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ar3s-r4t-qu33n · 5 months ago

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The Insomniac - Chapter 1

So… Played the tutorial of Trials and explored the Sleep Room a bit and somehow, in my sleep deprived brain, that was enough to make something so here it is! Not sure if I’ll continue it, I kinda want to ngl but we’ll see. Not really proofread, again, half written when I was passing out and then finished when I was a bit more lucid so I apologise if it’s shit. Also I’m still figuring out a lot of shit about Trials so if I’ve messed up anything about the layout/terminology/lore, please let me know! Hope y’all enjoy!!

Word Count: 3,338

CW: Attempted murder, drugging.

"Please step out of the shuttel."

Reawakening

I cling to the shuttle, knees knocking as one of my hands slips off, almost taking me down with it. It's bloody, still gushing the stuff from the gaping hole in my palm. My head throws my vision through a loop, and I have to swallow hard to stop the bile rushing up my throat to come spilling out of me. It hurts. It's too bright in here. Wherever here is. There's a window to my left, where more of those awful doctors are probably torturing their patients, drilling into their temples and spewing nonsense about the past and the future and 'the programme'. My head spins again. In front of me looks like a counter at a pharmacy, a woman reading behind the desk. She doesn’t appear to have noticed me, but I’m breathing so loudly, I swear she must be able to hear it.

I jolt, stumbling out and crashing against the wall. The shuttle snaps shut behind me, faster and somehow angrier than the last one.

“Please explore the Sleep Room. This is your neighbourhood…”

I squeeze my eyes shut, blood rushing my ears as my head spins yet again, that stupid intercom going on and on and on, barely audible between each ragged breath I force in and out of my lungs. I need to calm down. I need to figure out what the hell is going on and get out of here. My fingers stick to the cool glass and I force myself to steady, wobbly on my feet as I approach the counter.

"You have to learn to crawl before you can run, Honey.” She says, disinterested, again not even glancing up from her magazine.

"I-" My words die in my mouth, vocal chords giving out a pained squeak instead of English, throat constricting in on itself in protest, larynx sending me a strict warning;

Don't speak unless necessary. You need to heal.

I need to get my hands on some fresh tea, lemons and honey.

Rounding the corner, I find myself in what looks like a recreational room, only it's entirely too clinical. Pure white, too much space, and far too few people having far too few conversations. Most just sit, staring off. A man sits near the door, something in his eyes a little more lucid than some of the others, so I approach.

"Where-"

He juts his head towards a metal staircase. "First empty room you see’s probably yours.”

"Thank you." More throaty squeaks, both the inside and outside of my throat burning at the effort.

The slabs have been cold on my now bare feet, but the metal stairs are even worse. Make me wish I had my fluffy slippers. I didn't have time to put them on, I only had my socks. Why would they take my socks? And my nightgown, I realise, reaching the platform halfway up. I'm dressed in something akin to a uniform, gray and drab and not made for me. It clings far too much, meant for a gal a lot smaller than me.

A glint in my peripheral catches my eye and I glance to the right, finding a huge window looking down on the rec room. I can't see much. The glass is strange, not quite a mirror, but not clear, either. As though it resists showing what's within but can't quite commit to the task.

Doctors. Machines. And then a man in a wheelchair. He's focused on the people below me, pondering something, before he pulls away from the window, disappearing down a hallway. Not once did he look at me. It's like he didn't even know I was there.

My room is at the very end of the hallway marked ‘A-2’, beside another metal grid sectioning us off from the rest of wherever we are. The only plain room left, a number written above the unit.

3001

The door swings open almost too efficiently, quickly and quiet, and I quickly shut it again behind me. That voice comes in again, seemingly coming from a television screen in the corner, talking about the space, but I don’t care to hear it. I don’t care for any of this.

The door stands a fraction of an inch above the floor, a tiny but noticeable drop between the hallway and my room. The window in here is the same as the one looking down to watch us; not quite one way, not quite two. My stomach drops as I watch someone pass by, not seeing their every pore, sure, but they're not exactly blurred. They sort of lean in, as though hoping I wouldn't see them, and quickly disappear, footsteps, shoes, hurrying back down the hallway as hushed voices talk. Not soundproof, either.

The room holds little; a basin, wall mirror, desk and chair, bed, a little dresser for clothes, a few shelves and what appear to be the 'essentials' for this place- shampoo, soaps, a wash cloth, kettle, some eating utensils, fan, books, weights, a lamp, toilet paper, some canisters, and a pile of napkins. A toothbrush and tube of toothpaste have been laid out by the basin too.

Taking stock makes me feel better. I don’t know why.

The soap and shampoo are basic, unscented, purely for getting clean, and the canisters hold sugar, in one, and coffee pods in another. My nose twitches at the scent and I move on, sitting on my plain bed, feeling the cheap, sort of scratchy sheets beneath my hand. The other remains in my lap, numb, but throbbing. I've never treated a wound before. And it's not even the only one I have; that... Creature, whatever it was, it felt like it sucked the life out of me, and whoever jumped on me luckily didn't cause too much damage, but my arms hurt from the punching, and there will probably be bruises tomorrow. And then I ran into that woman with the puppet again at right before I escaped, and that drill caught me in the shoulder.

I think I almost died. If that shuttle hadn't closed, she would have killed me.

I approach the basin, seeing myself in the mirror for the first time since that night. I'm a mess. Hair all over the place, lipstick smudged, a dark ring around my eyes where my makeup was. Bloodshot eyes. Temples caked in blood from where they drilled...

I wince at the memory, a headache threatening to hit me, and I force my attention on my hand.

Once the blood is washed away and I've wiped as much as I can from my shoulder and temples, I'm left with a cut along my left shoulder and a hole in my right hand. At least it's not my dominant one. But I'm going to need something to cover it up. My throat is burning now, in desperate need of a drink, but I'd rather die than drink coffee and I don’t know if the water is safe. My legs are shaky as I head back downstairs to the rec room, hunger pains gnawing at the bottom of my stomach. I can smell food somewhere, but it's almost overwhelming how strong it is, the air completely filled with the stench of something I can't quite place, a cacophony of smells that do nothing but confuse me. I need to focus. I need gauze and a plaster.

I try to speak to the nearest person but words just won't form. My throat is practically wringing itself, and my eyes dart around the room in search of something to drink; nothing. None.

It's like my body moves of it's own accord, slinking back to the stairs, leaning against the banister in... Shame.

I want to fucking scream.

I want to yell ‘don't any of you know who I am!? Don't you care!?’ God, in New York, in New Orleans, I was something. I meant something, people knew my name and if they saw me like this, bleeding and parched, they would help me. Someone would help me.

... Am I even still in New York?

"Hey-"

A hand lands on my shoulder and I jump back, hitting the back of my head against the metal, a strangled sort of half gasp, half scream clawing its way out of my throat.

"Hey, hey, woah!" A man several heads taller than me steps back, hands up in defence. "Easy. It's okay. I just wanted to check in on you, I don't think I've seen you around before and... To be honest, you ain't exactly in the best shape."

He's weathered. I can't tell if it's by age or experience, but there is something timeless to him, wrinkles on his forehead, crow's feet, and yet clear laughter lines outlining his full lips. His hair is shaved down to his scalp, a coiley layer of frizz just about starting to grow, and a lightning bolt of a scar runs from his scalp down the side of his temple and onto his right cheek, forking over his forehead and even dipping into his ear.

"Do you need some gauze?"

I nod.

"Do you need someone to wrap your hand for you?"

I nod again.

"Do you talk?"

I nod a third time.

"Alright, okay," he chuckles, "My cell's this way, and luckily for you, I've got some supplies saved up. We haven't had anyone new come in in a while now." He begins walking and I follow, turning down a hallway to that first row of rooms. His is in the middle, and the second he opens the door, I am in awe.

I have no idea how he's managed to do it in a place like this, but there's paper on the walls and a carpet on the floor, the whole floor, filling that slight gap between the two rooms. His shelves are lined with things, including a medkit that he grabs and behind digging through. His dresser is full of clothes, some bloodied, others pristine, and some of his trinkets do catch my eye. They're... Oddly macabre. Toys that are just off or oddly perverse, statues of things I have never seen in my life, and, oddly enough, a bag of pistachios, half eaten.

"Sit down. I'll be as gentle as possible." He pulls out the desk chair for me. "Feel free to grab some water, too. Safer to get it from the stations in the hallway than the sink, but the way.”

As he begins to wrap my hand, I take the cup and drink the whole thing down in one, finally dousing the flames within.

"That better?" He asks, amused.

I nod. "Thank you."

His smile fades "Look, I hate to be rude, I do, but," he secures the gauze. "You look really bad, ma'am. Worse than most new folks."

I motion to my shoulder and he takes a look.

"Blood loss. Checks out." He begins to rifle through the first aid box again.

There’s a thousand questions running through my head, some I know he could probably answer, others I’m certain he can’t, but somehow the least important one comes out first. "How did you know about my hand?"

He holds his right hand out to me, a scar almost perfectly in the centre of his palm. "I'll give Gooseberry one thing; she has impeccable aim." He crosses over to my front again. "We all have one. There's a certain order to things here, you know, them academics and doctor types love routine." He rolls his eyes with a smirk. "But every single person here has a scar." He presses his hand against mine gently. It dwarfs mine, almost, larger, stronger, calloused. "And now you do too. Means you're one of us," His eyes flick to the still-open door, quickly enough that just I barely catch it. "And not one of them."

He returns his attention to my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, that's a lot of information at once, huh?"

I nod, losing my words once more.

"Don't you worry, they usually give you a few days before they start hounding you to go back in-"

"Go back in!?" I try to turn around, but his sturdy hands hold me in place.

"Easy." He warns. "I'll explain more to you once you've settled, but unless you wanna pass away in your sleep tonight, I'd suggest you let me take care of this."

I still, but my heart is thudding along in my ears, I can feel it in my neck, the soles of my feet. What else could possibly be in that house that would make me wanna go back? I already destroyed everything, my documents, whatever was in that other box. It was too dark for me to rifle through it, I had more important things on my mind.

“I barely got here.” I mutter, quite by accident.

He sighs. “Like I said, you’ll have a few days to recover, maybe someone will take pity on you and do a few runs in your stead. But you will have to go back in. Everyone has to go back in.” He secures the bandage. “Maybe you’ll find a full group to go with, that’ll give you better chances.”

“Can’t I go with you?”

He’s suddenly bashful, gaze falling to the floor. “Not, um… not really. It’s really nothing personal, but it’s better for me if everyone survives, and I’ve been doing this with folks who know what they’re doing for quite some time now. You ain’t ready for that sort of thing, clearly. Better if you find someone with a bit more experience who’s willing to go at your speed.”

None of what he’s saying is making any sense to me. How much better can you get at shredding documents and avoiding crazy people? I’m sure if I went back in, with a proper layout and knowledge of what the hell I was doing, I could do it perfectly, without getting hurt this time.

“You’re all set.” He says, stepping back from me. “You’d best get yourself some food. I’d suggest avoiding Dory for the time being, she ain’t too fond of new people bothering her. I recommend you be nice to the Cook, since he’s the one feeding you, and I have heard he’s happy to spit in the soup if someone pisses him off enough. Don’t use that hand too much if you can help it as well. Oh, the showers are through the cafeteria, same as the toilets.”

A knock has us both turning to the door, where a woman, an older lady with greying hair and spindly hands is waiting.

“Sparky, the boys wanna play chess, you coming?”

“I’ll be right there, thanks for letting me know.”

She spares me a quick once-over before leaving.

The man, Sparky, I assume, leads me back out to the rec room before patting me on the back and heading upstairs, leaving me alone once more.

It’s even quieter in here now, maybe it’s tea time or perhaps people are turning in or have somewhere to be, but it’s completely quiet save for the echoes from above. I am hungry. Thirsty again now, too. Maybe I should go up to the cafeteria, so if I can get something. See about getting my hands on some tea. I’d even take Earl Grey at this point as opposed to my usual spiced chamomile. Anything, so long as it soothes my throat.

“Hey,”

I turn to my right; a man is behind a thick pane of that strange glass, completely on his own. He’s dressed as though he’s been prepared for a struggle; helmet, mask, even gloves. He’s surrounded by what look to be little cages, a small hallway behind his cramped office. I can’t help peering down it as I get closer, searching for anyone out there.

“Sorry, just… Fuck. You just got here, didn’t you?” He says, leaning forwards in his chair. “You got that look about you, like… I don’t know, like you’re still human.”

My throat tightens. “What does that mean?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just enjoy it while it lasts, I guess.” He points to the shuttle beside me. “This here’s the egress. Once the whitecoats are done twisting you into shape, this is how you get back out into the world.”

It looks like it, too. Lush plant life is escaping the gridded floor, thin smoke reminding me of a rain forest or jungle, but the second I step just slightly closer to it, bars slam into place, blocking my way out.

“I’m… sorry to say it,” I can’t look away from it. The exit, the way out, it’s right in front of me, right before my eyes. All it would take is this guy pressing a button and letting me through, and I’d be free. “But you got a lot of rough roads ahead of you.”

My lip quivers pathetically, that burning, constricting feeling in my throat finally giving way to tears, hot, escaping my eyes as I turn back to him. “I can’t do this. I- I’m not supposed to be in a place like this, I mean it. I didn’t… I have a family back home. People who are looking for me, they know that I can’t do this, you just have to call them up, if you call my dad, he’ll tell you I’m not built for this.”

“I’ve heard this before, miss-”

“I’m Roxie Morgan.” I say, gripping the edge of his counter. “I’m a singer, I live in New York, people know who I am, they know my face, they will miss me if I don’t come home, you have to let me out of here- I’m going to die!”

For a moment- I swear, I swear- his pale blue eyes soften, hands clenching in his lap as he looks at me, as I cry in front of him, letting him see the whole of it, the whole of me and my fucking terror, I see his chest seize up, as though caught red-handed, as though he could actually do something.

And then he looks away.

“I… I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I’ll need release tokens to let you out. There’s protocols, there’s rules, and you’re just gonna have to follow them.”

No…

No. No, no, no, he can’t, he can’t make me do this, no one can make me do this.

“I can’t go back in there. I could have died, do you hear me? I almost died in there! That woman almost killed me, she almost killed me! Someone almost killed me-”

He presses a button. “I need a sedative please, as soon as possible.”

“You can make it stop! You can let me out, you can get me out of here please, please just let me go, I shouldn’t be here! I’m not supposed to be here, I-”

A strong arm wraps around my wrist and a stabbing pain shoots through my upper arm. Immediately my body fails me, legs giving out and someone hooks their hands under my arms, dragging me backwards.

As my eyes fall shut, I see that man behind the glass just staring at me, wide-eyed, haunted, almost, as though he’s never had to do that before. As though he’s in trouble, a brand new trouble he’s never experienced before.

I wake the following morning with a mouth dryer than sand and a splitting head ache, a dried dribble of blood stuck to my arm. I’m starving at this point, stomach screaming at me to get up and feed it.

On my way through to the cafeteria, I can’t help but look at that window again. He’s not there, it’s a different guy this time, but I can’t imagine that he’s just gone. No, he’s likely gone home, his shift ended, and he’ll be back at some time in the future. He has to come back.

Because he’s my ticket out. No matter what it takes, that man is going to get me out of here.

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An attempt was made...

Idk, it's a sort of flash sudden thing, I usually edit and draft a lot more before I feel like I want people to read it but first time for everything ig. I'm so fucking scared rn man-

#absolutely terrified #please don't crucify me Outlast Fandom-#the outlast trials oc #outlast trials oc #franco barbi

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immortalarizona · 11 months ago

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Died With a Hammer in His Hand: Unpacking the Myth of John Henry

“John Henry said to his captain: ‘You are nothing but a common man, Before that steam drill shall beat me down, I’ll die with my hammer in my hand.’” — “John Henry, the Steel Driving Man,” recounted by W. T. Blankenship

John Henry is one of America’s most well-known mythic heroes, immortalized in song, statue, postage stamp, and multiple movies (including a 2000 Disney animated short film which I vividly remember watching in elementary school). But if you’re unfamiliar with the legend, here’s a brief summary.

John Henry was a freed slave who found himself working for a railroad company in the years following the Civil War as a steel driver. His job was to drive a steel spike into rock so that dynamite could be placed in the resulting hole, thus opening up a tunnel through the Appalachians.

John Henry was the best on his crew, and he took pride in his work—so when a white salesman brought in a steam-powered drill, claiming that it could drill better than any man, he decided to challenge that claim. Henry entered into a contest with the machine to see who could carve out the deepest hole in the mountain in a single day.

His victory cost him his life.

Henry’s wife—sometimes named Polly Ann, sometimes named Lucy, sometimes not named at all—went to visit him on his deathbed that evening. In many versions of the ballad, Henry’s last words are a request for a glass of water. In other versions, he asks his wife to be true to him when he’s dead, or to do her best to raise their son. Many accounts say that he’s buried by a railroad, where “Every locomotive come roarin’ by, / Says there lays that steel drivin’ man” (lyrics from Onah L. Spencer).

Bronze statue of John Henry near Talcott, West Virginia, sculpted by Charles Cooper.

The general consensus among historians now seems to be that the ballad of John Henry is one such legend that has its roots in historical fact, although the particulars are long obscured by the centuries that have since passed. Henry was born into slavery in the 1840s or 50s, either in North Carolina or Virginia (some accounts of the ballad lend credence to the latter claim). As for how John Henry found himself working for the Chesapeake & Ohio Railway company, University of Georgia history professor Scott Reynolds Nelson posits in his book Steel Drivin’ Man that the man was sentenced to ten years in a Virginia prison for theft at only nineteen years of age, and that he was among many prisoners leased out by the state for labor.

Did you know that the 13th Amendment makes an exception for slavery which is used “as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted”? (This practice continues to this day, and has become an industry worth tens of billions of dollars. Louisiana State Penitentiary, also known as Angola or simply “The Farm,” is a good place to begin if you’re wanting to look into chain gangs further.) John Henry the legend was a free worker who took on the backbreaking, often dangerous work of railroad labor under his own power and could demand any wage for his work, but John Henry the man may have lived and died in neoslavery.

Speaking of Henry’s death, most retellings of the myth say that he died of sheer exhaustion. Some add in the detail that it was his heart that gave out because he worked himself too hard. However, alternate theories have been proposed for how the man died. Some historians say it was a stroke that killed him, while others posit silicosis.

It’s this latter hypothesis which I find most intriguing. For those who aren’t familiar with it, the American Lung Association describes silicosis as “a lung disease caused by breathing in tiny bits of silica, a common mineral found in sand, quartz and many other types of rock.” It’s been an occupational hazard for construction workers since, well, the time of John Henry. What I find interesting are the implications for the narrative if the real Henry died of silicosis. In the folk ballad, Henry causes his own death by working himself too hard. On the other hand, the ones at fault if the man died of silicosis would be his employers—the ones responsible for the dangerous conditions he worked in.

So why would John Henry’s cause of death change during the transition from fact to legend?

The answer, as with many other fictionalized accounts of historical events, is that it simply makes for a more effective story. But not just that—a more effective message. So what might the ballad be trying to tell those who listen to it?

First, let’s think about who this song was sung by and for. The ballad of John Henry is a work song, its rhythm meant to help railroad workers stay and strike in sync, in the same way a drumbeat helps soldiers march in step. It’s been sung by railroad workers, miners, construction workers, chain gangs, and country musicians. At its core, then, the ballad is a song of and for the American working class—specifically those people doing the same sort of backbreaking physical labor as John Henry himself. Many of these laborers would have been Black, and likely former slaves—especially when it came to Southern chain gangs. (See my above note about how American slavery was only mostly abolished, and then think about why the U.S. has one of the highest incarceration rates in the world. . . but I digress.)

An oil painting of John Henry by Frederick Brown.

We’ve established that John Henry is a hero for working-class Americans during the time of the Second Industrial Revolution. But what sort of hero is he? Is he like Achilles, a paragon of his country’s values and an example for the audience to aspire to? Or is he an Icarus, a cautionary tale sung so the audience won’t repeat his mistakes?

The answer depends on who’s telling the story.

Onah L. Spencer is the source for one version which emerged from a Black community in Cincinnati, Ohio. When he recounted the lyrics to Guy B. Johnson for the latter’s 1929 book John Henry: Tracking Down a Negro Legend, he also stated that the song was used to motivate workers: “. . . if there was a slacker in a gang of workers it would stimulate him with its heroic masculine appeal.”

In cases such as Spencer’s crew, then, John Henry’s death is presented as glorious, and Henry is seen as admirable for working so hard that it kills him. Here, he’s a good example. Taken to the extreme, the Achillean Henry encourages fellow workers to follow in his footsteps—to keep pushing themselves harder and harder until they finally keel over.

This message doesn’t benefit the workers passing it along; it benefits the employers profiting from their labor. This, I think, is where the story blurs the line between myth and propaganda. And while the ballad of John Henry certainly isn’t singlehandedly responsible for the American tendency to overwork ourselves, it does reflect our attitudes about work in a way that’s worth unpacking. To me, this reeks of the Puritan work ethic. The belief was that you had to be working as often as you could; if you didn’t, the devil would be able to influence you. The Puritans were one of America’s foundational cultural influences—of course those values would have influenced the ballad of John Henry.

Henry is a hero because he worked himself to death. If we see him as a good example, what does this say about the effects that capitalism has had on American attitudes? About the internalized belief that our worth as humans only comes from what we can contribute to the economy? Why do we see death from exhaustion as a fitting end for a former slave?

Then again, maybe we’re not supposed to.

A lithograph of John Henry, from the series American Folk Heroes, by William Gropper.

Remember how I noted earlier that many of the laborers who first sang Henry’s ballad would themselves have been former slaves? It’s important because there’s a long history of American slaves using work songs as a tool of resistance against their oppressors, and these Black laborers—these “freed” slaves—would have carried that tradition with them into the Second Industrial Revolution.

The ballad of John Henry, then, might have been sung with the intent of helping other workers survive the brutal conditions on the railroads. Here, Henry becomes an Icarus—a warning of what happens if you push yourself too hard. One version of the ballad recorded by Edward Douglas of the Ohio State Penitentiary contains lyrics which suggest that not every Henry was meant to be emulated.

“John Henry started on the right-hand side, And the steam drill started on the left. He said, ‘Before I’d let that steam drill beat me down, I’d hammer my fool self to death, Oh, I’d hammer my fool self to death.’”

Don’t do what John Henry did, this version warns the audience. Be wiser than he was. Don’t push yourself quite so hard. Think of the people you’d be leaving behind if you’re not careful.

Perhaps even the creation of this mythos was an act of defiance in and of itself. At this point, I think it bears mentioning that I myself am not Black and can only hypothesize based on what I’ve heard from people who are, but I see something radical in the act of raising up one of your own as your hero rather than venerating the people you’ve been told are superior to you.

Remember, John Henry’s contest was versus a white man’s machine. It costs him everything, but he triumphs over the expectations of that steam drill salesman and proves his worth as a laborer and a person. John Cephas, a blues musician from Virginia who was interviewed by NPR for a report on John Henry back in 2002, had this to say of the myth:

“It was a story that was close to being true. It’s like the underdog overcoming this powerful force. I mean even into today when you hear it (it) makes you take pride. I know especially for black people, and for people from other ethnic groups, that a lot of people are for the underdog.”

Americans love underdog stories. Our own national origin myth is one! John Henry’s assertation of power and skill, the ballad’s declaration that Black people have the right to be proud of themselves too. . . no wonder this myth has resonated with so many people. No wonder it’s survived for a century and a half.

In this light, then, John Henry once again becomes a hero for us, the audience, to emulate. In the fight against oppression, endurance like Henry’s becomes key. Justice is almost never won quickly. The odds stacked against us may seem impossible, but it’s worth trying anyways, even if we have to fight to our dying breaths.

Artwork of John Henry as a defense worker by James Daugherty.

John Henry has meant and been many things to a lot of people in the past two centuries. A representative of capitalist exploitation, a cautionary tale for workers, an inspiration to oppressed people in America, even a communist icon—but I’d like to take a moment to talk about what his story means to me. It’s not something I’ve seen discussed in my research, and I think it’s worth exploring.

John Henry reflects fears of workers during the Second Industrial Revolution who saw how technology was evolving—how machines were being created that could do their jobs not just faster, but cheaper, because you don’t have to pay a machine like you would a person. They feared that they would be replaced, and that they would be left destitute while their former bosses grew richer and richer. And despite the centuries between us, this is a fear that I can understand.

Often, I feel it myself.

As an artist existing in online spaces during this new influx of AI-generated “art” and writing, I have witnessed many fears that we will be replaced by AI. Yes, there is a certain human quality to art that a generative learning model cannot replicate, but who’s to say that the much-vaunted free market will care? We can hope that art as a profession will survive, but we just don’t know.

In John Henry’s struggle, I see my own. In the steam drill salesman, I see tech bros on the platform formerly known as Twitter showing off their latest batch of beautiful, hollow, AI-generated “art.” I see John Henry’s passion, his pride, his triumph.

And I see hope.

By his life and death, the mythic John Henry reassures me that human beings aren’t so easy to replace after all. He tells me that machines can be defeated. That one day, my vindication as an artist and writer will come, and the world will see our worth.

The ballad of John Henry has endured like a mountain for a hundred and fifty years, and I hope it will survive for hundreds more—that John Henry’s hammer will continue to ring true throughout the ages. But in the midst of American mythos, it’s important not to lose sight of the historical facts behind it. Legends are interesting and inspirational and wonderful, but the real stories have something to tell us, too.

Don’t forget to listen.

Works Cited

American Lung Association - Silicosis

Ballad of America - This Old Hammer: About the Song

Constitution of the United States - Thirteenth Amendment

Encyclopedia Britannica - John Henry

Flypaper by Soundfly - The Lasting Legacy of the Slave Trade on American Music

Folk Renaissance - John Henry: Hero of American Folklore

How Stuff Works - Was There a Real John Henry?

ibiblio.org - John Henry: The Project

National Park Service - The Superpower of Singing: Music and the Struggle Against Slavery

NPR - Present at the Creation: John Henry

NPR - Talk of the Nation: The Untold History of Post-Civil War ‘Neoslavery’

PBS - Mercy Street Revealed Blog - Singing in Slavery: Songs of Survival, Songs of Freedom

Prof. Scott Reynolds Nelson - Steel Drivin’ Man: John Henry, the Untold Story of an American Legend

World Population Review - Incarceration Rates by Country 2024

#john henry #american mythology #analysis #essay #black history month #ari speaks #hi I wrote this for my english class and I felt compelled to share it here

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vlad-theimplier · 6 months ago

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WIP Wednesday: Custos Custodium

Still getting into the habit--have a WIP snapshot! Jensen must have had a first visit to the Time Machine, and I have to imagine that he and Koller made quite the impression on one another. Check out the whole fic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55686901/chapters/141357007

"After me now, please,” and Koller tugged his shoulder with ginger metal fingers. He walked through what was obviously a secret doorway and heard it close behind him, waiting politely to open his eyes until they entered an elevator that dinged and descended with a grinding lurch.

They stepped out into a charnel house in blood and iron, and he feared he’d come to entirely the wrong sort of place after all. A set of modern dentist’s lights on articulated arms spotlit a vintage dentist’s chair, all cracked leather and chrome: clean, but surrounded by red streaks leading to a floor drain in the concrete nearby. Screens holding CT scans, MRIs, ultrasounds, and other imaging Jensen didn’t recognize stood around the disconcerting centerpiece. Five monitors sat edge-to-edge on the desk along one wall, backstopping a graveyard of takeout containers and soda cans that made Jensen’s old apartment look neat and Pritchard’s desk at Sarif Industries look neurotically tidy. Skeletal chicken feet jutted from several of the boxes, their bony toes held together by scraps of cartilage and tendon that had curled them as they dried.

From the ceiling hung sealed bags in droves, clearly opened and reused, each one holding an augmentation of some kind. Arms, legs, feet, eyeballs alone and in pairs, neural hubs… the array was dizzying. More augs stood in glass cases dotting the floor. Vials of Neuropozyne and a score of other substances stood in glass-fronted cabinets, a few refrigerated. A pair of wheeled carts sat haphazardly near them, stacked with gauze and bandages, needle and thread, soldering iron and cutting torch.

Sticky notes wallpapered the support pillars and posters for augmentation firms looked down from over the computer screens, all curling from their bottom corners. Water trickled somewhere nearby. Jensen smelled rust and damp and realized they were near the sewers, although fortunately not a malodorous section of them. He clenched his jaw in dismay.

“Well, let me have a look!” Koller said. “Into the Chair, come on, come on, I want to see what’s under your hood!”

Jensen held up a quelling hand. “I didn’t come here to get opened up like a can of beans. I need a… a system reset, or something. I had a bad injury, was in a coma for a while, and when I came out, I couldn’t use half my augs.”

Koller looked like a kicked puppy. Jensen watched him wring his metal hands and thought he might burst into tears. But he only heaved a gusty sigh and said, “Okay, okay, not today. But someday!” He raised a dramatic finger. “Someday you will need the Chair, and the Chair will be waiting for you. And I’ll give you a hand. Or two, or three.”

Koller’s gaze flicked to a rack that Jensen realized held replacement hands and arms for detailed aug work. Saws and drills and drivers and probes and laser scalpels… He shuddered, as much at the thought of hot-swapping entire limbs as at the armamentarium of terrifying devices on display.

They each sank into a much more normal office chair. “So, show me what’s on your mind,” Koller said, pulling out a neural interface cable. Jensen groaned and thumbed open the port on his temple, the hexagonal divot sliding sideways and bunching up the skin. “Aha, ha, I’m sorry,” said Koller as he leaned forward and plugged in the jack, patently nothing of the sort. “It helps me keep my English skills in good shape. Puns are hard, you know? It is like an exercise, a workout. Pun-ishing, yes? Yes?”

Jensen groaned again. “Just reboot my hub or whatever you need to do.”

But Koller was not listening. “Oh… that’s interesting. That’s very interesting now indeed. Hmmm. Ooh, so fancy, Mister Sarif. Someday I will shake your hand. Maybe open it up and look inside, too… hmmmmm…”

He broke into a tuneless whistle as he hammered at his computer, diagrams flashing across the monitors. Jensen recognized several from the manual Dr. Markovic had given him when he woke up in Detroit. “Icarus, very cool, very cool, yes. I bet it is dramatic when you use it. You’ll let me see sometime. Energy converter is most efficient, good, for all your power needs. And big biocells, too—who needs two kidneys anyway? Redundant. Sentinel, okay, nice, we do not need to waste anesthesia on you—”

“Excuse me?”

That got Koller’s attention. “Ah, yes, well, it is only… I don’t have very much. Painkillers, sure, but to put someone underneath?”

“Under.”

“Under, thank you—this is something I do only when I have to.”

His sources had been clear. Koller was the best there was in Prague, probably in the Czech Republic. He had only a few competitors in all of continental Europe. Jensen gritted his teeth. “The Icarus is glitchy. My smart vision and my cloak aren’t working at all.”

Koller’s eyes lit up, surprisingly still organic. “Cloak? Cloak! GlassShield is the Sarif one, yes? Ah, so cool… yes, yes, I’m looking. Eyes first. Should be easy. Blind for thirty seconds, okay?”

Despite Koller’s erratic, frenetic energy and bloodstained floor, that was more informed consent than he’d ever gotten from Dr. Markovic or Sarif. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

“Tři, dva, jeden…” Darkness. He suppressed a flinch and counted breaths. In, out, in, out. It was like staring down the pit of Panchaea, underwater, before he’d looked desperately upwards and seen the sky, that tiny, distant, hopeless hope—nope. Just breathe. In, out. In, out. His eyes turned back on like a thrown switch. In and out and he was okay.

“Try now!” Koller said, oblivious to his brush with panic. He clenched his eyeballs in the way that made smart vision activate, and there indeed it was.

“Nice. Good work.”

Koller preened visibly, then ducked his head, abashed. “No problem. I turn it off and on again, it’s all. Now Icarus… Hmmm. Okay, I see him. Mister Sarif is maybe not so smart as I thought. This one is tricky because reboot will require immediate activation. I will use laptop—we can go to the roof.”

“Activation… Christ. You’re joking.”

“I never joke!” said Koller, hand to his heart. “Okay, sometimes I joke. A lot. But not about patients. It’s seven or eight meters—those legs will be fine if anything goes wrong. Not that it will!”

“Save it for last, I guess. The cloak?”

Koller’s fingers hammered his keyboard again. “Running diagnostic… and… oh. Needs recalibration. Augmentation has forgotten shape of user and creates conflict with shape of cloak field. I will provide manual override, if you want, but calibration is easy.”

“Manual override?”

“Takes more energy but lets you expand or contract the cloak field. Physics means only some changes are possible. Meanwhile, I hit calibrate, you stand in the middle of empty space, and the field detects its own interference with you. No problem.”

“Sure. Give it to me.”

A new icon appeared in his HUD before shrinking away to nothing. “Play with it when you like. Now, I set for thirty-second delay, and… go.” Koller unplugged the cable and ushered him past a cluttered little bedroom to a flat, uncluttered patch of concrete near the sewer. He stood and waited, still as a statue. His cloak activated, but rather than hiding him, it picked out the surface of his body and clothes in golden tessellations. They rippled over him, a geometric wave of light, before fading away.

“Will it still hide my guns?” he asked.

“Yes, profiles for most weapons are built-in, or the cloak will read them from the smart link. This is for baseline. You should be okay now! Try it! I want to see. Or, see not seeing? Is like Cheshire man, I think. Smile!”

He did not smile, let alone match Koller’s manic grin, but he triggered the cloak. It worked, all right, and he became smoothly invisible to himself—although the damn thing still chewed through his energy reserves. He turned it off promptly. Koller was hopping up and down with delight, clapping his hands with a metallic clangor.

“So coooooool… okay! Now you jump off the roof, yes? Yes!”

Jensen buried his face in his palms. “Yeah. Fine. Let’s go.”

#wip wednesday #deus ex #adam jensen #vaclav koller

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kathyprior4200 · 2 years ago

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Helluva Boss S2: E5: Unhappy Campers

Part One: Millie Finds Her Way

Blitzo shoved open the door to the I.M.P. office, a grumpy look on his face. His face was muddy and his clothes were dirty and torn, with lavender-colored leaves from bushes. Moxxie and Millie had been talking to a client at their desk when all three froze to stare at Blitzo.

“Sir, what happened to you?” Millie wondered out loud.

Blitzo slouched past the Hel-9000 fax machine printer and past the picture with a stick figure Blitzo with a gun and a pink pony.

Moxxie stood up. “Sir! There’s a client here who wants to…”

Blitzo ignored him and stomped straight into his office, slamming the door.

Millie chuckled nervously, turning to the visitor. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”

Their client was a tall aquatic sinner demon with a torn short white shirt and a green piece of a yin-yang symbol as a necklace. He had gray skin, finned fingers, and dark-teal long hair that looked like seaweed. He had dark long pants, dark shoes and his chest glowed teal blue and watery. One of his eyes glowed neon green, his teeth sharp. Formerly on Earth, he had been a regular man with white skin and long dark hair.

“Well, it’s just that I’m sure one of the other camp counselors killed me. I’m just not sure which one,” he said with a shrug, hands out.

“How could you not know?” Moxxie asked, raising an eyebrow.

The aquatic demon continued. “I was out on the lake when my boat started to sink. Someone had drilled holes in it. The counselors are the only ones with keys to the boathouse, and they’re the only ones who knew I couldn’t swim. It had to be them.”

“Hmm, we don’t typically do investigations,” said Moxxie, “I’ll have to check with the boss.”

Moxxie opened Blitzo’s door. “Uh, pardon moi, sir.”

Blitzo glared at Moxxie as he flipped through address files on a rotary.

“Not now, Mox.”

“Sir, there’s client that needs us to investigate his death and we don’t usually…”

“No tiiime,” Blitzo replied.

Moxxie rubbed his neck. “But sir, we really need the cashflow, and I was thinking maybe…”

“What part of ‘NO. FUCKING. TIIIIIME.’ do you not understand?!” Blitzo yelled, facing Moxxie. “Just handle it yourself.”

“You want me to lead? On a hit?”

Blitzo seethed and slammed his hands on the desk. “I swear on all that is evil, Mox, if you aren’t out of my office in negative three seconds…”

“Yooou GOT IT, SIR!”

Moxxie slammed the door and then turned back around to Millie and the client.

“We’ll take the case!” he beamed. “And I’ll be handling this investigation personally!” He jabbed a thumb to himself.

“Honey, are you sure? What about Blitz?” asked Millie, gesturing to the door.

“Honey, honey, please. Blitz put me in charge this time.”

“He did?!”

Moxxie narrowed his eyes and Millie quickly added, “Oh! I mean, he…HE DID!”

“Right!” said Moxxie to the client. “And this is going to be the cleanest, most well-prepped, most surgical hit we’ve ever had! Don’t worry, sir! We’ll find your killer and give him what’s coming to him. And/or her…or they.”

Moxxie and Millie later stood by a police investigation whiteboard where Moxxie had posted up pictures of fliers, boat outlines, and strings leading to different pictures around the white board and the walls. Moxxie peered closely at his work while holding an I.M.P. file folder. One flier had a picture of a magnifying glass and black footprints.

“Mox…” Millie began. “Are you sure this isn’t a little…much?”

“It’s my first lead, Mils, it has to be…perfect.” Moxxie said “perfect” in an accent. “Now in front of you, you’ll find a comprehensive guide to your cover persona. Memorize it, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

They used the grimoire to make a portal to enter Earth.

0 0 0

Near a cabin in the woods, several kids were running around, laughing as they squirted each other with water guns. A fat boy walked holding a bag and wore the camp t-shirt with a “C” in a green triangle as the logo. Three preteen girls were sitting at a wooden picnic table. A camp counselor lady with brown hair stood wearing green shorts and a shirt with a whistle around her neck. On a wooden sign with wooden mountains on the top was “CAMP IVANNAKUMMORE.”

Millie and Moxxie stood off to the side with their human disguises. Moxxie wore a short dark blue tube top, torn pink pants, a heart collar, and magenta high boots. He had fake eyelashes and a wig of white ponytails covering his horns. Millie wore shoes, dark gray pants, fingerless gloves, a black shirt with a yellow lightning bolt and a circle on it, plus a wig of long dark hair and a yellow beanie hat.

“Okay, Millie, one last time for safety,” Moxxie said. He straightened up and pulled back his top, his claws covered by fake pink nails.

Moxxie spoke in a girly teenage voice, “I’m Moxxine, the hottest, most popular girl at my school, and you are?” He examined his nails.

Millie spoke in a low voice. “Your boyfriend Millerd, I like sports and fucking bitches!” Millie made thrusting movements.

“Hmm, you know these kids are a bit younger than I was expecting. Maybe lose that last part,” Moxxie mentioned.

“Check!” Millie said in her boyish voice.

“Alright, I think we’re ready,” said Moxxie.

“Hey, Mox!” Millie spoke, pointing ahead. “Check out that shady looking fella over there.”

Moxxie and Millie spied a blonde man with glasses glancing around by the log cabins. He side-walked near the bushes.

“I think that’s our guy.”

“Ahem, Millie,” said Moxxie in a girlish voice, “I hardly think pointing out the first guy you see is the proper way to conduct an…”

Millie peered through her binoculars. “No that’s definitely him. That bag’s full of money and drugs and what looks like a drill one would use to poke holes in a boat.”

Sure enough, the man scooped up the fallen money and needles and hurried off, a drill in his hand.

“But-but that’s all circumstantial at best! We need to methodically eliminate all suspects until we can be sure…”

“Now he’s looking around and heading into that locked boathouse we heard about!” Millie declared.

The man headed inside, peering around to make sure no one was there. Next to him were missing posters of the drowned counselor. “Missing: last seen next to the lake. If you have information please call (xxx) xxx-xxxx.” Another set of red eyes in the cabin glared outside.

“That would be the perfect place to…”

She glanced at Mox before sighing. “Fine, Mox, we’ll do it your way.”

Moxxie grinned. “With my sleuthing skills and your killer eye, we should have this wrapped up in no time. Now we just have to find the kids with the most influence.”

Moxxie spotted the three teen girls sitting at the picnic table.

“Oh, target acquired,” he said in a girly voice. He headed off.

The girl with long orange hair began, “So he snorted a whole line of ground up mints, and tried to convince us he was high. Can you even believe him?”

The girls laughed and Moxxie walked toward them.

“Ground up mints, you say? Derek must be a riot.”

“Who the fuck are you?” asked the leader girl.

“I’m Moxxine, the prettiest girl at my school. A more mature preteen who likes boys, hot cars, fancy jewelry…”

Another girl scoffed, “You call yourself the prettiest when you probably spent three years in a tanning bed.”

“It’s uh, natural?” Moxxie added.

“Yeah, you wish,” said the orange-haired girl. “That botch job looks like it cost five bucks in an alley behind Walmart.”

The other girls snickered.

“Have you seen anyone doing drugs around here?” Moxxie asked.

“Other than you maybe? I don’t think so,” said another girl.

“Get lost you fucking freak!” they all said, pointing off to the left. Moxxie slouched off.

Meanwhile, a volleyball rolled and stopped in front of Millie.

“Hey!” waved a blonde girl to Millie at a volleyball court near the lake.

Millie smiled and decided to play along. She carried the volleyball in her hands and headed down to the campers.

The girls at the picnic table watched as Millie passed the ball to her teammate, a dark-skinned boy.

“Oh my god! Who is that?!”

“Look how beautifully tan he is!” said the leader. The dark-skinned girl blew bubblegum and stood up to get a closer look.

“What?!” Moxxie called in disbelief.

The boy bounced the ball in the air.

“I got it!” called Millie in her boyish voice. She leaped into the air and spiked the ball over the net…

…hitting a blonde boy in the face and sending him crashing to the ground. Everyone gasped as the boy lay in a crumpled Yamcha-like pose in a cracked crater. The coach jumped from his stand and held the wounded boy in his arms.

“That was...” he began…

“…the best spike I’ve ever seen!” Tears were in his eyes.

The kids cheered and lifted Millie into the air.

“Please, I need medical attention…” the boy began.

“First Aid is for WINNERS!” the coach mocked.

All the girls admired Millie.

“Oh my god, he is so fucking HOT!” sighed the red-haired leader girl.

“Oh! Ya know he’s my boyfriend…” Moxxie began.

“FUCK OFF, TROLL!” another girl barked before the girls walked off.

Later, Millie happily leaped from a cliff and jumped from side to side onto wooden boards. She leaped onto a wooden high bar- twirled at rapid speed and shot into the air…

And in a fiery comet, smashed the blonde boy into the ground. Everyone cheered louder.

“Mox! Did you see? I broke the record on the course!”

“Mhmm. I saw.” Moxxie smiled forcefully.

“Can you believe this? Everyone LOVES me, they’re cheering, they even posted videos of me online! Look!”

Heart emojis popped up on her phone after the replay of Millie smashing the kid into the ground. Millie’s phone was red with flame designs on it.

A Millie icon appeared over the bold white lyrics as Millie sang karaoke style, amazed and also unsure of all the rockstar fame she was getting.

“EVERY DAY!

AS I WALK AROUND CAMP

ALL OF THESE GIRLS

FOLLOW ME AROUND

I DON’T KNOW WHY?

OR WHAT COULD IT BE???”

Millie smiled as she got into a group photo. The campers held out their phones for selfies around her. Millie danced with a girl with red hair.

A blonde girl came up close to Millie, wearing a cap with her face on it, a shirt with her face on it and a “MIL #1” orange cardboard glove showing a pointed finger on a hand.

“HEY MILLERD!

HAH!

WILL YOU TAKE A SELFIE WITH ME?!”

Her eyes bulged and her mouth foamed.

The crowd followed Millie and held up a banner that read “Millerd!” on it as they strolled by the cabins. One blonde boy replaced the American flag with a white flag with Millie’s disguised face on it. Millie posed on a picnic table.

“AH-WA-OH!

I’M A REGULAR JOE

AH-WA-OH!

I WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW

AH-WA-OH!

I’M SIMPLE AND PLAIN…

WHY DO ALL THESE GIRLS

KEEP SCREAMING MY NAME???”

“MILLERD!”

Millie paddled a canoe and two girls stared admiringly at her. (Moxxie’s canoe tipped over and sunk).

“MILLERD?!”

“AH! MILLERD, I LOVE YOU!”

Millie led a hike and stood on a log, pointing forward. (Moxxie fell into a pit.)

Millie happily sat with two girls by a campfire. (Moxxie’s s’more stick caught on fire and he frantically smashed it around on the ground.)

Millie smiled as she wore gold sunglasses, a white Greek-style outfit and a golden laurel on her head. She relaxed on a lounge chair as girls fanned her with leaves. One fed her purple grapes.

“I’M SO ORDINARY

JUST A COMMON DUDE

BUT THEY’RE ALL UP IN MY DMS

THEY KEEP SENDING ME NUDES?!?”

Even the blonde naked man in the picture stretched out to kiss her, much to her disgust.

“I’M NOTHING SPECIAL

I’LL TELL YOU IT’S TRUE”

The comments appeared in the eight million + viewer video of Millie being awarded seven gold star medals, a trophy, and a Grammy award.

“I LOVE YOU MILLERD! <3”

“I’M NOT OKAY!”

(Flame emojis)

“OMG DESERVED”

“millerd is the best uwu”

“CLICK HERE FOR PRIZE scam.ly”

“I LOVE YOU”

“HE ATE!”

“Sub 2 my channel”

“Hermoso” (heart emoji)

“LOOK AT HIM”

“ILY MILLERD”

“he’s so hottt”

“I love him, I LOVE HIM”

“MILLERD: Sub 2 me pls”

“SLAY KING” (crown emoji)

The blonde super fan girl leaned over and yelled,

“BUT MILLERD, OVER HERE! I BAKED A CAKE FOR YOU!” She held a brown, orange, and white cake with a figure of Millie in her guy disguise on top.

Later as the sun set, an airplane flew overhead with a flag of Millie’s face on it. Her face was also on several blimps in the sky. With a microphone, Millie sang on stage under a large “MILLERD!” banner and more campers took selfies and videos on their phones.

“AH-WA-OH!

I’M A REGULAR JOE!

AH-WA-OH!

I WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW!

I’M SO SIMPLE AND PLAIN

I WISH ALL THESE GIRLS…

WOULD STOP SCREAMING MY NAME!”

“OH MILLERD! LOVE YOU, MILLERD!” called the blonde fan girl.

Millie stood proudly on stage, glad to feel appreciated after feeling in competition with her brothers and sister.

0 0 0

TUESDAY: Moxxie climbed to the top of a pine tree, looking for the drug counselor through binoculars. He got hit with a volleyball and fell down from a tree.

WEDNESDAY: Millie led a team of campers canoeing across the lake. Moxxie searched for the suspect, wearing a mask and snorkel. Unfortunately, he got thrashed around by a shark similar to the one from the Harvest Moon Festival.

THURSDAY: Millie successfully shot her arrow through a red apple on a boy’s head as the sky turned a beautiful pink and purple. Moxxie peered through binoculars in a bush, dodging the arrow…but soon screamed as he was being attacked by a black angry bear.

FRIDAY: Posters were passed around, reading, “MILLERD: CAMP IVANNAKUMMORE, July 17th at 7PM.” The coach/lifeguard handed Millie the poster and he winked at her with a finger snap gesture. Millie beamed in excitement.

0 0 0

“OHH MOXXIE! THAT WAS SO FUN! No wonder you sing all the time!”

Millie twirled and laughed as she held a golden bouquet of white daisies in her hands.

“Not exactly a low profile…” Moxxie leaned against a cabin wall, eyes downcast.

“I know…but it’s kinda nice having people cheer for me for once, ya know? Instead of…”

She dramatically ripped the bouquet and opened her jaws, “…screaming in PAIN and HORROR!”

“Don’t forget what we’re here to do, Millie,” Moxxie reminded her, clapping a fist against his other hand.

“I haven’t. I’m just waitin’ until you’re ready. Have you been able to eliminate any suspects?”

“No.”

Millie held up two worn daggers. “If you want, we can off the guy right now! I think he’s alone in the cabin…”

She wandered forward.

“No!” Moxxie pulled her back. “I have to do this right.”

Moxxie swore under his breath as “BITCH” was spray-painted in black on his tent nearby.

0 0 0

Later that night by the campfire, Millie did an epic banjo solo. She leaped over the fire and posed on her knees as everyone cheered.

(EPIC BANJO SOLO)

(MILLERD IS REAL COOL)

(WOW, YOU GONNA CRY, MOXXINE? CRINGE.) (NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU, MOXXINE)

Moxxie raced off and cried in an outhouse. Millie walked in the dark to the outhouse. Moxxie pulled out stickers and thorns in his pants.

“Moxxie? You okay?”

“GO AWAY!” Moxxie sobbed.

“Moxxie, what’s going on?”

“I’ve been having the worst luck imaginable! First, I try to eliminate any suspects and make it a perfect methodical mission. But everything is going wrong. I can’t find the guy! And all the girls hate me…and they all love you!”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Moxxie cried.

“Hey, you’re the best assassin/musician/preteen girl I know,” Millie encouraged.

“And investigator?”

“And investigator.”

Millie reached through the crescent moon window and touched Moxxie’s nails. “I know it’s been tough. Just keep playing to your strengths.”

“Okay,” said Moxxie. “Thank you.” Moxxie came out of the outhouse, facing Millie. Millie smiled.

“I have good news! Look Mox!” She held the poster in her hands, showing it to him. “They want me to perform on stage tomorrow tonight for the local news! These videos have made me some kind of human celebrity!” A pink bird flew happily around Millie’s head. Millie then gasped as several red-eyed crows attacked Moxxie around his head. He swatted the cawing birds away until they flew off.

Moxxie’s anger and frustration finally bubbled to the surface. “I’ve heard enough from you! And I’ve had enough of this place! Most of all, the attention you’re getting all the time is annoying!”

“Mox, what are you talking about? There’s no reason to be jealous of me!”

“Well, I am, alright?!” Moxxie sobbed again. “Being the son of a mob boss, you get used to the attention. And instead of focusing on the mission, you get distracted by swooning fangirls and dance for views!”

“What?! I only let the mission go this long, so I could do it YOUR WAY!” Millie retorted. “We could’ve completed this mission faster if you had just listened to me and let me finish off the guy in the beginning!”

“It was my first lead mission! I wanted it to be perfect!” Moxxie spat back.

Millie stomped toward him. “Well don’t blame me for it! It doesn’t matter how many views I get. What matters is how I feel about myself!”

She wiped tears from her eyes. “And for once, I feel like I’m…I’m important! Like I’m someone to be proud of! Not just some country girl blending in with her siblings.”

She stomped forward. “And I had hoped that my husband would support me better HALF as much as I’ve supported HIM this week! I’m not just your momma, you know!”

“Millie…I didn’t mean…”

“SAVE IT, MOX! Finish the job, go home if you want, I’m having my moment to shine, with or without you!”

Millie raced off in the dark, the Millerd flier floating to the ground.

“Oh crumbs…”

0 0 0

Later that night, the same night Blitzo entered the human world…

Millie peered through the red curtains at the crowd cheering for her.

“You ready to go on, champ?” asked the coach/lifeguard, holding a clipboard and holding out his pen.

“I guess…”

“Great, now get out there and put Camp IVANNAKUMMORE on the MAP!”

He lowered his sunglasses over his eyes and posed. More campers and kids cheered, wearing merchandise shirts and hats. The blonde super fan girl held a sign that read “MARRY ME, MILLERD!”

Millie took a breath and stepped onto the stage. More fans cheered, two of them were crying and hugging each other, waving a Millerd flag. A cameraman stood near the top off to the side. Millie flinched as a spotlight shone on her.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls!” called a girlish voice. Moxxie rose up onto the stage from the floor and held a microphone. “ARE YOU READY FOR A SHOOOOOW?!”

The crowed booed and an African American girl yelled, “GET THE FUCK OFF THE STAGE!” Another girl flipped him the bird on both hands. Another yelled, “KILL YOURSELF, NERD!”

Moxxie continued. “I am very proud to introduce to you…someone with abilities never before seen on this Earth…”

Millie held her hands to her heart, smiling at Moxxie.

“Someone with the raw athletic skill of an Olympian…” Moxxie looked at her and smiled. “The voice of an angel…the acrobatic techniques of an indentured twelve-year old Russian ballerina…”

Millie waved her hands, saying “enough!”

“And a body that JUST. DOESN’T. QUIT.”

A few boys looked at each other, confused and disgusted at Moxxie’s butt.

Moxxie turned around and cleared his throat nervously. “The best and most supportive person I’ve ever known, and the love of my life. My wife…uhhhh boyfriend….Millerd!”

Millie sighed in relief as Moxxie headed her the microphone.

“Thank you,” said Millie.

“Knock’em dead, baby,” Moxxie grinned.

“Speaking of…” Millie added, as she spotted two figures heading toward a cabin with a bag.

“You sure?” Moxxie asked.

“Go get’em baby,” Millie smiled. They touched their heads and nuzzled.

Moxxie smiled as he pushed his way through the crowd, who glared at him. Millie did a Squidward/sexy look with her face and the crowd exploded with cheers. The show began.

Millie juggled four axes in her hands, much to the crowd’s amusement. She threw an ax into a target. Another ax hit a tree, which sent a beehive falling…

…into the blonde boy in the ground, who screamed in futility.

Millie then sat on a stool, holding a red triangular electric guitar in her hands. She began her song and stood up in a pose. She did a “rocker” hand signal as columns of sparks blasted upwards from the front of the stage.

Millie began her 80’s style rock anthem.

“OOOOH YOU’VE GOT THE POWER!

WAOOOOH!

OOOO! YOU’VE GOT THE POWER!”

Millie played a set of red drums, then yelled “YEAH!” as she strummed her guitar.

“A TALE AS OLD AS ROCK AND ROLL

WHEN YOU WIN, YOU’RE THE BEST

YOU WORK UNTIL YOU REACH THE GOAL FROM WITHIN

THAT’S THE TEST! WOAH! WOAH!

YOU FIGHT UNTIL YOU REACH THE TOP

TO RUB IT IN THEIR FACE! WOAH! WOAH!

YOU LOVE SO HARD, YOUR FLESH EXPLODES!

AND YOU WIN THE FUCKIN’ RAAAAAACE!”

She slammed the guitar down on the stage as white fireworks boomed.

She then spun black nun chucks in her hands.

“OOOOO! YOU’VE GOT THE POWER!”

Millie did a fighting pose as an explosion boomed behind her. A girl screamed as her hair caught on fire as the crowd did rocker signs and cheered.

“OOOOO! YOU’VE GOT THE POWER! WOOOAH!

“A HEAT SO HOT IT BURNS YOUR HOLE LIKE A FIRE WHEN YOU PEE!”

Millie breathed fire to light a torch and held a sword in her other hand. She swallowed the sword and it went down her throat point-first. She dropped her torch and dive-bombed into the crowd of kids. They all held her in the air as she strummed her guitar again.

“THE INNER FLAME INSIDE YOUR SOUL MAKES YOU CRY…VICTORY!

YOU FLEX YOUR CHEEKS UNTIL IT HURTS

YOU BUST OUT OF YOUR JEANS! WOAH! WOAH!

YOU BLOW YOUR LOAD ON ALL YOUR FOES!

AND DROWN OUT ALL THEIR SCREAMS!”

Millie jumped back on stage.

“OOOOH! YOU’VE GOT THE POWER!” Two streams of fire shot off to the left of Millie as she played. “WOAH!”

The coach smiled with his arms folded…until he got incinerated by the flames.

“OOOOH! YOU’VE GOT THE POWER! WOAH!”

More fireworks shot into the air and a red and yellow rocket flew off into the distance.

Millie smiled and posed on the stage, arms outstretched as the audience applauded. She bowed, before she saw Moxxie walk up to the stage, blood staining his wig. She walked over to him.

“Looks like you did it,” she said, referring to the death of the drug counselor killer.

“No…you did it,” Moxxie added, lifting her hands into his.

“I’m so proud of you, Millie,” Moxxie smiled. He looked to the side. “And I’m sorry I let you down.”

Millie picked him up in a hug and twirled him around. “Just don’t do it again, dummy!”

They kissed hard on stage until someone shouted, “Get a fucking room, high school sweethearts!”

Moxxie and Millie laughed and raced off into the bushes for some sexual privacy. The last thing they needed was to be infamous online for a scandalous public display of what many would assume to be incest.

0 0 0

Back at the I.M.P office, the whiteboard was covered in various drawings. “DIE” was written over a drawing of Loona killing the goat demon who had given her the shot at the vet’s office. “Days since last fuck up: 0” was written near small pony drawings. “Productivity brainstorm: CUM” was written off to the side.

“Gonna be honest, Moxxie,” said Blitzo, not too bad for your first solo mission.” He sipped hot coffee from a blood-stained white mug with “BOSS BITCH” on it.

Moxxie’s eyes sparkled and he gasped. “Reeeeally siiiir?”

“Nooo, no not really,” Blitzo deadpanned. “You’re a fucking disgrace.”

Moxxie slumped in disappointment as Millie glared at Blitzo. Loona was fast asleep on the table.

Part Two: Meet Barbie Wire

Back in the Sloth Ring, the sky a pale pink, Blitzo peered around a corner of the St. Ann’s (Satan’s) hospital. A thick canopy tree with giant yellow eyes in the leaves and a wavy purple trunk stood in the background. Seeing the coast was clear, he darted past a window. He wore his usual work outfit with a dark suit, dark boots and a torn dark blue cape trailing behind him. He raced across the grounds and climbed up a white downspout and inched his way, carefully sideways to the windows on the second floor. In the sky were floating trees on rocks and a few buildings. Blitzo peered inside and spotted silver Venus fly trap plants.

He lifted up the window, straining to get his horns through it…

“Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on…”

He rolled haphazardly inside…

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!”

…and landed on a heap on the tile floor. A poster with a happy cloud on it with a thumbs-up read “Enjoy your stay!” There was a nearby bookshelf, a pool table, a few red cloud-shaped couches, and Venus fly trap plants filled the room. Overhead was a chandelier of glowing lavender orbs, the lights producing a soothing atmosphere.

Blitzo was hoisting himself up when…

ZAP!

With a yell, the imp got tasered in the back. His butt stood up in the air.

“Well, if it isn’t the deadbeat,” scoffed a voice from behind him.

Blitzo stood up, brushing himself off. “Well, if it isn’t nurse pussy-face,” he responded.

The demon nurse stood with a hand on her hip, wearing a teal uniform. She had a nametag, and a pocket with the upside-down cross logo on it with a heart pencil and pen inside. She was heavyset, with floppy ears, pink skin, short dark hair and pointed black horns with white stripes. Her eyes were teal, her eyebrow thick and she had lipstick and a sideways mouth with sharp teeth. Like other denizens in Sloth, she had a candle at the top of her head and a pointed tail.

“You ain’t gettin’ in here,” she said to Blitzo, folding her arms. “How many times do I have to sodomize you with a taser before you take a hint?”

“As many as it takes to get me off, now enough with this foreplay, where’s Barb?”

“She checked out months ago, but that ain’t none of your business,” said the nurse.

“Wait, what?” Blitzo asked in shock. “How? This is…wh-where the fuck did she go?”

“Yeah, like I’m gonna tell you, ass clown,” she barked, holding up the taser in warning.

“You know I kill people for a living, right bitch?”

“Oh, I’m so FUCKIN’ scared,” she sarcastically responded.

“Ugh, fine,” Blitzo scoffed, stomping over toward the window.

“Blitz, she’s got a job now, a life,” mentioned the nurse. “Don’t fuck it up by finding her.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes as he climbed out the window. “Oh, that’s nice, why don’t you take that advice and shove it right between your pussy liiiipppps!”

Blitzo screamed as he fell to the ground. Amazingly, he survived.

0 0 0

Blitzo stomped in frustration into his office at I.M.P Headquarters, ignoring his employees. At his desk, Blitzo was talking on his cellphone and browsing on his red laptop. The logo on the laptop was a glowing white demon head. “RIDE ME” was written on Blitzo’s cellphone cover. There were two ads on the screen: one showed a pink succubus with her bare butt showing over blue flames. “Lusttinder (Tinder page for the Lust Ring, an app made by Asmodeus), “You’re right, your husband’s cock IS too small, find a bigger one NOW!"

And the other ad on Gaggle/Google: “CLICK ON THIS AD AND GET $100M! I’M NOT FUCKING WITH YOU DUDE, FOR THE LOVE OF SATAN JUST CLICK IT!”

Blitzo spotted Barbie Wire’s profile page. It had no profile picture and it read: “BARBIE WIRE: currently looking for work! Just got outta rehab. Previous Experience in a circus (performer). 217 followers. Barbie hasn’t posted recently. Experience: Acrobatics, Endurance, Stealth, Improv, Labor.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t she tell you where she was going?! I mean did you even ask?! Wait hold on, I’m getting another call…hellooooo!” He paused. “Oh good, did you find…really? Where? Thanks, and I promise if we ever get a contract on your children, we’ll make it quick and painless…BYEEEE!”

Blitzo raced past his employees.

Meanwhile, In the Sloth Ring, Blitzo entered a room where pill bottles were stored on shelves. The wallpaper was pink and decorated with designs of hearts, pills, and health crosses. The double glass doors had a pill icon on them. The white-haired incubus was scrolling on his phone when Blitzo slipped up to the desk. He held out his phone with a picture of his sister on it.

“Hi, I’m looking for one of your employees. Her name is Barbie. Does she work here?”

“Wait, what? Who are you?” the incubus glared.

Blitzo grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall.

“Someone who’s gonna get reeeal creative if you don’t tell him what he wants!” Blitzo barked. He slapped the incubus on the face with his pointed tail. “Where is she, fucknut?”

Blitzo pressed harder. “I know you know! It only gets worse from here, asshole!”

The incubus raised his white hands. “Okay! Okay! She’s out on a pickup!”

Blitzo lowered him. “Where?”

“In the Lust Ring!”

So Blitzo traveled to the Lust Ring and slammed a smaller incubus against an alley wall. “Have a Robo Fizz personal companion!” was advertised on a flier. Another poster read in neon pink letters, “Welcome to the LUST RING! Have an eXXXtraordinary stay!”

“It’s here man, I swear!” cried the small incubus to Blitzo.

Blitzo raised his flintlock pistol threateningly and held it under his chin. “Open it!”

The long black-haired incubus raised his hands and pulled out a large crystal on a ring. It was a magical Asmodean crystal, used by succubi and incubi under Asmodeus to travel to Earth to torment humans. The incubus pointed the crystal and a diamond shimmering portal appeared to a forest on Earth.

“Thanks, chump,” Blitzo grinned. He tossed the incubus away (he fell into a dumpster) and jumped through the portal.

0 0 0

Moxxie peered over the bushes and spied on two figures entering the cabin and closing the door. Moxxie turned around and made his way through them. He stumbled downward and landed on…

“What in the…SIR?!”

…the back of his boss.

Blitzo shoved Moxxie off him.

“MOXXIE?! What the fuck are you doing here?!”

“Trying to finish the job you gave me,” Moxxie replied.

“Christ on a stick, you’re still working on that? It’s been like a fucking week. THIS is why I don’t trust you with dick, Mox,” Blitzo remarked.

Moxxie followed Blitzo and both of them snuck up to the cabin. They pressed their back against the wall.

“And what exactly are you doing here, sir?”

“Apparently helping finish your botched job,” Blitzo glared. “But mostly I’m looking for my sister…”

Knowing the killer camp counselor lurked inside, Blitzo kicked down the door. There was a small green boat in the middle of the water. Near the “Missing” fliers were packs of drugs stacked on top of each other off to the side. Sunlight shone through the holes in a cloth over an opening.

Sure enough, the counselor was there, looking like a surprised innocent white nerd. He had dirty blonde short hair, glasses, a small beard, and wore a camp cap, brown shorts, brown boots, and a green shirt.

But he was not alone. A slender woman stood behind him, wearing a short torn black sleeveless jacket and a torn dress with red and white stripes on it. She wore dark tall boots and a gold watch on her right wrist. Her fingers were claws and some white lines and Xs scarred her light brown arms. The woman’s hair was a reddish brown with two large ponytails that curled inward like horns. Blitzo spotted the black Mammon circus mark on her forehead, crossed out by a white X. It was the same mark that Blitzo, Fizzarolli and his family had on their foreheads.

As soon as he spotted the crossed-out mark, he knew who it was.

“BARBIE?!” Blitzo asked in shock.

“BLITZ?!” Barbie Wire cried, equally surprised.

“You know her?” Moxxie asked.

“Do I know her? That’s my sister, fuckface!” Blitzo replied.

“What the fuck are you doing here, shithead?!” Barbie barked.

“I should be asking you the same thing!” Blitzo fired back. “You check yourself out of rehab, no call, no note…and I have to track you down to this shithole with…” he paused, looking at the man. “…who the fuck is this?”

Barbie put a hand over his face. “No one, he works for me. And who’s the little twink here?” She looked at Moxxie.

Blitzo covered Moxxie’s face with his hand. “No one…he works for me.”

“Sir! That guy’s the target!” Moxxie called.

Blitzo smirked and folded his arms. “Oh shit, Barb! Looks like your little boy toy got himself into some trouble.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Barbie asked.

“He killed our client and now our client wants to kill him back,” Moxxie explained. Blitzo nodded.

Barbie turned to the man in anger. “You fucking WHAT?!”

The man shrugged. “He found out about your drugs.”

Barbie waved a hand. “I don’t want to fucking hear it, kid!” She turned to Blitzo and Moxxie, pointing. “Look, you’re not killing my supplier!”

Blitzo put a hand to his head. “Oh fuck…supplier of what? You’re not back on that H-8 are you?” Blitzo pointed an accusing finger. Moxxie pulled out a worn dagger.

Barbie rolled her eyes. “FUCK NO, it’s just heroin!”

“Oh thank, Satan,” Blitzo sighed. “So now you’re peddling heroin? What’s the point? That shit barely gets rid of a headache.”

The three individuals stepped closer toward the middle of the space, save for the man who hid behind the drugs.

“It’s honest work, okay?” Barbie said. “And I thought it would be sure to keep me as far away from you as possible.”

Moxxie waved his knife. “And you teamed up with genius here because…?”

“Do you have any idea how easy teenage humans are to manipulate?” Barbie smirked, mentioning to her partner.

“Heeey! No, I’m not!” the man protested.

Barbie turned to him, widening her eyes. She moved her butt seductively, showing her black underwear, and spoke in a babyish voice.

“Oh Jimmy-wimmy, can you pwease keep loading up deez druggie-wuggies for me?”

Jimmy blushed, raising his eyebrows. “Heh, sure Barb. Whatever you say.”

“Sir…” Moxxie fumed to Blitzo. “I’ve spent a week on this…” He held up his knife. “I’m finishing it, one way or another…”

Barbie stepped forward, sharp teeth bared, her eyes briefly glowing white. “DON’T YOU DARE!”

The four of them then got into a brawl. After briefly noticing the fireworks outside, Moxxie growled and leaped toward Jimmy with his weapon. Jimmy flinched as Moxxie was thrown into the water by Barbie’s long pointed tail. Barbie pressed a button on her Asmodean Crystal and she morphed into her demon imp form. Her skin was red and her horns were black and curved with small white stripes.

“Come on Blitzo,” she mocked, using the “o” in his name on purpose to annoy him, “…Haven’t you fucked my life up enough already?!”

Moxxie reached out a hand and crawled out of the water toward Jimmy. Barbie pulled him back with her tail and he fell into her. He landed some fists near her face. The frightened Jimmy hoped over the drugs and raced toward the door. He frantically pulled on the knot holding the cloth and flinched back as Moxxie’s dagger hit the spot where he had been.

Barbie was chocking Moxxie and Blitzo was choking Barbie as they struggled to free themselves. Moxxie fell to the ground and Barbie held him down with a hand. She punched his head before Blitzo removed her hand. Moxxie crawled away from Barbie and raced toward Jimmy. He leaped off the boat and lunged for him. He punched him in the face before Barbie raced over and attempted to start the boat. Moxxie knocked her off to the side and moved Jimmy’s head toward the deadly motor blades of the boat. Barbie knocked Moxxie down with a hard punch to his head. Blitzo retaliated by pulling his sister up in a headlock.

Moxxie attempted to catch Jimmy again, the man screaming in fear. Barbie tackled Moxxie to the ground in midair. Moxxie stood up, accidentally stepping onto Blitzo’s head. Barbie leaned back and pulled hard at Moxxie’s wig. Jimmy shivered with fear further back. Blitzo’s eyes were swollen and he took tired breaths. Moxxie choked Jimmy again as Barbie growled and jabbed him in the face with her elbow. Eventually, Moxxie was thrown against the wall, eye makeup melting around his eyes. He pulled his knife from the wall and stalked toward Jimmy once again, teeth barred. As Jimmy stepped back, Barbie cut in front of Moxxie, landing punches of her own while dodging his knife. She also shoved Jimmy aside. She punched Moxxie in the face, holding his wrist and he jabbed her in the abdomen. The knife fell and he grabbed it. Moxxie was about to grab him when Barbie tackled him from behind. Barbie held Moxxie down as Blitzo shoved Jimmy into the water.

Not too long after, Barbie choked Blitzo near the steps. Moxxie had a cut on his forehead, staring with menace at Jimmy. With a bloodied mouth, Jimmy pleaded for mercy. Barbie tackled Moxxie again before he could reach him. All three imps growled and tugged at each other, while Jimmy crept up the steps. He grabbed a package of heroin and threw it into the imps. Their eyes turned black and they roared primal roars. Jimmy stood on the boat in fear. In a split second he spotted the firework rocket heading toward him through a window…

BOOM!

Jimmy’s head exploded and the imps got rained in blood.

“SATAN FUCKING DAMMIT!” Barbie bellowed in rage. “Thanks a lot, Blitzo, I’m out of a job! FUCK!”

She stomped off.

“Barb, wait!” Blitzo cried, wanting to make amends. “I want to help you…let me help you. Please? You’re clean now, right? Let’s grab dinner, we’ll catch up and we’ll talk about…”

Barbie let out a forced laugh and turned back to her brother. “You don’t fucking GET IT!” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “Just cause I’m outta rehab, doesn’t mean I wanna see you. I NEVER WANNA see you EVER!”

Barbie marched off and pressed her Asmodean Crystal. A shimmering diamond portal appeared, leading back to the Sloth Ring. She stepped through it and peered out.

“Next time you wanna find me Blitzo…DON’T!”

She vanished and the portal closed. Blitzo stood heartbroken and Moxxie had his head in his hands. Blood covered the floors, walls, and the imps. Blitzo couldn’t believe after all the time he spent searching for her, she had vanished again. What had he done to hurt her so horribly?

#helluvaboss

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outoftheirdifferences · 11 months ago

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She wasn't one to complain, she really wasn't. Life with Gru, on the whole, was good: she and her sisters were dearly loved, had everything they could want, and never had to worry about pretending to be anyone but themselves - because whatever weird eccentricities they may have, Gru had just as many of his own. They might be a strange family, together with Lucy, Dr. Nefario, and the few minions who hadn't left with Dru; but a family they most definitely were.

Still. There were some days when the ex-villain game was definitely stronger than she'd like.

Such as today.

She'd barely had chance to get in from school: no sooner had she got in the door, avoided Kyle's mad rush of greeting and was just checking if there was any mail for herself or her sisters, when there'd been the sound of an eruption from the front yard. Of course, Margo had instantly run to the window, and had seen the little drill robot, in chrome colours with a very familiar 'G' logo stamped on its back, burst from the yard and scamper off down the street before drilling its way back beneath the ground again. Only a moment later, Gru and Dr. Nefario had burst up from the lab; while Gru had raced for the door, Nefario had grilled her about if she'd seen anything. Apparently a little project had gone awry, and neither man was at all keen on Lucy finding out about it until they could corral the little runaway.

"No need to worry her" and all... Margo rather thought, instead, that the project was something that her new mom might not approve of, and that they didn't want to get in trouble with her.

Whatever the case, it had resulted in the girl getting drafted into their search. Abandoning any hope of just unwinding after her day, Margo had reluctantly committed to helping. On the plus side, the doctor had built a tracker into the little robot and had several devices that could pick up on a signal he'd set it to broadcast.

On the minus side? That signal wasn't strong enough to penetrate the ground: it would only pick up when the robot resurfaced. Each of the searchers had raced off to one of the most likely locations it might head for, based on its programming; Margo had drawn the tech lab of the local school, reasoning that a robot might be drawn to something resembling its own kind.

Clearly, she could tell as she pulled her bike up to curb, she'd chosen the right place. Not only did the beacon flare, she could see with her own eyes the little robot skittering its way towards the school. There was also some fight going on in the park across the way; but for now, that was none of her business. Throwing off her cycle helmet, Margo sprinted after the machine, pounding the deactivate button on the device... which did nothing. Of course. But her focus on that meant that, for a moment, she was too slow to react to anything else happening.

"--WHOA!"

She skidded as someone a little taller than she was cut in front of her, almost lost her balance and, flailing desperately, barely managed to catch herself before a fall. She bent over, hands on her knees, as she worked to regain her breath; and, once she'd done that, noticed the boy looking at her.

"Uh-huh. Close." More so than she'd like, quite honestly. Carefully straightening her glasses, which had been jarred askew by the near collision, Margo took another breath and looked at him. If he was indeed chasing the robot too... well, the first question was, why? Surely most people wouldn't head after something unknown that might be dangerous?

That said... she wasn't going to turn down the help, if he was offering.

"That's right. It's, ah..." What explanation could she give that wouldn't sound weird? Margo's lips pursed into a frown, before she decided on at least a slight variation on the truth.

"It's one of my dad's toys, they're a hobby of his. But the controller's broken, so this one's running wild. You couldn't help me grab it, could you?"

Definitely was starting to look like a task easier said than done...

@outoftheirdifferences liked for a Jay starter (somewhat plotted!)

"Hey, anybody want to take me on? If you can beat me, I'll give you fifty bucks! ...That's what that person just said!"

He stood there, pointing dramatically at a white-haired boy some distance from the park's fountain. The look on his face conveyed the shock in his tone as he'd spoken. No one seemed the wiser to the fact he'd been imitating the other boy's voice to the best of his ability at first.

Okay. Maybe Jay was having a little bit of fun causing a bit of mischief for someone in the park. There was a new kid in his class, and Jay hadn't gotten a chance to try and poke at him while they'd been in classes that day. He'd wanted to see what sort of person the new boy was, and when the newcomer had been blatantly ignoring his attempts to make conversation... well, that just wouldn't do. Jay wanted to know about him. Needed to know. Since the other boy had refused to help him learn, this just seemed like the best course of action.

The pure confusion on the other boy's face was all Jay could have asked for. Fortunately, it didn't take long for someone to take the newcomer up on his 'offer.' It was another one of the boys from their school. Moses, Jay noted just from his red hair and attitude. He stepped back, giving the two room to do their thing. Honestly, Jay didn't need to stick around to see how it played out. Someone would break them up eventually. This mostly was a means of poking at the newcomer and also just entertaining himself. Perhaps not the... healthiest form of entertainment, but given everything? Acceptable enough compared to things he could have been doing.

Things were relatively quiet in his life now, all things considered. It had been a few years since he'd been adopted by the Oreson brothers, and for the most part Jay had settled into his life. A marked improvement from where he had come from. Also a marked improvement from potentially being dead. On all accounts, it looked like Jay lived a pretty normal life now. If that meant he felt the need to cause some problems for classmates or potentially getting into fights with the likes of Moses at school? All par for the course. He couldn't have been happier.

It looked like things were relatively peaceful in the park, too. Some people were watching the shenanigans between Moses and the other boy, but for the most part there wasn't much of a turnout. Go figure. Oh well, he thought. He'd gotten what he wanted.

Then, all of a sudden, there was a distinct rumbling sound that filled the air. Jay tensed. That wasn't normal. People were looking around for what was causing it, and he was right there with them. The smart thing to do would be getting home and avoiding trouble, but that need to know what was going on itched at the back of his mind. So he lingered, purple eyes darting this way and that as he tried to look for the source.

At last, he saw it. From the ground, a drilling device of some kind emerged. Some kind of robot? Jay squinted as the thing emerged and seemed to come to life. It wasn't tiny by any means, but no bigger than a small dog. The device looked almost akin to a mole or something of that sort. Whatever it was, it was doing something. It looked like it had some kind of camera on the front of it, and now that it was out of the ground it was moving. Moving toward the path leading out of the park and toward the buildings.

Well. That wasn't good. His mind screamed at him to go home. His adoptive family wouldn't want him getting involved. Something beckoned Jay to do so, though, and so the pale boy followed the robot while other people in the park headed in the opposite direction.

He was able to follow the robot for a bit before something happened. Nothing involving the robot, but instead happening to catch sight of a girl from the corner of his eye. Instinct took hold. Jay hopped back, narrowly avoiding colliding with her, and when he straightened himself out he looked her way.

Huh. Jay didn't remember seeing her before. She looked like she might have been a little younger than him at the very most, so there was a chance they went to the same school. That wasn't a bad thing, of course. Just curious.

"That was close. Don't tell me you were following that thing, too," he said. Why else would they have been going in the same direction?

#talesofourworlds #guest muse: Margo #ic #long post #Looks good to me! :D #I'm gonna try and keep to a bit shorter posts after this #I just can't do that thing when setting the scene xDD

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rebeccccccaaa · 4 years ago

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ᴄᴀᴛ’s ɢᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇ?

__________________________

ᴄᴀᴍ ʙᴏʏ/ʀᴏᴏᴍᴍᴀᴛᴇ! ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀᴀᴜ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You have always been more modest not really ever having time to explore what could have been some sort of sensual alter ego and when Bucky finds out hes determined to bring the sex goddess in you out.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: slight fluff if you count flirty bucky, smut ofc (minors dni) [cam boy bucky (slight tipsy bucky and reader in the beginning); brief male masterbation (bucky has his door open during a session); fem!rec oral; hair pulling; spanking; real dirty talking; strong language, degradation; loss of virginity/ virgin reader but not innocent, touch starved reader, and overstim, overall pretty rough but aftercareeee]

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇs: sorry in advanced if you don’t like iced coffee lol

_____________________________

“There’s no way; you’re such a fucking liar,” Bucky threw his head back with laughter.

“I knew I shouldn’t have fucking said anything,” you scoff, rolling your eyes before standing up with annoyance.

“No! Don’t go, come on. I didn’t mean it like that,” he chuckled.

“Yeah right,” you scoffed.

“Can I ask why?”

“I mean, honestly. I just never really had time. Although, I did avoid sweaty football players all of high school, but being in uni I just want to grind and grind, you know? Finish school and get my degree. I don’t really have much time going out and getting laid,” you explained.

“Shit, does my… ‘side job’ make you uncomfortable? I didn’t realize how you would feel about it being a vir-”

“Buck, I’m a virgin, not innocent,” you chuckled.

“Damn straight,” Bucky laughed.

“Let me help you,” he said, making you laugh out loud.

"With what?" you asked in disbelief.

"Let me take your virginity. 'S better than fucking some random drunkard in a one night stand, and let's face it, you're not getting a boyfriend anytime soon."

You couldn't help but keep laughing at what he was saying.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“You’re so full of shit, Barnes,” you snorted, too drunk to notice that Bucky wasn’t laughing.

“Offer stands whenever, pretty girl.”

That was four weeks ago.

Since then, you feel like the tension between you and your roommate was especially thick since your tipsy confession. You couldn’t tell whether the things Bucky would say now were intentionally inappropriate or you just had a dirty mind. He seemed to always be shirtless; always.

“Did all your shirts catch fire? No, they got stolen, huh?” you joked.

“Har, har. Don’t be such a prude, pretty girl.”

“I’m not a prude,” you mumbled; at least he had the muscles to flaunt.

One quiet Friday evening, you sat in your room working away at your desk. You had been at it for a couple hours and as much as you wanted to throw in the towel you were so close to finishing everything you needed to finish this weekend. You went to the kitchen to grab a snack, maybe make a coffee, before drilling for the last hour to get everything done.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Bucky said, standing with a glass of whiskey in hand. He always drinks before filming.

“Gettin’ ready for your… stuff?” you asked.

“What stuff?” he asked cheekily, making you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, I haven’t posted anything in a couple weeks and my subscribers are thirsty,” he told you.

“I can only imagine,” you joked.

“Well, baby, I’m in the next room if you wanna stop imagining,” he said flirtatiously

“Fuck off. I’m just here to get coffee,” you smirked, grabbing the things you’ll need from the fridge.

“Well, then I’ll leave you to it,” Bucky said, smacking your ass hard before leaving for his room; you scoffed rolling your eyes at his antics.

You turned around making the coffee itself mindlessly before you grew slight concern when you had yet to hear the door of Bucky’s bedroom to shut. He always kept his door shut whilst you wore headphones blasting music so you wouldn’t have to listen to his unnecessary moaning and cursing. You silently begged the machine to hurry it’s brewing as Bucky began talking and moaning to his audience.

You gritted your teeth hearing him so clearly. Your breathing quickened and you felt your cheeks heat up. You hated how you wondered if he really was as vocal in bed as he portrayed online. You hated the way your stomach flipped and the tingle between your thighs. You’ve never felt so aroused before, you didn’t know what to do.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, and you swallowed the dry lum in your throat.

You don’t even know how long you stood in the kitchen listening to Bucky. You were incredibly aroused, wetness pooling between your thighs. Your hands gripped at the counter desperate to not let your knees buckle as he got closer to his release.

“God, fuck you James,” you mumbled to yourself.

You couldn’t take it the groans he practically was screaming from his room. You stomped your way to his room to yell at him to close the door. You were enraged but you don’t really know why. Bucky’s side job never bothered so much until now and truthfully he wasn’t really to blame for how turned on you felt hearing him.

“Can you close the goddamn door?” you yelled approaching his bedroom.

“I hate to interrupt but I can fucking hear you- in the… kitchen,” you trailed off.

Bucky sat on his bed completely nude. His cheeks were red and his forehead had a layer of sweat as did his very smooth and very toned chest. Your body completely froze. It’s not that you hadn’t seen a man naked before. You’ve watched porn during the more stressful and lonelier nights, but Bucky was beautiful.

“Care to join?” Bucky breathed with a stupid smile.

“Jesus,” you gasped.

“I ain’t forget about that offer, pretty girl,” Bucky stood, chuckling when you visibly trembled.

“Whatcha say? You ready to finally deflower?” Bucky walked closer to you with a devilish smirk plastered on his handsome face.

“I’m sorry-” you stumbled over your words.

Your stomach fluttered from nervousness and arousal, your skin bursted into chills despite how hot and sweaty you were beginning to feel. You kept your eyes trained to anywhere but Bucky’s assets.

"What's wrong, pretty girl? Cat's got your tongue?" he teased.

"James," you said sternly.

"Baby, I can make you feel so good. All you have to do is say the word," he whispered in your ear, making you shudder.

You know deep inside you that this wasn't a good idea in the long run. It sounds so tempting now but what would happen afterwards? What would happen to your friendship?

"Stop thinking so hard. Just let me make you feel good, please," he begged.

His hands caressed your sides and you couldn't resist squirming; he hasn't even touched you.

"I can tell you're starving. Itching to be touched by someone. Those lonely nights with a laptop and your fingers isn't enough. I can help you, pretty girl. Give you so much and more; give you nirvana. Just say the word," he spoke slowly, sensually; you were damn near shaking just from his words.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Please what?" he teased; Bucky was drunk off the power he had over you.

"Fuck me. Use me. Ruin me," you begged.

"As you wish."

Bucky grabbed the back of your neck smashing his lips to yours. He grinded his hips into you and you feel his hard on digging into you. Your fingers dug into the soft skin of his chest leaving small red marks and scratches littered.

Bucky moved his hand up behind your head, curling his fingers in your hair pulling harshly. his lips instantly attached to your neck biting and sucking to mark you, so you remember he was the one who made you feel euphoric in the coming days. He wants you to remember this night.

"Shit, that feels so good," you sighed.

"That's just the beginning, pretty girl. Get on the bed," he demanded.

You scurried to bed tearing your shirt and shorts off leaving you in your dark lacey undergarments.

"It's like you were ready for me to fuck you," he chuckled darkly.

He crawled up the bed to you like an animal hunting and taunting its prey. You couldn't help but nibble on your bottom lip, anxious for what was to come from Bucky.

His hands gripped your waist firmly pulling impossibly close to his body. He kissed you again and you swore you could stay like that forever. His lips felt so soft again yours, you melted against his body from pleasure.

His hands circled your back and pulled at the bra clasp before swiftly undoing it and letting free. You shrugged your shoulders to your ears allowing the straps of the bra fall gracefully down your upper arm before Bucky curled his finger over the front and tossed it aside to admire your chest.

Your shoulders subconsciously caved in, embarrassed to be so unclothed in front of someone for the first time. Again, you weren't innocent but anyone would still be nervous for their first time. Bucky smiled softly at your timidness; his hands rubbing your sides slowly and comforting to help ease your nerves a bit.

"You are so gorgeous, baby."

"Don't get sappy, Barnes," you joked; but in reality you don't need another reason to fall deeper for him. Not that you're falling to begin with.

"Yes ma'am," he grinned.

He flipped the both of you over so you laid on your back. His hands gently kneaded your breasts pulling moans from you with every squeeze. He leaned down, taking a nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting your perked buds, circling his tongue around. Your back arched into him and you think you can handle the pleasure but you find yourself involuntarily getting higher and higher. Moaning and gasping louder every time Bucky would bite down hard on your nipple. The last straw was when Bucky brought his fingers between your thighs and barely pressed against your aching clit that you fell suddenly over the edge crying Bucky's name.

"Did you just-"

"Fuck, I'm sorry! I don't know what happened. I- Everything just-"

Bucky cut you off with a deep kiss.

"Don't be sorry," he chuckled.

"It's really hot that I was able to make you cum by just playing with these beauties," he flicked your nipples and squeezed your breats making you tremble.

“Shit, too much,” you whined.

Bucky ignored you once again, dipping his head back down, flicking his tongue over your overly sensitive buds. The squeal you made made Bucky chuckle darkly but he didn’t want to torture you so his lips trailed slowly down the valley of your breasts to you belly and hip bones. His fingers curled over your panties dragging them slowly down your legs.

“Fucking hell, pretty girl. You’re dripping. You’ve just been aching for me to get my hands on you for a while, huh?” Bucky taunted.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Absolutely gorgeous.”

Bucky’s hands rested against your knees pushing them as far as they could go before diving in you like a starved man. Truthfully, Bucky had dreamed of this moment since he met you for the first time moving in. As the days, weeks, and years went by, the urge to resist kissing and fucking you stupid was getting all to much. But now he finally has you under him, at his mercy and he was determined to pleasure as much as he could before getting his cock anywhere near you.

Bucky brought his fingers to circle your entrance, waiting until your legs were nearly shaking from the teasing. As he pushed his fingers past your folds, he brought his mouth down again kissing right above your clit. You gasped and sighed in pleasure as he pumped his fingers in and out of you heavenly.

“Shit, feels so good. So, so good,” you moaned.

Bucky’s tongue brushed over your clit and you couldn’t resist bucking your hips, pushing his fingers deeper inside you. Your back arched off the bed and your hands shot to his head tugging on his dark locks harshly. Bucky’s moans from your tugs vibrated against you and you knew you weren’t going to last any longer.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum Bucky! Shit!” you shrieked.

“Come on, pretty girl. Be a good girl and come all over my fingers,” he said.

Seconds later, you reached your high, crying Bucky’s names again as if it was the only word you knew how to say. Your head practically dangled off the bed, scooting closer and closer to edge desperate to pull away from Bucky’s talented mouth.

“God, you’re beautiful when you fall apart like that,” Bucky mumbled against your heated skin.

Sweat lined your forehead and your chest, your hair was scattered across the sheets like a maniac, and your skin along your neck down to your inner thighs was littered with little bruises and bite marks from Bucky. You looked ethereal.

“One more. Can you give me one more?” Bucky asked softly.

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

“Such a good girl. I know you can, come on.”

Bucky gently flipped your body over, laying you on your stomach. He kissed down your spine, whispering sweet and kind things to you. You can’t even register what he’s saying because his godly erection is poking your ass and you're practically aching again to be railed by him.

“So eager for my cock, aren’t ya? Already being such a greedy little whore.”

“Please, Bucky,” you begged, wiggling your ass against his crotch.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m gonna fuck you so good; gonna ruin you for anyone else,” he whispered in your ear before biting on your earlobe.

He stood tall on his knees behind you gripping your hips, roughly pulling them flush against his pelvis; you pushed yourself up on your hands. He grabbed his aching cock, the tip red and leaking with precum. Bucky doesn’t even know how he was able to last so long without cumming but he did and now all he wants to do is cum deep inside you.

“Ready, pretty girl?” he teased, rubbing your cheeks softly with his hands.

“Fuck me good, James,” you moaned.

Bucky lined his dick with your entrance slowly pushing the tip past your folds. The burning sensation caused you to hiss and tense around Bucky, who instantly stopped his movements.

“No, it’s ok; you’re just bigger than I was anticipating,” you fussed.

“It’s ok. If it’s too much you tell me to stop,” Bucky told you.

“No, don’t stop, please!” you whined.

“Don’t get greedy,” Bucky warned.

“Think you can handle all of me?”

“Fuck,” you muttered.

He pushed his hips further in you slowly, careful to not hurt you. His hands ran slowly up your body before curling his fingers through your hair and pulling your head up. Once he bottomed out, he rested for a minute until you were ready for him to move.

“Holy fucking hell, baby. Feel so good wrapped around my cock, shit,” Bucky groaned above you.

“I feel so- full.”

“‘S like you were made for me, pretty girl.”

Bucky’s hips began to move faster and faster pulling moans from you that was music to his ears. Bucky relished in your sex. He used every ounce of willpower in him to keep control but you felt so heavenly, so sublime. He couldn’t hold back any longer. You could tell that Bucky was holding back and you didn’t want him to. He pleasured you twice already, it was his turn to feel good and if letting go would do that for him you would let him.

“Come on, Bucky. Fuckin’ ruin me!”

“Don’t say shit like that,” he grunted, still thrusting his hips.

“I can take it, baby. Use me,” you told him.

Bucky’s hips stilled only for a second before you felt a sharp stinging on your right ass cheek.

“You want me to fuck you like a whore? Fine, I will,” Bucky growled before pulling out and flipping you over.

Bucky rammed his hips into you fast and rough. His hand went to wrap around your throat squeezing the sides and your eyes rolled back. Tears brimmed your eyes and you cried out over and over again. You felt used, corrupted, violated. You love it.

“Fuck, yes!”

“Shit, I’m gonna fucking come,” Bucky groaned.

Bucky released your throat before dipping his head in the crook of your neck. His groans and moans were muffled by your skin. Your hands wrapped around his neck and your legs too wrapped around his torso pulling his body flushed against yours. Your nails ran down Bucky’s back; he breathed in sharply through gritted teeth before moaning loudly in your ear from the pleasurable sting.

Chasing his release along with yours, Bucky’s thrusts became relentless. Animalistic. Feral, even. Everything felt overwhelming. It didn’t take much longer until you felt Bucky’s stuttering thrusts and the spurts of warm cum coating your velvety walls. Bucky completely relaxed on top of you, his breath heavily hitting your sweaty skin. You scratched his back softly coming down from your own high breathing equally as heavily.

“You feeling ok, pretty girl?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Yeah,” you whispered with a stupid grin on your face.

“You did amazing, you know?” Bucky kissed you softly; your stomach fluttering at the action.

“What now?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Now, I’m going to take care of you,” Bucky said, hopping off you and the bed.

You laid there breathing slowly now. You didn’t have the energy to move at this point. Your inner thighs burned deliciously and the soreness began to be more apparent all over your body. Bucky came back with a warm towel and bottle of water from the kitchen. He cleaned you up with the towel and you could help the soft moans and whimpers that escaped from you. Once you were cleaned, Bucky helped you sit up and held the now open water bottle for you to hydrate yourself. You couldn’t shake the butterflies and chills you got from Bucky’s stare. He couldn’t take his eyes off you anymore; like you hung the moon and stars for him.

“What?” you asked shyly.

“Nothing,” he grinned.

“Come on. You’ve gotta go pee,” he said carrying you in his arms towards his bathroom.

“No, I just want to go to sleep already,” you whined, voice muffled in the crook of his neck.

Bucky sat on you on the toilet and waited for you to… do your business. You just sat there squirming, and shaking from the cold that hit your body.

“Come on. You have to,” Bucky explained.

“I know, but I can’t pee in front of you. I’m shy,” you mumbled.

“Seriously, I just fucked-”

“Bucky, please,” you cut him off.

“Oh alright. Come back to bed when you’re finished, pretty girl,” Bucky said before leaving you.

You couldn’t shake the smile off your face. He was being so caring and nice to you, it warmed your heart. You felt a bit of heartbreak however wondering if this was just a one time thing. You cleaned yourself again and washed your hands before snatching one of Bucky's t-shirts that laid on the floor. When you came out Bucky was fiddling with his camera that was still set-up and your heart dropped.

Had he recorded the whole thing?

“I was gonna delete all the footage, but in all honesty you look so fucking sexy. Might keep it for myself,” he said winking.

“You recorded the whole thing without telling me?” you asked, tearing up.

“I didn’t mean to. I’m not gonna post it anywhere. You sorta screamed my name a few times so footage ain’t good anyway,” he said, making you scoff and roll your eyes.

“Hey, hey. I’m kidding. I’ll delete all of it, I promise,” he cupped your face.

“Come here; I gotta do one more thing for you,” he said, laying you down on the bed once again.

“What are you doing?” Bucky grabbed another towel and some scented lotion placing it on his bedside table.

“I’m gonna give you a massage. You’ll be less sore tomorrow morning. I’ll admit I was a bit rough,” he said, kissing your belly as he lifted his shirt off your body.

“You do this to all the girls you sleep with?” you teased, not really wanting an answer but you’ll play a part if it keeps from being humiliated because of feelings.

“Only the pretty girls,” he says, fully referencing his nickname he gave you a while ago.

“And how many pretty girls might you have?”

“There’s only one,” he whispered; his hands massaging along your back slowly, sensually.

“She must be really lucky,” you whispered too, afraid of speaking too loud.

“If anything, I’d say I’m the lucky one.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, she’s… she’s perfect. Beautiful. Smart. I could go on about her.”

“She sounds like a prude,” you joked.

“She was,” he chuckled.

“But trust me, now she’s a real feisty and sexy woman,” Bucky said before biting down hard on one of your ass cheeks.

“Ow! Bucky!” you squealed, making Bucky laugh.

Bucky tossed the towel away and placed the lotion back on the bedside table before grabbing the blankets and crawling under them with you. He held you close, entangling his legs with yours, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“You mean all that?” you asked barely audibly.

“Yeah. I do, pretty girl.”

“You don’t have to delete the video,” you smirked, making Bucky laugh out loud.

He kissed your forehead snuggling closer to you, letting peaceful sleep envelop you both.

=============================

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: (For all my work)

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Bucky Barnes Taglist:

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#bucky barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #camboy!bucky barnes #roommate!bucky

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jotatetsuken · 3 years ago

Text

Can I Call this Fate? Or Call You Mine? (Tetsuro Kuroo x Fem! Reader)

Summary: Your parents had set up a coffee shop which is also a library, and it had been quite some time since one of them got sick and now you run the coffee shop to keep it going. Tetsuro Kuroo's a sports promoter that has frequented the very same coffee shop for years. However, he'd never seen you, until one day when he came to order and he saw you for the first time.

Tropes: Love at First Sight, Coffee Shop AU, Fate Drives Us Together

Content Warning: Mentions of sickness in the family from Kuroo's and Reader's side (i did not want to make it too sad lol) Please do let me know, however, if I've missed out on any content warnings. Also, I've used some Haikyuu time skip jobs to help me write, so....

Prompt: “You're a regular at our coffee shop and you're normally punctual like a clock, so excuse us for getting worried about you when you finally turn up.” - @creativepromptsforwriting @creativepromptfills

Banners: @firefly-graphics (I can't thank you enough for the awesome work you do)

Tagging: @kiiraes (thank you for suggesting this btw) @mrskenmakozume @cuz-like-why-not @akaashi-todorki @miikoos @saltyvanilla @quirrrky @hyeque @jordyn-degas

Let me know in this form if you want to be tagged in more content like this :D

Number of words: 2122

A/N: So, I had a Taylor Swift song in mind for this write up but I realized that it was turning suggestive, so decided on making a fluffier one instead. A note that the next one will be suggestive so minors can block #shyna suggestives for this :) Anyway, I love him and I hope this write-up does him justice. Y'all know the drill, reblogs, likes and comments are appreciated. :D

Shyna's Seiyuu Birthday Celebration

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I think that possibly, maybe I'm falling for you Yes, there's a chance that I've fallen quite hard over you I've seen the paths that your eyes wander down I want to come too

I think that possibly, maybe I'm falling for you

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Tetsuro Kuroo was always in love with the coffee shop called, "Brewing Tales," ever since he was a kid. When he was thirteen, and Kuroo had just become neighbors with his new best friend Kenma, he and his father were walking along the sidewalks when his father pointed towards the coffee shop and said, "Look, Tetsuro. This is where your mum and I met. I'd come to this coffee shop when I was in my college days and fell in love with this shop and that's where a new barista showed up. She was your mum. Her boss, (L/N)-san was very stern, but very kind as well.

He and his wife used to treat your mum very well, and they were the ones who set us up," and later grinned. However, that expression changed into an expression of solemnness. Tetsuro remembered and later understood. His mother was suffering from a prolonged sickness and before she went into a coma, she told Tetsuro about the coffee shop and to keep going there no matter what. That's when he started going to Nekoma High School, Brewing Tales was quite near to his place, so he and Kenma would go and order cups of coffee and sit there for hours. Tetsuro himself would interact with Mr. and Mrs. (L/N), who would later turn out to be your parents.

Brewing Tales was a place known for comfort, peace, and the best hospitality. Kuroo remembered the first time he opened the transparent glass door with beige borders and a logo of a book with a cup of coffee on top. As he entered, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hit him. It was neither too strong nor too dull. It was just right. The coffee shop had what looked like rust-colored brick walls, but they were just painted that way. The brown ceiling at the top with a pattern of multiple concentric squares with different yellow lights provided an atmosphere of calmness to the coffee shop.

He looked around and saw that the coffeeshop was divided into two parts: the buying part which was not only had the standard items: the coffee making machine, a couple of cashier registers, an assortment of different packets of coffee beans, snacks, and souvenirs, but they also had paintings made by different artists that were looking to boost their career; and the seating part where they had tables of different sizes with plug point sockets nearby for charging and different types of couches and chairs, along with a shelf for books of different genres and another shelf of board games to play with. Whenever Kuroo needed a getaway, he'd come and sit in one of the couches and read different books: from autobiographies of sportsmen and sportswomen to books that talked about economies.

However, once he graduated from high school and moved to a different locality to be closer to the university, he got really busy, and couldn't frequent the coffee shop for long, so he decided on a set time to go, get a cup of coffee for takeaway once a day and he'd leave. He never forgot to speak kindly with your parents and with the baristas, tipping generously whenever possible. Amongst the baristas, he was known as the "handsome and kind man who's always on time." Once he started working, however, he decided to move back to his family's place and thus he lived closer to the coffee shop again. This time, he made it a point to go there twice in the evening at 9:10 am (because it takes 20 minutes for him to travel to work by car), and 6:30 pm (when he'd clock off work and would be on his way back home).

But, the first few times when he went there, he couldn't find the couple that was kind to his parents. So, when he approached the cashier's desk, that's when his eyes lay on you for the first time. You were wearing a white t-shirt, with a brownish beige apron, you were tying up your (H/C) hair in a bun, and had your hands on the back as it was aching very badly. Your (E/C) eyes were gleaming as you were smiling at him like you'd normally would at a customer, saying, "Hi! What can I get for you today?" Kuroo approaches you and says, “hi. Two things. Firstly, I'm wanting to get a caramel macchiato to-go. Secondly, I'm looking for Mr. and Mrs. (L/N). Would you by any chance have an idea as to where they are?" Your expression turns solemn for a moment, then smiles again. "One caramel macchiato coming up, as for the second thing, would you like to talk personally?" Kuroo nods in agreement and he walks along with you to another corner of the cafe where you sit at a table. You then say, "Mrs. (L/N) is currently very sick, so Mr. (L/N) is taking care of her, while I'm looking into the cafe."

Kuroo places his hands on his head, trying to process all the information. His breathing hitches and he's unable to digest the information. "Mum and dad told me about you," you say as Kuroo widens his eyes at you. "Mum and dad? Wait, you're one of their kids?" You nod in agreement saying, "Yes, I'm the eldest one. They told me about how your parents used to come to this coffee shop, how they fell in love, and how my parents were witnesses to their wedding. It's a shame that we never met before, because clearly, this is a case of fate right here," you softly smile at him. He subconsciously holds your hands with glossy eyes, saying, "(Y/N), is it? I saw the badge. I'm so sorry this is happening to your family. They've been very very helpful towards my family and me. Please let me find a way to help you."

Holding tightly onto his hands, you say, "Kuroo-san, I appreciate it, so much. However, we don't need monetary help. We are currently lacking baristas and we need new ones. Even part-timers would do. I know for sure that you're one of the few loyal customers of ours, and we don't want to lose you." Kuroo's gaze at you lingers, especially now carrying a sense of urgency. "I want to help you as a friend, (Y/N). If that's okay?" You sigh and then nod, saying, "Okay, we need a couple of people in the evening shift and one guy in the morning shift. That's all. Are you sure about this, Kuroo-" You were interrupted when Kuroo put his index finger on your lips, saying, "Call me Tetsuro, (Y/N). I'm absolutely sure."

The next day, he came in the evening, when the crowd had died down, bringing three of his friends along with him. Two of those faces looked especially familiar to you whenever you'd scroll through your social media. You asked, kind of confused, "Tetsuro, who did you bring?" He smiled at you and said, "people to help you. This is my best friend, Kenma Kozume, the world-famous-" "Kodzuken," you replied, with Kenma mouthing "thank you," and you chuckled a bit. "Wow, and wait, that's..." Tetsuro then points to the "Yes, yes, I was going to come to that. He's Kotaro Bokuto, one of the best aces in Japan right now." Bokuto grins at you, responding with a "hey hey hey (Y/N)," causing you to giggle again.

However, you'd never imagined one of your other childhood friends that you'd lost touch with to be here. "Wait, is that Keiji? Keiji Akaashi?" Akaashi looked at you and had his mouth gaped wide open in shock. "(L/N)-san?" He cried out to you in response. You excused yourself from the nearest barista who then took over the cashier register while you ran to Keiji and hugged him. Tetsuro was quite surprised at this exchange. When you came out of the hug, you had tears in your eyes. "Tetsuro, Akaashi was one of my middle school friends before he moved to Fukurodani. He was one of the best friends I had, but we sadly lost touch. Oh, how you made my day by bringing him. Thank you so so much. It's really nice to meet all of you. Do you all want to get started?" The first few days were hilarious, watching them learn the jobs of being a barista. Kenma especially looked tired as he didn't want to be in the morning. So, Kenma and Akaashi were put on the evening shift, while Bokuto and Kuroo were put in the morning shift.

The business then started to pick up in the last couple of days. You were even able to establish a daycare center for parents to drop their children, and for the children to feel less lonely and involve themselves in various activities. Both of your mothers eventually got better and both of your parents started to hang out again. Now and then, you'd pop in and see Tetsuro sitting with the kids and reading out stories and playing with them. You thought to yourself, "I think I like him, mum." The moment you said it to yourself was when Kuroo turned to you, smirking and winking at you, causing your mouth to gape open and your eyes to roll, only for you to turn in the other direction and immensely blush. You, however, were oblivious of the fact that there were days that Kuroo would stay longer at the coffee shop, just to be able to have a one-to-one conversation. There was a pull you two had towards each other, that both of you could never explain.

One day, it had started to rain when he was coming back home. His car had gotten stuck in a puddle, so he decided to take a bus. During the bus journey, he was listening to the song "Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop," by Landon Pigg. As he was composing himself by closing his eyes and breathing deeply, images of you flashed in my mind. From the first time, he saw your smile, to the time you spoke with him about fate. From the time you hugged Akaashi and thanked Kuroo, to the moment you had the secret exchange of glances at the daycare center. That's when he had an epiphany: He needed to tell you how he felt for you. He didn't want to wait for a single second anymore.

No sooner did the bus reach the bus stop, than he opened the umbrella and dashed towards Brewing Tales. He looked at his watch while carrying the umbrella in another hand. It was 6:40pm. Sighing and spewing curses in the air, Kuroo ran to the coffeehouse to protect himself from the pouring rain. He was glad that only his hair had gotten wet, albeit a little bit, not too much. Scruffing his jet black hair, he walked to the cashier, and suddenly a smile came upon his face when he saw you. "Oh, I'm glad that you're here." You chuckle and say, "Well, Kuroo-san, we should be saying the opposite," turning to the baristas who nod in return, causing Kuroo to laugh and blush, while looking down at his shoes. "You're a regular at our coffee shop and you're normally punctual like a clock, so excuse us for getting worried about you when you finally turn up.”

He asks one of the baristas, giving them a knowing glance, "Can I borrow her, please?" Everyone grinned and said in unison, "Please, please, go ahead, pushing you away from the cashier position and towards him. "Tetsuro, what's wrong?" You smile, confused. He holds you by the wrist and drags you out of the coffee shop and says, " (Y/N) (L/N)," huffing along, "When I first saw you, I was captivated by your (E/C) eyes, and when you told me about your family, it made much more sense for us to meet. I don't really believe in fate, but in the choices that we make. So, can I call this fate? Or call you mine?" You were first shocked, then your breathing hitches, but in the end, tears stream down your cheek as you smile at him. Meanwhile, Tetsuro's umbrella flies away in the air and he screams, "My umbrella-" It was now your turn to hold him by his wrist, pull him closer to you, and place your lips on his with your hands on his cheeks. As you two kept kissing in the rain, both of you were oblivious to the presence of your parents in the cafe, seeing this moment unravel before them. That's when Kuroo's mother spoke to your mother, "Just like what we predicted would happen." Your mother nodded in agreement.

I honestly had fun writing this, idk if it was upto the mark, imagination wise? However, I hope y'all like it :D

#Spotify #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #tetsurou kuroo #tetsurou kuroo x reader #kuroo fluff #coffee shop au #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #shyna muses #musings of an extrovert #yuichi nakamura #shyna's seiyuu birthday celebration

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digitalmidnight · 3 years ago

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The best perk of Bandana Dee's job was his bedroom. It was located on the second floor of the east wing, far from the barracks the soldiers slept in. His only neighbor was the Great King himself, who lived directly above him and despite his tendency to stay up late into the night he was quite quiet. Well, most nights anyway.

Bandana Waddle Dee opened his eyes slowly. 2:43 am, his clock read. Why'd he wake up? He didn’t feel thirsty, hungry, nor did he feel the urge to visit the bathroom. He wasn’t uncomfortable, in fact he felt he was in the most comfortable position he could be, bundled in thick, fuzzy blankets as the cool night’s breeze swept over the rest of the room from the cracked open window. Whatever reason he had to wake up didn’t matter. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and let the fountain of dream’s blessing wash over him yet again.

The sound of machinery reached the Waddle Dee’s ears. The King’s power drill, to be precise. Disgruntled and tired, Bandana Dee forced his eyes open to stare at the clock. 2:45 am. Despite his role as advisor, he preferred not to be against the king in any way. At the same time, his liege was using a power drill at near 3am. With much displeasure, Bandana peeled himself from his warm cocoon and made his way to the window. Pressing his cheek against the cold pane, the workshop on the third floor of the north wing where his King always did his engineering work was visible. The lights were on and the windows were closed, yet they did little to muffle the noises. He shut his window in hopes that maybe it would silence the cacophony of tools. It didn’t. With a sigh, Bandana Dee dragged himself from the window to make the long crawl to the Great King.

“My liege?” Softly called out Bandana. He had slipped in the room during a brief pause in the noises. Hunched over the workbench, King Dedede had his back to the door and protective headphones covering his ears. The power drill and all his other, louder tools currently weren’t in his hands as he appeared to be comparing whatever he was working on to his notes. It took a moment, but he did eventually turn to Bandana Dee, who was still in the doorway.

King Dedede took off his headphones and his safety glasses as quickly as he could without taking his headpiece off with it. “Strawberry shortcake?” Figures he wouldn’t question Bandana Dee being up at 3am, just if the slice of cake that Bandana Dee had grabbed for him was Strawberry shortcake. He had brought it knowing the King would enjoy a snack, hopefully enough to agree to leave whatever project he was working on for a more typical hour.

“Correct, Great King.” Seeing as there was no clear spot on the table, Bandana Dee opted to just hand the cake to King Dedede, who eagerly took it. “I thought you would enjoy a treat.”

The King didn’t even use a fork. He ate quicker than he usually did, if even possible, then wiped his hands on a spare rag before going back to reading his notes. The notes were an amalgamation of the King’s spontaneous ideas, observations, and complaints. All of which were written so erratically and messily that if Bandana had to read the notebook, he would need a decoder. On the table laid a metal shell that looked similar to the Great King’s hammer, as well as a small rocket and engine that may have once belonged to a vehicle of some sorts. Several blueprints for many other machines were scattered across the table, layered so only parts of them were visible. Nails and bolts were in piles wherever they could be. If there was a method to the madness, Bandana Dee didn’t see it.

Bandana Dee stood nearby, staring to see if he could figure out where his King was in his project, when he was pulled out of his thoughts by the king. “Hey, wait a sec. Since when are you up at midnight, Bandee?”

“It’s just past 3, sir.” Bandana Dee corrected.

“Quit joshin with me, it ain’t that late!” Snapped King Dedede as he turned to his digital clock that rested on the wall just above the window. A fierce blush was making his way across his cheeks from the embarrassment and frustration at being wrong. As his King’s closest subordinate, he wouldn’t say a word about it.

“I heard your power drill from my room, Great King, and I thought you would want a small break from your work.”

His blush grew, however the anger shifted away to sheepishness. He wouldn’t apologize, and Bandana Dee didn’t expect one, however he knew in his heart the King did feel semi guilty about the noise. Hopefully enough to cease using any loud tools so late in the evening again.

Hoping to shift the topic to one less embarrassing to his King, he asked curiously, “what are you working on, sir?”

“Well you see this here?” King Dedede pointed to a blueprint on the table, one Bandana Dee couldn’t see from his vantage point. Thankfully, King Dedede shimmied to the right in his bench, making room for him to crawl onto the seat. The blueprint he was pointing to was of Kabula, his personal aircraft with advanced AI controls. It was of her redesign, which was faster and deadlier thanks to the efforts of the Great King, who had worked tirelessly on her until he declared the project finished last week.

King Dedede was tapping on a part of the blueprint showing a mere section of the aircraft. It was either a missile or a jet. “I thought adding a bit more omph to my hammer will help me clobber that there Kirby. Makin’ my swings heavier and faster with this here engine will give that puffball a run for his money, if he even makes it to me! Ha!”

“Great King,” Bandana Dee exclaimed in curious confusion. It appeared as though his king were planning to add in a small engine along with a jet to a hammer. Yes, that would make his swings faster and heavier, however, “Wouldn’t that make your hammer too heavy?”

With a devious snicker, already imagining the future fight with Kirby, King Dedede picked up the engine from a nearby pile of parts and tossed it with the ease he would an apple. “Ha! This little extra weight ain’t anything! Heck, I think even you could carry it.” With that he held out the engine in offering. Bandana Dee stared sleepily at it for a moment before reaching out to hold it. How heavy could it possibly be?

Heavy. So heavy. As soon as King Dedede’s support was gone, the engine along with his hands were dragged down to his feet. Thankfully, his liege had better reflexes than him, or perhaps he was just more awake, and grabbed the engine before either him or the engine took damage. That engine had to weigh more than 600 apples at the least, yet his King could hold it with ease.

“Uh, guess not. You okay?” Without looking, the Great King casually dropped the engine on the workbench roughly where it had been originally.

“Y-yes.” To be sure, Bandana Dee shook his arms a little. He was fine. “Kirby sure has a tough fight ahead of him if you use that hammer, sir.”

“And I’ll have an easy one!” King Dedede turned back towards his worktable. “Tomorrow is the day me and Kirby’s rivalry ends once ‘n for all!”

“Of course, sire.” Tomorrow was the day. By morning, they would send for Kirby. If Bandana Dee’s calculations were correct, Kirby would arrive for the final battle between him and the King by sunset at the latest. The thought sent his heart racing, no matter how often his king reasured him that even if Kirby beat every other member of the army, Kirby didn’t stand a chance against the Great King. The excitement was extremely tiring, actually. A yawn escaped him.

King Dedede looked down to him. “You can go to bed now, Bandee.”

“Your Majesty should as well,” countered Bandana Dee. “We have a big day ahead of us.”

“I’ll go to bed when I’m done!” King Dedede declared, stubborness flaring up.

“Then I will stay up with you, my King.” Bandana Dee said with his own brand of stubborness. Though he expected that the Great King saw through this bluff when the Waddle Dee tried unsuccesfully to stifle another yawn. King Dedede said nothing about it, just moving back towards his work. The tossed aside engine was picked up with only one of his hands and laid carefully in the hammer’s shell. Arranging a tiny light so he would see, the Great King picked up a small tool and some wires and began to work on the inside of the shell.

Bandana Dee leaned over to rest his head on the King’s robe. To be able to be strong enough to hold back Kirby, who defeated Dark Matter, Nightmare and many other terrifying bosses that Waddle Dee couldn’t name, was amazing.

If only he could be that strong as well.

Bandana Dee didn’t remember going to bed when he awoke tucked in a little too tight, but he did remember that burning desire to one day be as strong as his king. That wish of his persisted, even a week later when he was pulling a small wagon with four neat boxes in it to the castle’s infirmary.

☆☆☆☆☆

Despite the intro, the story will mostly focus on Meta Knight and Bandana Dee. I think I'll hold off fully posting it on AO3 until it's complete, but here's the intro.

Fanfiction will feature:

Bandana Dee, who puts himself first for the first time in his life and it spirals out of control

Kirby, who latches on to Bandana Dee the second he gives him food

Meta Knight, who thinks the best way to apologize for an attempted take over is to teach the king's closest subordinate how to fight behind his back

And King Dedede, who is trying his best (yet failing) to pretend like he isn't becoming friends with the other three

#kirby #writing midnight fanfiction #fanfiction #bandana dee #kirby series #king dedede #rip the other fanfic for a while but i need to save face in the family lmao #long post #i think tumblr cuts it off now so i dont need to put a read more??? tell me if otherwise #first draft so there are def mistakes that will be edited out #protostar kirby fic

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zhengyimachine · 9 months ago

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Looking Beyond: The Advantages of Glass Sandblasting Machines

While sandblasting machines add texture and depth to glass, Glass Drilling Machines provide a extraordinary set of benefits, that specialize in functionality and practicality. Here's why they may be crucial in the worldwide of glass fabrication. Whether it's far developing holes for hardware installation or complex designs for decorative functions, Glass Drilling Machines offer unrivaled precision

#Glass Drilling Machine #Glass Drilling Machine Near Me

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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Fated

Karl Heisenberg x Autistic, Sound-sensitive Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Noise sensitivity

Genre: Romance, Comfort

Summary: Not everyone could love a man like Heisenberg. But Y/N isn’t everyone, nor is she just anyone. She loves him as the whole package he is: murderous intentions, human experiments and all.

Requested by @phoenixofthevalley Hi dear! Here you go - the first fic I’ve ever written for Karl Heisenberg (first of many) and thank you so much for being my first ever Resident Evil 8 requester! Hope you enjoy the read! Feel free to correct me if I’ve described anything incorrectly or in an accidentally offensive manner. I have no intention of spreading hate or any type of misconception so I’d really appreciate the correction. Love, Vy ❤

Watching Karl get so excited over this grand plan of his - the destroying of Mother Miranda, his revenge - it all makes me feel uneasy. I can’t explain the feeling, mostly cause I’ve never felt it before, and I can’t quite describe it either. I don’t connect to people easily and I’ve always been told I’m the problem but I guess it took the right person to make me feel things I haven’t felt for no one else all my life.

“The weren’t worthy of your emotions, darling.“ Karl told me on one of the rare occasions when I opened up my mind to him. I felt his words wrap around me like a comforting embrace. For the first time in my life, I felt understood.

I think that’s what took me the longest to get used to - being understood, seen and validated. My opinions had never before been taken into account seriously, my personal boundaries were rarely respected by others and people always had a hard time dealing with how distant I can be. But what bothers me above all is how people refer to me as dramatic because of my sound sensitivity - something no one took seriously when I’d tell them about it.

Karl did though, surprising me to no end.

He respects that I like my personal space and prefer not being shown much affection, especially not physical. He understands that I have a hard time showing people affection myself. He goes out of his way to make sure I’m ok with whatever it is he’s doing, saying or suggesting. And I’m sure that if I were to ever tell someone about this, they wouldn’t believe me. That’s most definitely due to his rough exterior and intimidating appearance. Also probably because he comes off as downright selfish and rude when you first meet him, but getting to know him was a journey worth taking because I now know the real him. A trust me, his rough exterior and the softness of his true self have nothing in common. Although, he does claim that softness is only reserved for me.

With all that laid out, it’s completely understandable that I don’t want him going up against Mother Miranda. Thanks to Karl I’ve never had the displeasure of running into her, but I’ve heard countless stories of how powerful and downright terrifying that witch is. Bottom line: I don’t want Karl walking into something that’s the equivalent of suicide.

And I’ve finally decided to let him know exactly how I feel about it.

I’ve been sitting here, searching for my voice as I observe Karl in his deepest thinking space. He’s constantly in it, if you ask me - constantly thinking, looking for ways to make his innovations better, stronger, more powerful to add to his chances of victory against the sadistic ruler of this village. He was already at his desk when I walked in, hunched over dozens of drawings drawn with cut-edge precision yet in his mind they are probably not near good enough. In his mind, all he does is never good enough. He prides himself on this factory and what he’s produced thus far but he cannot stay proud of himself for very long, he constantly feels the need to better himself in order to remain worthy in his eyes. I wish I could change his mindset on those grounds but I know that my tries would be futile and pointless.

“Karl?“ I suddenly speak up, surprising both him and myself. I don’t know what I was thinking opening my mouth when I still have no idea how to go about this without making it seem like I don’t believe in him. That is in no way the case. I believe he can defeat her, if he cannot do it himself, his robo-army most certainly can. But I don’t want defeating her to cost him his life cause without him in mine I’m not sure what will be left of me.

He straightens up from where he’s been hunched over for the past God knows how many hours, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms as her turns to look at me, his sunglasses capturing the white neon light in the office as he does so.

“What is it, darling? Something wrong?“ he takes a step towards me as I stand up and go to approach him.

“Actually...“ Suddenly, that thing he keeps in a safety cell just below this room starts going off with that annoying loud sound it makes. It’s always disturbed me, ever since it came to exist which was not so long ago considering it’s been his latest project. It not only terrifies me but triggers my sound sensitivity as do most of the machines in this forsaken factory.

I close my eyes tightly shut as I cover my ears with my hands, praying for the sound to go away as soon as possible because I can’t take it. It almost makes me physically nauseous and gives me vertigo, bringing me to the brink of tears because of its loudness and intensity, like it’s drilling right into my brain.

I can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment the sound went away because when faced with such a pain-inducing experience, my senses tend to tune out while I still remain conscious, but when my hearing returns I the only thing I’m able to hear is a steady heartbeat and a steady breathing.

“It’s ok, darling. You’re ok.“ I hear Karl’s quiet whisper, giving me peace and coaxing me into opening my eyes.

When I do so, I come to realize why the rest of the world has gone quiet. Why I’m suddenly so flooded with comfort like no one is able to bring me. No one but him. One of my ears is pressed up to his chest while the other is covered by his warm hand which travels up to move a strand of hair from my face and put it behind my ear as he repeats his soothing words like a chant, slowly starting to let go of me out of fear that he’s crossing a line. He’s always so wary about that and I’ll forever be grateful to him for it.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?“ His hands gently cup my cheeks, tilting my head so I can look him in the eyes - directly in the eyes, for he has ridden himself of his glasses. I’ve found he does that often when around me - removes his glasses. I once asked him why that is but the answer he gave me was vague, all the while a small smile played on his face. Guess he’s a bigger secret-keeper than I primarily thought. It doesn’t bother me really, I know the only secrets he keeps are the ones that would be a hazard for my safety if he exposed me to them, so I allow him his secrets and I keep some of my own to myself. It’s only fair, after all.

I nod, blinking up at him, “Yes, I’m ok. But...“ Now or never, girl. Now or never. “But if you want me to be honest, I will be.”

He looks baffled by my answer but he doesn’t falter, quickly regaining his composure before he replies, “Of course, dear. I always want you to be honest with me. What’s on your mind, what’s bothering you?“

Now “I haven’t been really ok for a while now.” I take his hands in mine, removing them from my cheeks but holding them firmly between us - a gesture that surprises me just as much as it shocks him. Never have I felt the need to be so close to someone. It may be momentary and temporary, but I refuse to dwell on that as I push forward with my argument, “I haven’t been ok since you told me about your plane. The whole thing with Mother Miranda and all that...” Not the time to be leaving me, words. I started this, I’ll finish it. “Look, Karl, I know you and your army can bring that witch to her demise but...”

“But what, Y/N? Tell me.“ He encourages me softly, his hands subtly tightening their hold on mine as if to keep me grounded, remind me he’s listening closely to every word I’m saying. Like he always does.

“But what if it doesn’t go as planned?“ I blurt out, biting my bottom lip nervously. It makes me anxious, being so honest and emotionally exposed. That’s so rare for me I doubt I’ll ever get used to it, but that’s the only way I have at least a fragment of a chance of convincing Karl to drop this. “What if things go south and you end up killed or turned into a monster or something else?“

The concern on his face washes away when he hears my words, getting replaced by a soft, consoling smile. I quickly look away, feeling that confession on my part was quite odd. I feel out of place but not uncomfortable, I don’t know how to explain it. It almost feels like relief, like I’ve finally gotten a huge boulder off my chest and I can finally breathe properly. But I can’t, not until I hear his reply. That smile should probably tell me something but it doesn’t - I won’t believe anything until I hear it come out of his mouth with my own two ears.

“Oh Y/N, darling, you won’t lose me. Ever.“ His thumb swipes across my knuckles soothingly, drawing abstract patterns on the skin of the back of my hand, “You never need to worry about me, hun, I ain’t going anywhere. No one can take me away from you or you away from me. Anyone who dares to try, well, bad things will happen to ‘em.“ He chuckles, easing the tension enough for me to able to look up at him again. When our eyes meet again, I see something I can’t name nor describe. All I know is that what he’s telling me is genuine and comes, “I’ll always be here, by your side, Y/N. I will always be here to shield you from anything and anyone. Any rogue lycan or any loud sound, I’ll be there to prevent it from reaching you. Never forget that. Ok?“

That urge to be have him close takes over me again. I think that somewhere in the back of my mind I see a clock ticking down, counting down the numbered hours we have together before he inevitably carries out his plan. As scary as that is, I think I can do nothing but accept it.

And so, that’s exactly what I do.

Wrapping my arms around him tenderly, enveloping him in the first hug I’ve ever given him - probably the first hug anyone has given him - I accept our fate, silently hoping it changes somewhere along the lines.

“Ok.“

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sageinacage · 4 years ago

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lee!charlie and ler!quackity, that is all,, since charlie doesnt know much, quackity teaches him what tickling is and charlie is just enjoying it sm

Discovery (creative title ik /s) summary: charlie doesn't know what tickling is, and quackity is more than happy to teach his friend about it. a/n: lee charlie slimecicle my beloved. *holds him gently* warnings: i think like one swear word LOL w/c: 1.6k DSMP, Platonic

“Quahackity s- stoHOHOP IHIT!” Purpled wailed, kicking his legs out behind Quackity who was on top of him, his fingers relentlessly scribbling into a sweet spot right beneath Purpled’s ribs. “But I’m having so much fun, Purpled! We’re just getting started.” Quackity sneered, cooing as his ‘victim’s’ laughter grew an octave as his nails skittered against the sides of his stomach.

“Noho we ahaharen’t- NONOHOHO Q- QUACKIHIHITHIHIHIY!” The boy screeched when a long raspberry was placed over his waist, small raspberries then peppering across his belly to reach his other side.

“You’re more ticklish than I remembered! Huh, this is good news- well, for me at least.” Quackity snickered as he watched his friend trash under him and smiled to himself as high-pitched cackles tore through the room.

In the room next door, a fellow named Charlie was deep in thought studying the new machine Sam built in the Casino. It would be a lot easier to think if he didn’t hear bloody murder in the room next door, though. “What is all of that about? Is someone in trouble?” He spoke to himself, peeking out in the hallway to make sure the coast was clear.

The worried boy glanced inside the room he heard all the yelling from, only to see his two friends... wrestling? “Are you okay?” He called out, Purpled about to yell for help before Quackity drilled his fingers into the sides of his belly. “Yeah, all good in here, bud!” The one clad in a dark beanie grinned widely. The slime hybrid nodded; as curious as he was to what they were both doing, he went back to trying out the new machines Sam had worked hard on.

Eventually, the laughter and yelling died down and Las Nevadas went back to calm (well, as calm as it gets). Charlie was still curious and seeking answers to what Quackity was doing to Purpled, as it looked quite fun as he learned quickly that laughter is a positive thing friends do together.

He walked around, peeking in each room he came across until he stepped in front of the door of Quackity’s office. Charlie knocked on the door, smiling as he heard his best friend inside. “Can I come in, Quackity?” He asked sweetly, excited to see his friend. “Of course, come in!” Quackity smiled fondly, permitting him.

The door flung open, the boy running to Quackity to pull him into a hug. “Alright, alright.” Quackity laughed, unfolding Charlie’s arms that were tight around him. “Okay, I’ve been thinking. Very hard, in fact. What were you and Purpled doing earlier?” Charlie asked straight to the point, pushing his glasses up that was a bit tilted from the tight hug.

“I was giving him a piece of my mind for trying to cheat against me in a game of cards.” Quackity chuckled softly, organizing more papers on his desk. “Cheat?! That’s no good!” Charlie put his hands on his hips, tilting his head down to look at his friend. “And that’s exactly why I tickled him.” He smiled up at Charlie.

“Tickled?” He asked, putting a finger to his chin. “You don’t know what tickling is? Ohoho…” Quackity devilishly giggled, then cleared his throat. “I mean- I can show you, but at your own risk.” He offered, the slime hybrid immediately shaking his head excitedly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you though! Alright, can you lay down over there for me? It’ll make it easier.” Quackity motioned towards the couch in his office.

Charlie obliged, practically skipping towards the soft couch and laying down. “This should be fun.” Quackity thought out loud, before going over to Charlie. In all honesty, Quackity is expecting Charlie to either not be ticklish because hell, can a slime even be ticklish? Or just dip out immediately, because that’s what most people do when tickled.

“Reeeady?” Quackity drew out, wiggling his fingers over Charlie’s sides. The confused boy nodded, moving his hands out of the way. Right as his fingers made contact with Charlie’s sides, he immediately squealed and laughed out. Though, as he squirmed out of instinct, he never tried to squirm away.

“Ah, so you are ticklish!” He exclaimed, his fingers drumming against Charlie’s upper ribs. “Ihit- *hic* feheheels fuhuhunny!” Light-hearted laughter poured out of the hybrid, the sensation new but it honestly felt nice.

“Yeah? I bet it does. How does this feel, though?” The casino owner sniggered evilly as he fluttered his nails down his ribs, then tracing into his waist. “Feheheels nihihice…” Charlie’s sugar-sweet giggles filled up the room. Quackity paused, sitting up with an eyebrow raised.

Charlie stumbled on his words, stuttering nervously. “I- Is thahat a bahad thing?” He panicked, still feeling the sensation of a few fingers continuously wiggling around his side. “No- no. It’s not, definitely not. It’s endearing if you ask me.” Quackity smiled down at his friend, putting his other hand to use and gently squeezing his hip. Happy laughs emitted from Charlie again, untensing his body as he enjoyed himself.

“Charlie- I do have one question, though.”

“Whahahat is ihihit?”

“How many ribs do you have? Y’know, as a good friend I need to make sure that you have all of them.”

“I dohohon’t k- knohohow?” Charlie giggled as Quackity playfully clicked his tongue and shook his head, properly straddling him. “I’m gonna count them then, alright? If you dare push me away then I’ll have to start alllll over, got it?” For emphasis, Quackity dragged his nails down all of his ribs and wiggled them along Charlie’s lower ribs.

Charlie nodded, his laughter growing as excitement overtook him. Quackity internally ‘awwed’ at the sight, but not letting himself get all soft as he massaged his fingers into Charlie’s lowest ribs. “QuahAHACKITY!” The hybrid’s laughter grew as his friend’s hands slowly rose to his ribcage, starting to feel more and more sensitive.

“Charlie!” Quackity playfully retorted, looking up at Charlie’s face then cooing at the sight. Charlie’s cheeks were bright green, and his hair was messy and disheveled, while his glasses were crooked on his face and tipping off his nose. He was adorable, to say the least.

“N’awww, is somebody having fun?” Quackity teased, a smirk growing on his face. “Does somebody love the tickles? This is so much fun!” Charlie swore he felt something flutter in his stomach. Is that what butterflies were that everyone talks about? The name matches, that’s for sure.

Wanting to be honest to his best friend, Charlie nodded as his face grew an even brighter hue. “I’m so glad, I could honestly listen to your laugh forever, y’know.” Quackity chuckled as his fingers finally reached near the top of Charlie’s ribs. His laughter grew hiccupy and squeaky, a sweet spot being hit.

“It’s sohoho… hahahAHAPPY!” Charlie squealed as fingers continued to vibrate into his top ribs. “Happy?” Quackity asked, tilting his head. This boy was going to be the death of him, Quackity decided. “YEHEHAH! HAHAP- *snort* HAHAPPY!” Charlie nodded, smiling with content.

This went on for a bit until Quackity thought that Charlie deserved some sort of ‘Grand Finale’. “I think I know someone that wants to meet you, Charlie.” Quackity tittered, his smile growing. “A nehehew friehend?” He smiled excitedly when Quackity nodded. “Yep! It is I, the tickle monster!” Quackity said in a booming voice, wiggling claw hands at Charlie.

“Wh- where’s Quahackity?!” Charlie’s eyes widened, staring at who is now apparently the ‘tickle monster’. “Whahat did you doho to my friend?!” He panicked, Quackity unable to keep up the act as he burst out laughing. “Don’t worry Charlie, it’s me! I was Quackity the whole time!” He giggled, smiling at the relaxed sigh from Charlie. “You scared me, friend!” He exclaimed.

“I’m so sorry, let me make it up to you.” Quackity smiled, sneaking his hands up Charlie’s t-shirt to dance his fingers along his belly. Charlie couldn’t stay grumpy for long as his adorable giggles started up again, filling the room with the feeling of fondness and happiness.

“Hey Charlie, out of curiosity- do you know what a raspberry is by any chance?” Quackity asked, pausing his fingers. “N- Nohoho? I dohon’t think soho!” He tilted his head like a curious puppy, making the other chuckle to himself. “Alright, prepare yourself then.” Quackity laughed before leaning his head down, earning a confused look from Charlie.

Before Charlie knew it, a raspberry was blown right in the center of his belly, the vibrations from it shooting through every nerve in his body. “QUAHAHAHACKITY!” Charlie convulsed, his back involuntarily arching in surprise. He felt Quackity smile into his stomach before blowing yet another raspberry. Another shriek escaped the hybrid, gently pushing at the tickler’s head.

“Quackity are yo- oh. Alright.” Purpled paused in the doorway, his antennae drooping down a bit in surprise at the sight, and sound in that fact. “Oh, came back for round two, bud?” Quackity raised an eyebrow at the boy in the purple hoodie, his antennae immediately flicking up. “No, I am not doing a stupid round two, you ass. I came for revenge, obviously!” He sassed, crossing his arms.

“Alright Charlie, how about I teach you how to tickle someone, yeah? Seems like fun?” Quackity urged, smiling at the slime hybrid. “I get to make my other friend laugh? Yes! Teach me, Quackity!” He excitedly sat up and approached the alien, who decided to bolt.

“Alright! Step one: the chase. Pretty straightforward. Let’s catch him!”

#mcyt tickle #lee!slimecicle #ler!quackity #lee!purpled #question mark #my writing

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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

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redamancy.

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: the moment you’ve all been waiting for...#5 makes an appearance! (thanks to kira @good-heavens-chris-evans for helping me not be a liar and gassing me up so i could post this tonight like i promised xoxo i love you so much) words: 5.56k warnings: descriptions of childbirth (nothing too gross or graphic), swearing, disgustingly sweet family content

summary: “what strange creatures brothers are!” - jane austen. au!august 2022

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist edited: january 9th, 2021

“Hey, Aaron?” You peer around the wall to the bedroom from your place on the master bath toilet. There isn't any urgency to your query, which would later make you both laugh until you can't breathe.

Aaron has a book in his lap and reading glasses resting on his perfect nose, as is usual for bedtime. He turns a page. “Hm?”

“When you get to a good stopping point, can you grab the go bag?”

“Yeah.” He gets up on autopilot, setting his book down. When he reaches the bedroom doorway, he freezes and turns over his shoulder “Wait. Why?”

“Oh, nothing extreme,” you say, your voice light. “My water just broke and I figured we might -“

Your name leaves his mouth in a laugh, and he trots back to you, helping you up and kneeling to assist you with your comfiest pair of pajama pants. You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder, stepping into one leg, then the other. Playfully, he snaps the stretchy waistband around you. He's still kneeling before you when he says, “You’re insane, you know that?”

You smile down at him and scrub your fingers through his hair. He leans into your touch like a cat and closes his eyes. “You are too, I’d like to point out.”

He sighs, kissing your belly and resting his cheek on it. “Never said I wasn’t.” He looks up at you. “Is it weird that I’m...a little sad? I’ve loved this part of our lives so much.”

You shake your head. “Me too, my love. And no, It isn’t weird.”

He holds your hands as he stands and kisses your forehead.

“We should probably tell Jack it's go time so he can help the little ones when they get up.”

Aaron pauses for a moment, thinking. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Isaac isn’t going to clearly remember last time, so he’ll probably be nervous, and this is totally new to the girls.” You reach up and he plants a kiss on your lips. You smile, pleased.

A little contraction wave hits, and one side of your face screwed up in discomfort.

Aaron kisses your cheek and says, “I’ll get the rest of the toiletries together.”

You nod, and padded down the hallway, your socked feet swishing a little against the hardwood floors. You knocked twice on Jack’s door, quietly, and waited for his groggy, “Yeah?”

With access granted, you open the door with a little smile, and Jack sits straight up. You cross to his bed and sit down on the edge, opening your arm to him. Though he’s almost seventeen, he scrambled out from under the covers and tucked in close to you.

“Your dad and I are headed to the hospital, and Aunt Jess and Em are on their way okay? If you need anything big, dad has his phone and -“

“Mom, we’ve done this before,” he says with a grin. “I know the drill.”

You push the hair off his forehead and kiss him. “I know it, but it makes me feel better. The little ones haven’t done this before, and they’ll probably be a little nervous. Please help your aunts so they aren’t driven to the drink by your sisters.”

He laughs a little, and surprises you by wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you close to him. “Be safe, mom. I love you.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you hold him tight. “I love you so much, Jack.”

“Are you scared?”

You press a hand to the back of his head, and he burrows into your neck. “Only a little. I know I’m older, which can make some things difficult, but I’ll always come home to you.”

He nods. “Promise?”

“I promise as much as I can.”

Jack pulls away and swipes quickly at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Hey,” your brow crinkles in lighthearted concern. “What’s gotcha?”

He shakes his head. “It’s stupid”

“I can guarantee you it’s not.” While still a bit of a boy, Jack looks very much a man in the dark, lit only by the light of the hallway as the wheels turn in his head. You pick up one of his hands, and he places your linked fingers over your belly.

“I just - I don’t - Ugh. It’s morbid - Nevermind.”

You huff a laugh. “Baby, remember that one-third of this house hunts serial killers for a living. Nothing is morbid.”

A smile quirks at his lips, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. “Just be okay? Please?”

You sober and nod, pressing a hand to his cheek. “Jack, do you think I would ever put you or your father into a position that can result in leaving either one of you?”

He shakes his head. “But things happen.”

“They sure do. Your dad will be with me the whole time and he can send you hourly updates if you want. I promise promise promise you’ll be in the loop, baby. I know you like to know.”

Your son’s eyes flicker to the doorway, where a shadow appears. It's Aaron, his backpack on and your go bag in his hand.

“Ready?”

You nod, stand (not without effort), and press another kiss to Jack’s head. “I love you bud. I’ll see you when our plus one arrives.”

The plan is easy: Emily and Jessica are on their way over for the kids, and Dave and Spencer will relieve them after 12 hours. Derek, Savannah, JJ, and Will are only called when the baby arrives, to save them the angst of prematurely wrangling four children between them.

The hospital is only eighteen minutes away, but with the way Aaron drives, it's more like ten.

Time is fairly important - with your body accustomed to delivering babies, having done it twice before, there’s a very big chance active labor would only take a few hours, if that.

Emily and Jess pull up to the house at the same time, both in their pajamas, holding their overnight bags.

“Ready?” Jess asks, kissing your cheek.

You laugh. “Don’t have much of a choice now, do I?”

Emily sets her things down and wordlessly hugs you. You wrap your arms around her as best you can.

“Walk me out?” You ask.

She slings an arm around your shoulders and you walk back out the front door. She situates you in the passenger seat, and you offer her a small smile.

“You know,” she starts with a bit of a laugh, “every single time I’m just as nervous as I was when Henry was born.”

You reach for her hand, and kiss the back of it. “Me too.”

Everything goes according to plan after that. You sit in the car with your stopwatch while Aaron packs the car, checking the car seat base and putting everything that needs to go up with you in the trunk. Jess and Emily get set up on the couches in the living room, ready to settle in for the night.

You're uncomfortable, sure, but it isn't unbearable yet. This is the tedious part.

Miraculously, none of the little ones wake up in the commotion. The magic of white noise machines is never to be underestimated.

“Time?” He calls from where he leans into the back of the car. He's handling the last details, in full field operations mode.

You turn around. “5 minutes, 15 seconds.”

“Alright,” he looks up at you and grins widely. “Let’s go, baby.”

+++

Brienne breezes in and checks your charts and your dilation. “It’s go, time, here I think, Momma.”

You sigh and readjust. “Do I have to lay down?” Comfortable as you are, epidural all finished, you still feel a little restless. The alternative is worse - you’d delivered Isaac without any pain management, and thought it was the end of days. You didn’t, and won’t, make that mistake again.

“Not necessarily, but if you’re going to shuffle around I would suggest a squat for the sake of your blood pressure.”

Another contraction hits, and it knocks the wind out of you. You squeeze Aaron’s hand so hard you fear you’ll break it, and inform him for the third time that morning that you hate his guts.

“I know, honey. I’m sorry. I know. I’m the worst. Just breathe, okay?” He presses his forehead to your temple, giving you something to focus on.

It sounds like you tell him to fuck off, but you aren’t sure. The wave crests and then falls, and you slump back against the pillows. “Okay, maybe I do want to lie down.”

Everyone stifles a chuckle, but you didn't have it in you to be prideful. While you still have a few seconds, you double-check the plan. “Hey Brienne, we’re still good to tie today, right?”

“Yes, ma’am!” she says, way too chipper for the small morning hour. She speaks quickly, knowing she has to finish her thought before your next contraction. “Soon as we’re all done, we’ll do a really quick procedure and everything will be squared away. If, for some reason, we have to do an emergency cesarean, we can do it right then as well.”

Brienne is a great obstetrician - she never pulls punches when the news is difficult or stressful. Her straightforward nature immediately endeared her to your whole family.

It's too much to think about, seeing as another contraction sneaks up on you as you ponder. It felt like only seconds since the last one.

You're so tired.

Brienne gestures to Aaron. They developed a bit of a language over the last two deliveries, and he presses a kiss to your temple. “You gotta push, babe.”

“God, Fuck. I hate you, Aaron. Goddamn you. I’m never letting you near me ever again. Fuck.” A stream of expletives continues to leave you as you push and push and push.

He only holds your hand and reminds you to breathe and push. He also tells you how much he loves you in between agreeing with your damning assessments.

If he's honest, he always thinks your ire during childbirth is hilarious. It is kind of his fault, and he can't fathom the physical trauma, so he figures this is a fair role to fill while you do the hard work.

On a small trough in your final set of contractions, you catch your breath enough to ask for his other hand. This is the hardest part, and it always makes you a little nervous.

“Aaron, come here. Please.” He drapes his arm around your shoulders, and you grab his hand where it hangs by your collarbone.

“You’re almost there, darlin’! We’re gonna be crowning here in a second.” You can't see Brienne, totally locked into her task, but her update is a relief.

You lean heavily into Aaron and he rests his cheek against yours. While this is a shorter labor than both Isaac and the girls’, you're exhausted. Bone-deep tired and hot and cold all at once.

“You’re doing so well. You’re a superhero. I love you so much.” He whispers his words against you, and you wail as another contraction hit. Your choice of a walking epidural doesn’t knock the pain out entirely, and it still totally sucks. But again, better than the alternative.

“We’ve got a little Hotchner head! Keep going!” Brienne pats your knee and grins at you, and you follow instructions. “Do you want to catch, Dad?”

Before he can answer, you tell him, “If you move, I’ll kill you,” through your teeth. Aaron shrugs and looks over your head at Brienne, who suppresses a smile.

There can't be any blood left in Aaron’s upper extremities at this point. In the midst of actively disliking him and your presence in your life in that particular moment, you're so grateful for him you could cry.

Well, you could cry for a great number of reasons, but that’s definitely one of them.

A few minutes and a pretty bad time later, a strong cry fills the room and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Aaron releases you as you unbutton your gown to expose your chest.

“Your time to shine, Aaron.” Brienne holds up the umbilical cord clamp and snaps it together twice like a dad at a barbecue. With a smile, he stands and rounds the bed.

You tried to peer over to see, but you're only able to see Aaron and Brienne.

A smile eats up his whole face.

“Hi!” His voice pitches up, and you start to cry.

You just love him so much your chest could just burst. Aaron is always the first person to greet your children as they come into the world, and he never fails to deliver a warm welcome.

“Right here, right?” He looks to Brienne, and she nods. He cuts the cord, and the nurse crosses the room for measurements.

Aaron returns to you and removes his own shirt, ready to take the little one while you finish delivery. After his crew neck is thrown to the side, he gathers you up in his arms again.

There’s nothing you can do but melt into him. His skin is warm and he smells good, whereas your skin felt clammy and you probably smell like a horse’s ass.

Brienne’s voice comes to you faintly from the other side of the room, iterating the specs of the newest addition. “Baby Boy Hotchner, 5:37am, August 13th, 8 pounds, 14 ounces, 21 inches.”

Okay I'm not crazy. He’s actually huge.

Aaron scoots even closer as you lean away to get a better look. Brienne sets the still-squalling infant on your chest with gentle, warm hands. Your eyes blur with tears. Aaron isn't any better off, keeping one hand on you and another on your son, his own tears tracking quietly down his cheeks.

Your son.

Brienne sighs and says, “Alright, last bit here, and then you’re done.”

You nod and Aaron takes him off your chest, leaning back with one hand under him and one hand over him. Fluid and other questionable grossness be damned, he ducks his head and presses his cheek to his son’s head, an ineffable joy radiating through his body.

Aaron’s hands almost completely cover him - with his little knees tucked to his chest, he looks like an angry little loaf of bread.

The afterbirth is the easy part, but then it was before, too. All the Hotchner kids are massive - even the girls were bigger for twins.

You always make fun of Aaron for “ripping me to shreds, and not in a fun way.”

(Okay, fine. Maybe a little in a fun way. Sometimes.)

There’s a little more pressure, and you look down at Brienne’s outline behind that infernal green medical paper shit. “How’s it going down there?”

“I’m getting these suckers tied off so we don’t have any more happy accidents. Don’t mind me.”

Aaron stifles a laugh and you roll your eyes, still weepy. The nurse passes him a warm, wet washcloth, and he begins to wipe the ick from his son’s skin.

Brienne finishes up and helps you get adjusted with ice packs and that excellent postpartum underwear. When she's satisfied, she removes her gloves and presses a hand to your bare shoulder. “Beautiful work, momma. He’s perfect.”

You put a shaky hand over hers. “Thanks.” A little watery laugh leaves you. Ouch. “I’ll miss you.”

And it's true. Brienne has been a semi-permanent fixture in your life for close to six years and has become a friend. You wouldn’t have any reason to see her again outside of regular check-ups.

She squeezes your shoulder twice. “You ever need anything, you know who to call. Let someone know when you’re ready to put his name down, and they’ll finish off the birth certificate.”

With that, she shepherds the nurse out the door, and you're alone with Aaron.

“So,” you say.

He smiles, his eyes still trained on the little body who has quickly quieted and is snoozing on his chest. “So?”

“Gimme that.”

His laugh is warm, and he places little one on your chest again. You prod him awake, feeling only a touch bad about it, and offer him a snack. He latches right away, and you tip your head back in sheer relief.

“Thank God.”

Aaron nods in agreement. “That’s one less thing to worry about.” He shakes his head as if shaking something off - no doubt remembering the meltdowns night after night trying to nurse Isaac.

Little one is still naked to the world, so you point at the little blue blanket folded across the room. “Can you grab that for me?”

Aaron just looks at you for a second, as if seeing you for the first time. “Of course.”

He crosses the room, throws the blanket over his shoulder, and grabs a diaper. While the little one is distracted, he deftly maneuvers the diaper into place and drapes the blanket over him to keep the chill off while maintaining skin-to-skin.

You pull the blanket back a little so you can see his squishy little face. “Can you call Jack?”

“Do we want to call him now? It’s pretty early.” Aaron leans over to his backpack and pulls his phone out, finding a couple requests for updates from Jess. First things first, he turns the camera on you, and you give him a thumbs up. You detach the little one from your nipple for a second, framing his face with the blanket. Aaron gets a good photo of a yawn and fires both pictures off to the BAU group chat before checking Jess’s messages.

4:12am How we doin? 4:18am Jack’s up with me. He can’t sleep. Em is dead to the world - she gave up about an hour ago. Give us an update when you can.

6:02am He’s adorable!!! He’s got your nose though, which is unfortunate. 6:02am Kidding. Maybe.

Aaron laughs a little, and he looks at you. “He’s up with Jess.”

You nod. “Go ahead and call him. He’ll worry, honey.”

He nods, and dials the second number on his speed dial. Jack picks up on the first ring. “Dad?”

“Hey, bud.” Aaron can't hide the smile in his voice. “Your brother is here and your mom wants to talk to you.”

“Can I come see you?” Jack’s voice wavers a little, and Aaron knows it's relief, rather than anxiety. Much like his son, he was more than a little concerned for your safety. Now that it's over, he can finally relax.

That alone is enough to make anyone emotional.

Aaron checks his watch. “Are you too tired to drive?”

“No, no. I’m good. I slept a little after you guys left.” he's quiet for a second. “Can you hand me to mom?”

“Sure, bud.” Aaron nods at you and you smile. He starts to pass the phone over to you then -

“Oh, dad?” Jack’s voice is only a little urgent.

Aaron pulls the phone back to his ear. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bud. I want to talk to Aunt Jess when you’re done with mom, so don’t hang up, okay?”

With that, he hands you the phone and fresh tears roll down your cheeks. You know this part comes in waves - the emotions. Your hormones are in shambles, and you forget how intense it is every time.

“Hey, Jack.”

“Are you okay how did it go what happened?” All the questions come out in a rush.

You chuckle. Ouch. “Slow down there, kiddo. We’re just fine. It went really smoothly, but the last part happened kind of all at once and I denied your father personal freedom and geographic agency, so we didn’t get a chance to update you.”

He laughs, and it warms you. “It’s okay. I’m really excited to meet him.” There’s a shuffle, and you assume it's his keys.

Baby boy is finished eating, just nosing around your chest at this point. You shift, and Hotch catches the phone and holds it to your ear so you can use two hands, bringing little one’s head right under your collarbone, tucking him up again. “He’s excited to meet you, too.”

After Aaron has a chance to debrief and game-plan with Jess (“If you bring the little ones over here before 10am, nobody will have any fun.”), Jack is on his way.

In the meantime, Aaron sets his phone on the side table and sits on the edge of your bed. “Are we sticking to the name we picked? Does it feel right?”

You nod. “I think so. What do you think?”

You do your best to inch yourself over - Ouch - so Aaron can have a little more space. He stretches out on the bed next to you, on his side with his arm folded under his head. A very large hand covers yours, pulling the blanket down to little one’s chin.

“He looks like you,” he says.

You snort. Ouch. “Don’t lie. All your damn kids look like you.”

“Alright, fine.” He relents with a wide smile. “He looks like me.”

He's quiet for a moment, tracing the apple of little one’s cheek with his finger. His smile morphs into something soft, pensive. It's the look he always has when he's in awe of his children. “What do you think, little man? Is your name Elliot David? How’s that sitting with you?”

The Elliot David in question just makes contented little staccato sounds from his chest, his brown eyes looking here and there, surprisingly alert. He lets out a little cough, and both you and Aaron let out an, “Oh!” simultaneously in that drawn-out way parents do when their kids surprise themselves.

You look at him and stifle a laugh just for the sake of your exhausted muscles. Aaron’s smile soon turns shaky, and tears fall onto his elbow where it rests under his head. He takes a big breath, and it catches on the way out.

“Oh, honey. Come here.”

You adjust again, bringing the head of the bed down with the little remote. As you recline, you only need one hand to keep Elliot secure. You raise your other arm, and Aaron scoots under it, resting his head in the crook of your chest and shoulder. He snaps some buttons on your gown in the absent-minded interest of keeping Jack relatively unscarred.

Aaron’s bare arm is warm under your fingers. You trace little patterns into his skin as he stares at the back of his son’s head. Elliot’s impossibly small hand catches Aaron’s finger in that death grip only babies seem to have.

Aaron doesn’t care he's nearly twenty-four hours without sleep, missing a shirt, and really hungry. The only things that matter in this moment are right here in front of him.

There’s no need to speak.

A nurse stops by and drops off the bedside cradle, speaking quietly. “You can put him in here when you’re ready to get some rest.”

You look up and thank him. “Oh, and we’d like to finish the birth certificate in a few hours. Will that be alright?”

He nods. “Just fine.” He checks your charts and leaves a few moments later.

Soon after, the door slips open, and Jack’s head pops in. “Hi!” He stage-whispers. “Lemme see him.”

Aaron is stuck where he is, still locked in by Elliot’s grip, so Jack crosses to your other side, pulling up a chair as close as he can get it.

There is a sense of finality to this meeting. Elliot is your last child, and this is the last time the Three Musketeers will sit together, meeting the newest member of their family.

“Oh man, Mom. He’s so cute.” Jack coos and ducks so he's eye-level with his baby brother. He traces a finger along Elliot’s tiny, straight nose. When he rests his head on your upper arm, you kiss his head. All three of you sit there until the sun rises, watching Elliot fall asleep. Aaron follows suit eventually, his breath fanning slow and even across your chest.

+++

The three of you are relatively well-rested by the time your family comes to bombard you.

Elliot woke twice in the early morning - once to be fed and the other to be changed. Jack retreated to the recliner after a certain point, and Aaron threw on a sweatshirt and curled up next to you for the duration. They're still out cold, while you rest somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

One of the nurses on rotation pops her head in. You wave at her with the tips of your fingers.

“Your family is here to see you.”

That wakes you up. You make an ‘eek’ face. “All of them?”

She nods. “Three at a time?”

“Please.” You reach over and pick up a neatly-swaddled Elliot and tuck him into your elbow. You check the corner, where Jack still sleeps. You're sure a train could drive through the room and he’d still be out. That kid has sleeping superpowers - being sixteen only helped.

Jess is first, holding the girls’ hands while Isaac trails a little behind.

You put a finger to your lips and point to Elliot. “He’s sleeping, so you have to be really quiet, okay?”

Caroline clambers up on the bed with a few reminders to “be gentle with Mom and don’t lean on her too much,” and peers over you. “Is Daddy sleeping?”

You look to your right, and sure enough, Aaron is out like a light again, performance evaluations on his chest, his hand relaxed around his pen. “Yeah, baby. Daddy’s sleeping because he's awake for a really long time helping me with Elliot.”

Newly reminded of the main event, Caro plants herself by your knee while Sophia sits by your hip, taking the good real estate. You look over at Jess and wink. She slips out, closing the door softly behind her.

You scoot over so you're flush with Aaron’s side. “Come on up here, bubba.”

Isaac gives you a little smile and perches at your side. “He’s so small.”

“Yep. And look at that,” you brush your fingers down Elliot’s nose and tap his cupid bow before doing the same to Isaac. “You have the same nose.”

Isaac smiles and raises a tentative hand. He hesitates right before he reaches the dark brown peach fuzz that sits in unmanageable cowlicks on Elliot’s head.

“You can touch him, bub. Just be gentle.” Isaac’s hand smooths over Elliot’s head with next-to-no pressure. “Do you remember when Sophia and Caroline were born?”

Isaac nods. “It was super cool.”

“It was super cool.” You kiss his forehead and adjust your hold on Elliot. “Sophia, love, can you hand me the pillow that’s by Daddy’s knee.”

She nods and very carefully presents it to you. You show her how to stuff it under your elbow so you can relax while supporting Elliot’s head. Caro is clearly enamored, her eyes never leaving Elliot’s face.

“Babies are really delicate,” you remind a wiggling Sophia. “Their heads are too heavy for their little necks, so sometimes they need a little help.”

At the mention of ‘help,’ Aaron’s eyes snap open. “What’s up?”

You suppress a laugh as he realizes all of his kids surround him like the children of the corn. He presses a hand to his face, recovering. “Oh. Hi.”

Caro beams at him, and he beams right back. He puts his files down and pats his lap. “Come here, my little love. I’ve got a really good view over here.”

She very mindfully picks her way over your shins and into her father’s lap. He lifts her so she's flush to his chest. His cheek presses into her hair, and he shows her where to find Elliot’s little baby toes under the blanket.

“Are his feet very very small?” Caroline’s whispered question almost makes Aaron cry again.

“Yes. They are very very small. So are his hands. Here, look.”

He reaches over and peels back a layer of blanket, exposing one of Elliot’s (very very) small hands, pressed flat against the fabric. Aaron wiggles his finger under it and presents it to the kids. “If you look really carefully, you all have the same hands.”

All at once, three pairs of hands appear, flipping their palms up and down as each one individually assesses the similarities.

“And if you look even closer,” he says, flipping his palm down, but keeping Elliot’s hand aloft, “I have the same hands as all of you, too.”

Caroline looks up at him, awestruck and he nods. She places her hand on the back of Aaron’s and - lo and behold - they're the same shape, just significantly different sizes.

Satisfied, Sophia drops her hands, leaning on them to get a closer, yet stable, look at Elliot’s fingers.

She gasps, but to her credit, keeps her voice soft as she says, “Look at his tiny little nails!”

“Lemme see!” Aaron supports Caro as she thrusts her body forward to get a better look.

Jack stirs in the corner, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. In full voice, he says, “Oh, hey guys.”

Three big shushes come from the kids, and it takes everything in you to keep your laugh locked away. You keep your eyes trained on Sophia (who looks downright offended at Jack’s volume) knowing if you look at Aaron you’d be done for.

Jack makes the same ‘eek’ face you made earlier. “Sorry, sorry.” He creeps over, standing behind Sophia and putting his hands on her shoulders. She giggles quietly as he drops close to her ear. “Cute, huh?”

She wrinkles her nose. “He looks a little funny.”

“He’ll start to look more like a person in a few weeks,” Aaron says with a smile. “You looked pretty funny the day you're born, maybe even funnier.”

He winks at her, and she dissolves into a fit of giggles again, leaning back against Jack. As she did so, her brother wrapped her in his arms and rested his chin on her head.

Isaac runs his hand over Elliot’s hair, gentle and repetitive. He, like Jack did hours earlier, rests his head against your shoulder. You press your cheek to the crown of his head, soaking it in.

“I like him.”

A smile breaks your face in half, and you peer around to look at Isaac’s face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s cool.”

Your bottom lip disappears into your mouth as you fight back tears, still ready to flow without fair warning. You don’t want to scare them. “I’m so glad you think so, bubba.”

Elliot has once again taken Aaron’s finger hostage, and it takes more than a little negotiation to get him unwrapped and tucked back into his blanket. You have no idea how Elliot manages to sleep through all the commotion, but then again, he’ll have to get used to it.

Jess pokes her head back in. “Ready for some lunch?”

Four heads whip around and nod vigorously. Aaron deposits Caro on the floor, while Isaac presses a heart-wrenching kiss to Elliot’s head before gingerly getting his feet back under him. Jack just lifts Sophia and she hangs off his hip, only a little too big.

He walks to you and kisses your cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

You bring your hand up to his temple, the back of your fingers brushing his hair back. “I love you too, my Jack.”

One side of his mouth turns up in a smile, and he leaves the room with Sophia, leading the rest of the pack down the hallway.

+++

It's safe to say Dave immediately covets his namesake. You plop Elliot into his arms right away, and say, “This is Elliot David Hotchner. He’s been very excited to meet you.”

Dave full-on cries, letting the tears just fall onto his shirt as he bounces Elliot all around the room, talking to him about all the ways he’ll spoil him rotten.

It’s easy to name him after Rossi. When you finally decided on a couple of first names, it was a no-brainer to pair them up with David. He’s your family, like they all are, but you're acutely aware that Elliot will have the smallest amount of time with Dave, no matter how much time that will be.

When Dave is ready to give him up, he reluctantly passes him back to Aaron. Dave crosses to you while Aaron offers Elliot a knuckle to mouth around on.

Dave kisses your cheeks and embraces you. He leans back to look at you, keeping his hands on your face. You cover his hands with your own and close your eyes.

You're taking a lot of mental pictures today.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you're sure you see Aaron’s one-handed camera work out of the corner of your eye.

“Thank you, bellissima.”

“You’ve more than earned it,” you remind him.

“Dealing with you two for fifteen years? You’re damn right I have.”

+++

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star-spangledstud · 5 years ago

Text

Diamonds

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!)reader

Summary: You knew exactly how to push Steve’s buttons.

Word Count: 4000-ish.

Warnings: +18 SMUT (don’t read if you’re a minor), dom!Steve, slight daddy!kink if you squint, rough intercourse, no protection (wrap it before you tap it), reckless driving (don’t do it, kids.), cursing

A/N: I’ve been posting a lot of content. We’ll see how long I’m able to keep the creative juices flowing. Quarantine’s got me all fucked up, but at least it’s given me time to waste on Tumblr. Enjoy :)

Steve was angry. He was fucking pissed off, to be exact and it was all because of you. You knew it, felt the way his eyes drilled holes in your back all night. You could practically sense him fuming from across the club, even though the darkness as a result of the smoke machine near the spinning table engulfed you and the 150 other people in the room.

Of course, it was Tony’s idea to rent one of the fanciest clubs in NYC for the night. You’d completed a very big mission just a few weeks ago, and after everyone had time to heal in the medical bay and file the appropriate paperwork, the case was closed at last, and he insisted on a celebration unlike any other.

Bottles of champagne flowed across the dancefloor. Sweaty bodies of special agents, paper pushers from the lowest possible level and Avengers alike, all pressed up against each other in the room hotter than what you imagined hell to be like. You didn’t even fucking feel like going when Tony first proposed the idea, but everybody knew you couldn’t say no to him. Nobody could say no to him and his lavish parties. Not to mention the fact that you never wanted to go and yet you always managed to be the last to leave. You blamed the alcohol.

He’d hired the best DJ in town. His tunes kept you on your feet despite the fact that they were starting to get sore, hips swaying sensually to the music in between Natasha and some random level 3 agent whose name you couldn’t remember for the life of you. He was just as tall as you in your patent leather Louboutins, his hair swept carelessly to one side. He clearly hadn’t changed after work, because he still had his SHIELD pin mended to his breast pocket. You’d just pulled his tie to drag him closer to you, which earned another hard glare from Steve. Everybody in the fucking room knew you were his, they didn’t even dare to come close to you, but this guy was clearly wasted and you’d initiated it.

You could feel level 3′s dick through his pants while he continued to grind against your ass, just as you did to Natasha. You smiled, bopping your head along to the song, your curly hair bouncing lusciously up and down. A quick glance towards the bar made you snicker soundlessly, afraid he’d be able to hear you despite the loud music and people singing along. The thought of him being able to smell the perfume on your skin, his favorite, from all the way over there made your heart flutter and your stomach tighten.

He looked fucking good. Hair slicked back, deep red button-down loosened at the top tucked tightly into dark denim. He hadn’t shaved, he knew damn well how much you liked that, and his eyes weren’t so blue anymore in the strobe lights that illuminated him every twenty seconds. They looked black as if his pupils had bled into his irises.

You’d put effort into your appearance too, he could tell in an instant. Your lipgloss sparkled the same as the diamond necklace he had given you that hung around your neck. He remembered buying it for you, eyes nearly rolling out of his fucking skull when the guy that helped him pick it out told him the price. Your dress, black and short, had a split so high he was certain he could see your pussy if you made a wrong move, meaning level 3 could see it too.

He downed another glass of scotch, slamming it down on the bar with a growl so low only Bucky could hear it. He shook his head at his friend, who also refused to get on the dancefloor. The way 21st-century people danced was unlike anything they were used to seeing back in their day. He couldn’t get drunk, but Steve could taste the alcohol on his tongue and the warmth of it in the back of his throat when he gulped another glass down. He hadn’t even noticed Bucky left him for Bruce, who also wasn’t dancing. Didn’t give a fuck, either way. All he had eyes for was you, showing off his money like it was yours, to begin with.

You didn’t do that often. You were humble, wore jeans and a t-shirt on most days, didn’t indulge much. You tried to live sustainably where possible through recycling and cruelty-free beauty products. Hell, Steve had only actually seen you wear the necklace a handful of times, including your aunt’s wedding just to piss her off and make her jealous. He knew you had money too, it was a perk of being an Avenger, but spending money on yourself wasn’t the same as lavish gifts from your handsome as fuck boyfriend. Besides, you donated a lot of it to animal shelters and safe houses for women.

“The party’s out there, you know?”

You gulped, skin-crawling in fear when Steve appeared out of the bathroom stall without warning. How long he’d been hiding the bathroom you didn’t know, but he knew it was you the second you pushed open the door and stepped inside.

He could smell that guy on you as you stood in front of him, cheeks red from dancing and stray hairs sticking out from the sea of curls. It made his fists curl, his brow crease. He was mad as hell.

“You scared me,” you said exasperatedly, blood rushing to your cheeks when he stepped out of the shadows and into view.

He didn’t smile back to you, which told you exactly how the night was going to go down.

“You havin’ fun?” He asked, walking around you in a circle after you stepped away from the dirty mirror.

He wanted to drink you in, take in your appearance while you still looked put together. Soon enough, the charade would be over and he’d have your make up smeared, clothes on the floor and your hair a mess.

“Yeah,” you smirked, “you?”

“Not yet,” he growled in your ear, “but I will.”

He’d disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving you leaning against the dusty sink, breathing deeply in and out through your nose. When you trusted in your ability to stand up without tripping over your own feet, you grabbed your lipgloss from your purse, along with your perfume, of which you added two more spritzes. You didn’t want him to know how easily he was able to get to you, how easily he was able to make you shake.

He had a plan, concocted it while drinking expensive scotch at the bar. Steve came up with it while he was watching you grind on another man. He knew why you did it, you wanted to get a rise out of him, and getting a rise out of him was exactly what you did. Of course, he could do the same to you, which is why he left you stumbling in the bathroom with nothing but a promise he intended to keep.

You returned to the floor after getting another vodka sprite from the other end of the bar. He noticed how empty your wrist was and told himself he’d buy you a diamond bracelet to match the necklace. You’d like that. He’d fuck you raw and stupid after giving it to you, just like he did when he gave you the necklace.

Even when you were starting to get a buzz, you could still feel his fucking eyes on you, never leaving your swaying hips, bouncing tits and shaking ass. For a moment, the two of you made eye contact. Instantly, you knew you were screwed. You could read him like a book.

“Steve,” you gasped when his hands tightly gripped your waist suddenly, “you’re dancing.”

He was on the dancefloor, yeah, but the man was hardly dancing. The only thing he was moving was his hips against your ass. He didn’t need to tell Level 3′s sorry ass to fuck off, the look on his face had the young man scrambling away in fear immediately. Natasha had left minutes before, busying herself with the hottest bartender in the club while he poured her a dirty martini with five olives.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He whispered in your ear, lips pushing against soft flesh. His beard scratched your throat, sending delicious tingles down your entire spine.

“What do you mean?” You asked, pretending to be oblivious, “I’m not doing anything.”

Steve’s hand caressed your hip, snaking around the front to touch your barely clothed pussy. Your cheeks reddened, eyes frantically searching for anyone who might be watching but finding none. Everyone around you was either drunk or making out.

“What are you doing Steve?!” You hissed, biting your tongue, “Someone might see us.”

“I don’t care. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked, kissing the side of your face and neck, “it is, I know it.”

He dragged you out of the club and into his BMW, harshly securing your seatbelt before getting behind the wheel. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel the entire drive, and you could see him straining against his pants. You didn’t say anything, the only sound audible being the angrily revving engine of his car. He was flooring it the whole way there, ignoring red lights and swerving around every car on the road that was in his way.

“See how it feels when you tease me,” he mumbled, “you’re gonna be fucking sorry real soon.”

“No,” you stammered, “please.”

He sat down on the bed, grabbing your wrists and yanking you down over his lap. You kicked your heels in the air in an attempt to get free from his iron grasp, but he only needed one hand to restrain you while the other traveled up the back of your legs so slowly it made you want to cry. His hand disappeared under your dress and found no panties, just as he expected. He knew you too well.

“You’re real bad, aren’t you?” He asked, retrieving his hand back so he could pull the dress up to expose your naked pussy, “did you think I was gonna let you get away with what you just did to me?”

“I didn’t do anything!” you mewled, “I swear.”

“Grinding up on that guy all night? Letting him touch you in front of me? How dare you?”

He caressed your ass, tracing his fingers over your lips before smacking both cheeks without warning. You squirmed, wiggling on top of him. You’d seen him angry before but only on rare occasions; either when he was chasing after bad guys, or when you’d pissed him off and this time, you’d pissed him off real good. Just like you wanted to do.

“Don’t you dare move against my dick,” he said with a tug on your hair, “or you don’t get to cum.”

He plunged three fingers into your mouth, silently ordering you to suck on them while he continued to keep your wrists bound. You already knew what was going to happen and it took every ounce of strength for you not to move. He chuckled when you nibbled on his fingers, coating each and every one of the three with your saliva.

He plunged them into you without warning. You cried out, unable to stop yourself from trying to break from his grip on you. You were already wet, probably didn’t even need the saliva, but it helped his fingers glide in so easily it made him want to laugh. You were putty in his hands and he knew it. How the hell had he gone from being little, insecure, baby Steve to this man, this unrelenting, unforgiving force of a man?

“Shut up,” he growled, picking up the pace, “did I tell you you could make noise?”

“N-no,” you stammered, “no Steve.”

His fingers left your cunt before you could properly enjoy it. You knew why he did it; he was getting you ready for his cock. You’d had it countless times in places you couldn’t even recall, had it gently and so hard you couldn’t talk after, but you always needed time to adjust.

He grabbed ahold of your legs with his slick-coated fingers and picked you up, effortlessly tossing you onto the bed like a ragdoll. You heaved, hair already beginning to stick to your forehead while you watched him slowly unbutton his shirt.

“What do I keep telling you about pissing me off, huh?” He taunted, slipping the shirt over his broad shoulders.

“I told you not to do that,” his pants were next, falling limply at his feet after he unzipped and unbuttoned them, “but you don’t listen. You don’t listen because you like what happens when I’m mad, don’t you?”

“No, I’m sorry,” you breathed, gazing up at him through fake eyelashes, “I didn’t mean to-”

You weren’t sorry. You enjoyed this, this side of Steve. Loved it even, how sometimes, he was able to let go of his own righteousness and give in to his darkness. It had taken almost a year of being in a vanilla relationship for him to show you this side of him, and you’d ached for it ever since. You did it on purpose, grinding with other people, dressing up in clothing inappropriate for the occasion. Short skirts, tight blouses, and fuck, those sheer black stockings with the black stripe running along the back of your heel to your panties. Short shorts and cropped tops in the summer, so short they nearly showed off your fucking tits. He hated it because men worldwide couldn’t help but look at you even though you were his and his alone. You were his prized possession.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“You know,” you answered smugly, “I could feel his erection on my ass the whole time.”

Steve growled, pushing your back into the mattress before starting towards you.

“I told you what happens when you make me angry,” he said, lowering himself onto the bed until he was straddling you, one leg on each side of your trembling hips, “you know what happens, don’t you?”

“Yes, Steve,” you moaned, rocking your hips up against him.

You gripped his bicep, but once again, he used his hand to bind your wrists, this time holding them above your head, “You gonna be good for me and apologize?”

“Yes,” you cried out, “I’m sorry!”

You still weren’t. In fact, you had to fight the urge to grin. You had him right where you wanted him, despite his hold on you. You wanted him to fuck you until you couldn’t see straight and he was going to give it to you either way.

He let go of you, hands traveling across the diamonds around your neck. He ripped the necklace from your throat in one single motion, earning a gasp and a loud ‘what the fuck?!’ from you when it snapped in half. He tossed it to the ground as if it was trash, discarding it like it hadn’t cost him the price of a house.

“Daddy’s gonna buy you a whole lot more diamonds if you’re good,” he whispered, “Is that what gets your little pussy dripping? Me spending my hard-earned money on you? Answer me!”

“Fuck yes,” you replied, “shoes, too. And a car.”

He laughed, taking your clothed tits and rubbing them before ripping the silk dress in half with his bare hands.

“What do you need a car for? You don’t even drive. I do. I’m like your fucking private chauffeur, always driving you around.” He was right about that.

You smirked, “want you to fuck me in it.”

Steve began to grow tired of your mind games. His dick was hard as granite, as were his bulging muscles, and he needed a release fast. He’d go back to being sweet old Steve after he got what he wanted, but for now, he was a man in heat, needing to take what was rightfully his. One of the busted diamonds pierced the skin on your ass when you found yourself laying on it, but you didn’t care. You welcomed the sting.

Steve rolled you over until you were on your stomach. With one arm around your throat in a chokehold, he lifted up your body, taking you in a position that could almost be classified as Doggystyle. He lined himself up with your entrance, enjoying the lovely sight and the sweet smell of your pussy dripping just for him. Your love for him was like a fucking disease and unfortunately, it turned out to be terminal. You ached with anticipation while he dragged the head of his cock along your entrance, back and forth between your pussy lips.

The air was taken from your lungs when he shoved himself inside you, not wasting any time with pleasantries and soft-spoken words. He bit down on your shoulder, earning a loud moan to escape your lips. He wasn’t gentle, this wasn’t making love, but it was what you both desired and he was more than happy to give it to you.

You whined breathlessly, pussy clenching around the length of his cock as he drove into you.

“Could’ve just told me you wanted me to fuck you,” he groaned, “’stead of makin’ me all mad at Tony’s party.”

You wanted to tell him off and if you would, he’d probably have to tell you you were right because he never did this unless he had a reason, but your mouth remained shut instead. Steve was a softy at all times, sweet and gentle and a true gentleman, except for when you brought out the beast in him.

He grabbed your hair, yanking it so your body stood flush against his. You could feel him, every inch of his marvelous abs expanding and contracting and his hips, slapping against your ass with each thrust. You arched your back into him, exposing your neck to his lips. He began to suck on your skin immediately, leaving marks that would last for days on your beautifully soft skin. This pulled another sinful moan from your glossy lips.

You turned your head, forcing his head towards your face with your free hand while the other grasped the one on your hip. You kissed him hard, lips and teeth and tongues crashing together. You could taste the scotch on his breath and he caught a whiff of your strawberry lip gloss. You smiled into his mouth, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting down on his skin. They’d see the bruise in the morning, although come afternoon, the serum would’ve taken care of it. You hoped somebody would see.

“Goddamnit,” he cursed after tasting blood, hand around your hair loosening before sliding down the length of your body in search of your clit, “gonna make you cum so hard you can only say my name.”

He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and slapped your ass with it before resting it on your hip so he could get a better grip.

You whimpered when his fingers made contact, another moan drawn from you when he began to rub the sensitive bud forcefully. You couldn’t hold on much longer.

“Want you to say it,” he ordered, “say my name. Say it right now.”

“Steve,” you cried out so loud you were sure whoever had the room next to his could hear, “oh, fuck Steve!”

“Don’t stop,” he rubbed faster, “keep saying it. Gonna fuck my name from your brain, fuck it right out.”

“Steve,” you squeaked, “Steve, Steve, Steve.”

You grabbed the wrist of the hand on your clit and dug your nails into his skin, whining his name over and over until you couldn’t stand the tightening of your stomach any longer.

“Don’t stop saying it,” he commanded, “I didn’t give you permission to stop.”

You did as told while he continued to ram his cock deep into you, grunts escaping from his lips while he pounded into you at an unforgiving pace. Your throat would be sore in the morning, but you didn’t stop, chanting his name over and over like a prayer.

“You gonna cum all over my dick, huh?” He throbbed inside of you, panting harshly against your lips.

“Want you to cum inside me, Steve,” you dug your nails into him, “give me your fucking cum right now.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I’m gonna give you my fucking cum.”

You loved drawing profanities from a man who didn’t curse. It was like a game to you, seeing how many curses you could squeeze out of America’s golden boy before he’d collapse on top of you. You loved how dirty he could be behind closed doors, loved the contrast between the sweet and gentle Steve that held your hand in public and this monster of a man who bought you expensive things and fucked you senseless with his thick cock afterward. He loved it too, didn’t even know it until you pissed him off for real one time and it just happened out of the blue, but after that, he hadn’t looked back. It came so naturally, he was afraid of himself sometimes, but then he’d see that blissful sheen, that fucked out look on your face and the smile you wore just for him and he was instantly reminded of why he did it.

Because it felt good.

You already knew you’d be bruised when you’d wake up next to him in the morning from the way his fingers grasped you tightly, but you loved it, knowing you carried his markings under your clothing and you were sure he loved it too.

He didn’t stop, not even when you’re moaning his name so loud it’s almost deafening. He didn’t stop when your pussy clenched painfully around his dick, didn’t stop when you began to tremble and shake so hard he thought you were having a fucking fit. You started moving away from him in an attempt to ease the overbearing sensation of his fingers still forcefully rubbing on your clit, but he simply yanked you back against him, sweat-covered biceps flexing while his thrusts became so sloppy he could hardly stay upright. You gripped the headboard so tight you thought it would splinter.

His cum shot up into you in hot spurts, coating your walls in it while he rode out his orgasm. His hand finally left your pussy, allowing you to breathe in what felt like ages.

“Jesus,” the drawl of his voice sounded like music to your ears, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

Smiling sweetly at the man beside you, you pressed your lips softly to his burning cheek. Then, you rested your head on his shoulder, allowing his arm to engulf you and pull you flush to his heaving body. You sure managed to cause Captain America to work up a sweat.

He inspected the purple spots on your neck and looked down, eyes scanning the dark red marks on your hips that were there to stay for at least a few days. He’d learned to accept them, to love them, but he hated the idea of hurting you at first. You had to remind him each time that you were completely okay with it, that it didn’t actually hurt in a bad way.

“I’m sorry about the diamonds,” he offered, looking at the discarded Cartier on the floor, “and the dress.”

“Should be,” you mumbled, eyes closing at the sound of his heartbeat in your ear, “those weren’t cheap.”

It wasn’t even your money that just went to waste. Hell, they could probably fix it up at the store, but that wasn’t a part of the game. It wasn’t good enough.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he kissed your forehead, “I told you I would.”

The next day, he did indeed buy you a new diamond necklace. And a diamond bracelet. And earrings.

Now, all you needed was a ring to match.

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