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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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You and I - Henry Cavill smut

The one where Henry comes over to fix your computer

Warnings: reader is a henry fan, pandemic theme, lockdown and quarentine-ing, little bit of second-hand embarrassment?, heatwave, henry is feeling deprived in this one, oral sex (f), masturbation (f), dirty talk, brief hairpulling, the name of God in vain, Henry’s monster dick, laughing and teasing while fucking, hand over throat but no actual choking, orgasm control, p in v, unprotected sex

Word count: over 3k, ‘cause I got no chill

A/N: this was inspired by a tik tok someone requested me to write a fic about it. Obviously I took it in a different direction because can I ever follow guidelines? No. I do love this fic, though. Thank you to @lokiscollar for giving this a read for me!

Y/N’s P.O.V

Driving to a secluded location to spend lockdown in felt like a wonderful idea. There was a working wi-fi connection, so I could work remotely from the seashore cabin without any problem whatsoever, and the view was obviously to die for.

I did not expect someone else to have the same idea as me. The cabin next door had been occupied on the same day that I arrived, and much to my surprise, I recognized my new neighbor as someone I never expected I’d come to meet in my entire life: an actor. An actor I actually had a crush on.

Thankfully, the situation didn’t exactly call for mingling. I ran off to hide inside my cottage as soon as I realized who he was, occupying myself with fixing everything for the next day instead of daydreaming about the man next-door.

There would be time for that later, once I got in bed. But weirdly enough, that was the only time I really thought about him during those first weeks of quarantine. Every once in a while I’d get the random wave of curiosity about what he was doing - what did Henry Cavill get up to while spending lockdown by himself? But that was pretty much it.

I woke up every day, had breakfast, worked and then went to bed. Sometimes I’d sit by the balcony and watch the birds fly, taking in the scenery and breathing in the salty water. Even as a kid, I’d always loved the sea. It was comforting, so it made sense for me to turn to it in such a stressful time.

Sometimes I’d hear a bark or two, reminding me of the man who was staying in the other cabin, and it made me smile. I always did like his dog, whenever I saw pictures of him.

I hoped they were alright and that the absence of any human contact wasn’t getting to them, even though it was getting to me. I could feel my own social abilities - which weren’t exactly stellar before - slowly becoming decrepit, and I was scared to think of what my first human interaction would be like once lockdown was over.

I just hadn’t anticipated it would be come so soon.

The morning began as it usually would. I took my shower, I had my breakfast, and I sat in front of the computer with my coffee in hands, ready to start working for the day.

Only the computer wasn’t ready for it, too.

“What?” I talked to myself - something that had become more usual the longer lockdown went on. “Oh, no, no, no…” The situation was looking drearier the longer I stared at my lifeless screen.

Looking up at the clock, I considered my options. Even supposing I could get someone to come to this middle of nowhere to fix it, there was no way I’d be able to get it done before work started.

Sighing, I pushed away from my designated desk to call my boss. Thankfully, he understood and I was left to repair the damn thing and come up with a solution for the next day.

My heart ached at the prospect of having to abandon my refuge because of an electronic malfunction. And that is, if there even was anyone willing to fix the damn thing, considering the pandemic and the rules of social distancing. That’s when suddenly, an idea popped up.

I remembered all the fuss a few months back over a video of Henry assembling a computer all by himself. There was no way someone with that much hardware prowess couldn’t at least know enough to fix this simple laptop.

With that thought in mind, I gathered all of my courage to leave my little shack and make my way to the neighboring cabin. I took a deep breath before knocking on the door, and after a few seconds of silence - he was probably surprised and certainly not expecting anyone - a voice sounded from within.

“Who is it?” Now, I had thought this through. If this man came as far as I had come to this damn forgotten town, it was because 1) he wanted peace and quiet and 2) he was as terrified of the virus as I was. So I knew what I needed to say - what I would like to hear if the roles were reversed.

“It’s your neighbor. My name’s Y/N. I’m so sorry to disturb, but my computer broke and I need it to work and you’re the only person I’m 100% sure has been socially distancing for long enough not to put my life in risk.” After all, I would have seen if someone had come to visit him. I didn’t need to say this because both of us knew it. “Would you pretty pretty please come and check it out?”

Silence followed my question and I sighed, rubbing my sweaty forehead as I knew this was a long-shot. “I understand if you’re unable or uncomfortable doing so, I just figured I’d ask. Thanks anyway!”

I had already turned my back to his front door when I heard it swinging open, the pitter patter of paws following close behind. My eyes took in the man in front of me for only a second before looking down at the dog at his feet, head tilted in interest as he analyzed me.

Immediately, my eyes lit up. “Kal!” I exclaimed, kneeling down to let the animal sniff me so I could pet it. My heart stopped working for a second when I realized what I’d done, though.

“Sorry!” I looked up at him from my kneeling position, trying to ignore how awkward it was, considering what I was close to. “I-I do know who you are, I’m not gonna lie about that.”

I straightened up as he kept looking at me in a way I couldn’t quite define. Neither could I determine how it made me feel, just that it made me avert my gaze so I’d stare at my feet.

“So… Are you gonna help me?” He chuckled at my question, closing the door behind him and taking a step in my direction, making me fumble as I instinctively stepped back.

“Sure.” It was the first thing he spoke to me, but we walked back to my own place in silence. He had his hands in his pockets as Kal followed us closely, his tongue hanging outside his mouth as he happily explored the outside for this little while. “Come on in.”

The way the cottage was set up left little space for him to wonder where he should be helping me. The desk in which I had prepared my set-up stood right by the wall to our left, and there he went without me having to point it out.

I watched a drop of sweat roll down the nape of his neck and fall under his tank top, distracting me as I licked my lips at the sight of it. Then his head turned to look at me and I realized that he was waiting for an answer to a question I hadn’t heard.

“Yeah, huh?” He chuckled again, making my face feel warm - an not (only) because of the overwhelming heat.

“Is it okay if I disconnect the wi-fi?” I wave my hand dismissively, shrugging.

“As long as you’re able to fix this, you can do whatever the hell you want.” I got the impression that I amused him, but he didn’t say anything else as he got to work on my (seemingly) dead computer.

Minutes went by of complete silence, safe from the sounds of typing and metal as Henry worked on the machine and I tried not to bite my nails. Finally, he pulled away from the screen and put his hands on his hips as if assuming some sort of decided stance - but if it was a good or bad thing, I couldn’t tell.

“Tell me, doctor.” I asked, pushing myself away from the sofa to approach him. The smell of a man’s sweat really had no right to be this arousing. “Is it life or death?” Henry turned to stare at me with a quirked eyebrow, and in the seconds it took for him to answer, I was once again distracted by just how hot he was.

“Sorry, what?” I asked when he became silent and I realized he’d asked me something I hadn’t heard once more. His smile said he was annoyed and entertained at the same time. “Sorry, you’re hot, it’s hot, and I can’t think straight,” I sighed, brushing the hair away from my eyes as I pressed my palms against them, trying to pull myself together.

“I swear to God, I’m not crazy.” I tried to look him directly as I said that, but was surprised at what I saw when our gazes met. There was a peculiar sense of yearning that he exuded, something I couldn’t quite place but that took my breath away all the same, especially when he took my silence as an invitation to invade my personal space.

“If you want me so badly, all you have to do is ask.” Silence fell heavily and I was out of breath just from his words - not a good sign. My throat felt dry, too dry, so I swiped my tongue over my bottom lip as I struggled to say something.

“W-why, though?” He tilted his head to the side, eyes inscrutable while he judged my question, trying to understand where it came from just like I was trying to understand his interest in me, when he suddenly smiled.

“I figured it’s a nice way for you to pay me back.” It took me a second to understand what he was referring to, and then my eyes darted from the computer to him, my mouth falling open in offense until he started chuckling. “I’m joking!” But even so, the question remained…

“Sweetheart…” He spoke, voice low and velvety as two strong hands suddenly enveloped my hips. “You’re seriously underestimating how hot you are.” I didn’t know what to say, so I had to make sure I’d hear him right.

“M-me?” A predatory smirk took over his face, slowly. I gulped under its intensity, feeling much like prey as he started to back me against the couch. I fell on top of it with a gasp, and another one escaped me when he used my ankles to pull me closer.

“I wanna eat you out.” It was all I got as an answer, but I can’t say that I minded it. As he dropped to his knees before me, pulling down my underwear before spreading my legs for his eyes to take in, it felt like I got a response from the gesture in itself.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I ate pussy?” The unexpected question made me choke on my own saliva, as he chuckled darkly in amusement at my bashfulness. I could only breathe through my mouth when he leaned down to run his tongue on the edge of my lips, slowly acquainting himself with my taste, making me moan softly.

“I-I definitely and decidedly don’t.” He seemed to like this answer, understand that it delimited exactly the type of fan that I was: the kind that knew what he was and what he liked - his dog, his computer - but not someone who was obsessed with his entire dating history, eager to know his every secret.

The longer Henry ate me out, the clearer it became just how long it’d been since he’d done this. It was obviously something he liked - the way he buried his face against my cunt and engulfed it entirely with his open mouth showed so. And the fact that he licked me and sucked me like he was a starved man? This was a man denied of a pleasure he genuinely enjoyed, that much I was certain of.

“Do you like this?” He asked once he inserted one of his thick fingers inside of me, already stretching me beyond what I could do with my own hand.

“How could I not?” I managed to moan a response, making him chuckle.

“Show me how to find it,” he instructed, eyes sparkling with determination. “I want to find your sweet spot.” I’d never had someone I was with so interested in giving me pleasure before.

Hypnotized, my fingers circled his wrist as best as I could, slowly moving him to run his digits over the top of my channel. He knew when he found it because I cried out for him, closing my eyes momentarily.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, and how could I deny him that, especially when he was looking at me with those darkened eyes? He milked my orgasm until my pussy had stopped clenching around him, but the second that it was done, he growled, getting up to his knees. “Gonna fuck you now.”

He pulled me by my hair, making me moan out loud as he slowly inserted his monster cock inside of me. “Oh, God!” His groan had me panting, cunt clenching around his thickness. I couldn’t understand how I was able to take it, but I was glad that was the case. “So… tight…”

Through his grip on my hair, he pulled me to deposit quick kisses down my jaw. “You take me so well, darling.” It was a compliment I was proud to receive, even though I wasn’t too sure how I managed to earn it in the first place.

“I honestly don’t know how,” I admitted, gasping when he slowly dragged his cock out to slam it in me, but I instinctively pulled my hips away, earning an amused chuckle from him.

“Come back here,” he ordered, already pulling me back to spear me with his painfully hard length. I’d have to be inhuman not to cry out at the feeling of his bulbous head bumping against my cervix. “Are you scared?” He joked as I bit on my bottom lip not to give in and laugh. “You think I’m too big?”

“You’re more than enough, I’ll tell you that.” Now, that had his own laugh escaping his chest, making my body tremble underneath his, inadvertently getting some friction between the both of us. It earned me a moaned out, “Yes…” that got his attention back to where I hoped it would be, and as his eyes settled on me, I briefly wondered if I was prepared for what was to come.

“But now that you got all of me inside of you, do you really want to go?” The whispered question made me shiver. I never expected him to be the type to talk dirty, but then again, I never expected I’d be fucked by him, either.

“No.” It was all the permission he needed.

“Then let me fuck you hard.” And hard he did fuck me. He was hard inside of me, it probably would have been painful for him if he wasn’t so desperately trying to alleviate it by frantically fucking me against the couch.

It was the most deliciously torturous experience I’d ever gone through. I had to bite my lip while I held onto his shoulders for dear life, trying to stop my moans from escaping because I was sure that for once, I’d become a screamer.

Unfortunately, it seemed like Henry didn’t appreciate my efforts to keep his ears from deafening. “What’s wrong?” He questioned, fingers tightening on my hips. “I thought you wanted this.”

Confused, all I could think to say was, “I-I do.”

“Then let me hear you,” he insisted. “You know you can scream all you want. We’re all alone up here on the coast.” Well, he wasn’t wrong. And with that reassurance, I allowed my head to fall back and my mouth to fall open, my moans flowing freely from my body as Henry kept fucking me.

“This is so much better than touching myself in search of a release,” he mumbled at some point, like he was talking to himself. “I was so damn lonely and you have such a tight little pussy.”

Being fucked by him felt like a religious experience. Henry somehow knew the map to my pleasure, easily bringing me to the brink of bliss before I had even managed to wrap my head around this turn of events.

My moans grew louder as I climbed higher and higher, but before I could fully tip over his hand curled around my throat, not constricting any air, just calling my attention.

“Ask for permission, baby.” Just the order had me clenching around him, prompting him to release a moan of his own. All the while, I was groaning in frustration, trying to control myself or say what he wanted me to say, but all that came out of me was, “Goddamn! You can’t say stuff like that.” Henry’s laughter flowed freely once more, making my heart skip a beat. “Why not?”

“Because you’re a fucking movie star and I am not up to fall in love with you.” That had his eyebrows raising in surprise, the smile disappearing from his face before it came back as a teasing smirk.

“Oh, so this is a one-time thing.” The taunting manner in which he said it surprised me in turn, so I hesitated before nodding. I mean, of course it was, right? He didn’t even know me. This was strictly sexual and physical, I would not be fooled by my own hormones. “My cock is not enough for you to want to get to know me some is that it?” … Was he testing me?

“Yes.” His smirk only grew at the word. “This is a one-time thing.”

“We’ll see about that.” His fingers ran down my body to graze over my clit. I sucked in a breath, trying to keep it in, knowing I was going to lose. Eventually, as my thighs began to tremble, I gave in altogether.

“Please, let me cum, please.” His eyes softened at my broken and desperate plea, hand gripping my cheeks as he finally nodded.

“Keep staring at me as you cum,” he commanded, still just as bossy. “Show me how pretty you look when you cream all over my dick.” That was all I needed to succumb to the pleasure he was subjecting me to.

I felt his cock, still hard as it pumped rope after rope of cum inside of me, and by the time I was able to open my eyes again, he was panting over me, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my face.

I didn’t have the time to think about what I should do - push him away, try to pretend this didn’t happen - because the second I began to adjust on the couch, he pulled me to rest against his chest.

“Let’s stay here for a little while,” he quietly asked me. “Then we’ll figure out if there’s enough room for me to take you in your bed.”

#my fics #henry cavill smut #henry cavill #smut #henry cavill request #henry cavill requests #my requests #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill reader #henry cavill reader insert #henry cavill reader inserts #rpf #fanfiction #henry cavill oneshot

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writemekpop · 3 years

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Lipstick On Your Collar (Part 1) | Nakamoto Yuta

Pairing: Nakamoto Yuta x Reader

Summary: Till death do us part... But what happens when he cheats?

Genre: Husband!Yuta, Angst

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Infidelity, Sexual Content, Body Image

Gif: @yuthereal

Part 1 ⭐| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“Ten more minutes, then it’s homework time, alright?” you called to your two older sons, eight and four years old. Caught up in their wooden sword fight, they didn’t even look up.

You smoothed your hand over your face, eyes bruised from lack of sleep. Between your banking job and your three kids, sleep was a rare thing.

Just then, you felt a waft of chill air. Yuta strode in through the front door, his feathery black hair in disarray.

“Hey babe,” you called, shoulders relaxing.

Your husband had this calming presence, your island on a rough ocean. Your chest ached for Yuta’s warmth. You hadn’t hugged, kissed… touched in months.

“Hi, Y/n. We need to talk,” Yuta deadpanned.

You picked up your baby daughter Ayumi. She needed her nappy changed. Bad.

“Alright. What’s up?” You placed her on the changing mat, blowing your fringe out of your eyes.

“I mean in private.” You saw that Yuta’s face was stretched and white. A knot curled in your stomach.

“Nappies?” You lifted your hand. He begrudgingly handed them over.

“Y/n. This is serious.” Yuta’s voice quivered like a taut string.

“Can’t you see I’m busy? What is it?” you snapped. You instantly regretted it. Nowadays, you were always on the edge of an explosion.

“Okay. Fine. I’ve… messed up. And I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean it, but… it’s happened.”

You bin Ayumi’s old nappy, then pull her into your arms. “Is that all? Look, if you’ve broken something, we have insurance.”

“This isn’t a bloody plate! I’ve- I’ve done something awful.”

“Right. Well done. Anyway, I have to help the kids with their homework.”

“Just look at me, Y/n! I’m trying to fucking tell you something!” Yuta’s yell turned your head.

Yuta’s eyes were red-rimmed and wide, like he was in shock. “I… cheated on you, Y/n. I slept with someone else.”

Your heartbeat slowed to a crawl. Instinctively, you pulled your baby close.

“Who is she?”

“Diya. From the school.”

Your lips went numb. You put Ayumi down in her rocker and started rinsing plates in the sink. “How long?”

“Just once. It was a mistake, I swear… it’s just, she was there, and… I didn’t plan it!”

Your chest folded in on itself. While you were kissing your babies to sleep, Yuta was kissing someone else.

“When was it, Yuta?”

“The… day you… went to stay with your sister.”

You’d never forget that day.

It was a few weeks after Ayumi was born. You couldn’t seem to get out of bed, let alone be a good mother. So you’d escaped… just for a day.

While you were breaking apart, Yuta searched out another woman.

“Where?” You picked up the cutlery, letting the hot water scald your skin.

“Her apartment. We met up after work, and one thing led to another… I swear, that was all.”

Images burned into your mind, like a flashed camera. Yuta’s fingernails scraping the back of her neck, like he did to you. Their naked bodies gyrating, sweaty, the smell of sex saturating everything…

Your throat convulsed in a retch. For a second, it was like a brick was hitting your chest.

Then, everything stopped.

You felt a curtain dropping. You didn’t have time to deal with this. Not now. As quickly as they came, the feelings slowed. Drooped. Vanished.

You looked down. You were clenching a table knife so hard it had drawn blood. You let go.

Everything blurred. You felt like a kid again, staring up at yourself from the bottom of a pool.

Your voice was a croak. “Obviously, we’re not telling the kids. My parents are coming next week – so we can’t tell them either.”

You dried your hands and looked up at Yuta. His mouth was hanging open, like a cartoon character’s. It was almost funny.

You continued speaking, bunging toys into a basket.

“If you want a divorce, tell me now, because we’ll have to borrow money. For tonight, I’ll take the bed, you have the couch.”

“What the hell, Y/n?”

You jolt and look up. “Fine! You can have the bed.”

Yuta grabbed your shoulders, knife-cheekboned and wild. “I don’t care about the fucking bed! I just told you I cheated on you. Why aren’t you mad?”

You stared at his hands on your skin, like you didn’t recognise them. Yuta spotted your gaze, and slowly let go.

“I’m really sorry, Y/n. I want to fix this. But you need to let me in.”

You looked into his chestnut eyes and frowned. Why was he being so obnoxious?

Slowly, you spelled it out. “You cheated on me. It was with our kids’ tutor, while I was sick. You’re sorry. You won’t do it again. Now can I go and make dinner?”

Yuta blinked. Slowly. Then, he gulped and gave you a slight nod. “Yep.”

You pushed past him, and called out, “Whoever helps mummy with dinner gets ice cream!”

You ushered your eager kids towards the hob. You didn’t look back, but you felt Yuta’s gaze on the back of your head. Stunned.

------

You plastered on your brightest smile all throughout dinner, whilst laying out bedding on the couch for yourself, even whilst tucking your children into bed.

Now, you were sitting in your children’s room, with the lights out. You’d just finished reading their bedtime story. They were fast asleep.

Finally, you let the iron screen lift from your heart. Instead of fighting it, you bared the most vulnerable part of yourself.

It was a memory: you were in Paris with Yuta on the first night of your honeymoon. You were in a mid-range Travel Lodge – the best you could afford – with rain pelting at the windows.

You had woken up at 11AM, tangled up with Yuta from your cuddling. You’d talked, worried, agonised about it, but you’d never had sex with him before.

Yuta opened one sleepy eye and felt your body with his hands, as if he was checking if it was there. You tingled with lust to the tips of your toes. Suddenly, you knew the moment was right.

For once, you didn’t care about your tummy that you always tried to hide, you didn’t care about your thighs which rubbed together when you walked.

You didn’t think about anything, except the feeling of Yuta’s slow kisses, the feeling of him inside of you, the feeling of his hands reaching to the very ends of you.

You were in a hazy, golden pool of completeness. As you gasped your worries, apologies, in each other’s ears, you became whole in a way you’d never known before.

Then, the memory shattered. And in its place, before you could stop it, was the image that was burnt into your eyelids.

It played over and over again, the trailer to a movie of your shame. Yuta in her apartment, the thumping of the bedposts, him between her legs, her exclamations of ‘yes!’, that were only echoed by him moaning her name…

You screamed silently into your fist.

You knew the real reason Yuta cheated on you. Whatever excuses he made, it wasn’t a mistake or a drunk one-off.

You grabbed the soft flesh around your waist. This was why. You thought of the nights you’d told him you were too tired, that you weren’t in the mood. That was why.

You couldn’t even blame Yuta. He was only compensating for the fact that his own wife would never be attractive enough, good enough, just enough for him.

The tears rose up your throat, making your head pound and your cheeks stretch with sobs. You wanted nothing more than to drown yourself in these tears, though you knew they wouldn’t wash the pain away.

Then, you caught a grey glimmer in the darkness. Your youngest boy, Nico, was wide awake and watching you with saucer eyes.

“Hey baby… go back to sleep,” you whispered, quickly smoothing away your tears.

“Are you crying, mummy?”

The softness in his gaze was like a punch in the stomach. You choked down another wave of tears. “No, sweetie, I’m fine. Go back to sleep okay?”

Obediently, he closed his eyes. You didn’t deserve such beautiful children.

You were doubled over, silent in the darkness. You pressed your palms into your eyes, so hard they hurt, and forced the tears back.

You couldn’t even make your husband love you.

What hope did you have with your kids?

------

Three days had passed since that terrible night.

It was 10PM, and the house was unusually quiet.

You and Yuta were sitting at the far edges of the couch, the Netflix episode you never missed playing on the TV.

Both of you were pretending like nothing had gone wrong.

“So… how was work?” Yuta’s cautious voice broke the silence.

You sighed and shook your head. “Just get me a drink.” You couldn’t be bothered with this charade. But at least you could drown your feelings.

“Are you sure that’s a good-” Yuta began.

“Just get it.”

He returned with a whisky, with two ice cubes. Your heart twisted. “You remembered?”

“How could I forget my wife’s favourite drink?” Yuta gave you a thin smile, and for a second, you forgot to ice him out. You smiled back.

That was two whiskies ago. Now, the gap between the two of you on the sofa had shrunk.

You were laughing so hard your eyes were teary.

“Do you remember, Y/n? Your shirt was on backwards, my pants were on the other side of the room, we were moaning so loud half the theme park could hear us!”

You dried your eyes, sighing. “I bet we scarred a few kids for life that day…”

Yuta’s lip curled up in a smile that sent your heart racing.

You looked down. Subconsciously, your hand was massaging Yuta’s denim-clad knee. You retracted it.

“God, we really knew how to have fun, didn’t we?” You could barely remember the time before you had your three children. It was rose-coloured.

“I mean, Disneyland was nothing. Remember Taeyong’s attic? The nightclub bathroom? I could go on…”

“Ahh!” You mimed blocking your ears. “There are kids in the house, you know!”

In doing so, you lost your grip on your whisky glass, which was balanced on your knee. Yuta grabbed it before it fell, and his hand was suddenly on your thigh.

He let go, and you cleared your throat.

That was hours back. Now, you were having difficulty sitting straight. You’d lost count of how many whiskies you’d downed.

You grabbed Yuta by the shoulders and shook him. “Look! Let’s just get it out of the way. ASAP, straight, completo. No regrets.”

For the first time in ages, your blood was running warm with more than alcohol. The worn denim of Yuta’s jeans was pulling your gaze southward.

“Get what out of the way? You’re not making sense, Y/n.”

You pulled the pin out of your hair and let it fall over your shoulders. “The big three-letter.”

Yuta looked at you, still bewildered. “What?”

“SEX.”

The glass fell from Yuta’s hand.

To be continued…

Part 1 ⭐| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

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poohkeepsee · 3 years

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I was going through my AO3 bookmarks, and I wanted to organize them a little bit. These are my Dean/Cas canon-ish fic recs.

season 5

canticles by 2street2car Words: 10,311 Chapters: 1

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

FTBYAM MY BELOVED

post season 6

Someone Who's Feeling For Me by ellispark Words: 45,876 Chapters: 1

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

post bunker

Sun Can't Set Until Nine by LeverDrift Words: 67,939 Chapters: 16

Cas moves into the bunker as his powers start to fail. Dean doesn’t know if the arrangement is as permanent as he wants it to be. He's also not sure why he keeps dreaming about his friend. All he knows is that he wants Cas to stay. Overall warnings: canon-typical miscommunication & Dean having self-hatred issues.

Life Skills by ilovehowyouletmefall Words: 26,052 Chapters: 3

After Metatron steals Castiel's grace, and Cas comes to live in the bunker, Dean spends a lot of time with him, sharing all of his favourite things. Dean can't help it if sharing things with Cas just makes everything better. Besides, it's Dean's job as Cas' friend to introduce him to the joys of human life. To teach him how to be human. And if one of the experiences they end up sharing is sex with women, well... that's just part of Dean's job as Cas' friend too, right? The desire is triangulated, the rituals are intricate.

Sam Stole My Boyfriend by sobsicles Words: 8,445 Chapters: 1

“Dude, you’ve been staring at me a lot lately, like even enough that Sam noticed. More than usual. So, like, what’s up?” Dean pauses, purses his lips and reconsiders. “What did I do?”

Cas knows that would be a perfect time to confess to Dean what exactly happened and what he was thinking. Maybe, Dean had some insight into the situation or even some kind of comfort to offer. But, the longer that he sat there, he realized that he could not tell Dean absolutely anything. So instead, for the first time, Cas fumbled.

“Um,” Cas mutters and abruptly stands. “Freckles?”

Dean blinked up at him as Cas pivoted and left the room. There was only one remaining option he had and unfortunately, it involved Sam.

Aching in the Absence of You by sobsicles Words: 95,090 Chapters: 10

Brittle and battle-worn, Cas looks at him over coffee one morning and says, "I need to go," and Dean instantly knows that he's not coming back.

He's not really sure how he knows it, but he does. It settles into the pit of his stomach, curling hot and tight like something he instinctively wants to tear out with his bare hands. He takes a breath, and it gets stuck in his throat, hitching there. It hurts, hurts, hurts when he finally exhales.

"Yeah," Dean says, "of course you do," and he nods jerkily as he looks down at his phone. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look up from the screen when Cas gets up and leaves the room. He doesn't finish his coffee, or move for a long time.

By nightfall, Cas is gone.

'Communication' by JustAnotherSamlicker Words: 11,656

The same story told from two perspectives.

Dean bought a house and he and Cas fix it up.

Is Dean moving out? Is Cas moving in?

Should they just talk to each other already? (Yes they should)

Build a Home by domesticadventures Words: 20,102

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them.

He doesn't

season 10

The Most Important Thing by NorthernSparrow Words: 94,462 Chapters: 14

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

season 12

Heroes for Ghosts by pantheon_of_discord Words: 42,922 Chapters: 7

Canon-divergent from 12.08

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

season 13

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees) by sobsicles Words: 74,173 Chapters: 8

Dean keeps going back.

When he arrives, it's always to blooming flowers and a windmill in the background, not too far from a brook, the sun painting the plains.

He likes it there. He likes to stand in front of the makeshift urn and check that it's still where he put it, switching out the flowers when they wilt. He likes to listen to the sound of birds chirping, insects singing, the faint sound of water trickling in the distance. He likes to turn his face up and feel the sun on his skin, wondering if Cas would do the same if he were here, somehow knowing that he would.

He likes to talk.

There's never a response, but Dean feels the breeze rustle through his hair and watches the flowers bob when bees come to them and stares as the windmill keeps turning, turning, turning. And he imagines that Cas is replying—the windmill is the tilted head, the bobbing flowers are a gentle smile, the breeze is whatever words Dean wants to hear at the time.

Sometimes, it's almost like he's there.

Trial and Tribulations of Raising a Nephilim by Sickandtiredofyou Words: 14,910 Chapters: 6

Dean has far too much on his plate, losing his mom, his best friend and now being a single parent to a newborn nephilim.

In which Jack is an actual newborn instead of a teenager.

post season 13

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination) by sobsicles Words: 108,427 Chapters: 4

Freedom is just one adjustment after the next.

Cas hums again. "I think you already have. It's been months since everything settled. All that's left to do is...get used to it, and perhaps—" His voice stalls out, uncharacteristically, and his gaze roams Dean's face with intensity. When he speaks next, his tone is a little raw. "Perhaps what one does with peace is...whatever they want."

"What if I don't even know what that is?" Dean grumbles, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "'Cause I know damn well you don't just mean good food and a good bed and time in Baby, not simple wants like that. You mean—ya know, the big things, the wants we didn't get to have before."

"Yes," Cas agrees. "If you're not sure, figure it out."

"Easier said than done."

Reasons to read this:

Dean reads a story that ends like despair and his reaction is FUCK THAT

Cas wears Dean's hoodie

Jack is a toddler

The Jack and Claire sibling energy we deserve

Eileen being awesome and pulling pranks with Dean while Sam thinks she's an angel

Sam knows

YOUR HONOR THEY'RE IN LOVE

First Date by aeli_kindara Words: 8,968 Chapters: 1

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

Also known as the Dean Winchester makes the first move fic.

season 14

Broken Road by thegeminisage Words: 109,629 Chapters: 7

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

post season 15

fools and pilgrims by lagaudiere Words: 31,904 Chapters: 2

Claire shows up at the bunker a day before Dean was planning to leave, with her hair cut short and a fresh tattoo on her left arm under a bandage. Chuck is dead, Jack has given up his godlike powers, and Cas is back from the Empty, which doesn't make it any easier for Dean to talk to him. Suddenly finding himself in a world without monsters, supernatural forces, or any need for hunters, Dean's solution is to go on a road trip. Claire tags along.

Dean-Claire mirror fic post Despair

what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now) by sobsicles Words: 27,403

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

canon(?) au (Hunters and Men of Letters)

Dean Winchester's Secret (Angel) Boyfriend by reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent Words: 11,191 Chapters: 1

Dean Winchester isn't exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren't sure whether they should be worried or relieved.

But they're starting to get the feeling there's something important Dean's not telling them about Cas...

Shot Through The Heart by peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) Words: 11,191 Chapters: 1

Dean is a hunter.

Castiel is a Man of Letters.

And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense.

But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again.

And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.

#destiel #deancas #fic recs

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bts-hyperfixation · 3 years

Text

Save Me From Tears

I'm fairly certain this was requested by @jeonssimp but I have lost the ask 🤦🏼‍♀️ it 2+19 Jungkook anyway 💜

Christmas last year –

“Hey baby” Jungkook whispers as he wraps his arms around your waist making you jump. You’d been too busy admiring your decorating handiwork. “It looks amazing in here.” He makes you turn with him as he takes in the whole of your living room.

“What are you doing home so early?” you wriggle from his grasp so you can look at him. Admiring how his adorable winter jumper clashed horribly with his red tinged hair, you fail to notice the sad tinge hidden behind his bunny smile.

“Baby listen… I’m really sorry but I have to work this Christmas.” He pulls you to him as you try to supress your sadness. It’s not like he could help it and you knew that going into this relationship.

“Oh… that’s okay, maybe we could do a late Christmas when you get home, or we can celebrate new year or…” he kisses you before breaking even more bad news.

“I’m going to be gone for four weeks, we have tours and shows set up everywhere. Originally, we were supposed to be off for the big holidays but then we were offered a spot in the New York New Years Eve show. I’m so sorry, I know this was supposed to be our first big holiday together.” You meet his big bunny eyes as he pleads for forgiveness and you can’t help but give in. you know he would be there with you if he could.

By the time Christmas comes around you’re all alone in your Seoul apartment. You thought Kookie might call you in the morning, but when he doesn’t you put it down to time zones and go about your day. You try anything to get your mind off of your aching heart. Baking, reading, gaming, but nothing seems to work. Eventually you turn to TV, hoping to find a Christmas movie to help you wallow in your loneliness. Instead, you find a flashing news bulletin about BTS.

Korean golden boys BTS seen out Christmas partying in New York City.

You freeze when you see images appear to accompany the story. Jungkook had a gorgeous blonde hung around his neck as he laughed with the boys. It felt like you might throw up. When he didn’t call you assumed he was asleep, or at least busy with show preparations. Nothing like this ever crossed your mind. You switched off the TV and ran into your bedroom, grabbing the things he’d left behind at your place and shoving them into a bag. You couldn’t stand the sight of anything to do with him.

Here you were feeling sorry for yourself and missing him terribly and he was partying with random American girls he didn’t even know. Eventually he did call you, all you did was hang up. He kept trying and every time you hung up. In a last ditch attempt he sent a text.

‘Baby? Are you okay? I keep calling and getting cut off. Anyway, it’s Christmas morning here and I miss you like crazy. Call me when you can. I love you.’

You scoff at the text, almost chucking your phone across the room. Instead, you send the picture circulating the news of him and the girl and one word.

‘Done.’

You don’t wait for his reply as you block his number.

Late November this year –

You hadn’t seen Jungkook since Christmas. Hadn’t spoken to him since he went through all your social media channels to try to explain himself to you. Nothing he could’ve said would’ve changed your mind at that point, too wound up to even attempt to listen to his pathetic excuses.

That’s why you were so surprised to see him walk into the shop you work in. his hair is longer now, a lot longer. It frames his face nicely. Your fairly certain he hasn’t seen you yet and you panic. Ducking under the counter, you try to crab walk into the cupboard. Unfortunately, you manage to pull a box of Christmas ordering brochures on top of yourself.

“Shit, are you oka…” he trails off when he sees its you. The heat rises to your cheeks as he stares at you in disbelief. “Y/N…” he reaches out a hand to you, you take it reluctantly and he drags you to your feet. You hold on a little too long.

“Jungkook, how are you?” you shake your head to break the eye contact. Seeing him brings back every horrible feeling from last Christmas, as well as every wonderful one you had been trying to forget in an attempt to move on from him. You busy yourself picking up the brochures, hoping he would take the hint and disappear.

“I’ve been shit Y/N-ah” the pain in his voice makes your heart break all over again. “You just cut off all contact, you wouldn’t see me, wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t let me explain. It hurt like hell.” You turn on him when he tries to place some of the blame on you.

“LET YOU EXPLAIN!?” several customers heads turn your way as you yell at the boy. You take a deep breath and force yourself to lower your tone. “You know what Jungkook? I am work I don’t want to do this here, or ever… just leave, please.” As you walk away from him, worried tears will spill if you don’t remove yourself from shop floor at that moment, but he grasps your wrist and pulls you back to him.

“Please Y/N it’s been months and I still can’t stop thinking about you and how I hurt you. Have coffee with me, just once and I will go away forever if you still don’t want to me.” You relent, if only just to get him out of your face.

The next day you find yourself sat in a little coffee shop by the Han river, the very one you’d met in. You anxiously peel at the label on your water bottle, deciding it was safer than a hot drink for the conversation you were about to endure. The sound of the bell makes you look up. He saunters in, stunning in skinny jeans and a biker jacket, the new undercut on full display, it’s evident he’s put a lot of thought into how he looks. His face is set in a heavy frown until he sees you, then his bunny smile appears full force. It melts your heart, until you remember why you’re there.

“You came.” He reaches for your hand across the table, but you pull it out of his reach. He looks dejected but excepts your response.

“Hurry up and say whatever it is you want to say.” You refuse to meet his gaze, knowing it’ll be so much harder to keep up your resolve if you looked at him. He sighs but accepts that what he is getting is better than nothing.

“I’m still not 100% sure how paparazzi got that picture of us last Christmas, but that girl was just very handsy ARMY. She meant nothing more to me than any other ARMY members. It broke my heart when you wouldn’t let me explain, even more when I realised what little trust you had in me…”

“You’re blaming this on me?!” you’re practically hissing at him across the table.

“No, I’m not blaming this on you, we should’ve been on better guard, I should’ve been home to call you the minute it was Christmas here, I should’ve flown home the second I knew something was wrong.” He reaches for your hand again; you don’t pull away. “I am asking that you give me another chance.” The two of you spend a long time in the coffee shop, talking over other insecurities in your relationship. You have no idea how you get to this point but the two of you leave hand in hand, full of smiles and fixed promise.

This Christmas –

The holiday season comes around quick. You and Jungkook have been sickeningly happy since you rekindled your relationship a little over a month ago. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the doubts from creeping in as Christmas day kept closer.

“Decorations look great baby.” Jungkook says as he walks through the front door to your apartment. He kisses you on the cheek and takes your hand, spinning you to the beat of the Christmas music you have blasting over the speakers. You’re dizzy by the time he finally lets you go. The two of you collapse onto your sofa together, cuddling in close. Jungkook’s phone buzzes and you watch his brows knit together in concern as he reads the text.

“Everything okay?” you ask mirroring his concern.

“Umm yeah… I’ve just got to call Namjoon, give me two seconds.” He untangles himself from your embrace and heads into the kitchen for some privacy. You’ve already guessed what the phone call is about when he re-enters the living room. You shake your head in disbelief as he bites his lip nervously. “I’m really sorry baby… I have to work again this Christmas…”

“Last Christmas you broke my heart…” he looks close to crying as those words leave your lips. “If you think I’m gonna let you do it again, you’re dead wrong.” You stand and move to meet him by the doorway. “Take me with you.” He looks shocked at the suggestion but considers it for a moment.

“What about your job?”

“Fuck my job.” You wrap your arms around him and tilt your head up to face him. “I can get another job, I can’t get another you.”

Masterlist

Christmas list

#bts fic #bts smut #bts imagines #bts xmas 20 #jjk angst

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darkmulti · 4 years

Text

Mine

Ex boyfriendYandere!San x female reader

⚠️Warnings: possessive behaviour, horror au, language, spanking, fear kink, ddlg, kidnapping, mentions of non con, torture, death, blood, physical abuse (slapping, spanking, pinching, kicking), mental abuse, not a full smut but talks about a little, fluff ending❣️

Please read at your own risk, some parts may be triggering.

Part 2 on masterlist

——————————————————————————

“YOU FUCKING KNEW I WOULD BE FUCKING ANGRY, BUT YOU STILL WENT!”

Currently San had you against the wall with his hand tightly wrapped around your throat. Tears falling from your eyes and your breath hitches.

“P-please, San. I’m-I’m so-sorry.”

You whimper out.

You were petrified of him. Shivering from fear. You suddenly felt so cold. It was a horrid feeling. The feeling of being alone, in the dark, frightened by his dominant presences. He had too much control of you, it was concerning.

“Why are you apologizing to me now? You already went on the date.”

Suddenly a hard slap lands on your face making it slant to the side. He grabs you jaw aggressively and moves closer to your face. You can feel his hot breath on your nose.

“Answer me when I talk to you. You know how much I hate to repeat myself.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone on the date.”

He slaps you again and spits on your face.

“A ‘sorry’ is not going to fix anything. You already did it. I have to punish you. Go into the fucking car. NOW!”

He let go of your neck, expecting you to obey him, but instead you bolt to your bedroom. You heard him close behind but made it just in time. If you were any slower he would’ve catched you. You slam your room door and lock it.

Why was this happening?

Why couldn’t he let you go?

His behaviour toward you had ruined your mental health. What more could he want?

You and San started dating in the last year of high school. He was a pure angel, and treated you like a princess. It was until the last year of university, he got more and more possessive of you and you had to let go.

He was extremely proprietorial of you. It constantly made you question your relationship.

Does he even trust you?

The reason why San was provoked now, was because you had gone on a date with one of your classmates. That’s only because you’re not together with him anymore.

You couldn’t condone his behaviour anymore and broke up with him. He had an uncontrollable rage, especially if it was about you. Therefore you ended it.

Unfortunately for you, San didn’t take it like that. He thought it was just a break and left you alone for one week. The next week, he came roaming around, right back to you.

When you tell him that it’s over, you’re done. He pinned you against the wall and took you right there. You being into the moment, let it happen just one more time.

Well you thought it was just gonna be that one time. But he always did it. He fucked you under the bleachers during a football game. In the chem lab, the sleeping pods. You would always tell him no, but he didn’t take it as an answer.

Thus, you didn’t fight it anymore. Except now. He was taking it to another level and you didn’t need that right now.

“San please leave me alone!”

You pleaded on one side of the door.

Your voice was met with nothing but silence. You lay on the floor to look under the little opening of the bottom of the door, looking for his feet.

You saw nothing. Maybe he left.

“What’re you doing on the floor?”

You jolt up and look behind you. San was in your room. You looked behind him and the window was open.

You scurried up and unlocked the door, but San was faster and closed it from behind you. He roughly grabbed your shoulders and flipped you around to face him.

“You can’t escape me. You’re MINE! How many fucking times do I have to tell you?”

He was furious. His face was red and he looked like he could cry from frustration. Knowing him well, you knew he would absolutely lose it if you apologized to him one more time.

Instead you cup his cheeks and rub them softly. You move closer to him, hoping he would wrap his arms around you, pick you up and forgive you. So this nightmare can be over and you can be one again.

You were exhausted. But hey, at least he’s loyal. Not a lot of men have loyalty. You wouldn’t die if you stayed with San. He would at least protect you.

You tried to think of his good traits.

San sighs and pulls you closer to him.

“Now you wanna act all innocent? You’ve angered beyond my limit. I am still going to punish you for that. Bad girls like you, need to be put in their place. Understood?”

“Yes”

You whisper in his ear and let him take you back to his car.

This was you giving up. You can’t continue to fight. Not like this. This was tormenting you. Maybe the one causing all of this suffering can bring you out of it. You kept a little hope in San, thinking that he may make you the happiest girl in the world one day.

San enters into the car with a bag and throws it in the back.

“What’s that?”

“Some clothes and my favourite lingerie.”

Upon saying this a grin was forming on his lips.

His hand made its way over to your thighs and harshly slaps his.

You flinch up not expecting that.

“Why don’t you remind me the 9 strict rules I had for you? If you get it wrong I will slap these beautiful, soft thighs until they’re bruised. Understand?”

“Yes daddy. Rule number one is to call you daddy or master.”

“Good girl”

“Rule number two is to listen and obey daddy at all times. Rule number three is ask daddy permission for everything. Rule number four is to not back talk or act like a brat to daddy. Rule number five, is- uhh”

You yelp up and feel a sting on your thigh. You hiss out in pain.

“What’s rule number five, whore.”

“It’s too......”

Another slap lays on your thighs.

You start panicking because you forgot what rule number five is. Your heart rate gets faster and you can’t help but fidget around. A lump forms in your throat and you try you best to blink away tears.

Why was he this horrifying to you?

“You forgot didn’t you?”

“Yes daddy.”

“When we get home, that’s 10 spankings on the ass. Understand?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Okay, moving on what’s rule number six?”

“Tell daddy, if there’s something wrong. Always talk to daddy because he’s here to listen.”

“Seven”

“Never touch myself”

“Eight”

“Be thankful for everything my daddy has provided me and be thankful for my daddy.”

“Nine.”

You gulp not remembering what it was. This was the new rule San had added, but a week later you broke up with him.

“Daddy, I don’t remember nine. I truly am sorry.”

You speak in the most baby voice you can pull off.

He didn’t acknowledge it and spanks your thighs 10 times, each time getting harder and harder.

You hold in your cries and finally see that you have reached his mansion.

He parks at the front and says to you

“Stay in the car, I'll come around.”

You obey and he comes around opening the door and pulling you out. He slams the car door, and with a tight grip on your arm, pulls you inside.

———-

3 months later

You had completely lost all hope. This time your punishment was much more physical. He kicked you. After fucking you for what seemed like days, he cummed all over you and kicked your legs, back and stomach. After that he left.

You lay on the concrete floor, bawling your eyes out. Why was he this cruel?! Since the day you entered this house, you’ve been locked up in the punishment room.

At this point San was using you as a sex slave. His little cum slut. You had a massive amount of hatred toward him now. You will be able to love again!

He broke you. He was starting to get physical now. He would feed you a meal every two days and the water was the faucet water from the bathroom. He still allowed you to keep your hygiene up because at the end of the day, he was still fucking you. You didn’t have clothes to wear and just walked around nude.

You had a collar on and San sometimes put a leash on you while fucking you.

It was hell. You couldn’t take it anymore!

You start crying even harder, trembling in fear. Your sobs become a little louder and before you knew it you were wailing.

The door immediately opens and San is standing at the doorway.

“Why’re you crying without my permission? You want me to punish you again? You just seem like you can’t get enough of me. Am I that handsome or am I just that good at fucking you?”

You immediately stop and don’t reply. What does he want you to say to that? That you like him making you feel like a worthless piece of shit?

“Not replying I see. Tsk tsk tsk. Get up and bend over on the bed.”

In a flash you stand up and bend over the bed.

San pulls you back and spits in your mouth.

“Swallow.”

You gulp it down.

“Good girl.”

He praised you and petted your head.

“Now count for me, babygirl.”

He spanks you up to ten and you don’t react. It hurt, but in a way you were already used to it. Your ass was bruised. You couldn’t sit on it or lay on it. It was terrible.

San rubs your ass and picks up a blanket. He wrapped you around in it and carries you upstairs to his room you’re assuming. He lays you on the bed and kisses you all over your face.

“Tomorrow was supposed to be your last day in the punishment room. But since my princess was crying, I will end it today. This is our shared room and your clothes are in our closet. How about you go shower, then we can eat dinner, then cuddle.”

What the fuck?

How did he suddenly change like that?

You were still afraid of him and kept your distance, but he started taking you out on dates and buying you stuff.

He even bought you a promise ring. It matched with his. He would buy you couples outfits and was attached to your side.

“Babygirl can you look at me?”

You turn your head to face San.

He gently kisses you and pulls away saying

“I love you, princess.”

“I love you too, Sannie.”

You smile and kiss him back.

Maybe the hard parts over.

—————————————————————————— edited🔐

#choi san #ateez san #ateez smut #san smut #choi san smut #yandere san #yandere ateez #ateez yandere #horror ateez #san #angst ateez #ateez angst

567 notes · View notes

nastyburger · 4 years

Note

. . . OH NO SPECTRA. What has Spectra done to our favourite ectoplasmic heroes across the Dannyverse? You already said that Jazzy didn't find out abt Danny B at that point. (Also, sidenote, did Mourner Jazz find out about Sam Mourner during the Ember episode?)

ah that certainly is a thought huh, thinking about what weaknesses she would poke and pick at the kids for yeah lets think about that. i suppose this is more just a general fear/insecurity analysis i guess but nonetheless!

canon danny: we know danny has issues fitting in and his personal self image (”Not a Ghost, not a boy, but a freak. You don’t fit in anywhere!”) i really wished the show leaned in on that sort of identity crisis thing but i do think/interpret this is why danny is always so set on fitting in with the a-listers despite his history with dash (literally running up to the jocks and hearing what they have to say just because he was invited to a popular party with them).

he also seems to crave interacting with other people who dont know about his ghost half like sam and tucker do (hanging out/dating valerie despite the literal danger, ditching sam and tuck for aforementioned a-lister reasons). like he’s willing to do these things while instantly pretending the bullying and hunting his ghost half stuff didnt even happened just to hang out with these people like a normal teenager. he worries about fitting in, so this is what spectra picks at.

danny b: somewhat similar to canon danny, but much more focused on themes of being accepted and understood. he spent 6 whole months in rehab on a misunderstanding and now everyone else has this wrong perception of him and he cant even correct them, its frustrating. sure sam and tucker knows hes a ghost, but do they really understand the stress his human half went through? its not like they were with him in rehab. can any other human peers EVER see what he’s going through? sure his parents love him and only want the best but if this distance is how they react him over “smoking” will he really be accepted as a ghost?

spectra would throw a lot of stabs at how no one will ever fully understand danny b’s experiences, he can never tell people the whole story and even if he does he’ll be hated for it. in their fights, if db says any quips she would even play dumb and pretends what he said didnt make any sense. she tells him his words bounce off people, what he says is meaningless, he’ll never be understood. people will always make up their own narrative for who he is instead.

mourner: oh boy dude just guilt guilt GUILT with this girl. “danny’s death was your fault, it should’ve been you to die in that portal, jazz has every right to DESPISE you” the taunts go on and on and on. pretty self explanatory where this goes from here. spectra definitely has a FIELD DAY with this one.

(and to answer your side note, sam comes clean and tells jazz about the secret herself, details about it are in mourner’s lore post)

dex: feelings of being helpless, incomplete, needing to be fixed. dex doesn’t let the fact that hes actually disabled get to him, choosing to ignore instead since his prosthetic mostly works like any other arm, but when glaringly obvious differences make themselves known he cant keep pretending. he cant stay in extreme cold or hot weather for very long or else the metal will literally hurt him or the circuits will become affected and needs regulation, he cant stay in water with his arm for too long, he needs to get maintenance done on it, he has to literally take it off and charge it every other night. hell, he even had to learn how to write with his left hand! these differences are not something he likes to think about.

its not just the disability thing either, dex loves his family, but they overbear on him a little too much. before fussing over his arm, it was fussing over his health. he was always sick or weak in some way as a child, even when most of this is alleviated from the mutation, suddenly its “make sure the ecto contamination isnt hurting him” or “i know we checked your arm last week but we would like to check it again“ it can get a bit suffocating. spectra would constantly pick at how weak and helpless dex is, how he cant do anything or fend for himself without fancy gimmicks and weapons. “Take away your arm and robot and what can you even do with whats left of you? Even a normal kid will pose a bigger threat because they would at least have 2 hands to fight me with!”

ghouly: stuff like having his confidence and self image crash down on him, something almost akin to impostor syndrome. tucker puffs himself up and has a very assured self image, but as he gains popularity as ghouly he may start to doubt himself. its easy to put yourself above the bar others have for you when its set so low, but when its higher? and rising??? people have expectations of you???? suddenly this is a little harder to deal with and reassure yourself about. feelings of inadequacy will start to pop up.

spectra would take these little rising bubbles of insecurities and blow them up to an unimaginable degree. she would call him a fraud, say hes somehow scamming people, hes not being trustworthy by keeping a secret identity and will get found out. he’s put himself on such a high pedestal and now he cant live up to it.

#randox-talore #i saved this ask as a draft and then it did the thing where the read more link is in the ask itself again #i cannot fix it #but yeah theres that #dannyverse au #seance

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spicyspencerreid · 4 years

Text

Just Friends| Part Two

A Timothée Chalamet Imagine: Part One Part Three Part Four Part Five

Female!Reader, Dancer/Actress!Reader, CoStar!Reader, FrenchSpeaking!Reader//2800 Words

Summary of part one// Reader and Timothée are best friends. They are going to be costars on a new movie where Y/n plays a dancer and has a small, but still important, role, and Timothée’s a lead. There’s a storm and Y/n’s hotel is having issues, so she has to stay in Timothée’s apartment.

Warnings// Grammar/spelling and lack of proofreading//Extra soft Timmy; Cursing; Really soft fluff: y/n’s side of it is romantic, but Timothée just sees it in a platonic way, it’s really beautiful in a sad way. IM SORRY ITS SO FUCKING SLOW AND LITERAL SHIT, i like kinda know where I’m going with it, but like I don’t. Just send me a request with how you want it to go please...let me know!

Key: French writing (english translation), Y/n/n-Your nickname, Y/f/n-Your first name, Y/l/n-Your last name

(Added July 2020) Note: this whole series was written before Ansel Elgort’s allegations arose, and honestly, in the most disrespectful way possible: I hope he rots in hell. I ALWAYS stand with the victim, and if that’s going to be a problem, find another series to read. If the mention of his name is triggering to you, PLEASE do not read. If you or anyone you know has been sexually assaulted or abused, do not be afraid to speak up, but if that’s not the route you personally want to take: you can call 1-800-656-4673, available 24 hours every day and 100% confidential.

this is the apartment I used for inspiration//I put links in the specific rooms when they were mentioned so it would feel more ~real~ lol.

You knocked on the door. It was almost 4:00, but it felt like 2:00AM with the time difference combined with your lack of sleep. You glanced a peak at yourself in the reflection of the door, and your face dropped as you saw yourself, instantly becoming extra conscious of the way you looked. You eyes were still a little a little watery, but it didn’t look like you were crying too much. The rain had wet your hair, and your face, and your mascara stained your under-eyes. You sighed realizing you’d already knocked and didn’t have any time to fix yourself.

The door opened. You put on a soft smile and let out a weak little hi. Timothée took one look at your mascara-stained face and pulled you into his apartment. His arms wrapped around your waist as you rested your head in the crook of his neck. You peeked your eyes up to look into the apartment. You were both in the small sitting room, but you caught a glimpse of the kitchen. It was beautiful. White, clean, cozy, and perfect.

“I’m getting your hoodie all wet.” You laughed into his neck, feeling more comfortable in his arms than you had felt in a very long time. You smiled as you pulled away, a tired, but genuine smile.

“I don’t mind,” he looked into your eyes as you suddenly became super aware of his hands lingering on your waist, “let me show you to your room, Mademoiselle.”

“Si vous insistez, mon ami.” (If you insist, my friend.) You reached for your bags, but Timothée practically slapped your hand out of the way, insisting he’d bring them to your room while you were in the shower. He led you down a short hallway, right by the entrance, adjacent to a bookcase.

“Well this is it,” he motioned to the room, it was blue, your favorite, which made you smile. You admired the pattern on the walls as he continued to talk about the room, “And this is the bathroom, the storm shut off the power a couple hours ago, so the heat still isn’t back on, but the hot water heater should be good. I’ll bring your stuff in while you shower...and extra blankets,” he giggled as his mind brought him back to your apartment in New York. You had the largest collection of blankets he’d ever seen.

“Thank you, I swear I’ll be out of here by tomorrow, I’ll call the hotel tomorrow morning to check on their status, but I think the system should be up by-” “Stop. Please tell me you’re kidding, you’re staying here as long as you need to.” He stood in the doorway of the room, resting his head against the wall. “Timothée...I couldn’t-” your fear of imposing was crawling back into your system, but to be honest, that wasn’t the biggest issue you had with this. You’re main problem was the idea of being stuck in a small, romantic apartment, in what happened to be the most romantic city on earth, with the last guy you wanted to feel romantic about at the moment.

“How long do they need you on set?” you sighed, knowing where this was going.

“Four weeks, then I have interviews and cameos lined up for two weeks after, then I’m flying back to New York, so technically six weeks-”

“Okay, well they need me here for two months and a half, that’s...” you giggled as he did the simple math in his head, “Ten weeks. So you are staying here, with me, in this apartment for the six weeks you need to be here.”

“Timothée...” the exhaustion was starting to really hit you.

“I’m not taking no for an answer, now go shower.” you caved.

“TMZ is going to LOVE this one,” you waved your hands in the air as you walked into the bathroom.

“I’m already expecting a very angry call from Celine once Kelsey lets her know,” you giggled as he mentioned his publicist, who always seemed to have an issue with something. You closed the door of the bathroom and sighed as you undressed.

After showering you dried your hair and picked up your phone, you hadn’t checked it since you were at the hotel. There was a missed call from your mom, so you left her a voicemail and quickly updated her on your situation. Kelsey had called about fifteen times in the past hour, and you did not plan on calling her back.

You stared at yourself in the mirror as you dried your hair until was at least damp. You put some blush over your cheeks once you realized it was only a little past 4:30. You put on leggings and a cropped-sweatshirt and you left your cozy room. You walked into the living room and spotted Timothée eating off of a plate of fruit at the kitchen counter while talking to his phone, you admired his outfit. He was wearing a dark green hoodie, simple, but the way it brought out his eyes made the butterflies in your stomach do flips.

“And there she is...” you heard him say to his screen, “I’m live on instagram. I was telling our fans the situation you’d gotten yourself into...” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed a strawberry and bit into it. He turned around the phone to show you to the camera, you waved and his fans went crazy, of course, “A situation, that wouldn’t have occurred, if you’d agreed to stay with me in the first place,” “Whatever, Timothée,” you laughed.

“Okay guys I’m gonna sign off...uh...how do I end this thing?” Timothée was probably the most intelligent man you knew, but his lack of energy on social media did not leave him particularly knowledgeable in moments like these.

“You have to click the ‘end live’ button.”

“Where’s that?”

“C'est dans le coin,” (it’s in the corner)

“Non, c'est ma photo de profil,” (no, that’s my profile picture)

“Ugh, laisse-moi le faire.” (let me do it) You grabbed his phone and waved goodbye to his fans as you ended the live. You laughed with him as you placed a bet on who would get the most calls from your publicists.

“Tu as faim? (are you hungry?) We could go out to a cafe a couple blocks away if you want.” He smiled as he popped a blueberry into his mouth and went to the refrigerator, grabbing whipped cream, your favorite, and a plate, where he put some whipped cream on it. You thanked him while you picked up another strawberry and dipped it in the whipped cream, melting over the fact that you didn’t have to ask.

“You know, I’m kinda hungry, mais je suis très, très fatigué... (but I am very, very tired)” you usually would’ve toughed it out and gone to dinner, having been pretty good at faking your way through a dinner at this point, but you were at a whole new level of sleep-deprived.

“Okay, so how about we get a couple margarita pizzas delivered and watch a movie. Sonne bien? (Sound good?)”

“That sounds amazing.” you sighed out of relief.

“The menu on my nightstand has the number on it, I’ll go call.” he squeezed your shoulder and walked into his room. You walked around, running your fingers over the bookshelves throughout the apartment. You smiled as your eyes laid on Call Me By Your Name, the book cover having the picture of him and Armie on it. You thought back to the night you’d met, and how nervous you were. You pulled the book out from the bookshelves, running your fingers over the cover. You thought about that little crush you’d had on him, how sweet he’d been to you, how he remained to be the same easy to talk to guy no matter how many more lead roles he booked. You felt your face heating up as you realized how it’d already felt too long since Ansel had teased you about it. You skimmed through the book, trying to find your moments, but you shut it as fast as you could once you found yourself imagining Timothée kissing you instead of Armie.

“L'avez-vous lu?” (Have you read it?) you jumped, dropping the book on the ground. Timothée was once again resting in the doorway of yet another room, he laughed once he realized he’d scared you.

“Yeah, actually, I read it the night after the premiere, wanted to see if it was as good as the move.” you giggled as you picked up the book and put it back in the bookcase while collecting yourself.

“What was the verdict?”

“I still think the movie was better, but if I anyone asks, I never said that...”

“Alright, I won’t say anything, I appreciate it though.” he laughed when he spoke. That smile was killing you. The doorbell rang and Timothée went to grab the pizza. You two ate and talked for a while, discussing the upcoming movie. You talked about how excited you were, you hadn’t danced in a movie since the one you were in with Zendaya. After you finished eating Timothée cleaned up and you argued over a movie to watch in his room.

“Y/n. You’ve never seen Pride and Prejudice? That has to be illegal in some countries. Everyone’s seen Pride And Prejudice!” You think this might’ve been the maddest you’d ever seen him before.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, the opportunity’s never presented itself. Let’s watch Marriage Story, we can watch Pride And Prejudice tomorrow? When I’m not about pass out from exhaustion...?”

“D’accord, d’accord, (okay, okay) fine. Marriage Story it is...” you let out a silent yes as you both walked into his room. He pulled back the closet doors to reveal a rather nice TV.

“Yay!” you giggled flopping down onto the right side of his bed, “This is the first time I’ve officially laid on a bed in about 40 hours.”

He smiled, typing in Marriage Story on Netflix before laying down on the opposite side of the bed.

About an hour and a half into the movie, about the fifth time you’d almost drifted off into sleep, you’d noticed Timothée had practically covered his whole body except for his eyes in a blanket. You took one look at him and bursted into laughter.

“Fuck off, I don’t understand how you’re not freezing right now.” he was right, it was pretty cold in the apartment, since the heat still wasn’t up yet.

“I like the cold...and the sound of the rain, this is all pretty relaxing to me...” you laughed.

“Okay fine then, come here.” he opened his arm towards you and your eyes snapped to meet his.

“What?”

“Come here, I’m cold, I need your body heat.” You’d cuddled with Timothée on multiple occasions, but all of them led to you stuck in your thoughts at night as feelings resurfaced, and most of them led to you realizing you never wanted to leave his arms. You looked into his pleading green eyes and melted, moving over and shifting yourself so you were right up against him. His arm reached around you and you laid your head on his chest. A couple minutes later, he spoke again.

“You know, you can go to sleep if you want.” he whispered as he started to lightly drag his hand up and down your back, you felt lucky you were way too tired to give it a second thought. You looked over to the clock on the nightstand, it was only 6:00.

“Non, je ne peux pas. (no, I can’t) I have to wake up early tomorrow and start learning a turn sequence for rehearsal. I can’t really risk my sleep schedule right now, you know that.” you muttered into his chest. You knew if you went to sleep now, you’d wake up at midnight and not be able to sleep, then fall into a schedule of going to bed at dinner time, which wouldn’t work out well with your schedule for the movie.

“There’s only a half hour or so left in the movie, go to sleep and I promise I’ll wake you up when it ends, you haven’t slept in so long,” he started to draw circles on the exposed space between your leggings and your sweatshirt, his cold, soft, fingers giving you goosebumps, “détends-toi.” (just relax) You sighed into his chest as his hands started to lull you to sleep.

“Y/n, the movie’s over,” You awoke to Timothée lightly whispering in your ear. You leaned up and rubbed your eyes.

“Hi.” your eyes met his.

“Hi sleeping beauty.” He smiled and you blushed at the nickname. He knew it reminded of you the ballet, making your eyes light up every time you spoke about it. You realized how close his face was to yours. You became strongly aware of how close his lips were to yours, how easy it would be to just inch a little closer, and meet them with yours, and more importantly, how bad you wanted to. How bad you wanted to make that tiny little space vanish. You snapped out of it once you’d realized you were staring, hoping he didn’t notice too, but he did, he always did, you just didn’t know it. It was a quarter till seven, you sat up on the bed, and he did with you, needing to keep yourself busy so you wouldn’t fall asleep again. He kept his arm around you, and you two started to talk. You loved the late night talks you had, wether it was at midnight or just after lunch. You eventually made your way to the living room, and Timothée poured you both glasses of wine as you took your seat on the couch.

“So, are you nervous for your first day of rehearsals?” He handed you your glass and put his arm back around you. It was a stupid question, of course you were nervous, you were always nervous, about every new opportunity that came your way.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta a couple turn sequences to memorize tomorrow. I just hope I don’t embarrass myself too much.” you were beyond nervous to work with the choreographer on this movie.

“Stop, you’ll be fine, they didn’t even audition you. They practically begged you to be in this film.” he wasn’t wrong, the director had reached out himself, saying he didn’t even need to see you, he’d just send you the script and wait for your response.

“Doesn’t mean I’m good enough for the role though, you know? They haven’t even seen me in the choreography, or how I fit with the other dancers, or any of it. I could be a total mess and they couldn’t do anything about it.”

“You’ve got to stop doubting yourself, do I have to remind you who you are?” He playfully shoved you, “I’ll never understand how you flawlessly played Sleeping Beauty in front of 3,800 people once a week for six months, but you somehow still doubt yourself when you’re just going to be in a room with a couple people?” he had a good point, but you didn’t see it like that.

“First of all, and you know this better than I do, the lights block out the audience when you’re on stage. And second of all, doing that show every day is ten million times less scary than being judged in a small room with people that matter.” “I know what you mean..., but I still think you’re too good to doubt yourself...”

“Oh really Mr. Hotshot?” it was you shoving him this time.

“One day...y/n/n...,” he took a sip of his wine, “...one day I’m gonna get you to realize how amazing you are.” You looked at him and sighed.

“One day...,” you took a sip of your wine before sitting in down on the coffee table, it was finally past ten, you’d been talking for hours and barely realized. You could finally go to bed without ruining your sleep schedule, “I should probably head to bed.”

“I’ll get your glass, goodnight Y/n.”

“Goodnight Timothée.”

And there it was again, there you were again. You were doing what you knew you’d be doing the second you caved and allowed yourself to fall into his arms during the movie. The same as you did any time the two of you had gotten remotely close to each other. Every time you sat together on the couch in Z’s apartment. Every time Ansel had made a joke about your little crush, the one that was beginning to grow larger and larger. Damn. You were in for a long night of over-thinking.

Some of you asked to be tagged holy shit you guys have no idea how happy that makes me oh my god, I’m still tagging ppl btw, my phone’s dead lol so I’m on my mac:

@sspidermanss @fandom-food-fire @gigi-maria-argu @meaganl124 @danidomm

I DONT LIKE THIS NEARLY AS MUCH AS I LIKE THE FIRST PART IM SORRY :(( I LOVE YOU GUYS THOUGH THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE ON THE FIRST PART. IDK WHAT IM GONNA DO FOR PART THREE. I wanted to like make him start dating Lily and then y/n like cries to Zendaya and I had a lot of thought about that...please let me know about part 3!!!!!!

#timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet imagine #timothée chalamet #timothée smut #timothée x reader #armie x timothee #zendaya #ansel elgort #timothee fanfic #timothee x reader #timothee x you #timothee red carpet #timotheetea #timothée #just friends

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of-another-broken-heart · 3 years

Text

I guess it’s time for another pointless update about the worsening state of my life.

I’ll get the rosy stuff out of the way first.

I finally got in the shower today.

It took 2 days of chilly autumn-like rain for me to be able to rest enough, and then not be overheated into useless exhaustion and nausea, to do it. But I got in the shower. I shampooed my hair, several times, to get through the summer heat sweat and oil. I did conditioner, twice, because I am losing hair and what’s left is thinning pretty badly. I rubbed a bunch of soaked dead skin off my body with just my hands. I tried to finish off a bottle of body soap that I got... years ago. I unloaded an unreasonable amount of soap onto my loofa and made suds and scrubbed for a while. I’ll never feel fully clean until I can actually soak and rub everything off, but it’s better.

A couple days ago, I asked mom if we could go to the beach for a little bit. It had been hot. Unbearably hot. It was evening by the time I asked - still before sunset, though. So we went for a little while, an hour maybe? I waded into the water up to my knees. It was cold. Tide was going out, nearly at low. I don’t love the beaches here. The sand is coarse. There are loads of rocks and shells - plenty with brutal sharp edges. And I didn’t bring water shoes with me. But I hobbled across the rocks and shells, and slimy low-tide seaweed, and the muddy silt in the shallows, to stand up to my knees and just... enjoy the cold water. My mom went in a little deeper than I did. She brought water shoes and a clam rake, so she went clamming. I started feeling some vertigo and retreated back to the towel mom had laid down on the sand. I had brought a book - one of the thyroid books I checked out months ago, and still haven’t finished a single one - but instead I took out my phone and checked some messages, and took a few pictures. Mom brought up 14 good clams. We didn’t linger much after that. The sun dipped below the trees, evening flies and gnats started to come out. We headed home. Mom made some linguini with clam sauce tonight. And some baked clams.

And that ends the rosy stuff.

I’m still plagued with uncontrollable preoccupation with a manipulative, abusive, probably narcissist who took my years of recovery from the last person who fucked me up, and threw it all in the trash, and doesn’t give a single shit about any of it. Someone who knows the language of the damaged and abuses it to get what he wants out of people, and throws them away the instant they don’t fit his desires, or prove to have morals more durable than his lies.

I still miss the biggest lie. The fake person. It will never not hurt, that I fell for a falsehood. That I was so easy to trick and trap and use and abuse and discard. I hate how happy I was, just briefly, and how I’m going to pay for it, for years now.

My heart is failing. There’s no way around it. I’m in bed half of every day. I am taking every possible measure within my grasp to “manage my stress” and none of it has had any real impact on my blood pressure. I try to avoid things that stress me out. Socio-economic struggle is not some scratchy sweater you can choose to remove, though - it’s the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins and I am stuck with that. I “avoid salt” in the way that I always have - by barely eating, because of guilt and shame and poverty and, now, relentless nausea. I “cut back on alcohol” the same way I always have - poverty makes it very easy to be unable to afford it, and if you don’t have it, you can’t drink it. I am “managing my weight” the same way I always have - which is to say, alternating between rolling my eyes at the baseless suggestion, and starving myself in the ways I already mentioned.

My systolic pressure is always high. Always. Even at my lowest readings, it falls in the “Elevated” category. Diastolic varies. It’s usually the high end of normal, but creeps over the threshold sometimes. Pulse has been... weird. Most of my readings were in the 70s, perfectly normal. Recently, with the heat and humidity and relentless stress, I’ve had irregular and elevated heart beat. Still hasn’t crossed 100 bpm (the limit for “normal”) but it’s gotten close.

I have my next doctor’s appointment in a few days. Tuesday. It’s giving me anxiety. I never phoned in to update about the trazodone or lisinopril like I meant to. I want my fatigue taken seriously, and I know it won’t be. I have some tests I’d like to know the results of, and I feel like my requests will get denied, just like my requests for COVID tests were.

I just want a real answer. I’m tired of trial after trial after trial, wasting literal years of my life, and costing what remains of my health, because doctors and western medicine in general would rather I remain undiagnosed and unhelped than concede to an incurable condition that can’t be “exercised” away.

CFS. I meet every criteria. I have met every criteria for years. Even the “loophole” part about symptoms being chalked up to other conditions - even that doesn’t actually stand up any more. Because I have been in treatment for those conditions, and the symptoms persisted, which means there is something else going on and it’s CFS.

It’s summer. We’re poor. We’re trapped here. It’s hot. Unbearably hot. We don’t have A/C. I don’t, anyway. I am a living stereotype, I am stuck in an unfinished cement block basement, surrounded by dust and dirt and cobwebs and moths and beetles and spiders and assorted flying biting things, always. We have humidity here. High humidity. Wet-bulb temperature is low here, the humidity is so high. Human thermoregulation relies on sweat evaporation, and high humidity means evaporation doesn’t happen, which means lower temperatures in high humidity are just as dangerous, even fatal, as higher temperatures in dry air.

I’m alone. I’m so fucking alone. I’m trying, like a crazed person, to reach out to people, every single day, to feel less alone. But the instant the conversation is gone, I’m crying. Because I’m still in this basement, a thousand miles from anyone who cares about me, lit by a single shitty bulb

- not even in the ceiling any more, no! The switch jammed, the pull cable doesn’t toggle into the “on” position any more, so the ceiling light is just an outlet now. At least it didn’t die outright, or I wouldn’t even have my computer, or chargers, or tablet, or phone. It’s my only outlet. But I went nearly a week in total darkness, because we’re poor. This isn’t our house. None of us are electricians. We can’t fix the thing. So my mom, on a day off, when i managed to be awake while the sun was barely still up, snaked an extension chord through the house’s foundation, to plug in an old heat lamp (with a normal bulb, not a heat bulb) and that’s what I have now.

Everything gets worse. Never better. I’m going to die here. And sooner than later. Because my health is getting worse, rapidly, too.

#personal #krash showered

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sxfterhearts · 4 years

Text

17. [2:01 am]

“Bam, thank you for finally picking up the phone.” Jaebeom shouted into the phone over the horrendous music blasting from the club’s speakers. “Listen, you need to come over, we may have a slight problem on our hands…”

Less than fifteen minutes and two red lights later, Bambam found you slumped against the countertop of the bar, eyes closed and head resting against your arm. With a flick of your wrist, you waved the empty glass towards Jaebeom, who was observing you from a distance with a cautious gaze.

“One more, Beomie,” You slurred slightly, attempting to push yourself into an upright position. You failed. “Please, last one.”

“That’s enough for tonight, Y/N.” Bambam answered on behalf of Jaebeom, sending an apologetic look towards the elder before taking the shot glass out of your hand.

You cracked open your eyes and rubbed them with both hands, an action Bambam thought was cute if not for your current intoxicated state. “Bam, what are you-? You’re here?”

Instead of answering, the blonde boy pulled out a few bills from his wallet and handed them to a reluctant Jaebeom. The bartender insisted that drinks were on him the next time they had a boys’ night out and bid them good luck and good night, after being called away by another customer. Bambam hauled you up on your feet by wrapping an arm around your shoulder and supporting you by the waist – a technique he practiced and perfected over the past three years of being your next-door-neighbour-slash-best-friend.

Your friendship was sealed the moment you answered the door and came face to face with a panicked and pale Bambam, asking to borrow a roll of toilet paper for his toilet emergencies. The sudden, overpowering scent of Tiger Balm, a traditional ointment used to relieve aches and pains, invaded your nose and you were immediately brought back to your childhood days. You obliged, like any good neighbour would, and had even left him a Thermos of rice porridge and a box of Panadol by his doorstep that evening. He was around your age, a university student, and spoke Korean with a foreign accent, so you figured he probably moved away from his family for his education. The least you could do was help the boy feel welcome in a country that wasn’t his own. Bambam would later go on to tell you over greasy takeaways and an old Mission Impossible movie that you were his guardian angel for looking out for him when he got food poisoning after moving in.

It worked both ways, though. While you were there to lend him eggs and milk during finals season when he was too busy for grocery shopping, or bring him a big bowl of Pad Thai that you tried to replicate from an online recipe, Bambam was always ready to fix any broken electronic appliances, or on rare occasions, pick you up from clubs when you had too much to drink.

It started when you had your first fight with your boyfriend. After that, he picked you up once every two months. Then, it was once a month. Eventually, he found himself speeding through the streets of Seoul past midnight nearly every week. It came as a surprise to both of you that he hadn’t been caught speeding yet.

“Watch your step.” Bambam said as he guided you off the pavement and towards the passenger seat. He sat you down and buckled your seatbelt for you. “Here, sit tight.”

You flashed him a silly smile in response, all crinkly eyes and upturned lips. For a moment, Bambam’s heart skipped a beat. Even under the dim, yellow glow of the streetlights, he could clearly make out your angelic features and the prominent curve of your cupid’s bow. It made him want to touch your lips with his.

He quickly pulled back and shut your door. Bambam shook his head and shoved his clenched fists deep into his pockets as he walked around to the driver’s side. He shouldn’t, no, couldn’t think about you in that way. You were still attached to that douchebag of a boyfriend.

“Bammie,” You called out to him as he drove out of the carpark and towards the direction of your apartment. “Takeaway.”

“I know, we’ll go for drive through.” Bambam was all too familiar with your drunk midnight cravings, especially after a nasty fight with the boyfriend. Small fights called for French fries, medium fights equalled French fries and a strawberry sundae. “Just rest your eyes and drink some water, you got to stay hydrated.” He removed the cap from the mineral water bottle at a red light and handed it to you, concerned eyes watching on as you took small sips.

By the time Bambam got to the drive through, you had knocked yourself out from all the singing you did and had your head lolled to the side with your mouth slightly agape. He took the liberty of ordering for you. Judging from the number of shot glasses he recalled seeing at the bar and Jaebeom’s words, he figured the fight was definitely more than just a small fight.

“Hi, can I please get the large fries and a strawberry sundae?”

“Sure, is there anything else, sir?”

“Wait,” You tugged Bambam’s sleeve to get his attention, suddenly awoken by the conversation. “More food, I’m hungry. Get the nuggets or the burger or something.”

Bambam eyed you carefully. You never ordered more than a light snack on the way home from a night out, so your request struck him as odd. “I can get the twenty nuggets deal?”

“Yeah, sure.” Your hand went to rest against your forehead, continuing with your shuteye.

“Twenty nuggets, please.”

“No problem, please drive forwards and pay at the next window.”

After paying for the food, Bambam parked the car nearby and turned towards you. “Y/N,” He called gently. “You know I care about you right?”

You hummed in reply, slowly opening your eyes as the smell of greasy, unhealthy fast food filled your senses.

“Can you please tell me what happened?” He pleaded, voice laced with utmost concern. Bambam passed you the strawberry sundae and a few fries, knowing that you liked to dip them into the ice cream.

Huffing, you aggressively peeled open the lid and took a huge scoop of ice cream, shoving it into your mouth. Just thinking about tonight’s fight made your blood boil in anger. “He said,” You paused to swallow. “He said he wanted to take a break.”

The nugget in Bambam’s fingers paused midway to his mouth. He was shocked to hear this. “What did you tell him?”

“This was after I caught him with his hands on his ‘lab partner’s’ thigh in the library. I sent him a message, which he ignored, and continued flirting with her. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, Bam! And yet he has the nerve to tell me that he feels suffocated by our relationship and that he wants to take a break?!” You took a deep breath to calm yourself down, already feeling hot tears prickling at the edges of your eyes.

Bambam couldn’t believe his ears. Sure, your boyfriend was a bit of a delinquent – he drank too much, partied too hard, did a bit of weed, but he never knew he was such a-

“Why do I even try so hard, Bam? I really tried to be a good girlfriend, I tried to be understanding and give him space, but he just… Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?” You munched on a nugget, your mind spiralling into a cycle of self-doubt.

“No.” Bambam replied firmly, releasing his tight grip on the steering wheel to hold your shoulders reassuringly. “Listen to me, Y/N. This guy, he’s not worth it. He’s not worth your efforts to change yourself, not worth you getting drunk every time you fight and definitely not worth your tears. Over the past six months of your relationship, this piece of trash, he’s just been screwing you over. God, I hate it, Y/N. I hate watching you like this.”

“Is it… Wait, am I annoying you? Bam… I-I’m so sorry. It’s just so selfish and terrible of me to call you-”

“What? No, no. I mean I hate watching you get hurt, time and time again. I don’t mind picking you up and buying you fries but I just… It hurts me to see you hurting like this.” He admitted, his finger catching a fallen tear on your rosy cheeks. His heart breaks a little at the sight of your watery eyes.

“Bam,” You sniffled. Crying oddly made you feel way more sober. “Thank you, Bam. I’m so grateful for you. And I’m sorry for troubling you all the time with my problems, I-”

Bambam hushed you by placing a nugget on your lips, urging you to eat instead of talking and putting yourself down. “Stop all this negative self-talk and eat your nuggets, lady. I don’t want to hear another word come out of your mouth, it should be used for chewing and drinking only.”

You obliged happily. The only sounds in the car were the low hum of the engine, the lo-fi tunes from Bambam’s late-night drives playlist and a surprised shriek when the boy smeared a barbecue sauce-covered fry on your cheek. You got him back by pretending to feed him a scoop of strawberry sundae and missing his mouth entirely, staining his nose with white and red.

Bambam made a promise to himself later that night as he carried you into your apartment and tucked you in. He promised that he wouldn’t stand on the sidelines any longer. He won’t let you get hurt anymore. Once you officially broke it off with your boyfriend, he would stay by your side and nurse you through the breakup. Then, when the time is right and the wounds have healed, he will ask you to do the honour of being his girlfriend.

#got7 #bambam #bambam fluff #got7 fluff #bambam fanfic #got7 fanfic #bambam scenarios #got7 scenarios #bambam imagines #got7 imagines #bambam drabble #got7 drabbles #bambam soft #got7 soft #got7 bambam #inspired by #got7 angel

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hallmarkdriveways · 3 years

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Driveway Maintenance – Our Guide

Concrete Driveway Maintenance

The key to keeping your concrete driveway looking great is with cleaning and sealing it on a regular basis.

Sealing: Concrete driveways should be sealed about every 2 years or when you notice that the finish is starting to show signs of wear. This is assuming your driveway is used for normal everyday traffic and you do not live in an area with overly severe weather. If your concrete drive is at a business, you may need to seal more often. There are many good sealers on the market and you can find them at any big box home improvement store.

Cleaning: How often your concrete driveway needs to be cleaned primarily depends on the amount of traffic it receives and what type of vehicles are parked on it. Obviously, any fluid leaks should be cleaned up immediately because it can seep into the concrete and discolor it and break it down from the bottom up. Here is a full tutorial from Lowes on how to clean your concrete driveway.

Block Driveway Maintenance

A brick driveway can be a time-consuming and expensive driveway to have installed, so proper maintenance is especially important to help it last longer and looking great.

Remove Grass or Weeds: At least once a week, take a walk over your driveway and remove any weeds or grass that may have started to grow in between the bricks. This is the first step to proper maintenance of your brick driveway.

Sweeping: Brick driveways will regularly buildup lots of dirt and mud in between the bricks. Buy yourself a good outdoor sweeper and get on a regular schedule of sweeping your driveway to remove excess dirt from between the bricks. This will keep it from packing down and making for a more difficult cleaning process.

Power Washing or Wet Cleaning: You can wet-clean your brick driveway by using a hard bristle brush, hot water and a few drops of soap detergent. Scrub well then rinse with a garden hose. For more tough stains, you may need to use a power washer. Be warned: Do not use a power washer if you have any loose pavers. This will cause the water to go underneath and risk more bricks becoming loose. Here is a great video on how to pressure wash a brick driveway.

Gravel Driveway Maintenance

A gravel driveway is one of least expensive options when putting in a new driveway and more people are opting for them based on the prices of other materials. But, you have to keep on top of maintenance to keep it looking nice. The same steps below can also be followed for pebble driveway maintenance.

weeding: Weeds will regularly grow in a gravel drive, so use a weed cleaner all over the driveway to keep the weeds away.

raking: You need to rake your gravel driveway occasionally to keep it as level as you can. To keep this task from being so daunting, don’t wait 2 months in between raking. Instead, once a week go out and rake into low levels to even it out.

potholes: Potholes are one of the main reasons that people forego a gravel driveway, but they are really easy to fix. As soon as you see a hole, rake back the gravel and fill the hole with sand. Replace the gravel and you are good to go.

Asphalt Driveway Maintenance

Besides concrete, asphalt is quite a popular choice for a driveway. An asphalt driveway can look fantastic when you first get it, but without proper care and maintenance, it can go downhill pretty quickly.

rinsing: Once a week, pull out the garden hose and rinse off the driveway to remove any dirt and debris. This also gives you a chance to do a cursory inspection to spot the start of any cracks or issues

spills: As much as possible you want to avoid getting any spills like motor oil or gasoline on the asphalt because it can damage the surface. If you do have a spill, immediately remove the excess with absorbent towels or rags. Then rinse the driveway with the garden hose to wash away as much as possible. If this doesn’t remove the stain, then use a detergent with a degreaser and brush the spill to remove it.

seal coating: Once your driveway has been installed, you should not have to seal coat it again unless you want it for the aesthetic value. You should only have to apply another sealing coat again after repairs are made by a driveway contractor, or you have fixed large cracks.

Block Paving Driveway Maintenance

A flagstone driveway is quite beautiful and comes in so many different designs. But, it can be quite expensive, so you will want to care for it properly.

Cleaning: Fill a bucket with dish soap and hot water, then use a large outdoor brush to scrub the stone. Rinse with the high power nozzle on your garden hose. Do this once a month and it should keep your stone looking quite good and minimize any staining.

stains: If you notice stains on your flagstone, then you may need to purchase a cleaning product that is especially for it. These solutions usually contain muriatic acid, so gloves and safety goggles will need to be used. Note: Always follow the instructions on the container because overuse of these products can make your stone look worse instead of better.Read more..

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need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

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Demonology

note: this is my first emily centred fic, i hope i’ve done it justice \\ emily’s such a badass, i just imaging piper looking up to her and being so heartbroken to see her so sad \\ warnings: attempted depiction of loss and grief \\ apologies in advance if i have misrepresented grief, please do tell me if i have

“No way. Inigo every single time.” Piper shook her head at Garcia as she tossed a popcorn kernel in her mouth.

“But Westley became a freaking bandit for Buttercup!”

“Yeah, and Inigo spends the rest of his childhood and young adulthood mastering the sword for his father,” Piper argued. “How is that not attractive?”

“Because Westley is cuter.” Garcia stomped and Piper was about to launch her popcorn kernel at Garcia’s eye when she spotted a dripping Emily in the elevator. “Hey, Em! Who’s your favourite from the Princess Bride, Inigo or Westley?” But Garcia garnered no response as Emily staggered towards her, slightly shivering.

“Did you get that file for Tommy Vee like I asked?” Emily’s voice tumbled out, shaking and shivering, and Piper instinctively pulled off her own knee-length coat, holding it out to Emily. But she ignored it, reaching for the file instead. Piper faltered, tucking her coat over her arm. “Is Hotch still here?”

“I’m pretty sure he lives here…” Penelope trailed off as Emily pushed past between them. “What’s up with her?”

“Dunno. Guess she doesn’t want to talk about it yet,” Piper commented as Penelope pushed forward to the elevator. Piper stared at the door Emily went through until Penelope called out her name. “JJ’s coming back tomorrow right?”

“Yep. I’m thinking lasagne to celebrate her first day back.”

“Great idea.” The elevator doors closed as Emily tumbled her way to Hotch’s office, numb to the bone. But that wasn’t because of the rain.

“I just found out that... An old friend of mine died.” Emily fought the tears threatening to spill over the brink of her eyelashes.

“I'm sorry. Do you need to take some time?”

“Um... There's a chance that he could have been murdered, and there might be a second case.”

“What do you need?”

“Just some leeway to check it out.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Thank you,”

“Emily, if you want to take a few days and let us look into it...” Hotch offered, taking a step towards his battered agent.

“Matthew was...incredibly messed up, and I hadn't seen him in a long time, but he was important to me,” Emily explained, though there was no need.

“At least let us help.” Emily nodded as she sniffled and left the office after thanking him.

Somehow, she managed to stumble home, eyes fluttering closed as her head hit the pillow. She woke up early later that morning, dragging herself into the shower. As the water pounded her skin, she closed her eyes and there he was, bright as day. Before the drugs. Before the alcohol. Holding hands high, glee-stricken faces. Hot water melded with tears as they streamed down Emily’s face.

Emily thought she’d be the first one at the office, except she saw Piper doing paperwork at her desk. “Piper, it’s 7 am.” Without looking up or halting her pen, Piper gave her some excuse that Emily saw right through.

“Fine. I was worried about you.”

“I—” Before Emily could respond, Hotch appeared from his office, telling Emily the M.E. was ready to see her and Piper grabbed her grey winter coat, wrapping it around the pale turtleneck she was already wearing as well as her bike keys.

“C’mon. You can explain when we get there. I don’t have a spare helmet though.” Piper’s bike was liberating as it weaved through traffic, wind whipping Emily’s charcoal hair into a frenzy. They skidded to a stop outside the morgue and Emily unhooked her leg from around the bike.

“Now I get how you’re the first at scenes,” Emily joked weakly as Piper shook out her hair.

“Trust me, helmet hair is not fun.” Piper said as she hooked an arm around Emily’s, striding into the morgue with her. As the examiner revealed Matthew Benton’s pale body, Emily choked, and Piper answered her cell. “Got it.”

“Is it possible someone could have induced the heart attack?” Emily managed to ask.

“The easiest way to stop the heart is an injection of potassium. I would have found traces.”

“There's no other way?”

“I suppose it's possible he could have been injected with epinephrine. It wouldn't register, because clinically, it's identical to the natural adrenalin in the body.”

“Did he have a medical history of cardiac problems?”

“No. The attack was induced by his prolonged abuse of drugs and methamphetamines.”

“Was he tied?” Emily lifted Matthew’s wrists gently, stomach sick.

“The wounds are superficial.”

“Anything else out of the ordinary?”

“He bled heavily from his nose, but with the damage to his septum, my guess is that it was prolonged abuse of cocaine or methamphetamine.”

“And what about the other autopsy,” Piper asked. “Thomas Valentine?” The ME nodded, turning to the next body.

“He died of dehydration. There were traces of prescription antipsychotics in his system. I understand from his family he had a history of mental illness.”

“So, his death was induced by the antipsychotics too?” The doctor nodded

“Piper.” Emily held up Thomas’s wrist.

“Considering the self-inflicted wounds and the history of mental illness, the police didn't suspect foul play.”

“So, you have 2 bodies with ligature marks – each superficial. But you just dismiss them?” Emily confronted the examiner

“There's no medical reason to connect these deaths,” the ME defended herself. Nervous by Emily’s undiplomatic outbursts, Piper excused them, and they walked out into the rain. Before Emily could hook her leg around the bike, Piper tugged at her arm.

“Hey, we’ll find out who did this.” Emily’s shoulder sagged.

“You believe me?” Piper’s stomach dropped at the desperation in Emily’s voice as rain dripped down her coat.

“Always.” Piper shot Emily a soft smile as she donned her helmet and they drove back to the office.

While JJ fixed Piper and Emily a hot cup of coffee, the others filed in, filling in Piper, Emily and JJ. Thomas Valentine was a schizophrenic who was married but lived alone. Spencer and Derek described how his wife took the kids away to protect them and how he was cursing God. Rossi and Hotch filled them in on Mrs Benton’s firm belief that Matthew was possessed, and Emily scoffed at that.

“Matthew had a thing about challenging the church. He could push it. When we were in high school, his mom and dad consulted a priest because they were afraid that he was possessed.” Derek pointed out that Mrs Valentine had suggested the same thing and both houses had scuff marks under the beds.

“Well, drug addiction and schizophrenia are the most common conditions to be misconceived as possession.” Piper spoke rationally, trying to fit things together. “Plus, both had conditions that could induce their deaths what with both having consistent levels of drugs in their system. Could the unsub have known these conditions?” The question wasn’t directed towards anyone in particular and Penelope’s rush into the room pushed it to the side.

“So, both Thomas Valentine and Matthew Benton were in Galicia, Spain over the same week 4 months ago.”

“That mean anything to you?”

“Yeah.” Piper stood up. “Galicia is one of the biggest Christian pilgrimage sites in the world and the cathedral is absolutely breathtaking.” Spencer noticed the gleam in Piper’s eyes. “Actually, it’s been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since the 90’s.” Derek threw his hands up and took a seat.

“So what, we think these are exorcisms?”

“It could be.” Piper leaned on the mahogany table, challenging Derek.

“Look, I know the Bible just as well as anyone, but I also know there's nothing more open to behavioural interpretation than religion.”

“Meaning what?”

“I think it's dangerous for us to wanna find a connection between these deaths.” Piper nodded slowly and straightened.

“Spencer, to the best of your knowledge, what are the main causes of heart attacks?”

“Complete or partial blockage of the coronary artery, age, high blood pressure, high triglyceride levels, obesity, diabetes, metabolic syndrome, family history of heart attacks, lack of physical activity, stress, illicit drug use, a history of preeclampsia, an autoimmune condition…”

“And apart from drugs, how many of those apply to both our victims?”

“Well, really it’s just drugs and stress.”

“Right, Emily?” Emily hummed as she sipped her coffee. “How long had Matthew been using?”

“Since we were about 16. Why?”

“Right, so if Matthew is almost 30, he’s been using for at most 15 years, wouldn’t there have been a sign before now?” They were all silent, staring at her, then Derek. “Guys, my math skills aren’t that bad.” Spencer shrugged, muttering that calling them skills was a bit of a stretch. She resisted the urge to slap him with a hardcover, mainly because the only thing in her hand was a cup of coffee. “What about silent killers, things you can’t see in a medical exam?”

“Chronic stress, maybe,” Reid suggested.

“Guys, don’t you think this is a stretch? I mean seriously, stress?”

“When stress is excessive, it can contribute to everything from hypertension, to ulcers to irritable bowel syndrome,” Spencer said.

“What could the guy be that stressed about?” Tired from Derek’s negativity, Emily slammed down two pictures of Thomas and Matthew’s wrists.

“Maybe he was stressed about a guy holding him down, trying to banish the devil out of him.” Emily stared him down until JJ squeezed her arm and soothed her back into her seat.

“Guys, look, I'm willing to say that we might have an unsub who ritualises killings as if they were exorcisms, maybe, but right now, we don't even know if we have a crime yet.” But before Piper or Emily could retaliate, Rossi intervened.

“Derek’s right. We need to step back. Let me talk to someone before I have us all telling ghost stories.” Piper downed the last dregs of her coffee while Rossi left to brave the pounding rain outside. Emily stormed out quietly, refusing to make eye contact with the team. Piper and Spencer tramped downstairs to their desks.

“You really think this is a serial killer?”

“I don’t know, Spence. All I know is that if it is, there’s someone out there who’s gonna kill again. I don’t want to take that chance.”

^-^

Rossi pulled up in front of his church, the largest congregation in his area, and closed the door behind him before he took the marble steps two at a time, careful not to slip. He shoved open the large double doors to the church, walking across to catch a familiar priest cleaning the altar.

“Hey, stranger,” the priest greeted Dave.

“I know. It's been too long.”

“So maybe after we speak, you'll let me take your confession?”

“Gonna strong-arm me?” The priest laughed.

“You bet. So, how can I help you?”

“What do you know about exorcisms?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow as he sat down in the first pew to answer the question.

“Well, they're, uh- they're controversial. The Vatican issued a new exorcism rite in 1999, so nobody speaks out against it, but if pressed, not every priest believes in demonic possessions.”

“Do you?”

“Let me put it this way. You believe that evil exists.”

“I've seen it.”

“So, if children are born innocent, at what point does evil enter them?”

“How common are exorcisms?”

“Conservatively, I’d say 400 or 500 a year.”

“Has anyone died in one?”

“What's this about, Davey?”

“I'm looking into the deaths of 2 men. Both were troubled. Each recently had made the same pilgrimage to Galicia, Spain. Each died within the last 2 weeks.”

“And why do you suspect exorcism?”

“Well, it's just a theory. One of our agents knew one of the men. She was afraid there might be some foul play.”

“You agree?”

“Would you know if one took place here in DC?”

“If it's sanctioned, probably.”

“If not?”

“Well, then it's not a true exorcism.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” As Rossi turned his back, the priest raised his arm, first to God, then to the Father and finally the Holy Spirit, praying for his friend’s soul.

As Rossi returned from his trip, Piper jumped up to retrieve him. “Garcia got a call, 38-year-old white male found dead in his bed by his fiancée,” she told him as they rushed up to Hotch’s cabin. “Patrick Cavanaugh was in Galicia, Spain at the same time as Thomas and Matthew.” Rossi opened the door to Hotch’s office as Piper finished. “Reid, Prentiss and Morgan already left to see the scene.” Piper returned to her desk, resuming her leftover paperwork.

^-^

Derek walked behind Emily and Spencer as they trudged through the brief respite from the rain up to the Cavanaugh household. They flashed their badges to the officer standing guard outside the house. “What can you tell us?”

“Uh, white male, been dead for hours. Medics think it was a brain aneurysm.”

“You mind if we take a look at the scene?”

“Knock yourselves out.” The three agents walked into the room and Spencer noticed the scratches under the bedposts.

“This is kind of starting to freak me out a little bit.”

“Let's figure out if we have a crime before we start freaking out.”

“Obviously we have a crime.”

“Prentiss, how does an unsub induce an aneurysm?”

“Uh, could be caused by stress,” Spencer intervened.

“Yeah, like if you were restrained on a bed while someone tried to banish the devil from their body.”

“All I’m saying is I think we should go easy,” Derek spoke as Mrs Cavanaugh entered the room.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was meek and yet reverberated around the room. Being the closest to her, Derek held out his badge. “FBI? What are you doing here?”

“We’re investigating a series of unexpected deaths,” Reid provided from the back of the room.

“I don’t understand.” Sidelining any empathy that she could have held for the recent widow, Emily started interrogating her.

“Was Patrick acting erratically recently?”

“He had a brain condition. He was getting headaches, wasn't acting like himself.”

“Were you aware of a trip he took recently to Galicia, Spain? Uh, there's a church there called Santiago de Compostela we think he may have visited.” Emily stepped closer to the young widow.

“My fiancé travelled a lot for work. I don't know everywhere he went.”

“With all due respect, ma'am, I don't think you're telling us the truth.”

“Excuse me?”

“Did you believe Patrick was possessed?”

“I'd like some privacy, please?”

“Was someone trying to rid him of demons? Is that how he died?”

“No.”

“You really believe he had a brain condition?” Derek stepped in between, urging Emily to stop and motioning for her to leave before apologising to the young lady for Emily’s behaviour. But apparently, Hotch had already heard about the incident as the three found him waiting in front of the elevators.

“What happened?”

“I think there may be a third victim,” Emily maintained as professionally as possible.

“Is that what you think?” Hotch turned to Derek who glanced at Emily quickly before inputting.

“I don't know.”

“Uh, we have ligature marks, the Spain connection, and scuff marks under the bed.” Emily attempted to salvage the case as it fell apart at the seams.

“Hotch, it's weird, definitely, but there's no way to physically connect dehydration, a heart attack, and an aneurism.” Hotch sighed and Derek asked him if everything was okay.

“We've had a complaint. JJ 's trying to smooth it over with the DC police, but we haven't been invited in on the case.” Hotch uncrossed his arms, face neutral as always and Spencer followed his boss into the bullpen. Derek made to follow too, stopped only by Emily’s voice.

“Hey, that's how you have my back?”

“Prentiss, I'm trying to protect you.” Derek held his hands up.

“I don't need protection,” she spat.

“Hotch just said he got a complaint, and he didn't come down on you. You realize that? You just dodged a bullet. We have to approach this just like we do any other case.”

“Meaning what?” She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to continue.

“Grief can make us wanna believe there's a reason for things when there's not.”

“That woman couldn't even use Patrick's name. She could only say, "my fiancé," because she's convinced something else died in that room that night.” She pushed past him, deliberately digging her shoulder against him, as she walked into the bullpen. As she poured coffee, Spencer recounted the earlier events to Piper.

“Yikes. Is Em okay?”

“I don’t know. She’s convinced there’s an unsub.”

“You don’t think so.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Spencer said as he sat at his desk. “It’s out of my hands.”

“Yeah, I heard there was a complaint.” Piper unclipped her hair, scooping it into a ponytail as she watched Emily glare at Derek over her cup. “Also, Garcia found something.” Piper rolled her chair closer to Spencer, leaning in as she spoke. “Turns out there was a blog posting by Matthew to create a support group for people who felt betrayed by their faith.”

“That explains how they all met.”

“That’s what I said. But it gets better.” Piper slurped at her tea. “And by better, I mean worse. The week the 3 of them were in Spain, the services at Santiago de Compostela were cancelled when the priest there died of, and get this, a heart attack. And,” she emphasised. “If you listen to the conspiracy chatter, there is a strong belief he was killed to interrupt services during the height of the pilgrimage. Their best guess is some kind of gas, sarin or VX, something that wouldn't show up in an autopsy. But it could be anything that would induce stress, cause a heart attack.”

“Then we have a motive. And a potential MO, An eye for an eye.”

“That’s what I said.” Piper’s eyes widened. “But Hotch can’t authorise an investigation.” She leaned back in her chair.

“Wait, but why’d you say that so secretively? Everyone knows, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve just always wanted to do that.” Piper beamed, spinning her chair before skidding over to her own desk. After a few minutes, Emily walked over, shrugging off her coat and getting down to get some work done. Piper looked up to see an attractive man walk up to Emily’s desk and she embraced him quickly. She couldn’t quite make out their hushed conversation but saw Rossi approach them and the two agents left to ‘grab coffee’.

^-^

“You know, there are nicer places to take a girl to coffee.” Emily stood outside the ruins of a burnt down house and Rossi snorted.

“You ever watch The Exorcist?”

“Yeah. Piper hated it.” Rossi nodded.

“The real case started right here. The fire department actually burned down the house themselves. The authorities referred to the boy as Robbie Doe. He's still in the DC area today.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Whole lot of effort went into destroying the house of a kid who probably had onset schizophrenia or Tourette’s syndrome.”

“I'm not following you.”

“You're sure he was murdered. So, what's the story?” Emily sighed. “If you, uh, don't wanna explain, that's fine, but if you do, I'm all in.”

“Matthew knew the Bible inside and out, and he started to question everything.”

“Why?”

“We moved around a lot when I was a kid, 'cause of my mom's postings,” Emily said, pawing at the ground with her foot. “It was hard to get accepted, and when you're 15, that's all you want. You'll do almost anything.”

“You got pregnant,” Rossi inferred, and Emily nodded. “Was Matthew the—”

“No. I couldn’t tell my mom and I didn’t know what to do.” Emily’s voice cracked. “Matthew suggested I go see a priest. He said that if I had an abortion, I wasn't welcome in his congregation.”

“What’d you do?”

“Matthew found a doctor. He took me there. He stayed with me. That Sunday when we got back to Rome, he held my hand and walked me into the church. Father Gamino actually stopped his sermon, but Matthew told me to hold my head up, and we walked to the front pew.”

“What happened?”

“He and Matthew just stared at each other. It was like a battle of wills, and-- and then suddenly Father Gamino went back to his sermon. Matthew saved my life. He made me feel like i was worthy of... Love and friendship. But that's when his anger and questioning started. Then the drugs. His parents saw it all and assumed he was possessed by something evil.” Emily exhaled, looking at the overcast sky to avoid eye contact with Rossi. “It’s my fault…that Matthew’s life unravelled. Rossi watched her blink away tears before he continued.

“Garcia uncovered some information. It's possible Matthew and the others killed someone in Spain.”

“No. I don't believe that.”

“I'm just saying if we keep pushing, you have to be prepared for what we might discover.”

“I need Matthew to rest in peace. I owe him that.”

“Then let's go give a profile.” Rossi moved towards the SUV they rolled in.

“The-the police haven't invited us in.”

“The police aren't gonna do us any good on this one, anyway.”

^-^

Piper was perched on the podium, tightening her small ponytail over her dark cardigan as she watched the group of priests. Spencer stood in an adjacent corner, leaning his back against the wall as Rossi delivered the profile in front of their audience. “We are not here to examine your beliefs in demonology or exorcism, but we are operating on the theory that the person responsible for these deaths does believe. We believe the inciting incident was the death of Father Raul del Toro in Galicia, Spain, 4 months ago.”

“Th-there's an element who believes that the death was actually a murder.” Emily shoved her hands in her pockets.

“The man we’re looking for is probably a priest with a psychotic break,” Piper continued. “He may be under the delusion that he is working for God, would be obsessed with the event in Galicia.”

“He believes he's fighting evil and may very well have followed these men here to Washington,” Spencer finished Piper’s sentence. “We believe that one of the exorcisms took place over enough days for the victim to die of dehydration.”

“Uh, if I may,” David’s priest raised his hand, saying, “An exorcism is like a prize fight. It's completely draining, both physically and spiritually. Now, if this man truly performed 3 rituals within the last few weeks, he would need medical care.”

“Is there somewhere he would go to convalesce?”

“Um, anything less than a working hospital would be too dangerous.” Spencer met Piper’s eyes and she jumped off her perch, following him outside as he dialled Garcia.

“Garcia, it's Reid.”

“Speak, boy wonder.”

“I need you to run Catholic hospital records. Look for any admissions for exhaustion immediately following Patrick Cavanaugh's death. You got it?”

“You know I do.”

“Alright, now run the same search for the days immediately following the first 2 deaths.”

“Oh, I sense a cross-check in my future.”

“Do you have anything?”

“One hit- Father Paul Silvano. Currently at St. Agatha's hospital on 214.” Piper’s forehead unwrinkled and she sprinted down the halls of the church to Rossi, flinging the door open, announcing 3 magical words.

“We got him.”

^-^

“What do you mean he has diplomatic immunity?” Emily slammed a hand on Hotch’s desk.

“Exactly that. Emily, he’s protected by the Italian government. My hands are tied."

“Hotch, he killed three people.”

“There’s no proof.”

“He admitted he was there at each crime scene, that he performed an exorcism on him.” As the fight continued, Spencer gazed intently into the window from his desk.

“What do you think is happening?”

“Auntie Em and Dad are fighting again,” Piper answered as she scribbled the last word on her file, finally completing the week’s paperwork.

“I can see that. I mean, what do you think is gonna happen?”

“The regular. Hotch doesn’t listen to anyone except Rossi so hopefully he can sort this one out. Emily will storm out in 3… 2… 1…” Spencer watched her slam the door behind her as Rossi continued the argument with Hotch, sighing. JJ walked over, leaning her back on Emily’s desk.

“Can we deport him?”

“I doubt it,” Spencer sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“It's crazy. Diplomatic immunity wasn't intended to shield people from murder charges,” Piper complained as she stacked her finished paperwork.

“So Hotch bypasses the state department,” JJ suggested, “goes straight to the Italian Consulate.”

“And loses his career,” Spencer snorted. “The state department won't risk the potential embarrassment. They'll shut us all down.”

“Well, there's some realpolitik for you,” Piper puffed. “So, what do we do now?”

“Did you check his papers with ICE?” Spencer turned to JJ.

“Yeah. His diplomatic status runs till the end of the month.” Piper stood up, starting to pace.

“Okay, let’s go back to the profile. He's a believer.” Piper juggled a stress ball in her hands. “He deals in certainties. In his mind, he has a job to do. Which doesn't end until the end of the month.” Spencer stood up.

“There's another victim on his list.” As the realisation dawned on her, Piper jumped up onto Spencer’s desk before leaping over the partition, sprinting up to Hotch’s office. Spencer just blinked at where Piper had stood merely seconds ago. “That’s starting to get annoying.” Rossi then stormed out to catch Emily by the elevator and they went for another ‘drive.’

They drove to the Benton household where Mrs Benton recognised Emily perfectly, greeting her snidely. “We know Matthew died during an exorcism by Father Paul Silvano. He's performed 3 in the last few weeks. Each subject has died. We believe he's planning another one.”

“That's none of our business.”

“Matthew's gone. You've accepted that. At least let us warn the last family so they know what kind of choice they're facing.” Emily’s pleading met silence. “This isn't about me. This is about other families and the people they love.” Mrs Benton just sighed and walked back inside, leaving the door open for them to come in.

“Father Paul didn't kill Matthew.” Mr Benton was perched next to his wife on the arm of her chair.

“Why are you so willing to accept that? I- I'm just trying to find the truth about how your son died,” Emily pleaded with them from the opposite chair.

“Then listen to me. Father Paul never laid a hand on Matthew.”

‘How do you know that?”

“Because it was me.” He looked ashamed as he stared at his worn leather shoes. “I held him down, I sanctioned the exorcism.”

“I was there.”

“You stood there and watched Matthew die?”

“He wasn't the person you knew.”

“Because Father Paul said that?”

“Something horrible happened on that trip to Spain.”

“You believe that because Father Paul said it. You can't think for yourself?”

“Young lady, do not speak to me like that.”

“How could you allow him to perform a ritual over Matthew?”

“I loved my son.”

“Then you knew how Matthew was. You knew how paranoid he could be.”

“I was trying to save his life.” Emily stood up in frustration at Mr Benton.

“That priest must have done something. Matthew's heart wouldn't have just given out.”

“That thing killed Matthew! It was inside him for years. I know you know that's true.”

“No. Matthew was a sweet boy. He was just troubled.”

“He was never troubled until he met you,” Mrs Benton murmured loud enough for Emily to hear and she recoiled.

“Look, Father Paul explained that Matthew was a conduit. If you opened yourself up to him, you were putting yourself in danger of being taken over.”

“Was anyone with him in Spain or in DC?”

“No-one. He didn’t see anyone when he came back,” Matthew’s father explained.

“No, that's not true. I - I know for a fact he saw our friend John Cooley. His parents worked with my mother at the embassy in Rome. You called him to tell him Matthew had died.”

“I haven't spoken with John Cooley in over 20 years, not since you were kids in Italy.”

^-^

While Rossi went to smooth things over with Hotch, Emily went to John’s apartment, meeting Derek there. Derek flanked Emily as they stormed the apartment. Emily raised her gun, rushing to protect John as Derek dragged Father Paul away. Once outside, Emily freed John while Derek cuffed Paul. Carefully, Emily guided her old friend to the ambulance though his complaints of being fine. Before he left, he murmured something to Emily. “I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. In Italy.” Emily just smiled, rubbing his arm gently before pushing him gently to the ambulance. She rubbed her own arm as the ambulance doors closed and drove away. Piper stood next to Emily.

“You saved him.” Emily nodded. “If you want to crash over at my place, we can watch old movies together,” Piper offered as Hotch approached. She squeezed Emily’s shoulder gently before leaving them.

“If you want my gun and badge, I understand.”

“There’s no need. The Vatican intervened.” Morgan dragged Father Paul over to them. “There's a plane ticket in your name to Rome. Agent Morgan and I will drive you to the airport. Any of your belongings can be shipped to you.”

“You have no right to deport me.”

“The Italian government has rescinded your diplomatic status. They'll do with you as they see fit when you're back in their jurisdiction.” Hotch motioned for the SUV. But as they left, the father called over his shoulder.

“You’ve made the world a more dangerous place. May God’s love be with you.”

“And with you,” she spat back. Rossi, Piper and Spencer joined her and Derek

“I saw that guy up there. He was certain he was fighting against some kind of evil,” Derek murmured to the group as the snow glistened on his shoulders.

“We all have to be certain,” Rossi remarked as he watched the priest leave with Hotch.

“Rossi, don't tell me you believe in evil.”

“Don't tell me you do this job and you don't.”

“I believe there are evil acts, but those are choices, brain chemistry,” Derek explained. “What do you think, Pipes?”

“There’s no evil in the world. Every feeling, every emotion has its justification. For him, it was his beliefs. I think it’s easy for us to dismiss someone or something as evil.” Piper puffed; her breath smoky. Morgan nodded thoughtfully before Hotch called him. One by one, they all left to their own SUVs. Piper looked over to Emily, who stared thoughtfully into the snow, one tear rolling down her cheek. Piper draped an arm over her shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you home.” Piper drove Emily carefully to her own apartment, letting her in gently. Emily couldn’t help smiling as Penelope held a hot bowl of soup.

“It’s chicken noodle.” Garcia beamed at Emily who took it, smiling softly at the soup. “Also, the movie choices are Sweet Home Alabama, Pretty Woman or Titanic.”

“I don’t know, I should—”

“How about just a quiet night in? Tell me you still made that lasagne.” Emily sat on Piper’s maroon couch, slurping at her chicken noodle soup as Piper and Penelope fought over how to cut lasagne.

“It’s not pie, Piper! You don’t cut it into triangles.”

“But it’s fun!” Emily giggled despite herself and Piper glanced over, smiling softly as she walked over, wrapping Emily in a throw when the doorbell rang. Piper opened the door for JJ who carried little Henry in one arm and a bottle of champagne in the other. Piper held Henry in her arms as JJ walked over to Penelope. The four girls sat on the floor, slurping soup, drinking champagne and eating lasagne. Emily smiled, finally feeling at home.

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stahlop · 4 years

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Happy Anniversary Must Love Dogs!

Today is the one-year anniversary of my first fic ever! Must Love Dogs was the story of how my husband I met with Emma and Killian as yours truly and my husband. And not only is today the anniversary of that fic, but it’s the 15th anniversary of our first date (hence why I posted it today originally). So here it is again in all it’s glory. I hope you enjoy it again or for the first time.

Thank you @profdanglaisstuff for your beta skills and the artwork for this piece. You have been amazing!

Summary: Emma is done with online dating, so she decides to get a dog instead. Could a new pet dating site lead to true love?

Chapters 2 3 4 5

Also on A03

“I’m done with online dating!” Emma huffed into the phone as she flopped backward onto her bed.

“I swear Mary Margaret, I’m done. There are no good guys to find from dating online. It would be easier to find a guy in a bar like the good old days.” Emma threw her arm over her eyes to block out the light in her room.

“Oh come on, Emma,” Mary Margaret, Emma’s best friend, began, “They haven’t been all bad.”

“Have you lost your memory, Mary Margaret?” Emma asked incredulously. “Do you not remember my descriptions of all the extremely bad dates I’ve been on over the past two years since I started online dating?” Emma set her phone on her bed, pressed the speaker button, and started combing her fingers through her long, blonde hair to put up into a messy bun.

“First there was the guy who only gave one word responses to every question I asked.” She huffed while unzipping her boots and throwing them into her closet from her bed.

“Then there was August who invited me to see his band, then got totally wasted before he was even off stage and hit on every other girl in the bar while he was talking to me.” Off came her socks thrown viciously into the hamper.

“Then that Walsh guy who was totally pretentious about having seen ‘The Vagina Monologues’ but really just wanted to say the word vagina over and over again.’ She wrestled her legs out of the jeans she had been wearing on her date tonight and grabbed her sweats that were haphazardly hanging off the side of her bed. She breathed a sigh of relief to be in much more comfortable clothes.

“This last date couldn’t have been worse than those, Emma.” Mary Margaret said incredulously.

“This guy, Neal, started off well,” Emma said, her voice getting a little muffled as she struggled to get her tight, ribbed shirt off and put on a Boston University sweatshirt instead, “He’s a dental assistant, so that seemed promising. At least it was until he let me know how helpful that was when he got into a fight at a concert last month and had to have his teeth that were knocked out fixed.” Emma angrily stalked into the kitchen and started rummaging through her bottom cabinet for her saucepan.

“Oh, gees!” Mary Margaret complained. “I mean, that doesn’t seem that bad. At least he got his teeth fixed.” she continued trying to make the best out of the situation.

“Oh, it gets worse!” Emma said, grabbing the chocolate discs from inside the freezer and emptying them onto a cutting board sitting on her kitchen counter. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the milk and poured about a cupful into the saucepan and turned the burner on low heat. “He proceeded to get into details about this fight and how it ended with him getting kicked in the balls and how painful that is.” She now grabbed a knife from the knife block and started vigorously chopping up the chocolate.

“Well…” Mary Margaret started but Emma was too worked up now to let her interrupt.

“So, I made the quip about how childbirth was supposed to be more painful, and he replied with ‘That’s just something women say to get attention!’” she huffed and almost sliced her finger with force she was now cutting the chocolate.

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret started again.

“I literally just gaped at him, pulled out a $20 for my meal and drink, and left. And he had the audacity to yell after ‘Can I call you?’” And at that Emma practically threw the knife into the sink.

Emma took several deep breaths awaiting Mary Margaret’s response. It took a few seconds and Emma began to think that they had maybe disconnected. She glanced at the milk on the stove and noticed the small bubbles starting to break the surface and quickly picked up the cutting board and swept the chopped chocolate into the hot milk. Just as she grabbed the wooden spoon from the drawer below to start stirring the chocolate into the milk, Mary Margaret started speaking again.

“Emma, I know you hate it when I wax poetic on love, but you really shouldn’t give up on finding it. I still feel like online dating could work if you find the right guy. I know you have walls from your childhood, but - they may keep out pain; but they also keep out love.” Mary Margaret knew Emma had doubts, but she really didn’t want her friend to give up because of a few bad dates.

Emma was now pouring the hot chocolate into her swan mug and gave a heavy sigh. “Don’t you think all these horrible dates are a sign that I’m just not meant to be with someone? I know you and David found each other on TrueLove.com, but not everyone is you.” Emma placed the saucepan into the sink and quickly ran some water into it. She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the whipped cream and sprayed it onto her hot chocolate. She replaced it back in the fridge then grabbed the cinnamon on the counter and sprinkled some over the whipped cream.

“You do realize David and I didn’t actually meet online. He was on a date with another girl and I was drunk at the bar and I accidentally swiped his credit card thinking it was mine.” Mary Margaret reminded her.

Emma chuckled, her first true expression of happiness this whole disaster of a night, “Yes, but he met her through TrueLove.com, so it’s still because of that dating site that you two met. Just think, if you hadn’t have swiped his card he might have ended up married to that Kathryn chick.”

“God forbid!” Mary Margaret gasped. “Besides, she ended up with Freddie the gym teacher at my school.” Mary Margaret taught fifth grade at the local elementary school. “Turns out after David ditched her to figure out where his credit card had gone, she ran into him at the bar. Apparently, she and Freddie had been high school sweethearts and her father didn’t like him so he sent her to a college out of state to separate them. It was fate that I happened to take David’s card, or she may have never found Freddie again.” Emma sighed and rolled her eyes at the way Mary Margaret sounded so hopeful telling this story. She was always giving hope speeches about finding love.

“Look,” Emma started while blowing on her hot chocolate to cool it down, “I think I just need a break from online dating. It’s exhausting trying to find a good guy on there. I just needed to vent about the awful date. It’s so much easier on Tinder when I know the guy is a creep I get to arrest.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said sternly, “your Tinder dates aren’t dates. That’s you pretending it’s a date to arrest them for skipping bail. It’s not even funny to joke about that.”

Emma had now plopped herself down on her couch and turned the television on to Animal Planet. Pitbulls and Parolees, one of her favorite shows, was on.

“Maybe I should get a dog.” Emma said suddenly. “At least that way I’ll have someone to come home to everyday and someone who loves me unconditionally.”

“I can see I’ve lost you on the dating conversation.” Mary Margaret huffed. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, sweetie.’

“Ok, Mary Margaret, talk to you tomorrow.” Emma said distracted by the pitbulls on the television screen. She definitely thought a trip to the local dog shelter might be exactly what she needed.

EKEKEK

Emma didn’t get to the shelter the next day; a skip she’d been tracking for a few weeks suddenly came back into town and she collared him exiting a grocery store of all places, but the day after she definitely made time to go the shelter where Mary Margaret’s husband, David, worked.

“Emma,” David began, “are you sure you understand all that’s involved in caring for a dog?” He looked at her with concern. Emma was notorious for barely taking care of herself, let alone another living creature.

“I think this is what I need, David.” Emma began. “I would rather be caring for someone that needs me than go out looking for someone who just wants to get into my pants. I think this would be good for me.” She finished. David nodded and brought her into the back where the animals were kept.

Emma had been imagining that it would be an almost dungeon-like place with sad looking animals in cages. She was pleasantly surprised to find only a few cages, but mainly large rooms with several happy looking dogs and cats running around playfully. There was even an outdoor area where the dogs could play with volunteers from the shelter.

“Most people just like to look around, see what kind of dog jumps out at them, literally and figuratively. You can take any dogs that you like out to the play area to really get a feel for their energy level.” David said

Emma strolled through the room. Each room window had a paper taped to it that said “Hi! My name is…” with the name of the dog, plus their age, what type of dog they were and any pertinent information a pet owner might need. Emma knew she needed a smaller to medium-sized dog as she lived in an apartment, and she did not want a puppy that she would have to housetrain.

She walked up and down one set of rooms and saw a medium-sized black and white dog looking slightly forlorn. Two other dogs were wrenching a rope chew toy back and forth between them. The dog was laying on a large dog pillow, completely oblivious to what it’s roommates were doing. Emma stopped in front of the window and the dog briefly looked up. Something about it just spoke to her.

“I’d like to take that one outside.” Emma said to David who was a little further back.

“Really?” he asked, “That one has been known to be a little prickly. Doesn’t seem to like people very much.” He said as he got out his keys from his pocket. Emma laughed at the comment, as people tended to say the same thing about her.

“Sounds like the perfect match.”

“She’s some sort of Boston terrier/pit mix from what we can tell.” David said as he grabbed a harness off the wall to put on the dog. “You can have genetic testing done on a dog to find out exactly what the breed background is, just like with people, but unless they have some disease that is breed specific, it’s not really worth it.” He finished fitting the harness on the dog and handed the leash to Emma. “You can take her out to the back playground for about 15 minutes to get a feel for her.”

The dog was ecstatic to be outside. She ran around the fence perimeter about three times before she came over to Emma and gave her a good sniff. Her tail immediately started wagging.

“Smell something you like, huh?” Emma said to the dog. The dog gave her hand a tentative lick. Emma reached over and slowly started scratching behind the dog’s ears. Immediately, one of the back legs came up and started thumping out of the dog’s control.

“Oh, you like that a lot, don’t you pretty girl?” The dog chuffed at her but did not move away.

They continued to bond for the rest of the allotted time, the dog running around, but always coming back to Emma for a scratch or to be petted. David watched from the window. He was surprised at how well this dog liked Emma. She usually acted aloof to any person who tried to play with her. David had never seen her so… overjoyed. And Emma seemed to really be bonding with her too. David had never seen Emma so affectionate with someone before. They really seemed to be the perfect match.

Emma arranged to pick her up the next day. It was only after the dog was put back in the room that Emma noticed the name on the dog’s paper, Aphrodite.

EKEKEK

“So, Emma,” Mary Margaret said through speakerphone as Emma was putting away dishes.

“Uh, oh,” Emma said. She could already tell that Mary Margaret had something up her sleeve from the tone in her voice. It had been two months since she had adopted Aphrodite, or Ditie, as she was prone to calling her (with an occasional Diters when she was being a really good girl), and Mary Margaret had seemed to accept that a dog was all she needed in her life and she did not need a man. “This sounds like what you usually say to me when you’re trying to set me up. You’re not trying to set me up are you?”

Mary Margaret gave a little cluck. “No.” She said almost a little too quickly. “It’s just….” she paused to get the right wording out. “Well, I was reading this article today about online dating,” Emma huffed through the phone, “and I read that there are all these new niche dating sites that are up and coming.”

“What does that mean, Mary Margaret?” Emma asked exasperated that this is where the conversation had gone.

“Well, have you ever considered a pet dating site?” Mary Margaret asked almost meekly.

Emma glanced over her countertop to see Ditie snoozing away in her dog bed, a new one she had bought for her when she had taken her home the day after their initial meeting. Emma smiled contently.

“What is that? Like an online dating site for my dog? She’s been fixed, Mary Margaret, she doesn’t need any other life partners other than me.” Emma walked back over to the dishwasher and grabbed the silverware basket to put away.

“No!” Mary Margaret said over the clinking of the forks, knives, and spoons, “It’s a site for people with pets to meet other people with pets. Niche sites are for people with specific interests. I thought it wouldn’t be bad to possibly meet someone else who also had a dog. Then maybe you could find a boyfriend and Ditie could also have a playmate.” Emma huffed again. Ditie also huffed in her sleep.

“I don’t need to find a man just to socialize my dog, Mary Margaret.”

“I know that, I just thought it might be something to look into. I’m texting you a site I found. Just take a look. Gotta go, bye!” Mary Margaret said brightly, then hung up before Emma could argue any further.

She continued to put away her dishes while Ditie snoozed when a ping came from her phone. It was the text from Mary Margaret as promised.

“Really?” Emma whined when she saw the name of the site, Mustlovedogs.com. She put her phone back down to finish her dishes. She still had some research to do for a skip she knew was still in town and she was hoping to nab the next day. She sat down at her desk, opened her laptop and started researching the leads she had about her skip.

“Ok, the skip has been sighted in these areas recently. He also has an ex who lives not too far from here that might be helpful. It looks like she has a dog, I wonder if she had it when they met. Dammit! Stop thinking about dogs, Emma. Ok, I could scope out the ex’s apartment and see what she’s up to. Maybe she’ll be out walking her dog and I could have Ditie with me and then it would seem natural. Two people with dogs meeting is natural. Dammit! Stop thinking about meeting people with dogs, Emma!” She pushed the laptop away in frustration. She checked the time and saw she’d only been working for about 15 minutes before her mind wandered to that damn website.

“Dammit!” she huffed while pulling her laptop back closer to her and reopening it and entering the website Mary Margaret had sent her.

The website was full of bright pictures of couples with their dogs in various states of happiness: walking in the park, playing fetch, all sleeping in the same bed. Emma rolled her eyes at the obvious happily ever after vibe that was happening on the site. She decided to put in some basic information in the “what she was looking for” section on the website just to see what it would come up with. According to the site, she didn’t need to have a membership to look, just to contact any potential matches she might get. Once she put the information in, she realized just how new the website actually was. On the last site she’d been on she had usually matched to about 30-40 different guys with similar interests. Here she was only matched with eight.

She started scanning through the profiles that had been selected for her. The main format was the same as any other dating site, just a blurb about yourself, your interests and hobbies, but it also had a profile section for your dog.

“That’s cute.” She said out loud, while scanning the first profile. Nothing in particular stood out to her that made her want to contact the guy though.

All the guys seemed standard website dating fare, except that they had dogs, which made them slightly better than most guys Emma supposed. Dogs were excellent judges of character, so she assumed that all these guys were better than the average single guy just for the fact that they had dogs. But no one was really standing out.

It was 11:00 when she got to the eighth and final profile. So far Mary Margaret’s website had been a bust, and she was getting tired. She’d read this last profile, one Killian Jones, and head to … holy mother, he was good looking! Dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes, a bit of scruff on his chin. He was leaning, almost nonchalantly, against a boat mast with just the hint of a smile on the corners of his lips. It could look arrogant, but on him it looked almost boyish, even though he was definitely all man. There was no way his profile could match his gorgeousness.

Killian Jones - 34, graphic designer

Originally from London, I moved to the US to go to college (Go Terriers!). I was primarily interested in pursuing an English degree, but even with my superfluous vocabulary, found it utterly pedantic, and not wanting to complete the British stereotype of a stodgy, British, English professor, decided to go into the exciting world of graphic design instead. I currently am the head graphic designer for Boston Tea Party Boat Tours. The sea is my mistress, which essentially means I love to go sailing. I spent many years as a child learning to sail and find it very soothing. A great stress reliever. And, while an affection for sailing the open waters would be nice, is not a deal breaker when it comes to a woman I am wooing. I also enjoy many land activities, including geocaching and drinking rum (I’ve been told I have all the makings of a pirate). Hopefully, being a possible pirate does not put you off of reading the rest of my profile. At least give my dog a chance if my profile scared you a little.

Jolly - 2, Boston Terrier/Pit Mix

Hi! I’m Jolly, short for Jolly Roger, even though I’m a girl. My dad has a thing for Peter Pan and since he didn’t like Wendy or Tiger Lily for a dog, Jolly it is. And I am a jolly dog, so aptly named. I love going out sailing with my dad because I have a cool blue life vest that I get to wear. I also love walking on the beach and rolling in the sand and getting myself so sandy that my dad has to vacuum out his car more than is necessary. I also love going for drives (I call shotgun!) and just going to any place that allows dogs. I’d love for my dad to find me another dog to play with and for him to have another human to play with.

Emma gave out a slight laugh, because of course it was written perfectly. The profile was definitely different from the usual profiles she was used to reading. She also liked that he’d written Jolly’s profile as it were from her perspective, something none of the other men had done on their profiles (and the fact that Jolly was the same mixed breed as Ditie). He just sounded so personable, and someone Emma would actually hang out with … or even date.

She looked at the time on her laptop and say that it was just after 11 PM. She had a really good feeling about this guy. One she’d never had with any of her other online dates. She did a quick online search of him and found him on the website for Tea Party Boat Tours as his place of employment. She didn’t find much else, which, in her profession, she always found was a good thing.

“Ok, Emma, you can do this.” she said trying to pep herself up to writing a profile with half as much personality as his.

Emma Swan, 28, Bail Bonds Person

I moved around a lot when I was a kid so I’m from nowhere in particular. I finally decided to put down some roots in Boston around five years ago. As it states above, I am a Bail Bonds Person, which I’ve been doing for the past eight years. I am currently pursuing a criminal justice degree at BU and studying for the Police Academy exam. I am a master of the law so please don’t respond to this profile if you are a felon, have even been a felon, or plan on being a felon. I like taking runs near the water and so does my dog, but I also love just chilling out at home, ordering out, and streaming old 80’s and 90’s movies (Goonies and Hook being two of my favorites).

Aphrodite, 1, Boston Terrier/Pit Mix

My mommy has only been my mommy for about two months, but she has been the best mommy ever! She gives me lots of treats and takes me on lots of walks! I especially love going to dog parks, especially ones that have water. Baths and swimming are my favorite! I don’t get to go swimming much though, as mommy doesn’t know anyone with a pool. But my favorite dog park has a little swimming area for dogs like me. I know my mommy thinks I’m all she needs, but I think human companionship with someone else who also has a dog companion for me would be good.

Emma looked it over. She didn’t want to come off sounding desperate, but she also wanted to match the same playful tone Killian had written his (and Jolly’s) profile with. She just needed pictures of herself and Ditie to add to her profile.

Opening her pictures folder, Emma quickly scrolled through until she found the picture she wanted to use. It was the day she brought Ditie home. David had taken it before she left the shelter. Emma had a big wide smile, her long, blonde hair tied into a loose braid hanging over her shoulder. Ditie was licking her cheek and David managed to snap the picture before she scrunched her face because of Ditie’s tongue practically in her mouth.

Emma uploaded the photo of her and Ditie, and uploaded the whole profile onto the website. Now, to get Mr. Killian Jones to notice it. She had noticed that there was the option of a virtual kiss, kind of like a nudge or poke on some of the other sites she had been on. So she clicked on the virtual kiss option on his website. She let out a big breath of air that she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

Checking the time again, it was now close to midnight, Emma decided there was nothing else she could do tonight. She closed the laptop and went to get ready for bed.

Tag List: (Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones

#must love dogs #anniversary #cs au #cs au ff #captain swan #profdanglaisstuff #cs online dating #cs pet dating

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haylanmakesstuff · 4 years

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Day 1 & 2 of my 21 day Skeksis Costume Build

I usually work as a seasonal Interpretive Ranger for outdoor agencies, like National Parks and Forests, and last year when I got back from working all the way across the country from my home, I had less than a month to pull a Halloween costume off! I always make my costumes from scratch (except things like shoes, but I often alter them, etc.)

I wasted about a week of my time debating what I should do. I had a few ideas but I wasn’t crazy about them. I often feel like I need to be CRAZY excited about whatever I make. When I didn’t work during the summers out of state, I would often start my costumes any time between late June and early August depending on how ambitious it was. Now I had less than a month!

I had been watching The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance and was thinking about how since I was a little kid I’ve always wanted to make a Skesis costume. Then I realized – I didn’t have a job or anywhere to be until school started, so why not go nuts and make one in just 21 days? I did just that. I took pictures along the way to be able to show how I did it…now welcome to the first post detailing the experience!

Also, I had posted about this costume on a Halloween Costume Club I used to run as a Facebook group and actually had people being jerks about it. I am not here for your negativity. I am here to share my process and love of crafting with others, and I am happy to answer questions, too. No, you don’t have to make this costume or anything in just 21 days, even I would usually start months in advance and only work on it intermittently for a better product, I just didn’t have that option in 2019. But please, I’m here to share the happiness of crafting, not to hear how stupid you think my hobbies are.

First, the end game:

Now, let’s back up 21 days and start from the beginning. I kept a calendar with notes on what I worked on because I eventually wanted to go back and make this post. Currently (July 2020) I am updating the costume for a second Halloween (if that happens during this pandemic) and those updates will be the last post of this series. Enjoy!

DAY 1: OCTOBER 10TH

Today I worked on the head/face, and eyes. Go big or go home, because if I couldn’t make the most important part of the costume, then the rest is cancelled. I first gathered a bunch of screen shots of Chamberlain from the new Netflix show, googled images of the character, the puppet, and models. I started the head and completed that process before I realized I liked Skekso’s character design WAY more than The Chamberlain. And I had seen Chamberlain done several times before online and realized I wanted to take on a new challenge. That’s why you’ll notice the head shape is that of Chamberlain and not of The Emperor. That morning I went to craft stores and hardware stores and got the stuff I would need to start off. This would mean many trips to these places, and since I live in a partially rural area, it’s a drive for me so I try to limit these visits so I don’t waste all my creating time driving. You’ll see each material listed as we go along.

First, here is Skekso, The Emperor from Dark Crystal; Age of Resistance, so you know what he looks like from the source material. If you haven’t seen this show, obviously I would recommend it, and would tell you start with the show, not the movie from the early 80’s, because the show is a prequel. I think to new viewers the movie may be more exciting if you see some of the back story on why it’s happening.

So now to the build:

1.) I started with plastic craft mesh in white to make a skull shape:

I used a paper pattern so my sized would line up correctly, etc. You’ll notice I’m not only terrible at math, but I absolutely hate it. Not a great quality for a Maker and I have to compensate A LOT for my lack of math love and skills. I missed a lot of school growing up and never actually learned stuff like long division until college, so….make do! Our weaknesses and flaws won’t end us, we just find a way around them.

2.) Once I got the plastic mesh pieces the right shapes, I glued them together with hot glue, very carefully. I cut out a spot for the eyes making sure the future-eyes that were still ping pong balls fit snuggly. Notice all of my shopping and material decisions are heavily reliant on being light weight – I’m only 5’2 and not very strong, I knew I couldn’t pack a 50 pound costume around all night. I can keep my carry-on bags under 20 pounds usually, so I was confident in tricking this costume to be as light as possible.

3.) Next, I used upholstery foam from the craft store (look in the furniture/upholstery section) to coat the mesh skull with without any contours, etc. That will all come later. I also made my favorite 3 ingredient pumpkin cookies that are the BOMB. Let me know if you want the very short recipe.

4.) After I had all the basic forms of foam where I needed them and hot glued on, I started carving out the foam into the various shapes and valleys to look like Skekso. This took a long time and make a crazy mess, so beware if you have pets, roommates, or husbands – you’ll owe them some of those cookies to put up with your bull.

5.) Then, I started on the eyeballs. Keeping it lightweight, I used regular old ping pong balls.

In the background, to the left of this picture, you’ll see a yellowish-hand. During this time I was also making a Halloween Decoration/Party Decoration; a full size Dementor from Harry Potter, for my yard for the month of October, and for November when I have an annual Hogwarts Feast; both of which I will showcase on here later! I liked these hands so much I ended up adapting a fancier version for this Skekso costume, so more on that later.

DAY 2: OCTOBER 11TH

Face, teeth, eyes, and head dress.

1.) Today I continued painting the eye balls, giving a base coat of off white, painting the iris and pupil, and veins. I used acrylic for all of this, but dipped the reds and pinks in water before using tiny brushes and toothpick points to create the veins. I actually glued a part of a wooden skewer (thicker than a toothpick) short, maybe 1.4 inches at most, to the back of the eyeball so I would always have something to hold onto without messing up the paint job. I figured this would be handy when gluing it into the head later, and it was.

I also continued the carving of the foam on the head from yesterday, finally getting it where I wanted it, ready for the next stage.

2.) Next, I drew dark spots of different sizes on the jaws of the head to see how many of what size teeth I wanted Skekso to have. I used a picture as reference and got it as close as I could. Counted how many large, medium, and small teeth there were, so I knew how many to make.

Then, clearly, it was important that I sang him a little song of encouragement. It could be reenacting that scene from Alien 4 that’s so darned sad too, hard to say.

Now I know what you are wondering: What the heck am I wearing on my head? No, I don’t have a mushy skull like a bitty baby, I’m actually preparing myself to get used to the helmet that will be used for the costume later. I am not sure how heavy it will be, so I want to get used to the bike helmet, and you’ll see later I slowly add some weight to it. Yeah, I look kinda crazy, but at least I got to do it in my own home. And I am not superhero Christine McConnell – I never dress in anything but slouchy pajamas for the most part if I’m heavy into a crafting project. I want comfort and not to ruin everything I own because shit gets messy!

3.) Now that I know how many and what sizes teeth I need, time to make them. I bought a shit ton of Crayola Modeling Magic for this costume because it’s lightweight and I am used to using it. I used only white, mold it how I want it, then it dries for at least 24 hours for these little teeth. Anything bigger will add time – you’ll see more made of this later. Here are the little teeth on a pretty platter to dry:

4.) Now time for more work on the head: I painted the mesh inside of the mouth black so it couldn’t be seen once the head is done. The mouth will be slightly open so you can see the teeth. If I had more time, I would have made a tongue, to.

5.) First unexpected fix: when working on the head I noticed I didn’t like how wide part of it was, between the eyes. The head already is Chamberlains head shape instead of The Emperor, so I used a stitch through the middle to pull in the eyes, making the bridge of the nose narrower.

That’s all for today! And it was a lot. Come back for more posts about my journey through the Cliffs of Insanity to build this Skeksis costume in 21 days. Happy Halloween All Year!

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