#and then she says if i respond shell freak out so shes refusing to have an actual discussion

[savethepinecones]

so so sick of being yelled at for being depressed

[knavesflames]

Imagine assassin or hitman arle-

⭐️

Ohhhhh this has me brainrotting. I wasn’t sure how to write this originally, but then I just decided fuck it and let it come to me (lol come) as I wrote.

Word count: 844

Contents: this has power to be angst or fluff but currently it’s smut enjoy, gun fucking, arlecchino lowkey a freak

Nsft Utc!

Originally, her purpose was to assassinate you. Yet, she saw you, your face when she held the dagger to your throat, the lack of fear on your features and instead confusion written across you, did she falter. Arlecchino does not falter, it is not who she is. No, she is ruthless and violent and that is why she is so good at what she does. Somehow, in those days of following you, the minutes of hunting you and the seconds before her kill, she fell for you. She remembers how her grip on sharp metal slackened, how she found you utterly captivating. How you responded with a simple “are you flirting with me or killing me?” You were supposed to be a simple kill, one she would never think about again, you were nothing to her, you were supposed to be nothing to her. And even so, she ends up in your bed more than once. Every night, even. Always retreating to your door, watching you invite her in with her exhausted expression, mumbling a thank you when you give her fresh clothes and wash the bloody ones.

Not once has she admitted to you who set her up to it. You’ve always wondered why. You’ve spent many a night laying next to her wondering if it was someone close to you. If it was someone you wronged long ago yet held a grudge. Or, perhaps, if the entire thing was a ruse to get close to you. Arlecchino is more vulnerable than she lets on, you’ve realised. Especially how she seems to snuggle up to you at night, how she refuses to talk about herself, how she seemingly has nothing positive to say. How she shuts you down with a harsh bark when you try to get her to say something nice. You love her anyway, do you not? It isn’t a question. Of course you do.

A part of you is horrified that you’re in love with someone who so easily causes a bloodbath. A twisted part of you is enjoying the adrenaline, enjoying how she chose you. A very big part of you enjoys when she decides to fuck you, with a multitude of objects. Her fingers, her tongue, her straps (yes, she has multiple, and she’s very proud of her collection), and once or twice, the hilt of her dagger. And currently, her pistol.

You are scared more than you have been, but you can’t seem to find it in you to tell her to stop. You know she would, but the cold metal against your folds and the look of satisfaction on her face makes something in you snap, makes the coil in your stomach tighten more.

“How slutty of you, fucking my gun. You look good, a pretty little whore for me, aren’t you?” She muses, mostly to herself, knowing you’re too lost in whatever sensation you feel to concentrate on her words. Her lips are parted, and her eyebrows raise in her own pleasure as she watches the gun move in and out of you, watching as you clench around it, how your hips buck every so often. “And if I were to pull the trigger,” she hums. “Do you trust me to believe the magazine is empty?”

You do. You know if she was going to kill you, she would have done it a long time ago. She wouldn’t have killed the second assassin that came after you. She wouldn’t have supplied you with your own tiny dagger to protect yourself. You know the magazine is empty, that the killing machine is currently an empty metal shell.

“Good girl, knowing me so well, hm? Knowing I’d never hurt you.” She chuckles, her signature low laugh, smooth and velvety and hitting every part of you. Gazing into her red crosses with your own fucked our expression, you feel yourself approaching the edge, and you can’t help your laugh escaping at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Of the fact she’s—

You can’t finish your thought before your orgasm washes over you, your hand moving to clutch her leather clad arm (the woman has that damn leather jacket on constantly) as she towers over you, her silky locks (smelling of coconut, surprisingly) brushing over your face. By the time your mind clears, your rationality comes back to you, she’s pulling the gun out of you slowly, admiring the creamy ring that’s formed around the barrel. “So messy. Clean it.” She murmurs, pushing said barrel past your swollen lips, letting your tongue lap up any taste of yourself before she changes her mind. She firmly pulls it out of your mouth before you’re finished with a wet pop, a whine at the back of your throat at the loss. Though, it turns into a soft gasp when her own tongue licks a stripe up the metal, cleaning the rest of it, her eyes not once leaving you.

“Delicious,” she whispers with a smirk, “Thanks, doll. I have a hit I need to get to, I’ll be back later, yeah?”

[recklesssturniolo]

HIIIII, I NEED a chris x soft reader where she like gets flustered and nervous very easily and yk chris is a freak so can you do an imagine where they are all making a video (it can be one of the cooking challenges on in a store) and reader drops something so she bends over to pick it up and since chris is behind her he does the hitting it from the back motion and she blushes like crazyyyyy 😍😍🥰😘

Blushing - C.S

Request! Dom!Chris but like soft dom if that makes sense, & reader n Chris are friends in this, reader is pretty innocent (i dont know if this was supposed to be smut but I’m a whore so it is)

NSFW below, leave if you’re a minor

The triplets had invited me over to film a video and we decided to do another baking challenge. We were split into teams, Nick and I versus Matt and Chris.

“Y/N and I have got this in the bag, there is no shot you guys are gonna win” Nick laughs.

“Bro we’re making muffins it can’t be that hard” Chris replies.

I smile as I watch Chris argue with Nick for a couple minutes. I’ve always had a crush on Chris but could never get myself to tell him. We begin making the muffins, Nick and I already ahead of Matt and Chris.

“Oh my god you guys are actually so shit at this” I laugh to Chris and Matt as I watch them struggle to not get egg shells in their batter.

“Shut it Y/N we’re trying to think positive” Matt replies, Chris just laughing in response.

We all continue on, but I end up dropping a measuring cup on the floor. Thinking nothing of it I bend over to pick it up, not realizing Chris was directly behind me. I feel my ass against his groin and already start to blush. Chris then takes it a step further, placing his hands on my waist and moves my hips forwards and backwards as if he was hitting it from behind. The blush on my face now impossible to hide.

I turn around and smack his chest “Chris!”

“Yeah I’m definitely editing that out” Nick says while rolling his eyes.

“You look cute when you’re blushing, didn’t know I had such an impact on you” Chris winks at me.

“Oh bring the ego down Christopher” I say to him while rolling my eyes.

Leaning down to whisper in my ear, he says “Keep using my full name and I’ll bend you over and fuck you right here, right now”

After he walked away, I stood there basically frozen. In disbelief that he had actually said that to me, refusing to acknowledge the fact it had turned me on. I was only snapped out of my day dream by Nick yelling at me to help him. We finished the video and Nick went up to his room to edit, while Matt, Chris and I just sat on the couch scrolling on our phones. I still couldn’t get what Chris said out of my head, and the fact that I actually wished he did.

“Matt can we please go to McDonald’s I’m starving” Nick whines walking into the living room.

“I guess but only because I’m hungry too” Matt sighs.

“Y/N? Chris? You coming?” Nick asks.

“No we’re good, just bring us some shit back” Chris smiles, not even giving me a chance to answer for myself.

Nick and Matt head out, and it was now completely silent as Chris and I sat there.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about how you responded to my touch” Chris smirks, moving closer to me.

“Chris” I whine out, feeling embarrassed.

“I like my same coming out of your mouth like that” He replies.

He leans closer to me, our faces now only inches apart. He places his hand on my cheek before asking “Can I kiss you?”

I don’t respond and instead grab his face and close the distance between us. The kiss almost instantly turning into a make out session, full of need, our tongues colliding. Chris pulls me so I’m now straddling him. I’ve had sex once before, so I knew if it went that far that Chris would be way more advance than me.

“Grind your hips on me” He mumbles through the kiss.

I do as he says, his hard on now rubbing against my pussy causing me to let out a moan at the sensation.

“You like that?” He asks.

“Yes, it feels good” I respond.

“Lay down pretty girl” He tells me.

I get off his lap and lay down on the couch, situating myself so he could comfortably get on top of me. He does just that and begins kissing down my neck, getting to my chest before asking “Can I take your top and bra off?”

“Y-yes that’s okay” I reply.

He lifts up my shirt, taking it off and unhooks my bra. I suddenly feel a bit insecure knowing I’m now half naked.

“So pretty” He mumbles.

He takes one of my breasts into his mouth, flicking my nipple with his tongue, sucking and gently biting on it. His other hand toying with my other nipple.

“Fuck Chris” I moan out, my back arching as he continued.

“You gonna let me taste you?” He says looking up at me.

“Oh my god yes, please” I whine out.

With that he removes my pants, toying with the band on my panties, pulling them then letting it snap back against my waist, me yelping in response. He moves down and places kisses on my pussy - still covered by my panties.

“Mm so wet for me already” He groans out, his voice raspy.

“I’ve never been eaten out before” I mumble.

“Don’t worry I’ll make you feel good pretty girl” Chris replies back.

He pulls my panties off, whispering, “Such a pretty pussy” before getting to work. His tongue going between my slits, sucking and flicking his tongue my clit. He was fucking incredible.

“C-Chris oh my god” I moan out.

“You taste so good” He mumbles from between my legs.

He suddenly pulls away, my head snapping up.

“Wait what why did you stop?” I ask confused.

“Because I want you to come around my dick pretty girl, you want me to fuck you?” He smirks.

“Oh god yes” I reply. Feeling myself become wetter at the thought of him inside of me.

He takes his pants and boxers off, moving his dick between my slits, using my wetness to make it easier. He slowly starts pushing himself inside of me but I let out a quiet yelp, not used to his size.

“Does it hurt?” He questions, stopping his movements.

“A bit but it’s okay, just go slow” I respond.

He nods and resumes pushing himself into me, slowly, and watching my face for any signs of me being in any type of pain. Once he’s all the way in, he begins thrusting.

“Fuck you’re so tight” He groans out.

“Chris that feels so good, go faster” I whimper.

“You sure baby?” He confirms.

“Yes yes faster please” I beg.

Chris then picks up his pace, now slamming into me, perfectly hitting my g-spot.

“Oh fuck this feels so good” I moan out while my back arches.

“You take my dick so well, such a good girl” He grumbles.

“I’m - I’m gonna come soon” I whimper. The pleasure getting better with each thrust.

“Come on pretty girl, show me how good I’m making you feel” He replies.

Without warning Chris slams into me harder, only causing me to moan out louder.

“Fuck oh my god I’m coming Chris don’t stop” I whine.

“Look so good coming all over my dick baby, could watch you like this forever” He smirks back.

My climax dies down but Chris isn’t done. He continues fucking me senseless, my sensitivity causing whimpers to roll out of my mouth.

“Mph fuck I’m gonna come, your pussy feels too good to hold back any longer” He says, his voice even raspier than before.

“Fill my pussy with your come Chris” I reply.

Moments later I feel his dick twitch and him release himself inside of me. Him laying on me afterwards with his head in the crook of my neck.

“For a seemingly innocent girl you can take dick real well” He mumbles.

“Oh hush” I reply.

“I’ve never loved a sound more than you moaning out my name, fuck it was so hot” He continues on.

“Couldn’t help it, you felt so good” I respond, blushing although he couldn’t see it.

After a couple minutes of resting, a few comments from Chris being said, we realize that Nick and Matt could be home any minute. We get dressed and clean up as fast as he can, Chris adding one last comment before his brothers walked inside, “Don’t think that was just a one time thing pretty girl”

TAGLIST: @sturnphilia @thatonekid536 @cupidisworld @devsturniolo @loveesiren @daddyslilchickenfingers @christinarowie332 @ilovemattsturn @mattenthusiast @its-jennarose @lxvlysworld

[lunar-wandering]

“hey google? whats social interaction?”

two fics in one day hell yeah. this time it’s for an AU i don’t think i’ve talked about here, called the Shy!Wukong AU, in which 500 years of isolation had the consequence of absolutely destroying Wukong’s social skills and confidence.

Word Count: 3.4k

Read on Ao3

-

When MK arrived on Flower Fruit Mountain that afternoon, it was quiet. He walked around for a few minutes, enjoying the silence, a big difference from the constant sound of the city, before sighing.

He walked over and leaned against a tree, barely hearing the soft intake of breath from behind it.

"I know you're there, Monkey King." He sighed again, taking the staff out and twirling it. "I could see your tail y'know."

Wukong slowly emerged from behind him, walking around the tree to stand just outside of MK's reach. MK purposefully didn't look at him, but out of the corner of his eye he could see that his mentor was avoiding eye contact.

"Ah, uh, yeah uh, hey bud." Wukong said, "I uh, didn't know you were here-"

"You were meant to come hang out with me and my friends today." MK said, and Wukong slumped. "I understand having some days were you're just not up for interacting, but this is the third time. ...Why won't you interact with my friends?"

He asked this as gently as he could, but still Wukong shrunk back a little.

"They....they can sense weakness..." Wukong muttered, and now MK did look at him, with confusion.

"Wh- no they don't- well, Mei might, but still." He pushed off the tree, turning to face Wukong fully. "You seriously need to get some more social interaction- it'll help you be more confident again!"

Wukong opened his mouth as though to speak-

"Fighting Macaque that one time doesn't count as social interaction." MK deadpanned, watching unimpressed as Wukong nervously scratched the side of his face. "....Tell you what, if you come with me and Mei shopping tomorrow, I'll get off your case for a week. Does that sound okay?" 

"...Yeah..." Wukong quietly gave his assent, and MK beamed.

"Great! Now, are we going to do training?"

"I didn't plan anything out though...."

"That's okay, we can just spar!"

-

Wukong was 20 minutes late.

MK glanced at his watch again just to make sure that he was reading the time right, before looking back over to Mei. She was playing some game or other on her phone, looking bored.

"Y'know, I'm starting to think Mr. Monkey King might be scared of me." Mei said after another minute went by with still no sign of Wukong.

"Honestly, you might not be too far off from the truth there." MK admitted, "I was half expecting him to at least send a clone, but he must know that I catch on to that immediately now."

"Do you think he's alright?" Mei put her phone back in her pocket, now glancing at the sky with concern. "Like, he didn't freak too much over it and hole himself up in his room or something again, did he?"

"No, he's already met you once, so I don't think it'd be that bad again." MK pulled the staff out of his pocket, contemplating for a moment. "...Hey Mei, how would you like a trip to Flower Fruit Mountain?"

"I would love to." Mei smirked, before turning around and entering the mall, grabbing hold of the back of MK's hoodie to drag him in along with her. "But first, we're gonna need some supplies!"

-

When MK and Mei arrived on Flower Fruit Mountain, it was once again quiet.

"Okay." MK shifted the bag he was carrying on his arm, adjusting his grip. "He's probably up in his little house behind the waterfall. He probably knows we're here by now, so..."

"So all we have to do is find him." Mei finished, "Don't worry MK, I remember the plan."

"Right. Okay." They passed through the water fall, walking through the cave. Standing in front of Wukong's door, MK set his bag on the ground in order to lift his arm and knock.

One of the younger monkeys opened the door.

"Hey there!" MK said, "Is Monkey King here?"

The tiny monkey chitters out a response MK interprets as yes, moving aside to let Mei and MK through. Mei easily finds her way into the kitchen, and MK can hear the clattering of some pots and pans as she shuffles things around (they'd bought some hot chocolate, and apparently Mei refused to wait any longer before making it). MK, meanwhile, sets his bag down by the door and starts looking for Wukong.

It ends up not being very hard really, as he finds his mentor laying on the couch, a blanket pulled over top of his head, his tail poking out and resting on the floor, stiff.

...Too stiff.

"Monkey King?" MK asks, and he sees the fur on Wukong's tail bristle, but yet the monkey himself doesn't move. "I know you're awake."

Wukong says something entirely incoherent.

"Me and Mei are here to have a sleepover, if you're wondering." MK says, "Since you didn't come shopping with us."

There's no response.

Suddenly Mei curses, and there's a loud clatter in the kitchen. MK turns, suitably distracted.

"Y'alright?" He yells.

"Fine! Monkey King just has horrible sorting skills is all!" Is the response he gets, and MK quietly chuckles because, well, she's not wrong.

When he turns back around, Wukong is out from under the blanket, standing up, his usual nervous smile plastered on his face.

...But something's off. His back is too straight, for one, the Monkey King that MK knows is normally slightly slouched. The look in his eyes doesn't show shyness either, rather an attempt at faking being shy.

MK makes his deduction in less than a second.

"You're a clone aren't you."

"Oh thank heavens." The Wukong clone, relaxes just slightly, the nervous smile slipping off in favor of a more relaxed, natural one. (One that, notably, MK has only seen on Wukong's clones. Well, he thinks he saw his mentors real smile once, but Wukong had left rather fast after that, so MK had never been actually sure.) "I wasn't sure how long I could pretend to be nervous for."

"He's trying to bail again, huh." MK said, not even surprised, having mostly known this would happen. 500 years by himself had really taken it's toll on the Monkey King, MK still wasn't sure how exactly Wukong had lost his confidence, but the consequences of whatever it was were fairly obvious. It had taken forever for MK to actually get his mentor to just have normal conversations with him instead of just leaving him sticky notes with instructions on them. During that time, Wukong had run away from MK *multiple* times.

Well, not tonight. MK personally respected Wukong's lack of knowledge on how to be social, and knew first hand the experience of not feeling up to interacting with people. But if Wukong didn't at least try to step over his comfort zone, then he'd never become confident again.

Wukong's clone seemed to have the same idea, as he turned, walking off down a hallway. MK heard a door open- followed by a yelp of betrayal, and then the clone was back, carrying a flustered Monkey King over his shoulder, dumping him onto the couch before vanishing, just as Mei entered the living room with a tray covered in candies, as well as three mugs of hot chocolate.

"Did I miss anything?" She asks, setting the tray down on the coffee table, before sitting on the couch to the left of Wukong. The Monkey King actually squeaked, shifting to move to the other side, only to be stopped by MK sitting on his right. Almost as though they'd planned it, they both leaned up against Wukong simultaneously, feeling how he stiffened at the sudden contact.

"Did you get the remote?" Mei asked, sipping at her hot chocolate.

"Yep." MK held the remote up with one hand, easily accessing Wukong's Netflix account. (He'd accidentally stumbled upon the password one of the times the monkeys had shoved him into the house in an attempt to help him interact with Wukong.) "What do you want to watch?"

"Hm, dunno. What do you think, Mr. Monkey King?"

Wukong didn't respond. He still hadn't relaxed either. His eyes looked slightly unfocused, and MK could practically hear the computer crashing noises.

Jeez. Wukong was a lot more touch-starved than he had thought.

And then Wukong moved, sliding down a little, covering his face with his hands. Mei and MK shared a look of concern.

Maybe this much contact was a bit too much to start?

MK leaned away from Wukong, putting just the slightest bit of distance between them, Mei following his lead soon after.

They were both quiet for a moment, silently considering what to do next as Wukong continued to not look at them.

...And then Mei grabbed the pillow behind her, slowly raising it over her head.

MK barely had the time to register what she was doing before the pillow smacked him in the face.

Mei burst out laughing at MK's surprised look, jumping up off the couch, pulling more pillows out of...somewhere. MK hadn't seen her grab them, but they were certainly there now.

He ducked down, sliding off the couch as a pillow soared over his head, flopping against the couch cushions, having not met it's target. He barely managed to shift out of the way of a second pillow, catching a third before it could hit him in the chest.

"Oh it is on!" He cheered, spinning around before throwing the pillow at Mei as hard as he could.

Soon enough the pillow fight increased to all out warfare, more pillows seemingly appearing out of nowhere. MK laughed, nearly forgetting about Wukong-

And then a pillow hit him in the back of the head.

Both he and Mei paused, knowing for a fact that Mei hadn't thrown it, she was in front of him, getting him from behind was impossible.

MK turned around just in time to see Wukong create another pillow out of one of his hairs and throw it.

When MK pulled the pillow off of his face, he was greeted with Wukong's nervous smile, and a bit of anxious laughter.

MK glanced at Mei.

Well. This wasn't exactly the way they had planned to help Wukong come out of his shell a bit, but it could work.

-

Sleepovers became more frequent after that. Typically they ended up with just a pillow fight, but still, it was some progress, however small.

MK and his friends were more than content to take things slow, let Wukong relearn how to socially interact and overcome his shyness the normal way.

And then New Years happened.

Wukong was still definitely not comfortable interacting with anyone other than Mei, MK, and Sandy, but he did start showing up a bit more frequently. (MK had noticed that Wukong tried his hardest to be more confident around Pigsy. He wasn't sure as to why Wukong did so, but he did. Pigsy himself seemed concerned about it as well, but for the most part let it slide). MK sometimes couldn't help but feel that his mentor seemed a bit...worried about something. But whenever he asked, Wukong would just clam up, sometimes even going so far as to distract MK before teleporting away.

But whatever. It was fine, they were making progress. Wukong was actually somewhat talking to people now, albeit he was still quiet, and easily flustered at the smallest of things. (Tang had briefly mentioned how impressive Wukong's feats were in an offhand sentence, and the Monkey King had practically shut down for an entire half an hour.)

...Unlike MK and the others however, Demon Bull King was more than slightly concerned.

The New Years Incident had been his first time seeing the Monkey King since 500 years ago, and needless to say, he was not what he expected.

He remembered Wukong being boastful, confident, easily coming up with snarky quips left and right.

So it was definitely a shock when, instead of annoyingly chatting or created stupid jokes while captured by Spider Queen, Wukong had simply sat there, quiet, a light blush dusting his face as he sulked, embarrassed over having gotten caught.

Demon Bull King could only wonder what in the world could've happened that would've rendered the Monkey King so shy.

He'd shared his concerns with his family, of course, in a roundabout, thinly veiled way. (He had been fairly certain that the monkey of the conversation had actually been spying on them at the time). Princess Iron Fan had commented about seeing Red Son in a slightly similar state, considering how he never could seem to hold an actual conversation with MK or Mei, instead always challenging them to a battle. (She was concerned, for her son. She'd known that staying in his lab, working on inventions day in and day out would definitely be bad for his social skills, but Red Son had been so stubborn at the time that there'd been nothing she could do.)

Red Son, of course, entirely missed hearing the conversation about himself.

He did however, hear the one about Wukong.

Which, of course, led to-

"Wake up, simian!"

Wukong startled, rolling out of bed, falling to the floor, his blankets falling on top of him and obscuring his vision. He scrambled for a minute, trying to get his bearings as he struggled with the blankets, trying to clear his vision.

A light laugh made him freeze, suddenly glad for the blankets covering him as he felt his face flush as he realized he wasn't alone.

"Seriously? This is the great, powerful Monkey King everyone is afraid of?"

It took a moment for him to place the voice, slowly lifting the blankets up, keeping his head hung low as he checked to make sure.

Bright red jacket. The faint smell of smoke.

Red Son.

Wukong looked away, trying to pull up every inch of confidence he'd regained.

"....How'd you get into my house?" Is what he ended up saying, and he mentally patted himself on the back for not having his voice break mid sentence.

"Please, it's not like it's that difficult."

"There's a whole entire waterfall sealing the place."

"Which is very easy to by pass if you know how."

Wukong couldn't come up with a response for that, instead forcing himself to stand up, trying to put a normal smile on his face, but knowing it would probably only end up being his usual nervous one.

"Uh, um. Why are you here?" He finally asked.

"Well, uh, my father is worried about you so I'm here to help you or....whatever.... something like that..." Red Son said, getting a bit quieter and trailing off towards the end of his sentence.

"I-" Suddenly, irritation overcame Wukong's shyness and anxiety. "You- you're just as bad as I am!"

(Demon Bull King had been right. Wukong had been spying on them during that conversation. He'd originally planned on going over to talk to them, but then, well, as usual he'd panicked, and ended up listening in the rafters while waiting for an opportunity to leave unnoticed.

...That had been a long day.)

Red Son spluttered for a moment, before pulling himself together.

"I am not." He hissed, the edges of his hair sparking.

"You socialize with my successor by fighting him because you don't know how to ask him and Mei to hang out outside of battling." Wukong deadpanned, "And no, battles do not count as social interaction, according to MK."

There was a pause, where they both went silent, staring at each other, waiting for the next move.

An hour later, and they were both sitting on the floor of Wukong's bedroom, both of them looking slightly frazzled.

"I mean, just." Red Son said, "How do you talk to people?!"

"I literally have no idea." Wukong sounded just as stressed and dismayed as Red Son. "I mean, MK and his friends have been trying, and like, I guess it's been working, because they haven't complained about me yet, but still, just, what is social interaction??"

"I don't know!" Red Son groaned, holding his head in his hands. "If- if only we had someone who was really good at social interaction, someone we could copy-"

"Like MK?" Wukong asked, before immediately dismissing the idea in his next sentence. "No, no, he'd pick up on what we're doing and either make us stop or call us out on it way too fast...."

"Agreed, we definitely cannot use the Noodle Boy or his friends as an example." Red Son muttered, "But....to be honest with you, I don't know many other people."

"...Me either." Wukong flopped backwards to lay on the floor, both of them sighing in defeat.

And then Wukong, tensed sitting back up, a thoughtful but also very reluctant look on his face.

"...Actually, there is one person we might be able to go to..."

-

"...What's being social?"

Wukong and Red Son both looked at their last hope of a savior in dismay.

Macaque stared back with an equivalent amount of confusion.

The three of them sat in the middle of a small park, partially hidden from passerby by a line of bushes. Macaque wasn't even entirely sure how he'd gotten there, and wasn't even close to having a clue as to what was going on.

"What do you mean you don't know- you socialize literally every day!" Wukong threw his hands up into the air, in a mixture of anger and defeat.

"You alone are literally responsible for over half of the city's parties." Red Son added, "How can you not know how to be social when you're the perfect example of a social butterfly?"

"I don't know." Macaque shrugged. If anything, this reaction seemed to cause Red Son and Wukong more distress.

"So you're saying you.... don't actually know how to socially interact?"

"Uh, no?" Macaque leaned back, crossing his arms. "I kinda just go along with whatever happens so- wait why are you crying."

Red Son looked to his left to see that, oh, uh, Wukong was crying. He didn't seem like he wanted to be, if the way he was hiding his face behind his hands and trying to muffle his sobs was any indication, but he definitely was.

"You were our last hope of understanding social interaction." Wukong muttered, voice muffled by his hands. Red Son awkwardly hovered his hand over Wukong's shoulder, knowing that the other still wasn't entirely used to touch.

"...Aren't the both of you interacting with me ri-" Macaque was abruptly cut off as something grabbed him by the back of his scarf, pulling him back into the bush. Red Son was too focused on Wukong, and Wukong was too busy trying to stop crying, to notice the sudden disappearance.

Macaque landed on his back, spitting out a stray leaf as he looked up at MK. (He'd known Wukong's successor was spying on them, he'd heard him hide behind the bush. Still though, randomly grabbing him was a little bit annoying).

"You can't tell them that they're socially interacting." MK hissed, quiet enough that the other two couldn't hear him. Macaque raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Any particular reason as to why?"

"If you tell them they're actually interacting it's like- it's like Cinderella when the clock hits midnight, they both go back to being easily flustered recluses." MK said, "You've got to keep them going without realizing what they're doing for as long as possible."

"...Okay???" Honestly, this didn't clear things up for Macaque at all, but he wasn't going to try and argue with MK now.

MK let go off his scarf, and Macaque returned to his position in front of Wukong and Red Son, adding an extra glamour over top of himself so that his little trip through the bush would be entirely unnoticeable. Funnily enough, neither of them seemed to have noticed his temporary disappearance.

"So uh....wanna keep not-socializing with me at that cafe over there?" Macaque pointed over his shoulder at a nearby place he liked to visit. If he was going to do this, he was going to need another dose of caffeine. "I can maybe try and figure out some tips for you?"

"Yes please." Wukong and Red Son said in sync, already standing up and moving towards the cafe. Macaque stood up shortly after them.

Quietly, watching them walk in front of him, he thought; 'They're idiots.'

-

"Wukong, why are you hiding your face, Red Son's the one that just face planted while walking through a door!"

The Monkey King's response was completely incoherent, afflicted with second-hand embarrassment. Both he and Red Son refused to look Macaque in the eye.

The shadow monkey sighed, almost tempted to teleport away to find somewhere nice to scream.

MK better find a good way of paying him back for this.

[supercorpkid]

Freaky Friday.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word Count: 2325.

Your moms are amazing. They’re like your best friends. You can tell them anything and you probably know more about their stuff than you’d like. Still, they are moms. And moms don’t always agree with everything that their kids do. They don’t always understand – like really understand – what’s going on in your life or the things you go through as a teen. No matter how hard they try, or how immature one of them might be – cof cof Kara Danvers cof cof -.

Somedays they don’t understand that you’d rather sleep the day away instead of waking up at 7 on a Saturday to go to the farmer’s market with them. Or that you’d rather go out with your girlfriend and cousin instead of playing board games with them on a Friday night. They just don’t understand you as much as you’d like them to.

And that gives you a crazy idea. What if people just felt what others were feeling? What if when people were fighting you could just point a little device at them, so they would all understand each other's intentions and the fight would just stop? What if you could make the world have empathy?

It takes you a while, but you don’t give up. The thought of having just a little device that could bring such a noble feeling into light, it drives you to work nonstop on it.

“Baby, I’m done for the day.” Lena walks in your lab. You’re face-buried into work you don’t even hear her. She makes her way towards you, and you only notice her when she holds your head on both sides and kisses the top of your head. “Hey, baby.” Lena says softly on your head. “Let’s go home.”

“Oh, um, can I meet you back home? I’m not done.” You say, still too focused on what’s in front of you. Lena sighs, looking tired.

“I had such a long day.” She complains, pulling up a chair next to you, and taking off her heels. “I just want to go home, my love. Can’t you finish that tomorrow?”

“Not really.” You put your protection goggles back on and use your welder on the device. “You can leave. I’ll catch up.” You yell, through the noise.

“And how exactly are you getting home, not-Superkid?” She asks with another sigh. You finish closing the shell and you look at her.

“I’ll walk. Take the bus. Have momma come pick me up.”

“Or-” She takes the device off your hands. “You ride back home with me and come back tomorrow after school to finish this.” You open your mouth to argue, but she cuts you off. “Not another option. Just the single one you have. You have to eat, sleep, and do your schoolwork. Come on.”

“See, you’re the reason why I need to finish this device.” You mumble and she raises her eyebrows at you. You reach for the device, and she holds it out of your reach, studying it.

“And what exactly is this?”

“It’s, I don’t really have a name for it yet. But it’s to make other people feel what you’re feeling. An empathizer, if you will.”

“Oh.” Lena narrows her eyes at you. “Are you saying I don’t have empathy for you? So, me caring about your health and rest is not empathy, huh?” You shrug your answer. “How about you not having empathy for me when I say I’m exhausted, and I need to get home right away?”

“I do! That’s why I’m telling you to leave.” You defend yourself.

“Is that so?” She doesn’t look convinced. “Ok, I’m sold. I want you to understand the amount of pain in my back and on my feet right now, so go on. Finish up.”

Ok then. You make a little change here and there, finish building up the structure and no longer than 30 minutes later you have the device ready.

“Ok, ready to feel what I’m feeling?” You ask pointing the device at her.

“Only if you’re ready for back pain.” She agrees, and you press the button.

“Well, I don’t feel anything.” You hear your voice, and you snap your eyes open at that. You didn’t say anything. Oh, no.

“Mom?” You ask and hear Lena’s voice coming out. Oh, no.

“OH, COME ON!” You look at your body getting up from the chair, but you’re just an outsider looking at it from afar. It’s the weirdest feeling you ever felt. You look at your hands, legs, and shoes. Yep, you’re definitely inside Lena’s body right now. “I just came back from being a teen.” She cries out and you flinch.

“It’s ok. It’s not alien tech, I can just undo this.” You grab your device again and look at it, trying to think.

“Well, I mean, it does feel nice to not feel any pain.” She smiles doing a little weird dance.

“You’re being weird.” You laugh at her, because it’s not always that Lena decides to be weird. You like it. Even if it’s actually your body doing the weird dance.

“I am in my daughter’s body, so I think I’m allowed to.” She studies herself, your body, for a few seconds. She looks up to you, clearly confused. “I’m starving.”

“Oh yes. That’s like a permanent feeling. You’ll get used to it.” You wave her off with your hand. It’s true, you’re always hungry. It doesn’t matter how much you eat, five minutes later it’s like you haven’t eaten all day.

“I hate it.” She complains with her hands over the stomach.

“Well, my back is killing me and who wears heels all the time? Would you die if you wore sneakers to work, someday?”

“AHÁ!” She points at you, victoriously. “See, I told you! Aren’t you just dying to get home?”

“Maybe.” You mumble under your breath, and she puts her hands on your shoulders.

“Don’t mumble, baby. I have super hearing. It’s useless.” She smiles, a little too happy to say that, and you sigh. “You know, I would not hate having this body for another day. But go on, change us back. I know you can’t handle the pain.”

“Excuse me?” You furrow your eyebrows at the challenge. “You think I can’t go a day looking this pretty?” You point at her face -that is yours now- and you see her cheeks getting flushed at the compliment. “As if! You’re the one who can’t handle being me.”

“Being a young superhero whose only job is to go to school? Baby, please. I would kill to be you.” Lena says and it’s out of your mouth before you can even think twice.

“Well, well, well. It looks like you got yourself a bet.” You raise your hand at her, looking smug about it. No way in hell Lena can be you. Not even for a day. “First one to quit has to say that the other one has a harder life and try to make it easier, every time possible.”

“Deal.”

“Wait.” You don’t hold her hand yet. “For it to be actually fair, you have to live my actual life.” She raises one eyebrow at that. “You have to be Superkid.”

“I thought Superkid didn’t exist anymore.”

“Yeah, well. I almost died three hundred times when I was in the body you’re in now. We have to put that into consideration for it to be fair, don’t we?” It’s your time to raise an eyebrow, and you give her a little smirk. Now you’ve got her, she won’t say yes to being a superhero.

“Still.” Lena has her hand up and you hold it. “You’ve got yourself a deal, babygirl. Let’s see you try to survive L Corp with no powers at all.”

“Let’s see you try to survive high school while being a Luthor.” You give her a wicked smile to which she almost shivers.

“Are we telling Kara?”

“Yes, please. I’m not kissing her. That would be gross.”

“Oh, I-I didn’t think this through.” You can see Lena’s mind wheels spinning while she considers the bet and what she’s giving up on.

“Too late. Our deal is on.” You grab her car keys with a smile. “Let’s go home. I need to put my feet up.”

“Oh, you’re not lasting a day.” She mumbles while leaving the lab, and you look back at her confused.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Nevermind.” You study her face turning into a devilish smile when she realizes she can get away with lots of stuff by using her powers.

“Ok, don’t abuse it now.” You complain, getting into the elevator to go to the car. It’s only when you’re staring at Lena’s car with the keys in your hands, that it hits you. “Wait, I-I don’t really know how to drive in the city.”

“And I can’t drive with your body because you don’t have a driver’s license.” Lena says and you agree with your head. “Call your momma.”

You just text her that you need a ride, and less than five minutes later she lands next to both of you in the parking lot.

“Oh, hey love.” Kara comes closer ready to kiss you, and you panic so hard the only thing you can do it’s to yell after pushing her face away from yours.

“GROSS! Get off of me.” You duck, making Kara furrow her brows at you.

“What did I do?” You look at your momma, who looks so offended that she might cry because Lena refused to give her a kiss. Poor Kara.

“Explain it to her! You’re me!” Lena says -in your body- making Kara even more confused.

“What is happening?”

“I’m her and she’s me.” You try. She still doesn’t get it, that’s when it comes to you. “We’re Freaking Friday right now.”

“WHAT!” Kara yells in shock. “But that’s our thing!”

“How is that our thing? We never once Freaked Friday before.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Lena asks, interrupting your conversation with Kara. “It’s not even Friday.”

“What? No, it’s-” You look at her, confused. “It’s Freaky Friday.”

“Yeah, well, what the hell is Freaky Friday, then?” Lena asks and Kara looks back at her in shock.

“Yep, you two are definitely switched right now.” She smiles and you agree with your head giving her the car keys.

You make your way to the backseat and stare at Lena for a second while you two wonder what to do.

“You go-”

“I’ll sit-”

“Cool.” You go to the front seat with a smile. “I’m the grown-up now.”

“Yes, you are!” Kara agrees, messing with your hair, and it’s Lena who responds.

“Hey, don’t do that. You know my hair is temperamental.” She complains and Kara looks at both of you a couple of times.

“Oh, boy. This is gonna be fun.” She says looking anything but excited about this. “So, how exactly did this happen? Did you guys look into each other's eyes and say, ‘I wish I were you’?”

“No, because that’s ridiculous.” You answer and Kara looks at you next to her, looking very stung by what you said. “I made a device so you could feel what the other person was feeling. It wasn’t intentional for us to literally change bodies, but I guess that was the only way I could feel this terrible back pain mom was feeling.”

“Right. And for me to be starving all the time.” Lena complains in the back. “Can we stop to get some food before going home?”

You smile wickedly at yourself before saying, “We have food at home-” Then you turn your face to her with a playful smile. “Babygirl.”

“Ugh.” Lena rolls her eyes at you. “I didn’t know that’s how you were feeling, ok?”

“See.” You look at Kara. “It’s already working!”

“I see.” She shakes her head agreeing. “And you couldn’t undo it?”

“Actually, I could’ve if I had tried. But there’s a bet going on here, so-”

“So, you two are betting to see who lasts longer?” Kara asks, getting agreeable nods and hums from both of you. She looks to the backseat furrowing her brows at Lena. “And I’ll have to suffer and not kiss you for as long as this lasts?”

“Umm, yes.” Lena agrees, touching Kara’s arm. “Don’t worry, honey. Your daughter won’t last a day in my shoes.”

“I will!” You slap Lena’s hand away from Kara’s biceps -because you know what comes next, and it’s your body she’s in-. “I’ll just change your shoes.”

“It’s an expression.” Lena furrows her brows at you.

“And I made a pun with it.” You put your feet up the car’s glove compartment. “Deal with that.”

“Hey, take your feet off of there.”

You don’t miss a beat when you look back at her. “Excuse me? It’s my car, baby. I can put my feet up wherever I want.”

Kara parks outside your house, and you see Lena running inside the house, leaving you and Kara behind. She opens the door fast, and you see the handle coming off on her hand. You and Kara look at each other.

“You know what? This might actually be good for us kryptonians. She’ll see how hard it is to control ourselves sometimes.” Kara says and you agree with your head.

“I heard that!” Lena yells from inside the house. “I’ll learn how to use the powers; you’ll see.”

You walk inside the house and watch her devouring an entire sandwich in one bite. “I wonder how many times you’ll get grounded before you learn it, though.”

“You’re way too full of yourself.” She narrows her eyes at you, making yet another sandwich. “Let’s wait until tomorrow when you actually have to be me, to see if you’ll still be this smug about this bet.”

“And you’ll have such a fun time in high school tomorrow, babygirl.” You say ironically.

“Oh, boy.”

[fandom-monium]

I JUST READ KITCHEN CATASTROPHES OMG ITS SOOO CUTE UGH MY HEART SO SOFT CAN YOU PLSSS DO A PART 2? THANK YOU KEEP DOING WHAT YOU DO

AN: thank you, anon! i dont plan to make a sequel to KC. But if i did:

For Valentine’s Day

Summary: In which you throw a wrench in Spencer’s plans: you don’t like Valentine’s Day. “If it’s with you, I guess it’s not so bad.”

WC: 2.9k (whoops)

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, semi anti-valentines day, Spencer tears up but dont worry were there to fix that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, post-For the Holidays

Fuck cooking, Spencer thinks one day.

It's an irrational thought. The kind that strikes through his mind in a flash of irritation like a scrape of the knee as he is perusing the internet. Yes, he is using a computer willingly. He has to because he's desperate.

Cooking is stupid. Who really needs it, right?

…

He needs it. God, he needs it so bad.

His need to learn cooking wasn't as incessant until recently. Until you came along.

Spencer is a meticulous person and a romantic if you'd ever met one. Makes sense considering how he grew up, reading the classics and all that. He's read all the gooey literary shit old people write and while he never understood those meanings it all dawned on him one day. Quotes written like 'the stars in their eyes' and 'sunshine glowing off them like a halo', suddenly makes sense once he meets you. Or at least, after coming to know you, months into your newfound friendship.

It's because of this he plans accordingly the weeks leading up to Valentine's day! Because again he's meticulous and a romantic and a genius so he plans every step and makes a back up plan in case A, B, and C fall through.

Is he going overboard? 

… Nah. No way. Not when it comes to you.

But fuck with a capital F, man.

It's your third date. Or what is supposed to be your third date if you would just stop being you for a second.

Then again, he loves you a lot and he wouldn't love you if you weren't, well, you.

Although—pardon his french—what the fuck. 

Spencer knows he needs to learn to cook. You've tried plenty of times to teach him and he loves learning and he especially loves it when you are the teacher (wait, does he have a teacher/student fantasy? Maybe. That’s something he'll look into later. Preferably with you). 

Unfortunately, he's terrible at it.

He's made progress and he knows it's true because you said so but the miniscule progress he's made is. Not. Enough. And it's all your fault! Because he gets so distracted by you during your lessons, like when you put your hands over his to show him proper slicing techniques—holy fuck, he wanted to combust right there—or just watching your deft hands at work, lips and brow scrunched in concentration in that adorable way. And you smell like cooking oil or whatever you're making and you're hot.

He's so into you it physically hurts. Ugh. How is he so lucky? 

You're also the first person he's been this into since Maeve. And everyone knows how well that turned out.

So he tries to dial it down for Valentine’s Day. Morgan told him once he tends to throw himself into everything he does, including love. And when you two got together, he promised the universe he will not fuck this up. He ends up combining Morgan’s advice with Luke’s, trying to be casual like Luke says because apparently you're just as into him as he is of you. 

The thought makes him grin uncontrollably. Luke says it makes him look like a clown but a lovesick clown. A lovefool, Luke hehs.

Spencer doesn’t get the joke, but it does nothing to deter him.

As Luke advised, Spencer does “not” make a dozen back up plans and does “not" plan weeks in advance. Because that wouldn't be casual, would it?

But now the day’s come and as Valentine’s Day turns to Valentine’s Night, Spencer wants to pull his hair, rub his frustratedly stinging eyes but he can't because he's in the middle of work, in the middle of the bullpen, in the middle of his desk and he refuses to be that guy. Not again.

Why does he feel like sobbing? Like a loser? 

Because you don't like Valentine’s Day. No, you abhor it.

It happens in the middle of the work day. It's like he tried to open a door only for a bucket of ice water to be dumped on him and now he looks like a drowned rat. He definitely feels like one.

You're talking with Garcia about her Valentine’s Day plans as you multitask, switching between putting together packets and stacking them aside. Then taking them under the hole-puncher and stapling them together because the BAU isn't all kicking down doors and catching freaks. 

It makes sense that you’re chatting with Garcia during your break. The two of you have become two peas in a pod after you came out of your shell. Now you're inseparable. Only you make Garcia leave her batcave as much as she does now.

Out of sight, he catches tidbits of your conversation when he hears distinctively: Fuck Valentine’s Day.

Okay, you didn't say that verbatim but you might as well have, grimacing as you three hole-punch a packet and his heart. Then a nail on his coffin only it’s with a stapler. 

Thump. Chick.

Spencer winces; there goes your his Valentine’s Day plans. 

It shouldn't sting as much as it does. You've been dating for over a month and Valentine’s Day is definitely not his favorite holiday either. It's not even top 3. And as you rant he can’t help but silently nod in agreement, all the facts straight: yes, it's an eyesore. Yes, it's a capitalistic holiday. Yes, people should do nice things for their significant others no matter the time and not because it's expected on a specific day. Yes, it doesn't compare to Halloween—

The thing is, you two aren't that “couple-y”, at least in a traditional sense. Not like Will and JJ who got a babysitter so they could go out or like Luke and Garcia as they plan to go to a special Valentine’s Day event she wants to check out (she vehemently denies anything going on between them but he doesn't need to be a genius to see the affection they have for one another. Just kiss already, damn).

So yeah, Spencer hoped to spend the romantic holiday with you. For once, he'd have Valentine’s Day plans, aside from exchanging cards with the team and his mother.

But apparently you hate Valentine’s Day! So there goes plan A, B, C, and D!

Spencer feels the tears spring at the corner of his eyes. He sniffs as subtly as he can, raising an open case file to his face. Of all the plans he hadn't thought through this was not one of them. IQ 187, his ass.

He should've known. Or at least ask your thoughts on Valentine’s Day. That was inconsiderate on his part. He blinks back tears, withdrawing into himself despite his hurt because he is a lovefool and only for you. He just wants to impress you, make you happy even if that means canceling your first Valentine’s Day together.

Now if you'll excuse him, he has to call off a few reservations and make some returns. Several actually.

Can you return a dozen donuts in the shape of hearts?

… Yeah, he better ask Emily for the rest of the day off.

—

"Hey Newb, have you seen Spencer? I haven't seen him since his break," You ask, resting your chin in your hand as you squint at another form. Your eyes are beginning to tire. 

Spencer asked you several times over the course of the last week, checking to see if you were free today. You are, so you planned to hang with him after work, but he hasn't returned from his break and he wasn't answering your calls or texts. Not unusual but still odd for your boyfriend (you still can’t believe you get to say that).

Luke sighs, his smooth voice reaching over your shared divider, "You know at some point I'm just not going to respond. You guys can’t call me Newbie forever."

"Keep telling yourself that," You snort without looking up.

Another sigh and you smirk: you win.

"For your information," Luke grumbles, words punctuated with sass, "Doc went home."

You pause. "Home?" He didn't tell you.

"Yeah, probably to get ready for your date."

"Our date?" You frown and stand up, leaning over the divider to see if Luke’s fucking with you.

He isn't. Luke shrugs, humming wistfully as he rests his cheek in his hand, "You should've seen how excited he was, being it your first Valentine's Day and all. I told him to chill out because you'll love whatever it is no matter what but I'm sure he ignored that and planned something spectacular for you guys." Sitting back, he twirls around in his chair.

You grimace, recalling your earlier conversation with Garcia. 

Shit.

"Meanwhile, I have to spend Galentine's Day with Garcia because all the ladies of the BAU are taken and I have nothing better to do—" Luke comes to a full 720, catching the tail end of your coat as you whip it on and make for the door. "—um, excuse you?"

"If Emily asks, I had an emergency!" You manage to call back, throwing open the glass door.

"Okay?"

"Thanks, Newb!"

As the elevator door dings shut with you inside, leg jumping because you have a sneaking suspicion you fucked up, Luke slouches in his chair and grumbles.

He's not a newb. Or a newbie.

—

You rush over to Spencer's, catching your breath as you stumble to his front door. There's shuffling from inside, the faint sound of clanking and crashing and your heart swells because this is the man you’ve fallen for, the first one you've ever felt this way for. Here he is, being all considerate and romantic. And here you are, fucking it up when your relationship’s barely even started.

God, you're an asshole, you berate yourself as you turn the doorknob and push open the door. You're an asshole you're an asshole you’re an asshole—

Then your eyes widen and your jaw goes slack. 

Immediately, you slap a hand over your mouth and nose as your favorite scented candles hit you like someone shoved a bouquet in your face. The description isn't too far off considering there's a lovely bouquet of your favorite flowers still in its wrapping, haphazardly set next to a dozen donuts on the coffee table like no one's business. Its petals are strewn across the floor, a few in tiny piles like they were hastily swept to the side. Red and pink and dark green fill your vision.

Who gutted Cupid and tossed his organs around, holy fu-

"(Your name)?"

Startled, you crane your head to find Spencer, beautiful hair askew and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows as he clutches flowers to his chest. In his other hand, he grips the colored strings of several shiny red and pink balloons in the shape of hearts and—fuck—your heart might actually float up from your chest and into your eyes.

This is your man. Your partner. Your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend panics, fumbling for a second before stuffing the balloons and trimmed flowers back into the room behind him and slamming the door shut. He turns back to you, eyes wide.

"What-what are you doing here?" Spencer stammers, wringing his hands together.

You blink at him, dumbly holding up your phone. "You-uh-you left early and didn't return my calls."

"I'm sorry. I think I left my phone at work," Probably because he left in such a rush, Spencer groans, looking anywhere but you. The petals scattered over his floor are quite pretty in this light. "And I was a bit busy."

"I'm sure you were," You gawk openly at the strings of fairy lights hung around his living room. It's a clash of aesthetics. Spencer always rocked dark academia, but despite how ugly the combination of red and pink decorations with his nature green walls and dark wood is, it leaves his apartment a little brighter, a little cozier, and you love it.

You love everything about this.

But as you take in the ugly beauty of it all, Spencer fidgets at the doorway, mistaking your awe as shock and disgust. Wiping sweaty palms on his trousers, his eyes dart around, trying to focus on something, but every place he lays his eyes on makes him cringe. He catches all the things he couldn't clean up or put away in time. No doubt you do too. All the leftover flower petals, the donuts he can’t return, candles that haven’t blown out because he has the lungs of an 8-year old asthmatic. 

Spencer can't imagine how appalled you are.

And the longer your silence stretches on, the more nervous he gets so he blurts out, "I'm so sorry, (Your Name)!"

Your brow shoots up as he begins to ramble.

"You must hate this. I'll put everything away."

"You really don't have to—" You stop him, and your heart nearly crumbles as Spencer's does when he finally meets your worried gaze. 

His eyes gleam with unshed tears. He swallows, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Doc—"

"At least not without asking you—"

"Doctor—"

"I understand if you want to break up—" His voice cracks, as if the idea itself will destroy him (it definitely will). 

"Spencer—" His voice, wobbly and dripping with unnecessary guilt, draws you to him.

"But I want you to know that I—"

With an exasperated sigh, you grab his hand as yours finds the nape of his neck, pulling him into a soft kiss. 

For a second, Spencer doesn't respond because who kisses the person they're about to break up with? Strange, really. But then he kisses you back. His hands remain frozen, unsure of where he stands, but he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. He figures this is a new social cue he has yet to learn. And if this is the last time you kiss him, he'll treasure every second of it, take whatever you'll give him because again he's a lovefool for you. 

And when you pull back, he's too dazed he nearly misses the look you give him. Suddenly, he can’t breathe.

You look at him like he hung the stars instead of cheap fairy lights around his apartment. 

Spencer’s confused. "I-I... Wha—"

"I'm not breaking up with you," You chuckle, and you nearly burst out laughing as genuine puzzlement takes over his face. You tug him behind you, plopping yourselves on his couch. You smile, appreciating the way he organized the cushions and throw-pillows; there's now space for two people to lay down.

You take a breath. "You wanna know why I don't like Valentine’s Day?"

Spencer slouches, though his body is angled towards you so you suppose that's good. He sighs, "Because it's a capitalistic holiday that reinforces the idea of doing the bare minimum…"

He begins listing your reasons, and your eyes soften. Of course he listened and remembered even if you mentioned it offhandedly.

You nod once he finishes. "Yes but before that—and I can't believe I'm telling you this—back when I was a little kid, I didn’t get any Valentines."

Spencer's brow furrows at the newfound information. You continue, "I'd get some from my friends and stuff but that's not what Valentine's Day is about. At least not when you're a kid. When you’re a dumb kid, it’s about couples and romantic shit, and I didn't really have any of that growing up." You purse your lips and glance away, face flushed with embarrassment. It's really not that big a deal, but putting it into words makes the idea seem more intimate and personal.

It takes a moment for your words to sink in as Spencer can't believe his ears. How could you not have been showered with love and affection and presents on Valentines Day? It's like water doesn't make things wet or fire doesn't produce heat; it just doesn't make sense. Because you deserve that much and more.

"So every Valentine's Day, I lowered my expectations and eventually I stopped caring. I'd tell myself those things and I started to believe them," You bite your lip, eyes crinkling as you give Spencer a sheepish smile. "But now I have you."

At that, Spencer returns your smile, letting you take his hand. Any tears he had seem to evaporate instantly.

“So, I'm sorry that I hurt you. I stand by what I said before, Valentine’s Day sucks. But if it’s with you,” Blushing deeply, you play with Spencer's hand, large and veins defined compared to yours, shrugging, “I guess it’s not so bad.”

Spencer’s smile broadens, and he intertwines your fingers together. "So what you’re saying is, you don’t hate this?” He looks around his living room.

You shake your head, unable to stop the grin crossing your lips. “No. In fact, very much the opposite. Honestly, thank you for this, it’s beautiful. I have no words.” You breathe it all in; the candles, the flowers, the— Your nose wrinkles and you snort, “Did you burn something?”

Bashfully looking down, he scratches his chin. “I-uh-tried to make your favorite dishes. Though, I was hoping the candles and flowers would mask it.”

You giggle and pull him into you, snuggling into his side. “That’s okay. I’d much rather have you anyway.”

With Spencer a blushing, stuttering mess in your arms, head resting on your chest, you press a kiss to his hair and conclude; yeah, you don’t like Valentine’s Day. 

But you sure as hell love Spencer more.

—

AN:  FtH status: finished - 7/5. yes 7.

I realize this was not what anon requested but oh well i wrote this at 2 am 

I’m not that anti v day but i stand by the capitalistic aspect.

yes this takes place after For the Holidays.

also included luke bc hes my bro and i honestly think he deserves so much more than what the show gave also garvez ftw

happy post valentine’s day!!

Song: Lovefool by The Cardigans

[pasteljeon]

white chocolate (m) | heartbeat 2

series index. 

summary | how is it they know you so well already?

warnings | sub!jungkook, handjobs, soft gguk, some angst

length | 4.9k

notes | hello! super overdue, i know :( but please enjoy, and let me know what you think of this chapter <3 if you’d like to be added to the tag list, please dm me or leave a comment :”)

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.

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“You look like you haven’t slept properly in days.”

“No, I just have a natural resting bitch face,” you deadpan. Ahri raises an eyebrow unflinchingly. You wave her off immediately. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

She remains unconvinced, but there’s not much she can do from cities away except send you virtual care packages (read: texts). She’s fully suited up for the day, and you watch absently from her bustle around from where your laptop is propped up on the counter as you drown your poorly shaped pancakes in maple syrup.

“Alright, well. Keep me updated on the roomies situation, and remember to drink plenty of water,” Ahri orders as she finishes applying her lipstick. She checks the screen to ensure there’s no smearing and then she’s buttoning her jacket.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you know if one of them suddenly decides to expose their daddy kink,” you say dryly as you stab your sad excuse for brunch. Ahri perks up. “Rea—”

“No.”

“Okay, but real talk for a second – I heard Jungkook—”

“Go to work,” you chirp, flashing her a smile before you promptly jab the call button.

“Holy shit,” you mutter, closing your laptop.

A jangling of keys interrupts your thought, head snapping up at the sound.

“Jungkook?”

He freezes, halfway to his room already. His gym bag hangs off his shoulder. Oh … Oh.

“H-hi, n-noona,” he mumbles. He refuses to meet your gaze, back muscles tensing through his sweat-soaked shirt. “W-what’s up?”

Oh … he looks …

You imagine the resemblance to the bedroom would be uncanny. You press your thighs together, trying to shake off the feeling. No, you remind yourself. As tempting as it is, anything other than friendship could greatly jeopardize the harmony of this place.

“Do you want something to eat?” You offer instead. You’re relieved when your voice remains steady.

“A-ah, that’s okay noona, I-I’ll grab something later,” Jungkook says hastily as he begins to climb the stairs.

“And risk heart disease with the amount of cholesterol you’d intake with all that greasy food after you’ve just worked out? Hell no,” you retort sternly.

He pauses at the top of the spiral staircase, and you tilt your chin up to catch him rubbing the back of his neck guiltily.

“O-okay,” he says hesitantly. “T-thank you, noona. I-I’ll be down in a few mins, I just need to take a shower.”

He bounds into his room in one leap and snaps the door shut quietly before you can respond.

You close your mouth, blinking. “Uh. Alright, then.”

.

.

.

It hurts.

Jungkook groans, squeezing himself hard as he doubles over, bag tossed to the corner and shirt all but ripped off.

His knees sink into the mattress, other hand gripping his covers tightly as he strokes himself.

His cock has been half-hard since he woke, the lingering ache of a pleasurable dream spiking his arousal.

Every touch is uncharacteristically heightened, even more so than usual, given how sensitive he is.

Shakily reaching for the bottle of lube on the counter, he pours a generous amount on his palm. His hand, rough and covered in calluses, is cool where he thumbs the slit of his cock. Jungkook sucks in a breath.

The chances of meeting you at this exact time was slim – so slim he hadn’t anticipated you standing there, looking so effortlessly beautiful despite how tired you were. Despite his urge to cup your cheeks and kiss those dark circles under your gorgeous eyes, his dick twitched at the sight.

He couldn’t turn around – the sizable tent in his sweats would have been a dead giveaway.

“N-noona,” he whimpers.

A thin sheen of sweat coats his skin, his other hand skimming the crevices of his stomach, pushing the fabric down further until he was kneeling on the bed, spine arched as he increases the speed.

His wrist aches, but he’s so close he can taste it —

.

.

.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Jungkook’s going to cry.

Embarrassment and horror flushes through him. His expression is panicked, doe eyes blown out and wide. His fully erect cock, reddened tip dripping precum, is gripped tightly in his hand.

And you are staring right at him.

“N-n-noona,” he squeaks. He’s appalled at the way the syllables are forced out, his tone edging hysteria.

You close your eyes. And open them.

Yep, that’s Jeon Jungkook alright. On his knees, thick, muscled thighs spread wide and his long, thick cock weeping beautifully in his grasp.

“Well,” you say, after a pregnant pause, leaning against the doorframe. “Go on, since you’ve been begging so sweetly.”

“I—I …,” he’s floundering, shocked, but his erection doesn’t falter. If anything, you think he’s growing even harder at the prospect. It’s interesting how, despite the way his arm jerked upon realization of your presence, as if to move to cover himself, he remains completely bare to you.

He swallows, mouth suddenly dry as you watch him, mouth curled into a lilting smile.

You push yourself off, stepping in and shutting the door firmly behind you.

The firm click of the lock has him tensing in anticipation as you stalk toward him.

You don’t touch him, just slide onto the bed, your legs bracketing his, the heat of your body making his breath catch in his throat.

“Lie down, baby.” He obeys immediately, dark locks spilling across the comforter. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his chiselled body beckoning you closer, but you simply hover over him, arms caging him in.

Your hair falls over him like a silk curtain, tickling his cheeks as your lips brush the shell of his ear. “Is this okay?”

Jungkook looks like he’s about to faint, cheeks colouring and eyelids fluttering shut. He nods furiously, unable to speak.

“I need to hear it, baby boy.” Your breath is warm, skin prickling pleasantly at the feeling.

“A-ah, y-yes,” he mewls.

“Touch yourself.”

You withdraw slowly, rising until you’re resting on your knees above him. Jungkook looks absolutely wrecked already, and you marvel that he truly is an extraordinary specimen, so deliciously muscular and broad yet so willing to submit. The need to feel small.

He moans, the shame escaping him as he starts stroking himself again, cock so generously coated with precum and lube that the slide is seamless. His pace quickens as he gains momentum, the other hand slipping below to fondle his balls.

“Such a dirty boy,” you croon. “Jerking yourself off in front of your noona. You enjoy it, don’t you? Having me watch you come undone, begging so prettily.”

“… me.”

“What’s that?” You drawl. Jungkook pants, practically vibrating as he pleads, “Touch me. Please. P-please, noona. I’m so close.”

His eyes are glossy, eyelashes wet and lips cherry bitten. His spine bows, head tossing from side to side in agony.

Your nails dig into his chest, scraping his nipples. You pinch them lightly as you lean over him once more to murmur, “come.”

Jungkook stills. He lets out a weak cry, voice hoarse and fraught as he explodes. He writhes beneath you, eyes rolling back and back arching as he milks himself. He collapses when he’s done, body melting into the mattress, boneless.

Cum paints his abdomen, stains your shirt and you hum, scoping it up and popping a finger into your mouth thoughtfully.

Jungkook peeks up at you in exhaustion, groaning at the erotic sight. “Noona, please. I don’t think my dick can take any more,” he whimpers.

You smile fondly, brushing his damp locks back as you press a soft kiss to his temple. “Thank you, Kookie.”

“N-noona,” his hand shoots up to grasp your wrist loosely as you move to get up. “I … I don’t … usually do this. I’m a … I’m clean,” he flushes darkly, neck colouring as he glances away shyly.

“… I don’t want to get your hopes up, Kook,” you say ruefully. Your smile is crooked, wistful. You squeeze his hand firmly. “I like you, I do. I think you’re sweet and compassionate and that’s why I’ll never be good for someone like you.” Too innocent, too easily corrupted.

“That’s not true,” he protests immediately. He meets your gaze earnestly. “You’re honest and kind and thoughtful. I know it.”

“I don’t want to break your heart,” you reply softly. “You deserve so much.” More.

“Then I’ll chase you,” Jungkook says, determined. His brows are knitted, lips pursed.

You chuckle, expression unwittingly warm as you lean in to kiss the corner of his eye. “Baby, I’m no good for you.”

“You’re wrong, noona,” he shakes his head furiously. He’s glowing. He’s resolved. “And I’m gonna prove it to you. Just wait. You’ll fall for me.”

I know. “Wash up,” you say instead, patting his cheek as you rise. “I made lunch.”

.

.

.

You wait until you hear him twist the knob and step in the shower before you leave, the steam curling around your wrist as you shut the door quietly.

“___-noona.”

“Taehyung,” you flinch at the familiar baritone of the photography major, turning around slowly. You bare him a smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He looks windswept, raking a hand over the curls falling over his eyes. A camera hangs over his neck, his English hat askew over his head. He looks like he stepped off a freaking runway. His fashion sense is impeccable, as per usual, you muse, maybe a tad fonder than you would’ve liked.

“Hi. Uh, yeah. The stove was on and I rushed upstairs because I was worried,” Taehyung chuckles, glancing at where your hand rests on the doorknob. Something flickers in his gaze, but it’s gone before you can ascertain what it is.

“Ah, yeah. Jungkook came back and I wanted to ask him something, so,” you shrug.

You wait with bated breath for the inevitable question that you know teeters on the tip of his tongue, though you should’ve realized Taehyung isn’t one to barge into unrelated business. He doesn’t ask despite the obvious curiosity that lingers in the way he peers at you.

“About last week … Did I … did I say something weird when I was sick? I can’t remember anything, but Jin-hyung mentioned you asked something about it,” he says instead. His grip on the strap tightens and you tilt your head.

“… Not really,” you say eventually. “You were pretty out of it. Don’t worry, you didn’t embarrass yourself too much. Nothing tweet worthy, anyway.”

“Oh.” Taehyung exhales, the relief flooding through his veins so palpable you frown. “Are you okay? Do you have some dark secret you’re scared of accidentally spilling or something?” You joke.

He laughs, flashing you a wry smile as he takes off his camera. “Would it surprise you if I did?”

You shake your head. Don’t want to know. “Hungry?” Stepping past him, you make your way down the spiral staircase briskly.

Taehyung’s left standing at the top, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Always,” he calls.

He wants to chuck his camera over the railing.

.

.

.

“What did you do?”

Jungkook starts, shirt halfway over his head. He tugs it down, calmly taking a seat on his bed as he pulls on a pair of socks. His heart is thrumming at his throat. He swallows.

“Nothing, hyung. What happened?” Before he can fully twist around, Taehyung’s standing in front of him, hazel irises blazing.

“How could you do this, Jungkook? I trusted you. You promised!” His voice breaks and Jungkook think he’s drowning. It hurts, knowing his hyung is hurting.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jungkook whispers. His gaze drops, guilt causing his shoulders to hunch in. “It’s just – we’ve waited so long to see her again, to meet her again … I was – I was weak. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, hyung,” he buries his face in his hands, shaking. He’s an idiot. He couldn’t have waited? God, he’s despicable.

“We made a pact, Ggukie. Please, it’s not fair to the rest of us if you do things like this,” Taehyung pleads, kneeling and prying his hands away. Jungkook hiccups, cheeks wet as he nods. “I-I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t control myself, she caught me and I couldn’t resist her, she’s just so beautiful and – and I love her, hyung!” He groans.

“I know, I know,” the older fusses over him, wiping his tears and wrapping him in a tight hug. Jungkook sniffles, settling as he whispers, “I really am sorry. I’ll stay away, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung says, pulling away. “Just for now, okay? We’ll tell her soon, when the others are ready. When she’s ready. I promise.”

Jungkook nods, fingers knotting the hem of his shirt. “Yeah. Okay.”

.

.

.

Jungkook hardly speaks another word the entire meal, save to express his gratitude. He avoids your probing gaze and eats silently. He scarfs down his food, finishing quickly, washing his dishes despite your insistence he doesn’t need to, and disappears back into his room within half an hour.

You prop your chin up with a hand, eyebrow raised as you sip at your cup. “So. Mind telling me what you said to him?”

Taehyung shifts uncomfortably, chopsticks poking at the sad piece of kimchi curled up in the corner of his bowl. “Ah … he’s just embarrassed you caught him earlier,” he mumbles into his soup.

“He told you?” You nearly spit out your water in shock. As it is, the photography major chuckles ruefully, reaching over with a surprisingly gentle hand as he wipes the water from the corner of your lip with his thumb.

There’s something tender in his smile, and something wistful in his expression. Something soft in the way he tilts his head and gazes at you. Maybe it’s the way the sunlight strikes his face at the exact angle because his dark eyes glow, like molten chocolate. The type you’d dip a strawberry into and savour for countless moments after, for the perfect combination of tart and sweet. Taehyung has always been extraordinarily handsome, but you’ve never taken much notice to it until now.

Those tousled curls, the strong jaw line, the boxy grin. But you’re not a fool. Like Jimin, you know he has his own … filters.

It is unwise to fall for someone like him. You’re not compatible. You know this because you’ve tried … once.

“We tried, Tae. It didn’t work, remember?” You whisper, taking his hand. He automatically shakes his head, flipping his palm up to weave his fingers through yours. He’s always been so much bigger than you. You used to feel safe with him.

You hate how he still makes you feel that way despite all this time. Despite everything. His grip is firm, his touch warm. Familiar.

“Please don’t,” you say, but your protest sounds weak, even to your own ears. “I can’t go through this all over again.”

“I know. It was my fault. It wasn’t fair to you, the way I kept all my feelings locked up. I’m sorry. Though I wish we would’ve talked about it after,” he says. He sounds honest now, and you hate it. It makes your chest ache a little at the mention. You’re over it—you are. But sometimes the memories can be a haunting reminder. It’s hard to simply toss away years of what were once precious moments shared with someone you thought was your ‘forever.’

“There wasn’t much to talk about,” you respond dryly. Your arm is limp in his hold. “We just weren’t good for each other. We didn’t work.”

His thumb strokes the back of your hand slowly. “You’re wrong. You were the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You still are. We just didn’t try hard enough. I should’ve never let you go.”

His voice suddenly sounds so honeyed. Airy, despite the low timbre that doesn’t quite match his sharp features. Like he’s sharing an old wound, one that’s scabbed over a million times, but he can’t help picking at until it bled and bled and the scar that forms is thrice as large as it should’ve been.

“Well,” you say after a beat, gently twisting out of his grip. You dump your untouched meal into your bowl, collecting the plates before standing. You flash him a half-hearted smile. “Then it’s too bad you did, isn’t it?”

He’s left with his fingers curled around empty air, heart heavy and stomach roiling. He thinks he can hear the blood dripping from his ribcage, hear the sound of something within him cracking. Love is a lie, lie / don’t tell me bye, bye.

He thinks he’s never going to be able to tell you the truth. And that hurts more than anything else.

.

.

.

It’s a Saturday for crying out loud. The week you’ve just had was borderline atrocious and all you want to do is curl up in bed and watch Netflix, equipped with a steaming mug of tea, wrapped in your fluffy blankets and cuddling your giant bunny plush. You’re not asking for much, really.

“Hello, Namjoon.”

Instead, here you are.

He looks up, startled, as you slide into the seat across him. And then he smiles. “___. I didn’t think you’d come, truthfully.”

At a small, quant café across the science building. It’s rather empty today, the occasional cluster of students wandering in to order bundles of drinks. You’ve been here a thousand times and still you can never find the words to express just how much life this tiny space has sucked out of you. After last semester, you swore you’d never be back.

And yet, here you are. The joy.

“Don’t,” you warn, shaking out your hair as you take off your hat. “Don’t start. I’m just here to hear you out.”

“There’s something you should know,” he starts, faltering briefly at your stern expression. He rakes a hand through his hair, pushing up his glasses impatiently, and it occurs to you this is the first time you’ve ever seen him so stressed and wrung out. “About us …”

“Namjoon, please. You asked me to keep it a secret, and I did,” you answer flatly. Did you seriously drag yourself out of bed for this? You really don’t need another rehash of one of your life’s greatest mistakes. He’s fiddles with his drink, untouched and likely lukewarm at this point.

At your pointed look, he moves to rummage through his messenger bag, and pulls out a plain manila envelope.

Namjoon hesitates, mouth downturned as he says quietly, “The results came through. You’re innocent. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

You raise an eyebrow, snorting in disbelief when he doesn’t react. “You’re serious. Wow. Colour me shocked. Well,” you deadpan, rising to your feet, “This was fun, but the only person that didn’t know was you. Now please don’t ask to see me like this again. I said we were done, and I meant it. Goodbye, Namjoon.”

The bell rings timidly as you disappear through the door, Namjoon watching as you walk away, each step a harsh reminder of how badly he’s fucked up.

And the worst part is that he doesn’t think he can fix it. There’s no making right something like this.

He downs his coffee and stands. He’s always been a failure anyway. What difference does this really make? Sliding the folder back into his bag, he slings it over his shoulder and nods at the owner on his way out.

Bad, bad bye / don’t say goodbye.

.

.

.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Hell. No,” you emphasize, crossing your arms, determined to stand your ground. She pouts, clasping her hands together.

“Yes!” Ahri cries, pulling at your sweater. She adamantly ignores your glare as she riffles your closet. “It’s my only free night back. Please, please, let’s go out! Have a night of fun! I’m so tired of filing tax returns and staring at Excel sheets. I need a break and by the looks of it, so do you.” She turns to give you an appraising look and you groan, flopping onto your bed.

The ceiling is unimaginably unhelpful, so you sit up with a sigh.

“Fine,” you say, but before she can open her mouth, beaming, you hold up a hand. “No boy talk. We are not discussing them or anyone else tonight. Just fun. We can talk about anything else. Deal?”

Your best friend visibly deflates at the thought but acquiesces reluctantly before returning to her hunting.

Finally, she whirls around with a flourish, grinning widely. You eye her warily, not quite liking the evil glint in her orbs. You groan when she brandishes a two-piece you don’t think you’ve broken out in months, probably.

She cheers, hugging you tightly. “It’s going to be great, promise.”

You take the proffered outfit, lips pursed doubtfully. “It better be,” you grouch. “After the week I just had, I’m about ready to throw myself into a floor of lava.”

Ahri pats your back, grinning. “You just need a good dicking down. Trust me.”

.

.

.

The club is inordinately crowded.

The bass booms in the background, reverberating through your body and echoing with every expansion of your chest. Voices are muted in the sea of sound, Ahri eagerly tugging you along as she effortlessly weaves through the throng.

“Hey guys,” you offer them a bland, knowing smile as your friends chorus your name back at you. They seem genuinely excited to be here tonight, to let loose for a few odd hours, and so despite your initial misgivings, you sit and order a drink.

You like social interaction, yes, but after the week you’ve just had, you’d much rather be curled up in bed. But then you glance to the seat next to you to see Ahri laughing and talking animatedly.

“So, ____,” you turn to see a familiar face. “You came.”

“Yuto-sunbae,” you say, pleasantly surprised. He looks great, cheeks lightly flushed, alcohol already circulating his system.

“Dance with me?” He extends a hand.

“Before my martini arrives? How scandalous,” you joke, accepting his offer as he pulls you to his feet.

“You look like you could use some fun,” Yuto teases, coaxing you to the dance floor. You give him an exasperated look, to which he pointedly ignores, sliding your arms over his neck.

“Dance with me,” he says again, eyes imploring. With an exaggerated sigh, you take his hands and put them on your waist.

“Lead the way,” you answer, smiling crookedly.

.

.

.

Jungkook grimaces, uncomfortably pressed against strangers as he fights his way through the crowd, letting out a relieved sigh as he spots them.

“Kook,” Jimin beams, standing to let him in. Jungkook gives him a grateful smile as he shuffles into the cushions next to the group.

“C’mon, maknae,” Taehyung says, patting his thigh as Yoongi slides him a mug of familiar liquid. The composer is already nursing a half-empty glass of his own, not appearing even remotely buzzed.

“Do we have to be here right now?” Jungkook asks, sipping at the concoction. His nose wrinkles, the burn particularly strong tonight.

“Yes, because you’ve been moping all day and you need to get out. Some sunlight, fresh air, you know,” Jimin waves his hand. Jungkook watches as he pours another shot of vodka.

“You, or me?” The youngest remarks dryly as he pushes away the drink.

“Guys,” Hoseok cuts in before Jimin can protest. “Is that … ___?”

.

.

.

Fifteen minutes of staring and stalking your elegant figure twirling through the swarm of people, and they’re drunk.

Yoongi huffs, watching as the other boys make fools of themselves, falling on top of each other as they slur song lyrics like they’re waxing poetry.

With the sole exception of a certain graphic design student. Yoongi keeps one eye on the mess of bodies on the table and the other on the bathroom door Jungkook disappeared into some minutes ago.

“I’m dancing too,” Seokjin announce suddenly, sounding shockingly coherent as he stands. He only sways lightly, slapping away any help, and Yoongi reluctantly sits back, nodding.

“Keep your ringer on,” is all he says. Where the eldest is going, he’ll be able to hear it loud and quick, Yoongi thinks wryly. Seokjin dismisses his concerns and quickly melds into the crowd. Logically, the music major knows the Masters student can handle himself, given his age and experience, but he can’t help but still worry.

Taking another rich swing of his drink, he returns to babysitting and bunny watching.

.

.

.

“Hi gorgeous,” a deep, raspy voice ghosts across the shell of your ear.

You’d lost sight of Yuto a while ago, the boy having been whisked off by a brunette earlier. You were content swaying alone, sweaty bodies pressed against you. By now, you’re agreeably tipsy.

“May I?” You can feel the heat of him, warm and strangely comforting. At your nod, his hands tentatively resting on your hips. They’re a welcome weight.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you murmur. It’s not loss on the newcomer, head tilted down and lingering at the juncture of your neck. You know he’s tall, much taller than you, with the way you gingerly lean into him, upper back meeting the cold metal of his belt.

“I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he answers. His voice is so smooth, like a glass of aged wine.

You move to turn, but he stops you gently. “You might not like what you see.” For the first time, his tone breaks a little, uncertainty and a tinge of fear edging it.

“I don’t care,” you say, gripping his hand and pivoting on your heels.

His eyes are downcast, bangs covering his expression. You know him, those broad shoulders and thick lips. That beautiful, half-smile he sports.

“Are you sure you want this?”

“I don’t care,” you repeat, cupping his cheeks. A blush rises, complexion reddening lightly. Uncharacteristic of him, thought you suspect it is actually more him than anything else he pretends to be.

His mouth is hot and unbelievably soft, arms drawing you close as he runs his tongue over the seam of your lips.

“Come with me?” He asks quietly, smiling shyly as he tucks a strand behind your ear. You press your forehead against his. “Yeah.”

.

.

.

You laugh into his kiss as he elbows the door open, unable to pull your hands away from each other as they roam the firm expanse of his chest, the first few buttons of his dress shirt torn open, exposing that lovely golden skin you’ve been craving.

“Jessica-noona, please—”

Pulling away at the eerily recognizable voice, it takes you a moment to register what you’re seeing.

A pregnant pause fills the now exceedingly claustrophobic space as Jungkook’s eyes widen, staring at you with panic filled orbs.

“Ah. Sorry, didn’t know this was occupied already,” you say after a beat. You don’t waver, flashing them an apologetic, tight-lipped smile as you close the door, pulling your momentary lover with you.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he blurts immediately when you find a secluded corner. It’s cute, the way he’s anxiously fretting over it.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” you assure him. You smooth your hands over his front, trying your best to fix his dishevelled appearance.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” He tips your chin up, and you hate the concern in his expression.

“I’m fine. I don’t feel very well, though,” you say regretfully. You give him a small but genuine smile. He allows you to slip away from his grasp hesitantly.

“Please drink plenty of water and rest up,” he murmurs, kiss the crown of your head. “I’m sorry the night couldn’t have ended on a more positive note.”

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing his hand gratefully. You take one last look wistfully, at those deliciously swollen lips and mussed locks, before disappearing back into the crowd.

[11:49] you: not feeling well :( drank too much. heading out, enjoy your night everyone <3

You leave Kim Seokjin standing there, the neon lights flickering over his silhouette as he watches you leave.

You’re going to go home and try your best to scrub the image of Jungkook with his dick in another woman’s mouth.

.

.

.

“Hey.” A cool, firm hand shakes you out of your daze.

“Oh.” You blink. “Yoongi. Hi.” Just your luck. You guess everyone’s here tonight.

The night is cold, a chilling breeze ruffling your hair.

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, or how you’re doing. His gaze is unsettling, eyes sharp and almost knowing. He doesn’t say much at all, really.

He just gives you his leather jacket, telling you to be careful and to be safe tonelessly.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and trudge back into the building.

Your Uber arrives before you can say anything more, however.

So you shrug it off, resolving to thank him the next morning, and step into the vehicle.

.

.

.

“Idiots, all of you,” Yoongi seethes, whirling around to glare at the three boys that sit on the couch, awkwardly pressed together as they looked away.

“Joon, how could you possibly think a folder and an apology was going to solve the problem?”

Namjoon shrinks, dropping his gaze in shame. “I—I …”

“And you! Jungkook, how could you do that? You effectively acted like some—some uncultured fratboy!” He fumes. The boy in question has his jaw clenched, fingers curled into fists as he stares at his lap.

“Jin-hyung,” Yoongi whirls onto the eldest. He puts up a hand instantly. “That’s enough, Yoongi. We all know where we messed up. What you’re doing here isn’t constructive. Now, the real question is: how can we fix this?”

[dawnrider]

Continuing this week with a Random Fandom from The Vault for #Fuck it Friday ! This week is How to Train Your Dragon! I could continue it... but it's kinda self contained. Spoiler alert if you haven't seen all the movies (and Race to the Edge)

Named The Dragon's Nest in my Drive. XD

“Aaaaargh! Stormfly!” Hiccup jumped up from his desk at the sound of Astrid's frustrated shout, pencil flying. With a curious growl, Toothless followed close behind as Hiccup took off running. The young Viking knew he would likely find her at the cliff edge and wasn't disappointed. They often took an early morning flight about now. What he didn't expect to find was Stormfly curled around Astrid keeping her contained in a ring of dragon.

“Astrid. What on Earth…”

“She's refusing to let me up and now she won't budge! I don't understand what's gotten into her.” Astrid's formidable fury was rarely directed at her dragon, but Hiccup could see Stormfly wasn't moving anytime soon. “Hiccup, do something!”

“Alright, Astrid, alright,” he soothed, raising a hand toward the Nadder in a gentle calming motion. As he stepped closer, he heard his mother's quiet approach. “It's alright girl,” he murmured to the agitated dragon. Her body language was all protection but it was clear that Astrid's irritation with her was making the poor thing upset. Another step and her tail spines went up, hissing at him. “No, no, Stormfly. It's just me. It's ok.” When she seemed to get a better whiff of him, she settled down but still wouldn't budge. “Astrid, you need to reassure her. She's upset because you are.”

“I can't help it! We were just going to go for our morning flight and she freaked out on me, dancing around to keep me away from her saddle and now this!”

Hiccup turned to his mother who had a tiny amused grin on her face. “Hmm,” was all Valka said when he shot her a pleading look.

“Great. So helpful.” With a sigh, Hiccup took another step closer and softly stroked Stormfly's hide. “Ok, Stormfly, you can let her go now, she's not going anywhere.”

She hesitated for several moments before trilling her agreement and uncurling from around her rider. Astrid sighed in relief. Hiccup continued to talk softly to her dragon while she calmed herself down. “I don't understand. She's only kept me from riding that time when I was blinded, but she's never done that before,” Astrid explained while motioning in a circle to indicate her dragon's protective move.

“Oh? Something must be different.” Astrid fought the urge to shoot her mother-in-law a sarcastic look. Feeling Hiccup at her back settled her irritation, her metaphorical spines lying flat as he placed a hand on her lower back.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking both her shoulders in hand. She nodded and sighed again. They both gasped in alarm when they were suddenly surrounded by black scales and leathery wings. “Toothless! What's gotten into you? Are all the dragons going nuts?!” The young couple could hear Hiccup's mother chuckling. Toothless gave a soft guttural purr, rubbing his snout against Hiccup's back, pushing him closer to Astrid. When he tried to shove Toothless aside, the Night Fury wouldn't allow him an inch. “Knock it off, Bud. You guys have had your fun.” A soft growl was the only response.

“So now your dragon's gone off his rocker too. Great. Please tell me you know what this is about.” Hiccup looked around helplessly. He had no clue what was wrong with them. There was nothing new on Berk that he knew of, no crazy weather patterns and Arvandil’s fire wasn't due for some time.

“If I had any idea, I'd tell you.”

“You didn't tell me I was going to be a grandmother.”

At his mother's words, they both froze, eyes wide as they looked at each other. “I… What? Astrid?”

Astrid looked shell shocked. “What is she talking about? Did she say grandmother?”

Hiccup took a deep breath and held her face between his hands. In a whisper just for their ears (well, and Toothless’) alone, “Astrid, are you… do you have something to tell me?” She stood, staring at him in blatant surprise. “Oh geez, um. Are you expecting? Pregnant, are you pregnant Astrid?” he finally exclaimed when she didn’t respond right away.

Her blue eyes grew huge and she looked down at herself. “I mean… I didn’t think so. Maybe? I guess? How do the dragons know and we don’t?!” she hissed.

“Dragons sense those kinds of things very early. Change in scent, body temperature…” came Valka’s light sing song from somewhere outside their Night Fury cocoon. “Stormfly probably thinks it's too dangerous for you to fly for now.”

“Too dangerous! But…” Astrid found her tirade cut short as she was swept into a hug. The long arms of her husband scooped her into his chest, keeping her close as he rocked slightly. “Hiccup?” she questioned softly.

While he had always been the more openly affectionate type, this was even a bit much for him. Of course, no one could see them except Toothless. He set her on her feet and grinned down at her with that boyish smile she’d fallen in love with when they were teenagers. The grin slowly slid off of his face to show concern. “Aren’t you… are you upset about it?” he breathed.

“What? Oh…” Astrid had to think about it for a moment. She hadn’t really had a chance to process what was happening. “I didn't know,” she whispered, “I mean, I shouldn't be surprised, but…”

“You're doing that thinking out loud thing you do,” Hiccup pointed out. She looked up at him a little startled. “Hey,” he murmured, “it's ok.”

“A baby, Hiccup. We're going to have a baby!” This time she threw her arms around him, making him chuckle and hold her close.

“Yea, I guess we are.”

[entomjinx]

Here's 1554 words on Why Gray/Juvia is toxic for both parties + receipts and a small personal anecdote about why I'll never shut up about this: 

Google doc Or click keep reading:

Firstly, Juvia gets very little growth as a character, to the point that even by the end of the series, she is still entirely obsessed with Gray and it's basically her only character trait(in canon). Everything she does is in someway related to Gray. Had she gotten real character development, I think I really would have loved her, but instead she was made to be nothing but someone who has an obsession with Gray. (Which clearly stemmed from hero-worship, and had it only lasted a short time with her coming to her senses and apologizing for it, then it might have been a good subplot!)

Secondly, even if she had gotten better, that would not erase the fact that she is a stalker and never even apologized. Even if she had apologized, Gray isn’t obligated to forgive her. Gray rejected her multiple times in canon(see bottom), and she continued to come on to him. If their roles were reversed, and it was Gray doing this to Juvia, everyone would be disgusted by the ship. There's a double standard around it. During the one year time skip when she forced him to live with her for 6 months while he was emotionally compromised, there was emotional manipulation similar to what is found in  Stockholm Syndrome patients. In several fields of psychology, it's been tested(and confirmed) that in 99% of cases where a person dates their stalker, it is because of their manipulation during moments of high emotion(typically negative, chapter 416) often caused by the stalker themself but sometimes by outside elements(like with Gray(chapter 416), and yet again, is similar to Stockholm Syndrome). They only thing that happened between them is that she emotionally manipulated Gray into being complacent. 

Thirdly, SHE WAS A STALKER. Period. There is NO justifying that for any reason. She made him uncomfortable in canon. He openly said he was uncomfortable IN CANON. She followed him around to places he thought he was safe, and made those places unsafe, and it affected his mental state in a visible way. 

Fourthly, Gray is someone who cares deeply about his nakama, which makes him ignore a lot of his own problems if that means helping them, which is why he tried to let her down easily at first. He still protected her, because even though she made him uncomfortable, she's still a member of Fairy Tail. 

Fifthly, she has several delusions about Gray, as are shown in canon, which are vastly different to how Gray actually is. Which means she's likely in love with her own idea of him, and not Gray himself (Again, this stems from the hero-worship and obsession). So while the delusions are played up for comedy and don't accurately depict Gray, they do accurately depict Juvia's VIEW of Gray. 

Sixthly, she freaks out anytime he so much as speaks to another girl, which is a red-flag. That's not the kind of relationship anyone wants to be in, because it's over controlling and there's no real trust. It also speaks volumes about her codependency issues, which shows that being with Gray(an extremely independent individual) is also bad for her! The ship is toxic both ways. 

Receipts

(and please note I only used a few for each because I could have pulled out more.)

Point 1 (little character growth):

-chapter 48: Juvia's debut chapter. She's depressed after what has clearly been years of abuse and is later reinforced in the few flashbacks we get of her (people leaving because of the rain and other reasons.) 

-chapter 116: this is during the battle of Fairy Tail arc, and while Juvia has a little bit of character growth here, she goes right back to being overly jealous of everyone and trying to control who Gray interacts with as soon as the arc is over. Character development isn't development if it doesn't stick.

-Chapter 424: Juvia is in the exact same headspace as before, making herself sick over someone who rejected her multiple times. She could have gone to others for help! Lucy had a lead on Gray, so refusing that help and keeping to herself only shows that she was obsessed with the idea of doing things herself. This is a toxic mindset and would big a massive red flag in a real relationship, as it shows a desperate need for control over the other person. 

-ft100 chapter 1: she still gets into the same headspace when Gray leaves. This is further proof that the relationship isn't just toxic for Gray, but for Juvia as well. (Extreme codependency is terrible)

Point 2 (emotional manipulation): 

-Chapter 340: Juvia tells Gray that he's rude for being upset. She tells him that he should be smiling! She's blatantly ignoring his feelings and trying to control him. 

-chapter 416: Gray is obviously distraught over what happened, and Juvia tries to make her guilt more important than his grief. She says "Juvia doesn't have the right to love you anymore," which is an obvious guilt trip. She's attempting to get him to respond positively instead of getting the negative responses she usually gets from him by using his grief weakened mindset against him. And that's not even mentioning that she stalked him to his parents grave all the way in Isvan. He clearly didn't invite her. Gray's too private of a character for that, and he obviously expected to be alone, considering his surprise when she shows herself. ("juvia! You followed me here?")

Point 3 (stalking, general abuse)

-see 416 above (how else would she have known he'd have gone back to an entirely different country when he obviously didn't tell anyone, let alone her.)

-episode 50: Juvia attempts to drug Gray with a love potion. This would make him love her regardless of his own feelings, basically making him a slave to her whims. 

-chapter 67: she's clearly shown stalking him before joining Fairy Tail, and she never apologized or grew enough as a character that we can definitely say she wouldn't do so again. 

-episode 129: Juvia stalked Gray when he went on a job with Erza.

-chapter 432: Gray's "why are you here?" Is a clear indication that she shouldn’t be there, and that she most likely followed him.

-there's also multiple sexual harassment issues, such as when Juvia asks Gray to punish/spank(depends on translation) her on Tenrou(chapter 249: "I don't have those kinds of hobbies!" Gray says, and then she responds with "I do") and when she admitted to sleeping with him without his knowledge during the Avatar arc(chapter 424: see Gray's rejections for the quote)

Point 4 (Gray is a softie and tried to let her down easy before being blunt):

-literally the entirety of Fairy Tail.

-Lullaby arc: he protects Lucy and Happy from some of the Eisenwald guild members, and openly worries about Erza pushing herself to hard to finish the mission.

-Galuna arc: he protects Lucy, Natsu, and Happy from Lyon, and he attempted iced shell TWICE to protect them from Lyon's plan.

-Phantom Lord arc: Gray is so adamant about protecting Lucy from Phantom that it's literally what starts Juvia's obsession with Lucy as her "love-rival."

-Tower of Heaven Arc: he's incredibly anxious about getting Erza when she's captured, and arguably the most urgent to get her back to protect her

Do I need to keep going or do you get the picture here?

Point 5(delusions):

-Do I even need to track all these down? There’s one ever dozen chapters or so, so we’ve all seen them.

Point 6(abuse and mistreatment of other characters): 

-Lucy: chapters 77, 79, 86, 103, ect (there's so many more, all for the sake of getting rid of her "Love-Rival")

-Chapter 202: Juvia's is rude to Lisanna even when she's being kind and offering to be Juvia's partner, because she thinks Lisanna might "take" Gray. Gray isn't an object and shouldn't be treated like one, and that shouldn't be Juvia's priority here anyways. She can't see past her obsession to be nice to anyone else.

-chapter 208: Juvia puts Gray's safety over everyone else's and intended to lie to everyone so that she could go find Gray on her own to be his savior. 

Some of Gray's rejections: 

-chapter 271: This is one of the gentler rejections. Juvia brings a sleepy bag for her and Gray, and Gray says "No way am I getting in that." 

-chapter 322: Gray asked her to let go of his hand and she refused.

-chapter 338: "Gray-Sama! I love you!" Was met with Gray's "I don't."

-chapter 424: "slept together.... well tried to. He kicked me out." Quoted Directly from Juvia. 

One last thing: As someone who has been stalked TWICE, I can attest for how it fucks up your mental state. While it was still nowhere near as extreme as some of the lengths Juvia went to, it STILL has lingering effects on me. I still have difficulty even talking about it at times, because of how much it's fucked me up and given me paranoia. I literally live out in the middle of fucking no where and the though of my window now being covered terrifies me. What Juvia does is not okay, and I refuse to shut up about how toxic they are.

[whentheynameyoujoy]

Women in SPN—Is it Really That Bad?

TL;DR: Somewhat, yeah, it kinda is.

This is going to be a series of long ones, people.

Before I jump head first into this giant vat of weird toxic shit, let me say something:

The thing about most of the female characters is that on their own? They’re perfectly fine, ranging from serviceable to the occasional flash of thematic brilliance. Barely any of them qualify as “this is hateful on its face and incompetent regardless of context and the writers should feel bad for ever conceiving of it”, i.e. the normie benchmark for justified criticism. It’s only when you put these characters next to each other that a worrying pattern emerges;

Although discussions about sexism in the media were very much a thing in the mid-2000s, as well as shows with characters whose primary role wasn’t to serve a man’s needs, I can’t honestly claim that the flaws of SPN are out of the norm for its time; and

The first few seasons could really do with a PSA at the start of each episode, something along the lines of “A part of the reason why female characters are killed off or written out with such regularity is rabid superfans who couldn’t abide anything with tits brushing against J2, srsly, the writing team and the 2000s’ fan base were a match made in hell, except it wasn’t the writers who couldn’t do with bitching on their LiveJournals about the gall of women to exist in the show, choosing instead to harass the creators and actresses and wives and call them every sexist insult under the sun AND I MEAN WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE HAS THERE EVER BEEN A CESSPIT AS DISGUSTING AND NUKEWORTHY AS THE SPN FANDO—“

Anyway.

SPN has a legacy (as a posterchild for not knowing when to bow out gracefully, but legacy nonetheless) and isn’t watched in 2005 but in the year of our Lord Today. Meaning that as time goes by, the issues surrounding the show’s production retreat into the background and only what’s on the screen remains, to be judged on its own merits.

So let’s run down a list of the more noteworthy and relevant female characters of the first arc, focusing on their characterization, role in the narrative, and end. In the conclusion to this series of posts, the sum of characters will be analyzed as a whole to see if there are any unique tendencies in the show’s handling of women as opposed to that of men. I’ll do this for the original five seasons as the recent finale went out of its way to say that nothing after season 5 was strictly speaking necessary so why bother.

(Also because I died of frustration in season 8 and vowed not to subject myself to any more of the post-apocalypse fanfic era)

Angels, while strictly speaking genderless clouds of energy, will be classified as men or women depending on the apparent gender of the vessel they spend most of the time riding. The same goes for demons where I also take into account their stated gender while they were alive. That’s because although beings like Meg, Ruby, Anna, or Lilith can’t technically be considered women in the show’s present day, their consistent preference for conventionally attractive and/or female vessels throughout the original arc makes claims of genderlessness essentially meaningless. For all intents and purposes, we’re watching girls and women on screen.

Baby—the only true NB of the first run

All right, time to jump.

Say hi to our ladies!

Mary Winchester

Killed in the very first scene to give the story a reason to exist, she remains an active presence throughout the first arc where she has a wide-reaching influence on the plot and characters, driving the conflict on several levels. Fleshed-out more and more with each appearance to be more than just “the dead mom”, she’s portrayed as protective, pro-active, capable, and assertive, mirroring the duo’s desire for normal life and their inability to have it. Her story comes full-circle in season 5 when the personal tragedy of her fate is embedded in the wider tragedy of the Winchester family curse and the overall theme of destiny.

Status: Dead as of s5

Importance: Major

On her own: Textbook example of fridging… and that tropes aren’t bad in and of themselves.

Jessica Moore

Comparatively, if anyone doubts fridging can evolve into something meaningful, Jess drives the point home by having no personality and no point but to prop up her boyfriend before she ends up pinned to the ceiling, the reveal of which is the most interesting thing about her entire existence. At best she’s a symbol of Sam’s civilian life, at worst an obstacle to be removed for the story to happen.

Status: Dead as of s5

Importance: Major in terms of manpain, non-existent otherwise

On her own: A cardboard cut-out, barely qualifies as a character

Missouri Moseley

A psychic and the primary reason why John Winchester even knows to wipe his ass. Appears once over the course of the first arc yet everyone wants her to come back years later—that’s how awesome she is. Has this fantastic trait of being compassionate and empathetic while not taking a single speck of shit from anyone, especially when it comes from the two main dumbos who might just as well have been raised in a barn. Is very particular about the pristine state of her coffee table.

Status: Alive as of s5, killed in s13 (wait, what?)

Importance: Major…ly wasted potential

On her own: As strong a character as Bobby Singer, and as worthy of being elevated to the main cast.

Lori Sorensen

The writers can’t figure out why anyone in the universe would care about Jess either so they insert an intentionally awkward romance subplot to convince people the time’s not yet ripe for Sam to stop grieving and start slaying. The result’s… erm… well, awkward. Lori’s naïve, sheltered, devout though accepting of her non-repressed friend, and sort of on a religious crossroads because of her hypocritical preacher father. I guess the virginal power of her virginal virginity does… something in the plot? Primarily a vehicle for Sam to mark the stages of his moving on.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: A bit done. Like a bit lot. Like a “could be a trope namer” bit lot.

Meg

Boom, baby!

Arguably the chief antagonist of season 1 and one of the best things about it. The first one to point out the pervasive toxicity of the Winchester family business, so props for perceptiveness. Possesses the standard qualities of a lower-level henchman—manipulative, no-nonsense, and quietly sinister which, while not exactly groundbreaking, sets her apart from the other bad guys in the season as they tend to have no distinguishing characteristics at all. Plus Nicki Aycox makes the role seem more unique and “lived-in” by projecting a sense of understated amusement at the two main chucklefucks. Is one of S1’s turning points in blurring the lines between monsters and humanity. Has a face transplant twice—once to have revenge (good on her) and the other time to pursue someone else’s goals again before getting stomped into the ground like a mook.

Status: Alive as of s5 (?), killed in s8

Importance: Major

On her own: The actresses do most of the heavy lifting. Which doesn’t mean I don’t love watching the character burst onto the scene and announcing the end of the Winchester brand of bullshit.

Layla Rourke

A terminal cancer patient in a religious cult, she’s a more mature take on a Lori-type character and the themes of faith and doubt. Serves as a conduit for Dean’s budding survivor guilt, self-loathing, and sense of worthlessness. Is kind and cheerful, with strong hints that she’s relying on forced optimism to get through the days; also understanding of the circumstances of others while realistically freaked about the possibility of death. Weirdly, she enters the episode already in a state of acceptance and leaves it just as accepting when it’s confirmed that yeah, she’ll die soon. All expressions of anger at the injustice and senselessness are left to her mother which somewhat undermines the “struggling” portion of Layla’s character and renders the final scene where she makes peace with her fate a bit hollow.

Status: Implied dead

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Dean’s development

On her own: I want to like her, I really do, just… if only she were allowed to get pissed, once.

Cassie Robinson

Dean’s ex and that’s pretty much all there is to her. I struggle to pinpoint a single personality trait of hers—the 2000s idea of a “strong woman” and “not like other girls”, perhaps? Undermined as a love interest because TPTB don’t show the happy or any parts of her relationship with Dean so really, why should anyone care if two sniping assholes with little to no chemistry get back together? Memorable for being in a horribly scored softcore scene which YouTube tries to convince me lasts for shy over a minute, not the week I remember it to. Involved in the show’s first and last attempt at incorporating the issue of anti-black racism.

Status: Alive as of s5

Importance: Minor

On her own: She’s in the racist truck episode. ‘Nuff said.

Sarah Blake

A sophisticated people-person conversationalist with a love of high art and a deep sense of introspection. Ascends to the state of godhood by being able to pull off pigtails while adult. Bonds with Sam over responding to loss by crawling into a shell but deciding to move on. Doesn’t care for your fancy schmancy fine dining, Romeo. Isn’t ashamed to openly talk feelings which includes her explicitly asking Sam if they have a thing going on (honestly, this is such a breath of fresh air for a normcore romance). Despite being scared out of her wits, she refuses to be shoved into the helpless civilian box after learning about the existence of the supernatural; Dean creates a Pinterest wedding board in response.

Status: Alive as of s5, pointlessly dragged back to be murdered in s8

Importance: Minor in the overall narrative, major in the episode and Sam’s development

On her own: A great love interest that has enough writing behind her to fool you into thinking she’s something more.

Up next, whenever I feel like it, seasons 2 and 3!

[spnirwin]

Bisbee

Request: By blue-lion1: Can I request a story where Dean is friends with a shy and sensitive woman? She's seen ghosts since childhood and fears them. She's paranoid and some tell her she's just mentally ill. But she knows she saw and heard things and those people are wrong. Something she likes about Dean is his bravery. She keeps feeling like something is coming, and she doesn't want to be alone in the dark and has trouble sleeping. He sleeps in the same room to comfort her, she's grateful. Eventually, a ghost appears and he saves her.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 1,802 Warnings: Teasing, mentions of bullying A/N: As always, requests are open!

—

Dean Winchester calling...The words flashed across the screen of your phone in a blazing glory as you scrambled to answer.

You had known him since high school. The day he crashed into Bisbee High would be one you remembered for the rest of your life. You were crammed in the corner of an alcove off of the senior hallway, sketchbook and pencil open in your lap. The whispers were following him down the hall, but he couldn’t have seemed to care less. In his brown leather jacket, dirty jeans, and logger boots, it was obvious why he was being discussed. As a small city shoved in the mountains of southeast Arizona, Bisbee wasn’t exactly a thriving tourist destination. Newcomers were few and far between, especially ones with teenagers.

He walked behind the principal, Mr. Giltner, without making eye contact with anyone. You watched him, fascinated, focusing on the whispers of your classmates as he passed. From them you learned his name was Dean Winchester and that he, his younger brother, and their father were here due to his father’s interest in the old copper mines. As you were processing that information he turned his head, locking his green eyes onto yours. With the small smile he gave you, your life was never the same again.

As it turns out, his father was interested in more than the copper mines. Specifically, he was interested in what was left in them. You turned out to be a great aid to the Winchester family, thanks to the one thing that made no one else want to associate with you. 

It started when you were young, maybe four years old. You had seen the little boy standing in the corner of your bedroom one night, trying to speak to you. Petrified, you about woke the entire neighborhood. Your parents, of course, saw nothing and told you to go back to sleep. They thought it was a classic case of the monster under the bed and attributed it to a nightmare. But for you, that night was the beginning of the never-ending cycle that became the rest of your youth. Every few months, a new one would appear in front of you, trying desperately to tell you something. You lived in a constant state of paranoia and fear, but you eventually learned to stop screaming. Years of therapy and ridicule taught you that silence was your biggest ally. By the time you were ten you had learned that no one was ever going to believe you, and the only way to survive was to stop talking about it. Despite not speaking a word about it in seven years, your classmates still teasingly referred to you as “schizo ghost girl,” and refused to treat you like a normal human being. In their eyes you were a certified freak, the girl that cried ghost. 

To Dean though, you were the key. He pulled you through a whirlwind of validation and usefulness, with you eventually helping him and his father, John, get rid of the wailing woman in the mines. On the day he exited Bisbee, Arizona, he left you with his phone number and a promise to always call back. 

This is a promise he was currently fulfilling, though you were so frantic you could barely answer. When you did manage to slide your finger across the screen of your phone and put it up to your ear, no words came out.

“Y/n?” Dean’s concerned voice crackled through the speaker. As soon as it reached your ears your breath whooshed out of you in a rush, the tears quick to follow.

“Dean, it's awful. He’s huge, burns all over his face, bloodshot eyes. He has this giant knife and all he does is scream at me…”

“Whoa, hang on, slow down,” Dean cut you off, trying to understand your ramblings. “Is this another ghost? How many times has he appeared?”

You took a deep breath before replying, “yes. I just saw him for the second time, but it was only an hour between sightings. I called you right after the first appearance. Dean, please. He’s horrific.” You knew you were pleading, but you desperately needed his help. This was the first one to shake you in a while, and it shook you deeply.

“Okay, hang tight,” Dean’s voice sighed through the phone. He shouted something away from the speaker, presumably to Sam. “You’re still in Tucson right?” he asked, and you heard rustling in the background.

“Y-yes,” you stammered. “I’m sorry Dean, I thought I was able to handle these on my own now but I just…” you trailed off, overwhelmed with a feeling of inadequacy.

Almost as if he could sense your feelings through the phone, Dean’s voice softened as he said, “hey, it’s okay. We’ll be there in about six hours. Just hang in there, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

—

Those six hours passed agonizingly slowly. You were sitting on your bed in your apartment, knees touching your chest, when the knock on the door came. It startled you so much you let out a little yelp. You heard a muffled call of your name come through the odor, and you rushed across the apartment to open it.

What you saw on the other side brought you the biggest sense of relief you had felt in months. Dean and his brother Sam were standing in front of you, the latter of which was holding a duffle bag that you knew was stocked full of shotguns with salt-stuffed shells.

Dean immediately stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug. You felt instant relief and zoned out while, with you still wrapped in his arms, he gave Sam further instructions. He pulled away as the door closed softly behind Sam.

“Have you slept at all? It’s 1 AM and no offense, but you look like shit.”

You smiled at him softly and shook your head. “I can’t. Any time I close my eyes, all I see is his horrible face.”

“Okay, tell me a little more about him and then we’re getting you in bed,” Dean said, rubbing a hand down his face. He was exhausted too, having just come off of a hunt and then driving to you, but he would never tell you that.

Thirty minutes later the two of you were settling into your bed together, with Sam set up a couple miles away in a motel with his computer and a stack of books on local lore. You crawled under the covers, immediately snuggling up to Dean. He welcomed you with open arms, pulling you tight into his side where he knew you would feel safer. He kissed the top of your head and you sighed contentedly, already starting to drift off. There had always been something between you and Dean, but there was never any time to explore it. The connection formed nine years ago back in high school but something always ended up stepping between you, forcing you apart.

He drifted in and out all night, watching you sleep on peacefully, undisturbed by the unnamed ghost harassing you. At 6 AM you were both jolted forcefully out of your sleep by Dean’s phone ringing. Sam had found something.

—

You rushed to the abandoned factory to meet Sam, because it seemed that no ghost could haunt anywhere that wasn’t considered creepy. On the way there Sam had explained that the ghost haunting you was a worker killed in a fire at the factory 31 years ago. He was trying to hack his way through a wall with a knife to escape the flames, but eventually succumbed to them despite his efforts.

“If I’m right, I bet we’ll find the knife in there among the rubble,” Sam said as you entered the building, armed with shotguns and rock salt.

You all moved slowly through the burnt remains of the factory, attempting to locate the knife among the soot covering the floor. Suddenly you froze, a horrible feeling creeping over you. You turned around slowly to face Dean who was standing behind you, your face quickly leeching of all color. Seeing the look on your face Dean spun quickly, firing off a shot before even stopping. He turned back to face you again, yelling “duck!” as he fired off another shot above your head.

“Sam,” he yelled, “you better hurry up and find that knife! This guy means business!”

“I’m trying!” Sam shouted back. “There’s too much soot here, I can’t see anything!”

You scrambled over to help Sam, brushing your hands through the soot and debris on the floor. “I found it!” you screamed, lifting it up off the ground. “Sam, start the furnace!”

As Sam ran across the room to the furnace, the ghost got the jump on Dean, picking him up and throwing him into a wall across the room. You jumped up and started running to him, but he frantically shook his head and pointed.

“The knife!” he yelled. “Get the knife to Sam!”

You turned and looked back to where you left the knife on the floor before looking up and seeing the ghost charge at you from across the room. You dove for the knife, shouting at Sam to get out of the way. He stepped back from the furnace as you stood and threw the knife across the room as hard as you could. It hit its mark as it clanged against the back of the furnace, and you heard the ghost give out one last ghastly scream as it went up in flames.

—

You were once again tangled up in Dean’s arms, feeling his breath sigh through his chest when he said the last thing you ever expected him to say.

“Come with us,” he said, pulling back just far enough to see your face. “You were a total badass back there. You could hold your own, especially if you let me train you a little.”

You were speechless, unsure of how to respond. His statement was a compliment, but you were unsure if you could actually survive the kind of life Dean lived on a daily basis.

Sensing your hesitation, Dean tilted your chin back up so you looked at him. “I can’t leave you behind again,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I can’t drive away from you and know that you’ll try to struggle with another ghost on your own. I want to be there for you, and I want you to be here with me. Wherever the road takes us.”

He spoke with so much conviction, there was no hope for you to resist. You smiled up at him, nodding your head slowly. A smile broke out over his face as you said, “okay. Let me go pack.”

—

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Love, Maybe? {29}

Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni

Warning: Cursing, Plot, Slow, Smoldering, Torturous Burn 😊, Heavy Angst

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. Three years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?

Note: Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought.

ALSO THIS IS FICTION AND NO WAY A PROPER INTERPRETATION OF ANYONE‘S CHARACTER.

**Slightly Edited/Proofread**

***Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️  ❤️ ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 29: Turbulance Up Ahead

-Vixen-

  The way they were looking at you made you want to bolt. You found yourself looking back to the gate you’d just walked through and estimated how long it would take you to get you and Ella out of there. You almost did too, but then you felt Nexus’ arm around your waist. You looked to her, and she had a sweet, reassuring smile on her face before she gave you a slight nod. You took a deep breath and straightened your back.

  “No one makes me run scared. I’m a fuckin’ boss!”

  The woman who must have been Chris’ mother stepped forward with a warm smile on her face. “Hi, welcome. It’s great to finally meet you all.” You looked to Nexus and exchanged a look with her that only the two of you could possibly decipher.

  “Thank you—Mrs. Evans,” you began then held out the cake you’d spent all night stress baking. “For you and your family.” She smiled and marveled at the expertly decorated confection.

  “Wow, this looks absolutely mouthwatering. Thank you, Vixen.” You nodded.

“Welcome all of you. I’m glad you all could come. We’ve all been looking forward to meeting you for weeks, and I, for one, am so glad the day is finally here,” she said with a wide smile on her face. She looked like she meant what she said. Most of you was sure about it, but there was that part of you that still held its guard up. Something had to give. There had to be real repercussions from your actions. You were prepared to come face to face with them here.

  Chris began the introductions. He went through each of his siblings and their spouses and partners and then to his father, his second wife and his half-siblings. As he went through them, they all welcomed you with respectful words and smiles that you mirrored. Chris introduced Ella, but she refused to let go of your neck; in fact, her grip got tighter and tighter every time you tried to let everyone else get a closer look.

  After all the introductions were complete, Ella had clearly had enough. Chris brought everyone’s attention to him. “Maybe let’s give her a little space, she gets really shy sometimes.” Everyone nodded and backed off, but you saw a look flash across Carly’s face before she looked away from you and walked away. It was a look that said she just might be the repercussions of your actions.

  “Is she okay?” Chris stood beside you with a concerned look on his face as he looked down at Ella.

“Yeah, it’s probably just too much attention at once. Give her some time she’ll come out her shell. Isn’t that right little mermaid?” Ella smiled small but hid her face in your chest again.

  “Same for you, give them some time, they’ll come out their shells,” Chris advised. You smirked and nodded. His name was called from across the lawn, and he rubbed the top of Ella’s head before he walked off. Nexus approached you again.

  “You okay?” You nodded. What else were you going to say?

  “Look.” She nodded over to your parents, who were already wrapped up in conversation with Chris’ father and her current wife. You snorted and shook your head. “Life of the party as always.” You nodded and kissed the top of Ella’s head. “Too many Evans’ right, baby girl?” You laughed at Nexus then heard your name being called. When you looked around, you saw his siblings all sitting together around an unlit firepit waving you over. You looked at Nexus and looped your arm with hers.

  “We’re a packaged deal,” you said.”

  “Sho nuff.” You laughed as the three of you crossed the grass over to them. The closer you got, the more nervous you became. As you approached they moved around, making room for the two of you.

  “I love your outfit,” the dark-haired one said. You smiled and nodded. “Shanna.”

  “Right, Shanna, I’m sorry.”

  “No worries, there are a lot of us. I understand completely.” Her eyes fell to Ella, whose face was still buried in your chest.

  “Shy?”

  “Yeah, she’ll come out soon,” you assured and looked down at Ella. “I have an idea, princess; you see the flowers. They look so beautiful wanna go look?” She sternly shook her head.

“It must be overwhelming meeting so many people all at once. It definitely would have been an easier adjustment if she’d been able to do it gradually throughout her early life,” Carly voiced. Everyone became quiet. You looked at her but bit your tongue.

  “Just takes some kids longer to warm up. I wouldn’t be worried,” you responded.

  “No, she took to Chris like that,” Nexus added with a snap to emphasis how quick it was.

  “Chris is a big kid himself,” Scott chided. His siblings laughed along with him.

  “Chris says you’re a chef and restauranteur. Is that right?” You smiled and nodded at Shanna.

  “Yes.”

  “That sounds amazing. must be tough to juggle life as a mom and owning a restaurant,” she followed up.

  “Uh, it can be. I have an amazing family, and they’ve supported me from the beginning. By now, I’ve got the hang of it.”

  “Let’s see if you’re saying that when you have to split oversight of two restaurants in two parts of the state,” Nexus slid in.

  “Two restaurants?”

  “Yeah, I’m uh—close to the grand opening of my second one in LA,” you informed.

  “Wow, impressive. I am bowing down,” Shanna joked. You smiled and continued to rock Ella.

  “I can understand wanting to accomplish your goals on your own. Is that why you kept her a secret?”

  Clenching your jaw, you fought the urge to pop off at her. You knew she was testing you, seeing just how much you’d take until you blew up. You almost felt as if she wanted you to flip.

  “She was never a secret. She was just my business. As her mother, I made a choice at the time for her safety and best interest.  A choice I stand by.” Your eyes never left Carly’s; you knew it could have been taken as confrontational, but you didn’t care.

  “Got it. Right, Chris, mom?” You looked back and saw Chris and his mother standing there. Chris’ jaw was tightly clenched, but he wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at Carly. The two of them found seats around the fire pit, and the tension that floated around was palpable.

  Vixen, I snuck a piece of that cake, and it was delicious. I could taste the coconut in it, but it was so refined. I love it,” Mrs. Evans complimented. You smiled and nodded.

  “Thank you. I’m happy you like it.”

  “Do you do a lot of cooking?”

  “Quite a bit. I cook every night for Ella and usually at the restaurant.”

  “And you, Nexus?”

  “God no, I do my best to stay out the kitchen,” she said with a ghastly expression on her face. everyone laughed.

  “We’ll eat in another ten minutes unless you’re interested in it now, Mrs. Evans informed.

  “Whatever you prefer is fine with me, ma’am.” She smiled warmly and looked at Chris.

  Chris held out a flower to Ella and waited for her to take it. It took a whole, but slowly her hand came out to take the flower. She toyed with it then slowly lifted her head from your chest, allowing most to finally see her face. “Ank oo.” Those around melted with “aww” and “ohs.” This made her bury her face into your chest again. This would have been humorous if you weren’t already so damn uncomfortable. You decided then and there not to force her to embrace not a one of them. You held tightly to her and continued to rock her. She was your only concern. These people were either going to love you or hate you.

  ~~~~~~~

When everyone sat to lunch at the beautifully set table, conversation was scarce, and you felt it was because of you, but you focused on Ella, who was still glued to you. By lunch, she’d managed to keep her face out your chest and was eating her food on your lap. She wouldn’t even let Chris take her. You knew she would snap out of it, so you weren’t worried. Your parents easily made conversation with the adults around the table, and you were glad for it. They took some of the tension away. Every so often, you caught Chris’ eyes on you and Ella, and every time you did, you looked away.

  You didn’t know how to behave here. You didn’t know if you were supposed to be the outgoing newcomer and ignore the enormous yellow bird that was ever present, or play the black sheep and shy away from attention and back down from conversation or were you supposed to be proving yourself to them. None of them felt natural; none of them felt like you. Toward the ending of lunch, everyone started asking you plenty of questions. They asked about what you liked to do, what you didn’t like, how you got into the restaurant business, how you juggled motherhood and work, and even questions about your life. It all seemed pleasant and genuine.

  After lunch, you offered to help clean up, but Mrs. Evans refused your help stating you were a guest, and she wanted you to take it easy and enjoy yourself. So, you took the opportunity to show Ella the flowers. You knew she’d been eyeballing them all afternoon. In the sea of flowers, she allowed you to put her down. She touched every bud and marveled at all the colors and even tried to pick a few before you told her not to. Every so often, she pulled you over to a new patch of flowers, and when she dropped down to her knees to dig in the dirt, you laughed. It always amazed you her ability to find dirt to sink her hands into it.

  Chris’ niece walked over blowing bubbles; Ella’s first reaction was to hug your leg and hide, but when the bubbles caught her attention she turned and watched them blow in the gentle breeze. His niece, Stella held out the bottle for her to try and she took it and tried blowing her own. Soon she and Stella were twirling in the bubbles and flowers as you sat and watched. One of Chris’ nephews came over with an even bigger bubble wand and handed it to you. You stood and began waving it in the air using the wind to blow the bubbles.

  The girls squealed and giggled as they twirled in them. Their happy laughter brought the attention of those around, and they stood and watched. When you looked back you saw Chris standing with his siblings and watching as well. Carly looked to him then to you and nodded. It was then you looked away and continued producing bubbles.

  As the sun began to set, Ella slowly came out of her shell and played with the other kids who looked just as amazed with her as she was with them. It was cute to see them play gently with her because of her size and have her be the rough one.

  “I’m sorry.” You looked back and saw Carly standing there holding two full glasses of wine. Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself for round two.

“For what?” She came around and held out one of the wine glasses to you. Slowly, you took the glass and peered into it.

  “I promise, it’s not poisoned,” Carly assured. You snorted and took a sip.

  “Even if it were, it’d take a lot more than a little poison to kill me,” you cockily answered. Carly smiled and nodded and sat diagonal from you.

  “I’m sorry for how I’ve acted since you arrived. It’s not how I was raised—how any of us were raised matter of fact, so don’t hold it against my parents.”  You studied as you circled your finger around the chilled glass rim. The low hum it produced was one you loved.

  “That’s a talent,” Carly added.

  “I have many.”

  She nodded and took a sip from her glass. “Since we found out about you and Ella, I guess I’ve gone into protector mode. I’m the oldest, and I’ve always thought of Chris as the baby who needed protecting from things. When he told us about you, I guess it rubbed me the wrong way, and I guess I felt I should protect him.”

  “From me?”

  “Yeah.” You nodded and took another sip from the wine and looked over to Ella, who was still engrossed in playtime with her cousins. The thought that she now had cousins made you smile.

  “I’m sorry,” Carly repeated.

  You didn’t answer. You thought about what you were about to say. Before you responded, Shanna, Scott, and their significant others came over along with Carly’s husband. The five of them looked between you and Carly as if this was a wild, wild west face off. The sound coming from your glass continued and intensified the mood of the moment. Chris walked over then and stood behind Carly.

  “Everything okay?” Chris’ inquiry sounded like a warning to Carly, but his eyes were on you looking for any indication you wanted him to step in. You didn’t answer.

  “Vix?” You heard Nexus from beside you and made your decision.

  You took a breath and finished the glass of wine.

  “Okay, I’m here. You all know the story. Go ahead, ask your questions.” They all looked at each other as if they didn’t understand what you meant.

  “There has to be a whole list of questions you want answers to. If it were me, I’d have at least seven main ones. Chris can’t answer for me, so I am here. I will answer. I’d take the free pass it won’t be offered again.” The silence continued, and you looked around to each of their faces, avoiding Chris’ eyes. When your eyes landed on Carly, you knew she had her questions.

  “Okay, I’ll go first. What kind of person hides a child for almost two years? This must have been a top one. I never hid my child. As I said, I made a decision based on the facts I had at the time and moved forward. I made a choice to protect my child and shield her from anything that would prove harmful for her mental and emotional health. I chose her stability over all else. Does that make me a horrible person, who knows? I made a choice and as horrible as it is to say I don’t regret the choice I made those years ago. It was the best one then.” You didn’t look at Chris; you kept your eyes square with Carly’s.

  “Next question. Was I hoping to spring this out in the open, hoping for scandal and a huge payday? No. I have no interest in personal fame or celebrity, nor do I have any interest in anyone’s money but my own, which I make quite a fair amount of. Let’s see, did I do this to deliberately hurt Chris? No. In no part of this story did I think up ways to hurt him for anything. I can be a bitch, but I’m not a heartless, vindictive one. Hmm, oh, did I ever plan on telling him the truth? I’ve thought about this a lot over the last few months and before I didn’t know. Today though, I probably would have. There would have come a time where it would have happened, I couldn’t and wouldn’t keep something like this a quiet for her entire life.” You looked around again. His brother Scott has a small smile on his face while Shanna had a bigger one. When she looked to Carly her expression looked to have softened.

  “That about sum up the majority of your questions? Does that give you an idea if you have to protect your brother from me? If not, let me fill in the blanks. I want one thing, and that is what is best for Ella, always have, always will. Yeah, I’m remorseful that you all didn’t get to know her, I’m saddened that my actions have made you distrustful of me, I really am. If you have to hate me fine, I will accept it; I’m stronger than I look. All I ask is that you don’t take it out on her or let your hate for me impact how you love her.” Without knowing it, your tears fell from your eyes. You put your glass down, stood and walked off.

  “Vixen--,” Chris began, but you didn’t stop. You slipped through the gate you came in without a single idea where you were going. You didn’t care. You just needed to move.

  ~~~~~~

-Chris-

  He was ready to flip a fucking table. It was too much to ask for that his sibling would behave. It was too much to ask for this meeting to go smooth. He knew everyone had questions and knew everyone was apprehensive when it came to her, but he honestly expected them to keep it low key. Guess he expected too much. He felt guilty like hell and was more than pissed at his family and made it very clear.

  He gave each of his siblings a piece of his mind, Carly especially. He understood where she was coming from. She’d been his protector his whole childhood, and they were all closer than anything and knew it would be hard for them to get close to you, but he didn’t expect that. They all felt like shit now especially after everything you said and the fact that you ran out crying. Knowing that, his mother was the angriest of them all. She chewed them out good for not only being rude to a visitor but for going against everything she’d taught them growing up. She was so pissed that they were all on clean up duty, which meant trash, tables, dishes, sweeping and mopping, oh yeah real corporal punishment.

  He went out driving to look for you but wasn’t successful. Nexus said that if you didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t find you. The fact that you didn’t know where you were, or your way around made him worry even more. He called your phone, but you’d left your purse. After an hour, he felt useless and found himself anxiously pacing the yard and shaking his legs when he sat. He wondered how pissed you were at him for this. Here he was telling you everything would be fine, and things were way past fine. You must have felt like he ambushed you.

  For most of the time you were gone, Ella was occupied with his niece and nephew and other siblings that weren’t sentenced to manual labor with Nexus keeping a close watch. He knew she wasn’t entirely comfortable with everyone here, and Nexus’ close presence made it a little easier. Nexus was clearly annoyed with the turn of events and voiced this to him. She even went as far as to assure him it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t control his siblings but that he could have done more. When he confided in her the last argument or misunderstanding you’d had with him overstepping she understood his apprehensiveness with making the same mistake twice in that many days.

  After almost two hours, Ella seemed to notice you weren’t around and began throwing a tantrum complete with tears, screams, and limb swinging. She wouldn’t even allow him to console her. She continued to scream for her mama, and the longer it took you to appear, the worse her meltdown became.

  He saw your dress from the corner of his eye, and you quickly approached. Ella saw you and wiggled free from Nexus’ arms and ran to you. Without a word, you wrapped her in your arms, lifted her, and walked off to the garden. He sat there just watching you rock and bounce with her, hugging her close to your body. Slowly Ella’s cries died out. After ten minutes or so, she was quiet. Your voice could be heard singing a soothing lullaby to her.

  Suddenly a swarm of lightning bugs surrounded you. Ella lifted her head from your chest and looked at the blinking creatures. She reached her hand out, trying to catch one, but it evaded her tiny grasp. She laughed, but he could hear the tears still in her voice. As more and more lighting bugs circled you, Ella became more and more interested in her attempt to catch one. Every time she tried, she came up unsuccessful. Soon you were spinning her in a circle as the lighting bugs flickered around you. It was a beautiful sight, one he was completely mesmerized by.

  In this moment, he felt things he’d never felt before, not fully. All those years ago, he’d felt the stirrings of it, but he’d nipped it in the bud as quick as he could. He’d pushed it away and chalked it up to infatuation with the sex, or your body. Sitting here now, he saw the error of his thinking. He knew what he felt, and it had nothing to do with sex or your body. He glanced down to his hand and saw it shaking. As he flexed it he found himself looking back to you and Ella. The joy on your faces felt like everything he’d ever wanted.

  “Does she know you’re in love with her?” He looked up to see his mother’s smiling face. He scoffed and flexed his shaking hand again, but it didn’t steady.

  “I don’t see how she could. I just figured it out myself.” His mother smiled wider and sat beside him and watched you and Ella as well.

  “You should tell her sooner rather than later.”

  “Just like that, huh. I should tell my daughter’s mother, who my only connection to is through that child, that I have feelings for her?” His mother nodded.

  “Love is more than feelings, honey. The love I see radiating off of you is the love you settle down for, the love you sacrifice for, the stuff you die for—true love.”

  “It’s probably your fault I love Disney as much as I do,” he joked. The two of them laughed together until it slowly died down. Again his eyes were glued to you.

  “Carly told me what she said.”

  He sighed and nodded, remembering the whole disaster. “Yeah, it was bad.”

  “It was, but with it, I no longer believe she has ill intentions toward you or anyone. Your siblings believe it too,” his mother assured. He scoffed.

  “Maybe they should have figured that out before making her cry.”

  “Yeah, that would have been a better idea. Don’t worry; I’ll smooth it over.” He looked to her as she smiled.

  “You should tell her how you feel, especially since I’m sixty to seventy percent sure they’re not unrequited feelings.”

  His mother stood and walked over to you. His jaw remained dropped for several minutes. He sat and watched the friendly interaction. It meant a lot that you and his mother got along. She was a huge part of his life. Her approval meant a lot. You looked over to him and slowly walked over to him, somehow still rocking and bouncing Ella. Once to him, you stood there still rocking.

  “Uh—can you hold her? She’s seconds from falling asleep. All you have to do is do what I do, and she won’t know the difference.” He stood and studied the coordination and began mirroring it. You nodded.

  “Good, get into a groove, I’ll pass her off, try not to stop. He nodded. After a few seconds, he nodded, and you stepped closer to him and handed Ella to him. his coordination faltered, and Ella stirred and began fussing.

 “Shhhh. It’s okay, baby.”

  Your arms wrapped around his triceps and bounced and rocked with him, giving Ella the impression it was still you. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Your eyes met his, and there the two of you stood rocking and bouncing together closer than you’d ever been since the night you’d made Ella with the product of that encounter between you. “Vixen--,”

  “Shh, she’ll wake. You got it.” You slowly backed away and watched him keep the same tempo you did. You nodded and softly smiled as you looked between them. “You’re a natural.” With that, you turned and walked back to his mother who’d seen the entire thing. The two of you disappeared further into the garden, and he was left there to look around at all the eyes that were on him who’d clearly seen the exchange.

  ~~~~~~~

-Vixen-

  You were no longer nervous. The walk helped calm you down, and the walk also helped with you regaining your cold exterior. When you returned, you felt more in control, but now sitting before Chris’ mother, you felt those nerves returning. You didn’t know if it was because of her presence of the encounter with Chris a while ago. You sipped from the glass of wine before you and took a breath.

  “You have a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you, Vixen. I appreciate that.” Her smile was warm, and her words were kind.

  “Let me apologize for my children. I am deeply and sincerely sorry for how they’ve behaved. I am not going to sit here and make any excuses for them. How they behaved was wrong, and I am ashamed of them. I promise it’s not the way I raised them.” You studied her and saw she meant it.

  “I appreciate the apology, Mrs. Evans. It’s not your apology to give though, but it means a lot that you’d still offer it. I don’t blame you at all. I know you raised them well; Chris is amazing.” Before you knew you said it, you’d said it. His mother studied you with a small smile.

  “How so?” She took a sip from her glass. You bit your bottom lip and drank some of your wine. She waited for you to answer, and you knew you weren’t going to get out of this.

  “Um, well—just the impression I get from the public and articles and things like that. Also, he’s been great concerning Ella and the transition with everything. He’s—stepped up in a big way. A way many wouldn’t have or a way many wouldn’t have been so successful at. Ella adores him, and as you can see, it takes her some time to warm up to people.”

  “You have a wonderful little girl there. She looks a lot like Chris, it’s incredible.”

  You nodded your agreement, and silence fell between you again.

  “Vixen, when Chris first told me I was confused and very wary of your intentions and character but having you here tonight and observing you not only with your family but mine and with Ella then hearing how you put Carly in her place, which is exactly what you did. It took guts to do that, especially while not being on your home turf. I understand the courage it took even to come here knowing what could have happened. It shows your bravery, but also your want to make things right any way you can. I respect a woman who admits she’s made mistakes but owns up to them and shows conviction when those mistakes are questioned. I respect you and am certain you have no ill will for my son or our family. I think quite the opposite actually.”

  You felt like a huge weight had been lifted off not only your shoulders but your heart.

  “I’m sure we’ll grow to be great friends, Vixen. I look forward to getting to know you better.” You flared your nose, trying to keep the tears back, but they spilled free.

  “I’m sorry.” She stretched her hand out to the one left on the table.

  “No need for sorry. I can imagine the stress you’ve been under. I don’t want to be an added one. I want to move forward. I believe you know you made a mistake, and I don’t believe in pounding someone’s head in their mistakes. You were young; you’re older, wiser. You’re a different person, and this person I want to know. You’ve made my son a father. You’ve given him and this family a great gift. Somehow it all feels complete now. I prayed for this for him for so many years, and you’re proof prayers do get answered.” She was emotional as well. The two of you giggled together as you cried it out.

  The night had definitely taken a turn—slightly for the better.

  When you walked back out with Mrs. Evans, who’d insisted from this day forward, you referred to her as Lisa because she was no longer Mrs. Evans and trusted you much more many eyes fell to you. Chris was still rocking and bouncing Ella in his arms, but he was now talking to your family. You went around and said your goodbyes. You’d had enough, and it was time to go. When you made it to Chris, he must have known because he nodded and began walking with Ella. You saw him trying to continue the bounce and rock, but he looked a hot mess. Keeping the laugh in you followed along to the gate, you saw his siblings inside and remembers something your mother said to you when you were a child.

  “Don’t ever give them the benefit of thinking they have you running with your tail between your legs.”

  With your head held high, you walked to the deck interrupting whatever they were talking about. They all looked to you with a shocked and shamed look on their faces.

  “I wanted to say it was nice meeting you all. Thank you for your hospitality, have a good night.” You didn’t give them a chance to respond. You turned on your heels to see Chris watching with a protective look on his face, one that looked as if he were daring his siblings to say something.

  “Ready?” You nodded and walked ahead with him following close behind. You needed rum, and you needed it badly.

  ~~~~~~

After getting back to the house, you said goodnight to your parents. You and Nexus sat for a while to make sure you were okay. She allowed you to vent and even vented with you. She was right there with you on how pissed she was. She never once called you crazy or even tried to downplay your anger or hurt. She even assured you that you’d handled it right when you expressed worry that you’d flown off the handle way too quickly and had one past the cuckoo’s nest. She told you how crazy Chris went trying to find you and how upside down he was worrying he hadn’t done enough to stand up for you or prevent it. She told you about him putting his siblings in their place hard once you bolted. Everything she said made you even more confused. You didn’t want him fighting your battles, and he was right not to step in, but hearing that he did didn’t make you angry. It made you feel the opposite.

  You took a long, hot shower, but you were still wired. So, you went back downstairs and searched the kitchen for the alcohol. He had to have alcohol.

“Looking for this?” You spun around and saw Chris’s shadow in the darkened doorway and nearly passed out.

  “Oh my god, you can’t sneak up on a black woman, Chris!”

  “What were you going to do? Throw a lemon at me?” You looked in your hands and saw a small lemon. Rolling your eyes, you put it back in the basket.

  “I have a nasty arm,” you defended. “Totally better than Manning, and Tebow. He snorted and nodded his head as if he didn’t believe you.

  “You’re gonna have to prove that one day.” You smiled. “Come on; I’ll pour you a glass.” He walked back through the door leaving you standing there to think about it. Without much thought, you followed him outside. You didn’t see him around the pool but saw him to the right of the house. You followed, crossing the lush green grass until you got to him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Remember that place I told you about?” You nodded. “That’s where. It’s not far, don’t worry.”

After a few minutes of walking on an incline, you saw a gazebo and smiled as you stepped up onto it. Chris took the lead and sank into the swing with a groan. You sat down and crossed your legs, sitting crisscross style. You didn’t care that your thighs were on full display.

  “Look.” You looked to where he pointed and could see a lake.

  “Woah, you live close to a lake?”

  “One of the selling points. It’s semi-private, and I’ve been known to take a few dunks in there with my niece and nephews.”

  “Wow, you have a great little slice of heaven here, Evans.” He held out a glass to you, and you took a hearty sip recognizing the bourbon taste. It wasn’t rum, but it would have to do.

  The two of you sat quietly for a long time just enjoying the silence, the view of the lake, and the smoothness of the bourbon. After about twenty minutes, Chris sighed.

“I’m sorry, Vixen. I had no idea that would happen or go down like that. I don’t even know what to say. They shouldn’t have treated you like that,” he rushed out.

  “It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize; it wasn’t like it was you. You have no control over them. I don’t blame you. It’s fine.”

  “How are you so chill about this?”

  “I had my two hours to stew and cry and think. Then I had an additional hour with Nex to vent. This is a total of three hours of digression you’re witnessing.” He smiled and continued to drink.

  “The funny thing is I get it, Chris. I went in there expecting that. I prepared for it. You thought it would be puppies and rainbows, but I didn’t believe that. I understand where she’s coming from, and I get their need for caution. I understand completely that in their eyes, I am public enemy number one. I did a shitty thing, and the shitty thing I did was to their beloved brother. A guy who didn’t deserve it, a pretty great guy. That was the only way they could be.”

  “I should have put them in their place before you went off.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad you recognized me needing to handle it myself. I’m not some damsel in distress. Although I do appreciate you stepping in after the fact, it was—sweet, and it means a lot. Thank you.”

  He nodded and looked down to his glass before he finished it. “You’re something else I tell ya’. Never in a million years would I have expected you to go off like that by drawing the fire to you. You single-handedly lit the fire, fanned the flames and doused kerosene on it before you walked off to leave it blazing out of control.” You snorted and laughed loudly. Looking back, that is precisely what you did.

  “Yeah, I’m a modern-day Ghost Rider.” Chris laughed then. The sound of your laughter together sounded like it belonged.

  “I’m serious. I’ve never been more impressed, scared, and turned all at the same time in my entire life.” You looked at him hearing him say you turned him on. Chris closed his eyes and made a face.

  “I didn’t mean--,” he began before you cut him off.

  “I know, I know what you meant.” He nodded, and silence fell between you again.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” You sighed and finished your glass.

  “I’ve never been very good at biting my tongue or censoring. I think it’s my one fatal flaw.” Chris laughed again.

  “I think my fatal flaw is I’m too good at biting my tongue. I’m too good at censoring,” he countered. You studied him and wondered what exactly he meant. “In my world, acting, being in the public eye, you have to understand what to say when to say it what not to say and how to give off the idea of one thing while being the opposite. It’s a game and a trick, and because of that, I guess I’ve gotten very good at it and find myself biting my tongue at times I shouldn’t. Only thing is I don’t realize it until long after the moment.”

  You nodded, fully understanding what he meant. It happened to you too. You held your glass out for him to refill. When he poured, he stopped at a half glass before you motioned for him to continue. Once your glass was filled to the top, you took a sip.

  “You’re a great mom, Vixen. Ella is lucky to have you.” You looked at him at the same time he looked at you. “I’m lucky that Ella has you.” Your heart was literally expanding right in your chest, you could feel it, and you just knew it was a matter of time before you did something stupid. “She couldn’t have a better mom,” he finished.

 Your body swayed closer to his. Quickly, you snapped your head forward to look at the lake again then took two heavy gulps of the bourbon before you blew out to cool your inflamed taste buds. You then dropped your head onto his shoulder and let the silence take over again. This was enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[thelillykane]

no title we die like men 

for trope-a-palooza only one bed vs. blind date/set up. set pre-season 2.  

Veronica walked blindly into the room, letting one of the others behind her be the one to fumble around for the light switch. She only had one goal in mind: passing out and with any luck waking up with this whole stupid day having been magically erased, Backup snuggled against her side and Wallace able to successfully convince her not to drive an hour out of town to work a case at some stupid 09er party. The room was pitch dark— she nearly upended herself over a chair at the exact moment somebody located the switch and flooded the room with light. “You’re kidding,” Meg said flatly. “This cannot be happening.” There was only one bed. How was there only one bed? It’s industry standard— two full sized beds per room, unless you shell out more money, which they definitely didn’t (stupid fucking credit card machine being down). And yet here they were, in the middle of fucking nowhere, in the dead of night, with all the roads closed due to a freak storm, and only. one. bed.

Logan toed his shoes off and slipped under the covers while the rest of them were still processing the injustice of it all. Duncan charged forward, growling, and grabbed him by the leg, trying to drag him out while Logan yelped and kicked at him with his free leg, both of his hands clinging to the headboard. Veronica wasn’t sure whether she should burst into tears or burst out laughing. The whole irritating journey over here she had wondered which sleeping arrangements would be the least likely to make everyone turn on each other— her with her ex who she (more than) suspected wanted to get back together, her with her ex who currently hated her guts, or her with Meg, who just so happened to currently be ice queen supreme towards Veronica. But this? Only having one bed? It should simplify the issue, except Duncan and Logan are fighting like little kids, and there is no way the four of them are going to fit in the bed comfortably. (The four of them all used to sleep in Veronica’s bed, not Meg, but Lilly and the boys, and it used to make Veronica feel safe). Meg thumped Duncan and then Logan with her purse, glaring at the pair of them. “This situation is bad enough without you two acting like children. And what are you guys fighting about anyway?” “He’s a dick,” the boys answered in tandem and then scowled at the floor when they realized it. “What about you, Meg, what are you fighting about?” Veronica asked. “I’m not fighting about anything.” Technically, Veronica supposed that was true. Meg hasn’t been mean to her, or cruel, but there has been a definite chill to her voice and her demeanor, and Veronica hasn’t been able to figure out what she may have done to cause it. It almost frustrated Veronica more that Meg was being polite about it, whatever it was, because there was no real way to fight against polite. “Did I do something?” She asked, and then added, “And I’m not talking to you.” with a hard point in Logan’s direction when she could feel his anger swelling up. “Bitch,” Logan sniped, matter of fact, which was a little bit worse than if he had snarled it, not that Veronica was gonna show that, and he flopped back down in the bed, yanking the covers up and over his head. Meg shifted, uneasy. “It’s not that, Veronica.” She sounded sad. Veronica rubbed at her forehead. “Forget it. I’m going to go back to the front office, see if I can switch our room or something.” “Good idea,” Duncan said. “I’ll go with you.” “It’s probably better if I go alone, they clearly already pulled one over on you.” “What’d you mean?” Veronica gestured to the room with frustration evident on her face. “Duncan didn’t talk to them,” Meg said slowly, suspicion dawning on her face. “Logan did.” The three of them spun in unison to stare at the lump of blankets that was Logan, the tension thick as he refused to emerge from the blankets and face them. Duncan cracked and made a second dive for him just as Logan scrambled out of the bed.  “That is not my fault!” Logan protested. “You’re the one who spoke to her!” “She misunderstood me! I said we only needed one and she must’ve thought I meant beds, not rooms.” “You insisted on talking to her alone and you sent me and Meg away.” “When we came in you got straight into the bed,” Veronica added. “You were the only one who wasn’t stunned by it.” Logan fidgeted. “I’m tired,” he said unconvincingly, and refused to look any of them in the eye. Meg was furious. “You spent all of our money, to force us all to sleep in one bed? Who does that?” “It was a misunderstanding.” “NOBODY BELIEVES YOU!” Meg took several deep breathes, working hard to regain her composure as the three of them looked on in fascination, none of them could ever remember seeing Meg lose her cool like this. “Come on, Veronica, let’s go see if we can get a different room, and Logan can stay in this one by himself.” “He can’t sleep alone.” Duncan said at the same time Veronica said, “We don’t have anymore cash, remember?” Meg sighed, throwing herself down in the rolling chair with defeat, while Veronica gave Duncan a bewildered look. “What’d you mean he can’t sleep by himself?” “I’m standing right here and, also, he’s lying,” Logan objected, and they each shot him a nasty look. “He has....difficulty sleeping by himself.” “I do not.” “Be quiet,” they snapped. “Last I heard, you weren’t even speaking to him, and now you’re what...going on road trips together and apparently having sleepovers?” “It’s complicated,” Duncan said, and then, under the force of her glare, “We’re trying to work through some things.” Veronica raised her eyebrows. “Good luck with that. Logan doesn’t like solving problems, he just likes creating them.” “Uh-uh,” Duncan said sharply, forestalling Logan’s retaliation. “I’m not interested and I don’t want to hear it.” “You were trying to kill him less than five minutes ago, and now you’re jumping to his defense? Funny, whenever he insults me you say nothing, but god forbid I insult him back.” “It’s not like that.” “Yes, it is. It has always been —“ “I had an abortion.” The three of them stared at Meg, their jaws dropped open. “I didn’t want to tell you,” she gestured towards Duncan. “but, I had one, and I don’t regret it, even if it means I’m going to hell now.” Logan grabbed Veronica by the shoulder and propelled her into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind them, even as he pressed his ear against the door to try and hear Duncan’s response. Veronica shamelessly pressed her ear against the door next to him. “So, a fortune cookie, huh?” Logan asked, after it became clear that listening through the door was not going to be an effective strategy— they could hardly hear anything except for the storm outside. “He told you about that?” “Yeah,” Logan picked at the paint. “He also said you never responded to it.” “It’s not really any of your business.” They stood in silence until Meg opened the door. “Sorry about that,” she didn’t quite meet their eyes. “Whatever,” Logan said, but not in a mean way. “You guys did use protection, though, right?” Duncan seized Logan by the wrist and dragged him out of the bathroom and towards the bed, muttering the whole time under his breath about annoying best friends and how if Logan ever brought this up again... Meg gave a weak laugh. “I don’t know how you put up with them for five years, just one night and they’re driving me crazy.” “Forget them— are you okay?” “Yeah. I’m sorry I’ve been distant lately, it’s just been weird.” She took Veronica’s hand and squeezed it. “Friends?” “Of course,” Veronica hugged her tight. “You’re my favorite person in this motel room.” “Didn’t work out, huh? You and Logan?” “I thought it was going to be different, but,” she shrugged, not wanting to think about it. “He took it....badly, the break up.” Meg held her at arms length and looked her over. “You don’t look like you took it much better. As soon we get back to Neptune we are so having a girls night and eating all the ice cream we can get our hands on.” “That actually sounds nice, you’re on.” They flipped off the bathroom light and walked back towards the bed together. Logan and Duncan were already under the covers and sandwiched next to each other, trying to leave as much space for the girls as possible. Meg frowned at them. “I don’t remember saying you guys could sleep in our bed.” Logan stuck his tongue out at her, and burrowed in closer to Duncan, his eyelids already beginning to grow heavy. Veronica kicked off her converse and slid in next to Logan, both their bodies automatically tensing. She forced herself to relax, slowly scooting in closer to him so Meg wouldn’t be in danger of falling off of the bed all night. At least they were both in long sleeves and jeans, so it wasn’t skin to skin touching. (And god, she wished she hadn’t thought about that). “Oh,” Meg tapped at Veronica’s arm. “Switch me places, Veronica, I’ll sleep next to him, you don’t have to.” Veronica shook her head. “He gives off so much body heat it feels like you’re sleeping on the sun, I wouldn’t want to subject you to it.” Meg gave her a look that clearly said: Bullshit. But she didn’t push the issue, and Veronica loved her for that. She laid there in the dark, trying to get comfortable without moving her body (Logan and Meg having long since fallen asleep), listening to the sound of the rain and the crashing thunder and then she reached over, stretching her arm out over Logan’s body and patting around in the general vicinity of Duncan’s head. “Ow,” he whispered, as she made dangerously close contact with his eye. “Did you and Logan really make up?” “I think so.” “How’d that happen?” “I yelled at him, he yelled at me, and then, you know, I felt bad.” “You know he’s gonna lord the fact that you got somebody knocked up before he did over you for the rest of time right?” “I’ll kick his ass,” Duncan threatened. “And hey— I don’t always take his side.” “Yeah, you do.” “Yeah,” he conceded. “I’ll work on that. If I don’t die of heat stroke during the night, that is.” “God, I think I’m actually melting. Remind me why we always let him sleep in the middle, again?” “Because otherwise he throws a tantrum.” Veronica laughed softly, curling in towards Logan and not letting herself think too much about all the rest of it. “Night, Veronica.”

“Night,” she mumbled back and slept better than she had in months.

[lunarxdaydream]

‘fly on the wall’ ( Vice - Marie / Satine )

‘fly on the wall’ || accepting

     “So ...” Straw is pulled free from tiers. The taste of chocolate and caffeine lingering on the tip of her tongue. Fingertips drum against the cold glass; droplets of condensation rolling down to form a small puddle that is absorbed by the napkin set alongside. Desserts have yet to arrive but there is no hiding that something is indulging Marie with every glimpse she makes to her phone. The way a subtle smile curls only to respond to the stranger on the other end before attention returns. 

     “... Are you going to tell me who’s behind that stupid smile on your face?” Not that Satine minded in the least but the curiosity in her wanted to know the culprit behind it. After all, it wasn’t as though Marie dated often -- well, perhaps more than Sofia. “You’ve been distracted with your little side conversation over there.” Was it someone at work that had caught Marie’s eye? Maybe an old friend? -- Certainly not a family member considering how little she seemed to discuss them. 

     “I have a stupid smile on?” Typical of Marie to play coy as she set her phone down; its screen hidden by the open pocket of her purse. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But all the response does is elicit an eye roll from Satine before tossing over a crumbled napkin. In retaliation, the item is tossed back; both women bursting into laughter over their childish manner that easily took them. To think that after all these years, she could still count on the nurse to keep her grounded to a sense of normalcy outside of Nolan. 

     “Come on, spill.”

     “Fine, fine. Jeez, so bossy.” But Satine only laughs as she took hold of her glass for another drink. “Remember the guy I was telling you about when I was helping with that fundraiser a few months ago?”

     “Yeah? -- The one who was freaking out over his boss, right?”

     “That’s the one.” A short pause ensues when the waiter arrives with a set of plates; chocolate shelled ice cream to sate Satine’s sweet tooth and a fruit tart for Marie. Final nods are offered in order to regain their privacy where her friend is allowed to continue with their conversation. “Well, I’ve been seeing him for a while.”

     “When you say ‘seeing’ him, are you talking about dating or ...?” 

     “Not ... really. I mean, we do the sort of stuff that couples do.” 

     “’do’ the stuff couples do? What the hell does that -- Oh.” And just as nearly the question formed, the answer struck her. A sly smile soon pulling against lips as Satine picked up her spoon to break through the chilled shell. “Marie, I had no idea you were that sort of girl!” Now this certainly paired well with her dessert.

     “Hey, you’re one to talk. You practically harassed your poor fiancé.”

     “No, I didn’t!”

     “You stole his first kiss.”

     “... Listen, we’re not talking about me here.” Damn her and that memory. Not that Satine regretted the entire incident but who would have thought she’d use the story to make a point? And based on that grin on her face, Marie must be gloating on the inside that she managed to silence Satine before she could tease. “All right, so you’re seeing him with a sort of ‘friends with benefits’ thing going on.”

    “Yeah.” 

     “And?”

     “And what?”

     Silence hangs in the air. Each of them taking a bite of their desserts with little progress. A subtle rosy hue soon taints across Marie’s countenance and it all begins to unravel. “... Oh god, don’t tell me -- you want more?” No wonder Marie didn’t want to dive into the subject! It was one thing seeing a man from time to time but to be this consistent and ... -- “Do you know if he feels the same?”

     “That’s the thing ...” An exasperated sigh leaves the nurse as she rests her chin on an open palm. “I don’t know anything about him. Every time I ask, he just changes the subject. How the hell am I supposed to bring up feelings if he won’t even let me over to his place?”

     “Maybe he has a wife and you’re the other woman.” What sort of creep acted that way for this long? Maybe at the start it made sense but was he really going to string her friend along the entire time? 

     “Really?! -- You don’t think that’s why, do you?”

     “I don’t know. Creeps like him are always acting weird. Wait, what’s his name? Maybe we can plug him into the database and see what we pull up?” Not necessarily the best use of her resources but hey, if it would provide insight to Marie’s situation then it was well worth it. Like hell Satine was going to just sit around and let her friend be used like this. She ought to punch this douchebag in the face and --

     “Vice is his name.”

     -- Her second bite halts entirely. Chocolate melting against the roof of her mouth and immediately chilling her before she has half the control to withdraw it. An expression of complete disbelief overtaking but -- No way. Surely there were other men around the city with the same name. “Do you know his last name?”

     “You know, that’s the weird part. He won’t tell me that either.” No. No. Fucking. Way. Just ... it wasn’t possible. The likelihood of Vice meeting her friend ... even sleeping around with her and  ... -- 

     “Marie,” Satine takes a moment to clear her throat. “Tell me again what happened the day you met this guy: what was the issue with his boss ...?” There had to be another Vice around here that had some weird employer. A different Vice that went around acting mysterious and refusing to give his name. Some other creep with the same damn name that wouldn’t bring her friend to his place.

     “Well, he said that he ruined his suits. Something about his boss being obsessed with them and that he was going to kill him for it.” A strict boss who cared about his suits. An idiot who panicked enough that even Marie felt compelled to help him. “I thought he was going to cry.” Overdramatic. “Oh but you should’ve seen the look on his face when he came to the event! He was practically glowing like a kid in a candy store!”

     “... V-Vice, huh ...” A childish man with a flare for the dramatic. Someone who served a demanding employer. -- She’s almost afraid to ask if he wore bandages. With every detail Marie offered, the more Satine became convinced that this ‘Vice’ was one and the same as the Vice she had known through Nolan. If so ... -- 

     “Hey Satine, if you don’t mind: do you think we could do a double date? Maybe there’s something you and your fiancé might catch that I don’t.”

     “D-Double date?” Oh now that should be hilarious. Actually ... -- A smile is in full swing as Satine takes another bite of her dessert. -- It might be entertaining to examine the look on Vice’s face when he shows up to see her and Nolan sitting there at the table with Marie. Who knows, maybe even Nolan might find it funny. 

     “You know what? That’s an amazing idea. Let me talk to Nolan and we can figure out the details from there.”

|| @vacuitas ||

[searchingwardrobes]

Happy birthday, @wellhellotragic ! Getting to know you this past year through the big bang was such a joy. You stepped in to be my temporary beta just because you’re nice like that, but then you stuck by me throughout the entire process, freak outs and all. You are just the sweetest person, with a MASSIVE amount of talent! I know you’ve pulled back from the fandom a little so you can focus on your original works, and I support you in that wholeheartedly. You have the talent to succeed, my friend, never give up!

As most of you know, @wellhellotragic is the queen of angst, so I naturally had to give her some for her birthday. Living up to your angst and tragedy is no easy feat, my dear, and I worry I may have gone overboard. Like, this one hurts. I’m actually really worried no one will read this or like it, it’s that much angst. I just hope you do, birthday girl. I’ve also obviously been WAY to engrossed in the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer and have been obsessing over fall way too much with @optomisticgirl because this ended up having way more of a Halloween vibe than intended. Anyways, buckle up and get the tissues everyone!

Summary: After a tragedy, Ruby and Granny give Emma little bottles to perform an ancient ritual of grief. Yet as she fills each tiny bottle with her tears, she feels the presence of the man she loves in ever deeper ways. Based on the song by Evanescence.

Rating: M

Trigger warning: major character death, if you couldn’t already tell

Words: 5,000 and some change

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging: @snowbellewells @jennjenn615 @welllpthisishappening @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook @kmomof4 @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @xhookswenchx 

These wounds won’t seem to heal, this pain is just too real. There’s just too much that time can not erase.

The ticking of the clock on the wall is far too loud. The sound of the tv is a muffled droning in her ears. Her hands won’t stop shaking.

“Emma.”

She hears David, but is unable to respond. Her hands won’t stop shaking. She doesn’t look up, staring instead at the cracked, dingy tile on the floor.

“Emma.”

It’s Mary Margaret this time, sinking to the hard plastic chair next to her.

“We brought you a change of clothes,” she says gently.

Emma shakes her head, tries to speak, but her vocal chords won’t cooperate.

“You’ll feel better,” Mary Margaret presses, rubbing her back gently.

“I can’t.”

It’s all Emma can manage. Can’t what? Well, anything. Everything. She’s not even sure how she’s still breathing. She still can’t chance a look at her brother or his wife.

“Emma,” David tries again, kneeling in front of her, “you have to . . . there’s . . . blood . . .”

Now he’s the one incapable of speech. Emma tears her eyes away from the tile to study her trembling palms. Bright red. Dark beneath her fingernails. It’s soaking her shirt and the top of her jeans. She’s shaking all over now. Why isn’t she crying? Screaming? She’d done plenty of that on the dark sidewalk, in the ambulance, outside of the operating room. She supposes it’s all spent now. And after all, what’s the use?

“Let me help you,” Mary Margaret insists in that calm yet commanding voice she uses on her 2nd graders. She puts one arm around Emma’s shoulder, her other hand on Emma’s elbow, avoiding the blood. Not that Emma blames her.

Mary Margaret has to practically undress her when they get to the bathroom, Emma’s hands are still shaking so badly. The blood has started to dry, and Emma’s clothes stick to her body as she peels them off. Once she’s stripped bare, Emma turns to the sink with a wet cloth the nurse’s have given her. The tiny thread of pride in her refuses to allow Mary Margaret to sponge bathe her.

Emma is relieved when she sees the clothes they have brought her: a long sleeve t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants. She slips into the soft, comforting fabrics but isn’t surprised when she’s still cold. She hugs herself, avoiding her own reflection in the mirror.

“What do you want to do with these?” Mary Margaret asks, holding up a stark white plastic bag with black letters that spell out personal belongings.

Emma thinks of washing out all that blood, watching it circle the drain and disappear forever, and she shudders.

“Just throw them away.”

***************************************************************

It all happened so fast, and when Emma goes back over it in her mind, she can pinpoint dozens of things that, if they had chosen differently, would have changed everything. If they had gone to Granny’s after the show instead of for a walk by the water. If they hadn’t lingered on the pier so long, lost in each other’s kisses. If they had handed over their money before the guy pulled his knife. If Killian hadn’t stepped protectively in front of Emma.

If he hadn’t been the wonderful husband he always was and bought her those tickets in the first place.

Any one of those, and Emma’s husband might still be with her. Instead, he had bled out in her arms on the cold asphalt while the dispatcher for 911 droned from Emma’s cell phone and sirens had blared in the distance.

A dozen seemingly meaningless decisions had led her here - a widow at 31, sleeping on her brother’s couch while they plan a funeral. She says “they” because the only thing Emma is capable of doing right now is breathing in and out. It still feels like a nightmare she’ll soon wake from, or some terrible misunderstanding. She still half expects Killian to walk through the door, a vivacious presence as always, and call David a “complete git” or something equally British for actually believing he was gone. (Gone - she’s incapable of even thinking the “d” word.)

Even at the funeral, she can’t fully accept that it’s Killian lying there in that coffin. He’s never still, for one thing, his face never that lax. He’s the most expressive man she’s ever known, always with a quirk of his brow, a tilt of his lips, a wink. There’s nothing in this face like the husband with dimples and crow’s feet when he smiles.

His eyes are closed, too. Never seeing the bright blue of them is a reality she simply can’t accept.

She’s convinced the coffin is empty when they lower it into the ground. Her Killian? In a hole with dirt pressing down on him? It simply can’t be.

She doesn’t cry at the funeral. Not once.

*********************************************************

David and Mary Margaret think she needs more time, but after three weeks on their couch, she’s ready to go home. She understands the worry in their eyes. It’s their house, hers and Killian’s, the one they picked out together. Memories are bound to hit her with crushing force, but Emma needs something that’s normal.

When she walks through the front door, it’s harder than she had anticipated. She can hear his voice everywhere, calling out, “you’re home!” from the kitchen or the top of the stairs. Her eyes dart about, expecting him to be there, his smile bright and happy to see her, even after three years of marriage.

But he’s not here.

She’s frozen at first just over the threshold. Then a sudden gust of wind slams the door shut behind her. She jumps, a small cry tearing from her throat, and then she doubles in on herself as the tears she hasn’t shed since the doctor came out to tell her . . .

Emma only makes it to the couch that first night, the one bag she’d lived out of while at David and Mary Margaret’s abandoned on the floor. She soaks the cushions with her tears until she’s an empty shell that aches all over. Then she just lies there, how long she can’t even say, just staring at the ceiling. Her fingers find Killian’s wedding ring at her throat. Ruby had gifted her with a silver chain to put it on. So you can keep him close to your heart, she’d said.

Emma has no memory of falling asleep, but awakens when the early dawn breaks through the sheer curtains on the living room windows. One of the throws from the basket by the hearth is tucked around her, and she has no memory of that, either. With a groan, she sits up, her head pounding and her limbs heavy. No one ever told her grief was a physical pain, too. Why had she insisted on going back to work today? With great effort, she swings her legs around, but can’t summon the energy to stand up.

Emma . . .

“Killian?” she calls, her gaze flying to the stairs.

Of course, he isn’t there. In her mind’s eye, she sees him stepping lithely down the last few stairs and into view, a teasing grin on his face. He would tease her about falling asleep in her clothes on the couch, probably tell a slightly embellished tale about trying to get her upstairs only to have her kick her legs and grumble until he gave up. She can see it so perfectly, she could almost swear he’s really standing there, swear she sees him head to the kitchen as he whistles, calling over his shoulder, I’ll make you pancakes, love.

“Killian?” she whispers again. Then a tear slides down her cheek because he isn’t there at all, and the house is empty and silent.

************************************************************************** “How are you holding up?”

If anyone but Ruby had asked the question, Emma would have given an obligatory, I’m fine or maybe the slightly more honest Hanging in there. But it is Ruby, so Emma doesn’t even attempt to fake a smile or brighten her eyes. Ruby sets her coffee pot down on the diner table as she holds Emma’s gaze, unflinching.

“I got out of bed this morning, so that’s a win,” Emma tells her. It’s the most honest thing she’s said in the last four weeks. As much as she loves David and Mary Margaret, she has been putting on a facade for them, assuring them that she’s fine.

Ruby gives her slight nod and slides into the booth across from her. Granny, the proprietor of the diner, is Ruby’s actual granny, so it’s not like the young waitress is risking her job to take an impromptu break. If anything, Granny would send her out here for a heart to heart anyway. All of Storybrooke is worried about Emma Jones.

“How did you do it?” Emma asks wearily. “When Peter passed, how did you keep living?”

Some would have been alarmed with concern that Emma was suicidal, but all Ruby does is take her hand and smile in understanding. “Honestly? I did the same thing you’re doing. I had to force myself to get out of bed each morning and put one foot in front of the other.”

Emma nods and gives Ruby’s hand a squeeze. “I get angry too, you know? At the guy with the knife, obviously, but . . . “ Emma hesitates, gnawing at her lower lip, her eyes darting away from Ruby.

“You’re mad at him too? At Killian?”

Emma’s gaze snaps back to Ruby’s in surprise. “Yeah, I . . . it’s just . . . it wasn’t supposed to be this way. We were supposed to grow old together, you know?”

“You don’t have to explain it to me. No one expects to get married at twenty-one only to be widowed three months later.”

Emma winces, remembering the day Peter died all too vividly. An icy patch of road, a dog that darted in front of the young man’s car, and Peter Wolfe was dead at twenty-three. The entire small town had raised their eyebrows at the couple marrying so young, but the judgmental gossip quickly turned to pity for the young widow Peter left behind.

“And . . .” Emma continues, her memories only solidifying the fact that if anyone can understand, it’s Ruby, “I feel . . . like a burden. My grief feels like this constant weight on my chest, but it also feels like something I have to hide. I see the way people look at me, the way they avoid me. Which is sometimes a relief anyway, because when people do say anything, it just feels . . . like they want me to hurry up and be over it, you know?”

Ruby nods, then props her chin on her hand, scrutinizing Emma’s face as if debating whether or not to say something. “I’m going to tell you something that Granny told me. I know how it feels to get empty platitudes,” she quickly clarifies, raising her palm, “but this isn’t one of those, I swear.”

“Okay.”

“Granny told me that in ancient Israel after someone died, they would give the mourners tiny bottles. They were to use these bottles to catch their tears as they grieved. There was no limit to how many bottles you could fill, either. The more the better, according to Granny. Anyway, after this grieving time was over, they would visit their loved one’s tomb and leave the bottled tears there.”

Emma narrows her eyes. “Okay, that’s . . . interesting. What’s your point?”

Ruby laughs. “Guess how long the grieving time was?”

Emma’s brow furrows. “A month? Three months?”

Ruby crosses her arms atop the diner table and arches a brow at Emma. “A year. A whole year, Emma. What I’m trying to say is that western culture doesn’t do a very good job of letting people grieve. Grief makes us uncomfortable, so it’s easier if we just rush people through it.” Ruby reaches out a hand for Emma’s again and holds it tight. “Don’t let anyone rush your grief, Emma. Grieving isn’t a bad thing, though it hurts like hell.”

Emma is crying at this point, her laughter watery at Ruby’s frankness. She wipes at her tears, a tiny bit of freedom swelling through her at allowing Ruby to see them.

“And I’m not saying a magic switch flips at the one year point either,” Ruby warns, “I’m just trying to say . . . hell, girl, it hasn’t even been a month! He was your husband, the man you loved, so of course you aren’t fine. So quit feeling pressured to convince everyone you are.”

Emma lowers her face to her hands as sobs wrack her body.

**************************************************************

The little wire basket on Emma’s front porch the next morning is filled with little glass bottles. Attached is a note: For your tears. Love, Ruby and Granny

When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears

And I held your hand through all of these years

But you still have all of me

At first, Emma felt silly holding a bottle to her cheek every time she cried. Yet, after a time, it was almost comforting to clutch the cool glass to her face as she wept. The most amazing thing of all was the freedom that came. She was crying more, but she no longer felt guilty doing so. Even when she was away from home, she kept a little bottle in her purse just in case. If the grief suddenly hit her like a wave, instead of fighting it, she would find a bathroom or a secluded street corner and allow it to come.

Tonight, Emma lies on her side, curled in the fetal position, clutching a bottle as the tears flow. She’d thought it was finally time to stop sleeping on the couch and move back upstairs. She had been fine until she’d entered the master bedroom.

She should have considered the fact that Killian’s death was sudden, that it had interrupted the life of a strong and healthy man. The smell of Killian’s cologne hit her first, and she was immediately transported to the last time she was in this room. She was having trouble fastening the clasp on her necklace, and she asked for Killian’s help. He was trimming his beard at the bathroom sink, still shirtless, but had eagerly come to her aid.

Emma can still feel the damp warmth of his chest against her back, the way his calloused fingers brushed her hair away from her neck. He fastened her necklace, but then had teased her with the brush of his lips against the back of her neck and over the shell of her ears. She’d turned in his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck for a kiss. That damn necklace had been the only thing to stay on her body after he’d backed her up to the bed. They’d almost been late to the show.

Every image, every scent, every touch slammed into Emma in the present, sending her to her knees. Now she is here, curled up on top of the slightly musty comforter in the rarely used guest bedroom. When she’d tumbled onto the mattress earlier, sobs blurring her vision, a tiny puff of dust had billowed up from the bedding. She dimly thinks that maybe it’s time she changed the sheets in here.

The gut-wrenching sobs ease into breathless weeping, which melts into hiccuping lungfuls of shaking breaths. Then, just when she thinks the tears have stopped, they hit her all over again. Finally, weary and spent, her body is finally able to relax, her grip loosens on the glass bottle in her hands. She remembers wryly how she’d thought it impossible to cry enough to fill these things.

When Emma sets the little bottle on the nightstand, it wobbles and the lamp shakes slightly. She frowns. Great, now the furniture is falling apart, too. How’s she supposed to take care of this huge house when just getting out of bed each morning takes such huge effort?

“Emma?”

It isn’t a whisper of her name this time, the voice strong and unmistakable. Emma swings her head towards the open door of the guest room, strands of her hair sticking to the dried tears on her face. Her vision is obscured by the riot of her mussed hair, but there’s no mistaking what she’s seeing.

“Killian?”

“Oh Emma,” he breathes, taking a step towards her.

“Killian! God, it’s really you!”

But by the time she rounds the bed, he’s gone.

You used to captivate me by your resonating light

Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind

Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams

Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

Four weeks. Killian had been gone four weeks when Ruby and Granny sent her the tear bottles. Five weeks. Killian had been gone five weeks when he appeared in the doorway of the guest bedroom. Six Weeks. Killian had been gone six weeks when Emma finally had the courage to sleep in the bed she’d once shared with him.

Killian’s scent was still on the sheets, the indention where he lay still upon his pillow. Emma had cried herself to sleep, filling up yet another tiny bottle with her tears. Restless and lonely, she’d tossed and turned for hours before she heard his voice again. Softer than in the guest bedroom, but real all the same.

“Emma.”

This time, it wasn’t a question, and Emma felt his warmth surround her. “I miss you so much,” she’d sobbed, her hands grasping his strong forearms.

She’d felt his warm breath against her hair, his soft whispers of comfort brushed her ear, and only then had she fallen into the first dreamless sleep in six weeks. In the morning, his side of the bed was gone, his scent just a memory.

Seven weeks. Killian had been gone seven weeks when Emma burned the pancakes and her finger. Why that sent her into hysterics of slamming the frying pan on the counter top, she wasn’t sure, but soon she was sobbing and broken on the hardwood floor. The tear bottles had somehow become her therapy along the way, and she blindly groped for her purse through the angry stream of her tears. They coursed hotly down her cheeks as she pressed the cool glass just below her bottom lashes. She hunched over, as if sheltering the tiny bottle of precious tears with her body. When the tears were spent, she pressed the little bottle against her forehead. The glass was warm now.

“Emma.”

Her name on a breath, and he was there, gently prying the little bottle from her fingers and setting it on the kitchen table. She grasped his shirt, the same one he had been wearing the night he died, yet this one wasn’t ripped and blood stained. She curled against his chest as his arms tightened around her.

“Emma, I’m so sorry.”

“Why did you leave me?” she whispered against his chest.

“I didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to.”

It’s his touch more than his words that soothe her. He slips one arm beneath her knees and swings her around to cradle her to him like an infant. She sags in his arms, never wanting to let him go. Several hours later, she awakes in her bed with hazy memories of him carrying her and tucking her in.

Eight weeks. Killian had been gone eight weeks when he began appearing to her daily. Only a moment here or there, but daily all the same. A whispered goodbye when she leaves for the day, and she turns to see him at the top of the stairs. A gentle brush to her brow, and her eyes blink open to see him standing by her bed to wish her good night. A night spent weeping on the couch only to find herself being carried up the stairs, his face blurred by her tears.

She surreptitiously asks Ruby about the tear bottles - did they make one feel closer to a loved one? Help them say goodbye? Yet vague questions only get Emma vague answers.

Then she makes the mistake of confiding in David and Mary Margaret.

Which is why she now sits here at her kitchen table, a book on grief laying open before her. Thinking you see a loved one is normal, especially in places you shared with them, like your home. . . . Talking out loud to a deceased loved one is nothing to be ashamed of, and you are not “going crazy” if they talk back; it is your subconscious processing your grief and anger.

Everything the book says makes sense and should be a comfort, yet it only brings Emma confusion. She thinks back to the throw tucked around her that she didn’t remember grabbing herself, to finding herself in her bed or being carried up the stairs. How could that be her subconscious?

“Killian,” she says into the empty room, feeling a fear that she can’t identify curl around her, “this book makes sense. To my head. But my heart? I want to believe you’re still here with me.”

In the silence, she can hear the low buzzing of the refrigerator and the wind rustling outside the kitchen window. Emma sighs.

“Or maybe I am going crazy.”

The pages of the book in front of her suddenly begin to flip rapidly as a breeze rushes through the room.

“No, Emma, you’re not going crazy.

*****************************************************************

Eight weeks. Killian had been gone eight weeks when Emma knocked over the kitchen chair and flung herself into his arms. She’d grabbed at the lapels of his shirt, peppering his jaw with kisses, but the second she had sputtered out a what? how? , he was gone.

Nine weeks. Killian had been gone nine weeks when Emma finally figured out what triggered his appearances. She’d hauled boxes up the stairs to tackle a project she had been dreading and putting off: cleaning his things out of their room.

Killian had always been a neat person, so the only “mess” he had left behind when they had hurriedly left for the show that fateful night was his razor on the bathroom counter and a few wayward hairs from his beard in the sink. She was embarrassed to say she hadn’t touched the razor or cleaned the sink since then. She tackled that first, relieved when rinsing away the ginger hairs didn’t trigger a torrent of tears.

Then she had opened the glass door of the shower, efficiently sweeping his bar of soap and shampoo into a trash bag. Still no weeping. She could do this.

The closet, however, had been a different story.

She had thought it would be easier than his chest of drawers because she had been going into the walk-in closet daily to get her own clothes. She had already cried over the perfect row of his shoes and the shirts hanging neatly according to color: darkest to lightest. Yet seeing it and actually handling the clothes were two completely different things. She didn’t even finish folding the first sky blue shirt - the one she had bought him to bring out his eyes - before she was in a heap on the closet floor. Luckily, her neatly organized little wire basket of tear bottles were stored on the lowest shelf of the closet.

She was shamelessly indulging in filling yet another bottle, Killian’s shirt clutched to her chest, when she heard his voice calling her name. She turned her tear-stained face to the closet doorway to see him crouched there, a sad smile upon his face. He reached out and caught one of her tears with his thumb.

Emma gasped when the tear shone with an other-wordly light against his skin before dissolving. “The tears? That’s when you come?”

He nodded as he sat gently next to her, his arms outstretched.

“Then I never want to stop crying!”

The tears came in unrelenting waves then, the unfairness of the universe crashing over her. Killian kissed her forehead as she clutched at his shirt, and she melted into him. His lips met hers, and there was no mistaking it then: he was real. He tasted the same as she remembered, and she wept tears of joy as his tongue explored her mouth. She lay down on the floor of the closet, pulling him down with her.

“Emma,” he groaned.

“Killian,” she moaned in response as his tongue massaged the pulse point on her neck, “I’ve missed this.”

“I wasn’t even sure this was possible,” he chuckled against her collarbone as his hand slipped up her t-shirt. Emma gasped as his hand brushed over her breast.

“I don’t know how it’s possible, either,” she panted. Killian slipped the shirt up and over her head as Emma yanked at the buttons of his. When he lay atop her again, his bare chest pressed to her naked breasts, she grinned up at him. “But you certainly feel real.”

His eyes sparkled as he lowered his head to kiss her again.

*****************************************************************

Three months. Killian has been gone three months when he is able to stay for an entire night. That first time in the walk-in closet had been a supernatural game of seven minutes in heaven, leaving Emma naked and frustrated on the closet floor. Yet the longer time went on, the longer Killian was able to stay. The longer he was able to stay, the fewer bouts of weeping Emma had. She worried if she wasn’t filling tear bottles anymore, he would stop coming, but the opposite was true.

Her friends probably thought she was finally “moving on,” when in actuality, she was having dinner dates and make out sessions with her deceased husband on a regular basis. She didn’t breathe a word of it to anyone, of course, because she didn’t want to be fitted with a straight jacket, thank you very much.

It was three months to the day since he’d . . . died, when Emma insists they keep going during one of their makeout sessions.

“But Emma,” Killian breathes against her hip, his fingers coaxing moans of pleasure from her lips, “I never know -”

Emma yanks at his hair as she writhes beneath his ministrations. “Whatever,” she manages to gasp out, “just . . . God! You leave me frustrated anyway.”

He laughs and slides up the length of her to kiss her mouth. “If the lady insists . . . “

“I do.”

Afterwards, sated and relaxed after three long months of pent up desires, Killian gathers Emma in his arms, tracing her back with his fingertips. Emma sighs in contentment, carding her fingers through his chest hair.

“When I’m here with you,” she whispers softly, “I can believe that horrible night never happened. But then I go out, and . . . “

Emma trails off, and Killian drops a kiss to the top of her head. “Then you face the reality that I’m gone.”

Emma twists around to look up at him, and props her chin on his chest. “Where are you when you aren’t here with me?”

Killian tilts his head. “Don’t you know, Emma? I’m always here.”

I'm so tired of being here

Suppressed by all my childish fears

And if you have to leave

I wish that you would just leave

'Cause your presence still lingers here

And it won't leave me alone

Four months. Killian had been gone four months when he began to be fully there for Emma. He couldn’t leave the house - they had tried - but he was now visible to Emma always in the house. They also discovered, when David and Mary Margaret stopped by one evening with Granny’s takeout for Emma, that she was the only one who could see or hear him.

They theorized that it was the bottles of tears. The more Emma filled, the more she was aware of him, and now that all the bottles were full, Killian was fully present for her.

For months, they live in a state of bliss, with Emma refusing to consider what this means long term. The man she loves, the man she thought lost to her forever, is here with her again.

Eight months. Killian has been dead for eight months when Emma realizes what the life of a ghost really means. She forgets her cell phone one day when she dashes out the door for work, and comes running back home to get it. She spies Killian inside the house from the porch, and what she sees breaks her heart.

He’s wandering, walking in circles, picking a book up from the coffee table, only to flip through it quickly before putting it down again. He wanders into the kitchen then and opens several cabinets, only to frown and close them again. Then he wanders upstairs. Emma waits until he is out of sight before dashing in and grabbing her cell phone from the catch-all dish by the front door. She closes the door silently, then leans against it, frowning in thought.

She has never considered what kind of life this is for him. Or after-life, that is. It’s time that changed.

Twelve months. One year. That’s how long Ruby said the ancient Hebrews collected their tears. It has been two months of turmoil for Emma, wrestling with her own desires versus the deep love she has for her husband. Is Killian supposed to haunt their home until Emma dies? What if Emma lives until her nineties? Killian could be bound to their house for another fifty years or more.

Emma stands in front of her husband’s tombstone. It’s strange to stand here, face to face with the reality that he really did die a year ago, when she sees him every day in their home. She hears his voice, feels his embrace, yet his body is here in this grave.

Emma takes a deep breath and looks down at the wire basket in her hands. The tear bottles clink against one another as she shifts nervously.

“I have to let you go, Killian,” she chokes out, a sob breaking forth as tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “I just don’t know how to live without you.”

She remembers Ruby’s words months earlier, about grief being necessary though it hurts like hell. A wry chuckle escapes Emma’s throat as she rubs at her wet cheeks.

“But I will,” she says, squaring her shoulders, “so you don’t have to haunt me anymore. I love you so, SO much.”

Emma falls to her knees and with a shaking hand, she lifts the first bottle from the basket and pours it out upon the earth where Killian is buried. Tears stream down her cheeks as she pours the second one. On the third, she begins to sob.

Once all the tears have been poured out, she presses her hand to the dirt. “Goodbye, Killian. I love you, and I promise you, we’ll be together again one day. I believe that. I have to.”

Then Emma turns her gaze up to the bright sky, the sun warm on her face as its light envelops her.

Three years later . . .

Henry Mills sets a moving box down in the empty great room of the house he and his wife just bought and allows himself a moment to take it all in. The stairs leading to the second floor are right in front of him, and the space opens up to the kitchen on the left and the living room on the right.

“Dad, dad, dad!” his daughter Lucy cries as she sprints down the stairs. “I think I picked my room! It’s the one with the turret that we saw from outside! It’s got a bank of windows with this cool window seat, and -”

“Slow down, kid,” Henry chuckles, ruffling his daughter’s hair. “That better not be the master bedroom because your mom’s gonna want that one.”

“No, it’s not, I swear,” Lucy insists, her voice still breathless with excitement, “the master has a bathroom attached, this one doesn’t. You have to use the one across the hall.”

“Well, this house is older, so it only has two baths upstairs and a half bath down here.”

“I don’t care, this is the coolest house ever!”

With that, the girl dashes back outside to the moving van, almost colliding with a dark haired woman coming through the door with a box in her hands. Henry comes to her aid, taking the box and pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Well,” Jacinda Mills laughs, “I guess she likes it.”

“Mhm,” Henry says, taking a deep, satisfying breath as he takes it all in, “I love it too.”

“I still can’t believe we got it at the price we did. What crazy story did that realtor tell you?”

Henry laughs. “Townspeople swear it’s haunted. The couple that lived here died.” When he sees his wife’s incredulous look, he hurries on. “Not in the house.”

“Thank God for that!”

“They were attacked by a man when they were out walking one night. Guy was high on drugs and stabbed them both.”

“How sad,” Jacinda frowned. “But what does that have to do with the house?”

Henry shrugged. “Well, the husband died that same night, but the wife . . . she apparently lingered in a coma until a year later. During that year, people said they saw both of them here in this house and the sound of someone crying.”

Jacinda wrapped her arms around her husband and gazed around the room thoughtfully. She was quiet for so long, Henry got worried.

“Maybe I should have told you this before we signed. It’s why the house has been empty for so long. You’re not worried are you?”

Jacinda looked up at Henry with a smile. “No. I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

“What were you thinking?” he asked, brushing her nose with his.

“I was just thinking they must have loved each other very much.”

[gore-hovnd]

So a few days I posted that I’d outlined my headcanon for Jack’s life up until the events of TWS and I got some good advice to post it. So I prettied it up and fleshed out a few concepts and now I’m throwing it at tumblr

Now, these are just my headcanons, and yes I’m forcing HH into it bc I love the ship and even though it’d never happen in canon, it was fun to kinda toy with the whole “how they met” idea. So yeah, here’s this and I’m gonna go lay down lol

I’ll see about doing one for Brock too? Just depends on how long it takes for me to think of stuff up for him. 

Jack’s Timeline

      • Jack Rollins was born in 1974 to John and Leanne Rollins in the mountains of Colorado, right outside of a major city

      • At the time of his birth he was their fifth son but would end up being the middle sibling of nine

          ◦  The reason Jack’s parents had so many children was because Leanne had grown up an only child and recalled how lonely it was. She never wanted her kids to be lonely so she decided she wanted a lot of them. Originally, she’d planned to stop at five but Leanne and John decided they wanted to keep trying until they had a girl.

      • Jack’s siblings consist of: 

          ‣  Matthias - 1964

          ‣ Titus and T.J. - 1966

          ‣ Lawson - 1970

          ‣ Cooper - 1980

          ‣ Benjamin - 1982

          ‣ Samuel - 1983

          ‣ Annalise - 1985

      • Jack was born premature and doctors didn’t think he would survive

          ◦ Because of this, Leanne favored him and always kept a close eye on him

      • During Jack’s early life, his parents thought he may have had a learning disability due to the fact that he rarely, if ever spoke. 

          ◦ It turned out that Jack was selectively mute

      • John didn’t take well to this diagnosis and wanted to try to force Jack to speak

          ◦ He suggested doing this by forcing Jack to verbally ask for things like food, water, bathroom breaks, etc. 

                ‣ Leanne rejected this and instead decided that Jack would be treated by a therapist

      • Jack began to speak more in middle school

          ◦ It started out with asking / answering questions in class, asking to borrow a pencil from classmates, etc. 

      • By the time Jack was in 8th grade, while still shy, was able to speak with relative ease

      • In 1987, when Jack was 13, his mother passed away due to an ongoing heart condition

          ◦ Because of this, Jack’s family feared he would stop talking again

      • While Jack didn’t stop talking, he also didn’t seem to mourn the loss of his mother either

      • Concerned with this, John had sent Jack to a new therapist

          ◦ The new therapist claimed Jack was going through a period of dissociative shock 

                ‣ It took years of therapy and counseling for Jack to open up and properly grieve 

      • Jack ended up going to a different high school than most of his peers from middle school and had to basically start over. 

      • For a little while he would keep to himself and didn’t really take the steps to make any new friends

          ◦ Until three months into the semester when he was paired up to work on an assignment with a boy named Dalton

      • Dalton took a liking to Jack and introduced him to the rest of his friend group; consisting of Cole, Braxton, Lucan, and Matt

      • The boys grew close together; they would hang out after school together and Jack would go to their drama club performances even though he was too shy to be in one himself. 

      • During spring break of his freshman year, Jack found out and met Braxton’s two dads, Arthur and Christopher

          ◦ Before this, Jack had never met a gay couple before

                ‣ Meeting them sprung questions of Jack’s own sexuality

      • When Jack’s dad found out about Braxton’s parents, he reacted very negatively and this scared Jack back into his shell

          ◦ He rarely spoke to his father about anything after that

      • For the entirety of his sophomore year and the majority of his junior year, Jack tried to ignore his sexuality

      • Until finally, nearing the end of his junior year, he came out to Arthur and Christopher and asked them for advice

          ◦ The two of them told Jack he could always confide in them

      • At 18, Jack developed a crush on a new student who’d moved to Colorado from Los Angeles

      • This boy’s name was Christian and the two of them began to date soon after meeting

      • Jack told Christian that he didn’t want to go public about their relationship, basically stating he liked to keep his personal life private

          ◦ Christian agreed not to say anything

      • The two of them dated for a few months but that all came to a screaming halt during winter break

      • Christian had gone over to the Rollins’ home asking for him and responded with “Jack’s boyfriend” when John asked Christian who he was. 

      • John was absolutely livid and kicked Jack out without a second thought. 

          ◦ Jack and Christian got into a huge argument over this and broke up due to it

      • Jack’s uncle, Mike, had offered a place for Jack to stay

          ◦ He slept on Mike’s couch for the final semester of his senior year

      • Once Jack graduated, he enlisted in the Marines and disappeared without telling his family anything. 

      • Six weeks into boot camp, he’d given into the guilt and wrote letters to T.J., who was the only one of his siblings who still spoke to him, as well as his uncle

      • While in the Marines, Jack pretty much shed his childhood shyness entirely and grew to be more self confident. 

          ◦ He also became a trained sniper and demolitions expert

      • In late 2000, Jack was in an unfortunate accident while on deployment that left him blind in his left eye

          ◦ Because of this, Jack was discharged 

      • After being discharged, with pretty much nowhere to go, Jack spent 9 months on the streets. 

          ◦ But in August of 2001, when Jack was 27, an agent got in contact with him and told Jack he worked for a government funded agency that recruited and rehabilitated veterans for reenlistment. 

      • Jack agreed to sign a contract and go with this agent

      • During training, which was long and grueling, he met a man named Ellison Lomack and the two of them quickly became friends.

      • Jack spent five years going on missions for this agency, assuming that he was once again an active duty Marine

      • In 2006 he was given the opportunity to be brought onto an elite STRIKE team that could earn him up to $95,000 a year. 

          ◦ Jack was chosen to be the Second in Command of STRIKE Team Alpha

      • His orientation to this team was when he’d found out he was part of HYDRA

      • Being told, essentially, that he would either continue working or be killed, Jack chose the former

      • Being the chosen SIC, Jack had to go through extra training and bonding with the STRIKE team’s commander, Brock Rumlow

          ◦ Brock told Jack when they first met; “I trust you with my life, you gotta learn to trust me with yours.” 

      • In the first few months, Brock was almost glued to Jack’s hip any time they were at work or in the field

          ◦ Including times when Jack was diffusing bombs, which freaked Jack out

      • Over time, Brock and Jack began to work together like a well oiled machine, Jack’s calm and calculating personality working well with Brock’s brazen and abrasive one. 

      • And in 2009, while drinking after a highly successful mission, Brock and Jack had drunk sex in the hotel room of the British Prime Minister, hardly slipping away before they got caught

      • Jack began to recognize his feelings for Brock after this night but refused to pursue anything, feeling as though it would be safer to preserve their established relationship

          ◦ Everything pretty much went back to normal

      • Two years passed and their relationship grew stronger, but never took a romantic turn. Until one night on a particularly difficult mission where everything had gone tits up and they only had 24 hours to fix it. 

            ◦ Brock is stressed out about it and laments that he isn’t afraid to die, but admits he wished he could’ve spent more time with Jack before he did

      • Brock and Jack share a kiss under the stars in a desert and fuck on the hood of their military issued Jeep while their team sleeps in a safe house 20 feet away. 

      • After this mission, that they were able to pull off by the skin of their teeth, Brock and Jack make things official. 

          ◦ Both of them lead relatively private lives and don’t make it known to the rest of the team that they’re seeing each other

      • Three years pass and six months before Project Insight, Brock brings up the idea of getting married for the sake of spousal immunity just in case things don’t go as planned.

          ◦ So they get married, something simple at the court house and neither of them change their names. 

      • Afterward, Brock and Jack are living happily as a married couple and they fantasize about what kind of life they hope to share when Insight goes through and they’re finally free from HYDRA’s demanding grip

      • Project Insight comes along and Brock and Jack meet the infamous Winter Soldier

      • Project Insight launches and things go horribly wrong

      • Brock splits up with Jack at the Trisk, telling Jack to head back out and that he’d meet him outside. 

          ◦ Initially, Jack follows the instructions given. But a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach has him turning around to go and get Brock 

      • The helicarriers crash into the building and Jack gets caught beneath the rubble

      • He’s stuck there for two days before he finally succumbs and the entire time, all he could do was fiddle with his ring and think about Brock.