anonymous asked:

Scully lay motionless on the floor, her skin stained with blood.

This is also for the anon who requested a teaser.  This is what I wrote Tuesday, before deciding that a complete re-write of S6 better suited my purposes.  This scene is likely to change.

 Scully lies motionless on the floor, her skin stained with blood, and for the space of a heartbeat, Mulder stands frozen in the doorway of his apartment as the world falls away around him.  He steadies himself against the doorframe as lightheadedness overcomes him, the edges of his vision actually darkening… and then he’s flying across the room to her side.

She is white, so white, her already-pale skin nearly translucent, and the blood, God, there is so much blood, can she possibly be alive?  Her chest isn’t moving, and in the face of the enormity of it, the very idea of her loss, like this, after everything, now….

He suddenly remembers the way he’s acted today, the things he’s insinuated about her.  He’d never said that he was sorry for not trusting her, and it’s insane to be thinking about that now, to be lamenting that he’d never apologized for doubting her, as though his apology would make her any less-

No.  His mind refuses to even permit the word.  Not in relation to Scully.

All of this flashes through his mind in the breath of time between him arriving at her side, and his knees hitting the floor by her ribs.  Dimly, he feels the blood, her blood, soaking into the knees of his jeans, as he reaches out for her.

With a shudder and a gasp, her eyes open.

For a moment, she doesn’t seem to recognize him, and she jerks her arms back against his hold, her eyes full of panic and terror, but he keeps a firm grip on her until she sees that it’s only him.  She doesn’t calm, though; instead, she dissolves into the most violent sobs he’s ever heard from her, worse than when she’d been saved from Pfaster’s clutches, worse than when her mind had been tricked into thinking he had betrayed her, worse, even, than after Emily’s funeral, when she’d cried into his suit jacket outside of the church for nearly a half hour.

Mulder bends down as far as he can, even though the angle is excruciating for his back and knees, mindful of the fact that she could be gravely injured, and slides his arms carefully around her, helping her to sit up.  She clutches at him with a desperation that nearly breaks his heart.  Her hands scrabble at the back of his shirt, move higher, past his collar, and he suddenly feels a sharp sting as her nails dig into his neck and scalp, hard enough to draw blood.

He doesn’t care.

He thinks, dimly, of the defensive wounds murder victims leave on their killers, and it seems appropriate that she’s marking him in much the same way, because isn’t it his fault, as always, that she’s here?  He had torn off to the basement without a second thought, knowing full well that Padgett’s accomplice had still been at large, that the writer’s attention had been focused tightly on Scully, that she could be at risk.  He could have waited long enough for her to pull on her boots and follow him to the basement, but no, he had run on ahead, without a second thought for her.  Just like always.

Scully is, at last, beginning to calm in his arms, her uncontrolled sobs subsiding into sniffles and hiccups, but she’s trembling violently, shaking against his chest, and with most of the feeling having gone from his legs and his lower back screaming, Mulder can’t remain in this position any longer.  Without stopping to worry that Scully will be angry at his presumption, keeping one arm at her back, he slides the other under her knees and stands, cradling her carefully against his chest.  She keeps her arms locked behind his neck and doesn’t protest.  He briefly contemplates where to put her while he calls for an ambulance; the couch is closer, but she’ll be more comfortable on his bed.

She shivers violently in his arms, and he opts for comfort.

For once, Mulder is glad that he’s careless about the state of his bedroom, because the unmade bed makes things much easier, allowing him to set Scully down without first turning down the covers.  He sits her on the edge of the mattress and gives the comforter a sharp yank, pulling it around her shoulders, keeping her warm while he surveys the damage.  He looks, hesitantly, up at her face, and she meets his gaze.

“We need to see what he did to you,” he says, and after a moment’s hesitation, Scully nods.  She reaches for the buttons at the front of her blouse, and the comforter, freed from her grasp, begins to slide back down to the bed.  Mulder catches it and pulls it back up.  “Let me,” he says, and Scully nods, returning her hands to anchor the blanket around her shoulders.  Mulder carefully frees each button from its mooring, bracing himself for what he’ll find underneath the blood-soaked cloth… but the skin of her chest, under her ruined bra, is unbroken.

It’s far from unmarked, though.  A livid bruise, at least eight inches in diameter, has bloomed on the left side of her chest, directly over her heart.  Mulder sucks in his breath at the sight of it, and Scully glances down.

“I felt it happening,” she whispers.  “I felt my skin tearing, I could feel my ribs separating, my heart being squeezed.”  She shudders, tears threatening again, and pulls the blanket tighter.  “I’ve never felt pain like that, Mulder.  Never.  Not even during the worst of my cancer.”  She takes a deep breath, steadying herself.  “Why didn’t he finish the job?” she asks.  “Why am I still alive?  Where did Padgett go?”

“He’s in the basement,” Mulder says, and the thought of Padgett, standing in front of the incinerator with his manuscript, is enough to remind Mulder of what he still has to do.  Reluctantly, he stands.

“Where are you going?” Scully asks, trying valiantly to keep the panic from her voice.  Mulder can’t blame her; there had been no sign of Naciamento anywhere in the apartment, and it’s quite possible he’s still on the prowl.

“Padgett is still in the basement,” Mulder says.  “He as good as told me you were going to be the next victim, Scully.  I want him back in custody again before he has the chance to do any more harm.”  Bending down, he takes his backup weapon from his ankle holster and hands it to her, but she shakes her head.

“Mulder, I shot at Naciamento.  I emptied my magazine straight into his chest and it didn’t even slow him down.”  She pushes his gun back at him.  “That’s going to do you far more good in arresting Padgett than it will protecting me right now.”  She’s right, of course; Mulder had heard the gunshots.  Scully doesn’t miss shots at a hundred paces.  There’s no possible way she could have missed her target at point-blank range.  He bites his lip, weighing both courses of action: go after Padgett and leave Scully unprotected, or stay with her until the ambulance arrives, potentially letting a killer slip through his fingers?

He only has to look at Scully, really, to decide.

Mulder digs his cell phone out of his pocket and dials nine-one-one.  Scully groans when she hears him requesting an ambulance, but he continues on, undeterred.  He calls in for backup and to report an agent down, suspect still at large.  That done, he tucks his phone away and sits on the bed beside Scully.

“The paramedics are unnecessary, Mulder,” she says.  “I’m fine.”

“If that’s true, they’ll be able to tell us when they get here,” he replies.

“And what are we going to tell them?” Scully asks.  “That the ghost of a psychic surgeon attempted to remove my heart from my chest and was somehow interrupted?”

“We tell them that you’ve been attacked,” says Mulder simply.

“They’re probably going to want me to go to the hospital,” she protests.  “We could be there for hours, easily.  Possibly even overnight.”

“Scully,” says Mulder, his voice gentle, “you need to let them check you out.  You know you do.  Especially now.”  His gaze bores into her, and finally, with a sigh, she nods.  “And if they keep you overnight, I’ll stay with you, I promise.  You won’t be alone.  Not for a second.”

“They won’t let you,” Scully says.  “If I’m admitted, they’ll send you home, I’m sure.”

“Just let them try,” Mulder says fiercely.  He wraps his arms tightly around her, and together, they wait for the paramedics to arrive.

muldez  asked:

18) things you said when you were scared & 99) tell me a secret

season 6; an easy, stupid case 

He’s holding the gun wrong. Arms straight out like divining rods, elbows locked so the veins nurse’s love to poke at go an uncanny blue. Mulder wants to nudge Scully. Say: He’s going to break his arms firing the gun that way, you know. She’s a doctor. She would want to know things like this.

“I’ll kill you both,” he says. Scully is alter-idol still beside him, but he can feel the slight waver of her fear like a change in wind. Here’s another thing he wants to tell her: We believe the same thing this time.

He’s holding the gun wrong, gonna break his arms, but the muzzle is the right direction. Mulder can see it: the kid is maybe twenty-three, wild-eyed, and if (when) he fires, it’s going to kick back so hard he’s going to break his skull on his living room wall. Still. Mulder has never been so certain, so stupidly sure, that he is going to die. The kid is going to break his skull and the bullet that he’s going to fire from that held-wrong gun is going to blast through his stomach and catch Scully in the collar. They’re gonna bleed out slow and angry on this crappy farmhouse floor.

Just a routine background check, sir, he imagines telling Kersh. Did you know that sometimes people who buy mulch are making bombs and their own meth and don’t know how to hold guns? Did you know they’re too stupid not to fire them?

“Mulder,” Scully whispers next to him. The kid is blinking slowly, like trying to re-focus his eye like binoculars. His tent pole arms stay sharply out in front of him.

He wants to say: I know. I know you’re afraid. I wish I wasn’t just wearing the ankle holster so that you could reach my gun. You know how to hold a gun, Scully. You keep your arms bent like you’ve calculated the angle. You don’t miss and you don’t die.

“I swear to God,” the kid says.

Mulder wants to say: Amen.

Scully shifts, just about imperceptibly. She’d been yelling earlier, voice flat and unaffected. The threats they teach you in Quantico, but the kid’s face had remained blank. Now she just says his name.

When she’d been sick, she’d been sharpened down to a quick point. All eye games with death (blink, you motherfucker) and bared teeth. When she’d been dying, she had not been afraid. Now, with a scar under by the skin of her neck, she curls her fingers into the arm of his jacket and mutters his name.

The kid opens his eyes again, and they are wild, still, but clear. He rests his finger on the trigger and squints.

Scully tugs at his jacket again. She mutters something so fast and serious that he thinks is a Hail Mary, but no. “Mulder. Fuck. God, Mulder, I have to tell you something.”  

He wants to say something gallant. Wants to say: I know and fashion himself swashbuckling in his last minutes. He’d always wanted to look like Harrison Ford. But her fingers are digging through his jacket into the skin at his wrist and he doesn’t. He doesn’t know. He wants to say: Tell me a secret, like summer camp, but then the kid takes a swaggering step forward and Scully says something that is most definitely a prayer and Jesus, he’s never heard her voice climb the scale like that before.

Then. The kid learns to bend his arms. His uncanny blue veins disappear as he jerks his arm to his head, holds the gun the right way for this, and god, he’s twenty-two, twenty-three, he is a kid. Mulder reaches for his gun but Scully is faster and she, she knows how to hold it correctly and her arms absorb the shock like she might stand in front of a wave, California baby, and the kid’s arm drops away from his head. 

He feels the fear go out of her like smoke. Puff and you’d blow her out. She looks at him and says, “We’re gonna need paramedics. He should be fine, but.” She’s feeling around for her cell phone. He wonders if her hands remember how hard she’d been holding his coat.

And, when there is nothing to do but sit on the porch steps of the old farmhouse as sirens fade away, there is the knowledge that this is just one of many. Cut it, print it, that’s a wrap. The kid didn’t have a name and if they wake up shaking, well, at least this time everything happened fast. Neither of them bled. The certainty from before drops away like a curtain in the hazy evening light.

He nudges her with his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. The crickets hum. “What was your secret?”

She pauses for a second, squinting into the falling light and the reanimated corpse of a red truck in the unfamiliar yard. Someone will be coming to take their statements shortly. The town was short on local force.  “I didn’t say it was a secret.”

“But you were whispering. That means it was a secret, Scully.”

If they lived out here, he thinks, and it surprises him that that is the whole thought. Before he cuts it off and the crickets hum, he realizes he was finished. If they lived out here. If they. If they lived.

She huffs something like a laugh, says, “Mulder.”

“Yes?” He looks at her for the first time since she’d dug her serious fingers into his arm. She is fading into the light out here, he thinks. Going gold with the sunset and pretending not to feel him look at her. Her mouth twitches. Yes, he thinks, there it is. I am sure, sure, he thinks, but he doesn’t think of what. I am sure. “I’m just waiting for my promised secret.”

She sighs, turns to look at him and squints at the scrape on his cheekbone from the slug the kid had greeted him with at the door. She bites her lip, brings her hand up to his face. Says, “Hold still.”

“I am holding still. I’ve got all the time in the world.”

She breathes in. The EMTs who came for the kid had checked his head already. She opens her mouth and then closes it again. The click of her teeth is sharp, like the snap of a mousetrap. Holding something down and in. Her hand goes still against his temple. He closes his eyes. The crickets hum. If they. If they lived. He thinks that maybe, if it is possible to feel someone smile, then he is feeling hers in her fingertips - warm and familiar with the power of a trigger, soft against his face. She’d had a secret to tell him. They’d been ready to die stupidly on the farmhouse floor. The light is gold out here. 

He wants to say: Yeah, Scully. That was mine, too.

anonymous asked:

could you write something around the time of season 7 where mulder goes to a scully family dinner?

He’s up to his wrists in dish soap bubbles, working a yellow and green sponge over the surface of one of Maggie Scully’s plates. Scully had explained that these were the good dishes, not to be confused with the good china or the regular dishes.

“What are the regular dishes for?” he asks.

“Dinner without company.”

“And the good china?” he prods further.

“The good china is for show.”

“Ah, my mom had a set of those too,” he says. “Ones that sat in a cabinet collecting dust.”

“Mom keeps insisting that I’ll need them for my wedding.”

He bumps her hip with his and hands her the soapy dish.

“You getting married, Scully?” he asks with an impish grin.

“This far into my thirties, it’s starting to look unlikely, isn’t it?” she says as she rinses the dish and begins working a hand towel over it.

“Oh I don’t think so at all. Plenty of fish in the sea,” he says, casting about blindly for another plate to scrub.

She chuckles softly and sets the plate in the drying rack as she drapes the towel over her shoulder.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” she says, watching him scrub a stubborn bit of Beef Wellington from the bone porcelain.

“No problem, happy to do it.”

“Happy to do it?” she echoes flatly. “Even with my over-protective big brother grilling you?” she asks.

He shrugs and hands her the plate. “I’d be doing the same thing to any guy who showed up to a family dinner with my baby sister.”

She watches him for a moment, a ghost of a pout crossing her face like a passing shadow.

“I bet you would have,” she agrees quietly.  

They look every bit the unassuming suburban couple. He in a button down shirt, open at the collar and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, she in a pale pink sweater set and jeans. One would hardly know he’s got an ankle holster under his pressed khakis or that she has a .22 in her purse.

“That’s it,” he announces as he pulls the plug and the murky water begins to disappear with a hungry slurp.

She hands him the towel so he can dry off and smiles up at him as she wraps her arms around his waist, lacing her fingers together at the small of his back.

“Seriously,” she rises up on her tiptoes and kisses his lips gently. “Thank you for coming.”

He hangs the towel over the edge of the sink and folds her against his chest, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head.

“I’d go in front of a firing squad for you, Bill’s no big deal,” he says, running his palm up and down her spine.

Maggie is approaching, but pauses in the doorway, smiling as the two of them embrace.

“Leave a little room for the Holy Spirit, you two!” Bill bellows playfully as he comes up behind his mother.

Scully and Mulder both turn their attention to him, but don’t break their hold on one another. Maggie tsks and shakes her head with a playful smack against his chest.

“Get the coffee started, Bill,” she instructs. “You two come with me. I want to show you the good china, Fox.”

drunk bitty is a runner
  • ok hear me out
  • we all know that ONE person
  • the one who, the minute they’re inebriated, just fucking Takes Off
  • (i….i have been that person…….on many occasions…..)
  • i’ve also CHASED that person on many occasions. because, as a good friend, you never actually want your runner to make it very far in their condition. 
  • sober bitty is friendly, chatty, pretty mature
  • drunk bitty is a Fiend and a speed demon
  • literally every resident of the haus has had to sprint after bitty across campus at some point
  • ransom twisted his ankle once, chasing bits. holster straight up ate it on the sidewalk outside of the delta gamma house
  • (it was during Rush and all the pledges were watching and he’s still bitter about it)
  • shitty bought heelies JUST for the purpose of Bitty Chasing, but they actually slowed him down, as he is not ten years old and the samwell sidewalks are cracked and icy
  • chowder’s actually pretty good at Bitty Wrangling, so he’s often exempt from Nursey Patrol because they need him On-Call to stop bitty from running a) to stop n shop b) to the woods on the edge of campus or c) to the nearest Rager he can hear down the street because in all likelihood it’s a lax party and ffffffffuck the lax bros, man
  • eventually, though, lardo points out, very casually, that bitty never seems to run when jack’s around
  • so jack suddenly finds himself heckled into attending far more parties and he’s not really sure why. but bittle’s always there, and always smiling at him and laughing at his jokes, so he’s not too upset about it. 
  • and lardo’s plan works – bitty stops taking off the second no one’s looking.
  • mostly because jack is ALWAYS LOOKING
  • but also because jack gives him every reason to stay. 
  • (the first party of bitty’s junior year – kid runs all the way to an off-campus party and dex and nursey go on an epic adventure to find him. but that’s a different story.)
You Make Life Difficult Pt 1

Sam x Reader

Dean x Reader (maybe… eventually. Most likely, idk yet)

Word Count: 1,438

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any?

Originally posted by itsokaysammy

Originally posted by sensitivehandsomeactionman

“Hey, Training Bra!” Dean shouted over the music in your headphones.

Training Bra, that was your nickname. Leave it to Dean to make fun of you for being a late bloomer. For a while, you tried finding an insulting name for him, but you came up with nothing. There really wasn’t anything wrong with him, besides his incessant need to tick you off, which, to be fair, you never understood. Honestly, based off that, what would his nickname even be? Nuisance? Pest?

You pulled out one earbud with an annoyed huff and said, “What?”

“Just thought you might want to know Sam texted you… And, just saying, I did not need to see that much of my brother.”

Keep reading

With Him I Will Stay

Title: With Him I Will Stay
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Rating: T
Warnings: Character death, mentions of serious injury, angst galore.
Spoilers: contains spoilers for the end of Civil War, so if you haven’t seen it yet, you should probably not read until you’ve seen the movie.

Inspired by the fics written by the incredible @such-fun, I decided to venture into writing Marvel fics, specifically Bucky x reader-fics. Thank you to the lovely Laura for agreeing to read through this before I posted. And sorry for possibly breaking you. 

For ultimate feels fest, listen to the following songs before/while reading:
“She Knows” by John Fullbright, “Pillow Talk” by Zayn Malik, “Thousand Eyes” by Of Monsters and Men, “Lethal Temptress” by The Mendoza Line, “Smokestacks” by Layla and “Peace” by EarlyRise.

Summary: They know what you can do, the way you can pull and manipulate memories, yours and others’. 

”We’ve tried for a year,” Blue Eyes tells you.

”The conditioning goes deep,” Brown Eyes fills in. ”We cannot be sure just how much is left.”

Keep reading

Retrograde - Part 1

Figured I should actually share some of my writing, so here’s the first chapter of some angst I wrote for my pal @bird–butt

“Jack? You in here?”

Upon hearing his name, Handsome Jack glanced up from the glass of scotch he’d been nursing to see the door to his penthouse apartment jostling in its frame. He remained silent, taking another sip of his drink and reveling in the burning feeling in his throat and the haze in his brain. He hoped whoever was at the door would take the hint and leave; he hadn’t spoken to anyone in a week, not since…

He took another gulp to block out the memory, shuddering and running his hand through his unwashed hair.

The knocking on the door stopped, and Jack felt a sigh pass through his lips. That relief was soon squandered when the heavy-duty bolts on the door began to undo themselves in a quick succession of clicks. Jack slid his pistol from his ankle holster, taking off the safety. The door’s lock was calibrated to the retinal scans of only Jack himself and Rhys; but after what had happened last week, Jack knew his apartment was the last place Rhys would be going to. He felt another pang of anguish rip through him as he aimed his weapon at the door. Who knew? Maybe a little murder would be good for him.

“Christ, Jack, would you put the damn gun down?” the figure in the door said with his arms slightly raised.

"Shit, sorry,” Jack muttered, re-holstering his weapon in shame as he recognized his visitor. “What are you doing here, Tim?”

His doppelganger closed the door behind him before crossing his arms and stepping closer to Jack. “I came to check on you.”

"Well congrats, you checked, I’m fine,” Jack snapped. “Thanks for breaking into my fucking apartment.”

Tim chuckled. “It’s not my fault we’re identical. At least, almost identical.”

Jack suddenly became aware of the fact that he wasn’t wearing his mask, fingers feeling around the couch he was sitting on as he stared at his bare feet self-consciously. He’d never been a fan of socks, that was all Rhys; if anything, Jack hated socks now more than ever.

"Here,” Tim said, reaching forward to hand Jack his mask. Jack quickly snatched it from him, fumbling to cover his face. His fingers were shaking from the cocktail of anger, sadness and alcohol in his brain, and as hard as he tried he couldn’t get the latches to clasp. Fuck it, he thought as he let the mask fall into his lap. Why did it even matter?

"Jack, talk to me,” Tim said softly. “What happened?”

"Nothing fucking happened!” Jack snarled, rising to stand only to stagger with tipsiness.

Tim stared at him with wide eyes.

"Nothing happened,” Jack repeated tiredly, sitting back down and massaging his temples. He could still feel Tim watching him.

"You haven’t been at work all week,” Tim said, moving to stand directly in front of Jack, who was still avoiding his gaze. “I’ve seen you have as many temper tantrums as the rest of Helios combined, but I’ve never seen you miss work.”

Jack snorted. “Surprise is the spice of life, right, princess?”

Tim bit his lip, unsure of how to continue. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to get attacked by Jack, but at the same time something had to be done. He’d been elected by his and Jack’s mutual friend group to serve as the interventionist since he could enter Jack’s penthouse (perks of being a doppelganger) and would be the least likely to instigate a fight.

"I know something happened between you and Rhys,” Tim said finally, trying to keep his tone as non-confrontational as possible.

Jack’s head snapped up at the mention of Rhys’ name, his undamaged eye widening in hurt before molding itself into a glare. “Did he put you up to this?” he hissed.

Tim shook his head. “No, I, uh, ran into him at August’s bar a few nights back. He was drunk, doing shots by himself. Didn’t look too good.”
Jack continued to glower, although he couldn’t completely drown out the sadness bubbling within him. Rhys was out drinking alone? He’d thought his binge-drinking days were over…

"I went up to say hi and he,” Tim paused, fidgeting. “Well, he must’ve thought I was you.”

"What do you mean?” Jack asked lowly, locking eyes with Tim. “Tim, what the fuck did he say to you?”

"No Jack, what did you say to him?” Tim shot back, growing angry. “He tried to attack me! Yelling at me about stalking him and lying to him. I know he was wasted but God, Jack, you must’ve done something to set him off like that.”

"I didn’t say anything to that lying son of a taint that wasn’t true!” Jack roared, fists clenching at his sides.

Tim took a step back, not liking the anger seething from the other man. “I didn’t come here to fight,” he reiterated, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “I just want to know what happened.”

"You wanna know what happened? Huh, Tim Tams, you wanna know?” he shouted. “Rhys fucking cheated on me, and then had the nerve to lie about it to my fucking face! That’s what fucking happened!”

"How do you–”

"How do I know?” Jack cut in. “Because I caught him with his Pandoran fuckbuddy ex-girlfriend, that’s how!”

There was a moment of silence as Tim tried to process what he’d just heard. Jack strode over to the counter to refill his cup with scotch, willing to do anything to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.

"You..saw him with her?” Tim said slowly. He hadn’t known Rhys for very long, but he didn’t strike him as the type to cheat, especially not in a long-term relationship.

"Well,” Jack began, taking another swig of his drink. “Not in person, no.”

When Tim gave him a “what the hell” look, Jack hurried to continue. “I have tracker implanted in Rhys’ ECHOeye in case of emergencies; being around the boss-man does run its risks. But what do I see when I go to check in on my boyfriend? He’s out to dinner with that dangerous slut Sasha!”

By now Jack was gripping the glass in his hand so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

"What’s the big deal? It was just dinner,” Tim said.

"The big deal is that he’s my fucking boyfriend, Tim! And yeah, I thought maybe it was just a friend thing at first. But next thing I know, Rhys is alone with her in an apartment–her apartment–for an hour. I know Rhys used to whore around on Pandora before he came up to work here, but you’d think,” Jack’s voice cracked as his anger gave way to grief. “You’d think I’d be enough for him to call it quits by now.”

Jack’s lips curled into a snarl at the thought of Rhys, his Rhys, in bed with that piece of trash. God, he could fucking murder the both of them right now.

"Jack,” the doppelganger spoke after a minute. “Why were you tracking Rhys’ ECHOeye?”

He sighed, glaring at Tim. He wasn’t in the mood for this. But he knew that if Tim left without answers, he’d come back with Wilhelm and, god forbid, Nisha, who would do everything to make this shitshow of a situation even worse.

"He got a text from Sasha. He was in the bathroom, so I checked it for him. I didn’t know he still talked to the bitch after the awful terms they’d ended on. So imagine my surprise when she’s helping set the date for a…’meet up,’ I think that’s what she called it,” Jack practically sneered. “So when the day came for their secret fuck-session, I watched him go. I didn’t want him to. Hell, I prayed I was wrong. But there he went.”

Tim pursed his lips. “So you were stalking him.”

"I wasn’t stalking him!” Jack retorted, to which Tim raised an eyebrow.

"Jack, you need to talk to him.”

"No!” Jack shook his head. “It’s been a week; if he wanted to talk, he’d have called by now.”

Tim sighed. Why did Jack always have to be so difficult? “Please call him. If you do, I swear I’ll leave you alone.”

"Fine,” Jack said, scowling, as he whipped his phone out of his pocket. Anything to make this jerk go away.

His finger froze on the touch screen over Rhys’ contact, hovering above the photo of the man he loved and whom he’d thought loved him in return. Seeing Rhys there, smiling in one of Jack’s old Hyperion sweatshirts, made his heart hurt. Did Jack do something wrong? Or had Rhys just been lying from the start?

Tim cleared his throat, prompting Jack to start the call. He shakily held the phone up to his ear, trying to breathe normally as he listened to the ringing noise. But the ringing didn’t stop, and soon he was redirected to Rhys’ voicemail.

"He didn’t answer,” Jack snapped, ending the call. “You can leave now.”

Tim nodded, heading towards the door despite his lack of success; a deal was a deal, after all.

He froze when the phone in Jack’s hand started to ring.

Jack quickly pressed accept, despite seeing Rhys’ contact information displayed. Sure, he was angry; but a part of him also wanted to know that Rhys was okay, especially after not seeing him for a week. Besides, if Rhys wanted to talk, who was he to deny it? A confession was in order, after all.

"Hello?” he said, beginning to fidget.

"Is this Handsome Jack?” a deep voice asked– a deep voice that definitely didn’t belong to Rhys.

"Who’s asking?” Jack replied, suddenly in a defensive mode.


"Listen, I don’t know how you got this phone, but I need to talk to its owner,” he said, all but exasperated at this point.

"Sure thing,” the speaker said with a chuckle. He heard a scuffle, and then heavy breathing.

"J-Jack,” someone whimpered. No, not someone– Rhys.

"Rhysie? What’s going on? Where are y–”

Jack was cut short by a sharp cry of pain, shoving all previous thoughts of anger towards Rhys to the back of his mind in favor of mentally destroying whoever it was on the phone.

"Don’t you touch him!” he snarled, the effects the alcohol quickly evaporating.

The voice on the other end of the line simply chuckled. “If you do as I say, I won’t have to.”

With those words, the call disconnected, leaving Jack alone in silence.

anonymous asked:

In my story, I have a scene in which a character a pulls a knife out of her boot. So, how does she store the knife in her boot so that she can draw it easily? And how does she draw the knife efficiently and without fumbling? Thank you for your time.

Boot sheathes and ankle holsters are, in fact, a thing you can buy. It’s easiest to draw from them while sitting or crouching, which makes these a less than ideal place to stick a backup weapon in most situations.

Beyond that, most folding knives with belt clips will attach to the inside of a boot quite easily. Of course, those are easier to hide in a pocket. But the boot remains a legitimate option.


This blog is supported through Patreon. If you enjoy our content, please consider becoming a Patron.

anonymous asked:

Is it possible for you to write more jealous sasuke? The rejection one was great :)





“Mmm. What is it, Sasuke-kun?”

“I want him out of our house. He’s been living here uninvited for two months.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sasuke-kun. He wasn’t uninvited. He offered to help out, and I accepted.”

“And how did that end up turning into an invitation to move in?”

“Ugh, Sasuke-kun, it’s just easier this way. I’m pregnant and you’re busy. It’s nice to have an extra pair of hands helping around the house ”

“Sakura, he’s the Hokage, he’s busier than I could ever be.”

“He’s also the godfather of this baby and he wants to help. Really, I don’t know what your problem is.”

“We don’t need him here.”

“Well, I do.”



“Mmm. Ahhh. Wow, that feels amazing. You’re really good at this.”

Sasuke glares over the top of the scroll he’s failing at reading as another man puts his hands on his wife.

Sakura is eight months pregnant and Hatake Kakashi is sitting next to her on the couch with her feet in his lap, giving her the most erotic foot massage Sasuke has ever heard.

His sharingan activates as Sakura lets out another low moan of pleasure, stretching her arms over her head as Kakashi works the arches of her swollen feet.

Sakura has taken to wearing Sasuke’s shirts around the house along with a pair of white leggings. The high-collared, navy shirt is so large on her that it could pass for a dress, and it rides up on her thighs as she stretches.

Sasuke watches Kakashi’s gaze like a hawk, prepared to defend his wife’s honor should he catch the old pervert even try to sneak a peek where he shouldn’t.

But their old sensei is all innocence as he finishes the massage, patting Sakura’s pregnant belly affectionately. Sasuke rolls his eyes. You would think it was Kakashi’s own kid in there rather than the first Uchiha conceived since the massacre.

Obsidian eyes narrow to slits. But what if it isn’t…

“Sasuke-kun, you’re making that face again.”

His expression contorts into indignation. “I do not make a face.”

Sakura gives him a look as she rises to her feet, hand supporting her aching back. “Yes, you do. It’s your ‘I’m overthinking things and wondering about something completely irrational that has no basis in fact’ face.”

She frowns suddenly. “Sasuke-kun, we don’t have any ramen in the house, do we?”

Sighing because he knows what’s coming, Sasuke resigns himself to making another grocery run for Sakura’s cravings. “No, why?”

She looks at him hopefully. “Well, I just really have this craving for Ichiraku’s pineapple ramen.” Before Sasuke can wrinkle his nose in disgust, she continues. “Oh, and can you stop and pick up some whipped cream too? Thanks!”

Sasuke tries not to grumble, because he figures that as the not-pregnant one he doesn’t have it that bad. But still. Ick.

On his way down the hall, he hears Kakashi giggle and his muffled voice.

“Let’s french-braid your hair!”

Sasuke growls as he slams the front door behind him.


Two months later, Sasuke drops the dish he is washing in alarm as he hears Sakura yell from the living room. He rushes into the room to find her clutching her belly over a wet puddle on the floor.

“The baby’s coming!” she wails.

Before Sasuke can take more than two steps toward her, Kakashi flash-steps beside Sakura, half folded laundry flying everywhere around him. He picks Sakura up bridal style, cradling her carefully in his arms.

He flash-steps again, leaving Sasuke alone to wonder what in the hell just happened.


Trudging into the hospital in a foul mood, Sasuke glowers and silently threatens every nurse in sight until they take him to the delivery room.

Inside, his wife is already lying on the bed with her ankles in holsters, her face contorting in pain. Kakashi is by her side, squeezing her hand and encouraging her to push.

Sasuke snaps. “Get out,” he snarls.

Kakashi glances at him in disapproval. “Now is not the time to be selfish, Sasuke. Today is about Sakura.”

The Uchiha grips his hair in frustration and lets out a bark of laughter. “You mean my wife that I haven’t had a single minute alone with in four months? My wife whose company you’ve hogged nonstop? My wife who’s having MY baby and I can’t even be there for her because there’s no room in here for me?”

To his eternal disgruntlement, nobody in the room has heard a thing he just said, as Sakura has begun to push the baby out.

A nurse tugs him by the arm out of the room, telling him he’ll have to wait outside so as to give Sakura room to breathe.

Stranded in the waiting room, Sasuke stares at the closed door of the delivery room incredulously.

He’s just been kicked out of his own child’s birth.


An hour later, Sasuke is slumped angrily in an uncomfortable metal chair next to Naruto, who is chattering excitedly non-stop.

He glares at the closed doors, hoping to melt them with his sharingan.

Ten minutes later, Kakashi emerges from the room in scrubs, wiping tears of joy from his eye. He pulls Sasuke into an ecstatic hug, slapping him on the back in congratulations.

“Oh, Sasuke, you should see her. She’s beautiful.”

He has a daughter? He jerks out of Kakashi’s embrace and storms the delivery room.

Inside, a tired-looking Sakura is cooing at the small bundle in her arms. Sasuke approaches them slowly, staring.

The baby has a tuft of shiny black hair on her head, and when she looks up at him, he sees eyes the color of the void.

Definitely his.

Sakura beams at him, and her brilliant smile eases some of the tension inside him. “Isn’t she beautiful?” she asks, turning her attention to their daughter again.

Sasuke nods, throat constricted.

Sakura carefully lifts the baby, offering her for Sasuke to hold. He accepts her with awe and reverence, feeling the raw wound of his parents’ death closing as this baby girl completes his new family.

So enraptured is he that he only catches the tail end of what Sakura is saying

“…by the way, Kakashi’s going to be our live-in nanny. Hes already sold his apartment and called the movers. Isn’t that great!”

Sasuke freezes. Oh hell no.


MC is a great shot - KBTBB Headcanon

Sorry need a little break from Lupin’s broken heart so thought to do another head canon. I know some people have already done this but since people seemed to like my soryu and mc one, where the mc saved the bidders with a gun, thought I would give it a try. Hope you all like it since the MC is a badass in this head canon!

Eisuke- You were resting in the penthouse one day and enjoying some time off work when you hear the front door open with a bang and scuffle of feet. Thinking quick you lunge back into the bedroom quietly going to the gun safe you have hidden under the bed. Hoping you were quick enough. You hear Eisuke and another guy arguing in the living room. You can hear it’s a guy asking for all his cash and as usual Eisuke is being stubborn apparently trying to buy time.

You don’t have much time to think when you hear a click of the gun being cocked and you run into the living room. “Put your hands up and off him and I won’t shoot!” You see a guy with a gun to Eisuke’s head “Oh really, and If I don’t?” You just shrug and pop one off before he can react shooting the gun out of his hand. The front door gets kicked open by Soryu and he sees you standing gun in hand with the guy kneeling holding his hand which was bleeding. Eisuke you had to admit looked dumb standing mouth wide open staring at you

You laugh and look over to him putting the safety back on the gun “Shut your mouth, you’ll catch bugs that way.” He finally shuts his mouth and look over to Soryu “Take care of him, I am going to be busy for awhile” He walks over and throws you over his shoulder causing soryu to roll his eyes and take the guy out. “You face some punishment for not telling me you could shoot” He growls sexily and true to his word you faced sweet punishment for the rest of the night.

Keep reading

Don’t Cry My Tears. (Barry Allen Imagine.)

“Are you kidding me?” Rushing to the nearby bathroom, you slammed open the door-narrowly dodging a woman as she exited- and stared at your red-eyed reflection as silent tears streamed in earnest down your cheeks. It’d been so long since this had happened you didn’t know what to do. You’d thought your soulmate was a man-of-steel or he was dead.

How else could you explain the lack of tears your soulmate cried? It was the same for everyone, your soulmate cried and so did you. Sometimes it’d be a prickle like you couldn’t help but cry from pain or happiness, othertimes it’d be like now with full out sob-like tears but an eerie silence from you.

You had done a lot of crying yourself, more than a little and it pained you to think of all the inopportune times your soulmate had been reduced to tears because you were an emotional wreck of a person. Pressing your fingers gently to your cheeks, you couldn’t help but to start crying yourself because whoever was out there for you was crying but at least they weren’t dead.

Then you remembered where you were. Your interview with the CCPD, your resume sitting on the desk of a panel of interviewers making sure you were mentally stable enough to work as a detective and if you’d be a good fit here. They’d been the ones pointing to you with understanding smiles, the empty wedding finger telling them that you had yet to find your soulmate- although you weren’t the kind of person to throw yourself into a commitment, especially with a person, just because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Your soulmates tear tracks would have faded from your cheeks but your own were going to make lines that wouldn’t fade for quite a while. You didn’t mind too much. You soulmate was alive.

You got it.

You got the job. How you didn’t know, you had spent the majority of it in the bathroom waiting for your soulmate to stop crying and then willing yourself to quit everytime a fresh wave of your own tears hit. Perhaps they understood it wasn’t your fault exactly or with the recent weird activity in Central City they were just desperate for good, almost overly-qualified detectives.

It didn’t make any difference to you. Now you could justify leaving the small town that you had grown up in, became a deputy in before you took over what was the ‘family business’. Leaving was met with serious, and I mean serious, scrutiny but it was what you had to do for you.

Barry Allen started work again. The lightning in his veins was making his job much easier now that he knew why he wasn’t killed from the strike, or not why so much as what had changed because of it. So once he’d sobbed like a small child for a little while over the fact that he was confused, a whatever he is, and fighting his own kind at every turn, he was ready for normality.

“Excuse me, pardon me. Sorry.” He was early but apparently that meant instead of a semi-empty bull-pin, he was met with all the other people who usually got here on time. Sliding around them with grace that he wouldn’t have had before the serum, he waved at Joe who despite having seen him in action only a little while ago was taking it quite well and darted up the stairs for another typical day.

You hated Joe West. He was the kindest man you had ever met. That’s it. That was the problem. So when he gave you his sweet puppy dog eyed look, asking you to take samples up to the lab for him because he needed to finish typing up a bunch of reports- which true. He did.- you couldn’t say no.

“Sure thing.” You agreed, glaring at pretty boy beside of him who handed you his samples as well. You actually didn’t like him. Realizing you’d have to talk to the forensic specialist, someone you’d yet to meet, you began practicing how exactly you wanted to tell them the samples weren’t yours but you needed them done pronto as instructed by Joe who’d simply said:

Tell ‘em I sent you. It gets done quicker anyway, you can spin that excuse any time you want.

However, you didn’t want anyone to think you were rude so you were thinking of a better way to say it then Hey, Joe sent me. Get it done, yeah?

Reaching the open doorway, you didn’t know whether to knock or not. Scaring the tall man standing with his back to the door didn’t seem like a good idea so you opted for knocking gently on the wall before taking a step into the room.

He whirled around almost in a blur, wide hazel-y green eyes meeting yours with astonishment before he took note of the badge resting on your hip and a smile lit up his already perfect features.

“Hi, can I help you?” He asked and any preparation for asking him to run the samples flew out the window. You stared open mouthed at him, the words on the tip of your tongue as you glanced between him and the samples until his gaze followed yours in confusion.

“Oh, are those for me?” He was nice too. You can’t be as attractive as you are nice, that’s not right sir.

“Uh, wha- oh yes! Yes!” You blushed as the words were too loud in the quiet space minus the whir of a machine, the humming of the fluorescents. “They aren’t mine. They’re, uh, Joe’s? You know Detective West and his partner Eddie?” You rambled, thrusting the bags at him when he got an arms length away.

“Oh yeah, Joe’s my dad.” He simply replied, watching you as if you were about to accuse him of the crime you had asked him to run samples for.

“Oh, that’s cool. Joe’s nice. I like him, he’s, yeah. Awesome.” You trailed off, brushing back a piece of your hair as you stared up at him. He stared back at you, the silence stretching awkwardly before he blinked rapidly, shifting the bags to hold his hand out to you.

“I’m Barry, Barry Allen.” Smiling, you took his hand in yours.

“Nice to meet you Barry.”

You are a good person. A kind person. A wonderful person who cares about others, about animals, and here you are. A good person staring into the eyes of a half shark, half man creature because when the kind detective with the big puppy eyes begged you to join his metahuman task force once you became his partner- Eddie’s death still a topic you didn’t breach- you couldn’t say no.

You’d known there was something in this town that wasn’t quite right.

Or not right so much as untypical.

Oh, and just to make things more fun, you were crying because apparently your soulmate had no chill recently and you’d found yourself sitting in a police car with Joe’s laugh a loud boom around you as you furiously dabbed at your eyes and hated that you ever wished your soulmate would cry just once so you knew they were alive.

“Listen, I’m sorry for being such an overly emotional person as a preteen. I’m sorry for whatever reason you are crying. I’m sorry I thought you were dead but you have to stop. It’s a bit hard escaping a giant shark when your soulmate won’t stop crying.”

Your soulmate seemingly heard you, it wasn’t possible but they did stop crying. You were halfway out of the binds when the sharkman came back from wherever it was sharkmen go with a strip of red fabric clenched in a fin-hand-paw. You paused, not wanting him to get the hint you were up to something.

“You know him. He’s looking for you.” He growled, dropping the fabric on top of your knees. He bared rows of teeth at you, his eyes hidden behind his- do sharks have snouts?

“Who?” You knew who. You weren’t dumb but you didn’t want to be the one to tell Mr. Sharkman that you did not in fact know the Flash, Joe did. He’d taken the wrong person if he wanted an identity of the man in red.

“The Flash.” How come when the villain, or metahuman, that was hunting down Flash said his name it was always so full of spit and growl like it’s okay dude. You can say his name without the anger. We get it. Alright so the arm he had broken when he grabbed you hurt and was making you delirious with pain, enough so to have a conversation inside of your head but whatever.

“Don’t know him. You tried a bat signal? I heard those work pretty-” A scream was ripped from your throat as the flipper that’d held the cloth connected with your cheek. You felt how your jaw slid out of place, the bone grinding painfully and a wave of tears that were solely yours prickled your eyes but you would not give him the satisfaction.

“Tell me his name.”

“Dude, I totally would but the thing is, I don’t know.”

“Tell me his name!” He roared but before he could strike again, the door of the warehouse was thrown in and the aforementioned man stood in the doorway. You could see the dock just beyond his form and how fitting.

“Let her go. This obviouslys just between you and I.” His voice reverberated off of the walls, calming you enough that you could undo the rest of the rope despite the protest in your arms.

“Flash.” The shark grinned, stepping directly in front of you with a menacing crouch. A flash of lightning told you the Flash had taken off in, well, a flash with sharkman on his heels, forgetting all about you.

Sighing in relief, you watched him lumber after the streak and let the ropes fall as you attempted to stumble to your feet. You could barely make out the commotion outside the door, all the yelling and screaming and a thunderous roar followed by a splash that then dipped into silence a backdrop as you fumbled to the open doorway.

They were idiots. They’d shoved a shark creature into the ocean. Like he’d drown or something. He most certainly didn’t. He dragged his soaking body from the ocean, dripping and rejuvenated as thee Flash and friends stood off to the side. You could just make out the blur of Joe’s face before the shark started bounding to them from your side of the ocean.

You didn’t even think. He was your partner and the Flash had saved you, you could handle this. With more than a few very painful movements, you pulled the gun from the ankle holster the shark hadn’t checked and opened fire. You weren’t dumb, you knew that it wasn’t going to do more than anger him but it got his attention enough for the Flash to do something. Like warp speed sucker punch him.

The sharkman had gotten within a foot of you, arm outstretched and ready to do his worst when you’d shut your eyes, letting the tears fall because you were in pain, you were about to have a manshark kill you and you were only human. Instead of a chokehold, you were greeted with gusts of wind so strong you flew back inside the warehouse and a loud crashing sound.

Peeking open your eyes, you rolled to your side with a painful whine in the back
of your throat as spots of black danced in your vision. You could make-out a large, very unconscious, very scary form through blinks that threatened to turn into your own unconsciousness through tears of pain.

“Hey, don’t move. I have you.” You startled, having not noticed the detective you’d come to call friend approach. His hand gently pressed against your abdomen, another going behind you to get you into a sitting position. “I have you, you’re alright.” He promised.

You stared at him for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to his kind smile before throwing your good arm around him and sobbing openly into his chest. You didn’t care about appearances, not now.

“Joe?” Came a confused voice, soft and familiar. Someone touched the curve of your spine, a soft face in view when you lifted your head.

“What are you. Oh, that’s a predicament.” You mumbled, noting how tears were streaming from the Flash’s eyes and they weren’t his own.


His voice was choked up, his hands trembling as he took you from Joe and sat on his butt to hold you in his lap. Your fingers cupped his cheeks, your head tilted in attempt to place how exactly you knew him, or more specifically those eyes.

“Hi. Soulmate?” Your voice wobbled, a crack in it as you tried not to black out in his hold.

“Yeah, soulmate.” He agreed, nodding his head. His voice vibrations stopping altogether, a gasp falling from your barely parted lips. A small smile etched onto your lips, your eyes wide as you were slow in pulling off the mask.

“Barry.” You whispered, body laxing as you leaned into his chest heavily. “Always knew you were special.” Tightening his grip, he stood as slowly as he could as to not jostle you. “Knew you were my friend for a reason. You’re so wonderful.” Now you were just rambling but you could feel embarrassed when you weren’t hurting so much.

You could ask him when you weren’t moving so quickly, or lying unconsciously on his collarbone, why he was crying earlier. You could ask him why he’d stopped crying, why he’d cried so much recently. You’d learn his favourite colours, his favourite everything’s and you’d fall in love with your best friend moreso than you already had been.

But for right now, you were going to let him take care of you, protect you as you healed from shark-bro and try to understand why the universe would give you, a Mess™, someone so wonderful although he was a superhero who tended to get himself hurt.

You’d probably stop wondering around the bazillionth time your eyes stung with unshed tears, your phone ringing as Caitlin called you to tell you not to worry. He just ran into another wall.

A soulmate AU because I am actual trash for it.

-D. xx


Prompt: There’s an interesting story behind that

Summary: You get caught sneaking back into the bunker after a party by your dad

Characters: Daddy!Dean x Daughter!reader

A/N: So this is for @one-shots-supernatural SPN hiatus writing challenge week three, it’s a little late but oh well!! Also I swear that the beauty and the beast AU is coming soon, I’m sorry it’s so late!

You cringed as the large metal door made a slight squeaking sound as it shut.

You stayed put for a moment, not daring to move as you listened carefully to the dark bunker, waiting to see if you had woken anyone up. Once you deemed it safe you slowly made your way down the stairs, biting your lip as you concentrated on being silent.

As you made it to the floor below you commended yourself, it seems you have finally managed to make your way past Dean Winchester.

Your victory, however, was short lived as a lamp in the library was turned on, illuminating a very pissed off looking Dean Winchester.

“Hi dad” You did your best to sound casual.

Your father, however, clenched his jaw, staring you down. “Where were you?”

You panicked for a moment, wiping your sweaty palms on your thighs before answering “Just a walk”

His jaw stayed clenched as he looked away, doing his best to remain calm as he reached for the glass in front of him and sipping from it, whiskey, no doubt, running smoothly into his mouth. “Dressed like that?”

You looked down at yourself, cursing internally. You were wearing short shorts and a tank top with a thin jacket thrown over your shoulders, not exactly something you’d wear for a walk. “It was warm”

He slowly spun the dark liquid in the glass before setting it down on the table and turning to look at you. His eyes squinted for a moment before he spoke again “And what is that on your face”

Your fingers absentmindedly moved to your face to feel the pounds of makeup and body glitter that was there. “Well you see there’s an interesting story behind that

You licked your lips nervously. How were you supposed to explain your way around body glitter?

“Would it have anything to do with the party you were at?”

Shit he knew. Of course he knew. He was your dad, he always seemed to know everything. You clenched your jaw, waiting for him to start yelling.

But he didn’t. He simply sat there, staring at you, making you feel a thousand times more uncomfortable than if he had started screaming at you. Screaming you could handle, screaming you could understand, screaming was familiar.

Silence, however, was not. His glare made your feel ashamed, embarrassed, like a child caught drawing on the walls and not the young adult you were.

So you waited, letting him broad for a moment before finally getting fed up “Well say something!”

Your father’s jaw only locked further “And what would you like me to say?”

By now you were fuming “I don’t know just please do something!” You all but screamed “Yell at me, scream at me. Tell me how stupid, dangerous, and irresponsible it was of me to go to this party. Just tell me you’re mad at me”

He stared at you for a moment longer before speaking again “I am mad at you” He still wasn’t yelling but hearing his words were assured you slightly, at least you knew what to expect now. “But not for going to the party.”

These words, however, took you be surprise. You recoiled slightly in shock, not speaking as you waited for him to continue.

“I’m mad because you knew exactly what words best describe the idea of sneaking out to go to a party” His words started getting louder as he stood up. “’stupid, dangerous, and irresponsible’ and yet you did it anyway.”

“I did it anyway because for once in my life I wanted to have some fun” You were quick to respond. “For once I wanted to hang out with my friends and not spend the night hauled up in this goddamn bunker.”

“Well good news by the time you’re done being grounded you won’t have any friends to hang out with” He stood up, as if the conversation were done though you called him back.

“Dad come on that’s not fair”

“Not fair?” He repeated “Not fair?! You snuck out to go to a party I knew nothing about, to be with people I knew nothing about, to a place I knew nothing about. Do you have any idea just how dangerous that was? What if some supernatural creature had shown up while I wasn’t there? Then what?”

You narrowed your eyes at him before taking a step forward so you stood right in front of the table. You reached into the pocket of your jacket, pulling out a small flask “Demon” You stated simply before going to another pocket pulling out a vial of dead man’s blood “vampire”, next you went to your shoe, pulling a small gun out of an ankle holster “werewolf” before you pulled out a butterfly knife from your back pocket “human”.

Your father looked slightly taken aback by the pile of weapons on the table though he was quick to replace the expression with a straight face. “so what, if something attacked you were going to fight it off with your years of experience?” Sarcasm was dripping from his words and it infuriated you.

“I may not have experience but I do have training” You countered “I can handle myself I just need you to trust me once in a while”

“I trust you” He assured you quickly “but if something did attack you’d have no way of actually taking it down because you’ve never been on an actual hunt, you do not have any actual experience”

“Well maybe if you’d let me go on one once then I’d be prepared”

“Absolutely not” He screamed immediately. “I’m not getting you involved in this world”

“Like it or not I’m already involved.”

“No you’re not and I plan to keep it that way” He pointed a finger at you “Even if it means that you are stuck alone in this bunker for the rest of your life” He tried to walk off again, end the conversation prematurely but you wouldn’t let him.

“Quit being so much like your father!”

You knew you struck a nerve with this one as he stopped in his tracks. Freezing on the spot before spinning around to face you “I am nothing like my father. I have kept you away from hunting not forced you into it”

“That may be so but my life is still ruled by it. It still hinders me from living an at least semi-normal life just as it did to you”

Your father clenched his jaw again “You know I have no control over that. You’re my daughter and because of that fact alone you have a target on your back. There’s nothing I can do”

“but there is” You insisted “You can trust me. Trust that I have at least enough talent to protect myself because like it or not I can’t spend my entire life here”

Your father sighed “I know you can’t but without any actual experience you can’t protect yourself”

“Then let me gain some experience!” You help your hand up, expecting your father’s protest “I’m not talking about taking me on a windego hunt but at least let me help research maybe a few salt and burns” This actually shut your father up as he considered it for a moment, hesitation was written all over his face “I don’t actually want to start hunting I just want experience. It’s not as if I’ll run off and do a hunt on my own!”

“Well why not?” He demanded “You’ve already run off to go to a party!”

“A party and a hunt are two completely different things!”

“They are both extremely dangerous!”

“Well what do you care?!” You demanded, shouting at the top of your lungs, not really taking note of what you were saying as you fought back “it’s not as if you ever actually wanted me anyway”

You regretted the words as soon as you said them. As soon as they left your mouth your father’s face dropped. You could see his anger dissipate. You never meant to say that. Sure you had thought it dozens of times but you never wanted him to know that. But as you saw the disbelief on his face whatever anger that was left in you willed you to keep talking, though in a much softer voice this time.

“Come on you expect me to believe you willingly brought a child into a world like this?”

His face seemed to drop further as his mouth dropped open slightly “Y/N you can’t really believe that?”

His expression broke you. He looked absolutely heartbroken and you knew you had to get out of there before the waterworks started, before he tried to convince you that you were wanted whether or not it was true.

“I don’t” You brushed him off, whipping at your eyes quickly as your lip trembled “That was nothing just ignore it, I was mad it was stupid, I’ll go to bed now” And before he could speak you were striding towards your room.

Dean stood frozen in shock for a moment before running after you calling your name. Once he caught up to you he grabbed your shoulders, spinning you around to face him.

You kept your eyes planted on the ground, well aware that your mascara was running. Dean opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of what to say. Finally he sighed, finally drawing your eyes up to him “Come on kid lets go talk”

You reluctantly followed him as he led you to your room, sitting down beside him on your bed waiting for him to talk. And after some time he finally did.

“Ok Y/N it’s true that you were an accident” You licked your lips and looked down at your hands, refusing to make eye contact “but don’t think for a second that means that I don’t love you”

You sniffled slightly, still refusing to look him in the eye.

“Y/N I don’t want you hunting because I don’t want to lose you” He spoke slowly and calmly “I-I can’t lose you.”

You finally chanced a look at him only to see he was staring intently at you, a sad expression on his face.

“Y/N there ain’t no me if there ain’t no you”

“Well locking me up is not the right way to go about protecting me”

He seemed relieved that you were talking again “I know that believe me I do but it’s the best way”

You stayed silent, knowing he would talk if you didn’t “Y/N you were right”

You dared a look at him when he said this “I am just like your grandpa. I guess I tried too hard to not be like him that I ended up becoming him.”

You were silent for a moment as you mulled it all over before you spoke again “No you’re not”

Your father looked up at you in surprise. “You’re not like him, you’re not forcing me into hunting you’re just trying to protect me.”

He chuckled “Key word trying”

“I just need you to trust me every once in a while” You explained “Trust that when I get into trouble I can get my way out of it”

You could still see the hesitation on his face “Or at least to keep myself safe until you can get me because dad I can’t just stay in the bunker forever. I need to be able to go and hang out with my friends sometimes.”

He licked his lips, thinking over it “Ok”


“Ok we’ll talk about letting you go out with friends in the morning with your uncle”

A soft smile crossed your face “Thank you”

Your father nodded before standing up, getting ready to walk out of the room “Y/N you know you’re wanted right?”

“I do” You nodded.

“Good cause I love you kid, I really do” He answered with a dumb grin on his face that he knew always made you laugh.

You chuckled softly at him “Goodnight dad”

“Good night” He responded before walking out of the room, shutting the door behind him. However before it fully closed he poked his head back in “by the way you’re still grounded”

“I figured as much” You called back.

Collins Security AU Part 9

Nine- Kidnapped

Words: 3,891

Tags: @superapplepies @wevegotworktodo @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @redlittlefox @lilyleely @lakama15 @dancingalone21 @perpetualabsurdity @mguz25 @mamapeterson
@manawhaat @vintagevalentinexx @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @chrisatplay @aprofoundbondwithdean @kittenofdoomage @torn-and-frayed @ilostmyshoe-79 @mrs-squirrel-chester @ravenesque @xtina2191
@profkmoriarty13 @danceswithjensen @mysteriouslyme81 @winchesterprincessbride @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @jj-trickster
@fangirl-faye @rattyretro-blog-blog @bakabozza @ashleychinrock @nerdysandwichqueen @mrsjohnsmith @m00sesquirre1 @tiffanycaruso
@boredoutofmymindstuff @gothamsmermaid @nakedshowerdean @ezauraemmaline @anokhi07

Summary: Stalker finally gets a chance at Y/N…
Will they find her in time?

Warnings: triggers for stalker, knife injury, swearing, fighting.

For my beta’s, @wevegotworktodo & @jerkbitchidjitassbutt thank you.

Keep reading

Bone - Bucky x Reader

Not Requested - REQUESTS OPEN

Bucky x Reader in which the reader and Bucky have to share a bed due to ’unfortunate’ circumstances… and Bucky brings a …friend.

Note:*evil cackling*( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)*chokes on spit bc I’m awkward af* …so this is based when Bucky was still with Hydra, but he had a partner… you. idk if this is English or not bc I’ve been dealing with some massive migraines lately :( …buuuuuuuUuuuuut… enjoy :) -Aly

Warning: language

Originally posted by sebastiansource

“You fucking shitting me? You’ve legit only got the one room with one goddamn bed?” The poor boy behind the check-in counter nods quickly, keeping his gaze averted. Can’t blame him, I mean you’re standing there in a black leather catsuit with a cargo belt and two hip holsters, a thigh holster, ankle holster, a sniper rifle on your back, and an automatic rifle in your hands; plus there are at least 10 large knives strapped to your body. Not to mention that you’re covered in blood and are currently wearing dark, smudged eyeliner in Hydra’s infamous ‘asset war makeup’ style. Having the Winter Soldier hovering over your shoulder helps, too.

Winter leans forward to mumble to you in Russian, causing you to nod slightly. You turn to scowl at the boy again, handing him some cash that Hydra had gifted you with. They sent you to exterminate some ‘pesks’ with the knowledge that you’d have to lay low in the town for a few nights.

“You say one goddamn thing about seeing ether of us,” you hiss, your Russian accent coming out thicker, “And I will slide blades between your fingernails and nailbeds, and force you to type a hundred page essay.” The boy’s eyes widen in horror as Winter chuckles quietly behind you. He’s seen you do just that, to some democrat that was getting too nosey for Boss’ tastes. The boy shakily hands you a keycard and your cash back. “Спасибо,” you thank as you take the key. You and Winter march to the elevator.

The metal walls bounce back the sounds of the two of you breathing as you stare at each other. Unlike most average people, you two stand facing each other, because apparently when your mind has been wiped a bazillion times you loose all sense of elevator manners.

The door dings upon arrival and the two of you step out when the doors slide open. “669,” you mutter, leading Winter to the door. You hesitate to unlock it, brows furrowing. You turn your head to Winter whom looks at you inquisitively. “Dibs on the bed,” you wink.

“Damnit,” Winter grumbles, following you into the small room. “Share?” He suggests pleadingly as the two of you secure the room and shed your weapons onto the desk in the corner.

“Sure. If you try and fuck with me and I’ll slit your shitting throat,” you warn in compliance.

Winter just smirks, lowering his voice to seductive and smooth tones as he says, “Thats not what you said last time, darlin’.” You whip around, a gnarled hunting knife slipping from your fingertips. It embeds itself in the wall millimeters away from Winter’s ear.

“Call me darling again, asshole,” you grunt. Winter shrugs, that same shit eating grin on his stubbled face. Fucking asshole. You scowl and turn back around as Winter begins to undress. You step into the bathroom and shut the door behind you before stripping down.

The shower is hot, and you relish the way it almost burns your skin. The only time you get a hot shower is on missions like this one, otherwise Hydra throws you into a cold one. In fact, the only time you’re warm at the compound is during training, and when they wipe you. Apparently when electricity is fucking spazzing out in your brain and severing nerves, your body works up a sweat. Imagine that shit.

You’re quick to wash in the shower, knowing that you’ll have to get out before Winter decides to try and join you.

Steam spills from the shower and into the room when you step out. Winter, who sits buck ass nude in a chair, glances up at you and grins, “Leave any heat for me, Soldier?” You roll your eyes, keeping them off of where he wants them most: his dick.

“You smell,” you grumble as you dig through a duffle bag for some clean non-combat clothes. You end up with one of Winter’s clean undershirts and a pair of panties. You spin around to glare at the man, prompting him to saunter into the bathroom.

You shake the towel from your body and wrap it up around your hair in a turban style, before slipping into the clothes. The shower kicks on and you can hear Winter dropping things every few minutes. You dry and finger comb your hair while you scan some documents that had been picked up on the mission.

You’re so engrossed in the paper work describing some man in a flag costume and a bitch with too much cleavage showing for her catsuit to be functional and shit, that you don’t even hear Winter finish his shower until he’s sitting next to you on the bed. You jump, snapping the files closed before tossing them to land on the desk by your guns.

Winter smirks, “Time for bed.” He’s scanning your bare legs. “Is that my shirt?” You nod, not bothering to speak to him as you slide under the covers. You’re on the farthest left side, as close to the edge as possible. Winter joins you with a chuckle. “Looks good,” he whispers as his arms, both warm flesh and chilling metal, snake around you and yank you back into him. You jab an elbow back into his ribs and scoot away. “Have it your way.”

“Shut the fuck up you shit head,” you sneer. Winter shifts and you can feel his smug grin. He lives for bothering you. Also because if he died then Hydra would kill you too, and he does have a heart. At least, when it comes to you. In the end, Winter obeys, and the both of you drift off into restless sleep.

Your body’s inner clock wakes you up at 5am sharp. You try to sit up, but find yourself in the tight embrace of Winter. You pause, settling back into your spot when he groans sleepily. It’s actually… not bad… Kind of comfortable… Shit you’re going to be punished for this. You resist the urge to slip from Winter’s hold, but instead lay in his arms calmly. He’s very warm. Scratch that, he’s like a goddamn furnace blasting out fires in the 9th circle of hell. You face away from him, your bodies pressed together from top to bottom. Your head is on his right bicep, his left arm is wrapped around your waist, and your legs are tangled together.

It’s then you feel something poking your ass uncomfortably. You shift your hips, trying to get a feel for what it is, and that’s when Winter moans lightly. You freeze as it adds up in your brain. Hip level, hard, cylindrical… THE WINTER SOLDIER HAS A FUCKING BONER! Your eyes go wide and you can feel something welling up in your chest. Laughter fights to break free from your throat but you stifle it and roll your hips again.

This time, Winter groans loudly, his grip around you tightens and he pulls you closer. Your body is shaking with silent laughter, jarring him from his sleep. “What the fuck?” He’s a cranky grumbling mess as his grip on you loosens. You roll away and out of the bed, landing to stand over Winter, your laughter becoming verbal. “The shit are you laughing at?”

“You-” Your laughter makes it hard to speak as you stutter through an explanation, “You’ve g-got… a-a-a b-boner!” You’re practically crying at this point as red flushes across Winter’s face and down his neck. He rolls onto his front in an attempt to hide it, but ends up choking on a moan at the pressure. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

“’s not that funny,” Winter mumbles in embarrassment. You sigh, shaking your head and wiping your eyes as your laughter stops.

“No, you’re right,” you admonish, plopping onto the bed by him, “It’s completely natural for men who haven’t had sex in 60 years.”

Winter scoffs and rolls his eyes, “It hasn’t been 60 years.”

“Right, I forgot, over 70 years. It’s… what?… 2013? 2014?” You snicker, watching as Winter rolls onto his back before sitting up.

“How would either of us know? What’s the last thing you remember?” Winter stalks off wth his depressing statement and heads for a shower. You frown at his bare back, what is the last thing you remember?

Bitch, that dick.

“Hey!” You holler to Winter. “Take care of your friend in there, yeah?” Winter grunts loudly in reply. You snicker, standing up to get dressed in battle gear again, prepping to accept the newest mission in D.C..


You smirk, slapping a hand on Bucky’s thigh. He glares forward grumpily while the others laugh raucously. “It’s okay, babe,” You assure gently. “All men get a little excited sometimes.”

“I can’t believe that the grumpy cat Winter Soldier over there got a boner because of spooning!” Tony pipes up between cackles. “‘Winter Boner!’”

Eggs and Lego

Pairing aou!Pietro Maximoff x reader

Word count: 3.1k

Prompt: So I noticed this fandom was missing a lil old soulmate!au……

              Inspired by this post & the reaction in this movie scene.

              On your skin you have written the last words you ever hear your                   soulmate say, so you don’t know who your soulmate is until you                   lose them.

It’s the early hours when Pietro wakes with a gasp, jumping up in shock. The remnants of his dream (falling falling falling) wisp away and he’s suddenly aware he’s lying in bed, arms wrapped firmly around a cushion, body touching solid ground and not thin air like his mind tricked him into believing. The swoop in his stomach dissipates almost instantly, but turns into something much heavier, an aching pain. It’s the feeling that something is completely and utterly wrong but you have no idea what, dread creeping up the back of your neck like ice and fire all at once. Pietro rolls over and checks the baby monitor, listening closely to the sounds of his son’s breathing.

Satisfied that he’s still sleeping peacefully, Pietro rolls over onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

Its times like this he can’t decide if he hates or loves the rule you both made those years ago.

Keep reading

for your amusement, please consider

jack snickering, not bothering to smother the sound, anchoring his body to the counter, covered in flour and sugar and three smashed eggs, as bitty pushes at him and orders jack to leave his kitchen, the nutty-homey smell of butter browning on the stove filling the air

jack snorting, looking bewildered that he laughed at all, wide eyed with guilt but lips still slightly curved, quickly looking down and away when george shoots him a nasty look. catching snowy’s grin and tater’s wide smile. guy raises an eyebrow in his direction but he’s smiling a little too, marty winks at him

jack bursting into helpless, loud, belly laughter. in providence with the crew, seeing each other in person for the first time in a while, sitting around the apartment, trading stories, feeling good. happy. leaning back against the foot of the couch, lardo’s leg pressed against his arm. bitty’s thighs sitting on his shoulders, his fingers wrapped loosely around bitty’s ankles. holster kicking at his foot where he’s sitting across from them, next to ransom. shitty with his head on jack’s thigh trying to braid his mustache.

it’s two am, offseason, and everything is funny. jack cant stop laughing. shoulders warm from bitty’s thighs, leg jumping every time holster catches the arch of his foot with his toe, chest hitching with laughter as he and ransom make fun of everyone, hands moving from bitty’s ankles to stop shitty from rubbing his mustache onto jack’s bare skin, elbowing lardo’s calves every time she digs her toes into his ribs

jack laughing softly, sleepy and muffled, face smushed into a pillow, eyes half closed in the bright morning light, bitty laughing into his throat, tucked under his stubbly chin, blankets high around their shoulders

jack laughing

Something Forgotten

Alright I’ve been working on this fanfic for awhile and I’m happy that I finished it before the new episode comes out! Firstly, this is dedicated to kazriku​, the little Gravity feels monster~ Hope this causes feels for ya <3  and abrilmazziotti​ because mwahahah I’m evil and I love reading your feels tags!

AO3 Link

Grunkle Stan = Stanford
Author = Stanley (I started writing this before the trailer was released)

Summary: Ford agreed to go on a late night/early morning monster hunt with his brother when things go terribly wrong. 

Stanford let out a long and groggy yawn before slumping against the car window. “Ya know Poindexter, I know I agreed to wake up early, but this is ridiculous.”

“Oh come on Stan, it’s only 2 am! Prime time for investigating the paranormal-“

“I swear if you say ‘paranormal’ one more time, I’m gonna-“

“You’re gonna knock my lights out, I know I know.” Stanley interrupted with a slight smirk at the end. Stanford stayed silent out of annoyance. Stanley took note of his twin’s exhausted annoyance and kept quiet to avoid adding to his brother’s bad mood. Stanford looked at his brother for a moment, then went back to glaring out the passenger window. He watched as signs and dim lights sped by. The car was silent again, Stanford sighed and squinted both his eyes between his index finger and thumb. He’d been up late playing cards with the guys down at the town’s pub. There’s something I’m forgetting… He thought to himself, with uneasiness building in his stomach.

“What’s wrong? Pissed off another loan shark?” Stanley murmured without taking his eyes off of the road.

“No! Just running on 2 and a half hours of sleep. Thanks to someone.” Ford replied glaring at his brother. “Hey, did ya bring the coffee or was I supposed to?” Lee reached behind the driver’s seat and tossed Ford a thermos. Not the coffee… Stanford thought to himself, unscrewing the lid and taking a sip.

Stanley had an important meeting tomorrow presenting his findings and research on the monsters he and McGucket had discovered in Gravity Falls. Ford had agreed to wake up early and drive his car loaded with all the test tubes, beakers, and artifacts that could not fit into the other two’s vehicles. To his dismay, Ford was awoken not to drive across country, but to help his brother in another one of his investigations. “So why couldn’t the twerp go out on this goose chase with you?”

Stanley sighed and rolled his eyes, “I told you Ford, McGucket and his wife have been having…problems.” Stanley shifted in his seat uncomfortably and cleared his throat, “I promised him I’d give him his space, and some time to patch things up.” Lee leaned forward, squinting his eyes to get a better view of the signs they were approaching.

McGucket’s marriage problems? Was that it? No…something else.

While pondering, Ford caught Stanley’s slight glance at him, noting his lack of reply. To this, Ford cleared his throat, “Marriage problems? Hah. Surprising that he’s married, let alone getting laid!” Stanford smirked and took another sip of coffee. “Wish he was the one losing sleep, not me.”

Keep reading

Family Trips


Jax had managed to get everything set up, so that he could get away for a couple days, anyway. They were still having a problem with the Triad, being that he felt the need to make them all pay, and he did still have their guns and their heroin, but Chibs insisted that him getting away could be good for a couple days, and Jax knew that Lyla needed it. Her nightmare, when Dani was in bed with them, had reiterated that more than ever, to him.  But this morning, he’d even conceded for them all not to leave until 10 or so, and despite the fact that he really was hoping for them to take the bike, he knew that made no sense, with three kids, in tow. They couldn’t just throw them in the saddlebags or under the seat. So, he’d made sure the car was cleaned out, and stashed his kutte in his bag.  He’d gone with the usual ankle holster, when he wasn’t in MC mode, leaving the .45 at home.

It had taken some time to get on the road, but once they did, he was really glad they did. All of the kids were excited to get there, with Dani screaming an occasional ‘lake’, although he wasn’t sure she knew what a lake was.  As they got closer, he glanced over at Lyla. “So, I’m thinking that we just find something, when we get there? I even won’t freak out if you use the card.”