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imaeraser · 3 years

Note

Hello!

I really love your headcannons about Strawhats with Teen reader, that's why...

If you don't mind - Can I ask for Platonic Strawhats with Female! Teen reader that tend to be the quietest in the crew because of her shyness?

I also had and the next idea after this one- but I don't want to overwhelm you with it. Take care of yourself!

Have a nice day!

Sorry for the wait, here you go!

Luffy

He was intrigued by you

That’s why he forced you onto his ship. And then he realized that instead of having a convoluted backstory, you were shy

And quite honestly it was refreshing

Even though he likes being around Chopper and Usopp and be loud as heck, he likes spending time with you

You balance him out

And even though you’re not an adult, he’ll go to you for advice. This makes the rest of the crew confused (and low-key mad) because he doesn't want their advice

But most of the time he doesn’t take your advice anyways

I think that you two are close, seeing as he is endlessly extroverted and will break through your walls no matter how hard you try

Most of the time he leaves you to your own devices, but he will drag you to large parties and make you feel as welcome as possible

He does the same on the ship, but that was never a problem anyways because everyone likes you

Feels the need to protect you, not only because you’re a member of the crew, but also because you’re the youngest

10/10 I can see him giving you some of his food (only some)

Zoro

Ultimate big brother vibes

Likes to go to you for a quiet space because the ship can be loud

So he spends a lot of time with you… sleeping

He also half-asks questions to fill up the space and gets to know you pretty well

He also feels a need to protect you since he sees you as kinda weak (but almost everyone is weaker compared to him)

He will also feel the need to shield you from the craziness of the ship

Like sir, it’s nice that you care, but they can take care of themselves too you know?

Doesn't incorporate you into the crew since… he’s mostly sleeping. But he would try, and he would fail because they already like you

Cue him being shocked that he wasn’t your only friend on board, but to be fair he is sleeping most of the time and not watching you

He likes the calmness you bring to the ship, good for his meditation sessions (but I don't think you want to just sit there why he meditates)

I can see you having fun with him and Chopper, maybe play a board game

8/10 calm down sir, they can take care of themselves

Nami

She’s like the cool and fun older sister

She likes to dress you up in her old clothes, and then gush about how cute you look (no, not her super tiny bikinis)

She takes it onto herself to guide you through… whatever I guess

Also feels the need to protect you from dudes

I think that she gives good advice, but when combined with Robin the two of them give life-altering wisdom

You can go to her for anything from how to sew to how to manipulate people

Always gives you juice when the crew starts drinking

If the ship starts to get too rowdy she will shout at everyone to keep it down, and then turn to smile at you as if her actions were for you

She will share her tangerines with you

I think that she wants to protect you, but is frustrated at the fact that she can’t be as strong as the Monster trio (but everything works out in the end)

If you borrow money from her, she will reduce the interest (only by a little)

9/10 only downside is the interest (if you ever borrow money)

Usopp

He was high-key suspicious of you

To be fair he is suspicious of anyone and everything, and seeing as you were quiet he was on the edge

But after you saved his life, he gets all buddy-buddy (really Usopp? You got saved by a teenager)

I think the two of you would get to know each other when he’s working on a new invention, and you guys are having idle chatter

Now he tried to act like a cool older brother. Always ready to swoop in and talk about his “accomplishments”

He will do just about anything to make you laugh

I can see some crazy (but fun) times with him, Chopper, and Luffy

He would give bad advice, but occasionally he does have some piece of wisdom

He would try to protect you, but… yeah

He ends up feeling bad, and incompetent. But tell him that he was amazing or something and he’ll be fine

I think he would get frustrated when you beat him at a game of cards

10/10 he is just so fun to be around

Sanji

Also acts like an older brother

He tries to protect you from guys, saying that they’re all dogs (but then you point out that he’s a guy)

This also means he tries to limit your time around Zoro, saying that he’s a bad influence

Then the two start to fight and right as they pull you into it, Nami hits both of them and carries you off to eat or something

Gives you more food because you’re still growing

He is a surprisingly good listener and when he chimes in his advice are always good

And like all of the crew, he will try to protect you from danger (ma’am you are still a teen, why are you on this ship? Oh wait, Luffy…)

I said he acts like your older brother, but he also acts like a proud dad sometimes

Like sir, why are you crying? All they did was perform twinkle twinkle little star on the piano (Brook taught you)

He also tries to restrain his pervert tendencies around you, but when they inevitably happen he can’t look you in the eyes for several days (he also smokes more. It gets to a point where you have to confront him)

He also teaches you how to cook

8/10 he can get a little extra sometimes

Chopper

If things get too crazy on the ship, he likes to go to you

I feel like he would try to act like a big brother, but you would just pet him (sorry Chopper)

I can see Chopper trying to get you to socialize more with the crew. Just drags you out with his tiny Reindeer paws

I can see you confiding in him a lot because it’s kinda like venting to a stuffed animal (again, sorry Chopper)

He gives (almost) child-like advice, but it’s so simple and it always works

I think you would beat both him and Usopp at games, and then they would proceed to chase you around

He would try to protect you, but he also knows that you need to push yourself to get stronger, so he lets you fight some of your fights

When you end up hurt, he always makes sure to be extra vigilant with your care

I believe that you would also try to protect him, but his pride would end up hurt

I think you two would spend a lot of time in his office for a quiet place to read (and for him to do work)

He makes you help him organize stuff

10/10 a great duo

Robin

She is the kind older sister

She is such a good listener, and her advice would solve all of the world's problems

If things get crazy on the ship, you go to her. She has the presence of calm around her that just soothes you

I think she would also like to participate in dressing you up with Nami. That means you get to wear Nami’s old clothes and Robin’s old clothes

Robin always has an extra book and cup of tea reserved for you. Tea times are when you two like to ramble about anything and everything. This is also the place where you can vent and the both of you talk about your past

She would like to teach you about world history, while you listen and ask questions

She would try to teach you how to read one glyph, but if it’s too hard she stops (and low-key gets sad)

Robin also lets you help her garden. She enjoys having a person keep her company while she does the things that make her happy

She thinks that you are too adorable, and that also makes her go into a momma bear mode when she thinks you are in danger

She will yell at crew members, and she will annihilate the enemies

Robin sees you in a similar way to Chopper, so if you say something dirty or cuss, her image of you will be ruined

10/10 she is perfection

Franky

I see him as a weird uncle figure

He mostly hides in his workshop and creates weird but cool inventions while you watch him and ask what he is doing

I don’t see you two talking about important things, just you two having fun and making jokes

He is fun to watch, but when he tries to get you to participate— it’s even more fun

I can see Robin trying to shield you from him (hey, he says he’s a pervert)

He would share his cola with you (I can see some very fun crew bonding time when everyone gets cola and huddles around Franky’s new invention)

Franky is the opposite of shy, so sometimes it gets to be a bit too much

Like sir, please leave them alone for one second

I think that Franky and Usopp would try to teach you how to make things

And if you like to prank people… they’ve created a monster

Expect all three of you to get yelled at

8/10 pretty good, but he does say some stuff that you don’t get sometimes

Brook

Another weird uncle

When he asked to see your panties, both Robin and Nami slapped him so hard, he had flown off

He never asked again

I can see him joining in on the Robin history over tea, and add things in he knows from living during the period (dang he’s old)

He occasionally makes the tea you three drink

I think he would try to teach you how to use a sword, and then get yelled at so he teaches you to play instruments instead

He’s a surprisingly easy-going teacher, if you don’t practice he’s not mad. He just assumes you don't want to learn. That means he won’t teach you, which leads you to practice

He would let you peek inside of his skull and then jumpscare you. It works every time

Brook would tell you about what he did during the two-year time skip, all while you’re laughing at the fact they called him Satan

I think that being around you and Luffy would make him remember his days as a teen

Starts to get all weary like a dad (and just like Sanji)

7/10 rough start, but good ending

Jinbei

He is the dad (not like, is)

He is always concerned for your health, and whether you should be fighting or not

He told Luffy that it was ridiculous to bring a teen on board, but then he realized Luffy is only 19…

Jinbei is always there to make sure you feel included, and will often leave the crew’s festivities just to hang out with you

Honestly, his old man self likes the quiet you bring

If you ask him, he’ll tell you about Fishman history (also over Robin History Tea Times)

100% tries to protect you. I think that can make you frustrated at times, but he has saved you so you can’t be too mad

So he teaches you Fishman Karate (it gets Robin’s stamp of approval because there are no sharp objects)

Jinbei gives the best advice, again dad and old man

He’s able to see different perspectives and tell you the best course of action (that gets annoying when you just want him to take your side, but you have Nami and Robin for that)

Also is proud of you when you achieve something (part of the tears dad group)

10/10 every group needs a parent figure

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cherienymphe · 4 years

Text

Joke’s On You (Joker x Reader)

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, NON-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, knife play, blood play, murder, violence,

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary: you’re a part time thief who keeps getting in the Joker’s way. What starts out as rivals quickly turns into something hot and heavy, and before you know it, you’re J’s girl. Whether you want to be or not {based off of this headcanon}

The first time you ever come face to face with the Joker, the clown king himself, is during one of the first night’s you first started to execute your grand idea. You went through a klepto phase when you were a kid, but you never expected you’d return to it, and definitely not on a bigger scale like this.

It wasn’t like you were homeless or right on the poverty line. You had money, quite a bit in fact. One of the perks of being a stripper in the most popular club in Gotham, but there came a certain thrill from stealing from the rich in this city. Sure, you took their money on the stage, did everything you could to make them empty their pockets, but taking their money right out from under their nose was different.

You’re not sure when you came up with the bright idea, but you knew that if you wanted to keep this up and stay out of prison, you had to get smart about this. That was where the Joker came in. That clown ran this city, and you knew that with him around, no one would dare to even notice you. If you made your hits the same time as him, you could get in and out to no one’s knowledge.

It was a solid plan.

Until it wasn’t.

You almost ruin his plans to send a bank up into flames, and your eyes briefly meet his cold green ones before you’re taking off. You half expected to hear the sound of gunshots, even expected to get hurt or worse, but you can hear him telling his thugs to stand down. He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by your presence, no real threat, and you’re unsure if you should be offended or not.

You had never seen the man himself up close before, and you’re shocked to realize that he’s taller than you imagined. More intimidating than you imagined. Despite the fact that he barely paid you any mind, you can’t help feeling like he’s going to break into your apartment and slit your throat. You’re a petty thief, nothing like the big criminals in this city, and your run in with him spooks you. It takes a long time for you to fall asleep that night.

You quickly put it behind you though and tell yourself that you just have to be more careful from here on out. It soon becomes obvious that that’s easier said than done. You hadn’t meant to get in his way when he was taking the mayor hostage. It was an honest mistake when you almost kept him from breaking some other danger to society out of Arkham, but the nail in your coffin finally comes when you do prevent him from robbing a bank truck.

You barely ducked in time as a bullet came flying past your head. You’re shaken up, but you manage to force yourself to get the hell out of there before the cops showed up and before the Joker took another shot. You should have known that he was going to be expecting you. The Joker was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them.

You walk right into a trap, and you’re in the bank vault, hands full of money when you feel a sharp tug on your hair. You swallow down a yelp as you’re yanked back into a bare chest, and your eyes widen when a hand curls around your throat. You may not be the best villain in the world, but you’re one that can defend yourself, and the walls of the vault shake as you fight back.

He’s stronger than he looks, but you’re stronger than you look, and you both realize this when he has a gun pressed to your forehead while you have a knife at his throat. Your heart is hammering inside of your chest because not only are you once again face to face with the Joker himself, but he’s seconds away from killing you. You feel like you’re about to throw up, and he’s clearly amused.

He tilts his head at you, red lips parting to reveal a shiny grin, a laugh bubbling in his throat as he presses the barrel of the gun even further into your skin. His purple coat hangs off of him, pale chest heaving and that’s how you know that despite his grin, he’s irritated. Maybe even mad.

“…and what do they call you?”

His voice is deep, and that takes you by surprise. A lot of things about the infamous criminal are taking you by surprise.

“What does it matter? You’re going to kill me anyway, right?”

He hums, stepping closer with a sneer.

“I haven’t quite figured that one out yet…maybe I will when you tell me your name…”

“Well, I haven’t quite figured out what I want to be called,” you honestly told him.

No one but him and his goons knew about you, so you had never counted on anyone else knowing about you either. The thought of an alias never crossed your mind.

“Trying to steal my shine or something? You want to be the big dog around here?”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, and if he had eyebrows, you were sure he’d be raising one at you right now with the look he gave you.

He narrowed his eyes, and in one movement, he ripped your mask from your eyes, making them widen. He looked down his nose at you, taking in your all black attire before finally resting his eyes on your face.

“…or don’t tell me…you’re one of those girlies who thinks she can run around with me?”

You frowned at him, and he continued.

“I take it you’re a big fan.”

His tone was mocking, and you had the urge to spit in his face, but you knew that would surely put a bullet in your head, so you simply rolled your eyes.

“Hardly. With you around, no one will even look my way. Your taste for the dramatics allows me to stay below the radar,” you told him.

He hummed at that, tilting his head from side to side as he weighed your explanation in his mind.

“That’s smart, and I gotta hand it to ya, I didn’t think you were smart.”

Your frown deepened at his backhanded compliment, but it was quickly wiped from your face when he tightened his hold on his gun, and your eyes widened.

“Smart, but not smart enough to stay out of my way-.”

He was interrupted as the building shook, and you both turned as gunshots reached your ears. While he was distracted, you slipped out of his grip, ducking in time to miss a bullet before turning the corner. A recognizable shadow passed over the walls, and you ducked into a nearby hallway just as the winged vigilante himself met the Joker as he stepped into the hall.

The air hitting your face reminded you that your mask was gone, and you quietly made your way to the back exit as the sound of fighting and gunshots grew fainter. You released a sigh of relief when you made it outside, and although you didn’t have anything to show for your excursion, at least you had your life.

A thin layer of sweat clings to your skin as you step down off of the stage, feet aching in your heels. A coworker of yours winks at you as she takes your place on the stage, and you wish her luck. Customers were being a bit stingy today, and considering your last heist granted you with nothing, your lack of cashflow today had you more annoyed than usual.

Sure, it was a Tuesday afternoon, but it was still the hottest club in Gotham. Customers of all types of backgrounds frequented the place, and although the old money crowd practically lived here, you had a love hate relationship with their kind. They tended to be the stingiest with their money despite having more than you could ever dream of.

“What time are you off?”

You turned to another girl who worked at the place, Mandy, and threw her a grim look.

“12.”

She grimaced, blue eyes filled with pity as she shook her head.

“Sheesh. Well, that’s what happens when you’re the best dancer in this place,” she said with a shrug. “Your demand is high.”

“High demand and low pay. What a treat,” you sarcastically replied.

She chuckled, but she quickly swallowed it down, eyes glancing past you. The club was already loud, but there seemed to be an uptake in noise, and you turned to find the cause. You froze where you stood, eyes wide and lips parting at the group of people who just stepped into the place.

All of the men varied in size and shape, all dressed in black as they made their way inside like they owned the place. You supposed that in a way they did. Anyone following the footsteps of the Joker probably felt like he could get away with anything. The man in question led the bunch, strutting past patrons with a dark look in his eye, green hair contrasting against his dark red shirt.

You quickly turned back around, squeezing your eyes shut as Mandy let out a low whistle.

“I haven’t seen him step foot in here in forever,” she commented.

You looked to her with a confused frown.

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve only been here for what, half a year? The Joker used to come in here all the time. They’d get a bit rowdy but what is that when he’s the highest paying customer?”

She shrugged, reaching for a tray of drinks, completely unaware of your internal dilemma. It was almost time to get back on stage.

“Have fun,” she purred, walking past you.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down as you stewed over what you should do. Sure, you were a thief in your spare time, but you couldn’t lose this job. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t walk out of here, so you straightened your shoulders and made your way back to your stage.

You kept an eye out for pale skin and green hair, and you were thankful to find him far on the other side of the room. He and his crew were occupied by another dancer, Mandy serving them drinks. You were thankful and carefully stepped onto the stage.

As usual, you attracted a nice sized crowd, and you made sure to keep your face turned away as you moved around the pole. You were pleased to find that this crowd was more generous with their money, but your satisfaction was short lived when your turned to find your boss gesturing for you to come off the stage. You were confused but did so anyway. He nervously scratched his dark beard as you approached, and you had a sinking feeling in your gut for some reason.

“What is it?”

He grumbled and jerked his head towards the other side of the building, and you hesitantly looked over his shoulder. The Joker’s goons were having a good time tossing money at the dancer on stage, a few of them clearly drunk. The green-haired man, however, wasn’t partaking in the festivities. His unreadable gaze was focused on you, and your heart sank when he didn’t break the stare. You were forced to when your boss spoke.

“He wants a private session with you,” the older man mumbled, and you’d be dumb to miss the fear and concern in his voice.

You internally cursed.

“You’re kidding…”

“…’fraid not. He was very clear in his…request,” he responded.

You both knew that it wasn’t a request. The Joker never requested anything, and you briefly closed your eyes, positive that this was going to be your last night on earth. Your boss placed his hand on your shoulder, gaze sympathetic…and pitying.

“Just do what he says, alright?”

He wasn’t just telling you that to make more money, but to keep you from becoming the clown’s next victim. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that your fate was already sealed. With a nod, you strutted past him and made your way to the other side of the room. The Joker’s expression didn’t change as you approached him, and you nervously swallowed. His cold green eyes seemed to follow the gesture, and you took a deep breath.

“Someone request a private room?”

Again, he said nothing, simply tilting his head to the side as his trailed his eyes over your scantily clad form. Some of his posse was still enamored with the dancer before them, but the rest had turned to not so discreetly eye you. They all looked away when the green-haired man stood, and your eyes fell to the sliver of skin that peeked through the top of his shirt, unable to hold his gaze.

“Right this way…”

You didn’t hear his footsteps, but you could feel his presence behind you as you led the way to the back where the private rooms were located. The walk was quiet, thick with tension, and you wondered if it was too late for you to start saying your prayers.

You went in first, blinking at the red glow of the room that came from the neon lights. You were shaking, stomach churning as the door clicked shut behind him. You turned to tell him to get it over with when his hand wrapped around your throat, forcing you to swallow your words. You let out a pained squeak, eyes watering, but his lips swallowed any other noise you threatened to make.

Your eyes were wide as he roughly kissed you, shock coursing through you while his mouth moved against yours. You stumbled back in your heels, but he quickly followed, teeth nipping at you so violently that you tasted blood. You wanted to tell him that this wasn’t that kind of club. This was not in your job description and was not allowed, but you remembered your boss’ words and wondered if he knew that this was what the man wanted?

Even still, you couldn’t go through with this, but his tattooed hands were ripping at your attire before you had the chance to voice what you wanted to say. Your lips were finally free to tell him off, but the only thing that came out was a yelp when his teeth sank into your shoulder. The pain you felt was quickly overshadowed by the pleasure that warmed your stomach when his fingers brushed over you.

You pushed against his chest, but his other hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around so that your back was pressed to his chest. It happened so quickly that you didn’t have time to ponder what was happening until he was already inside of you. One hand was tangled in your hair, face pressed into the seat of the sofa as broken moans escaped your trembling lips.

His free hand was pressed into the skin between your shoulder blades, holding you down while his hips snapped into you over and over again. He was far from gentle, but every harsh stroke only seemed to stroke that fire inside of you. Your lashes were fluttering as he thrust into you, eyes rolling while you tried to make sense of everything.

You could feel his nails pressing into your back as he pinned you down, and your own scraped against the fabric of the couch while choked moans climbed out of your throat. This was far from how you expected your day to go. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that this man was trying to kill you. You fluttered around his unrelenting cock and tried to remember why that was a bad thing.

He let out what sounded like a growl above you, the fabric of his pants pressing into your skin as he ground against you, and his hand in your hair moved to the back of your neck just as the tightening in your stomach snapped. You came around him with an embarrassing scream, going limp beneath him as he fucked you through your climax, diving headfirst into his own.

You collapsed the minute he let you go, vision blurry and throat sore as you heard him zip his pants. You were still shaking, and he was already gathering himself together like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just fucked you delirious. You moved to stand, ready to give him a piece of your mind, but you collapsed back onto the couch.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you heard a low chuckle in his throat. Either way, you didn’t get to ask him because the sound of the door slamming shut reached your ears seconds later.

The next time you ran into that stupid clown, you took great satisfaction in striking him square in the face. You didn’t care that he was surrounded by his band of hired muscle nor that you were currently standing in the middle of a jewelry store, alarm blaring in your ears almost painfully.

He gestured for the men around him to continue looting the place, seeing as they had paused to take in the scene. You knew they would have killed you without hesitation had he told them to. You glared at him as he grinned at you, bat perched on his shoulder.

“We’ve gotta stop running into each other like this,” he lowly said.

“That was for the last time we ‘ran into each other’,” you sneered. “I don’t care who you are, you don’t get to-.”

“Consider it my way of letting you get off easy.”

He chuckled at his play on words, but you weren’t amused in the slightest.

“Get off easy? Are you even crazier than everyone thinks?”

His grin was gone in a flash, and he stepped towards you, tapping his bat against his shoulder as he leaned in. His lips were parted as his eyes bore into your own, and you forced yourself to stand your ground as the scent of him invaded your nose.

“If you recall,” he slowly began. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

You swallowed, jaw clenching as he tapped his finger against your nose.

“The plan was to put a bullet in that pretty little mouth of yours. Does that…ring any bells?”

You pressed your lips together, glancing away as he let out a breathy chuckle.

“Fucking you brought me more satisfaction than killing you ever could,” he deeply said.

You felt heat rise to your face, and he tilted his head, lips brushing against your own as he spoke.

“So…I suggest you keep me satisfied…”

His coat flew behind him as he spun away, stomping towards one of his men to bark orders at them. Anger and humiliation coursed through you as you stomped outside, and you narrowed your eyes as the sound of police sirens drew nearer. With a sneer, you grabbed the knife in your holster before slashing the tires on his van.

That kept you satisfied throughout the rest of the night, but you paid for it dearly the next day at the club. This time, he hadn’t even waited until you were in the room. His hand had curled around the back of your neck as soon as you got to the door, forcing you inside as soon as he opened it.

You had stumbled in your heels, falling to your knees, and he was there before you could even rise. His hand was on your neck the entire time he slammed into you, the carpet scraping against your back. You could hardly breathe, let alone moan as he had his way with you, and you knew that he was genuinely angry this time, and you wondered how he managed to escape the police.

He was punishing you for your little stunt, but God did you love it. Your hands fisted into his bright red button down as he slid into your soaked walls, trying to pull him closer. You heard him hum every time you clenched around his throbbing member, the sound of your arousal reaching your ears. You should have been embarrassed at how wet you were, but the Joker seemed to enjoy it just fine, and besides. You saw no reason to pretend.

Like the last time, he was righting himself as soon as he was done while you lay on the floor, still trying to catch your breath. You let out a soft chuckle as he slammed the door behind him, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t even able to talk in the morning.

This little game between the two of you became something of a regular occurrence. You’d make your hits when and where he did his to avoid exposure, and sometimes things would go wrong on his end. Some mishaps were genuine accidents, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the way he’d take out his frustration on you.

He fucked you like an animal, and you loved it because sometimes you couldn’t even form words afterwards. And best of all, he wasn’t trying to kill you anymore…just your vagina.

One day, he didn’t leave as soon as he was done. He stood over you, watching as you fought to control your breathing. When you realized that he wasn’t making any moves to leave, you peeled your eyes open to look up at him from your place on the couch.

“…what?”

You nervously sat up as he dug into his pocket, eyes widening when he pulled out the shiniest bracelet you’d ever seen. He dangled it in front of your face, a low hum escaping him as you admired it.

“Saw this shiny little number in the display. It had my little thief written all over it…”

He jerked it away when you reached for it, so you reached higher, gasping when he closed his free hand around your wrist. You watched as he snapped the expensive piece of jewelry around your arm, and you brushed your fingers over it the minute he let you go.

You were forced to pull your eyes away from it though when he harshly gripped your chin, pulling your head up so that you were looking at him. His green eyes bore into your own, face unreadable as he pressed his red lips together.

“You like it, doll face?”

You couldn’t hold back your grin, and you nodded.

“I love it,” you told him, unaware of the implications behind the gesture.

You started showing up to work with all kinds of new things. A new pair of earrings, a necklace that wasn’t that before, even some new heels that didn’t hurt your feet as much. You figured it was just a perk of fucking the king of Gotham, of keeping him satisfied.

You didn’t know that it went beyond mere satisfaction and thankful gestures.

It was a late night, or early morning depending on how you looked at it. The club was almost at its peak, the early hours of the morning being your busiest. You hadn’t seen J in a few days, but it wasn’t unusual. The man was basically running an empire.

You were servicing a client, a regular who could never stick to one dancer. He had a habit of hopping between the ladies at the club, and it looked like this week, he’d chosen you. The loud music filled your ears as you slid your hands over his shoulder, thighs brushing his as you danced on him. The bass from the music made your body vibrate, and your eyes fell closed as you fisted one of your hands into your hair, chest pushed forwards.

The man had already given you a handsome sum of money, and you knew that if you put on your best show, there was plenty more where that came from. The loud music prevented you from hearing the rise in voices as a new patron entered the club. It also prevented you from taking note of the worried chatter that had only just started to emerge, but it didn’t drown out the sound of a gunshot that you flinching.

However, you didn’t open your eyes because of the gunshot. You opened your eyes at the feel of droplets landing all over your face, hair, and clothes. You faintly registered the sound of screams surrounding you as people fled from the club, tripping over one another. You stumbled back, frozen in place as you stood up straight, hands raised in front of you as you stared at your dead customer in shock.

He was dead.

That much was more than clear, but you were having a hard time wrapping your head around it. Heavy footsteps slowly made their way over to you, and you hesitantly looked over, terrified eyes connecting with familiar green ones. His eyes were wild and crazed, green hair pushed back away from his face, gun swinging back and forth on his finger. He looked good in his all white suit, not a spot of blood on him.

You wished you could say the same.

“Are you insane?” you screamed, legs trembling.

“Well, that’s what they tell me.”

You frowned at him as he threw his head back and cackled, and you shook your head, fighting to clear it.

“Why did you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

He abruptly stopped laughing, slowly lowering his head to gaze at you. His lips parted into a mocking grin.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? I leave town on business for a few days, and I come back to find my girl practically screwing some punk for the whole club to see,” he slowly said, voice low and threatening.

Your anger kicked you into gear, and you stomped towards him, a frown on your face.

“I am not your girl, and even if I was…this is my job! You know this is my job-!”

Your words were cut off, and you winced as he tightened his hold on your neck. Your feet were barely grazing the floor as he walked forwards, forcing you back. You dug your fingers into his arm, hitting at him with your free hand, but he acted as if you weren’t even fighting back.

“Those nice earrings you’re wearing says you’re my girl…”

Your stomach churned as you began to realize the serious meaning behind his gifts.

“…that pretty little bracelet on your arm says you’re my girl…”

You looked around in fear, realizing that the club was completely empty save for you, the Joker, and his thugs. You kicked at him as he forced your back onto the stage, his firm body pressing down on yours. His hold was still tight, and you felt tears spring forth as you fought to breathe.

“…and I say you’re my girl. Understand?”

You gave a shaky nod, but it wasn’t enough for him. He lifted you by the neck before slamming you back down, making you wince, and a slow grin spread along his face, revealing his shiny teeth.

“I’ve got a whole lotta toys, sweetheart. I earned those toys. I took those toys. Those toys are mine…”

You watched as he pointed his gun at the dead man still slumped in the chair.

“…and I don’t like people touching my toys.”

You didn’t get a chance to ponder on this turn of events before his lips were harshly pressing against yours. He slammed the gun down next to your head, hands pulling at your attire, and the tears finally spilled over as you fought against him. You weren’t alone, and this was a new level of humiliation that you weren’t okay with.

A man was dead. In fact, you were still covered in his blood, and the Joker’s men were just behind him, intently listening to everything, no doubt. His grip was harsh as he took hold of your wrists, slamming them down beside you. He let one go to grab his gun, pressing it into your lips as you shook.

“You gonna be a good girl? Or do I have to use this again?”

His voice was calm despite the violent implications behind his words, and you shakily shook your head.

He was rougher with you than he had ever been before. Biting you, choking you, and holding you far too tight. Part of you felt like it was done on purpose, not only so you’d get the idea, but so that the rest of his crew would get that you were his too. You cried as he pressed your cheek down onto the stage floor, hips snapping against your backside while harsh grunts left his lips.

You couldn’t handle staring at the Joker’s latest victim while he forced himself into you, so you squeezed your eyes shut. His other hand dug into your hip so harshly, you knew it was going to leave a bruise. As the minutes drew on, it seemed like his ministrations were becoming rougher, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say the sound of your sobs were egging him on.

His grip on your hair when he came had more tears springing to your eyes, and you flinched when his lips brushed your ear.

“Clean yourself up…”

Having only been half on the stage, you collapsed to the floor when he let you go. Your hair and makeup were a mess, and you miserably stared up at him through tear-filled eyes as he tucked his shirt back into his pants, swiftly pulling on his white suit jacket.

“…the cops will be here soon, and you gotta pull yourself together. Huh, doll face?”

He forced your head back as he gripped your chin, and you reluctantly nodded. He roughly dragged his thumb over your lips, smearing what was left of your lipstick before taking his leave, leaving you alone with one dead body, and one bruised one.

You shuffled upstairs, arms aching and eyes tight as you made your way to your apartment. It had been weeks since you’d been back to the club. Your boss, someone you were ever grateful for, told you to come back when you were ready. After all, you’d had someone’s brains blown out right in front of you…on you.

You were fortunate that no one stuck around to see J’s possessive display of ownership, so no one knew what his impromptu murder was really about. Everyone speculated that the customer had crossed the Joker in some way, a business deal gone wrong, but only you knew the truth. Only you knew that the man’s only crime had been paying for your time.

You took a break from stealing from the wealthy too. Not only did you lack the energy, but you couldn’t chance running into the Joker. Had you known what all of those gifts had meant, you never would have accepted them. You didn’t want to be the Joker’s. The last girl who got seriously tangled up with him had ended up almost crazier than he was.

Granted, you heard Harley Quinn was doing better these days, but God. Look how long it took her to get there? The thought of telling him to his face that it was over was a scary one, so you settled for just hiding away in your apartment. He was the Joker, a man who had a lot on his plate, and like he’d said, you were a toy to him. There were plenty of toys out there, and he could easily find another.

You dropped the groceries to the floor as soon as you made it inside, and you groaned as you straightened. Your shoes clicked along the floor as you made your way through your dark apartment. You turned on the kitchen light so that it would be on when you returned, and you made your way through your living room, looking forward to getting out of these clothes.

However, when you turned on the light in the living room, you were startled by the sight of a familiar green-haired villain standing in the corner like some statue. You barely swallowed down the scream that bubbled in your throat, and your eyes were wide as you took him in.

He was wearing a tux, a nice one with a white bowtie and a matching boutonniere. His hair was slicked back, and you weren’t sure where he came from, but you wanted him to go right back.

“I was enjoying a night out on the town…taunting Batsy as I like to do…”

He walked away from the wall as he slowly begun, cold eyes roaming over your apartment.

“…when I realized that I hadn’t seen my little thief for days. Weeks even.”

“What are you doing here?”

He didn’t respond, instead opting to make his way around the living room, running his gloved hands over your furniture. You didn’t realize that he was gradually closing the circle, nearing you.

“You haven’t been at work. You haven’t been in my face while you ruin my plans. You’re not hiding from me…are ya, doll face?”

You clenched your jaw, swallowing down your fear as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“I’m not hiding from you. We’re just through,” you told him.

He froze, glancing over his shoulder at you before continuing to look around.

“Did you hear me? You and I are done. Take your jewelry back, take everything you gave me and leave,” you continued.

He continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, and you stomped towards him.

“I’m serious, J! Do I need to call the police?”

That made him turn, and he wagged his finger at you like you were a misbehaving child.

“Careful,” he purred. “…because I personally know a certain thief they’d love to be informed about.”

You frowned, swallowing before pushing past him.

“I don’t care. At least in jail, I’ll be away from you-.”

You were cut off by your own scream, reaching for his hand as he pulled on your hair, forcing you away from the phone. He pulled you against him, and your eyes widened when he pressed a knife against your cheek, a hair’s width away from your lips.

“You have no agency in this arrangement.”

He threw you to the floor, and you scrambled away from him, nails scraping along the wood as he pulled you back. He cut your clothes away with ease, the torn shreds falling to the floor to leave you bear before him. The knife that grazed along your skin kept you from screaming as he undressed, but you did wince when he pressed it into your thigh, like a warning of what could come.

He took you behind the couch first, holding your thighs so tightly that the skin burned when he finally let go. Your table was next, but unfortunately, it didn’t withstand his rough treatment. The wall shook as he fucked you against it, every thrust rattling the pictures you had hung up to make this place a tad cozier.

Broken glass and broken pieces of wood littered the floor by the time he forced you into your bedroom. His knife remained in between his fingers the whole time he fucked you against your sheets. Your scalp burned from his harsh hold, and your throat hurt every time you swallowed, and you just knew that you’d wake up with finger shaped bruises in the morning. His deep voice was a constant in your ear, calling you ‘his little thief’, tsking at you like you were a confused child, telling you how much he was going to straighten you out.

When you clenched around him for a final time, your legs were thrown over his shoulder while your hands were pinned above your head by one of his. His free hand had fun cutting little nicks into your skin, greedily licking up the blood as tears continued to dampen your cheeks. He continued to push himself into you even after he came, and when he finally pulled out, your legs fell to the bed, chest heaving with shallow sobs.

“Now, wasn’t that a whole lotta fun?”

You glared at him as he sat up, a thin layer of sweat clinging to his fair skin, and your eyes traced the ink that decorated him. His green hair was in disarray, a smug grin on his lips as he pushed the strange colored locks away from his face. You could hardly even move, and you feared that attempting to would hurt worse.

You watched as he leaned over to his discarded pants, pulling out some sparkly piece of jewelry that you couldn’t care less about. You swallowed as he held it up, nearing you.

“…and here I was out shopping for something to compliment those new earrings, and you’re talking about leaving me. That’s a bit rude, but I’m willing to look past it.”

More tears spill over as he slides it around your neck, and it feels more like a noose than a necklace.

“You look like a work of art,” he says, lips brushing your cheek. “…all pretty and marked up by yours truly.”

His hair tickles your face, and he slowly leans away, dragging his fingers over your lips. You wince when he roughly grabs your jaw, pressing his fingers into a tender spot that you know is already forming a bruise.

“Now, I’ll be back in a couple of hours, so don’t do anything stupid.”

He tightened his grip at the end of his sentence, and you flinched. He grinned at you as he lightly patted his other hand against your cheek, grin widening when you recoiled.

“Let’s not do anything like that again, alright, sweetheart?” he purrs. “I’d hate to have to really hurt ya.”

tags: @harryspet @sherrybaby14 @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @opheliadawnwalker3 @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @readermia @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @buckybarnesplumwhore @quaksonhehe @nerdygirl8203 @mandiiblanche @cocoamoonmalfoy

#joker x reader #dark fic #dc fanfic #dc #dark joker #dark!joker #suicide squad

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fictionbyafangirl · 3 years

Text

Tundric Heart

//Hi, all! After becoming absolutely *obsessed* with the new Mortal Kombat movie, as well as being a fan since the games began, and being a fan of JoTa since I saw The Raid: Redemption when it first came out and since then, I decided my flagship fic shall involve Bi-Han/Sub-Zero. This takes place prior to the film, having nine tournaments been fought. This is a POV-shifter and involves our favorite chilly boi with an original character. Naturally, I own no rights to the franchised character and only write out of my own fun. I hope you enjoy!\\

Nothing phased him anymore. Bi-Han had lived many centuries, each reinforcing his growing lack of humanity toward the world, whether it be Earthrealm or Outworld. Due to his “gifts”, Bi-Han had become a favorite champion for Shang Tsung in the Mortal Kombat tournaments, successful in more than not and ultimately becoming an attack dog at the sorcerer's will. Despite Bi-Han wanting the Lin Keui to be free-agents once again, himself, primarily, he obliged, knowing he owed Shang Tsung his fealty for the many favors he performed for him in the past. The Lin Keui had been an elite group of assassins for those who could afford them. Either born into the organization or kidnapped as a youngling for the cause, its numbers were always plentiful. Bi-Han and his brother, Kuai Liang, had served the clan well, rising through the ranks. Bi-Han, though, had become the face of the group. The fierce fighter had gained notoriety for defeating the one and only Hanzo Hasashi, as well as the Shirai Ryu, a noble competitor clan in their world of crime. Over four hundred years had passed, yet a looming whisper of a threat still hung in the air from the very fatality that put Bi-Han on the map. Ever the paranoid ruler, Tsung tasked Bi-Han with finding the last remaining Hasashi blood heir and executing them. To the cryomancer, there was simply no point in doing so. He had ended the lineage himself many lifetimes ago. The Hasashi family fell to his hand, and he knew it, first-hand. Still, the soul-eater feared the prophecy of the uprising of Earthrealm defenders to thwart the imminent takeover, if the last tournament should be victoriously won by the mortals with an arcana gift. Nine circuits had been finished in the favor of Tsung, only needing two more to claim supremacy over the mortals. Begrudgingly, Bi-Han found himself in his home-realm on a reconnaissance mission to find out if the myth was true. One thing the warrior loathed was to be undermined, especially by Tsung. His employer had a knack for sending in the reinforcements if the smallest of setbacks occurred. Bi-Han was more than confident in his skill and ability to successfully fulfill his duties. To send in those that were inferior to him was simply a slap in the face. Not a day went by that the assassin didn’t think of a world where he no longer served Tsung.

The man was ageless as he sat across from a run-down diner, concealed in darkness. Darkness had always been his friend, even in the glory days of the Lin Kuei and the chaos they inflicted on their world. Darkness cloaked him in secrecy. Darkness gave him advantage against his opponents. Darkness felt almost as familiar and second nature to him as the cold. It had been a rainy evening, the spray of dingy gutter water spraying up from beneath the tires of those driving muddled the sidewalk. Bi-Han, looking not a single day older than he had when he terminated Hasashi, watched the neon sign that indicated that the diner was “open” flicker against the night. Dressed in black athletic jogger pants, a black zipped-up windbreaker jacket and a black hat with the bill curved and pulled down low to conceal his other-worldly eyes, the man watched from outside an abandoned building that sat adjacent to the diner. Arguably, the only physical trait that had changed about him was the hue of his eyes, shifting from a deep brown to a starkly bright blue so pale that it nearly looked like ice had formed in his irises. These were the attributes of a cryomancer, and bastard Edenians, alike. Those of Edenian nature aged much slower than humans, living so long that tens of thousands of years was still considered to be in one’s youth. His hair remained raven in color though his skin did grow more pallid as though encrusted in frost, but not. The cryomancers had been banished from Edenia long before Bi-Han’s birth, but the genes that descended from the gods still carried on through himself and his brother, Kuai. Down the block, a group of young men were approaching the corner door of the diner, rowdy and raucous as they walked before ducking into the establishment. Taped hands rose from Bi-Han’s sides to bring the hood of his skim jacket up and over the top of his head, further obscuring his identity. He waited a few minutes to allow them to settle into their normal places to not rouse suspicion before crossing the slick city street. In all of the years of Bi-Han’s life, he had tuned his tracking abilities to be imperceptible.

His intel told him that a group of men, one that bore the mark of the dragon, frequented the very location nightly, as though a ritual amongst the friends. Bi-Han’s head never lifted as the bell on the handle of the door jingled to alert a new customer, and luckily, neither did theirs. His gaze remained to the lower-half of the room to not allow his face to be seen. The fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling in panels glared harshly in contrast against the natural darkness of the night he had waited in. Slipping into a corner table, the plastic-covered stuffing of the seat gave out a subtle hissed as it depressed beneath his weight. The group of men continued their merry occasion, joking and talking with elevated volume. The more attention they brought to themselves and detracted from himself, the better. It didn't take long for the waitress on shift to approach them, seemingly having a report with them as she used their names, engaging in banter with them as they shamelessly flirted with her. Her kind and clever rebuffs and deflection to their order inquiries showed that this was an occasional thing they did. She clearly wasn’t in the business of seeing any of them casually, yet they pushed the envelope with hope. Their nonchalance toward her left little disgust in Bi-Han’s mouth, but still, he surveyed. The fighter spared a moment to take in the new environment. The faded color scheme and furniture showed that the restaurant had not updated in some time, clearly struggling financially to keep afloat to bother with aesthetics. The tables were uneven as they stood and the seating creaked under pressure. The artwork that laid scarcely among the walls were drab and unappealing. Virtually everything that had been a polished metal before now rusted with weak infrastructure. The location was dying out, most likely kept in business by the nightly patronage of the subjects he followed in.

Bi-Han focused all of his senses on the men, discreetly, as to not be noticed. He eavesdropped on their conversations, watched as they removed their outer-layers for any sign of the marking. He even committed bits of things they said to memory in the off-chance that it would aid him in his mission. His focus was solely on the group and everything they did. His gaze, though hidden beneath the bill of a hat, was fixated without any breaks, that is, until the image of an apron filled with pens and order tablets slid into his view. Bi-Han held his breath as the tell-tale spiel was about to be given to him.

“Hi, there! I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. My name’s Jill and I’ll be your waitress on duty tonight. What can I get you?” No matter where you went, every restaurant had the same, generic greeting.

Holding his breath for a moment to consider his response, Bi-Han decided to play it cool, not wanting to garner any awareness of his existence. The woman was polite enough for him to not care about the disruption. While she had been tending to the object of his assignment he had been able to get a good look over on her. She was attractive with cream-like skin and smoky hazel eyes and hair the color of maple that sat in delicate, loose curls that cascaded down the sides of her face. She dressed semi-comfortably in a baggy button-up flannel shirt that she tucked into the waistband of her tapered jeans that clung to her ankles and simple shoes with her apron and a name badge in place. She kept her makeup natural and modest, which was a pleasant thing to come across with women. With an errant hand, Bi-Han, without tipping his face at all, flipped the menu on the table over to quickly peruse the refreshments section. Quickly, his eyes settled on his selection before speaking it aloud to her, though in a low, hushed tone.

“Green tea. Iced.” His tone was short and cold, as per usual with him, and he offered no opportunity to continue the conversation. He was there for a reason, after all.

With a curt nod, Jill fished a dense book of ordering tickets from her apron and a pen to scribble down the table number and order to keep her tabs in-line. Bi-Han could hear the sound of the ball-point pen against the paper, attuning himself to his surrounding once more.

“Iced green tea, coming right up. What’s uh… a name I can put on this order?” The waitress inquired with an arched brow as her teeth found the corner of her lips, nibbling gently in a nervous gesture. Bi-Han took another moment to contemplate his response. His true, given name was something that was well-known. Instead, he improvised.

“Brian.” He was blunt again, cutting to the chase without any inflection to invite casual conversation.

“Right. Iced green tea for Brian, coming right up.” Jill relayed before bouncing away from the table to fulfill his request. She caught on to his tone quickly and read it loud and clear.

Naturally his order was the first one to be completed. Jill returned with his drink in-hand, along with a wrapped straw and a saucer of potential add-ins for the beverage. Bi-Han offered a small nod to thank her, fixating his senses back on the group of men across the room. Absently, he unwrapped the straw and slipped it within the glass, taking absent sips through it to not reveal his face. The preparation in the States certainly didn’t do the authentic drink justice as it did in his native China, but still he managed to swallow it down as he kept his eyes on them. Although the drink had ice in it, it didn’t suit him. His hand reached around the cylinder, his fingers releasing their icy powers to chill it even further, finally making it satisfactory to his liking. Bi-Han sat with his back pressed against the glass window that separated himself from the outside world. The rain continued to fall, pelting against the window pane. He could just as easily end the waiting and watching. He could turn every plunging bead of water into a lethal bullet to litter all of the men in holes, taking care of every lead. Still, he blended into the foreground, motionless and silent. He wasn’t sure how long the men would lounge in the diner but he would be observing for as long as they would be. Someone was bound to slip and reveal themselves, reveal their arcana… something. If Bi-Han was anything, he was patient.

#Tundric Heart #fanfiction #Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat 21 #Bi-Han #BiHan #Sub-Zero #Bi-Han x Original Character #Sub-Zero x Original Character #Bi-Han x OC #Sub-Zero x OC #MK21 #Chilly Boi #chapter 1 #Mortal Kombat Fanfiction #Mortal Kombat 2021 FanFiction

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citizen-l · 3 years

Text

02. Window

Chanyeol never thought he'd be under someone's flat throwing tiny rocks at their window. Never in a million years did he imagine himself to be in this position. Sure he did some crazy things in life, but never something as cringe-inducing as this. In broad daylight too. Jesus.

"Hey!" someone called him and Chanyeol looked back to find Officer Joey looking at him with narrow eyes and creased brows. "You're the kid from last night, aren't you?"

"Hi, yeah," Chanyeol said awkwardly.

"Why are you throwing stones?"

"No one's answering the buzzer?"

"Ever heard of calling?"

Yeah well, Joey, I would, but I have their phone with me. And while we're talking, Joey, fuck you. God, Chanyeol wanted to scream at the ridiculousness of it.

Chanyeol never would have forgotten to return Baekhyun's phone that he pocketed in case of an emergency just that morning before taking him to get stitches. Never would have under normal circumstances. But getting a too sweet goodbye strawberry kiss was not a normal circumstance. Chanyeol could feel his ears getting warm and red, and Joey was still there staring at him.

"I have something that I desperately need to give Baekhyun," Chanyeol said. Judging by the familiar way Baekhyun had talked to Joey before, maybe Joey would leave him alone if he realized Chanyeol wasn't a threat to Baekhyun. "Calling didn't help, and I'm pretty sure Baekhyun really needs this. So, yeah…"

Honestly, Chanyeol would have just found Sehun and given the phone to him and been done with it. But Sehun was MIA with Junmyeon. And Chanyeol hadn't had a chance until this late in the afternoon to come by and hand over the phone. But he'd be lying if he said he kinda maybe didn't want to check if Baekhyun was alright. Oh God, what if he's lying unconscious on the floor again?

"At this hour, he's probably at some rehearsal, hop in," Joey gestured towards the passenger side.

Chanyeol was having a hard time digesting what was happening. How did he end up riding shotgun in a police vehicle? How did Joey know so much about Baekhyun's schedule when even Sehun was of no help? What the hell was going on with Chanyeol's life, good lord?

Joey dropped at one of the smaller auditoriums east side of the campus. Chanyeol had never ventured this way, never had any cause to.

"Tell him I said hi," Joey smirked before leaving Chanyeol there. He probably got off on how shook Chanyeol was.

The huge double doors opened up to a lobby. The signs said dressing rooms were to the left, and to the right were the rows of identical doors leading to the actual auditorium. For audiences. Chanyeol decided it was best to check there first since he could hear voices and music coming from one of the half opened doors.

The only auditorium Chanyeol had ever been to on campus was on the north end, the one where the big seminars are usually held. This one was different, definitely not for academic or corporate lectures. The lights, the stage, even the seating was different. This was made for performing musicals like the one a dozen or so people were rehearsing.

"Oh woe, to be trapped in this age…" a woman wailed dramatically while lying flat on the stage.

"Oh, what is this I see! Some faerie-like creature come for me?"

Someone sang, another voice joined with a deep baritone that sounded somewhat like Baekhyun, but Chanyeol had never heard him sing before.

"Hello hello, fair man," someone said.

"Ah! My prince has come to save me, joy be!" shouted a guy as large as Chanyeol but lankier.

That was when he realized they were all talking about him. A bunch of theatre kids finding a new person interrupting their rehearsal, of course they would be dramatic about it. What did Chanyeol expect?

"How can I help you, sir?" a brunette girl asked with a fake British accent.

Someone started singing about waiting for him all her life as he went down the stairs towards the stage where he could spot a guy with a bandaged hand and hoped it was Baekhyun. He was wearing a hat so Chanyeol couldn't clearly see the cotton candy fluff on his head.

A guy in suspenders and lipstick stopped him by starting to dance suggestively and singing a Burlesque song. God this bunch was loud. Two others came around him, the brunette and another woman with red and white streaks in her black hair and the three started a whole number with impressive impromptu harmonies and suggestive body rolls.

"Chanyeol?" he heard Baekhyun's surprised voice from the stage.

There he was, hat in hand, pink hair almost glowing under the harsh light of the stage, eyes squinting to see Chanyeol awkwardly standing as three people sang some jazz song and moved their pelvis in a way that Chanyeol would rather not witness at the moment.

"Hey, hi," he used Baekhyun's interruption as his getaway card and moved around the dancing trio. "Sorry for barging in like this, just wanted to return this."

Baekhyun jumped straight down from the stage seeing his phone. Chanyeol was momentarily shocked, and the worry he felt in that instant thinking something bad might happen to Baekhyun jumping down from so high nearly rendered him speechless.

"Oh my God, thank you! I've been looking everywhere for it. I really thought I lost it during my steakout yesterday."

Stakeout?

"Nah I took it with me when I took you to the pharmacy, forgot about it afterwards."

"Well, thank you for bringing it back all the way here."

And then Baekhyun was hugging him, arms around Chanyeol's shoulders, hot breath on the side of his neck, Baekhyun stood on tiptoes and Chanyeol didn't know what to do with his own hands.

"Why can't I get a man like that?" a girl sighed from one side.

"Wait, is that the guy? He really carried Baek… I mean I can see he's got…"

"Holy shit, he's real?!"

"Of course he's real, Minseok," Baekhyun said and he let go of Chanyeol.

"Uh, I should go…" Chanyeol said awkwardly.

"What? Wait, I haven't done anything to thank you," Baekhyun said.

But you did, Chanyeol thought. You kissed me. That was a thank you, no? What was the kiss about? Why the fuck did Baekhyun kiss him? God, Chanyeol was going out of his mind trying to figure it out.

"That's okay, you don't have to…"

"Nonsense, let me just get changed and then I'll treat you to something delicious."

"Hopefully not something too delicious," someone said.

"Don't forget about the party tonight," someone else said.

But Chanyeol couldn't focus on all the things everyone was saying. He was finally focused on Baekhyun's outfit. Suspenders, a dirty-white pirate shirt tucked haphazardly into leather pants.

"Be a little more discreet ogling his ass, will you?" The guy with pretty eyes, Minseok whispered near and Chanyeol nearly choked on his spit.

"Oh leave him be," Another guy, the one who was singing with Baekhyun said, he had a cat-like smile. "He's too whipped anyway, let him enjoy."

Jesus. Chanyeol wanted out of here. It wasn't that these guys were half bad. Quite the opposite, Chanyeol found them sort of endearing with the way they passionately rehearsed their lines, danced and sang even without an instructor guiding them, on a Saturday. But taking jabs at Chanyeol and laughing at his "whipped" nature was unsettling him. He was not whipped for Baekhyun, he was just still stuck on a stupid kiss.

Chanyeol sighed, he couldn't blame anyone. Not these guys, they were just having fun. If anyone, Chanyeol should blame Sehun. Now that guy was whipped, for Junmyeon. A little too much. If it wasn't for Sehun, Chanyeol wouldn't have been temporarily homeless and had to spend the night at Baekhyun's.

"Stop teasing him, people. See you later," Baekhyun sang as he came back dressed in a baggy sweater and loose camo pants tucked into his boots. He tugged Chanyeol's shirt sleeve to follow him out.

"Don't forget to bring dessert," someone shouted.

"Bring Prince Charming as well, while you're at it!"

"Sorry about that, they tend to be a little rowdy during the weekend," Baekhyun said.

They sat facing each other in a booth at a quaint little café/bakery just outside of their main campus. Chanyeol had never even noticed it, but Baekhyun said they have the best baked goods he ever had.

"You don't hate sweets, do you?" Baekhyun asked, a little alarmed.

Chanyeol looked at him like he was crazy, thinking back on how he was seconds away from sucking the taste of freaking strawberry milk from Baekhyun's tongue. Chanyeol coughed and shook his head. He was fine with sweets. Their coffee and chocolate covered donuts came soon after. Chanyeol had to admit they were good, had the potential to ruin his body and all his hard work, but he could indulge on occasion.

"How did you find me anyway?" Baekhyun asked while licking chocolate off his fingers.

"Joey," Chanyeol said and tried not to stare. "I was actually at your apartment, he found me and said you'd be at rehearsal. He even gave me a ride. He said hi."

"Ah, makes sense."

"How are you so close to the officer, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh he used to date my mom, didn't work out though. But I like him, we occasionally meet up because he has two dogs and I'm desperately trying to convince him to let me adopt them."

The way he said it made Chanyeol laugh. And that was surprising because Chanyeol doesn't usually feel this comfortable with people so quickly. Well, maybe it had something to do with last night's fiasco. And the kiss. Fuck.

Chanyeol wanted to ask about it, so bad. But it felt weird. And awkward. And Chanyeol wasn't sure he could ask with a straight face. It bothered him. Not in a negative way. More like, he couldn't figure it out and it was irritating. It was like not knowing what that sound was at the back of a well-produced song and obsessing over it for days and even weeks until finally it was clear.

"What are you doing tonight?" Baekhyun asked.

"Uh, nothing much, I guess," Chanyeol sipped his coffee.

"How do you feel about a social gathering? Dinner will be on me."

"The party your friends were talking about?"

"It's not much of a party, really. Just some friends hanging out together."

"Well, I don't think I'd fit in, and I don't wanna be a bother among friends," Chanyeol said.

"Well, as humble as that sounds, I insist. And you heard Jongin, they want you there. They wouldn't have asked so directly in front of you if they didn't."

Was it worth it? Should Chanyeol give up another night at his apartment to spend time with Baekhyun and his eccentric friends?

"Wear something white," Baekhyun said.

"Wait, I haven't decided whether I'd go."

"I've decided for you, it'll be fun. I'll pick you up at 8."

"How's your hand?" Chanyeol decided to change the topic. Maybe he can get away with the party thing later with a better excuse.

"Hurts a little, but good otherwise. Nearly got plastered under a ladder while rehearsing, but narrowly escaped."

"Does that often happen?" Chanyeol was more alarmed than he probably should have been.

"Nah, I just got distracted. But anyway, I gotta go make a cake. Oh hey, I should have your number."

Half an hour later, Chanyeol was shifting through his wardrobe looking for white clothes. He had none. He regretted ever agreeing to go to the party, which, by the way, he never explicitly agreed to.

His phone buzzed with a text from "Kyoong", Baekhyun had insisted, with an impromptu photo of his doing a finger heart, that that be his nickname on Chanyeol's phone. God knows why Chanyeol agreed.

"Be there in ten." The text read. Great. No way to back out now.

"I kind of have an issue." Chanyeol texted back. It felt like a weak excuse to get out of going to the party, even though this was a genuine issue.

And then Baekhyun was calling him and Chanyeol nearly dropped his phone. He finally saw the pout Baekhyun sneakily did which wasn't noticeable with the small icon. Jesus.

"Hello?"

"Hey, sorry, started driving so I couldn't text back. Don't worry, Bluetooth, and I'm almost at your place. What's the issue?"

"I'm going to hang up and we can talk when you get here."

"Wai-"

Chanyeol did as he said and waited until Baekhyun was knocking at his door.

"Okay, glad that you're concerned about me dying on the road but never hang up on me, bothers the hell out of me. So, now, what's the issue?"

"I don't have anything white," Chanyeol said.

"Your roommate? Borrow something of his."

"I don't know if you met Junmyeon or not, but we're sort of not the same size."

"Well, I don't think Sehun owns anything remotely classy either."

That's when Chanyeol finally registered what Baekhyun was wearing. A high collared Victorian shirt with ruffles on the sleeves and neck, a few streaks of shimmering thread on his chest and shoulders. A corset. Loose breeches tucked into knee-high boots. All white.

"You look beautiful," Chanyeol said before he could stop himself.

"Why, thank you, dear sir. I spent hours trying to fit this just right. Et voila."

"You made this?"

"Tweaked. I'm no seamstress. But I can use a needle."

Right. Of course. Chanyeol should stop staring at Baekhyun's shiny cheeks that matched the color of his cotton candy pink hair. Get a grip.

"You said classy outfit, right? I have all-black fits, recital clothes."

"Ah, that would create quite the buzz, but I like the idea. Show me," Baekhyun said. And then he neatly sat down on Chanyeol's bed and crossed his legs, waiting for Chanyeol to appear in his black attire.

Right. Well, Chanyeol wasn't ready to strip in front of this Victorian ghost boy yet. Yet? Jesus Christ, his mind was well on its way to the gutter.

"I'll be right back," Chanyeol took the shirt and pants from his drawers and went to the bathroom to change.

He came back to soft music playing on his speakers. His music.

"Sorry, I was snooping around and found your disks. You really composed these?"

"Uh, yeah, last term."

"I need to get this on my phone. Later. Well, you look pretty."

Chanyeol felt his ears go red.

"Are you wearing contacts?"

"Yeah."

"You weren't wearing them last night, you wore your glasses. That's why I couldn't recognize you right away. Well. Mind switching now? It'll fit better."

It was ridiculous how Chanyeol just switched from contacts to glasses without protests.

"And I love this collar," Baekhyun walked up to him and undid the first two buttons from his half-collar. "Hmm, better. You have any accessories?"

"Uh…"

"My friends are very serious about weekend parties, you'll be surprised by the amount of effort they put in. They'll appreciate it if you showed you cared too. But no pressure, I mean, don't make yourself uncomfortable or anything. You already look really good so I don't think you need to worry, plus I'm sure everyone would just appreciate you being there…"

Baekhyun was babbling and it was so adorable, Chanyeol was shamelessly just staring without being the least bit discreet about it.

He ended up wearing the silver necklace his sister got him last year on his birthday. Half a heart, the other half was on Yuna's wrist.

They arrived at Chen's apartment in town. It was… not what Chanyeol expected, at all. Chen, the one with the catlike smile, wore a Peter Pan outfit, all white, with white antlers on his head instead of the hat. He padded barefoot as he welcomed Baekhyun and Chanyeol inside. Some of the others were familiar faces Chanyeol had seen earlier at the auditorium. A Medusa with white dreadlocks and a white snakeskin-like dress contrasting her brilliant ebony skin. A Lucifer in a white suit and tarred feet. Two Victorian ghosts much like Baekhyun but very differently dressed. A guy dressed as honest-to-God Edgar Allan Poe with a fake moustache, looking ready to attend his own wedding in a three piece embroidered suit. The woman on his side dressed as a bride, probably the cousin. And then there was Minseok serving wine wearing a white fur coat and the crown of a king.

Well. This was. Something.

"I should kick you out for not wearing even a thread of white," Minseok said. "But you look good, and you're carrying the cake, so I'll overlook this time."

"Don't mind him, you look perfect," Chen laughed with genuine delight. Everyone else agreed.

"Help me with the cake," Baekhyun gestured towards the kitchen with his head and Chanyeol followed.

Baekhyun had made two cakes but decorating them and bringing them over would have been a disaster. So he put everything in containers, the cakes, the fondant, buttercream, chocolate and other decorations, and strapped them to the back seat of his car. This party was no joke.

Chanyeol set down the containers on the kitchen counter, which was already full of dishes being prepared and ready to be set on the table.

"I feel like I should have brought something," Chanyeol said to Baekhyun.

"Well, at least you brought your wits," the tall lanky actor dressed like the ghost of Monte Christo said as he handed a glass of white wine to Chanyeol.

"You having flashbacks of your initiation, Jongin?" Chen laughed as he stirred some kind of soup in a pot.

"Jesus, don't remind me," Jongin shuddered and went back to sit with the others.

Baekhyun layered and put cream on the cake. Then fondant. Then carefully crafted cream flowers, roses and white chocolate feathers. Chanyeol stood there in awe, occasionally handing over whatever Baekhyun asked for and watched the cakes turn into works of art. How? One man. How?

One man who can sing and act and probably dance too, can bake and decorate cakes, sew and fit his own medieval style clothes, and kiss.

This party was a bad idea. Chanyeol was glad he didn't miss it. Getting to know Baekhyun's friends and how Baekhyun acted around them was a serious thing. Chanyeol paid attention to every conversation and voiceless interaction. He really should be a bit more careful. He couldn't help looking at Baekhyun every chance he got.

The internal conflict Chanyeol was having was driving him crazy.

What was happening?

#fanfic #exo #baekhyun #chanyeol #kpop #university au #part two #my writing #ao3 writer #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #chanbaek

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sp00kworm · 5 years

Text

Vermillion (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Wounds, Injury descriptions, Gore, Kidnapping, Implied Stockholm Syndrome, Sexual References.

A/N: I forgot to cross post this! It took me a week to write for my favourite Sinclair so I’m happy to finally share this long piece with everyone. I love metal and figured Bo would too so this is sort of where this came from! Please enjoy!

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It wasn’t often that Bo Sinclair couldn’t stand the sight of his home, but when it did happen, he was always the first to escape in his truck, leaving Vincent in peace in the basement. Lester was rarely there to begin with, so it wasn’t like he was missing much when he was out of town. It was just them. Them and the dog, he reasoned as he cranked the volume of the rock station down in his truck. The bars he could easily drive to were run down little things, often just off to the side of a fuel station. Truckers and the large sort frequented them, laying down in their truck cabins for a few hours of sleep after a beer. They were run down, but the beer was cold and the food usually greasy enough to take his mind off whatever was itching at the back of his neck. Bo took a breath, strangling the steering wheel in his grasp as he listened to the last of the song on the station. When it finished and the annoying presenter droned back in, he turned the engine off and hopped out of the truck, locking the door as he took in the run-down establishment. Thankfully he was in his mechanic overalls still. He didn’t look out of place among the fat-bellied truckers that had just walked in.

The inside was just as dingy as the outside. The old wood was dark and the pictures on the walls were from when the area was known for its mining. He listened to the quiet hum lull on as he moved into the corner of the bar and eyed what was on tap. Truly he would be fine with a bottle. He didn’t care much for what it was so long as he could have the alcohol to destress. He snarled when his elbow was jostled, the trucker apologising gruffly before taking his tankard off back to a group of his friends. They clicked drinks before setting their scruffy lips to guzzling whatever it was in the huge cups. The music was some sort of rage metal, playing over the speakers in the corner, though not loud enough for any of the older men to complain about it. Bo was surprised by the choice but noted it as a reason to come back. Too many places played cheesy charts shit that he couldn’t stand. Heavier music had been his outlet since he was young.

The bartender was the one making the swap it seemed, beer bottles clutched to their chest as they flicked through an old ipod and changed the tracks to something heavier still. Bo would come back if he could drink beer with this sort of music on.

You felt burning eyes on your form as you clicked through the tracks of your little ipod. Dark blue gazed at you from the bottom of the bar and you took that as a sign that your little music switch had taken too long for some of the patrons’ tastes. With a smile you dumped the bottles in the box for collection and placed the glasses in the other one for the kitchen to wash. You were unassuming to him. Yet your music taste made him want to cry with joy. He was god damn sick of the classical music Vincent had on in the house. The only place he was free of it was at the garage with his battered tapes.

“Hey stranger, what can I get you?” You asked as you drew out a cold glass from under the polished counter.

Bo looked at you hard, chewing a toothpick as he gazed at the beers and shrugged, “I ain’t picky. Stronger is better but nothin’ that’s a spirit.” He flicked the wood and watched you hum and pull him a pint of a lighter coloured beer, placing it in front of him with a smile as the next riff crashed through your small speaker set up.

“Tab or cash upfront?”

“Open a tab. I’ll pay before I leave.” He offered before taking the beer and sliding himself into the seat on the end, “We alright to smoke inside?”

“Sure, just make sure to stub it out in the ashtray. If I see ash on the counter, I’ll charge you double for the beer.”

Your sour smirk drew a chuckle from the man in the cap. He placed the bleached, blue baseball cap on the bar before rubbing at his wild brown hair and drawing out a packet of cigarettes, wasting no time sparking one up before he took a sip of the beer. His face was pleasant as he took another, then chugged four great mouthfuls. If he was driving, you hoped he wasn’t going to have too many. Ignoring the new stranger, you tended to the other men, drawing beers and whiskeys before returning to your docked ipod, flicking to something metalcore before humming your way back to behind the bar, taking to cleaning glasses as the drum thundered softly behind you. The new band drew Bo’s attention back to the speaker as a vicious low noise growled over the wood. Some patrons rolled their eyes, and the male didn’t miss their chuckles at the music. It seemed like the regulars were used to the heavier stuff. A few seemed like the sort to enjoy this music. Bo felt his gaze linger on you as you canted your hips left and right, humming along to the song as you worked quietly before people came up to ask for drinks.

The eyes were on you as the male drank, his dark eyes peering over the rim of his glass, searching perhaps for something he liked. Maybe the music was pissing him off. You couldn’t find it in you to care about what he thought.

Bo raised his hand with a smile, “Bartender! I’ll have another of whatever that was, please.” He was still smoking, slowly dragging on his second cigarette.

“Sure thing. Half?” You watched him drag on the cigarette, as though he was actually deciding.

“Sure. Half. I gotta drive home.” He ground the stub out in the ashtray, “Thoughtful of you.” He hummed before pushing the ashtray away, handing you back his glass, “You got a name, sweets?”

“As much as I wish it was sweets, it isn’t.” You chuckled, pulling another half a pint for the man before offering your name with his drink, “What about you? I’ve worked here about a year and I’ve never seen you before.”

“Bo. Don’t stand for nothin' either before you ask.” He gave you a smile full of teeth, sipping the beer you put in front of him with something of a relaxed slouch.

“Well, Bo, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, doll. Might see more of me with that music taste of yours too.” Bo winked and glugged the rest of his drink, as though the liquid would get rid of something he was thinking about.

You’d seen his sort before. At least he had the spoons not to drink himself into a stupor. He had to drive home after all. The mechanics overalls moved enough to reveal thick, scarred wrists, the marks puckered, pink and white. You pretended not to see and took the glass from him as he sparked his third cigarette. A man with plenty of baggage. One to avoid. Yet as he cracked another smirk, taking the drink from you, you couldn’t help but smile back, watching him poke at his tattered hat, his hair messy. Something about him was off, yet he hid it behind a southern smile and a honey accent. Bo raised the crisp glass to his lips, drinking slower now, puffing on the cigarette between his lips as he turned to listen to a gruff exchange in the corner. The regulars were getting a little rowdy. The music chugged on in the background. Bo chuckled and turned his eyes back on you, watching under his lashes as you wiped down the counter with a cloth. The burning gaze followed you as you served another patron, and then another. He didn’t ask for another drink, just nursed the last one you had given him as the last of the men emptied out of the bar.

It was close to two o’clock in the morning.

Bo took his hat from the counter as the last man walked out, “Thanks for letting me stay, doll. Sweet of ya considering I haven’t bought more than two drinks.” He fished into his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, “Keep the rest as a tip.”

It was a kind gesture considering his drinks only came to about six dollars, “Thanks. You off back home now?” The glass clicked as you put it back in the box of washing, “Must have been something on your mind to keep you here until close.” You clicked off the chugging guitar of some metalcore song as Bo pulled the brim of his hat lower.

Bo chewed the edge of his lip before releasing it and smirking, “Ain’t nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over.” He tugged the sleeves of his coveralls and stood from the bar stool, tucking his wallet back into his front pocket.

“I’m not worried. You haven’t drunk enough to make a rat tipsy tonight. I’m sure you’ll be safe on your way home.” You put the cash in the register and took your four dollars for your tip jar on the end of the bar, “Thank you for the tip by the way. Not many tend to leave them.”

The male nodded and took a deep breath before moving to the door, “See you around, sweets. Your music taste really might just keep me around.” With another wink, he was out of the door, leaving you wiping your hands on your rag.

Bo licked at his lips as he closed the bar door, looking at his truck in the empty parking lot then back at the door. It was tempting to wait, to drive a little way down and trail behind you. He could, but it was late, and he had a few errands to run early. The man smirked and walked to his truck, tucking the card with the address of the bar into his pocket. Maybe next time he’d get himself a little souvenir?

You didn’t see Bo for a while.

The typical men and women were tucked in the back of the bar. It was still early for a few of them, so most were only a drink or two in. You’d taken liberties with the music once more, bobbing your head by the fridge at the back of the bar as you stocked beers and ciders into it. When the door went, you peaked up over your shoulder, watching the new familiar face saunter in. Bo was earlier this time. Dressed in blue jeans and a plaid shirt, he walked in with heavy boots on his feet and a smile on his face. He seemed brighter, less in a mood than the last time. He pulled his baseball cap off as he entered and gave you a bright, toothy smile, dangerous as he prowled over to the bar.

“You look like the cat that got the cream, Bo.” With a laugh you pulled out a glass, “What will it be this time?”

The man rolled his shoulders, still happy with the ego stroking, “Same as last time, doll-face. Tab too.” Bo sat down on the same barstool, his elbows on the bar top as he rummaged in a pocket for his crushed packet of cigarettes.

You pulled the pint of drink for him and placed the cool glass in front of him before pulling along an ashtray for him, “What brings you back to our humble establishment?” Joking, you leaned on the top on front of him, fluttering your eyelashes, “Maybe the music?”

Bo drew back slightly, sparking the cigarette before blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth with half lidded eyes, “Something like that. Maybe it was the beer. You got a good choice.” He shrugged and flicked ash into the ashtray.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know there’s plenty more where that came from.” With a smile you headed off to make the next round of drinks for the truckers sat in the far corner, humming along to the next song on your new playlist.

Bo watched under his eyelashes as you swayed and handed back drinks to the bearded, burly male, taking the cash and handing him his change with practiced ease. They seemed to all like you here, and respect you. It was nice to see. He waited for you to come back and continue the conversation. You ignored him and his gaze in favour of changing up the music, this time to a faster beat.

Bo pulled his old phone out to see a brief message. Something from Vincent. They both had little pay phones, though Vincent only tended to send him anything if it was urgent. Apparently red paint at seven o’clock at night was just that urgent. With a snort, he sent a haughty reply about picking it up tomorrow afternoon. Thinking of a way to get you back over and talking was more important right now than his brother’s painting hobby. He’d been away for the week chasing new little victims for their collection. One had hidden out in the woods not far from Lester’s cabin, and had mistakenly banged on the door, and ended up right back in their clutches. He’d enjoyed hog tying the brat a little too much, and maybe enjoyed throwing him down the stairs to Vincent a little bit more. A violent part of him had wanted to beat the young man for the trouble he’d given him, but it wasn’t right. Vincent wanted that one alive for some reason. His younger brother had pointed wildly to some new pose in his notebook and Bo had been loathe to pay attention outside of a ‘Do what the fuck you want’.

Bo settled for finishing his drink before calling your name, “Can I get another one please, sweets?” He asked, sugar on top of the honey that was his accent.

“Sure thing.” You took his glass with a smile and set to getting him a refill as he watched on behind you, his packet of cigarettes perched by his hand, his metal lighter clicking in his hands as he sparked it up, closed it, and repeated.

“You been working here long?” He asked as he snapped his lighter closed, blue eyes crinkled around the edges with his smile. It was a handsome smile.

Blowing air out of your mouth you thought about it, “Just over a year now, I think? Its not a bad job when you get the tips and the crowd seem to like me enough. Definitely makes it more bearable.” You placed his refilled beer next to his hand as he pocketed his lighter.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiled as he took his glass in his hand.

“What about you, Mister? What do you do for a living?” You stood next to him as the metal music turned soft, “Something hands on?”

It was probably a bad idea. Definitely.

“I’m a mechanic. Have my own little place. Not real busy but the work comes and goes.” Bo couldn’t stop himself before he was spouting too much, “Out in a little piece of land. The town’s quiet but we all make do. Like the peace ‘n quiet.”

You nodded with a smile, “That must be nice. I always wanted to live out in the country.” Confessing it to the man felt odd, but you were convinced no harm could really come from it, “But there aren’t that many jobs so far from civilization.”

Bo chuckled after a swig of beer, “It ain’t as bad as you think.” But didn’t say anymore as he fingered his pack of cigarettes.

“So Mister Mechanic has his own land and a little town to look after. Doesn’t seem like you’re doing too bad for yourself.” You joked, easing the tension, “All you need now is a little family.”

Bo felt something akin to bile rise in his throat, “Somethin’ like that. Though maybe playin’ happy families isn’t my forte.” He rubbed at his forehead with a frustrated smile, “One can only hope, right?” He laughed, brushing off the gloom with another drink, “You want the easy life I take it? Stayin’ at home. Lookin’ after kids?”

Bo swallowed the sour taste in his mouth as his heart leaped in his throat. A little house-spouse. Something about the idea of it made his gut twist in his belly. He licked at his lips again before taking a few deep swallows of beer.

“Isn’t that what everyone wants? The easy life. No worries.” You smiled and tapped your fingers along the bar counter before sighing, “Though it will probably never happen.”

“Who knows, sweetpea?” Bo smiled over the rim of his glass, “Be careful what you wish for.” He flicked open his lighter to light another cigarette.

Scoffing, you reached for your handkerchief to wipe at your forehead, the summer heat still permeating the bar, making it hot inside, “Thanks, Bo. You’re a real mood sucker, you know that?” You smiled at him.

The smile made his worries ease a little, “Maybe everyone will get what they want in the end, doll.” The toothy smirk was known to you now, and you smiled back as metal thundered over the speakers, pulling him another drink before serving the rest of the clients.

Bo grinned at his hand as he walked out that night, your handkerchief in his hand, your smell lingering in the material. As he sat in his truck, he pressed his nose into the material and groaned.

At first Bo came by weekly. You knew he was busy. Looking after his brothers and running errands while trying to manage a plot of land didn’t leave him much time for socialising. Bo made time. The more he visited, the more time he made. Weekly visits became twice weekly all too easily, and Bo looked forwards to listening to you snark at customers, or music taste, though you both liked the same bands anyway. The handkerchief was still in his pocket, the red cotton kind on his rough fingers. He pushed a finger into the material before he ordered another drink.

“Heineken today, sugar.” His smile was infectious as he seated himself properly, hands on the bar, his cigarettes tucked into his shirt pocket this time.

“That’s a weak one for you Bo.” You teased, cracking a bottle open for him with a quick flick of a bottle opener. You placed the top by his hand and held up your pad, scribbling down his drink at the top of a new page.

Bo gave a lopsided grin before pulling a cigarette out and thumping over his pockets with a curse, “You got a light? My lighter is back in the truck.” He asked and held out the cigarette to you.

Rolling your eyes you grasped the spare lighter from under the counter, “You’d think a nicotine addict like you wouldn’t forget your lighter.” You let him hold the cigarette in his mouth before you lit the end with a raised eyebrow.

For your sass, Bo made sure to blow the first lung full of smoke in your direction, “For a bartender you’d think you’d be a lot nicer to the clients that pay your wage, sweets.”

It wasn’t a threat, you knew that, so you laughed at him and turned to give a lady her whiskey before answering him, “I thought you only came here for the music anyway?” You teased.

Bo scoffed, “Somethin’ like that.” And drank a few mouthfuls of beer before tapping his cigarette on the ashtray edge, “Maybe I like the company.”

A grin was his reply, “Mister Bo Sinclair, hard man of the century, just wants a bit of company.”

“Carry on with that sass, doll, and I’ll make sure you don’ do it again.” Bo snatched your wrist from the counter with a dark look, “If you catch my drift.” His eyelashes were low, touching his cheeks as he leaned over the bar.

Bo was coming on to you. The Bo Sinclair, was coming onto you.

A thick wad of spit was hard to swallow, and you managed with a soft gulp as he eyed you, fingers tight around your wrist.

“And just how would you do that?” You knew you were playing with fire now, daring Bo to spout all the things he had been thinking about.

Bo took a drink before twisting you closer, his free hand dragging up over the soft skin on the inside of your wrist, “Maybe I’d rather your mouth be sayin’ other things?” He leaned up to make sure no one would overhear, speaking hotly into your ear, “Or screaming them for me. Bet you sound divine all worked up.”

That was a little too much. With a furious blush on your face, you pulled away jerkily, eyeing Bo with pursed lips, “What makes you think I’d let you, Mister Sinclair?” You really were putting your foot in it.

“I don’t.” He let go of you in an instant, “It was just an offer, should you want to take me up on it.” Bo sat back in his seat, pulling at his shirt as though he was hot before downing the rest of his drink, “Think about it, doll. I’ll be back tomorrow. I gotta run an errand before I head home.”

Like a proud cat he was out of the door, chest puffed out as though he had just achieved the impossible. When you turned over his beer coaster, his number was scribbled on the back, everything blocky and rushed. As a drum thundered you entered his number into your contacts and thumbed at the text button. A customer called for another drink and you tucked your phone back away before pulling another round of pints for the group in the back, smiling and chatting friendly.

The number felt odd in your phone. After your shift, you pulled out your phone and eyed his number again, thumb tapping the little message button once before you made your decision. Typing out the message you took a deep breath before pressing send. His reply didn’t come. It was sent, and as you locked up the bar you held your phone tighter, hoping that tomorrow wouldn’t be awkward. You climbed into your car as your phone buzzed with a response.

‘Did you see me writing my number or is this by accident?’

You swallowed and replied, ‘Thought I’d take you up on your offer ;)’

‘After your shift tomorrow?’

Your fingers shook as you typed, ‘See you then tiger.’ and exhaled, trembling as you turned on the engine and turned on the radio. The late-night talk show didn’t calm your nerves any as you pulled out and chewed on your lip.

One night turned into two, and two turned into four faster than you knew. It wasn’t even a hook up the third time. Bo took you out for breakfast. It was still a little motorway diner, but the pancakes were to die for. It was nice. Almost domestic. The next time you met it was the same. Going for breakfast in another little place. The time after that is was back in the motel, teeth clashing and hands groping handfuls of one another as he fucked you hard into the bed. It was a stark and scary difference, but as Bo placed his hand over yours in the diner, you found it hard to care about the shadows under his eyes and the strange glint in the corner. You looked down at your waffles and hummed, sipping a hot beverage tentatively as Bo chewed his pancakes with a noise of glee. Anyone would think he never ate the way he shoved quarters of cooked dough into his mouth. The coffee didn’t seem to bother him, and he swallowed a few mouthfuls before finally slowing down.

“Anyone would think you’ve never been fed, Bo.” You shook your head as you cut up your waffle.

Bo struggled to swallow his mouthful before he replied, “In truth, I got to get home, doll.” He confessed quietly, strong fingers resting on the table edge, “Something’s come up back home.”

“Nothing serious I hope?” You hid the upset in your eyes.

Bo shook his head, “Nothin' serious but I’m worried about Vincent.” He tapped one finger on the table and drew his lips back, half of his teeth exposed as he sucked air through them, “He...He can look after himself but people keep comin’ up to the house and I get a lil' worried for ‘im.” If he was lying you couldn’t tell. Bo pursed his lips before releasing the tension, licking at them before he posed the question to you, “How about we get the rest to take out? I can show you the house if ya'd like?”

“Mister Sinclair, it’s only the third date and you’re already taking me home to meet the family?” You teased as he leaned over to ask for boxes.

Bo's eyes went low, looking at the dip of your neck into your collar bones before he replied, “Seen as though I’ve already taken you elsewhere, seems about right I take you home.” His tongue made a round over his lips, imagining the taste of you before he leaned back to let the waitress take your food and box it up.

This was the moment. Bo knew it. You could reject him and go back to your little bar job, or you could come with him. He wanted you. He needed you like a dying man. It was like an itch in the back of his head, constant, fogging his brain with something like joy when he thought about you. The cruel part wanted to snatch you now, hunting knife to your neck as he dragged you back to the truck and hid you back in the middle of nowhere, back in Ambrose. Home, he thought, as he looked at your face. He wanted you home. To greet him when he came in, to greet him like a good little spouse. The sick part of his head wanted that and nothing else for you. The sicker part enthused if you were wax, he could have you forever. It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t a sick enough fucker to think wax people were real, nor would he do anything with it. He just wanted you to stay. The scars on his wrists ached when he rubbed at them, a subconscious, anxious movement as he waited. His Mama had left, and their Papa had driven himself mad. All he had was their town and his brothers, but now he wanted you as a part of his little family. A perfect little house-spouse. The words thundered in his head before you opened your mouth.

“Sure then, why not?” You smiled at him as the waitress took the money for the food and returned your leftovers in Styrofoam boxes.

Bo felt a smirk widen across his face, “Come on then, sweets, let’s get back to the house.” He took the food and held the door open for you to walk through, his smile infectious as you both dragged yourself up into his pickup and pulled out onto the highway once more. Bo’s hand went to the radio as a comfortable silence settled over the both of you, and turned the knobs, trying to tune into the station he liked. When the rock station came on, he sighed with relief and listened, one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm propped up out of the window.

“It’s a bit soft for you isn’t it?” You teased, holding up your little ipod and a cord, “I’ll put some good shit on.”

Bo only chuckled and let you fiddle with his old radio plug in, watching you struggle with a snort as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. When you finally managed it, Bo When you finally managed it, Bo felt the tension ease, the heavy drums rattling through the old speakers as he sped past the junction to civilization and onwards.

“You sure do live in the middle of nowhere, Bo.”

“Somethin’ like that, doll.”

The ride to Bo’s home was odd. The town was off the beaten track, obscured in a small corner of the country that no one had seen in years. The path was well worn, and the town was simply a single street left to rot. It seemed desolate, that was until you saw an old woman peep from behind her curtains, curlers in and tv fuzzing behind her. There was some life still here. There was no one around still though. One woman didn’t make a town. That was when the famous House of Wax came into view, yet Bo didn’t stop to let you see much of it, quickly turning the truck up towards the house, away from the museum and the rest of the town. He turned off the engine and applied the handbrake before taking a breath and getting out. You let him open your door for you and smiled.

“It’s a big old house.” It was more an observation.

Bo shrugged his shoulders, pulling his cap from his head as he walked towards the front door. It was open, and he turned the handle, cringing at the insides ass you walked past him.

A ‘pig sty’ was probably the nicest way of describing the inside of the Sinclair home. It was chock full of junk and stuff from so long ago you were sure it wouldn’t work anymore.

“It’s certainly unique.” You shrugged and perched yourself on the couch with a wave from Bo. He shoved his way into the kitchen and placed a kettle on the stove before walking back into the living area. His eyes were looking at something you couldn’t see as he walked through into another room in the back. The kettle was screaming on the stove. Your heart rate picked up when Bo didn’t come back. With a breath you dared to enter the kitchen, looking at the suspicious brown stains on the sink before you took the kettle away with a towel and placed it on the side, wondering where the cups were.

“Doll?” Bo shouted from the living room, “Shit.” He whispered it before you replied to him.

“I’m in the kitchen! The kettle was screaming!” You shouted through the door and waved, hot kettle in hand, “I don’t know where anything is.”

Bo seemed relieved to find you there, but quickly pulled two chipped mugs from the cupboard over your head and some cheap brand coffee, “Sorry its not the fancy shit. We don’t have no fancy machines for any of the grounds.”

“Don’t worry about it. Did you go and check on Vincent?” You asked, pouring hot water into the mugs.

As though you had summoned the man, a presence lingered in the doorway, “He’s uh, come up to see you.”

You turned around, coffee in hand, and almost jumped a mile in the air. A man the exact same height as Bo stood in the doorway, apron over thick jumper and tough cargo bottoms, boots covered in globs of white wax. His hair shadowed his face, hiding the features.

“Its nice to meet you, Vincent. Bo talks about you often. Only good things of course.” You offered him a drink and watched the man shake his head before he peered upwards, fingers cupped around the perfect skin of his chin. It looked like a medical prosthetic covering his face. It clicked that is was indeed a mask. Made of wax. You felt unnerved but held fast as you took your coffee back. A dark eye looked at you through the mask, analysing you on a level you couldn’t comprehend. The dark curtain of hair covered his face again as he tugged Bo’s shirt.

“A guest, not one of your projects. Well…” Something in the room churned then, darkening, souring the air with something you have never seen on his face, “Maybe if…” The words fell on deaf ears as Vincent reached for the bone handled knife on his thigh.

“Baby, don’t be doin’ no running now. We ain’t gonna hurt you.” Bo smiled and crowded your space, following you around the table as you felt the urge to panic rise in your gut, “What happened to breakfast? We were gonna eat here and have a grand old time!” He spread his arms as you watched Vincent by the door. Bo snatched your face in his hands, “Eyes on me, sugar.” White teeth snapped in front of your face, “We ain’t gonna do nothin’. You’re getting yourself all worked up for no reason!” He let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your frame, “I swear, you got an overactive imagination or somethin’.”

And like that, the atmosphere was calm. Vincent looked at you before taking a coffee and walking back out of the door, a dog barking and trailing behind him as he headed back towards the back rooms. As the door closed, you heard the scream that followed and the howl of the dog behind the wood.

“What the fuck is this, Bo?!”

Bo smirked, pulling his hat off before grappling you by the backside, pressing your hips together, “This is your new life, doll.” He snatched your wrists before you could smack at his face. The man leaned over, hand pinching your cheeks before his tongue ran over your hot face, licking you from the bottom of your jaw to the top of your cheek. He pulled away and pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in as the screams in the other room died down, and the dog stopped howling, “Better get used to it.” His hands trailed over your ass as he hugged you tighter.

The air in your lungs seized, “What do you mean?” and the screams started in the next room as the slick sound of a knife cut through the air. A door slammed open and you heard feet thump towards the kitchen. A girl ground her nails into the door frame, a stolen scalpel in hand as she glanced at Bo then back to you in his grasp.

The scalpel glinted before she moved with wild eyes, “You sick fuck!” She howled, launching herself towards the both of you. Bo moved quickly, hand catching her wrist. His grip slipped and the knife sliced his palm, the surgical weapon wet with bright red blood. You panicked, grabbing the girl by the wrists as Bo fisted his hand, blood dripping onto the kitchen floor.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She thrashed with the blade and you grunted as the two of you clattered onto the table. With a heave you rolled enough to smash her hand into the wood, watching her fingers recoil, the blade dropping from her grip. Fat tears dripped onto your face as she howled again, fighting to retrieve her blade. Silently, you snatched the knife and pushed her back. Vincent dashed into the door, grabbing the escaped girl by her hair, hunting knife pressed to her throat, the sharp edge glinting against the soft skin of her throat.

Clapping echoed around the room. Bo was leaned against the counter, his hips pressed back as he watched you gasp and hold the scalpel. You’d nicked yourself in the fight, arm bleeding and shirt sliced open, stained red with your own blood.

“What a show.” He hopped forwards and grinned, fingers moving over your shoulders as Vincent watched from the doorway, “Cut her real good, baby.” The purr made you clench, slick fingers unfurling from the scalpel with a shaky breath as you watched Vincent take the girl away, her tears dripping over her cheeks and onto the hard wood floor.

“You made me...” A sob choked in your throat before you steeled yourself, “I’m just as guilty as you.” It was a whisper.

Fingers pressed into your shoulders, a soft voice shushing your sniffling, “You ain’t done nothing wrong. She wont die. Vincent makes ‘em real purty.” They trailed a path down your sides before he held you by the waist, “Breakfast is getting cold.” He uttered behind your ear, breath hot against the skin, “I hate to waste good food.” Bo pressed a kiss to your neck before steering you to the table, pulling out a small first aid kit to patch up the cut until Vincent could stitch the both of you up.

The stitches in your arm ached. Bo’s palm was a mess, wrapped for a long time before it stayed closed as he moved it. Vincent had put stitches in carefully and watched Bo hiss and pick them sore for days before holding his brother still, disinfecting the stitches, and wrapping his palm so he couldn’t play with the wire. Your arm healed quickly as you tentatively settled into the new life, gazing at the sculptures Vincent often positioned in the House of Wax. Bo didn’t like your silence. You refused to eat for two days before he stirred up an argument. A screaming match on his side that made you swallow the mashed potatoes on your plate and think hard about what you were doing there. Another kid rolled into the town a day later, his hair a mess and his backpack hanging from one shoulder. You sat on the porch swing-seat as Bo sweet talked him inside.

“Fan belt? Oh, sure thing. I got a few in the house. You want to wait here with the spouse?” He nodded and Bo walked past you with a smile. A warning was hidden in his eyes somewhere. The warning was silly. You knew that ratting them out wouldn’t be good for you.

A smile curled on your face as you placed down your lemonade. It was cheap, flat almost, but it was refreshing in the sunshine as you sat with one of the boy’s books on your knees. Bo had been kind enough to drag you to your apartment, but not kind enough to let you ring work. Better you just disappeared, he said.

“Not from round here?” You asked, pushing your sunglasses up to reveal your eyes, “We don’t see many round these parts. A miracle I found Bo here in the wilderness.” The accent was choppy, but you’d been practicing enough to have a twang.

“Its a ghost town.” The male observed, “Just shit luck that my fanbelt snapped. It looked like it was done with plyers or something.”

You shrugged, “Shit happens.” And laughed before offering him a drink of lemonade. Bo was still inside; no doubt piecing together repair stuff to take to the truck.

“I will have a drink, thank you. It took me three hours of walking to find this place.” He took the glass of icy lemonade and drank great mouthfuls.

Bo came back through the door, startling the young man into choking as he glugged lemonade.

“A man goes inside, and a boy is already moving in on his turf. By all means,” he gave a sharp grin, “Make yourself at home.” He smirked at the boys stuttering before holding up a spanner, “I’m playing with you, boy.” He twirled the metal around his fist before placing his tools to the side. You saw Bo's shoulders tense before the metal tool smacked the boy over the head. It sent him spiralling, unsteady on his feet as he let out a squawk.

“What the fuck?!” He held out his hands, dropping the lemonade over the porch, the glass shattering.

Bo was on him quickly, pulling his arms back with a sneer, “You think I gave you permission to make yourself at home, huh?” He threw the boy into the wall of the house.

“Bo!” You clutched your book and gave him a snarl of your own.

In a fury, the man turned around, fists clenched, “I’ll talk with you later, doll.” The words were purred against your ear, Bo pressed into your personal space, before he recoiled like a viper and grabbed the unconscious boy. He pinched his face, looking him over with mild disgust, “You get on with making dinner.”

He left without anything else, descending into the basement, dragging the boy’s dead weight body behind him to try and calm down by exercising his muscles a little. Jealously wasn’t something you’d seen before. It was even deadlier coming from a man like Bo. You swallowed and sighed before pulling the pots out for dinner. You needed to get changed out of your lemonade sticky clothes before anything though.

Dressed in a soft shirt and bottoms, you leaned over the stove, cooking a basic meal for those that wanted it. You’d already shouted to Vincent about food. He hadn’t replied with a knock, so you assumed he was busy with his latest creation. It was probably the boy Bo had taken down. Bo hadn’t resurfaced since, other than slamming the door to the basement link to the House of Wax and storming upstairs for something. You sighed, pinching at the shirt over your torso, wondering if the outfit would appeal to him enough.

Listening to your own thoughts was sick. But you wanted to impress him. Bo was special. It was fucked up, but this whole thing was.

“Bo?!” You dared to shout up the stairs, “Dinner is ready!”

The door slammed open. You made yourself scarce, escaping to the kitchen to turn off the hob. Footsteps made the stairs creak as Bo came down, sighing heavily before he shouted, “Where you at, sweets?” He called before entering the kitchen. He was a state, face red and wrists sore from rubbing and gouging at them.

Your eyes caught the redness, “Baby? What happened?” You knew. The abuse as a child. He'd sobbed one night in the bar after far too many beers, before taking you to the cheap motel you both often went to, and fucking you hard against the wall.

“Nothing.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, “Its all fine now you’re here, sugar.” Bo pressed his face into your neck and sighed again, breathing you in as the food cooled on the stove, “I love you.”

The world froze as you felt the warmth from the man behind you seep into your back.

“I love you too.”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But was it true? You adored Bo like no other before all of this. Did this change him? You leaned into his touch and made your decision.

Bo purred at your reaction; lips pressed to the hot skin of your neck. The shirt was hooked out of your trousers, flapping over your stomach as he pressed you towards the side. His fingers slid teasingly along your sternum, pressing into the flesh as they danced over your stomach, aiming lower. A hot breath blew over the back of your ear as Bo's hips pressed you firmly against the counter. His fingers dipped underneath your bottoms, stroking as he kissed a spot behind your ear. His fingers slipped around before teasing the flesh, ignoring your grunt against the counter and the cant of your hips towards him.

"Make some noises for me, sugar, I'm a man dyin' of thirst."

You slid your hand around instead, grinning as you pressed your hand to his crotch, fingers splaying over the rough material of his old jeans.

Teeth snapped by your ear, “You better hang on. I’m gonna see what noises I can get out of you.”

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax (2005)#house of wax #the house of wax #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #slashers #slasher #slasher x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #my writing #slasher reader insert #bo sinclair x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader

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svtegg · 5 years

Text

dad!svt (hyung line)

seungcheol:

three kids...he wants more though.....whew

two boys n a girl

minjae, 12, a charmer like his dad, looks exactly like him

rowdy, loud and yells all the time

loves football and is naturally good at most sports

when he went to a cafe with his dad he ordered for his dad and when the barista gave him a confused look when he ordered a double shot dark roast ice americano he said

“i’m not young i’m just really short” making seungcheol who stood five steps behind his son bust out in laughter

chorong, 10, a tomboy who idolized her older brother and wants to do everything he does, she also plays football

her focus is worse than her brothers though so she always finds herself doing other stuff while pretending to play keeper

but don’t tell him that bc she doesn’t want him to know

she’s a very independent woman and gets very agitated when someone tries to help her with what she’s doing

taeoh, 6 BUT HE’LL HAVE YOU KNOW HES 6 AND A HALF actually

a total mamas boy and seungcheol will never admit how jealous that makes him

taeoh is a calm soul and tends to be a little shy

enjoys nature and animals n prefers playing with sticks and rocks over plastic toys

seungcheol is a stressed out parent....kinda like a stereotypical movie soccer mom

stressing over the shopping list at the grocery store n you just have to take a hold of his forearm to tell him that it doesn’t matter if you get taeoh red or yellow socks for his school talent show next week because taeoh is 6 and he doesn’t care

loves his kids more than anything in the world and is extremely supportive and encouraging

isn’t very strict but does have house rules, chores and routines and treats every one of his children with respect and love

almost never gets angry or worked up....only when the kids fight or hurt each other will he slightly raise his voice to assert his authority

but always ends his lectures with an i love you and a big hug

the “that’s my kid!!” type of dad

so so proud of his clumsy, messy and comical children

cheered for chorong when she did a handstand in the goal in the middle of a match

the rest are under the cut...

jeonghan:

“two” children

a two year old son

and another on the way

you don’t know the gender yet but!!! he’s very excited to meet his second child (it’s also a boy shhh it’s a secret)

his son is named haneul and he turned two on the 3rd of may

jeonghan calls him hannie though, passing on his own nickname to his son heheheh

he’s a smart kid

jeonghan taught him all the colors and is very proud of that

when jeonghans mom comes over jeonghan will always pester his son to get him to say all the colors

“what color is this, hannie?” he would ask, pointing to the emerald green mat on the floor with an exited voice

haneul would just give him the stank eye and go back to playing with his wooden moomin figurines

a total daddy’s boy he loves his dad so so much and jeonghan rubs it in your face constantly

hannie co sleeps in your bed,,,,and lemme tell you....that lil boy is wild as fuk,.,.,.hes basically doing acrobatics in his sleep...ends up splayed across both you and jeonghan, cheeks squished into your chest and feet resting on jeonghans stomach

jeonghan is a more hands on parent, always keeping an eye or a hand on his boy at all times

anxious when haneul goes to daycare for the first time

a little over protective almost breathing down the child’s neck when he’s playing with his blocks on the floor

you have to tell him to calm down and give your kid some space to explore a little

calms down a little when the other child arrives bc he finally realizes that he won’t have time to protect his children from every potential booboo

still spoils his kids rotten and leaves it to you to be the strict and stern parent

he doesn’t tolerate any backtalk or attitude however and will discipline whoever it was that gave attitude right away

always reads bedtime stories, even when the children are almost teenagers and whine at him to just get out of their room already

joshua:

two daughters

elisabeth, age 9, her korean name is eunchae

elisabeth’s nickname is ella and both you and joshua never call her by her full name unless it’s to be assertive

ella is an artistic soul and loves to draw and paint, shes a little diva and wants everything her own way

but she’s a sweet girl down deep, clinging to her parents at every chance she gets

emelia, age 5, her korean name is eunbi

emelia has a lot of pet names, she’s the little sweetheart and always sucks up to her parents (josh loves it)

emelia is a little more shy than ella, and follows her sisters footsteps carefully

both the girls look exactly like him, the cat like mouth and the kind eyes copied from his body and onto their faces

both the girls have almost golden toned black hair if that makes sense....

joshua is a gentle parent, letting his girls do their thing while watching from a few steps

he loves exploring with his girls and taking them to parks and zoos and botanical gardens to teach them different animals and insects and flowers

the girls really like superheroes and they will make their dad play avengers with them on the suspension bridge on the playground

he will always have to be hulk and his girls will be captain marvel and groot

is a loving and sensitive father who is very open and emotionally available to his girls

has set house rules, bed times and is very respectful when asserting authority

never raises his voice to his children but guides them with an impeccable patience

the girls have their own bedroom but they often end up in your bed during the night...emelia frequents your bedroom most though

has hearts in his eyes when he watches his kids do anything

that adoring soft smile that makes the edges of his eyes turn up covering his face

jun:

one son

4 year old chaohua......english name...joshua

(yes joshua cried when he found out)

chao may only be 4 but he’s already as handsome as his dad

he’s the most adorable child ever

the kindest soul to ever walk the earth

he loves cuddling and would be content for a good hour just curled up in the corner of the sofa with one of his parents or uncles

he’s already lost his one front tooth and is very proud of it

likes watching cartoons!! especially old pokémon episodes

jun’s so loves animals...all animals,,,and when he found out meat cane from animals he refused to eat it...so now i guess jun is a vegetarian bc of the puppy eyes chao gives him whenever it’s dinnertime

when walking anywhere with his son, jun has to stop every five minutes so that chao can pet a dog or talk to a bird that’s trotting along the sidewalk

the little boy squatting down with his hands around his knees to carefully speak to mr.dove....but mr.dove is clearly a city pigeon

also always nagging his dad for a cat

chao is very good at swimming and jun takes him to his swimming lesson every week without fail

jun is v supportive and sits on the benches along the wall to watch his son

isnt really scared for chao bc he knows his child is careful and smart

so let’s him do what he wants most of the time

jun convinced you to let chao co sleep with you and he still does that

you had to get a bigger bed but no one is complaining because chao is such a cuddle bug it’s a win for everyone

basically chao is just as kind and gentle and loving as his father

and chao being born made jun grow up a little...he’s still goofy happy junhui but he’s just 10 times more loving n doting....towards his child that is

wonwoo:

two sons

twins

taewoo and wonseok, both 5

both complete opposites but still a match made in heaven

wonseok is a carbon copy of wonwoo, even his personality

while taewoo is a carbon copy of just wonwoo’s face

wonseok is quiet, thoughtful, neat and incredibly smart while taewoo is rowdy, loud, messy and lot of fun

wonseok is braver than taewoo however and this way they balance each other out perfectly, one being the life of the party while the other evens out the energy levels a bit more

wonwoo loves his kids so much

his stoic and mysterious image being completely thrown away the second he hears one of them squeal out a loud DAD!!!! when he walks through the front door of your house

the twins are v often perched on either side of his hips, or clinging onto his back as best they can

they love their dad and thinks he’s the coolest person on the entire planet

wonwoo is a strict parent, expecting his sons to behave and treat each other with kindness.,,..,,.,,.,,...most of the time

they’re twins so ofc they get on each other’s nerves

wonwoo doesn’t mind a little fighting and crying from the boys....as long as they make up after

otherwise wonwoo would sit then down and have a discussion with the two of them

and bc of this the boys are extremely mature for their age,,,again.,,.,,...,,,most of the time

but they’re wonwoos greatest pride and he loves them so so much

wonwoo will often play board games with his sons,,,,sometimes he becomes a little too invested

taught wonseok how to play checkers and now he almost never gets peace from the little boy who’s constantly asking to play him again

taewoo just wants to play spider-man...which is basically wonwoo lifting the boy up and holding him up to the roof so he can pretend to walk on it...while screaming at the top of his lungs in happiness

he can’t handle bedtime though and so you and him always put them to bed together

soonyoung:

he’s been busy

he has a one year old boy....

and a 3 year old girl

and one on the way,,,,no one knows the gender yet shhhh (it’s another baby boy but i didn’t tell you that)

daehyun and hanbyul

he’s the biggest softest dad ever and cries at every first

cried when hanbyul said her first word...which was apple for some reason

cried at daehyuns f

cried at daehyuns first steps

cries when his child cries

keeps a list on the fridge of funny things his kids say

is super stoked and excited every time his kid learns a new thing, showing it off to every uncle one by one

is also completely on top and updated on what disney characters your daughter likes recently

knows exactly what stuffed animals his son likes and always knows what he needs when he starts fussing

he knows his kids so incredibly well its almost like he can read their minds

plays dress up with byul all the time, his favorite princess is elsa

you would often find him in the signature Dad™️ pose (the lying in the floor supporting yourself in your forearm) on hanbyuls bedroom floor with a tiny elsa costume on smiling like an idiot at your daughter who was explaining how to drink tea like a princess

a whole idiot for his kids, literally in love with them would do anything for them

spoils them rotten and makes sure theyre always happy, healthy and laughing

will never get tired of bouncing his son on his knee just to hear him laugh

his kids adore him just as much back

soonyoung almost has as much energy as his toddler daughter but will often go down as well at nap time

basically having kids with soonyoung is like raising and extra kid (him)

jihoon:

1 daughter

she’s just as badass as him

theyre best friends like actual best friends

she’s already turning into a little sassy savage princess

her name is youngsun (or just sun)

jihoon calls her sunnie or ms young

she’s currently 7 years old, and she has NO front teeth so she has an adorable lisp

she’s good friends with joshua’s girls

the little lady is very well behaved and always listens very well....jihoon likes to think this is bc he raised her to think for herself and respect and treat people like she wants to be treated herself

even though she’s jihoons daughter she is still a little cuddle bug and will savagely call her uncles out in their bull while resting her head on their chest

she’s very small, probably inheriting jihoon height lmao mingyu teases her adoringly by calling her teeny while she jokingly pouts up at her beanstalk uncle

jihoon treats his daughter like an equal, and bc of this they have a very special bond

jihoon and sun often discuss and exchange opinions on various subjects like adults and many people are impressed by how articulate and eloquent the young lady is

but she’s also a mischievous little lady and often pulls pranks on her parents or uncles,

hiding from them and scaring them when she thinks they aren’t looking and then running away with the loudest most adorable giggle leaving her toothless mouth

of course everyone just pretends they get scared but she doesn’t know that and thinks it’s the most hilarious thing

youngsun has a very strong bond with uncle mingyu and uncle seungkwan

the three of them often pairing up to scare jihoon while he’s working on something or spaced out in his own world

sometimes jihoon gives in and plays harry potter with his daughter, pretending to have dueling battles in the kitchen with chopsticks as wands

jihoon would be on the floor yelling out VINGARDIUM LEVIOSAAAAA

and you would be sat in the living room reading, laughing to yourself

you never in a million years pictured this would ever happen

basically jihoon is a very good dad and his daughter loves him,,,you could say she’s a daddy’s girl

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aww-writing-no · 5 years

Text

For Winterhawk Week, Day 3

Ao3 Link

Bond:

Clint looked up from the cash register at Strike Bean Delta when he heard the door open and a cacophony of voices filled the small shop. Things had been quiet this morning, but with the new recruits arriving at Camp Lehigh today he hadn’t expected it to stay that way for long.

Sometimes Clint hated being right.

A whole pack of rowdy young men in army fatigues jostled for space as they stared at the menu above Clint’s head. He was about to roll his eyes at their ridiculous posturing when he laid eyes on one of them and felt a sharp pang of - something.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about him. Grey-blue eyes and brown hair cropped army regulation short, he looked the same as half the kids who came through here for training. Yet Clint felt an immediate bond. Not lust. Definitely not lust, but more like… an old, comfortable friendship. Which was ridiculous because they’d never met before.

When grey-blue eyes came up to the counter to place his order - medium dark-roast with extra room for cream - he paused, hand in the air and blinking slowly as he went to hand Clint his money. He shook his head slightly before asking, “Have we met?”

Clint took the money and counted back his change before replying, “I don’t think so”.

He seemed as confused as Clint, but didn’t press it, walking away to let Clint take the next order. On his way out he stuffed a five dollar bill in the tip jar, which seemed to indicate something, though Clint had no idea what it could be.

Like many of the new recruits, grey-blue eyes became a regular over the next few months. Strike Bean Delta was the closest coffeeshop to the base, and got a steady stream of business from army folk who quickly tired of whatever institutional swill they served in the mess hall.

With time Clint learned his name was James, but he went by Bucky of all things. He learned that he was eighteen, fresh out of high school, and had enlisted with his best friend Steve. He had big plans for when he got out of the army, most of which involved going to school and getting some kind of advanced science degree. He took his coffee with a frankly obscene amount of cream and sugar, and had a penchant for apricot cheese danishes.

Basically, he was nothing like Clint.

Clint took his coffee black, and often straight from the pot when he wasn’t working. He wasn’t a big fan of pastry, possibly because only ate them when they were stale - two days old and unfit to sell to customers, even at a discount. Technically he was supposed to throw them out, but he wasn’t about to go wasting food that was still edible.

Clint had dropped out of high school at sixteen and immediately started doing whatever it took to keep food on the table. You know, when he managed to find a place that actually had a table. He was living on the street and had started getting into some real shady shit when he’d been approached by a guy who did outreach for a youth shelter. Somehow between Nick and Phil and the other counselors at SHIELD (Shelter for Homeless something or other - Clint could never remember the full name) they managed to help him get his life back on track. They weren’t good tracks. They were rusty and uneven and usually full of giant splinters, but they were his tracks all the same.

When Bucky told him he’d been assigned to a unit and would be shipping out the next day, Clint told him to stay safe and impulsively scrawled his phone number on the side of Bucky’s cup. Bucky stuffed a twenty dollar bill in the tip jar on his way out.

Clint got a text from an unfamiliar number a couple weeks later. It had a picture of the most dilapidated coffeemaker Clint had ever seen, and looked like it had been set up on a stack of crates in some kind of tent. The text read “I’d kill for a cold brew right now. -Bucky”.

Clint laughed and sent back a picture of the fruit danishes in the display case.

“Fuck, I’d kill for those too,” was the reply.

They’d been texting on and off for close to a year - mostly idle chatter and pictures of deserts and humvees (Bucky) or coffee and dogs (Clint) - when Clint woke up screaming in the middle of the night, feeling like his arm was on fire.

“What’s going on with your arm?” Natasha asked him later that day.

Clint shook out his arm for what felt like the millionth time, wishing the pins and needles feeling would go away. He really didn’t want to drop a pot of hot coffee on himself today. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he tried not to make a habit out of it. “I probably just slept on it wrong,” he told her.

Weeks later, his arm was still giving him problems.

“Go see a doctor; you probably have a pinched nerve,” Natasha told him.

“A doctor? Who can afford that?” he asked. Health insurance was for people with Real Jobs. He worked at a coffee shop. Besides, he was more worried about the fact he’d sent Bucky a picture of the cutest samoyed he’d ever seen and Bucky still hadn’t responded. One time he’d sent back a picture of one of the bomb sniffer dogs, and Clint still wasn’t over the cuteness of the german shepherd in its little vest and goggles. Clint wasn’t too proud to admit he was hoping for a reprise.

When Bucky stepped into Strike Bean Delta almost six months later, Clint wouldn’t have recognised him if he hadn’t felt that sharp pang of something when he walked in the door.

Bucky was wearing civvies, long hair tied up in a messy half-bun, and a lot more shadows under his eyes than when he’d left. Most notably, though, was the distinct lack of a left arm.

Clint’s own arm went numb at the sight, and the blender he was holding fell to the ground with a loud crash. Strawberry-banana smoothie coated his shoes and oozed slowly across the floor.

“Aww, smoothie, no,” he whined, and a wet towel hit him in the face, courtesy of Natasha.

Cleaning up the smoothie gave him plenty of time to try to sort through his feelings, because he was having a lot of them. Like, a LOT of them. By the time he finished cleaning up his mess, his feelings still weren’t sorted, but Bucky was sitting awkwardly at one of the tables with a coffee in front of him.

“Talk to him,” Natasha said, forcing a plate with an apricot cheese danish into his hands. “Don’t drop it,” she added a second later.

“But Nat,” he whined, sneaking a glance at Bucky who was staring into his coffee like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Talk. To. Him,” she repeated, turning Clint around by the shoulders and giving him a literal shove in the right direction.

“Uhh, I’m glad you’re back,” Clint said, sliding the plate in front of Bucky and taking the seat across from him. He nodded at the missing arm. “I’m guessing that’s why I stopped getting pictures of cute dogs in uniform?”

Bucky looked surprised, then let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Doctors tend to frown on having animals in the ICU,” he said. “Didn’t think you’d be interested in pictures of cups of jello.”

Clint smiled, nervousness relaxing into a feeling of ease he seldom felt with other people. He rubbed his left arm unconsciously, telling Bucky, “You’d be surprised.”

That got another laugh out of him and Bucky’s shoulders relaxed as he reached over to take a bite out of the danish. “Oh man, I’ve wanted this for so long” he said, tipping his head back and closing his eyes briefly. “You do not know how many nights I dreamed about coming back here just to eat one of these things.”

Clint remembered all the times he’d had an unexpected pastry craving over the past few months and thought that maybe he did.

“Who are you?” he asked abruptly. As soon as the words left his mouth Clint realized how crazy he must sound, but judging by the look Bucky leveled at him, he knew exactly what Clint was asking.

Bucky took another bite out of the danish and chewed slowly, looking Clint over as if he didn’t know quite what to do with him. “I suppose I could ask you the same question,” he drawled as he finished chewing. “Who’s the mysterious barista that keeps showing up in my dreams?”

“You dream about me?” Clint asked.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

Clint shook his head. “No, not really. I just get these… I dunno, feelings? I don’t know how to explain it. I’m pretty sure I felt when you lost your arm.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Bucky said, clearly startled. “That’s- that’s so messed up. I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Clint said with a shrug. It wasn’t like he had any control over it - like either of them had any control over whatever the heck this was. “Still doesn’t answer my question, though.”

“Last week I dreamt you lost your keys. You thought you’d dropped them on the subway and you had to have the neighbor let you in,” he told Clint, eyes seemingly focused somewhere past Clint’s left ear. “Last month I dreamt you were at a gun range, except you were hitting the targets using a bow and arrows. Last year when I was deployed I dreamt about you making coffee more times than I could count. One time you were making it while wearing a crocodile costume. I thought I was just missing home, but now? I don’t know.”

Clint put his head in his hands as Bucky continued to stare off into space. He should probably be getting back to work soon, but this was too weird for words. He’d definitely done all of those things in real life. “It wasn’t a crocodile costume,” he said finally, at a loss for anything better to say. “It was Abigail the Alligator, the mascot for the sporting goods shop I buy my arrows from. They booked a coffee service for a special event, and they offered me a bonus for wearing the costume.”

Bond, Part II: Here

#Hawkeye #Coffeeshop AU #winterhawkweek #winterhawkweek2019

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asras-hat · 5 years

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What happened after the Portia tale (part 1 of 2)

I loved the tale where Portia and Mazelinka go back to Vesuvia to find Julian, but I was disappointed that we never get to see her talk to him. I decided to take matters into my own hands, so here’s my take on what would happen when Portia actually finds him. (I also included Selasi because we stan)

Also I believe this is the link to the second part (it might not work tho) https://asras-hat.tumblr.com/post/184517537275/what-happened-after-the-portia-tale-part-2-of-2

Let me know if you have any ideas for other stuff I can write!

I make my way through the crowded, unfamiliar streets of Vesuvia, glancing around at everyone and everything as I pass. It’s as if I’m expecting to spot him out of the corner of my eye, peddling fruit. I sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes and wondering what my next step should be. I can’t exactly head over to any one of these market stands and ask them if they’ve by any chance seen the escaped murderer of Count Lucio hanging about, and if so, where could I find him? Knowing Ilya, he’s not doing a good job of keeping his head down – figuratively or literally – but I definitely don’t want to call any unnecessary attention to him.

I approach the first friendly-looking person I see, who happens to be a jovial-looking man tending what appears to be a small bakery.

“Hello,” I greet him as I approach. “I was wondering if I could ask you for directions.”

He gives me a warm smile, dusting his flour-coated hands off on his apron and giving me his full attention.

“Of course,” he replies. “Where do you need to go?”

“Well, nowhere specifically, but do you know of any, um… bars? Taverns? Anywhere generally… I dunno… good for someone miserable to go wallow?”

He stares at me for a moment, looking somewhat bewildered, one flour-dusted eyebrow perched higher than the other as he scrutinizes me.

“You’re looking to get a drink?” he asks after a moment.

“It’s complicated,” I confess. “I’m looking for someone, and… I don’t know where he would be other than someplace like that.”

“Right,” the man nods, his lips curling up in a friendly smile once more. “There’s a place down on the South End – just down the road that way and to the right. It’s called the Rowdy Raven – I’ve never been there myself, but it’s the only tavern I can think of at the moment. Not that I frequent taverns.”

I smile broadly at him. This is the first real lead I’ve gotten since the pirate captain told us Ilya was in Vesuvia.

“Thank you so much,” I grin. I reach into my coin purse and offer him one of the Vesuvian coins that Mazelinka gave me. “For your trouble.”

He waves my hand away, shaking his head.

“No, it was no trouble at all,” he smiles. “And South End’s a bit of a trek from here – take this for the road.”

He hands me half a loaf of bread, speckled throughout with spices and drizzled with honey. I try to pay him, but he continues to refuse.

“Alright, if you’re sure,” I sigh after another failed attempt to repay him. “Thank you so much for your help – and the bread.”

“It’s really nothing,” he insists. “I was about to close up in a few minutes anyway – it’s getting late.”

He bids me farewell with a small wave of his hand, which I return. I take a bite of the bread (which turns out to be beyond delicious), heading off to find my wayward brother.

After about a twenty-minute walk, I find myself in a secluded part of town that couldn’t be more unlike the marketplace I’d previously visited. Rather than the hustle and bustle of shoppers, with bright colors and exotic smells all around, this place is darker, drabber, with tall buildings lining the streets and limited lighting. It just oozes Ilya, from every crack in the pavement to every shingle on the roofs. I know I’m getting close. Eventually I stumble across the bar that the baker told me about – it’s a shabby little place, but a warm glow emanates from the inside and I can hear an endless stream of chatter and drunken singing from within. This seems like the sort of place my brother would enjoy.

Confidently, I stride inside and am immediately bombarded with a wave of loud revelry from all angles. A smile spreads across my face as I remember Lilinka bustling my brother and me past one such establishment back in Nevivon; I would share a look of longing with Ilya as we both wished that we could join what seemed to be a never-ending party in the bar. Sighing contentedly, I return to my mission for only a moment before my eyes easily land on my target. He’s slouched in a barstool, his auburn hair unkempt and much, much longer than I remember it. I can’t see his face; he’s looking away from me and doesn’t seem to notice as I approach him and slide into the barstool beside him. I knock on the knotted wood of the bar and smile brightly at the young woman who approaches me.

“I’ll have a beer,” I say. “Whatever you have works.” I hand her a few coins, hoping that they’re enough, and out of the corner of my eye I see Ilya jerk upright at the sound of my voice. He turns, shocked, and gawks open-mouthed at me, looking like a gangly goldfish.

“Pasha?” he asks after a moment. “What… how did you find me?”

I roll my eyes, placing a hand on my hip.

“I’ll let you know as soon as you explain yourself, Ilyushka Devorak.”

The bartender hands me a glass and I flash her another smile before turning back to my brother with an unamused frown. He squirms sheepishly like a scolded dog before nodding resignedly.

“You’re right, I do have a lot to answer for,” he sighs. “But not here. I have a little place down the road from here; we can talk there.”

Oh, not this again. As kids, he used to insist that he had something to tell me, but he’d need to find the right place, the right time. When he did get to explaining, it was never anything particularly damning – he’d just gotten himself all in a tizzy over nothing. I feel that this time must be different, however, and decide to go along with it for now.

“Alright, we’ll talk there.” I toss back my beer, wiping the foam from my upper lip and looking at him expectantly. “Lead the way.”

#the arcana #the arcana julian #the arcana portia #the arcana selasi #selasi the bread guy #portia devorak #julian devorak #the arcana mazelinka #the arcana headcanon #the arcana fanfic

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euroman1945-blog · 6 years

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The Daily Thistle

The Daily Thistle – News From Scotland

Saturday 29th September 2018

"Madainn Mhath” …Fellow Scot, I hope the day brings joy to you…. The heavens are full of twinkling lights this morning.. Stars for as far as you can see, a thick belt much like a rope stretches across the sky, the "Milky Way" in all its glory... what an amazing sight.. I watch with awe as a meteor strikes the Earth's atmosphere at 35,000 mph and start to heat becoming incandescent as it descends towards the planet.. then as fast as it came, it vanishes from sight, burnt to nothing but gas …..

NEW DOG CAFE SET TO OPEN IN EDINBURGH…. Cafe Voltaire, a hangout space part of Cabaret Voltaire on Blair Street, will host a new event on Sundays from 12pm-6pm aimed specifically at dogs, and their owners. Brainchild of dog-lover Abi Meek, the weekly Dug Cafe will welcome anyone who wants to relax in a carefree canine environment, with proceeds of special events going to charity, the Edinburgh Dog and Cat Home. She said: “I am a dog owner myself and discovered that plenty of premises in Edinburgh are dog-friendly however, finding somewhere that is set up especially for dogs are few and far between. “Creating a relaxing environment for every breed of dog to socialise seemed perfect for Cafe Voltaire, which is an extremely cosy and quirky space serving up coffees, cake and cocktails.” Abi said the spacious cafe will be kitted out with relaxing areas full of toys and comfortable beanbags where people and dogs can lounge, play and even sleep. “As the venue is heavily music-orientated we will be playing soft soul and chill-out music to complete the vibe,” Abi explained. “Following on in the evening there will be live acoustic music being played until the late hours of the evening. A complete dog menu will also be on offer featuring pupacinos, dog beer, pupcakes and doggy pizza. Humans are well catered for with cakes, coffees, pizza and alcohol. “There will also be photo opportunities and dog competitions being held in order to raise money for the Edinburgh Dog and Cat Home as well as a pre-loved toy donation bucket so other dogs can enjoy them.”

NAVY VETERANS’ SHOCK AT BEING BOOTED OUT OF SCOTTISH WETHERSPOON’S…. A group of Royal Navy veterans were left disgusted after being kicked out of an Edinburgh Wetherspoon pub during a reunion event. Around 25 communication veterans who served around the world on HMS Ark Royal (RO9) travelled to the Capital from all corners of the UK to catch up with lost shipmates, some of whom have not seen one another for more than 40 years. The group decided to meet at The Standing Order on George Street for a day of reminiscing, food and drink with people arriving from lunchtime. But the veterans were astounded when security staff ordered them to leave the premises at around 10.30pm claiming one member of the team giving the reason that “you’ve been here a long time”. Meanwhile other members of the group were refused re-entry. Alan Willis, 62, who attended from south London, said: “We were all absolutely astounded. We are extremely disappointed we were ejected from the pub and the reasons still are not clear. “One bouncer stated ‘you have to leave because you’ve been here a long time’ while another guy said ‘you may have had too much to drink’. “At no time was there any rowdy behaviour, no drunkenness, no foul language, no abusive behaviour, no loud voices or shouting, no upset, anger or disagreements and certainly no complaints from other users of the pub. We are just a bunch of 60+ year-old veterans spending in excess of £100+ per round on drinks and food.” The baffled veterans, some serving in the Falklands and Northern Ireland, regrouped at a nearby pub and felt there was a lack of respect to those who fought for their country.

TOURISTS RISK ERODING ISLAND BEAUTY SPOTS AS THEY CREATE PERFECT INSTAGRAM PICTURES…. Tourists visiting island beauty spots are putting them at risk of erosion by building rock formations – so they can post snaps on Instagram, conservationists have said. Stacked pyramids of stones have appeared on Unesco-listed beaches on Orkney, and at the Fairy Glen on the Isle of Skye – which recently featured in the blockbuster film The BFG. Stone stacking, which enthusiasts describe as “meditative” and “artistic”, can also be seen on Iona, Inner Hebrides. The trend has prompted concerns by residents and environmentalists that they could speed up erosion and destroy the habitat of wildlife living on the islands. Dog-walker Claire Irons, 53, spotted at least 50 of the rock formations at the Fairy Glen on Uig, Isle of Skye. The area earned its name due to a distinctive group of round grassy hills, with ponds between them. It is just not right – people should go there just to see the surroundings, not to build a pile of stones. It is causing an erosion problem CLAIRE IRONS Concerned the rocks might topple and crush her Border terrier, Treacle, Mrs Irons confronted tourists and told them to stop – but was told she was spoiling their fun. Mrs Irons said: “It’s the first time I’ve noticed it, we don’t tend to go up that way in summer. “There’s normally so many tourists around. “When I went up on a dog walk, I was amazed – you couldn’t walk on the path. “It is tourists rather than locals who do it.” Having lived on the island for five years, Mrs Irons said she was concerned that the structure of stone walls was being destroyed by tour groups. Mrs Irons added: “It is causing an erosion problem, the rocks are being taken from the surroundings and being taken from walls. It is a whole geological area. “They tend to go to the coastal bit, that’s where the rock formations are. “It is just not right – people should go there just to see the surroundings, not to build a pile of stones. “It is on a croft, where sheep graze. “I could be a bit cynical and suggest they go in on minibus tours and they need something to do.” The dog owner was concerned that a rock could topple and hit her seven-and-a-half-year-old Border terrier. She said: “Since the BFG was filmed here it has been on the film trail. “People come to Skye and they have got a list of things to do – one of them is to follow the ‘Fairy Glen’. “It’s free, that’s why people go there. “It’s been promoted more – when I first came here it wasn’t on the map. “It has crept up in the past three years.” Founder of environmental campaign group Blue Planet Society, John Hourston, believes social media including Instagram and Facebook is fuelling the problem. Mr Hourston said: “When I saw the photograph I was astounded – this is a new level. For that to be on the Isle of Skye, which you associate with isolation, is absolutely shocking. Without a doubt it is having an impact on ecology. “The photo epitomises the desecration of the natural environment. “We are talking about a base of people, backpackers and adventurers, who should have a concept of ‘leave no trace’. “The overpowering urge is to prove they’ve been there on Instagram or social media.” He said the problem was not isolated to Skye but seemed to be prevalent in Scotland, including Orkney where new structures were popping up beside neolithic formations. The beach at Skara Brae, designated a Unesco World Heritage Site.

ABERDONIANS CANNOT BOARD ABERDONIAN IN ABERDEEN…. Rail passengers in Aberdeen will not be able to board the Aberdonian steam train named after their city. A new service between Edinburgh and the city launches in March next year, but all journeys will start and finish in the capital. A new steam train service between Edinburgh and the North-east launches in March next year. Picture: Ian Georgeson North-east Labour MSP, Lewis Macdonaldsaid yesterday: “I am sure The Aberdonian steam train will be a great success, but it’s a pity that, under current plans, passengers can’t get on board in Aberdeen. I hope the operators of the new service will be able to issue single tickets both ways, as well as a return excursion from Edinburgh, so that Aberdonians can travel with The Aberdonian without having to go to Edinburgh first.” The A1 Steam Locomotive Trust, which will operate the services, admitted that anybody who wants to use the trains will have to make their way to Edinburgh to get on board. And once they have been on the return trip, they will have to make their way back to Aberdeen. Five trains will run in 2019, with the potential for expansion in the following years, and the scheme has the support of Network Rail. The initiative has been assisted by the installation of a new £86,000 turntable in Aberdeen by the Ferryhill Railway Heritage Trust. But its chairman, Jon Tyler, admitted yesterday there was still plenty of work to be done before services could be run from the city. He said: “I suppose it’s just a case of demand. If a charter train could be linked into an existing itinerary, say for the proposed cruise ship visits [to the new Aberdeen Harbour], it might be possible to do it in the future. “What you have to remember is that all the main steam locomotives and rolling stock are based down south, so they would need to make extra journeys at the beginning and end if these were to start from Aberdeen.

EMPTY DUNDEE FACTORY SET TO BECOME NEW COMIC MUSEUM…. For more than a half a century it was where millions of Beano, Dandy, The Broons and Oor Wullie annuals were made. Now a vast empty printworks in Dundee is set to become home to a comic museum under plans for a £17.5 million transformation over the next decade. The present empty site where the comics and annuals were produced. Picture: Contributed Live music events, visual art exhibitions, theatre productions, festivals and conferences would also be staged in the historic West Ward Works. Work is set to get under way within months on the first phase of a project expected to create 1,100 jobs and boost Dundee’s economy by more than £50m over ten years. The project’s backers hope it will be one of the biggest cultural projects to benefit from support from a ‘Tay Cities Deal’ between the UK and Scottish governments, which is hoped to be approved within the next few months. Under a proposed timetable for the project, the first permanent occupants could be in by early next year and the first major phase of work completed by 2020. Workshops, studios and offices for artists, cultural organisations, videogame developers and other creative industries are planned as part of the development. It is thought up to 300 people could end up working in the building, which is close to both the Verdant Works – the award-winning attraction celebrating the city’s history of textile production – and Dundee University’s main campus. The two-storey comic museum at West Ward Works would showcase highlights from the archives of publishers DC Thomson, which still owns the building. Other permanent features would include a civic square, “monumental sculptures” and a permanent cafe-bar and restaurant. A charitable trust was set up last year to pursue the plans for West Ward Works, which operated from 1949 to 2010. Project director David Cook said: “The V&A is fantastic and has already had a huge impact on Dundee, but it’s the start, not the end of a process. This is really about what happens next and we hope it will be very much seen as something complementary to the V&A. We’ve spent the last year working on an architectural masterplan and a ten-year vision for the building. “The main focus of West Ward Works will be as a cultural hub. As well as the comic museum, one side of the building will have space for major exhibitions, live music, festivals, events and conferences. The other will be a working and making campus. “The comic centre would explore Dundee’s role in the story of the comic book, including the titles produced in the city and the people who worked on them. It was originally proposed for the waterfront, but this is now the preferred location.

On that note I will say that I hope you have enjoyed the news from Scotland today,

Our look at Scotland today is of Dogs enjoying their pupacinos at Edinburgh’s new dog café…. What’s that Bella You want to go….

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Saturday 29th September 2018 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming Jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in

Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus #Scotland #News #Spain

#scotland #news #Bella #coffee #Robert McAngus #RobertMcAngus

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ryekamasaki · 7 years

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A lil something for the AsaDai birthdays! Thanks to @humandisasterbuckybarnes for the suggestion. :D

This is also the very last daily ficlet of 2017, and I thank each and every one of you for joining me on this awfully grand adventure. I love you! <3

“Happy birthday Daichi!” Daichi sighs as Suga snaps the hat onto his head and smacks an obnoxious kiss against his cheek before flitting away across the room, though he manages to shorten the distance by disappearing halfway and reappearing feet away. He watches him throw his arms around Asahi and Oikawa, who groan under his weight. It’s amusing to watch them try to go about preparing food with him hanging onto them, only half floating in the air. Daichi knows he does it entirely on purpose, throwing his weight around when he doesn’t need to, when he was the first one to figure out this whole being a ghost thing.

It’s been longer than Daichi can remember since they all became like this, and now it’s just another life, normal except for the occasional interference by some overly excited teenagers barging into their building and trying to scare each other. Suga and Oikawa tend to those, usually, giving them far more than they bargained for before the kids flee, their yelling voices echoing in the old house. Otherwise it’s the same as it’s always been, the group of them together, apparently forever, now.

He didn’t think they’d be bothering with things like parties now that they’re all just apparitions, but it is nice to know that they all still care about each other even after all the years. The party is nice, loud and rowdy, not much different from before, and Daichi enjoys it a lot. He finds Asahi on the couch after a while, and they wait together for the clock to tick over to midnight. Suga pops in and out of sight rapidly, kissing them and punching them all depending on his whims, and everybody else yells as they dog pile onto the couch.

Luckily it doesn’t actually matter if they get squished, and Daichi laughs as they all shout greetings for the new year and Asahi’s birthday in the same breath. He waits until they break up a little, drifting off in pairs to find more food and the cake they’ve been saving, crowding into the kitchen to make hot drinks. Asahi sighs a laugh next to him, and Daichi smiles softly as he slips the hat from his head to Asahi’s instead.

The kiss he presses to Asahi’s cheek is infinitely more gentle than Suga’s, and if it were possible he knows Asahi would be blushing. “Happy birthday, Asahi.”

“Happy new year, Daichi.” Asahi links their hands together and stands, pulling Daichi to his feet as someone yells from the kitchen. He wraps his arm around Daichi’s waist and holds him close, leaning down to rub their noses together. “I’m looking forward to spending it with you, again.”

“Me too.”

Something comes flying from the kitchen with a groan, but it’s easy enough to let it fall through them instead of moving, so Daichi just ignores it and focuses on kissing Asahi instead. The perfect end to his birthday, and fantastic beginning to the new year.

#haikyuu!!#AsaDai #Azumane Asahi #Sawamura Daichi #ry writes #daily ficlets 2k17

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imascreamerbabymakemeamute · 7 years

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I don’t run, but I will run to you

Supernatural has become a big part of my life, and thought I have been writing fanfiction for years, I never had the guts to post it. But after much coaxing from @annie-marie94 I have decided to post this.

A/N: DeanxReader, no smut but it’s way too fluffy for it’s own good.

In this AU teachers are dating teachers! It is never okay for students to date teachers!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

I don’t run, but I will run to you

“I want you guys to run two laps for being late to class today,” Dean yells at a couple of the linebackers as they hustled out to practice in their pads.

“Yes, Coach Winchester,” they grumbled.

“But, Coach, you know I don’t run,” you say as you walk by the open door where he is standing on your way by. Your pace quickens minutely as you realize how loud you said that; quickly skirting the lot and zipping through the grass to your little house across the street.

The next day comes without fail, and with it came Tuesday Technology. Where the kids used what they had learned the last week to either create something of their own, or catch up on work they haven’t finished yet that was due, is due, or extra credit. They can be terrors, but they enjoy the work time.

It was Tuesdays when Hall Duty was just more than you handle most days, but on the rare occasion that Coach Winchester shares the duty with you, it was much better. And today, after a particular hellish discussion on how, though one may think, it is rude to depict the President as a Nazi, a monkey, and anything containing expletives, whatever was currently being worshipped by the kids must have been smiling down upon you as Coach rounded the corner to share Hall Duty with you since Gabe, the science teacher, was out on sick leave after getting too into a re-enactment in his class and caused his own concussion. To which many kids filmed and put on youtube. You have spent hours finding each version of it and finding the kid to have them take it down.

But, back to the handsome man walking toward you. After all your students filed out of the computer lab, you stood next to the doorway as the hordes of students went by, one or two slipping out of the throng, and into your room.

“So if you don’t run, what exercise do you do?” a deep voice, rough from years of yelling at rowdy students. Your jump slightly and students around you who notice snicker a bit, especially the ones in the doorway.

“Huh?” You ask, wondering what he was talking about.

“Yesterday,” he reminds you, “you said you don’t run, so what exercise do you do?”

“Oh, that,” you sigh. “I walk the neighbor’s dog for him, he can’t get out and walk Daisy like his wife did before she passed, so I walk the dog, and he lets me pile my trash on his side of the driveway so I don’t have to pay for it to be picked up,” you smile sheepishly.

“You live in town? I didn’t know that.”

“I live right there,” you point out the windows in the back of your classroom, “in the little brown house. I walk to school everyday.” Just then the bell rings and you look up at the clock just inside your room and start calming the class down so you can remind them what is due tomorrow.

At lunch you looked out the window at your house across the street, “Damn, I’ve gotta ask Dad if I can borrow his pusher, my yard looks atrocious.”

“I can get it if you want,” the gruff voice says from behind you.

“Coach! I didn’t see you come in! You scared me!” you almost screech.

“Sorry Ms. L/N, I just meant that I could get it for you, I have a mower back at my place it will take about ten minutes to do that.”

“No, it takes at least an hour, Coach Winchester, and I can do it. I just have been putting it off,” you say quickly.

“I’ll be over tonight, you’ll see. Ten minutes, time me.” He says as he pats your shoulder, “and, call me Dean, only the kids call me Coach.”

After school, you hurry home. You can’t put your finger on why, but you have a feeling that Dean will be by with his mower soon. You tidy the house up and get your laptop out so you can grade the student’s work, being a computer teacher has its perks. You turn on some classic rock to drown out the noise of the cars on the road and get some dinner started. The sound of a lawn mower pulls you away from your spaghetti preparations and you look out the kitchen window to see Dean drive by on his riding lawn mower, big bulky noise cancelling headphones on his ears as he rumbles past.

You glance at the clock on the oven, remembering his challenge; 5:09.

You meander to the back porch with a tray of lemonade and glasses as Dean drives by with the blades off after finishing rounding out your last tree in the backyard. He pulls up to the bottom of the stairs, he climbs them, two at a time and you see that the heat of the August sun has prompted the usually crisp dressed man to don a pair of jean shorts and toss his white tee over the back of the driver seat. Sweat glistens off his honey colored skin all perfectly filled out and toned.

“Lemonade?” You ask, trying not to let your voice waver, “What do I owe you for such a favor?”

“Turn up that music?” He offers from under his lashes as he sips on the glass of lemonade after sinking into a second hand patio chair you got off the internet.

You gave him a puzzling look before reaching hand into the house past the screen door and you turned the little knob on the old stereo speakers you had hooked up to your computer. The classic rock came louder, Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore kicked in over the chorus and his thousand watt smile crawled onto his face.

“No seriously, you did a wonderful job, what do I owe you? How much do you want for doing this?” you asked again, trying to clarify.

“I heard you the first time, Sugar. I told you, turn it up and let me come back out. I’ll come out as long as you need me to.”

“Really?” you asked shocked. “You would do that for me?” He nodded.

“One thing though,” he said suddenly.

“Anything, name it!”

“Come have dinner at my place on Saturday. I would say Friday, but, ya’know, the game.” he rambles a bit sheepishly.

“I- Of- Yes,” you start and stop a few times, “yes, I would like that very much.” Your cheeks tint a bit pink and the timer in the house goes off. You set your drink down and rush inside to take your garlic bread out of the oven. You come right back outside at the sound of the mower turning on, and being drove around to the front of the house. You hurry to the front of the house, and watch out the front window as Coach Winchester drives off on his little riding lawn mower down the road a couple blocks before turning. Turning back to your kitchen, you settle for having dinner with your gradebook instead of Dean.

Friday at school was crazy, home football games usually were. You were helping the school by selling tickets, and you got a little bonus but you also got in for free. After a tough first half, the guys came in for a swift second half and came out with a big win. The stands rush the field, you quickly and quietly slip out of the masses after congratulating a couple of the team who were in your classes. As you were heading through the parking lot to home you hear a couple of the other teachers talking about heading out to drinks tonight at the bar in town. Your hurry faster across the street, not a big drinker yourself you tend to stay away from those teachers, always afraid that they will get in trouble, and by extension, you. You slip inside quietly, and lay your keys down on the counter as you take your jacket to the closet in the hall as a knock resounds through the living room. You grab the door handle and open the door to see Dean standing there.

“Hey, I didn’t get to talk to you tonight, with the game and all,” Dean kind of rambles.

You open the screen door on the front door and step out onto the front cement pad with him. “It’s okay, is there something you need?”

“Do you want to come drinking with us? We won, and the kids can’t go drink so we might as well!”

“Oh, no,” you say quickly, “I don’t drink, I’m more fun if I stay home and out of your way. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got papers to check anyway.” You smile and wave him off. “Go on, I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

Dean smiles wide, “I almost forgot! Can I come in? I’ll write my address down, come on down at six, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you step out of the way and hold the door for him. He drags his feet across your front mat and gingerly steps onto your carpet. You pad across the plush carpet and head for the kitchen, grabbing a pad of paper and gesturing for him to follow as he stands on the mat, frozen. He followed quickly with big strides, grabbing the pen and quickly scribbling his address down and then looked up at you. You two share a smile and his eyes rove over your face, looking for any amount of trepidation as he reaches a hand out to cup your cheek and then as he moves to peck your other cheek.

At five fourty you were just pulling your skirt on and tucking in the ends of your tank top to the waistband. The light blue tank and aztec pink and blue print of the tea length skirt matched nicely, and with a thin white jacket and small pink quartz pendant necklace your look was set. A touch of makeup and you were out the door by five fifty. Just a short walk, about three blocks, to Dean’s took you about five minutes. When you knocked on the door Dean came rushing a minute later, with a bottle of water in one hand.

“Hey,” he said as he looked you up and down. “Damn, I feel underdressed now.” He said quickly gesturing to his own dark jeans and grey tee shirt with a red and black flannel with the sleeves rolled up, you smile a bit. He chuckles and steps aside and you take a step inside.

Dinner was quaint, a perfectly grilled steak with mashed potatoes and a bottle of straight root beer each.

“I remember that you said that you don’t drink, or run but we can get to that later,” he said in a teasing tone as he handed you your bottle as you sat on his back patio. After sitting and sharing horror stories of teaching and killing a six pack of straight root beer, Dean came back with hard root beer, and you turned him down tonight. At eight his phone rang for the third time in a row and he answered it finally, leaving his hard soda on the picnic table as he walked away a bit to talk to his brother about something. You reached over as it seemed to be the end of the conversation and downed the last swallow of his soda and as he came back you stood to leave. Copying his actions the night before you cupped his face with your hands and pecked his cheek.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, but I think it’s time I leave,” you say quickly, blushing a bit as you pull back.

“I had a great time too, we should do this again,” he says and he surges forward to peck your lips shortly and with that your blush increases.

“Next Saturday, my house, six o’clock, it’s a date,” you say quickly as you skirt his house and hurry away before you do something rash.

That next week at school is tough, knowing that the date is coming up and the fact that you are still sharing Hall Duty since Gabe is still out with his minor concussion doesn’t help. Lunch is better because there is something to do beside talking, but there is more time then as well. His shameless flirting is getting him somewhere though, he is making it harder for you to separate school from your personal life. Some of the quicker students are picking up on his hints, and flirting, sometimes faster than you are.

Saturday rolls around and you have cleaned the house, made a casserole, and bought a box of that hard root beer at the store. You set the small breakfast table as a dinner table for two. A knock on the door pulls you from your thoughts.

“Hi Dean,” you say as you open the door, unconsciously smoothing out the khaki capri leg to wipe off the sweat as you hold the door open.

“Hey you, I brought you these,” he holds out a couple stems of lilies presumably from his flower bed along the back of his yard as that color was just blooming when you were there last week. You grab them from him and smell them a bit and smile.

“They are beautiful, come in, I’ll pull out a vase.” You hold the door for him and gesture for him to sit anywhere he likes while you get the vase and wait on the casserole. He sits on the couch and watches as you pull a vase out of the small china cupboard and fill it with water and set it on the counter. You return with a couple of the hard root beer bottles and hand him one. His face shows that he didn’t believe that you would have these.

“Hey, I never said I couldn’t, I just said I don’t usually,” you twisted the cap off and tossed it to the coffee table, he copies you and takes a swig. As you take your phone out and start the music playing softly. The soft bluesy tunes of The Steve Miller Band echo around the small living area as Dean’s smile widens.

“You know Steve Miller?” he asks incredulously.

“Of course, I grew up on the classics!” you exclaim. He starts singing along and the two of you finish out the song as the timer on the counter beeps. You hop up and turn off the timer, opening the oven door to check your casserole. Dean wanders over and sits down at the small breakfast table with his and your hard sodas. You bring the pan over to the table and carefully dish out the food.

After a quaint dinner, and almost the whole six pack of hard sodas down, and bubbling within you two, you see the lust burning in his eyes. But as a true gentleman he retreats back to his house in order to keep his cool. Every Saturday for the rest of the year you and Dean met up, dinner, movies, grading, lesson planning, anything that could mean you could share the space, your place, his place, a public place.

Around Christmas you share your first steamy kiss, and by May you were officially a couple and the students were loving it. The Principal however was a little less than thrilled, emails had been provided that stated the conduct requirements for teachers, with certain areas highlighted.

Over the summer, steamy nights were getting hotter as Dean’s drawer at your place turned into everything in your place after his trailer got flooded in the summer storms.

At the first pep rally a couple years after that, the school was a-buzz. With the workload your learning team had piled on you you weren’t looking forward to Dean had been spending more time with the team, and while you were happy for the distraction from the empty house, the work was supposed to be distributed between your team. You had planned on camping out in your room, avoiding the rally until one of the football players piped in.

“Ms. L/N? Aren’t you comin’? Coach Winchester is adamant that everyone come this rally. Says he’s gotta show us something he’s been working on,” Terrell told you. He was a good kid, star running back in fact. Quick as a speeding bullet, but some days you wondered how many hits he’s taken and not gotten checked out.

“Well, you just fill me in, Mr. Edlund’s new plan for our standardized tests is going to take the rest of the night, even if I don’t go to the rally,” you said, pointing to the class schedule you and your peers had to figure out in order to get all the students through your three classrooms of computers. You made a shooing motion with your hand and Terrell sighed.

“I didn’t want to do this Miss.” He sighed as he walked to the door and whistled down the hall. Then he came back in the classroom as his co-hort, Jordan, came in with an exercise band. Jordan walked up slowly as Terrell boxed you in behind your desk. He and Jordan wrapped the band around your middle and around the back of your desk chair before each grabbing an arm and running down the hall pulling you along. At first you fought back, but soon enough it was over and you were wheeled into the gym where the entire school was sitting in the bleachers, Principal Edlund was talking to the school about how the football team was doing good in practice and how he had watched a couple scrimmages. He passed the mic off to Coach Winchester and he called his captains out to stand with him. He gave them all an honorable mention and talked about the team as a whole.

“Now I would like to call out our favorite Cheerleader,” Dean called over the mic as Terrell and Jordan left the line up to free you from your chair and lead you over like gentlemen. They looped your arms in their elbows and escorted you to the front where the quarterback had pulled a chair from a stunt to happen later up to sit beside Coach. The other captains backed up and the real cheerleaders filed out with signs that you couldn’t see. Terrell and Jordan sat you down in the chair before joining the team behind you. You tried to turn but Dean clapped a hand on your shoulder.

“Ah-ah-ah! No peeking!” Dean chastised you into the mic, the student body giggled a bit but quieted down quickly.

“Now, as many of you know, Miss L/N and I have been dating for some time now,” he grinned down at you and you gave a little blush. “Now normally she is not one for public displays of affection, and Principal Edlund has stressed the need for me to not do something stupid. So instead I do things like this to embarrass her. If you were here last year you remember how I made her sing Shrek Karaoke?” The upperclassmen cheer a bit at how you had absolutely rocked out to Smash-Mouth last year beating out the then quarterback, Taylor. “Well, this year, we are not going to embarrass her, we are going to cherish her.”

Behind you the chant of the cheerleaders “one-two-three” startled you, but the whole student body yelled, “We love you Miss L/N!”

This is followed by the upperclassmen football boys all telling awesome and tear jerking stories of how you helped them, either at practice, or driving them home, or letting them sit in your classroom and finish homework if they didn’t have a computer at home. You wiped at tears as each student shared stories from years ago, even a few teachers joined in. After each story the call of “One-two-three” followed by “We love you Miss L/N” was heard.

Suddenly, the stories stopped, and the shuffling of mics was heard. The captains came up and picked up your chair, bouncing you around a bit before turning you to face the back wall of the gym and setting you down. There knelt Dean.

“Y/F/N L/N, you have been the Friday Night Lights to my football field for years,” Dean spoke, his voice not wavering, but his eyes shining. “Will you be my Friday Night Lights, my Head Cheerleader, and my Wife? Will you marry me?”

Your hands flew to your face, covering your mouth, your tears are now running rivers down your makeup; the sudden floating mic next to you took only a glance as you pulled it away from the person with your right hand, you held it up to your face as you answered.

“I don’t run,” the students giggled, “but I will run to you. Yes, Coach Dean Winchester; I will be your lights, your cheerleader, and your wife.”

You both stood up as he slid the beautiful ring onto your finger and some poor student ran up to gather the mics.

“One-two-three!”

“We love you Mr and Mrs Winchester!” called the student body as you embraced and kissed.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #reader insert #Screamerwritings #Supernaturalschool

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truempathy · 8 years

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will has adopted several dozen dogs over his lifetime --- around thirty, in total. he’s cared for even more. he doesn’t keep every dog he finds. the cuter, younger ones -- puppies, popular breeds like golden retrievers and black labs, and the very rare purebreed -- he finds homes for. people are really eager to adopt puppies, especially cute ones. they’re easy to find homes for. but the older dogs, the ones who aren’t as cute, the mutts ... the chances of someone else in the world adopting them over the twelve week golden lab they see in the shelter is slim to none. those, the lesser appreciated dogs, are the ones will adopts. lesser appreciated by others, yes, but not less loved. not by will, anyway.

in total, will has cared for (adopted, fostered, or saved) around eighty dogs.

he’s pretty well known in shelters in his area of virginia. a lot of dogs means a lot of time at the vet, at the shelter, at the pound. it’s a lot of money, too, but will hardly has a.) a significant other b.) a child or c.) any expensive tastes, so he figures the money he earns from his time at the fbi should go to something. and what better than animals? they’re kind, they’re compassionate, they love unconditionally. they don’t kill other dogs or humans for the fun of it. they don’t enjoy bloodshed. they don’t hate. not unless they’re forced to. not like humans do.

will doesn’t have a real family, but he considers his dogs his family. they’re a part of his life, and he’s hard pressed to give any one of them up. he can’t stand animal abusers, and he can’t see himself with anyone who can’t see themselves living with seven plus dogs. his dogs -- the pack, as he likes to call them -- are a rowdy bunch, lively and excitable but not overly loud. they consist of the following dogs :

WINSTON. winston is an australian shepherd and cattle dog mix. will was on his way back from baltimore, maryland -- consulting with jack on the minnesota shrike case for the very first time -- when he found winston walking on the road by himself. he assumes winston was abandoned by his previous family. left behind when they moved, probably. winston was friendly enough -- but wasn’t interested in hanging around will until he came back with treats. like he had somewhere to be. someone to find. he eventually got winston in his car, washed him (he was dirty, but will was surprised -- and a little charmed -- to find a lot of the spots he thought was old dirt were just fur markings), and introduced him to the rest of the pack. winston is the newest addition to his family, and the most responsible of the bunch. doesn’t bark out of turn, doesn’t mow over newcomers, and keeps the other dogs in line when they get too excitable. very sweet, very calm, very friendly. intuitive, too. he keeps closest to will out of all of them, especially when he senses will is upset or when he’s woken up from a nightmare.

BAXTER. a border collie, he’s very protective of will. he tends to be the first line of defense when it comes to will’s safety --- he’s very friendly to strangers, but his instinct is the sharpest out of the entire pack, and baxter can easily tell whenever someone’s around or something is on will’s property. he’s got the sharpest nose too, and is always the first to know when will’s getting food -- for the dogs, or for will himself. he’s the beggar of the bunch, and likes to sleep on will’s bed at night. and at day. whenever he can, really. baxter was the first out of the seven that will has now, and will found him alone in an alleyway when baxter was just a couple of weeks old. he wouldn’t have made it if will hadn’t dropped everything right then and there to help him, and even though will was supposed to be out of boston that night, he changed his mind and made reservations in a motel for the next week to stay close by after he brought baxter in to the vet. no owner was ever found, given baxter’s young age, and will quickly claimed baxter for his own, filling out the appropriate paperwork. eventually baxter recovered, got a clean bill of health, and was on his way back with will when he was strong and old enough to make the journey. baxter was will’s baby from the beginning, and will loves his dogs equally, but he’s a bit more lenient when it comes to baxter.

BUSTER. a jack russell terrier who kept breaking out of the animal shelter whenever it was time for his walk, buster escaped one day and no one caught him in time, and no one was able to find him once he’d run off and out of sight. will did later that night, after buster knocked down one of his trash cans and trapped himself inside of it. will took him in, and it was pretty difficult to catch buster again even in the comfort of his own home with how quick the little guy ran, and how he excited the rest of the dogs and made them a bunch of running, jumping bodies. he called shelter the next morning, and they were wholly unsurprised to hear someone had found buster, if a little relieved. it made will pretty curious, enough to ask if this happened often. they said yes, that he’d been there for a few months already and no one’s looked at him. he wasn’t a puppy anymore after all no matter how he acted like it, and wasn’t cute enough. it was all will needed to hear, and he adopted buster that afternoon, whose name had originally been ronnie. will figured buster was more of an accurate title, because of how he likes to bust out of places whenever there’s a door open. buster’s super excitable and super loud. and, to will’s surprise, it wasn’t lola the chihuahua who had the napoleon complex, but buster.

JACK. jack is an american pitbull / terrier mix. his story is, unfortunately, not a very surprising one for the breed, will knows. will found jack abandoned and tied to a pole, dirty and dehydrated. it was out of the way enough, in a rural area where not a lot of foot or car traffic came through, and the empty plastic bowl with dried dog chow a couple of feet away made will think that it wasn’t by accident that jack was left here. despite jack’s hunger and thirst, he didn’t bite when will offered him water or food, and it didn’t take long for will to see jack had a collar and tag on him. will brought him back home after spending some time bonding and getting jack to relax around him, but even then on the ride hom jack was very quiet and reserved. he flinched a little when will got too close at first too. will called the number on the tag when he got back to his house in wolf trap, and got in touch with the owners fairly quickly. the owners were surprised to hear about jack at first, before they became extremely hedgy and evasive when will asked about jack. they claimed jack had run off, that they’d tried looking for him at first but eventually gave up when they couldn’t find him.

will didn’t mention the leash jack was on that was tied to the pole, or the empty container of food. neither did they. instead, he asked why they gave up so quickly, and they said it was because jack had become increasingly aggressive, and they figured someone would find him if they couldn’t and bring him to the pound. we probably should have seen it coming, they claimed, he is a pitbull after all. maybe it was for the best. it was hard to ignore the implications of that statement, and the reality of what had happened to jack. so will asked if they were going to pick him up, because he had him right there, and wasn’t surprised when they made excuses, saying they had children, and they didn’t want a pitbull around their kids. jack was next to him the entire time, quiet, shy, but not barking or biting or snarling at will even as he ran a gentle hand down his back.

the next day, will went to the shelter, told them the story, and got jack checked out and vaccinated. jack was a total angel, if a bit shy and skittish. will called the owners again, and after a bit of discussion (he may or may not have let slip he was an fbi agent after they hemmed and hawwed about doing it because of the legal repercussions), he was able to get them to legally give up jack, and will became the his rightful and legal owner. he also made a call to the aspca, telling them what happened, making sure what the owners did would go on record legally. it’s been a couple of years since then, and jack is now energetic and loving towards will and the other dogs, if a little shy around other strangers. he tends to be at the back of the pack when new people are over, but his demeanor is hard to ignore or mistake for anything other than what it is: happiness.

HARLEY. a white german shepherd mix with brown markings, harley is a sweet girl and a little on the older side given her eight years. she was given up by her owners, but not without a lot of heartache. they loved her fiercely, and it showed in her sweet demeanor. they were sad to see her go, but knew it was for the best since they couldn’t care for her anymore, and didn’t want her to go to a pound or a shelter. they both knew because of her age that she wouldn’t be adopted. so when they saw will walking his five dogs, they were surprised but charmed, and talked to him despite his quiet and awkward demeanor. eventually they brought the subject of harley up, hoping he’d adopt her from them, and he was more than happy to oblige. after all, what was one more dog to the pack? he had the money, he had the time, and he had the space. harley adjusted well after whining and mourning for her previous owners, but the good company she had kept her spirits up, and it didn’t take too long for her to adjust and fit in. she’s a notorious jumper, jumping when it’s feeding time and whenever they go outside, and is great at frisbee and catch.

BONNIE. bonnie is a bichon-frise with brown overtones. like harley, she’s a bit on the older side, being seven years old. she’s tail wagger extraordinaire, and usually wags her tail so much when she’s being pet or whenever will comes home that her entire back half of her body moves with it. will adopted her when he went to the shelter one day with another dog he’d found (this time, the owners took them back, they were worried sick and mortified that their dog got lost, but eternally thankful that will found them). will saw her -- heard her, more like -- because while there were tons of dogs in the shelter, she barked the loudest, and practically knocked herself into a wall with how hard she wagged her tail at the sight of him. the tail wagging only grew stronger when he approached her. susan -- one of the workers there who’d grown to know will well because of how often he comes in with dogs -- told him bonnie had been here for a couple of weeks, after being transferred in from another shelter. she hadn’t been adopted in a year, but had managed to avoid euthanasia because she was transferred. will adopted her right then and there. bonnie might not be a puppy, but she’s still young at heart. she’s very loud and energetic, barks a lot and tries to push her way to the front of the pack when its feeding time or when someone new comes around.

LOLA. lola is a chihuahua terrier mix. she has a massive underbite, and pretty wispy hair. she’s definitely not the cutest dog on the planet, and everyone knew it. the shelter especially. will was surprised to hear from them -- considering they were all the way in maryland, and he’d never been to their shelter before. but as soon as they mentioned they were a kill shelter, he knew why. they told him that susan had called them, and mentioned him to them. the shelter susan was from was full -- they couldn’t take any more strays or new dogs, but if lola wasn’t adopted soon, she wouldn’t be adopted, ever. susan, the shelter, and will all knew that lola wouldn’t be adopted before the grace period was up. it didn’t take much convincing from there for will to agree to make the drive to maryland, and he did. it took him around four hours to get to the shelter - an extra thirty minutes than it should have been when he got lost - but he got there, and when he saw lola, he could understand why people would look past her in favor for the prettier dogs. she snuffled pretty loudly too, but will found it cute. she curled up in his lap easily when he approached her and pet her, and fell asleep fast, head tucked over his hand and nose pressed to his knuckles. will made sure that the next time she went asleep, it would be surrounded by five other dogs. it took some acclimation, but not a lot, and eventually lola fit in with the rest of the pack like she’d always been there.

his dogs are all incredibly well trained, a reflection of the time, care and love that will put into raising them, keeping them fed and loved and safe. it only takes a sharp whistle and a click of the tongue from will to quiet them down when they start getting rowdy, and despite the open property with nothing to fence them in, they know better than to run off. ( other than the occasional bust-out from buster, that is. ) they’re incredibly friendly to all, to a fault really ---- they’re the worst kinds of guard dogs, even if they have keen senses and can sense when something is on will’s property. they don’t bite, even intruders, and are notoriously easy to win over with food and love.

#♞ ( THIS IS MY DESIGN. ) ᵒᵒᶜ⋅#( META / HC. ) ˢᵗᵃʳˢ ʰᶦᵈᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶠᶦʳᵉˢ ﹕ ᶫᵉᵗ ᶰᵒᵗ ᶫᶦᵍʰᵗ ˢᵉᵉ ᵐʸ ᵇᶫᵃᶜᵏ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵈᵉᵉᵖ ᵈᵉˢᶦʳᵉˢ⋅#me : could talk abt will and his dog family FOREVER .....#WILL LOVES DOGS .... LIKE A WHOLE LOT .....#LIKE HE'S ADOPTED AND FOSTERED SO MANY OF EM ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY #HE'S THAT CAT WOMAN EXCEPT WITH DOGS #also he canonically has seven but yanno what im probs gonna add an eighth one soon #bc eight is better than seven and i love the idea of will havin one more dog ..........#long post tw #anyway hi im back online after somethin real shitty happened at home but dogs make everythin better #oh also #mentions of animal abuse #not from will #but from some previous owners of a dog or two #also #animal neglect tw #again not from will #he's the most caring loving Dog Dad you will ever meet....

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