#Tuck-top Box Packing Machine

[wepackmachine]

Tuck-top Box Packing Machine for TDS Tester https://worldepack.com/cartoning-machine-with-tuck/

[neonbonded]

You Packed What In My Lunch?

♡ ft. LADSx fem!reader ♡ cw: suggestive lunchbox notes, public flustering, deeply unprofessional behavior, horny male leads on the brink, chaotic wife energy, implied smut, 18+ ♡ a/n: it started with a love note. Congrats, you’re the reason none of them can eat in public anymore. (Just something small and short)

Caleb

It started off innocent.

A cute note. A smiley face. A “Good luck, lovebug ♡” scribbled in pink gel pen on a sticky note pressed against the inside of his lunch container. Caleb had found it during mission briefing, pulled it out with a big dumb grin on his face, and showed it to everyone like you’d just sent him a medal.

But then?

You escalated.

Monday: a heart-shaped PB&J and a flirty “Don’t forget what’s waiting for you at home 😉” note.

Tuesday: strawberries sliced into flowers and a cartoon doodle of you both in bed—with a lot of hearts and a slightly suspicious lump under the blanket.

Wednesday: spicy noodles and a very detailed message about what else you’d like to be slurped later.

Thursday?

You went nuclear.

Because he opens his lunch in the Farspace mess hall—packed with pilots, staff, and top-level officers—and tucked between his Tupperware and chopsticks is a full polaroid of you wearing nothing but his flight jacket and a suggestive smirk.

The back of the polaroid says:

“If you finish your food like a good boy, you can unwrap dessert at 2100 hours. 🥺💋”

Caleb chokes so hard on his own saliva he nearly knocks over the tray.

The guy across from him glances at the photo. Blinks. Whistles.

“You married a menace, Colonel.”

Caleb doesn’t even argue.

He just clutches the photo to his chest, cheeks flushed, muttering something about how nobody’s allowed to look but him.

Later that night, he storms into the apartment, throws his gear down, and pins you to the wall in one smooth motion.

“You think you’re funny?” he growls, eyes wild with equal parts reverence and desperation.

You blink innocently. “Did you like the picture?”

“I liked it so much I almost got court-martialed.”

You grin. “You finished your food?”

“Oh, I finished everything.” His voice drops, fingers curling around your hips like you’re the only thing tethering him to gravity. “But I’m still hungry, sweetheart. And you’re on the menu.”

And that’s how you end up with noodles on the floor and Caleb showing you exactly what kind of dessert he meant.

Xavier

Xavier isn’t used to packed lunches.

He’s used to mission rations, cold energy bars, and whatever vending machine items don’t scream immediate regret.

So when he opens his gear pack during a routine debrief and finds a neatly packed bento box on top—wrapped in one of your pastel cloth napkins with your handwriting in the corner—he freezes like it’s a bomb.

He unwraps it slowly.

Inside: onigiri shaped like stars, strawberries cut like hearts, even a tiny container of dipping sauce… and a folded note taped to the lid.

He hesitates.

Then opens the note.

“Hope this holds you over, baby. But just so you know… dessert’s waiting in silk and nothing else. 😘”

His ears go pink. Then red.

He sits there, staring at the note like it just physically struck him. His mind has cleared of every tactical detail he learned in training. All he can hear is your voice in his head, teasing and sweet and barely dressed.

He eats one rice ball and immediately chokes.

Back at home that night, you’re reading on the couch when you hear the door open. You don’t even get a hello before a very flushed, very tense Xavier walks in—jacket half-off, eyes wild.

You blink. “You okay?”

He says nothing.

Just crosses the room, crouches in front of you, and holds up the note.

“I couldn’t focus.”

You smile, playful. “That was kind of the point.”

His jaw flexes.

“You said dessert.”

“I did.”

“And… silk.”

“Mhm.”

You lean forward, letting your fingertips graze his cheek. His breath stutters.

“You ready to cash in?” you murmur.

He nods.

Slow. Deliberate.

And then?

Very quietly—almost reverently—he says:

“…Can I unwrap you like you packed me?”

You’ve never seen him lose control faster.

Rafayel

Rafayel doesn’t usually remember to eat. Or sleep. Or hydrate.

So when you start packing him lunch every afternoon before he disappears into the studio, it’s more about survival than romance—at first.

Today, though?

You were feeling bold.

So you packed his usual—veggie wrap, fruit, chocolate—but with a little extra flair: strawberries sliced into hearts, a ribbon tied around the bento box, and a note folded like origami and tucked under the lid.

You don’t hear from him for hours.

And then—

BANG. The studio door slams open like a scene from a telenovela.

“What the hell is this,” Rafayel demands, waving the lunch box like it personally offended him. His hair’s a mess, his shirt is unbuttoned halfway down, and his mouth is stained red.

You raise a brow. “Lunch?”

He storms over and slams the note down onto the table:

“Eat this like you plan to eat me later. Slowly. Messily. No crumbs left behind.”

You barely hold back a grin. “Was it too much?”

“Too much?” he scoffs. “Too much? Baby, I licked the juice off my fingers and got hard in front of a canvas.”

You burst into laughter. He does not.

“I was trying to paint,” he says, voice strained. “And all I could think about was how you’d taste if I laid you out on the palette table.”

You blink.

“…Do you want a different note next time?”

He narrows his eyes. Crosses the room. And cages you against the wall with one palm.

“Next time,” he purrs, “you pack yourself. In the box. Naked. With whipped cream. Deal?”

You open your mouth to respond—

And he kisses you instead.

Hard. Sweet. Just a little messy.

There’s fruit juice on your chin and paint on his fingers and you don’t even care because he’s already lifting you onto the nearest flat surface.

“I’m not leaving crumbs this time,” he murmurs against your neck.

And, well.

He doesn’t.

Zayne

Zayne’s lunch breaks are brief. Efficient. Predictable.

He doesn’t even like eating during the day—it “slows him down.” But ever since you started packing meals for him (“just something light, don’t argue”), he’s been eating more regularly.

Which is great for his health.

Less great when you decide to be cute.

You packed him a neat, nutritious bento. Quinoa salad, steamed chicken, a little mango.

Oh—and a folded note tucked under the lid, sealed with a kiss mark in your favorite lipstick.

You wrote:

“Don’t forget to eat me next. ❤️ P.S. I’m not wearing panties.”

Simple. Sweet. Spicy.

Zayne opens it in the hospital break room. With two other attending surgeons present.

He doesn’t say a word.

Doesn’t even flinch.

Just folds the note back up, very slowly, and tucks it into his coat pocket like it’s a nuclear code.

The other doctors go silent. One chokes on his yogurt.

Zayne clears his throat.

“I’ll be taking my lunch in my office today.”

He storms out.

Not in anger.

In desperation.

You don’t even get a warning text. You just hear the front door slam open two hours later and a very composed, very flushed Zayne drops the lunch box on the counter and says—

“Where are they?”

You blink. “Where are what?”

“The panties,” he growls, already walking toward you. “I checked. You lied.”

You don’t have time to answer.

You’re too busy being lifted onto the counter.

“Next time,” he breathes against your neck, “think very carefully about where I might be when I open something like that.”

You grin, breathless. “You didn’t like it?”

“I’m going to punish you for it.”

And from the way he kisses you—slow, possessive, a little starved—you think maybe lunch just became his favorite meal of the day.

Sylus

To be fair, you weren’t trying to start anything.

You just thought it would be funny.

Sylus doesn’t “do” lunch—but when he left his suit jacket at home this morning (after a particularly enthusiastic goodbye), you took your chance and sent him off with a black-lacquered lunchbox.

He rolled his eyes.

Said nothing.

But you knew he’d open it eventually.

Probably surrounded by his inner circle—Onychinus lieutenants and morally bankrupt geniuses. Maybe even a few government spies pretending not to be impressed by him.

Which is exactly why you slipped in the note. Right beneath the neatly wrapped meal.

In your handwriting:

“Every bite better remind you whose mouth it should be in.

Come home hungry. I’ll be wearing nothing but your ring.”

You didn’t expect a response.

But that afternoon, your phone buzzes.

It’s a photo.

Your note—next to an empty container.

And then a message:

Sylus: “Meeting ended early. Your fault. Open the door or I break it.”

You barely have time to laugh before you hear boots in the hall.

He’s already there.

Still in all black. Collar undone. Red brooch askew. Energy crackling like he barely made it through the day without devouring something.

He steps inside.

Locks the door behind him.

Then looks you over—slow, dark, dangerous.

“You wanted to be cute,” he says.

You shrug, fake-innocent. “Was I?”

He’s already walking toward you.

“No,” he mutters, pinning you against the wall. “You were reckless.”

“And now I’m—”

His mouth covers yours before you can finish.

You don’t get to finish anything that night.

[cmdrfupa]

After Hours

Far too cold and clinical for a place that stocks fresh fruit and warm bread.

There are only a handful of other shoppers left: one woman comparing labels on oat milk, a man in a wrinkled shirt wandering aimlessly near the cereal aisle. No one looks up when Nanami walks in. He prefers it that way.

He pulls a folded shopping list from his coat pocket. The handwriting is neat, concise. He keeps it on paper out of habit, not necessity.

-Eggs. -Yogurt. -Soba noodles. - Bread. -Baby spinach. -Lemons. -Coffee (whole bean). -Toothpaste. -Something sweet (optional).

The front shopping cart wheel squeaks on his first turn. He considers swapping it, but doesn’t. There’s no one around to be bothered by the sound, and he won’t be here long.

The aisles are orderly enough, though a few things are out of place. He eyes a lone box of instant curry nestled among the pasta sauces, a child’s mitten abandoned beside a stack of tangerines. Nanami notes them absently. He doesn’t fix them. It isn’t his job.

At the produce section, he inspects the spinach like he’s weighing an argument. Some of the small bunches were too far gone to try and salvage. Some just slightly wilted on the leaves edge. Still salvageable. It goes into a reusable bag, not the flimsy plastic ones provided. He’s not sentimental, but he is particular.

The bakery counter is closed, lights dimmed and display case empty. But on the clearance rack near the end of the aisle, a three pack of kouign-amann sits in a plastic container. He shifted his weight, looking at the tips of his shoes before looking at the price sticker on the container.

30% marked down due to “damage”. He hesitates. And not because of the state of the sweets.

He told himself no sweets this week. But rules, like hours, sometimes bend.

He places it in the cart without looking directly at it, as if doing so would make it harder to justify.

When he reaches the coffee aisle, he takes longer. He runs his fingers along the bags of beans like one might trace the spines of books in a quiet library. Dark roast, low acidity, ethically sourced. He’s memorized the labels by now. Still, he reads each one again.

A soft announcement plays overhead, reminding shoppers that the store will close in fifteen minutes. He glances at his watch. He’ll be out in ten.

The self-checkout machines were mostly empty, save for one humming stubbornly at the far end, flashing a red light while a teenager in an apron tapped at its screen with visible boredom.

Nanami chose the furthest terminal, not out of preference, but habit.

He wheeled his basket to the terminal carefully. Each item was scanned with practiced precision, placed in the repurposed paper bag according to weight and fragility. Lemons on the bottom. Bread on top. coffee slid in sideways, tucked just so between two containers of plain yogurt. Not because he particularly enjoyed yogurt—but it helped him with hitting protein and calcium, was healthy, predictable in flavor, kept well, and helped regulate his bowel movements.

‘I’ll buy some peaches from the fresh market this weekend to pair with it.’

He went to grab the soba noodles. As he swept them across the scanner, it misread the barcode. He didn’t sigh. He simply tried again, adjusting the angle, then again—until it beeped with compliance. He moved on.

"Please place the item in the bagging area," the machine chirped.

He had.

A brief pause. Then: "Unexpected item in the bagging area."

Nanami stared at the screen for a beat longer than usual.

It wasn’t anger. He didn’t feel anger. Just… the cumulative weight of small inefficiencies.

A store attendant noticed and began to approach, but Nanami waved a hand along side a nod—a duo’d, understated motion that communicated I’ve handled it without so much as a glance. He adjusted the placement of the baked good. The error disappeared. He continued scanning.

When the machine asked if he had any coupons, he pressed No without hesitation. He typed in his cellphone number so the digital coupons could automatically deduct from his purchase instead.

His total came to less than expected even with the baked good. He paid in exact change, a relic of preference rather than necessity, and folded the receipt once before slipping it into his coat.

He did not take a bag. His own was already full, the shape of it well-balanced as he lifted it into the crook of his arm.

Behind him, the machine chirped a cheerful Thank you for shopping with us!

He didn’t respond.

Outside, the air is cooler. A breeze lifts the hem of his coat. The bag digs into the crook of his arm, heavier on one side from the loose lemons and toothpaste multipack.

---

The drive home is short. Eight minutes, if the lights favor him. Eleven, if they don't.

Tonight, they're indifferent. Two reds, one green. A flicker of yellow he chooses not to test. He waits. The engine idles with a low hum, headlights carving out a hollow path on empty streets.

His hands rest on the wheel at ten and two. Always. Not out of fear as he was a good driver, cautious without being hesitant—but because order has always helped him think.

He doesn’t listen to much music. Doesn’t need the noise. He once tried jazz, then ambient piano. They made him feel as though he should be feeling something, and that expectation was more exhausting than the silence. So he settled for NPR. Monotone voices and up to date topics. Acceptable car noise.

At a left turn, he signals even though there’s no one behind him. It’s not for anyone else. It’s just the rule.

He parks in his usual spot, parallel to the curb in front of his building. The streetlight above flickers once. He watches it, then grabs his grocery bag, evenly balancing it as he walks to the front door.

His apartment is clean. Not sterile. but intentionally minimal.

Shoes off at the door. Coat on the hook. Keys in the ceramic dish on the entry table.

He unpacks the groceries in silence:

Lemons in the hanging fruit hammock. Spinach into the fridge. The crisper drawer, right side. Eggs beside the butter. Yogurt on the top shelf to the left next to his milk alternatives. Soba in the dry goods pantry. Coffee beans next to his coffee grinder on the far corner of the counter. Toothpaste in the bathroom drawer, beneath the extras. Everything has a place.

The kouign-amann sat alone on the counter, its plastic container a soft crinkle in the quiet.

He stares at it for a moment.

‘You didn’t need them.’

The thought isn’t harsh. Just… matter-of-fact. Like reading a label.

But there’s another voice, quieter, less disciplined. One that sounds suspiciously like a colleague he never sees anymore. ‘You also don’t need a glass of whiskey yet you aren’t matter of fact on that. What’s the point of working yourself to death if you don’t enjoy the little things?’

He opens the container. The pastry is imperfect. Slightly smushed on one side, the caramelized sugar clinging to the ridges unevenly. Still, he can tell it’ll be good. Flaky. Rich. Brief. A sweet treat.

He puts it on a plate. Doesn’t warm it up. He’ll have it with a glass of cold milk, the way he did as a child, before his father taught him that indulgence should be discreet, if not rare.

And after his mother taught him that indulgences are mini celebrations for making through a tough day.

‘It has been a tough day.’

He doesn’t sit. Just leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely as he takes the first bite.

The sugar sticks to his teeth. The butter melts on his tongue.

He chews slowly.

You didn’t need it, he thinks again.

But he swallows, takes another bite, sighing at the small hint of delight it brought him.

“You needed it. You’ll survive, Kento.” He breaks his own silence with his low voice.

He taps his toes on the granite floor as he takes the last bite of his kouign-amann, washing it down with the bit of milk he had left before dusting crumbs off the counter and into the waiting trash receptacle at the edge of his island.

-----

He washed the plate and glass immediately.

No dishes left in the sink. No excuses in the morning. The water runs warm over his hands. He dries them on the cloth towel hanging by the sink and folds it back neatly.

The bathroom light is soft, almost golden. A small luxury: warm bulbs. The mirror reflects him in half-shadow as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves before he prepped for his shower.

Mildly scented soap, a balm for immediately after to avoid dry skin, blonde specific shampoo to help with the hair dullness he’s noticed the last few months.

‘At least its working. Makes the grays blend better.’

A plain, navy sleep shirt and gray sweatpants awaited him. No logos. No fuss.

He starts with flossing, then rinsing with mouthwash, and ended off with brushing his teeth with practiced, exact strokes.

Skincare is quick, unsentimental. Foam cleanser, glycolic acid, alcohol free tonger, hyaluronic acid, then a thin film of moisturizer rubbed in with his ring fingers after it has all absorbed into his skin. He wasn’t one for vanity. But he was one for maintenance. Like oiling a blade.

The bedroom smells faintly of clean linen and the faint citrus of whatever detergent he buys in bulk. The bed is already turned down. He does it in the morning, One less step between him and rest.

He sets his alarm to six am though he rarely needs it to wake up.

Then he reaches for his book: Red Rising by Pierce Brown. 30 minutes to read.

He’s too into the plot and that almost went out the window.

His phone is placed face-down on the nightstand. No doomscrolling. No headlines. No excuses. But tonight, he lets his thumb hover just a moment longer before locking the screen. Making sure to have his phone on do not disturb.

A notification glows softly. Its from you:

Goodnight Kento! can’t wait for our date tomorrow. Sent just now.

He reads it twice. Not because he didn’t understand the first time, but because it’s rare. The feeling of anticipation, without the dread. Company, without exhaustion.

His thumb taps out a reply, short but sincere.

Kento: Rest well. I’m looking forward to it, too. See you tomorrow.

He watches the screen dim and turns his phone down on the nightstand.

The room is quiet.

But his thoughts, just this once, are quieter than usual. Still present. Still layered.

Things he didn’t say. Things he saw today that he’ll pretend not to remember tomorrow. But softened by something else.

The idea that tomorrow around this same time, he’ll be out at a late night movie on a rooftop rather than being tucked in.

‘It’s a good change. A great one.’

Not hope, exactly. Something older. Quieter. Like the memory of warmth, long after the fire’s gone out.

He lies back, pulling the blanket over himself in a single motion. And when he closes his eyes, sleep finds him a little faster.

[therantsofawriterrr]

The Umbrella Academy Final Season: My Version

Part Ten: The Box And The Plan

Overview: In the aftermath of the New Grumpson incident, the gang makes up a plan that tackles all their problems at once. Luther confronts Allison about Sloane and Lila reveals her secrets to Diego. TW: mature language, long ass chapter, FLUFF ALERT CAUSE ITS SO GOOD YALL, uhh tell me if i missed anything!! Pairings: Diego × Lila, a little bit of Five × OC A/N: hello, this one took some time to post sorry. i hope yall enjoy reading!!!

Masterlist

"Who were those weirdos with the fanny packs?" Viktor asked, as Luther looked at the road for a car that could give them a ride and the others just stood around.

"Was it me or did they smell like wet sheep?" Lila asked.

"Goats, I thought," Luther pointed out. "Maybe llamas."

"Who cares? They destroyed Wanda," Diego snapped, pointing at the van.

"Their names are Gene and Jean," Five explained. "They run an underground organization called the Keepers.

"Sex cult?" Diego inquired.

"Not a sex cult. Not even a cult if you think about it, but it's going towards it," Clementine said, from inside the trunk, where she was wiping the blood off her face.

"Eh, once you get to the top, it's always a sex cult," Diego persuaded.

"They're an extremist group who believe they have memories from an alternate timeline," Five stated.

"Yeah, and some of their memories are pretty much bang on," Lila affirmed.

"They're calling this phenomenon the 'Umbrella Effect'."

Clementine finally came out from behind, now wearing a black tank top tucked into her maroon trousers, her hair tied up into a tight ponytail. Five's gaze lingered on her a bit before Viktor's question.

"How is that even possible?"

"Yeah, we're working on figuring that out," Lila replied.

"What do they want with Jennifer?" Ben asked.

"Don't know. But, I'm gonna make some calls, find out how or if she's related to the Keepers," Clementine assured, making Ben sigh in exasperation as she whipped out her phone.

"Yes, yeah, I'm fine, Ray," Allison murmured into her phone. "Mhm, I'll call you."

Luther stared at her with mounting anger, still trying to press it inside as he turned away.

"You alright?" Allison asked with concern, when she saw him.

"I'm fine, no thanks to you," he said, talking to her for the first time in six years.

"Okay, I'm so confused," she pointed out. "Why are you, of all people, mad at me?"

"Why am I mad at you?" Luther finally snapped. "You think I don't know what you did, Allison?"

"Okay, look, I know that I went kind of cuckoo in that timeline, but I-"

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about what you did during the time reset."

"The time reset? You mean, bringing the love of my life and my daughter back?"

"No. No. Not that. I was happy you had a chance to do that. I'm talking about Sloane."

"Sloane? What about Sloane?

"You tried to make her disappear during the time reset, Allison! Stop playing dumb with me! And just so you know, it didn't work either."

Allison scoffed, her hand going to her forehead. "Oh, my god. That's what this has been about? You think I made Sloane disappear? Wow."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Luther asked, confusion warring with fury.

"Luther. I was happy you found Sloane, alright. After what happened with... well, y'know, you deserved it. The only thing I had in mind when I put my hand on that machine was Ray and Claire. I didn't need anything else."

Luther opened his mouth to throw out another retort but closed it. "Wait. So... you didn't make Sloane disappear?"

"Yes, Luther!" Allison exclaimed, tears welling in her eyes. "Look I... I made some mistakes back in there, alright? A lot of mistakes," she started turning to look at everyone as her voice cracked. "And even though every cell in my brain is telling me that it was justified, I know it wasn't. And I know I fucked up. So, I'm sorry. I don't know if you guys will forgive me or not, but still."

She sniffled at the end of it, tears already starting to stream down her cheeks. She wiped them away as she breathed out deeply and slowly, feeling lighter than ever as Klaus smiled at her proudly. He hugged her, leaving Luther to just splutter as he roved his fingers through his hair.

"Okay, well. I've made my calls, we'll be finding something out by evening."

"Evening? Yeah, that won't do. We need to find her. Who knows what those cult leaders will do to her?" Ben asked, the panic in him rising.

"Well, we're not going anywhere in this piece of shit," Five started.

A few hours later, Diego was knocking on Luther's motel room door. Luther opened up in a t-shirt that had a teddy bear on the front and Diego smiled.

"Looking good, big guy," he teased, making him laugh. "By the way, about earlier... Did you like, find Sloane, or something?"

Luther grinned with a nod. The previous weekend, he'd met the Sparrows. And he'd actually gotten along with them. And when he'd seen Sloane, he'd almost hugged her, but he'd curbed his reflexes and resorted to talking instead. It had been lovely altogether.

"And it's not just her either, the whole Sparrow Academy's alive. Except they're a lot... kinder."

"Really? All of 'em? Even the cube?"

"Yeah. He's human here, though."

"Oh. Damn. I guess Ben will be happy to hear that," Diego murmured. "So how'd it go? Was Sloane still the same or...?"

"Yup, she's pretty much still the same. She's a lot bolder here, but, y'know. Love that."

Diego chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Happy for you, man. Really happy for you."

When he went back to his room however, he found Lila pacing back and forth nervously.

"You alright?" He asked her.

She stopped and looked at him with wide eyes, looking like a deer in headlights. She shook her head no once, but the blurted out, "Don't you have questions?"

"About what?" He asked, sitting down on the bed.

"Well, they called me by another name," Lila said, sounding panicked. "You have to have questions about that."

"Well, yeah. I have questions about a lot of things, but, y'know," he shrugged. "I want you to tell me yourself."

"Fine. Fine. Alright," she said, sitting down beside him with her hands clasped on her lap nervously. But, Diego's unexpected patience calmed her and surprised her at the same time. "There is no... book club. I've been going undercover as Nancy to investigate the Keepers."

"So you're working with the CIA?" Diego asked.

"No, no, nothing like that," she said, batting a dismissive hand. "Just my own thing."

Diego pressed his lips together to suppress a smile, just looking at her with eyes filled with glee. Lila's face, in turn, twisted into one filled with absolute bewilderment.

"Wait. No fucking way. You knew?" She asked, her voice getting louder with each sentence.

Diego just gave her a small, casual smile paired with a small shrug as she stared at him, flabbergasted.

"How, though? I'm an excellent liar."

"Yeah, well, I know you. I had to follow you to see what you actually were doing, but, yeah."

"What did you think I was doing?" Lila asked, her body tensing up as she expected the obvious answer.

Diego shrugged once again. "I don't know. I thought you were going to like, a gun range or something."

Lila stared at him for a minute and asked, "You didn't think I was having an affair?"

Diego snorted. "What, like any of the guys in this world would be able to impress you? Pfft."

Lila's eyes started welling up with tears as she sniffled once. Diego laid a hand on her back, his thumb stroking the small of her back soothingly.

"I really thought I'd have to explain that there is no other man."

"I trust you, Lila. There's seven people I trust the most in this world. And you're the first one on that list."

She threw herself onto him, making him fall back on the bed. His arm went around her waist, the other going up to cup the back of her head.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being patient. I know I was being a little bit of an idiot."

"Next time, just talk to me."

"I will. I promise."

Meanwhile, Five was on his phone in his room, telling Derek the details of the car that had rammed them earlier.

"I need a run on a Chrysler LeBaron Town & Country, '80, '81. Brown simulated woodgrain sides, New Mexico plates. Look for matches with an owner first name Gene. That is Golf-Echo- November-Echo. Or Jean. That's Juliet-Echo-Alpha-November."

When he cut the call, Clementine who was straight out of the shower, asked, "What if they used a fake name?"

He sighed deeply, looking at her warily. "Then we'll figure it out."

She nodded, flopping down on the bed. "Sorry you gotta stay here with me."

He shrugged, leaning back to support his back on the wall. "It's fine. Not your fault. Plus, I'd rather have you than Luther or Klaus."

"You could've chosen Viktor, though."

"Yeah, I know. But, eh. I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Why'd you go back to the Thibedeaus' house?"

"Oh, that. Y'know, our things started after we went there. At first I thought it was just fever week, but I was wrong. So, I went back and found those jars. They're what broke that day you took us there."

"Why didn't you tell me you remembered everything?" He asked next. His voice was a bit soft and almost sad too.

She shrugged, leaning back beside Five their shoulders touching. "I don't know. I didn't even expect you to recognize me, to be honest."

"I don't forget pretty faces that quickly."

Clementine's breath hitched at his casual comment as she snapped her head to look at him.

Before she could ask him about it, there was a knock on the door.

"Luther's called a meeting," Klaus's drawling voice said.

They all huddled up in Luther's room, looking at him expectantly.

"Okay, so, all those people back in New Grumpson. They were wearing Hargreeves-branded military gear."

"Luther, the entire goddamn place was a Hargreeves town," Viktor pointed out.

"Yeah, it's like it was designed to keep Jennifer hostage," Ben said worriedly.

"What's so important about her anyway?" Lila asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Klaus asked. "She's one of us! Yay!"

"No," Ben replied immediately. "No way."

"I mean, that would make sense," Five agreed. "Why else would Dad build a Truman Show around her?"

"Okay, look," Viktor interrupted. "Now that we're on our own, we have two options. We either go after the Keepers or, worse, talk to Dad."

Everyone groaned while some let out sarcastic chuckles at the second option.

"I think we need to split up," Five suggested. "Me and Clementine will follow up with the Keepers. The rest of you talk to Dad."

"Wait, what?" Lila interjected. "I'm coming with you. Oh, and Diego will tag along."

Five made a dirty face as Clementine smiled at them both. "Why? We both will be fine," he said wearily.

"This is as much my investigation as it is yours," Lila replied plainly.

"Plus, the more brains that are involved, the faster this thing will be solved," Clementine said plainly.

"Well, I'm going after Jennifer," Ben declared.

"It's better if we stick together," Allison murmured, partaking in the conversation for the first time since she'd arrived.

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta go after her while you guys spend more time finding things. Who knows where those weirdoes took her?"

"You're pretty worried about this girl," Diego observed. "You know her or something?"

"Ooh, he told me he saw her in his dreams or something," Klaus replied.

"You're all a bunch of clowns," Ben said, trying to divert their attention. "I'm going on my own."

"Oh, right, I wanted to show you guys something," Klaus said, before turning and picking up the box that he'd picked up in the diner. "I found this in there."

They stared at the box for a few seconds before Clementine swished out a pen knife, cutting the tape that was sticking to every side of the lid.

As soon as the lid was removed, there was a mask staring at them.

"Isn't that...?" Five trailed off as Clementine nodded and said, "Cha-Cha's mask. Or Hazel's, I'm not sure."

Klaus took out a newspaper clipping with the Umbrella Academy standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. The headline read: Umbrella Academy Saves Eiffel Tower, Receives Key to City of Paris.

"When the hell did we save the Eiffel Tower?" Klaus murmured in confusion. He peered into the box, shoving the comics aside as he rooted into the box till he felt something cold and metal. He fished it out to find his and Dave's dog tag necklace that he'd lost due to the time reset. He smiled softly, a few memories flashing in his head as he smoothed his thumb over the engorged letters and numbers before putting it on, letting the metal touch his chest comfortingly.

The others fished out various things as well, some familiar, some not, but Clementine's gasp made them jump.

"Oh, sweet mercy of God," she gasped, taking out a gun that was plated with what looked like bronze. "I thought I'd lost her forever."

"Hmm. Nice," Five mumbled absentmindedly.

"Nice? This is amazing! This was a gift I'd bought with my own money for my birthday, man. Do you know how rare custom Mark 23s are?"

Five sighed with a slight shake of his head, a side of his lips tipping upwards even as he tried to resist a smile.

"Huh. So, artifacts from other timelines are showing up, then," Diego said, reading through the article that Klaus had fished out.

"Alright, well, now that that's confirmed, it's settled," Five said, keeping away the comics in his hand. "Clementine, Lila, Diego, and I will go the Keepers route. Luther, Allison, and Viktor, you guys go talk to Dad. Ben and Klaus, go after Jennifer."

"Dream team," Klaus said with a bright smile as Ben scoffed, but didn't really argue. Klaus was the most bearable of the lot.

That night, they slept somewhat peacefully, content with the plan that was made.

Another A/N: Thanks for reading!!

TUA taglist: @auxiliarydetective (tell me in the comments if you wanna be added!)

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated💖💙💜

[olivia0202]

IceRiver KS7 Lite – The Easiest Way to Mine Kaspa, No Headaches Attached

Ever thought about mining Kaspa (KAS) but didn’t want to deal with loud, clunky machines or sky-high electricity bills? Meet the IceRiver KS7 Lite a miner that’s quiet, efficient, and ridiculously simple to use. Whether you’re a mining pro or just testing the waters, this rig makes earning KAS effortless.

Why You’ll Love the KS7 Lite Picture this: You take it out of the box, plug it in, and boom you’re mining. No frustrating setup, no deafening fan noise, and no scary electricity bill. Just smooth, hassle-free mining running quietly in the background while you go about your day.

With a 5 TH/s hashrate and a super-efficient 700W power draw, this miner packs serious power without draining your wallet. At just 0.14 J/GH, it’s built to maximize your earnings while keeping energy costs low.

A Miner That Fits Your Life, Not the Other Way Around

Let’s be honest some mining rigs are just a pain to live with. They’re loud, take up too much space, and need constant babysitting. Not this one.

✅ Whisper-quiet – No annoying fan noise, just smooth, silent mining.

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Set it up in your home office, bedroom, or even your living room, and forget it’s even there.

Set It & Forget It – Mining on Autopilot Mining shouldn’t feel like work. With the KS7 Lite, it’s as easy as:

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[smith4883]

Cartoning Machine: A Complete Guide to Automated Packaging

The packaging industry has seen significant advancements in automation, and one such innovation is the cartoning machine. These machines are designed to efficiently pack products into cartons, ensuring speed, accuracy, and consistency in the packaging process. Whether used in the food, pharmaceutical, or cosmetic industry, cartoning machines have become an integral part of modern packaging solutions.

In this blog, we will explore the different types of cartoning machines, their working principles, benefits, applications, and factors to consider when selecting the right one for your business.

What is a Cartoning Machine?

A cartoning machine is an automated system used for erecting, filling, and closing cartons. These machines streamline the packaging process, reducing labor costs and increasing production efficiency. They come in various designs, catering to different product types and packaging needs.

Types of Cartoning Machines

Cartoning machines can be broadly classified into two main categories:

1. Horizontal Cartoning Machines

Horizontal cartoning machines load products into cartons horizontally. They are ideal for products such as:

Bottles

Tubes

Sachets

Pouches

Blister packs

These machines are widely used in industries like pharmaceuticals, food, and cosmetics.

2. Vertical Cartoning Machines

Vertical cartoning machines insert products from the top of the carton. They are suitable for:

Granules

Powders

Small bottles

Vials

These machines are commonly used in the food and pharmaceutical industries for bulk filling applications.

Working Principle of Cartoning Machines

The working of a cartoning machine involves multiple automated steps:

Carton Erection – The machine picks up a flat carton and erects it into shape.

Product Loading – The product is inserted into the carton manually or through an automated system.

Folding & Closing – The machine folds the flaps of the carton and applies adhesives or tuck-in closures.

Sealing & Coding – Some machines integrate coding systems to print batch numbers, expiry dates, or barcodes.

Final Output – The finished cartons are sent for further processing or shipment.

Benefits of Using a Cartoning Machine

Investing in a cartoning machine offers several advantages, including:

1. Increased Efficiency

Automation reduces manual labor, leading to higher production rates and consistency in packaging.

2. Cost Savings

Although the initial investment is high, cartoning machines significantly reduce labor costs and material wastage over time.

3. Improved Product Safety

Secure packaging ensures that products remain intact during transportation and storage, minimizing damage.

4. Customization and Flexibility

Modern cartoning machines offer customization options, allowing businesses to pack a variety of products with different carton sizes and styles.

5. Compliance with Industry Standards

For industries like pharmaceuticals and food, automated packaging ensures compliance with hygiene and safety regulations.

Applications of Cartoning Machines

Cartoning machines are used across multiple industries, including:

1. Pharmaceutical Industry

Packaging of tablets, capsules, syrups, and ointments.

Tamper-proof sealing ensures product integrity.

2. Food Industry

Cereal boxes, snack packs, frozen foods, and ready-to-eat meals.

Maintains freshness and extends shelf life.

3. Cosmetic Industry

Packaging of skincare products, perfumes, and beauty kits.

Enhances product appeal with attractive packaging.

4. Consumer Goods

Packaging of electrical components, household items, and personal care products.

Ensures durability and protection.

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Cartoning Machine

Selecting the right cartoning machine requires careful consideration of various factors:

1. Production Speed

Determine the required output capacity to ensure the machine meets production demands.

2. Carton Size and Type

Ensure the machine can handle the specific carton dimensions and closure methods required for your product.

3. Automation Level

Choose between semi-automatic and fully automatic machines based on budget and operational requirements.

4. Space and Layout Constraints

Assess the available space and ensure the machine fits seamlessly into your production line.

5. Maintenance and Support

Opt for a machine that offers easy maintenance and comes with reliable technical support.

Used Cartoning Machines: A Cost-Effective Solution

For businesses looking for an affordable alternative, purchasing a pre-owned cartoning machine can be a viable option. Buying a cartoning machine from a reliable supplier of used packaging equipment ensures quality while keeping costs low. Many refurbished machines offer similar performance levels as new ones but at a fraction of the cost.

Conclusion

Cartoning machines have revolutionized the packaging industry by enhancing efficiency, reducing costs, and improving product safety. Whether you are in the pharmaceutical, food, or cosmetic industry, investing in the right cartoning machine can significantly boost your production process. By understanding the types, benefits, and factors to consider, businesses can make informed decisions that align with their packaging needs.

If you are looking to optimize your packaging line, consider investing in a high-quality cartoning machine or exploring used packaging equipment options to meet your budget and production goals.

[beaisdifferent]

Recovering from the Holidays

You’ve survived.  I’ve survived.  As I clutch to your arm and pull you to your feet from the muck, the sun rises over the holiday battlefield, and we are alive.

I’ll be frank, 90% of the time, I hate the holidays. Especially Christmas.  It’s everything I’m not good at slammed into one poorly wrapped package.  Socialize with distant family at the parties, mingle in a crowd of 40 smushed into Nanny’s house, rearrange your living space with décor and flashing lights, swallow back financial anxieties and buy the all gifts, organize the gifts for a dozen people, plan well in advance what you’re getting those dozen people, make sure you have the ingredients for those special holiday meals and then somehow find the time in all of this packed on top of your already busy day to day to cook those meals.  I hate it.  Expectation, obligation, the dread of inevitable failure to get it as right as everyone else seems to get it, the seemingly physical sickness that comes when spending too much time around so many endlessly noisy people.

But I’m at the end of Christmas day, tucked away home and safe.  I can unclench my mask of a smile, I can relax my muscles, and know that tomorrow holds no holiday responsibilities.  It’s like my heart just took off her bra.  Freedom.

But it’s not as easy as just wiping the glitter off on your hands and dropping into bed.  There is routine, structure, ritual to shaking off the pressure of December lays into your clenched teeth.  Here is how I recommend it’s done.

Light a candle.  If your home has been neglected or ignored for a few days, bringing in some soft light and good scents are a great place to start.  Smells are significant to me, and I breathe easier when the smells are baked goods or pine forests.

Wash the dishes.  The heart of my apartment is my kitchen, so starting here is a necessity.  The dishes that have built up over the past few days as the chaos built to a crescendo are the first thing on my list.  Empty whatever is clean from the dishwasher and fill it again, cleaning dishes with hot, soapy water and loading them into the dishwasher.  I handwash what needs more intimate attention and stack it neatly to dry.  I scrub down the sink and the smell of soured milk creeping up from beneath the pile.  I take a deep breath and admire my empty, organized sink.  Then wipe down the counters and I’m done.

Drink a cup of tea.  Brew up a cup of tea, white or green, and hydrate yourself with some soothing herbal heat, I recommend green, ginger, peppermint, or chamomile.  Drink it from your favorite, freshly cleaned cup.

Handle the laundry. My laundry has built into an intimidating mountain as well.  I switch over what I’ve forgotten about in the washing machine, and carry yet another bundle to the bedroom for folding.  Then I fold.  Tonight I talked to my husband as he sorted some of the gifts we’ve been blessed with this season, and sipped on my lemon ginger tea.  In less than a half and hour, I had neatly stacked piles of clothes and a stomach pacified after Holiday indulgences, and I’m done.

Get Rid of the crash.  I take all the expired food from the fridge, clean the litter box, and compile all the cardboard boxes for the recycling.  Taking out the trash right now means driving across the apartment complex for the one (1) dumpster we all share, so it’s a pain, but husband cleared it all away while I tackled the dishes, and it’s done.

Wash the Me.  I strip down and climb into a hot shower.  I shampoo my hair, wash my face, rinse and smother my locks in a heavy conditioner, and scrub every inch of my with my favorite smelling soap.  A good exfoliating is sometimes needed to really cleanse myself of the flimflam celebratory chaos, small talk, and hugs and shoulder touches from all the people I don’t know how to tell not to touch me.  Tonight a special bottle of aromatherapy bodywash I’ve been using sparingly for years was the calling.  Then I dry in my favorite purple towel, and moisturize, rubbing a heavy dollop of lotion to the problem areas of my hands and arms where the dragon scales of eczema like to lay claim.  Then I wrap up my hair to plop it.  It keeps heavy wet hair from sitting on my neck, face, and shoulders, helps to bring out the curls, and the compression feels good around my head. I’m done.

Finally, I crawl into fresh pajamas, and sit down on the couch with a stilling hobby of my choice.  I’ll read one of the new books I’ve been gifted, or knit the a gift I’ve decided too late I want to give to someone for Christmas and ready it to give to them late.  I sink into the cushion, clean, and I exhale the stress.  I’ve done it.

Cleaning my house and catching up on at least some of the things I’ve been too tired, distracted, or busy to handle puts me back in control.  It’s a catharsis with great reward, letting me see and feel that life can resume routine now and that I can be left at peace within that routine once more.  I deep clean myself, scrubbing away the festivities and all their anxiety and disruption in water almost hot enough to be painful, just hot enough to be satisfying.

The holidays are done, the gifts are given, the parties are over.  New year’s eve will be smaller for me at least, but if needed, I can come back to this ritual, and find the air to unclench again.  Always, again.

[pyretechnic]

Jacin takes the lead, hurrying through the gathered crowd into the cargo bay before a voice stops him - strong in a way he had once thought her incapable of, but had since come to expect.

"Wait!"

Closing a panel on the back of a portscreen, Cress runs the short distance to his side and thrusts the device into his empty hands. Jacin tucks it into his pocket.

"Scarlet's portscreen," she explains.

Of course, they had Wolf's too. At some point over the week she, Iko, and Winter had packed each of their missing friends a few outfits and their most important items, trying to keep the feeling of uselessness at bay. They had even brought a small box of Anya's toys on board. But it would take time to run back to their quarters, fish through the supplies, and bring it back. And for what? Comms could be traced. They couldn't use them. Not without knowing if anyone was looking for them and how much technology they had. He just opened his mouth to say so when -

"I made us some direct communication chips right after the revolution, just in case. Cinder's regime was just so new and...well, I put one in here and I'll put one in mine as soon as I can. We'll be able to keep in contact without attracting attention so I can send updates and Wolf can see Scarlet for himself."

Jacin only nods, flashing a thankful smile, and Cress backs away to let him through, hope and optimism beginning to shine in her eyes now that things seem to fall into place. He wished she wouldn't look at him like that. She didn't know just how precarious this all was and he didn't want to be the one to have to break that hopeful spirit of hers.

At the top of the loading dock, Jacin notices the podship has already departed, surprising only in the fact that he hadn't noticed sooner - and if Wolf noticed, he had made no indication. But that doesn't matter. Neither of them were or would be of any help at this point and at least now, no one but the nine of them knew about the hidden bunker and the precious little life they were hiding away in it.

Making his way to the hangar, he lets Wolf take up the lead until he reveals the nearly invisible hatch and the plastic ladder descending into the dark.

"Lights on," Jacin commands, waiting only a brief moment for the fluorescents to blink to life before he begins an awkward, one-handed descent. It takes mere seconds to make it down to the halfway point and even less time to jump the rest of the way, tensing at the heavy impact and the echo of his shoes colliding with the metal floor.

He finds the suspension tank instantly and moves to open it, briefly taking in the old silhouette of Cinder's eleven-year-old self and the outdated make of the machine but even despite its age, this would work. It would work better than any of their other options, at least.

Jacin turns back to look at Wolf - miserable and cradling his daughter in his arms, obviously struggling with the thought of letting go - and Iko - her eyes a mix of anxious grey and sympathetic blue as she arranges the bags of saline and sedative on the nearby surgical table.

"Place her here. I'll handle the rest."

He watches patiently as Wolf crosses the room, limbs heavy with dread but spurred on by the bit of hope they had been able to muster, and lowers the little girl down into the gel. She is much smaller than Cinder was, but it strikes him that Cinder had been even smaller than Anya when she was first laid here. His jaw tightens, stomach turning at the cruelty of his own people, senseless and surviving even despite the revolution they had hoped would bring it to an end.

Once the child is settled, he threads the IV line through a small port on the side, hooking it up to the tank's own system and then to Anya. Closing the clear lid, Jacin turns on the machine and watches as it fills with blue, fully encasing the child and filling the gaps of Cinder's impression in the bottom. Anya's chest heaves and then steadies as her lungs adjust to the change but otherwise, she does not move. She would almost look like she was sleeping if not for the ghastly blue it casts over her pale lips worsening the bloodless pallor that had washed over her skin and the shadows of blood still clinging to her hair, her hands, her clothes.

With a sigh and a roll of his shoulders, releasing some of their tension, Jacin turns back to his companions, taking in Iko's worried determination and the heavy sadness in both their eyes. They both hated helplessness but there was nothing else they could do for her.

“Whenever one of the bags of fluid runs dry, you’ll have to replace it,” Jacin says. “And you’ll want to attach a bag of the sedative in about two hours. If I did it now, it would be too much but what I gave her won’t last long.”

He stares a moment longer, gauging their understanding before speaking again.

“You know,” Jacin says with a glance towards Wolf. “You can come with us. Anya won’t know the difference and Iko will have this under control. We have the DCOMMs too, and if anyone does come looking, there won’t be any bioelectricity to detect down here. I know you promised her, I know she was scared to leave you, but if you’re back before we wake her up, she’ll never know and you can stay with Scarlet through the worst of it. She's trying her best to be brave but she'll need you more than Anya will."

Continued from x; @words-of-tomatoes

[detective-giggles]

better days and even better nights

Just a little dads Tarlos written for @bubblesandroses8 for the Valentine’s Exchange!  ***

Carlos tosses a backpack on the counter and opens it, preparing to stuff it with everything he’ll need for a day at the zoo with his daughter.  He and TK both have the day (and evening!) off, and they plan to make the most of it. They had decided that they’d split up and each spend some quality time with one of the girls and then tonight, maybe some quality time with each other (if they weren’t too tired from the day’s shenanigans). 

He starts with a few bottles of water and sets a couple on the counter for TK to pack in his own bag.  He adds some fruit snacks and granola bars, tucking those carefully in a front pouch, so they don’t get smashed.  His bag was already half-full; a baseball cap and sunglasses for each one of them, sunscreen, a blanket, and a few small toys to keep Mari occupied for the drive.

TK breezes in, carrying his own backpack, and dumps the few snacks inside. “Thanks, babe.”

“You’re welcome. Did you pack some extra clothes, just in case? You know if you stop for lunch, she’ll end up with ketchup all over her dress.” He’s glad both girls are out of the diaper stage, but he’ll be happier when they’re both a little older, and they don’t feel like they need to pack the whole house for a day trip.

TK laughs and shakes his head but hurries into Sophie’s bedroom and grabs another full outfit to stuff in the bag. He returns a few minutes later with Sophie trailing closely behind, carrying her favorite stuffy.  Mari was nearby, trying to herd them out the door.

“Let’s goooo! I wanna see the penguins!” Mari exclaims, following TK into the kitchen. 

“You’ll get to say hi to the penguins soon enough,” TK promises as he zips up the backpack and slips it onto his shoulders. 

“You two have fun today,” TK says, picking Sophie up and settling her on his hip. 

He presses a kiss to the top of Mari’s head and one to Carlos’ temple, and Sophie leans in to try to give Carlos a kiss too.  

Carlos grabs his own backpack and Mari’s hand, and together they all head out of the house.

***

“Which one do you want?” TK asks.  

They’d been at Build-A-Bear for almost fifteen minutes, and Sophie still hadn’t decided which animal she wanted.  

“What’s this funny-looking thing?”  she asks.

“That is called an axolotl.” He kneels down next to her and does a quick google search, showing her a video. 

“It’s a fish?” 

“No? But-” TK makes a face and decides he really doesn’t want to explain to a four-year-old what an amphibian is, and he nods. “Yeah, it’s like a fish.”

Sophie giggles. “I want one!” 

“I don’t think your dad would like that,” he says.  “You can have this one, though.”

“Okay,” she agrees.  “Can we buy it clothes too?”

“Well, of course, silly girl. We can’t have a naked axolotl in the house.” TK leads her over to the rows of clothes for all the bears. 

He pauses at the little firefighter costume and pulls it off the shelf. 

“I might just make one too.”  TK steps back to look at the animals, choosing a little bear to stuff as Sophie pulls an outfit off the shelf.

“I’m ready!” she announces. 

“Okay, come on.” 

The bear and axolotl stuffing process takes way longer than TK expects, but the kid working the stuffing machine is nice enough, so he doesn’t really mind.  Twenty minutes later, they’re carrying their matching boxes out of the store and heading for the next stop on their father-daughter date.

***

“Can we go in here?” Mari asks, tugging on Carlos’ hand.  He stops short as he realizes she’s trying to lead him into the reptile house, and he shakes his head. 

“Not today, princess. It’s closed,” he says, veering away. He almost feels bad for lying to her, but she only pouts for a minute before she sees the next animal and hurries down the path.

“Giraffes!” she yells as she runs to the railing.  

Carlos takes a couple of quick strides to catch up and picks her up. As he lifts her over his head and sets her on his shoulders, she squeals with delight. 

“They’re so big,” she says in awe. “Much taller than you.”

Carlos chuckles, “They are a lot taller than I am.” 

They spend a few minutes watching the giraffes eat before Mari kicks to be let down.  He sets her on the sidewalk and pulls the map out of his pocket, asking what she wants to see. Carlos should have anticipated her response of “everything!”  The monkeys are next, and they head in that direction at a leisurely pace.  

“Thank you for bringing me here.” 

Carlos laughs, “You’re welcome, princess.”

“Can we go to the water zoo after this?”

“The water what?”

Carlos listens for a bit as she talks about all the fish she wants to see, especially the sharks. “I think the word you’re looking for is aquarium.”

 “Yes!” Mari agrees. 

“And no, we’re not going to the aquarium today.” 

“Are you taking daddy to the zoo tonight?” Mari asks. “Can we stay up late with Aunt Nancy?”

“Your father and I are definitely not going to the zoo,” Carlos says. “And as far as staying up late… Your dad and I are going to put you two to bed before we leave. We can’t stop Aunt Nancy from letting you guys get up and watch a movie and maybe eat some of the ice cream in the freezer.” Carlos gives her a conspiratorial look. Nancy doesn’t babysit much anymore, so when she does, Carlos decides to look the other way when she spoils the kids.

“Yesssssss!” Mari cheers. “That’s why Aunt Nancy is the best!”

“Because she lets you do things your dad and I don’t?”

Mari grins excitedly and nods, and Carlos is already worried for her teenage years.

***

“What took you guys so long?” TK asks as soon as Carlos and Mari walk through the door.  TK’s sitting at the table with Sophie on his lap, a giant coloring book on the table in front of them.

“We were enjoying the zoo,” Carlos comments. “And a quick dinner for Mari.”  He kneels down in front of Sophie. “Wanna tell me about your day while you get ready for bed?”

“Yes!! And you can see my new toy!” Sophie climbs off TK’s lap and starts to run for the stairs.

“No running in the house!” both TK and Carlos manage to spit out at the same time. Sophie freezes and then gives an exaggerated tip-toe all the way across the room. Carlos shakes his head and follows her headstart, taking the steps two at a time.

“Did you have fun with your dad today?” TK asks. 

Mari climbs into the seat next to him and nods.

“But he wouldn’t take me to the reptile house again.  I wanted to see the snakes!” She picks up the crayon her sister discarded, and they color as they talk.

“The snakes, huh? Next time. We can spend the whole time in the reptile house if you want.”

The girl sighs but nods in agreement, “Okay, next time. Promise?”

“I promise. I mean, you’ll miss out on some other really awesome animals, but if that’s what you want…” TK stands and starts stuffing the crayons back in the box. “Come on, buttercup. Go get your pajamas on and pick out a book. I’ll be in to read to you in a minute.”

Mari heads for the stairs, and TK finishes cleaning off the table before following.

***

“So… What’s in the bag?” Carlos asks as they wait to be seated. They have had these reservations for a month, but it was still a new restaurant and it was crazy busy. 

TK gives him a look, “It’s a surprise.”

“It’s not my birthday, and it’s not our anniversary,” Carlos points out.  He reaches out and adjusts TK’s tie, smoothing out a wrinkle.

The hostess calls their name, and they follow her to the table.  TK shakes his head and says, “No, it’s not. But I was thinking of you, so I got you this.”

Carlos reaches into the bag and pulls out a small bear dressed in a little firefighter uniform. “Really?”

“For your desk at work! Now I can be with you every day! They don’t have a paramedic outfit,” he says, “I looked.” 

Carlos huffs a laugh and nods. “To be fair, this is exactly what you were wearing the first time I met you.”

“That’s not even the best part. Have you been there?”

“To Build-A-Bear?” Carlos clarifies. “No.”

“They stuff the bears and you get to pick out a little outfit and stuff. But look. Squeeze here.” TK reaches out and points.  Carlos gives a little squeeze and feels a little plastic… heart?

“Don’t you just love him?” TK asks.

“I do,” Carlos admits. “But not as much as I love you,” Carlos drops the bag at his feet and sets the little bear on the table as they order their drinks.

“I really enjoy getting to spend some quality time with the girls,” TK says softly. “But we only get so few days off together, and I really miss getting to spend them all with you.” TK reaches out, brushing his fingers against Carlos’ and Carlos gives his hand a squeeze.

“Well, you have my undivided attention tonight,” Carlos says. “So be interesting.”

TK laughs. “You know, speaking of interesting, I had a very interesting discussion with our daughter tonight about the reptile house.”

Carlos shudders. “We don’t talk about that. It was closed for cleaning. End of story.”

“I love you so much,” TK says, still laughing.  “But enough about that. Tell me everything about your week.” 

Carlos takes a sip of his wine as he tries to decide where to start. “Okay, okay, I gotta tell you about this case…”  

He leans in and they take turns exchanging stories during dinner, filling each other in about their week at work and the girls, eventually drifting into a comfortable silence over a shared dessert. 

“This is nice,” TK says finally. “I mean, we can talk and have a conversation, but we can also just…be together.  Unlike the girls who have to be talking all the time.”

“Well, speaking of just being together. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Carlos shrugs and grins. “But Nancy is staying, so we have the rest of the night to figure it out.”

*** I also slipped in the line “I was thinking of you, so I got you this” to check off a box on my TMP Tarlos Bingo. 

Tagging: @plaidbooks, @tarlosweeklyprompts, @tarlosmonthlyprompts

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

headcanans of Idia and Vil with a S/O that’s a foodie? like they love food and eating trying new dishes 🤤

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Idia’s not much of a foodie himself (he’s perfectly fine with guzzling energy drinks and chomping on candy and chips, which he’ll sometimes offer to you), so he can’t relate to your interest in food. In fact, he thinks it’s kind of a “normie” thing to rave over restaurants and look up cool food pics on Magicam.

Idia recommends a lot of cooking and food-based manga and anime to you. It’s the least he can do to entertain your interests and find some common ground with you. (All the clothes ripping off and the over-the-top reactions to tasting food is silly, but it brings you both a good laugh.)

He scours the internet for some cookbooks that attempt to recreate dishes from various anime and manga! You can use them to try your hand at cooking and bringing iconic items from your favorite series to life—and while Idia might be a little clumsy in the kitchen, he’ll do his best to help if you ask for it (or invent a machine to do it all for you).

For those lazy days where you don’t feel like going out, you bring a bunch of raw meat and veggies to Idia’s room and camp out! Between playing games, you roast items over his hair (while Idia grinds his gacha games or tries his hand at a super hard boss battle). Toasted marshmallow in hand, you cheer him on!!

With a lot of prompting from Ortho, Idia gathers the courage to take you out to a maid/butler cafe! He brings along light sticks for the two of you to encourage the dancing servers, and you wear a pair of cat ears while you enjoy your meal together! You even take a commemorative photo in those cat ears to celebrate—a cute souvenir of your fun outing.

One day you walk into his room to find Idia decked out in a... fancy suit? In a stammering voice, he mumbles that it was Ortho’s idea to recreate the “butler cafe experience” for you. You’re seated at a makeshift table at the center of his room, and waited on hand and food, served omurice with a loving message scrawled in ketchup: i <3 u!

As a connoisseur himself, Vil enjoys the finer things in life, including food. He’ll arrange for dates at exclusive, upscale restaurants—the sorts that have a strict dress code and waiting lists that span several months. Occasionally, he’ll bring you to small, understated gems as well—little diners tucked away in hidden corners and famous food trucks.

Since he’s always traveling for his job, Vil brings back snacks as gifts for you! Here are candied flowers from the Queendom of roses, sugar dates and silk melon from the Scalding Sands, gummy bugs from the Sunset Savanna... All kinds of delicious novelties and local specialties!

When his schedule is super packed, you may not be able to see him right away, but you’ll definitely feel his presence with you! Before departing for work for the day, Vil might leave a little note attached to your lunch box or on a fruit with reminders: an apple a day keeps the doctor away, be sure to stay hydrated, etc.

Whenever you eat something with a potato in it, you and Vil casually joke about how you can serve them so many different ways. Since he also calls first years “potatoes”, you’ve come to nickname each first year after a certain method of potato preparation—boiled, fried, steamed...

Vil isn’t a super skilled chef, but he’s willing to experiment and try out healthier alternatives and substitutes to standard recipes. With you as his taste tester, he’ll keep your critique in mind when he’s tweaking his dishes just to your liking.

He usually smells nice anyway, but he adjusts his perfume to suit you. When you embrace Vil, he might smell warm and sugary like a bakery, or dark and smoky like a candlelit dinner. It makes your mouth water—for food, or for the taste of him, you aren’t sure.

Riddle has always prioritized moderation over indulgence. He likes to see you enjoying yourself, of course, but he also stresses the importance of not overeating (stomachaches are not pleasant things to deal with!).

When you join him for tea, he arranges for all your favorite cakes and sandwiches to be prepared. Riddle even pours tea from the pot and into your cup for you—a sign of respect and affection, he informs you.

He notices that you sometimes curiously eye his strawberry tart, and he offers to share. Riddle plucks off a fat, glistening strawberry and tries to place it on your plate—but too he’s too slow about it! You’ve already leaned forward to eat it right off of his fork. His face flames at the implication of that indirect kiss.

Riddle fusses over you when you’ve made a mess eating. He’ll wipe your mouth with a napkin and dust crumbs off of your shirt for you, muttering about how you should take better care of how tidy (or rather, how untidy) you are.

You help loosen up Riddle’s own ideas of what constitutes as a meal. He’s normally averse to eating with his hands—a true gentleman uses only a knife and a fork—so you demonstrate for him with various finger foods, even feeding some pieces to him yourself! It’s cute to see him turn pink, his mouth trembling slightly as he opens for you.

He tells you of a tradition in his home country where they eat flowers. Riddle warns you to not just eat anything you find growing along the road, though! He’ll personally escort you through the Heartslabyul gardens, directing you to what is and isn’t edible, and allowing you to immerse all of your senses. The sights, smells, and tastes of nature at its pinnacle is incompatible to anything else, especially when it is shared with a loved one.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

I Can’t Say Anything to Your Face

Summary: Lunchtime is Spencer Reid’s favorite time of day and not because of the crappy endless coffee, dry sandwiches, or the occasional chocolate donut. Spencer’s favorite time of day comes in the shape of a little post it notes and fits perfectly into his heart.

Pairing: Spencer x Female Reader

Content: Fluff (1 use of a$$)

Author’s Note: The idea of for this came from @shemarmooresfedora for giving Spencer compliment cards

Word Count: 2.6 K

I Can't Say Anything To Your Face

When Spencer checks his watch for the twelfth time that day, he can practically feel Derek’s eyes roll. He tries to cover up his action by picking at his sleeve, but that just seems to draw attention to the situation. Derek raises his eyebrows at Spencer, as if to tell him, I saw that.

When it comes to teasing Spencer, Derek doesn’t miss a beat.

The team, minus Derek and Spencer, continue to work diligently. JJ walks back and forth from her office to Hotch’s, constantly shuffling through piles and piles of paperwork. Emily seems to keep herself busy with the 33 tabs that she has open on her screen. Y/N, who’s tongue slips out of her teeth in concentration, doesn’t look up from her mound of case files. Spencer likes studying how each of the members of his team works, but he particularly likes to watch Y/N. She always sticks her tongue out when she’s deep in thought. Sometimes she’ll close her eyes and rub the butt of her palm against them. Other times she’ll push her glasses up on top of her head and her hair frames her face perfectly. Spencer couldn’t care less what she looked like or how she wore her hair, but watching her was his favorite part of the day.

In a totally platonic, non-creepy way.

A beep distracts Spencer from being distracted by Y/N. It’s an IM from Derek, telling him something to the effect of asking Y/N out. Instead of responding, Spencer decides to send Derek a more direct message. He shuts off his computer, which isn’t really used, besides for Y/N to send Spencer requests for online scrabble.

Spencer, ignoring Derek’s gloating, walks from the bullpen into the team’s lunch room. It’s a small kitchenette with a couple tables, a very old coffee machine, and an even older refrigerator. Peeking into the refrigerator, Spencer takes out two lunch boxes. One is light green with patterned purple and orange dinosaurs all over and the other is a light blue with green plants. Like clockwork, Y/N rounds the corner with a smile plastered to her face.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Spencer asks, placing his lunch box down across from Y/N’s seat.

“It’s just my favorite time of day,” Y/N responds, unzipping her bag and taking out her banana, water bottle, granola, and turkey sandwich.

Spencer tries to hold back his smile at Y/N saying that lunch is her favorite time of day. He likes to believe that it’s because of him and not because of the top tier kitchen facility the government provides for them. But who’s he kidding, there’s no way that lunch is Y/N favorite part of the day because of Spencer when he’s up against a crappy coffee maker.

“Did you know that sandwiches were only called sandwiches because the Earl of Sandwich ate his meals with bread, meat and cheese like modern day sandwiches? However, there’s much debate if sandwiches existed prior to this. Researchers actually believe that sandwiches were simply referred to as bread and meat or bread cheese, depending on the ingredients. There’s hundreds of works of literature that help to determine this,” Spencer says, as he unwraps his leftovers from dinner the previous night.

Y/N, who takes a bite of her turkey sandwich, listens intently to Spencer’s oral history of sandwiches. She starts to respond to Spencer, but before she can even get the chance, Derek interjects into the conversation.

“Hold your horses, there Reid,” Derek says, his voice tainted with sarcasm and Spencer braces himself for a clipping comment, “you don’t want to scare away the newbie,”

Y/N, ever quick witted, rolls her eyes dramatically at Derek. She gets up and moves her seat closer to Spencer who’s heart rate, at the thought of her sitting even closer to him, speeds up. He knows that it's just an effort to tease Derek. That she'd rather suffer next to Spencer, than to have to entertain the idea of sitting next to Derek. But still, Spencer is a dreamer; he'd like to think she'd sit next to him even without the added bonus at avoiding Derek's playful teasing.

“Derek, leave Spencer alone, I happen to adore his facts. You know, I’ve seen I’ve been here I’ve been a Jeopardy beast. And when are you going to realize that I’m not a newbie, I’ve been here for what 2 years-”

“2 years, 4 months, and 4 days,” Spencer says, cursing himself silently for interrupting Y/N.

Derek grabs his lunch from the refrigerator, and sits down across from Spencer and Y/N.

“You remember the day I started?” Y/N asks, turning her attention from Derek to Spencer, whose face is twisted in what he can only assume is an extremely unattractive deer-in-head-lights look. He shrugs off Y/N’s comment, as if to say it’s just normal for him.

"Of course I do, I remember how long each of us has been here,"

"Oh, right. Eidetic Memory," Y/N mumbles, almost like she's slightly disappointed in something.

Suddenly Spencer’s mouth is quite dry; he reaches into his lunch bag to grab his water bottle, but his fingers brush across a small card taped to the outside. Forgetting that showing the card to Morgan would give him enough ammunition for the rest of day, Spencer quickly scans the card. It’s a small piece of paper, but it suddenly has become Spencer’s most treasured object. More than the set of Chaucer tales that his mother gave him, or Gideon’s watch, or his first microscope that his biology teacher in high school gave him at his graduation.

The one side of the card is decorated in small hearts and there’s a sketch of a dinosaur on the other side. In careful handwriting, the giver of the card wrote “Are you made of Nickel, Cerium, Arsenic, and Sulfur? Because you got a NiCe AsS!”

Spencer’s eyes grow a couple sizes once his brain registers the meaning of the card. Handling it less than gracefully, he chokes on his water, which catches Derek and Y/N’s attention.

“You okay there, Spence?’ Derek asks, questioning what sent Spencer coughing and choking on water like that.

Spencer, not wanting Y/N or Derek, especially Derek, to read the card, attempts to put it in the front pocket of his lunch box. Unfortunately, Derek catches sight of the card and snatches it out of Spencer’s hand.

“Derek!” Spencer whines.

He can feel his embarrassment deepen as Morgan’s smile grows. Spencer seriously thinks that this is how he’s going to die. His death, being in his line of work, is something that plagues his thoughts from time to time, but any gory hero’s death pales in comparison to Derek Morgan reading Spencer’s love notes about his ass.

“Nice ass? I’m not too sure about this, Reid, but looks like your secret lover likes your ass just as much as your brains,” Derek teases, handing back Spencer his card.

“Those are private,” Spencer says, grateful that Derek’s going to leave him alone, places the card back in it’s temporary resting spot near his driver’s license and photographs of him and Y/N at the arcade.

“Hey man, I was just going to put in that shoe box you have tucked under your desk, you must have hundreds of them by now,” Derek says, taking a bite of his ham and cheese wrap. His eyes dash between Spencer and Y/N, like the pair of them is the most entertaining reality show he could think of.

“I have 645, now,” Spencer says, unable to help himself much to Derek’s amusement. Spencer hears the chair next to him screech and Y/N rushes to pack up her half eaten lunch.

“I completely forgot, Anderson needs me to uh, help him with something,” Y/N says, stuffing her water bottle into her lunch box in a flustered state. Spencer watches as she rushes, her need to leave the kitchenette quite evident. Spencer is left wondering why she has to go see Anderson, of all people.

“Anderson? What does he want with you? I don’t remember Hotch saying anything about that,” Spencer says, his voice comes off a little more bitter than he indented.

“Maybe Anderson has some extracurriculars that he needs Y/N’s help with Spencer,” Derek says with a wink. Spencer’s brow tightens and his blush deepens as if he’s trying to decipher the way that Derek’s voice is laced with suggestion. The only logical conclusion is that Y/N is flustered because she’s sneaking off to see Anderson, because she likes him.

Y/N likes Anderson? Something about that doesn’t taste right in Spencer’s mouth.

Like the wind, Y/N is gone and all that remains is Derek’s sly chuckle.

“What!” Spencer says, much too loud for him to continue the coy and unassuming demeanor he usually produces when Y/N gets hit on at the bar or on case by local cops.

“Nothing, Reid. You're just clueless. Just think about how many of those little compliment cards you’ve gotten,” Derek says. He reaches into Spencer’s lunch box and takes his brownie. Usually, Spencer would have protested, but Derek’s words sent him into a confused spiral.

“645,” Spencer responds.

“Okay,” Derek continues, “645 days you’ve gotten those cute little cards in your lunch box or taped to your hotel room door on cases. Now, Reid think. How many years, months, and days, is 645 days”

“That’s 2 years, 4 months, and 3 days,” Spencer starts, “now given if it’s a Leap Year that could change it a little bit bit-”

“Think about it Reid,” Derek says, talking slowly to get the words sink in and hoping that he doesn’t have to spell it out for him.

“Y/N?” Spencer asks, kind of like he can’t believe it, but desperately wants to believe it at the same time.

“Y/N,” Derek repeats, “I’m surprised it’s taken you this long, Reid. She’s been making eyes at you the day she’s gotten here. It’s almost sickening to watch you to dance around each other,”

“Y/N,” Spencer says, it’s like he’s saying her name for the first time. It’s the most beautiful string of syllables to ever come from his lips.

Spencer pushes back the chair and swings the door open. As he walks to Y/N’s desk he gets distracted by the little brown shoe box that sticks out slightly from under his desk. He crouches down and picks it up, hoping that it can be helpful. He approaches Y/N’s desk, but JJ stops him before he can go closer.

“Stairwell,” Is all she says before she brushes past with an armful of case files. Spencer, heading JJ’s advice, practically runs to the stairwell. As he approaches he can hear quiet sobs, which he can only imagine are Y/N’s.

Spencer opens the door and Y/N, startled, stands up and tries to mop the tears away from her face.

“Spencer, oh god, I didn’t know you were here, I’m okay, it’s just me being a little silly,” she says, trying to laugh through what she can only assume is going to be rejection.

“I really hope you don’t think these are silly, well some are kind of silly, but others were very poetic,” Spencer says, taking a step forward and gesturing with the shoe box to make it obvious to Y/N that he’s talking about the compliment cards.

“What are you talking about, Spencer?” Y/N says, feigning ignorance.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. You're much too smart to play dumb,” Spencer says, moving closer to Y/N so he can wipe her tear-stricken face with the sleeve of his soft cardigan. He tries not to focus on the way that Y/N seems to melt into his touch. He knows that if he can get another touch of that, he’ll never want to touch another person ever again.

“I’m not playing dumb, Spence. I just never planned for you to find out,” Y/N mumbles. Spencer’s face resembles a mix between shock and confusion.

“Why would you not tell me, I don’t think I made it anything but obvious that I’m crazy about you,” Spencer says, deeply wondering why Y/N would ever hide something like this from him.

“God Spencer, have you ever looked in a mirror?” Y/N asks him, sitting down on the third step, “you’re so gorgeous, Spencer, I can’t say anything to your face. So the next best thing was to write down everything that I wanted to say to you,” Y/N finishes, a little embarrassed. She tries to hide that embarrassment by not making eye contact with Spencer, who sits down next to her.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” Spencer asks, not entirely sure that he heard her correctly.

Y/N peaks at him with teary eyes and a runny nose. Spencer thanks science and the universe for his Eidetic Memory. He knows that there won’t be a single day of his life that he won’t want to think back to this day and remember the way that Y/N looked when she first told him that she thinks he’s gorgeous.

“I think you’re the most beautiful person that I’ve ever seen,” Y/N says breathily, her voice laced with restraint. She’s terrified of rejection, terrified that Spencer will turn her down still.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that,” Spencer says, equally as quiet and equally as terrified. He notices that Y/N’s hand creeps closer to his. Spencer is itching to intertwine it to his and never let go.

“You deserve to hear it more often, hence the cards,” Y/N explains, moving her hand even more closer to Spencer’s. He has no choice but to wrap his much larger one in Y/N’s smaller one.

“You meant it, right?” Spencer asks, bravely putting her heart out there on the line, “because if you did Y/N, that I’d really like to kiss you right now. But if you didn’t then that’s-”

Spencer tries to finish the sentence, to give Y/N an out, but somehow she doesn’t take it. Somehow she decides to kiss him.

Spencer has kissed a total of three people in his entire life, but none of them ever mattered again the second he feels Y/N’s lips against his and her hands in his hair. Spencer doesn’t complain when Y/N starts to set the pace. Her lips roam across his face. They venture across his jaw, up closer to his nose and then back down to his lips. Spencer had no clue Y/N can kiss like this. It's a little passionate for a first kiss, but maybe it's just the pent up tension and frustration 2 years in the making finally being let out. He's dreamt of the way that Y/N's pillowy lips would feel when they were finally pressed up against his. Spencer, from the fibers that make him up to the hormones that surge throughout his body, tries to be brave. He places his hands so they rest on Y/N’s neck. He’s not passive, but he’s happy to sit back and let Y/N have her way as she continues her feverish assault on his lips.

Her ministrations are interrupted, however, when the box of cards falls from Spencer’s lap. It seems to remind both of them that they are in the stairwell of the FBI making out like over zealous teenagers for the first time. Y/N lets out a small giggle. Spencer wishes he can write down the feeling it gives him and tuck it away safely in a shoe box.

“I hope you know that those compliments aren’t platonic, Spencer. I really do think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” Y/N says, her fingers gravitating to the brown curls behind Spencer’s ears. He has the softest, silkiest hair she’s ever felt.

“That’s a good thing, Y/N, because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,”

Standing up, Y/N winks and pecks Spencer on the cheek, “I hate to break it to you, darling, but I think I win when it comes compliments,”

--Thank you for reading--

Taglist (Comment & I'll Happily Add You)

@shemarmooresfedora

@april-14-blog

@willowrose99

@calm-and-doctor

@spideygenius

@measure-in-pain

@nomajdetective

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer x Fem! Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 10

You were packing up your stuff as students filed out of the lecture hall, it was your last class of the day. As you were walking out towards the parking lot, your phone started to vibrate in your bag. It was the school.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hi Y/N. It’s Mrs. Flynn. I was just calling to let you know that Jo is now waiting inside with me because she was getting cold outside,” she informed you.

“Spencer’s not there?” you questioned, looking at the time displayed on your phone.

Pickup time was fifteen minutes ago.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Sorry for the inconvenience,” you opened your car door and set your bag down in the passenger seat, turning on the ignition.

“No worries, I have to reorganize the classroom library anyways so I was already planning on staying after.”

Once the call ended, you tried to call Spencer but it went straight to voicemail.

“Hey Spencer, I don’t know if you forgot but it was your day to pick up Jo. I’m getting her now,” you said as you reversed out of your parking spot.

Minutes later, your phone rang again. Expecting Spencer’s contact to show up on screen, your brow furrowed when the name read “JJ” instead.

“Hi JJ?” you said, more of a question than a greeting.

“Y/N, Spencer has been shot. I already told Will to go back to the school to pick up Jo. You should get here if you can. He’s in surgery now but there has been no update since he went in,” JJ explained.

“Oh my god. Okay, I’m turning around now. How did this happen? He didn’t mention he was on a case?” you pulled into a random parking lot to turn around.

“Well technically, we weren’t. We had a lead on a possible local case and we went to interview a potential witness who could give us some more information. We realized too late that he was the unsub. He thought we were on to him and shot Spencer in the leg while trying to escape.”

You had silent tears running down your face.

“I’m five minutes out” is all you could muster and then you hung up the phone.

You ran into the ER doors to find the rest of the team in the waiting room. You were glad you went to Rossi’s dinner party now or else this would have been a much more awkward first meeting.

“Any updates?” you asked frantically.

“No,” Derek sighed, “But no news is good news.”

You took the empty seat in between JJ and Penelope and put your face in your hands, not wanting everyone to see your tears.

-

Two hours of crappy coffee and vending machine snacks as your only source of sustenance later, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors.

She had a completely neutral expression that you couldn’t read but then again you weren’t a profiler.

“Dr. Spencer Reid?” she asked, glancing down at her clipboard.

All of you stood and desperately crowded around her.

“Dr. Reid is in stable condition and awake. The bullet went into his thigh but it wasn’t through and through. He will need to be on crutches for about a week or so but luckily the bullet wound is near the edge of his thigh rather than the middle, meaning recovery time will be shorter,” she explained.

There was a collective sigh of relief along with a few “thank god”s.

“Although he is awake, I don’t think it’s best if you all go in at once since he is very drowsy. He has been asking for a Y/N?” the doctor looked around at you all.

All eyes fell on you. You collected yourself, grabbing your purse and following the doctor down the hall.

“I’ll let you know how he is,” you told everyone before you disappeared past the double doors.

The doctor guided you into a room at the end of the hall. You thanked her quietly and she nodded in acknowledgement, leaving you two alone. Spencer had his eyes closed but his hospital bed was inclined so he was sitting up slightly. You briskly walked over and took the seat right beside him. You took his hand in yours and squeezed it lightly, combing his messy hair out with your fingers.

As you were softly massaging his scalp, you heard a light groan. You retracted your fingers immediately as Spencer began to open his eyes.

Once Spencer took in his surroundings, he quickly sat up completely in bed, letting out a yelp of pain.

“Jo...it was my turn to pick up,” he said frantically.

“Hey, look at me, Spence. It’s okay, she’s at JJ and Will’s. You were shot in the thigh though so you’re not going anywhere. Please lie back down,” you assured him.

He nodded his head, relaxing a bit and looking down at his hands in his lap. He seemed to be processing something in his head.

“You called me ‘Spence’,” he stated.

Shit. That was twice now. It keeps slipping.

“Sorry, I-,” you began to ramble some apology that you didn’t even know where you were going with it. Luckily, he stopped you before you could further embarrass yourself.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he spoke softly as he looked up at you, tears threatening to fall.

“I was so scared, Y/N,” he sobbed.

You swiftly pulled him into your embrace, tucking his head into your neck as you began to gently stroke his hair again.

“It’s okay, let it out. I can’t imagine what that was like. I’m so sorry you had to go through that but you're safe now, I promise,” you whispered to him.

“I was so afraid I was going to abandon you and Jo again. It hurt worse than the actual bullet,” he muttered into your neck.

You removed your hands from his hair and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look up at you.

“Spencer Reid, you did not abandon Jo in the first place so there is no ‘again’. Second of all, you would have died a hero saving lives and I would have made sure Jo knew that and she never forgot her Daddy or how much he loved her,” you spoke earnestly, never breaking eye contact.

Spencer’s eyes softened. A second later, his lips were on yours again. This time, however, you didn’t pull away. Life was too short and this was already complicated as is, what’s the harm.

You basked in the familiarity of his lips locking with yours. Once he finally pulled away for air, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Go out with me. A real date. No more college dorm dates with takeout,” he smiled.

“You know you didn’t have to get shot to ask me out, right?” you teased.

“I thought I needed a grand gesture,” he beamed, chucking lightly.

“Yeah, Spence, I’ll go on a date with you.”

His lips found yours once again.

-

“Jo, are you ready?” you called out from the kitchen, packing snacks.

“Mommy, I’m already at the door!” she exclaimed.

Jo was eager to go see her Daddy at the hospital. You would spend the day there until he was discharged and then he would live with you guys for the week. You insisted on being there to take care of him while he was healing. You didn’t want him hobbling around all alone in his apartment.

When you walked out to the front entryway, there was a stack of various toys and books that hadn’t been there when you came down the stairs.

“What is this?” you gestured to the pile, amused.

“Daddy has big boo-boo so he needs stuff to cheer him up,” she stated.

“I don’t think we are going to be able to bring all this. Plus, remember Daddy is coming home with us later today. So here’s what we will do,” you handed Jo her dinosaur backpack, “You pack all the stuff you can fit in this bag that you think Daddy needs right away and the rest of the stuff can wait.”

Jo made quick work of sorting through her massive pile, trying to decide what would make her dad the most happy.

-

“Daddy!” Jo excitedly screamed, running towards the bed.

“Jo!” he returned with the same sentiment.

She was unable to get up on the bed herself so you had to lift her up.

“Remember what I said, careful with Daddy or he won’t get better,” you reminded her.

“You can sit her on my good leg,” Spencer patted his right thigh where you gently set Jo down.

“We brought you loads of stuff, Daddy,” Jo chirped, looking over at you.

You revealed a box of donuts from your bag and the coffee tray you had been holding. You handed him a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles and Jo a strawberry frosted with sprinkles. The two ‘cheers’ed their donuts before biting into them.

“Jo also brought you some things to cheer you up,” you handed her her backpack.

First, she promptly pulled out a pink Disney princesses band-aid and stuck it on Spencer’s already bandaged thigh.

“You need that so it doesn’t get infected,” she repeated Spencer’s words from when she fell at Rossi’s dinner party.

“Thank you, princess. What would I do without you?” he kissed the top of her head as she rummaged around in her backpack some more.

She set up her five favorite dinosaur toys on his tray table in front of them, glancing up at him for approval.

“Perfect,” he smiled, nodding.

Next, she pulled out a piece of paper that had been colored on.

“Who’s this?” Spencer asked, looking at the three stick figures doodled on the paper.

“That’s you, that’s Mommy, and that’s me,” she pointed to each of the sketches.

“Aw, that one is definitely making the fridge,” you smiled.

Finally, Jo took out her Magic Tree House book that she was currently reading. She needed help with some of the words but either you or Spencer or the both of you would help her read it every night.

“You already finished the last one?” Spencer picked up the new book that was next in the series, examining it and smiling proudly.

“And I didn’t need help with a single word on the last chapter,” Jo beamed.

“You’re so smart,” Spencer kissed her head again, “let’s see how far we can get on this one before we can go home.”

[hookingminor]

33 “On a post-it note” from the 4th list with Beauvis

33. On a post-it note

-

It seemed like you and Anthony had your own language you communicated in. With one look he knew what you were thinking, and whenever he gestured vaguely and stuttered over his words to formulate a sentence, you were already reaching over to grab whatever item he was about to ask you for.

You didn’t always need words, though Anthony made sure to shower you with compliments, and all your friends were amazed by the way you could have a conversation without saying anything.

Anthony always set the timer on the coffee machine before he left for practice to brew a pot right when you woke up, and he always kept emergency jars of peanut butter hidden in the back of the pantry for when you ate it all and ran out. You packed extra pairs of socks in the side pocket of his luggage because he never packed enough for how smelly his feet got after games and practices, and the only reason you bought a DVD player was to play all the Fast and Furious movies Anthony loved but never streamed anywhere.

With your busy schedules, you didn’t get to see Anthony off every time he had to leave for road trips, especially with the bouncing between apartments and work. He tried his hardest to spend the night at yours, or yours at his, before leaving the next day, but sometimes he had to leave when you weren’t there to say goodbye.

On the days that he did have to leave without a goodbye kiss, you came home or woke up to a sticky note stuck to the picture you kept of you and Anthony on the fridge. It was a cheesy four-picture photo booth series, one that gave you two copies that you each kept at your respective apartments. No matter which home you were in, he placed the sticky note right underneath his favorite picture: you throwing your head back in laughter with your nose scrunched up as Anthony planted a big sloppy kiss to your cheek.

The message was generally the same. His messy scribbles were almost indecipherable, but after a year of being together, you managed to decode them. Anthony thought the handwritten notes were more personal than a text he fired off before the plane took off, and you kept every single one tucked away in a shoe box in your closet.

Today’s note read: Be back Thursday night, I’ll call you when we get to the hotel. I love you so much and please don’t eat all the cookies without me

You chuckled at the last part. It was only Sunday, but you had a large batch of your signature chocolate chip cookies to bake on Tuesday for a bake sale you were volunteering for at work.

Even if Anthony wouldn’t get the text for another few hours, you typed out a message for him anyways.

You: Already promised Barz the batch of extra cookies, so you’ll have to take it up with him :( and I love you too

You pulled the sticky note off the picture and smiled to yourself as you walked to your hidden shoebox in the corner of your closet to add the note to the pile. You removed the top to reveal a stack of sticky notes of various colors along with the few holiday and birthday cards Anthony also gave to you.

One more to add to the family, you stuck the newest orange sticky note on top of the one he wrote two weeks ago before tucking the box back into its rightful place, hidden under one of Anthony’s old sweatshirts you’d stolen long ago.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Into The Woods

Warnings: noncon sexual acts; vaginal, anal.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re sent to make a delivery to the man in the woods.

Note: This is for @imanuglywombat​ and @nellblazer​‘s Lumberjack Challenge. I couldn’t see if they were accepting dark fics so if they aren’t, I guess it’s just another fic lol. But anyways, the challenge inspired me.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

“You sure Dezy isn’t going to make it?” You asked as you helped Gerry load the crate onto the trailer. 

“I’m sorry, I got all the other deliveries sent out with Milo but this one’s too far for him.” Gerry grunted as he closed the back of the open-top trailer. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Dezy. Second day in a row and yet I hear he’s down at the Horse every night.”

“Well, he’ll run out of beer money sooner than later,” You sighed as you pulled on your gloves. The air was starting to bite as the brief autumn was turning. “You sure you can manage without me?”

“Slow day in the shop,” He shrugged. “You just be careful.”

“Alright. I’ll do my best.” You climbed up onto the four-wheeler and fumbled with the thick key with the grizzly bear charm attached to it. “Maybe next time give me the easy ones.”

“I’ll tack an hour of overtime on your pay, how about that?” He chuckled. “You need to get out anyway. I know this place is small but you can’t spend all your time reading those harlequins in the dry good section.”

“They’re not harlequins,” You turned the engine and raised your voice as you gripped the handlebars. “They’re fantasy, Ger.”

“Sure, sure,” He backed away. “You go or you won’t make it back by sundown.”

“Never far off these days,” You mused as you revved. “See ya, Gerry. Don’t forget to down stock the fishing wire.”

“Which one of us is the boss?” He called after you as you pulled out, the small trailer rumbling behind you.

You turned off at the end of the street, past the business fronts that looked like cabins. The town looked straight out of Western but with more snow. The first of the annual powder had yet to fall but you could feel it coming. You headed over the lumpy tundra past the sparse trees that grew thicker the further you got. The paths turned narrower and you steered slowly through the damp forest.

You only went so far out when your uncle took you ice fishing and rarely in this direction. You slowed as the path grew more uneven, carefully traversing the thick roots and deep valleys. The noise of the engine bounced off the trunks of trees around you. It was more than an hour before you reached your destination. At least, you thought you were in the right place. Weren’t too many cabins hidden in these trees; well not many still inhabited.

You pulled into the clearing and killed the engine. You hopped off the ATV and stretched your legs, your thighs tingled from the rumble. You went to the trailer and open the door and slid out the heavy trunk. You braced yourself before you lifted and gave a grunt. You’d packed the load yourself. You carried it past the old motorcycle and the neat stack of wood which marched the way to the broad front porch. You slowly ascended the three steps up and set down the heavy crate beside the door.

A bench made of logs, likely by hand, stood just a few feet from the front door, a woven blanket folded over the seat. The curtains were drawn within and you started to wonder if there was anyone there or if this was just another forgotten scene. It all seemed so eerily still.

You knocked and waited for an answer. Nothing. You tried again with the same result. Then, after a cold silence, you heard a door open and snap shut but it wasn’t the one before you. You turned as a man appeared beside the far corner of the porch. He appeared disturbed by your presence as he emerged from the old shed, his flannel jacket marked with patches of dirt and his dark hair poking out from beneath a woolen cap.

“He usually just leaves it there,” He clapped his gloved hands together as he brushed away the filth. “Thanks.”

“Uh, sorry,” You turned and ambled down the steps. “I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t be sorry,” He stayed near the corner, kicking his foot up onto the stump where an ax waited to be used. “Better get going before the sun beats you.”

“Sure,” You went back to the four wheeler. His eyes bore into you as you climbed up. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just--”

“Thanks,” He said again. “Driving out here all this way. Appreciate it.”

“No problem,” You turned the key. “Have a good day, sir.”

The engine roared to life and you carefully turned around, the empty trailer clattering behind you. You couldn’t help but feel him watching you still. You wanted to look back, but didn’t. You twisted the throttle and delved back through the treeline. You hoped Dezy would get his shit together, you weren’t keen on doing deliveries.

🪓

The next day, you were back to your usual fare. You stood at the long counter of Elk’s General, watching the locals as they wandered in and out, perusing the aisles of groceries, clothing, or novelty goods. You rung them through on the outdated till and smiled after them as they left with their paper bags.

The usual midday lull came and you pressed flat your latest read on the counter. You crossed your arms over the edge and bent over the pages, losing yourself in the fantastical medieval setting. Gerry didn’t mind so much as you kept an eye on customers. 

The rusty bell above the entrance tinkled and you looked up suddenly. You turned your book over before you could lose your place. You stood up straight and smiled at your newest customer but froze as his eyes met yours. It was the man from the day before, to whom you had delivered the weeks worth of goods.

He ignored your usual greeting and marched over to you. He planted the bill for his delivery on the counter.

“I ordered six cans of maple beans. I have only four.” He said plainly.

“An oversight. I’m sorry, sir. Just a moment.” You gulped and flitted off to check the shelf. There were only the tomato beans in stock. You went to the back room and checked there. Nothing. You returned to the counter. “Looks like we’re all out but I’ll make a note to have them delivered when we get more. Or we can remove the charge from your bill.”

“Keep ‘em on,” He said as he reached into his pocket. “I can wait.” He unfolded the worn leather wallet. “I have to pay my account anyway.”

“Sure,” You reached to slid his bill closer and keyed the amount into the machine. “You could have called--”

“I don’t have a phone,” He growled as he counted out the bills. “I don’t like to be disturbed.”

You took the money and counted it. You avoided his gaze guiltily. You sorted the bills in the cash door and handed him his change. His gloves brushed your skin and he tucked the money away with his wallet.

“Good book?” He pointed to the novel.

“Alright, so far,” You answered quietly.

“I read his other one. The one set in Ancient Egypt. It was… interesting. Not my usual reading material though.” He tapped his fingers on the counter. “You have a good day, miss.”

He turned and left you as you returned his farewell. The door snapped shut behind him and you looked back down at the book. You opened the front page and read the list of works by the same author. You’d have to look into them.

🪓

Several days late, you were helping Gerry restock shelves with the newly acquired truck. The night before, you’d helped unload it and left it for the next day to sort through. Dezy sat behind the counter, half-keeled over on the stool, trying not to puke into his hands.

“Damn shit is hungover again,” Gerry muttered. “I got a whole list of deliveries today and he can’t even stand straight.”

“I can do it,” You offered. “Long as he can manage the till.”

“I don’t know if I even trust him to do that,” Gerry said. “You sure you wanna do the deliveries?”

“We got any of the maple beans on the truck?” You asked.

“A good amount.” He said.

“We owe two cans to-- well, I didn’t get his name. The man who lives way up in the trees.” You frowned, only then realising you new nothing about him. In that town, everyone knew everyone.

“Mr. Barnes?” Gerry reached over into the box and moved around several items before pulling out a can. “Quiet man. Doesn’t like to be bothered. Must’ve scared Dezy good to get him to shut up.” He took out two more cans. “If you’re willing to head up that way, you give him and extra can on me. He’s the only customer in town who pays on time.”

“Sure,” You stood, thankful not to be forced to kneel all day at the shelves. “The list?”

“Pinned up behind the counter as usual,” He caught a box of Corn Pops he hit with his elbow and swore. “Take a radio. Snow’s comin’.”

“Will do,” You said. “I should be that long.”

“Chill blowin’ in from the lake, bundle up before you go too.” He said.

“You sound like my mother.” You laughed.

“I feel like you’re mother,” He shook his head. “Now go, before I get sentimental.”

🪓

Gerry was right, it was cold. The four-wheeler seemed slower as the wind swirled around you. You stopped by each house and knocked before leaving your haul. You smiled away tips and bid each resident a good day before you rushed away under the protests of another delivery ahead of you.

Your last would take the longest, though it was the smallest. The tree cans rattled around the trailer so you stopped at the shop before you continued on and detached it. You placed the cans in a small box and secured it to the seat behind you with bungee cords. You fixed your gloves and pulled your cap over your ears before you set out once more.

The sky grew paler the later it got. A harbinger of snow. You took the same route as before, getting off once to push the ATV over a fallen branch caught beneath it. You carried on, the frigid air lashing your cheeks.

You drew up to the clearing as you had before. The motorcycle was gone, likely pushed into the shed in preparation for the first snowfall. The piles of wood had grown taller and the front door was open, the screen door a poor barrier to the looming winter.

You unhooked the box and climbed up the steps. You bent to set it down and be off. You looked up as you sensed something on the other side of the screen door. The man, Mr. Barnes, stared at you through the mesh, a mug in hand. You stood and smiled nervously.

“Your beans. An extra can for the inconvenience.” You said. “Have a good day, sir.”

You turned but caught yourself before you made it down one step as he spoke. 

“It’s pretty cold.” He remarked as he took the box in his free hand. “You like coffee? I just made a pot.”

“I appreciate it,” You turned to him. “But I don’t mean to impose on you.”

“I wouldn’t ask if you were,” He said stiffly. “I’d feel worse letting half a pot go to waste.”

“I don’t know, I should--” You glanced behind you at the trees.

“You came all this way to give me beans in this,” He held the door with his elbow and stepped through. “You don’t like coffee, I got tea.”

You took a breath as you looked back to him. “Sure. I’ll have some coffee.”

He nodded and stared at you. He blinked and moved to hold the door open. “Well, you wanna come inside? Or do you prefer your coffee frozen?”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” You kicked yourself and stopped right before the door. You smiled awkwardly and offered your name. “I just… figured you wouldn’t want a stranger in your home.”

“Bucky,” He returned and waved you inside. “Not many strangers in town. Not really.”

You entered and he followed you. The entryway was lit by an antique lamp and the front room was entirely dark. You knelt to unlace your boots as he stepped around you. You kept your coat on as the wind continued to seep in behind you.

“Kitchens just down the hall past the stairs,” He said as he continued across the wooden floor. 

“Okay,” You slid your boots off and stood, following his shadow to the kitchen. 

As you passed through the doorway, he placed his mug on the table and went to the cupboard. He took down another thick ceramic cup and sidled over to the stove. He filled it from the percolator and returned to the table to place it before you.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“I’m fine, black is good,” You accepted as he slid the cup over to you.

You sat, hesitantly, and removed your gloves. You tucked them in your pocket and wrapped your hands around the steaming cup. He pulled out another chair and sat. He looked into the mug and slowly drank from it.

“I didn’t know anyone still lived out here.” You said.

“Sometimes,” He answered carefully. “Spring and summer I spend working the lumberyards south of here.”

“And you live all the way up here?” You wondered. He gave you a sharp look. “Sorry, it’s just… curiosity.”

“I like it,” He shrugged. “It’s quiet.”

You nodded and resigned yourself to silence. You listened to the wind outside and looked around at the tidy kitchen. Most of the original structure remained, renovated but not replaced. Even the curtains seemed to be of another era; faded but without holes or tears. All the way up here, time always seemed to stand still.

“You finish your book?” His voice jolted you.

You looked back to him and sipped the hot coffee. You nodded again.

“I did.” You answered. “It was alright.”

“Just alright?” He asked. 

“I’ve read better and worse,” You said. “It was… entertaining.”

“Mmm,” He mumbled and drank his coffee. You mimicked him, eager to leave.

Ten minutes of silence and stunted small talk left your mug empty and your stomach gurgling. You stood and nervously teetered on your feet.

“I should go. It’s snowing already.” You glanced out the window.

“Sure,” He rose and gathered up the mugs and took them to the sink.

“Thank you.” You said and turned rigidly to head through the door. 

You trod down the hallway and stopped to pull on your boots. You adjusted your cap and shoved your gloves on. He neared and you pushed open the door and glanced back at him.

“Coffee was good.” You said.

He caught the door behind you and you marched across the porch. You rushed down the steps and shivered as you neared the four wheeler.

“Be careful,” He said in monotone. 

“I will, thank you,” You called back as you climb onto the seat. “Enjoy your beans.”

He waved and you turned the engine. You backed up and turned around. The snow had already left a thin powder across the ground. You steered into the trees and carefully began to weave around the trunks and along the uneven forest floor. 

The snow thickened the more it fell. You had to slow as the ride became more precarious. The downfall formed a thick carpet beneath the tires and soon, even beneath the shroud of branches, the snow formed a curtain all around you, making it nearly impossible to see. You stopped and left the motor rumbling.

You pulled the radio from its holster down beside the wheel well and turned the dial until you picked up the signal. It was static and crackled.

“Gerry? Gerry!” You held the speak to your lips. “Gerry?”

“Yeah, i--me, ---okay?” His voice went in and out.

“I’m okay but the snow is… I can’t see. It’s going to take me a while.”

“Wha-- breaking up--” The radio broke off with a high pitched scratch.

“Damn it!” You shouted and tried fixing the dial. It didn’t help.

You sat for a moment and put the radio back. You couldn’t stay and let yourself get snowed in. You’d have to keep going, slow but steady. You carefully pulled past the trees, blinking away the flakes as they gathered on your lashes. You stopped again to pulled your scarf higher over your cheeks and pressed on.

The third time you paused, you realised you were lost. A brief lull allowed your vision to clear and you had no idea where you were. You kicked the side of the ATV and cursed. You grabbed the radio again and turned it on.

“Gerry?” No answer. Several more tries with nothing but static.

You hung your head and clicked the radio off. You gripped the handlebars and looked around. You’d have to turn around and try to trace your way back but the snow was starting to get heavy again and--

“Hey,” You jumped as the voice sounded from behind you. “You okay?”

You turned to find Bucky standing by a tree. “How--”

“Looks like you just went in a big circle,” He said. “You’re about ten minutes from my place.”

“What are you doing out here?” You asked.

“Wanted to grab some kindling before the storm got too bad, then I heard you.”

“Kindling?”

“Dry it out, obviously, but might run out of what I have before this clears,” He looked up. “Look, it’s only gonna get worse. Why don’t you wait it out?”

“I don’t-- I can’t--”

“There’s more than enough room for both of us. Might be a bit dusty but… Wouldn’t feel right letting you get lost out here.”

You exhaled and looked at the radio.

“Alright,” You relented.

“I’ll lead the way.” He came up beside the ATV and passed to the front. “Just don’t get too close.”

“Okay,” You turned the throttle just a bit and kept a snail’s pace as he guided you.

He barely seemed bothered by the gusts or the deepening snow. Even as the air turned almost completely white, he didn’t waver though you squinted to keep an eye on him.

“You like beans?” He yelled back to you as he broke through to the clearing around his house.

“Maple beans?” You asked dryly.

“They go great with toast,” He said as he continued onto the shed and unlocked the wide doors. “Warm you right up.”

🪓

You sat at the table, alone. Bucky had excused himself after clearing his own plates. You still picked away at the beans and sausage, listening to the movement above. You scooped the last few bites up and swallowed, washing it down with a gulp of water. You stood and went to the sink to rinse your plate. As you set it in the rack, you were startled by a creak behind you.

“I cleared a bedroom for you. It’s a bit dusty around here.” Bucky said as he leaned against the door frame. “Bit cold, too. Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright,” The windows shuddered. “Better than out there.”

“I put some clothes out too. Might be a little big.” He explained. “Dinner okay?”

“Yeah, it was…” You tried to smile. “Alright. Um, just one second.”

You neared him and he moved aside. You went down the hallway to where your jacket was hung and pulled the radio out. He watched you as you fiddled with it and the speaker crackled on.

“Gerry?” You held it to your lips.

“Kiddo?” He said, clear but not entirely.

“I’m okay,” You said slowly as you held the button down. “Staying until storm clears. Call in morning.”

“Roger, kiddo,” He returned. “Be safe.”

You turned off the radio and placed it back in your coat pocket. You looked up at Bucky as he stared at you dully.

“Just wanted to make sure someone knew,” You said. “Wouldn’t want them to worry.”

“Of course not,” He said. “You want a beer?”

“What?” You were thrown off by the sudden offer.

“Beer. If you want you can grab a book from the study,” He pointed to the doorway opposite the front room. “Sit in front of the fire where it’s warm.”

“I’ll take the book,” You said. “I’m not much for beer though.”

“Hot chocolate? Tea?” He stepped a little closer.

“I’m fine,” You squirmed. “Thank you.”

‘Just let me know if you need anything,” He said softly. “Haven’t had a guest in a while but… I can be accommodating.”

🪓

You read three chapters before you found your way upstairs. Bucky showed you the room he’d prepared for you but didn’t say much more before he closed himself into his own. You changed into the long sleeve tee he left you and the jogging pants with the drawstring waist. You tucked your feet into the wool socks and rolled under the blankets. You were still cold. The top floor was entirely untouched by the fireplace below.

You drifted into a shallow sleep. Maybe an hour or two before you woke, shivering. You sat up and  reluctantly climbed out from beneath the covers. You took one of the blankets and wrapped it around you as you shuffled to the door. You slipped through, carefully not to let the hinges whine and plodded through the dark down the stairs.

In the front room, the fire burned a low amber. You crept over to it and took a log from the wrought iron basket just beside it. You placed it over the coals and stoked it with the poker until flames began to lick. You held your hands to the glow until you were no longer shaking.

You took a cushion from the couch and dropped it on the carpet. You laid down before the fire, wrapping yourself in the blanket as you basked in the warmth. You listened to the violent winds outside, softened by the heaps of snow which had gathered all around the cabin. Your eyes closed as you began to sink into the darkness around you.

You dreamt of the four wheeler, of the snow swirling around you, of losing yourself in the pure white. The trees curled and clawed at your as you were thrown from the seat. The snap of twigs filled your ears and your eyes snapped open. The fire popped as it burned, the room lighter but not much.

There was a heaviness around you. More than just the quilt, the thick arm wrapped around your middle held you close to the warmth at your back. Startled, you wriggled against the body and a groan slithered along your ear.

“What the--” You hissed as you grasped his wrist, his hand tucked beneath you. “What are you doing?”

“It’s cold,” His breath was hot as it seeped into your scalp. “You were shivering.”

“Let me go,” You tugged on him.

“Shhh,” He hushed. “It’s early.”

“Dude, not cool,” You pulled harder on his arm.

“Stop,” He said more firmly. 

“Get off of me.” You growled.

“You’re not a very gracious guest,” He snarled as he retracted his arm, only to grab your shoulder and push you flat on your back.

You latched onto his wrist, he was strong. He didn’t budge.

“You’re scaring me.”

“Scaring you?” He removed his hand. “How? What do you think I’m gonna do?”

He sat up, his broad shoulder stretched the waffled shirt he wore as he rubbed his eyes. He pushed his head back and took a deep breath. You pushed yourself up slowly beside him.

“What do you want me to do?” His hand settled on your thigh and he squeezed.

“Stop,” You tried to push his hand away and he flipped it to grasp yours. 

His grip slipped to your wrist and he twisted. He wrenched it over your head until you were forced onto your back. You cried out as he leaned over you, the blanket slipping entirely from your bodies.

“Came all this way for a few cans of beans,” He whispered. “Really?”

“Stop!” You repeated. “Please.”

“But you’re cold,” He uttered as he leaned closer. “You need to warm up… you’re shivering…” His nose touched yours. “Or… shaking?”

“Get--” His lips smothered yours as he shifted his body atop you. 

You struggled as he released your wrist and reached down to grab your knee as he forced his legs between yours. He bit your lip as he pulled and his hand clawed at the waist of the loose pants. He pulled until he snapped the string within and you kicked around him.

“What are you doing?” You beat on his shoulders. “Stop! Stop!”

“I don’t talk to people, they don’t talk to me,” He snarled. “I keep to myself. Even that dumb delivery boy of yours knows better.”

“No, no,” You slapped his chest as he sat up suddenly. 

He tore the pants down your legs until they were around your knees and pushed them up. The fabric kept you trapped beneath him, legs bent to your chest as he leaned over your once more. He brushed his nose against your cheek and snarled.

“You asked for this, honey,” He sneered. “You just couldn’t leave me alone… The way you smile at me, I can see it.”

“I was just--” You pushed against him. “--doing my job. Please, get off of me.”

He moved against you, his thighs pressed to yours as he felt between you. He pushed his own pants down and you tried to shove him off of you with your legs. You only made yourself dizzy.

The fire flickered against you, setting shadows across his features, his blue eyes caught the flame and glowed sinisterly. His rough finger tickled your cunt as he guided his cock along your folds. You grunted as you fought harder beneath him. He pressed along your entrance and you gasped, a horrified scream as he impaled you in a single thrust.

“Go on and scream.” He said. “No one will hear you. No one but me.” He jerked his hips and you cried out again. “I kinda like it.”

He moved his hips in sharp, short thrusts. He grunted with each, lower and lower, almost like satisfied purrs.

He sat up and hugged your legs to his torso as he rutted faster. He clung to you as if he was desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough. You scratched at the carpet. You whimpered each time he slammed into you, each tilt of his hips harder than the last. The clapping of your flesh mingled with your voices. You closed your eyes, holding back the sobs that threatened.

And then he stopped. Suddenly. He stayed inside of you as his grasp on you loosened. His body quivered and a low growl rose from him. He pulled out of you and pushed your legs aside to that you fell onto your side. Shakily, you pushed yourself, on knees and elbow you tried to crawl away, your pants tangled around your feet.

He grabbed your ankles and dragged you back as you slipped onto your stomach. He climbed over you, pinning your legs between his. He kneaded and pinched your ass, dusky, thick breaths rose from him. 

He pressed his thumb between your cheeks and you reached desperately for anything to get away. The edge of the carpet rolled in your grasp and you kicked your feet with a panicked whine. He pressed his thumb against your asshole and you shook your head as he buried your face in your arms. He pushed inside and you let out a shrill cry.

He poked in and out of you, your tight ring burned around his thumb. He withdrew it and forced his index finger in, then added his middle. Your pained groans only seemed to encourage him as he stretched you around a third finger.

He pulled his hand away and bent his arm over your shoulders as he lifted himself over you. He lined himself up with your ass as his hair hung around his head and brushed the back of yours. He took a breath and you held one in. He entered you slowly, letting out a choked grunt as you strained around him.

The tears pricked at your eyes and your arm shot up as you blind grabbed at air.

“Please, please, please. Stop.” You begged. “I can’t--”

He pushed deeper and your voice fizzled. He pulled back and thrust in again. Every time, he went a little further. Soon he was buried in you to his limit and you couldn’t breathe or move. He held himself inside of you and shuddered.

He began to rock and you moaned. Despite the pain, the fire that radiated from your core, it felt good. The more he did, the better it got. The pressure built, unlike any you’d felt before, and you gulped and groaned against the carpet. Shocked by him, by yourself.

He got faster and faster. Louder two as his snarls filled your head. You tensed and then in an instant, your strength drained from you. You came, harder than you had ever in your life. You murmured as your head lolled and he kept going.

He lifted his head and his fingers gripped the back of your neck as he lifted himself over you. He hammered into you from above as you lay prone and helpless beneath him. He exclaimed and you felt a warmth flow into you. 

He stopped and fell atop you. His weight held you down, suffocated you. His arm stretched up and he grabbed your hand, twining his fingers with yours.

“Stay as long as you like,” He rasped. “Snow’s not letting up anytme soon.”

[blackcatclawsout]

Majima x Reader- Bento Box

I also post to AO3 under the same username!

Morning was always her favourite time of the day. Y/N stirred in her shared bed, nestling into the arms that were already wrapped around her. Majima seemed to already be awake; his grip tightened and drew her closer. He peppered her cheeks and forehead in light kisses, giggling at her sleepy groaning. She swatted away his face, chuckling softly.

"No, I have morning breath," she whined, smirking as he drew her near.

They laid in bed motionless, letting dawn's light hit their blanketed bodies. Everything was soft and warm, as the rising sun began to wake greater Tokyo. Y/N could stay like this forever, pressed against his chest, breathing in Majima. He rarely took showers at night, so she always caught a bit of his cologne in their morning cuddles. Stealing glances at her beau, she saw his face, softened as he breathed softly. She admired his thin face and his high cheekbones. Y/N gently reached up, rubbing the backs of her fingers across his motionless face. She cupped his cheek. Majima's eye opened, locking with her. His grey eye was softened in moments like these, pupil lazily dilating as he stared back at her. Catlike blinks between the two of them communicated their mutual appreciation for the silent moment they were currently sharing. Y/N's eyes darted towards his thin-lipped mouth. The hand she rested on his lean chest felt his heart speed up. The anxious pattering edged her to lean in closer. A giddy feeling rose from her stomach, compelling her to shut her eyes in excitement. The harsh melody of the phone cut through their synchronized breathing.

"Son of a..." Majima muttered, immediately turning to his bedside stand. Y/N sat up, calming her still fast-beating heart. "Nishida, d'ya even know what time- No, I haven't since... Fuck. I'll be there in a sec." He sighed, hanging up. Majima sat on the edge of the bed, fingers massaging his temple. His lover crawled to him slowly, resting a hand on his shoulder. Before she could ask, he stood up, turning around to face her. 

"Shit's hit the fan, I gotta go." His hand extended, resting on top of her head. Fingers wandered absent-mindedly through her locks as his eyes flickered over her partly covered figure. His brows were once again furrowed.

"I understand. You better get going." She nodded, smiling up at the older man. His lips parted slightly, almost to say something, but pressed together again. He sauntered to the washroom, closing the door behind him. Y/N glanced at the clock on Majima's side table.

5:56... yikes. No wonder Goro was pissed off. He doesn't usually get up for another half hour. 

She stretched as she got up, wrapping a robe around herself as she left the bedroom. Something Y/N had slowly grown accustomed to in her partnership to Majima was bento boxes. The idea of making someone a packed lunch seemed… childish to her; at least it did at first. She vaguely remembered her mother making her lunch when she was a child, probably because she couldn't be trusted to pack her own. She had learned quickly to become independent, fiercely so, and the thought of relying on someone else to make her lunch seemed strange to her. It wasn't until Goro explained that she caught the appeal.

"When you're a kid, your mom made one of them for you and your dad. It always had great shit in there- homemade and sometimes with cute decorations. Now, she only did this for you an' your ol' man, the two people she shoulda loved most. So when ya girl makes it, it means she loves ya!"  He flashed a cheeky grin as he explained. Y/N just cocked her head.

"You... don't think of your mom when you eat it?" She asked warily, causing him to burst with laughter.

"Hell no, I don't! I just think of my girl, and how lucky I am to have her." he leaned forward, pecking her cheek as he finished. 

Y/N washed the rice absent-mindedly as she thought back to then. A smile graced her lips as she turned the machine on to hum, beginning to make other parts of his lunch. There was a big learning curve at first; the rice balls would always fall apart, or she’d mess up some recipe. Far too often she had left out an element from the lunch box, only to find it waiting on the counter. Despite it all, Majima took a bento each day, calling after he finished to compliment her work. His praise motivated her, even driving her to go to a local bookstore, looking for any sort of help. Slowly, her skills improved. Her routine became more integrated and quicker with each passing day.

After a short while, she looked at her handy work. The layer bento was stuffed full of edamame, onigiri with fish, steamed vegetables, and leftover meat from their dinner before. She felt proud of her handiwork, even if it wasn’t perfect. Y/N glanced at the kitchen clock on the wall. 

It’s been almost 20 minutes... He should be ready soon.

She packed the food up, tucking his chopstick into the small plastic container. After ensuring everything was ready to go, she padded back to the bedroom, looking around for her lover. Muttering leaked out of their washroom, prompting her to follow the growling. 

“Hey, Goro-chan… You’ll need to be heading out soon,” She popped her head into the doorway,  smiling as she saw him already finished. He turned to face her, an exasperated look already carved into his face. 

“Those assholes…” He sighed as he walked towards her, He was dressed in his usual suit jacket and black leather pants. She could still smell the dampness in his hair and his body wash- one of her favourite smells. Y/N gave a soft smile to him. 

They didn’t often talk about his work, they met in spite of it, and he seemed to prefer to keep it that way. When they first met, he was insistent that he was a businessman- he looked the part then too. At the time, his hair was long and neat, his suit always pressed and clean; he had kept himself well-groomed with a clean shaved face, so it wasn’t much of a stretch then. Of course, life got in the way and they fell apart, only connecting years later by chance. The drastic change in his appearance tipped her off that he was into… different work by now. But she respected his privacy. She wasn’t oblivious by any means; Y/N meticulously knew what he did and where he was most days. After a few months of being together, she began receiving text messages from Nishida, informing her on where his boss was, especially during late evenings. They chatted frequently, even going into topics not associated with work. He was her confidant and seemed to share the image of Majima that she had. 

Goro finished with his hair and came to the doorway, kissing her cheek before heading out of the bathroom. He picked up a few things he left out on the bed before also leaving the bedroom. She tidied the washroom, bringing out the damp towel that smelled like him, and tiding the bedspread before also leaving.

“See ya! I’m off!” Majima called from the door. 

“Call you later!” She echoed from the laundry room, “Have a good day!” She waited for the door to click shut before she continued with the laundry. Household chores weren’t her favourite, she didn’t enjoy doing laundry or cooking. But if it was left up to the two of them, both Majima and Y/N would starve and live the remainder of their days on earth as nudists. On her days off, she tried to get everything done quickly, leaving the remainder of the day to read or do whatever else she pleased. Y/N stretched as the washing machine began to purr lightly. She sighed as she looked around for something else to do.

Can’t seem to find anything else… Guess it’s time for breakfast.

Padding to the kitchen, she used the remainder of the food prepared from before to make herself food. She hummed happily as egg sizzled and soup came to a soft boil. The fragrant embrace of food brought her a joy that nothing else in the world could, and she almost hated to admit it. It was half-way through her rendition of some pop song from the radio that she noticed something in the corner of her eye, sitting on the countertop. Turning she noticed it was the bento box she made. Y/N held the container in her hands, turning it over lightly. She felt her brow furrow slightly, thinking of what to do. Should she bring it to him? Glancing at the clock she sighed,

It’s 7:00 am… If I get ready soon I can drop this off and pop around Kamurocho for a bit

It was 10:30-ish when she was dressed and ready to head out. Just because of the occasion, she decided to wear a knee-length black skirt and a simple creme blouse, pairing them with black penny loafers. She admired her reflection in the hallway mirror, her makeup light and perfect for a sunny afternoon out. Y/N made sure to gently tuck in the bento box to the fabric bag she had slung around her shoulder and headed out for the day. 

Navigating the subways always seemed daunting during rush hour, so she grew thankful when she patted down the steps to find the underground mostly empty. It was a short walk through the underground mall to where she needed to go; the large hall filled with all ages shopping for what they needed. Sweet vendors sold their succulent items to the newly freed students, groups of teenage girls fawned over the newest character items displayed, some with their boyfriends. A light smile played over Y/N’s face as she too had been that way when she was younger. She understood the excitement contained within the first week off of school, how it drove young people to be out with their friends. As she left the mall area and came to her line, she noticed a pair of teens waiting. A boy and a girl stood side by side, rather stiffly. She eyed them, noticing the way they both twitched when talking to one another. How cute. She glanced down at her fabric bag.

I wonder what he was like when he was younger…

The train ride was about 20 minutes, dropping her off in the heart of Kamurocho. Despite the bright sun and lack of neon lights, people swarmed the warming streets, chatting and shopping to their heart’s content. The smell of grilled food, cigarettes, and sun-baked concrete filled her senses as Y/N darted through the crowd. Regardless of being the only foreigner for blocks, she was ignored completely by the other’s around her. It sometimes was the only redeeming quality of the busier areas. Endless roads seemed to carry on for miles, the farthest treks waving and fluttering in the edging midday heat. All of Kamurocho seemed to be gearing up for the impending festival season, which always impressed visitors from far and wide. Passing by, attendants called out in hopes of catching a customer, but their calls falling on deaf ears. The Millenium Tower loomed over the crowds in the bright sunlight, casting a sharp shadow; though it was a ways off, it still acted as a centre, or maybe more of a North star. She dawdled towards the quieter part of town where the Majima family office was located. She had vaguely remembered certain landmarks, like the worn down shrine that always seemingly had a fresh bowl of rice, or the old teahouse they had once stopped at. As she drew near the building, a tense feeling probed her stomach, though she had trouble understanding why. It was not like Goro was ever mean or told her not to come, yet she had the feeling like he had lived his life with her around his work, avoiding involving her in any regard. 

Y/N bit her lip anxiously; She would be lying to say she had not considered heading back. Simply calling him to warn him that he might have to eat out for today, or feign ignorance over his forgetfulness this morning. Yet, the prospect of doing anything else plagued her mind with guilt. Glancing at her watch, she decided to head in, despite it being only 11:22, as she’d rather be giving him his lunch early than late. She cautiously walked into the building,  immediately hit with a wall of air conditioning. She shivered in the artificial cool and looked about. The standard lobby was clean but dated and smelled of old carpet. Thinking back, Y/N had never gotten a good look at the inside, the most she saw was whatever she could see through the window the one time she saw Majima exit from here. The lobby only had a hallway attached, seemingly where the elevators and washroom would be. Gloomy plants sat destitute in the corner of the room. As she finished her look-over, her eyes settled on the high desk that rested on the left side of the room. Quietly, she approached.

The man sitting at the desk was middle aged and pudgy. His clothes and hair would have betrayed him for just another typical salary man and not someone who worked with the Yakuza. Several papers were strewn around him as he wrote on the one closest to him. As she stood waiting, she noticed the permanent fowl look on his face. It was decidedly funny when she realized it was the same face one makes at an offensive smell. Holding back a snicker, she spoke up. 

“Um, excuse me…” her voice almost was a whisper. The man whipped his head up, visibly confused. His eyes quickly jumped about her figure as he rose from his seat.

“No english. Out.” He rattled quickly in english, stepping from behind the desk. In her initial shock, he nearly dragged her to the door before she retracted her hand. 

“I’m here for-” She began.

“No english.” The man repeated once again, turning to face her.

“Is Majima Goro here?” She exclaimed loudly. The man froze where he stood, blinking owlishly at her. The air conditioning above them tousled both their hair, the moment silent, still and cold. He cleared his throat before straightening himself.

“Yes, I believe Majima-sama is in his office.” The man responded quietly, looking her over once more. Y/N sighed in relief, relaxing her own posture. 

“Thank you. Can you take me to him?” 

He shook his head softly, walking back to the desk, trailing her along dumbly. At first she thought he was refusing to help her anymore, but as he sat down, he reached for the desk’s phone and irritatedly called a short sequence. He muttered something under his breath before hanging up the phone and returning back to his papers. An awkward pause played as Y/N waited for any further instruction, standing dumbly in front of the pudgy man. Without warning, the elevator creaked opened, allowing two tall lean men to step out. She took that as her cue, and walked towards them. 

Confusion seemed to be the theme of the Majima family office; Both men took a second to look her over before jumping back into action, patting her down rather roughly. While they avoided the obvious areas, they did seem to paw her skirt a little belligerently. She bit her lip to bite back a rude comment, deciding that it wasn’t worth pissing off men who killed people for a living. When one tried to take her bag, she yelped causing them to jump slightly. Her face was hot as she opened the canvas bag herself, showing them the contents After an additional minute of snooping, they led inside the elevator adjacent; The three of them stood compactly to one another. Y/N felt them shift their body weight. The small box had no air conditioning, quickly undoing the chill she felt moments ago. Her heart beat began to pick up again as they climbed slowly to the third floor, seconds stretching to minutes. When they arrived, she was hit once again with the cooled air. 

The hallway was plain and for some reason nerve-wracking. The lack of scenery gave her less to take in as she tried to calm her beating heart. Checking and rechecking her bag, she made sure the food was in there. Her pulse was loud in her ears and her face felt hot. Why out of all the times she had given Majima a bento, this was the time when she was nervous about it? She thought back to their phone conversations after he had finished his lunch- Was he ever lying? What if he just threw it out at work and told her a pretty white lie? It was only an odd electricity in the room that made her tear her gaze from the bottom of the bag that she had been staring at.

Looking up, she found her gaze land on Goro Majima’s face, his brows furrowing as he looked over her.

“Y/N, are you alright?” His voice had an edge of concern as he stepped out a little from the doorway. She couldn’t help but find herself gawking- he felt too unreal to answer to. She had heard before that you often have trouble recognizing people when they are removed from the typical scenario you see them in; this seemed to be a prime example to her. Before she could answer, Majima led her into his office, draping his arm over her shoulder as he led her in. As she bustled in, he closed the door quickly behind them. 

Her eyes wandered over his office- It was small and rather boring, only a small katana on the wall suggested that he would actually use this space. It was surprisingly clean, save for a large desk which was scattered in various papers. The filing cabinets and tables were covered in papers as well, though neatly stacked into piles. It never had occurred to her that he would have done any other work besides physical. Her thoughts were stopped as Goro came into her view. His grey eye was dark and his brow creased, which only made him look older. His gloved hands rested on her shoulders, his gaze even with hers. 

“Are you alright, Y/N-chan?” His voice quivered slightly. Her face reddened in response, forcing her to break eye contact.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine..” she replied quietly.

A stale silence hung in the air before Majima straightened himself, hands dropping from her shoulders to hold her hands instead. He held her hands up, gently rubbing the backs of her knuckles.

“You’re not acting like yourself… What’s really happening?” His baritone voice was soft and pleading, making his concern more unbearable. The woman let out a shaky breath and urged herself to look at him. Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth and her throat seemed dryer than moments before. 

“You left your lunch at home, but I… just feel silly.” She managed to mewl meekly. Her eyes stayed trained on him while he processed what she said. His face betrayed his confusion before he cocked his head.

“My… lunch?” He repeated. She sighed heavily.

“I came into the kitchen and it was still on the counter, and I didn’t want you to be hungry or to have to go out and stop what you were doing to go buy lunch-” She began only to be cut off by his howling laughter. He held his stomach and keeled over, gasping for air while he cackled brightly. Now she really felt embarrassed.

After giggling to himself for a while longer, he looked up at her, still doubled over and gasping, “You’re too cute.” 

She fumbled with her bag, grabbing the bento and quickly shoving it to him. Even though her gaze was averted from him, she could still sense his smile as he gently took the container from her. He walked to his desk, plopping down in the plush leather chair, setting his feet up on the desk. Y/N drew near as he popped the lid open, surveying the contents.

“Okey-dokey, let’s see what we have... Karaage, edamame- always delicious… Ooh! Even salmon onigiri!” He loudly praised the humble contents of the bento, picking through the contents lightly. His lover settled on the edge of his desk, watching his reactions intently. He ate ravenously, akin to a rabid dog more than an actual person. She was the one to giggled this time, watching his face change with each side dish. 

As he finished, Majima sighed loudly, sinking further into his chair.

“Delicious as always.” 

Y/N cocked her head, “You think so?” He smirked, pulling her forward towards him.I know so.”

[casuallyimagining]

Burden

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You care for Yoongi after surgery Genre: fluff Notes: Banner by the lovely @missgeniality​. Part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

“Remind me to get more bandages,” you mumbled, pulling the last few out of the box. You felt Yoongi sigh against you, his wet hair dampening your t-shirt from where his head rested against your torso. He was sitting on the toilet in his joggers, his left arm tucked carefully into his side. You stood over him, his knees between your legs. “You want me to get Pororo, Line Friends, or Pikachu this time?”

“You can just buy the normal ones. Don’t spend the extra money to get the characters on them.” You patted his shoulder gently with his towel, making sure the area was completely dry.

You hummed, peeling off the backing of the first bandage and delicately placing it over the first suture. Hello Kitty waved up at you. “You know I can’t do that. You heal faster when it’s a cute character on the bandage. A five-year-old told me that once, and I’m inclined to believe him.” You stuck the second bandage on with a flourish.

With his good hand, Yoongi squeezed the back of your thigh. “You can buy the plain ones in bulk. We’re probably going to be doing this for a while. The kids' ones are going to start getting expensive.”

When the third bandage was in place, you kissed the top of his head before forcing him to lean back to look at you. “Nothing is too expensive for my man.” You pinched his cheek quickly before reaching over and grabbing his shirt from where it sat folded on the vanity. It was one of your favorites on him--white, plain, with a v-shaped neckline, and it made him look so comfy when he wore it with his black joggers.

Gingerly, you helped Yoongi pull the sleeve on his arm and then the whole thing over his head, frowning as he winced with each slight movement. It had only been a few days since his surgery, and the doctor hadn’t been kidding when he said the pain medication he had prescribed was only to make the pain more tolerable. You helped him slip his sling on and adjust the immobilizer, strapping the velcro into place so it was snug, but not too tight.

“Ice pack?” You stepped away from him to throw out the empty box and the wrappings of the three Hello Kitty bandages now covering his sutures.

“Probably should.” You hovered in the bathroom doorway just long enough to see him stand up on his own before making your way into the living room to get his cold therapy machine ready. “You know you don’t have to do all this,” he called from the bedroom. He must’ve made a detour to grab something. “I’m 27. I can care for myself.”

You ignored the voice in the back of your mind that for a moment suggested that he didn’t want you there. You knew what he meant. The day of his surgery, you had driven him to the hospital, waited with him in pre-op, and then patiently sat in the waiting room with his mother during surgery. You had driven him back to your apartment, and the two of you had been cooped up together ever since. You had gone from staying over at the dorms or him staying at your apartment for only a day or so at a time to living together for the foreseeable future, and you were still getting used to each other’s habits.

You liked to help him. It made you feel useful. It made your heart hurt less when you saw him sitting pitifully on the couch knowing that you were taking care of him. Yoongi, on the other hand, was accustomed to being fiercely independent, and was still getting used to needing help with basic tasks.

But according to his nurse, your name was the first thing out of his mouth when he was coming out of the anesthesia, and he hadn’t stopped bothering her about when you could come see him until he was coherent enough to know what he was saying. He had stopped bugging her then, but you had seen the way his eyes lit up when you walked into his post-op recovery room behind his mom.

“I know you can. I happen to enjoy helping you.” You looked up from the machine just as he was walking into the living room, a blanket in his hand. The barest hint of a shy smile was on his lips.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want your help, more that he was still embarrassed. The two of you had been dating for nearly a year, and you were both comfortable with where your relationship was at, but there were still certain things that made him shy. Apparently, you taking care of him was one of those things.

Yoongi had wanted to go back to Daegu to stay with his parents while he recovered, but you had convinced him to stay with you. It was more convenient to stay in Seoul, you had reasoned, both for his doctor’s appointments and for his members and BigHit. That, and you were a little selfish, wanting him closer than the three hour trip to his hometown, though you would never outright admit that to him.

He settled on the couch, his left arm resting beside the arm of the couch, and you helped him put the shoulder pad on properly. You patted his cheek and left him to go grab ice to put in the machine.

“So I was thinking,” you called, scooping a cup full of ice out of the bag you kept in the freezer. “Just because the doctor said that you should rest doesn’t mean you have to mope around watching movies all day.” He looked up from his phone, an eyebrow raised. You dumped the ice into the machine and pressed the button to get it to begin circulating water. “What do you think about going to pick up some paint supplies tomorrow? We can set up a little studio in the spare room.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said softly, squeezing your knee when you sat down on his right. “I’m honestly fine with movies.”

“The doctor said you could be down for three months, Yoon. What are you going to do? Watch everything on Netflix?”

“If I have to.”

You snorted, reaching over to play with the short strands of hair at the back of his neck. “Yoon, you can’t just watch movies for three months. I know you. You’ll want to throw yourself out a window. I’ve already started to clean out the spare room.”

Yoongi sighed, draping the blanket he had brought from your bedroom over his lap. He smoothed it out before draping the excess over your legs. “I can paint in the kitchen. You don’t have to move your things around to accommodate me.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” Gingerly, you rubbed your hand over his shoulder, careful not to apply too much pressure. The shoulder pad was icy, and you could feel the water flowing through it. “I want you to be comfortable here, Yoon. I know this is a big change--I want to make it easier on you. I like being helpful. I like taking care of you.”

“I just don’t want you to feel forced.”

“Hey.” Your hand was back in his hair, this time, your nails raked gently at his scalp. You noticed him leaning into your hand slightly, his eye lids heavy with contentment. “I invited you here, remember? I signed up for this.”

“I still don’t understand why,” he said softly. “You’ve done nothing but fret over me, and you took two weeks off work-”

“Are you really that dumb, Min Yoongi?” Your tone was playful, but it still caused his eyes to snap open as he waited for you to continue. “Taking care of you like this is weird. We went from dating to being an old married couple in a matter of days. But I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t love you a lot, you big idiot.”

A big, gummy smile blossomed across his face. “I know. And I appreciate all of it.” He squeezed your knee. “I love you a lot, too. I just don’t want to be a burden.”

“I promise you I will let you know when you become a burden.” You moved closer to kiss his temple, your hand moving to brush his hair behind his ear before going back to massaging his scalp. “In the meantime, we’ll go shopping for paints, yeah?” He nodded, leaning slightly to the side so that he was cuddled closer to you. You took his hand and squeezed.

You’d get through this together.

Read more of the series here