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the-californicationist · 4 months

Note

i did send the same thing to another writer i enjoy bc i love different takes on things, but my little dumpster brain has had one thought in the last 24 hours - imagine confiding in your captain that you'd like to have a baby bc biological clock or whatever, and being in the field really puts a damper on your sex life, so that makes it difficult. but the 141 will do anything for one of their own, so if that means they're running trains and taking turns on you DAILY until it takes (and probably even after 👀), then so be it.

lol... you lit a fuckin' fire with this ask, my friend. hot!!

"The Window" (141/Reader)

You awoke to the soft tinkling noise of his belt and zipper, rattling at the edge of your bed. Your captain, John Price, was answering his call of duty, and within moments, you knew he would slip his fat, flaccid cock between your legs and allow your warmth to make him harden within you. He preferred it this way. First, he would rub you with it, heavy and smooth, smearing your wetness all over his skin. Then, with a singular talent, he would somehow stuff his soft, lolling head into your hole, feeding himself into you gently, letting your body take him in on its own as your pussy pulsed for him, and he would rub your clit absent-mindedly, comforting himself with your swollen lips, sighing raggedly as you covered him up. Once he was hard - and fuck, he was impossibly hard - he would fuck you through your blinding pleasure, his girth giving you burst after burst of hot, searing bliss.

He wasn’t your boyfriend - none of them were - but the members of your task force, the 141, had all agreed to be the father of your child. It had started when Captain Price first saw your appointment on the team calendar. You’d meant to post it privately, but you had failed to do so. He came to you right away, his face full of worry,

“Wha’s goin’ on, Spar? Goin’ to the main base hospital… Wha’s all this about?”

So, you’d told him, a little bashfully, that you were trying to get pregnant. You’d be turning 28 this fall, and you wanted to be a mom, sooner rather than later. Every few weeks, you were shipped off to some too-cold or too-hot locale, getting shot at and flash-banged. There wasn’t really time to find a date, much less convince them that you would make a good mother. The last time you tried to use Tinder, one guy had called you ‘Rambo’ and blocked you, so it wasn’t going well.

“I’ll go with you, little bird. Sounds important.”

“You don’t need to do that, Captain. I’m sure I can take out a loan for it…” You thought out loud, remembering the pamphlet and all of its cost breakdowns for IVF treatments.

“A loan? Last time I checked, love, it was free,” he chuckled.

“Free when you have someone who’d be willing to give it to you, sir,” you challenged him with your confidence, trying not to be ashamed, even of your ‘Rambo’ nickname.

“Sparrow,” he raised his voice and nearly shouted your callsign incredulously in the small mess hall where he’d found you, “There’s no bloody way you don’t have someone willing.”

“Wha’s goin’ on, Cap?” Gaz poked his head in behind the door.

“Nothing,” you tried to stop the literal landslide of embarrassment that was happening to you.

“She wants to have a baby,” Price told him, smiling a bit as your cheeks turned pink.

“A baby?” Gaz commented with no small amount of surprise.

“Who wants a baby?” Simon yelled out from the hallway before opening the door wider and scooting around Gaz to join into the conversation.

“A bairn!?” Soap barged in, slamming the door all the way open and forcing Gaz to tumble into the kitchen.

So, the whole team knew in a matter of moments, but Price kept his word. He drove you to the hospital for your appointment and asked more questions to the doctor than you did. Unfortunately, he heard all of the strictest rules and took them to heart. No cigarettes, no caffeine, plenty of rest and… plenty of exposure to male ejaculate.

There had been a meeting, of which you were not a part, between Price and the other men in your task force, and they had come to a conclusion: they would put a baby in you. It was their singular mission. A bit of back and forth had occurred when you found out their plan.

“Is there… we dinnae want to pressure you, lass, but,” Soap looked around at Ghost, Gaz, and Price before settling back on you, “Are there any of us you wouldnae like to be the father? We willnae take offense.”

“No! I’d be happy to have any of you… I mean… But, I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this if you don’t want to,” you could feel the heat of your shame rising in your cheeks, and you knew you were as red as a lobster. You heard a bit of laughter at your comment and feared the worst. But then, Gaz explained,

“I’m afraid all of us very much want to, Sparrow.”

He had even palmed his growing cock for emphasis.

But, it had to be fair, you decided. There should be a schedule; no favorites. And for the first month, there was. Soap was your Monday, Ghost was Tuesday, Gaz was Thursday, and Price was Friday. But then Price had a meeting and so Soap was Friday, and Price was Saturday. That meant Ghost was Monday. You were in training on Tuesday, so Gaz was Wednesday, but Soap couldn’t do Thursday or Friday because he had to go in for his annual review. So, he joined Gaz on Wednesday, stepping in right after him as if you were a pretty little mailbox and the boys had come to drop off their packages.

When the weekly schedule fell apart, you hung a big calendar in your quarters, and they’d pencil themselves in. That was fine until you had been shipped out to Aqtabi. You’d tried to keep it up while you were in the field, remembering what day was which, but the truth was that sometimes you had no idea if it was morning or night. Was that the sun or a flare?

And sometimes it didn’t matter. Something would happen on a mission, and Price would crawl beneath your scratchy woolen sheet, searching for the comfort of your arms, not saying a word, not even asking you if it was alright, but just taking you there in the cold night of the desert, filling you up and keeping his cock sheathed in you, safe and sound.

And sometimes you needed them, too. Waiting on exfil, huddled together in the pouring rain beneath a sad tarp, you’d crawled into Gaz’s lap, looping your arms around his neck and letting him hold you in a cradle, using his big chest as your pillow. You’d dozed, exhausted, and he’d rubbed himself against you through your clothes, coaxing you to pull down your pants so he could empty himself into your womb, quick and filthy. You remembered how it felt when his come had soaked through your panties as you sat next to him in the helicopter, letting him hold your hand.

You felt a little guilty that you weren’t exactly hoping for a child during those first few months. You were enjoying their affections, no matter how platonic they may have felt.

It didn’t stay that way, though. Soap was the worst offender. When he fucked you, he wanted to spend most of his time eating you out, sucking on your clit with his mouth like a hungry dog, soaking himself in your scent and your flavor before finally mounting you, crawling over your body like the hound that he was, dipping his cock into you and beating your core like a drum. He’d stare into your eyes when he could manage it, and he’d slipped up one day and told you he loved you. That you were his girl, his wee bonnie lass, and that he’d raise the bairn with you, even if it was Black like Gaz, tall like Ghost, or had Price’s big nose. It’d be his and yours. He’d be the daddy you wanted him to be, he promised.

Then, you’d had to deal with Gaz. He’d made dinner reservations at a restaurant near base while he had your legs held up to your chest, helping you wait the twenty suggested minutes for his “lads” to “soak in”. Told you he was just hungry, but he had also happened to buy you a nice dress, and he’d driven you in his sporty little Beamer, bright red and clean as a whistle. He’d fucked you after dinner, sneaking in a double feature, which was expressly against the rules. Told you he couldn’t help himself, and he said he’d been thinking about you all weekend, cock in hand.

Ghost was like his namesake, haunting you all over the place. He found you in the locker room, and decided to fuck you standing up, sweaty from your sparring match. He’d washed you off in the shower, and he’d taken you in there, too, after coaxing you to make him hard again by sucking him off. Ghost would slink by you in the reference room, stalking you through the bookshelves, and dragging you to the storage closet to fuck you on all fours on the floor, maps and looseleaf pamphlets about Russian spy camps under your rosy red knees. He got vocal that night, cramped with his huge body in that tiny closet, telling you what a good girl you were for him, how you fit his fuckin’ cock so perfect, how he’d never want anyone else, how it felt so good to fill your body up with his load.

Then, there was your captain. At first, you weren’t sure he was truly a willing participant. He seemed to avoid you unless he was on the schedule. He didn’t cut in line, and if you were on the couch or in the kitchen with one of the boys, he’d leave you be, smiling at you a bit before grabbing his tea and escaping back to his office. But, then you realized the truth: John Price wanted to put a baby inside of you more than anyone else, and he would go to the ends of the earth to make sure it happened.

“Hey, little bird,” John’s finger pet the side of your cheek as you woke, feeling him pull down your pink silk panties so he could start to warm you up, “I’m your Sunday.”

“Mm,” you rubbed the sleep out of your eye and opened up your legs for him, giving him full access to your body on instinct at this point, “John, we gave up on the schedule. You can come whenever you want. Or, you can stop.”

“Can’t stop,” he kissed your mouth as he leaned over you, and you tasted peppermint and tobacco mixing together with something heady and lustful, “We’re in the window.”

Ah. The Window. All of the boys talked about The Window and when it was coming up next. They’d all downloaded trackers on their phones, watching you like birds of prey for when you ordered a box of tampons, checking with you to see when you were off the rag. And then, you’d be “in the window” of ovulation. Their best chance at succeeding at this mission.

They would fuck you at any time of the month, and Soap and Price would even fuck you through your period, having read in some magazine that there was a small chance of success. But, being in The Window was like covering yourself in honey in the middle of a cave in spring and waking up all the bears inside it. Fertile ground, ripe for the taking.

“Mm, fuck,” you keened. John had two fingers in you now, pressing on your soft spots and stretching your hole. You wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss, which he moaned into.

“Feel good, Spar? You want to make me hard, pretty bird?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking up at him with desperate eyes, “Yeah, I do. Please, John…”

He slipped himself in, half-hard already, and you felt the body of it slide into your core. It was soft, and you liked to squeeze it with your muscles, feeling him writhe inside of you when you did, reveling in his pleasure. He sat back on his heels to let you play with him fully, watching you grind your hips on him as he massaged your clit to its full, swollen height. He was in no rush, and he spoke to you casually.

“Has Kyle been in this weekend?”

“No, it was Soap,” you tried to remember, “And then Ghost, and then Soap again.”

Price chuckled warmly,

“That boy wants a baby so badly.”

You smiled with him, agreeing,

“He does. He interrupted Gaz on Thursday and asked him when he’d be done!”

Price laughed with you then, his eyes gleaming and crinkling at the edges,

“Oh, Christ. He’d be a good one. They’d all be good.”

You watched his mood shift. There was something solemn about it, and you wanted to chase it away. You rubbed your hand along his furry belly, locking your ankles around his hips and shamelessly rocking your hips to fit more of him into you. You confessed,

“You’d be good.”

His eyes found yours again and he stilled, wondering out loud,

“D’you think so, Sparrow?”

“I know so.”

“Can I tell you a secret, little bird?” He whispered, lowering himself into position and stuffing his hard length even deeper inside of you, making you worry just a bit if he could hurt you with that thing.

You nodded, kissing his huge Adam’s apple in his throat and nuzzling through his beard. He told you the whole truth as he pounded himself into you without mercy,

“Sometimes, I wish he would be mine. I wish…” He almost stopped, but he kept going, like a raft in the stream, too caught in the current to go back to the shore, “I wish you could be mine, and then I could rub lotion on your belly when you got big. And I could cook for you when you got tired, and I could read to you, even when he was still inside of you, and I know he could hear my voice. I wish, sometimes, that when it happens, that I’d be the first to know. That you’d tell me first, because you knew it was mine, because you’d want him to be mine.”

You were stunned, and you were coming, and the two were very separate events. As your pussy pulsed and tried to milk him of his come, making you dizzy and almost sick with pleasure, you were shocked by his admission. You grabbed his face and made him look you in your eyes,

“John…” You panted, coming down from your first high of many with Price, “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“I didn’t either,” he smiled, but the corners didn’t reach his eyes.

When he fucked you this morning, you had no idea how good it could feel, but he showed you. He rutted into you, desperately, like some sort of beast, unable to stop himself. It was as if he would fuck himself bloody in you if he had to, and you wanted to take him as best you could. You felt him finally start to come, and he plugged you up with his thickness, shoving himself as deep as he would go, sealing you off and keeping you warm and elevated.

He kept his cock in you, gasping for breath and petting the hair out of your face. He kissed you, cheeks and chin and neck, all the way down to your breasts where he suckled from your nipples, almost dreamlike in the way he was touching you, fully covered in you the entire time.

“Sleep, birdie,” he nuzzled your neck and continued to lave his tongue over your breasts, “I’ll wake you when I’m hard again.”

Part 2

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mdeath99 · 1 year

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Death's Head: Animal Skulls in Witchcraft & Spirit work by Blake Malliway (book review)

Book's Published Summary:

"This book contains a unique blend of folklore and hands-on Witchcraft, all centered around the use of animal skulls. Contained herein are the manifestations of the author's own personal style of Witchcraft as well as methods for magically finding a skull, ways of purifying the skull, and instructions on how to imbue the skull with spirit presence for the purpose of divination, insight, and other acts of magic. Also included are rituals for the physical manifestation of the spirit and instructions for petitioning magical favors by the way of spirit intervention. The Witch seeking a stronger, more intense connection with the spirit world will find good use of the rituals and methods given"-Blake Malliway

My initial thoughts:

traditional witch with reference page/suggested reading which is always a good sign in my book (no references = sus)

96 pages and very small, makes it a quick read and a good reference book for those on the go 3"x5"

First page is "make sure what your doing is legal as local laws vary for this stuff" which is also a good sign as witches should take responsibility for their own actions

11 Chapters plus preface

Review:

This book, unlike other witchcraft books, stands alone by itself. While I have been practicing for a long time and love to do research on multiple fields of witchcraft, outside of hoodoo and voodoo I have rarely seen mentions of using skulls in one's practice. This was extremally disappointing while growing up as I have collected skulls from the nature around me since I was 6 and have always considered them an essential part of my craft as they tie back to the land I work on. In comes Death's Head, a book that solves this problem. Throughout this book Blake Malliway goes over how he weaves skulls into his own practice, which I find similar to my own. With that in mind, I may be a bit biased for that reason, so please keep that in mind while reading this review. If you have a book you'd like me to write another review about/analyze, message me or send something into my ask box. With that, lets get into it.

In the beginning of the book, it's made clear this isn't the only way to work with bones of any kind. That I personally find a very good sign. No one person (or witch) knows everything. If a book you are reading claims this is the only way, I (as a lover of books) would throw it in the dumpster. There is no one way for our practices, but thousands upon thousands formed by witches of yesterday and today. Back to the book though, another thing that is made clear early on is the skull itself is a house for a spirit, so for those looking into spirit work itself but not/are unable to get a skull, it's still a good read.

My one major complaint though is chapter 2/3 of this book: Finding the skull and The purification of the skull. As someone who has collected bones for most of his life I can tell you one thing. Flesh or no flesh: bones smell. This is since while living, bones have grease attached to them. This grease caused a fowl odor as it sinks into the bones during decomposition, even with no flesh. To clean these, I have left some links below which directions. In my personal experience, I look for bones with no flesh or dried up cartilage I can remove. Once the cartilage is gone, I soak the bone(s) in a solution of 50% water and 50% hydrogen peroxide. This will clean any germs and smells, just make sure to leave the lid cracked if you have one. And whatever you do, don't use bleach. While this will whiten the bones, it will also eat them. Along with that though, there also isn't many tips for finding bones outside a ritual. While rituals can help, so can knowing where to look. I would highly recommend researching this, as it varies from landscape. For example, I usually look behind the dunes of a beach or along the highest seaweed line. I have good luck in these spots as the ocean will leave bones here and/or animals will take them to these spots to eat. With that in mind, be careful of the wildlife around you. I live in an area full of coyotes that come out around dusk, so keep stuff like that in mind when hunting (aka research the dangers of the area your in. Also bring a knife, those dried out tendons are no joke).

The rituals themselves are stepped in traditional witchcraft from the Cornish region of England, which is where a lot of modern traditional witchcraft comes from. The author acknowledges this and you can also see this in references & suggested reading page. Some I instantly recognized were Traditional Witchcraft: A Cornish Book of Ways (Gary.G) and Treading the mill: Workings in traditional witchcraft (Morgan. L). One thing I always like is multiple perspectives, which this book more than delivers on. I sense no bias at all, unlike the lack of bone hunting knowledge.

Overall, I would highly recommend this book to any intermediate witch looking to learn more/break into spirit work and bring the nature around them into their practice. A 5/5 in my opinion

Bone cleaning links:

#book review #book recommendations #witchyvibes #witches #traditional witchcraft #witchblr #witchcraft #witchcore #necromania #necromancer

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prep4tomoro · 1 year

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The Dollar Store is My Friend - Emergency Preps on a Budget:

Money is tight for most of us. We're living paycheck to paycheck, trying to make ends meet. We have very little in the way of extra funds we can put toward preps. Sure, we'd all love to be able to drop a few thousand dollars on dehydrated food every other month but that just isn't going to happen for most of us. So, here are some ways we can stretch our dollars to get the most bang for our bucks. Even my favorite Dollar Store (Dollar Tree) has been inflated to $1.25 but consumables still go right down the drain or in the trash. Why spend top dollar? With my shift to a Conserver Lifestyle and "Needs vs. Wants" approach to buying, I have a new-found friend; the Dollar Store. These types of stores have different names, depending on where you live, but each item in the store is about $1.25 (as of this posting date - Feb 2023). These stores buy discontinued, B-rated or near-expired goods in mass quantities. Because of this, they get them cheap and can sell them cheap; even paper products. Supplies don't need to be expensive. Dollar Stores, Pawn Shops, Surplus Stores and Yard Sales are some local options. Search for free stuff web sites. If you're adventurous, take a Dumpster Diving excursion. Don't just get stuff because it's free unless you can barter (trade) it for stuff you actually need/want before, or during, a crisis when stores will run out of inventory and people will run out of their supplies. Store, organize and prioritize supplies in easy-to-move containers for quick access and relocation if evacuation is necessary. Electric and fuel may be unavailable for power tools; get hand tools for repairs. Brainstorm about ways to stretch dollars to get the most bang for the buck. Now, it's doubtful that you will find your "favorite brand" and, if you do, it may be near its expiration, but part of being a Conserver is being a good shopper. Now and then I have found cheaper items in my regular grocery store or Walmart but, generally, this is my go-to place for cheap stuff that will go down the drain, toilet or in the trash anyway like shave cream, after shave, razor blades, toothpaste, cleaners, laundry detergent; you get the picture. And, chances are, the next time I visit, the brands that were there before, won't be there again. I don't recommend buying ingestibles (things you will eat, swallow or drink) unless, (1) they are not expired and, (2) you intend to use them before the expiration date. Unless you have money-to-burn or need that expensive perfume or cologne, I highly recommend these types of stores to save money. Other Ideas for Inexpensive or Free Preps: Yard Sales Military Surplus Stores Pawn Shops Flea Markets Thrift Stores Consignment Shops Dumpster Diving freecycle.org/ Do It Yourself (self-reliance) It's been mentioned, throughout this web site, to start slow and small with Emergency Preparations otherwise it's easy to become overwhelmed and go crazy buying stuff you don't need and over-spending. Like anything we want to purchase, we should make our shopping list, budget for it and stay within that spending limit.

5 Ways to Get Cheap Prepper Gear Find Low Cost Survival and Emergency Preps from Pawn Shops and Flea Markets 25 Prepper Items To Look For at Flea Markets and Thrift Stores 50 Preparedness Items for Less Than $5 Each

Resources: Dumpster Diving and Acquisition Guidelines Reduce Waste The Dollar Store is My Friend 5 Ways to Get Cheap Prepper Gear Find Low Cost Survival and Emergency Preps from Pawn Shops and Flea Markets 25 Prepper Items To Look For at Flea Markets and Thrift Stores 50 Preparedness Items for Less Than $5 Each Minimalist Living - The Conserver Lifestyle Battery-Less Devices Tools/Supplies from Weird Stuff Waxes for Candles & Stuff [Reference Link]

[14-Point Emergency Preps Checklist] [11-Cs Basic Emergency Kit] [Learn to be More Self-Sufficient] [The Ultimate Preparation] [5six7 Menu]

#dollarStorePreps #prepare4tomorrow #prepper #Survival #diy #shtf #budgetPrepping #PrepperBudgetSupplies #budget #prepper supplies

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maeve-writes · 3 years

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Beautiful Hell

Inspired by: Beautiful Hell by ADNA

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (tfatws) x Reader (experiment/mutant!Reader) Rating: 18+, Minors DNI Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk. Summary: Your past shows up in an unexpected way thanks to Bucky Barnes. You just wanted to be... normal, not caught up in the life of a hero or worse, and yet you’re drawn to him, addicted to him even. You thought that part of your life was over, but your relationship opens up a whole new chapter that you’re not sure you’re ready for. a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. I have not written anything that wasn’t work related in about three years, so I’m a little rusty. This is just a dip of my toe back into the water. I’d like to continue this if there is any interest! Thanks for reading!

There’s very little that makes you upset these days. You have a great job, a cozy apartment, and wonderful friends. It’s taken a long time for you to find stability and even longer for you to accept that it was okay to have it. Most of that struggle was on your own, but you eventually found others like you that were dealing with the same inner turmoil and you’ve grown.

The group still meets twice a month, but now you run it. You see the same pain and anger in the eyes of strangers that you once held, you’ve been in their shoes and you want to help start their journey of healing and self discovery. You would never turn someone away who wanted help, who sought out the chance to better themselves, but six feet of muscle and adamantium shuffles into the recreation room of the local Boy’s and Girl’s Club, and you bend the already folded aluminum chair in half.

The squeak of the metal catches his attention and his brow knits together. His eyes dance between your face, the chair, and back again. “Cheap material,” you say weakly with a lift of your shoulders. You watch as he puckers his lips in thought and his hands are shoved into his jacket.

One of your regulars, Sarah, takes the chair from you and tries to right it once more, but finds it more difficult than you played it up to be. “Set up the rest, I’ve got this,” you tell her, happy to tear your attention away from the man. You reset the bars of the chair and unfold it, placing it on the floor to see if it will act as it should. It’s a little wonky, the bend leans it too far back, but it will hold you - it’s a chair.

You sit among the circle and begin. People sip their coffee and share their stories for the week. The new people introduce themselves, including him, but everyone already knows his name. He didn’t share this time, but you could tell he wanted to from the way his jaw clenched and the uncomfortable shifts in his sheet. You were like that once, you know just how he feels.

Two hours pass and the crowd slowly trickles out. You start the clean up, the putting away of the chairs. You move around the room and do your best to ignore his eyes burning into you - into your soul. “You could at least help clean,” you tell him without looking up from the sink against the far wall where you now stand. “Chairs still need to be put away.”

It takes a few beats, but you hear his heavy footsteps fall behind you and the eventual scrap of metal as the chairs are being folded. There’s a steady rhythm to his method, a clink of his metal arm against the chair, the screech as the chair is closed and his footfalls to the corner to put it away.

You finish your last coffee pot, drying your hands and turn to see the wonky chair in his hold. “Cheap material,” he repeats, looking down at it before he bends it back and forth. You see him trying to mold it back into better shape than you had earlier as your face grows hotter by the second. When he deems it “good enough,” he brings it over to join the others. “Who are you?”

“No one,” you reply instantly.

His head snaps around, blue eyes burning, “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Not true,” you counter, “I’ve lied to myself for years.”

He turns to you fully and crosses his arms over his broad chest. He doesn’t find your attempt at what he thinks is a joke funny. “Who are you,” he asks again, his voice becoming clipped and impatient.

You tell him your name, your full name but it does not ring any bells to him. It wouldn’t, not in a way he would realize. “You saved someone years ago, not as… you, but as,” you pause and wave the towel you used to dry your hands, “you know.” You try your best to ignore how his body tenses up and you continue, “You killed his wife and his unborn son. You changed him. Changed everything, really. Somehow, I got caught up in it all.”

His hardened stare quickly shifts into curiosity and you force yourself to look away before you crash into the stormy blue. “They pumped us full of all sorts of stuff. A lot of us didn’t make it. I can still hear the screams if I try.” You grind your teeth to make yourself stop falling into that abyss. “But my dad raised me by himself, he taught me how to survive, how to be strong. He always told me: Girl, if you’re gonna go down, go down swingin’. And I forced myself to keep going, no matter what they did, I wasn’t going to let those assholes get the best of me.”

The towel was back in both of your hands now, pulled and stretched as you tried not to think about the pain and the loneliness that followed. “But eventually I was freed, just like you freed that other guy. I got a chance to be him now… but I didn’t take it.” The terry cloth ripped in half and your arms fell by your sides.

You dared to look up at the man and you inwardly swore. His face was so painfully beautiful, full lips were in a pout and his eyes twinkled blue in their sadness, in their empathy. “They wanted us to be something and I wasn’t going to let someone else define me. I ran for years, scared and alone. I had to change my life over and over because I didn’t want them to find me, then I realized I was actually doing what they wanted… I was being someone I’m not.”

You crossed the room to the trash can nearby and not too far behind he followed. The two of you began to toss half-eaten pastries and empty disposable coffee cups. “So, I settled down here, started to go by my real name and took any threat that came my way.” You watched him sniff at an uneaten danish, “Cherry, I think.” His shoulder lifts in a ‘what-the-hell’ kind of way and he takes a bite. “It took about two decades for them to stop,” you finish, “and I was able to finally start to live my life.”

He silently offers half of the danish to you, which you decline. “And when the world went to hell in a hand-basket, you what, sat here and lived your life?” The blow was meant to sting and it did. He didn’t know if you were gone in The Blip but from your recoil, he got his answer. “I don’t know what they did to you, but you obviously have the ability to help people, you should use it.”

“I do,” you reply, offended. “This,” you wave your hands around for the second that evening, “helps people. Just because I don’t strap on leather and beat up bad guys doesn’t mean I don’t make a difference.”

Bucky stills completely, even his breathing, and he looks down into the trash can he has been pushing around for you. It looks as though he wants to toss himself in it. “You’re right,” he says with a heavy exhale, “that wasn’t fair of me. It’s just… the world is running low on heroes, they’re now relying on a guy in a bird suit.”

“I thought that guy was your friend,” you ask with a tilt of your head.

When the corner of his mouth tips up into a boyish smile, you mirror it with a toothy grin because of how infectious it is. “Yeah,” he nods, “I guess he is. But I just hate being the only muscle.”

“You’re plenty enough for this hemisphere,” you laugh and reach out to pat his shoulder, when you feel the muscle packed there, you whistle through your teeth, “and maybe the other one, too.”

He laughs and rolls the shoulder you tapped, tossing off your hand playfully. “Yeah, well it wouldn’t hurt to have more because getting hurt hurts.” You two exchange smiles and finish trash detail. He ties up the full bag and prepares to bring it out while you work on putting a new one in the can.

You lead him out back to the dumpsters and he tosses the bag in after you open the heavy metal lid. When it falls closed again with a loud, ringing bang, you pull out a pack of sanitizing wipes and offer him one which he gladly accepts. “This might not be the right time,” he begins, eyes drawn to the large, smelly trash bin next to the pair of you, “but would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“Who knew you were so romantic, Sergeant Barnes,” you tease to hide your fluttering heartbeat that he can undoubtedly hear. Under the pale yellow beam of the streetlights you can see the flush forming on his face that mirrors your own. “I’m free tomorrow around seven.”

Bucky straightens to his full height and his eyes sparkle brightly when that boyish curl makes its way back to his lips. “Then it’s a date,” he nods as you both pull out your phones to exchange numbers and you give him your address.

“Don’t be late,” you warn him, tone playfully serious, “I get angry if I don’t eat before eight. Bad things happen if I don’t eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods with a low rumbling chuckle, “I don’t plan to disappoint you.”

Your face splits into a smile and you lead your way back in, “See you tomorrow, Sergeant.”

“Tomorrow,” he says, his eyes trained on your every move. “And it can’t come soon enough,” he adds under his breath.

Your day goes by in a blur. Work is stressful but rewarding. Even though you love your job, your mind was not completely on it. Just past noon you received a text: Just seeing if this works. I’m looking forward to tonight. Have a good day. BB

It is unclear if he does not really know how texts work or if it is his excuse to send you one, but either way it makes you giddier than a schoolgirl. You reread it several times, answer a few work related calls and emails before you finally answer back: It works! I’m also looking forward to tonight. My day was good, but your text made it better. Hope yours is fantastic! xx

You are hesitant to hit send, but if you are going to shoot your shot, then you might as well go all in. Your phone doesn’t even go to sleep before you get another text in return: I’m about to see the prettiest gal in town, my day will be more than fantastic. How do you feel about sushi and bowling? BB

Of all of the things to do, especially together, you would not think of Bucky Barnes to pick that as your first night out together, but you had a weakness for sushi and your competitive side could never say no to a game or two: I haven’t been bowling in years, but I’m sure I can teach you a few things. xx

Oh, sweetheart, you’ll be learning a thing or two before the night is over. BB

You aren’t sure if you guys are talking about bowling anymore and that thought lights a fire in your belly. With a shaky breath you send your last reply: I’ll be happy to learn anything as long as I get to call you Professor Barnes and I can stay after class for extra credit. ;) xx

It isn’t until two hours after your lunch that you get your last reply from him: Looking up that reference sent me to the part of the internet that I’m still not used to, but I’m glad I did. You don’t happen to have a skirt and some of those socks that go up to your knees, do you? Don’t answer that, I won’t be able to make it through dinner. See you at 7. BB

You did happen to have just what he asked for and it was tempting to wear it, but you tucked the idea into your pocket for another time. Instead, you picked something more appropriate for bowling, a pair of navy skinny fit cotton dress pants with enough stretch to not rip when you bent over to toss a ball, a curve hugging camisole that was draped by a soft, cream colored cashmere sweater.

After messing with your hair for an hour, you settled for a messy bun and just finished your makeup when your doorbell rang. You call out to him to “hold on” as you shuffle through your apartment, trying to wriggle into your loafers on the way to open the door. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry,” you apologize as you pull open the door.

He’s standing in the doorway dressed in a canvas jacket over a plain black shirt, dark jeans over his long, thick legs and his normal boots top it off. “You look gorgeous,” he says, forcing you away from your lingering gaze as it continues to travel up and down his body like he’s the one for dinner. “These are for you,” he presents a bouquet of flowers with an unsure smile. “They’re beautiful,” you say wistfully, taking the flowers and stepping aside to let him in. “Thank you.” He nods and stands near the door as you finish putting on your shoes. “Let me put these in water and we can go.” “Take your time,” he says and trains his eyes on you. They follow you through the apartment, to the kitchen as you look through your cabinets for a vase. When you bend over, his head tilts ever so slightly which you can see out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to try and catch him, he just smiles innocently. “Need any help?”

“I’ll manage,” you laugh and eventually find a vase. The flowers are arranged not so elegantly into the glass, but you add water and place them in the center of your kitchen island. “Now, I’m starving and getting hangry.”

“Hangry,” he repeats. “That doesn’t sound good. I guess I should feed you before that happens.” He holds out an arm and like a magnet you are drawn to him and latch to it, maybe it’s because of the metal. Nevertheless, you walk arm and arm to the sushi hole-in-the-wall two blocks away, eating in a small booth in the corner to hide away from prying eyes.

You learn about Bucky Barnes for the first time. Like everyone else, you hear things from the news, from the internet, you try to shift through the lies and mess. But here you’re learning what he likes, what he’s learned, what he wants to learn. He doesn’t give his past up as freely as you did, it’s obvious he’s still coming to terms with it, but everyone travels at their own pace.

He learns about you, too. He asks you about things none of your past dates have asked. Hell, even your past boyfriends and girlfriends weren’t interested in half of the stuff Bucky manages to squeeze out of you. And you find it so easy to talk to him, so natural. You’ve only known him for two days, but it feels like decades.

Your hand slips into his when you leave the restaurant and head to the bowling alley. He laces your fingers together two blocks into your walk and you once again wrap your free hand around his arm. It pains you to move away when you have to go in and put on the bowling shoes.

“Before we begin,” he says to you as he watches you put your names into the computer, “let’s make a bet.” You finish entering the ‘y’ of his name and lift an inquisitive brow his way. “If you win, you can have one thing you would want from me.”

You twist in your seat and narrow your eyes, “And if you win?”

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, you watch it disappear with a pout, “I get a kiss.”

“You could just ask for one,” you laugh and slowly lean towards him.

Bucky, too, leans in and bumps noses with you, “Yeah, but it’s more fun if I work for it.” He sits back and winks, trying not to laugh at your deflated and deepening pout. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’re up first.”

You sigh heavily and pick up the bright green ball that you picked from the line waiting to be thrown. “Okay, if I win, then I get to wear that skirt and socks for you,” you say over your shoulder before you toss the ball down the lane. It rolls down the center and knocks down all ten pins as STRIKE flashes on the screen above you.

When you flop down in the chair next to him, he’s still staring at the spot where you stood moments before, gears still churning. “Hey,” you laugh, snapping your fingers in front of his face to knock him out of his daze, “are you okay?”

“Would it be wrong of me to lose on purpose,” he asks sheepishly. You roll your eyes and cross your arms and he lifts his own in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it, that’s no fun. Just know, darlin’, I don’t go down without a fight.” He steps up and takes the same ball you used and chucks it halfway down the lane before it, too, knocks down all ten pins. He turns to you, a smirk plastered on his face.

As much as you loved to have fun, you loved to win more. “Is that how it’s going to be,” you asked, getting up to pass him on the way to take your turn.

He laughs, pressing close as you both slow when you come into each other’s orbit. “That’s how it’s going to be,” he nods and rakes over his lip with his teeth. A challenge is set and you don’t back down. Strikes and spares are thrown by the both of you in between lingering touches and whispered sweet nothings.

In the hour you two have rented the lane, you managed two games and with one point over you, Bucky wins. He doesn’t claim his prize right there, it’s too public and there’s far too many people around. Instead, he offers to walk you home and you happily accept as long as you can wrap yourself around him once again, which you do.

You two try to take your time on the way back, enjoying the crisp evening air, but more so each other's company. The conversation from dinner continues as a flow of likes and dislikes between more sweet nothings. You’re lovedrunk by the time you’re at your front door and you don’t want the night to come to an end.

Reluctantly, you release him from your hold and he looks as disappointed as you feel. “Tonight has been wonder-” “I had such a great-” you both begin simultaneously and trail off together, ending in nervous laughter.

“Thank you,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “for such an amazing night.”

“I should be thanking you,” he says, a hand timidly reaching out to rest on your hip. “I’ve been a little rusty at this kind of thing, but you made it easy.” His thumb traces the arc of your hip bone and you step closer to him. “But, you know, I might need some more practice.” You resisted to roll your eyes, but the laughter bubbles between the both of you. The distance closes by one of you, and you don’t care who, but you find your hands splayed across his chest, “I think I can help you out there.”

“That would be my second win of the night,” he grins down at you, his eyes trained on your lips.

“Speaking of my win,” he trails off. His flesh hand raises to your cheek and you instinctively lean into it. Your nose wrinkles at his chuckle but it doesn’t stop you from raising on your toes to close what little space there was between you.

You could sense his hesitation, the silent question of what was enough and what was too much. A small hum bubbled in your throat as you pushed your hands up his chest, nails scraping up his neck and into his hair. You could feel the shiver ripple throughout his body and his teeth came out to bite down on your bottom lip.

It was your turn to laugh now and he licked into your mouth in return, turning it into a whimpering moan. You could feel his triumphant smirk against your lips and you reward it with a tug of his hair. His hips instantly buck against you which throws you off balance, but he catches you with his metal arm winding around your back and pins you against him.

Your tongues slip and slide against one another, the taste of his sushi and beer choice mixes with your own. Your nails once again claw along his scalp and cause him to growl into your mouth. He surges forward with you in his grip and crowds you against your door, reluctantly breaking away for air, “We should say goodnight,” Bucky whispered against your kiss swollen lips.

“You can tell me good morning when you wake up next to me tomorrow,” you shoot back and roll your hips against his, causing both of you to react with a strained moan.

“Are you sure,” he asks, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“I’ve got a spare toothbrush with your name on it,” you nod. You watch him debate the issue with himself before placing one last chaste kiss on your lips before losing his grip just enough to let you open the door.

You two stumble in, Bucky pulling you back to him, his mouth kissing along your jaw as you try to lock up for the night. You barely got the deadbolt turned when his teeth sank into your sink causing you to cry out. He instantly licks at apologetically and turns his attention to getting you undressed instead.

When your sweater is pulled over your head, you push off Bucky’s jacket, both falling to the floor near the door. Shoes are next to go, sloppily kicked off near each other and once again you two are drawn back together, tongues dancing. Your fingers twist into the short brown locks and his hands snaked down to your ass. He lightly cups each cheek, using them to bring you as close as possible, and even though your bodies leave very little room for air to pass through you still try to move closer.

“Bed,” he breathes into your mouth. You give him a quick nod. With a happy groan, he squeezes you by your bottom, picking you up to carry you to your room, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist.

Your small one bedroom apartment isn't anything special, but it is yours and it has the biggest, comfiest bed that you are in love with. Bucky easily guides you both there, not once breaking your kiss aside from grunting or growling from your teasing hair pulls or the rolls of your hips.

He climbs onto the mattress with you still wrapped around his upper half, crawling up to the pile of pillows near the headboard where he eventually lays you down. His weight settles above you, and normally, you would welcome it’s warmth and comfort, but at that moment, you want it to be rough and needy. “Bucky,” you whine, this time the one to break the kiss.

Flushed cheeks and blown pupils, he looks down at you, boxing you in with his arms on either side of your head. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“You’re wearing too much,” you tell him as you try to pull off his shirt, it makes it up to his shoulders before it stops. His laugh shakes his entire body and yours, which makes you pout in return.

“You’re wearing the same amount, doll,” he reminds you, looking down to see your breasts sway in your camisole. “Far, far too much, in my opinion.”

You roll your eyes and playfully slap at his chest, “Then do something about it.” He mutters something about impatience and sits on his knees between your parted thighs as he pulls his shirt over his head to toss it aside.

“Your turn,” he nods to your shirt while he works on the buckle of his belt. You hastily pull the top over your head and work on your slacks, wriggling out of them just as does his own. He sits back on his hunches and looks you over, laying spread out in a matching white lace bra and underwear set. Now at he’s down to his boxer briefs, you can see how big he his, how hard he is, and when his wandering eyes rest on your covered sex, you can see it twitch with anticipation. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful.”

You didn’t think your entire body could blush from embarrassment, but Bucky just proved you could. “That’s my line,” you return, taking in every inch of his exposed skin over hard muscle. Super serum or not, Bucky Barnes was a gorgeous specimen. When you two finally lock eyes once more, you both shiver. “Are you going to touch me?”

He lets out a shaky breath and reaches out to run a hand lightly over your damp panties, slick from your want for him. “I’m afraid I’ll never stop,” he replies honestly, instantly addicted to the needy whimpers you are giving him.

“I don’t think I would want you to,” you groan. “Please?” You feel his fingertips dance over the lace, tracing over the pattern and causing you to throb with need. “Bucky!”

“You need me, don’t you,” he asks, voice dropping to a low rumble that hits you right at your core and makes your toes curl. “You need my touch. Need me to satisfy that ache?” You nod desperately trying to sit up to pull him down on top of you, but he pins you down before you could rise. “Tell me,” he purrs.

“I need you,” you respond instantly. You’re rewarded with his fingers pushing the panties aside and begin to dance along the slick folds.

“You need what,” he goads. He finds your clit and rubs it once to draw a happy mew from you but stops much to your disappointment.

“I need you, Bucky. I need you to touch me, to kiss me,” you whine with a rock of your hips, trying to get him to move again, but he doesn’t. “I need you to taste me, to lick me, to fuck me.”

Smile on his kiss bruised lips, his thumb swirls around your bud and he sinks his middle finger into you with a groan. “You’re tight,” he hisses as he sinks knuckle-deep, “and dripping. Shit, you’re going to feel like heaven.”

You can’t focus on what he’s saying too much. The feel of his fingers pumping in and out of you feels good, feels right, but it’s not enough, even when he adds two or three. He works you open, your slick starting to run down his fingers, and he palms himself over his briefs. “Bucky, please,” your voice cracks, “I need more.”

He nods, he has time to take you apart with just his fingers later, but it’s been so long since he’s been with someone like this, someone he’s felt like this with, he needs it as much as you do. When he removes his fingers from you, you whine at the loss but it cuts off into a gasp as you watch him lap and suck off your slick from his hand. Bucky freezes, eyes narrowing, and for a moment you’re wondering if you did something wrong. “What? What is it?”

“Trying to stop myself from eating you alive,” he says through clenched teeth, jaw visibly flexing with the effort. You blink up at him, confused, but he shakes his head and forces himself to remove his boxer briefs. “I’m having you for breakfast,” he decides.

“Uh huh,” you reply absently, your mouth watering as his cock bounces against his stomach when it’s free. It’s long, thick, and leaking, trying to hypnotize you and very much succeeding.

“I’ll let you return the favor, sweetheart,” he laughs. His flesh hand spreads his pre-cum down his shaft and he pumps slowly while his metal hand pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Still with me?”

Blinking free of your daze, you stare at his lustful gaze and nod. He moves closer, hooks your legs over the bends of his elbows and runs the head of his cock along your folds. Your hole twitches desperately for him, “Such a pretty little pussy, so needy.” Your hands wrap around his wrists and grip at him tightly, hard enough to make him hiss. “You’ve been a good girl, I guess I can give you what you want.”

He pushes in agonizingly slow, the head of his cock sinking in what felt like centimeter by centimeter. You clench around him, trying to draw more of him in, but Bucky takes his time to bottom out. When he is finally fully seated in you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and apparently so did he. “Fuck,” you say simultaneously.

Your legs are positioned around his waist and he once again frames your head with his forearms, which, in turn, pushes him further inside of you. “You feel so good, doll,” he whispers against the ‘o’ of your lips. “So warm, so tight, taking me so good.” Your hands find their way up his arms and into his hair. All it takes is one tug that has him growling, “And I’m going to ruin this pretty pussy so good that it’s going to feel me all week.” He rolls his hips back as slowly as he originally pushed in, “And I wanna hear you tell everyone who it belongs to while I do it.”

He snaps his hips forward driving you up the bed and further into the pillows, a cry getting caught in your throat from it. His pace is brutal, skin slaps against skin, and his mouth seeks out yours. The kiss is sloppy, but hungry, just as primal as his pistoning hips. You hold on to him the best you can as the bed rocks, headboard slamming against the wall. Your nails trail against his skin, egging him on and drawing sinful noises from love-swollen lips.

His hips shift angles and eventually find that spot that makes you see stars. “Bucky,” you cry out breathlessly, uncurling your toes and removing your nails from his shoulder blades. He buries his face in your neck and marks you with his teeth and tongue as he relentlessly fucks towards your brink. “So… f-fuck- so close.”

“Cum for me then, sweetheart,” Bucky growls against your skin, snaking a hand between your bodies to work at your clit. “Show me how good I make you feel. Cum for me.” His thumb rubs over your bud once, twice and a white hot punch in your gut blossoms throughout your body as you let out a strangled cry of his name.

You can feel yourself clamp around him, working him impossibly deeper, begging him to fall down into the abyss with you. And he does, hard. He chases his bliss with you, your name a mantra spilling from his lips as he spills inside of you. He doesn’t stop until you’ve both become too sensitive to handle anymore. He pulls out of you with a heavy sigh and falls next to you on the bed onto his stomach.

“Holy shit,” you finally break the silence, “that was…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his head turned to look at you with tired, blissful eyes. “Goddamn, yeah it was.”

You weakly reach around to search for his hand and eventually find it, he lances his fingers with yours. You don’t break eye contact when he leans over to share a few chaste kisses before collapsing again. “You’re fantastic, Bucky, and I want you to know that was the hottest sex I have had to date.”

His post orgasm bliss is shattered and replaced with a furrowed brow, “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“...but as hot as it is feeling you drip out of me, I need to shower,” you finish. You can see the relief wash over him and he nods in understanding.

“I’ve got a good memory,” he yawns and taps at his head, “that image is stored right here.” You fight a blush and slide off of your bed to head to the bathroom when seconds later you hear him do the same. He shrugs at your questioning look, “No need to waste water, right?”

You laugh as you turn on the faucets only to be crowded against the wall and your mouth is covered with his once more. The water splashing against your bodies and the echoing sounds of your moans drown out the repeated calls to Bucky’s phone. Mission. Suit up. SW

Answer your damn phone. SW

It’s the green button. SW

Green button and slide right. SW

Dammit, if you blocked me again, I stg. SW

Man, what are you doing in Soho? Yes, I’m tracking you. OMW. SW

a/n: To be continued?

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes tfatws #bucky tfatws #bucky barnes fatws #bucky fatws #Beautiful Hell bb fic

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rodeoxqueen · 3 years

Text

The Sparda Boys Taking Care Of Stray Animals Headcanons-(AO3 Request by @Zehnmou)

Zehnmou requested: Why is this so cute...urgh, my heart just exploded. 😭. I have always love Dante being a goofy dad

Anyway, pardon me, but might I ask for a request here? I don't have any Tumblr account though,

What about Sparda boys taking care of stray pets in their own ways? (oh any kinda is fine to me though, cats, dogs, birds,....they're all good to go)? Like fluffy stuff. Thank you so much.

I love this idea. Pull my fluff trigger, if you will. I did not write Nero, though I will add his segment later. I’m too burnt out from school to do more but I still wanted you to have something to read as soon as possible. This was all my exhausted cowboy brain could scrounge up to write.

Thank you for requesting darling,

Rodeo

Vergil

Our favorite ice king tries not to make it obvious but he is a cat person.

He is a staunch believer that owning a pet is extra work and pointless. Besides, you own another creature and that’s freaky.

But as soon as he sees them toe beans and twitching whiskers, he’s not that loud about his aforementioned opinion.

He won’t exactly house them, but Dante sometimes catches him leaving cans of tuna around the alleys. He refuses to admit it’s him.

It’s even harder to hide he’s the local cat dad when he walks down the street and there’s a gaggle of cats following him, tails swishing the air with affection.

His pants at the ankle area are covered in cat hair. He can’t walk out the street without a pack of all sorts of cats rubbing themselves on his legs.

Sometimes there will be some sickly kitten that’s left on the street. Vergil can be found in his plastic white chair, bottle-feeding the poor thing. It grows healthy and cute and he lets the kitty, who he named William, sit on his shoulders while he reads.

After he lets in that cat, about twenty more show up. Dante had to beg Vergil to be sensible, a rare sight to behold, when there are cats everywhere in his shop.

Vergil= Crazy Cat DILF.

Unlike his complete form, he’s quite into the idea of animal companionship even if Griffon is annoying as hell sometimes.

He loves feeding birds. When he’s reading with Shadow’s head on his lap and Griffon is preening, he’s throwing bits of cracker and biscuit onto the ground for pigeons. Sometimes Shadow tries to eat one or Griffon strikes lightning at them with a chortle. He is inconsolably pissed.

One day at a local park, he keeps hearing this wretched and pitiable noise. After some tracking around, he finds a raven with a broken wing. They’re hopping around pathetically and incapable of flight.

When they see him approaching, they freak and screech at him and try to flee.

“Have no fear, little bird. I mean you no harm.” He stoops down, hands gentle and slow to approach them.

For some reason, the corvid trusts him, beak stroked by his careful fingers. He cups the bird and takes them home.

He manages to fix their wing with a splint. The bird hops following him. Shadow tries so hard to not eat the poor thing and Griffon is offended.

“What?! Am I not cute enough for ya, V? You cheating on me with another birdie?!”

When they begin to heal and can fly again, V sadly lets them leave. He gives them a little push towards the window.

“Go on now, little wanderer. You’re well and free once more.” They don’t move, intelligent eyes focused on him only. They hop back and caw at him, flying up to sit upon his shoulder.

“If you wish.” V muses. He strokes the bird’s head.

“If you are to stay, I must find you a name. How about Poe?”

“Caw.”

“Excellent choice.”

V is not very original. But he has a pet raven and that makes him so much cooler than you.

Dante

On account that he does live in the shadier parts of Redgrave, there’s a lot of strays. However, there’s also a lot of demons that like to eat the aforementioned strays. It’s a brutal little ecosystem.

So imagine Dante’s surprise one night, when a hellhound runs into the alley near his shop.

The hound is snarling with some sort of black goo in its mouth and its claws like scythes scraping the ground. Dante thinks it’s a dog that’s dumpster diving.

“Same.” He walks away. It barks at him, looking for a fight.

“Look puppy. I fight Cerberus for fun, you are not going to win this.” The hound jumps him anyway, taking a good chunk off his leather coat. He throws the dog off and semi triggers, exposing his demonic skin.

He assumed the hound would just run away. Instead, it rolls onto its back with its tail shaking. He can’t get it to leave and he eventually lets it inside.

He has a dog now, he guesses.

The hellhound is a lot different than a normal dog. Firstly, it’s from hell.

It also is super strong and fast, and incredibly violent. It should not be treated as a pet.

Dante disregards that and plays fetch with it using an old can. It runs into traffic and comes back with half a stop sign.

“Come here, boy!” The hound leaps onto him and sends him through a wall. Dante has to borrow Nico’s saw to clip its nails. Don’t even get him started on bathing the hound. It tore the faucet right out of the wall and sent a spray of water right at Dante.

He never really finds a name for the hellhound. He just whistles and it’s there.

He and the dog can enjoy a pizza together and he feeds it the olives when they show up on his slices. However, the hound is perfectly happy with some demon leftovers or roadkill.

Its breath? Terrible.

He tried to leash the dog and it bit a hole through his hand. No leashes.

He cannot take the hound to the dog park. The last time he did the dumb hound tried to eat someone’s Pomeranian.

The hound’s really useful during hunts when Dante brings it.

Dante gets a side compartment for Cavalier so the hound can sit and let the open air hit its face. The hound can run just as fast as a car but it loves it.

At the end of a hard day, the hellhound will jump up and down and chase its tail with joy when Dante comes back from work.

He and the hound sleep on the same bed, the hound laying its stupid little head right on his chest. Both their snores make Vergil want to set the shop on fire.

(For my Tumblr Lone Rangers Only)-Vergil walked in on Dante doing this to his hellhound and he simply walked out of the building:

Rodeo’s Two Pieces:

This Cowboy Is Tired But Never Of Your Requests and Comments.

#dante headcanons #dante imagine #dante sparda #vergil x reader #vergil sparda #dmc headcanons #devil may cry imagines #devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #v dmc #v headcanons #devil may cry imagine #devil may cry nero #Rodeo will reblog with Nero's part soon

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imaginarysonder · 3 years

Text

Plush

Pairing: Jackson Wang x OC (reader)

Genre: Fluff, the TINIEST bit of angst

Word Count: 3.8K (yikes)

Description: Jackson buys you something cute to remember him by when he’s travelling, but it upsets his life more than he thinks it will.

A/N: Super squishy marshmallow fluff for Got7′s Jackson. Been all up in the feels since the beginning of the year about EVERYTHING. So here’s my way of coping.

Jackson was not prepared for the upset in his life when he brought your seemingly simple present home. He chuckled to himself as he tried to hide the bag behind his body as he entered your shared apartment. “Babe?” he called.

You rounded the corner to the entryway and smiled at him. He shrugged off his jacket and toed of his shoes. “Hi, love,” you said approaching him choosing to ignore the shopping bag he was poorly hiding behind him. You wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed the side of your head to his chest. He didn’t hug back as he struggled to keep the bag contained. You smiled slyly at him as you reached up to kiss him lightly. “Should I even ask?” you whispered against his lips.

Jackson chuckled before pressing his lips to yours again. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replied pulling himself out of your embrace to brush past you into the kitchen. He set the bag down on the kitchen counter as he opened the fridge. You rolled your eyes at his back as you returned to your position on the couch. You focused your attention on the emails you had been returning and adding to your calendar of meetings and appointments. You were vaguely aware of Jackson shutting the fridge and making his way over to the couch next to you with the large shopping bag. The two of you sat in silence next to each other for a short time, Jackson practically vibrating next to you in anticipation.

“So,” Jackson began and coughed awkwardly.

You minimized your emails and closed your laptop to give him your full attention. “Hm?” you hummed at him.

“You know how I’m leaving tomorrow for a few weeks?” he asked even though he knew you were well aware.

“Mm,” you hummed again in agreement. “Team Wang engagements in Hong Kong and Shanghai,” you confirmed. “I know, babe. It’s been on my calendar since you booked the plane ticket.”

He nodded. “Well, I know you don’t like it when I buy you things,” he paused at your raised eyebrow, “but I thought you could use this to keep you company while I was away.” He scooted the shopping back towards you and you finally got a good look at it. It was LARGE and bulged slightly as its contents didn’t fit well within it’s shape. You furrowed your brows at him and a small frown pulled at the corners of your mouth. One of the ground rules you had laid when you and Jackson started dating had been no unnecessary gifts. Receiving gifts was always hard for you. “It’s practical, I promise,” Jackson assured you as he pushed the back closer to you.

You sighed but placed a hand on the bag. Jackson started vibrating again in excitement. You held your breath as you looked in the bag. A large, squishy-mochi-like penguin plushie smiled back at you from the depths of the bag. You pulled it out and squished it experimentally between your hands. It was fat and soft and the size of a standard nine-year-old.

“I thought it could keep you company while I’m gone,” Jackson explained hurriedly as he watched you look at the penguin with a blank expression. “I hugged every plush they had, this one seemed the best size and softness.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image of Jackson hugging every stuffed animal in the store he ended up going to. You hugged the penguin to you. It fit perfectly under your chin and its softness in your arms immediately felt calming. You snuggled into it and sighed. “You like it?” Jackson asked hesitantly.

You closed your eyes and nodded as you pressed the penguin closer to you. “He won’t replace you, but he’ll do,” you whispered.

It was the crack of dawn the next morning. You were yawning and watching as Jackson made tea in a travel mug and pulled on his shoes with his suitcase parked by the front door. You pressed him against the wall as he kissed you breathless. Silent I’ll miss you’s were passed between the two of you as you had to pull yourself away from him. He pressed you to his chest as you listened to his heart beat wildly in his chest. You smiled glad you still had some sort of effect on him. Jackson looked down at you smiling wistfully as he traced your pulsating jugular. Too soon he was gone.

The weeks that Jackson was gone felt long, but you were glad you had work to distract you and the large stuffed penguin to fill the empty space in your bed. Very quickly, the penguin became your go to comfort item instead of Jackson’s shirts or his small spray of cologne he left for you. You kept finding yourself reaching for the soft plush when you longed for Jackson. The softness under your fingers and squish between your arms comforted you more. You often sent Jackson pictures with it tucked under your arm or held it in your lap as you FaceTimed him.

“So, I take it you like your present?” Jackson teased you via FaceTime. He was laying on his stomach on some hotel room bed his hair messy and his eyes tired but not without a hint of mischievous twinkle in them.

You hugged the penguin closer to your chest and smiled wider. “You could say that,” you replied cheekily. “He’s been keeping me company.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Jackson said tiredly running a hand over his face. “I should have bought myself one too,” he chuckled.

“I’ll get you one for your birthday,” you assured him.

He was shaking his head before you even finished your sentence. “I want you instead,” he said quickly. “I don’t need a penguin when I have you.”

You felt yourself blush immediately and looked down in embarrassment.

“How do you still get embarrassed when I say stuff like that?” Jackson laughed at you.

You shrugged blushing harder, your ears feeling hot. “I don’t know,” you murmured. “It’s always different when you say it.”

Jackson laughed. His eyes crinkling at the edges just how you loved. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Everything is different when it’s us, huh?”

“Just you,” you chided him.

“No,” he shot back. “You have the same effect on me, dummy.”

“You’re better at hiding it then,” you laughed.

“I don’t want to hide it from you,” he murmured. “I’m just better at playing it off,” he chuckled lowly. There was a long pause and both of you just basked in each other’s company. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” he sighed.

“Mm,” you hummed in agreement. “I miss you,” you sighed.

He smiled weakly at you but you could see the excitement shining through his fatigue. You said your goodbyes and he blew you a kiss before the both of you reluctantly hung up to sleep.

You woke the next day with your faithful penguin under your arm. You squeezed him excitedly as you remembered that Jackson was coming home today. You got up quickly and went about your day in the house cleaning as you went. You settled on the couch as you finished watching the laundry tumble round and round in the washer. Jackson wasn’t due in until this evening and then with the drive from the airport you estimated he wouldn’t be at the apartment until 8 or 9PM. You sighed glancing at the clock, it was only noon. You clicked on the TV and opened your laptop. You might as well work while you had some quiet time. You opened your emails and immediately regretted it. You sighed and cracked your knuckled getting ready to see what dumpster fire you’d have to put out now.

You glanced outside. Somehow the afternoon had bled into early evening and into night. You looked at the clock on your laptop, it was already 7PM. You sighed and stretched before getting up and grabbing your stuffed penguin from your bedroom. You gazed longingly at the front door willing it to open soon. You jumped as your phone buzzed on the couch next to you. It was a call from Jackson. You picked up quickly. “Hello?”

“Hi, baby,” you heard his voice call over the phone. He sounded tired.

“Hi,” you breathed. “Are you on the ground?” you asked hopefully.

“Yeah, just landed,” Jackson confirmed. “They’re just starting to unload the plane.”

You nodded even though you knew Jackson couldn’t see you. “So, you’ll be home soon,” you murmured glancing at the clock again. “I should get dinner going.” Even though you kept your voice calm, you could feel the excitement bubbling up in your chest.

“Do you want me to pick something up on the way?” Jackson asked. “I can stop by that restaurant you like…”

He trailed off and you could hear shuffling on the other end of the line as you assumed Jackson was standing and gathering his belongings before getting off the plane. “No, Jacks,” you murmured cutting off his thought process. “Just come home to me.”

You heard Jackson chuckled lowly. “I’m on my way, baby,” he said firmly. “I’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

“Mm,” you hummed. “Can’t wait.” He hung up first and you couldn’t help but hug your penguin as your body tried to contain all the feelings you had for that man. It felt like your heart might literally burst with how much you felt for Jackson. As you pressed down your beating heart, you estimated Jackson would be home in about thirty minutes. You quickly called in take-out at yours and his favorite local restaurant and went to go get changed to pick it up.

There was a small skip in your step as you walked back from the restaurant with the bag of take-out cradled in your arms. You pressed the key pad to be let into you apartment building and rounded the corner to the elevators. Time seemed to slow as you saw a man standing in front of the elevators with his back to you a large suitcase at his side. You knew that silhouette anywhere and you almost dropped the take-out. “Jacks?” you called out.

Time seemed to go even slower as he turned to look at you. He plucked out his airpods and a smile began to stretch its way across his face. “Well, hi, baby,” he replied as you came closer. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked eyeing the bag in your arms.

You nodded and grinned up at him.

“God, you’re the best,” he sighed pulling you closer by your elbow. He leaned down to press a firm kiss to your forehead. You felt him inhale deeply against your skin and you held back your laugh. “You smell so good,” he murmured lips moving against your skin softly, “like home.”

You let your laugh out then. “You dork,” you teased him, but you also leaned in and pressed your face to his shoulder so you could catch a small whiff of him. He smelled like home to you.

The elevator finally dinged and the two of you entered, Jackson rolling his suitcase behind him. On the way up, he took the take-out out of your arms and placed it gingerly on top of his suitcase so he could pull you into his firm embrace. One thing you learned quickly in yours and Jackson’s relationship was his strong love language of physical touch. You had never known you craved so much physical touch from another person until Jackson. Many of your previous relationships had been what you thought were a normal amount of physical interaction; holding hands, soft kisses, hugs, cuddling, etc, but everyone of them paled in comparison to Jackson and his need to be touching you in some way. You could always decipher his mood based on the type of contact he made with you. It made you feel like you understood him better as well as feel loved and appreciated.

You felt Jackson sigh against you melting into you a little. “I missed you and this so much,” he admitted. “I needed your touch so badly while I was away. You always make me feel better even if I’m already happy.”

You blushed wildly at his words and you tried to push down the flames of embarrassment.

“Stop blushing, babe,” Jackson said and you could hear the smile in his voice. It didn’t escape you that he didn’t even have to see your face to know that you were red with embarrassment.

Before you could reply, the elevator doors opened and you pulled away from him picking up the take-out bag and trying to hide your blush from him sheepishly. You could feel Jackson’s eyes burning into your back as you made your way to your apartment’s front door and punch in the passcode to the door. It beeped open and you held the door open for Jackson to wheel his suitcase in. After he passed you, you followed in and set down the bag to take out to off your shoes.

Once the door clicked shut behind you and you had straightened up, you were pushed back against the door and smothered. Your tip toes barely touched the floor as Jackson’s body crowded you against the door his lips pressed firmly against yours. One of his arms was locked around your waist and the other snaked up your back to hold the back of your head so there was no escaping him. You rested your hands on his shoulders and smiled into his urgent kisses. “I missed you too,” you gasped between the flurry of lips.

Jackson pulled back a fraction and nuzzled his face deep into your neck groaning. “I’m never going anywhere ever again,” he whispered. The feel of his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin on your neck made you shiver.

“Oh?” you asked in mock surprise. Jacksons hand on your waist snuck a few fingers under your shirt to feel your bare skin. “So, no more Team Wang stuff?” you asked jokingly. “No more overseas Got7 tours? No more traveling? No more seeing your family?” You knew the last one was the nail in the coffin.

Jackson huffed and pressed a chaste kiss to the underside of your jaw. “You made your point,” he grumbled into your neck.

You laughed and pushed him off of you swiping up the take-out and waving it at him enticingly as you made your way to the kitchen. The two of you caught up over dinner and he told you about all the Team Wang planning he had been doing and the new members of his team and the possibilities in the future. You felt your heart swell in your chest as you watched him talk about one of his passions so openly. You hoped every dream he ever had came true and you hoped you would be there to see it happen.

“Anyways,” Jackson cut himself off, “what have you been doing, babe?” He effectively shut himself up by shoveling a large bite of food into his mouth.

You smiled weakly as you felt your life was nothing special compared to his despite all of Jackson’s reassurance. “Not much,” you replied breaking your gaze off of him. “You know, the usual emails and I went into the company a few times for meetings and to supervise directly. It’s hard when they keep replacing team members without telling me.”

Jackson nodded knowingly even though you knew he hand-selected every team member in his company. “You should just work for me,” Jackson said grinning at you.

“We’ve talked about this, Jacks,” you said meeting his gaze.

His smile faltered and he nodded. “I know,” he conceded easily. “You need your autonomy.”

“I have no doubt you’d treat me better than my own company,” you reassured him, “but working for you poses a lot of problems in and of itself. It’s not because I don’t love the idea.”

“Someday it’ll make sense for both of us,” he said smiling at you.

You cleaned up the kitchen while Jackson went to unpack and shower. When he emerged from the bathroom with damp hair, you were snuggled on the couch with a random TV show playing and the stuffed penguin tucked in your arms. Jackson smiled at the fact that now you reached for it unconsciously. He plopped down on the couch next to you and pulled you closer. Jackson tried to reach his arms around he both of you, but they weren’t long enough to lock around you like he usually did. You laughed as he shifted a little and wiggled his arms and hands around until he wedged them between your body and the squish of the penguin. “This is new,” he muttered to himself but you couldn’t help but laugh harder at him.

Over the next few days, Jackson noticed that the penguin got in his way and disrupted his daily life more than expected. The both of you were working from home for the time being and the normal amount of affection he received from you was reduced by almost 80%, or at least he thought so in his own mind. When he woke up in the mornings, he wouldn’t find you tucked against his side like usual. Instead, you were spooning the penguin facing away from him as you continued to sleep peacefully. When you were working on the couch, he would reach out for your hand where it usually rested close to him if he needed you. Instead, both you arms would be wrapped securely around the penguin as you hugged it tightly while you worked. Instead of couple snuggles on the couch, it was suddenly a throuple with a very fat, squishy addition. You also opted to wrap yourself around the penguin instead of throwing your legs over his legs or resting your head on his chest. Jackson tried to convinced himself it was nothing to be concerned about, that it was just you loving the gift he got you and acting out of habit due to him being gone for so long. He tried to not let it bother him, but he couldn’t help but feel a little sadder and a little more distanced from you like you were ignoring him. His pride refused to let him think he was jealous of a stuffed penguin and he refused to talk to you about it for fear of seeming petty. So, he let the penguin get in his way for a lot longer than he would hae liked.

One day, Jackson came back from the mart while you stayed home to finish the laundry. He came into the living room to find the penguin wearing one of his shirts baggily. His eye bugged out of his head and the penguin’s smiling face seemed to mock him evilly. That was the last straw. The penguin was already stealing his girl and now his wardrobe? It was unacceptable. Jackson banged the bag of groceries down on the kitchen island and went to find you. You met him in the hallway startled by the loud noise. Jackson grabbed your hand and dragged you to the living room pointing accusingly at the penguin in his shirt. “What is that?” he asked in frustration.

Your eyes followed his finger to the couch and the penguin. You giggled. “I missed you when you went to the mart, so I put that on him like a mini-Jackson. Isn’t he cute?” you explained cheerfully. You met his eyes and your cheer faded quickly as you saw the upset in his eyes. “Wait, Jacks, what’s wrong?” you asked suddenly serious. “I was just messing around. Did I upset you?”

Jackson sighed and took your hand. He tried his best to push down his annoyance and when that happened, the empty emotional space allowed him to feel the rising embarrassment. The tips of his ears began to burn as he thought about what he was about to confess. “I just feel like ever since I got back from Shanghai, you like that penguin more than me,” he muttered. His eyes were glued to the floor.

You had to bite back you laughter even though you knew this was a serious situation. Your hand snaked up to the back of his neck and pulled him closer. “Oh, Jacks,” you murmured. Jackson was resistant at first to you tugging him closer, but the minute your lips molded to his neck, all defiant thoughts in him vanished. He felt his knees go weak and he let you maneuver him so he leaned against the wall. His hands limply rested on your shoulders as you continued to pepper kisses up and down his neck, up onto his jawline and behind his ears. He shivered in your grasp and that only prompted you to nip at his jugular. After what felt like hours of soft kisses, light nips, and grazes of teeth and tongue, you pulled away to look up at him. His eyes were glassy and a burning blush raged across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. His parted lips were pink from gnawing on them and his breath came out a little ragged. His large hands settled on your hips and your arms wound around his neck. You leaned into his embrace so you could speak in his ear. “So, you’re telling me,” you murmured, “that you’re jealous of the stuffed penguin you bought me?”

Jackson shivered again and groaned as his forehead fell onto your shoulder. “When you say it like that, it sounds pathetic,” he whined boyishly.

You laughed and lifted his face to look at you so you could kiss him. “Yeah, just a little bit,” you whispered to him. “But, I’m sorry if I made you feel neglected. I know how much you recharge with just a simple hug or kiss. You were gone so long that it just became a quick habit. Forgive me?” You pressed your nose into his neck and sighed. Your heart squeezed a little at the thought of you unknowingly causing him unnecessary hurt.

Jackson sighed as he looked into your eyes before pulling you flush against him. “I know and I forgive you, baby. I’m glad you love him, but you can’t love him more than me.” He couldn’t deny that feeling you in his arms and having your undivided attention was all he wanted and all he would ever want when it came to you. His arms pressed you harder against him as he willed your body to melt into his.

You laughed into Jackson’s neck. “That’s impossible,” you assured him. “I love you best of all.”

#got7 jackson #jacksonwang #jackson wang #got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 jackson fluff #got7 jackson scenarios #igot7 #got7forever #jackson wang fluff

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fanfics4all · 4 years

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Angels, Demons

Request: Yes / No can you do a spencer reid imagine based on season 9 episode 23 and 24 please?? Anon

Requests are open, but please read this! <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: 6009

Warnings: Spencer getting shot, reader getting shot, criminal minds stuff, ya know the drill.

Y/N: Your Name

Y/N/N: Your NickName

Y/L/N: Your Last Name

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK!

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you!

Masterlist

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

“So, we get Henry to bed, and, you know, we’re about to finally have some alone time with Mommy and Daddy, and… you guys know the rest.” JJ said while rolling her eyes. Spencer walked up to us along with Alex and I smiled at him. Spencer and I have been dating for a few years now and he was the love of my life.

“Ah, trying to dust off the old cobwebs.” Morgan said with a smirk.

“Inappropriate!” Garcia whisper-yelled and smacked him in the arm.

“What?” He asked with a laugh.

“Seriously, though, how long has it been?” She asked.

“Too long.” JJ said with the most serious face I’ve seen.

“Do we know what the case is?” Alex asked, changing the subject.

“Not yet.” I answered.

“Hotch just said to drop everything and get back here.” Rossi said.

“You need some private adult time.” Garcia said.

“Spencer and I can watch Henry for you guys if you want.” I offered, Spencer nodded in agreement.

“You two should go to Mexico. Or the Maldives, maybe.” Garcia said.

“Cruz?” JJ asked looking behind us.

“Yes! Exactly. A cruise would be perfect.” Garcia said.

“No, no, no. Matt Cruz.” She said motioning behind us. We all looked behind and saw Cruz and Hotch walking towards the round table room.

“Let’s get started.” Hotch said. We all got up and followed. We got int the room before them and sat down quickly.

“How are those ribs?” Cruz asked JJ.

“Still hurts when I laugh. You?” She asked.

“The scars impress the ladies.” He said.

“I hope you don’t mind, Ms. Garcia, but I took the liberty of having the much less talented version of you in my office load the case details.” He said taking the remote from Garcia.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure, no problem.” She said and sat down.

“A good friend of mine, Sheriff Peter Coleman, down in Briscoe County, Texas, reached out to me about a possible case. He’s a former Texas ranger, he’s a good guy.” Cruz said.

“He read about our work on the Silencer case two years ago. He asked for a consult.” Hotch said.

“What do we have?” Alex asked.

“Abigail Jones. Prostitute. She was found in a dumpster last night.” He said.

“What’s that on her wrists?” I asked.

“It’s, uh… it’s…” Cruz said while having trouble with the remote.

“Uh, would you mind?” He asked Garcia.

“Thank you, Jesus, Buddha, and Allah.” Garcia said quickly, taking the remote from him and standing up.

“I like to cover my bases. You have to squeeze it.” She said and the pictures zoomed in.

“Rope burns.” Rossi said.

“Which goes hand in hand with the lacerations on her back.” Cruz said.

“There’s also a gunshot wound to the back of her head, execution style.” JJ said.

“It’s a conflict in M.O. The cutting and restraints points to sexual sadism, but the gunshot wound ends the torture too quickly for a sadist.” Spencer said.

“Is she the only victim?” I asked.

“There;s Hannah Kelly, another prostitute, killed six months ago, dumped one jurisdiction over.” Cruz said.

“Forensic countermeasure. Smart enough to separate the victims so we won’t tie them together.” Alex said.

“And practical, too. The body was left in hooker row, where they pick up their johns, which brings us to our first victim, Lucas Wagner. Killed eleven months ago. Multiple arrests for soliciting a prostitute. He was found outside of a crack house where some of them lived.” Cruz said.

“He takes a paying customer and drops them where the girls live. That sends a message that nobody’s safe.” Morgan said.

“Tell Sheriff Coleman we’re on our way.” Hotch told Cruz and we started collecting our things. We all got our go-bags and hopped onto the jet. We all were looking through the case files.

“Ballistics matched one gun to all three shootings. So, the same unsub killed one John and two prostitutes.” JJ said.

“At least he keeps it in the family.” Rossi said.

“Maybe the John was a friend of the unsub, someone he picked up prostitutes with.” Alex said.

“Well, once he kills his friend, it makes it easier to kill the prostitutes.” Morgan said.

“That would explain why there’s no sexual assault on the victims. It’s not about rape for this unsub, it’s about toture.” Spencer said.

“I mean, that fits, kind of, but it just feels like we’re missing something.” I said with a sigh.

“What we’re missing is whether this guy’s a sadist or not. A gunshot to the back of the head throws everything off.” Rossi said.

“We’re presuming he’s using the gun to end things, but it could be part of the psychological toture.” Hotch said.

“I’m gonna cut you, and if you flinch, bang.” Spencer said.

“Okay, so let’s go with that for a second. There were five cuts on Lucas Wagner, nine on Hannah, twelve on Abigail. He’s escalating his torture. Sadists definitely do that.” I said.

“And they get deeper with each victim.” Alex added.

“That’s right. The first cuts were experimental in nature, and the latter ones were about maximum infliction of pain.” Spencer said.

“What if this is vigilantism? He’s punishing theses woman and their Johns to clean up the streets.” Rossi suggested.

“But then why take so long to do it? Three victims in eleven months? That’s a substantial cooling-off period.” I said.

“Y/N, Morgan, and Reid talk to anyone working the streets last night and see if they saw something useful. Dave and Blake, go to the coroner’s office, see what you can learn there, and JJ and I will go to the station with the Sheriff and start interviewing friends and family.” Hotch ordered. When we landed we settled in and immediately got out in the field. Morgan, Spencer, and I went to the station with the rest of the team first and we had an officer come with us.

“Not too many spots for working girls to go to, so this’ll be your best shot.” He said as we got out of the car.

“And you turn a blind eye to what goes on in here?” Spencer asked.

“Agent, we only got one bar around here. Monday night’s karaoke, Tuesday’s line dancing, and the girls are discreet. Can hardly tell the professionals from the locals who just want to get their drink on. Not to mention, we shut this place down, then what?” He answered.

“The devil you know kind of thing.” Morgan said.

“Exactly.” The officer said. We walked into the bar and just about all eyes were on us.

“Deputy.” The woman at the bar greeted.

“Dinah, these three are agents from the FBI. You mind answering some questions?” He asked her.

“Don’t know much, but sure.” She answered.

“We’re trying to find out more about a woman named Abigail Jones. Did you know her?” Spencer asked placing her photo on the bar.

“Why ya’ll askin’ about Abby?” A man at the bar asked.

“When was the last time you saw her?” Spencer asked.

“Last week. Same bat time, same bat station. She’s alright, ain’t she?” He asked.

“No, actually, she was killed a couple of nights ago…” I answered.

“Killed? God almighty.” He said.

“How well did you know her?” I asked.

“Used to flirt. You know. She always said I couldn’t handle her. She was right. So I’d buy her drinks. She liked when I buy her drinks.” He answered.

“Was she that kind of girl? Party girl, maybe?” Morgan asked.

“It was hard to tell when she was loaded or not. I mean, she was always off. Like she had her own song goin’ on in her head.” Dinah answered.

“Mack the knife.” The blonde girl on the other side of the bar said and we all looked at her.

“Let me ask you, did Abigail come in often? Was she a regular customer?” Spencer asked as I walked over to the girl.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Mack the knife.” She said with a sigh.

“Was that the song in her head?” I asked confused.

“No. it was the name of her last… date. You know what I mean?” She answered.

“I do. Have you ever met Mack the knife?” I asked.

“No. She told me about him, said he was a good tipper.” She said.

“Do you know where we might find him?” I asked. She started shaking and I looked over Dinah who was staring at us.

“Would you prefer if we chat privately?” I asked quietly.

“I can’t.” She said.

“Okay.” I said and sat down next to her.

“Why don’t we just talk then, you don’t have to look at me. Don’t move your head, just keep looking down.” I said quietly and took my card out.

“I’m just trying to flirt with a pretty girl. And if you don’t mind, could you lean over and take this card from me?” I asked. She leaned over and took it from me.

“See? I’m not so bad.” I said with a small laugh.

“Come on, we’re just talking, having some fun, right?” I asked with a smile.

“Why don’t you show me that pretty smile of yours. And smack me on my shoulder, like maybe I’m trying to get fresh or something, huh?” I said trying to instruct her what to do.

“No? Yeah? Yeah?” I said with a raise of my brow as she shoved me a little bit.

“Dirty girl, you wish.” She said with a flirty laugh.

“Alright, well, you can’t blame a girl for trying. Especially when a pretty girl like you is sitting here all alone.” I said and she gave a little giggle.

“It was nice to meet you.” I said with a smile and got up to return to the boys.

“One last question. Do either of these two people look familiar to you?” Morgan asked as Spencer placed the pictures.

“The boy looks familiar. Girl I’ve never seen.” Dinah said, shaking her head.

“Well, thank you for your time. Would you mind if we came back a little later?” Spencer asked, collecting the photos.

“Oh, anytime. Got nothin’ to hide.” She answered and we went to leave.

“Sorry I couldn’t help you none.” She added as we left. We called Hotch and JJ, telling them about what we found out.

The next day we got a call about another victim. All of us got our coffee and started the day. Spencer, Rossi ,and I went to where the body was. We pulled up and they were about to cut the body down.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing!?” Spencer shouted, stopping them.

“Do not disturb the crime scene.” The Sheriff that came with us said.

“We took a bunch of pictures just like you ordered.” The other cop said.

“I ordered you not to touch a damn thing.” He said.

“We need to look at the crime scene undisturbed. Do you mind not standing there?” I said.

“He’s escalated his cuts. They’re not only bigger-”

“Cutting was done postmortem. It was the gunshot that killed her.” Spencer said, cutting Rossi off.

“How can you tell?” An officer asked.

“Uh, based on the lack of blood flow and scar tissue. If she were alive when this was done, there would be a lot more blood on her back.” Spencer answered.

“Which means this wasn’t S&M. This was symbolic.” I said.

“Symbolic of what?” The Sheriff asked.

“We’re not sure.” Rossi said.

“Can you guys smell that?” Spencer asked.

“Lavender.” Rossi said.

“That doesn’t grow in these parts.” The officer said.

“It’s mainly around her legs.” Spencer said.

“Why would he do that?” He asked.

“Reid, can you look into it? We can’t trust the coroner to follow through.” Rossi said.

“Yeah.” Spencer said getting up.

“I can help.” I said following behind him.

Spencer and I checked out the information, then joined the team to give the profile. Once we were set up we gathered everyone up and was ready to tell them what we’ve learned.

“We believe the unsub we’re looking for is a white male in his early 30’s. While his M.O. is that of a sadist, we think there’s an underlying pathology of what we call a wound collector.” Hotch said.

“What’s that?” One of the officers asked.

“A wound collector is someone who uses a lifetime of sleights, grievance, and wrongs as justification for violence.” Spencer said.

“Examples can be as large-scale as Hitler scapegoating the jews for the Holocaust, or as common as an abusive husband blaming his wife as an excuse to beat her.” I explained.

“This unsub is low key, almost submissive in public. He has to be to attract the prostitutes.” Rossi said.

“But his real nature will be revealed in the safety of isolation. This is the type of man who would anonymously express himself online by raging against how these women are filled with disease and filth, how they deserve what’s coming to them, probably to cover for the rejection of a woman or spouse who’s wronged him.” Spencer said.

“Which means the unsub probably has a working-class or part-time job. It gives him the time to plan and execute the murders.” JJ said.

“He’s strong and good with his hands and probably drives a work truck or large vehicle.” Rossi said.

“This allows him to move the bodies and carry the tools for posing his victims.” Alex said.

“Tabitha Ryerson tells us he’s losing control. He killed her in her home and then transported her body to the woods so he could mutilate her postmortem. The public nature of the display was a message.” Morgan said.

“To who?” An officer asked.

“To us. This is a small town and he knows the FBI is here investigating his crimes. He thinks that he’s showing us that he’s smarter than we are.” I answered.

“He’s also showing us his wounds. There’s part of him that wants us to stop and punish him for his crimes.” Hotch said as his phone rang.

“Thank you. Excuse me.” He said answering and walking off. The meeting was now dismissed and we all went off to do our own thing.

Currently Alex and Rossi were interviewing a man they called Mack the knife. However, it turned out it wasn’t our guy. Spencer and I were still looking into the lavender while all this was going on.

“I think we got it!” He said, turning to me.

“What is it?” I asked and he showed me a book.

“Let’s go tell the team.” I smiled and we walked over to the others. Hotch was talking to one of the victim's sisters when he looked over at us. He came over and Spencer was ready to rattle off the information we found.

“Guys, I think we know what the lavender on Tabitha Ryerson’s legs is about. Have you ever heard of spikenard?” He asked.

“Uh, no.” One of the officers answered.

“It’s perfume. It’s mentioned in the gospels.” Hotch answered.

“Yes! It’s derived from lavender. It’s what Mary Magdalene used to wash jesus’ feet, which tells us that this unsub’s message is obviously religious in nature.” I said.

“Preacher Mills, maybe. He came forward to volunteer information.” Morgan said.

“Well, yesterday he said he’d let us know if he had any more information, but apparently he’s changed his mind.” Hotch said.

“He fits the profile. He’s morally rigorous, submissive in public.” JJ said.

“So we’ll put an APB out for him.” One of the cops said with a nod.

Spencer and Morgan went to the church to see if he might be there. I was here with the rest of the team trying to figure out where he could be, if he wasn’t there.

“Well I don’t get it, if the preacher had something to do with it, then why was he so helpful?” An officer asked.

“Unsubs insert themselves into investigations all the time. They enjoy the power and the feeling that they’re smarter than us.” Alex answered.

“And to keep tabs on the case. He wanted to know how close we were to catching him.” Hotch added and I heard my phone ring.

“Hey Garcia, whatcha got?” I answered and put her on speaker.

“I got the backhoe going into the not-so-clean preacher. I haven’t found his present whereabouts yet, but I’m looking at his bank account and I can tell you he doesn’t adhere to the “give all your money to the poor” model.” She said.

“Any idea where the money’s coming from?” Hotch asked.

“Not yet. But it’s mostly cash, and we’re talking six figures big.” She answered.

“You know, maybe it’s sex trafficking. This unsub is able to get prostitutes to let their guard down. They’re somebody he knows.” Alex said.

“I thought you said our killer was a John.” An officer said.

“Prostitutes would rat out a JOhn or kill him themselves, but they’d never go against their own pimp.” I said.

“Garcia, take everything we know about Mills and run it up against pandering and procuring charges. This isn’t the first time he’s done this.” Hotch said.

“You got it.” She said. She hung up and called us back when she had more information.

“Did you know the charge of being a pimp, when gussied up, is “procuring and pandering”? And Hotch was right. Preacher Mills is familiar with this charge. Because before he was Justin Mills, he was Gordon Borell, and he was arrested for cutting one of the ladies he employed.” She said.

“Where did he cut her?” Rossi asked.

“On the back. When questioned, she said- oh, I’m gonna have to look at kitten videos after this- He was marking his property.” She said.

“You’re kidding.” The Sheriff said.

“That’s why he specifically asked me about the wounds on Lucas Wagner. He knew we’d find out about his past.” Hotch said.

“Hey, Garcia? Why didn’t we find this out until now?” I asked.

“Because he changed his name when he crossed the border. The Northern border to be exact. Mr. Mill, Nee borell, is from Tees, Alberta. I’ll tell you what those Canadians, They seem so sweet and innocent, but when they go back, they go Darth Vader bad.” She said and I shook my head. I decided it wasn’t the right time to tell her that Darth Vader turned to save his son’s life.

“So he came here to start over, took on the mantle of the collar as the perfect cover for the sex trade.” Rossi said.

“No one in this town would question a man of God. But now we got the smoking gun we need on this guy.” The Sheriff said.

“Garcia, was there an attempted murder charge?” Hotch asked.

“No. In fact, she said he wanted her to go back out and start working when he was done cutting her.” She answered.

“He’s not our unsub.” Hotch said.

We hung up with Garcia and went back to the rest of the team, now that Spencer and Morgan were back.

“This guy fits to a T. How can we rule him out?” The Sheriff asked.

“Criminally, pimps follow the same behavioral pattern as drug dealers.” I said with a shrug.

“Prostitutes are his revenue stream.” JJ said.

“He would only kill them as a last resort.” Spencer said.

“Which is why the cutting in Canada was a punishment, not a religious punishment, but a punishment for not doing their jobs.” Alex said.

“Then he comes here to start over, set up a new shop.” Morgan said.

“And that’s when somebody found out about his past, used it as a forensic countermeasure to throw us off track by framing him.” I said.

“That’s why the gir;s kept saying, “They’re” after us. There wasn’t a team of unsubs, but one sadist copying the behavior of another.” Hotch said.

“It would also explain the change with Tabitha, the escalation, the perfume on the feet.” Spencer said.

“But you said the unsub wanted us to catch him and punish him.” The Sheriff said.

“What he really wanted was for us to catch the preacher.” Rossi said.

“So whoever this guy is, he’s fooled all of us, and now we got nothin’ when it comes to the profile.” The Sheriff said.

“No, that’s not true. The unsub chose Mills for a reason, and Mills can still lead us to the unsub. We’ll have Agent Morgan and the deputies start at his house.” Hotch said and off they went. We were all trying to figure out where the preacher could be going. So far, nothing.

“Repeat, I’ve got the suspect headed into El Lobito’s diner.” An officer over the radio said, which made my ears perk up.

“Copy, Deputy. We’re on our way.” The Sheriff said to her.

“We got him.” He said walking up to us.

“Alright, Blake, Reid, and Y/L/N go with the Sheriff. Dave and I will coordinate the response here.” Hotch ordered and we nodded. We followed behind the Sheriff and got on our way.

“The preacher’s not answering.” Spencer said as we were on our way.

“Keep trying, we need to tell him we know he didn’t do this.” Alex said and Spencer went back to calling. Still no answer.

“He’s been in there a good five minutes now. I haven’t seen any movement yet.” The officer that was at the scene already said as soon as we got out.

“What about patrons?” I asked.

“Uh, it’s closed.” She answered.

“How many entrances?” Alex asked.

“Uh, two it looks like.” She answered.

“The question is, is he alone?” Spencer asked.

“Guys, I’ve got movement. We should move in now, Sheriff.” Another officer said.

“Actually, we’re better off establishing the perimeter first. We need to open up and line of communication.” Spencer said.

“Alright, agreed. We need to get around to the-” The Sheriff started, but was cut off by a gunshot, he was down.

“Shots fired! Shots fired!” One of the officers shouted and we all got down. They started shooting at the window trying to hit the preacher. I saw the Sheriff still alive not far from us and I went to try and pull him to us. The preacher started shooting wherever he could and I was in his line of fire, but I couldn’t just leave the Sheriff there.

“Y/N!” Spencer shouted and ran out to try and pull me back.

“Reid!” I heard Morgan shout and I looked back to see Spencer on the ground. I dropped the Sheriff and quickly went to Spencer’s side.

“Spencer! Spencer!” I shouted, but he was out of it. Morgan ran up and pulled him back. I went with him while JJ and Alex went to try and help the Sheriff. Morgan rested Spencer against a car and I kneeled down next to him. He had been shot in the neck.

“Spencer, baby, I’m right here.” I whispered.

“Y/N! We’re going in, you stay with him!” Morgan called and I nodded.

“Everything’s gonna be okay baby, the ambulance is on their way.” I whispered. I saw his eyes open for a second and he looked at something, but I was too focused on him to drag my attention away. His eyes shut once again and I was beginning to panic.

“Hurry! Please!” I shouted. Alex came beside me and looked at him.

“Ethan! Ethan! You have to keep your eyes open.” She said. She was calling him the wrong name, but now wasn’t the time to correct her. The paramedics finally came and Spencer was being loaded into the ambulance. Alex was on the phone with Cruz as I stared at Spencer, worried and scared.

“Y/N you should go in the ambulance with him.” JJ said walking up to us, along with Morgan. I just nodded and quickly got in with him, Morgan was joining us since he was a little banged up too.

“The sound is like a tea kettle. Do you hear it?” Spencer asked with a slight slur.

“What? Reid.” Morgan asked.

“Pressure’s dropping.” One of the paramedics said and I swear my heart leaped out of my chest.

“Pulse is thready. Starting large-bore I.V.” He said.

“Spencer!” I cried.

“Reid!” Morgan said worried.

“Agent, you’ve got to sit back.” The woman working on Morgan said to him.

“You gotta help him, man.” Morgan said to the guy.

“Spencer, please, you’re stronger than this.” I said gently holding his hand.

“Stay with us, we’re right here.” Morgan said to him.

“Spencer, please, stay with us.” I begged.

We finally made it to the hospital and they took him in right away. I had done to the bathroom to wash my hands and when I came out JJ was there with Alex.

“Anything yet?” She asked and I shook my head. I took a seat near them and tried to hold back my tears.

“Spencer would have read like two books by now, maybe three.” JJ said, trying to lighten the mood.

“It should have been me…” I whispered.

“Or me, or any of us.” JJ said.

“No. He pushed me out of the way…” I said with tears in my eyes.

“If he doesn’t make it…” I started, but couldn’t bring myself to finish my sentence. The tears finally falling.

“He’ll make it.” JJ said.

“He has to.” Alex said. Garcia walked in and saw us.

“Hey.” She said walking over and coming to give me a hug.

“You made it.” JJ said.

“Yeah, turns out we’re not the only ones connected, he knows somebody with a plane.” She said, trying to keep the mood light.

“How is he?” She asked.

“Still in surgery.” Alex answered with a sigh.

“You all can see Agent Morgan now.” A nurse said to us.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’d really like to stay here…” I said looking down at my hands.

“The second you hear anything, call us.” JJ said and I nodded.

“Hey, I’ll be right back.” Garcia said and I nodded with a sad smile.

I’m not sure how long I was there, but it felt like forever. All the negative thoughts were running through my head and I couldn’t stop them.

“Agent.” Someone said and I looked up to see a doctor.

“How is he?” I asked standing up.

“Incredibly lucky. Two millimeters to the right and the bullet would have torn through the carotid artery. It nicked some smaller vessels, but we’ve stopped the bleeding. You can see him now.” He said and it felt like I could breathe again. I grabbed his things that they gave me and quickly called JJ.

“Hey, how is he?” She asked.

“He’s alive. I’m going to see him now.” I said.

“Great. Okay, thanks Y/N.” She said and hung up. Garcia had met up with me in his room and she was setting up little Doctor Who figures in front of him.

“It’ll be so great if he wakes up and this is the first thing he sees.” She said.

“Yeah… The Doctor always makes him smile.” I said with a sad smile.

“It’d be really weird if he wakes up and we’re all just oooh starting at him.” She said, which made me actually laugh a little bit.

“So, I’m gonna go stand over here.” She said and moved to the window. I gently grabbed his hand and sighed. Garcia had went to go get him some food for when he wakes up.

“Y/N?” He asked and I looked up to see him awake and I smiled.

“Spencer! You’re alright.” I said and he looked at the Doctor Who figures in front of him.

“Garcia.” I said before he could ask. He chuckled and I moved to sit at the edge of his bed.

“When this comes off, I’m gonna look just like Boris Karloff.” He said and I chuckled a bit.

“A little green makeup and it’ll be the best Halloween costume ever. And I could always go as the Bride of Frankenstein.” I said and he chuckled.

“You’d look very cute.” He said and closed his eyes.

“Hey, everyone is fine, don’t worry.” I said gently squeezing his hand.

“I’m not.” He said with a small smile.

“Then what is it?” I asked, but before he could answer Garcia walked in.

“Hey, hey, hey.” She said with a smile.

“Look who’s still awake. Can you tell her she can go now, please?” Garcia asked him and motioned her head at me.

“I’m okay, Y/N. Go help the team.” He said. I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to leave him…

“Are you sure?” I asked and he nodded with a smile.

“They need you, you have to be my fill in.” He joked.

“Fine.” I chuckled.

“I love you.” I said and leaned down to kiss him.

“I love you too, now go.” He said and I nodded.

“Call me if anything changes.” I said to Garcia and she nodded.

I made my way back to the station. I was kind of in the dark about what was going on.

“Hey, how’s Dr. Reid?” One of the officers asked as I walked in.

“He’s awake, he’s gonna be fine.” I answered and made my way to the team.

“That’s good to hear.” He said.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Let’s take a car ride. I’ll fill you in.” Rossi said in a quiet voice.

“JJ, send us the info.” He added as he got up, along with Alex.

“Will do.” She whispered. The three of us left.

Apparently Dianh had a son that was being used against her. The cops were corrupt. Luckily we had a suspect so hopefully everything would work out. Rossi and Alex were in the front talking, but I couldn’t seem to pay attention. My mind kept drifting back to Spencer.

“What the hell?” I heard Rossi say, which snapped me back into reality. They were looking in the mirrors and I looked back to see two cop cars following us. They turned their sirens on and trapped us between them.

“I thought you said it doesn’t get any worse.” Alex said.

“Until it does.” Rossi said. The two officers got out with their hands on their guns and we just watched in shock.

“Are they really gonna shoot Federal Agents?” I asked.

“They’re cops who’d rather die than get locked up. They’re desperate.” Rossi said.

“She’s coming to you.” He said to Alex.

“Don’t they know they’re outnumbered?” I asked.

“I don’t think they care.” Alex said as we all pulled out our guns.

“Let’s roll.” Rossi said. We started shooting and just rolled through them. I was hit in the shoulder, but it wasn’t anything too bad. I could deal with it for a few hours if needed. I moved to the front with Rossi while Alex sat in the back with Dianh’s kid and her Mother.

“You alright kid?” Rossi asked me.

“I’ll be fine for a few hours, let’s get them to the safe house, then we can deal with me after.” I said and they nodded., We got them to the safehouse and the rest met us there with Dianh.

“Let’s go, you two drop Y/N off at the hospital then meet us at the junkyard.” Hotch said and Rossi and Alex nodded.

“I’m fine Hotch.” I said and he shook his head.

“I’m not letting you go with a bullet wound.” He said and I sighed. Probably a good idea. They dropped me off at the hospital and I was getting treated. As soon as I was done they said I was free to go and I decided to just go see Spencer.

“Hey, you guys okay?” I asked.

“What happened to you?” Garcia asked.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” I said and smiled at Spencer sleeping.

Finally the case was over and we could all go home. When we got off the plane Alex offered to help us home. We knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. We were walking upstairs to our apartment and it felt so good to be home again.

“You sure you guys are okay?” She asked.

“I feel great.” Spencer answered and I nodded in agreement.

“Ah, that’s overselling it.” He said and I giggled.

“I, uh, I feel great considering I just got shot in the neck.” He said as we reached the top of the stairs.

“Sounds about right.” I said. Spencer opened the door and Alex followed us in.

“Where do you want this?” She asked referring to our bags that she refused to let us carry.

“Right there is fine.” I said pointing to the couch.

“Okay, so, you two should get some sleep.” She said.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked.

“Yesterday touched a nerve when I saw you like that.” She said.

“Who’s Ethan?” I asked.

“My son.” She answered and my eyes widened slightly.

“He was nine when he died. Doctors said it was neurological, but they didn’t have a name for it. Still don’t. That drove me crazy, no word to put to this thing that took away my greatest love.” She said and my heart hurt for her.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer said.

“He kept growing despite his disease. The last time I laid beside him, he was almost as long as me. He was ready to go, but I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I begged him to open his eyes. And the cruelest part was that I could see who he would be at twenty, but I knew he’d never get there.” She said.

“I’m so sorry, Alex.” I whispered.

“Ethan’s a great name.” Spencer said which made her smile.

“Yeah. It means enduring.” She said.

“It’s fitting.” I said.

“You and James never let go of one another.” Spencer said and she smiled. She made her way to the door, but Spencer stopped her.

“Have you ever had that feeling that your future is somehow behind you?” He asked and I looked at him confused.

“All the time.” She answered with a nod.

“I did, too. But it isn’t.” He said and I smiled at him.

“Ethan would have been a lot like you.” She said and left.

“Bye Alex.” He said and I knew it was the final goodbye. She wasn’t going to be a part of us anymore. I pulled Spencer in for a hug and he held me tightly.

“I really thought my future was behind me, until I met you.” He said and kissed my head.

“I know.” I whispered and smiled up at him. He pulled away and walked over to his bag. He pulled out a small box and turned back to me. He got down on one knee and my eyes widened.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I love you with all my heart and you’ve helped me so much. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?” He asked and a few tears fell down my cheek.

“Yes! A million times yes! I love you so much Spencer.” I said and leaned down to kiss him. He pulled back with a laugh and placed the perfect ring on my finger. I looked at the ring and it was simple gold with small diamonds around the outside. The band itself was like a vine and it was perfect.

“This is amazing Spencer.” I whispered and he smiled.

“I thought you’d love it.” He said and I smiled up at him.

“We should probably get some sleep now.” I whispered and he nodded.

“Come on, let’s rest up.” He said, pulling me along with him. We got into bed and he held me close.

“I love you so much Y/N.” He whispered and kissed my head.

“I love you so much too, Spencer.” I whispered back and smiled.

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#Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds season 9 #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #fanfic #request

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supremeuppityone · 4 years

Photo

This was created for the Klaroline Fall Bingo Event @klarolinefallbingo.

Prompt: “You are the treat, sweetheart.”

Please review here.

________________________________________

It wasn’t the worst heartbreak story Caroline had heard. But it definitely was the worst this season. The angry murder swans were an interesting plot twist though. She wiped down the bar, eyeing the clock before she announced, “Last call, everybody!”

She turned to the adorable drunk resting his head on the wet rings the bottles and glasses had left behind. Klaus had spent the evening raking his fingers through his dirty blonde curls, double-fisting shots and Ward Eights when he wasn’t berating his ex-fiancé. “So, your ex, this...um...something that sounded like ‘tater tot’, walked down the aisle, stood at the altar with you in front of a church stuffed full of your friends and family, and announced that she’s been banging your brother for months and wants to marry him instead.”

He squinted up at her, as though slowing piecing together her words. Letting out an unexpectedly boisterous guffaw, he said, “It was Tatia, actually. But tater tot is considerably more appropriate — often greasy, grows disappointingly cold, and an unpleasant aftertaste.” Fishing around in one pocket, he flashed her a devilish smirk that she would’ve found charming if it wasn’t for the bit of drool as he slurred his words, “Elijah’s welcome to her, but he’ll have to make it official without our grandmother’s ring.” He triumphantly slammed a beautiful antique ring on her bar, the neon lights making the diamonds and pearls twinkle.

Caroline let out a small gasp as she studied the delicate floral pattern the gemstones made. For some reason, she felt ridiculously pleased that Tatia didn’t get her grubby cheater’s hands on such a lovely piece of jewelry. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but morbid curiosity is winning right now. Did your other brother release the angry murder swans as a distraction just so you could steal back the ring?”

“A happy accident, love. Kol thrives on chaos and he nipped out to the reception area to let them out of the paddock just to see what would happen. I took advantage of the riot that ensued once the swans started attacking the outlandish lace train of Tatia’s dress and swiped the ring.” His smile was more of a grimace, but at least he chuckled as he said, “I escaped before I saw the worst of it, but I’ve been told that by the time the swans were under control, Tatia was wearing shredded bits of overpriced lace and feathers, and both she and Elijah were smeared in droppings.”

Giggling, Caroline squeezed another half-lemon into the shaker, adding the grenadine and topping it off with orange juice before pouring it over what was left of the rye whisky in Klaus’ glass. She tossed in a few cherries and winked as she told him, “My treat.”

He threw her what should’ve been a smoldering look, but instead his gray eyes seemed to cross slightly as he slurred, “You are the treat, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes, not bothering to respond to his clumsy flirting. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, she couldn’t help the way her pulse quickened. If he had this kind of effect on her now, what was he like sober? Nope, she sternly reminded herself; he’s on the gut-wrenching rebound to end all rebounds and you stopped doing one-night stands after Mr. Hair Gel seemed waaaay more into his brother and you snuck out the bathroom window once it got too squicky.

She kept busy closing out a few more tabs, feeling the need to steamroll past the awkward silence as she cheerfully said, “So, you just hopped on a plane and decided to go on your honeymoon anyway. That’s a level of petty I can support. Mystic Shores is a tiny resort town, but you should find plenty to keep yourself busy. There’s the lighthouse, natural rock bridges, seabird sanctuary...” she trailed off when she saw how his eyes had glazed over. “Plus, lots of white sand beaches you can day drink on while watching the dolphins.”

“I knew I picked this place for a reason.” Klaus gulped down the rest of his drink, grimacing as he told her, “Remind me to teach you how to make a proper Ward Eight, love. It’s positively criminal the rubbish rye you’re peddling.”

She grabbed his empty glass, putting it in the tub under the bar. Snorting, she replied, “Yeah, yeah, just add it to the rest of your complaints about my drinks. Not that it stopped you from slamming them back as fast as I poured them.”

Klaus smirked, rising unsteadily to his feet. “A bartender should understand proper citrus techniques. Zesting citrus in advance may save time, but it dries out the fragrance and flavor you’d otherwise infuse into your drinks.”

Normally, having her bartending skills drunkenly criticized would have Caroline covertly charging an ‘asshat tax’ when she closed out the tab, but there was something about Klaus that made her more amused than angry. She’d stealthily admired his cheekbones most of the evening, and when he occasionally stretched, the muscle definition was undeniable. He wore his classic good looks with casual indifference, but a curious melancholy hung over him despite his snarky wit. There was more than just heartbreak below his surface, and she was curious to know more. Nope. Don’t get involved. It’s not your job to fix broken people.

As he continued to hopelessly fumble with his wallet, she gently pressed her palm to his forearm and said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

It was the first genuine smile he’d given all night, and he lurched forward, placing a sweet kiss to her knuckles. “You radiate light and beauty. I should’ve known you were are an angel, Caroline.” He stumbled out of the bar before she could speak, cheeks flushed at the way his accented voice lovingly caressed her name.

Caroline busied herself closing up the bar, barely resisting the urge to glance out the front to see if Klaus had managed to operate his ride app correctly. Not your problem. She waved off a few of the locals who invited her to the dunes to watch the sea turtle nests. They’d be hatching soon, but a bubble bath and some bad reality TV sounded much more appealing at the moment.

Lost in her thoughts, she nearly stumbled over Klaus as she took the trash to the dumpster. With a gasp, she knelt beside him, realizing he was snoring loudly and his pockets were turned inside out.

Damn it, Enzo.

“Come on, Klaus, wake up,” she hissed, lightly smacking his cheek.

With a groan of protest, Klaus managed to sit up against the dirty brick wall, mumbling, “Bloody wanker came at me, but I gave him a right show with this,” he cursed, triumphantly waving around a fist.

She helped him up, muttering under her breath, “Nice work. Although it looks like he still snagged your wallet and ring.” At his crestfallen expression, she hurriedly reassured him, “But don’t worry! I’ll give Enzo a call and we’ll fix it, I promise.”

________________________________________

When she heard the loud thump followed by an impressive string of cursing, Caroline knew Klaus finally was awake. It was the first time she’d let a drunk stay on her couch who wasn’t a local, but he was far too out of it to be a threat last night. Plus, her bartending over the years had given her an almost infallible bullshit meter. Klaus wasn’t dangerous. Just dangerously sexy. She rolled her eyes at that thought.

She’d given Enzo an earful last night for not keeping a closer watch on his crew. When he dropped off Klaus’ stuff, he gave Caroline a saucy little wink and teased, “My apologies, gorgeous. I didn’t know my mates rolled your tourist fluff.”

“Seriously?! It’s not like that — he’s just going through a rough time with his fiancé leaving him at the altar for his brother, and he doesn’t deserve getting his stuff stolen.”

Enzo whistled, a rare look of sympathy flashing in his dark eyes. “Bollocks. No wonder he went after Jeremy like a man possessed. Gave him one hell of a shiner too — it’s my new wallpaper on my phone.”

Klaus stumbled into her kitchen, looking just as adorably rumpled as he did last night. Curse her weakness for complete disasters. He squinted at the sunlight pouring in from her open windows, and winced at the cheerful whirring and hissing of her espresso machine. “Caroline?”

She blushed to the roots of her hair, ridiculously pleased that he remembered her name. “Good morning, Klaus.” She slid the cup and saucer toward him. “It’s a double shot — I figured you could use it.”

He blinked, taking a sip as he said gratefully, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome. Um, so you probably don’t remember much from last night, but after I found you passed out in the alley, you kept muttering you were staying at a bed and breakfast. Which isn’t helpful when there’s one on almost every corner in this town. So, I let you crash here instead.”

Klaus gave her a small smile, rubbing his forehead as he muttered, “It’s a sad commentary on my life that I’ve been in the presence of friends and family this past week and the most kindness I’ve been shown has been from a stranger.”

“We’re not strangers,” Caroline protested with a gentle smile. “We’re just friends who haven’t finished bonding.” As she refilled his cup, she winked, “And when it’s my turn, I’m counting on you to have a very generous pour when I get left at the altar.”

He suddenly froze, rapidly patting at his pockets, and she quickly said, “Hey, no, it’s okay! I got your stuff back.” She reached into the drawer between them, pulling out his wallet and carefully setting his grandmother’s ring on top of it. “See? I told you I’d fix it.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, he pocketed his belongings, telling her, “You’re amazing, love. An angel, just as I suspected.” His gaze suddenly turned shrewd as he studied her, “You know the thief.”

“Yes. I have a friend who runs a crew that robs tourists that look like they can afford it.” At his frown, Caroline felt the absurd need to make Klaus understand. “Work here is seasonal at best for a lot of us, and Enzo kind of redistributes wealth when he can.” She held her breath, waiting for his judgement. He had swans at his almost-wedding, for fuck’s sake. His type was definitely Enzo’s favorite target.

Klaus let out an unexpected chuckle, telling her, “We should hope your friend never meets Kol. When we were in school, he set up an underground sports betting pool with the faculty and most of the staff.” Shaking his curly head in bemusement, he added, “Kol had teachers giving him passing grades just to pay off their gambling debts.”

She burst out laughing, wiping away tears as she imagined the crazy shenanigans Enzo and Kol would get into. That’s not going to happen. Klaus is on vacation, remember? His ruined honeymoon. Her smile was overly bright as she started pulling containers from the refrigerator, explaining, “My friend Matt runs the cafe down the road. I wasn’t sure what your go-to hangover food was, so I got you mine — butter biscuits and spicy sausage gravy, vanilla custard French toast, and orange juice.”

“You’ve spoiled me, sweetheart. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to repay all the kindness you’ve shown me.”

She did her best not to blush at the intensity of his gaze as he helped her set the table. They ate in companionable silence, listening to the small town slowly come to life on the street below. She waited until Old Man Gilbert’s noisy pontoon boat left the docks for the morning dolphin tour, and once the street was back to a manageable hum, she tentatively said, “Listen, I don’t know what you’re planning to do when you get back home, or if you’ve even allowed yourself to think that far ahead, but I wanted to offer you some advice.”

When he raised an intrigued eyebrow, but didn’t comment, she blurted out, “Go crazy. This is one of those moments where you can change whatever boring, expected path you’d planned out. Invite a little chaos into your life — do something wild and unexpected.”

The sudden press of Klaus’ lips to hers was just as thrilling as she’d imagined. He had her up against the cabinets with a resounding thud that seemed to fuel their frenzied kisses. The feel of his stubble against her neck was spicy-sweet pain that made her groan. Emboldened by her reaction, he dipped his head lower, running his tongue along her collarbone as he palmed her breast.

Caroline reached between them, rubbing the outline of his erection with a satisfied hum. It had been far too long since someone made her skin sing. He wanted her. And yesterday he wanted someone else. That thought alone jerked her out of their pleasurable haze. Placing a palm on his chest, she gently pushed him back, her words a bit jumbled as she panted, “That was...I mean...but we shouldn’t...”

Klaus’ cheeks were flushed as he smirked, “You advised me to do something wild and unexpected, sweetheart.”

She snorted, “Seriously? That was totally expected.” Her tone grew serious as she told him, “Klaus, you’re going through something huge right now and I’m not looking to be someone’s detour on the way back to their life.”

“You aren’t a detour — you’re a destination,” he replied. “But you’re probably right — I’ve had a bloody awful time of it. I need to get myself sorted.”

The determination on his face gave her hope; Klaus would be ok.

________________________________________

Four months later, Caroline was loading up the pushcart with kegs for that evening’s tasting room event when Enzo strolled into the supply room, wearing his serious brows. She hadn’t seen those since she’d dropped Klaus off at the airport and then sulked on Enzo’s couch for days. He’d argued that she was being stubborn and should go track Klaus down. But she didn’t want to get in the middle of his left-at-the-altar-for-his-brother drama. She refused to be someone’s second choice.

“For fuck’s sake, what is it,” she asked in exasperation, wiping the sweat at her temples with the bottom of her old t-shirt.

Frowning, he jerked his head toward the street, telling her, “Looks like some competition has moved in, gorgeous.” At her skeptical expression, he pulled her outside, pointing to a sign that proclaimed ‘A Little Chaos’ was opening soon. It looked like a bar. Right across the street from her bar. Frowning, she quickly made her way over, blinking in disbelief as she came face-to-face with a familiar devilish smirk.

“Caroline! I was just on my way to see you,” Klaus greeted her, that knowing smile making her blush despite her anger.

“You’re opening a bar. Across from my bar,” she said flatly, eyeing the exquisite, hand-lettered gold leaf sign that probably cost more than her rent. “A hipster bar,” she added, wrinkling her nose.

He chuckled as he lightly corrected her, “A speakeasy. I’ll be able to show this town how to make a proper Ward Eight.” With an impish wink, he reminded her, “Someone told me to invite a little chaos into my life. I decided to take her advice.”

#klaroline fall bingo #uppity bitch fanfic #klaroline fanfic #klaroline #klaroline aesthetic #aesthetic #klaroline does left at the altar plus meet cute #and amusing pickpockets #plus murder swans

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the-creative-lounge-blog · 4 years

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Third Shift Kakashi - A Lounge Round Robin Story

In this modern AU in-server event for November, Loungers tell the tale of Kakashi's night shift at a convenience store/gas station one sentence at a time.

What is a round robin story? A round robin story is a story that is written by multiple people. Participants take turns contributing a sentence. The last sentence is sent to the next person, who adds their sentence, and then the process repeats through an established amount of time (our event lasted one week).

Participants in Third Shift Kakashi were contacted via DM with the last sentence, and they replied with one new sentence.

Often, round robin stories don’t make sense and they’re meant to make us laugh. To ensure this, a ridiculous topic was chosen from among the MANY fantastic plot bunnies that are Kakashi Lounge-originals:

Third shift Kakashi: Our favorite tired ninja dork punches in at 10pm to begin his third shift at the 7-11 (or Speedway, Circle K, Kwik Trip, or your country's equivalent of a 24-hour gas station/convenience store). Strange things happen during his nightshift but participants decide what those things are. The Slurpee machine gains sentience. Ōtsutsuki aliens land in the parking lot. Cheeto-fingers Obito tries to steal jerky. Deidara tries to use a fake ID to buy beer. Granny Chiyo comes in and pays with pennies. Any and all of these are believable occurrences from 10pm-6am, and more. The weirder, the better.

The only rules were to keep it rated T, and no romantic pairings.

This dumpster fire masterpiece of a round robin story was written by: @maiikawriter, @fleuraison7, Kitera_Matar, /vastments, @mouseymightymarvellous, @thetoxicstrawberry, @myaekingheart, @mallml, @nibbler747, @syusukewrites, @asiriyep, @azuzel23, @tenzosnewleaf, and @hkandiu (all contributed sentences are in italics and each are double-spaced) with opening and closing paragraphs written by @ohayohimawari:

Kakashi sighed as he punched in twelve minutes late to his shift. He’d been late enough times to warrant a written warning from management, but that threat was nothing compared to what he experienced during his overnight shifts at Konoha’s 24/7 convenience store. He pulled his book out of his back pocket with more hope than expectation that he’d actually find time to read amidst the strange things that occurred between 10 pm and 6 am.

Yukiko and her lover were just getting around to second base and ready to confess their love in this chapter when he’d had to leave for work.

Kakashi pocketed the worn Icha Icha volume reluctantly, hoping for a quiet shift so that he could dive into it again later, and took his prepared bag to head out to his workplace.

Kakashi walked through the store, prepared bag in hand, Icha Icha in his pocket, and sighed as he saw the repeat customer hovering by the front counter.

“No, Naruto, we still haven’t received the limited edition Gutsy Shinobi ramen cups; I told you I’ll call you if we get them.”

Kakashi never heard Naruto’s reply, because his voice was suddenly drowned out by the deep growl of engines pulling into the station, and any hope he had for an uneventful shift was dashed just as quickly as Naruto’s chance of indulging in the delicious goodness of Gutsy Shinobi ramen with the arrival of the Akatsuki Biker Gang.

The group of delinquents strolled into the store as if they owned the place, all sporting matching black leather jackets with red cloud patches on the shoulders and back--an omen that things were about to go south very quickly.

Without seeming to lift his eyes from his book, Kakashi sighed to himself as he watched them clumsily stuff candy bars and Slim Jims under their jackets... were the Akatsuki having an initiation night?

Should he bother confronting them? The long expired Slim Jims they were about to partake in might be punishment enough.

Kakashi put on his best fake customer service smile and didn't say anything - whatever they were stealing, he wasn't paid enough to care.

He sighed. ‘Sir, if you lick the candy bars one more time it’s a week ban. Not so funny when you can’t get those stale nachos, huh?’

Just to prove his point, and maybe because he was feeling a bit exasperated by now, Kakashi carefully unwrapped a candy bar of his own and inhaled the whole thing in two seconds beneath his mask - leaving the visitor stunned, staring wide-eyed with new appreciation at the silver-haired man’s obvious authority on the subject of candy-bar licking.

"Ew," Naruto reminded Kakashi of his presence at the same time that Deidara tried to sneak a six-pack of Budweiser beneath his shirt, so he changed tack to deal with the Akatsuki Biker Gang because he wanted to keep his loyal customers.

Although, 'loyal customers' was a bit of a stretch at times; yes, they frequented the place often, but more often than not they also gave him quite the headache.

He was too tired for this shit at this hour of the day.

Kakashi did what he was best at - feigning boredom and being unaffected by what was happening in the hope that the problem solved itself.

Kakashi pulled out his beloved Icha Icha and proceeded to hide behind the vivid orange cover as he ignored the problem happening in front of him.

The Akatsuki biker gang couldn’t be so easily ignored, as Hidan proved when he snatched the orange book from Kakashi’s hand.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Kakashi said pleasantly, his best customer service smile sharp as blades under his mask, “but that’s not for sale.”

Hidan squinted and flipped the book sideways in a gesture that made Kakashi think he had never held a book before, let alone read one, and Kakashi’s eyes flicked to the closed-circuit camera in the corner as he contemplated forgoing his service training in order to retrieve it, but stopped when he noticed the suspicious red smudges that the man’s fingertips left behind on the cover of his cherished Icha Icha.

It was too bright to be anything ominous - in fact, it matched the same shade as the cherry-flavored Slurpee they offered - but Kakashi wasn’t about to let Hidan slide on stealing a mouthful of frozen delight, or marring his favorite book, so he growled, “You owe me two dollars for the drink and a new copy of Icha-Icha.”

"Two dollars!--look, I'd pay ya, but my partner's a real Stooge [sic] with the purse strings... how 'bout I make it up to you in the stock room instead, if you know what I mean?" the gray-haired religious fetishist suggested with a waggle of eyebrows.

Kakashi considered the offer as it would lessen his shift duties and afford more time to read, however, just then his, Naruto’s, and every head belonging to the Akatsuki biker gang turned to the main entrance when the cheerful ding sounded announcing the arrival of another repeat customer, Granny Chiyo, with her fists full of scratch-off lottery tickets.

Granny Chiyo, was a legend not just for being the bad-ass take no names grandmother of one of the more dangerous Akatsuki gang members, but also for being thrifty. She slammed the scratch off lottery tickets on the counter, and reached into her jacket and pulled out Kakashi's most dreaded item - the jar of pennies.

She placed the jar on the counter with a loud clunk before reaching inside and pulling out pennies one by one, counting them on the counter under her breath. "This will only take a moment" she assured him, "I want to be precise!"

Kakashi took in the mayhem around him with a glazed 100-meter stare. There'd been worse nights, right? No machetes yet, right? All he needed was to make it to break time and have a smoke. 10 minutes.. Kakashi inhaled deeply and cleared his throat 'Take ALL the time you need Ma'am.' He shouldn't get involved right? He needed to man the till, right?

Kakashi smiled at Chiyo who was determined to pay for her weird collection of knickknacks with a gajillion pennies, but couldn't help glancing at the security camera that showed an energetic teenager mid-dance battle with the local biker gang; the only thing more bizarre would be Gai showing up to join them and to be honest he wouldn't be surprised.

The universe was not about to pass over an opportunity like that; if Kakashi had learned anything in his long years, it was that the best way to handle the sudden burst of GREEN and NOISE that assaulted his senses (out of seemingly nowhere) was to remain calm and tip a casual “Yo” to his rival while keeping an eye on Chiyo, the teenager, the biker gang, and the dance battle all at once... Gai would probably join the dance battle in a few minutes anyway.

Because, hello my dear, he wasn't going to leave his dignity in pieces. Better dead than ridiculous ... Although maybe ...?

He ran a hand through his already unruly hair as he rolled his shoulders, getting ready for whatever lay ahead; a quick glance at the clock confirmed his shift still had a long ways to go.

There was no time to relax when the biker gang was already making a move on some products, thinking he wouldn’t notice.

Kakashi decided that losing his job over a bunch of tough dudes acting like broke teenagers wasn't worth it, so he strode over to them first; maybe Gai would help him if they got violent - not that Kakashi would need help with that though.

And that was when it all exploded as Gai joined the dance battle causing them to knock over a display onto the Akatsuki teenage biker gang who exploded in rage causing both the aged Chiyo and Naruto to get knocked to the ground.

Kakashi in panic rushed to Naruto almost running over the old Chiyo and got out his flute then started to bang in on poor knocked-out Naruto's head, the Akatsuki teenage biker gang all nodded as they understood that it was an extremely necessary step of Cardiopulmonary resuscitation.

Gai—either unconcerned, not noticing the damage, or convinced that anything can be solved with the power of dance—dropped to the ground in an impressive worm, once more pulling the attention of the Akatsuki members.

Instigated by the impromptu dance party, the eccentric masked Akatsuki member jumped up onto a tower of canned diet Coke and started beat boxing, and Kakashi could only watch in horror as Gai’s worm morphed into break dancing.

Kakashi sighed and rubbed his tired eyes from behind the counter as he watched Gai break dance down the snack aisle to the rhythm of the masked man's beatboxing, onlookers pumping their fists and cheering as another Akatsuki gang member started to rap about how "art is an explosion."

'What the hell,' was the thought that echoed through Kakashi's aching head with increasing volume; what the hell indeed?--and as he ripped off his red vest and leapt to the top of the counter, the crowd, one by one, turned toward him and fell silent: the cheering onlookers, the masked beat-boxer, the pony-tailed blond... until, at last, the only sound and movement was the frenzied tricking of Gai as the spandex-clad man danced on, unaware.

As he crouched on the counter he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go through with this - but desperate times called for desperate measures. He grabbed a Slim Jim and held it up as a mic. There was only one song that would shut them up.

Kakashi started the song softly, but got louder with each word, one hand leading the dance as he ever so slightly got closer to the crowd and then- 3am really was the witching hour, huh? - the crowd joined his dance and with each Ey macarena they were inching a little closer towards the exit in perfect synchrony.

Just then, Naruto regained consciousness and after blinking several times at the chaotic crowd, exclaimed, “What happened to the old lady that was here?”

Kakashi dropped the Slim Jim mic at these words, and glanced where Chiyo had once stood only to find a list of her purchases and her payment-the jar of pennies-waiting to be counted. He ran a hand down his face, noticed the mess below the dripping slurpee machine, spied Deidara passed out in a corner with empty beer cans around him, Kisame and Itachi not-so-secretly pocketing sunglasses, while Hidan sang and Gai danced on with abandon.

Irritably grabbing the mop for what would not be the last time that night, Kakashi unceremoniously stepped over Naruto.

Kakashi briefly considered whether or not this job was really worth the $7.25 per hour it paid him, before surreptitiously mopping himself within a meter of Itachi and Kisame, who he surprised with a heavy “Thwack!” of the mop handle across the backs of both their legs, causing them each to drop a pair of sunglasses and clap their hands across their backsides to smooth the stinging sensation.

He laughed devilishly, enjoying the momentary respite from the craziness of the shift and the antics of his so-called customers; was anyone actually buying anything tonight?

No matter, they didn’t need to, as long as they would get out.

But they just wouldn't get out, so Kakashi had to take more drastic measures - the fire alarm would get him into trouble with his employer, faking a power failure seemed like a safe option though, so he went over to the power box, turned off the main switch and listened with a deep satisfaction to the surprised screams and commotions in the shop.

“Lights are out,” Kakashi stated obviously, walking carefully back towards the register, “so if everybody could put any unpurchased items down and carefully head towards the still illuminated exit signs, that would be greatly appreciated.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by murmuring, and then the faint crumpling sound of what was either plastic encased items being set aside, or even more likely, being concealed in pockets.

While Kakashi knew that letting customers get away with stealing would come back to haunt him if and when his boss found out, at this rate he quite frankly couldn't even care--and besides, with all the lights off, he doubted the security cameras would pick up anything anyway.

As the subdued miscreants groped blindly to the door, illuminated only by the impassive green of the EXIT sign, Kakashi breathed a sigh of relief that his shift was finally winding down--that is, until the resounding BOOM that echoed from the front parking lot.

The screech of tires, the thundering bass, it was a sound he was only too familiar with - it could only be one man.

Finally, finally the whole bunch was gone, only to be replaced by the loudest most obnoxious person he could think of, but Killer B was a regular and as such Kakashi had to endure his bad rapping.

Kakashi threw his head back and softly yeeted with fingers pointed skywards "Pew, pew pew! Fxxx my life!"

As the giant strode inside, clapped his hands on the countertop at the register and whooped “Yo! Bakayaro! Konoyaro! Kakashi, better watch me, can’t copy me, yeeeahhh!” the shopkeep wondered where this cheerful monster had been earlier, when so many folks were acting the fool (no doubt Killer Bee would have assisted him in wiping the floor with two or five of the previous visitors); “Bee, my man, you have no idea the kind of night I’ve been having...”

Unfortunately for Kakashi, Bee had become distracted by a motion sensor dancing sunflower, and took its song as a challenge for a mini rap battle.

"Yo, this flower's got moves! Look at it swaying while I spit some rad tunes!" Bee enthused and all Kakashi could manage in reply was a tired "You should've seen the dance battle earlier."

Lifting up his sunglasses to peer more closely at Kakashi's face--how was he able to see with those on in the middle of the night? the silveret wondered--B yelled concernedly, "Yo man, feeling tired? Uninspired? Say no more! Let's hit the door!" and, heedless of Kakashi's terrified recoil, scooped the smaller man up under his arm and boogied them to his ride, parked across three spaces in the parking lot.

“What is the meaning of this?” The assistant shift supervisor, Danzo, showed up at the door, with Konoha’s 24/7 general manager, Hiruzen, right behind him.

“Um—” Kakashi began, and ended because there was no explaining it.

“You’re fi—”

“I quit!” Kakashi shouted, silencing Danzo.

Bee brandished a peace sign while Kakashi offered a much ruder gesture and the pair took off in search of an after party, or a nap.

Just then, Naruto-whom everyone forgot about-stepped out from behind an endcap of ramen cups. “Does this mean you’re hiring?”

Hiruzen smiled, “I’ll get you an application.”

The End

Do you have an idea for a title? Add it in the replies to this post!

#the kakashi lounge #Kakashi #kakashi hatake #hatake kakashi #Modern AU #round robin story #third shift kakashi #the man is tired #strange things are afoot #the akatsuki biker gang #gai does the worm #the power of dance #killer bee raps #did anyone actually buy anything?#penny-pincher chiyo #naruto was there the whole time #server event #server shenanigans

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

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Never Gonna Be Alone: Chapter 3

Title: Safe and Warm

Warnings: brief mention of child sexual abuse. Very brief.

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @tragiclyhip

“You should have gotten these looked at BEFORE you came home.”

She sits on his stomach; knee on either side of his body and a bottle of peroxide, package of cotton balls, a pair of tweezers, and a tube of healing ointment rest on his chest. With all of the kids finally settled for the night and the house tidied and every last plate, cup and piece of silverware in the dishwasher, it’s finally their turn to relax. A quick soak in the hot tub while sipping drinks; one last glass of wine for her and a coffee for him. Still damp bodies clad in bathrobes as they sat on the couch; eating ice cream straight out of the carton while relaxing in front of the heat and ambiance given off by the gas fireplace. All conversation steering clear away from anything job related. Talking instead about Christmas and all the things that still need to be done; present wrapping, last minute gift grabbing, decorating. The kids also have jam packed ‘to do’ lists; skating, seeing the tree at Rockefeller, sledding, visiting Santa and the reindeer at Central Park. Christmas Day is spent with just the nine of them; the kids playing with their gifts and spending time outside, a traditional dinner that they’ve become quite the professionals at preparing together. The following day they’ll travel into Queens and spend the day with Ovi and Riya and their little family; two ‘grandkids’ that will be loved upon and spoiled senseless. New Years is usually spent quietly at home; takeout and alcoholic beverages and entertaining the kids with board games. This year plans have changed; Ovi’s wedding at The James New York in Soho.

As exciting as the latter is and as much as he does enjoy his time in New York City -the happiness and excitement evident on his wife and children’s faces more than enough to erase any of his own discomfort- it will be nice to get home. Back to their slice of paradise; the sun and the sand and the privacy and the feeling of security that comes with owning so much land. They’ll have a second Christmas; an informal get together with friends with a cookout on the beach and a ‘Secret Santa’ gift exchange. Work will be put on the back burner; no calls or emails from clients returned until the kids go back to school, the bookstore in good hands under the supervision of the two college students Esme had hired a year ago. Business has been good; exceeding even her wildest dreams and expectations. Already a well loved staple in Cooktown; customers loving the wide array of books and magazines, the outdoor courtyard and the comfortable couches and chairs allotted for those simply there to relax. Reading their purchases or the kindles set up for free use and indulging in the variety of cold and hot drinks and baked goods. The treats are mostly prepared by Tanner who has become quite the little chef and baker; finding his ‘place’ in the kitchen and never happier than when he’s creating some kind of dish or dessert from scratch. He’s also in charge of biweekly book reviews; picking a title to read and then preparing a well written report to go along with it. He’s become quite the local celebrity because of it; fan mail arriving on the daily from kids all over town and those who may have visited during family travels.

If anyone had told Tyler thirteen years ago that he’d even still be alive, let alone living THIS life, he would have told them they were insane. Laughing off the notion at ever being a husband and a father again; too much of a mess and certainly way too much of a liability for anyone to ever take a chance on. It’s weird how quick things can change. How one chance meeting with someone as equally broken and damaged as you can change the entire course of your future. Looking at you in ways that no one has ever has; willing to take on the enormous amounts of baggage and seeing past all your faults and your rough spots and jagged edges and giving you a future you never imagined even in your wildest dreams.

“There wasn’t a reason to get them looked after. They’re just scratches; branches getting a hold of me when I was in the bush.”

“Some of them are pretty deep. And I know you tried when you were in the shower, but there’s stuff stuck in some of them. Dirt or wood or something. Aren’t they sore?”

“They’re SCRATCHES. I’ve had a hell of a lot worse.”

“They’re a mess is what they are.” She picks up the tweezers; eyes narrowing as she leans over him and plucks pieces of debris out of one of the wounds. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t things supposed to go down in the city?”

“They did. In Laos.”

“I thought it was going to be the same in Cambodia. You let me read what Anil sent you. I’m pretty sure things were supposed to happen in Phnom Penh? How’d you end up going from there into the jungle?”

“There was a change of plans.”

She smirks. “Obviously.”

“You know how it is, things don’t always go the way we want.”

“I’d say nine times out of ten, they don’t. Seriously though, your face is a wreck. You should have gotten this all cleaned up hours ago. BEFORE you got on a plane home. What if they get infected? You don’t know what’s in that jungle. They could have some crazy poisonous plant life or something. What if you got into something like THAT?”

“I think it’s safe to say we’d know something like that by now. What are you so squeamish about? You’ve seen me in worse shape.”

“Now THAT’S an understatement. Have you ever thought I just don’t like seeing you banged up and scratched up? Have you ever thought maybe I’ve had just about enough of all of that? Can’t I nurse you back to health from something else for a change? Like...I don’t know...the man flu?”

“You always complain when I get sick. That I’m too needy.”

“I have never once said you’re too needy. I have, however, complained about how whiny you get. How you come down with a head cold and act like you’re dying. How do you go through the things you have and survive what you’ve survived, and think a cold will be the cause of your demise?”

“Hey, those colds get pretty bad.”

“Worse than…” Pausing, she sits straight up and drops the tweezers onto the bed, then soaks a cotton ball with peroxide. “...you know what? I’m not even going to finish that sentence because that will only bring bad juju. Talking about all of that? Revisiting it? Nothing good will come of that. And we need good juju, don’t you think?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Who? Me? No. Maybe. Just a little. Is a whole bottle of wine for oneself considered drunk?”

“For normal people, yeah. For you…”

“Look, I had a rough day. In fact, it’s been a brutal FOUR days. And right now? Well right now, I should be getting laid. Or at the very least, have my husband going down on me. And what I’m doing? Playing nursemaid. And not in a fun, sexy way either. Not the kind of playing nursemaid that comes with little outfits and orgasms.”

He grins. “You ARE drunk.”

“I’m just saying, I had other plans for this evening and picking pieces of the Cambodian jungle out of your face wasn’t part of it.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Mmm...hmmm…”

“And I’d rather be doing other stuff too, but…”

“But the shit hit the fan and everything got fucked up and you ended up doing God knows what, doing God knows where. I’m not even going to ask how it went. I think I’m scared to hear the answer. It was obviously a dumpster fire if you went from the capital city of Cambodia to the bowels of hell.”

“There were a couple...snags.”

She returns to the task of investigating and cleaning the various scratches that mar his face and neck. “Anil let on everything went great.”

“Probably just didn’t want to worry you.”

“Was there something for me to worry about?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been involved in way worse things. It was pretty straight forward. Two easy hits.”

“First one went okay?”

“Exactly the way it should have.”

“Second one?”

“I thought you weren’t going to ask?”

“You don’t want me asking?”

“I don’t care if you ask. You just said you weren’t going to because you were afraid of what you might hear.”

“Do I have anything to be afraid of?”

“Esme, seriously? Do you want to know or not? It wasn’t THAT bad. I’m here, aren’t I? In one piece?”

She nods.

“It honestly wasn't that big of a disaster. Things got a little fucked up. The second one didn’t go the way it should have. I had to make some decisions; change some shit around. The Mark wasn’t where he was supposed to be. I had to find out where he was and I had to figure out how to make things work.”

“Well good thing it WAS you that Anil asked. Because it probably would have been a lot worse. At least you know what you’re doing; you can think on your feet and stay calm and focused. A change like that? That would have thrown other people off. They probably wouldn’t have been able to get the second guy. They would have been too frazzled. That kind of change would have totally thrown them off.”

“Are you speaking highly of me, wife?”

“I am. I tend to speak very highly of you. All the time. To everyone. Even when I’m picking pieces of Cambodia out of your face.” She grabs the tweezers and unceremoniously inserts the tips into a large scratch at the side of his left eye; yanking out a piece of wood. “And it’s a nice face, by the way. So I don’t particularly like you coming home all messed up.”

“Like I said, I’ve had worse.”

“I will give you that.”

They lapse into a comfortable, companionable silence; his hands resting on her thighs as she continues to work at disinfecting and cleaning the scratches and her fingertips rub wound aftercare ointment into his skin. And he admires her as she does so. That steely look of determination on her face; lips set in a thin line and her eyes slightly narrowed and her hands steady yet gentle. And she looks so beautiful in that moment; in the mixture of moonlight and the glow given off by the bedside lamps. Hair pushed into a messy ‘up sweep’; held together by various clips -colourful and unicorn themed, ‘borrowed’ from Addie’s room- and bobby pins. Her face freshly cleaned and scrubbed; bearing the lingering scent of the grapefruit and pomegranate body wash she’d fallen in love with months ago. Clad in what she considers pyjamas; a faded and slightly tattered plaid button down shirt he’d worn during their Colorado days that is enormous on her tiny frame.

It’s been just over twelve years. Since he’d first laid eyes on her; standing on his front porch in The Kimberley in her little denim shorts and that yellow tank top that clung to her like a second skin. He’d known right away that he was in trouble; feeling things he hadn’t felt in a hell of a long time when she so much glanced in his direction and offered a small, almost nervous smile. And it would take him nearly ten years to admit what she’d probably known not long after their initial meeting: that his heart was hers from the very first day.

“You’re beautiful.” He says now, and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

“Are YOU drunk?”

“I haven’t drank in five years. I’m truthful.”

“Maybe your eyesight is worse than you think,” she teases, and dabs a peroxide dampened cotton ball against the scratches on his forehead.

“Or maybe you just hate compliments. Even twelve years into things.”

“You know I don’t handle compliments well. Even now. I know that doesn’t make sense, considering we HAVE been together that long and you’re the master of compliments and sweet talk, but that’s just who I am. It’s just me.”

“I will break you yet.”

“You’ve been trying for over a decade. Same way you’ve been trying to make an honest woman out of me.”

“Come on, at least give me THAT. At least admit THAT was successful.”

“Fine…” she leans down to peck his lips. “I’ll let you have your small victories. You’re still going out tomorrow? With Tanner?”

He nods. “It’s our thing.”

“He’s so excited. He’s been talking about it non stop since we got here. Apparently he’s been writing a lot. He’s got A LOT to show you.”

“Yeah, he told me. Something about crazy dreams he’s been having. He’s so fucking smart, Me. Way smarter than I am. He’s got your brain pan for sure.”

“He is far more intelligent than I ever was at that age. His brain is just...I don’t know. It’s beautiful and it’s brilliant. And it’s kind of scary at the same time. I mean, he’s only ten. And look where he’s at. Not even a special school is a big enough challenge for him. He is so far ahead of all of those kids. What happens when he’s too far ahead? When that place doesn’t have what he needs anymore? Then what? He’s already reading at a high school senior level. And his math? His science? You’ve seen his marks. They’ve got him doing things that fourteen and fifteen year olds are learning. And he’s passing it all with flying colours. Soon they’re not going to have what he needs. What then?”

“We find somewhere else.”

“Where? There’s nothing where we are. And we’re not moving. We just aren’t. We’ve put way too much into that house and that land. And we love it too much. So do the kids. We can’t upset their lives like that.”

“We’ll figure something out. We’ll find something. Someone. There’s always a way, right? Isn’t that what you always tell me? Where there’s a will, there’s a way?”

“When I told you that I wasn’t expecting to have a genius child on my hands. And I know it sounds like I’m bitching. That it sounds like I’m not proud of him.”

“It doesn’t sound like that, Me. At all.”

“Because I am. Proud of him. He’s insanely smart and he’s beautiful and he’s just this incredible little being that I don’t feel I even deserve. But I’m scared. For him. Because he isn’t like everyone else. He never has been. And I know we should celebrate that and celebrate who he is and nurture it and encourage it. But it fucking terrifies me. Someone like Tanner out in the real world. Because he’s NOT like us. Or his brothers and sisters. Or ninety five percent of society. He’s sensitive and he’s kind and he has this huge heart. And I’m scared what’s going to happen to him. Just for being who he is.”

“He’s ten, Me. We have years before we have to worry about anything like that. It’s going to be a long time before he’s out of the house. He’s smart as hell, but you’re right; he’s not like everyone else. Maturity wise? He’s a lot younger. He’s not ten in a lot of ways. He’s going to be with us for a bit. Longer than the rest of them.”

“I just don't want him hating who he is. I don’t want him growing up and hating himself. He’s already told you that. About how he doesn’t like his brain and how it works. How he doesn’t like being different.”

“That’s mostly when he’s pissed that he can’t do the things that TJ does. Or because he’s so much smaller. He has his moments; where he wishes he was like his brother. Didn’t you have moments like that growing up? Wishing you could be someone different?”

“Of course. We all do. I’m sure you did.”

“Fuck, practically every damn day. He’s going to be fine, Me. He’s just a little boy. And he’ll be a little boy in some ways for longer. It is what it is. He’ll be okay. So will we.”

“You are so much better at this than I am,” Esme laments, and tends to screwing the cap onto the peroxide and moving all of the supplies and tools to the mattress. “You’re so much better with him. You have been since the very beginning. Who was the strong one when we got the diagnosis? Who was the one that DIDN’T go into a severe depression and the seven stages of grief? I mean, we suspected it and I STILL had a hard time. I’m his mother. And I struggled then and I’m struggling now. What kind of parent does that? FEELS that?”

“One that loves their kid more than life itself. Who worries about them and is scared for them because they know how fucking cruel the world can be.”

“You’ve just been so much better than I have. You’ve handled it better. Me? I’m just a mess. And not a hot one either.”

“I think you’re way too hard on yourself. You’re a good mom. You’re an amazing mom. Just because you’re having a hard time with this doesn’t mean you’re a shitty parent. Just means you love him.”

“I do. Love him. He’s my Nugget. And I hate that he struggles. That he doubts himself. That he shit talks himself sometimes.”

“Gee, I wonder where he gets THAT from.”

Smirking, she picks up the tweezers and points them at him. “Don’t make me stick these in your eye.”

“I’m just saying…” he plucks the instrument from her hand and tosses it onto the bedside table, then reaches up to push loose strands of her away from her face. “...he does get some things from you. And you do like to shit talk yourself.”

“I’m working on it.”

“For the last twelve years?”

“So I’m a slow learner. Slow and steady wins the race, right? Why are you like this?”

His calloused palms rest on the sides of her face; thumbs brushing along the tops of her cheekbones. “Like what?”

“So good to me. Why are you like that?”

“Oh I don’t know, Me. Might have to do with the fact that you’re my wife and the mother of my children. My SEVEN children. And maybe...just maybe...it has something to do with the fact that I’m wildly and crazily in love with you.”

“Still? Even after twelve years?”

“Even MORE after twelve years. More and more every day, actually.”

“God I love you,” she declares, then stretches out along his body and buries her face in the favourite place of hers; the warm nook between neck and shoulder. “I love you so much. More than I could ever tell you.”

Pressing a kiss to her temple, he wraps both arms around her slender body. “Ditto.”

She laughs at his response; placing a kiss to the sensitive spot below his ear and then pushes her fingers through his hair. It’s longer now. Often messy and often unruly; sides and back no longer shaved right down to the skin. She claims it’s her second favourite look of his; liking the fact that there’s something to ‘grab onto’ during more intimate moments.

He feels the tickle or her lashes as her eyes flicker closed, followed by the long, content sigh that she releases. And for several long minutes they lay in silence, one of his hands moving up to comb through her hair, the other slipping under the hem of her shirt; knuckles repeatedly skimming up and down her spine.

“Me?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is muffled against the side of his neck.

“Don’t take this the wrong way. I really DO like snuggling with you and all that. But right now? Right now I’m really horny and I really want to fuck.”

Laughing, she playfully tugs on his hair and pulls back to look at him. “Husband, you’re nothing if not brutally honest.”

“Wanna have sex?”

Grinning, she leans in to press a kiss to his lips. “Actually,” she says. “I do.”

****

They lay in a tangled mess of wrinkled sheets and sweaty limbs; listening to the wind that rattles the windows and the soft patter of ice pellets and snow against the glass. Both on their sides with her back tucked into his front; her nails lightly and repeatedly skimming along the forearm that rests just under her breasts. His breath is warm against the nape of her neck and she enjoys the different sensations against her skin; the juxtaposition of soft, moist lips and the roughness of his beard. He wears it much shorter now; neatly trimmed and groomed and a far cry from the ‘lumberjack days’ when they’d lived in Colorado. Back when his body was thicker; extra weight around the middle and his muscles more bulky. He’s much more defined now. Tall and lean and athletic; broad shoulders and wide back, a sharp cut to his waist and beautifully detailed abs.

Forty seven years old and he’s in the best shape he’s ever been; a near mirror image of what he’d looked like at thirty five when they’d first met. She remembers that day well. Glancing up from where she’d crouched down on the porch to shower attention on his dog and finding those blue eyes riveted on her; intense and electric and filled with both curiosity and thinly veiled annoyance. He wasn’t used to company, and certainly didn’t seem to like the idea of a complete stranger being brought straight to his doorstep.

Nik had told her just the bare minimum; ex special forces, a host of personal baggage and addiction issues, intense and withdrawn at his best. But word travels when you’re in the ‘circle’; the job a relatively tight knit considering the amount of people caught up in it and the number of countries that are serviced. She’d heard the stories; tales of fearlessness and brutality and exceptional skills. And while she’d thought Nik’s idea was ridiculous and that it would never work, she’d been intrigued as well; wanting to put a face to the name and to all the rumours and the whispers she’d been subjected to. Other than his towering height and those muscles that strained under the sleeves of his shirt and the host of tattoos and scars, he hadn’t been that intimidating; offering just a brief twitch of the lips in lieu of a smile, his hand engulfing hers when he quickly and willing shook it in greeting. There was something welcoming about him despite the lack of conversation; opening up a little as soon as Nik stepped outside and offering her a drink. Those eyes ever so slightly sparkling and a small smirk on his lips when she’d downed the glass of scotch; making a comment about being surprised a ‘wee thing like her’ could handle her liquor so well and then pouring her another. Even chuckling a little when she’d commented on his place of residence; modest and simple, a chicken probably a far better roommate than any human she’d ever shared living quarters with.

Things had actually started during the two day stay just outside of Dhaka; a high end hotel that Nik had procured for final team meetings and strategy sessions. Meeting up -by sheer chance and not by plan- at the establishment's bar; sharing both a table out on the patio and pitcher of beer and tray full of tequila shots. There’d also been a kiss. Or, as close to a kiss as you could get. When he’d walked her back to her room and they’d stood in the hallway; slightly inebriated and suddenly somewhat anxious and nervous around each other. Dinner had been casual and comfortable. He’d smiled and even laughed and teased her about being a total enigma; so small and delicate looking despite her time in the Corps and having such a reputation for being tenacious and no nonsense. They had shared stories of growing up in Colorado and Australia and he’d been relatively talkative; either encouraged by her own openness and chattiness or the mixture of the booze he’d consumed and the meds he’d taken. Yet suddenly they were both at a loss for words and things seemed awkward and uncomfortable, and she’d stuttered and stammered while asking him if he’d like to join her inside and then furiously blushing when he’d exactly accepted.

She can still remember what it had felt like; when she’d drunkenly teetered and stumbled when attempting to unlock her door and his arm had curled around her waist to keep her on her feet. His body had been warm and solid against hers; breath hot and moist on the back of her neck. His eyes had been locked on hers when she turned to face him, heart hammering in her chest as he leaned in to kiss her. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. Even something so simple as a kiss. And it had been even longer since she’d wanted someone that badly; physically aching and desperate to feel his hands and his mouth on her.

But it had never happened. In a brief moment of clarity, he’d backed away. Doing nothing more than pushing her hair behind her ears before backing away.

“I can’t do this,” he’d said. “I can’t do this to you.”

They never spoke of that moment again. Not even when things had crossed that line in Dhaka. It’s been just over twelve years and neither have brought it up. It didn’t matter anymore; the awkwardness they’d felt, the glimmer of life that she’d seen in his eyes, the words that he’d uttered. Things had changed. Drastically. Marriage and children and a somewhat happily ever after.

His free arm slips between her and the mattress. Coming to rest along her collarbone; fingers splayed over the top of her right breast, thumb repeatedly brushing along the hollow of her throat. “You alright?”

Smiling, she pushes her fingers through his and moves their joined hands down to her stomach. “More than alright. You? You okay?”

“I’m good. Is that what you wanted? Did I live up to your expectations?”

“Exceeded them, actually. I continue to be impressed by you. Your track record for incredible sex is almost a hundred percent.”

He raises his head from his pillow. “Almost?”

“You keep forgetting about that time after Kyle’s bachelor party. When you were drunk. When you got off and I didn’t and then had the goddamn gall to pass out. On top of me. Your poor little wife that’s a foot shorter and at that time, over a hundred pounds lighter.”

“Not one of my finer moments,” he agrees, and presses a kiss to her cheek. “I haven’t made up for it? It’s been ten years since that. I haven’t made amends yet?”

“You’re getting there,” she teases, and then yelps and giggles when his teeth sink into her shoulder. “By the way, I think the neighbour knows you’re here.”

“You know what I’m surprised about? That the kids didn’t wake up.”

“Maybe they’ve gotten so used to it, they just sleep through it now.”

“Or maybe they’re hiding under their covers, totally traumatized.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be so good at what you do. Maybe you shouldn’t be the king of multiple orgasms. Screaming ones at that.”

“You’d rather I didn’t get you off at all?”

“Don’t get carried away. We don’t need to go to THAT big of an extreme.”

“We can resort back to a pillow over the face. Or my hand over your mouth.”

“Remember that time in Dhaka? When the people in the next room complained to the manager about the noise? He was so embarrassed; when he came up to our room.”

“I do. And I remember the first time we went to Phuket. I never introduced myself to the people in the next suite, but they seemed to know my first name.”

“They were just jealous. I guess neither of them ever experienced really good sex. And speaking of which; we’re going to have to change the sheets before we go to sleep.”

“You can sleep on that part. That’s YOUR wet spot. On YOUR side of the bed.”

“You’re the one who made it happen. You should be the one to clean up the mess.”

He grins against the nape of her neck. “It’s a good mess though.”

“A very good mess,” she says, and then rolls over to face him; pressing herself tightly against his chest and reaching up to push her fingers through his hair. “You alright?”

“Fine. Why?” He skims her fingertips along the length of her spine; pausing to trace the tattoo that decorates the small of her back before moving back up again. “Didn’t it seem like I was alright? Did I seem like I wasn’t having fun?”

“I can tell something’s wrong. You’re different; during sex. When something is bothering you, you do things differently. Not in a BAD way. Just in a different way. You’re more aggressive. Rougher than usual.”

“You okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No. You never do. It was perfect. YOU were perfect. It was just...different. You were different. I’ve been with you for twelve years. It’s one of the signs I’ve come to recognize; one of the things that change when something is bugging you.”

Tyler grins. “You’re good.”

“Are you going to tell me? What’s going on? You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” he admits, and then presses a kiss to her forehead before rolling over onto his back.

“I think you should.” Esme slides closer to him, propping herself up onto her elbow. “I think it’s good for you; talking about things that bother you. We’ve learned over the last twelve years, right? That things are better...that WE’RE better...when you don’t keep shit inside.”

Sighing heavily, he runs both hands over his face; wincing at the discomfort in both back and shoulder when he puts his hands behind his head.

“Is that what is? Pain? Did you get hurt? Do you need more meds? Do you…?”

“No pain. Just some tightness. I don’t need any more meds. I’m fine.”

“Did you take them while you were gone? ALL of them?”

“Babe, I’ve been taking them for five years. I wouldn’t fuck it up now.”

“I’m not saying you would. I’m just worried about you. I know something is wrong and I know it’s better for you NOT to keep quiet about it. So tell me. Please. Do your wife a solid and talk to her.”

“Didn’t I just slip you a solid? Twice?”

She scowls. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s nothing. Me. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“I’m sorry, but this is something involving you and I worry about you. Don’t do this, okay? Let’s not get back into old habits. I know you don’t want that. Just like I don’t want it. Tell me. Please.”

He sighs once more, briefly closing his eyes.

“Is it the job?” Gentle fingertips trace the roman numeral tattoo on the front of his right shoulder. “ Did something go wrong? Other than a change in venue?”

“No. Other than that, things went fine.”

“But it IS about the job.”

Tyler nods.

“I’m not a mind reader, babe. I’m good, but I’m not THAT good. Something DID go wrong, didn’t it.”

“No. Nothing went wrong. It’s just...the people...the Marks.”

“They didn’t die or…?”

“Oh they died. You don’t survive a gunshot in the middle of the forehead.”

“So other than the chance of scenery, nothing went wrong and both Marks died but..”

“It’s who they were. Why they had to be killed. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“I do. Because it’s bothering you and I don’t want you carrying that around. That’s never a good thing; you burying things. So yes. I want to hear it. You didn’t tell me much before you left; just that they were pieces of shit and they needed to be wiped out. Other than that…”

“They were the lowest of the low, Me. You can’t get lower than these guys. And I’ve dealt with some pretty huge pieces of shit. These guys? Worst I’ve ever gone against. By far.”

“Worse than Asif and Mahajan?”

“Considering how personal they made things and what they were going to do to my family, no one is worse than them. But if I take the personal stuff out of it, these guys are up there.”

“That doesn’t sound too promising. I didn’t think anyone could come close to those two.”

“The guns and the drugs? That shit was bad enough. They destroyed a lot of lives; killed a lot of people. But the shit I found AFTER I got there? About these guys? About other things they were up to? It’s fucked, Me. It’s fucked and it’s sick and twisted and I don’t think you need to know about it.”

“Well I think I do. You don’t have to shoulder this alone. It’s better if you don’t. Just tell me. I have big shoulders. Well, maybe not LITERALLY. What did you hear? About them?”

“Babe…”

“Tyler, tell me. Don’t do this. Not if you have plans on getting laid the rest of the time we’re here.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh I would. I’m not afraid to pull out the big guns. So either you tell me, or you suffer. Simple as that.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Tell me.” She presses a kiss to his lips. “Please.”

“When I got there and talked to the guy who hired Anil, things got worse. The Marks were even bigger pieces of shit than I thought. They’d both been married a handful of times. And put each one of their wives in the hospital. More than twice. A couple of them even ended up dead. There was never any proof that these guys did it, but…”

“But it’s pretty obvious.”

Tyler nods. “And then I heard about the kids. Not just kids they didn’t know. But kids related to them. Cousins, nieces, nephews. Their OWN kids.”

“Just beaten on them or…?”

“No. Not just beating on them. That’s bad enough. But this?”

“Sexual stuff.”

“Yeah. Sexual stuff.”

“Wow..” she sighs heavily, a fingertip skimming along the chain he wears around his neck. “...that IS the lowest of the low.”

“It just hit home. HARD. Made me think of you and the kids. Made being away from home a lot more difficult. And it was difficult enough already.”

“I’m sorry. That you had to hear all of that. But for it’s worth, I’m glad it’s you that took care of them. Anyone else ran the risk of screwing shit up. At least when you do things, you finish them That’s a bright spot, right? That you DID get to be the one?”

“Yeah, I guess. Just fucked me up. Mentally. Made me think of our kids. I swear to God, Me. If anything like that ever happens to them...if I ever find out that someone has touched them like that? I will fucking lose it. I will snap and I will fuck them up. I will torture them in all the worst ways possible. The most painful ways I know how. And then I’ll kill them. With my bare hands. If anyone ever messes with my kids…”

“Don’t think about that, Tyler. Don’t torture yourself like that. I mean, I think about it too. From time to time. And how I’d go nuts and kill someone. But don’t dwell on it, okay? Because our kids are fine. They’re warm and they're safe in their beds. And they always will be safe as long as you’re around. You know I always say you make me feel safe and protected? Well you do the same for them. You always have. Don’t ever doubt that, okay? They love you and they trust you. And you’re an amazing daddy.”

“I just want them to be safe. That’s all I want. Them safe. YOU safe.”

“And we ARE. Safe. As long as we’re with you, we’re fine. We don’t worry about a damn thing when you’re around. So please…” Esme presses a kiss to his cheek and nuzzles the end of her nose against his ear. “...no more dwelling. You got it out; you talked about it. You don’t need to think about it anymore.”

Running his hand through her hair, he tangles his fingers in the dark tresses and gently pulls her head back; lips covering hers in a long, slow kiss.

“Mmm…” she murmurs into his mouth, then sighs happily when he pulls away. “...that was...nice.”

“That was very nice.”

“You think you have one more in you? I still have some expectations that need to be met.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Good.” She throws her arms around his neck and rolls onto her back, kissing him hungrily as she pulls him down on top of her. Nails digging into his skin and her legs wrapping around his waist; ankles locking at the small of his back and a devilish grin playing on her lips when he pulls back to look at her. “Husband, you need to make love to me again.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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septicfag · 4 years

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GETTING INTO PUNK MASTERPOST

Want to get into the punk subculture, but a bit intimidated by it?? Here's a little list of tips and tricks for getting into the scene!!! [especially if you don't know any punks in real life, or aren't particularly close friends with any punks online either]

THINK FOR YOURSELF!!!! this is so important, you cannot be punk and NOT think for yourself, before accepting anything you have to think it through for yourself!!!!

DON’T BE RACIST, XENOPHOBIC, SEXIST, HOMOPHOBIC, TRANSPHOBIC, FASCIST. ETC. you cannot be part of a group of radical free thinkers as a bigot. If you are a bigot you are not and will not be welcome in the punk community

INFORM YOURSELF ON CURRENT ISSUES. Work to figure out what you think about current issues because (as stated before) its punk as hell to have your own opinions

LISTEN TO PUNK MUSIC. You don't have to listen to anything you don't vibe with, but trying out different genres of punk and listening to some of the big names will help you understand and share something in common with more “seasoned” punks.

TALK TO OTHER PUNKS. most of us are really nice, especially if we know you're trying to get into the scene! You can always interact/talk to us! most of us know how it can be a little scary to break into the scene and are willing to talk about our experiences!

TAKE YOUR SELF EXPRESSION INTO YOUR OWN HANDS. to whatever extent you can make/modify clothes for yourself. add patches and pins or paint on clothes [use fabric paint or acrylic mixed with fabric base for a cheaper alternative] ITS 100% OKAY TO WEAR YOUR MODIFIED CLOTHES EVEN IF THEY'RE NOT "DONE" YET! FUCK FAST FASHION!!

LOOK AT PUNK FASHION. there have been around 50 years of punk fashion, so find some you dig and base some of your modified clothes off of it (I'm really into 80s punk looks so I normally look like I crawled out of CBGB [famous punk bar in NY] during its peak years). Staples of a punk look are clunky boots or skate shoes (converse or knockoffs), band shirts, and battle jackets! Punk “fashion” is based on DIY and practicality. (it should be noted punk clothing also has an emphasis on being safe for moshing/protests, so normally no HUGE spikes and impractical shoes and super loose clothes)

GO TO SHOWS! ESPECIALLY LOCAL SHOWS!! going to shows in your local area is a good way to get into the scene. if you're underage or live in assfuck nowhere it's completely fine to not travel hours or get kicked out of a venue halfway through the show, so feel free to wait until you have a good chance to go to one. If you're in an area with a local scene, going out to local shows is a great way to meet and support other punks! [suggestion by @juggernaut-is-a-metalhead]

Some other notes

YOU CAN BE ANY RACE OR GENDER OR SEXUALITY AND BE PUNK, PUNK IS NOT JUST FOR WHITE CISHET MEN! PUNK HAS ALWAYS AND WILL ALWAYS BE AN INCLUSIVE SPACE FOR EVERYONE WHO’S SICK AND TIRED OF BEING KICKED AROUND BY ANY/EVERYONE!!!

YOU CAN BE PUNK AND MENTALLY ILL, YOUR MENTAL ILLNESS DOES NOT CONTROL YOU AND WHAT YOU WANT AND WHAT YOU BELIEVE EVEN IF SOMETIMES IT FEELS THAT WAY! It’s also completely fine and valid to not want to go to shows/protests or be confrontational if you have a mental illness or honestly just don’t feel comfortable or safe doing so.

YOU DON’T HAVE TO HAVE PIERCINGS OR TATTOOS TO BE PUNK! If you’re underage or just don’t want to or don’t have the money, it’s okay to not have body mods and it doesn’t make you any less punk.

we really don’t like bootlickers (basically people kowtowing to authority and authority figures)

we're anti-authority

a lot of us are atheists or at least have a distaste for formalized institutionalized religion

we kind of mind our own fucking business as long as the business isn't hurting us or others

there're a lot of anarchists in punk but you don't have to be one, there are also a lot of social democrats

we DO NOT hurt or harass people who don't deserve it (ie. kids, people who have nothing to do with whatever we're fighting against)

there're not really hard and fast rules that’s a big thing with punk, only you have power over yourself (”no authority but yourself” is a popular quote coined by anarcho-punk band, Crass)

Quick and basic punk genre breakdown

proto-punk- the punk before punk, this genre is comprised of 60s and 70s bands with a less refined sound than mainstream bands at the time, however, they normally didn’t have much in common. Bands like The Velvet Underground fall into this genre.

70's - punk begins to emerge as a genre people argue about who was actually the first punk band a popular choice is Ramones

80's- LOTS of punk potential here, 69.69% of "classic punk" bands are 80's punk

90's- ska started to emerge and punk was seen as skater music a lot of "classic punk" was also 90's

ska punk- based more on reggae, seen as skater music, normally has fun trumpets!

riot grrrl- feminist punk (just being an all female punk band doesn't make you a riot grrrl band, there’s a sound to it as well)

folk punk- punk but with different instruments and less 3 chord riffs

post-punk- punk but more modern, normally is a bit softer than "classic punk"

hardcore punk- punk with screaming, kind of sounds like black metal, but with anarchy

pop punk- punk but it sounds more pop-y (hotly debated what is and isn't, its kind of a dumpster fire)

garage punk- punk but EVEN less polished [this is my favorite genre]

THERE ARE MORE GENRES THAN THIS, THIS IS JUST A VERY FAST OVER-VIEW. Punk has about 1000000 different sub-genres so only the most popular and well known are included here!

(note about early punk: 70s and 80s punk sometimes included slurs in music or wearing hate symbols such as swastikas, this was because at the time a lot of punk forerunners subscribed to the idea that wearing/saying things employed by bigots would take power away from them, this idea was largely abandoned by the punk community as they made their way into the 90s. Now in the 20s punks wear lots of anti-hate symbols either coined by the punk community or lifted from other sources)

(2nd note, concerning inflammatory or ironic statements: a big part of punk culture and lyrics is using purposely inflammatory or heavily ironic statements, one way to figure out if the sentiment in a song is actually meant to be harmful or angry and not ironic is to look up the lyrics/band. As a rule of thumb if they’re an actual punk band that’s listened to by actual punks, it’s irony 99.8% of the time)

Some bands (almost) every punk has at least heard of:

Bad Brains, Bad Religion, Black Flag, Blink 182, Choking Victim, The Clash, Dead Kennedys, Descendents, Green Day, Leftover Crack, Minor Threat, Misfits, NOFX, The Offspring, Operation Ivy, Pennywise, Ramones, Rancid, Sex Pistols, Social Distortion

[lifted off r/punk on reddit]

Some ending tips:

don’t feel embarrassed to look up lyrics or the sub-genre of a punk song/band, it's a way of learning! also don’t feel embarrassed to look into punk history, it shows you’re genuinely interested in the message and culture!

listen to punk compilation albums! they have some amount of fame in the scene in and of themselves (such as GIVE 'EM THE BOOT [VOLUMES 1-5], PUNK ROCK HALLOWEEN [VOLUMES 1-2], and BARRICADES AND BROKEN DREAMS)

check out entire record labels! you can find a lot of cool bands that don't get a lot of attention. here's a good masterlist of punk record labels, but if that's too daunting, Fat Wreck Cords, Epitaph Records, and Discord Records are very well known. [suggestion by @juggernaut-is-a-metalhead]

It’s completely fine to not have a lot of money to spend on records or supplies for DIY clothes. Punk has an emphasis that your clothes and shit don’t have to be “pretty” they have to be functional.

for DIY patches/pins you can put ANYTHING you want on them, song lyrics, rallying cries, dates, sayings, literally anything you want, every punk has some weird shit on their patches.

don't feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want to do, there is/was a group of punks who are "straight edge" meaning they didn’t drink or do drugs or stuff like that (more common in the 90s/00s)

seriously don’t be afraid to interact with other punks!! we're a bit rough but generally harmless if you don’t suck!!

it’s 100% normal to also have nonpunk interests, don’t feel like you have to give up anything you love to be punk.

You don’t have to listen to any of this to be punk, being punk is doing what you want to do because you want to!! This is just a compiled list of tips for anyone not sure where to start!

PUNKS NOT DEAD

[feel free to correct me if I’ve gotten something wrong! my DMs and asks are always open if you want to hear more of my punk hot takes or want to talk to someone about punk or punk adjacent shit!]

#punk #young punk #punx #young punx #wholesome punk #getting into punk #punk tips

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

Can I request 42 with Sternclay? I love the way you write everyone it’s adorable ((42. i found a cat shivering in the snow and you’re the cutest vet i’ve ever seen))

The snow morphs into sleet as Stern hurries down the street, the wind off the lake biting his neck. According to the directions he glanced at, the building he needs should be on this block.

“Mew” Says his pocket.

“It’s alright, we’ll get you warmed up soon.”

The sign on the door of West Elm Veterinary declares they’re open until six. Relief shakes some of the damp from his shoulders, though the wind deposits another round before he manages to get inside.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The young, blonde woman behind the counter looks him over, “I'm gonna guess this is an emergency?”

“In a way, yes. I, I found a kitten on my way home and it seems to be in very bad shape. I’m so sorry I don’t have an appointment, but this was the vet closest to home.”

“That’s okay, we don’t have any remaining appointments today, and I feel safe saying we’d rather you bring someone in than we get to go home a bit early. Let me go grab Dr. Cobb.”

“Thank you so much.” He does his best to smile through his exhaustion and cold as she ducks into a back room. The office is small, and he sees on two vets listed: Dr. Cobb and Dr. Newton. But it’s warm and clean, walls decorated with pet medicine advertisements and PSAs, two shelves on the far wall holding special diet pet foods.

The wall behind the reception desk is lined with thank you cards and photos, and as Stern peers at them his pocket meows once again, the noise weaker than before.

“Shhh” he pulls his jacket closer, hoping to pass on more body warmth, “it’s alright, the vet will be here soon.”

“He will indeed.”

Stern looks at the now-open exam room door. Leaning against it is one of the most handsome men he’s ever seen. He’s tall, looks like he could bench press Stern, with a short-clipped, coppery beard and shaggy dark hair that he’s gathered into a bun. The warm brown eyes and the reassuring smile are just the icing on the beefcake.

“Kitten?”

“Excuse me?” Sterns voice creeps up. No one’s called him that in years.

“You’re the one who brought in the kitten, right?” Dr.Cobb repeats, patient as can be.

“Oh, yes. She’s in my jacket. I didn’t have anywhere else to keep her.”

“Good call. Let’s bring her in here and have a look.”

Stern follows him into the exam room, and gingerly lifts the kitten from his pocket. She looks impossibly scraggly in the bright light. Her eyes are crusted over and she shivers in Sterns hands.

Dr.Cobb holds out his palms, and they’re large enough that the kitten nearly fits in one of them.

“Hey, little one.” He sets her down on the metallic table, begins checking her vitals, “what happened to you, huh?”

God, his voice is deep and comforting and if it’s affecting the feline the way it’s affecting Stern, the cat will be better in no time.

“Where was she when you found her?”

“Behind a dumpster at the EL station. I looked to see if there was a mother nearby, or other kittens, but I couldn’t find them. And honestly, based on how thin and dirty she looked I assumed she’d been on her own a bit.”

“Think you’re probably right. She’s malnourished for sure, and dehydrated, if you can believe it given how wet it’s been. Got an eye infection, hopefully that’s all the illness she’s dealing with.” The vet rubs the kittens forehead and she lets out an unsteady “mewp.”

“We’ll keep her overnight, get some fluids in her, and go from there. Do you want us to contact you with an update?”

“Yes please.” Stern rattles of his name and phone number and Dr.Cobb jots them down.

“Thanks, hopefully we have good news tomorrow. Dani can help you wrap up out front.”

Just as Stern finishes paying (in spite of Dani saying they have a pool of funds for caring for strays. After all, what good is his job if he can’t use the money to care for helpless animals), a tender baritone voice calls out, “Joseph, hold on a sec.”

He turns, finds the vet holding out a an umbrella and a travel mug smelling faintly of mint.

“For the road.” He smiles.

“Thank you, uh...”

“Barclay.” The vet supplies.

Stern takes the offered items, “Thank you, Barclay. I’ll keep an ear out for the updates.”

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

His phone rings at lunch, as he’s eating a reheated sandwich.

“Stern.”

“Hi Mr. Stern, this is Dani at West Elm Vet. I’ve got some good news about the kitten. She’s stable and eating, and we got fluids into her. Her eyes are still a little wonky, but she’s already getting some energy back.”

“That’s wonderful. Uh, would it be alright if I came by to see her this evening?”

He hears the smile on the other end, “Of course.”

When arrives at the vet, he brings the washed travel mug, the umbrella, and a small box of gourmet truffles.

“Here to see the kitten.”

Barclay grins at him across the counter.

“Yes. And I wanted to return these. The truffles are a thank you to you all for your help.”

“Ooh, love their stuff.” Barclay eyes the chocolate box.

“Barclay I swear if you eat it all before I get any-” Dani appears from a back room, returning to her post at the computer.

“I know, I know, you’ll let that one chihuahua loose in my office.” Barclay hands her the box, gestures for Stern to follow him. They head down a small hallway to a little boarding space for cats. The kitten, clean and and snoozing in the warmth, looks like a sandy brown, tiny tumbleweed.

“I hadn’t realized how big her paws are.” Stern pets the glass softly,not wanting to wake the feline.

“She might grow into them, or they might stay big compared to her. I’m a little worried about her eyes; if that infection doesn’t clear up, she could lose one, maybe both.”

“Oh dear.” Stern murmurs, tracing an ear through the glass, “that hardly seems fair, does it? It’s not your fault, little cat. If I’d found you sooner maybe…” He sighs.

“Hey, none of that.” A warm hand rests on his shoulder, “she’s probably alive right now because of you. And she’s a tough little thing, she’ll manage.”

Without thinking, Stern rests his hand atop Barclays, “thank you.”

The hand squeezes his quickly, and then it’s gone.

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

Stern’s routine changes over the next weeks. Once, and usually twice, per week he visits the vet to check on the kitten and her caretakers. He starts bringing a late afternoon pick-me up for Dani from the local coffee shop, and whatever gourmet candy or snack he thinks Barclay might like. If it’s slow, Barclay will make him tea and the two of them will chat while he fusses over the kitten. She grows stronger, looks less like she’s been run through a washing machine, but her infection claims her right eye.

Stern still thinks she’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

Well, second cutest. But it’s hard for anyone or anything to compete with Barclay. Especially when he laughs or sends a wink Sterns way.

Stern starts bringing toys for the kitten, catnip fish for her to hold between her large paws, jingly plastic spheres to help her practice hunting and chasing with one eye. When she’s finally old enough and well enough to be put up for adoption, Stern helps take the photos to go up on the Humane Society page.

Three days later, he’s ready to take a chance. And as luck would have it, Barclay is at the front desk alone when he walks in.

“Hey, Joseph.”

“Hello. I’m here to check on my little friend. And, ah, to ask if you would like to go to dinner with me tomorrow.”

Barclay stands, starts walking around the counter with a funny smile, “you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Bad.”

“She got adopted this morning, so that stuffed hedgehog in your coat might not get much use.”

“Oh that’s, that’s wonderful!” He means it, he really does. He just wishes he could have scritched her ears one more time.

“But the good news” Barclay rests one on his shoulder while the other brushes a strand of hair back into place, “is that you and I have a date on Friday.”

Stern beams, even as Dani’s voice comes from the back room, “I TOLD you he was into you!”

Dinner the next night is perfect. Stern’s never seen Barclay in anything other than work clothes, and nearly walks into a pole when he catches the first glimpse of the other man waiting at the crosswalk in his jacket and slacks.

They talk easily, Barclays rumbling laugh filling the plush restaurant booth and sending sparks up Sterns fingers. To his surprise, Barclay asks if he’d like to come back to his place for “coffee”. He eagerly accepts, even if the meal and the company has him feeling sluggish and dreamy.

“So” Barclay flips on the light, revealing a modest apartment that looks like a north woods cabin was dumped inside it, “this is my place. Figure we can start out with coffee on the couch and then” he blushes for the first time that night, “see how things go. But first, let me introduce you to my roommate.”

“Roommate?”

“Mew!”

Stern makes a somewhat higher than normal shriek of delight as a familiar, one-eyed ball of fluff barrels into his legs, purring happily as he scoops her up and cuddles her.

“I was due to adopt one of the strays eventually. Bigfoot here turned out to be the one.” He bats at the cats still-oversized paws, scratches the her head as he nuzzles the top of Sterns hair.

“It wasn’t a ploy to get me to come over?” Stern teases.

Barclay chuckles, “That did cross my mind. Call it a bonus piece of good luck.”

Stern ends his night wonderfully. He spends the first hour happily and handsily making out with Barclay on the couch while Bigfoot gnaws and chases her new stuffed hedgehog. And then he and Barclay fall asleep, cuddled up beneath a heavy knit blanket, with Bigfoot nestled between them.

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #winter aus #veterinary AU

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mystical-flute · 4 years

Text

Home Is Wherever I’m With You (Ch. 2)

AO3 || Ko-fi

“Okay Miss Swan, what brings you here today?”

“I… just don’t feel good,” Emma said, biting her lip nervously. “I’ve felt nauseous and been throwing up. I thought it was food poisoning from all the fried foods I ate last week but… it hasn’t stopped and my breasts are starting to ache and I’m just - tired! I’m supposed to be on vacation and - ”

The doctor held up her hand, smiling softly. “Okay, I see the picture. Emma, what was the date of your last period?”

Emma froze, feeling the color drain from her face.

Oh, no.

“Um. J - January.”

The doctor gave her a kind smile. “Right, Emma… I’m going to ask you to take a pregnancy test. It may be a virus, but I just want to cover all of my bases.”

Emma’s throat had gone dry, but she managed to nod, following a nurse to the bathroom and looking at the stick in her hand.

Pregnant. She might be pregnant.

She’d gotten sex ed in school. She knew she needed to be careful with sex. Neal had managed to find condoms (had one broken?), so protection had been a thing. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

But it had.

Emma felt numb when the doctor confirmed the pregnancy, handing her a sheet with her positive test result and doctors in the area, and warning signs to watch out for if things started going wrong. None of it felt real. Yes, she and Neal had come into the $20,000, but that was dwindling the more time they spent here - they still were living out of a hotel! They hadn’t made it to Tallahassee yet, found jobs, or anything! They couldn’t have a baby now - right?

What did she know about being a mother, anyway? All of the mothers she’d ever had in her life either gave her up or tried to kill her. She couldn’t be a mother. Not yet - maybe not ever… even if the little voice in her head was telling her maybe this could work out. Maybe this would be different. After all, they’d promised each other a new start when they’d fenced the watches. Was this a part of that new start?

Emma trudged up the one flight of stairs back to the hotel room (the elevator kept making her nauseous) and exhaled slowly, unlocking the door.

“Neal?”

“Emma! There you are! I have news -” he trailed off when he took in the look on her face. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I just have some news myself. But you go first.”

Neal was grinning as he spoke. “I looked at the case against me in Washington and realized the statute of limitations runs out in three days . After that, I can’t be legally charged with the crime anymore, even if I’m stopped. They waited too long to contact the cops!”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Wh - but - that’s amazing! You’re sure that’s real?”

“I triple checked and even called an attorney advertising free advice to double check again!” Neal said, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. “We’re in the clear babe!”

She squeaked, laughing as she gripped him tight. “Wow! I never thought… Neal this is the best news I’ve ever heard!”

“Really? What about your news?” he asked, setting her back down on the ground and frowning slightly. “You okay?”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them or think of anything sappy to say to ease him into the news.

Neal’s face paled. “You - what? You’re - ” he stared at her face, then down at her stomach, then back up at her face. “We’re gonna have a kid?”

“I don’t know, Neal… we don’t have a place to live, we have the $20k, but we don’t have jobs to keep building up our money, and neither of us had good role models for parents. Can we really have a kid now?” she asked, staring up into his eyes.

Neal took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. “I know. You never had a stable home and my stability ended when I was thirteen. But I also know that we’re turning over new leaves - no more stealing. No more sleeping in the Bug. No more digging around in dumpsters for food. If we can do all of that, we can stick it to our terrible role models and be the best parents a kid has ever seen.”

Emma giggled, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “You do make a compelling argument. And they do have books out there on parenting. And this time, we won’t just abandon our kid on the side of a highway, or make them feel like they have to run away. But… are you sure you want this?”

“What I really want is you. No matter how or when or where,” Neal replied, leaning in to give her a kiss.

Finally, they made it to Tallahassee. Emma found a job as a secretary, while Neal settled into a career as a landscaper. Their apartment was small - two bedrooms and filled comfortably with used furniture they’d found at a thrift store (minus the mattresses for their bed and the crib - they were happy to pay full price for those), but it was eclectic. Cozy. Completely and totally theirs.

For once in her life, the urge to run was gone, and Emma Swan truly felt like she was at home.

Eight months later, the sounds of a newborn’s cry filled the air. Neal was at her side, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“You did it, Emma…” he breathed against her skin, his cheeks wet from happy tears.

“Congratulations Miss Swan, Mr. Cassidy, it’s a boy!” the nurse announced, approaching with the wriggly blue bundle in her arms.

Emma reached up with still-shaking hands, carefully adjusting him at the nurse’s coaxing, and smiled. “Oh wow… hi baby… I’m your mom…” she shifted him slightly again so he was facing Neal, “and that’s your dad. And while we don’t exactly know what we’re doing, just know that you are so loved, and we’ll do everything we can to protect you and make you happy.”

The little boy blinked, yawned, and fell asleep in her arms, content. It took Emma all she had to not break down in tears. A son. Their son. Their tiny, perfect son with ten fingers, ten toes, and all the trust that they’d keep their promise to keep him safe.

“Sorry to interrupt… but have you decided on a name for him?” the nurse asked quietly, smiling at the little family.

“Henry,” Neal said. “Henry Axel Swan-Cass - ”

“Just Cassidy,” Emma said, looking up at him, then at the nurse. “Henry Axel Cassidy.”

Neal frowned when the nurse left the room after checking Emma’s vitals. “I thought you said you wanted him to have Swan in his name…”

Emma shifted, handing Henry to Neal and leaning back against the pillows. “I did too, until I looked at him and realized… I don’t want to build a future with that name. I chose it because it reminded me of my first foster family, that almost that could have been… and I didn’t want Henry to be stuck with an almost. I wanted him to have your name because of the promise you and I made together, and to him. That we’d always be there. That he’d always be safe…”

Neal smiled, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “I think it sounds perfect. Welcome to the world, Henry. We’re all going to be in for a hell of a ride…”

A ride it was, and before Emma knew it, Henry was two years old, and Neal had changed from landscaping to photography, having discovered a passion for it. He worked at a magazine trying to boost tourism to Tallahassee, while Emma found a new career as a bail bondsperson. The career changes meant they could afford new stuff, better stuff. Stuff Emma had never dreamed she would own.

“Hey, Neal? Have you seen Henry’s other shoe?!” Emma called. “We’re going to be late for our dinner reservation!”

“It’s in here, Emma! He insisted on trying to dress himself and didn’t realize there were two!” Neal replied from Henry’s bedroom.

Emma’s heels clicked as quietly as she could against the hardwood floors of the apartment, Henry’s shoe dangling from her finger, stopping in her tracks when she saw what Henry was wearing. It wasn’t the shirt - no, it was just a normal t-shirt, but the words on it had her heart beating fast against her chest.

Mommy, will you marry Daddy?

Behind Henry was Neal, on his knee with a ring.

Henry’s shoe dropped from her finger, her hand going to her mouth. “Yes…” she managed to whisper. “Of course I will.”

Neal grinned, sliding the ring onto her finger. “Great, now that’s settled, we can get Henry to Cleo’s and celebrate.”

Emma laughed, carefully tying Henry’s shoes and lifting him into her arms. “You did a very good job helping Daddy surprise me,” she told him, kissing his head. “But now you’re gonna go spend some time with Miss Cleo, okay?”

“Okay Mommy,” Henry said, hugging her. “Mommy, are you happy?”

“I’m very happy, baby. You and Daddy make me the happiest I’ve ever been,” she replied as Neal grabbed his bag and the family made their way down to the second floor of the building, where their trusty babysitter was waiting.

Cleo was the one that got her into the business of bail bonding. They’d been introduced by a woman at the clinic Emma had once worked for, and she’d offered to help her find information on her parents. Nothing had come up, but Cleo had taken her under her wing, and Emma found she was one of the only people she could trust. Plus, she adored Henry, and he adored her in return.

“So you finally did it, huh Neal?” Cleo greeted, taking in Henry’s shirt and the ring on Emma’s finger. Congratulations you two.”

“Thanks, Cleo… we might be a bit later than we originally thought, is that okay?” Emma asked with a small frown.

“Of course it is. You two lovebirds take all the time you need. Henry and I’ll be here.”

They married on New Year’s Eve, at a beach a couple of hours from Tallahassee, and rented out a room at a local bar for their few guests. Burgers and hot dogs, onion rings and fries and a cake made by the bar staff just for them. They watched the ball drop in New York on the bar’s television with Henry curled up, asleep between them.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Cassidy,” she whispered, carefully clicking her glass against his.

“Happy New Year, Mrs. Cassidy.”

Boston, 2011

“So today at art camp, Jason mixed up the nacho cheese sauce, a glob of pizza sauce and Tina’s leftover chocolate milk, and then drank it !” Henry explained over dinner on a chilly July night.

“Okay, well, I don’t think I’m hungry anymore. Ready to head back to the apartment now?” Neal asked with a playful grin, putting his napkin down on the table and making a motion to stand up.

“Dad, come on, you didn’t have to walk him to the nurse after lunch. I could tell you that story too!”

“I think I’m good, thanks buddy.”

The ensuing years had brought them to Boston, where Neal had gotten a job working for a national travel magazine, and Emma had moved on to private investigation rather than finding people who’d jumped bail. Henry was a thriving ten year old with a wild imagination, and wild friends that encouraged it.

It warmed Emma’s heart to see that his life was so much happier than her own had been prior to meeting Neal. He had two parents who loved him, friends who cared for him, good grades.

A small part of Emma wished her own wayward parents could see their grandson and how he was thriving, and how she’d risen from the ashes of their abandonment.

The rest of her didn’t give a damn about those people anymore and knew they were all better off without them.

“Stop! Thief!” a shout suddenly came from the kitchen. Emma was on her feet immediately, following the sound of the cry.

“What happened?”

“That damn teenage hooligan sneaked in here and stole a bunch of food again!” the chef cried, his face already beet red with anger.

Emma’s heart sank. It hadn’t been that long ago that she was the teenage hooligan stealing food from restaurants or grocery stores.

“How much money was it worth?” she asked, pulling out her credit card. “You know what, never mind. Put it on my bill. I’ll be right back.”

Swiftly, Emma made her way out the side entrance and down the alleyway, where she heard a dog barking and a girl laughing.

Bingo.

“Enjoying a full-course meal, are you?” she asked, leaning against the brick wall and raising a brow at the girl with the large pizza in her hand. The dog was chewing a carrot as if it were a bone.

“Who the hell are you?” the girl snapped, narrowing her eyes.

“Emma. Who are you?”

“I’m not telling you. You’ll go to the cops!”

“Technically I should, since you stole a bunch of food from the restaurant,” Emma said with a shrug. “But I know what it’s like to be in your shoes. Tired, hungry, desperate. Unsure of where or when you’ll eat next. Worried about what your friend here is going to eat next…”

Emma had never traveled with a dog before, but she’d been around enough people in her life to know that people loved them as much, or more than, themselves.

The teenager shuffled, looking down. “Right. But so what if you understand? If you aren’t going to call the cops, you’ll just call the social worker.”

“I should do that too, unless you give me a good enough reason as to why I shouldn’t.”

The girl looked panicked. “Because I can’t go back to that house!”

Emma’s eyes widened in alarm. “Okay then,” she forced herself to say calmly. “You can come stay with me for the time being.”

“What?”

Emma nodded. “Like I said, I was like you. I can’t leave you here on your own now that I know you’re here. You’ll be safer with a roof over your head.”

“You - you aren’t gonna kick me out because of Snoopy?”

Emma shook her head, sending a quick text to Neal to have he and Henry meet her outside with their leftovers. “I’ll cough up the $500 pet fee.”

The girl hesitated for another moment, before nodding, grabbing the food and a small bag she had and rising to her feet. “Come on, Snoopy…” she said softly.

“Emma! Where are you?!”

“Who was that?!”

“My husband. He’s a former street kid too. He’s probably got our son with him,” Emma explained, wrapping an arm around her and guiding her in the direction of Neal’s yell. Snoopy followed, the half-eaten carrot dangling from his mouth.

“Mom! Did you find the thief?” Henry asked with a wide grin, before frowning as he noticed the girl.

“Henry, Neal this is uh - ”

“Audrey,” the girl finally said, barely meeting Neal and Henry’s gazes. “And this is Snoopy.”

Henry was sold immediately at the sight of the dog, bending down to give Snoopy pets and scratches.

“I invited Audrey to stay with us for a while,” Emma said.

Neal’s look changed from confusion to understanding in a second. “Of course. C’mon kids, let’s get home.”

That night, after Audrey and Snoopy were settled into bed, both freshly bathed and Audrey in a borrowed pair of Emma’s pajamas, Emma knew what they had to do.

“I’m contacting the social worker tomorrow and getting her transferred to our care,” she said as she hung her leather jacket in the closet. “I don’t care what it’s going to take.”

“Agreed. She seems like a good kid. I can’t stand the thought of putting her back out on the streets,” Neal said solemnly. “Henry seems to like her too, with how long they played on the Playstation.”

Emma nodded, running her hands through her hair and sighing softly. “I just want to help her, like no one helped me.”

“I know. And we will. I think you’ve already given her something she’d been missing.”

“What’s that?”

“Hope.”

Hope. The word left a bitter taste in Emma’s mouth when it came to adoption. Every time a potential parent had come, hope would build in her chest, only for it to deflate when she was deemed too old, too plain, too mean to come home with that family.

She wouldn’t let it happen to Audrey too.

#swanfire #emma swan #neal cassidy #henry mills #ouat #once upon a time #fanfiction #home is wherever i'm with you

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goffilolo · 5 years

Text

Demise!Izuku as a Youtuber?

Yep! You heard me right. Demise server is a strange little land, full of strange little ideas, unfortunitely this one idea in particular wasn’t so little. So without further ado here’s all the shit we came up with in the server in regards to izuku as a youtuber within demise!au:

If Izuku was a YouTuber can you imagine the fucking chaos dumpster fire his channel would be

He's be like an edgy twink Jenna marbles(edited)

Doing Me time every damn day

bandit is jennas dogs

tenya is julien

He'd have weird ass videos like dipping bandits feet in red pet dye then putting a sign on him that says "you pet and you'll meet the last person who dared to"(edited)

And he's also make videos about him breaking into UA and interrupting classes and stuff

"hey gamers, today we're breaking into UA to see my boyfriend and read all of my friend's secret files"

And a video just of him filing Aizawa in weird places and at the end putting him on an inflatable mattress and watching him float away

He wakes up in Canada

They don't know how or why

He just attaches a go-pro to trash bandit and let's him run wild. He probably has a seriesJust letting him loose in weird places

DONT LET TRASH BANDIT EAT AIZAWA'S SLEEPING BAG AT 3AM | VERY SCARY"hey guys so today ill be doing the 'How many bottles of quil can i steal before i get caught by Tsukabitch' challange. feel free to make a video of your own!"

He probably dyes Bandit according to holidays and puts him as the profile picture. The kicker is, he only does it for holidays that his country doesn't celebrate

Like 4th of july

And Canada day

"Hewo soulless fuckers it is me your overlord, King of the soulless fuckers. Today I'll be going up to people in the streets and telling them that I killed God and Satan. But y'all know me, that's not enough. So I'll be asking them which one I killed first and if they get it wrong I take a shot of quil. The quil I'll be taking is the plain ol kind so don't worry your little marshmallow heads about it."

He only makes text posts in OwO speak this just makes me realise demise!izuku would make a great youtuber

He would twitch stream all the time doing the weirdest shit for hours on end

"what is up gamews! today i wiww be weviewing the new game cawwed life! i have been pwaying it fow about 16 yeaws now and i have to say it's pwetty bad my guys!"

I feel like he'd be absurdly popular and whenever someone mentions him and they look up the channel they are like "wth have I stumbled upon?!"

I'm just imagining what his front page would look like

The seasonal trash bandit profile picture, the banner would be a flaming hellscape with people he dislikes burning and trash bandit looming on low opacity in the background

(He made it so that only people who view it on TV get the full experience.)

He probably has his own segment on buzzfeed unsolved

Not talking

Its about him

The intro video would just be him staring into the camera while mixing together a horrible concoction of quil then downing it without breaking eye contact(edited)

His about section is written in 3 different types of code and it's all in owo if you manage to crack it

i love demise|!izuku as a youtube cryptid

Clown Speak and OwO speak mixed together

I feel like in the beginning Izuku was this obscure YouTuber that you only find out about if someone in the know tells you about it until a bigger YouTuber found him out on a deep dive video and just couldn't stop watching yes

i imagine once he gets big people from react channel would invite him to react to videos of people reacting to his videos

What if in one of his videos he started acting like his old self just to freak everyone out. He didn't say anything about it instead he talked about hero analysis with a bright smile and trail off into muttering a few times only to blush when he realized it. He have his hair in a ponytail with only bangs framing his face and some messy pieces falling out. Also her be wearing something plain but like old Izuku, maybe hero merch or something. The comment section was just people flipping out and shit

He never acknowledges the video after he made it

No matter how many comments he gets he acts like it doesn't exist

omg you know wha tthat would actually allign with the demise and canon swap places for a da

yand you know what that gives me a lot of feels

the millions of subscribers get to see the old izuku

Maybe after a milestone he would post a video he made in middle school of him analyzing a quirk in video format to make sure it wouldn't get destroyed

And he put a couple videos of younger him after it

But it starts being supporting Izuku

And his present and past self and stuff

PEOPLE MAKE FAN ART first Its all full of trash and memes

What if that picture of canon Izuku meeting demise Izuku was a fan art someone made of his old self meeting the new him

Kids from his class kinda Piecing together they really screwed up?Some even sending in apologies, perhaps

For mental health day I could see him posting a serious video about what he went through and his time in the mental hospital

And on national stop bullying day he would talk about his decade of abuse including the details of how the school and teachers fucked up and everything aboutbakugou

izuku using youtrube for shitposting and advocating

And for mothers day he features both Rei and Inko?

Endeavor exposure video

What if Rei helped edit or something?To help pass the time for her

Give her something to do

People love the mysterious editor

I feel like villains watch his content like maybe Dabi

rei and fuyumi sometimes make appearances

Dabi just shows up in the videos

Quickly become faves

I feel like Dabi would become a fan and start crying after seeing his mom happy in one of Izuku's videos

"...and this is rei, my hospital mom and this if fuyumi, her daughter so like my sister she helps me keep my shit together and sometimes gives me quil.."

dabi crying from seeing his mom happy in some lunatic's youtube videos

“...and this is shin, dont let the looks deceive you this man went to jail"

Shin comes in and covers the cameras a lot

FATHERS DAY IS A PICTURE OF TRASH BANDIT WITH HIS DADS VOICE SCRAMBLED OVER IT

“and this is the local florida woman and her alligator

WHAT IF BNHA VERSE HAD QUIRKLESS AWARENESS WEEKizuku would go ape shit during that week

"who needs a quirk when my dad gave me a gun!"

He would give axe sharpening tips

"Remember kids! Society won't help you, so you gotta help yourself!"

he would make 'how to cook videos' except it would only be quil combos

What if one day he just put quil in the ovenand pulled out a muffin

Remeber, don't try this at home kids." makes A horrifying quil combo "rememer never ever do this even if you have a quirk that allows it." downs the horror concoction

"so today were gonna do my boyriend does my makeup challange and since both me and tenya are dumb and know nothing i borrowed my mums makeup..."

It’s a given he’s gonna do makeup tutorials. The real question is would they be good or absolutely horrendous?

good or horrendous? Both

Amazing makeup at horrendous things? Hmmm interesting

“Hey guys today I’m turning myself into a real like eldrich abomination with the help of eyeliner and glitter!”

izuku has a whole playlist of videos dedicated to tenya and UA

theyre all jsut shitposty compilations of some footage when tenya isnt looking

Even tho it looks like he couldn't give a fuck he is very selective with which footage makes it online. He's very careful at how much is revealed and makes sure no students or secret identities would be in danger with his content

izuku isnt stupid...hes jsut having a good time

Sneaking into UA highschool by hiding in pro hero eraserhead's sleeping bag | NOT CLICKBAIT

Izuku would totally play carefree and childish games while just being Izuku

Like his animal crossing series

Fucking legendary on his channel in terms of gaming

izuku's sims lets play

it's like a 10 generation long telenovela lowkey based off the todoroki family

He has no straight sims, he recreated UA and class 1a in sims

the wedding of sim izuku and sim tenya is like the biggest party in the sim neighbourhood

He creates endeavor just to lock him in a room with 50 ovens

Omg his draw my life has got to be super depressing

He'd be super blunt and monotone during his whole draw my life going through all of the abuse and bullying that he went through because of his quirklessness and also his suicide attempt and all that jazz(edited)

izuku would paint on a potato

Izuku would make a get ready with me where he does something totally batshit crazy then ends it with "Ah. Yet another day in my life."

Izuku meets Marie Kondo

“Only keep what brings you joy”

“Well this gun from my father sure brings me joy”

Knifemaking videos but with axes

Izuku decided to do a wardrobe tour and like 4 things were bloodstained which he never addressed. The most popular comment was what happened, which of course he never answered.

Izuku does these new year (like all of the questions from last year) or milestone Q+A’s/AMA's which are basically people just asking a bunch of the things he wouldn't answer or address before. A lot of his viewers write down and timestamp when he does something and doesn't address it. If you don't you'll never hear an answer.

He has his boonk gang phrase which is probably like Bandit gang or some shit like that, which he shouts while breaking into places. UA dorm rooms, UA facility office, UA, Hero Agency’s, Endeavour's bedroom (Don't ask), etc.

He has a variety of videos where he does things from different communities. For example he has a few hair tutorial and following hair tutorial videos. Same for makeup.I feel like Izuku would also have some dresses and slutty Halloween costumes that be put on in a video all while looking like someone who just had finals and was studying for 4 days straight beforehand.

At like 4AM a thought hit Izuku to have Trash Bandit meet Kouta for the first time and learn what his sheep talks about and what he has to say. Needless to say he took his camera, went to UA, stormed the dorms, went up to the shy kid sheep in hand, looked him dead in the eye, and asked “What is my sheep saying.” bandit speaks and Kouta goes from confused and slightly scared to disgusted and horrified. What did Bandit say? Who the fuck knows…

Izuku loves analysis and while he doesn't do it for heroes anymore when he misses it too much sometimes he does it with tv shows or other things.

Idk what yet but Izuku is weirdly good at something and only showed it on camera once. (He's casually known to be a good artist) Whatever he's good at he did it once for a video and it's in one of the most popular compilation videos of him. 15 minutes of Izuku being a cinnamon roll.

Izuku has a shit ton of videos featuring the UA kids. He has some playlists dedicated to certain ones even if all you see is the back of their head.

Any proceeds Izuku manages to get (he is popular but he gets demonetized a lot) goes to different charities for the quirkless.

He made only 1 serious cooking video on his birthday, but instead of using a knife he used an axe.

He has a video called “My sharp things (tour)” where he just shows off all of his knives and axes and shit along with a massive pair of scissors he got Momo to make.

Izuku makes videos of himself destroying endeavor merch while staring at the camera.

#demise!au #bnha #youtuber!au #boku no hero academia #midoriya izuku #word vomit

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