#having a montana moment about vests | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkworkcourier · 1 year

Note

You’re doing Ghost!! Can I request an exercise in sharing body heat in cold conditions that turns into *other* forms of exercise? Preferably a non-military female reader if that tickles your fancy. So excited to see you back on tumblr, I loved your RDR2 and FC5 work back in the day 💕💕💕

Hi yes I’d like to apologize that this tiny prompt turned into EIGHT THOUSAND WORDS OF PORN OH GOD

(Also, try and find all the Far Cry 5 references. :3c As a thank you for hanging out with me all this time!)

Reader works for the National Park Service and gets pulled into a mission involving guiding Ghost to go after a (wink) paramilitary organization in (WINK WINK) Montana. Things go awry.

---

“Piss poor excuse for a shortcut, Ranger,” Ghost says to your back.

Your mid-back, actually, since you’re about two feet above him on the hillside which is way steeper than you remember. You could have sworn there was a trail cut through here, or maybe that was a half mile down the ridge, or maybe— Maybe it’s good to not second guess it when you think Ghost’s about a full thirty seconds from ditching you and going off on his own.

“You wanna get shot at?” you ask over your shoulder, voice slightly muffled in your scarf. “Because if you took the main road, that’s what you’d get.”

“I would do just fine,” he replies dryly.

Right, he’s got a tactical vest on. You have a down jacket that would just make for a really interesting display of flying feathers if you got shot. The best defense you have is the handgun he gave you for protection, and a Park Service badge that would elevate the threat of killing a federal employee. Not that Ghost’s targets would care, but it makes you feel better.

The two of you trudge through waist-deep snow, thick even on the incline. You’re practiced enough with winter weather hiking to approach it fairly spryly, but you’re also not lugging an incredible about of gear like he is.

“It’s not that far, anyway,” you tell him, just to make conversation. “It’s this ridge, then the Beaver Dam River, and then the lookout tower.”

“Real walk in the park,” he replies.

“Literally,” you say brightly.

His grunt isn’t very amused.

The biggest problem is the cold. It’s northern Montana in the depths of winter, and every shrieking sickle of wind that cuts through the mountains physically hurts. You’re prepared enough for the temperature drop, but you worry more about what happens after dark, when it goes from tolerable to goddamn polar. If it wasn’t vital for you to be out here, you would have stayed in.

For lack of anything better to do as you finish ascending the ridge, you think on the whole situation. A paramilitary extremist group hiding out in the mountains, some multinational task force you’d never heard of swooping into the park, and you getting swept up into it all and taken on as a guide. It sounds like something straight out of an action movie, but here you are and there Ghost is.

Hell, even his name and whole look makes the reality of all this seem that much out of pocket. He’s dressed in winter tactical gear, white and gray mottled camo, hood pulled down low over the skull-plated balaclava that you’re fairly sure he never takes off. He blends in with his surroundings, but at the same time, he really sticks out.

You get to the top of the ridge, pausing for a moment to take in your surroundings. Sure enough, by your reckoning, you’re about a quarter mile off from the actual trail. It’s easy to remedy, leading Ghost down the relatively level ridge to where the trail appears as a shallow divot in the snow.

Of course, he points it out.

“Got lost, did we?”

You roll your eyes. “Not lost,” you correct. “Just slightly askew on the directions. Everything looks the same in the snow.”

“Thought you knew this place like the back of your hand.”

“I do,” you say, stepping down onto the trail and grimacing when the snow goes up to your hips. Ghost is so damn huge that it probably barely goes over his knees, but you don’t turn around to look. “And I wasn’t too far off!”

“Slightly off is still off,” he retorts.

You really wish they would have sent the nice, happy Scottish guy with you instead.

Once you clear the ridge’s treeline, you see the lookout tower poking above the trees straight ahead of you. Grinning, you point it out to Ghost.

“Affirmative, Ranger. I see it.”

“You can just say ‘yes’.”

You can hear him sigh, and then, “Yes,” said like he’s punching the word out of the air.

The trail crosses over the river, cutting through at its shallowest section for this part of the park. The only problem is that the Beaver Dam River doesn’t freeze, so there’s a very real risk of soaking through your boots and defeating the purpose of having moisture-wicking socks. With any luck, you’ll have some downed trees or rocks to cross over, and the river won’t be too high.

That’s with any luck; the opposite being the luck you currently have, as the river’s clearer than you’ve ever seen it once you reach it. You hiss out a curse under your breath, glancing up and down the banks to see if there’s any easier way to cross.

Nada.

“Shit,” you mutter.

“What’s shit?”

“River’s clear, but it’s... well, it’s fuckin’ cold is what it is,” you say, watching the glacially-fed water happily rush by you.

He shrugs. “Looks shallow enough.”

“It is, except—” You look down at your boots, cringing at the thought of all the fun ways water can get in them.

Beside you, Ghost looks down at them as well. “They’re not waterproof?”

“They are, but probably not for walking through a river.”

“Jesus,” he murmurs, then steps right into the water. You see it course around his ankles, protected by his thick boots that probably cost more than a month of rent back home. Once he’s on the other side, he turns back to you, dark eyes peering out through his mask, making him look like a bizarre death motif hanging out on the banks of a very chilly River Styx.

“Damn it,” you hiss. You’ll have to be quick, not settling long enough for the water to leach into your boots and socks.

It’s probably comical to Ghost to watch you hopping across the river, up until your boot hits something—loose gravel, a slimy rock, or just a pocket of underwater bad luck. Whatever it is, it sends you right on your ass and into the water. The only good thing is that it’s not deep, but that does shit to negate the cold shock that knocks the wind right out of you. Cold pierces right through your clothes, hitting your skin like dozens of tiny knives. You gasp first, then yelp, and finally scramble out of the water and right into Ghost’s arms.

To be fair, in the shock, you didn’t see his sudden movement toward you, so you yelp again—right into his ear—when he scoops you up. His head jerks back, but he holds you steady regardless.

“Jesus fuck!” you gasp, already shivering hard. Parts of you are too numb to register on your brain’s running docket of limbs and appendages, but others hurt like shit.

“You okay?” Ghost asks, sounding a little breathless. His hands are on your shoulders, holding you in place.

Great question; you don’t have a good answer. You nod, but you’re pretty sure the uncontrollable shivering is telling another story.

“Let’s get you to that tower,” he says. His voice takes on the command form you only heard back when you sat in on the task force’s meeting. It’s solid, and strangely comforting to hear him take charge. “Sooner we’re inside, the better.”

“C-couldn’t agree m-m-more,” you manage, crossing your arms and digging your hands into your armpits.

Ghost takes the lead up the trail, which is good because your legs feel pretty damn numb. You don’t think it’s frostbite yet, but you know that’s a very real risk, especially as the clouds overhead start to darken with the oncoming evening. Because of the tower’s high perch, the trail snakes back and forth up the hill—a half hour’s walk in good weather and a steady pace, but longer in your state.

Ghost’s surprisingly patient, purposefully slowing his pace so you can keep up. He looks over his shoulder again and again, like he’s making sure you’re still there and not face-down in a snowbank. On your end, you keep your eyes fixed on his backpack, determined to keep it in your sight.

Halfway up the hill, Ghost decides to change tactics. He stops, shouldering off his backpack, then handing it to you. “Put it on,” he says. “Then get on my back.”

“What?”

“Just do as I say,” he says, brooking no argument in his tone. “It’ll be faster.”

You put on the backpack, not surprised that it weighs a metric ton. At the same time, your vision swims a little, dark shapes appearing in your vision before fizzling out like little firecrackers.

Oh, we’re in trouble, you think.

Ghost makes sure the backpack’s secure before turning around and going down on a knee to give you space to climb up. Non-hypothermic you would find this a great opportunity to make a down-on-one-knee joke, but you’re way too fucking cold to do much more than shiver and hang on to him for dear life. His hands go to the back of your thighs, supporting you while you cling to his neck, pressing your face into the back of his coat.

“You good?”

You nod.

“Need a verbal confirmation, Ranger,” he says, not without a hint of humor.

You manage a stifled, shuddering laugh and say, “Yep.”

“Good enough.”

He carries you up the hill, the incline steep enough to make the backpack feel heavier somehow. You don’t know how he’s managing it as well as he is, except for whatever freakish training they probably do in England. In your swimming, dizzy mind, you imagine Ghost hoisting crates of tea over his head, and that sends you into a giggling fit.

“What’s so funny back there?” he asks. However, you can’t miss the sliver of concern in his voice.

“H-how d’you train in Eng-g-gland?” you ask, the middle syllable briefly caught in the back of your throat.

“How do I what?”

“B-back where-e-ever you come f-from-m-m,” you say, shivering harder even though you can feel his body heat close to your core. “W-what do th-they make you d-d-do?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and all you hear are his boots crunching in the snow and the wind snapping through the trees around you.

“Vigorous biscuit lifts,” he says.

You snort against his coat, and then cling tighter, feeling your limbs prickle in the cold.

You’re silent the rest of the way up the hill, shivering and sniffling as Ghost carries you. Finally, you reach the top, and you glance up to see the lookout tower’s staircase which until now has never looked so fucking tall.

“Sh-shit,” you say.

“Just hang on,” Ghost says. “You’ll be fine.”

“N-n-no, I th-thought I’d l-l-let go,” you joke, but your arms do feel like they’re going to fall off, and you’re starting to lose feeling in your fingertips.

He grunts and adjusts his hold on your thighs, then starts the ascent up the stairs. You really do have to wonder about his physical training regimen, because you’re pretty sure you’d be dead before you reached the top in your state. He’s only panting, breaths coming out in thin clouds in front of his balaclava.

“S’it locked?” he asks.

“No.”

“Good,” he says, letting you down onto your numb feet so he can open the door. He goes in first, hand close to his thigh holster, quickly scoping the single room before letting you in. "Clear.”

Your steps waver a little as you walk in, then quickly fall onto the bed without much ceremony. You’re a shivering mess, every part of you that you can still feel trembling with the cold. It’s not much warmer in the tower, but at least the wind’s blocked out. Ghost walks over and helps you shoulder off the pack, then leaves your line of site, his presence indicated by heavy footsteps, the sound of the backpack’s zipper being opened, and then soft clanking and thumping.

Your consciousness wavers on a very dangerous precipice, and you know you really need to get out of your wet clothes. You’re not at the paradoxical undressing stage of hypothermia, which is a good sign. But that also means you have no strong desire to strip, either.

Somewhere in your half-doze, you hear Ghost working on the potbelly stove, opening it on its whiny hinges, loading its gullet with wood left over from the last restock, then striking a match. It doesn’t take long to hear the throaty crackle of burning wood, and that’s a comfort in of itself.

Ghost is back at your side, gently shaking your shoulder. “Hey, Ranger,” he says. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”

“Mmn,” is your best response, and not a particularly eloquent one.

“C’mon,” he presses, then manhandles you up into a sitting position. Your muscles give a pretty passionate protest, and you blink wearily up at him as he helps you take off your gloves, then unzips your jacket. His eyes flicker up to yours, assessing you. “You still with me?”

You nod, lifting your stiff arms for him to help you out of your sleeves.

“You know the signs of hypothermia, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut as a fresh rush of pins and needles goes down your right arm.

“Alright, let me know if any of ‘em get worse.” He drops your coat in front of the stove, then gestures to your half-soaked sweater. “Can you get that off by yourself?”

You nod again, then start the suddenly grueling work of getting out of it. It’s heavy wool, designed specifically to be as thick and warm as possible. That also means that it’s a bitch to get out of when your arms feel like cooked pasta. Still, Ghost’s already doing a lot for you, so the least you can do is prove that you’re better at a toddler than taking your clothes off.

Oh. Yeah, there’s that. You’re taking your clothes off in front of Ghost. That’s a whole thing to parse through.

But you manage to get out of the sweater, and that’s a victory. You drop it next to the bed, then start undoing the laces on your boots, fingers fumbling the whole time.

“Need help?” Ghost asks.

You look up at him, and then feel a very welcome heat rush to your face.

He’s ditched his coat on a chair next to the stove, tactical vest laid aside on the lookout’s desk. He’s down to a skin-tight black long-sleeved shirt that does wonders in showing off his musculature, and his hand are— Holy shit, he’s undoing his belt.

“W-what are you d-doing?” you ask. Bonus points for you that you’re not shivering as hard. Lack of bonus points that you’re openly ogling the lieutenant like he’s a prime beef steak (and he is).

He gestures back to you, one boot off, the other half-undone. “Getting undressed,” he says very plainly. “Fastest way to warm you up. You know that.”

You do, is the problem. It’s in every survival manual you’ve read and every class you’ve taken for your job. At the same time, it’s in at least four romance novels you’ve perused. And you’ve spent nearly four full months without coming into contact with any human being for more than an hour at a time; getting naked with a gigantic, musclebound man nearly sends your addled brain into a tailspin.

You quickly undo the other boot, trying to will your hands to stop shaking.

This isn’t the time to get shy, especially as your limbs ache in new and profound ways and you feel like you’re never going to be warm again.

The boot comes off, then you peel your wet socks off and drop them on the floor with a very telling plap sound. Your feet prickle and ache as the chilled air hits them and your shivering renews in spades. The faster you get undressed and under any kind of cover, the better it is for both of you.

Snow pants go next, then your work pants, until you’re down to a t-shirt and long underwear.

And Ghost is—

Fuck.

If there was any blood left in your suffering arms and legs, it must redirect right up to your face, making your head swim in a whole new body of water. Ghost’s stripped down to his boxers and (of course) his balaclava. His back’s to you, but that means it’s on full display as he puts all of his clothing in a semi-neat pile. When he turns back to you, you see his eyes widen a little as he lifts his brows.

“Still wearing too much, Ranger,” he states.

You know that, but there’s a pretty firm disconnect somewhere in your synapses, body firmly resisting any higher command to do literally anything useful.

He seems to register that issue, because he’s at your side in an instant, tugging on the hem of your t-shirt to help you out of it. You squawk in surprise, almost falling back onto the bed.

If you could read masked expressions a bit better, you might think he’s amused.

“I— I can d-do it m-m-myself,” you stutter out. Fighting down any urge to be bashful in a survival situation, you get out of your t-shirt, then maneuver yourself enough to take off your long johns. At the end, you’re down to just a sports bra and panties. Pointedly, you don’t look up to see Ghost’s reaction.

“Take this side of the bed,” he says, gesturing to the edge you’re sitting on. “It’s closer to the stove.”

You do so, feeling him get on the bed and go over to the far side closest to the window. He pulls up the blanket and quilt, then slips underneath them before holding them up for you.

With your back to him, you lay on your side and shimmy under the cold blankets. Behind you, Ghost grunts in what sounds like irritation.

“Turn around,” he says.

You swallow hard, worrying that he’d say that. Reluctantly, you roll over to face him. Or, rather, face his chest, which is alarmingly close. And it’s a good chest, all muscle-y and firm, with a fine dusting of light blond hairs on his pectorals. When you look up, he’s still wearing that balaclava. You squint at him.

“H-how come y-y-you’re still wearing th-that?”

“Doesn’t come off, Ranger,” he states, although the corners of his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling.

“Ever?”

“Affirmative.”

You groan and lean your head forward until it touches one of his collarbones. “Just s-say yes-s,” you complain.

He actually laughs this time, a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest, before you feel his arm wrap around you, pulling him close to him. It’s startling, and damn embarrassing, but you definitely can’t argue with the results. Almost immediately, his body heat seeps into your skin, first warming your hands pressed in between your chests. One of his feet brushes over one of yours, causing you to jump, and then settle with your eyes squeezed shut in mortification.

But that mortification gives way to blissful comfort as everything warms up. The stove radiates heat as the wood crackles and shifts, and Ghost is a stove in himself. The little space beneath the blankets is a pocket of glorious heat, and you start to feel the ache in your limbs recede and your head clear of its chilly fog.

You don’t know how long it is before he speaks again, but his voice comes in close to your ear. “You doing alright, Ranger?”

You’re relaxed enough that you nod and smile with your eyes closed. “Yeah,” you say.

“You ever do this in survival training?”

You scrunch up your nose a little. “I read about it. We never actually practiced stripping down and cuddling.”

He snorts. “It’s not cuddling.”

You crack open an eye, looking up into his greasepaint-ringed gaze. Feeling emboldened by the fact you can feel your arms and legs and nothing hurts, you gently shove his chest. “What do you call this, lieutenant?”

“Hypothermia prevention.”

You roll your eyes. “Just say it’s cuddling. It’s easier. Less syllables.”

He doesn’t say a word.

Before long, the crackling of the fire and Ghost’s steady breathing lull you into a doze. You go in and out of sleep, deeper and deeper as the sky darkens outside and causes the fire to make strange shadows around the room. You wake once to find your arm around Ghost’s waist, your chest pressed against his, the crown of your head under his chin. You’re sleepy enough that this doesn’t strike you as odd or something you should remedy. It’s way too easy to fall asleep after that.

You wake again to Ghost moving against you, getting out from under the blankets and crawling across the bed until he steps down on the floor. You groan and roll over to watch him as he crouches in front of the stove, opening the door to add more wood to the fire.

He stands back up and looks down at you, shadows making his face look like an eyeless skull. You admire his body cast in the warm light, more than happy to openly stare at him when he walks back to the bed.

“You feelin’ alright, Ranger?” he asks.

“Mm. I’d be better if you got back in bed,” you say, heart outrunning your mind by leagues.

He lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “Things that sound better outside of a survival situation,” he says.

As he crawls over you and back under the covers, you do manage to parse that sentence out through the thick haze of sleep. You turn back to face him, looking up into the dark sockets of his mask.

“What does?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“What sounds better?”

He’s silent for a thoughtful moment before he breathes out through his nose. “Nothin’. Forget it.”

Nope. You’re not forgetting it, especially as you wake up a little more and take in the sight of him laying next to you.

Briefly, you think back to the meeting back at the ranger station, when Captain Price outlined the mission to gather intel on the extremist group. You stood across the table from Ghost, watching him as he stared down at the topography map, then at the dossier in front of him. But then he looked up at you, eyes striking in his mask. After that, you felt his eyes on you all afternoon, and again in the morning when you set to head out.

At the time, you thought he was just observant. He needed to know he could trust you to lead him through the wilderness, assessing you in depth and measuring you up against the other rangers at the station.

But now? Well, now you’re not so sure. You could test it, though. Now that you have all your faculties pretty well in check, you’re tempted to see how he would react to you.

Besides, it’s dark and the two of you are isolated in the Montana wilderness. The only bad thing that could come of this is a very awkward morning.

So, in line with Ghost’s whole vibe—go big or go home.

You pull yourself into a sitting position, tucking your fingers up and under the elastic hem of your sports bra. The second you pull your bra up, you hear Ghost’s breath hitch. He doesn’t make a sound as you take your bra off, sighing in relief and dropping it off the side of the bed.

Behind you, Ghost’s voice is a dry, hot rasp. “Feel better?”

Nervousness flutters around in your chest as you shimmy back under the covers, bare chest now just a suggestion in the fabric. You force a smile. “I hate wearing a bra to bed, and you’re not wearing anything.”

“Thought you’d be warmed up enough by now.”

Taking in a breath to steady your nerves, you don’t answer but raise one of your hands to brush over his chest. He doesn’t move back, or seize your wrist. Instead, he holds still, letting your fingers explore the textures of his skin—scarring and all. One particularly rough scar catches your attention, and you run your fingers around its circumference.

“What’s this one?”

You don’t look up, but you feel Ghost’s eyes burning on you. “Bullet wound from an insurgent. 2017. Laid up in hospital for three weeks.”

Your hand goes lower, finding a raised scar as long as a pencil above his navel. “And this one?”

His breathing is steady, but you’re more aware of it now, of the rise and fall of his chest, your shadow cast across his skin. “Hunting knife to the gut from a drug trafficker in London.”

“When?”

“2012.”

“How long were you in the hospital?”

“Two and a half weeks. Most of it was from surgery.”

You nod, getting bold enough to scoot closer until your breasts press against his chest. His breath hitches, which feels like some kind of success. Something you should report back to Captain Price.

Then, one of his hands brushes over your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, down to your hip. Goosebumps rise on your arms and a shiver runs up your spine, thrilling you. His hand goes back up, then follows a line downward over your stomach to a set of small scars on your right side.

“Appendectomy?” he guesses.

You smile. “2019,” you respond. “In the hospital for two whole days.”

“How did you ever survive?”

“Ibuprofen and HBO,” you reply.

You see his mask move with a smile, and then his hand goes up to your chest, following the divot of your sternum. Below his hand, your heart beats deceptively quick, threatening to upend your calmness. Ghost notices, of course, moving his hand to rest over your left breast, your heart threatening to break right out of there like an escaped prisoner.

His voice is like liquid heat in your ears when he says, “Do you want this?”

You could ask him to clarify—play dumb, like you have no idea what you’re insinuating. But the darkness is so all-encompassing, so protective. The world outside doesn’t know about the world in this room, in this bed. You feel safe here, and there’s an opportunity literally laying in front of you.

You smile, and say, “Affirmative.”

He doesn’t jump into action. Instead, his left hand moves down, massive palm covering your breast, pressing gently as he leans his head down close to yours, hard shell of his mask pressing against your forehead.

You look up at him, reaching to tug at the bottom of his balaclava. “Can you take this off?” you ask. “Or at least pull it up over your mouth?”

Another thoughtful silence, and then he does something a little more unexpected. He pulls you close to him, chest to chest, and bodily rolls you over until you’re on the far side of the bed and his back’s to the stove. This way, you can’t see his face, his mask disappearing in his silhouette. You see him reach up and pull the balaclava off, some of his short hair clinging to the fabric before falling away. He sets it down behind him, probably within arm’s reach.

“That better?” he asks, his voice clearer now, hotter, like he’s removed a physical and emotional barrier.

You grin. “Is there anything stronger than ‘affirmative’?” you ask.

“Hard copy,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, then, hard copy, sir.”

And you lean in, pressing your lips to his. In the dark, you miss a little, kissing somewhere closer to his chin; Ghost corrects the approach and kisses you in full. His kiss is like him—strong, solid, an undercurrent of ferocity as he catches your bottom lip with his teeth. Your left hand goes to the side of his face, reeling yourself into him and deepening the kiss. In a word, it’s exhilarating. Maybe it’s in part because of what you’ve gone through today, but you go at him like you crave him, and he returns the favor.

His right hand cups the back of your neck, a gentle but firm pressure. His other hand moves down to your chest, thumb brushing over right nipple, drawing a gasp out of you against his lips. You feel him smile against you, then tweak the nipple again. A small, hot shock of pleasure follows a current down your spine, relaying right into your core and sparking a small fire.

If that’s how he’s going to do it, you’ll do the same.

Pressing your hand to his chest, you bring up one of your knees in between his legs, pressing gently against his crotch and making him bite back a curse. You’re quick to kiss him harder, shutting him up before he can say anything about it. In retaliation, he drops the hand on your neck to palm your other breast, massaging both simultaneously as you moan into his mouth.

Where you were freezing before, it now feels like the room can’t get any hotter. That spark lit by Ghost’s first few touches fans into a fully-fledged flame, threatening to burn right through you. You begin rocking your knee in between his legs—alternating pressure, then no pressure—until his hips begin to move against you, his cock growing hard against your thigh.

You tilt your head back and grin. “Well, isn’t someone an eager beaver?” you tease.

He groans and presses his forehead against yours. “Your pillow talk needs work,” he replies.

Your response to his complaint is to reach down and stroke your fingers over his tented erection, earning a surprised grunt and a hissed, “Shit.”

“What’s shit?” you ask, echoing his words by the river.

His voice is all irritation and arousal in equal parts, “The fact we still have clothes on, that’s what’s shit.”

“Oh. Easy fix.”

Again bypassing ceremony, you curl in on yourself enough to pull your panties off, wiggling out of them before tossing them somewhere in the direction of the stove and hoping they don’t get burnt. Then you hook a leg over his still-clothed hip, grinding against his thigh.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, reaching up to run his fingers through your hair, then forming a half-tight fist so you’re forced to look up at his silhouette. “Now who’s eager?”

“I think it’s a firm tie,” you say, feeling another thrill of victory as Ghost reaches down to shove your leg off and pull down his boxers. Once they’re gone, all the proverbial bets are off. Aside from the shadow he’s wearing like a second mask, he’s completely exposed to you, bare and vulnerable to every touch. It’s like a drug to you, intoxicating and really fucking addicting.

Apparently, Ghost thinks about the same of you. His hand is back on your hip, but trails down to your sex, palming your mons, fingers just brushing over your labia.

You feel him look at you. “Can I?”

No further question from you, especially when your arousal is threatening some serious whiteout conditions in your head. “Yeah. God, yeah.”

One large finger slides against your slit, and you hear yourself, the slick, wet sound audible above anything else in the room. Ghost curses again, drawing his finger back and forth, listening to that sound like he can’t get enough of it.

“Fuck, Ranger. You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

“You kinda have that effect,” you manage to say, before the pad of his finger brushes over your clit and draws out a moan that you bury in his chest.

But his other hand finds your shoulder, pushing you back, before he nudges up under your chin. “No. It’s just us two out here. I wanna hear you,” he says, his voice so hot, smoldering in your ears.

He rubs your clit again, and there’s nothing to hide behind, no muffler to conceal the gasp and moan that follow. Your pleasure is completely on display, and Ghost seems more than happy to draw it out further, admiring it from every angle. He draws circles around your clit, teasing you, adding more fuel to that particular fire—the irony of feeling this way in a tower meant to watch for fires isn’t lost on you.

His finger goes lower, trailing down to your opening, going back and forth several times. The friction is damn near unbearable, and it takes every iota of self control not to grind on his hand. But your hips roll outside your control, and he catches the movement with another low rumble of a laugh.

“There somethin’ you want?” he asks, index finger running a low, lazy circle around your entrance.

You nod, shuddering when he only just dips the tip of his finger in. “Ghost, please.”

“Please what?”

You hear yourself whine, a sound you never thought to hear coming out of your own damn mouth. This man makes you feel ridiculous. And he also probably gets off on hearing you say stuff like this. “Finger me,” you say, exasperated and aroused. “Please, for fuck’s sake.”

“That’s not very pretty,” he teases, and you’re very close to shoving him off the bed. But then he pushes his finger in, and any retort you were set to say or do dies immediately, consumed in the wildfire he’s ignited and fed. He presses his lips to your cheek as you moan, now very unapologetically rolling your hips against his hand as he fingers you, per request. You feel a second finger insinuating against you, and then hear Ghost whisper, “Okay?” against your ear.

“Yes. Oh my God, yes, please.”

“Much prettier,” he says, and the second finger joins the first.

The thought that he’s done this before only just brushes your thoughts as he hooks his fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture, sending hot sparks of pleasure running through your body, using your nervous system like an electrical conduit. You rock against his hand, moaning and gasping as Ghost kisses your neck, scraping his teeth over your tender skin.

“Good girl,” he says, breath hot over your shoulder, before he presses a kiss against your clavicle. How his kisses can feel so chaste while he relentlessly fingerfucks you is beyond your comprehension. The praise just makes it better, making that hot coil inside of you turn tighter, ready to be sprung on a hair trigger.

Ghost picks up on that, too. He suddenly doubles down on the effort, fingers thrusting into you at a much more rapid pace, the wet sound of his hand against your pussy practically deafening. Only his murmurs of praise against your ear register above that.

You’re reduced to a repetitive litany of ‘god’, ‘fuck, ‘please’, and Ghost’s name. All those months without seeing people and having only your hand to keep you company make this oncoming orgasm all the more vibrant and bright, a flare launched high into the air with a huge charge set to explode.

Your hips arch up, and Ghost hooks his fingers again, saying, “Come for me,” in a firm command tone.

And you are not one to ignore a command.

You come hard, crying out and arching off the bed, toes digging into the mattress, hands grasping for literally anything solid, including Ghost. He fucks you through it, coaxing your release out with the finesse of someone defusing an explosive. You come down in fits and starts, catching on little plateaus of pleasure along the way, moaning all the while. Finally, you go practically boneless on the bed, and only then does Ghost relent and pull his fingers away.

You hear him chuckle, a dry and throaty rasp of sound that makes you feel hot all over.

“What’s so funny?” you say, although your words are slurred as endorphins run relay races through your body.

He holds his hand up so that the firelight catches it, and you very plainly see how wet his whole hand is. To show it off, he presses his fingers together, then spreads them out, showing thin strings bridging between them.

“Oh, God,” you squeak, covering your face with your hands and fighting back a round of giggles. “I am so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he says, clearly pleased. He reaches somewhere behind him, presumably to wipe his hand off on the side of the bed.

And sweetheart. This man is going to kill you, and it has nothing to do with his occupation.

You tilt your head up to kiss him again, sighing against his lips and pressing yourself close. His right hand finds the side of your face, residual dampness from your orgasm still very present. Except he treats it like a trophy, dragging it down to your neck so you can feel it.

It’s also impossible to ignore his arousal prodding against your hip. Not that you intended to ignore it.

Before you can think and reason out an appropriate response, your primal brain takes hold. “Can I ride you?” you ask, and only after it’s said do you feel any kind of horror at outright asking. He purposefully arranged the two of you so you couldn’t see his face, like a Montana wilderness version of Eros and Psyche. Now you’re asking for him to lay on his back, exposed to you in every way.

He’s silent, and you’re about to apologize and suggest spooning or something when he says, “Sure.”

You blink, almost certain you misheard. “Say what?”

“You can, yeah.”

“What about the—”

It’s his turn to kiss you quiet, taking the opportunity to pull you close again and roll on his back. You meet the movement with your own, straddling his hips and feeling his erection press against your sex with insistence. You keep kissing Ghost with your eyes closed, finding his hand next to his head with your own and weaving your fingers together. His grip on your hand is firm—a solid, warm reassurance.

You turn your head, keeping your eyes closed. “I can keep my eyes shut if you want,” you tell him, only to feel his other hand come up and run over your back.

“You can look,” he says.

It feels like a point of no return now. Seeing his face, knowing that a person who this morning was still a stranger with a codename is now going to be very real—you’re almost breathless at the thought.

Slowly, you sit up while astride him, and open your eyes.

He’s— Well, handsome doesn’t seem like a well-rounded enough word. You were more on the mark with the Eros and Psyche metaphor. Firelight and shadow play across sharp features, making him look otherworldly. There’s still greasepaint around his eyes, which makes his gaze all the more intense. But the intensity is mitigated by a plush mouth, a distinctive nose, and a firm jaw. His light hair catches the warm ember-gold hue from the fire. All his features put together make for a face that you want burnt into your memory.

“Jesus, Ghost. You hide this on purpose?” you ask.

He smiles, and it’s only hearing him speak that connects the Ghost you know to the man underneath you. “Yes,” he says. “And it’s Simon.”

You must look owlish, eyes wide, blinking, damn sure you misheard again.

Ghost seems pleased by your reaction, reaching up with his free hand to brush hair out of your face. “That’s my name. My actual name.”

“Simon,” you repeat. A human name to a human face. There’s some poetry in there, but you’re too dazzled to work through it.

“Sounds good when you say it.”

You preen a little, then lean down and kiss him, savoring the sensation for everything it’s worth. And you know he read your name on the dossier, heard it from the other rangers—still, you whisper it into his ear like a secret, and he repeats it back to you in his low voice, accent curling around it perfectly.

Yeah, you’re absolutely going to ride this man until sunrise.

You reach down and take his cock into your hand, stroking it a few times and pressing your thumb up under the exposed head. Ghost—Simon moans and tilts his head back, watching you under half-lidded eyes. Carefully, you go up on your knees and align yourself with him, slowly lowering down and adjusting as needed. He’s big, which you expected from everything else about him. But it’s not a painful fit; if anything, it feels damn good.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand stroking over your hip as he looks to where you’re joined. “You have no idea what you look like right now.”

“Neither do you,” you reply, very much enjoying the angle. He fills you up completely, the strain of him just a pleasurable ache. You moan at the sensation as you experimentally rock on top of him. “Ohhh, I am so glad you got me off first.”

“What can I say? I’m chivalrous,” he replies, although it sounds a little strained as you move your hips again.

“That’s what you call it?”

Another roll, and he looks like he’s seconds from thrusting up into you. But he’s being conscientious, letting you adjust and go at your own pace. His eyes flutter closed, and you almost want to ask him to keep them open so you can enjoy their expressiveness.

“Something, something about being a British gentleman,” he mutters, and you can’t help but laugh. Apparently, that sensation’s pretty good for him; he shudders beneath you and keeps his hand braced on your hip.

Without his mask, you want to put him through the paces of reaction, committing each expression to memory, cataloging them for future use. So you go up on your knees again and come off his cock, then bring yourself back down. You do it a few more times, watching Simon’s expression with enormous interest, the pleasure and arousal doing fabulous things to his face.

He moans your name, and you’re definitely going to use that as fantasy fodder in the future.

Your earlier orgasm gives you plenty of lubrication to work with, and so you start to fuck yourself on him in earnest. In return, you’re rewarded with a low moan and a quiet, “Fuuuuck.”

The friction feels way too goddamn good, setting up another explosive charge inside of you as Simon starts meeting the bounce of your hips with thrusts of his own. Two opposing forces working toward the same goal, and it feels incredible.

You start to rock back on his cock, using his upward thrust as momentum to hit you just right. It’s the perfect angle, apparently for both of you, as Simon’s now breathing heavily, sweat a fine sheen on his skin.

“Yes, Simon, fuck me,” you whisper, beyond turned on at the wet sound of him fucking into you. You can’t tell if it’s hearing his name like that, the command, or both that make him really lean into this, but he’s pushing up hard, groaning and pulling you down so you’re pressed to his chest.

You wonder how long it’s been for him, too—briefly thinking oh god what if he’s got someone back home and I’m a fucking homewrecker before one particular upward thrust makes you cry out, clenching down on him in a way that’s audibly very good for him. You turn your head enough to see your joined hands, and when you squeeze his hand, you don’t feel any rings on his fingers. He does squeeze back, though, and it just feels like another reassurance.

There’s no way to keep track of time, and you really wish this could go on forever. The heat generated between the two of you is scorching, all-encompassing, a forest fire caught on the cusp of the lookout tower and reported to no one but yourselves.

His pace stutters a moment, the first hint that he’s very close. He releases his grip on your hand to grab at your other hip, pushing you up and off of him before you resolutely sit down, taking his cock in full and drawing a sharp gasp out of both of you.

“No,” you pant. “No, I have an IUD. You can— Ah, fuck— You can come inside me, Simon.”

“Oh, bloody fucking Christ,” he breathes, eyes wide and beautiful. “You’re sure?”

In response, you rock back against him, squeezing hard around his cock. “Affirmative,” you say, then lean down and kiss him again. “Very hard copy.”

And that’s enough to tip him right off the edge. He thrusts once, twice, and then he moans against your mouth, one of his hands going up to card through your hair, pressing you so close to him that you can feel his heart beating against your chest. You feel him come inside you, a pulse of heat, a sense of fullness. The room seems to take on new, brighter colors, and when you look at Simon, he looks fucking euphoric. The firelight gives him a look that’s like a touch of divinity, a golden cast over his face and body.

You take your time getting off of him, enjoying the feeling of him inside you too much. That, and there’s no bathroom, no shower—the comedown also means that reality’s a little too close at hand.

Simon catches his breath, hand loosely stroking your hair, and he presses a kiss to your temple before letting his head fall back onto the pillow. “Holy fuck,” he says.

You grin and nod against his shoulder, then slowly pull yourself off his softening cock, causing both of you to groan, albeit far weaker than before. You collapse onto the narrow bed beside him, nuzzling up close to him, hand on his chest, as he pulls the blankets up over you and wraps an arm around your shoulder. Your foreheads touch, and you listen to his breaths even out, his heart rate firm and steady under your hand.

“Probably too late to ask if you have a partner, huh?” you say, smiling as you run your thumb over his skin.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t, and I also feel stupid for not asking.”

You look up at him, the orange line of firelight tracing his features. “I don’t either. You’re good.”

He smiles, and you set that expression in your memory, drawing it in great detail. “My job kind of gets in the way.”

“Mine, too,” you reply, tracing spirals over his chest with your index finger. “It’s hard to get a date when you live out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Didn’t want to go check out the paramilitary extremists next door?”

You grimace and hide your face against his chest, shaking your head. “Gross. No.”

His chest shakes with laughter, and it’s wonderful.

---

Morning comes too quick, dawning cold and gray, reminding you that there’s a whole weird world outside the confines of the lookout tower. You and Simon get up, both aching very pleasantly, exchanging one too-brief kiss before his radio goes off.

“Ghost, how copy?” Price’s voice comes through in a crackle.

“Fuck,” Simon hisses, getting up and crossing the room to his radio. You at least can enjoy that he does so fully nude. He picks up the radio and keys it, scratching at his stubble as he responds, “At location 29-B and holding, Captain,” he says, his voice a dry scratch of sound. “The ranger had a medical issue.”

“Is she alright? Do you need a med evac?”

“Negative,” he replies. “We’re moving in about an hour.”

“Rog’. Keep me posted.”

“Will do, sir.”

An hour. You groan and fall back on the bed, staring up at the bare wood ceiling, decades worth of cobwebs in the corners. Simon falls back into bed beside you, cupping your face and drawing you into another firm kiss. Then, something dawns on you, and you lean back, looking over his handsome face in the morning light.

“When you say we’re moving in an hour, do you mean moving out, or just moving?”

His brows go up, slightly crooked smile on his face. “I think I didn’t specify, Ranger,” he says. “Do you have a preference?”

You laugh, leaning in close and pressing your forehead against his again. “Affirmative,” you say.

Simon laughs and shakes his head. “You could just say yes.”

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #modern warfare ii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #prompt fill #VERY big prompt fill oh god i'm so sorry #i've spent most of the day on this!!#and it's not edited yet because it's 10pm now and i'm very tired #did i have cody in mind as the model for the reader? yes. do i kinda ship her and ghost now? YEAH

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inafieldofdaisies · 8 months

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Ship Art | John Seed x Sabrina Donovan | sketch by @felrija ❤️ || a scene from my WIP In Hope Of Tomorrow, snippet below the cut

"I won't lie, I was planning on killing you." "And yet you didn't. Why?" "A change of circumstances."

It felt like at least 2 hours had passed before the door opened again. Sabrina kept her eyes casted downward as a pair of boots came into view, crossing over the threshold, their owner humming a familiar tune. I know this melody. It was the song she sang in the cell. He was there, listening. The realization made her look up, her hazel eyes met John's as he neared, stepping into the light that spilled from the chandelier above. He was wearing jeans, a blue dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up and way too many buttons undone, on top of it was a vest that belonged more in a courtroom than in a bunker in the Middle of nowhere, Montana. "Kept you waiting, didn't I, Deputy?" A dark smirk marred his handsome face, his posture exuding confidence, like he was about to slip into an opening statement any moment. Only in this room he had full reign, assuming the role of judge, jury and executioner. "Probably should consider serving some tea, maybe redecorating your dungeon. Red's a bit on the nose, don't you think? And I wouldn't rate your goon very highly on any scale either." The comment made him chuckle, and she tried to ignore how familiar it sounded, how it pulled on her soul. "Now, I'm not usually late, but someone decided to attempt to derail my Cleansing.", at that he unconsciously went to smooth out his dark hair, making Sabrina realize it's damp. Sabrina narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching, "Did someone try to drown you, Seed?" Don't laugh again. And he didn't, sending a smirk her way instead. "Now, Deputy, enough jokes, there are more pressing matters.", his head tilted slightly, his expression almost... giddy. "What's a joke is you thinking holding a Deputy hostage is a good idea, you of all people should know it's far from it. Aren't you supposed to be a hotshot lawyer?", she couldn't stop her sneer. "Deputy-" Sabrina cut him off, "I have a name." "Yes. Sabrina Blythe Donovan.", he said it matter-of-factly, but Sabrina could tell he took pride in that knowledge. It didn't shock her he knew her full name, with Nancy being on Eden's Gate side no doubt information about the whole Sheriff's Department was leaking like a sieve. A dry laugh escaped her, "Next you're going to tell me the name of my first boyfriend." John crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow, "Knowledge is power after all. And, Sabrina, you wouldn't be here if you didn't try to arrest my brother. You all had choice and it led to this." She pushed down the feeling at how familiar her name sounded on his lips, the twinge of longing it caused in her was nothing. It had to be.

"There was an arrest warrant. I was just doing my job. Your brother is a criminal, and now so are you and all of your people." "I'm doing MY job, Deputy. You're a sinner and so are your friends.", he retorted, his words full of conviction as he headed for his torture table. Sabrina froze, expecting him to notice a knife was missing, when he said nothing, she continued, "Why am I here?" The words came out sharper than intended, carrying the tone she used when interrogating suspects back in Portland, the one that got her straight answers and stripped away all the nonsense. John turned, a look of amusement flashing across his face as he leaned against the table, legs crossed at the ankles. "I should be the one asking questions here, Deputy." "Old habits die hard, I was a-" "A detective back in", a dramatic pause, he raised a finger, "Portland. And you left it all behind to work for Whitehorse. Can't wait for you to tell me why." "I'm not telling you shit. I don't know what you think you're doing-" John stalked towards her with swiftness that took her aback as he grabbed the armrests of her chair, the force behind his movement making the wheels skid across the floor. His face had grown serious, piercing blue eyes boring into hers as he loomed over her. "You will talk, confess every sin, no matter how small. I know exactly what I’m doing here."

Their proximity sent a shiver up her spine and she tried to tell herself it was the bad kind. He was so close to a point Sabrina could smell the musky scent of river that clung to his skin. He had indeed taken a dive, her amusement at the confirmation died down quickly. His nearness, the position of his hands as he held onto the chair allowed her to see his tattoos in detail for the first time. In seconds her whole world came crashing down, her blood froze. No. She knew these tattoos, had seen them countless times in her visions, had drawn them over and over to the point they were embedded in her memory. NO. The hand holding hers as the world ended. The man that called her "Butterfly". It was John. John fucking Seed. His voice snapped her out of her thoughts, "Hm. A butterfly." He was looking at her tattoo, at one of the butterflies that wasn't hidden by the strap of her top. As if she needed any more reminders of the tragic realization she had just came to, John said the damned word again as he backed away, "Why a butterfly, Deputy?" He was back to being nonchalant, like the outburst hadn't even happened. All she could do was blink, wishing her eyes were lying to her.

"You still with me, Sabrina?", it had finally hit him she wasn't replying, that she wasn't talking back. Breathe. Focus. Snap out of it. "Wish I wasn't, won't lie.", she tried to hold onto her composure. Silence took over as John went back to his table, picking up a tool, looking it over then placing it down with care and grabbing another one, repeating the process. It felt mechanical, like a show. Her own knife felt heavy in her hands, the tip prickling her skin, a wake-up call. She knew what she had to do in order to get back to Savannah, imagined it in the hours he made her wait on him. Plunging the blade deep, ending a life. But doubt was creeping in... Her plan, the dark path she planned to take, there was a chance she would fail, she had seen him alive too many times. And her most recent vision... from the sounds of that one he was breathing and pissed off. John spoke up again, his attention still on the table in front of him, "My brother's church. Let's start there. You saw something." It wasn't a question, he sounded sure of it. She hadn't been able to hide her distress, even tried to stop the arrest. A new path became visible. A plan with a giant leap of faith. Probably the most dumb and risky decision she has ever made in her life. He wanted answers, and she was going to play along. For now. "I will tell you what I saw, but I doubt you'd believe it, they never do." Another smirk, making her feel nauseous. "Try me, Deputy." "I saw the crash. Before it happened, I mean." "A vision.", he nodded mostly to himself, "Joseph has them." "You believe then?" "They're from God. Of course I believe him." John believed Joseph, not her. She was used to people's scepticism, but she had a way to prove it this time. "There's more, John." Something flashed across his face at her saying his name outloud for the very first time, but the mask was back in place too quickly for her to figure out what. Focus. Her mother was good at selling any con, always knew how to approach a person, what they'd want to hear, which buttons to push.

"Say his name. Look him in the eyes and sell the idea, make him think it's his own, darling. There's always an offer a man won't be able to refuse, one he'd throw himself in the deep end for, willingly. And when he's about to sink, you offer a hand, pledge your loyalty. He'd be a goner before you know it."

A part of Candice lived in Sabrina, and for once she let it take over.

"I will tell you what's coming, but I will need something in return.", her voice sounded unshakeable, certain, the exact opposite of how she felt inside. John didn't break her eye contact, nor interrupted her. Sabrina got up from the chair, discarding the ropes as her hands dropped to her sides. "You've been untied this whole time, Deputy?", his eyes shone with amusement again. She took a few steps until she stood almost in front of him, her hand holding out her knife. Surrendering her weapon. "And you had a knife?" When he made no move to take it, Sabrina placed the blade on his "work" bench and walked back, sitting down in the chair and rubbing her wrists. "I won't lie, I was planning on killing you." "And yet you didn't. Why?" "A change of circumstances."

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contrivedcoincidences6 · 1 year

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Photos of us

So I haven’t written for TXF since like early 2019 but I’ve been wanting to pick up some of my old WIPs and write a bit more lately. This is a heavily unedited little thing I wrote quickly just to break myself back into Mulder and Scully’s heads. Just a little moment in a world I wish existed for them. Canon divergent Post season 9 of TXF.

***

The quaint church that sat nestled in the green rolling woods of Kila, Montana was silent that morning but for the sound of the birds that could be heard through the open windows. Little William Scully squirmed in the arms of the church secretary, the witness, pulling to get to his mother who stood just a few feet away making faces at the baby in an attempt to break him out of his fussy mood. Mulder watched with a smile as Scully puffed up her cheeks at the toddler finally drawing a musical giggle. As if he’d timed it the pastor finally reappeared holding his reading glasses aloft to show the group he’d been successful. “Sorry about that folks,” he said as he took his place standing in front of Mulder and Scully, “where did I leave off, ah yes,” he muttered as he thumbed through his bible, “the only verse Ms. Scully requested: Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken, Ecclesiastes 4:9-12.”

Mulder squeezed Scully’s hand, drawing her gaze to him from where it had been politely placed on the pastor as he spoke, and gave her a wink. She smiled at him and squeezed back, she had that same happy look on her face that he’d been surprised to see most days since they’d had to leave everything behind but he supposed he often wore the same expression. Despite the difficulties of leaving their lives and Scully’s family they were together. “Now your rings,” the pastor said, gesturing at Mulder who let go of one of Scully’s hands to ding the rings out of his pocket. They were simple gold bands that they’d chosen without ceremony a few days before. He passed his ring to Scully and took her left hand, bending to place a quick kiss on it before positioning the ring over her finger. Before the wedding Mulder had indicated to the pastor exactly the wording he wanted, not being religious Scully had let him decide any wording he wanted only saying she wanted the verse from Ecclesiastes included. The pastor began then, “‘I offer you this ring to wear as a symbol of our unbreakable bond. Let it be a reminder of my eternal faith in you.’” Mulder repeated the words and fitted the ring to Scully’s hand, treasuring the slight blush that spread across Scully’s face and the sudden wetness of her eyes. Scully repeated the words then her eyes never leaving his as she slid the ring onto his finger. He’d known for years that there would never be anyone for him but Scully and he’d said these things to her before but it became clear after not so long of being on the run that they needed to make things legal, to protect each other and William. Still it was nice to stand together and say these things. The pastor said a few more things though Mulder was not listening to much of it, he just watched Scully’s face as she looked up at him with a shy smile. He asked them if they each took the other in marriage and both answered ‘I do’ without hesitation. “By the power vested in me by the state of Montana I now pronounce you married, you may kiss,” the pastor said at last with a kind smile. Scully was pulling Mulder’s face to hers before Mulder even realized the ceremony was over. Her kiss was strong and sure, the same kiss she gave him in his jail cell that told him that she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her. William’s babbling drew them out of their kiss and they both looked over to the baby who had his arms outstretched toward them. Mulder picked up his son and held him facing Scully who gave him a delicate kiss on the forehead. “How could we leave you out?” She said in a baby voice that made William giggle. They thanked the pastor and his secretary who took a few polaroid photos of them before they left. In the car Scully looked at the pictures in her hand, one that was just the two of them smiling for the camera holding each other and the other of the three of them. “That was nice,” she said as she traced the photo of their little family with her finger and was quiet for a minute before saying, “this is the first picture of the three of us.” She didn’t say anything else after that, just looked down at the photo thoughtfully until Mulder pulled into the small town grocery store. Looking up suddenly as he stopped, Scully asked, “Did we need something?” “I was going to run in and grab us some champagne, maybe a little dessert to celebrate,” Mulder said as he unbuckled, he grinned at her and exited the car with more than one goal in mind. A few minutes later he came back with a small bag of treats for them. Scully started going through the bag but stopped when she found the main item that Mulder had gone in for. “A camera?” She said smiling as she unwrapped the plastic around the disposable camera. He heard her crank the film up and grinned as she turned in her seat to face William in the back. Scully made funny sounds until William started to giggle and she took a snapshot of the laughing baby. “Thank you, Mulder,” she said, placing a hand over his on the wheel. Mulder twisted his hand around, weaving their fingers together, and brought her hand to his lips. That night they drank champagne and made s’mores by the fire in their one room cabin as Scully took the photo she’d had taken for her mom of the three of them and wrote up a letter to her that would first be sent to a safe box that would then be picked up by Skinner in a few weeks and handed over to her mother. “When you were gone I realized how few pictures I had of you,” Scully said after William was in bed and they sat together watching the fire die down, “when I thought you were gone forever it haunted me that I only had one good picture of us together, and it was old, from some convention or another. I hadn’t even known it existed but I found it in your things and framed it. After you left to go into hiding I regretted every night that I hadn’t thought to take a picture of us before you left.” Mulder pulled her onto his lap then and hid his face in her neck, taking a deep breath and reminding himself it was real and she was there with him. “I’m so sorry Scully,” he whispered into her neck after a couple minutes, “when we get to a bigger town I’ll get you a nicer camera, we’ll take so many pictures we’ll never run short.” Her fingers ran through his hair in a familiar way and he felt her smile. “More pictures will be nice but I don’t plan on ever letting you get that far away again.”

#txf #the x files #mrs #the x files fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder

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soldwrecked · 8 months

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SAWYER CARSON

eyes full of stars, hustlin’ for the good life.

NAME: sawyer amos carson

AGE: 20

D.O.B: june 14, 1852

ORIENTATION: closeted bisexual with a male lean

OCCUPATION: ranch hand/cowboy, aspiring artist

FAMILY: born to amos wayne carson and dakota josephine carson, both alive. only sibling is a twin sister, sarah-belle carson (alive). partners and children are verse dependent.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE: tall and lanky but has muscle definition. wears chaps or jeans and cowboy boots along with shirts and the occasional vest. typically wears a hat as well. blue eyes and brown hair.

EDUCATION: homeschooled by his mother. his father taught him everything there is to know about ranching and being a cowboy. self taught artist.

RELIGION: raised catholic, practicing atheist

ALIGNMENT: neutral good

ZODIAC: gemini

PERSONALITY:

i’ve got some tricks up my sleeve, takes one to know one.

loyal. hardworking. selfless lover. good with animals. puts 100% into everything he does. dedicated.

HISTORY:

Sawyer was born to Dakota and Amos Carson two years after they married. They thought they were pregnant with one baby, but they were in for quite a surprise when Dakota went into labor. They were having twins. The news caused a fair bit of panic; they’d conceived young and married younger and they weren’t quite sure how they would support one baby, let alone two. Still, they raised Sawyer and Sarah-Belle on their small ranch in Montana with as much love as was possible to give.

The twins were always inseparable. Everyone always said they did everything together. Dakota homeschooled them until they were eighteen and Amos taught Sawyer how to raise horses and herd sheep and everything else that came with being a good ranch hand. Sarah typically helped their mother with the cooking and the cleaning, but she’d occasionally come out to ride with Sawyer when she had a free moment. As Sawyer grew, he realized that while he loved ranching, he didn’t want to be a farmer for the rest of his life. He’d rather travel and see the world and he’d developed a passion for art that had grown into something bigger.

He couldn’t tell anyone, though. His father was raising him to take over their ranch and carry on the family business. If he caught wind that his son was secretly saving up for art school, it wouldn’t be pretty. So Sawyer continued working and learning. He took odd jobs here and there, saving the money to pay for an art school (if he could find one that would take him). He was self taught and mostly sketched; he didn’t know of any art school that wanted sketches. Still, he never gave up his dream and he continued to save and work until he had enough money.

tags

verses

stars and sky and open fields//verse - sawyer’s main verse. he lives with his parents and sarah-belle on their ranch, tending to the horses and sheep. he’s close with both parents and his father often takes him out with him on ranching jobs. he’s good at what he does, everyone says so, but he longs for more. he wants to be an artist. he wants to see the world. he knows it’s not possible, but he saves anyway, hoping that one day he’ll have enough money to get into a good school.

masquerading as an artist//verse - sawyer in art school. he managed to save up enough to pay tuition and get into the school. it’s new for him; he’s never known life beyond the ranch and everyone here seems so sure of themselves. but he’s passionate about what he does and he’s never been one to quit, so he stays. he loves it and that’s all that matters. this can also be made into a modern verse if needed.

he’s a natural cowboy//verse - modern day sawyer. he’s still a ranch hand that wants to be an artist, but he also works at a mechanic’s on the side. it gets him more money and he’s always been good with machines. his parents are still close with him and sarah-belle and he never strays too far from their home.

dynamics

blood is thicker than water//dyn: sawyer/sarah-belle

the warmth of a mother’s hand//dyn: sawyer/dakota

everything good i learned from my father//dyn: sawyer/amos

miscellaneous

thinking out loud//headcanon

so many stars at night//aesthetic

there’s nothing prettier than a cowboy//faceclaim

#stars and sky and open fields//verse #masquerading as an artist//verse #he’s a natural cowboy//verse #blood is thicker than water//dyn: sawyer/sarah-belle #the warmth of a mother’s hand//dyn: sawyer/dakota #everything good i learned from my father//dyn: sawyer/amos #thinking out loud//headcanon #so many stars at night//aesthetic #there’s nothing prettier than a cowboy//faceclaim

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readingsrantsrambles · 10 months

Text

The Bon Iver Boys Bob for Bass and Bluegill at the Harlem Meer

The drummer Sean Carey, who schedules his tours around fly-fishing stops, tries out some urban angling in Central Park with his bandmates Zach Hanson and Ben Lester.

By Adam Iscoe - New Yorker Magazine - June 5, 2023

The musician S. Carey, whose first name is Sean, and who is a drummer for the band Bon Iver, goes fly-fishing whenever he has the chance. Largemouth bass in Half Moon Lake with his kids, near their home, in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Cutthroat trout while on tour in Montana. He recently started organizing his solo-tour schedule around fly-fishing: a trout trip to a secret stretch of river in the Catskills (“Some places you have to be a bit closed-lips about”) was followed by a concert in Brooklyn, and then by an afternoon angling for bluegill and bass in Central Park, with two of his bandmates, Zach Hanson and Ben Lester. “I’m not, like, driven by success or fame,” Carey said. “I’d rather go fishing.”

Snapping turtles stretched out along the banks of the Harlem Meer, which is stocked with bass, crappie, and catfish. “Urban fishing is a whole different thing,” Carey said, walking by a little boy. “You’ve got to be careful not to hook anyone!” Nearby, James Brown blasted from a boom box on an electric scooter, and a local fisherman, dressed in a green tracksuit, caught a six-inch largemouth bass.

Carey wore a hoodie, green Crocs, and polarized sunglasses, and carried a Patagonia tackle bag packed with flies, snacks, and a Lawrence Ferlinghetti book. “Fishing gets you out of your own head,” he said. “Hours can pass, and you’re, like, ‘I don’t know what time it is.’ ” He held a fly rod under his left arm as he tied a fluffy orange-and-gold homemade Woolly Bugger onto the line. “I’m terrible at knots, actually,” he said, twisting the filament ten times.

“You do ten, huh? I, like, max out at six, maybe!” Lester said. He had on camo Crocs and a canvas fly vest. Carey threw out a cast, which landed near a partially submerged orange construction cone. Lester caught a six-inch bluegill. “I grew up spin-casting,” Carey said. “It was my dad’s favorite hobby.” Fifteen years ago, in college, in Eau Claire, Lester taught Carey to fly-fish. “By the end of that summer, I was addicted,” Carey said.

A few years later, Justin Vernon, Bon Iver’s front man, uploaded his début album, “For Emma, Forever Ago,” to MySpace. He had recorded the LP at a cabin in Wisconsin. Carey said, “I took it upon myself to learn all the songs really, really well. At his first show, at this coffee shop with eighty people, I just told him, ‘Hey, man, do you want me to play drums and sing? I can do it.’ And he was just blown away by it.” Two hours before Bon Iver’s first show, Carey became the second member of the band. The group’s next album won a Grammy.

In 2009, Carey started recording his own first record in the spare moments between touring and fishing trips. He released his most recent album, “Break Me Open,” last year, on Earth Day. “It’s about loss and change and grief,” he said. In 2021, Carey’s marriage fell apart; his dad died a few months later. “It was tough and dark, and the music was a huge way out,” he said.

Around five o’clock, a stranger in a wide-brimmed hat and Birkenstocks shouted, “There’s a big white carp in the corner over there!” He added, “This is my home water. I live across the street.” He grinned. “I’m not fishing today, but this is my home water, man.” A huge fish swam toward the shore. Hanson cast at it, and the carp darted away.

The stranger suggested another spot: “Go through the woods. There’s, like, a crick that runs through, and you follow the crick up over to the West Side, and there’s a pond on that side, too.” In Central Park, the woods are called the Ravine, the crick is known as the Loch, and the pond is the Pool.

The Pool was a bust, so Carey wandered to a billion-gallon lake he’d heard about, the Reservoir. “I thought it’d be funny to walk around with all these fly vests and fishing gear,” he said, “but nobody’s batted an eye.”

A man rode past on a double-decker custom-made bicycle. A gaggle of birders aimed expensive lenses up into a tree. Someone on a park bench smoked a blunt, and a group of friends debated superpowers.

“What’s the ultimate superpower, man?”

“Super strength!”

“Flying!”

“A lot of them are unique, that’s all I’m gonna say. But the best one?”

“Wings.”

“Levitating!”

At the Reservoir, Carey peered over an iron fence. “I like the water clarity,” he said. But there was no access. He’d caught only one fish all day.

“Let’s eat something!” Lester said.

They located a Mister Softee truck out on Fifth Avenue. Lester and Hanson ordered vanilla cones, and Carey got an Oreo Crunchie Crash. “I suppose if you’re gonna live in a city, you know, it’s a pretty good one,” he said. ♦

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

when you wake up.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: i’m a sucker for protective aaron, alright? sue me. i have checked and double checked, but if i’ve messed up any gender-neutralisms, please let me know! i’d like to thank snow, the academy, and my welbutrin for their spiritual aid as i write these fics at an alarming rate rating/words: teen / 2642 warnings: canon-typical injury, swearing, kissing

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Open!

+++

“You know –“ you gasped, grimacing through the pain, “blood is a bitch to get out of a wool blend.”

Aaron pressed his lips together, his forearms flexing as he staunched the bleeding from the gunshot wound in your shoulder with his gorgeous navy pinstripe blazer.

That one was my favorite, you thought with a pout.

He had you propped against a wall, his shirt splattered with your blood. He had torn the collar of your shirt for better access to your wound, and your vest was entirely forgotten on the floor beside you. Emily called the paramedics about seven minutes prior, but the backroads of Montana were not conducive to prompt medical service.

The pain wasn’t unbearable, and surely you’d been through worse.

Shock is a hell of a drug.

Nevertheless, his concern was touching. It had been a while since either one of you were injured – long before you realized you had feelings for each other and did absolutely nothing about it.

It all happened so fast – you had your gun trained on the unsub, who was using the sixth almost-victim as a shield. As soon as Derek and Aaron threw the back door open, he’d shoved the frightened young woman toward Derek and moved really quickly.

Bang. Ouch. Fuck.

“Aaron.”

He didn’t respond and was dutifully ignoring your eyes, focused entirely on the blood gushing through his fingers under your shoulder blade. The hand attached to your injured arm wrapped around his bicep, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his sleeve.

“I’m fine,” you continued. “It’s through and through. Six weeks tops I’ll be back to my old tricks.”

You brought your other hand to his hair, and he leaned into your touch almost unconsciously. Your thumb smoothed over the hair at his temple, where tiny silver streaks rested in the inky black. You were just teasing him about his greys last week.

“They make you look distinguished!” You insisted. You were behind him as he sat at his dining room table, helping Jack set the table for dinner while Aaron tried (in vain) to review a consult.

“They make me look old,” he retorted in a deadpan.

You raked your fingers through the hair at his temples, massaging his scalp all the way to the crown of his head. He leaned back, his hand relaxing around his pen. With a final pat to the top of his head, you stepped away and returned to the pasta sauce.

“No old man would cook as badly as you do.”

His withering glare made his son laugh out loud, and the look only grew darker as you offered Jack a high-five.

“You’re still losing a lot of blood.” His voice was low and tense, his jaw tight.

Derek hovered nearby, though Aaron had shooed him away minutes earlier. He was talking into the comm, likely getting status updates from EMS.

Offering Derek a weak smile, you let your hand drop to Hotch’s wrist. Your eyes were heavy, but you fought to keep them open. Falling unconscious now would only worry him more.

“Aaron, you need to breathe.”

He huffs, and it’s almost a laugh but there’s no humor in it. “You’re telling me to breathe?”

“I’m breathing just fine.” And you were, focused only on the feel of his hands on your skin and the slow, deep breaths you took to keep your oxygen levels high as your blood pressure dropped. “Breathe with me, please. It’ll make me feel better.” That was a low blow, but you were pulling every card you had to keep him from breaking his teeth with that clenched jaw.

God, you were just so tired.

Aaron’s brown eyes flickered up to yours and softened. He leaned forward, shifting his weight and wrapping an arm around you as sirens faintly wailed some distance away. “Lean into me. It’s okay. You can sleep. I’ve got you.”

You were cheek-to-cheek when you finally passed out, succumbing to the heaviness.

+++

When you woke up, your shoulder ached, and the lights were way too bright.

There was a weight dipping the mattress on your left side and a dark shadow on your right.

You lifted your head slightly to see Aaron fast asleep, his head resting on his arms. You smiled and redirected your attention to your right. The dark shadow was Emily, watching you with a soft smile.

“Hey, champ.”

“Hey Em.”

She gestured to Aaron with her chin. “He hasn’t left once.” There was an implication behind her words, something not-quite suggestive, but understanding.

You ignored it for now. “How long was I out?” You brought your hand to Aaron’s tense shoulder, relaxing there, your thumb tracing back and forth over his baby blue button-down. Your IV line pulled a little, and you retracted your hand to his bicep.

“About two days. Surgery went really well – they just had to patch up a couple of ligaments and set a few pins in your clavicle. Nothing shattered, and no fragments. All things considered, really clean shot.”

Not as bad as I thought.

“He’s been here the whole time? Are we still in Montana? What day is it?”

Emily laughed, smiling broadly. “So many questions!” She counted off on her fingers. “His ass has only left that chair to chase down your doctor and go to the bathroom like...twice. We are still in Montana. It’s Tuesday. We’ll be on our way home as soon as you’re discharged. We wouldn’t leave without you.”

You sighed, adjusting your position on the bed. “Thanks.”

She winked.

Hotch stirred, and Emily stood.

“I’ll leave you two for now. We’re all out in the waiting room if you want to see anyone.” She kissed your forehead and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

You could see the exact moment he registered your hand on his shoulder. He startled, straightening faster than you could blink. His eyes still bleary from sleep, you watched as he took stock of your entire person, finally meeting your eyes.

“Hi, Hotch.”

“Hi.” He reached for your hand with both of his, careful of the IV in your forearm. He brought your linked hands to his lips - warm, relieved breath washing over your fingers.

You squeezed once, feeling the stress and worry in his grip. “I’m okay.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I got shot.” Your voice was soft, but the humor behind it was unmistakable.

He huffed a laugh against your hands. “I should be mad at you.”

“You aren’t?”

Just then, a twinge in your shoulder made you wince. Your face crinkled up before you could hide it.

Hotch immediately reached for the call button, his body arcing gracefully over yours, pressing it twice. He looked down at you from under his arm. “No, I’m not.”

The nurse came in, said something about how nice it was to see you awake, and administered some more pain medication. She worked around Hotch, who never let go of your hand.

You had your eyes on him the whole time. His hawkish brown eyes tracked everything – the dosage, the IV drip – until the nurse left the room.

Right away, you started feeling heavy, your eyes slipping closed. “I don’t - I don’t wanna sleep,” you mumbled.

The back of Hotch’s hand traced the line of your cheek in a gentle caress. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you felt his touch fall down your good arm and wind your fingers together. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“You should get s’m sleep.”

You weren’t sure if it was the haze of meds or not, but you could swear you felt kisses to each one of your fingertips before you slipped into unconsciousness once more.

+++

When you woke again, he was still there. He was kicked back in the recliner this time, a book in his lap and reading glasses perched on his nose. It was dark outside, and you surmised you’d been asleep for a couple of hours.

“Since when do you wear reading glasses?” Your voice was rough with sleep.

Hotch snatched the glasses in question off his nose and folded them into his collar. “I don’t, usually, but the fluorescents are hard on my eyes after a while.”

You nodded sagely before breaking out into a smile. He offered you one back, one of those sweet, crooked, closed-mouth tip-ups.

Those might be my favorite.

You shifted, scooting over in the hospital bed and raising the head with the remote so you could sit up with more ease. Hotch stood, and you could tell he was trying to give you space as you independently adjusted your surroundings.

You patted the bed next to your hip, and he gingerly sat beside you, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee. He probably didn’t realize, but his entire body was bowed toward you, from his toes to his shoulders. You had always been tuned to each other, like finely-made instruments.

There was so much to say, so much unsaid. This injury was pretty far from a near-death experience, but it was enough to screw your head on straight a little bit.

“Aaron, I --“ You stopped, not sure where to begin. You rested a hand on the knee within your reach, tracing absentminded circles on the grain of his jeans.

Almost three days in the hospital and he’s still wearing jeans.

Well...at least it’s not a suit.

“Why did you stay?” Your words left you without your permission, but maybe it was better that way.

His brow lowered. “It’s my job.”

Your lips tipped up in a small, wry smile. “Bullshit.”

He heaved a sigh. “Fine. I felt...compelled to make sure you were alright.” His eyes were cast down toward the heavy white blanket beneath him. “Every time I got up to leave, I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you knowing you could wake up and I wouldn’t be there.”

You were acutely aware of the dopey grin on your face.

He looked up at you. “It doesn’t make any sense I know –“

“Aaron.” You stopped him with four fingers pressed to his mouth. It was the first time you’d actually instigated contact with his mouth. You felt the stubble that was rapidly turning into a proper beard, but you were focused on the softness of his mouth. You softened, letting your hand relax against him. “It makes sense to me.”

There was silence for a moment. You just stared at each other, your hand still over his mouth. You were glad your heart rate stayed steady, as the beeping was one of the only sounds in the room.

“Hey, Aaron?” Your fingers weren’t really tracing his lips, but they weren’t...not doing that either.

He smiled and spoke from behind your fingers. “Yeah?”

“The spot between my shoulders is insanely itchy.”

He shook his head, exasperated, and pulled your fingers from his mouth. “Lean up for a second.”

You did, and he pulled a pillow from behind you and put it in your lap. You wrapped your good arm around it and ducked your head down. His fingers massaged across your good shoulder and neck, releasing some of the tension there.

He laughed aloud when you made a (frankly) obscene noise when he hit a particularly sore spot.

“You’re giving my physical therapist a run for his money, Aaron.”

“Good.”

He moved down underneath the sling strap, gently running his nails back and forth over the skin peeking through your hospital gown. It was heaven.

“Okay, you can’t ever stop doing that.”

He continued, scratching lightly up and down your spine “I’m here as long as you want me here, sweetheart.”

The endearment made your heart feel all fuzzy, and you relaxed further into the pillow, your body relaxing as the tension melted out of your back.

He stopped after a few minutes, just smoothing his hand back and forth along the left side of your back. “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you,” you said, leaning back against the pillows.

He brushed some hair away from your face and hesitated there for a moment. Your jaw fit a little too neatly in his hand. You licked your lips, finding your mouth suddenly dry.

“Y/N...” he said, still quiet.

You shook your head and leaned forward at the same time he did. You met halfway, and he captured your lips with a relieved sigh. He was so careful with you, considering your injury, one hand reaching from your jaw to the side of your head, the other resting on your thigh on top of the thin hospital blanket.

The faded smell of his cologne or deodorant or something very masculine swirled around you. It was a smell you could identify anywhere – something spicy and earthy and Aaron.

Your noses slid against each other as you pulled apart to grin at each other. He pulled you back toward him and your lips met again. Your breath caught as his tongue traced your lower lip. You granted him access, ignoring the embarrassing spike in your heart rate that sent the monitors into a frenzy.

A part of you absolutely wanted to jump him then and there, but between your shoulder and the big window facing out into the hallway, that was a no-go.

You settled for devouring him from where you were instead, taking his lips between your teeth until he was groaning into your mouth. His hands knotted in your hair and you twisted his shirt in your hand. You didn’t think too much about the fact you’d been asleep for two days and therefore had two days of morning breath. The only thing on your mind was the taste of coffee on Aaron’s tongue, the hand planted firmly on your thigh, and the surprising softness of his lips.

It’s not that you thought he’d be a bad kisser, but fuck he was good at it. Almost too good. You craved more and damned your shoulder (again) for keeping you tethered to this bed and unable to wrap him in your arms.

“God,” he whispered into your mouth. “I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

You laughed into him, nipping at his lip again. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

There was a desperate edge to his touch as he took your face between his hands and pulled back to look at you. He kissed you once. Twice. So gently you almost couldn’t feel it. “I’m never getting rid of you,” he said. “Not now, not ever.”

It took you a couple of seconds to open your eyes again. When you did, the warm brown of Aaron’s eyes sank into you, and you almost forgot you’d been shot less than 72 hours prior. “Am I nuts to tell you how much I love you when I’m hopped up on pain meds?”

He shook his head, a thousand-gigawatt smile eating up his whole face. You cupped his jaw in your hand, pressing your thumb into one of his dimples. He tenderly covered your hand with his and turned to press an achingly gentle kiss your palm. “Only a little,” he said. He guided you back onto the pillows, arranging them around you so you could sleep without jostling your shoulder.

The nurse bustled back in and asked after your pain level. You said seven (it was a lie, you’d give it a nine and a half if you weren’t trying to be a hero), and she administered another round of meds. She swept out of the room and your eyes started to close again.

“Aaron...” you whispered, clinging to the last dregs of consciousness.

A kiss to your forehead. Warm breath over your fingers.

If safety had a texture, it would be somewhere between the callouses on his hands and the cool cotton of his dress shirts.

“I’m here.” A pause. “Hey.”

You cracked an eyelid.

“I love you too, by the way.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @octothorpetopus @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #i'll have you know hotch autocorrected to hot chip no less than three times while writing that last tag

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willowandfog · 3 years

Photo

Hey guys! I asked for people to send me some prompts my way and as promised I took the first two and wrote an Inu/Kag one shot.

The two winning prompts were:

“They're such an idiot. My idiot but still.”

& “Nothing else matters except for you."

Thank you to @ruddcatha and @smmahamazing for the prompts!

So this came from an idea I have for a fic. This ‘one shot’ will eventually be developed into a full fic. This one shot is from further into the story. The feelings, relationships and such are established by this point. (Warnings:) There is also some violence and brief references to torture.

Read below the cut:

Inuyasha pushed through the doors to the lab, carefully taking in the small group standing huddled together, talking in hushed whispers. Shippo was the first to notice him approaching, shushing the others before pointing over their shoulders towards him. The other two turned in unison as Inuyasha came to a stop in front of the group, hands on hips.

“Tell me you guys have managed to connect the bomb to Sandusky Shipping?” He asked in his rough, impatient tone.

Miroku, Sango, and Shippo stood gaping at him. “Well uhh actua-”

Miroku elbowed Shippo in the side. “Kagome still wasn’t exactly sure that the bomb is connected to them, she thinks that the bomb might have been moved somehow from its original place to make it seem like it was the shipping company.”

“Ooook. Why does she think that? Is she still testing things?” He held up a hand to stop them from speaking as they all opened their mouths to speak at once. “Nevermind. I’ll ask her, where is she?”

Shippo and Miroku shared a wide eyed look before taking a step away from him, trying to gain some distance, leaving only Sango standing directly in front of him.

Sango glared back at them before turning back. “Inuyasha, that’s what we were talking about when you came in. We found some unusual trace elements in the samples brought back for us, and… well Kagome wasn’t sure if they originated in the bomb or are just from the terrain when the explosion happened. She said she needed a ground sample from the site, outside of the explosion area.”

“Ok.” Inuyasha sighed, glancing at his watch. “When do you think she’ll be back? Kouga and I really need to move forward with this.”

“Here’s the thing.” Sango started nervously. “She went last night.” Inuyasha looked back to her, frowning. “The records show that she never came back to the lab and she wasn’t at her place this morning when I went to pick her up. We all figured she maybe just decided to go home and grab the samples this morning but… She should’ve been here three hours ago and she’s not picking up her cell.”

Pulling out his own phone, Inuyasha tapped Kagome’s name on his screen. The call connected directly to her voicemail. “Kagome.” He spoke in a low dangerous tone. “Call me. Now.” He growled before ending the connection. Inuyasha stood there, jaw tightly clenched, seething. He turned to leave, stopping at the doorway. He let out an aggravated shout a moment before he punched the wall beside the door, his fist leaving a hole in the drywall. “Whichever of you is capable of collecting a sample, meet me by my office in ten minutes.” He exited through the lab doors, hands tightly balled into fists.

Sango turned back to the other two to find them with their hands raised in position for Rock, Paper, Scissors. “Nope.” She said, before striding away.

-------------------------------------------------------

“I am never letting you drive again. What the fuck, Inuyasha? You’re going to kill us.” Kouga growled, grabbing the roof handle as Inuyasha swerved around another car ‘going too slow’.

Inuyasha grumbled something under his breath, turning down the road leading to the warehouse district.

“He’s right, I’d rather not die before I can legally drink.” Shippo mumbled from the back seat.

Inuyasha pulled up next to where Kagome’s sapphire blue Hyundai Elantra was parked next to the active crime scene tape. He had barely put the SUV in park before he jumped out. He threw open Kagome’s driver’s side door, picking up her phone that lay on the seat.

“Her phone’s dead.” He said turning to Kouga as he pocketed the object.

Shippo pointed at the east end of the warehouse. “She would have wanted to collect a sample from as close to the edge of the blast site as possible.”

“Kagome!” Inuyasha shouted as they ducked under the tape, walking towards the spot Shippo indicated. “Kagome!” He heaved a sigh.

“Guys…” Shippo said quietly, pointing to a spot near the tall grass.

Kagome’s large black collection box lay turned over, contents scattered. Inuyasha dropped his head into one of his hands, shaking it. Kouga carefully stepped through the tall trampled grass, scanning the ground. He crouched down, inspecting something.

“Inuyasha. Come look at this.”

Inuyasha knelt down beside him. When he saw Kagome’s issued firearm his stomach dropped.

“Look here.” Kouga pointed to the butt of the grip. “Is that blood?”

Inuyasha nodded. “Looks like it.”

“Why would she come out here alone? Especially when it was getting dark.”

Inuyasha growled slightly. “Cause she’s an idiot.” He rubbed his hand over his face in exasperation. “My idiot, but still.” He grumbled before standing, pulling his phone from his pocket and calling it in.

Why is this happening after we finally agreed to give things between us a shot? Dammit, Kagome, you better be ok.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Inuyasha!” Sango came sprinting into his office, huffing for breath. She handed him a file. “Kaede got those results on the blood from Kagome’s gun.”

Inuyasha cracked open the file, studying the contents for a long moment.

“It wasn’t her blood. She fought back, she’s still alive, Inuyasha.” Sango spoke quietly reaching across his desk and resting a hand over one of his.

“We don’t know that for sure. But she damn well better be.” He snapped the file closed, covering his eyes with his hands. “Why didn’t she just ask me to go with her?”

“Inuyasha.” Sango said gently. “As much as Kagome likes working with you. She isn’t likely to want to interrupt when you’re arguing with your ex in your office.”

Inuyasha sighed. “I gotta make a call about these results. Hopefully we’ll be able to find out where she is.”

-------------------------------------------------------

“Alright everyone, the blood we found on Dr. Higurashi’s firearm was from Johnny Marrow. Been in prison a few times, but mostly his cases almost never make it to trial. Some crimes include criminal possession of a controlled substance, evidence tampering, but most importantly several cases of assault, and he was suspected of several murders but we never had enough evidence to convict. We had an informant report Marrow conducting suspicious activity near the port. Now, if he doesn’t have the doctor, he should know where she is. Marrow is to be taken alive.” Inuyasha instructed the three HRT agents in the van as he strapped on his vest.

“That’s one of Darren Montana’s men right? Scummy, clean up, loose ends man?” Kouga questioned.

“Yeah.” Inuyasha said quietly as he sat down next to him, checking over his MP5SD6.

“Don’t worry man. She’ll be in there.” Kouga said, clasping him on the shoulder as the van jerked to a stop and the back doors swung open. “Let me take point. If we find her, you just focus on getting her out.”

Inuyasha nodded, following him out of the van. As the five agents gathered together to finish coordinating, the driver ran over to them.

“Thermal scanners indicate there are a dozen people inside. There’s a cluster of five on the west end. Three on the second level. One near both doors, and another doing patrols. Then the last one is isolated near the five on the west side.” He reported.

“Thanks, Luke.” Kouga said, turning back to the group.

“Should’ve brought more men.” Inuyasha groaned to himself.

“Alright guys.” Kouga started.

-------------------------------------------------------

Kagome jerked awake at the sound of gunfire. She yanked on her restraints, tears pouring down her face as the blistered wounds circling her wrists began bleeding, and her dislocated shoulder screamed at her. She failed to shake the matted, blood-caked hair from her face as she watched the door intently. Her vision swam, head throbbing, as the continued sound of gunfire seemed to echo in her ears. The dirty cloth rag pulled tightly at the corners of her mouth; her mouth and throat dry and raw.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed as she sat, tense, tied to the chair before the door swung open. She blinked squinted eyes at the bright light before she was able to make out a tall figure standing in the doorway, swinging a gun from side to side, scanning the room. When the figure lowered their weapon and kneeled beside her chair, she was finally able to recognize Inuyasha.

Tears of relief rather than pain began to flow as he gently pulled the gag from her mouth. He hesitated for a moment as his stern set face took her in. The bruises on her face already had different shades of blue and purple, and the dried blood down one side of her face indicated a head wound. His eyes turned soft before he moved behind the chair. As he cut the ropes he tried not to take in her blood soaked hands. She slumped forward, almost falling as the ropes fell free.

“Come on, Kagome.” He whispered to her, moving to scoop her up.

She let out a high pitched whimper as her limp arm was jostled, dangling uselessly at her side. Wrapping her good arm around his neck, she buried her face in his neck.

“Inuyasha.” She sobbed.

As he carried her from the room she noticed another agent had been guarding the door. Inuyasha followed close behind him, eyes scanning as they went. She closed her eyes firmly against the sunlight when they exited the building; hearing more shots coming from the second floor. Inuyasha carried her to the back of the van they arrived in, gently setting her down on a seat inside.

“Ambulance is on it’s way.” The other agent, Kagome thought his name was Evan, said to Inuyasha before turning and speaking into his radio.

Inuyasha knelt in front of her again, taking her face tenderly in his hands. “Are you ok?” He questioned softly.

“Yes.” She whispered but shook her head.

“Your shoulder.” He moved to take her arm as if he was going to pop it back into place but she pulled away from him.

“No.” Her voice was hoarse. “It’s really swollen, just leave it. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes again. “How did you find me?”

“Your gun.” He said simply, and she nodded.

-------------------------------------------------------

Inuyasha waited impatiently outside of Kagome’s hospital room. Almost an hour had passed before Totosai finally emerged, closing the door behind himself. He frowned, shaking his head as he approached Inuyasha.

“That took a while.”

“Yes well, when an agent is kidnapped and tortured, there’s a lot more questions to ask. She’ll have to fill out an official report when she’s out of here but it’ll do for now.” Totosai raised a brow at him. “You sent Kouga without you?”

“I’d rather be here. How bad was it?” Inuyasha questioned.

Totosai sighed. “They were trying to find out what and how much we know. They’re scared we’re getting close. I believe her when she says she didn’t give anything up, I don’t think she’d still be alive if she’d talked. I think they were just getting started on her though, if you hadn’t found her when you did…” he shook his head again, glancing at his shoes briefly. “They’d started pulling fingernails, Inuyasha.” He said delicately before patting him on the shoulder and walking away.

Inuyasha closed his eyes, trying to compose himself before heading into her room. He drank in the sight of her as he shut the door. He took in the small bandage on the side of her head, the sling on her arm, her wrapped wrists and her bandaged fingers. The majority of her face was covered in deep purple bruises and the corners of her mouth looked split.

Her eyes cracked open, a small smile gracing her lips. “Hey.” She called out weakly.

“Hey.” He replied back softly, approaching her bed.

“What are you doing here? I thought they finished the tests at the lab, confirming that Montana’s group planted that bomb. You were supposed to be making that arrest on Montana today.”

“Kouga’s going.”

“We all know that you should be the one making that arrest.” She said firmly to him.

He rested a hand on her bed, leaning down, bringing his face close to hers. His breath warm on her face, Kagome caught a whiff of his spicy cologne. “Nothing else matters, except for you.”

She sucked in a breath, heart racing. Her chocolate eyes studied the greyish depths of his violet ones. He leaned in closer, stopping when he was a hair’s width away, pausing for a moment to see if she would object. When she didn’t he placed a brief tender kiss to her lips.

He smiled at her grin. “I think you should let me take you to dinner when you get out of here.” When she nodded he held up a finger. “Actually. How about I’ll take you to dinner if you agree to not go back to crime scenes alone.”

She laughed. “Deal.”

@ruddcatha @lavendertwilight89 @cstormsinukagblog @clearwillow @witchygirl99 @dangerouspompadour @pinkpigeonstudio @superpixie42 @smmahamazing @bluejay785 @zelink-inukag @liz8080 @rootpatterson @umacaking @zelico

#inuyasha fanfic #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag #prompt fic #willowandfog

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prettyboyreid · 4 years

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visions

Mr. Scratch, expecting Aaron Hotchner, ends up face to face with the reader at Dr. Regan’s home.

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: gun violence, mentions of blood, drugging, knife violence

Word Count: 3.7k

I wouldn’t say that I knew Dr. Regan well. I repeated that to Hotch more times than I could count as I pleaded with him to let me go with the rest of the team to her house. My mother had known her when I was a child and I attended a few dinner parties with her. I didn’t know her well at all. I could watch him scanning my face as we got to the elevators of the BAU before he nodded, finally allowing me to go along with him.

It was a silent car ride for the two of us. I strapped on my bullet proof vest in the passenger seat while the unit chief sped down the Virginia streets towards a house I almost didn’t recognize once he pulled into the driveway. I pulled my gun from the holster once the SUV had come to a full stop, pushing open the car door before heading towards the front entryway. Hotch signaled that he would make his way around the back, just to make sure we didn’t have any other exterior threats. I nodded softly, knocking softly on the door before pushing it open slowly.

“Dr. Regan? FBI,” I called out cautiously, my gun pointed at the floor as I peered around the room for a moment. Once I could tell it was clear, I held the firearm upward as I made my way into the foyer.

“In here, Agent Y/L/N. In the study,” an almost unfamiliar voice called out. I cautiously followed the sound of her voice, my eyes darting to every inch of the room before slowly inching forward.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she added. I almost didn’t pay attention to anything that came out of her mouth, only worried that no one else was there to harm her. I was doing my job.

I thought I was doing my job.

I had finally reached the study after a few moments of stalking through her house, peering around her for a moment before I noticed the blade she held to her throat.

“He wanted you to see this.”

I didn’t even have time to react. I had lowered my weapon and practically sprinted towards her, but she moved the blade much quicker than I could move. She fell to the ground at my feet. I leaned down instinctively and pressed two fingers to where her pulse point was, letting out a sigh as I felt nothing. I stood up, leaning into the vest to tell Hotch what had just happened, before the stench of sage flooded my senses. It was strong, much more than the plant usually would smell.

I held my weapon up again as I made my way into the living room that attaches to the study, doing my best to stifle any coughs and sniffles that threatened my sinuses. Once the room seemed clear, I sat down on the sofa to try and gather my bearings. I rubbed at my eyes, trying to comprehend the whole situation before a soft voice buzzed in my ear. It was barely above a whisper, but repeated the same sentence over and over again.

“You’ll see what I want you to see.”

I gripped tighter onto my gun as I looked around the room again, my vision slowly blurring once I checked behind the couch. My body soon felt limp, my limbs barely able to move on their own. I tried to stand, but my knees buckled at the very thought of moving one step. The second I hit the ground, I let out a quiet groan before leaning against the couch as best as I could.

My eyes scanned over the decorative room all over again, until everything had watered out. All I could rely on was what the voice repeated to me faster than I could take a breath.

“You’ll see what I want you to see.”

I soon felt someone else’s presence next to me, sitting on the sofa as close to me as possible. I noticed the repetitive phrase getting louder once the person was beside me, my hands barely strong enough to reach my eyes and rub them until my vision cleared once again before they heavily dropped into my lap. I tried to grab for my gun, only to find out it had been missing from the holster.

When did I take my gun out?

Why did I take my gun out?

I carefully craned my neck up towards the somewhat shadowy figure next to me, seeing a face that I couldn’t place. His dark brown hair spiked up in the front, and his square face was only accented with a pair of beady eyes and a taunting grin hidden behind a mask.

“You’ll see what I want you to see.”

“Wh… what do you want me to... to see?” I asked, my words slurring together as if I were intoxicated. My mind swam as I found myself finally able to focus on the man beside me, who looked as if he were deciding my fate, that he held it in his coarse hands.

And I hated to think that that was true.

“Tell me, Agent Y/L/N, what do you think of Dr. Spencer Reid?” he asked, his voice raspy through the mask that kept him from the state I was in. He stood up for a brief moment before he crouched down beside me. His hands traced down my features as he spoke, doing my best to snake out of his touch. The only word to describe the feel of his hands on me was dirty.

“He’s… he’s my partner,” I breathed out, my lungs feeling tight in my rib cage, burning for fresh air that I wouldn’t find in the small, confined house. He tutted at my response, obviously expecting something more of it.

“Is that all he is, though, Agent? You live in his apartment, last I checked. And, as if that’s not enough, you seemed pretty happy last weekend on your date to a little Italian restaurant where you had your first date. Am I wrong, Agent Y/L/N?” he prodded, grabbing my jaw as he forced me to look at him. At just the mention of Spencer, it was hard for me to not think of what he had asked me.

“I really hope you’re in the mood for Italian,” he had told me, one of his hands entwined with my own as the other fidgeted in his pocket. He had always been awkward, sure, but he looked downright anxious at this moment.

He led me into the restaurant, the warm string lights and the scent of pasta and freshly baked bread welcoming the two of you.

“Um, hi. Two for Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said to the hostess, squeezing my hand softly as his eyes seemed fixated on anything that stood in front of him. Once the hostess grabbed two menus, she nodded for us to follow her. He quickly followed behind the younger woman, almost as if he was worried the table wouldn’t be there when we arrived if we moved any slower. I ran my thumb across his knuckles, doing my best to try and relieve whatever nerves he was keeping bottled up inside of him. He let out a soft sigh as the waitress set the menus on a circular table that was surrounded by a circular booth, giving us a small smile before she headed back to her station.

Spencer let me slide in first, as always, before he made his way in next to me. He leaned back into the soft cushioning and let out a heavy sigh, yet his leg still bounced beneath the table.

I scooted closer to him before resting my hand just above his knee, leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked him cautiously, not wanting to pressure him into telling me anything if he was feeling uncomfortable. He blinked a few times before turning to me, as if he had entranced himself into his thoughts once again.

“Hm? No, I-I’m fine. I’m just… I’ve got a lot on my mind, is all,” he explained, resting his hand on my leg before squeezing it reassuringly. I gave him a soft smile before nodding, looking through the menu before our waitress would arrive.

The dinner was sweet. He made a joke about how we had ordered the same thing we had on our first date, down to the drinks and appetizers. We hardly talked about work at all, which was such a relief given the past month we had just had. We got back two days ago from a case we’d been away on for three weeks in Montana, and it was draining, to say the very least. Frankly, the both of you were just happy to be home for a bit. You talked about your families, memories, and anything you could possibly think of. It was one of those dates with him that you knew you’d always cherish. Especially when he turned his full attention to you, taking both of your hands in his much larger ones.

“I know it hasn’t been very long - three years, five months, and sixteen days - but god it feels like it’s been forever since the first time I asked you out. I know it seems so silly, but I knew I wanted to marry you the second I sat down at this booth with you. I never want to be away from you. I couldn’t help but think this week that I would have gone out of my mind if I didn’t have you with me during that case. And I just knew that I couldn’t ever worry about you being away from me again.” He carefully took his hands off of mine, quickly fumbling into his pocket before taking out a small, navy blue velvet box. He carefully flipped it open, making sure he didn’t alter the gift he had waiting for me before turning it to me. Inside was a silver ring with a diamond band, and a much larger diamond on top of it. He took it out of the box and handed it to me, which is when I noticed a small inscription on the inside of the band: I love you, always. Spence.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Hey!”

The muffled raspy voice knocked me out of the memory, blinking a few times before I looked back up at him. I partially expected to see Spencer there, instead only seeing the man who had been keeping me company during my delirious state. God, I really wish it was Spencer.

“It is so much more than that, isn’t it? He’s not just your partner, Agent,” he taunted, standing up and moving out of my immediate line of sight. I tried to look around for him, but my head just leaned back onto the cushions of the couch. “So, you probably trust him with your life, don’t you?” His voice seemed to distance farther and farther away from me, even the distance he placed between us taunting me and how inebriated I felt.

“Can he trust you with his?”

The front door pushed open loudly, and the familiar voice that immediately soothed me called out. “Y/N?” I let out a heavy sigh, sitting up carefully as I tried to look for him.

“Spence! I’m in here,” I called out as loud as I could, though it only sounded like a heavy breath to me. The sound of quick footsteps approached towards the living room, and the sight of my fiance let relief wash over me.

“Spence... Spence, he went out the back,” I murmured out as he knelt down in front of me, his hands ghosting above mine. He looked over my face to see if I had been hurt, but he quickly deduced that I’d just been gassed, just like all of the other victims we had been able to find.

“Morgan’s going to take care of it. We’re gonna get you out of here, okay? Can you stand up?” he asked me softly, carefully adjusting his stance so he was on his feet. He was about to reach out for my hands to help me up before the sound of a gun clicking came from behind him, a shadowy figure pressing the metal chamber to the back of his head.

“No, no, no,” I whispered, watching as his face twitched from worried to scared. One of the things you knew he hated most about his job was that he was always put in the line of fire. This just was never something he had in mind.

“Y/N…” he said back to me in the same tone. I could tell he was trying to keep me calm more than himself; he knew that I’d be the one who’d suffer the most in a few moments. Typical of him - always thinking of someone else’s well being before his own.

He had opened his mouth to say something else, and I was almost positive I knew what he wanted to say, but the sound of the gun ringing out through my ears and his body falling into my lap made everything else go numb. I couldn’t hear or feel anything. I was petrified to the point where I was frozen in place. I couldn’t move even if I had wanted to.

“No... no, no, no, no, no…” I repeatedly whispered to him, my arms trying to cradle him the best that I could from my position and from how weak I was still rendered.

I wanted to take the last moment back desperately, wishing it had been myself instead. It felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest, and I was now holding it, trying to figure out how I was going to ever go on without it. I let out a few choked sobs I had been holding back, trying to pull his body closer to me, wanting to try and fix him and help him.

All I wanted to do right now was help him.

Why couldn’t I have helped him?

“Tell me, Agent, should he trust you?”

Spencer’s POV

As soon as the SUV had pulled up to the house, I was out of the vehicle and making my way towards the house before Hotch stopped me.

“We don’t know what it’s like in there. Her com went dead minutes after she went in. If he’s in there, he’s probably drugged her,” he explained to me calmly.

I never could understand how he could be so calm in these situations, especially when it came to the people he cared the most about.

“We have two masks in each car. You need to take one if you want to go in there,” he told me. I quickly made my way back to the passenger side of the car and dug through the kits we always kept on hand, frantically digging through it until I found one of the masks. I slipped it on over my head before removing my gun from my holster.

“Were you ever able to get a visual?” I asked our unit chief as we made our way to the front door that was left just barely ajar. That was a good sign, at least; the gas would be able to filter out more quickly if it had been open the entire time.

“Negative, but I heard something from the back living room a while ago. It sounded like yelling but I can’t be sure,” he informed me, putting on the mask he had gotten from the car he and Y/N had taken here.

I paused for a moment before pushing the door open, peering around the corner before Hotch and I silently made our way into the threshold of the house. Aaron pushed his way in front of me to take the lead, knowing it was best for him to be able to assess the situation first. I couldn’t say I disagreed with him this time.

He looked around the corner once again before leading me through the foyer and the study, each step more cautious than the last. His gun was kept pointed at a sharp angle, ready to take any shot he would have to make. Once we had gotten to the living room, all we could hear was soft murmurs coming from the couch. Hotch looked around the corner in time to see the unsub escaping through a back door, chasing after him.

Once I made sure that he was taken care of, I quickly made my way over to my fiance, watching as she rocked herself back and forth with tears spilling from her eyes. I quickly holstered my gun before kneeling down in front of her.

Y/N’s POV

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I heard a soft voice whispering to me. At some point I had closed my eyes, doing my best to keep myself from crying and having to look at what had just happened. Once I opened them, everything had faded away, from the limp body in my lap to the last crimson drop that had fallen onto my skin. I looked up and saw a worried Spencer, tugging off a mask covering most of his face. His hands rested on my shoulders as he looked to see if I was alright, not just physically.

“You’re okay?” I sniffled softly, my hands holding onto his shoulders as I struggled to find the balance I needed to stand up. His arms went around my waist to help me up, pausing for a moment when I was finally on my feet to make sure I was steady before looking down at me again.

“Yeah, princess. I’m okay,” he reassured me, somehow knowing it was just the thing that I needed to hear (if my facial expressions didn’t already tell him that). “Are you okay?” he asked softly, one of his hands cupping my jaw, his touch delicate as if he was afraid I’d break if he applied too much pressure.

“I-I think so,” I said, looking down at myself before looking back up into his amber eyes. I breathed out a heavy sigh, my body practically becoming limp all over again.

“It was so real, Spence. I th-thought that he…” I stuttered over my words, not even sure how to explain what had just happened to me. I don’t know if I’d ever be able to find the words for it.

He wrapped his arms around me carefully yet protectively once he noticed tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head as my face buried itself in the center of his chest. His hand smoothed out my hair gently, carefully swaying the two of us back and forth to calm me down.

We stood there for a while. I’m not really sure how long. When I finally pulled away with a shaky breath, I couldn’t help but notice the tear stains I had left on his vest.

“Hotch wants to have the medics check you out, then we can go home, alright?” he promised me, making sure my eyes met his so I would know he was telling the truth. I wouldn’t have doubted him either way.

He kept his arm wrapped around my torso as he led me out of the house, my gaze stuck on the woman left in her study. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her until she was out of my line of sight, when I finally reached the front door with him.

Spencer led me down the stairs and towards an ambulance parked beside the SUVs we had all taken to the scene, carefully helping me sit down on the edge of the vehicle as an EMT checked me over.

He never left my side; even though the EMTs asked him more than once to step back for a moment, he held my hand the entire time, wanting me to know he was there with me.

Just as they had run the final quick test that they needed to, Hotch was walking around the house with a man in handcuffs.

It was the same man from inside the house, the man that I prayed to any and every god that I would never have to face again.

“His name’s Peter Lewis,” Spencer whispered softly to me as he led me back to the car that he had taken. The man looked back towards me, the same maniacal grin spread across his thin, pink lips.

“You’ll only see what I want you to see, Agent Y/L/N,” he called out with a laugh before Hotch shoved him into the back of a police car. I couldn’t help but shudder as a chill ran through my spine, remembering what I had seen less than an hour before. I looked down at my cold, clammy hands, expecting Spencer’s blood to be on them before looking back up at him. I gave him a soft smile as he opened the back door for me, offering a hand to help me inside. He followed me in once he made sure I was all settled, helping me with the seat belt in case my arms were still a little numb.

I looked back up at him lovingly as JJ got into the driver’s seat and backed out of the driveway, wanting to make sure we got home so our day could just be over. He looked down at me after a few moments, giving me a soft smile before pressing a gentle and delicate kiss to my lips.

I don’t think I had ever felt as safe with him than in that moment. Nothing would ever feel as safe as being held by him, just being in his presence when I needed him the most. It was something I knew that Peter Lewis didn’t want me to see. I grinned at the thought, resting my head on his shoulder before letting my eyes close, sighing heavily as he lulled me to sleep by combing his fingers through my hair.

“I love you, Spence.”

“I love you, always.”

tags: @pinkprincenamjoon

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couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name · 5 years

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if we do eventually get a faithful tv show/movie reboot of the percy jackson series, I want each story to AGGRESSIVELY take place in the year its supposed to. The soundtrack for lightning thief is entirely popular songs that came out in 2005. Missy Elliot's 'Lose Control' plays over the furies bus ride scene. Poseidon has a puka necklace. Luke has that layered popped collar polo shirt look going on. There's a scene where 'Just The Girl' is playing while Percy stares at Annabeth, but it then fades out and reveals the song is Annabeth's ringtone on her clunky early 2000s cell phone. Percy has heelys. 'Crazy Frog' is blaring inside the Lotus Hotel&Casino. The Livestrong bracelets and other rubber bracelets like it are everywhere, Grover has ten on each arm.

Sea of Monsters. 'Stupid Girls' is blaring when Annabeth makes her entrance in the gym fight. Grover has an ipod nano full of Hannah Montana and HSM songs. All the Aphrodite girls are wearing juicy tracksuits....so is Hermes. 'Bad Day' is Percy's jam. Grover has accumulated even More bracelets. Tyson has frosted tips, because I said so. During the final scene with Percy getting that note from Poseidon, the opening of 'Welcome to the Black Parade' starts up, pauses for a moment when Thalia is reborn, and picks back up with the guitar and runs into the end credits.

Titan's Curse. Percy has gotten that iconic swoopy skater hair cut, and he has bright blue braces. Skinny jeans. Thalia dresses like Avril Lavigne and has the raccoon eyes look. Apollo is wearing clothes that weren't the style yet in 2006, because he looked into the future.

Battle of the Labyrinth. It's 2007 y'all. 'Girlfriend' is playing in the cafe where Percy and Annabeth are talking to Rachel. Ancient Greek translated copies of 'Deathly Hallows' are seen constantly in the background. Percy unironically believes that Spider-Man 3 was a good movie. The reason Mr. D isn't at camp to help Chris is because he's off trying to help Britney Spears. A camper made an 'Obama Girl' parody called 'Zeus Girl' and Hera wants her dead. Tyson is obsessed with the 'I Can Haz Cheezburger' meme. When Annabeth was planning to meet Percy for their movie not-date date, she wore a denim skirt with leggings underneath. Silena has those really obvious highlights. Percy keeps getting attacked by monsters or demigods right when he's about to take a bite of something, mirroring the iconic 'People Getting Punched Right Before Eating'. Aphrodite girls have moved onto vests and clip in colored hair. Nico's fashion is like PEAK 2007 hot topic shirts. 'Bubbly' is the theme for Calypso's Island. Probably a Fall Out Boy song plays for the big battle at the end.

Last Olympian. 2008. Grover is wearing a Team Jacob shirt. Nico is wearing a Team Edward shirt. They won't make eye contact the entire film. Percy is filming things with a flip camera. Jonas 👏 Brothers 👏 Are👏 On👏 The👏 Soundtrack👏. At the victory party on Olympus everyone has shutter shades. Rachel's wearing those hippie-ish headbands that go across your forehead. GLADIATOR SANDALS. 'Single Ladies' plays at some point, obviously. Meryl Streep's rendition of 'Mamma Mia' from the movie released that year plays over one of the battles. Think of all the blackberries and flip phones they were taking off random sleeping citizens to call Annabeth.

don't even get me STARTED on all the 2009 brand fun we could have with Heroes of Olympus and further on in Trials of Apollo....please someone get on this

#percy jackson #pjo #rick riordan #annabeth chase #nico di angelo #molly mumbles

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inafieldofdaisies · 1 year

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WIP Wednesday/Whenever | Tagged by @vampireninjabunnies-blog & @detectivelokis <3 | Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @fourlittleseedlings @poisonedtruth @strangefable @adelaidedrubman and anyone that would like to share a little something <3

For this week I'm dropping a snippet from Chapter 5, as per usual skipping right to the middle.

Don't laugh again. And he didn't, sending a smirk her way instead. "Now, Deputy, enough jokes, there are more pressing matters.", his head tilted slightly, his expression almost… giddy. "What's a joke is you thinking holding a Deputy hostage is a good idea, you of all people should know it's far from it. Aren't you supposed to be a hotshot lawyer?", she couldn't stop her sneer. "Deputy-" Sabrina cut him off, "I have a name." "Yes. Sabrina Blythe Donovan.", he said it matter-of-factly, but Sabrina could tell he took pride in that knowledge. It didn't shock her he knew her full name, with Nancy being on Eden's Gate side no doubt information about the whole Sheriff's Department was leaking like a sieve. A dry laugh escaped her, "Next you're going to tell me the name of my first boyfriend." John crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow, "Knowledge is power after all. And, Sabrina, you wouldn't be here if you didn't try to arrest my brother. You all had choice and it led to this." She pushed down the feeling at how familiar her name sounded on his lips, the twinge of longing it caused in her was nothing. It had to be. "There was an arrest warrant. I was just doing my job. Your brother is a criminal, and so are you and all of your people." "I'm doing MY job, Deputy. You're a sinner and so are your friends.", he retorted, his words full of conviction as he headed for his torture table. Sabrina froze, expecting him to notice a knife was missing, when he said nothing, she continued, "Why AM I here?" The words came out sharper than intended, carrying the tone she used when interrogating suspects back in Portland, the one that got her straight answers and stripped away all the nonsense. John turned, a look of amusement flashing across his face as he leaned against the table, legs crossed at the ankles. "I should be the one asking questions here, Deputy." "Old habits die hard, I was a-" "A detective back in", a dramatic pause, he raised a finger, "Portland. And you left it all behind to work for Whitehorse. Can't wait for you to tell me why." "I'm not telling you shit. I don't know what you think you're doing-"

John stalked towards her with swiftness that took her aback as he grabbed the armrests of her chair, the force behind his movement making the wheels skid across the floor. His face had grown serious, piercing blue eyes boring into hers as he loomed over her. "You will talk, confess every sin, no matter how small. I know exactly what I'm doing here." Their proximity sent a shiver up her spine and she tried to tell herself it was the bad kind. He was so close to a point Sabrina could smell the musky scent of river that clung to his skin. He had indeed taken a dive, her amusement at the confirmation died down quickly. His nearness, the position of his hands as he held onto the chair allowed her to see his tattoos in detail for the first time. In seconds her whole world came crashing down, her blood froze. No. She knew these tattoos, had seen them countless times in her visions, had drawn them over and over to the point they were embedded in her memory. NO. The hand holding hers as the world ended. The man that called her "Butterfly". It was John. John fucking Seed. His voice snapped her out of her thoughts, "Hm. A butterfly." He was looking at her tattoo, at one of the butterflies that wasn't hidden by the strap of her top. As if she needed any more reminders of the tragic realization she had just came to, John said the damned word again as he backed away, "Why a butterfly, Deputy?" He was back to being nonchalant, like the outburst hadn't even happened. All she could do was blink, wishing her eyes were lying to her. "You still with me, Sabrina?", it had finally hit him she wasn't replying, that she wasn't talking back. Breathe. Focus. Snap out of it. "Wish I wasn't, won't lie.", she tried to hold onto her composure. Silence took over as John went back to his table, picking up a tool, looking it over then placing it down with care and grabbing another one, repeating the process.

It felt mechanical, like a show. Her own knife felt heavy in her hands, the tip prickling her skin, a wake-up call. She knew what she had to do in order to get back to Savannah, imagined it in the hours he made her wait on him. Plunging the blade deep, ending a life. But doubt was creeping in…

Her plan, the dark path she planned to take, there was a chance she would fail, she had seen him alive too many times. And her most recent vision… from the sounds of that one he was breathing and pissed off. John spoke up again, his attention still on the table in front of him, "My brother's church. Let's start there. You saw something." It wasn't a question, he sounded sure of it. She hadn't been able to hide her distress, even tried to stop the arrest. A new path became visible. A plan with a giant leap of faith. Probably the most dumb and risky decision she has ever made in her life. He wanted answers, and she was going to play along. For now. "I will tell you what I saw, but I doubt you'd believe it, they never do." Another smirk, making her feel nauseous. "Try me, Deputy." "I saw the crash. Before it happened, I mean." "A vision.", he nodded mostly to himself, "Joseph has them." "You believe then?" "They're from God. Of course I believe him." John believed Joseph, not her. She was used to people's scepticism, but she had a way to prove it this time. "There's more, John." Something flashed across his face at her saying his name outloud for the very first time, but the mask was back in place too quickly for her to figure out what. Focus. Her mother was good at selling any con, always knew how to approach a person, what they'd want to hear, which buttons to push.

"Say his name. Look him in the eyes and sell the idea, make him think it's his own, darling. There's always be an offer a man won't be able to refuse, one he'd throw himself in the deep end for, willingly. And when he's about to sink, you offer a hand, pledge your loyalty. He'd be a goner before you know it."

A part of Candice lived in Sabrina, and for once she let it take over. "I will tell you what's coming, but I will need something in return.", her voice sounded unshakeable, certain, the exact opposite of how she felt inside. John didn't break her eye contact, nor interrupted her. Sabrina got up from the chair, discarding the ropes as her hands dropped to her sides. "You've been untied this whole time, Deputy?", his eyes shone with amusement again. She took a few steps until she stood almost in front of him, her hand holding out her knife. Surrendering her weapon. "And you had a knife?"

When he made no move to take it, Sabrina placed the blade on his "work" bench and walked back, sitting down in the chair and rubbing her wrists. "I won't lie, I was planning on killing you." "And yet you didn't. Why?" "A change of circumstances." The look of curiosity refused to leave his face, "What's coming, Deputy?" It was a gamble, but she had seen him in a different light, the man from her visions was somewhere in John. Burried deep, probably half dead. I just have to dig him out. Use him to get back to Savannah. "Can I see your watch? Your men took mine." In few quick strides he was in front of her, offering his right hand for her, "You planning on pulling something else on me?" It was 11 am. "I had better opportunities to stab you now, didn't I?", her tone was matter-of-fact, she slipped back into her "let's get to the point" mode, "At what time does Mathias bring my lunch?" John quirked an eybrow, crossing his arms over his chest, "Mathias? You know his name?" "At what time, John?" "12:30, maybe 1 pm. Why? And this time answer the question, Sabrina." "An alarm will sound at noon, about an attack. Seems like you have time to prepare. That's all I can say." She couldn't read John's face, the mask of indifference had slipped back on as he shouted, "MATHIAS." The Peggie poked his head in as the door opened, proving she wouldn't have made it far if things have gone sideways with her original plan. "Yes, boss?" John's eyes remained glued to hers, as if searching for answers. "Take the Deputy back to her cell. I'm done talking." John broke their eye contact, marching off without another look at Sabrina and picking up her knife as he passed by the work bench. To her surprise, he pocketed it. Mathias was staring at her strangely, "Well, you heard him, Sinner, get up and start walking.", he paused, "Why are you untied?" Sabrina said nothing, she wasn't about to give him advice how to more successfully keep someone prisoner. The Peggie grabbed her arm forcefully, leading her back down the same way, not letting go until she was in her cell. She was on her own once again, sitting on the floor, her gaze on the tally marks on the wall, wondering if she should start counting the days too. The whole encounter had left her feeling empty, she had no idea if John had bought into her plan, his demeanor at the end felt bizarre, like another act he was putting on. It wasn't lost on her he stormed off before promising to keep his side of the deal or even asking what she needed in return. Sabrina was glad about one thing: he might have taken her knife, but she stole his too. She let out a deep sigh, her words were but a whisper, "Him. From all people. It had to be him." "God" or whatever was sending her the visions was probably laughing at the irony. For years she had questions, wondered who the stranger she kept seeing was and why he was showing up in them again and again. Not once was she able to see a face clearly. Anytime she'd meet a man for the first time, she'd ask herself if the moment for answers had arrived, but none of them ever came close, they never matched him. "Until today. Fuck.", it came out as a growl. She covered her face, her hands scrubbing at her skin, as if to wipe away all the things she'd been forced to witness ovetime that involved him. It pained her how much comfort she'd found in those visions, they were a rare constant in her life, a break from all the other glimpses into disaster and suffering. They were purely hers, something to hold onto and she had lost that too. "Knowledge is power, eh, John?", a sad laugh escaped her, "I'd rather not have found THAT out."

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lobanhart · 4 years

Text

wedding headkanon for John and Billy

Today I was looking at my Pinterest feed and saw a dress that could be my little girl Billy's wedding dress. So I got the idea for a wedding headcanon for John and Billy.

How would their wedding go if they decided to get married?

◉ John suggested that Billy marry quite spontaneously. They rode her motorcycle around Montana, and stopped near the words "YES" on the mountain. This gave him an idea.

"How about becoming Mrs. Seed, Sybill?" Billy looked at him skeptically and snorted. "I don't want it, thanks." But John was unstoppable. It became important for him to get the coveted word from her. It took Billy a moment to realize that he was not joking. "Stop it, Seed! You know better than anyone that marriage with you is the last thing I dreamed of." "Why?" "You won't give me what I want" John hates to hear this, but he smiles. "But you love me." Billy turns away. "Yes. Unfortunately, it is." "So, it's worth it."

◉ John really wasn't joking. He really decided to get married.

◉ Billy didn`t want a magnificent and luxurious wedding, because she considered it something pretentious. She is much closer to a quiet event in a narrow circle of close friends and John`s brothers. But John is impossible to argue, so Billy's desire is not taken into account. They have a huge wedding with all the sectarians.

◉ John informed the brothers of his marriage. Joseph is a little sad, but he is happy for his little brother, and Jacob is surprised.

◉ Billy tells Moon about it. She is not a joke alarmed, but Billy calms her friend. They talk to each other until dawn. These are very touching and sincere conversations that everyone will remember for a lifetime.

◉ John controls every little thing. He wants everything to be perfect. There is a lot of blue around it: ribbons, flowers, napkins and so on. He even wishes to choose a dress for Billy himself, because he is afraid that she will choose jeans. Billy and Moon won't let him do it.

◉ Billy realizes that jeans are not an option. She wants something simple because she doesn't want to stand out too much. She doesn't want to spend a lot of money, but suddenly she sees a gray-blue dress and embroidery in the form of birds. And she understands that, in spite of everything, she wants to be in this particular dress.

◉ John sees that a decent amount has been debited from his card, and he is surprised, but calms down. He knows jeans are much cheaper than that amount. He wants to know what dress she bought, but Billy hid it somewhere. John is left to come to terms with the fact that he sees Billy in this at the altar.

◉ The day before the wedding, Billy panics. She's not sure she's acting wisely. She walks alone all day, and in the late afternoon she returns to the ranch. She looks at John, in whom there is no doubt, and she herself becomes calmer. She still doesn`t understand why John decided to take this step, but she is not sure if she wants to know the truth.

◉ The wedding takes place at John's ranch. John has been surrounded by brothers since the morning.

◉ Joseph is in a melancholy mood. He recalls his dead wife and murdered daughter. But he's sincerely trying to be happy for his brother. He's in his suit with a vest. He will be a priest this day.

◉ Jacob hates every second of this day, but is patiently silent about it. He was forced to wear a white shirt. Jacob hates this shirt. When he sees Moon wearing a similar white shirt and trousers, he calms down a bit. All the women wore white dresses that day, but Moon knew that her appearance could completely confuse Jacob. Their clothes are very similar, but Jacob admits that Moon has never been as beautiful as she is today.

◉ Joseph went to visit Billy. When he sees her with a wedding dress, he freezes at the door. Billy notices him and she looks at him in confusion. They stand in silence for a while and look at each other. Joseph closes the door behind him and walks over to Billy. He says some nice words to her and kisses her on the forehead. Billy smiles and hugs him. She wants to cry from overwhelmed emotions, but she holds back.

◉ She goes to the altar alone. Josef wanted to lead her to the altar, but Billy refused him. She had a father who hated her, and he was already dead. Since then, Billy has become independent and has been able to overcome her fears. She became a self-sufficient girl. She herself will walk this path to the altar.

◉ When Billy appears in the hall, the music "Bitter-Sweet Symphony" is played. It is sung by Moon because she wanted to surprise her friend. Moon knows Billy loves this song, but it also has a double meaning.

◉ John sees Billy from afar and for a moment he freezes. He knows for sure that he would choose a different dress for Billy, because he doesn`t really like the abundance of birds on her dress. But he looks his bride in the eye and forgets about it. Billy is so beautiful today, that John stops thinking about the little things.

◉ Joseph begins his speech. John and Billy look at each other. John smirks a little, as if trying to intimidate Billy, and she looks at him with a smile and wants to shake her head. She is not afraid of him.

◉ John begins to read vows, which he invented a long time ago. This is an unexpectedly sensual confession of deep feelings and trust that makes Billy cry a little. She whispers to him "peacock!", but John sees how his words pleasantly surprised his bride. He is pleased with the effect.

◉ Billy begins to read her vows, which she also invented herself. John stops smiling. Billy says words that make him feel confused. Billy always hid her true feelings, and today she spoke so softly and tenderly that Seed is not sure she is being frank with him. But John sees well when a person is lying to him, and he sees that Billy is not lying. It hooked him. He remembers her every word for life.

◉ When John and Billy exchange rings, Joseph says they can kiss. John takes Billy's face in his hands and kisses her hard. Billy hugs him and rises on his toes. It is very sensual and long lasting.

◉ Billy doesn't throw the bridal bouquet. She decides to take it to her younger brother's grave the day after the wedding. John will be by her side at this moment.

◉ The celebration is fun. Lots of dances, songs and food. John and Billy's wedding dance. This is not the first time they dance, so an unexpectedly energetic song «Simple Minds – Don`t you» is played during their dance. They danced to it for the first time. Billy also dances with Joseph.

◉ Jacob and Moon don't dance, preferring to stand aside and watch the newlyweds. Moon sometimes strokes Jacob on the back if she feels that he is too tense or tired.

◉ At the end, John takes Billy to a secluded place. There is no one there but the two of them, and John knows this is what Billy has been dreaming of all day.

◉ Billy takes off his shoes while still in the car, and now walks barefoot along the sandy beach. Dusk fell. John watches her from afar, remembering her wedding vow. He thinks about how he once said that he would not marry. He did not seek a permanent relationship and never took it seriously. But now he looks at Billy. He still doesn't know what he found in her. John knows only one thing: he wants her to be there. He needs a person who will feel what she confessed today.

◉ John walks towards her.

"You're Mrs. Seed now, Sybill. Congratulations." "I must confess to you that I regret it." John frowns. "What do you mean?" "I mean my old last name suited me better. «Billy Seed» sounds very strange." John smiles. "Sybill Seed sounds good. You'll get used to it, my little bird." Billy looks at John without a smile, and he senses that she is thinking of something very important. She's worried about something. "Promise me something." "What exactly?" "Try not to hurt me, John." John squeezes her shoulders and hugs her. Billy closes his eyes and hugs him back. "I`ll try to." "And never stop calling me «birdie»." John laughs. "You can be sure of that, honey."

#headcanon #FC5: billy bluebird #john seed #john&billy #billy bluebird

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blissfulalchemist · 4 years

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Hey, so for the drabble challenge, can you do "Stay awake" and "It's Christmas, don't be mad at me," for a young (like when they were kids) Chance and Faith. Like they're waiting up for Santa or something. You said you wanted platonic at, and it would just be so cute, but if not, I entirely understand, and you do not have to

Alright this was a brilliant idea so thank you for the suggestion please enjoy young Chance, Faith, and his family!

“So how did Christmas go for you this year?” Chance asked as he picked up rock tossing them into the river, “Did you get anything cool?”

Rachel jumped back some of the water splashing in her direction, “We didn’t get a Christmas. Santa didn’t come this year.”

Chance looked at her eyebrows raised, eyes wide, “What?! He comes to everyone! How did he miss you guys?”

She shrugged her small shoulders, “Maybe I wasn’t good enough.” The two looked up at the sound of Rachel’s name being called from the house. “I should get going. I’ll see you in a few days Chance!” She called out rushing up the hill. Chance stood at the bottom rubbing his chin with his thumb as his dad would. It didn’t seem fair that Chance got a Christmas and she didn’t. But it was May and he didn’t come up for Christmas normally so there went that plan…..unless.

Chance gasped running back to his house barreling through the front door, “Dad! Dad!”

Ray took the stairs two at a time, panic in his deep blue eyes, “Chance! Are you okay?”

Chance was catching his breath, “Yeah I’m fine. And Rachel’s fine but dad!” He stood up straighter, “We need to make Christmas!”

Ray’s face went from panicked to confused as he ran a hand through his greying black hair, “You want to make….Christmas….in May?”

Chance rolled his eyes, “Uh yeah. I have to.”

Ray shook his head pinching the bridge of his nose, “Does this have to do with Rachel?”

“Yeah. Dad, Santa did visit her this past year and it’s not fair!”

“Okay, okay. Calm down, son,” Ray took a deep breath looking around the house. ”I think I have some ideas on how we could do that,” he placed a hand on Chance’s shoulder, “Let’s go make sure Grandpa is okay with it first okay.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rachel stepped out of the car looking up to Ray’s eyes, “Where’s Chance? He always waits for me out here.”

Ray gestured to the house, “Well he’s got a surprise for you inside.” He led her through the front door, the house covered in gold, red, and green.

Rachel’s eyes went wide as she took it all in. The small pine tree, lights wrapped around it, the wreaths littering the walls, red bows connecting them all together. Stockings hung on the fireplace with care, Christmas music playing softly, the smell of sugar cookies baking hitting Rachel’s nose as her eyes landed on Chance. His brown hair covered by a red santa hat, a too big sweater with reindeer, gapped tooth grin on his face as he walked to hug her. “Merry Christmas Rachel!” He declared as he led her into the house, “Look, I made you a stocking,” Chance pointed to the one in the middle Rachel’s name made out of yarn and adorned with blue snowflakes.

“Chance,” he looked to her blue-green eyes, “it’s May.”

He rolled his eyes, “No it’s Christmas,” he pointed to the calendar on the fridge, “See it’s Christmas. Right dad?”

Ray nodded, having put on his own Christmas vest and a red nose, “He’s right it’s Christmas. Well Christmas Eve to be exact.” Rachel looked between Chance and his dad, doubtful crossing her arms.

The back door opened to Mickey Ruicknar stomping in brushing off the white flakes from his hair, “Well looks like that snow is starting to come down.” Rachel’s eyes went wide looking out the window.

“It’s May,” she protested, “It can’t be snowing.”

Ray squatted down to look her in the eye, “I promise you it’s snowing. You want me to show you?” A small smile came to her face as she nodded, “Alright let me show you,” he lifted her from the ground, Chance following behind. He brought her up to the back window, her eyes going wider the closer she got. The white flakes fell gracefully to the ground that was covered in white. “See it’s snowing outside,” Ray set her back down on the ground, “but we can’t go outside because it’s just way too cold.”

“Yeah and we have to make cookies still for Santa,” Chance pulled her towards the kitchen where Mickey was pulling out a tray from the oven.

Chance didn’t hesitate in pulling one of the perfectly golden brown cookies from the hot tray, “Chance! Those can burn you still,” Mickey chastised as Chance reached for another one.

“Hey- Ow. Ow,” Chance handed one of the hot cookies off to Rachel, “Careful they’re hot. But Grandpa it’s Christmas, you can’t be mad at me.”

Rachel tossed the cookie from hand to hand before placing it on the counter, “I think he can still Chance. May I have one of the other cookies?”

Mickey brought the plate of cooled and finished cookies down from the counter, moving it away quickly when Chance tried to reach for one, “Chance, kiddo, you’ve already had six of them. You won’t eat dinner.”

Chance looked to the floor sad, the warm cookie stuffed in his mouth, “I can still eat dinner.”

Rachel laughed at him, “Yeah Chance you won’t be able to eat dinner!” She grabbed a blue frosted cookie, her lips starting to stain already. She stuck her tongue at Chance who responded in kind.

“Alright kids,” Ray announced placing a box near the small pine tree, “Who’s ready to decorate the tree?”

“Me! Me!” The two kids screamed as they rushed over to the box of sturdy ornaments and some that were made the day before. Rachel pulled out the sparkling silver garland wrapping it around herself like a scarf singing along to the song playing on the radio. Chance making work of pulling out some of the pine cones, their placement haphazard, his voice over taking Rachel’s. She lightly pushed him laughing and giggling as Chance dropped a little tinsel in her hair. The older men watched and helped out where they could, their main job keeping the cookies from burning and that the snow stayed falling.

Ray had doubted the reception of Christmas in May for Rachel would be what Chance expected but he was right in that it wasn’t fair. Seeing the two of them laughing, dancing, and singing made it worthwhile to go as big as they did. Ray took a sip of the Irish coffee leaning against the kitchen counter, Chance and Rachel having moved on to coloring and writing letters to Santa, his own father joining him. “Can’t believe you talked me into this,” old Mickey gave a sigh, “glad we did this though. Nice to see him spending Christmas with someone else close to his age.”

“Yeah, it is. Guess that’s what we get for having such a small family,” Ray met his father’s light blue eyes.

Mickey scoffed, “Yeah. Just glad you got a little bit of time with them,” Ray watched as his father grabbed a cookie, “You think maybe we come up here for the holidays from now on? Let those two celebrate it together,” he pointed to the kids lying on their stomachs on the floor, both with the tips of their tongues sticking out of their mouth as they concentrated on writing.

Rachel’s raised feet moving along to the beat of Paul McCartney from the radio had Ray thinking about the possibility, but work was work and Montana winters were unpredictable. “Her family would never let her come over during that time. It’s hard enough now to get them to allow her over as it is,” Ray set his mug down shaking his head, “I wouldn’t want to get their hopes up.”

“And there’s your work too,” Mickey reminded him, “But you have a point. So what, we just have Christmas in May every year?” Ray gave his dad a shrug laughing, his dad putting his hand on his shoulder, “Well guess I better leave the rigs up then. Too bad you can’t just have Rachel stay with us full time. If it’s as bad as it seems then it would be best for her.” Chance stood up making his way to Mickey paper in hand, Rachel not far behind, “Did you two finish your letters already?”

The two kids nodded and spoke eagerly as Mickey led them back to the living room, looking over their work, Ray left in the kitchen lost in thought. Surely it wasn’t impossible to take Rachel in, but it would be hard, take some time. Would it even be the right move to take Rachel in? Would she be okay once all was said and done? Ray shook the thoughts from his head, it was just the heat of the moment thinking, he was probably misreading some of the events that had passed recently. If it looked like it was getting worse Ray would look into it, after getting a professional involved.

“Dad! Is it time to decorate the cookies?” Chance asked, bringing Ray back to the room around him.

“It’s only because you want to eat them right away,” Rachel giggled.

Chance rolled his eyes, “Well yeah what else are you gonna do with them?”

She put her hands on her hips, “Make a gingerbread house,” she looked up to Ray and Mickey scared, “Wait did we make gingerbread?”

Ray pulled down the box on the fridge, “Well we didn’t but we managed to find a kit,” Ray set it down gently on the table, “You just have to be careful okay?”

Rachel screamed in joy as she jumped up and down, clapping her hands, “I promise! Chance can we do that first? Please, please,” she begged.

Ray laughed at the look Chance gave her, his lips pursed, green eyes looking to the ceiling away from her, “Well I guess we can make the house first, Princess.” She squealed, giving him a hug before pulling him by the arm to the table. Ray pulled out the disposable camera taking more pictures of the night hoping that maybe some would turn out decent to commemorate the night. The two of them fighting over the best way to set up the house, or what decorations went where, had Ray and Mickey wondering how a house managed to get built and the lack of frosting on the walls. The cookie men proved to be where the frosting fight began. To be fair, Chance had started it by eating the eye of Rachel’s cookie self, she was appalled and covered cookie Chance’s green eyes with black frosting. Back and forth the two went, frosting ending up in both of their hair by the end of it all.

“Chance you weren’t playing fair!”

“I was only joking!”

“Alright you two,” Ray warned, “Let’s take a breath and then we can get the two of you cleaned up okay. Besides its time for bed soon anyway,” Ray patted their small shoulders.

“Mr. Ray,” Rachel looked up to him, her eyes big, “Is Santa really going to come tonight?”

“Well of course he is,” Mickey’s deep voice interjected, “But you have to be in bed first before he comes. It’s part of what makes the magic work,” Mickey winked at Ray.

“He’s right. So let’s get ready for bed,” Ray looked to Chance, “You take a bath first mister.”

“Yes, sir,” Chance mumbled, getting down from the chair, the older men’s eyes not leaving Chance until he went to the bathroom.

“What about me? I don’t have anything for a bath,” Rachel asked softly.

Ray knew it was a lie, “You have some in your bag, you showed me earlier,” she shook her head fervently. She was lying but there was no reason to lie, Ray glanced up to his father, “You’re right. I’m sorry Rachel.” He pulled out a frosting covered strand of hair, “However we need to get this frosting out of your hair still, so here’s what we’re going to do,” Ray pointed to the kitchen sink, “We are going to wash your hair in the sink there and clean your face up. Then you can go to Chance’s room and change.” He looked her in the eye, “Is that okay?”

She nodded smiling, getting the shampoo from her bag. “You might be onto something Ray,” Mickey whispered, “I’m gonna check up on the snow.”

Ray nodded making sure the two kids got ready for bed and all their letters and cookies for Santa placed by the tree. Ray was starting to usher them to the room when Rachel spoke up, “Can you read us a story? The Christmas story?”

Chance looked up to his dad before looking to the ground sadly, “We don’t have the book Rachel,” he told her avoiding her eyes, “Sorry.”

Her shoulders slumped, “Well we may not have a book but I have it memorized,” Ray tapped the side of his head. “Come on let’s get you into bed and then I can tell you the story.” Their faces lit up rushing and shoving the other to get onto the bed first, settling the pillows just right. Chance holding his white toy cat Artemis, a crescent moon on his forehead, Rachel gripping the Cheeseburger bear she won the summer before at the Testy Festy. The blue and green eyes focused on Ray as he clapped his hands, “Okay you ready?” They nodded, “Twas the night before Christmas…,” Ray started, he got through the first verse before forgetting all the exact words. The improvisation worked on them as the two kids laughed and their eyelids became heavier, eventually falling asleep.

Ray tucked them both under the covers before silently leaving the room. “You going to stay awake with me,” Mickey’s voice startled Ray as he grabbed his chest, “or are you actually going to try and get some sleep?”

“I’m fine dad. I want to help you get the presents all set up,” Ray waved his dad off making his way up to his room in the attic. The box of gifts and candy in the center of it, Ray hoped that Rachel would be happy with what they had picked out for her, if anything she couldn’t hate the stocking stuffers. When Ray got to the living room he tossed a red hat with a white beard attached to it towards his father, “Here in case they wake up.”

Mickey looked at it laughing, “You got a red coat in there too?” Ray grinned as he pulled out the read coat, “Of course you do.” Mickey groaned as he stood to put the garments on, “You really can’t do things halfway can you?”

“Chance wanted to go all out, so that’s what I did,” Ray shrugged, getting the smaller gifts placed in the stockings.

“Kid was also fine with there being no snow, but you managed to set up a rig that let’s the fake snow fall constantly,” Mickey adjusted the belt on the coat before bending down to help fill the other stockings.

“A basic chemical reaction and reusing an old fertilizer spreader is not that hard to do dad,” Ray picked up one of the cookies taking a bite.

His dad shook his head rolling his eyes, “Proves my point more Ray. Thinkin’ ‘bout it though, she deserves the all out.” Mickey finished setting up the stockings taking a break on the sofa, “I think we can wait to set the presents out a little bit.”

“Starting to get too old for Christmas, Dad?”

“Nah,” he reached for the letters next to the cookies, “I just want to see what they asked for.” He handed one over to Ray, the picture drawn by Chance, it asked for a science coat like dad’s and that Rachel has a fun time. “He’s gonna take after you, Ray, I promise you that,” Mickey looked at the one from Rachel, “Dear Santa I just want a pretty crown of flowers and to spend real Christmas with the Ruicknar’s.” Ray and Mickey looked at the letter, a family picture with herself thrown in, drawn on the back, “Maybe you make the time to come up here Ray. We could all have a real Christmas. One the two of them can play in the snow kind of Christmas.”

Ray sighed, taking the letter, “Maybe. I’ll see what I can do dad,” Ray turned the letter back over chuckling, “She spelled our last name wrong,” the two laughed trying to not wake them, “Can’t blame her though. She was close….”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chance pulled the old journal down from the shelf looking at the dates on the side, January 2000 to June 2000. He had skipped over this journal the first time around, paying more attention to finding out about his mom and his dad’s early life. Chance turned to head back downstairs to Faith who was making pasta, hearing the falling of thick paper. He looked down to the floor seeing bright blue and pink construction paper and two photos. He picked them up, looking them over as he walked down the stairs.

The first picture was of him and Faith as kids, frosting on their faces, his dad behind them smiling at the camera, a messy gingerbread house in front of them. Chance set it down on the table taking a seat looking at the other picture, this one Chance’s grandfather holding Faith helping her put the star on top the small tree while Chance sulked underneath, he couldn’t help but laugh at how dramatic he was back then. Faith turned to face him in her too big plaid shirt, “What’s so funny?”

Chance handed over the photo, “You remember when we had Christmas in May?” He looked over their letters to Santa once she took the pictures from him.

She smiled fondly at the memories, “Yeah. You guys got me a book on Greek myths. It was way too advanced for me, but I read it all the time once I was older,” she moved to sit in Chance’s lap kissing him, “I still have it too.”

#chance ruicknar oc #x: emo flower child #a chance for faith #I hope you enjoy it!

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merrickkingston · 4 years

Text

Our Forever Starts Now

Merrick: After a few delays, our wedding day was finally here. Kiara was going to marry me and become my “first lady”. Our wedding ceremony would be an intimate family affair. Her aunt Celina was our officiant, and her sister Amelia was escorting her down the aisle. We couldn’t wait to see Miranda toddle down the aisle in her flower girl finery. Baby Jaden was too young to participate, but he’d be there in his Dad’s arms. I had a feeling that Miranda would veer off the aisle and run to him too which would be just fine with us.

I had talked to Kiki about asking Chase to stand up with me until I found out that my childhood friend Damen had returned to the area. He was a couple years older than I was, but we couldn’t have been closer. I still remember when he left to go to college and then medical school on a full scholarship. I was as proud of him as his family was. It had been many years since we’d seen each other, but as soon as we reconnected and I introduced him to my fiancée, I couldn’t see anyone else standing up with me on the most important day of my life so far.

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Kiki: I didn’t think this day would ever come. Staying the night away from Merrick sucked. But I had to admit, having a girls’ night was just what I needed. It was amazing spending the night with Kenzi, Kenzi’s sister Cat, Amelia and the little ones, and my Aunt Celina. We sat around talking, playing with the kids, and just enjoying each other’s company. I know a lot of brides have this whole idea of how their last night as a single woman should go, but honestly? I couldn’t wait to get married.

I stretched as I got out of bed and grinned as I inhaled the scent of breakfast. I slipped my slippers on and giggled as I made my way to the kitchen. The one thing I missed about living with my aunt was her cooking. She made the absolute best breakfast...well her and Merrick.

———————-

Merrick: After dropping off Amelia and the kids at Celina’s house, Chase came over with breakfast. Damen had spent the night to catch up and keep me from going to see Kiki. Both of which I knew I would eventually appreciate. Once we had our fill of the amazing breakfast skillets and hash browns Chase picked up, we took our coffee outside for a few minutes of calm looking out at the lake. Damen noticed the time, “Think you better start getting ready, Mer. We know it takes forever to do that hair of yours.” I thought Chase was going to choke on his coffee to keep from laughing.

After a few minutes of good-natured goofing off, Damen cleared up our dishes while Chase herded me to the shower while he laid out my suit and Damen’s. By the time I was showered and groomed, I was ready to go get married. Damen and Chase were discussing the big reception that everyone in the pack was invited to after our ceremony when I came out. After several whistles and requests for me to spin, they deemed me ready to get married. We headed outside and down to the ceremony site near the water.

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Kiki: Breakfast was just as amazing as I remembered it. Even more so with everyone gathered around the table and eating, talking, and laughing. It was a great way to start this day. Before long everyone was full and sitting in the living room, talking about some of our favorite stories. Some of growing up, some from when we all moved here, just happy times.

When it was 2 hours before the wedding, everyone started ushering me upstairs to get dressed. I laughed as I pretended to drag my feet and made it a point that everyone needed to get ready, not just me. Before long, I was sitting in front of a mirror with Amelia doing my hair and Kenzi tackling my makeup. Once it was all done, I slipped into my dress and couldn’t help but grin. It all came together so perfectly. I couldn’t believe it was me standing in front of the mirror. My eyes teared up, “Oh my gosh!” Kenzi laughed, “Oh no, no crying! You’ll ruin your makeup!” She grabbed a tissue and started dabbing at my eyes to make sure the makeup didn’t get ruined. Then it was everyone else’s turn to get ready so we could go!

———————-

Merrick: When we arrived at the ceremony site, Alexi met us after making sure all the plans for the reception were well in hand. We talked for a few minutes about what a gorgeous day it was and how excited the pack was to celebrate the wedding all together. I hoped that it didn’t overwhelm my bride. All talking stopped when we heard a vehicle in the distance and Chase got a text. The ladies had arrived. Chase gave me a quick hug, then hurried off to get Jaden from Amelia and escort Celina down to the site.

Celina was beaming as she walked over to us on Chase’s arm and then hugged me tightly while he took a seat with his son. I held her as she whispered a few words in my ear that may have choked me up. She let go of me and reached up to caress my cheek with a smile before greeting Alexi and Damen. Once she was in place, Damen and I stood to her side and Alexi started some music on his phone. It played through Bluetooth speakers placed on either side of the rustic curtained arch we were using as an altar of sorts. Then everyone started to smile as Miranda started to toddle towards us in her lovely flower girl dress. As expected, she ran the last few feet to Daddy’s waiting arms. Then it was time for Kenzi. She seemed to float towards us, her eyes only on Alexi. She stopped on the other side of Celina and gave me a thumbs up. That was when my heart skipped a beat. My bride was next.

———————-

Kiki: I was a bundle of nerves. A part of me wanted to race down the aisle to Merrick’s waiting arms, but the other part of me was terrified I was going to face plant it walking up the aisle. I almost jumped when Amelia touched my arm, “Your turn,” she smiled. I grinned and nodded at her, “Am I supposed to be this nervous?” She laughed and told me it was normal. “Good, I was worrying that it was just me.” We both laughed and I hugged her, thanking her for everything that she had done for me and how much it meant to have her with me. Then I shut up before both of us were in tears.

I smoothed my hands down my dress and took my flowers from Amelia. “I’m ready!” She laughed and linked her arm through mine. I took a deep breath as the music started again. When I stepped into view, my eyes went straight to Merrick. He looked so handsome standing up there. I felt like we weren’t moving fast enough. I heard Amelia giggle and tell me to take it easy. I blushed and slowed my steps again. I think I held my breath until Amelia placed my hand in Merrick’s.

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Merrick: Once her hand was in mine, I could breathe again. We stood there for a long time simply looking into each other’s eyes. And then Celina cleared her throat and Damen rested his hand on my shoulder. Everyone laughed as we came back to earth and looked towards Celina. Kiki handed Kenzi her bouquet so she could take my other hand. We couldn’t seem to touch each other enough. Holding both hands would have to do for now. We laced our fingers together as Celina started to speak.

“We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of Kiara Sawyer and Merrick Kingston. In the time that they have been together, their love for each other has grown, turning them into the couple you see before you. Now, they are ready to spend the rest of their lives together as husband and wife. A true marriage begins well before the wedding day, and the efforts of marriage continue well beyond the ceremony. A brief moment in time and the stroke of the pen are all that is required to create the legal bond of marriage, but it takes a lifetime of love, commitment, and compromise to make marriage durable and everlasting. Today you declare your commitment to each other before family and friends.”

As Celina’s voice proclaimed our intentions, I squeezed Kiki’s hands. I felt like this day was never going to arrive. Not for me. And then my bride smiled at me. That’s all it took and I was hers.

“Do you, Merrick, take Kiara to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you part?”

I grinned from ear to ear, “I do,”

“Do you, Kiara, take Merrick to be your Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you part?”

I swear I stopped breathing as I waited for her answer.

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Kiki: If it wouldn’t be for Merrick’s hands holding on to mine, I would have floated away. I couldn’t put my words into feelings. I was over the moon happy and I knew nothing could bring me down. Not today. When Merrick said I do, I was silently cheering.

I looked at Merrick and smiled, “I do!” I didn’t think Merrick’s smile could get any bigger, but it did.

“By the power vested in me by the State of Montana, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride!” As Merrick dipped me and kissed me, our ears exploded in applause from everyone around us. I slipped my arms around his neck tightly and returned his kiss. We were finally married. I laughed when we came up for air.

“Family and Friends, I present to you for the first time Kiara and Merrick Kingston!”

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Merrick: She was mine and I was hers in front of family and friends for the rest of our days. I felt like my heart grew seven sizes larger as I kissed my wife. My wife! The fact that we were married finally hit me. I couldn’t stop laughing as everyone gathered round hugging us and congratulating us. Alexi gave me a look over Amelia’s shoulder as I hugged my sister-in-law. I winked at him with a grin as the music changed. Our friends started to form a small circle around us. It seemed to confuse my bride.

“Merrick?” I took the bouquet from her hands and handed it to Kenzi. “I know that the reception will be a big party with almost all the pack members present. So I asked Alexi to help me surprise you with our first dance here and now in this intimate circle of love. As Elton John’s voice started to serenade us, I slowly danced with my Tiny Dancer into the future. Our future together.

#rp #wedding

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