John mumbled, looking out at the road ahead of him. His mind began to wander as you didn't speak up again. He thought of Helen, his heart sank as he imagined her smiling face. They had always talked about having children together, and she had always wanted a little girl. He couldn't imagine just throwing away something like that. John pulled up to his home, and put the car into park.

He got out and opened your door for you, "Let's get you cleaned up."

~

You winced as John gingerly dabbed antiseptic onto the large gash across your chest. It was strange seeing this man who had a reputation for being incredibly deadly and focused be so gentle and kind. "I'm sorry, I know it hurts." He said, continuing to clean the wound.

You looked around, seeing the empty dog crate and all of the photos of John and Helen together, but yet the house was eerily quiet. You had heard of John leaving the business, and about his wife. You looked back down at him as his eyes were focused on your wounds, you felt so bad that everything had been taken from him. His voice broke your train of thought, "(Y/N), do you have any other family?" He asked as he stood up, finished with your first aid.

He knew the answer before you even said it, no. He knew looking at you that you were like him, no more family, everyone who loved you was long gone by now. He knew what he had to do, what Helen would've wanted him to do. "You can stay with me, if you'd like." He offered.

You were stunned, you had never been treated with as much kindness as John was giving you right now. "Seriously?" You asked meekly, and he nodded. You couldn't help but smile, "That'd be really kind, thank you John." You said.

John smiled and nodded. He never thought he'd be anyone's mentor, or father, or anything of the sort. But he knew he had to help you, he didn't want to world to keep screwing innocent people over. He was going to help you, and take you under his wing, whether it be trying his best to give you a normal life, or teaching you everything he knows about life as an underground assassin. He would do it, he finally had a chance to create something positive out of all the shitty things fate had thrown at him. To do something that would make Helen proud.

Fortune may favor the bold, fortune may favor the brave, but it also occasionally favors the kind.

Part 2: https://iwoulddieforkeanureeves.tumblr.com/post/185667051574/after-john-finished-up-his-business-with-the

Characters: Daddy!John x Daughter!Reader, Dean (mentioned), Sam (mentioned)

Word Count: 766

Warnings: daddy!john feels and just fluff basically.

Author’s Note: In this, the reader is 12 years old. Thank you @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes for some inspiration for this! If you ever have any ideas that you would want to see before the first episode, don’t be shy. I love writing about the series and making the reader’s character stronger.

Feedback is always appreciated

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