#me crawling back 3 years later with a gender and a coffee:

[spokelseskladden]

@theteapotofdoom I fell for the nostalgia and the mind games lmao

[spencereliotwinchester]

Red Stud (Part 1/3)

Title: Red Stud

Author:  Kat

Reader Gender:  N/A

Word Count: 8700

Summary: A look at how Jensen met Misha and began their journey. Partner to Submissive but can be read by itself. 

Warnings: AU, Sub!Jensen, Dom!Misha, Humiliation!Kink, 

A/N:  Seriously, not for the faint of heart. No hate. Inspiration belongs to @impala-dreamer

Thank you to @deansbxtch for being my beta

Character: Jensen Ackles x Misha Collins

--

Tags: 

@dr-dean @drarina1737 @zombitch-cas @teamfreewill92 @winecatsandpizza @bees0are0awesome @sierra-grace1227 @chenshemesh1 @weepinghollywoodatsupernatural @im-in-every-fandom-fangirl @rosescarlett @pandazombie69

--

“What are you doing this weekend, Jensen?” Jared asked as they walked to their ten a.m. biology class. 

“Nothing. Maybe doing that ‘American Ideals’ paper for the capstone class,” Jensen responded, heaving his backpack into a more comfortable position. “Why did we take half our classes on Friday?” 

“To have Mondays and Tuesdays off,” Jared laughed. “Anyway, there’s a rave happening at this club I know of. Wanna go?” 

“A rave? Like, an actual rave, not a house party?” 

“Yeah! They have strippers until Midnight, then it turns into a Rave. It goes until the morning I’ve heard. They also have some BDSM rooms, supposedly, but you have to be a member to go in there.”

“What’s the cover?” Jensen asked. 

“Fifty,” Jared said. 

“That’s cheap for Vegas.”

“That’s the whole point! Anyway, what do you think?” 

“As long as you don’t kidnap me into a BDSM room, I’m fine,” Jensen joked. 

“Ugh,” Jensen groaned. The taste in his mouth made his stomach turn over. It was like something had crawled in there and died. He sat up, careful to extract himself from the unknown man in his bed. His ass still had a dull throb from the previous night. 

Slowly getting out of his bed, careful not to wake up his partner from last night, Jensen made his way to the bathroom of the apartment he shared with Jared. He could hear the sounds of throwing up from inside. 

“Jare, I’m coming in to brush my teeth!” He hollered, opening the door. 

Jared wasn’t the one in the bathroom. A brunette was heaving over the toilet. 

“Oh, shit, sorry!” He said. She looked over at him. 

“You’re naked,” She stated. 

“Sorry,” he said again, and shut the door. 

The door to the apartment opened and Jared came down the hall with a drink holder of coffee. He handed one coffee to Jensen, who took it with a word of thanks and took a drink. 

“Still throwing up?” He asked, nodding to the bathroom. 

“Uh, yeah,” Jensen responded. “I’m gonna go put on pants.” 

As he pulled on a pair of soft sweatpants, the man still in Jensen’s bed stretched and then sat up. Jensen handed him his coffee. The man took a deep drink and handed it back. 

“Thanks,” he said, getting up and stretching again. “What a party, eh?”

“Wild,” Jensen agreed. The man’s deep voice and electric blue eyes brought a memory of last night to Jensen’s mind. 

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard. I’ll bet that’s all you want, filthy slut!”

“Yes, Sir! Please fuck me!”

“Oh, fuck, it’s nearly three!” 

He stood up and quickly dressed, gathering the pieces of clothing that had been tossed into various parts of the room. 

“Got any cologne I can borrow?” He asked. 

“Yeah, on the dresser,” Jensen responded, watching the man get dressed. When the man came up to him, Jensen realized he was nearly as tall as he was, with dark, disheveled hair, and those electric blue eyes that made Jensen feel as though he could see right through him. 

“Thanks for last night,” He whispered, Jensen smirked and they kissed.

“See ya around,” Jensen said when they broke apart, though he knew he wouldn’t. 

“That party was insane,” Jared said as they sat down on the couch in the small living room. 

“I don’t remember much,” Jensen grunted.

“You’ll get some pieces back like usual.” 

“Did we… Take anything?” He asked. 

“Besides a shit load of alcohol? I don’t think so,” Jared responded absently, scrolling on his phone. “Why?” 

“Just wondering.”

“We gotta do that again,” Jared sighed, happily. 

“I won’t,” a female voice said. The girl had come around the corner, purse in her hand. “Sorry for spewing my guts out.” 

“You okay?” Jared asked. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna go,” She turned to Jensen. “You should get on a pole more often.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You don’t remember?” She asked, then continued. “You got up on stage and swung yourself around the pole like you’d been doing it for years.” 

“I did what?” He asked, incredulous. Jared snickered. 

“It was pretty awesome,” Jared muttered.

“Shut the hell up!”

A few days later, he got a text from an unknown number. He was studying in the library. 

I can’t stop thinking about you stretched around my cock, those green eyes rolling up into your head.

He looked around, worried, but no one was nearby. 

Who is this? 

It could be any of his one night stands from the last few weeks.

I’m offended, we had such a good time the other night! - Sir M

It must be that blue eyed man he met at Frenzy. What did he say his name was? It had been something strange. Another message came through. 

You were such a good slut for me. I’d love to have you for myself. - Sir M

Jensen blushed to himself. He didn’t usually sleep with the same person twice. He thought briefly about making an exception. It had been an amazing night. Most of the pieces of the night had come back. The blue eyed stranger had dominated over him, easily taking complete control of their time together. Jensen had thoroughly enjoyed it. As the memories floated to the forefront of his mind, Jensen could feel that his cock was hardening. Another message. 

I’ll bet you’re so hot and bothered right now, thinking about the way I owned you. - Sir M

Jensen finally texted back.

Yes, Sir.  

It became tradition, each month Jensen and Jared would go to a Rave night at Frenzy. They would stay until the place shut down at 5 a.m. and then crash until late afternoon. Sometimes they brought dates home, sometimes not. Sir M and Jensen continued to message each other. Sir M could be very domineering, even over a simple text and it sent thrills of excitement through Jensen’s body.

About a week after his one night stand with Sir M, Jensen walked into the studio shyly, it was his first time here. He’d been curious about pole dancing ever since that girl had told him how well he’d done. 

“Shoes off please!” The teacher, Jaz, behind the desk said sharply. “No outside shoes on the studio floor. Please sign this waiver and set your yoga mat down next to one of the poles.” 

Jensen ended up loving pole dancing, going to class three times a week in between his college classes and working a part time job. One day after class, about six months later, Jaz called his name as he was walking out the door. 

“Yeah?” He said, walking over to her, his bag slung over his shoulder and a yoga mat in his hands. 

“You’re still pretty new, but I know you like to go to Frenzy every so often. They get a lot of their talent from this studio and they’re holding closed auditions for a new male act. I was wondering if you wanted to audition? You’re one of my only male students and I think I have just the song for you.” 

Jensen stood there for a moment, his mouth hanging open. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” He said eventually, “I mainly do this for fun-”

“Strippers there, especially males, make upwards of $500 a night.” 

That was more than Jensen was making now, way more. He thought for a few moments, then relented. 

“Let me know what to do.” 

Three Saturdays in a row, he practiced one on one for three hours with Jaz. On the fourth Saturday, they ran through the entire routine twice. Jensen was sore, tired, and out of breath. 

“You’re ready,” Jaz said excitedly. “I think you’ll take the job easy.” 

“You… Sure?” Jensen said between gulps of air. 

“I’m damn sure. You’ll knock ‘em dead this afternoon!” She gave Jensen a quick hug and began to ready the studio for her next class. “Make sure you drink plenty of water-”

“And eat plenty of protein,” Jensen finished, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. “I know.” 

That afternoon, Jensen arrived outside Frenzy at 1:30. Auditions started at 2. He showed his paperwork to the bouncer at the door and was let in. The place was a little unnerving when it was mostly empty and the lights were all on. He made his way towards the Rave Hall and saw a check-in table. He walked up to the two women. One looked up as he approached.

“Here for an interview for the bouncer positions?” She asked. 

“Uh.. no,” he said, caught slightly off guard. “I have an audition for pole dancing.” 

“Oh,” she said, surprised. “Sorry! Um, name?” 

“Ackles,” He said. 

“Got it. Locker rooms are that way,” She pointed. “Follow the signs. They’re still doing female auditions, so they may be running slightly late. Do you have a song?” 

“Yeah,” he handed over a CD with his name and audition number on it, then made his way to the locker rooms. 

As he got dressed, his nerves started to send butterflies to his stomach. He pulled on a pair of tight black cycling shorts and a plain black t-shirt. He had decided to go barefoot for this audition. From the information he had received, there would be a panel of judges and they would ask him a few questions before he danced. Jensen noticed as he waited for his name to be called that most people were doing slow and sensual songs, sometimes even emo. This made him slightly more nervous since Jaz had chosen a fast song for him. 

“Next up is Ackles! Ackles to the stage!” 

Jensen took a deep breath and then stepped out of the curtain onto the stage. He stood next to the pole and blanched slightly. It seemed like most of the auditioners were staying in the room after they’d auditioned to see the rest of the performers. Jensen only saw three other men in the audience. Then he looked at the panel of judges. Two men and a woman sat there. 

The man in the middle had electric blue eyes. Electric blue eyes that made Jensen feel as though he could see right through him. Electric blue eyes that Jensen recognized. Sir M. It knocked the breath clean out of him. 

“You used your real name?” The bearded man asked, rolling his eyes. “What’s your stage name?” 

“I..I don’t have one,” Jensen stuttered, shrugging. 

“Oh boy,” he said in annoyance. “Any tattoo-”

“Red Stud,” the blue eyed man interrupted. 

“What?” the bearded man snapped. “Collins, are you in-”

“No, I’m just giving him a stage name. Red hair and just look at those muscles! Yummy.” 

“Red Stud, I guess it works,” The man turned back to Jensen. “Tattoos?” 

“N-No,” Jensen sputtered, he started to think this had been a mistake. He grabbed the pole, noticing it was on spin. He could do the routine either way, but doing it on spin was harder. 

“Why do you want this job?” The woman asked, speaking for the first time. 

“I love to dance,” Jensen said smoothly, he was aware his voice had become more even and slightly huskier. “I can dance, and I want to make money doing what I love.” 

“Well, I think we’d love to see!” Sir M clapped his hands together. “Go on.”  

I saw him dancin' there by the record machine

I knew he must a been about seventeen

The beat was goin' strong

Playin' my favorite song

And I could tell it wouldn't be long

'Til he was with me, yeah, me

And I could tell it wouldn't be long

'Til he was with me, yeah, me, singin'

As soon as the music started,  Jensen felt right at home. As if he were back in the studio practicing with Jaz. The loud guitar strums and drum set blasted through the speakers and Jensen opened “I Love Rock N’ Roll” by flexing his biceps, rolling his hips, and showing off his muscles, visible even under the t-shirt, to the various parts of the room. People started clapping along with the beat. When the lyrics started, he climbed the pole to the top, stopping at the end of each line to do various hangs to show off his strength, flowing with the hard rock. 

I love rock n' roll

So put another dime in the jukebox, baby

I love rock n' roll

So come and take your time and dance with me

Ow

Once he reached the top of the pole, the chorus started and Jensen folded over and around the pole, holding an attitude position before quickly hip-switching to a sundial. He pulled up and inverted into a Fang, spinning quickly with the music before doing a cartwheel dismount. 

He smiled, so I got up and asked for his name

"That don't matter", he said, "'cause it's all the same"

I said, "Can I take you home where we can be alone?"

And next we were movin' on

He was with me, yeah, me

Next we were movin' on

He was with me, yeah, me singin'

He pole walked once, before unveiling his next climb. Jaz had spent the majority of their first session teaching him this complex no legs, hand-over-hand climb until Jensen could do it perfectly without falling. Jensen was surprised to hear cheers. He climbed, doing a pull up at the end of each line of music until he was at the top of the pole again. He quickly maneuvered into a cross-legged sit so his arms were free.

I love rock n' roll

So put another dime in the jukebox, baby

I love rock n' roll

So come and take your time and dance with me

Ow

Jensen tore his shirt in half splitting it down his chest, then took it off and flung it at the blue eyed judge. He then inverted into a crucifix and nose dived down the pole. Jensen gracefully dismounted as the music faded. He took a bow to the cheering audience before turning his attention towards the judges. Jensen became all too aware of the sheen of sweat covering his face and chest and felt his cheeks reddening - it had nothing to do with the workout he’d just done and everything to do with Sir M staring at him. 

“I...I thought Jaz said you were new to pole dancing,” the woman said in awe. 

“I mean, I’ve only been pole dancing for about six months,” Jensen responded, shrugging. “Should I go?” 

“Can you dance like that tonight?” Sir M asked, his voice deep and vibrating. 

“I- What?” 

“Can. You. Dance. Like that. Tonight?” He asked again, more slowly, like Jensen was hard of hearing. 

“I’d need a new black t-shirt… but yeah, I can,” Jensen felt even more blood rushing to his face. 

“Then the job is yours. You’re on at midnight,” the bearded man said. “Be here no later than 11.”

As he was walking out, he heard his name called. Turning, he was shocked to see Jared. 

“Since when do you dance?” 

“Six months or so,” Jensen said, looking away from Jared. 

“Dude, you’re insanely good!”

“Uh...Thanks. Why are you here?” 

“Got hired as a bouncer!” He said excitedly. 

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Jensen exclaimed. “I gotta go call Jazzy and tell her I got the dance slot and then get ready for tonight.” 

“I’ll see you tonight! It’s my first night too.” 

Jensen was able to meet most of the other dancers that night in the locker room. It turned out that there were only three other male dancers, so everyone shared one locker room. A girl came up to Jensen. She was dressed in a red thong and red corset. She had blonde hair that was curled in large spirals. He recognized her as the female judge from earlier. 

“Hi, Red,” She said, smacking some gum and winking at him. 

“Hey,” He nodded. 

“Come on, I’m gonna show you the ropes and rules. I’m Cherie by the way. So, tonight. They’re just going to have you open the Rave with your routine, but people will still throw tips at you. Each of us also has a jar at the bar where people can place tips, too. Don’t forget to empty it before you leave for the night. If you have any problems with patrons on the floor, grab one of the bouncers. After a couple weeks, you might do some dancing for tips, or they might have you out on the floor to do lap dances and such. I dunno, Mish will let you know.” 

“‘Mish?’” Jensen asked. 

“Misha Collins?” She looked at him incredulously. “Big blue eyes, stubbled jaw, orgasm inducing voice?” 

“Oh, him.” 

“Yeah, him. Let's get some makeup on you.”

Jensen fidgeted as midnight approached. His butterflies were even bigger now and he worried he’d mess up the entire routine. As the acts neared his, the music got faster. Cherie was just before him in the lineup, her song started, ‘Cherry Pie’ by Warrant. Jensen warmed his body and put grip aid on his hands. Cherie came through the curtain. She had removed the corset during her act and was down to her red thong and pasties. 

“Good luck, Red,” She winked at him. 

He swallowed hard and entered the stage through the curtain. A few whistles met him. 

“Please welcome to the stage, our newest dancer. His debut performance right here, right now! RED STUD!” the emcee announced. 

‘I Love Rock N’ Roll’ started and Jensen began his routine. He only slipped once and it was barely noticeable. Cheers and applause met him and he bowed. Then, he quickly picked up the cash tips that had been tossed onstage and exited. He’d made nearly $250 from tips he’d picked up off the stage.

Jensen made his way to the bar after he put on another black shirt from his locker. The lights shut off completely and black light turned on. Glow sticks lit up the room. A thumping bass beat blared through the speaker. Jensen sat down at the bar in an open seat and waited for the bartender to see him. The bartender came over to him. 

“What can I get ya?” He yelled over the thick bass beat. 

“Shot of whiskey!” He yelled back. As he went to hand over a ten, a hand caught him. Jensen turned to see Misha standing right next to him. He was wearing a red t-shirt that was a size too small and stretched dangerously over his shoulders. Up close, Jensen was able to see just how handsome the man- Misha- really was. 

“On the house!” He yelled to the bartender. “And make it two!” 

Jensen and Misha tapped glasses and took the shots together. After four more shots each, Jensen was feeling much more free and relaxed. Misha tapped his hand against his shoulder. 

“Come with me!” He yelled. 

Misha dragged Jensen into the Rave and they began to dance together. After the second song they were both drenched in sweat and the alcohol was really hitting Jensen’s head. He hadn’t eaten anything in a few hours. Misha raised his hand to his mouth and swallowed. Then raised his hand to his mouth again. This time he grabbed Jensen’s face and began kissing him. Jensen opened his mouth in surprise and Misha shoved his tongue in and Jensen felt a small pill. Guessing what it was, he swallowed and continued to make out with Misha. 

Within ten minutes, the drug was taking effect. Jensen began to feel remarkably loose, happy and floaty. Misha was grinding against his ass and Jensen didn’t mind one bit. The music thrummed heavily through his head, his heart speeding up to match the rapid music. The bass beat dropped and Misha was reaching around palming Jensen’s half hard cock through the shorts he was wearing. His moan was lost in the music as he leaned back into Misha’s solid body. 

Then, Misha was pulling him along, through the waves of people. They reached a door on the other side and Misha pushed him through it. They were in a back hallway and Misha pushed Jensen into another room. The lights flicked on. Noise was completely silenced when the door closed but Jensen’s head pounded with the remnants of the bass line. 

“Should we be in here?” Jensen asked, eyes widening as he took in the sight of the room. It was a smaller room, but it was beautiful and dangerous. The walls were red, the carpet was plush and black. A few sex toys were scattered around and Jensen could only imagine what was in the armoire at the other side of the room. There was also a double bed in the corner behind the door. 

“It’s my private room,” Misha said. 

“A private room?” 

Misha came up behind him and began kissing and nipping at his neck. Misha grabbed the hem of Jensen’s shirt and dragged it over his head before going back to kissing his neck. Jensen moaned lightly. 

“Owning the place does have its perks,” Misha growled, his voice low and lust-filled. 

Jensen turned to face Misha and pulled the other man’s shirt off. Misha pulled Jensen over to the bed and pushed him down on it. As Misha kicked his jeans off and leaned down on top of Jensen, something clicked into place. 

“Are you a Dom?” Jensen asked. 

“You could most certainly say that,” Misha laughed. 

“I’ve never really… Except that night with you and I don’t remember everything.” 

“Well, it’s up to you, but I promise I’ll make it worth it if you stay, Boy,” the voice slipped down a few notes and Misha reached a hand into Jensen’s hair and pulled lightly. A rush of pleasure flowed through his body. Jensen moaned. “What are your limits?” 

“Nothing too crazy, I’m, uh, pretty vanilla you could say.” 

“Vanilla it is, but next time we do things my way,” Misha smirked before kissing Jensen again. Blood rushed to his face and his cock, making his brain spin. He laughed into Misha’s mouth, the feeling of euphoria enveloping him again. 

--

As Jensen began to swim into consciousness, he squeezed his eyes shut more tightly. His head was pounding, his muscles ached, his ass hurt, and his mouth was as dry as the deserts surrounding Las Vegas. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked around the room. He had no idea where he was. The room was lit softly through thick curtains. The walls were a cool grey and matched the bedding. An unopened water bottle was sitting on the nightstand and Jensen grabbed it, cracking it open and taking a deep drink. 

“I was thinking I was going to have to come wake you up. It’s nearly five,” Misha’s voice startled Jensen, and he looked around to see Misha standing in the doorway. 

“I’d have been up at three if you hadn’t slipped me Ecstasy,” Jensen grumbled. “Where are my clothes?” 

Misha walked over to the closet and stepped inside. He threw a shirt and a pair of jeans on the bed. 

“You only had on those pole shorts when we came home,” Misha answered. “Take those. They should fit okay.” 

Jensen got out of bed and stumbled sideways. Misha caught him. He became suddenly dizzy and shut his eyes trying to clear the feeling before it made him hurl. 

“You okay?” Misha asked. 

“Just a bit dizzy… Stood up too fast,” Jensen grunted. He slowly put weight back on his legs and got dressed in Misha’s clothes. They smelled like leather and cologne. An image of Misha pushing his cock into Jensen’s mouth came to mind. 

“We should get some food in you,” Misha said. “Do you want to have dinner with me?” 

“Sure,” Jensen said, his stomach snarling at the thought. 

--

“Everything okay?” Misha asked. 

“When you said ‘have dinner’ I thought you meant a dive bar or a diner or something…”

“Oh no, Sweetness, when I dine, I dine in style.” 

“I’m not really appropriate-” Misha cut him off. 

“Nonsense. Come on.” 

The maitre’d greeted Misha by name and led them all the way to the back of the restaurant to a private booth. A waitress dropped off water, smiling at them before gliding away to the kitchen. Jensen fiddled with the menu, slightly uncomfortable. 

“What’s wrong?” Misha asked in his low, gravelly voice. 

“Just nervous,” Jensen mumbled. 

“Listen, about last night-” It was Jensen’s turn to cut off Misha. 

“I don’t regret anything.”

“Well… Good, then,” Misha said. “Are you good to go on tonight?” 

“Of course,” Jensen waved a hand at Misha.

The waitress arrived with an appetizer. 

“The usual, Sir?” She asked Misha. He nodded, then the waitress turned to Jensen, but Misha interjected. 

“Let me order for you.” It wasn’t a question. 

Jensen, shocked, nodded at him jerkily. Misha whispered into the waitresses ear and she gave him a nod before vanishing again. He turned back to Jensen, and put a hand on his scruffy face. Jensen suddenly had butterflies in his stomach again. 

“So what are you into?” Jensen blurted out the question. 

“Huh?” 

“You know, like you have a private room at Frenzy- Hell, you OWN Frenzy. You’re a Dom, you asked my limits…” Jensen trailed off. 

“I’m into things you couldn’t even dream of,” He said, darkly. Jensen shivered. It was strange, the way Misha could make him feel both scared and aroused at the same time. “But for the most part I’m into Dom/sub.”

“Like, whips and chains and ‘Master’?” Misha chuckled at the look on Jensen’s face.

“I’m more into the relationship, the power exchange, not the punishments, and I prefer to be called ‘Sir,’” He responded. “You know nothing of BDSM if you’ve just watched porn.” 

Misha began explaining the mechanics and the true BDSM scene. Jensen became much more interested, and aroused, as Misha explained the true relationship between Dominants and their submissives. He never figured this sort of scene would be up his alley, but the way Misha had made Jensen beg for release last night… 

“You’ve barely touched your food,” Misha stated. “Eat.”

Jensen did so. Misha smirked at him, his eyes were filled with lust and approval. 

“What?” He asked. 

“You absentmindedly enjoy being told what to do. I just had a very intriguing thought,” Misha said in a hushed voice. 

“What?” Jensen was even more confused. 

“Let me introduce you to being submissive. I think we’d be a good match. We like each other and damn you’re just yummy. I can’t get enough of you.” 

Jensen looked down at his mostly empty plate, his mind was hesitant, but his cock was thoroughly interested in the idea of having sex with Misha again. 

“Try it,” Misha pressed. “If you don’t like it, no harm no foul… But I think you’ll fall in love with it.” 

“Fine,” Jensen relented, telling himself he could try something new. “We should get going. I need to go home and shower. I also need to work out a little. I missed my afternoon class today.” 

“Want a ride home?” Misha asked. 

“That would be welcome,” Jensen whispered.

Jensen finally got back to Frenzy at ten pm. He opened his locker and saw a jar of tips. The jar from the bar. Jensen groaned, knowing he would probably be in trouble with the bartender for forgetting to pick them up. He then pulled his phone out of his locker to check it. He had a message from Sir M. 

I need you to open and close the dance acts next weekend. Open with a slow, sensual song for me? Then close with your regular routine. Next week you work Wednesday thru Sunday. W & Th & Sun 7p - 3a.m. Fr & Sat 7pm - 12:15 am, then you’ll join me in the Member’s Club -Sir M

He immediately texted Jazzy to find out if she could help him with a new routine. 

We can practice this week, I’ve got a good one for you. I’m here btw! To see you perform. 

That week was one of the hardest of his life. He even skipped a few classes at the college trying to get some rest between the club, school, practicing a completely new song, and texting Misha. He barely even saw Jared except at Frenzy. 

Friday evening came and Jensen was a ball of wrecked nerves. He was exhausted, but got a jolt of excitement at the thought of performing a slow song just for Misha. The emcee was beginning to announce the acts and Jensen’s whole body buzzed with nervous excitement. 

“Let’s open up with Red Stud!” The emcee yelled. 

Jensen took the stage and a few whistles broke out above the chattering crowd. He sat down in front of the pole, back pressed against it and nodded toward the emcee. “You’re the Best” by Wet played through the speakers as Jensen began to go through the choreography Jazzy taught him. It was slow and sensual, just what Misha had asked for. Most of the choreo had him on the floor, using the pole as just a prop, instead of being on it the entire time. He ended the song on the floor, in a shoulder mount with his legs split. People clapped, cheered, and whistled. Jensen collected the money on the stage and went back to the locker room, to rest and get ready for the closing act. 

After the closing act, Jensen got a t-shirt on and went out into the now Rave Room. As he approached the bar, he saw Misha talking to a few patrons. One girl was draped over his shoulder and a hotness spread through Jensen’s body. Jealousy. They had never said they’d be exclusive, Jensen reasoned, but he still wanted to toss the girl into what was now becoming a mosh pit. 

He grabbed a couple shots from the bartender, downing one right after the other. His eyes were trained on Misha at the other end of the bar, the jealousy burning through his veins, just like the whiskey he’d shot down. He finally shoved himself from the bar, deciding he could play the same game. He disappeared into the rave to find a partner for the evening. 

As he was grinding with a stranger, he felt a hand fist the back of his shirt and yanked him back. Jensen was shocked, he looked around and saw Misha was the one who had his shirt. He was surprised at the roughness and then saw the look on Misha’s face. 

His jaw was clenched and eyes were narrowed in anger. There was fury written into his face. He caught Misha’s eye for just a moment and saw only rage in the flashing blue. Misha shoved him through the same door as last weekend and into his private room. 

“Think you’re funny?!” Misha spat as all other sound was drowned out. Jensen opened his mouth but a single flash of Misha’s eyes and his voice died in his throat. “Grinding on some stranger right in front of ME? You’re mine!” 

Something strange happened at Misha’s words. He was slightly scared, very much confused and then a shooting feeling of arousal coiled through his belly. Jensen found his voice. 

“You had women all over you at the bar! We never said we were exclusive,” He strained his voice to keep it level. 

“I wasn’t the one out on the dance floor practically having sex!” 

“You were last weekend!” Jensen cried, aware that his words were making less sense. 

“You’re MINE, Boy!” Misha barked. The arousal came back, harder and stronger than before. 

“Promise?” Jensen breathed. 

Anger melted from Misha’s face. He looked confused, then a grin broke across his face. 

“What?” Jensen snapped, but the anger was melting completely and being taken over by desire. 

“You liked it.” 

“Liked what?” 

“Being called names. When I called you ‘boy’ I saw your cock jump in those tight shorts. You like being humiliated,” Misha looked at him fondly. “I’ll tuck away that information for later.”

They ended the night a lot happier than it had started, the fight completely forgotten, like the clothes all over the floor. 

--

Jensen was sitting at Misha’s kitchen table. A laptop, books, notebooks and folders were spread out around him. Jensen had his forehead pressed to the cool wood. He’d spent the better part of three hours trying to write a paper for his english class. What does each room color symbolize in Mask of the Red Death? Discuss. Jensen then thought of the two ten-page papers due at the end of the semester. A Topic of Your Choosing Using Compare and Contrasting Methods and How are American Ideals Still Relevant in Today’s Day and Age? 

He groaned and lifted his head up. He found Misha standing against the counter to his right. Misha was wearing a suit, crisply ironed, with a khaki top coat over it. From the looks of it, Jensen figured it was probably cashmere. 

“Looks like a tornado came through,” He indicated the mess on the table. 

“More like a typhoon. I’m drowning in this.” 

“I wanted to talk to you about some things, but it can wait if you’re too busy.”

“Please, I could use a break from this.” 

“Now that we’re going to delve into this relationship, I want to lay out a couple rules for you to follow,” Misha sat down at the table and looked at Jensen seriously. Jensen nodded. “Number One, you call me ‘Sir.’ Number Two, you don’t cum unless I say so. Number Three, do not lie to me, EVER. And Number Four, is this.”

He took a small, leather-bound book from the inside of his topcoat and set it in front of Jensen. Upon further inspection, it was a journal with lined pages. Jensen cocked an eyebrow at Misha. 

“I want you to keep a journal. At least one page per day, more if you feel like it. On the first page,” Misha flipped the book open, “I’ve written some prompts I’d like you to start off writing about, so we can hone and mold our relationship together.” 

“So, I’m drowning in homework… And you give me more?” Jensen said, indicating the haphazard papers that littered the table. 

“I guess so, yeah. Got a problem with that, Boy?” Misha’s voice dipped into a commanding voice. 

“No,” Jensen responded. 

“No, what?” Misha’s voice dripped with venom.

“Uh, no, Sir,” Jensen looked down at the table. 

“Failure to follow my rules will result in punishment, and trust me, punishment does not equal pleasure.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Jensen said, nodding his understanding. 

“That’s my good slut,” Misha said, patting his hair. Misha and Jensen had found out fairly quickly that the pet name turned Jensen on to no end and Jensen felt a swell of happiness each time Misha used it. “I have a meeting. Be good.” 

As Misha left, Jensen looked at the table. He rolled his eyes in frustration and grabbed the journal. Opening it to the first page, he saw Misha’s handwriting. It was slanted, neat, almost calligraphy

What are your likes and dislikes in the bedroom? Discuss. 

How are you currently feeling about our relationship? Write this subject weekly

What do you want from a sexual partner?

What do you need from a sexual partner?

There was a hard line penned into the page

Only Jensen may write, unless he gives permission for me to respond. 

This is Jensen’s safe space to write what he needs.

Jensen will never be judged for what is written. 

Jensen looked between the journal and the three college papers he was working on. He groaned and pulled the laptop towards himself, deciding to write a little more about Mask of the Red Death before trying to fill out his journal. 

The first room is blue, which symbolizes Poe’s own depression…

“You know, maybe he just liked the color blue!” Jensen yelled at the empty house. He tossed The Works of Edgar Allan Poe across the kitchen. 

I’m honestly not sure how I feel about the relationship with Sir. I’ve barely met him but I feel like I’ve known him for a long time. I’m nervous and scared, but also aroused…

Jensen felt extremely weird writing in the journal at first, but once he got the first few sentences out, a bunch more were written. He ended up with three pages. By the time Jensen finished his journal as well as the Poe paper, it was nearing 5 pm. Jensen stood and stretched. It was Monday, so he didn’t have work and he didn’t have class: college or pole. 

He felt like he hadn’t seen Jared in forever. At least, the last time he saw Jared outside of work or school. They never really had time to talk while busy studying and working. Jensen texted Jared. 

Where are you?

Video Games was the response. 

Jensen was getting ready to head over to his apartment when a thought struck him. He quickly texted Misha.

I’m going over to the apartment to hang with Jared. 

Home by 2am came only a few seconds later. Jensen set an alarm on his phone to go off at 1. 

Jensen had only been by the apartment a couple times in the last two weeks and that was only to grab some clothes, his toothbrush, and school things. Jared hadn’t been home. He was splayed across the couch, playing COD. Jensen grabbed a controller and joined the game. As they played, he couldn’t help but feel a sort of tension between them. After about half an hour, Jared shut the game off. 

“Drink?” Jared asked stiffly. 

“I’m gonna drive back to Misha’s later,” Jensen said. “Is something up?” 

Jared finished his own beer and grabbed another one from the fridge. He scoffed. 

“What?” Jensen pressed. 

“You know, dude,” said Jared, turning to him. “I don’t even know what to say. You get this job at Frenzy, end up in the back room WITH THE OWNER, and then disappear for three weeks. What the fuck, Man?” 

“It’s not like that-” Jensen started before Jared cut him off. 

“That’s how it looks from my angle! You’ve never been that kind of whore! Tell me, is it true? Are you Collins’ new bitch? I have never known you to sleep with a partner more than once, but now that it’s some rich dude...” 

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Jensen tried to explain, but he realized Jared must have been drinking most of the day; he wasn’t usually this hurtful. “What?” Jensen was taken aback as he comprehended the last sentence. 

“That’s what I heard. That’s what everyone at Frenzy is talking about. You hopping in bed with the owner. Man, I knew you liked to sleep around but this...” 

“Jared, I’m sorry, dude. Let me explai-”

“Explain what? Just answer the question, Jensen!” Jared yelled. 

“We’re in a relationsh-” Jensen started to yell. 

“It’s been three weeks and you’re basically moved in with him! Do you know how worried I’ve been? I would’ve called the cops if I hadn’t seen you at Frenzy!” 

“I’m fine, Jared! What? Can’t bear me actually being happy?!” 

“You’re a goddamn idiot! You have no idea what this guy’s intentions are! Sure, we’ve all done one night stands, but this… This is a whole new level, even for you,” Jared had gotten right into Jensen’s face. Jensen didn’t back down. The hurt was pumping through his body and he stabbed Jared right where it hurt. 

“You’re the one who almost killed yourself over Gen leaving you!” Jensen shoved Jared hard. He didn’t react fast enough to the fist that connected to the side of his head. 

“Get. The fuck. Out,” Jared snarled. 

Jensen had to sit in his car for fifteen minutes before the dizziness finally passed enough for him to drive to Misha’s...To home. When he pulled into the driveway, he could see the lamp on in Misha’s bedroom. He felt relief at the sight, not wanting to be alone after his fight with Jared. He let himself in the house and went down the hall to Misha’s room. He hesitated for a few seconds before knocking on the door. 

“Enter,” Came a distracted response. 

Misha was propped against the headboard, wearing only his boxers. He was reading Things Fall Apart by an author whose name Jensen couldn’t begin to pronounce. He felt that, in a way. That his life was falling apart around him. The room began to blur and shift and Jensen clenched his hands at his side. It had been a long time since something like this had happened. His head began to buzz loudly, like angry bees. 

“Jensen?” 

The room began to come back into focus, but then thoughts of the night and the last month of his life overwhelmed him and the room spun wildly, his heart raced, and tears fell from his eyes. Misha was at his side, steadying him. 

“I need. My medicine,” Jensen was almost hyperventilating. “In my bag.”

Jensen curled up on the floor, holding himself until Misha came back with a prescription bottle. He popped it open and handed Jensen one pill. When shaking hands, Jensen put the pill into his mouth and swallowed. It would take about ten minutes for the effect to settle in and calm him down. With arms stronger than Jensen imagined, Misha scooped him up and set him down in the large bed. 

“Shh, just breathe,” Misha soothed. 

As time passed, Jensen felt his heartbeat begin to slow and his breathing evened out. He became aware of Misha holding him with one arm, the other carding through his hair. The feeling was soothing, comforting. When he felt he could, Jensen sat up and faced Misha. 

“Panic attack?” 

Jensen nodded. 

“That may have been something you should have told me about.” 

“I haven’t had one for two years,” Jensen whispered. 

“Did it have something to do with the bruise that’s darkening on your face?” 

“I had a fight with Jared,” He explained. 

“Obviously. What about?” 

“This. Us,” Jensen said, apologetically. “I should go lay down. The medicine makes me insanely tired.”

“Stay. I want to keep my eye on you.”

Jensen hadn’t stayed the night in Misha’s bed since their second night together. Jensen felt a swoop of anxiety, but then Misha brought a hand to his face, and it melted away. He leaned into Misha’s touch. 

After a moment, Misha got out of bed and beckoned Jensen to do the same. He set the book carefully on the nightstand and pulled the covers back. He indicated to Jensen to get into bed, then slid in after him. 

“Why do you have panic attacks?” Misha asked. 

“When I was little, and my Mom and Dad were still together, they fought, like, all the time. Downright screaming matches. Their fighting started causing panic attacks. So, now whenever there’s arguing it can cause an attack.”

“I guess the fight just really affected me. I shouldn’t have said some things,” Jensen sighed deeply. 

“We’ll have to be careful. Everything will be okay,” Misha soothed.

The light clicked off and Misha spooned Jensen, his arm wrapped around his waist comforting him. Jensen pushed himself back into Misha’s chest and within minutes, the exhaustion from the day as well as the medicine pulled him into sleep. 

Jensen woke the next morning, groggy and feeling like his head was too heavy to lift. He was alone in Misha’s bed. Slowly, he sat up. He noticed a small piece of paper on the nightstand on top of the book that Misha had been reading. He grabbed it. 

I will be in my office when you wake, taking care of some work. Eat some eggs and toast and meet me when you’re through. -Sir

Jensen went to the guest room he’d been calling his own. He slipped into the bathroom attached and did his morning routine. He then made his way to the kitchen, wishing he knew where Misha kept the Tylenol. 

As Jensen ate breakfast, he scrolled through his phone lazily. The group chat he was in with the other guys and girls had blown up the previous night. Jensen scrolled through quickly, getting the gist of what had been discussed. He paused, however, when the chat shifted.

Cherie: It’s almost Mish’s Birthday y’all. What are we doing this year? Another showcase? 

Brad: Maybe, he never gets tired of watching us dance. 

Ariel: What if we did a choreographed routine with all of us? We could do it on the weekend of his birthday.

Michelle: Ooo I like that. Unless @Red Stud has a better idea? 

Brad: That’s a good idea. Everyone meet at noon at Frenzy tomorrow. Come with song ideas. 

Cherie: Great idea! See everyone then?

Shit. It was almost eleven now. He quickly finished breakfast and packed a bag. Then he went to Misha’s office. Jensen knocked on the open door. 

“Enter,” Came a reply. 

Misha was sitting behind a large carved desk, looking through a stack of papers. He glanced up at Jensen. 

“Where are you off too?” Misha asked. 

“Uhh,” Jensen hesitated, not knowing if the birthday party was a surprise. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Misha reminded him suddenly, fixing him with a blue-eyed stare that seemed to read his mind. 

“Okay, I’m meeting the other girls and guys at Frenzy-”

“Ah, yes. My birthday,” Misha rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you this and ask you to fill it out. I’m filling one out, too. We will compare them and make necessary changes before signing.” 

Misha slid a thick packet towards Jensen. He walked to the desk and picked it up. Standard D/s Contract - Misha Collins was the title. Jensen felt his cheeks heat up. 

“Okay,” Jensen said, slipping the contract into his gym bag. 

“Okay what?” Misha snit.

“Sorry. Yes, Sir,” He amended. Jensen walked around the desk, so he was directly next to Misha, who had gone back to his report. He gave Misha a soft kiss on the cheek which he accepted. 

“Tell the girls and boys not to worry too much. I think I’ll be getting exactly what I want for my birthday already,” Misha threw him a quick, dirty look. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Be good, Slut.” 

Jensen closed his eyes for a moment, letting the heat pool in his belly. Then, he left to get to Frenzy. He seemed to be the first one there, surprisingly. He changed, then warmed himself up quickly. He walked out to the stage and placed his phone off to the side, hitting the “Play” Button on the song he wanted. The slow guitar started and Jensen began swaying his body to the music, body rolling on the pole, doing slow spins. 

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am home again

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am whole again

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am young again

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am fun again

“I think Red should do the choreography!” He heard the yell, it startled him and he lost grip on the pole, landing painfully on his elbow. 

“I have no idea how to do choreography,” Jensen said tersely, sitting up and rubbing his aching elbow. He looked around and saw Brad, Cherie, and Michelle, who seemed to be the one who’d yelled. 

“Yes, you do,” Cherie said. “I know you can. Just by watching that performance, I know you can.”

Everyone filtered in and then Cherie called for silence. 

“I think Red should do choreo,” Michelle said again. 

“All in favor?” Cherie asked. Everyone except Jensen yelled ‘Aye!’ 

Jensen groaned. 

“Now, what song should we do? Fast or slow?” 

“Slow,” Jensen said. “I’m a lot better at slow choreo. Jazzy’s the one who usually choreographs for me.” 

It took nearly an hour before they’d settled on a song. Jensen huffed, it wasn’t a very slow song, but he could work with it. 

“Give me a half hour to figure out what we’re doing,” He grumbled, grabbing a pad of paper from behind the bar. 

Jensen played Breathe on Me at least five times, stopping and starting and writing the choreography on the pad. He called Cherie over and went through it with her. That way she could teach group one and he could teach group two. After about two hours, Jensen called it quits for the day. 

After a long shower, Jensen settled down at the kitchen table to do his homework and try to go through the large contract Misha had given him that morning. He’d gotten his english paper done, his journal written in, and was just staring at the front page of the contract when Misha arrived. 

“Slut,” He greeted, flashing a smile his way. 

“Sir,” Jensen nodded at him, a smile spreading across his face. 

“I’ll be in my room. Have fun.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Jensen, in his limited free time, had been doing a lot of research into proper BDSM etiquette and rules. As Jensen read through the contract, filling in the blanks, he was all too aware of his cock hardening. He palmed himself as he went through the listed kinks and fetishes and circled ones he’d be willing to try. One line of the contract kept playing through his mind.

Above all, the primary duty of this submissive is to please.

Jensen grinned to himself. He had a sudden idea, and it sent warm heat through his body as his heart sped up. He hoped this would work, because if not, he’d be having a hard time following Misha’s rule not to cum without permission. 

He walked down the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. The door to Misha’s room was open and Jensen dropped to his knees just outside the threshold. He put his hands on his thighs and bowed his head, closing his eyes. He’d seen this pose on a website as one of the accepted sub poses. He itched to call out, call attention to himself, but he pushed the urge down, stubbornly. Jensen waited. 

A calmness washed over him. His breathing and heartbeat slowed, the thought of pleasing Misha helped him ignore the numbness in his knees. Finally, Jensen heard an intake of breath and the swish of sheets rubbing against pajama pants. Jensen kept still, unmoving. He fought the urge to snap his head up. To meet those blue eyes that could read his mind. 

“How long have you been here?” Jensen couldn’t help the shiver that ran through his body at the soft, loving tone. Misha was right next to him. A hand rested on Jensen’s head. Jensen leaned slightly into the touch before remembering to keep his pose. Words were lost to him. 

“Speak,” Misha’s voice was still soft, but had an authoritative tone that Jensen couldn’t ignore. 

“I don’t know,” He answered honestly. It could have been five minutes or three hours. The time had melted away, had become meaningless. 

“What do you need?” Misha asked. 

“To please you,” spilled from his mouth. 

“Good Slut.” 

A sense of pride swelled inside him and a jolt of arousal coursed through his cock. 

“Crawl in here and take your position,” Misha guided him to an open space in the bedroom. 

When Jensen had resumed his pose, he listened intently, trying to figure out where Misha was and what he was doing. Misha’s hand curled into his hair, lifting his head. Jensen struggled to keep his eyes closed, but his lips parted slightly as his breathing quickened. The soft, velvety head of Misha’s cock brushed lightly against his lips. A shiver went down his spine. Sure, he’d sucked guys off before, even Misha, but never like this. 

“Is this what you want?” Misha asked, his voice low and growly. 

“Yes, Sir,” Jensen whispered. 

PART 2

[damnedparker]

velvet and sunshine

pairing: obi-wan x reader (gender neutral, no y/n)

warnings: food mentions, reader is sad, very mild general hurt/comfort

summary: college au. little to no sleep and awful professors have given you quite the day, and you need a nap. preferably in obi-wan's bed.

also posted on ao3

more self-indulgent fluff from me! i’m a one-trick pony! but i was yearning and stressed over college and i’ve screwed up my sleep schedule again so yknow here we are. i hope some of you enjoy my too sweet fluff. i would definitely write a cute little au series of this concept if i had the time <3

Oh, college. The ultimate vehicle of stress.

Your first of two classes you had on Fridays had went absolutely horrid, all on top of the fact you had gotten maybe an hour of sleep the night prior to get the homework due today done. You knew you needed to be better about procrastination, you really knew, but there's only so much blame you can put on your past self before you run out of time to catch up on the work that was stressing you out enough to put it off in the first place.

Your one, single hour of sleep had been at the cost of you having enough time to properly wake up and get ready as usual, so on top of being exhausted, you also had to deal with being around people when you felt more insecure than usual, feeling like a slob and like everyone was judging you for not having your usual makeup or outfit on. It did nothing to help your already miserable mental state.

In your first class, there was a discussion on the work due today, and the professor had taken every shot he could at putting down your contributions and opinions in the assignment. The rest of the class was completely silent as well, not knowing what to say. It was humiliating, and had gone on for around fifteen minutes, which ended up feeling like hours. After finally getting out of that class, you just wanted to curl up in a ditch and cease to exist for a while. But you had another class in around half an hour.

You sighed as you got in line at the campus market, clutching your meager excuse for lunch—some potato chips—in your arms like it was a precious treasure. It wasn’t the most fulfilling lunch, but the campus up-charged on-campus food like crazy, so you didn’t feel like wasting too much of your money on mediocre food. You would just eat later after your next class.

Just as you were imagining the lecture you’d receive from him for your poor nutritional choices, your phone buzzed with a message from your favorite person—Obi-Wan. He had sent you a simple little meme, one of those with a cat surrounded by heart emojis, accompanied with a simple “thinking about you :-).” You smiled and almost felt like crying at how sweet it was, despite this being a daily occurrence from him. That man loved his wholesome memes, and sent them regularly, and you were so thankful. It always made your day better.

But after today? The little spark of happiness didn’t last long.

After paying for your sad excuse of sustenance, you trudged out of the university center, walking slow as can be in the general direction of your next class. You really did not want to go; you could feel the exhaustion creeping up on you and you could tell you’d doze off in class, which was a nightmare waiting to happen. Although you had your best friend, Anakin, to cover for you, since he sat right next to you in that class, you just didn’t feel like dealing with any of it today. None of it.

And with that, you simply turned and started walking towards the edge of campus, toward your safe haven: Obi-Wan and Anakin’s apartment. You lived quite the ways away from campus, much too far to walk, but Obi-Wan and Anakin’s little home was just a block over. Your boyfriend had class for another hour or two, but you really just wanted a place to nap, and you didn’t trust yourself to drive all the way home. You would’ve almost certainly been hanging out with Obi-Wan later tonight anyway, so you figured he wouldn’t mind. You could have him bring you to get your car sometime later.

After some delirious walking, you finally reached the apartment complex, heaving out a sigh once you stepped in the elevator, leaning against the wall as it made its way to the second floor. Your brain was absolutely fried from the lack of sleep, stress, and emotional day you had, and you could feel yourself struggling to hold back tears from the overwhelming mood beginning to take your mind once you arrived and managed a small knock at the door.

“Oh no, is it raining?” Anakin’s brows furrowed once he let you in, figuring you were there to drive him. That’s what you always did when it was raining outside, mostly just so you didn’t have to hear him complain about his clothes being wet during class.

“No, I just- I can’t deal with another class today,” You sighed, setting your bag down by the couch and toeing off your shoes.  “Obi’s not working today, right?”

“No, he should be home after class,” Anakin watched as you rounded the kitchen counter, helping yourself to a glass of water. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just having a day,” you could feel your shoulders hanging, your posture reflecting your mood. “I just need some sleep. I can’t do class the rest of today, sorry to leave you to deal with Windu alone today.” You scrunched your nose in apology, referring to your strict, and often frustrating political science professor. The man was wonderful at lecturing, but absolutely frustrating when it came to assignments and tests. He often liked to pick on Anakin for discussions, and usually you came in to save him when no one else in the class felt like talking.

“Don’t worry about it, I can handle him on my own,” your friend nodded, reaching over to squeeze your arm affectionately. “Enjoy your nap,” he collected his bag and put in an earbud, preparing for the walk to campus. “But do not eat all my snacks like last time. Obi-Wan hates Cheetos, so I know it was you.” He gave you one last playful glare before grinning and shutting the door behind him. You looked down at the counter, now alone in the quiet apartment. You felt safe here, comforted by your best friend and boyfriend’s belongings laying about. It was clear what was Anakin’s and what was Obi-Wan’s, the difference very clearly seen between objects that were tidily tucked in their places, while others were strewn about in random places. You had witnessed many fights between the two adopted brothers over things like this, and sometimes it was a wonder they were able to live alone together at all. Not to say that Anakin hadn’t insinuated you should move in with them multiple times lately, very pointedly looking at Obi-Wan while he did so. Of course you would say yes in a second, but you didn’t want to pressure your boyfriend, who was very careful about big decisions in your relationship. The two of you had been dating for almost a year now, and were practically inseparable, and he was secure in the fact that you both believed there would never be anyone else you could love as much as each other. However, you knew Obi-Wan was a very particular man, and could be somewhat traditional in his courting. You thought it was sweet. Anakin, who was already daydreaming to you about proposing to his own partner, thought it was stupid, saying you already practically live here anyway! He wasn’t totally wrong. At this point, unless Obi-Wan was at yours or you were somewhere with him, you were probably going to be found at their place.

You sighed to yourself, feeling your eyes getting heavy. You were beginning to crash from your many cups of coffee last night. You headed straight for Obi-Wan’s room after locking the front door. His room was always impressively neat, never any clothes on the floor or anything out of place, except momentarily when you had forgotten to put something away or the two of you were in the middle of something. Painted a deep blue, and decorated with various framed posters or art, along with a few framed photos, his room was very simple. It was just the right size for it to be cozy without being suffocating.

You made a pitstop at his closet, pulling a sweater off the very top of his laundry basket, the one he’d worn the day before, along with some pajama shorts you kept in his dresser for impromptu sleepovers. You changed quickly, not keen to sleep in jeans, and also wanting desperately to lay down. You crawled into his bed, snuggling under the sheets and breathing in the scent of him all around you. Sleep came not long after you settled into the blankets.

---

Obi-Wan hummed softly under his breath, a song that you had showed him a few days ago and had subsequently gotten stuck in his head. He smiled to himself as he remembered the overjoyed look on your face when he had told you how much he liked it, fumbling to get his keys out of his pocket and get in his apartment. He paused while he was hanging his jacket up, noting your bag next to the couch, along with the glass on the counter. He furrowed his brows, knowing you had class, and although you certainly had before, you rarely skipped since your professors counted absences against your grade. He dropped his bag next to yours and made his way into his room, shoulders drooping as the weight of worry escaped them. You were curled up in his bed, wearing one of his sweaters, fast asleep. It was an adorable sight, you clutching onto the stuffed bearded dragon you had won out of a claw machine at the mall on your last trip together, whom you had gleefully named Boga as you passed the gift into his arms, insisting it was for him.

Obi-Wan shucked off his pants, leaving him in a t-shirt and his boxers, before sliding in next to you. He watched your eyelashes flutter slightly; clearly you were dreaming. You mumbled something in your sleep, followed by a happy sigh, and another mumble of something that vaguely resembled his name. He could’ve collapsed in on himself from adoration purely aimed at you.Carefully, he reached over to brush a stray hair out of your face, before beginning to press kisses to your skin, first at your jaw, then cheek, forehead, nose. You began to stir at his affections, sleepily blinking open your eyes to your boyfriend smiling at you. He trailed his hand down your arm, intertwining your fingers together as you began to wake up more.

“Hi, Obi.”

“Hello, my love,” he murmured, keeping his voice soft. “Not that I don’t enjoy coming home to you in my bed, but don’t you have class right now?” Your peaceful state from just waking up seemed to crack at his words, and a lump came back to your throat at the return of your sour mood from earlier. His eyebrows furrowed at your immediate change in mood, knowing something was wrong.

“I really couldn’t handle another class today,” you rolled onto your back, moving your joined hands to lay on your stomach. Obi-Wan scooted closer to you, resting his head against his hand, propped up on his elbow as he studied your face. “Sorry, I should’ve texted you to let you know I was going to be here.”

“No apology needed, darling, you’re always welcome here,” he untangled his fingers from yours, beginning to play with your hair as you talked. You could feel tears springing to your eyes from the gentle affection, the simple relief of being around the person you loved most, and his immediate recognition of your need for comfort. Obi-Wan could read your moods almost scarily well, and he almost always knew what you needed from him to make it better. “If you want to talk about what’s made you sad, I’m here to listen. Or we can just have a cuddle and listen to music.” You managed a small smile at his offer. Always so sweet.

“Can I have all of the above?” You turned your head to pout up at him, earning a happy grin and chuckle from your boyfriend.

“Anything for my sweetheart,” he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, rolling off the bed to retrieve his phone from where he’d set it on his dresser. He shuffled the playlist you had made together one late night on Spotify when you couldn’t sleep, full of relaxing songs that the both of you often drifted off listening to together, since the both of you couldn’t sleep in complete silence. “Now, come here.” He almost jumped back into the bed, immediately pulling you on top of him. Your head fell into its usual spot at his neck, forehead pressed to his pulse point, which was steady and comforting. Obi-Wan wrapped you up in his arms, gentle hands sliding under your— his— sweater, rubbing comforting shapes into your lower back. You hummed contentedly.

“I might fall asleep like this instead.”

“That’s okay, honey,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your head. You let out a soft chuckle as his scruff tickled your forehead. “Now, tell me everything that’s wrong so I can make it better.”

As you began to detail everything that had led you to seek refuge in his bed, Obi-Wan listened patiently, humming affirmations every so often and continuing to trace lines across your back, his sweater now partially pushed up to expose your lower back. The contrast between the slight chill of the open air and his hands was pure heaven. You didn’t know how you were still talking so clearly; half your attention was busy focusing on the slight callouses of his fingertips against your skin. Everything was warm and gentle, swallowing you up in velvet and sunshine. It was an absolute miracle that you didn’t doze off by the time you finished venting, the heavy feeling dragging you down having been lifted just the slightest bit, both by letting it out and by Obi-Wan’s hold.

“That is quite the horrid day, my dear,” he affirmed. “But you made it through, and it’s over now. You’re here and you’re safe, and we can spend the rest of the night doing whatever you like. You can relax.” His arms fully circled your waist then, squeezing you to him affectionately in a hug. “Everything will be better now.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, lifting your head and slightly sitting up from your comfortable position against his chest. Your boyfriend gave you a small smile when your gazes met, leaning into your hand that was now resting against his cheek. “You’re too good for me, Obi.”

“Oh no, I’m afraid it’s the other way around,” he grinned, a bit of pink settling on his cheeks. Crow’s feet became evident around his eyes and you were absolutely crushed by how lucky you are, how much you loved this man. “It’s a privilege just to be able to make you feel better after the awful day you’ve had.” His words were completely genuine, gaze absolutely soft as he looked at you. You could have cried. You don’t know how you didn’t. Obi-Wan seemed to gather this from your long silence, and the slight shift of expression on his face. “Everything alright, angel?”

“Yeah,” you said after a moment, pressing a short, chaste kiss to his lips. He found your hand next to his head, intertwining his fingers with yours. He squeezed your hand and tilted his head in a silent are you sure?  “Everything’s perfect.”

[jbbuckybarnes]

Imagine

Raising children with Cevans.

Description: I wrote a super long imagine for @marmariavel at the beginning of the year and I thought I’d put it into a thing you all could read. The only thing I didn’t change was the bilingual aspect and some stuff I couldn’t flesh out more. Beware: Tons of sentences that start with “You” & time jumps. Pairing: Chris x german!bilingual!Reader

M A S T E R L I S T

You'd been together for a little over 3 years and he had proposed to you very on the down low at home after a beautiful day planned by him a few months before. You had talked about kids but you didn't really plan them soon. Well...you didn't think that your birth control would've just stopped working because of some antibiotics for your gripal infect a few weeks back.

He was gone for a movie for two more weeks and you sat there in the middle of your shared house in the bathroom, staring at the two pink stripes after being late, panicking and wanting to ease your mind...well, that kinda backfired.

You'd call a friend and go crazy for a minute or ten before they would be like "Yo, relax and let a doctor confirm it. I can come with you." And that's what you'd do that week.

You would get the confirmation and be happy but also super fucking insecure about it even though you knew he wouldn't have a problem with it. It's still your body and you didn't know how to handle it mentally. Your friend would just stay with you that night, take your mind a bit off things, eat Ben & Jerry's with you, and the rest of that program. And the next day you'd start planning how to tell him since you had two weeks to prepare for it.

So you kinda had the opportunity to make it a bit bigger and exciting but also not super big but like cute big. You decided to get some books about pregnancy, baby clothes and shoes, baby food and probably something Baby Captain America themed. After getting it in the mail you would start putting together a big box, neatly decorated so he could see all the things at once. At the center, you stuck the test. The outside neatly sprayed in a gender-neutral color and a few stickers.

You would start emptying your office room carefully and put the stuff in his office. He was used to you rearranging his whole house all the time so he wouldn't be super surprised by that part at first. You would put the box in the middle of the room and be super excited for him to come home.

You'd write to him that you had a surprise for him and he'd be like "don't tease me" and you'd dance around excited until he gets in through the door. You would run towards him with a big grin and he'd just bear hug you.

You'd take all his stuff away from him excited and tell him to leave everything right in the hallway and that the surprise couldn't wait.

So you'd drag him towards your old office, open the door and he'd be like "You rearranged again?" with a smile at you before you almost ran to the box, picked it up and held it out to him. "Open it." He'd look at you a little bit '???' but happy. And then he would open it slowly and instantly stop in his movement as soon as he had a full view of the inside of the box and his jaw would just drop and he'd eye all the different things in there and would be looking up at you speechless.

"Welcome to your future child's nursery." you'd smile with happy tears in your eyes before he would set the box down and envelope you in the best hug ever and kiss you and cry and mumble "I'm finally gonna be a dad."

He'd pick you up in the air with the biggest smile ever and ask you how far you are and you'd say something like 2 months and he'd jump like a happy little boy before setting you down, kissing you again and saying "Let's go through the box, plan what you want in here and order pizza, baby." he'd say with just pure love in his eyes before going onto both knees in front of you and holding your hips "Because Baby Evans needs to get strong." and you'd just burst into tears right there.

You'd sit down on the floor and start looking through the books together, talking about marrying a little sooner, your fears, your ideas for the room, names, public announcements, milestone ideas. You'd start crying every time he'd say "Baby Evans" or "Little Bean" or something. Hormoooones.

Also: "Now nobody can judge me for my big appetite anymore." "Or your giant sweet tooth." "I feel called out!" "Blame it on the baby." "Believe me I will. It's gonna be just like me when it's here. Constantly eating." "Two of those in my house. Can't wait for those food fights in a few years." You: *starts crying again*

You'd take at least one mirror picture per week. You'd tell your parents the following week. You'd tell all of your friends after inviting them over for a get-together. You'd announce it at the beginning of the fourth month with something Captain America themed. You'd plan the best wedding ever and marry in your early sixth month. You'd find out it's a girl and he'd be so over the moon to have a little princess that he could take to Disneyland all the time and dress up with. You'd make the room peachy orange-pink themed on one wall and have like a photo tapestry of clouds in that color on the other one. You'd get all the cute baby stuff over the time. You would do some rad maternity pictures that the internet would probably go crazy over. He'd push you to go and get facials and shit to relax cause he's a good husband. You'd learn about all birth stuff together, go to a pregnancy sports class cause why not.

He'd be relatively chill about the whole birth experience probably. He'd just read up on a lot of things and stuff. He'd get you all the weird things you crave, massage you all the time. Hold you when your hormones would go crazy.

Baby Evans would probably come late and doctors would want you to try natural things to start contractions so you would just dance through a hospital room and film it for the world later on. He'd be so sweet all throughout the actual pain and shit and you'd literally almost break his finger to be honest.

And the moment he hears a baby cry you just see his face switch. Like an actual "I'm dad"-switch.

He would go with them while they do all the first stuff with the baby and then you'd get it onto your chest and big hug moment and exhaustion.

While you would be sleeping he'd hold her and sit with her in the chair beside your hospital bed. You'd wake up every now and then and see him staring at her with sparkly eyes and count her fingers.

*mini sneeze* "Bless you, my little Princess." *mini sneeze again* "Don't look at me like that with your big cute eyes, I didn't make it tickle, baby girl."

You'd name her Amelia Jillian Evans. He'd be super good at changing diapers while you were still laying in pain. You'd take her home two days later dressed in a Captain America body. Obviously posting the news online then.

The first weeks would be exhausting but his family would help where they could with making your life easier. He was on Baby Workout duty since the little bean needed to learn how to turn around by herself and he would be so proud every time she did it. When she started being able to recognize you and started laughing he was just constantly carrying her around when you didn't have a grasp on her. She was definitely going to be a daddy's girl

When she starts crawling he's the first one to see it since it happens while he's laying with her on the ground and you were in the kitchen making food. "She just crawled!" he'd yell. You'd come running with a proud smile. "Show Mama what an independent girl you are Amy." She'd laugh and crawl a little more and you’d melt so damn much.

You'd raise her bilingual, and he's walking in on you both a lot when you talk German and understands nothing. But he tries to learn it a bit at least. "Are you two gossiping about daddy?" he'd touch her nose before giving you a kiss.

She'd grab his beard all the time and giggle and that would be his favorite thing ever.

As soon as she starts drinking from bottles he just takes her to the gym with her sometimes on days he knows it's almost empty and he doesn't have big weights. He just has the crawling blanket, toys and her bottle with him and just working out.

One day she would just look at him while he's doing push-ups with her right under his face to make her laugh and for his own motivation and she'd just laugh up at him and say "Dada" and he just stop in the middle of the push up with a jaw-dropping smile and say "Am I your Dada?" And she'd just giggle more and grab his beard again and say "Dada" before making one of those happy “baby moves all limbs at once”-dances on her back.

He'd drive home and burst in with her on his arm and you'd be confused and he'd be like totally in shook still "She said Dada." And right at that moment, she would say it again and you would melt.  And he would point towards you "Mama." "Mmm...ma." You'd giggle, "Close enough."

You would start seeing her pulling herself up on your furniture and from her baby bed and one morning just be like "If you also get to see her walk before I see it I'm suing." and he'd chuckle and continue drinking his coffee while you made airplanes of applesauce into her mouth.

You'd hold her hands and helped her walk forwards slowly while he was the goal they wanted to reach. You did that for a couple of weeks now and you gave her less and less hold over time and today you let her go completely and she walked three steps before landing on her behind. A few weeks later you were holding her hands one each and went for a walk completely proud of your little bean. "Mama?" She looked up at you and let go of Chris' hand completely and held her arms up so you picked her up. "Amelia?" you'd answer. "Müde." she'd say. Her first German word outside of the basics and you'd be over the moon smiling over at your husband that had a questioning smile on his face and you mouthed 'tired' while she laid her head on your shoulder.

By the way: Dodger would be protective and super chill around her. From the moment she came home the first time. He never nudged her, always just smelled and let her grab him sometimes even if it was uncomfy for him.

He would always be up to play with her over the next two-three years until she had her first big detachment phase. "Do you wanna play, Amy?" "No." and his eyes would be proud but also ouch.

She'd walk around in a princess dress and with a toy car most of the time and went to kindergarten a few days per week.

"Honey?" He'd say one evening hugging you from behind while you were cooking. "Hmm?" you'd smile at him. "I want another one." he'd mumble. "Are you sure?" you answered, "We still don't have our sleeping pattern back to normal." "I want her to have a sibling," he said kissing your neck. "Let's talk about that after bedtime, okay?" You'd say squeezing his hand.

By now she spoke both languages with both of you and Chris really needed to get his German game up. "Daddy?" "Yes, princess?" "Liest du mir Buch?" and in that moment, he knew...his child was more intelligent than him lmao. "She wants you to read her a book." you'd say from the next room. "Which one?" She'd pull out an easy German one but damn was it hard for him to pronounce it right.  You'd stand in the door frame proudly smiling at them.

The weeks after that you let her do a lot of sleepovers at friends. Was it a cover-up to get pregnant again? Yup.

And like three months later you both sat there together on the living room table waiting for the test. 5 minutes could be so fucking long. When you turned the test around and the second pink line was there he jumped up and almost threw you into the air. "You better pray to my vajayjay from now on," you'd joke. "Believe me. Already been doing that every day." he'd be like serious but also chuckling and you'd just hug so tight and squeak.

After going to the doc you would just send the ultrasound picture around with DJ Khaled's "Another One" over it. Cause you both are dorks like that. "Please stay Amy's rock, okay? I don't want her to feel left out when her sibling comes."

You'd both tell her that she'll get a sibling and she was jumping around and holding her hand on your Belly all the time.   You'd find out it's another girl. "Oh lord, three of them?" Would be Chris' reaction after the doc says it and a chuckle goes through the room. "A lot of food we need to have at all times." you'd laugh.

She would find it so fascinating how the belly moved. "When does my sister come?" she'd ask almost every day.

You'd have a trip to Disneyland together with her in a Cinderella dress and a Captain America Helmet. She was proud to have a superhero daddy. And it was good for paparazzi to not see her completely on pictures. She still couldn't hold the Shield tho. It was still like two thirds of her size.

You'd all eat so much in all the places there and he'd get her anything princess-like. "What do heroes eat, daddy?" "Whatever they want. Just like princesses." "But princesses only eat special food." "A princess can also eat a burger if she wants one, right honey?" he'd look at you. "Yes. Princesses and heroes both can eat whatever they want. It's super important to listen to what your belly wants, Amy." "What does your belly want, Mama?" "Two cheeseburgers, a salad, and ice cream." you deadpan and Chris would giggle.

He'd probably put a dress on himself just for her to see, that gender roles are shit. And school will shake that for her but he will make sure she knows that she can love 'masculine' things like cars, tech & science.

She'd probably be super good at math but also start drawing and writing early. You both would probably put her into a dance class but also let her try a sport that's a bit more like Taekwondo.

If she would feel in any way threatened she would use what she learned and say "You better stop. My dad is a superhero and he will kick your behind if you don't stop."

Your 6/7 yo daughter would kick ass so hard. Promise.

Then the little sister would come and she would be old enough to hold her and all that. You both had asked her for a name she liked and took that as a second name for the little sister. This one was more of a mommy's child.

Her name would be Chloe Jordan Evans and after the birth, you would be "You won't get more," to Chris completely exhausted.

You had already talked about not wanting more children after that but the steps of growing up were so much cooler now that a bigger sister could watch all of them happen.

You decided to raise this one on bottles mainly which made sleep a bit easier for you both since you didn't need to be awake for it every time.

Amelia & Chloe would not be revenge siblings as soon as Chloe could walk and talk. They were close and Amelia was very thoughtful and definitely into sports and science while also loving pink and stuff.

Chloe would be more of a singer and would love makeup and dressing up. She wanted to learn more about her daddy's job pretty early on and loved coming to little events of Chris' management. She was super extroverted and loved being around people.

But she still was super focussed on you with everything else. A mom's child.

She'd cook with you, play video games with you and loved going on walks when Chris was gone filming and Amy at elementary school.

She also was obsessed with Daddy dressing up. The shield was her goal. He always told her she is too small for it so her big goal was growing faster. The first time he let her wear it was with his friends being over and Seb or someone just being like "Just let her. I'm sure she is responsible enough to keep it safe, right Chloe?" And a heavy nod would come back. The shield went from her shoulders to under her knees and was clipped to her back. All the men in the room were just smiling at her. She definitely had the attention of the room as soon as she came in. She'd run around with the Shield on her back and a Nerf Gun and shoot all the men with the soft little things and they played dead. When you walked in you looked around confused but then she jumped out of her corner and pointed the Nerf Gun at you which made you put your hands up. "Miss? I need to arrest you." And you'd play into it and internally smile at 1. The shield on her back. 2. How good she was at this.

[prettyboyspenceee]

Chapter 2 - Saved

A/N: Yay! Part 2! I hope all you like it! Keep liking and reblogging!

Description: Olivia’s hidden talent and sleeping arrangements are revealed. 

Character Appearances: Olivia Morales, Spencer Reid, Jennifer “JJ” Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan

 Disclaimer: I don’t own Criminal Minds, sorry to disappoint! I do own Olivia Morales and other surprise characters.

Word Count: 1,548

Posted: October 27th, 2019

---

5 Months Later

Olivia took cases with kids hard. The case that the team had just closed reminded her that she just couldn't save everyone, no matter how hard she tried. 

Usually, after a case, Olivia and Spencer had a tradition of getting takeout from their favorite Mexican restaurant and eating in one of their apartments. It was something that they had between the two of them, separate from the team. 

Dinner was at Spencer's apartment tonight. He was playing Beethoven on his radio as they ate. 

"Hey, Liv, are you okay?" 

Olivia looked up from her food and gave Spencer a weak smile, "I will be." 

Spencer nodded. He felt the same way. 

After the pair finished dinner, Olivia went back to her apartment. Spencer couldn't help but feel worried for his friend, his heart ached when he saw her in pain. 

--- 

Olivia slipped on her oversized Georgetown shirt and her way too short sleep shorts. She took a deep breath and drifted to sleep.

On the other side of the hallway, Spencer was in the middle of his third book of the night when he first heard the screaming. He threw his book down, grabbed his gun and rushed out into the hallway. 

When he realized that the screaming was coming from Olivia's apartment, his blood turned cold. He quickly grabbed the spare key and rushed into Olivia's apartment. 

He found her in the bedroom, screaming. 

"Olivia! Liv! Wake up!" Spencer said, frantically shaking her awake. 

Olivia sat up and looked at Spencer with wide eyes that were filled with tears. 

"Spence?"

"Hey, Liv. You're okay, it's going to be okay."

Spencer pulled Olivia into a tight hug and she let out gut-wrenching sobs.

As Olivia calmed down she pulled away from Spencer and wrapped herself in the covers of her bed, "God, I'm so sorry, Spence. This is so embarrassing."

"Don't ever apologize. We all get them."

She nodded, "Oh no. Your shirt is soaked."

He smiled, "It's fine. I like my shirts soggy anyway."

"Let me get you another shirt," Olivia untangled herself from the bedsheets and went to get Spencer another shirt. 

Spencer was a gentleman, but he couldn't help but stare at the exposed leg of his coworker. His heart raced when he saw her every morning on their way to work, but this was different. Spencer felt like his heart was on fire. 

He was sucked out of his train of thought by a shirt being thrown in his face, "Hey!" 

He heard Olivia laugh, "You're welcome!"

Spencer quickly pulled off his wet shirt with ease, completely forgetting he was in Olivia's bedroom.

Olivia sucked in a breath, Spencer had abs. They weren't six-pack abs like Derek's, but they were abs. Olivia never noticed how defined his muscles actually were. Olivia's heart soared when she saw Spencer, but now her heart was racing. 

She was thankful for the dimmed light in her bedroom so Spencer couldn't see the blush that was slowly rising to her face. 

"Uh - I'll guess I'll head out then?" Spencer said.

"No!" 

Spencer looked at Olivia with concern, "I mean... can you stay?"

"Of course,” Spencer was never one for physical contact, but he felt safer with Olivia, he welcomed all physical contact with Olivia, big or small.

Olivia smiled and crawled back into bed, "Lay down, Spence. I promise I don't bite." 

Spencer laughed, "I really hope you don't." 

Needless to say, both Spencer and Olivia slept like babies. 

--- 

"Hey, Mouse? Late night?" Morgan asked Olivia. 

Olivia smiled, "Something like that." 

Garcia came rushing into the bullpen before Morgan could reply, "Hey guys, we have a case." 

By Garcia's expression, Olivia could tell it was a bad one. 

"Garcia, what do we got?" Rossi asked. 

"Orlando, Florida. Elle Newbury, Michael Yung, Patrica Martinez, and Lauren Marks were all killed 2 weeks apart. All were found 3 miles away from each other, and they were all," Garcia shuddered, "missing their tongues."

"Well, the unsub crosses gender and racial lines. The removing of tongues could be symbolic, he might want to silence them," Olivia said. 

"Or he could just be some sicko keeping the tongues as souvenirs," Emily mentioned. 

"Aren't they all sickos?" JJ asked. 

The team hummed in agreement, "What do you think Reid?" Morgan asked. 

"Liv took the words straight out of my mouth." 

"Spencer Reid? Speechless?" Olivia laughed. 

"Since when does Reid call you Liv?" Emily said with a smirk. 

"Since Morgan has been calling me Mouse," Olivia replied with a smirk that could make Emily's wither with shame.

"Alright everybody, wheels up," Hotch announced. 

--- 

The team had been in Orlando for a week and Olivia hated it. The body count for this unsub was racking up and the team couldn't figure out why. 

Olivia and Spencer were working the case on a couch in the local police department and they were both running on no sleep, just coffee. It wasn't long before the pair fell into their habits and they fell asleep together. 

"Oh my god," Emily whispered. 

"Garcia is going to have a field day with this," JJ said with a quiet laugh.

"Do we wake them?" Derek asked.

"Let them be, we'll brief them later," Rossi said, entering the conference room.

"Okay. But what about Hotch?" JJ asked. 

"It's fine. They need rest, their minds are overworked," Hotch said as he entered the conference room. 

Olivia turned in her sleep and the team watched as Spencer unconsciously pulled her closer to him. 

"Oh god, JJ, please tell me you got that on video," Morgan pleaded. 

"I'm sending it to Garcia as we speak."

---

"It's the unsubs personal vendetta!" Olivia announced. 

"How do you know, Livvy?" Emily asked her. 

"It was bothering me that the victims seemed to have no connection, so I had Garcia do some digging. It turns out that all of the victims were a part of the same AA group." 

"How did we miss this?" Hotch asked. 

"AA is anonymous. The victims never told their families and Garcia said it never showed on their records because they ALL used aliases. Anyways, I called some members of the group and although they were reluctant, they gave me the information we need. It turns out that one week before the killings started, a man named Max Gerard lost his 10-year sobriety chip, he came in screaming saying that it was the group's fault." 

"That has to be the trigger," Rossi said. 

"Do we have an address?" Spencer asked. 

"Yup, Garcia just sent it over now," Olivia replied. 

--- 

"Reid, Rossi, and JJ, I want you to go through the back. Morales and Prentiss, I want you to watch the windows, we have to assume that he's armed and he's willing to shoot his way out. Morgan, you're with me," Hotch gave his orders and everyone followed. 

It wasn't Olivia's first takedown but for some reason, she was uneasy.

Olivia took the right side of the house while Emily took the left side. 

"Gerard has Reid. Does anyone have a clear shot?" Olivia heard JJ through the coms.

Olivia felt her heart drop, "I don't have a clear shot," Emily said through the coms. 

The rest of the team confirmed that they didn't have a shot, "Morales? Do you have a shot?" Hotch asked. 

Olivia took a deep breath, "I do. Tell me when to take the shot." 

"Now!" 

Olivia took the shot and she watched as Gerard fell to the floor.   

She rushed into the house, "Spence! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

--- 

After the week-long case, the team was finally back on the jet. 

"Hey, Mouse, where did you learn how to shoot like that?" Derek asked. 

"I taught myself. Scored a 100 on every firearms test."

Derek scoffed, "Who knew that our 5'2 resident princess of the BAU was such a good shot."

"We all did," Rossi said. 

The rest of the team nodded and laughed at Derek's expression. 

The team occupied themselves with their own activities Olivia moved over to the couch Spencer was on. 

"Can I join you?"

"Yeah, of course," Spencer scooted over so Olivia could have space. 

"Liv, I - I wanted to thank you, for saving me." 

"Spence, earlier this week you saved me from a nightmare. Every time we sleep in the same bed, couch or chair, you save me. We save each other Spence, you don't have to thank me for that."

Spencer nodded, "I guess we really do save each other."

Olivia yawned, "Hell yeah we do." 

"Are you tired?" 

Olivia nodded, "Just a bit."

Spencer readjusted his position so he and Olivia could lay comfortably on the couch, "Sleep for a while. I'll wake you up when we land."

Olivia smiled, "Thanks, Spence." 

Olivia rested her head on Spencer's chest and she couldn't help but feel safe when Spencer wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. 

Once again, Spencer and Olivia fell asleep in each other's arms. The team couldn't help but smile as JJ took another photo. 

"Hey, JJ, I feel like we should make a scrapbook of these," Emily suggested. 

"Don't worry, Pen's already working on it." 

--- 

Little Rock, Arkansas was where the first victim showed up. Richard Monroe was missing a pinky. He would be the first of many. 

--- 

tags: @reid-187​

[notquiteaghost]

there isn't enough nonbinary jon sims content, here is... well i started writing this as headcanons but this is really a not!fic about nonbinary jon sims. it’s 3′300 words

it contains: nonbinary trans masc autistic jon, jongeorgie, lesbian georgie, trans guy martin & tim, trans woman sasha, team archives trans solidarity, and not-insignificant amount of internalised transphobia and references to misgendering & general cis people bullshit

(also ftr i am heavily basing jon's experiences here as a nonbinary autistic person on my own experiences as a nonbinary autistic person) (this is like 80% projection) (what else is fandom for!)

also on AO3 if you prefer your 3k of bullet points to have better spacing

tiny baby [jon] who knows she isn't very good at being a girl but doesn't have the words to articulate why

her grandmother thinks kids clothes should be durable and practical so even tho jon is not a kid who climbs trees or plays football, her wardrobe is exclusively straight jeans & 'boys' t-shirts & large jumpers

she keeps her hair roughly shoulder length because that's the length it's always been but strangers still 'mistake' her for a boy a lot. this makes her feel a way she again hasn't got the words for

when she starts secondary school she continues to dress 'masc', never starts wearing makeup, never gets any interest in dating, generally fills out the checklist for everyone else assuming she's a lesbian

she knows she's definitely not a straight girl, so she shrugs and decides sure, she's a lesbian. it's a moot point, mostly, seeing as even if she did have any interest in dating she's the only gay person her age she knows

but she does get involved in some community support stuff – she spends a lot of time in the library as a teenager, and one of the librarians is a lesbian who takes jon under her wing a bit

coffee mornings and book clubs and things like that. sixteen year old jon and a dozen queer women all in their late twenties at the youngest. they joke a lot how often they forget jon isn't also a thirty-something

(this is that autism feel of having no interest in your peers but getting on great with adults)

and then she goes to uni, and then she meets georgie

georgie is a Very Out lesbian. she goes to clubs, she's heavily involved in the lgbt society, she has a rainbow flag hanging in her bedroom window. yknow.

jon likes her a lot, and still isn't really sure if it's romantic or not, but assumes that's more due to being gay than anything else

(no one has told jon about asexuality yet)

so when, one night when they're meant to be studying in georgie's room but instead are mostly drinking shit cheap wine and complaining about their professors, georgie looks at jon with this soft look on her face and asks to kiss her, jon says yes

and then they date

they're both living in one of those massive student houses with a thousand bedrooms crammed everywhere and only a kitchen for a communal space. georgie has lived there since coming back to finish first year, and jon moved in halfway through second year after a somewhat disastrous flatmate situation

so after they graduate, moving in together seems like the natural progression of things even tho they’ve only been dating for two months

jon is still, when asked, identifying as a lesbian and using she/her, but is also still dressing what other people now call butch. she always feels kind of weird about that term, but again, just chalks it up to the mess of complicated feelings being a gnc lesbian does genuinely involve

and then, finally, jon meets some actual trans people

jon has, circumstantially, known trans people. thanks to georgie, jon goes to a lot of lgbt soc things, and is passingly familiar with most of the lgbt people on their campus

but there’s a big difference between nodding at someone when you see them in the library and having an actual, proper conversation about gender

so, jon goes to a lot of social events because georgie does. without georgie, jon would probably not leave the house except to go to work and to the library (jon is not doing postgrad. jon’s library habits do not particularly reflect this)

mostly at these events, jon sits in the corner and reads, and only talks to other quiet antisocial people, while georgie circles back periodically to report on her social butterfly escapades

and at one, one of the other quiet antisocial people is a trans guy

he’s called harry, and he asks about the book jon is reading, and after they’ve been talking a while he says, “sorry, you probably get this a lot, but what pronouns do you use?”

jon just blinks at him and says “what”

“well, i’m trans, so i’m always really cautious about assuming,” harry says, easily, and this does not answer the question jon was asking

jon.exe has crashed

she(?) eventually says, “uh. she? i’ve never– she”

and harry, who has spent the last forty minutes discussing dante with jon and is already sure they’re going to be friends, says “want the trans 101? you’re making a face like you need it”

three hours later georgie finally reappears with the intent to actually interrupt (she’s drifted past periodically, but jon was always deep in conversation with harry, so she left them alone) and get going, and jon gets harry’s email address and is then very quiet as they walk arm-in-arm back to their house

just as they turn onto their street, jon says, “i, ah. i think i might be trans?”

georgie, who has for the past couple months been having something of a crisis after realising she definitely loves jon but she isn’t in love and she can’t figure out why, says “oh thank god”

jon, very bemused, “that wasn’t the reaction i was expecting”

“i think we should break up,” georgie replies, and jon stops walking. they’re four feet from their front door, but it’s late, no one’s about, so georgie decides sure, they can have this conversation in the street

“you– because i’m trans?”

“i love you, i really do,” georgie steps closer, takes jon’s hands in hers, “but i’m not in love with you. and it was driving me crazy trying to figure out why, but if you’re not a girl–”

“i can’t tell if i should be offended by this or not,” jon says, somewhat dazed, “i’ve been trans for an hour, georgie, i don’t know if this is transphobic yet”

georgie laughs, and presses a kiss to jon’s cheek, and says “it’s nearly midnight, we both have work tomorrow, let’s table this for later. we can look up names and what word i should use when i complain to other people how you always leave your shoes in the middle of the floor when we aren’t both on the verge of passing out”

and that sounds reasonable, so jon nods, and kisses georgie on the mouth, and then they go inside

the next day jon stops by the library on the way home from work and checks out almost every baby names book they have. georgie comes home and he’s sat at the kitchen table making a spreadsheet

“you don’t have to make it this complicated, you know,” she says, hooking her chin over his shoulder to read what he’s already got. the spreadsheet has a lot of columns.

“it’s my name,” he retorts, and she hums agreeably, then points to ‘jonathan’, which has relatively few ticks in any pro columns (god, this nerd), and says, “isn’t that your grandfather’s name?”

it is. he doesn’t talk about his grandfather a lot – doesn’t talk about his family a lot full stop, but she knows, even though he died when jon was still a toddler, the stories his grandmother told had a significant impact

“my parents didn’t name me after anyone,” jon says, quietly

georgie nods. she doesn’t say they’re not here now to offer an opinion, because that’s far harsher than jon deserves to hear, and it’s not like she ever needs to remind him of it either. he’s definitely already beating himself up for taking so long to come to this realisation there’s no one left around to tell him how they’d have reacted

“i think it suits you,” she says instead, and jon nods, and then she moves away to make a pot of tea and some pasta (it’s technically jon’s night to cook, but she was anticipating coming home to find him already hyperfocused beyond the point of no return)

a week later, jon looks up from the spreadsheet to where georgie is curled up on the sofa reading and says “ugh, fine, you win, you were right”

(georgie hadn’t pressed her point any further, jon is just like that)

“jon?” she asks, and he makes an exasperated noise and nods, then closes his laptop dramatically and stands. most of his spine pops when he stretches

“this calls for celebration” georgie says, also standing, “franco’s or monsoon?”

“franco’s. i’m going to eat a pizza the size of a car”

so then jon is actually going by jon, and using he/him, and isn’t dating georgie anymore but is still living with her and spending most of his time with her and factoring her into all his major decisions

he talks to harry, and other (binary) trans people, and reads a lot of blogs, and after a few months gets a referral to charing cross gic

by the time he starts at the magnus institute, he’s had top surgery and has been on T for years, and passes as cis completely, and he doesn’t know how to articulate it but this is. bothering him.

he’s not exactly… he likes being stealth, he doesn’t need to flaunt his personal life. he can understand the impulse, but he doesn’t share it. his feelings about gender and romance are no one’s business but his own

but. everyone assuming he was a girl itched – being miss simms, georgie’s girlfriend, she, it felt like wearing a coarse knitted jumper. it was exhausting

and, for a while, everyone assuming he was a man was a relief. it didn’t make his skin crawl, it didn’t make him want to scream, it was nice. it felt good.

it didn’t feel right. but it didn’t feel bad, either, and jon has never been gendered in a way that felt right. he thought that was just part of being trans

except. he moves to london, and he starts at the magnus institute, and he wears shirts and slacks, and the long skirts and patterned dresses some of his colleagues wear keep catching his eye the way men in three-piece suits used to, and that terrifies him

he was lucky, in a way, having no family left to care when he transitioned – if anyone reacted negatively, he could just cut them out of his life, and his social circle was already queer enough that was hardly necessary

but that doesn’t mean he escaped internalising a whole swathe of shit about what being trans should mean and how he should act and what he should want and if he wants to wear skirts then is he even a man? was he making it up all along after all?

naturally, he deals with this by ignoring it. he’s a man, men don’t wear skirts, he doesn’t wear skirts, that’s that.

he manages to keep that up until he’s made head archivist, and he’s given three assistants who are all also trans

(he doesn’t know if elias did it on purpose. elias knows he’s trans, of course, because he’s never bothered to get the name on his diploma changed, but the way elias reacted lead jon to assume elias may also be trans. and if that’s true, then selecting only trans people for the archives staff feels like a kindness more than anything)

and, the thing about them all being trans, is even if jon and martin are both rather fond of being stealth, and sasha and tim aren’t used to being out at work, and none of them are exactly friends, they’re the only people who ever come in the archives, so the archives very quickly becomes the Safe Trans Zone

they all vent a lot about cis people. sasha will walk in and the first words out her mouth will be “the next person to ask me if i’d had the surgery is getting their own surgery when i cut their tongues out”, and tim will make a commiserating noise and offer her the pack of donuts martin brought in

so when, on one of the rare afternoons when jon leaves his office to lean against tim’s desk and brainstorm organisational system ideas, martin walks back from the break room upstairs with a scowl and says, bitterly, as he sits back down, “oh so when cis guys wear nail polish it’s inspiring and breaking down gender roles but when i wear nail polish, jenny from HR gets to side eye me and ask if that means i changed my mind, because surely i’m the one who’ll do that and not all the men who didn’t have to do hours of therapy to establish they are definitely, one hundred percent for sure a guy!”

tim and sasha both make the standard commiseration noises, and sasha says something about the supervisor at her last job trying to say it wasn’t appropriate for her to wear trousers, and jon stops listening and runs away moves back to his office

he hadn’t noticed martin is wearing nail polish, is the thing. or, he had noticed it, but he hadn’t thought about it, and now he’s thinking about it. he’s thinking about it a lot

martin had– martin is a guy. martin is definitely a guy, if something of a feminine-leaning gay guy, the kind of feminine-leaning no one ever questions in cis guys, and it hadn’t occurred to jon to question martin, either, even though he’s trans, and. and.

he’s still circling round a revelation he can’t quite make himself have an hour or so later, when martin sticks his head round the door

“you, uh. you alright?” martin asks, incredibly tentatively. it says a lot, jon thinks, about how nice martin is, that he’s asking even though there’s a 90% chance jon will tell him to fuck off “you kind of disappeared abruptly, earlier. i didn’t upset you, did i?”

jon stares at him for a long moment, then says, “can i see your nail polish?”

“oh!” martin’s cheeks flush, just slightly, as he steps inside the office and lets the door shut behind him “uh, yeah, of course. it’s a little chipped, now, but, yeah”

martin’s nail polish is a light, pastel blue. it’s neat, and even, though his nails aren’t that long, and jon thinks he remembers martin saying something about mostly painting his nails to try and get himself to stop biting them. jon’s never really gone for nail polish, but it’s. nice.

“it’s, uh. it’s a good colour, on you,” he says awkwardly. martin flushes even more

“oh, um, thanks? did– are you alright?”

if jon was a different kind of person, this is where he’d open up to martin, and this would be the beginning of them becoming actual friends

jon is jon, though, so he just shoves all his emotions back in the box they escaped from, nods, and says “i didn’t sleep that well, is all. not really up to socialising”

(an aside about s1 jonmartin dynamic: jon is very good at shittalking martin when martin isn’t around, but in the face of martin’s genuine care and concern, he defaults back to a far more friendlier tone than he’s aiming for. he knows, on a level, that he and martin could be good friends if he ever got his shit together, but that is something else he’s currently repressing. he doesn’t need friends! he isn’t desperate for social contact at all! what’s loneliness!)

martin says “ah, okay, i’ll just– i’ll leave you alone, then”, and then jon makes himself focus on work, and then when he gets home he opens the group chat he’s still, thankfully, in with the trans people who got him through his first gender crisis and sends ‘help i don’t know if i’m a guy after all’

three people immediately send back a link to nonbinary.org

and that’s the rest of jon’s evening

he reads through every article. he reads several articles multiple times. he opens several new tabs, and gets a notepad to make a list of books, and eventually remembers to reply in the group chat

a week later, he bites the bullet and writes an email to georgie

nothing long, just, they still tell each other about big life events

and then, another couple weeks after that, when martin brings him tea, he says, “ah, martin, could i– do you have a moment?”

“of course,” martin says, and lets the door swing closed again, “what do you need?”

“i, ah. this isn’t very professional, so, you don’t– you are perfectly welcome to say no, of course, but i. um. would you– come clothes shopping with me?”

(ideally, jon would have asked georgie, but as much as he loves her (still), they haven’t talked properly in years, and she is cis. the best cis person he knows, but still a cis person. and he’d just, rather have a trans person, for emotional support, and no one in the group chat lives particularly nearby anymore) (or, well, some of them are, but when he asked they all told him to get over himself and ask one of his ‘lovely’ coworkers)

(why does he ask martin and not sasha?) (well, dear reader, he is nursing the beginnings of a crush) (not that he knows it. but that’s absolutely what’s happening here. martin is sweet and lovely and jon definitely finds him annoying and overbearing. yes. nothing else. no other emotions.) (his chest feels all weird when martin smiles because he doesn’t like him. that always happens around people he dislikes.)

“oh!” martin says, surprised. “uh, yes, of course, is– is there an event or something…?”

jon takes a moment to stare at the wall above martin’s head before he makes himself say, “i. am non-binary, and i need– different clothes.”

“oh, god, have we been–”

“no, no, this is a, a very recent development. he is still fine,” jon says, quickly, then pauses, then adds, more haltingly, “i think. i might, if – they, as well, maybe? just, to see”

“of course. d’you want me to tell tim and sasha?”

martin, jon thinks, is maybe not all that bad “yes, please”

“cool,” martin smiles, “i’m free this weekend? for shopping?”

“this saturday would be good, yes”

and then jon and martin go shopping! it’s probably not that successful of a shopping trip, because it takes jon like four shops before they admit what exactly it is they’re looking for, but they go to several charity shops and have fun trying to one-up each other with the most ridiculous/inexplicable item of clothing, and at the end of the day jon has three skirts (a knee-length black a-line skirt, a full-length black skirt, and a full-length black skirt patterned with red flowers), two necklaces, and a skater dress they probably can’t get away with wearing to work, but they really liked the way the skirt moved when they spun

other things that happen include lunch at a cafe where the staff definitely think they’re on a date and only martin notices and also martin is dying, both of them only managing to walk past a secondhand bookshop twice before they cave and go inside, and then emerge half an hour later both holding three books (two poetry anthologies and a sci fi novel; a psychology book and two history books), and martin somehow talking jon into trying on skinny jeans and then, again, leaving this mortal coil

jon doesn’t buy the skinny jeans, which is for the best really

the first time jon wears one of the skirts to work, sasha does a victory lap around the archives because “hell yes skirts are so much more comfortable, and now you swish! tim you should get a skirt. skirts for archives uniform”

and jon is still a prickly antisocial bastard but now he’s an outly nonbinary prickly antisocial bastard, and sometimes they walk into the archives at 2PM smelling of tobacco and holding a bottle of vodka, and then the archives staff all do shots and dramatic readings of the most ridiculous fake statements, because sometimes that’s how you cope with cis people, and that’s! valid!

[xyfanficarchive]

The Length Of A Minute

Pairing: DBH Connor x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: angstttt

Summary: One dead android. Months later- nine more. Same model, same face, same death. Nobody in the reader’s life quite understands their guilt, or why they throw themselves headlong into an unhealthy obsession towards solving this case.

Word Count: 4422

Author’s Note: HERE SHE IS! My fic for @deviantramblings 500 followers prompt challenge! This is literally the culmination of me writing from 3:45 pm right up until 12:15 am, and let me tell ya, my brain fell out of my ass somewhere in between. But it’s finally here. My first Connor fic, and another fic thats like 4.5k words...  bro. wtf. anyways i hope you guys like it! as always, any feedback is welcomed and encouraged!!

Prompt: “I don’t need to go to bed, I’m not tired, I’ll be fine.”

It was supposed to have been a break, that night. A repose from the world of blue blood and biocomponents, of plastic parts and processors that you had lived in for the past few months. You had at last gotten the partners you had been begging for weeks, and with the addition of two more great minds you had made whiplash progress on the deviancy case you were working on.

Perhaps you weren’t quite there yet, but you could smell a breakthrough on the wind. Nobody would blame you for wanting a bit of an early celebration.

And it was just as you were ambling out of the bar, just a little bit past tipsy that you saw it – a dark figure rushing past, hunched posture, eyes darting side to side – a flash of blue underneath a hood. A checklist of items spelling “deviant” to your brain.

You were always on the hunt for that “good job” sticker of elementary school days. That rush of pride from a pat on the back, an acknowledgment of your skill from someone older and wiser than you. Sometimes it overrode your common sense. So, you, in your gently inebriated state, began to tail this android, not giving a single thought to the fact that this was a being stronger than you, faster than you, and more scared and more desperate than you.

When you had backed him into a corner, he turned to fight as all scared and desperate and cornered things do. You drew your gun and within seconds you were without it now, too, cornered into a fight you couldn’t win or run from. When he saw his chance to flee, you received a rush of determination in the form of a shock of adrenaline. The predator turned prey turned predator again. Before either he or you inside your drink-intoxicated brain could process it, you were on him, you were straddling him, you couldn’t let him get away, go for the most vulnerable part, the most vulnerable part.

Your fingers, now, tore through the buttoned front of his shirt, and locked around that cylinder in the centre of his abdomen. It came out with a plastic click, and all the android’s strength was gone. The acrid chemical smell of fresh thirium in the air. You were on your feet, and backing away now, still gripping the vital component in your hand as he flipped over as best as he could, now crawling towards you.

“No… no…” A static-laden breath, as he looked up into your eyes. “…Please… Please…”

You stood in silence for a hot few seconds, the android making his pitiful crawl and plea the whole while. You dropped the biocomponent at your feet.

Under your heel, it came apart with a cracking plastic sound.

“No-! Why…?” A breathy whimper. “Why…?”

You had no answer for him. He collapsed, and wept silently, face contorted in anguish until a minute had passed and suddenly it wasn’t, and he was still. The pavement was blue.

After the investigation that night, Hank drove you home.

“Hey, good job facing that deviant all on your own, kid,” he said just as he was pulling up in front of your apartment.

“It’s a shame you didn’t apprehend it in a functional state. Nonetheless, it will be a great benefit to our investigation. As of yet the only deviants we’ve seen have been relatively old models. This AP700 is the newest model deviant we’ve encountered outside of reports,” Connor added from the back seat.

There was your sticker. You sat in silence for a breath, staring out the windshield before you turned and exited the car. And then turned to lean your face underneath the roof to look at the two remaining occupants.

“He cried,” you said, and tiredly continued your way into your apartment.

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

You never took your coffee black before. Now, it was easier to go from cup to cup when you would just ignore the bitterness of the shitty precinct coffee rather than taking the extra time to sweeten it. Every second was precious, was worth something. You were standing in front of the coffee machine in the break room waiting for the pot to brew silently, going over the case files in your head again when you heard a voice approach you from behind.

“Well, you look like shit.”

You smirked a little and turned around. “Good morning, Hank. I wasn’t aware I had put on a mirror today.”

Hank scoffed, grabbing a paper cup and moving to stand next to you. You shifted to face his tall form and he made eye contact with you, quirking an eyebrow. “Morning? It’s one in the afternoon.”

“Well it’s morning for you, evidently, considering you’ve just arrived,” you teased and grinned, and as you heard the telltale low spluttering of the machine having finally expelled all the brewed coffee into the pot you picked it up and poured some out into both of your cups.

You lifted the cup up to your mouth and blew gently on the surface of the liquid as Hank was preparing his. “Fuckin’ Gavin’s MIA again today, the motherfucker…” You spoke up, and carefully took a sip. “Fowler’s said nothing so I guess he’s called in sick or something. Man, I don’t know how he gets away with having so many sick days.”

“As much as we all hate to say it, Gavin’s really, really good at what he does. When he decides to do it,” Hank admitted, eyes turning up from the coffee he was stirring to meet yours again. “That’s why we all put up with his bullshit.”

“God do I wish he’d do something now,” you chuckled lowly. “But there really was no other outcome huh? Serial killer whose victims are androids. Of course he’d drag his feet, and I’m left to pick up his slack.”

“Yeah. How’s that going for you, by the way?” There was an edge of concern slipping into his voice and you bristled. “When I said you looked like shit earlier, I meant it. You don’t look well, kid.”

You paused; too long, now he was certain to know something was up. “I’m fine,” you said curtly as your gaze flashed down to the floor.

“Listen,” he said as he leaned in towards you slightly. “I’m an old man but I’m not an idiot. You’ve changed in the past few weeks. And we- Connor and I are worried about you.”

You remained quiet, growing ever more uncomfortable under his scrutiny with the passing of the seconds.

“This case is wearing you out. Thirty years and I’ve seen it enough times before to know what’s going on. I know you’ve got the passion, but you’ve always known how to pace yourself so you don’t burn out. But this time - it’s like you’re obsessed. You’re starting to neglect everything that isn’t this case.” He looked at you in earnest. “What’s different this time?”

The hand that wasn’t holding your coffee curled up into a white-knuckled fist at your side. You were still as stone and just as silent, eyes still firmly locked on the linoleum tiles at your feet. You felt cold all over. What was different?

It was the thirium smell. Cobalt blue -  the crunching of plastic and metal. Oh how you spent bullets so carelessly. They were just machines. Their bodies hung in rows like your t r o p h i e s - you weren’t meant to be a killer. You weren’t a killer until a few tears were shed and suddenly you were tossed into the reality that you were every bit as depraved as a common criminal with a body count higher than most of the people you put in p r i s o n. And you enjoyed the hunt too, you sick fuck - you’re sick. You’re so fucking sick-

“This…” You looked up as you spoke under your breath, but not at Hank: just over his shoulder, and his eyebrows drew together at your thousand-yard stare. “This is atonement.”

You used his stunned silence as an opportunity to quickly steal away from the break room.

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

Your next door neighbor was a trusted friend. You tended to keep to yourself when it came to those cohabiting the same apartment block as you, but you were glad you allowed her the chance to enter your life.

You were sat curled up in the big chair in her living room that evening, and she across from you, laid feet up on the couch. She was in her early 40s and single, but seemly unconcerned about it. She was a wine mom without the “mom” aspect - lounging in a satin nightie and silk house robe, tucking locks of swept blonde hair behind her ears as you both sipped rosé from crystal glasses.

She could be blunt, and her advice tended to be dubious, but she was a keen listener - that was something you admired her for.

“I just feel so worn out. I can’t stop though. I can’t rest. I can’t let up until this fucker gets his justice,” you confided, staring up at the ceiling. “Nobody seems to get it. And it doesn’t help that I ended up partnered with fuckin’-” you shook your head in frustration “-Detective Reed. I’ve told you about him?” You looked over at her face and she nodded before you tilted your head back up. “Cunt, he is. Good detective but - God I couldn’t have been assigned a worse case with him.” You sipped from your glass.

“Tell me the details of this case,” she said, and you heard the flick of a lighter, and the smell of cigarette smoke hit your nostrils.

“I don’t think I could give you the details,” you said, “but - strong anti-android sentiment coming from Reed. And this killer targets androids. Nine bodies found so far - all AP700s with the same face. All killed by removal of the thirium pump regulator.” You shut your eyes. “God, it’s like this guy is mocking me,” you said. Of course it was odd that this killer killed in exactly the same way as you did on that pivotal night - exact same model, exact same method. It was a constant, chilling thought at the back of your mind, but you tried not to pay attention to it. There was no way it wasn’t just some fucked up coincidence. You weren’t so self-absorbed as to immediately assign yourself relevance in places where you didn’t belong.

You shifted in your seat, sitting up straighter from your lounging posture. “The crime scenes are almost immaculate… He leaves clues, but I’m positive he does it on purpose. Selects evidence to leave that bring me just close enough, but never quite there. Doesn’t let me connect the dots - whenever I get close, he throws a fucking wrench in the whole system that sends it all collapsing to the ground. And Gavin Reed sits on his ass while I do all the work.” Your eyes followed the tendrils of smoke coming from the end of her cigarette as they danced, raising up into the air before dissipating into the room.

“Okay first thing,” she said, and you met her green eyes as she sat up, taking a kindly expression. “I think you’re getting way too stressed out over a bunch of androids.”

You straightened in your seat, brows furrowing as you began to speak, hesitantly as she took a sip from her glass: “...What do you mean?”

“I mean, come on. Really, all the same model, and all the same face? It’s not like there aren’t a million androids identical to that! There’s only one of you. You can’t be replaced like they can in the event that you stress yourself to death. I mean, look at you! You look sickly.”

You took another sip from your glass, quick and nervous as you got up and turned around. You pursed your lips tight as a deep pit of disappointment began forming in your chest.

“I mean, it’s not like they can either. And- and beyond the fact that it’s my job to solve this case, I - I operate on the predication that all life is precious, and valuable, and irreplaceable, I -”

“Ask yourself: are they really alive? Maybe you’ve gotten yourself all mixed up in all this post-revolution confusion. Weren’t you the one who was just months before working so hard to understand and contain the whole deviancy thing?”

A face flashed through your mind - brown eyes casting an intense gaze, a stubborn lock of dark hair flopped over onto a forehead. A smile; one with teeth, one that reached all the way up to the corners of his eyes past cheeks just barely dusted blue. One that you looked forward to seeing and experiencing the warmth that it spread through your chest.

And another, tear streaked, pressed into the concrete in the November chill.

You whipped around. “Of- of course they are! Of course they’re alive!-” Your hands fidgeted, not quite knowing what to do, before you turned back again.

“God, I knew it. I knew it. Nobody understands,” you squeezed your eyes shut, your strained voice mumbled under your breath and you sighed, raising your face up to the ceiling as you blinked hard, trying to keep the frustrated tears at bay.

Your voice raised in volume, but it quivered. “You know, there- there was another AP700. A human gave him his body. A human gave him his mind. And we think- we think a human probably gave him whatever scrap of code in his programming that let him have… insight into the reality of his existence.”

You began to pace the length of the floor behind the couch, still holding the glass of wine, your voice raising and cracking, try as you did to contain it. “He- he risked everything- everything he ever had on the… vague hope that there might be some small corner of this fucked up world where he could experience more than the life of servitude he was born into.”

You stopped at the mirror she had hanging on the wall of her living room, and leaned in close. “And it was a human-” you reached out a shaky hand to the reflection of your face, before closing it into a fist, “-who stole all of that away from him in a moment of animalistic violence.” By this point your eyes were wide, your voice almost loud enough to be yelling.

In an instant all the intensity was gone from you, and you fell to a near-whisper. “Who watched, expressionless, as he died, weeping and hopeless on the ground.” Your eyes slipped closed, and with a shaky hand you raised the glass to your lips, quickly gulping down the remaining half-glass of wine. You turned around and walked to the coffee table where you set down the empty glass.

“He wasn’t the first, either,” you made direct eye contact with her face, her eyes wide, eyebrows raised as her mouth hung slightly agape. “Nor was he the last. And that’s the weight I have to carry for the rest of my life.” You gritted your teeth and sucked in a sharp breath, squinting your eyes as you reached the back of your sleeve up to wipe away the hot tears you now felt rolling down your face.

“Now another human is doing it again, and again, and again, and it’s like nobody cares but me. So that is why I am getting so stressed out over a bunch of androids.” You shut your eyes, and when you opened them you had broken the eye contact you held.

“I’m sorry. I have to go now,” you said, and you left her apartment.

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

The clock read 2 am. You were sitting at your desk at the precinct, once more throwing yourself into the world of brown file folders and clear glass tablets, desk terminal glowing blinding blue in your eyes in the low light. You were bothered endlessly by your vent-session gone wrong earlier in the day, and you were left restless for the remainder of the night, so you did what you always did now when you were unsure of how to occupy yourself: ruminate over the case files. Analyze, agonize, again and again.

You could feel the pull of exhaustion, even into your second cup of coffee, but you willed yourself to stay awake. You were afraid you would dream.

You were growing agitated now, but for a different reason than before. By this point, you saw perfect replications of all the photographs taken in your brain, could probably recite all the reports and analyses by heart, but still you made no progress. You got nowhere, endlessly spinning your wheels for the slight chance that you might gain some sudden, magic insight that caught the killer.

One thing you never found intact were the androids memories, so therefore you had no record of the killer’s physical form. The processor and memory units were both destroyed after the android had shutdown following the removal of their thirium pump regulator. Performing only the former action would suffice to kill an android, but this murderer made sure they suffered for those few minutes before wiping them not only of any trace of himself, but of themself too. An identity hidden, an identity destroyed. It was all so infuriating-

“Y/N?” A voice called from behind you, footsteps echoing throughout the still silence of the night. You took a sip from the coffee mug you held in your hands before leaning back in the office chair and swiveling it around to face the person approaching.

“Connor,” you beamed at him, and he shot back that warm half-smile that crept in along the edges of your mind, fighting off the frustration consuming your consciousness. “What are you doing here?”

He was carrying his coat folded over his arms that were crossed in front of his stomach. You could see, vaguely through his white dress shirt, the outline of his arms and chest, you caught a glimpse of his collarbone peeking out from behind the undone top two buttons - he never did that. You liked it. “Hank sent me to check up on you. He seemed especially worried about you today.” He laid his jacket over the rolling chair sat at the desk opposite yours and brought it over, sitting leaning his front against the back of the chair. “I went to your apartment but you weren’t there. Given the information Hank told me, I thought you might be here otherwise.” The corners of your lips drew out, and you gestured your hands outwards to match.

He glanced briefly down at the mug in your hands, before looking back up at you. “You shouldn’t be drinking coffee this late. It will disrupt your sleep schedule.” You contemplated throwing a smart remark at him, but as you looked down into the deep brown liquid you decided to slowly set it down onto the desk - in all truth, that small expression of concern woke some kind of feeling in you, fleeting but warm all the same, and you didn’t want to argue with it. Your eyes followed the mug, and then flitted back up to meet Connor’s gaze - more deep brown. He looked at you so sweetly, and you swallowed thick and heavy, feeling like you would melt in his vision.

His voice took on a softer tone: “Are you alright, Y/N? Although your stress levels have decreased since I entered the room, they are still quite high. It isn’t ideal for humans to endure this kind of strain for so long.”

You averted your gaze to the floor. “I’m alright. I promise,” you muttered, and attempted to smile, but you cursed internally as you felt the fact that it didn’t reach your eyes. Connor wouldn’t be fooled.

“You can trust me, you know,” he spoke slowly, and you heard the shuffle of clothes as he reached out across the desk. You startled slightly as you felt his hand clasp over yours - he was warm, god, he was warm. “...I’ve noticed your overall health and wellness decline since being assigned to this case.” He paused, thinking, contemplating his next words. “I would be lying if I said it wasn’t hard to watch, as you are someone… important to me.” Neither of you moved for a hot second. You felt your face heat up and your lips part as your pulse and breathing began to quicken, before Connor spoke again: “Maybe you should go home and rest for now. You need sleep.”

“I don’t need to go to bed. I’m not tired. I’ll be fine,” you said. Slowly, you pulled your hand out from underneath his before standing up and crossing your arms over your chest, shoulders hunched over guardedly. “I’m just so… defeated. I’m at my wit’s end, Connor. I work and I work and I work and I get nowhere on this case, and Gavin’s doing jack shit, and god knows how long until the next victim turns up!” You exclaimed.

Connor stood and moved in close to you, raising his hands to gently place them around your upper arms, and you dropped your defensive posture - he always had such a way of calming you, of bringing you back down when your emotions mounted high. You met his eyes and he asked earnestly: “Is that the whole truth?”

You tilted your head, eyebrows drawing slightly together. “What do you mean?”

“Hank told me you said something about this being ‘your atonement’,” he said. “I know the murders in this case bear a striking - almost identical - resemblance to one of the androids you apprehended on the deviancy case. One that you were particularly emotional about.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I want you to know that you don’t have to work yourself so hard because you feel the need to right what you did wrong that day. You don’t have to let your guilt take hold of your life like this,” he continued. You straightened in his hold, not yet pulling away but-

You closed your eyes. “How long do you perceive a minute to be, in comparison to us humans?” You asked, opening them again and staring directly into Connor’s gaze.

“I don’t know how to answer that, since I have no other frame of reference to compare it to.”

You paused for a split second. “I remember this thing I read, this concept I kept hearing about. That it was likely that the faster a being processes information, the slower they perceive an objective measure of time to be,” you said. “I think about that so often,” you shook your head, still not breaking eye contact. “It only took a minute for him to shut down. I just wonder: how long was he in that minute for? In that state of having given up, the defeat, the crippling sadness, after I stole from him a life of freedom he hadn’t even tasted yet?”

“Perhaps you don’t understand, but I have to do this. For myself, and because nobody else other than you, me, and Hank in this whole godforsaken police force gives enough of a shit about androids to seriously investigate their murders,” you said.

“You shouldn’t let it get to the point where it affects your wellbeing,” he said kindly.

“It’s not. I’m fine, Connor,” you said, a little exasperated.

“It’s two in the morning. At the very least will you go home tonight and sleep?-”

“I told you I’m not tired, and I don’t need to sleep right now.” There was a frustrated edge creeping into your voice that you tried to keep at bay, but you were growing annoyed with his insisting.

“Fine,” he said, his grip tightening just slightly, enough to accentuate his urgency. “You want to solve this case? Well I’m telling you that there have been measurable, observable declines in both your mental acuity and physical functioning since you were assigned to investigate this killer. You are jeopardizing your investigation by continuing on this path where you obsess over the case and refuse to take measures to take care of yourself.”

You jerked yourself out of his grip. All the warm feelings at last entirely gone from you, you backed away a step as you narrowed your eyes at Connor. “Oh, so you’re going to be like that now? I don’t have to fuckin’ listen to you, Connor! So either you drop that tone or kindly piss off, thank you-” You were moving to sit back in your chair when Connor’s hand darted out and held your arm tightly, a hold that was almost bruising, and you whipped your head back around, face twisting in clear anger now, as he spoke this time with more intensity.

“Y/N if you do not go home and rest I will have no choice but to come in tomorrow and report to Captain Fowler that you are too emotionally compromised to effectively carry out this-”

“-OH, fucking REALLY?” You had an incredulous expression on your face. “Wow, that’s- Okay. Fine.” You spat, and gathering all your strength you took hold of his wrist and ripped his hand away from you, throwing the extended limb back in his direction with enough force that you surprised him and caused him to stumble back. There was a smile on your face you couldn’t contain, but you were sure you looked absolutely deranged, eyes wide and trembling with anger.

“Wait, Y/N, please-” His voice and expression softened now, but it was too late.

“Nope! Whatever! I’m going home!” You turned to your desk and quickly, angrily, you stacked the files and all the tablets, and less pushed and more hit the power button on the computer terminal, at which point you began hastily shoving the materials you’d brought from home into the backpack you had sitting under your desk. You ignored Connor’s pleas as you threw on your jacket and slung your bag on one shoulder, making a point to shove past him as you made your way out of the grid of desks.

“Y/N, please, I’m begging you to listen-” An edge of desperation was now creeping into his voice, but you cut him off.

“Good night, Connor,” you seethed from across the room, and hurried your way out. He didn’t make an effort to follow you.

When you arrived home, you went straight to bed.

[dragon-fics]

S&H: Ch. 17 Sweet Treats (NSFW)

Chapter summary: Zion visits Molten during Halloween, and dresses up for his boyfriend.

Notes, Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15, Ch. 16, Ch. 17, Ch. 18, Ch. 19, Ch. 20, Ch. 21, Ch. 22, Ch. 23, Ch. 24, Ch. 25, Ch. 26, Ch. 27

Molten walked passed the kitchen table and grabbed another piece of chewy candy from the bright orange jack-o’-lantern bowl that sat in the middle of it. It was Halloween, the 31 of October, just like every other year. He wore a black hoodie to keep himself warm.

It was around midday and the autumn cold had already crawled into his cold cottage—he was already starting to wear fluffy pyjamas, which no one else ever saw. Not even CJ, with whom he was still sharing the home with.

“If you keep eating the sweets, we’ll have nothing for the Trick or Treat-ers,” CJ stated, taking a piece of his own.

“If you keep sleeping with my sister under the same roof as me, I’ll have to kick you out.” Molten replied with the same blank voice.

“You said you were ok with it,” CJ said, “so that’s on you.” Molten turned around.

“Not every second night,” he shot back.

“It’s not every second night. Besides, I thought you’d understand, having your own chosen one and all,” CJ said.

“Don’t bring me and Zion into your straight couple stuff.” He sighed. “I’m not against you two being together—if anything I’m happy ‘Strike has found someone as decent as you, just... do it somewhere else, alright?” He said, draining off the last of his morning mocha. He placed it in the sink as the Halloween themed doorbell out front ran. His brow furrowed as he wondered who it might be. He looked to CJ, who shrugged.

Molten made his way towards the front door and opened it. On the other side was Zion, dressed in a dark jumper and pale scarf.

“You and your surprises,” Molten muttered.

“Happy Halloween to you too,” Zion replied, reaching up to peck Molten on the cheek.

CJ sighed audibly and passed the two, heading towards his dusty Volkswagen Golf. “We’re not done with that,” he stated.

Zion looked at Molten. “Don’t ask,” Molten said dryly. Zion shrugged and headed inside.

*-*-*-*

“Finally,” Molten sighed. It had gone past 9, and they had run out of sweets. He slouched into the sofa, right beside Zion, in front of the stove fireplace and the on-wall TV. The opening credits to The Nightmare Before Christmas ended as he put his arm around Zion.

“What did you think of the take out?” Molten asked, dimming the lights with a small remote and placing it on the table. Food in Wyrmia had a lot more flavour than Roanian food—in Molten’s opinion.

“Different,” he said, “but nice.” He cuddled into Molten’s side. “By the way, I’ll have something for you later,” he whispered, teleporting a bowl of warm popcorn onto the coffee table.

“And what type of something is that?” Molten asked, seduced.

“You’ll see,” Zion replied smugly.

Over an hour later, when the movie was finished, Zion disappeared as Molten cleared up the sitting room, popping the kernels with his fire breath and eating them.

Come to the bedroom... Zion said in Molten’s head, seductively.

Molten brought the bowl back to the kitchen and headed towards the bedroom. When he opened the door, Zion wore a red and white cheerleader outfit, consisting of a crop top and skirt. Molten’s cheeks flushed a dark shade of blue. “Fuck,” he whispered, feeling himself get hard. He had always liked Zion’s curves, and he had always found skirts arousing—no matter the gender of the person who wore them.

Zion giggled and came closer, closing the door with his gold magic. “Someone seems excited,” he teased, putting a hand on Molten’s bulge.

“Fuck you,” Molten said.

“Well, that’s kind of the plan,” Zion smirked, putting Molten’s hand on his hips.

Molten put his arm around Zion’s waist. “You better finish what you started,” he said, bringing him closer.

“I plan to,” he replied. He turned around and Molten brought him back towards him, so his bulge rested in between Zion’s cheeks. He kept his hands on his hips. He could feel an undergarment under the skirt and picked at it with his nail.

“Take it off,” he whispered, “I want you bare under that skirt,” he said, kissing Zion’s neck.

“Yes, Daddy,” Zion whispered back, letting out a whimper. Molten moved back as he reached under the skirt and slipped off a red thong. He dropped it on the floor and pressing himself against Molten. “It feels nice to have that off,” he sighed, practically grinding on Molten.

Molten smirked. “Prince colours all the way, huh?” He placed his hands on Zion’s hip. Zion groaned and grabbed the back of his neck, Molten slid one hand up Zion’s torso, under his crop top.

“I like to keep it traditional,” Zion teased. Gold magic wrapped around his horn as he chanted something in Roana tongue—the Magic Language mages called it. Zion removed his clothes, and Molten felt a sudden chill as the cool air of his bedroom hit his scales. A shiver ran through him, just before Zion pressed himself against his scales.

Molten started by kissing Zion’s neck and nipping at it, getting soft moans from him. Zion moved his hand from his neck to his cheek. “Lay on the bed,” Molten ordered. Zion did as he was told and sat on the bed. He sat with his knees bent and separated. As Molten got near him, he saw a clear viscous liquid ooze from his hole. He gave him a questioning look.

“I’m all prepared for you, Daddy,” he said seductively. Molten leaned in and captured his lips.

“Are you ready for a ride, Horsey?” He asked in a teasing tone.

Zion moaned. “Always for you, Daddy.”

[thelastifntdragonrider]

HI! I’m putting all of the things i’ve been tagged in from the past couple of weeks that i haven’t answered yet bc i’m working hard on an admission portfolio for university and i really want to get into Sheridan, so yep lots of work and lots of art. i am also working on the HTTYD fandom reading (please sign up) and the next chapters of J’Imagine and No Cannon Shall Sink This Ship. Anyways, onto the tagged: 

get to know me meme: tagged by @animalsarepeople2​ thank youuuu! 

nicknames: Kei / Keiko *i explain this in a question down there somewhere 

Gender: Female 

Star Sign: Libra

MBTI Type: INFJ 

Height: 163cm 

Time: 17:07 (by the time I finished all of these it’s 18:36) 

Birthday: February 25 

Favourite Bands: Beatles, Young Rising Sons, Clean Bandits, Lovelyz, Infinite 

Favourite Solo Artists: Ailee, Ed Sheeran 

Song Stuck in My Head: 1cm by Lovelyz 

Last Movie Watched: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with Johnny Depp

Last Show Watched: I just binge watched Stranger Things 

When I created my blog: July 15, 2013/June 27, 2017

What I post about: httyd, animated movies, animation

Last thing I Googled: information about Sheridan and character rotation 

Other blogs I have: my main blog @tokkeiko

Following: 100, though I want to find more good blogs, any recs anyone? 

Followers: in total from both blogs, 200 or something 

Favourite colour: Green 

Average hours of sleep: 8-ish 

Lucky number: 7

Instruments: piano, oboe 

What I’m wearing: jeans and my current favourite sweater which is grey with gold spots 

Number of blankets: I need to remember to find another one bc my room is freezing when I wake up in the morning

Dream Job: story artist at Disney 

Dream trip: i just want to get out of my city rn 

Favourite food: i’m just hungry rn, give me anything, but favourite food, among others, is salted caramel truffle blizzard from the good old DQ (#lovemydq) 

Music ask, tagged by @yv-sketches THANKS!!!! 

10 songs that you are listening to right now; 

my current favourite playlist is called Shut Up and Dance:

“Elle Me Dit” Mika 

“Red Balloon” Charli XCX 

“Dancing in the Dark” Rihanna 

“Shut Up and Dance” Walk the Moon

“Red and Gold” Young Rising Sons 

“Can’t Stop the Feeling” Justin Timberlake 

“Better When I’m Dancing” Meghan Trainor 

“I Bet My Life” Imagine Dragons 

“Into a Fantasy” Alexander Rybak 

“Get Back Up Again” Anna Kendrick

Tag Game, taggged by @thepurplewriter333 ty friend-o! 

Nicknames: Keiko/Kei/Spirit/Sweet Potato 

Gender: Female

Star Sign; Pisces 

Height: 163cm 

Sexuality: probably straight 

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff!!!

Favourite animals: uhhhh... orcas probably 

Average hours spent sleeping: 8 i think, i’m not bothering with math rn 

Dogs or cats: KITTY, all of my sibilings have a significant other and all of their significant others’ have cats and why can’t I have a s/o with a cat???

number of blankets sleeping: during the winter, aka now already, two 

Dream trip: geeeeetttt meeeee ouuuuttt offf thissss citttyyyyy

Dream job: Story artist at Disney 

when I made this account: June 27. 2017

why I made this account: bc i wanted a place to reblog all of the httyd stuff without loosing followers on my other blog 

# of followers: like 47, I think? I recently got more. follow me i am cool person 

92 statements, tagged by @thepurplewriter333 thanks for the double tag! 

Last: 

Drink: Tim Hortons’ Double Double (got to stay caffeinatedddddddd) 

 Phone Call: Home to get a ride home 

Text message: Friend to go hang out later

Song You Listened To: Shooting Star by Lovelyz

Time You Cried: uhhhhhhhh... oh, like a month ago, it was a bad week and then I watched Home and my emotions were already out of wack so I basically sobbed near the end 

Have you: 

Dated someone twice: Nope 

Kissed someone and regretted it: Nope, i’m boring

Been cheated on: nope 

Lost someone special: nope 

Been depressed: i feel like it’s hard to be a university student and not get depressed 

Gotten drunk and thrown up: i am a boring party person and yeah, no i haven’t 

List 3 favourite colours: 

Green

Blue 

Gold 

In the last year have you: 

made new friends: Yeahhhh

fallen out of love: nopppeee...?

Laughed until you cried: like every other day

Found someone was talking about you: in a good way; nope. In a bad way: yeah too many times

found out who your friends are: yeahhhhhh

kissed someone on your FB list: okay someday, i’ll have more interesting answers 

General: 

how many FB friends do you know IRL: 99% of them 

Do you have any pets: nope 

Do you want to change your name: i recently thought about dropping my middle name, but like it has significance to my parents so probably won’t happen and my middle name doesn’t do anything so idk 

what did you do for your last birthday: Keep in mind that I turned 18: my friends and I went to Build-A-Bear and they got me a Build-A-Bear Toothless. 

What time do you wake up: my alarms on early days are 7:00, 7:05, 7:15, 7:25, 7:35, 7:45, 8:00. I naturally wake up at 9-ish 

What were you doing at midnight last night: Sleeping :D 

Name something you can’t wait for: to (hopefully) get accepted into Sheridan and start a new adventure out there.

When was the last time you saw your mom: she’s in the kitchen with me 

what is one thing you wish you could change in your life: i wish that I could’ve figured out what I wanted to do with life so that I could’ve started Sheridan this year 

What are you listening to right now: Sheridan portfolio reviews, tips, etc. (Starting to see a pattern here?) 

Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: friend’s dad. he’s a cool dad. 

Something that is getting on your nerves: when people are packing up their stuff before the professor is finished talking in the last 5 minutes of class. URGH stop moving ppl this stuff is important 

Most visited website: FB, YT, tumblr 

Mole(s): couple

Mark(s): I have freckles (might be moles) on each cheek under both eyes. 

Childhood dream: when you’re a kid, you’re really only exposed to teacher, doctor, police man and whatever your parents are. I think I defaulted to an artist when adults asked. 

Hair colour: black, I have silver hairs though, they stick out on the black hair a lot 

long or short hair: I always grow my hair out and then cut off 12 inches to donate to cancer wigs  

Do you have a crush on someone: not currently, though i had a crush on a guy for like 5 years, so even now, 5 years later, I get happy when I think about him 

Piercings: no, i really think a conch piercing would be nice though 

Blood type: ... A I think, i’ve never gotten tested, but according to genetics, I should be an A 

Nicknames: my full name is Keiko, but everyone called me Kei as a kid, but during high school, I started introducing myself as Keiko, so some people call me Kei, some people call me Keiko, one of them is a nickname, depending on which way you think about it, 

Relationship Status: Egg salad. 

Zodiac: Pisces 

Pronouns: She/her

Favourite TV show: Friends 

Right or left handed: Right, but recently I’ve been trying to teach myself to draw with my left hand 

Surgery: Wisdom teeth 

Hair dyed a different colour: nope, but I think I might try a ombre some day 

Sports: ballet since I was 4ish, ballet is a sport, come fight me on it if you dare 

Vacation: a lot of camping when I was younger, I’ve been to Japan twice, and then places across Canada

Pair of trainers: are we talking about trainers as in shoes? bc then ankle high all black vans. 

More General: 

Eating: this is taking so long I stopped and had supper between these sections

Drinking: Double Double (Tim’s coffee, two creams, two sugars), gotta stay AWaaaaaaaaaaKE

I’m about to: draw character designs or go out to coffee shop to study with friends 

Want: to get into Sheridan so so so so so badly 

Get married: I’m still single, want to put my career first, so yep not for a little while 

Career: i’m a cake decorator rn, see my cakes on my insta @tanakeiart 

Hugs or Kisses: hUG mE

Lips or eyes: Eyes, (though I am supper bad at making eye contact) 

Shorter or taller: would be nice to be slightly taller... 

Older or younger: like to date or something? I think high school rule is a good rule, but rn looking at niners mAN they are tiny

Nice arms or stomach: arms to hug meeeeee

Sensitive or loud: i think I would need a loud person to compliment me 

Hook up or relationship: relationship bc you have a standing plus one to everything and rn being single I have to text like 5 friends to find someone to go with me to something 

Troublemaker or hesitant: hesitant 

Have you ever: 

kissed a stranger: Nope 

Drank hard liquor: I only have like four months until my 19th so like i’ll go drinking then 

Lost Glasses/contact lenses: funny story: family and i were in Japan and we were at Kinkaku-ji and then i realize that one of my eyes have gone fuzzy, so thinking that there is something on the lens, i take my glasses off and my lens had fallen out of the frame. my family literally crawled around trying to find my lost lens, we did find it, but we couldn’t find a small screw that would hold the lens in. my dad fixed it with a twist tie.

turned someone down: nobody likes me so nobody has asked me so i have never turned someone down 

broken someone’s heart: no 

had your heart broken: yeah, by a friend. It is shATTERing 

been arrested: not even a parking ticket in my name 

cried when someone died: no, i am some kind of emotionless egg

fallen for a friend: my heart easily leaps and often trips falls and gets lost

Do you believe in:

yourself: yes, I believe that I can get in, I believe that I can be what I want to be. 

Miracles: I believe in karma more than miracles 

Love at first sight: yes, but not in the way that media portrays it 

Santa claus: nah 

Kiss on the first date: this is weirdly phrased. 

other: 

current best friend name: becky 

Eye colour: brown 

Favourite movie: the other day i was procrastinating and made an official list of favourite movies, which still has a lot of ties: 1/2: httyd 1/2, 3/4: moana, big hero 6, 5/6/7: wreck it ralph, tangled, rise of the guardians,  8/9/10: back to the future 1-3 

wow that took a lot of time, but thanks for tagging me! I’m tagging @thepurplewriter333 @yv-sketches and @animalsarepeople2 on the ones that you didn’t tag me in! also tagging @katlikespie @crazilexa and @fading-shadows for whichever one/s you want to do! 

[lonelypond]

Casual Lunacy, Chapter 3

Love Live, NicoMaki main pairing, 2K, chapter 3/?

En-Thrall-Ed

Maki ditched Rin and Hanayo as soon as they got near campus and ran home, transforming in the shed and letting herself in the backdoor. Her mother was in bed, her father had been called in to St.Joseph’s. But sleep wasn’t even lurking. She sat in the TV room, music videos running on the screen, twisting Nico’s scarf between her hands. Not a strong Nico smell and someone else’s mixed in slightly, a recent gift maybe...but there was still the trace of peach and vanilla and musk and magic that had become something she searched for whenever she went outside.

“Maki?” Her mother stood in the doorway, bathrobe wrapped around her nightgown.

“Was the music too loud?” Maki stretched for the remote, muting some random K-Pop group.

“A little.” Her mother smiled, “but I’m glad to see you.”

“Yeah,” Maki returned to her default sprawl along the couch’s length, “We’ve both been busy.”

“Out for a prowl tonight?” her mother wondered.

Maki blushed, dipping her head, “Just a brief one.”

“Be careful. And be discreet.” Maki had gotten the same warning in the same strict tone ever since her first transformation at the age of eight.

Pacing back and forth in front of Cup o’ probably didn’t meet her mother’s definition of discreet but Maki just opted to nod and smile, unmuting the TV while her mom searched her non communicative daughter’s face and posture for any cues.

“How is your Cognitive Psychology class?” Maki’s mother decided to take this rare moment as an opportunity.

Maki shrugged, “The cognitive aspects are more interesting than the social so it’s an improvement on last quarter.”

“Are you really interested in Psychology?” Her mother made certain to drain any judgement out of her voice as Maki seemed in a talkative mood.

“With the headache clinic, Papa spends so much time talking about how people’s actions affect their health, I thought it might be beneficial to get some insights into behavioral sciences.”

“But do you enjoy it?”

Maki wondered what her mother wanted her to say. The most honest answer would be ‘not as much as music, but I know I’m expected to pick some scientific major to become the latest Dr. Nishikino in the long line of doctoring Nishikinos’. But this was only her freshman year, Maki still had a few quarters to play the piano, take a music composition class occasionally and dabble her way through sciences until one of them called to her like music -- or the moon.

“I’ll probably take my stats class next quarter and knock off a Distribution requirement in Anthropology. I think there’s an ethnomusicology one being offered.”

“Sounds like you have a plan.”

Maki yawned, starting to feel the run in her muscles, “I’m going to take a hot shower.”

“Good night, Maki.” Her mother smiled fondly as her daughter slowly rose from the couch. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  Nico hadn’t run into any obstacles, furry or otherwise, on her way to rehearsal this afternoon. She wasn’t on the call sheet, but she wanted to get a feel for the production and today, they were working on the choreography for the Jonathan Harker and the Three Sisters big confrontation scene. Micah Ling, the actor playing her character’s fiancee, Harker, was a friend of Nico’s. They’d been in a few ensembles together.

Nico recognized a certain dark haired woman lurking in the back row and slid next to her, voice an admonitory whisper, “You can’t just come to rehearsals to ogle the dancers, Nozomi.”

Nozomi raised an eyebrow and put on the sweet smile that had never once tricked Nico about the depths of dark truths Nozomi was willing to push, “You’re here as well, Nico-chi.”

Nico slouched in her seat, smugly confident, “Micah invited me. We’re helping each other.” Nico tapped the armrest between her and Nozomi to make sure she had the green eyed gossip’s attention, “I’m mostly here to pick up tips on how the dancers express being under Dracula’s thrall.”

“Thrall....” Nozomi drawled.

“Thrall.” Nico countered, decisively.

Nozomi giggled, “Oh, Nico-chi, you’re so amusing.”

Nico shrugged, watching the three women on stage weave around Micah, wondering which one Nozomi was here stalking. As far as she could tell, Nozomi didn’t have a type, unless it were easily embarrassed so Nozomi could have as much fun as possible teasing them. Nico had had to intervene when Nozomi had gone to far with Umi one night and now if she wanted to see Nozomi, Nico went to her place. Umi had a long memory.

“Speaking of ogling, how’s your new friend, Nico-chi?” Nozomi’s voice had her usual mocking undertone.

Nico was paying close attention to the dancers so her reply was matter of fact. “Princess? She ended up at Cup o’ last night, but I still haven’t met her owner. Just two goofy girls who might know the owner.”

 Nozomi turned around in her seat, “You really did meet a dog?”

 Nico chuckled, “And she is a pretty redhead.”

Nozomi stared at Nico, genuinely puzzled, and then the tallest dancer, a lithe blonde crawled to the front of the stage, her movements long, slow and seductive, and Nico smirked at how fast her friend dropped their conversation. Crush mystery solved. Cue Nico’s chance to bait.

“I didn’t know you liked blondes, Nozo?”

Nozomi hissed out of the side of her mouth at Nico, hand gripping the armrest, “Her name’s Eli, she’s in my Economics of Gender class and she never gets a question wrong.”

Obviously not the crush of just a moment so Nico let herself get absorbed in the action happening onstage. How did one cue the audience to ‘under vampiric thrall?”

 Maki had to eat lunch, she was starved and the dorm cafeteria was the closest but that meant Rin. Maybe if she just grabbed some cereal and ran, she could avoid her intrusive, seemingly caring friend.

Nope. Maki set foot on the stairs leading to the dorm and she felt someone grab her in a hug. Rin.

“Maki Maki Maki. Your barista is so cute.” Rin shouted.

Maki pried Rin off, “Shut it, Rin. She’s not my barista. We’re not even friends. She’s just interesting. A little.”

“I bet Princess wants Nico to take her for a walk.” Rin pushed Maki into the line.

“What, like Hanayo does with you?” But Maki’s attempt at withering scorn was ruined when Rin nodded eagerly, excited by the idea.

“Rin and Maki can play and Nico and Kayochin can talk. It’d be awesome.”

Maki groaned. Needling Rin about how she behaved around Hanayo never had any traction. They just orbited each other in a state of mutual adoration that deflected any harassment or criticism by others. But Rin wouldn’t understand ‘discreet.’ Maki stopped and dragged Rin out of line, letting her eyes go full werewolf glow green to impress upon Rin the seriousness of her next statement, “Nico can never know about us, Rin.”

 “But…” Rin’s green eyes dimmed.

“Never.”

“She seems nice.” Rin pleaded as Maki’s grip on her arm tightened enough to bruise.

“Rin.” Maki snarled again, loud enough to draw attention, eyes commanding agreement from Rin.

“Okay, Maki.” Rin hung her head, and looked so sad Maki was sure Rin understood the gravity of the situation. “But Rin was excited about a new friend.”

Maki’s tried to make her voice soothing as she released Rin, “Friend, yes, but you know we can’t trust just anyone.”

Rin nodded and Maki felt a surge of empathy. Rin was so close to her animal side that it was hard for the smaller girl to hide it. Without Hanayo, Maki didn’t know what Rin would do. The other two girls had met in elementary school. Hanayo had witnessed Rin transform at the age of 5 and been by her side ever since. Maki wondered what it would be like to have someone she could rely on like that in her life.

“Let’s get lunch,” Maki pushed Rin back toward the line.

 Lunch, check. No class for another hour. Maki would have to remember to reserve a practice room for afternoons like this. Rin had gone off to her classes; Hanayo had an appointment with her advisor. The snow on the Lakefill was still fresh and relatively crisp to walk through...Maki had fun jumping into larger drifts, dragging her boots through and enjoying the sun as she drifted in the direction of Norris.

Nico...musk, peach, vanilla, magic, coffee, so close...just left Norris? Maki felt herself drawn in that direction and pushed through a snowbank, only to trip over a student veering into her path. Maki stumbled forward and realized a surprised Nico was practically in her arms, also suddenly aware that she’d caused Nico’s coffee to spill. Now Maki’s fisherman’s sweater had coffee beading off it.

Nico’s voice snapped, “So you drink coffee but you don’t want anyone else to?”

Maki was still thrown off by the sudden appearance of Nico and found herself muttering an indecipherable excuse as the shorter woman, enveloped in a voluminous white quilted parka, brushed some of the liquid off Maki’s sweater with a pink mittened hand.

Nico laughed, “Nico is kidding, Maki, student, coffee, black, fancy mansion, serious sweater. But you do owe Nico a coffee now.”

Maki met Nico’s eyes, the smaller woman gleamed at her and reached out to yank her back Norris-ward. “Ok.” Maki managed to squeak out.

“Enthusiasm, I like that.” Nico kept towing and teasing as Maki found herself tripping along.

Get it together, Nishikino, she told herself, ask a question, “Do you have a class, N...N...Nico?”

“No. Music rehearsal later for the play later. Nico stopped by to watch one of the other scenes and think about how to play someone under a thrall.”

Thrall? Maki wondered what exactly the play was about? Werewolf form wasn’t the best for retaining details and nuances, but Maki couldn’t remember if Nico had said what she was doing.

“Thrall?” Maki stepped ahead to open the student center door for Nico who nodded gratefully as she swept past.

“Didn’t I tell you? Oh, I hadn’t gotten the part yet, that night. Dracula bites Nico and Nico is in a trance.”

“Bites?” Nico kept rushing through words and Maki found herself getting a bit dizzy from the storyboard of visuals her brain was creating as she struggled to keep up with Nico’s trajectory toward the Dunkin Donuts counter.

“Oh, no actual biting. Or fluid exchange. Nico is very careful.” Nico glanced speculatively at Maki, “Nico skipped the donut last time.”

Maki pulled out her wallet and ordered, “Two coffees and two donuts, one, toasted coconut, one…?” She turned to Nico.

“Strawberry frosted please. And make my coffee a medium in a large cup.”

Maki watched the server put a very pink donut on a napkin. “Nothing should be that pink.”

“Nico is that pink.”

“On the inside, yes, after eating that.” Maki moved to a table at the window looking out over the Lakefill. “Like a mutant.”

Nico snorted as she slid across from Maki, “Nico is 100% Cute Girl ™ .”

Maki took a bite of her donut, watching as Nico poured creamer into her coffee, lots of creamer. That explained the larger cup. “Do you even like coffee?”

“Shush, serious sweater girl. Nico is a professional and knows what she’s doing.” And Nico winked. Then they both started sipping their coffee, with Maki yelping at the heat on her lip. She refused Nico’s offer of creamer to dilute the coffee, but did hold the chilled metal container against her lip.

“That’s embarrassing. And unhygienic.” Nico chided.

Maki let her eyes go wide, “But it hurts.”

“There we go with the pouty puppy eyes. Now I really recognize you.” Nico stole a chunk of Maki’s donut. “So do you have a class soon?”

“Probably in a half hour. Freshman seminar.”

“Oh, WCAS.”

“Yep.” Maki put down the creamer and tried her coffee again. Drinkable.

“Nico is a theatre major.”

 “Northwestern’s a good school for it.” Maki remembered hearing that sometime.

“Exactly. The only one.” Nico slammed her coffee cup down, “Nico was expecting to be in LA by now, but Fangs is the opportunity Nico was waiting for.”

“F...fangs…” Maki spit her coffee out and Nico grabbed a napkin to clean the table between them, frowning.

“Fangs...the play Nico is starring in. Don’t you pay attention to what’s going on on campus?”

“No.” Maki said flatly, amused by how Nico’s mouth dropped open.

Nico made a fairly random and highly amusing exasperated noise, Maki couldn’t help grinning, canine tooth peeking out. Nico glowered at her audience’s disrespect. “Nico has to run but stop by Cup o’ tomorrow night and Nico will explain the variety of arts this campus offers.” Nico pfffffed, her cheeks puffed out. “Freshmen.”

“Maybe.” Maki winked, Nico shook her head, corner of her mouth almost quirked into a smile.

“Thanks for the donut, Maki.” Nico air kissed and ran off, leaving Maki with half a coconut crusted donut she didn’t actually want to eat. Fangs. Vampire. Nico. More visuals to process.

A/N I like terrible puns. Share some (ʃƪ¬‿¬)

Casual Lunacy is now officially set at my alma mater, since I don't have time to research or make up another college, but it is definitely an AU Northwestern,as I haven't been back in awhile. Theatre department details are mostly my invention as I spent most of my time between Lakefill, library and books related to Shakespeare, Poe and whatever I was researching outside of classes any particular quarter.

Thanks for reading and for those of you who might miss her, Princess is eager for her return.

Comments lacking puns or poetry are also gladly accepted d(-_^)

[euphoric-melancholyy]

On Sleepless Roads (2/3)

Summary: A S6 Canon divergence.  There’s an irony, she supposes, that something created to pull one into eternal sleep, is now a barrier to any sleep. Her body fights against the maddening exhaustion. She’s just so tired, so fucking tired and she can’t keep going like this.

Ao3  FF Part 1  Part 3

The ice chills his hand as he presses it against where she says the pain is sharpest. But her body is warm as it curves into his, her head resting on his shoulder and arm slung across his middle.

“Thrown against the clock tower,” she answers without the question being presented. Earlier she had tried to reassure him that it just felt like a throbbing muscle soreness, no glass to show for the nonexistent incident. It didn't work, even if her pain was not quite as dire as the night before.

He kisses the crown of her head and pulls her tighter, wishing that it were easier for her to fulfil her promise that she would sleep for weeks. She’s given so much of herself, he isn’t sure what there is left to give, but the title of Savior continues to demand more, to take and take. Its cost her a childhood surrounded by love and robbed her of sleep for months. And now. . .

“Hey, I’m okay-”

“Swan, you’re in pain. You can’t sleep, you-”

“You.” she thumbs the outline of his jaw. “I have you. The pain is already going away and now it’s just you and me, alive. That’s all that matters. And in a few hours, I’m gonna go to the station and do my job. I've functioned on a lot less.”

“Emma, you need sleep.”

“I love you.” It isn’t the first time she’s said it without looking at him, yet his heart flutters just the same. She sounds so tired, but he thinks it adds to the sincerity, her voice cracking with the truth of her words. His lips capture hers in response, turning her body to where it rests atop his as her arms find their way around his neck. Their languid pace is slowed with her smile, so big he has to pull away with a chuckle. “I take it that means you love me, too?”

“Aye, Swan. I love you, too.”

-/-/-

She goes to work later, despite his protesting. It’s a great distraction from the exhaustion that’s taken hold, giving her something to focus on other than what she wants and dreads the most. Her parents are taking this new curse - that’s what she’s labeled the dilemma that has seemed to rob her of sanity and redden the whites of her eyes - in strides. They beg her to sleep, but it’s not a plea she’s willing to give into, not without Killian beside her and even then. . .

It’s better like this. She’s more productive awake than asleep.

She spends her break on the Jolly Roger, listening to the banter of her father and Killian. (Waiting for rain is not the proper way to clean a ship, Dave. There are procedures that must be taken to make sure she is in top shape.

It’s not a she -

Did you captain her for centuries? She shall be whatever the bloody hell I wish.

Still doesn't give an inanimate object a gender.)

Usually Emma would interject, but there's a smile on Killian’s face the moment he looks to her, bright, happy eyes speaking to the deepest parts of her soul. It's happened several times since returning to Storybrooke- an overwhelming calm rushing in at the sight of one another alive, putting a pause to the conversation and world around them as if they're the only people in it. For now it’s enough. It’s enough to push her through the rest of the day - these stolen quiet moments in the midst of chaos. And later, after the sun has set behind the clouds, blanketing them in darkness, she crawls under the covers. “I don’t want to sleep,” she whispers to the man lying next to her. He’s massaging the knots from her shoulders in a comfortable silence. But already she can feel her awareness fading, his reply lost to a world of green fields and wind blurred trees.

-/-/-

She buries her cheek in the dark of leather, welcoming the chill of wind that howls in her ear. Sitting astride a horse, she leans her weight into Killian, an infectious laugh escaping when Buttercup progresses past a gallop.

“Where are we going?” she asks, her voice probably a bit too loud as it combats the noise of the wind.

“That's the adventure of it, love.”

Everything around her looks of Camelot - gorgeous mountains outlined in streams, a nature untouched by man's inventions. instead preserved with magic that shines with color.

Yet, somehow it's not. For she knows their home is but a mile south of where they are, winding through thick wood. Somehow, they are in Storybrooke. And she doesn't question it as they ride through the forest, letting her eyelids shut as she soaks in the calm.

And really, she should have known better. Before she can act, Buttercup is rearing up, throwing both her and Killian in the air before smashing her once strong frame against a tree.

Throbbing. It’s the first thing she recognizes before the panic sets in. Before she turns her head to the bleeding form next to her. There’s blood pooling at her shoulder, coarse bark having slowed her descent to the ground. But it doesn’t matter, not when he’s drapped silently across the mud, unresponsive. She can almost reach him, fingertips lightly scratching at a hook doing nothing to rouse him.  

She’s vaguely aware of the high pitched cry that escapes, a plea for him to be okay, and dammit wake up, but she can’t move, can’t reach him with paralysis seizing her muscles.

Ice. It’s the next thing she recognizes before reality comes back into focus. (Which reality, she isn’t sure. She’s been dancing on the line between the realm of dreams and where she finds herself now. An exhausting dance blurred by magic and Webster-defined insanity.) His voice is rough and soothing as he holds her to his chest and she hopes this is the world she can stay in, nightmare or not. Her shoulder still hurts, but he’s here and he’s safe.

“Emma?” He asks as her breathing slows, voice cracking with a fear she had caused.

“Are you okay?”  

He flinches at her question, brows furrowing. “What do you mean am I okay? You’re the one who wakes up in agony every night!”

“Killian, I’m going insane. I can’t fix a wound that isn’t there and I can’t differentiate what is real and what is a part of this curse. It just hurts, everything just . . .You were hurt too and I can’t, I can’t…”

“What do you need?” It’s simple, less words than he would normally offer but better than any refute he could give.

“Can you just hold me?”

“Aye love.” She’s warm in his arms, head buried in the hair littering his chest and legs tangled together. Though she allows her body to relax, molding herself into him as his hand caresses her back and his lips plant kisses to the top of her head, her erratic heartbeat remains. A lingering anxiety that holds her captive. He tells stories and it helps. His voice a calming symphony of colorful vocabulary that she loses herself in. He tells of Liam, Milah, and Pan. Painting Neverland more eloquently than JM Barrie himself. She shares tales of her life as well, of school and foster homes, of a meaningless first boyfriend and the first time she wrecked a car. It’s not as well worded as his, but then again she never is.

-/-/-

He’s worried for her, his Swan, watching from the sidelines as she throws herself into work - combating crisis after crisis on nothing but coffee and Granny’s grilled cheese sandwiches. She needs to rest, to lay in their bed and think of nothing but herself. But she’s stubborn, as stubborn as he is himself, and they’re once again caught at a crossroads. They’re not fighting, but they aren’t agreeing either.

“Come on, love. I’m sure your father can handle it for one day. Just one day, the two of us on the water.” He knows what’s coming before she says it, her retort well practiced now. It’s a repeat of their previous conversation.

“But Hyde-”

“He can wait.” He sighs, exasperated, before grabbing her hand and interlocking their fingers. “You have to take care of yourself, too.”

“I will.  I am. But people are counting on me.”

“Emma-”

“Soon, I promise.”

“Let me take care of you,” Killian whispers, dropping her hand from his and skimming his knuckles across the bruises under her eyes. She relents for a moment, leaning into his touch before righting herself with a shake of her head.

“I have to pick up Henry. Do you want to come?”

“Of course.”

He drops his head in defeat, letting her guide him out of the sheriff’s station and onto the bustling streets, his focus more on her sluggish steps and heavy shoulders than the direction they’re going. He’ll get her to rest, one way or another, her health more important to him than any villain claiming ownership of their quaint little town.

-/-/-

Coffee has become her preferred stimulant. More so than cinnamon coated cocoa, Killian’s flask that never seems to empty of rum, or the acidic monster drinks that taste like someone melted a battery and decided to drink it. No, coffee is much better to keep her pushing through Granny’s lunch crowd to meet her parents.

She finds them scanning the menu as if they've not memorized it over the last 30 years, and she slides in the booth behind Killian.

“Honey, you look exhausted. You both do.” Mary Margaret remarks.

“It’s nothing.” She pauses, distractedly glaring down a black speck of dust dirtying the corner of the table. The anxiety that she carries around like a second skin heightens at her mother's inquiry and she dodges the impending conversation best she can. “Henry just asked us today if he could walk with Violet to school. . .without us.”

“I’m sure he just wanted to kiss his lady love without prying eyes. I know the feeling quite well meself.” Killian quips and Emma’ eyes grow wide, smacking him lightly on the chest.

“Watch it, pirate. I don’t want to hear about your urges to kiss my daughter.” David warns.

“Those aren’t the only ones I have, mate.” His words are punctuated with a mischievous grin directed at Emma and her reddened cheeks.

“Killian!” She elbows him this time, smiling in victory when he grunts between closed teeth. “That’s what you get.”

Her yawn is what breaks the banter, a concern glossing over the faces of her family. Jumping foster home to foster home has made her all too familiar with the expressions. (Back then it had been pity and confusion for the friendless orphan girl who’s angry outburst was followed by tears that never seemed to stop. A temporary worry for the well-being of Emma Swan that no one acted on.) Now, the worry was genuine, but she could see the pity in the furrow of her mother’s and father’s brows. In hindsight, maybe the exhaustion was distorting her view. Feelings of never truly understanding one another buried at the expense of pretending to have the relationship she wants. “Please don't do this, guys.”

“Do what?”

“Look at me like I'm some sort of wounded animal.”

“We weren't! We aren't...we're worried about you.” Snow replies. The gentleness of her voice causes a twinge of guilt deep in Emma’s gut. It’s stupid to feel this way when she knows her mother is just. . .being a mother. So she pushes back the irrational feelings, deflects and hopes it’ll be enough to move the conversation elsewhere.

“I know and I appreciate that, but we have bigger fish to fry right now.”

“So the nightmares-”

“We'll deal with that later. We have to catch Hyde first-”

“I know what you’re going through and you can't run from this. When your father and I-”

“No, you don’t! I'm not you, mom! I don't need to know how you and dad conquered some battle that I am going to get through differently. Stop saying you understand when everything you do says otherwise. If you understood you'd stop bringing it up!” She stops as she realizes the room has cut silent to heed the yells of their exhausted savior and sheriff. Breathing in and exhaling with a sigh, she continues - tone harsh against her whispered frustrations “I'm the savior. Do you have any idea what that means? It makes you all a target. It means that anytime I fail, it puts everyone in danger. It could kill you. I don't need some hope speech to tell me how I need to open up about my feelings. Just because I'm not talking to you about it doesn't mean I'm not talking about it.” Her hand wraps around the ring that dangles from her neck, a silent comfort as she recalls the tear laced confessions she’s told Killian in the dead of night. It’s his hand instinctively wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her into him that keeps her from caving into herself, from a complete shut down at her public outburst.

He’s holding himself back, a silence between the four of them made all the more awkward by his absence of opinion. He has his thinking face on, brows furrowed and pursed lips as he sorts through and holds back from speaking his thoughts aloud. But the primary emotion on his face and her parents, is surprise.

“I’m sorry honey, I didn’t realize it upset you so much. . .Maybe a change of scenery will help? You can always come back to the loft. Your bed’s still there.”

“I have a bed and a new home, my first house, with Killian. I. . .feel safe with him.” She grants her aforementioned co-inhabitant a small smile, continuing, but her gaze not leaving his. “I don't want to wake up without him there. He helps.” She sighs, the words lifting an unknown burden from her chest, as if admitting that somehow made it ring with a greater truth. There was an agitation - distorted from sleep deprivation, maybe - that her parents still couldn’t see that. They couldn’t see the changed man Killian has become. She hopes he doesn’t feel it too. “I know that you’re trying to make everything better, but sometimes you can’t. Changing where I sleep is not going to keep the Sandman from distorting my dreams. You don’t want to be around me when I do fall asleep, trust me. So can we just drop it and order some damn food, please? I'm starved.”  .

-/-/-

He asks her to do it, so she does. She drives the blade into his middle, feeling his insides scream around silver metal, hearing the slash of flesh tearing as the point emerges bloodstained on the other side. She watches through tears as 300 years of life drain from his eyes. He tells her he loves her, but he can barely breathe. So with one last kiss pressed to his lips, she withdraws her sword and his body plummets to the ground.

It doesn’t stop falling. Now, he’s wrapped in chains, more bloodied and broken than before. He’s suspended upon a murky green river, sinking slowly into its neverending depths and -

“Killian!” She screams, letting the smoke from the fire pits that light the basement turned cavern fill her lungs. Her feet smack against the rock as she runs, but the faster she accelerates, the faster he falls - a tortuous pursuit that causes panic to pool in her stomach as his feet drop out of sight. There’s an enchantment blocking her more supernatural attempts at rescue, magic that curls inward at her fingertips and pushes its way back to her core with no release. But it's too late now, her plea embedded into the rock it bounces off of. The chains rise from the river, prisoner absolved and his soul forever lost.

-/-/-

There’s a cry she hears somewhere in the distance. It increases in volume or proximity - she's not sure which. But it syncs to the chaos of her mind, the adrenaline and panic coursing through her bloodstream as it calls for, cries for, her deceased lover.

She tries to calm herself, pull the crumbling, shattered pieces of her heart back together when she realizes it’s her.

“Emma, it's just a dream. It's okay, you're okay. Wake up, love.” But her hysteria only grows with the sound of his voice, sobs racking her body as she seems to come to. His soft voiced reassurances are lost on deaf ears as he pulls her upright, hand smoothing over the ridges of her spine. They’re coated in darkness save for the crack of moonlight shining through the curtains, casting haunted shadows of the sleepless road they travel. So he reaches to turn the bedside lamp on, lighting the room to rouse her, to ground her back in this room with him. “Emma, I’m right here.” She shakes under his grip, several whispered no’s followed by a string of curses. His words do little, if any to comfort her, mind stuck in the terrors of her dream world.  “Come back to me, love.”

But she doesn’t, not yet. Instead, she curls into herself, an inconsolable silhouette of revisted grief, oblivious to the departed’s presence and the hand that tries to coax her back.

He can see the moment she returns, a relieved shock overtaking her features as her arms wrap around him.

She buries her head in his neck, tears slipping past her cheek and onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Killian I’m so-”

“Shhh, it was just a dream. You’re here now.”

“No, no it wasn’t just a dream.” She sniffs, trying to get her breathing under control. It only worsens as he tries to comfort her.

As she tries to articulate the reality of her nightmare. “I killed you. . .I watched you die-”

“Emma-”

“They buried you! You still have a fucking tombstone in the graveyard. I failed and you-”

Calloused lips stop the quiver of her own, if only temporarily, as she takes the comfort he gives. If he was an ocean, then she was drowning - his touch overwhelming in its tenderness. The tears that still fall are caught with his mouth while his thumb caresses the outline of her jaw. But soon her worries fade with the clothes that are shed, his hand and tongue working in tandem to soothe the wounds of her nightmares. Of her reality. Their love coiling with the heat in her stomach as they come together.

She holds to that feeling as she comes down, tangling her limbs with his so that they somehow remain one. If she was a ship, then he was her anchor and compass alike - grounding and guiding through the treacherous sea that's become the wreckage of the Savior's duties .

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers. And this time she gives in, following him into the warmth of the shower’s downpour. The water washes away the last of morning haze, cleansing and clearing her mind before revisiting the nightmare that awoke her. Her body craves his touch; his hand massaging the shampoo to and from her hair as his stump rests against the curve of her waist making tears fall anew.

“I love you,” she breathes, a wonderment in her tone. It's not enough to express how she feels about him, words caught in her throat seem miniscule to the emotions that stir within her.

It's later, over chocolate chip pancakes and her third cup of coffee, that she gives him details. She tells of the heaviness of the blade in her hand, of the crunch of muscles as it drove through flesh. She tells of the blood and how it remained stained wet in her hands as his body fell into the river of lost souls. She tells and holds herself together, a saddened detachment that only allows a single tear to fall. She tells of the terror that seizes her still - that this happiness they share could merely be a hallucination. “When I woke up, at first, the dream it felt. . .more real.”  

It’s the emotional weight, despite the coffee and sex that preceded and receded her confession,  that leave her bone tired as she once again prepares to head to Granny’s. Makeup aids in masking the exhaustion that hides underneath - the baggy red rimmed eyes temporarily reprieved with coats of concealer and a layer of bottom eyeliner she would usually go without. It’s not a lot, but it’s noticeable.

It can’t conceal the drag in her step, however, nor the mental pause in her replies. She’s beyond tired, afraid of the terrors that falling into sleep’s arms will bring, but she pushes through..

She pushes through as she finds her son already sitting at a table scanning a copy of one of his storybooks.

“Hey kid!” Emma smiles before taking a seat across from him. “Looks like a full house for Granny. I guess everyone has untold stories that are ready to be played out.”

“Yeah, that or they discovered the best place for lunch.”

Emma laughs at that - a small chuckle that quickly dies when she glances at the pages opened before her. “So have you found anything new?”

“Other than people not dressed in Storybrooke, attire? Not yet. But I’m betting someone here can tell us.”

And he’s right. They’re still very oddly dressed. Although she guesses that’s relative to the realm they are in. But her leather jacket stands out next to the silks and fanciful dresses, strange hats and ancient styles, even Bollywood fashion. A man by the bar dons a cape. She wonders what his story in particular might be - possibly Dracula, but she isn’t entirely convinced vampires are real.  Dracula, or whoever he actually is, stands tall next to a little girl dressed in colonial attire. They create a stark contrast to the mad looking scientist, old professor in a trench coat, and Chinese looking royalty. An eclectic, confused mix that’s dominated by a middle eastern man in a strange hat. He must notice her staring, because before she can successfully avert her gaze from the crowd, he’s walking over to her with cane in hand.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jafar.”

Scepter, she corrects her earlier assessment of his cane. It looks of rusted gold, frail magic worn with age. He sticks out from his companions, collections of other stories she’s heard throughout her life, as the more ominous of the bunch. And really, she should have known just by looking at him that he’s freaking Jafar. Villain. Evil. Sorcerer. His presence raises the hairs on the back of her neck, but it’s the tilt of his head and small smile he grants her, that creeps her out the most. (Not that she’ll show it; she makes a mental note to find the fate of Aladdin and Jasmine later, but for now she can make small talk. For now she’ll make Henry as comfortable as possible.) “Hi, I’m Emma. This is my son Henry.”

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Emma. I believe I’ve heard your name passed around a few times here.”

“She’s the Savior. She brings everyone their happy endings.” Henry chimes in.

“Ah, well what a noble pursuit.” She’s about to dismiss herself, dragging Henry back to the house for whatever bullshit reason she comes up with first, when Jafar continues. “I quite like this quaint town of yours. I’ve found the beds to be much more accommodating than those in Agrabah.”

“If you're talking about Granny’s beds, I can't say I agree.” She says with a forced smile, magic tingling through her blood as she clenches her fist to keep it at bay. As accustomed as she is to handling villains, there’s something simmering beneath the surface that she can’t quite place. It makes his every word more threatening and she pushes it down, tries to ignore the voice in her head that has the hairs on her neck still standing.

Jafar laughs - a small forced huff of air that does little to alleviate the tension. ”You'd be surprised.” He extends his hand for her to shake and she takes it, glad to have this opportunity to exit the situation. “Well I’m sure there are lines of people waiting to meet the savior. So if you’ll excuse me, I should get going.”

He turns on his heel and she directs her attention back to Henry. “Wanna get Granny’s to go? We’ll be more productive in the library anyway.”

“Yeah, let me text Violet first. She might know something about Jafar that could help us.”

“Sounds good.”

-/-/-

She’s past tired by the time they make it to the library, body sagging with the weight of her steps. Her eyes scan the same page for the sixth time and she can feel herself fading, lids fighting to stay open. It’s there that Killian finds her, drunk on sleep deprived delirium as she laughs about calligraphy and the idea of Dracula feeding off cat blood. (He’s seen her like this only twice, the first when rum was the culprit and the latter after a 36 hour shift when she refused to return home.) But she feels light now, the giggles that erupt alleviating the heaviness in her chest as she leans on Killian. She knows she’s being ridiculous, combing the stray hairs that hang at his forehead back behind his ear as she muses over if the sandman is made of sand, and the logistics of living in that state.

In the end, she decides that magic is the only answer.  

The energy high only lasts until she reaches their bathroom, laughter turning into silence as the faucet fills in the lost noise. She cuddles into Killian when they reach the bed, mumbling that she’ll only rest for a minute. It's a lie the moment her eyes close, the mattress embracing her exhaustion as it lulls her to sleep with her body wrapped around Killian's.

She dreams of fire, skin burning and engulfed in pain. It’s from her mother, the evil version of Isaac's cursed world, that chars her shoulder before spreading down her arm.

The screams don't come this time - instead she's left gasping for air she can't find, the pain, new in its torture but routine in its presence, muting her airways. She can feel sand fall from her eyes when she sits up, the burning sensation not leaving even as the particles land on her bedsheets. Mouth agape, Emma attempts to quiet the quiver of her breath as she gathers the remnants in her hand to dispose of before escaping to the kitchen. Killian slumbers at the edge of the bed, finally sleeping through a nightmare. (It makes her own nightmare a little less harsh. His attempts at staying up with her have left him almost as restless as she.)

She grows numb to the pain even as the red blisters of her hallucination rise. Her magic, powerless to whisk it away, poofs a small tube of burn cream in front of her. She knows it won't help, but she also knows the pain will get worse before it disappears. It has to be better than nothing.

When Killian finds her a few hours later, she’s propped up on the couch, eyes scanning the pages of one of the books they had brought home from the library. His hair is stuck up at all sides, a shirtless sleep mused mess in navy pajama pants.

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to sleep through - what’s on your arm?”

“Burn cream. I know it can’t really do anything but I wanted to do something. I kinda forgot about it. And I’m glad you finally slept. You deserve it.”

He gives her this look sometimes, the same he’s giving her now, where his face softens and the lines of 300 years crinkle at his eyes the same as a child’s. Sometimes there’s a glistening in his eyes, his adoration so overwhelming that it doesn’t feel real. She watches his steps as he shuffles to the couch and interlaces their fingers together before bringing her hand up to his lips. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too.”

“We’re going to defeat this.”

“I know.”

She knows, but sometimes she doubts, brief moments of wondering if this is how she will meet her end. Death by Sleep Deprivation. She’s heard about it before, through internet or textbook she’s not sure. Within three days of waking to the feeling of burning flesh, her body adjusts to the permanent insomnia, afraid of the perils sleep brings. Even when she tries to rest, her subconscious has decided that sleep is equal to pain. It's her body's way of protecting her, creating a lose-lose situation with whatever side wins out at night. There is no burst of energy to revive her, the next few days a reflection of her weakened state in Camelot when she took on the darkness.

Her family remains her hope, Killian her anchor as her frustration grows. And it’s Killian who comes to her with the first actual solution. “Emma, love.” he whispers when he runs through the door to find her half asleep on the couch. “The sandman is in your nightmares.”

-/-/-

Tagging @acrobat-elle, @lovebecomeshim @bromfieldhall, and @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 upon request.