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set-phasers-to-whump · 4 years

Text

i think i need a doctor

Prompt: emergency room

Whumpee: Nick Burkhardt

Fandom: Grimm

heyo!! i am gonna be honest here i did kinda just pull this fic outta my ass so there is a chance its not very good but idk. anyway it is set early in season 2 i guess, juliette doesn’t remember nick you know how it is. maybe you will enjoy?

Nick was not really the kind of person that went to the emergency room. Usually, if he was in a situation where one might have gone to the emergency room, he either ignored or dealt with whatever it was as best as he could, or he eventually collapsed and ended up in the hospital. But today, he’d actually done the responsible thing. He’d taken himself to the emergency room.

He had been out having breakfast at his favorite cafe before work. It had been a pleasant morning, until the waiter had brought him a fresh cup of coffee to take with him to work. Nick had taken a sip, noted with some dismay that the coffee was bitter, paid for his meal, and headed out to his car.

He’d had a little more coffee on the way out, deciding he could put up with the bitterness in exchange for caffeine. He slid into his car and started the engine, taking a final sip of his coffee before he pulled out of the parking lot.

Not five minutes into his drive, Nick was considering whether he should pull over or drive himself to the ER. Something was wrong. His heart was beating far too fast, he was sweaty, dizzy, nauseous...he could barely think straight, and it took all of his willpower just to focus on the road.

I need help, he knew. That was as much thinking as his mind would allow him to do. He swallowed harshly, feeling his pulse pounding in his chest. His hands were starting to shake where they held the wheel in an iron grip. His vision went blurry for a second, and he nearly ran off the road, jerking the car back into its lane at the last second. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but they were already blurring so badly it made no difference. Emergency room, he decided, and then he thought it, over and over, so he wouldn’t forget. Emergency room.

Fortunately, Nick was familiar enough with the location of the emergency room to drive there in his current state without getting lost, though he had definitely broken several traffic laws (not the least of which was, don’t drive if you can’t even think straight).

By the time he screeched to a stop in the ER parking lot, Nick was almost completely out of it. He could still barely see, his heart was still racing, and the tremors in his hands had begun to spread through the rest of his body. He couldn’t remember what he’d been doing before he’d gotten in the car. He couldn’t even remember driving here. Nothing was making sense, but he knew he was at the emergency room, and he knew he needed to get inside.

Slowly, he climbed out of the car, collapsing against the door the second he’d shut it. His legs, which he hadn’t paid much attention to while driving, were shaking and curiously numb at the same time, and he could barely stand upright. Not to mention the sudden spike in dizziness and nausea that standing up had created.

Still, under all of this, Nick tried his hardest to focus. He was almost there. One quick walk and somebody would be able to help him. He just had to get inside.

He pushed unsteadily off of the car, nearly falling forwards onto his face but managing to regain his balance. He took a small, unsteady step as the blurry world tilted around him. And then he took another, and another, stumbling along slowly but surely.

After an eternity of walking, Nick found himself in the lobby of the emergency room, surrounded by a dizzying array of noises and sights which combined unpleasantly with the fogginess of his mind and made him forget entirely where he was and why he was there.

Then, there was a hand on his shoulder, which felt strangely disconnected from the rest of his body, and then someone was asking him if he was okay, and he experienced a very brief flash of remembrance - he was in the emergency room, and he was there because he felt terrible. “I think I need a doctor,” he mumbled, and then his legs finally gave way beneath him.

For a while after that, everything was a blur. Voices shouted urgently above him, millions of miles away. Things were touching him, and then he thought he might have been moving, and everything felt so very bad but at the same time he was far too out of it to care. Something very cold touched his arm, an easily recognizable sensation compared to the blistering heat that the rest of his body was feeling, and then everything went away.

He woke up feeling uniformly bad. His head began to ache the second he opened his eyes. His whole body ached, too, like it’d been through some strenuous activity which he could not, at present, remember. His stomach felt strange. His throat burned. His hair was stuck to his forehead in a way that told him he’d been quite sweaty, but he was cold in a way that told him he wasn’t sweaty anymore. And, of course, he was in the hospital, one of his least favorite places in the world. He took a look around.

There was nothing special in the room, really. Nothing to tell him what had happened. A few machines. An IV in his arm. A pulse monitor on his finger.

Someone in a white coat passed by his cracked-open door, and Nick called out to them, wincing when the action irritated his aching throat.

“Why am I here? What happened?”

“You were poisoned, Mr. Burkhardt. You collapsed in the emergency room.”

“I was poisoned?” He didn’t remember that. “Who poisoned me?”

“We were hoping you’d be able to tell us that,” said the doctor, looking sympathetic. “I’m afraid we don’t know.”

“Did you call anyone?” Nick asked, half-hoping but at the same time fearing they hadn’t.

“We called your girlfriend, who was listed as your emergency contact,” the doctor told him, and Nick groaned. He really didn’t need to bother her with this. Not when she was already having to deal with the whole having-no-memories-of-him thing.

“She said she’d be here as soon as she could,” the doctor went on, and Nick looked up in surprise. “She also said she was going to call a few of your friends, I believe. This was maybe fifteen minutes ago, so they should be here soon.” She gave Nick a smile.

Nick returned it, mildly stunned. He’d been sure Juliette wouldn’t have wanted to come to the hospital for a man she barely knew, but she was coming, and so, evidently, were his friends. He smiled a little more and thanked the doctor, who said she’d be back shortly to speak with him some more. Then she left, and Nick was left to wait.

Which he didn’t have to do for long. Not five minutes later, Juliette, Monroe, Rosalee, and Hank stood crammed into his small hospital room, clamoring over each other to ask questions.

“Are you okay?” Juliette asked, looking at him with so much concern on her face that Nick nearly wanted to cry.

“Do they know what it was?” Came Rosalee’s question, as she smoothed a hand over his hair.

“Who did this to you?” Monroe asked, his eyes faintly red but still full of worry. “I’ll kill them, I swear.”

“I’ll join you,” Hank added, a similar expression on his face.

Nick didn’t answer any of their questions, too caught up in just looking at them. At all of them, surrounding him in a way that would’ve made him feel trapped if they were anyone else, but which instead felt safe and comfortable and very right. They’d all come, for him. Stopped whatever it was they’d been doing. Left work. Just to come see him, because he’d been dumb enough to somehow get himself poisoned.

“Nick? You okay?” Hank asked, and Nick quickly wiped away a tear he hadn’t realized had fallen down his face. “Yeah,” he said, out of instinct, and then he realized he meant it -

He might have been recovering from being poisoned, might have felt like absolute hell, might have been grappling with the question of who had hurt him and why, but he really was okay. He wasn’t alone. His friends were there, and that was all that really mattered. He was okay.

hello i hope this was not too bad!! thanks a bunch for reading! (also do not ask what he was poisoned with i do not know lol just pretend there’s some poison that does all this ok)

#whumptober2020 #no.29 #emergency room #grimm #fic #nick burkhardt #poisoned #disoriented #i say things #my writing

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

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darlin’ - kim seokjin x reader

A/N: welcome to my favorite thing I’ve ever written. You are an actress that needs to learn how to ride a horse. Jin is the insanely hot cowboy that’s been tasked with teaching you. If this gets enough attention, I’ll be uploading the sequel (aka a pwp). 2.3k.

You sit gloomily on the rocking chair sitting on the front porch of the ranch. Less than a week ago you had been given the role of your lifetime; the leading lady in a period piece k-drama. Unfortunately for you, this job required horse-riding skills, something you very much lacked. You had begged for a stunt double, not wanting to go anywhere near those beasts, but there were too many scenes with actual dialogue that took place while the character was on a horse, and the budget had to be spent elsewhere.

So, here you were, waiting for the instructor to arrive and questioning if this was even worth it. Luckily it was warm enough to warrant your thin cotton leggings and workout tank, seeing as no one had really told you what to wear when coming here. The sun was high in the sky but there was enough cloud to ensure it wouldn’t be beating down on you. Beyond the ranch, there was an open expanse of fields and paddocks that slowly sloped up into hills at the horizon line. You reluctantly admitted it was a very beautiful place.

You hadn’t met the instructor yet; apparently, he wasn’t even a teacher, but he owned this place and was the only one qualified for miles. Shooting in the middle of nowhere did mean your options were limited.

“Ah, there you are, I’ve been lookin’ all over for you, missy.”

You start at the voice and look up to see a torso right in front of you. Incredibly worn and washed out jeans were cinched at his surprisingly delicate waist with a cut strip of leather, and a somewhat baggy white tank top was slightly tucked in, exposing his glorious arms and some of his collarbone. You had to admit that a life on a farm certainly looked good on him.

You glanced up, shielding your eyes slightly from the sun that was behind him, and just about choked on your own spit. With his hair lit up by the sun, glowing orange on the ends, and lips of an angel, he was possibly the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen, and that was including the actors you’d starred with before.

Belatedly, you remember he had spoken to you, and was now watching you drink up the view with an amused grin. “Oh, Jin, right? Uh, I thought if I got closer to the house, I might be able to get some Wi-Fi. Sorry.”

He chuckles, and your thighs clench together at the satiny sound. “Bless your heart. Darlin’, there’s no internet here. Old Marge down the road has her own cell tower or somethin’, but not me. Don’t need it.”

You gape at him. “What do you mean? What if, I don’t know, there was an emergency?”

He holds out a hand to help you stand, and you take it, marveling at the callouses on his palm and the effortless way he lifts you up out of the seat. “You don’t gotta worry a single hair on that pretty little head o’ yours, missy. I’ll take good care o’ you.”

You swallow hard at the double entendre, unsure if he even means it like that, and follow him down an uneven dirt path around the back of the ranch. Without letting go of your hand, which feels completely swallowed up by his, he leads you to a small stable beside a significantly larger barn.

“So, what animals do you have here?” you ask conversationally, looking to disperse the strange tension that had arisen.

“We got cows, we got some chickens, these horses o’ course. At some point you might meet Winston, he’s my farm dog. Keeps the livestock in line.” He comes to an abrupt stop, leaving you with a close-up view of the expanse of his back, just enough of his tanned shoulder blades visible to make you want to drool. “Now, darlin’, you ever ridden before?”

You shake your head. “I’m a little nervous, actually.”

He steps aside and swings an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in tight. “Don’t be, don’t be. The old girls‘ll love you, they’re absolute sweethearts.”

He kept his arm around you while he slid the lock across and let the wooden gate swing open. Slowly, two horses lumber out and look around curiously. You instinctively try to pull back, but the arm behind you prevents you from moving. “Shh, you’re okay,” he coos, rubbing the bare skin of your shoulder with the rough pad of his thumb. Jin reaches out with his other hand to let one of the horses, a tan one, nuzzle at his knuckles while the chesnut-brown one snuffles and stretches its legs. “They won’t hurt you. This here is Rosie, and the dark-haired beauty over there is Juliette. I took ‘em both out for a ride this morning, so they won’t be too energetic or bouncy, okay? Come on, I think Juliette wants to say hello.”

You jump in fright when a furry ridge is pressed against your arm, just below where Jin’s hand rests, and whirl your head around to see Juliette rubbing her long forehead against you. Jin continues to hush you and calm you down, and eventually you work up the courage to tentatively hover your hand in the air, fingers curled slightly inwards to present your knuckles.

Happily, Juliette pushes softly at your hand with her muzzle, until you get the idea and begin to run the flat of your hand up and down her forehead.

“You see, Juliette,” Jin calls out from beside you, “I told you she’d be sweet as a peach.”

You flush at the compliment and clear your throat. “Do we just get on them and go?”

“Darlin, they’re animals, not rollercoaster rides. They need to be comfortable with you just as you’re needin’ to be comfortable with them. Would you normally ride someone just after meetin’ ‘em? Come on, I’ll help you up.”

You bite your lip as Jin lifts his arm up off you, only to place both hands on your waist and gently push you forward until you’re standing at Juliette’s side, just beside the saddle.

“Now,” you suck in a breath when the hand on your right side slides down your thigh and cups the back of your knee, “you wanna lift this foot up and slip it into the stirrup facin’ forward. There you go. Next, you’re goin’ to hold on to the reins and grab some of Juliette’s mane, don’t worry, it won’t hurt her if you’re gentle, and lift yourself up and swing your leg over.” He takes his hands off of you and steps back, holding Juliette’s head steady.

You freeze and blink dumbly at him. Slowly, you reach up and grab the reigns, softly holding onto the thick hair of Juliette’s mane. He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling shut, and nods. Encouraged, you push off the ground and try to hoist yourself up, only to slip down again without enough momentum to get on. “I can’t do it,” you say, “I’m too short.”

“Nonsense,” he rebukes, “d’you think jockeys use a stepladder? You ain’t too short, you’re just too scared. Come on now, darlin’, one big jump is all you need.”

You take a steadying breath, squat slightly, and jump off, swinging your leg up. But again, your knee catches on the saddle instead of making it over, and you land heavily back on the ground, hopping around on one foot a bit to catch your balance. Juliette harrumphs and starts shifting back and forth impatiently. “Jin, I can’t do it.”

Jin lets go of Juliette’s head to come beside you again, reaching down to slip your right foot back out of the stirrup. You wince at the stretch in your hip muscle as you stand back on two feet. “Maybe you’re more of a beginner than I thought. That’s okay, I’ll tell you what; how’s about you and I ride the same horse together for now? I can handle the reigns and keep you steady and you can just get used to being on a horse?”

Reflexively, your eyes dip down to his crotch before returning to his face. “That sounds good, yeah. Let’s do that.”

He chuckles quietly to himself, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans. Wordlessly, you watch him unbuckle the saddle off Juliette and replace it with a longer one that has two sets of stirrups dangling from it. “Alright then, little lady, I’ll lift you up and get on right behind you, okay?” You step back up to Juliette and let him maneuver your hands to be gripping onto her mane, before he abruptly grabs your hips and lifts you up with an unprecedented strength. You squeak and jolt forward, pressing your chest against Juliette’s back to balance yourself as you lift your left leg over her and sit down on the saddle.

With your feet dangling, unable to locate the stirrups in your fright, and a death grip on the thick hair of Juliette’s mane, you feel your heart racing. “Jin,” you cry out, startled further when Juliette begins to shift beneath you.

You feel a weird tugging sensation on your right side, and then a pressure on your back. Two strong arms wrap around your middle, lifting you upright so your back is pressed against Jin’s solid chest. “Easy, easy,” he soothes, “you’re alright, I’ve got you.”

You let yourself calm down, going lax in his arms and tipping your head back so it rests on his shoulder. You feel his chest vibrate when he talks, and suddenly you become aware of just how much contact there is between you. “Fuck, that was freaky.”

“Language,” he scolds in a light tone, “don’t make me wash your mouth out with soap. There now, this isn’t so bad, is it? Should we go for a little wander?”

You sit upright and shake your head quickly. “I think I want to get off now.”

“Don’t be silly,” he retorts, “you’re doin’ just fine, missy. Come on, I’ll take it slow.”

Jin reaches down for the reigns and holds them taut but not tight, and he must have some secret command you don’t know about, because the horse begins to move forward slowly. Your heart jumps and one of your hands lets go of Juliette’s mane to latch onto his forearm, but he just shushes you and transfers one of the reigns to his other hand, holding his palm flat for you to grab a hold of. You place your hand in his and he interlocks your fingers, rotating his wrist slightly so that he can pick up the reign again with his thumb, pulling it in so that it is clasped between your joined hands. Jin turns his other palm up with the reign resting across it. His voice is low in your ear. “Your other one?”

More reluctantly this time, you let go of Juliette’s mane and hold Jin’s other hand. So focused on the feeling of his calloused palms against your much softer ones, you almost don’t realize Juliette has been picking up speed, the only indication being the way you begin to bounce a little in the saddle.

“That’s it,” Jin praises, “you’ve got the hang of it now, darlin’. Now, to make a horse speed up, you give her a little push with your heels, and to make her slow down, pull the reigns a little tighter. I want you to make her speed up a little bit, and then slow down again.”

You bite your lip and tentatively squeeze your feet inwards onto Juliette’s body. She immediately picks up speed and you gasp, letting her go at the quicker pace for a few moments before tugging the reigns back with the hands you have interlocked with Jin’s.

“Good, there you go, you’re a natural.” Jin shuffles a little, and you suck in a quiet breath when his new position leaves his crotch pressed right up to your ass. “We’re going to go faster now, I want you to try and push your pelvis down a little into the seat like I am, so that you don’t bounce around too much.”

Acquiescing, you shift your hips forward a little so that your core is flattened against the saddle. You shiver when you feel your clit press against the solid leather. This really wasn’t the time to be getting turned on, and so you cleared your throat. “Okay, let’s go.”

Jin squeezes your hands once. “There’s my brave girl. Hold on tight, now.”

You focus on doing just that as Juliette begins to gain some serious momentum, until eventually she’s just short of a full-blown gallop. Your stress-level is high and you’re trying to keep breathing, but every time Juliette lands, a jolt shoots up your core and Jin’s jeans rub against the tender skin of your ass underneath your leggings.

It takes you a while to realize with your senses already overwhelmed, but once Jin pulls your hands back to tighten the reigns and slow Juliette down, you can feel a hardness against you, and hear the sound of Jin’s heavy breathing in your ear.

You almost feel like panting yourself, knowing that by now your underwear is probably a mess. “Why are we stopping?” you ask with a shaky voice.

“Oh, darlin’,” Jin murmurs in your ear in a gravely tone, “you can feel what you do to me. Did you think a horse was the only thing you’d be riding today?”

#bts x reader #jin smut #jin fanfic #jin fic #seokjin x reader #bts au #ksj

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aki-draws-things · 5 years

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@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: stranded/lost

Fandom: Romeo et juliette

Ship: //

A bit vague and metaphorical with the prompt, and not much angsty, but still fine. Little tybalt was cute.

There, @vicapuleti ...

a bit sad in some part but no angst, mostly the Cat being worried. And the little monkey is there too...

Any mistakes will be corrected tonight once I'm at the computer. It was written entirely on the phone so sometimes auto correction kicks in and... It doesn't work how it should honestly. Sorry about them

***

Fights happened, sometimes, in every family, even the closest. Sometimes people, siblings, would fight over a cake, other times over chores, some other times over family. Fights always happened in families, even in theirs, but never like this.

The first time tybalt was five and juliet born a couple of days before, everyone's attention was for her, for the tiny blond baby. At the time he was only five, what did everyone expect? For him to understand? He understood, yes. He understood that everyone was too busy to care for him. - much later he would swear that for her he would die, but that will be later. -

"be quiet, tybalt. - his brother whispered, the little thing left in his arms by the Nurse. - you'll wake juliet up."

"don't care. - he whined, lips curled in a small pout. - I want to play. Come play."

"not now, dear. Later."

"now!" the Cat smiled and knelt in front of him.

"do you want to try and hold her?"

"no!!" he slapped his hand away, somehow careful, though maybe not fully intentionally, not to touch the baby.

"Tybalt." he warned, voice low, almost dangerous, for sure angry. "you're old enough to understand. Juliet is just a baby. Like a kitten, they don't even open their eyes when they're born."

"kittens are cute. She's not."

"oh, but she will be cute when she'll grow up. And you will play together." he tried again.

"I don't want her. - something flashed in his eyes, he looked up to his brother in fear. - you love her more than me." he claimed, horror filling every word, he couldn't believe it, he didn't want to. And yet that's what it looked like. His brother now preferred that little thing to him.

"that's not true, my dear."

"yes!!!" the high pitch that came out woke juliet who looked around, big eyes open wide, and start crying.

"look what have you done, tybalt." the Cat moved away, cradling her, whispering soothing words she couldn't yet understand, leaving little tybalt where he stood, stunned. After a moment he turned on his heels and ran out of the room.

He slammed the door of his room and looked around.he could climb in the bed, hide under the blankets and remain there until someone would come look for him, yes, he could. He actually should.

"but he won't come." his mind told him, a malicious, scary voice. "he doesn't care anymore. No one does." sniffling soundly he dragged a chair by the window, stood on it to open it and then dragged it out on the balcony. He wasn't scared of height, and he climbed up and down that same balcony thousands of times even in his short life. Slowly he climbed down to the gardens and as soon as his feet touched the grass he started to run.

It was only hours later, with the sun high in the sky, that he realized he didn't know where he was anymore. Verona was big, and he simply ran, barefoot, through the streets, between people's legs in the market, through the squares. And now he was lost.

"it's not like someone will come looking for you. They didn't even realize you're gone." he thought again. He sat on a corner, put his chin on the knees and hid there, a bundle of messy clothes, white and red, and curly hair. And tears.

Alone.

"oh no, dear... You're lost, aren't you?" a woman knelt before himamd he looked up nodding sadly, he was sure he saw her before, and the blue colors were familiar too. "oh no, you poor boy. What's your name?"

"Tybalt."

"Capulet?" a second voice, deeper, stepped in and tybalt tried to hide better between his legs and the wall, there was something dangerous in the way the man said his last name.

"oh, stop it, he's a child, and he's lost. You must be starving, too. Come, let's get you something to eat, sweetie." the man didn't look convinced but she was, she kept smiling as they walked to a palace nearby, she even told him he could play for a bit with their son and nephew before going home. Tybalt froze at the word. *home. *

"I don't want to go home." he whispered making her turn his way.

"why is that? Your family must be so worried for you."

"no. Cat don't love me anymore. I don't want to go home." tears fell down his cheeks as he tried to hide his sobs, grasping the blue fabric of the dress when the woman picked him up. "he only loves Jul now."

She heard him sob on her shoulder.

***

It was almost lunch time and the door to their room was slightly open, and yet, when the cat walked inside, it was empty. The beds were made, the closet closed with a key and tybalt wasn't hiding under the bed like he did other times to scare him. The window, though, was open, and a wooden chair left forgotten on the balcony. The boy looked at it in horror, of course he knew his brother could clind that wall easily, he almost learned it as soon as he could walk, a little monkey, the Nurse called him, but where did he go?

He turned, almost crashed against the door and ran out.

First he checked the gardens, then every hidden room, any hiding spot he could think of and then, only at the end, after running like a crazy man around the whole house without explanation, he found himself staring at the gates.

He could send others outside in the city, he could send many of them to cover every single street, instead he went alone, calling at the top of his lungs his brother's name. And with every step, with every scream, fear took hold of his heart. It was his fault, after all. He was so focused on juliet, on helping the Nurse with her that he -- forgot. He forgot tybalt was five. He forgot he was under his care now that their parents were gone, he forgot he couldn't really understand what it meant having a newborn baby in the household. He simply forgot.

But he couldn't lose him, not his little brother, not his kitten, not his own blood, he promised to take care of him, and he had failed. He felt lost. Utterly lost. So he kept running, and calling, and asking around. He wanted to find him, he had to find him, and then he would make up for that. He just had to find him.

***

"he needs to go home."

"let him play a little more with Romeo, dear. Look at them, they're kids, they don't deserve our stupid feud to ruin them."

"he's a Capulet."

"yes, and he's letting our son ride on his back without complaining. Is that a bad Capulet?"

"he--"

"ouch!!" they turned in time to see him faceplant on the grass with little Romeo still on his back.

"are you ok?" asked benvolio taking Romeo and letting him sit back up.

"yes... Tripped. Sorry."

"sowwwy." the little kid repeated before leaving his older cousin arms and crashing against tybalt, laughing.

"they're kids. - she said again, smiling. - let them be kids."

It was little after dinner when she convinced him to be taken home, they decided to leave at the gates of the palace to avoid any potential, unwanted encounter. Truth to be told that had been lord Montague's idea, his wife's intentions, on the other hand, were to storm inside and have a word or two with anyone who should take care of tybalt. They settled on the gate, in the end.

They were walking slowly, keeping his pace, his little hands wrapped tightly around two of their fingers, safely walking in the middle. If it wasn't for the clothes colors and the blond hair, in contrast to their darker ones, one could even think it was their son. He stopped short and let go of lord Montague's hand.

"Cat!" he exclaimed, a mix of excitement and fear, pointing to a man sitting alone on a bench, head bowed and hands in the hair, his shoulders trembling just slightly, like he was crying.

"you know him, dear?" she asked, even at their distance she could see the similarities between them.

"Cat!!" letting go of her fingers too he sprinted forward, arms soon wrapping around the older boy's legs.

"oh my God... - panic, and relief, and guilt all flashed in his face when he looked up and immediately picked him up against himself, burying the face on his hair. - tybalt--tybs, tybbles, kitten... Oh, God, love where were you? I searched everywhere." he cried, hand never still, they kept moving, brushing his hair, and back, always holding him close, mostly so he wouldn't see his tears, or the red eyes after spending so many hours crying. He felt his head bowing slightly.

"... Sorry Cat..." somehow that brought more tears to his eyes.

"no... No no no no. Don't. It's not your fault, it's mine. I'm sorry. I swear I'll never leave you alone, ever ever again, my dear. I swear to the God, I swear to you. To anyone."

Maybe seeing the older boy this much desperate quieted her intentions of calling them out and teaching some things on how to take care of a baby.

"I imagine you'll be safe from there, dear." she said making both brothers turn. Tybalt nodded, arms draped around his brother's neck sniffling quietly.

"you--" the Cat started but words failed him after a moment, what was he supposed to say? That they were Montagues? That they couldn't be trusted?

"we would have took him home sooner. - lord Montague stepped in. - we just couldn't take our son away from him. That little monkey thought he had a new brother to play with and just wouldn't let go." a soft, small laugh escaped the boy's lips.

"I see many kids are monkeys, then... Not just this climbing kitten here."

"how did he ran away, anyway. He said why, but not how."

"he-- - he sighed, not annoyed, more tired now that tybalt was safe in his arms. - he climbed down the wall of our room." he admitted in the end, she seemed to be taken back at the discovery, then she shook her head and patted his head gently.

"well, next time don't make you brother worry like that, dear. You can come playing with Romeo and benvolio whenever you want." he lit up from his position and nodded eagerly before they walked in the opposite direction toward home.

"not angry?" he asked as his brother put a nightshirt on him and moved the blankets from the bed to let him in.

"no. No kitten, I'm not angry."

"sad?"

"no, scared. I thought I had lost you. I can't lose you."

"still love me?" he asked around a yawn, the Cat smiled and sat on the bed next to him.

"more than anything. More than anyone. More than my life."

"love you that much." he freed the arms from the blankets and opened them as wide as he could.

"oh, dear... Than I'll have to love you even more now. Come on, sleep now."

"stay?" he asked, again.

"always. I promise. I swear. Always."

#Tybalt Capulet #The Cat #Kid fic #Some Montagues too #Prompt: stranded/lost #Bad things happen bingo #Bthb #Romeo et juliette #Retj #Fanfic #Aki writes

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atmilliways · 5 years

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((fic)) Hello, How Are You

One devastating turn deserves another, so this fic is brought to you by @calliopinot‘s Noon On A Tuesday (which you have to read in order for this to make the right amount of sense), plus these headcanons and also this one (thanks @spaceviking), and Hello by Adele but with a nicer ending.

Oh, and an all day wine and food event with 40 participating wineries. Don’t worry, I only made it to 8. That’s not even my record, and I actually remember the end of the day. That’s a serious accomplishment in Zinfandel country.

Anyway, the end of this fic is sappy as hell and I’m not sorry at all about that.

Hello, How Are You

It had taken him years to come here because, really, he wasn’t a dumb kid anymore. With time and therapy, he’d outgrown the idea that his love and existence was so flawed that it destroyed anyone he cared for.

Ironically, he now stood on the doorstep of the man who had first made him believe that, simply by being the first to be left standing.

Toki checked the paper in his hand for probably the tenth time, wondering if he had misread Pickles’ messy scrawl — the house was just so ordinary. He had lived this way himself for decades now, of course, but somehow hadn’t expected it in connection with today, with the man he was hoping to see. It was only one story and modestly sized, with a bay window looking into a sparse but cozy living room. The yard was filled with ornamental grasses instead of a classic lawn and had a winding stone path through blooming roses and perennials. Real colors, when he tended to remember the place’s owner exclusively in grayscale and blond, as so much of their life had been back then. A part of him regretted ringing the doorbell as soon as he did it, but the sound of guitar arpeggios echoing through the house made the corner of his mouth twitch.

Little touches, like that and the miniature wolf statue peering watchfully out from amidst the bushes by the door, assured him yes, Skwisgaar did live here.

As Toki waited for someone to come to the door, absently twisting the wedding band he still wore, he heard the thumps and whines of various dogs jostling around inside. A muffled voice scolded them briefly and then the door swung open to reveal the same Skwisgaar that he remembered, black shirt and faded jeans and all, except for the silver at his temples and the lines that had crept into his face around the eyes.

“Oh. Uh,” Skwisgaar said, staring.

That was as far as he got before three huskies swarmed out from behind his legs. They milled around Toki’s legs, nosing at his hands and crotch inquisitively — so unruly compared to the golden lab mixes Abby’d had over the years, but those had all been well-trained service dogs. At least no one was trying to jump up and lick his face.

“Nej, gets back heres you dumb goofballs...” Skwisgaar shooed the dogs back inside before shooting him a look that was both sheepish and curious. “Sorry. They gets, uh, pretty exciteds when people comes by. Don’t gets a lot of visitors here, you knows.”

“Yeah, it was kind of hard to find.” His mouth felt so dry. Why was his mouth so dry? He also felt unaccountably stupid showing up in a button down shirt and khakis like this was some sort of job interview or something. Toki rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, wondering if this was how Skwisgaar had felt during that one visit years ago, so... thrown, by memories versus reality.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment until Skwisgaar cleared his throat, still trying to hold back the tide of dogs. “So, you wants to come ins or something? I could meet you arounds on the back porch if you don’ts want to deals with these dildoes.”

“Oh, it’s fines,” Toki said, then felt his face redden at the slip. All those years of Leah helping him with his English, the kids playfully teasing and correcting him on the occasional misplaced a plural or mispronunciation, apparently didn’t hold up to facing this fragment of his past. “I mean, I don’t mind dogs, as long as they don’t try to hump my leg or anything.”

“That... Well.” Skwisgaar shuffled backwards, grabbing onto the collar of one of the huskies. “I just puts him in the music room for yous. The others am okays, come on ins.”

Toki followed him inside, pulling the door shut behind himself and looking around. The entryway was fairly bare, just white walls and dark wood floors, about what he would have expected. “So you still play? I wasn’t sure, after you stopped doing that masterclass thing.”

“Oh, you watched that?” Skwisgaar called back distractedly from deeper inside the house.

“Luke did, when he was learning guitar.” Toki couldn’t help smiling a little, with no one there to see. “He got into metal for a while after he saw some pictures of me from the old days. I think it was the long hair. He never did want to cut his short.”

There was the sound of a door slamming, and then the lanky blond reappeared with the remaining two dogs crowding at his heels. “Wasn’ts all you had was girls, last time I heards?”

“Oh... Sorry, I forgot you wouldn’t know.” Toki shrugged. “He changed his name from Leah Jr. to Luke before college. It’s not a big deal. The hormone therapy is going really well, he’s starting to grow a beard now. It’s coming in the way mine did though, remember that time I tried growing it out? And it came in all patchy? I told him he might be better off with just a mustache, but who knows if he’ll listen to me, I’m just his dad or whatevers.”

It occurred to him that he was rambling and that Skwisgaar was giving him a weird look — not one of the looks that meant Toki would have to punch him in the face in defense of his son, just one that wanted to point out they hadn’t spoken in almost fifteen years but, like, didn’t at the same time. It was an unexpectedly hopeful look, shuttered away after an instant as though it hadn’t been meant to be seen, and the implications tugged unpleasantly on Toki's insides. His mouth snapped shut and he followed the other man down the hall into a spacious and, again, mostly white living room. He could see a river winding past through the sliding glass door on the other side of the room. It was nice.

“Have a seats, huuueeeeuuugghhhh, anywheres,” Skwisgaar said into the awkward silence, gesturing to the white couch. Or, the mostly white couch with a liberal dusting of husky hair on it, even in places where Toki wouldn’t have thought a dog that size could or would climb. It was probably also the reason there weren’t any of the plush fur throw rugs Toki remembered him preferring. “You want some coffee or anythings?”

“No, I’m fine thanks.”

“Okay. Uhhhhh... Anyways, ja, I plays,” he continued while Toki made himself comfortable. “Don’t really does much with its now, but sometimes Nathan wants a thing written for ones of those shows he ams working ons, he gives me a calls, Charles sends the checks in the mails, all thats. But it ams, you knows. A goods hobby.” Once his guest sat down in a tall but well-padded easy chair, he took the couch and immediately had two dogs happily vying for control of his lap. “What abouts you?”

Toki looked down at his hands. “I still play sometimes. More since the kids all left home, but less than... since Leah.”

Skwisgaar sighed. “I heards about that. Thoughts about going to pays my respects, but...” He gave a pained grimace that was, maybe, intended to be an apologetic smile. “Didn’ts really knows her, and Pickle tolds me it was probablies not the best ideas.”

“Oh,” Toki said blankly. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Pickles had never mentioned Skwisgaar wanting to come to the funeral. But would he have remembered if he had? That had been, to put it mildly, a bad time. Juggling all the funeral arrangements, hospital bills, and suddenly being a single parent to a teenager and two preteens — it had been a lot. He’d barely kept it together for the first few years, and still felt bad that Juliette had taken it upon herself to help look after her siblings and grown up so much so quickly.

“...You lets your hair grows out somes,” Skwisgaar blurted out.

“I did,” Toki agreed, grateful for the change of subject. He swished his fingers through it, a fall of brown that came down to around his chin, just like when they’d first met. “Two girls and a gender fluid kid in the house, we used to have some wild hairdo parties, let me tell you.” He laughed. Kind of forced, but close enough to real. “And it worked out. Juliette is doing really well in cosmetology school.”

“That’s greats, Toki.”

The smile on Toki’s face was a brittle one. He was proud of his kids — hell, proud of himself for producing three non-fucked up human beings, considering his own bleak childhood, homeless adolescence, and raucous early adulthood. Things really had turned out for the best.

Mostly. Because while he’d had a loving, supportive partner to help lay the groundwork for his wonderfully normal new life, it hadn’t turned anything like what he’d imagined. She’d died and he’d found out that there were even worse things than having his heart broken, like having to decide whether to keep all of her old things around as a constant, heart-stabbing reminder or carrying overflowing boxes out to the curb past his crying children, pleading to hold onto the memories of their mother. Impossible choices.

The conversation had hit another lull, both of them just looking at each other over a canyon of decades.

“So,” Skwisgaar said awkwardly, “why... ams you decided to visit todays? Nots that I minds the companies,” he added quickly, unwilling to drop the strained pretense of gracious host. Clearly he didn’t want to be as blunt as Toki had been when he’d visited, all those years ago. No attempt had been made to flaunt his carefree, unattached lifestyle out here in the countryside, with no neighbors for miles and no real obligations to speak of save for occasional songwriting favors. He hadn’t gone for the jugular with, to name an example completely at random, a #1 Guitarist mug.

Toki’s smile cracked. On the couch, the two dogs raised their heads and looked at him inquisitively, approximately one second before he sucked in a breath like a man afraid of drowning and sank his face into both hands. For a long time he’d been able to keep his old life and live locked up tight, separate from his newly constructed family. He’d stopped discussing it in therapy years ago, long enough that his therapist never thought to bring it up anymore. Long enough that he hadn’t realized the parallels for a long time.

And it all came pouring out a torrent of word vomit that tasted all the more bitter for how long he’d been holding it in. A family of five? The way Leah had died, carving a chunk of his life big enough to leave him broken — what was he supposed to do, let it? And then the kids moving out. Little Abby had been the first to go and the last he had expected to lose so soon, a blow out of nowhere just like Murderface lapsing without warning into a coma. Luke had developed new interests, decided on a far more ambitious musical ambitions than his old man, and gone off to school at a fabulous conservatory half way across the globe, echoing Nathan’s departure for new and interestingly brutal pursuits. Juliette, like Pickles, had stuck around the longest, but now she was finally getting into cosmetology full time and living with her girlfriend, fostering an endless stream of troubled kids that the system had failed because her heart was just that goddamned big. There were visits, and phone calls, and occasionally even meeting up for lunches or dinners, but they had their own separate lives to get back to. Toki had... nothing. Just like after Dethklok.

Nothing but this ghost from his past who, before he realized what was happening, was kneeling in front of his chair and pulling him into a rough hug. Toki let himself be pulled. The dogs crowded around him and licked helpfully at the tears and snot boiling out of him before it could land on Skwisgaar’s shirt, though it caught its fair share of slobber and stray fur instead. Thumps and distressed dog noises from elsewhere in the house suggested that the third had some idea of what he was missing out on and resented being excluded from it, but oh well. Special persons invite club cry-a-thon, no leg humpers allowed.

Because Skwisgaar was crying too. First it registered as a growing dampness on his shoulder. Then Toki realized that the other man’s hands were gripped onto his shirt in big handfuls, and what had seemed like a comforting rocking motion was the Swede shaking with the effort of keeping his own tears silent and unobtrusive.

“Skwisgaar, what’s…” More alarmed than he would have expected given his own simmering breakdown, Toki managed to disentangle himself enough to pull back and get a look at his face. There was no hope of passing it off as ‘just gettings high’ today — not that it had ever been very effective ruse, Skwisgaar was an ugly crier and always had been. “What’s wrong?”

“Because,” came the choked up reply. “You saids you was happy. I s-stayed aways because you was happy. You didn'ts…” Skwisgaar was squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to not totally lose it, but his grip was clearly slipping. “You didn’ts deserve for it to all falls so much to shits that you comes to see me."

“Oh…” Toki slid to the floor as though his bones had been removed and replaced with cooked spaghetti, because that was exactly it. Skwisgaar had dumped him and it had been devastating, but he’d reinvented himself, met a girl, made a new life for himself without him.

It had taken so long to decide to come here precisely because he had been happy. Ecstatically so, and in the new life he’d made, even after Leah, there had been no room for Skwisgaar in it. But to see that Skwisgaar had known that — hell, actually respected that enough to leave him be for all these years — made him realize.

“Skwisgaar,” Toki said, sniffling and reaching to smooth some of the other man’s tears away. Skwisgaar startled at the touch, blue eyes flying open.

“Whats?”

“I don’t regrets anything about my family,” Toki told him earnestly, “but it was always supposed to be you.” And kissed him.

They were both still crying so it was wet and clumsy and messy, but their lips fit together just as perfectly as Toki remembered. Sure, he’d repressed that memory for a long time, but he’d had to.

For so long they’d been spun around in a dance of wanting different things, never on the same page, perfectly compatible but just off somehow. Then there had been Leah and it had felt impossible to reconcile those dual loves, so Toki had always told himself that his first choice had never been right or good for him. And maybe that instinct had been spot on, maybe Skwisgaar back then had been all wrong, a pentagonal peg that Toki had desperately fit into a round hole — but things had changed. So much was different now, about both of them. Here in this modest house, sitting on the floor with dogs trying their best to cheer up two idiot humans with even more slobbery kisses than the one they were currently sharing with amazed enthusiasm, they fit together in ways that was far more than just physical. It finally felt like they were on the same page, older and wiser but still head over fucking heels for each other.

A third furry body crashed into them and Skwisgaar broke away with a cry of, “Fucksdammit Morderface, if you brokes another door you ams sleeping outskied tonights I swear to fucking Odin!”

Toki laughed and rubbed his face on his sleeve and stood, despite the (pudgier, more blunt-nosed) husky immediately going for his leg as he did so, offering Skwisgaar a hand up that he accepted without hesitation. “You named him Murderface?”

“Ja,” Skwisgaar said sheepishly. He didn’t let go of Toki’s hand once he was up, instead threading their fingers together. “Uh, ands the other two ams Nathan and Pickles. Makes me feel less, eughhh, lonely out heres, you knows.”

“Huh.” Toki looked down at their entwined fingers. Smiled. Squeezed. “Just those three?”

“There ams only one Toki Wartooth,” Skwisgaar told him seriously, then pulled him into another kiss that lasted much, much longer.

#metalocalypse #my fanfic #my fanfiction #skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #postklok #idiots in midlife crisis love #skwistok

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talesmaniac89 · 7 years

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The Little Warrior

Summary: Dad!Crowley & Daughter!Reader - Crowley takes his five-year-old daughter trick or treating for Halloween.

Word Count: 2111

Triggers: None, just father/daughter fluff

Y/N = Your name ¦ Y/E/C = Your eye colour ¦ Y/H/C = Your hair colour

Note: Another one shot with the father/daughter duo! All these fluffy stories can be read separately from each other or together. Just fluff, no strict story-line here guys!

Other stories with the duo:

Fatherhood, Disney Movie Madness, Tea Party Playtime, Good Night Princess and Walkies With ‘Ette

---

Crowley had never really like Halloween. Sure, in some ways it was the easiest day, after Valentine, to get a few extra souls on the books. A bunch of drunk frat boys on a dare or some soccer moms on wine trying to get a few thrills with this old “spell” they found, made for easy targets when everyone was looking for a way to scare themselves and their friends. But honestly, to the King of Hell, Halloween was overrated. Though he had to admit that he did enjoy what their depiction of witches used to portray his mother dearest as, used to being the main point of that of course, since everything had turned a bit “sexier” over the last few decades.

No, the demon wasn’t too fond of the season. The humidity messed with his perfectly pressed suits and the demon population had a habit of taking advantage of the gore and horror thinking Crowley couldn’t tell disobedient demons from drunken humans. He also never particularly liked pumpkin spice. Still, over the last few years the King of Hell had gained a different perspective on the season, all thanks to hell’s very own little princess.

When Juliette first had brought back the tiny baby girl five years prior after harvesting the soul of her deadbeat mother, Crowley had not even pictured himself ever being a father again. So of course that meant that he never thought he’d be ordering his tailor to make the little girl a special knight costume based on her colourful drawing… Nor a matching dragon costume for poor Juliette who was more lapdog than hell-hound to the little girl. But that was exactly what he had done just a week prior.

Of course, the former crossroads demon turned king had only the best people in his employ. So, he knew for certain that the tailor wouldn’t spill the beans about the little five-year-old who was hell’s secret princess and the center of Crowley’s universe. Only a handful of his closest followers knew of the tiny human girl who somehow had managed to twist the king around her small, little fingers. And Crowley preferred to keep it that way.

Which of course only made Halloween so much harder. Crowley’s princess loved dressing up. And like any other five-year-old, she loved candy. So Crowley, had to go to great lengths to ensure his little chipmunk had the chance to go trick or treating, just like any normal little girl. Because even though she had grown up in the king’s private slice of hell, he wanted her to have a normal life, just like any other loving father did. Which meant he had a lot of planning to do before the 31st. Unfortunately, there was only so much he could do with just a snap of his fingers.

---

“Daddy! Treat!” (Y/N)’s voice was happy and loud as Crowley walked through the door into the colourful private slice of hell that had been redone in bright and warm colours after the addition of the little princess to the family. Her little feet scrambling under the blanket she’d clearly just thrown over her head to act as a ghost. The white fabric hiding that cheeky little smile that always melted Crowley’s heart when she turned up the wattage to twist her father further around her little finger.

“Oh! What’s this? That’s not my little chipmunk, it’s a ghost!” Crowley said, feigning shock and fear as he jumped back against the closed door in a way that made his little girl giggle hard enough for the little blanket wrapped bundle to shake.

“Noooo daddy! Is me!” She laughed, pulling the blanket back to peek up from underneath it. Showing the small girl underneath, big smile and bright eyes beaming up at him from the floor. “Treat!” Struggling with the blanket for a second she managed to free a hand and hold it out for a piece of candy as she smiled sweetly at him.

Crowley held back a laugh as he pulled out the small bag of sweets he’d picked up for her earlier in the day, unable to stop the warm smile that easily reached his eyes and transformed the man from a demon and into a father as she made a high pitched sound of excitement from seeing the small bag.

“‘Allo’een!” The little princess was almost jumping up and down as she reached out for the bag, hugging it close with an excited laugh. “Thanks daddy!” She added nearly blinding him with her happy little smile as she reached her small arms up to include her daddy in the hug together with her blanket and the bag of Halloween candy.

“Yes pet, it’s Halloween today, and that means we can go trick or treating once we have your costume on,” Crowley chuckled as he bent down, scooping the little girl into his arms, blanket and all. As she put her tiny arms around his neck and gave him a bear hug Crowley swung her around once before carrying her into the living room, where the nanny had left the costume before heading off, as was their agreement.

The small green knight costume was clearly one of a kind. The tailor had outdone himself. It almost saddened Crowley that they could only go to the few chosen places on their list that the king had deemed safe for his princess. The proud father in him wanted to show off his little heroine to the world.

“No trick! Only treat!” (Y/N) squealed before placing a sloppy kiss on Crowley’s cheek. Her usual go-to trick for buttering up her father. And honestly, they both knew it worked. He would give her the whole galaxy if she chose to ask for it.

“Ok, only treats pumpkin,” Crowley laughed, tickling her sides to tease another laugh bright enough to light up his whole world before setting her back down on the floor and sinking down to his knees to be at the same height as her. “But first, did you see what daddy got you for your costume?”

“Cos’ume?” The adorable little human girl’s eyes were twinkling with excitement and confusion as she let her head fall a little to the side and her brow got that cute little furrow it always got when she couldn’t fully understand what her daddy meant. Her eyes falling to the bag of sweet treats in her hand before looking back up at her father.

“Yes, for dress up,” Crowley said, smiling and softly nudging the little princess until she turned halfway to see the knight costume, her own design, hanging up by the door to her bedroom. He had kept the costume itself a secret from her, until that very moment, trusting his tailor’s measurement and unable to help himself when it came to surprising the apple of his eye. “So that you can be a hero,”

“Cos’ume! I’m gonna save everyone!” She squealed happily, running towards the costume that was hung just out of her reach and leaving her father and the blanket behind. “‘Ette too?” She asked Crowley, looking up at him as he came to stand closer to her, admiring his tailor’s work and his girl’s imagination.

“Yes, daddy got Juliette a dragon costume, but she can’t come when we go for treats so you can play with her later,” Crowley said as he reached up, grabbing the hanger and lowering the costume so that his princess could hold it.

“Why not?” His chipmunk sounded more confused than sad at the prospect of being a knight without her dragon. Though there was no real way for Crowley to properly explain to the five-year-old that seeing a hell-hound dressed up as a dragon would most likely cause havoc, even among demons. Not to mention most humans. As, other than his little girl, most people couldn’t see them and might instead just see a floating costume. Or at least he believed the tiniest princess of hell could see her over-sized lapdog, though she had never really let him in on that specific secret.

“Because Juliette has to stay and watch the house, so that we can go have fun,” Crowley said, voice soft and smile warm as he reached down and wrapped his arms around the apple of his eye, carrying her and costume into her room so that they could get ready. Hoping the distraction of getting into costume would be enough to stop what he knew from experience would be an inevitable barrage of why based questions until he ran out of answers. She was at that age where everything had to be questioned until no stone was left unturned. “Let’s get you dressed up chipmunk,”

---

Just as expected the “why”-questions had kept coming as Crowley helped the princess into her armour and braided her hair, always patiently answering every why with a new answer as to why their hell-hound turned dragon couldn’t join them. After a bunch of questions and a bit of fidgeting with the buttons, the princess was fully transformed into a fairy tale knight, ready to save the world and get some treats.

As Crowley turned her softly by the shoulders, showing her the costume in the mirror in her bedroom, the endless stream of questions finally stopped. Replaces instead with happy shouts as she jumped up and down in front of the mirror, pretending the small cardboard sword was in fact the real thing as her (Y/H/C) hair swung along with each swing of the sword.

“Daddy look! I’m a hero!” She giggled turning back towards Crowley, all questions about Juliette forgotten.

“Yes you are chipmunk, are you ready to go out for treats?” Crowley chuckled as he stood up and reached out his hand to her. Normally he would use stationary portals or other modes of transportation with his little princess, but for their trick or treat trip to remain undetected by those who didn’t know of the little princess of hell, it was safer and faster to travel the ol’ fashioned way through teleportation. He had made sure those he trusted were at various houses, ready to give the little girl her Halloween sweets and comment on her costume, and Crowley knew his tiny warrior didn’t mind travelling that way. No, instead she loved his little “magic tricks”.

“What about you daddy?” The tiniest knight in the world said, still reaching out for his hand and putting her much smaller one in his. Her sword still swinging in her other hand as Crowley made sure to grab both a coat and a small pumpkin shaped basket for the candy loot with his free hand. His focus momentarily dropped by the unexpected question.

“What do you mean chipmunk?” He asked, looking around to see if he had forgotten something in the chaos that naturally followed getting a five-year-old ready for Halloween.

“What about your cos’ume?” The little knight said, looking up at her father, the King of Hell, who was still dressed in his normal suit instead of a costume fitting of the season. “Don’t you wanna dress up as a hero?”

“Daddy doesn’t need a costume princess. He already is exactly what he wants to be every single day,” Crowley said, smiling at his cute, big-hearted princess. Though excited for her future candy haul she also looked genuinely worried that her daddy wouldn’t have fun if he didn’t get to dress up like her. “I’m this little hero’s daddy, and nothing makes me happier than that,” He added when his chipmunk stayed confused, big (Y/E/C) eyes staring up at him until he playfully tugged at her braid.

Though of course there was no way Crowley could dress up and travel around to “visit” demons, even his closest confidantes. He would be laughed out of hell. His words were still absolute truth, as long as he could be her hero, he needed nothing else. The title of her father was an honour, and more important to him than even the throne of Hell.

“I love being my daddy’s princess too!” She beamed back at him, and through her smile and eyes, Crowley knew her words as truth. The only truth he ever needed.

Squeezing his little warrior’s hand, Crowley took a moment to appreciate her small happy laugh as she echoed his words before he held on to her hand and started their magical adventure with a hint of his own special brand of magic. The small royal family of hell going off exploring, for the greatest treasures of all; his princess’ smile, and a bag of halloween treats.

---

Please do let me know if you wish to be removed from the tag list

Tags: @auszimbo @upon-a-girl @gallifreyansass @mogaruke @skybinx-blog @delisp @jensen-jarpad @supernatural-jackles @27bmm @just-another-busy-fangirl @ecsj @deathtonormalcy56 @imboredsueme @itsthesamegametoday @riversong-sam @dslocum89 @authoressskr @spooookyscary @winchesterbrothersforever @maydayfigment @ria132love

Tagging a few Crowley peeps I know this time too, to keep that shameless streak going: @roxy-davenport @crowley-you-sinnamon-roll @scheherazades-horcrux, @ajacentlee, @chelsea072498 @annabellerosemasters @alangel1895

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waltzofsunbeams · 7 years

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Fic (AU): Rookie Mistakes

Content Warnings: Drugs, alcohol, guns, a scenario vaguely similar to date rape, stabbing, near finger trauma/torture, the very smallest hint of sex talk, death (implied)

Despite what one might have expected, Janice Grant did not particularly like parties. There were too many people in one small area. Even at a charity gala such as this one, where most people were just here to show how rich they were or to curry favor with those wealthier than themselves, the constant chatter of voices over the music was oppressive. In fact, the near-constant onslaught of information coming from all sides was almost enough to overwhelm. Almost. Janice was far too experienced in this environment to let it distract her from the reason she was here.

She glanced across the sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns. She had been keeping her mark visible out of the corner of her eye since he'd arrived, waiting for the right moment to approach. He was well-dressed. She hadn't expected any less from an heir to a major technology conglomerate and well-known playboy. Still, she had to give him props for taste, assuming his parents had not chosen his outfit for him. Black tie, as a dress code, was often so limiting for men, but he wore his tuxedo well, probably as a result of how well-tailored it was. He accessorized well too: some simple gold jewelry, a pair of white gloves. Tasteful, but expensive.

The mark was with one other person: a freckled figure with hair nearly the same sandy blonde shade as his, in a tux that fit slightly less well. It almost looked off-the-rack. If she had to guess, a bodyguard. That would complicate things, but she could work around it. She had certainly run jobs more difficult than this.

Janice began to push her way across the room, carefully guiding the hem of her gown out of the way of the dancing feet between her and the pair. When she came within their line of sight, she turned slightly, and made as though she was going to walk past them.

And then, deliberately, she stumbled.

Before she could come close to hitting the ground, Janice felt an arm grasp her gently around her midsection, carefully placing her back on balance. The grip was stronger than she had been expecting, but it didn't exactly hurt. She turned to face her rescuer, putting on a show of nervous laughter.

"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry about that," she said in an uncomfortably nasal, geographically-neutral dialect. "You must think I'm awfully clumsy."

"Are you alright?" he asked, swiftly removing his hand from her waist.

Janice forced herself to make eye contact. His eyes were gray, silver almost. Unusual. She wondered why she'd never noticed them in pictures.

"Other than a bruised ego, I think I'll be quite alright," she said, making a conciliatory gesture with one hand. She paused for a moment, pretending to forget her train of thought. "Oh, silly me!" she said finally, and offered one hand. "I'm Juliette Crane. You really saved my bacon, you know?"

"Caleb Haas," he replied, shaking her hand.

She giggled.

"I know who you are, Mr. Haas. I wasn't born yesterday." The irony was lost on Caleb, but that was fine.

"Do you?" Caleb replied, quirking one eyebrow curiously.

"In a manner of speaking," she said, smiling coyly, "but I'm not opposed to learning more."

Caleb raised both eyebrows at that, and offered her a hand.

"Would you like to dance, then?"

"Oh, I would love to."

Janice was finding that Caleb and his bodyguard were becoming simpler to handle the more drinks they had consumed. Not, honestly, surprising, but very convenient. Caleb, had, in fact, excused his bodyguard to the restroom a few moments earlier. It wasn't a wise move, in her opinion. Then again, Caleb had no idea of the danger he was in.

"Your bodyguard isn't very talkative," she said teasingly, glancing over her shoulder in search of another flute of champagne.

"Should they be?" Caleb asked curiously, spinning her so she could see in the direction she'd been trying to look. How gentlemanly.

"Oh, no," she replied. "I'm afraid I'd much rather have you to myself. You're a man of mystery, Mr. Haas."

He chuckled.

"There isn't much about me you couldn't find in a tabloid, Miss Crane," Caleb argued.

"I very much doubt that!" she said in turn. "For instance. A full night of dancing, and you've never even indicated if you like the music. To me, that's the behavior of a man who doesn't much like to talk about himself. That in itself is a surprise from the tabloids."

That seemed to give Caleb a moment of pause. He danced her around in silence for a moment.

"I prefer swing dancing," he admitted. "This is a little slow for my tastes."

Janice took a small step forward in their dance, moving their bodies closer together.

"Oh," she said, still carrying the very edge of a joke on her voice. "So you're the sort of man who prefers to move...quickly."

Caleb laughed again and spun her away from him.

"You've trapped me, Miss Crane."

"Oh, I'm exceedingly good at that," she replied, letting go of his hand with a wink. "How about I grab us some more champagne?"

She disappeared into the crowd before Caleb could say anything, the coy smile dropping off her face. She needed to move quickly. The bodyguard was going to return in short order, and she needed to be gone by then or she was going to miss her opportunity altogether. She flagged down a tuxedoed waiter with a tray of champagne flutes, and carefully took two.

This would be the tricky part. She shielded the flutes with her body and carefully, carefully, used her teeth to open a compartment in her ring and drop the contents into one flute. She swirled the bubbling liquid inside around until the powder was fully dissolved. A cursory glance around revealed that nobody had seen her drug the drink. Good. Everything was getting back on schedule.

By the time she returned to Caleb, the smile was back on her face. She handed Caleb the drugged flute of champagne, curtsying just a bit. He held his flute up and she clinked hers against his with a wink before they both drank.

She was out of the woods now. Now all that remained was to convince Caleb to dodge their bodyguard until the drug had taken effect. When it finally did manage to take effect, she just had to convince him that he was sick and offer to drive him home. With Caleb as drunk as he was, and the drug in effect, it wouldn’t be hard for her to get him into the car, and by the time they arrived at the hotel, he would be unconscious. The perfect crime.

And she didn’t have to worry much about the charm anymore, since Caleb would probably barely remember this.

Janice stared at the clock on the wall of her hotel room, chewing absentmindedly on a hotel pen as the time ticked away. The face of the clock was barely visible behind the thick layer of plastic that she’d hung on the walls and floor before she’d set up. She didn’t anticipate this should get messy, but she had long ago learned that it was better to be safe than sorry. Besides which, the plastic had the dual advantage of keeping both her and Caleb from leaving fingerprints all over the place.

Speaking of Caleb. He was certainly taking his sweet time in waking up. She’d had more than enough time to bring him to the hotel, zip-tie him to a plastic-covered chair, change from the constricting gold ball gown she’d worn to the gala into something less uncomfortable, more conducive to business. A green blouse and a pair of gray slacks were a far more practical choice, with her hair braided back and her contacts replaced with her usual pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

She sighed and rose from her chair, deciding to check over the equipment in the corner of the room one more time. She was no computer expert, so it wasn’t much: a video camera on a tripod, aimed at the chair where Caleb was tied up. The camera was connected to a wire that fed into a laptop computer, the hinge of which was held together only by duct tape and prayers. It wasn’t yet set to record. She needed Caleb conscious for that, and she had a few words for him before she could begin.

A groan from the center of the room snapped Janice back to attention. It seemed that her hostage was waking up. She spun on her heel and returned to her own chair near Caleb's as he slowly regained consciousness. The corner of her mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smile as she saw him attempt to get up, only to end up tugging bemusedly at his restraints. Finally, his gaze turned to match hers. His expression was unreadable. Odd. Some fear would not have been inappropriate.

"Rise and shine," she said wryly, crossing one ankle over the other in her seat. She'd allowed her voice to slip back into its natural cadence, since there was no real point in pretending to be someone else at this point.

"Where am I?" Caleb demanded, blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes.

Janice didn't offer him an answer, instead rising from the chair and stretching, working the stiffness out of her back. It wasn't a bad idea if Caleb didn't know exactly how long she had been sitting there.

"Did..." Caleb tried again, clearly wracking his memory for answers. "Did you roofie me?!"

"Ketamine," Janice corrected disinterestedly.

"What?"

"Ketamine, not Rohypnol. Takes effect more quickly, and I was just looking to knock you out." she said. Caleb frowned. "Don't look at me like that. I haven't done anything but bring you here and tie you to that chair. This isn't personal."

"Ah," Caleb replied, rolling his eyes. "Good to know this isn't a personal kidnapping."

"Smart boy," she said, tapping him gently on the head as she crossed to the other side of the room. Maybe it would be best to let her mother know she had secured the target. She pulled out a burner phone and began to type.

"Is there a real Juliette Crane?" Caleb asked calmly. Janice looked up from her typing, amused.

"Not anymore," she said matter-of-factly. She changed voices back to the abrasive voice she'd used for Juliette, her expression morphing to one of mixed outrage and horror. She'd observed the real Juliette well enough to imitate her almost flawlessly, at this point, and she was pulling out the stops now.

"S-stop what you're doing," she commanded at thin air, hands shaking. "When my father realizes I'm gone- you have NO idea who you're messing with! You'll wish you'd never been born, you miserable bitch! L-look, if it's money you want, I can pay! He can pay! Just let me go!" She started sobbing. "Oh my GOD, what did you do to my HAIR? What the hell is wrong with you, you monster?!" She broke off into a soft chuckle, slipping back into her real personality with the familiarity of putting on an old glove.

"I think I really did her more favors than she deserved. The real Juliette Crane wouldn't have been nearly clever enough to flirt with you. Your profiles really don’t do your personality justice."

Caleb looked unimpressed.

"You're quite the actress," he said.

"I know," she replied simply. "My talents are wasted as a contract killer. C'est la vie."

She returned to her text message, finishing it and sending it off. She replaced the phone in her pocket.

"Is that why I'm here?" Caleb interjected again. He didn't seem frightened, just curious. Janice wondered if it was a front. "Are you going to kill me?"

"You're trying to keep me talking to buy yourself more time," she noted disinterestedly. "Clever, but ultimately pointless. If I had wanted to kill you, I would have poisoned you at the gala. Messy deaths aren't much my style."

"Then what, this is about money? A ransom?"

Janice laughed out loud and gestured around: to the posh hotel room under all the plastic, the golden ball gown still hanging in the corner, to her own clothing which, while practical, was all visibly designer.

"Do I look like I need money, Caleb?" she asked in disbelief. "Oh, may I call you Caleb? I feel as though we know each other that well at least."

"That depends," Caleb replied, leaning forward as best as he could while still zip-tied to a chair. "Do I get to know your name?"

Janice winked and shook her head, bending down and picking up another package of zip ties. She wasn't entirely comfortable with the range of motion Caleb had right now. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but it would be better to overcorrect than to leave a flaw in her setup.

"Very nice try, Mr. Haas," she said, leaning down to add another zip tie to his leg, "But no cig-"

She stopped mid-sentence and frowned as her hand touched something distinctly unlike flesh through the fabric of his tuxedo pants. She glanced up at Caleb for a split second before rolling the leg of his pants up to his knees and stared for a moment at the leg underneath.

Below the knee, where Caleb should have had the rest of his leg, was a shiny metal prosthetic limb. She raised one eyebrow and knocked her hand against his other leg, and hit hard metal once again. How had she not noticed this when she'd tied him up? Obviously, she'd had a little too much champagne at the gala to have overlooked something like this. Sloppy. Slowly, she got to her feet, crossing her arms.

"I wasn't aware that Caleb Haas was an amputee," Janice said mildly, patiently awaiting an explanation.

"I'm not," Caleb said, nursing a hint of outrage. "I was born without both legs. Not that that is any of your business."

Janice reached over and removed one of Caleb's gloves on impulse. She wasn't particularly surprised when she found that the hand underneath was also a prosthetic, albeit a considerably more impressive one. It recoiled from her touch as the glove came off, and she could see hints of complex machinery underneath its plated surface.

"Were you also born without a hand?" she asked as a slow feeling of dread collected in her gut. "Or both hands?"

"Just the one hand," Caleb protested. This was the most emotion he'd shown all night. "And yes, for your information, I was. You're being incredibly insensitive."

"Funny how that was never publicized," Janice mused, stepping away to look something up on her phone. "And how nobody ever noticed, despite your reputation as an incurable playboy."

Finally, she found what she wanted and held the phone up so that Caleb could see, looking a little miffed.

“Also funny,” she said, “is how Caleb Haas has hazel eyes.”

Fake Caleb swallowed, but looked largely unfazed. Janice pulled her phone back and placed it back into her pocket, trying not to be visibly irritated. She’d kidnapped a decoy. That was a rookie mistake, if she was being honest with herself. If she’d done just a little more research, she wouldn’t have fallen for such an obvious trap. But there was no point in getting angry about it right now, when she had a mess to clean up.

“What’s your name?” she asked, doing her best not to sound too impatient.

“Caleb Haas,” Fake Caleb said, giving her an inscrutable look.

“No it’s not,” Janice said, turning away once again. If the imposter was going to be difficult, she would just have to incentivize them to be more cooperative. She began to rummage in a case in the corner of the room.

“It is,” Fake Caleb said. It was clear by their tone that they didn’t really think she would believe them, but were instead lying so they wouldn’t give her anything useful.

“Uh huh,” Janice said, unconvinced, as she stood and walked back to the chair, spinning a shiny, serrated knife in one hand. “Let’s see if we can’t change that answer. I hope you aren’t particularly attached to any of the fingers on your good hand.”

With her free hand, Janice practically yanked the glove off of the hand that wasn’t replaced by a prosthetic. With surgical calm, she held their index finger down and pressed the knife to it, drawing a bead of blood. Fake Caleb hissed.

“You can stop me any time,” she said carefully. “Just tell me where the real Caleb is, and what your lovely n-”

Janice’s sentence was cut off by a sudden inability to breathe. It took her a moment, gasping and clawing for breath, to realize what had just happened. While she had been focused on threatening Fake Caleb’s good hand, they had broken out of the zip ties holding their other arm in place. The prosthetic must have given them some kind of enhanced strength. What a juvenile failure to plan ahead. With their arm now free, Caleb was taking advantage of the opportunity to choke her. Janice withdrew the knife, and attempted to shift into a position where she could gasp in a little bit of air.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she wheezed, taking in shallow breaths, “I would think you were flirting with me.” She smirked.

Fake Caleb’s grip grew a little tighter and she choked, but didn’t stop smiling. Janice realized with a start that they were smiling too, but theirs was tight and their eyes were icy cold. It seemed she learned more about them every minute. Huh. Still, she wasn’t concerned. She could figure her way out of this one, just as she had every other difficult situation she’d been in. Those cold grey eyes would not be the last thing she’d ever see.

“You’re incredibly fucked up,” Fake Caleb told her calmly as she tried in vain to pull their hand away from her throat with one hand.

“And- and you’re not?” she replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say that.”

She took another shaky breath, black spots beginning to crowd the edge of her vision. Like hell was she going to give Fake Caleb the satisfaction of passing out on them.

“So this is flirting?” she managed.

“I didn’t say that either,” they replied, one finger digging into her jaw. She let out an involuntary sigh.

“S-shame,” she struggled. “You’re kinda cute when you’re vicious.”

And with her free hand, she plunged the knife into their shoulder.

“Fuck!” Fake Caleb shouted as their hand loosened involuntarily, just enough to allow Janice to yank free from their grip. She stumbled backwards, gasping great gulps of air into her lungs, grinning wildly.

“Name?” she asked, panting, trying to comb a mess of flyaways back into her braid.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh well. Had to try.” She doubled over, still trying to catch her breath. Something was occurring to her. The bodyguard. If Caleb had been for real, their bodyguard would never have left them alone with her. What had they looked like? Dirty blonde hair, freckled skin, hazel eyes. She grinned wider.

“Say, Fake Caleb. Wherever do you think your bodyguard got off to?”

For a split second, an expression of horror crossed their face. Bingo.

Practically tripping over herself, Janice returned to the case she’d gotten the knife from, pulling things out at a frantic pace.

“Stop,” Fake Caleb warned, sounding choked. “They’ll realize I’m gone. You’ll never make it. You don’t stand a chance.”

Janice ignored them, emptying a pile of handguns onto the floor.

“Glock, Magnum, or Smith & Wesson, do you think?” she asked out loud to nobody in particular.

“This is suicide,” they tried again. “Back off. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“I think I’ll take them all!” Janice said, shoving them all into a duffel bag. She added a few grenades (smoke and otherwise) for good measure. Standing, she threw the bag over her shoulder.

“They’ll have doubled security,” Fake Caleb said desperately. “You’ll be outnumbered ten to one.”

“Good!” she chirped, loading one last handgun and putting it in her pocket before heading for the door. “It’ll be a fair fight!”

“Don’t do this,” they begged, trying in vain to pull free of the other zip ties. Janice leaned on the doorframe and turned.

“You love him, huh?” she asked, not waiting for their response. “Don’t worry, then. I’m gonna reunite you, because I’m just that nice of a person.”

They tried to spit at her, but fell short by several feet.

“Don’t move,” she joked. “I’ll be back in an hour at most.”

She closed the door behind her and walked away.

#ooc #HEY #SO I WROTE A VERY LONG THING #ABOUT K AND JANICE

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