#++ i am even MORE frustrated because the whole apartment has kind of fallen apart bcs my partner is not helping w chores

[elliscousland]

good news: i am feeling way better overall, the antibiotics are doing their job & i am way thankful for it. i've also got some appointments to keep up on the og issue & dealing with this has put me on the fast track to getting / keeping insurance!

bad news: i do think i got sick from sitting next to a little girl in the er & that is kicking my ass so everything in my life is way behind right now. i want to write, but i have to clean house before i clean drafts lmao

[chrisevansjellybeans]

Promotion | Ransom Drysdale

You get a promotion at work but the celebration doesn't go exactly as planned. Ransom has the perfect way to make it up to you.

Warnings: smut, swearing, ransom being ransom but then soft!ransom

Everyone knew that Ransom Drysdale was an asshole. He was mean, sarcastic and blunt to almost everyone he met. But not with you. Sure, he had his moments but for the most part the Ransom Drysdale you knew, your Ransom, was kind, caring and attentive. He made you smile when you were sad. He would always rest his hand on your thigh when the two of you would take drives in his Beemer. And if you asked extra nicely, he would sometimes share his secret talent of playing the piano for you. To you, Ransom was the perfect gentleman.

Except for tonight.

“You’re being a fucking bitch right now, Y/N.” He snapped as he threw his coat over the chair in the corner of your shared room.

“Oh I’m being a bitch because I don’t want you flirting with the goddamn waitress right in front of me?”

He rolled his eyes as he unhooked his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. “You caused a scene.”

You let out a humorless laugh as you attempted-and failed-to unzip your dress.

“A scene? Ransom, I very nicely asked her to back off. You think that was a scene? I could have given you a whole Broadway musical if I wanted to.” You hissed, cursing as you still struggled with the dress.

Ransom grumbled as he stomped over to you and unzipped the stubborn zipper. You didn’t even bother to say thank you as you yanked off the dress and threw it on the floor. You could feel the tears welling up, but you refused to let them fall. Tonight was supposed to be special. You had just gotten a promotion at work. One that you had been working your ass off for the last three months. And now the whole night was marred by an argument that didn’t need to happen.

“God, you are so insecure. It was nothing.” Ransom’s glare was heated as he took in the deep maroon lingerie set you had underneath.

“Why are you being such a dick?” You spun around, angrily wiping away the few tears that fell. “You ruined tonight for me.”

“You ruined it yourself, sweetheart. Grow up.” He snapped. He gave you one last look before walking into the closet and changing into a pair of joggers and a crew neck.

You stood there in utter disbelief. Ransom was never like this with you in the last two years that you had been with him. Had everything before this just been an act?

Ransom completely ignored you as he moved about the room getting ready for bed.

“I can’t believe you.” You muttered. Slowly you began getting ready for bed yourself. You walked into the closet and took off the lingerie, your tears falling as you did so. You carefully set it back in the beautiful box it came in and shoved it to the back of your stuff. You threw on a pair of shorts and one of Ransom’s old hoodies, his scent wrapping you in the hug that he sure as hell wasn’t going to give you.

When you walked out he was already in bed, his reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose which was buried in a book. Silently you walked past him and finished your night routine in the bathroom. When you finished brushing your teeth and washing your face you looked in the mirror and winced. You looked exactly how you felt: tired and sad. Your eyes were puffy and red and your cheeks stained with tear trails. You splashed some cold water on your face hoping it would help but it didn’t do much.

Ransom was in the same position when you exited the bathroom. You walked over to your side of the bed but didn’t get in.

“What are you doing?” His voice was still sharp as he let out a sigh and set his book down on his lap.

Your eyes snapped to his and you just shook your head. You grabbed your phone and the glass of water that was on your nightstand.

“I’m sleeping in the guest room.”

“Now you’re really being dramatic.” He laughed. “So just calm down and get in bed."

“Do not talk to me like that, Hugh.” Ransom’s eyes widened slightly at the use of his first name. “I love you but you have been nothing but terrible to me tonight. And I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you that you can’t let one night be about me and my achievements, but I’m so done with it. So I’m going to the guest room because honestly the thought of laying next to you right now is the last thing I want to do.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond as you stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you. Your hand was shaking as you took it from the door. For a moment you didn’t move, waiting to see if he would come for you. But he didn’t. So you straightened yourself up and walked down the hall to your room for the night.

-------

You tossed around the bed, unable to find a comfortable sleeping position. You let out a frustrated sigh as you turned on the bedside lamp. Tears of frustration, sadness and tiredness came to the surface once again but this time you didn’t hold them back. You brought your knees to your chest as you cried into them.

“Baby?” You sniffed and looked up to see Ransom slowly opening the door.

“Go away, Ransom.” You mumbled. You could not go another round with him. Not anymore.

“Honey, I’m so sorry.” He ignored your command and walked over slowly before sitting down next to you on the side of the bed. His hand hesitantly reached forward and brushed the hair that had fallen in your face away before using his thumb to wipe your tears.

“Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever. You were right, Y/N. I was being terrible and for no reason.” He tilted your head up so your eyes met his. You could see the genuine regret that shined through his blue orbs.

“You really hurt me tonight, Ran.” You could feel more tears coming.

“I know, baby. I know.” He frowned as he looked down, the shame eating away at him.

“And I’m not insecure in our relationship. Or I wasn’t...If anything you’ve brought me out of my shell. I just-I feel like it’s a normal reaction to be pissed that your boyfriend is flirting with another woman right in front of you.” Your bottom lip trembled as you defended yourself.

“Oh baby, I didn’t mean it.” He looked back at you. “Everything I said back there I didn’t mean. And that waitress had nothing on you. I shouldn’t have let her flirt with me like that and I shouldn’t have indulged in it.”

“No you shouldn’t have.” You sighed, looking away.

The both of you were quiet as you sat there, his hand now resting on your knee as he traced small patterns with his fingers. You could feel him watching you but you couldn’t look back at him.

“Come back to bed.” He said finally. “Be mad in the morning, but please come back to bed. Let me hold my girl on her big day.”

You wanted to protest but honestly you couldn’t sleep without him.

“Please.” His voice cracked as he squeezed your knee.

You nodded and he gave you a small smile. He stood up and held out his hand. Taking it, your body relaxed as he intertwined your fingers and pulled you close to him. His other hand dipped behind your neck and brought your lips up to his as he gave you a gentle kiss.

“I love you. And tomorrow is all about you. From start to finish.” He whispered as he pulled away, his nose and yours still touching.

“Okay.” You smiled. He smiled back and turned off the lamp before guiding you back to the room.

Once you both were snuggled into your bed, Ransom pulled you close so his body was hugging yours. He peppered kisses down your neck muttering “I love you” between each one. His hand that was resting on your tummy slowly moved down, rubbing lightly over your covered mound.

“Ransom.” You moaned quietly as you lightly bucked your hips.

“Shh, baby. Let me take care of you. Show you how sorry I am.” He murmured against your neck. He slipped his hand into your shorts and he let out a small chuckle.

“No panties? What happened to that sexy set you had on earlier?” He nipped at your ear. His fingers moved down and to his amusement he felt your juices coat his fingers.

“Mmmm. You gotta earn seeing that set now.” You hummed.

“Touché.” He laughed. He ran his hand over your clit and gave it a light tap. “You’re so wet, baby.”

“Ransom, please!” You pleaded.

“You want my fingers in this pussy, honey?” He shoved his leg between yours, opening you up more as he pushed one finger in. You threw your head back as he tortured you with slow thrusts of his finger.

“It’s not enough!” You whined, your hips desperately moving with his hand.

“You want two?” He smirked, slipping another finger in. His thumb made right circles over your clit. “Or maybe three?”

You let out a loud moan as another finger was added. He stretched you out as he continued whispering dirty things into your ear.

“Gotta make sure you’re nice and ready for my cock, baby.”

“Look at you, falling apart on my hand like a good girl.”

“Fuck you’re so goddamn tight, princess. Squeezing my fingers like the good little girl you are.”

“Ransom, please. No more teasing.” You whimpered. You turned your head and captured his lips with yours. It was not a pretty kiss; teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance which eventually he won.

“Whatever my baby wants.” He grunted, pulling his fingers out. Your body buzzed with anticipation as Ransom maneuvered your body so you were under him and he was hovering over you. He slid your shorts down your legs and pulled your shirt off, his hands brushing across your nipples as he dragged them down your body. Swiftly he flipped you over so your chest was flush against the mattress, your ass in the air.

“My beautiful, special girl.” He muttered to himself.

“Baby.” You whined impatiently.

“I am so proud of you,” he grabbed his cock and lined it up with your entrance. Leaning down he rubbed the tip of his engorged member through your wetness. “You know that don’t you?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond as he sunk fully into you. You gasped, arching your back and pushing back against his hips. Ransom pulled out just enough to leave the tip in before slamming back into you.

“You feel so good, princess.” He cooed, his thumb brushing over your puckered hole. You let out another whine as his motions remained deep and slow.

“Harder, Ransom. Faster.” Wiggled your butt impatiently.

Ransom growled as leaned forward, his arms entrapping you as his chest laid heavy on your back. The vulgar sound of his cock sliding easily in and out of your warm heat had you nearing your release

“Look at me, baby. I wanna see you when you come.” He moaned out. You turned your head, your lips falling open as you took in his lust blown eyes. Ransom captured your lips in a heated kiss. “Let go for me, honey.”

Your body writhed as you let yourself succumb to the pleasure he was giving you. Ransom raised himself up and continued to fuck you through your orgasm, pulling you to another one.

“Fuck!” Ransom’s hips stuttered as he splayed his hands over your ass. He let out a low groan as he spilled himself inside of you.

Ransom fell to the side of you, pulling you close to his chest. You let out a contented sigh as he ran his fingers up and down your arm.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered into the dark room. Even in the dead of night you could feel the intense gaze of his blue eyes.

“I know, Ran. I forgive you.” You kissed his chest, your fingers now toying with the small tufts of chest hair that you loved so much.

“I love you.” He muttered as he gave you a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“I love you too. Now get some sleep because we are shopping all day tomorrow.” You teased, knowing full well that a day spent at the shops was the last thing Ransom liked to do.

Instead of a groan, Ransom let out a laugh as he kissed you again. “Can’t wait.”

[a-clockwork-justice]

Everything I Love About Loser Geek Whatever

So, not too long ago, it was the third birthday of Loser Geek Whatever. Yes, I know the single was released on November 30th 2018 and its considered the song’s official birthday, but the 26th July three years ago was the first showing of the 2018 Off-Broadway revival of Be More Chill and the first time Loser Geek Whatever was shown to the world in any capacity. Therefore, I consider that day to be the song’s unoffical birthday and I’ve been waiting to write down everything I love about it so here I am. (This was originally gonna be posted on the 26th July but I can’t make anything concise so it took longer than that).

I’ve gone on and on about what Loser Geek Whatever means to me personally, how a slew of random chance introduce me to it, got me deep into Be More Chill, introduced me to 90% of my current friends, and overall up-ended my whole life, but now it’s time to dissect the song itself and why it’s so great. As much as I adore Loser Geek Whatever, it could’ve easily been any other song that threw me down a rabbit hole and that I could’ve latched onto- no, wait, it couldn’t have been, because Loser Geek Whatever is unique in that way. I did about a year of music at A-Level so I’m gonna delve into some of the technical aspects here too. I’m chronicling this mostly for myself so I am going as deep as I see fit because this song is a treasure hiding yet more treasures. If you happen to love Loser Geek Whatever as much as I do, this’ll be your goldmine.

So, grab a snack my fellow fans, because here’s a comprehensive list of everything to love about Loser Geek Whatever in roughly chronological order. Long post incoming:

The song starts off strong from the first millisecond - I don’t know what instrument(s) they used but just listen to the single version again - that opening chord blares at you like a siren. It calls for your attention, screaming this is incredibly important, and indeed it is. That chord, an F chord, has no indication as to whether it’s major or minor - it’s just the tonic F with its dominant C and another tonic F above it. In other words, it’s unresolved, it hangs in the air. From a narrative standpoint, Jeremy is at a crossroads, torn between giving into the SQUIP or staying loyal to Michael, and the music paints this. It has the same effect on both the single and album versions - I always hold my breath as it holds, it’s the gap in this crucial transition for Jeremy between who he was and him becoming something he isn’t.

To continue the thread of musical painting, the melody line contains the accidental E-flat which doesn’t belong to the key of F major. This once again illustrates Jeremy’s uncertainty, but there’s more - the whole introduction is a slowed-down version of the Apocalypse of the Damned theme from Two Player Game, arguably the point in the show when Michael and Jeremy’s relationship was at its strongest. Jeremy’s recalling everything he had with Michael, but the slowing down of the melody shows hesitancy, along with highlighting the accidental E flat. These latter points of course aren’t unique to Loser Geek Whatever - they’re also in the section of Upgrade that twins with Loser Geek Whatever. I’m just laying out why they work so well. 

I’m glad I waited until after I saw the show in London to finish writing this - I’m something of a Loser Geek Whatever purist, as made clear by my ire at them cutting it in half and tacking the end of Upgrade back on for the London version. I still enjoyed the show in London though and I’m glad I knew about this change ahead of time, because they did change something about the song that I think really worked - they added two notes in the bass to each bar, like heartbeats, which once again signifies Jeremy’s uncertancy and the importance of this major turning point.

It’s been firmly established by this point that Jeremy is a loser and he knows it. He doesn’t want to be a hero, he just wants to survive, but there’s a difference between that and feeling “inconsequential.” Jeremy is basically admitting that, in his eyes, it doesn’t matter to the world or anyone except Michael if he even survives or not. He’s not just a loser, or a geek - he’s a whatever, with no one caring who he is. And he’s felt this way for years - since middle school began. He’s now in his Junior year of high school - that’s five years of being in this state of being unnoticed at best and picked on at worst. He’s “the one who’s left out”. With just one little line, hell, one word, we’re given more layers as to why he so badly wants to change that.

Moving from the first verse to the chorus, we start to see Jeremy’s attitude shift, from being sad to being angry - he’s frustrated, resentful that he’s spent so long in this state (A lot of people have made similar comparisons about Will Roland’s Jeremy as a whole in relation to Will Connolly’s Jeremy and I think this song exemplifies that). He doesn’t deserve to feel this horrible - not now and certainly not for the next two years until he and Michael can be “cool in college.” When you think about it, what options does he really have? He could either give into the SQUIP or reject it and go back to where he was, still miserable and lonely. Yes, he has Michael and Michael is an amazing, kind, loyal best friend, but as many have pointed out, he’s also dismissive of Jeremy’s feelings of inadequacy whether he means to be or not, which only made Jeremy feel more lonely. Should Jeremy just expect to feel better about himself at some point before college? He’s waited for years, why would that happen at any other point?

More layers baby! Second verse, Jeremy rants on about his father’s advice about following his own instincts and how it’s gotten him nowhere he wants to be. Come to think of it, Michael’s advice about staying the same and waiting for their environment to change can be seen as similar - it’s arguably easier for Michael as he has two loving mothers who undoutably give him plenty of positive reinforcement. Meanwhile, Jeremy’s mother has left them, which likely instilled further feelings of not being good enough, and his father has fallen apart to the point where he can’t even put pants on, let alone step up to take care of his son, meaning that Jeremy likely isn’t going to take his advice very seriously, especially after it’s failed him so thoroughly. But to Jeremy, the problem isn’t necessarily the advice itself - it’s that it’s being followed by him. So now he’s going to turn around and put his life and every choice in something else’s hands, even if - no, especially if it goes against his own instincts. It still doesn’t feel quite right, it “feels bizarre”, but it’s getting him somewhere, so it has to be right in the most meaningful capacity, and to Jeremy, the “most meaningful capacity” is any capacity that isn’t his own.

Now the best line - the one about being a “normal, handsome guy”. Let’s get this on the table - Jeremy is trans. Will Roland himself said that he often thinks of the show’s young trans fans when he sings that line. Naturally, societal transphobia plus gender dysphoria would have a pretty catestrophic effect on the self-esteem of any growing teenager, even more so one in Jeremy’s situation for the reasons I’ve just laid out. He’s probably missed out on a lot of things that “normal” guys take for granted, with most girls barely looking in his direction, let alone in any positive manner. Jeremy’s own sexuality aside, it’s mostly society, and the SQUIP by extension, that considers scoring with girls to be a “manly” or masculine activity, and through Brooke treating him as dateable material, Jeremy feels better about fitting into society’s rules of how a man should be and act. This isn’t the only reason he feels good about Brooke finding him attractive, of course, but it’s just another layer that Jeremy sees more value in conforming to how society says he should be rather than in how he actually is.

I know I just said that the last point was about the best line, but honestly, there’s more than one best line in this song. The bridge is where we start to see Jeremy’s language becoming more technologically inclined - “prompt”, “command” and “bandwidth” are all terms used in computing and used to show how Jeremy is likening himself, or his intentions, to a computer, effectivly merging himself and his SQUIP into one entity and Jeremy willingly giving over his own individuality.

And HERE, we get to the kicker. I’ve talked a lot about layers throughout this whole essay, about themes and motifs building on each other. Jeremy is essentially peeling back the layers of his own situation and only finding reason after deeper reason after deeper reason as to why he should follow the SQUIP and not be a loser anymore. Now, he hits the core, the seed, the crux of it all - “The problem has ALWAYS BEEN ME!!” Everything he is, everything that makes Jeremy Heere himself, is and has always been wrong. This line is a gut punch and EVERYONE knows it - the performer always takes a few seconds to let it sink in before continuing.

As an aside, I wanna mention the differences between the single and the album versions of the bridge. The album version starts of quieter after the vocalising of the last chorus, and builds up to the climactic final line, while the single version is loud all the way through but gets even louder and punchier at the end. Both are good, but I personally prefer the single version - the album sounds like Jeremy is broken and desperate and on the verge of tears as he reaches his inevitable but ugly realisation. The single is also desperate, but it’s pleading and all-consuming and a THOUSAND times more powerful, I get chills every time I hear it. (Side note, the London version starts of loud like the single and ends quieter like the album, almost as if Jeremy is reluctant to admit what he truly believes about himself, and it’s easy to see why, it’s a damn harsh condemnation).

“Take a breath and get prepared” - Jeremy sings to both himself and the audience. The first half has been heavy and we need a breather. Yet just before he goes over the brink, he has second thoughts. His conscience, his own voice in his head, breaks through, warning him that his choice will have consequences for other people than himself. People will get hurt - Michael most of all. Not just by Jeremy ditching him; here’s something else - when Jeremy is the “cool dude”, he might end up being a bully to those who are losers just like him, cutting them down just as Rich’s SQUIP made Rich do to him. Who would be the perfect target for Jeremy’s potential future bullying? His former best friend and fellow loser, Michael Mell. It’s pretty damn likely that if the SQUIP hadn’t optic nerve blocked Michael, it would’ve told Jeremy to pick on him, and even though Michael has ostensibly been pretty good at brushing these things off before, the takedowns would hurt a LOT more coming from his former best friend - and we know this because IT ACTUALLY HAPPENS, granted without the SQUIP influencing Jeremy directly (also let’s just clear up that just because the SQUIP wasn’t on doesn’t mean its influence on Jeremy hadn’t disappeared - that’s not how emotional abuse works).

Twelve years of loyal friendship, of borderline unhealthy codependency … can he throw all that away for Christine, a girl he’s thus admired from afar and is only just starting to get to know as a person? Moreover, even if Jeremy gets Christine, what about himself, who he wants to be? He just wants to be something other than himself because he thinks that anything is better but … what? The cool dude, the hero or … whatever. He’ll take anything because he’s that desperate, but what about when he gets it? Will he finally be satisfied? Will it be worth failing his one real friend, an act so scummy that the only way he could possibly stomach it would be to somehow pretend he hadn’t done it?

But none of those questions matter to Jeremy now - he’s fully gaslit into believing that every thought and inclination that comes from himself is wrong and shouldn’t be followed. He needs to sync up with the SQUIP and the rest of the world and mute his own defective inner voice. When you think about it, the relationship between Jeremy and the SQUIP is one of the most intense abusive relationships ever put to fiction - we’ve seen emotional abuse and brainwashing before, but here, Jeremy is literally preventing from THINKING the wrong way because the SQUIP can detect his every thought. See what I mean when I say that doesn’t go away when the SQUIP turns off for a few minutes?!

Throughout all of this is the undercurrent of Jeremy wanting to get better. He’s been trying so hard for so long to have a better life, but nothing has worked. Not listening to his dad, not trying to get closer to Christine through theatre, and certainly not listening to Michael’s advice to wait until college. Why should he resign himself to even more time being miserable with no end in sight? After all, being cool in college isn’t a guarantee. After all he’s been through, it’s his turn to finally be cool, after an eternity of being someone he doesn’t want to be.

Another best line in this song - “I’m Player One.” As mentioned a few times in the show before, like in the Broadway upgrade, Jeremy feels lower even in his friendship with Michael - he’s Player 2 as the more experienced Michael is Player 1. As previously established, Jeremy admits that he’s “not the one who the story’s about.” Now he’s ready to finally take control of his life, be the main character and have good things happen to him, and that means cutting out Michael, the old Player 1. The irony here is that Jeremy is less like Player 1 and more like a video game avatar. In reality, the SQUIP is Player 1, making Jeremy do whatever it demands of him.

More best lines! The slew of insults towards the end serves not just as yet more gut punches for the audience but as a major catharsis for Jeremy - It’s telling that the insults get harsher as his rant goes on, from the “weirdo” to the “weakling freak” to the “failure” to the climactic “please don’t speak”. He’s unloading everything that he’s been carrying over the years, ripping out the bullets that have been embedded in his skin and re-opening all the wounds in the process, but he’s done with the pain and he’ll never ever let himself be hurt like that again, if he follows the SQUIP.

I’ve made a whole post about the significance of the best line “Please Don’t Speak” before so I’ll mostly be repeating a lot of what I said there because it’s been a while since that post and because I want to. Who would’ve said that to Jeremy? Probably not Rich or Chloe, it’s not like them. It had to have come from an adult in a position of authority that could’ve commanded Jeremy not to speak like that - one that apparently did so enough times for him to internalise those words like he did the others. (Even worse if it was more than one adult ...). Out of all of the insults, it’s easy to see how that can easily be the most scarring out of all of them - how would an adult let a child know they’re inadequate? By silencing them. Making it clear that their expression of self not only means nothing, but should be forcibly avoided. Put like that, it makes it much easier to see how and why Jeremy fell under the SQUIP’s influence so easily - telling it was hardly different from authority figures he’s experienced before. In even more sad irony, as Jeremy claims that he’s breaking free and letting go of his past as the “please don’t speak”, he’s just walking right into another, similar trap that he can’t easily escape from. The SQUIP literally vocal cord blocks him during The Play - if that doesn’t say “Please don’t speak,” what does?!

The climax is growing! The music shifts into the relative minor as Jeremy fully gives in to the SQUIP’s evil influence. This is the point of no return, the point where he’s literally being surrounded and overtaken - if you’ve seen this on stage or even just a bootleg, you’ll know what I mean, when the lighting shifts and the circuitry start closing in around him, it’s wonderful. The bass ascends, Jeremy declares once and for all that HE IS NOT THE LOSER, THE GEEK, OR WHATEVER, and he never will be again! As some have pointed out, the sequence of notes on the final “again” is the same as at the end of Be More Chill Part 2, except the last note is different. In BMC part 2, it goes further down by a minor third, but in Loser Geek Whatever, it rises up to the same note it started with. This foreshadows Jeremy’s fate - that he will eventually overcome the SQUIP and that he still has it in him to do so. Man, let me just point out how amazing that last belt is - it lasts for a full 15 seconds in a really high range and takes a LOT of control to bring it back up to the high B without breaking. This song really was written for Will Roland - his voice can pull it off seamlessly, but other actors and understudies have had to find workarounds. No disrespect to them, it’s a damn hard song and it kicks ass all the way through. Scott Folan apparently had trouble with it too, but on the day I happened to see him, he pulled it off without breaking, so props to him!

Overall, Loser Geek Whatever is my favourite song in Be More Chill and not just for its sentimental value to myself. It’s a genuinely deep, complex piece that earned every second of its six minutes. Loser Geek Whatever is definitely the missing piece the show needed - not only is it Jeremy’s solo song, it’s also his “I Want” song and, in a way, his 11 o’clock number all in one, as he’s having a major epiphany after going on a journey, albeit only half of one. It’s easy to see why Joe Iconis dubbed this his anti-Defying Gravity, but it’s also easy to draw parallels to No Good Deed - how both Jeremy and Elphaba vow to become something that society is forcing upon them rather than what they are, even if that society’s will is objectively worse for them. Loser Geek Whatever deserves a thousand times the recognition it has and I still wonder to this day what the fandom reaction would’ve been if it had been in the original soundtrack.

So, that was it. I’m not sorry it was this long.

TL;DR: Loser Geek Whatever is wonderful and anyone who doesn’t think so is wrong.

[xhanisai]

Confront the boundary line of good and evil in my heart

AO3 / FFN

Summary: 

It wasn't her fault! No way whatsoever! But still... Still... 'It really does hurt so bad...so much, I can't take it!'

~(x)~ . . . Tick. Tock. "I'm so sorry Chat Noir! I didn't mean to- I just- I just completely broke down and she was right there and I needed someone-" "It's okay, Bug. I understand, don't apologise," Tick. Tock. "It's not okay at all! You've wanted to know for so long, so patiently and I have always said no- and then look at me now! A hypocrite! This is probably a huge sucker-punch for you and I hate that I've always kept on hurting you back then but now, this takes the cake-" "N-No, I'm fine, honest...really. What matters is your happiness and wellbeing-" "But what about you!?" "..." Tick- "...Kid, talk to me, please. The way you're staring out into space is scaring me." The subdued, raspy voice belonging to the ancient being of destruction went unheard. The boy in question continued to observe the empty space in front, sitting on top of his bed with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms folded in front, hiding the lower half of his face. If one were to enter the room, they would instantly freeze from the glower of the boy's fiery emerald greens that were begging to pool with unshed tears and the aura of his stone-cold demeanour. From the waft of his internal turmoil, even a blind person would be able to pick up that he was currently the host of bad luck. "...Adrien...I want to help, I want to understand, so talk to me!" Once again, Plagg was left ignored, leaving him no choice but to float back down to his pillow and direct his pleading kitten eyes at the blonde, his tiny heart shattered from the state of his chosen. Alas, even he was helpless, his feline ears and whiskers drooping with sorrow. 'But you won't understand. You never did and you never will. No one will ever understand.' Adrien didn't even flinch, didn't even bat an eye. He was a statue of apathy and aloofness; though deep down inside, he was a maelstrom of agonising pain. Oh, so much pain. It was excruciating. He wanted to suit up and claw through the rooves of Paris whilst screaming in anguish. He wanted to find every billboard that had his face on it and tear through it all like paper. He wanted to shred and pulverise his useless, traitorous heart along with its despicable feelings and emotions. But most importantly, he wanted to rip the magical ring off his finger and throw it into La Seine with all his might and then cry for the rest of eternity. And he hates that he feels that way. Absolutely, ridiculously, hates that he feels betrayed. Self-loathing and disgust have taken over his body like a puppet and rendered him completely useless, like a toy forgotten at the bottom of the box, never to see the light of day ever again. The feeling of uselessness and pure shame replaced the blood running through his veins and numbed him to the point where he was equivalent to a powerless machine. He felt his throbbing heart fall deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. It wasn't her fault! No way whatsoever! But still... Still... 'It really does hurt so bad...so much, I can't take it!' The younger, softer, naive part of himself which was usually tucked away within the dark, hidden crevices of his heart, screamed as if the rest of humanity's lives depended on it. It was taking Adrien everything to keep him out. 'Is it too much to ask for only one constant in my life? Is it too much to ask for one thing to remain the same? Is it too much for anyone to stop keeping me at arm's length!?' . It is. . It is. . Deep down inside, below the platinum chains and iron bars of solid, concrete denial, he always knew that Ladybug never considered him as close as he did with her. And why should she? Just because he performed an act of common, proper human decency and helped an old man get his walking stick back? Just because he was gifted with the power to destroy anything he touches in order to save the day? Just because he knew how to fight possessed villains alongside her? Just because he's in love with her? . "I'm literally the worst." Adrien finally spoke out loud ever since he returned from...that patrol many hours ago. Despite his words, his soul couldn't help but weep and pray that it was all one huge, cruel nightmare. A twisted, sick joke that whatever deities out there have concocted up just for him. Anything! Yet, this was his reality. "I disagree." The boy snapped his gaze towards the kwami, his brows furrowing for elaboration on the little God's part. "I may not be human but I do have feelings and I can empathise. I've existed from the beginning of time and I've witnessed many, many things in my lifetime." Plagg then floated towards him, settling on Adrien's arm so that he was face to face. "You're not in the wrong here, kid. It's okay to feel like this-" "No, it's not!" Adrien's sudden outburst had the kwami shoot away in surprise, the boy instantly turning baffled at his own harsh reaction and then visibly paling even further. He caught sight of his own reflection on a nearby mirror, cringing at the monstrous mess that looked back. With a frustrated sigh, he leapt off the bed, solemnly treading towards his windows, fingers digging into his upper arms as if he was hugging himself. . The luminous moon that shone through the night sky, what was once a beacon of freedom in the past, never looked so unappealing to the distraught hero. His usually glittering eyes were vacant, devoid of any joy and hope whilst his lips were etched in a permanent frown. How many fake smiles and empty words of wisdom did he force out in front of his Lady earlier on? He's lost count. And how many more times will he have to keep doing that, knowing that there will always be another person out that there that Ladybug trusts more than she'll ever trust him? . "I stand by with what I said," Plagg quipped once more, his host quietly surprised with how the little God managed to get so close without him realising. "The two of you have been thrust into a messy situation with very little guidance and a whole bunch of rules which only complicated it further." He then directed his eyes from the moon to the boy. "Yes, I agree that Ladybug's decision in confiding with someone about her identity was a good idea, but as a result of that, it's brought you so much pain. You are not the worst and it's okay to cry it out. It's okay to tell her how you really feel." He placed one of his tiny hands on Adrien's cheek, ears and whiskers still weighed with melancholy as the boy allowed his eyes to prick with tears. One drop. Two drops. Three drops. Four. "It shouldn't hurt- I...I shouldn't be so selfish! Even if she never told me, I was able to tell that she wasn't able to handle her civilian life any longer, especially after becoming the Guardian- I'm supposed to protect her and be by her side! Not throw a tantrum like a three-year-old just because I'm not the one she decided to tell about her secret identity! And then adding my own stupid feelings and insecurities to her plate? I'll be a burden!" The dam was broken and the overwhelming feelings within Adrien cascaded like a tsunami. "You have plenty on your plate as well-" "But I'm used to it, she isn't. I was born and raised to deal with these kinds of things anyway so it's a no brainer for me to shut up and accept it all with a smile-" He paused abruptly, a wet gasp escaping his throat as he leaned against the glass for support when even more realisation sunk in. 'I have been dealing with so many responsibilities ever since I was born...and that puts us on the same boat...so why couldn't she have confided with me then?' Adrien dropped to his knees, fingernails scraping against his scalp as he tried to fight back against those negative thoughts and questions. 'Why am I never good enough? Not for Maman, not for Père and now...not for Ladybug...?' 'Why am I even here then?'

"Adrien...you don't need to put a mask on when you're with me. Cry it all out. I'm not gonna sit by and watch you destroy yourself from inside out because of your inability to address your true feelings. I'm right here, I'll even destroy all the wretched butterflies that dare to come by- so please, let it all out," "I can't! If I do, I'll never be able to go back and nothing will be the same again-" "And if you don't, then things will change for the worse and trust me, kid, that is the last thing you need." Finally, Plagg's words unravelled the obstacles that slowed down the flood and Adrien couldn't help but give in. His body shook and a whole new fresh wave of tears pooled down his eyes, teeth biting down on his lip to prevent the sobs from bursting out. . "...It hurts Plagg...it hurts so much! I love her...and I trust her so much but it hurts! I know she trusts me on a level and I know that multiple times she's mentioned that I'm irreplaceable but dammit! Why does it all feel like a lie!? She did the right thing in telling her civilian best friend, she finally has someone to look after herself- but why does it feel so wrong? Why is my heart in so much pain? Why can't I stop crying? If Ladybug won't lean on me, then what am I here for? And if I can't lean on Ladybug...who...who do I have?" . "...I may not be much and I may talk about nothing but cheese...but you'll always have me, kid," "I want to believe you, I want to so badly, Plagg...but I can't. I feel so alone...I've always been alone... ...And I'll always be alone..." . . . A couple of hours ago, just shy under midnight on a lone, hidden rooftop, if a curious civilian looked up, they would have seen Ladybug and Chat Noir locked in an embrace. However, what they would have noticed first was the absolutely broken, heartwrenching expression Noir wore... ...As if his entire world has fallen apart... . . . ~(x)~ A/N: Just wondering if I should make a sequel and give these two poor cats a happy ending~

[bffsoobin]

Apartment 370

↳everything about your apartment was perfect. Aside from your neighbor. Choi Soobin has become the bane of your existence. You can’t go a single day without looking over your shoulder for your misleadingly handsome neighbor. Just how many petty pranks does he think he can get away with?

➤ enemies to lovers!au, neighbors!au, arguments, petty behavior, swearing, fluff

Word Count: 3,062

Requested?: yes

Warnings: none really other than swearing and Soobin kind of being an ass. I also didn’t proof read or edit this, as per usual.

A/N: To be honest I’m feeling a little unsure about this? I loved the concept and I’m very glad that a lovely follower requested it but I feel like lately all of my writing has started out really well and then just got progressively worse? Like all of the endings I write are just kind of lame? Just a weird insecurity I’ve been encountering lately. So please leave me some feedback on what you think about this!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

You loved your apartment. It was small, but just right for you to live in. The shower had hot water, your bedroom had a beautiful window for your plants to sit on and the wifi connection was always working well. You even only had to travel up two flights of stairs if your elevator stopped working. There were a lot of pros to living at your complex. But there was one, massive, glaring and obnoxiously loud con. Choi Soobin. When he had moved in next to you, you tried to be nice. You knocked on his door and introduced yourself; making some kind of lame joke about borrowing sugar. 

He didn’t laugh. He just introduced himself back and apologized for not having any sugar. Apologized? Had he really missed the joke that bad? Your delivery had been impeccable. Despite his charming face and annoyingly adorable style, you decided there was no way you could be friends with someone who didn’t understand a classic joke. 

Soobin must have decided there was a reason he didn’t like you either, because just about a week into being neighbors he began to wreak havoc. He played music as loud as it possibly could be at the weirdest times of the day and yelled at his television way too much no matter what he was watching. It seemed like every day you had to storm over and knock on his door to complain. This went on for weeks until he finally agreed to stop when you threatened to involve your burly landlord in the matter. 

For a few days, you enjoyed peace and quiet. You came and went from work without seeing him, took naps in silence and remembered how it felt to cook in your own kitchen without the sound of a twenty something year old man screaming at reruns of Survivor as background music. 

As they say, ignorance is bliss, because little did you know Soobin’s silence was about to erupt into a new, massive volcano of stupidity. One night you woke up around 4 am to the sound of scratching coming from the wall that connected your and Soobin’s bedrooms. You were already annoyed at the fact that you had to be up at 7am to pick up an early shift for your slacking coworker, so you didn’t have it in you to just roll over and go back to bed. You couldn’t have if you wanted to anyway because the scratching noises were only getting more and more persistent. You flung yourself out of bed with a groan. Pets were allowed here, and it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Soobin had gotten a cat who decided to be a little extra scratchy. 

You poured yourself a glass of water in the kitchen, hoping to clear your mind and sort your thoughts. In the silence of the night, you could hear Soobin’s panicked voice through the thin walls. It sounded like he was on the phone with someone, as you could hear pauses as if he were listening to someone else. What a weird fucking dude, you thought. With eyes still drooping you walked back to your bedroom. The cat would have to be done scratching at the wall by now, right?

Wrong. The same consistent noise that would surely haunt your dreams still persisted. Knowing Soobin was awake gave you enough grounds to throw on a sweatshirt over your sleep clothes and go knock on his door. 

When it swung open, you could see just how distraught he was. His usually fluffy hair was flat and knotted and his eyes were sporting huge dark circles that only made the panic in them amplified. Wait, panic?  

“Y/N, I’m really sorry but you need to leave,” he had the door open just far enough to stick his head and shoulders out, as if he were trying to hide something. 

“No, Soobin. I heard your cat scratching at the wall and it’s annoying the hell out of me. I can’t sleep. Can’t you lock it in the bathroom or something?” His face scrunched in confusion. 

“A cat? I don’t have a cat.” Your insides boiled with hatred at the idea of him trying to lie his way out of this. 

“Listen up Choi. Unless you have a dragon in your bedroom scratching the shit out of the walls, I don’t want to deal with your lies. Just take care of it! I need my beauty sleep and you and your noisy cat aren’t helping at all.” Soobin’s face paled and for a second you thought that you had finally won. And then Soobin said:

“It’s not a cat. It’s a racoon.” 

You almost fell onto your ass right in the hallway. Soobin’s eyes sparked with a type of mirth you never thought such an admittedly gorgeous face could possess. 

“I’m calling the landlord.” You snapped the door shut in his face and turned away.

That had apparently been the final straw for Soobin. The next day when you got back from work, you found a handwritten “RACOON HATER” sign taped to your door. What you found inside was somehow even more unsettling. Your whole living room and kitchen had been essentially trashed. Throw pillows and blankets were thrown haphazardly on the floor, many of your photos and art you had on the walls were switched around or taken down altogether. And the worst of it all; everything was covered in a fine dust of glitter. It was a struggle to find a single surface that wasn’t covered in glitter, really. 

A new type of dislike for Choi Soobin brewed in your stomach. Hatred. Your kitchen counter- also covered in a dust of chunky silver glitter- became the victim of your frustrations as you slammed your hands down. It would cost you so much time and money to get all the glitter out of your living spaces, let alone the fact that you'd inevitably be leaving some behind for the next poor soul to rent this apartment. Gritting your teeth, you went to work with your poor little vacuum. 

You had only managed to clean your coffee table and half of your couch before you heard a series of loud knocks on your door. You grumbled at the idea of having to take a pause in your work but you trudged over to the door anyway. 

To be honest, you had no idea who you were expecting to see behind your apartment door-which you belatedly realized was still decorated with Soobin’s handmade sign- but you didn’t think it would be the man himself. 

Soobin stood in the hallway, picture perfect as always. His face was tan and smooth and free from any possible blemishes. Had he plucked his eyebrows? They were groomed to neat perfection. His tall frame was dwarfed by a fuzzy blue sweatshirt that was easily a size too big. If you had met him by chance on the street, you would have fallen in love in an instant. But you knew better. You knew he was the one who reduced your once lovely apartment into the mess it was now.

“Oh, sorry,” he feigned innocence, “are you busy?” He didn’t even try to hide the smirk that blossomed on his face. A grumble of a curse fell from your lips before you responded. 

“Yeah. Some asshole decided to break into my apartment and spread glitter on everything. So yes, I’m sort of busy,” you laced your voice with enough venom to kill a horse, and it seemed as if Soobin had gotten the message as he shrunk back into the hallway a bit. His mouth opened and shut in rapid succession as he struggled to find the perfect retort. 

“I-” he cut himself off as his soft eyes became hyper focused on a spot on your face. Suddenly you were a new combination of concerned and offended. His hand hesitantly rose toward your face before the softness of his fingertips made contact with your cheek and brushed something away. You held your breath the entire time, unsure if you should be upset or worried or utterly lost in the way his skin felt against yours. The contact was brief but still made your skin burn bright red. When his hand left your cheek, you saw that he had brushed away a piece of glitter that was now resting delicately on his fingertip. 

“Sorry,” he hurried out, “I just wanted to get the glitter off of your face.” His whole demeanor had changed, and you were sure that whatever plan he had in mind when he knocked on your door had vanished. 

“Okay, weirdo,” you tried to ignore the way you were yearning to feel his touch again, “I’m still busy so can you like, go away?” Upon hearing your words he turned away to head for his apartment door with ears as red as you’d ever seen them. 

Although the glitter incident was now months behind you, you still often found pieces in random spots around your home. And Soobin was still a pain in your ass. He had been quiet for close to two weeks after your odd encounter and you were almost convinced that he had changed his ways. You were quickly proven wrong when he conned the man who works the front desk into hiding your mail for a week straight; making you subsequently late to paying some of your bills. 

More recently, a new person had moved into the apartment across the way. The first day you met him, you were busying yourself with taping up Soobin’s door with bright pink duct tape from the outside. Your new neighbor-who you learned to be named Yeonjun- had squatted down right next to you and offered to help tear pieces of the tape. 

You and Yeonjun had become fast friends. He was incredibly charming and willing to lend an ear every time you needed to complain about Soobin. For a while, you were almost able to forget the fact that the devil incarnate lived next door to you. While your work schedules tended to be a little crazy, the two of you managed to talk for at least a few minutes every day. He helped you gain some sanity back within your apartment hallway. 

Despite also being friends with Soobin, Yeonjun never took sides in your little feud; but you were always secretly worried that somehow Soobin would put a bug in his ear. One day, about two months after Yeonjun had moved in, he knocked on your door while you were in the middle of making dinner. You invited him in but he hesitated. 

“I just came to talk to you,” he bit into his bottom lip, “I really like you. But I don’t see us ever being more than friends. I hope you understand.” You scrunched your eyebrows. Where was this coming from? 

“Uh okay? I know that. I don’t like you...like that, Yeonjun. Did you hit your head or something?” You were seriously confused. Yeonjun’s eyes widened comically. 

“Well Soobin said that-“ as soon as the words fell out of his mouth Yeonjun put together the invisible puzzle pieces. His face morphed into extreme regret.  “I’m so sorry. I should have known it was part of your weird prank war. You should have seen how convincing his acting is though, he really had me thinking you had a crush on me.” You scoffed at the idea of Soobin beginning to spread rumors to one of your closest friends just for the hell of it. If Yeonjun hadn’t been mature enough to address it right away, you could have gone through weeks of confusion about why he was avoiding you.

You looked back at your kitchen, catching sight of the steaming bowl of ramen you’d just finished making. Sighing, you shut your door behind you to stand in the hall with Yeonjun. He looked sheepish in your presence as you laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m not mad at you, Yeonjun. I’m going to talk to the bane of my existence,” you gestured toward the door with the shiny ‘370’ plaque. “Just don’t bother calling the landlord if you hear yelling.” As soon as you heard the sound of Yeonjun’s door snapping shut, you laid into Soobin’s door with a heavy knock. As soon as it was opened far enough, you wedged your body inside and subsequently sent Soobin stumbling backwards. 

“How dare you?” You roared, throwing your hands in the air dramatically. “I’m fine with your petty pranks and all the other stupid shit you pull against me because that’s all between the two of us. At least it’s funny and gives me something to think about in my free time. But when you start to involve my friends? That’s way too far. There was no reason to rope Yeonjun into this. He’s your friend too, Choi.” Soobin seemed surprised that you had come in with so much to say right off the bat.

“Y/N it’s really not that big of a deal. I just wanted to see if you actually had the capacity to have a crush on someone. And you’ve been spending so much time with Yeonjun I figured he’d be the perfect person to test my theory with, plus the humiliation factor of him not liking you back would have kept me entertained for days” he sat down on his couch casually, “I guess he had to break it to you that you aren’t as flirty and irresistible as you think you are, huh?” The air crackled with tension as you gawked down at his sprawled form.

“What are you even saying? Yeonjun and I are just friends. And why does it matter to you if I have the capacity for a crush or not? You hate me. If you’re just waiting until I get a boyfriend so that you can come in and ruin it all with your shitty vendetta then you’re much worse of a person than I ever pegged you for!” Tears welled in your eyes but you wiped at them angrily. Out of all the fights and disagreements you’d ever had with Soobin, this was the first one that stirred an odd emotion in the pit of your stomach. You were tired of the back and forth. Soobin seemed oddly alarmed at the formation of your tears as he got up from the comfort of his couch and approached you like a wounded dog. 

“Trust me, I have no grand plan to ruin your life at every turn even though that’s what you think. You spend so much time with Yeonjun, I thought maybe you liked him. I knew he didn’t like you because when I told him that I-” Soobin actually clapped his own giant hand over his mouth as the words hung in the air between you. Anger shot through your mind at the idea that he didn’t even have the guts to relay the entire story. 

“You what? You’re so wrapped up in your own little world but you can’t even finish telling me what you said to someone else? I can’t believe you, honestly,” you turned and made your way toward his door, wanting nothing more than to go home and take a hot shower. Soobin’s hand clasped around your wrist as he gently yanked you away from the exit. His strong grip kept you standing right in front of him and although you struggled against him, there was no use. 

“I told him that I like you.” For a second, you thought that you had misheard him, but he continued. “I told Yeonjun that I like you. And he told me that I should go for it, because he doesn’t see you as more than a friend. But I freaked out so I told him that you liked him. I knew you probably actually didn’t.” 

Your brain was short circuiting at the confession. Choi Soobin, who had complicated your life beyond belief since the day he moved in months ago liked you? 

“But,” your eyebrows drew together as you tried to comprehend it all, “you hate me, Soobin. We have a whole...rivalry! There’s no way you actually have feelings for me. I swear if this is just another prank I’ll shove my hand so far down your throat-“ Soobin threw his hands up in front of his body in a form of defense. 

“No! I don’t hate you, Y/N. I’ve liked you since the day we met. I just thought the pranks and petty stuff was like...our way of hanging out? That’s why I kept doing them. I thought you were having fun with me.” It was ridiculous how much he sounded like a little boy explaining his side of the story to a teacher. It was even more ridiculous that the corner of your brain where you’d stuffed all your feelings for Soobin began to overflow. 

“Haven’t you ever heard that there’s much better ways to tell someone you like them? We could have spent the last 11 months not at each other’s throats if you would have just manned up and found out I like you too.” You saw the exact moment that the words finally processed and his entire face lit up with the recognition. 

A familiar, deeply dimpled smile grew across his face as his skin reddened. He clasped his hands in front of him and swayed back and forth on his feet. Before you could think to stop him, he leaned in close enough that you worried he could hear your heart thumping against your ribs. 

“You like me too?” 

“Yes, Soobin. I like you too. And I would like you even more if you stopped your stupid pranks,” you tapped his nose with your pointer finger twice. He nodded eagerly with his tongue sticking out from between his teeth slightly.

“Deal,” he stuck his hand out to you and you raised an eyebrow to silently ask if he was serious. His hand didn’t waver, so you grasped it firmly and pulled him toward your body until you could wrap him into a tight hug. It was an odd feeling, soaking in Soobin’s scent as he gently rocked the two of you back and forth in his apartment. Odd, but good. Perfect.

[onebatch2batch]

Heyo, dialogue prompts: 14 or 30? 😊

HI THIS WAS FROM FOREVER AGO BUUUUUT that's my m.o. so here we are. Hope you like it!!

And no, I'm never going to stop writing different versions of Frank and Karen getting together, you can't make me :)

--

14. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

Frank can practically hear David scheming, and he’s proven right when an anthropomorphic mop of hair bends into his line of sight and he says, “Hey, remember in the bunker, when we were still on the run?”

They’re both standing in David’s front yard. Frank’s van is in need of an oil change and a replacement filter and since he’s not keen on anyone else working on his getaway vehicle, he called up David to request use of his paved, suburban driveway. It’s been a few weeks since he’s managed to get over here, and David had instantly agreed on the condition that Frank stay for dinner. It’s a beautiful summer day, even if it’s a little hot, and he’s feeling a little off-kilter from the sounds of children playing all around. It’s so painfully normal that for a moment he’d regretted asking, and then David had offered him a drink. The taller computer genius doesn’t know shit about cars, so he’s alternating between fetching more beers and talking Frank’s ear off. It’s been about an hour now, and Frank has slowly relaxed into the background noise.

“Yeah,” Frank responds dryly around the flashlight between his teeth. He’s elbow deep in grease and not really interested in where this line of questioning is going to go, but David has other ideas.

“Uh huh. You know, when you got yourself on the news after that kid held Karen hostage?”

If Frank is affected by the name, all David notices is a sharp glance. “Yeah.”

“And how you freaked out and begged for my help and said she was family?”

Frank straightens and sets the flashlight down on the bumper of the car. “You got a point, Lieberman? I’m busy.”

“Yeah, I have a point. Was that all just bullshit, or what?”

They stare at each other. Frank’s jaw ticks.

“...what.”

“Thought so.”

“No, what?”

“Well you made this huge declaration and then almost got yourself killed trying to rescue her so--”

“God damn it, Lieberman, you’re never going to let that go, are you--”

David shakes his head, exasperated. “I mean, we haven’t even gotten to meet her yet and it’s been six months since Madini used her government wiles to give you a new identity--”

Frank scowls. “It’s none of your--”

The other man cuts him off quickly, hands up. To Frank’s immense displeasure, the other man looks less cowed and more placating. “I’m just saying, invite her to dinner next week. What harm is there? Maybe something good might happen to you for once, god forbid.” His friend stares him down, using every couple of inches of height to try and look intimidating. Of course it doesn’t work, but Frank is too busy thinking about having a family dinner with Karen, with his friends, like a normal person. Like a couple. He realizes too slow that David is leering at him, pleased.

“David, shut the hell up.”

“You’re blushing. Is that a yes? I’ll tell Sarah.”

--

Karen doesn’t question it when Frank calls her up after half a year of radio silence. She asks if it's a casual dress dinner and what kind of wine to bring, and then announces she’s got to go and she’ll see him Friday at six sharp.

He doesn’t know if that’s better or worse than her just telling him to shove it.

--

Friday creeps up on him, and by the time he parks outside of her apartment it hasn’t really sunk in that he’s about to take Karen Page to a domestic dinner in the suburbs. Because it’s definitely not a date, even though it kind of is. It’s the stuff he used to do with Maria and the kids all the time when he was on leave; double dates and cook outs and all that crap. He’s rusty as hell and usually shit company, but they keep asking him back. And now, he’s throwing Karen into the mix.

It’s a feeling similar to being shot in the head and waking up in a hospital room. Disorienting and uncomfortable as hell.

He picks her up in the van, leaning against the side of it as he waits. The Lieberman’s neighborhood is outside the city, about a twenty minute drive. It’s going to give them plenty of time to talk, and he’d barely restrained himself from looking up conversation starters online before leaving his place. He doubts there’s any suggestions for a vigilante-cum-construction worker who’s picking up a date he’s spoken a handful of words to for the first time in six months. He’s just considering cancelling the whole thing when the door to her building opens and she steps out.

He’s seen Karen a lot of ways. He’s seen her in pencil skirts and heels and blouses, in tshirt and jeans, bruised and bloody. He’s never seen her in a sundress with her pinked shoulders bare to the world and strappy sandals on her feet. Her hair is in a long braid over her shoulder. She looks fucking resplendant. Absolutely divine. Fucking poetry in motion.

He’s fucked.

“Hi,” she greets, coming to a stop in front of him. She’s got a bottle of wine in her hands. Her eyes punch little, individual question marks into his skin when she searches his face.

“Hey.” He inhales, bracing for her reaction. His throat closes up when he gets a whiff of her perfume. So familiar from the handful of times he’s been close enough to smell it--something soft and floral, something that makes his head swim. He thinks back to that moment so many months ago, swaying together in the elevator, her skin against his, her perfume subtle under the metallic tang of blood.

Karen doesn’t immediately go for interrogating him. She only lifts the bottle in her hand. “I brought a white, is that okay?”

Wary relief loosens the knot at the top of his spine. He nods, pushing off the car to open her door. “Sure.”

When Karen climbs in, carefully arranging her skirt around her, the dark interior contrasting with the soft yellow of her dress, Frank thinks about a conversation with Curtis all those months ago. Wonders when the kick is coming.

They spend the first ten minutes looking out separate windows and listening to the radio. After that, Karen starts talking like she’s made her mind up about the evening is going to go. She asks him how he’s been, if he’s gotten a job, how Dinah is, what the Liebermans are like. Nothing is accusatory. They could be old friends passing one another on the street, the way she’s talking. Almost like she’s talking to a scared dog. Coaxing it out of a corner.

Guess he deserves that.

By the time he pulls onto the appropriate street, it almost feels normal. They’ve fallen into a familiar back and forth that’s easy to keep up with, and when he opens her door she gives him a small grateful smile, accepting his hand on the way down.

He’s not disappointed when she lets go to straighten the fabric of her dress. He’s not.

--

As always, the Lieberman household is an explosion of domesticity. There’s shoes on the stairs, a sweet smelling candle burning on the coffee table, toys and books strewn over the floor. Pictures line the walls. When Frank knocks on the door, Zach opens it like he’s been waiting for them.

“ Hi, Pete!” he greets excitedly, and then his eyes land on Karen. “Who’s that?”

“Hello, I’m Karen Page.” She crouches down to look him in the eye and smiles. “You must be Zach, right?”

He flushes, twisting his fingers nervously. “Yeah. Are you Pete’s girlfriend?”

They’re saved from answering by a sudden, high pitched shriek. “Frank!!”

Karen manages to stand out of the way just in time for Leo to come barrelling down the stairs directly into Frank, hugging him tightly around the middle.

“Frank, Dad says you were here Saturday but you were gone before I left Ann’s house!!” she pulls away and waves a book at him. “I’m reading the book you told me about!”

He grins down at her. “I waited around for ya, but your mom said you wouldn’t be home until later. How’s the book, huh?”

She scrunches her nose. “I don’t know yet. I’ll let you know. Are you Karen?”

Karen laughs. “I sure am. Leo, right?”

“That’s me. Come on, my mom is in the kitchen.” She nudges Zach and then four of them head into the other room. Sarah Lieberman is standing behind the kitchen counter, chopping up a head of lettuce. When they walk in, she beams at them.

“Hey guys, welcome! Hang on, let me finish this. Pete, David’s out in the garage trying to fix the sprinklers. Can you--?”

Frank rolls his eyes. “Say no more.”

He lifts his brows at Karen, but she gives him a jerk of her head. Frank huffs and stalks off after kissing Sarah on the cheek, Leo trailing after him talking about sprinkler systems and tools. Zach joins his mother behind the counter and peers at Karen curiously. She sets the bottle of wine down.

“So Karen!” Sarah exclaims, dumping the lettuce into a bowl. “Let’s get you a glass of wine and chat. How’s that sound?”

--

They end up on the patio furniture. After completing the salad and sides, Sarah turns on the grill and then ushers them to the corner of the patio, refilling their glasses.

“So,” she starts, and peers at Karen over the rim of her glass. “I’m going to be forward, but I get the feeling you’ll appreciate that. What’s the deal with you and Pete? Sorry--habit. Frank.”

Karen could have guessed this was coming, even if she expected a little more subtlety. And Sarah’s right, she appreciates the bluntness. It gives her a chance to answer in kind.

“I don’t know.” She runs a finger over the rim of her glass, frowning. “I haven’t--we haven’t spoken in...a while. Six months, actually. And the last time I saw him..well, it didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. I thought I scared him off, actually.”

“How so?”

And the story falls out of her mouth, in pieces. She hasn’t spoken to anyone about Frank, about her feelings for him--the good or bad--or about that afternoon in the hospital. “--and I thought...I thought maybe he would finally kiss me.” She runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. “And then he pulled that I’m not a hero bullshit and that’s the last I saw of him. Until he called this week.”

Sarah rolls her eyes. “That sounds like him. Honey, did you know when we first met he was gathering information on David?”

“Ah, yes. I was the one who found David for him.” She grimaces. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be! We’re lucky he came looking. Without him…” she shrugs. “I would still be a widow. And my kids still wouldn’t have their father. I’m just trying to say he may do things backwards, but he ends up doing things for the right reasons. Even if it takes him time to figure that out.”

--

Dinner goes well. Dinner goes really, really well. Not that Frank was worried--there isn’t a person alive who can sit down with Karen Page and at the very least admire her. The Liebermans fall in love with her immediately. The kids demand that she stay for a board game after dinner. Leo brags about her science project. Zach shyly asks if Karen likes football. Sarah drills her with questions about her job. David keeps her laughing while stupid jokes and send Frank knowing glances throughout dinner that makes Frank want to throw peas at him.

Karen is charming, sweet, and great with the kids. She gets along with David and Sarah, and sends him warm, unsure smiles until dessert.

They play Apples to Apples, and the kids decimate. Karen is a close third. Frank loses terribly, but he’s still busy ruminating over the warm feeling in his chest at the cacophony of noise that surrounds him as everyone submits to another peal of laughter to notice.

“Frank,” Leo says innocently once they’ve put the board game away and Sarah has told the kids it’s time for bed. She stands in the doorway to the kitchen and looks at him sternly, hands on her hips. “Please bring Karen around more. It’s not fair that you get to hog her and we’ve just met.”

“Leo, that’s Miss Page to you.” Sarah tries for sharpness but ends up laughing. “Off to bed. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

“Bye Miss Page!” the kids chorus, and then it’s just the adults.

“Great kids,” Karen laughs. “Smart, too. You’re in trouble.”

Sarah sighs and pats her husband’s cheek fondly. “Yeah, we know. Somehow both of them got his brain.”

David chuckles, turns quickly to press a kiss to his wife’s palm. “At least they didn’t get my hair,” he jokes.

Karen sneaks a glance at Frank, then quickly looks away. He catches it, just briefly, as does David.

“Sarah, we should probably make sure the kids are actually brushing their teeth. I’ll tackle Leo if you tackle Zach, tag team it? We’ll be right back, guys.”

It’s quiet in the kitchen after that. Karen takes a sip of her wine and taps her fingers. There’s something on her mind, he can tell. When she doesn’t say anything he leans forward to capture her gaze. “What is it?”

“Why now, Frank?” Karen asks.

The conversation he’s been dreading. A feeling of shame bubbles up so suddenly it nearly knocks him off his chair. He scratches his neck for no reason other than to expel the nervous energy building in him.

“I didn’t want to…” There’s no use pretending like they’re talking about something else, not when she’s staring at him like that. Like she's been waiting all night for this conversation while he’s been tricking himself into thinking it may not happen. His finger dances restlessly on the table top. “I didn’t want to get you sucked back in.”

“Into what?” She arches a brow. “You?”

“Me. My life. My goddamn baggage. I know you deserve better than me.” He clears his throat. “So I wanted you to have a chance to live your life without my ghosts hanging around.”

“Frank Castle,” Karen sighs, exasperated, “please don’t tell me you’re making decisions for me. And that still doesn’t answer my question--why now?”

His expression tightens. “C’mon Karen. I’m just tryin’ to keep you safe--”

“How many times do I have to tell you--”

“As many as it ta--”

“Frank--” David steps into the kitchen, Sarah in tow. They pause, looking between the two people seated at the table awkwardly. “Oh, are we interrupting something?”

“No, David. Thank you both for tonight. I think I should be going.” Karen stands and looks at Frank. “I have loved you for two years, Frank. No amount of avoiding me or trying to protect me is going to change that. Excuse me.”

And then she walks away.

--

He catches up to her just down the street. As soon as he sees that familiar head of blond hair he pulls the van over and hops out, jogging to catch up. Karen glances at him and then pauses, as if waiting for something.

“Let me drive you home,” he asks. “Please.”

He doesn’t take her home straight away; she doesn’t ask. Frank drives until he finds a spot overlooking the water. The heat has finally broken and a cool breeze comes in through the open window, stirring Karen’s hair. He shuts off the engine. They sit in silence while he tries to decide what to say.

“I guess I should start by apologizing,” he says finally, tapping the steering wheel. He’s past nervous, he just wants to fix his own screw up. “I’m sorry, Karen. I don’t want to make any decisions for you. I should have--I should have talked to you about it. I should have started this conversation a long time ago.”

“So, start it.” She’s watching him, waiting. There’s a tense expression on her face--like she’s either trying not to cry, or trying not to smile. Or tell him off. He’s not sure which, yet.

Frank clears his throat. “Okay. Uh. I’m not gonna make excuses, I’m just gonna tell you what I know. I know that I have done some shit, and I’m going to continue doing that shit. I’m not ever gonna be normal. I know that you’re smart as hell, and you check me, and you’re a fucking force of nature. I know that I have been telling myself that you deserve more than some--fuckin’ vigilante who wakes up to nightmares more than he doesn’t. I know you deserve to be safe and happy. You deserve more than I can give you. But uh,” he takes her hand cautiously, waits for her to pull away, relaxes when she doesn’t, “...I wanna try.”

“You gotta mean it, Frank,” she says, voice watery. “You better fucking mean it.”

“I mean it. I swear to Christ, I mean it.”

She pulls her hand away and for a millisecond, he thinks he’s said something wrong. Then she’s unbuckling her seat belt and clamoring over the armrest into his lap. It’s not the most majestic first kiss he’s ever had (of which there are few) but her breath is hot on his lips and her fingernails scrape gently over his scalp as if entreating him closer. Frank makes a low groan that he hasn’t heard from himself in a long time--too long--and then Karen shifts and his breath catches in his throat. The heat of her, all wrapped up in his arms, her hair falling over one shoulder as she peppers his mouth, his cheeks, his jaw with the tiniest of kisses.

He could have ruined this without even knowing. He almost ruined it before it even happened.

“I do want you, you know,” Karen murmurs against the skin of his jaw, fingers grasping his shirt. “All of you.”

“I know.”

“Does that scare you?”

He pushes gently until he can look her in the eyes. “A little,” he admits. “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“You’re doing okay so far,” she says, smiling. “Now that you’ve pulled your self-deprecating head out of your ass.”

“Took me long enough.” He cradles the back of her head in one hand, drawing her closer until their lips meet again. They’re both uncomfortable at the weird angle but it’s not until the horn beeps once, gaining the attention of a woman walking her dog, that Karen reluctantly returns to her seat.

They work to catch their breaths, watching the water.

“The Liebermans aren’t upset I left so--...abruptly, right?”

“Nah,” Frank chuckles, grasping her hand. He finds an indescribable amount of comfort in brushing his thumb over the ridges over her knuckles. “Actually, I think they like you better for it. Sarah almost chased me out of the house with a goddamn spatula.”

“I knew I liked her. Take me home? I’ll make coffee.”

“It’s a date.”

--

Frank’s phone lights up that night. If he were to reach an arm over and hold it up to see, David’s text would read, WELL?? Did you get the girl, Lloyd Dobler?

But he doesn’t. He tugs Karen closer and goes back to sleep.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Not You (one-shot)

Synopsis: Bucky has loved the Reader for three years. She has loved him for two. Both are dumbasses, and Sam is fed up.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, SMUT

Warnings: SMUT (unprotected sex (wrap it up, before doing the devil’s tango), swearing, filth, but like cute and fluffy filth. Filth with emosh.

Word count: 5172

   “What is this?”

   That was not how Bucky Barnes thought his night would go. After leaving the gala where Pepper announced the Black Widow foundation, the ex-Winter Soldier said 'thank you' to his date, walked her home and slowly strolled back to the apartment he shared with Sam. Once he got there, he took off the suit and the tie that had been choking him the whole evening, grabbed a hot shower and plopped down into his bed.

   He was surrounded by mountains of pillows and the softest mattress and bedding he’d ever had. After everything he’d been put through, Bucky appreciated soft things. That’s why he loved Y/N so much.

   She was the softest being in the universe, figuratively and literally. The first time they’d met and shook hands (he deliberately stuck out his flesh one, not wanting her to touch the silver-and-red-starred monstrosity), his eyes had widened in disbelief at how soft her skin had been. The handshake lingered a bit longer than needed for a first-time meeting, not to mention how he’d run his thumb over the top of her hand repeatedly.

   “You know, I’m gonna need that back at some point,” Y/N teased him, a mischievous glint sparking up her Y/E/C eyes.

   Bucky’d muttered a quick apology, but she dismissed him. “If you need a longer hug as well, just let me know.”

   And he had. Whenever he’d had a bad day, especially after missions, he’d come to the tower and plop down onto the couch. No matter what she’d be doing, around five to twenty minutes later, Y/N would appear with two hot chocolates in hand. Instantly, Bucky would curl himself against her as her fingers would card through his brown locks, making him feel safe and warm.

   That’s how he had fallen asleep that night - with the gentle thought of Y/N lying next to him and humming a quiet tune. It’s why he was more than surprised to find her banging against his door, fury, hurt and confusion written all over her face.

   “What is this?” she repeated again, pushing a piece of paper towards him.

   Fuck, how he wished he hadn’t cut his hair just so it could obscure the utter horror that exploded on his features when he saw the words on the page.

   He shook his head. “I – I didn’t write that.”

   “Bullshit, Barnes!” Y/N hissed, elbowing her way inside the apartment. “I recognize your handwriting because it’s the exact same handwriting I see every day as I rewrite your reports.”

   Bucky’s eyebrow shot up. Y/N shrugged. “Your grammar is horrific, and Fury would throw out any report that even mildly looked like yours do. But that’s besides the point. What the fuck is this?” She didn’t give him time to respond though. “You – you can’t just do that! You can’t leave me confessions like these after what you’ve done.”

   “What did I do?”

   Y/N scoffed and glared at him, hands on her hips. “You brought someone else to the gala. You took someone else as your date. Not to mention your Friday ‘love-nights’. How do you expect me to believe this shit when every weekend you spend it with someone else?”

   “You weren’t meant to see that,” he whispered so low she couldn’t hear it.

   “Pardon?”

   Bucky let out a shaky breath. “You weren’t meant to see that. Ever.”

   That made her take an involuntary step back, and Bucky raked a hand through his hair. Only then did Y/N fully see he was just in his boxers and had to swallow hard.

   “It was Sam’s dumb idea.”

   “What was?” she asked, voice low and trembling.

   “To write that letter. He told me to write down how I felt because I couldn’t deal with it anymore,” his blue eyes snapped up to hers, and it was like all the air was punched out of her because of the intensity in them. “Do you know how hard it is for me to see you every day without kissing you? How much self-control I need to have, not to just lean up and press my lips to yours when you so easily hold me? It’s like what I’ve done doesn’t matter to you!”

   “Because it doesn’t!” Y/N’s tone matched his. It was the only thing she could say, as processing the previous statements turned out not to be that easy.

   Bucky let out a frustrated snort. “Yeah, I know. That’s why it’s practically impossible for me to be around you. You just – you just accept me for who I am, and you love me the way I am… broken bits and all…”

   Her vision had gotten watery, and it was only when Bucky stepped forward and wiped away a stray tear did Y/N realize she was crying. “You’re not broken,” she choked out and shook her head.

   “No,” he agreed. “Not to you. For whatever reason, by some kind of a miracle, you see me just as a man… like I’m normal… and that’s why I fell in love with you.”

   “Why didn’t you say anything?”

   Bucky lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “How could I when I knew you deserved better? Deserve better. If things had gone the way I wanted them to, you’d never have known how I felt. You would have fallen in love with someone kind and smart, and they would treat you like you deserve to be treated. And I’d stand by and watch.”

   Y/N closed her eyes and stepped out of his embrace. “Why? Just… why?”

   “Because this can cost me you. And I’m a selfish asshole… losing you is not something I can handle.”

   “So – so all those other women,” she pointed to the door as if there was a hoard of people outside, “so you just use them to forget about me?”

   Bucky shook his head. There was no point in lying anymore. All the cards were already on the table. “No. Every time I go out with someone, I genuinely hope that there will be a spark. I truly, honestly hope that maybe I’ll fall for one of them… But I don’t… because they’re not you.”

 “No,” Y/N stammered, shaking her head. “They’re not me… because I’m… me…” Her eyebrows were furrowed as she pointed a finger at herself and looked to the ground. At this point, she was unsure if she was herself because Bucky being in love with her didn’t make any sense.

   It didn’t make sense that he had taken Sam’s advice, it didn’t make sense that he had written out his love confession, and it didn’t make sense that he was so openly admitting that every single word on that page was true.

   This was not how Y/N thought her night would go. After seeing Bucky enter the hall with a gorgeous date by his side, she instantly rushed to the bar and ordered herself a drink. As she sipped on it, she was glad she had her own date with her. Matt Murdock. They’d been friends ever since law school, and she was very much so aware of his nightly activities. It was more so a business arrangement, that evening that is. He was on a trail of a dirty businessman, and she needed his legal counsel after some questionable actions had been done by a rogue SHIELD agent.

   “Drowning your feelings?” her friend’s gruff voice sparked up next to her. Y/N looked to her right and saw Matt remove his glasses. She smiled. She was one of the few people he did that around. It made her feel trustworthy.

   “Something like that.”

   Matt chuckled and motioned with a finger towards the bartender. “Does that have anything to do with Bucky who just walked in?”

   “Do you ever mind your own business?” Y/N snorted, taking the legs of Matt’s glasses and playing with them.

   “I’m a lawyer. It’s my business to be all up in other people’s business.”

   “Yeah, but I didn’t invite you here as my lawyer,” she said, chugging down the rest of her drink.

   Matt gave her a crooked smile. “Well, with you… and certain other people, I’m all up in your business... as a friend.”

   “Well then, friend, how about you get me another drink, and I can tell you all about my sob story?”

   They chatted for a good hour and a half, and Matt did everything in his power to take Y/N’s attention away any time Bucky so much as stepped in her direction. Somewhere along the line, they had ventured on the topic of Matt’s own love-life, and by that point, Pepper had made the official announcement of the Black Widow Foundation as well as the Tony Stark Trust fund.

   Champagne flew, laughter and cheers echoed all around, but Y/N wasn’t feeling it anymore. Not after seeing Bucky lean down to his date and press a kiss to her cheek, as she, with a smile on her face, took his hand and together they made their way out of the hall.

 After that, Matt had called a taxi and together they’d gone to his office, grabbed some files and made their way to his home. Y/N paid the fare and stepped out onto the freezing streets of Hell’s Kitchen. She couldn’t help the smile that lifted her lips at the irony.

   Matt motioned with the papers to the apartment behind him. “Wanna come up? I have some beer, and we can talk a bit more… or go through the case if you need to think about something else.”

   “I think I’ll just walk back,” Y/N waved him off and rocked back and forth on her feet.

   “Are you sure?” there was concern in Matt’s voice. “I don’t mind you staying over. I can give you some spare clothes.” But Y/N was already shaking her head. She knew Matt couldn’t see it, but he definitely heard how her hair swished in the wind with the motion.

   “I need to clear my head,” and she started to walk away but not before turning around and saying, “besides, I have the Devil looking over me.”

   Not that she needed it. Working with the Avengers in any capacity made sure you knew hand-to-hand, let alone being a Level Nine SHIELD agent. But it was nice knowing she had someone looking out for her. It was nice knowing Y/N had someone who cared.

   Snow had started to fall in heavy flakes, and a gust of wind pulled up her coat. Instantly she regretted her decision of walking back to the tower. With a grumble, she stashed her hands into the pockets, and that’s when something crunched there.

   In the middle of the road, she stopped and pulled out what turned out to be Bucky’s confession. It only took her twenty minutes to get to his apartment. And that’s what had led them to that moment.

   Bucky tilted his head trying to read Y/N’s expression but without any luck. Guess seventy years of being a spy went out the window the second he was faced with the woman he loved.

   “What’s going on through that pretty head of yours?” he whispered tucking a piece of hair that had gotten stuck to her lip back behind her ear. The snow that had been stuck in her hair when she’d first barged in had now melted, leaving the Y/H/C strands with translucent pearls atop them.

   Y/N shook her head. “That we’re the biggest idiots the world has ever seen.”

   There was no time to process what she had said because, in that same moment, her arms had wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him down for their lips to meet. He was glad she was strong enough to carry a man (and his emotional baggage) because he quite literally sagged down, tongue swiping against her mouth to ask for entrance.

   In his head, Bucky thought she’d easily give in, but the smirk that pulled her lips up in a smile, made him groan in frustration.

   “Baby come on,” he said, kissing her again and again. “Please.”

   Y/N just chuckled. “Gotta make you work for –“

   He took his chance. Right in the middle of her sentence, he slotted his tongue between her parted lips, and now she was the one whose knees wobbled.

   “Take me to your bed,” she gasped once Bucky was satisfied with how far he'd gotten to explore her. “Please.” But then another thought entered her mind. “Unless you already have someone in it.”

   “God, no,” Bucky laughed, slipping off her winter coat and leaving it on the floor, exposing the exquisite sight that was hiding underneath. “That place is reserved just for you.”

   “Yeah?” Y/N’s nose nudged against his, and he nudged right back.

   “Yeah.”

   Both of them were breathless by the time Bucky’s bedroom door swung open. One, it was from all of the kissing, two, because neither had really seen the walls in the hallway and had slammed one another against them.

   “Make love to me,” Y/N breathed against his mouth, tugging Bucky’s bottom lip between her teeth.

   “What?”

   “Tomorrow you can fuck my brains out… but I want you to make love to me tonight. Show me that everything in that letter is true.”

   It didn’t take more than that for Y/N to convince Bucky. Almost viciously, he gripped the covers of his bed and threw them onto the ground. His hands didn’t leave her body for a single second. Every night there had been a goodbye, one last touch of the day before both of them went their separate ways. There had always been one last hug. Not this time.

   Bucky sank down onto the floor, on his knees in front of Y/N like in a prayer, one hand on the back of her thigh, the other trailing lower and lower until he reached the end of the evening gown.

   She was still wearing her heels. He could feel how cold her toes had gotten after that walk, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to leave the golden stilettos on, but this wasn’t about him. It was about both of them. So, he quickly unclasped them and held out a hand which Y/N graciously took as she stepped onto the cold hardwood floor.

   When she had first walked inside that room where the gala was being held, Bucky thought his lungs had stopped working. Y/N was breathtaking. All dolled up to the nines, with the sheer black dress and the golden sparkle that strategically covered her up, he no longer remembered how to breathe. There was even a cape that transformed from black into the golden shimmer like the evening sky, and he could only think – what if the black was white?

   Bucky took great care in removing Y/N’s dress. He took his time marking her skin with his lips, leaving himself and her little reminders for tomorrow… or that morning, as the clock on his nightstand showed it was 3:13 AM already.

   Had he been wearing his suit, Y/N would’ve been mimicking his moves and undressing Bucky, but he was already almost naked, so she just allowed her palms to explore the scarred skin.

   He was all dips and ridges, with some of the raised skin more sensitive than other places, especially where his metal arm met his shoulder. This was the newer one, the one from Wakanda. There was no star or silver. It was all black and gold, much like the dress that now was in a heap around her body, and much like the underwear still left on her form, to which Bucky had to use all of his willpower not to rip it off.

   A shudder ran down his spine when Y/N leaned away from where he’d been assaulting her neck and pressed her own lips against his left shoulder. Shuri and the rest of the doctors had taken great care of the ruined tissue, and it no longer looked angry and red, rather a pale gleam against the rest of his flushed skin.

   For the first time in a while, Bucky allowed himself to enjoy what was happening. There was that stupid, annoying voice in the back of his head, the one that had told him he wasn’t good enough for Y/N, but he put it in a little jail cell and threw the key away because he’d be damned if he didn’t allow himself to fully experience what paradise was like.

   He hadn’t even noticed how Y/N’s hand had travelled all the way down from his collarbones to his chest, down his abs and to the front of his boxers, too focused on the gentle way her lips marked him.

   “Shit, fuck, baby,” Bucky hissed as her palm had slipped behind the one piece of clothing on his body and grasped him at the base.

   He was hard, painfully so, but the slow and rhythmic twisting of Y/N’s hand alleviated the built-up tension. She swiped her thumb over the tip of his cock, and he moaned.

   “Keep going like that, and I won’t be able to deliver.”

   Instantly Y/N pulled away, and instantly he missed her touch. “Really?” she smirked. “I thought the super-soldier serum enhanced everything. Stamina included,” she had leaned back up and tugged at Bucky’s earlobe. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are a hundred-years-old grampa.”

   Hands roughened by war and hurt oh so tenderly slid up Y/N’s waist to her back and unclasped her bra. She sighed in relief as the material was flung away somewhere into the depths of the room.

   Bucky’s fingers skimmed over the marks the offensive piece of clothing had left all around Y/N’s ribs before he leant in and closed his mouth around one of her nipples.

   “Hundred or not, I wanna make this last,” a sloppy ‘pop’ noise made her gasp as his lips travelled back to her neck. “And I ain’t cumming until you do. At least three times.”

   He guided her backwards, careful not to get tangled in the dress. The back of Y/N’s knees hit the edge, and slowly she crawled up the soft mattress, not once letting Bucky’s lips disappear from hers.

   He hovered above her, and for a while they just made out, letting their hands roam over their bodies and release any stress or anxiety that was still hiding in their muscles. At some point, both of them had lost the last bits of underwear and knowing that nothing separated the two made a set of butterflies fly around in Y/N’s stomach while they frantically trashed in Bucky’s.

   He was keeping himself in check, his cock resting heavily against the inside of her thigh. He was so close, so close to being whole, but safety came first.

   “Condom,” Bucky announced, ready to climb off of Y/N, but she was quicker. In a flash, she was on top, straddling him and grinding against his hard-on.

   “ ‘M on the pill, need you now.”

   Bucky had to bite on his lip to the point that the tangy taste of iron invaded his mouth not to let the pornographic moan into the open at the feel of just how dripping Y/N was.

   “We can stop,” he shakily stated. “Any moment you feel uncomfortable, we can stop. I promise I won’t be offended.”

   Y/N’s heart clenched at the thoughtfulness, but she was eager and impatient and wet beyond belief, so with a roll of her eyes and without a warning, she rutted her hips a bit more backwards and let the tip of him slip into her.

   That shut Bucky up real quick, as inch by inch Y/N engulfed him in her warmth. The pleasure was the kind that consumes everything, leaving only heavy breathing and rattling hearts behind.

   She collapsed against Bucky’s chest once he was buried to the hilt, and he was quick to wrap his arms around her, letting her adjust and calm down a bit.

   “I want you,” Y/N murmured against Bucky’s collarbones, giving them a quick peck. “All of you… I’m kinda in love with you. Just as a side note.”

   Bucky was ready to fall back into his sappy speech, but once again Y/N took all the words right out from his mouth with just a simple swivel of her hips.

   “Fucking love that side note,” he helped her raise herself up and held the palms that rested on his stomach. “And you, of course.”

   Y/N let out a chocked back laugh before looking down at Bucky. It was like he had gone into his own little world as his blue, well now almost completely black eyes, scanned every inch of her body, only stopping when their gazes met.

   She reached out, thumb gently stroking his cheekbone. “You okay?”

   “Yeah,” he nodded and kissed the inside of her palm. “I’m perfect.”

   She kept eye contact with Bucky the whole way as her other hand trailed down his metal bicep and intertwined with the appendage. “Yeah, you are.” And slowly she lifted her hips up and sank down.

   The first time Bucky made her cum, he watched her. He memorized every single facial feature, and how beautifully Y/N’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp, her Y/E/C eyes never leaving his. He ingrained it in his brain - the way her chest stuttered while drawing in a breath, and how her whole body shuddered with pleasure. He just had to see it.

   The second time Bucky made her cum, he listened to her. He flipped her over and settled himself on top, hiding his face in the crook of Y/N’s neck. He listened to her laboured breathing, her thumping and erratic heart and the sweet, sweet way she whimpered his name. He listened to the obscene noises that exploded into the air every time his hips met hers and how her body moved against his sheets with every single move they made. But the symphony came to a crescendo when he finally heard her choke on a breath as extasy took her over.

   The third time he was going to make her cum, he wanted to feel her.

   “Turn around, doll face,” he muttered, taking in a shaky breath and kissing her neck.

   “But Bucky,” she whispered, tightening her grip around his shoulders, digging her nails in his skin in defiance to his wishes, “I wanna see you. You didn’t cum, and I wanna see.”

   A fluttering in his heart made the biggest fucking smile appear on his lips. Just the thought that she wanted to see him happy and in pleasure, made the super-soldier want to giggle like a schoolgirl. “And you will, I promise. I just wanna feel ya.”

   Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’d say you’re feeling me more than anyone right now.” In retaliation for that comment, she squeezed her already sensitive walls around his cock making both of them let out a moan.

   “No,” he groaned out, “just, please. Just wanna feel. Besides, I need a new canvas to leave my masterpieces on.”

   Hungry eyes trailed over her chest and neck and even her stomach and hips which were all littered in hickies. It was this realization that gave him a moment of opportunity to pull out and gently flip Y/N onto her stomach. She was already half-spent so rising on her elbows and knees was a task, but Bucky didn’t need her to do that.

   “Shh, lie down, baby,” he muttered, his chest pressed tightly to her back. Y/N didn’t argue. Her stomach was met with two soft, cloud-like pillows which Bucky had somehow managed to push underneath her. They lifted her hips up just enough, put them in the perfect angle for him to comfortably slide in without breaking Y/N’s spine in half.

   Her hands fisted the sheets above her head as Bucky filled her once more, and now she understood what he’d meant by just feeling her. She couldn’t see him anymore, and his breath was obscured by where he’d hidden his nose in her hair. Only Bucky, only his gentle hands sliding down her biceps until they curled around her wrists and intertwined with her fingers, and only the steady thrum of his heart existed. No hug could ever make Y/N feel safer than she did at that moment. No kiss would ever make her soak up his existence more than that position. Nothing in the world could ever make her feel him closer than that single position. 

   All of Bucky's focus was on now was how Y/N felt underneath him. Her hot, sweat-slicked skin, how her back rose and fell, and the way she moved her hips in a desperate attempt to meet his. Bucky closed his eyes and tuned in all of his senses on how she felt wrapped around him, so tight and snug around every ridge and vein… so perfect…

   And all Y/N could focus on was Bucky. How his giant frame enveloped hers in a secure embrace, how his hands tightened around hers, and the way his chest heaved at every thrust, Bucky’s heart stuttering with every push. That little bubble was filled up even more when he leaned completely on top of her, careful to hold off his weight by placing most of it on his forearms and kissed her, swallowing all of her praises.

   “Fuck, I’m so close,” he moaned and captured her lips in another kiss. He was just about to let himself be taken over by absolute bliss, not before getting her off first, when Y/N spoke up.

   “Stop, Bucky, stop.”

   Instantly terror flooded his veins, and he pushed away. He was sacred he had hurt her, had done something she didn’t like, or that suddenly, in the middle of everything, she regretted him and would dash out of his apartment and life.

   “Do you hear that?”

   His forehead scrunched up. The only thing Bucky could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears and Y/N’s labored breathing. But then he focused and did. A soft scraping somewhere in the apartment had interrupted them.

   Her head turned fully to the side. “You said Sam’s away on a mission.”

   “He is,” Bucky nodded right as someone unlocked the door. Instantly, he was off of Y/N and out of the bed, grabbing his discarded boxers. “Stay here.”

   She hissed his name, right as he grabbed a gun from the bedside drawer and exited into the hallway. With a roll of her eyes, she wrapped the sheet tightly around herself and picked up one of the stilettos, pulling out a thin vibranuim needle from one of the heels. She never went anywhere without a weapon.

   Y/N was half-way towards the living room when two voices talking back and forth, made her slow done her pace. One of them was clearly the gruff tone of Bucky flinging off the walls, the other was a bit smoother, but still just as deep.

   “Sam?”

   Almost like in a daze, half-smile on his lips he waved back at Y/N, Bucky swishing around as well. “Hi.”

   “Weren’t you supposed to be on a mission?” she asked, careful of the way the sheet stayed wrapped around her body. Knowing it wasn’t an intruder, she dropped her blade onto the countertop and crossed her arms.

   Sam nodded. “Yeah, but there was some new info that needed to be processed before they sent us out. So, I’m leaving tomorrow evening instead. Wanted to get one more good sleep in before spending my nights in a Siberian forest for a month.”

   A beat passed before Sam grinned like the Cheshire cat, motioning with a finger between the two and their undressed state. “Am I right in what I’m thinking?”

   “Dunno,” Bucky growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “If it’s about how you’re close to losing some teeth, then very much so.”

   But the Captain-ex-Falcon disregarded his dig.

   “Fucking finally!” Sam hollered, fist-bumping the air. “God, it’s taken you two ages! This calls for a celebration!” He was halfway to the fridge when Y/N cleared her throat.

   Bucky put both hands on his hips. “Yeah well, can we do it later? We were in the middle of something. And, ya know, neither of us got to finish.”

   “You know what, it’s fine,” Y/N waved both of them off with a tight-lipped smile. “The mood’s kinda ruined. I think Imma just grab a shower and get a cab. We can finish this at some other time.”

   That was the wrong thing to say as Sam rushed afterwards Y/N and pulled her by the bicep towards Bucky practically shoving her into his chest.

   “No, no, no, no, no! The mood is not ruined!” Sam pointed at Y/N. “I’ve had to listen to him groan about being in love with you for the past three years, and when it finally happens…” he huffed. “I’m not going to listen to another thirty years of his dumbass complaining… now go in there and finish what you started.” He gestured towards Bucky’s bedroom. “I did not go through all that trouble with that stupid note just for this whole thing to fall apart. I’ll be out of your hair in a second.”

   “It was you?” Bucky exclaimed holding onto Y/N’s waist. 

   If Sam was the least bit ashamed of going through his personal things he didn’t show. “Don’t leave your love letters lying around the house… besides, she’s been in love with you for two years. It’s not my fault you’re two dumbasses. Someone had to make the first move.”

   Bucky scoffed. “I would have!”

   “Really?” Both Y/N and Sam looked at the brunet with raised eyebrows. 

   Bucky blushed a bit and tightened his hand on Y/N's waist. “Yeah… eventually.”

   Sam snorted and gave him a ‘sure you would’ve’ kind of a look before grabbing his keys from the counter. “I’ll be staying at the tower. Use protection, kids!”

   The door slammed shut right as Y/N and Bucky both scoffed and shook their heads. She was still staring where Sam had disappeared thinking about when the hell did he manage to slip the note in her coat when she felt the strong gaze of two blue eyes watching her.

   “Yes?” Y/N cocked her head to the side.

   Bucky shrugged. “I’m still up for it. I promised three orgasms, didn’t I?”

   “That you did, but tell you what,” she trailed a hand up his chest, Bucky instinctively wrapping his hands around her. “First we order pizza, and then we finish what we started. You kinda made me hungry.”

   For a moment, Bucky contemplated Y/N’s proposal, but he wasn’t going to disagree. As she went to plop down onto the couch, he went after his phone and placed the order; he didn't even need to ask what she wanted, knowing her choice by heart.

   “Done,” his heavy frame made the sofa dip, and Y/N was just about to cuddle in his side when he pushed her back and slotted himself between her legs, the sheet unceremoniously falling to the ground revealing her naked form. “But I’m having dessert first.”

Tags (crossed out wouldn't take):

Bucky tag list: @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn​ @projectxhappiness​ @callmebucky-doll​ @coal000​ @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken​ @sophiealiice​ @raquelbc2003​ @watch-out-for-thorns​ @potentially-kinetic​ @thatonegirljessy99​ @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub​ @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611​ @horrorx570ximagines​ @the-nargles-made-me-do-it​ @pooslie​ @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel​ @purplebananatragedy​ @pxrrishly​ @parker-barnes-af​ @skulliebythesea​ @california-grown​ @stevehesaidabadlanguageword​ @belongsto-prachi​

Forever tags: @lumelgy​ @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki​ @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @sweet-ladyy​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines​ @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28

Marvel tags: @nerissa98​ @happyseagrill​ @asguardiansoftheavengers​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @wishingforahome​ @pizzarollpatrol​ @desir-ae​

A/N: mY BUCKY TAGS ARE NOT WORKING :(((((( TUMBLR!!!! WHAT THE FUCk!!

does anyone know how to fix that???

P.S. what did ya think? my tags are always open

[spacedikut]

“let me do this for you. please.” ; aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner (criminal minds) x reader

summary: it’s left to you to help aaron with his injury. taken from this prompt list - 1781 words

a/n: this is kind of shitty trash but i wanted to add to the one hotch fic ive written

Aaron Hotchner, in all his glory, is more often than not described as strict. Maybe even grumpy.

It takes less than one conversation with the unit chief to fully understand this, sometimes all it takes is witnessing the way he walks and holds himself, and he’s become somewhat notorious for it.

However, you know more about Hotch than the average person. More than either of you care to admit. For a while you were certain he hated you, definitely didn’t trust you, despite being highly trained and told again and again by your team that that’s just how Hotch is. Emily, especially, pulled you aside to tell you she was also victim to his cold persona at the beginning.

It takes time, she’d said, but he’ll warm up to you. He won’t be able to resist.

It all changed when he appeared at your apartment door several hours after you’d been discharged from the hospital following a gnarly gunshot wound to your shoulder. He stood there, with his famous furrowed brows, straight-mouth look on his face, cradling a basket. He’d made you a ‘get well soon’ package – your favourite candy (he knew that?), some DVDs (including your favourite – he knew that?), and his favourite book (written by your favourite author). There were fluffy socks and a colouring book, too.

“I couldn’t visit you in the hospital,” He’d said, “So Jack and I made you a gift basket. He chose the colouring book.”

In your stunned silence you didn’t ask any further questions, just took the present and contemplated getting shot again in hopes he would pay another visit, maybe come inside. Maybe fall in love with you. You’re not picky.

That night you realised your unit chief doesn’t hate you and you definitely don’t hate your unit chief.

Now, almost a year later, there’s been some big changes. You’re pushing Aaron onto his bed as he grips the top of his bleeding forearm; he’s mumbling curses under his breath while pouting – yes, pouting, no matter how much he’ll deny it when you tease him about it later. It had taken you raising your voice at him to convince him to let you help at all, let alone clean the cut, so you allow his brooding.

When you sit on your heels of his bedroom floor in front of him, he instinctively opens his mouth to, once again, say something along the lines of, “You don’t have to do this,” or “I can look after myself.”

You interrupt before he can even begin.

“If you refuse to go to the hospital, refuse to let an on-site medic come to you, you’re gonna let me help you, you got that?” You snap, fuelled by worry and frustration.

On the scene he’d refused medical attention, telling the medics to focus on the victims which, fair enough, was valid. But then Rossi had tried to drive him to the hospital, to get stitched up because anyone could see the cut on his arm needed it, and he’d argued and argued to the point where Rossi shoved him into your car and said, “You take him. He’s being a child and I am too old for this.”

He kept telling you to just drop him off home and he’ll be fine, but you couldn’t do that. You have a medical background; you’ve stitched up everyone on the team at least once, excluding Hotch, and you’ll get peace of mind if you do the job and know he’s okay.

You followed him inside, he kept telling you to go home because he’s fully capable, and you kept telling him to shut up. Now you’re here.

Aaron says nothing in return – just stares into your eyes and maintains a tight, strained posture.

You recognise the look in his eyes, then. Everything clicks into place in your head and your heart hurts slightly.

“Let me do this for you. Please.”

Aaron is a leader. A protector. He always has been. He trusts his team with his life, of course he does, but he’s also stubborn. The idea of anyone, let alone the one person who’s somehow wormed their way into his life in a way he hadn’t prepared for, seeing him so vulnerable after a stupid mistake led to an even stupider injury is downright humiliating for him.

He’s embarrassed. He hoped he could sulk home, drink a little too much whiskey as he clumsily cleaned himself up, and move on like nothing happened.

But it’s you, all non-judgemental eyes and worried tone with your caring and reassuring words. You’re too good for him. You’re too good to him.

You work slowly and gently, in a very you way, and Hotch watches closely the entire time. You assume he’s watching so he can do it himself next time, can use this as an excuse for you to not do this ever again, but a part of you wonders if he still doesn’t trust you.

He sits patiently, until he realises how much blood he’s lost and starts to feel woozy. It’s very possible he has a concussion, too, along with the exhaustion from not sleeping for at least twenty four hours. His head feels like it’s swimming and his vision gets a little blurry.

You notice him swaying and stop what you’re doing to hold his biceps to steady him. His eyes almost roll, but he seems to jolt himself out of it. Aaron has this disturbing ability to act as if nothing bad is happening – for example, right now. The blood loss is alarming, he just almost passed out, but it’s like he flicks a switch in his brain that decides nah, let’s not do that.

“You okay?” You ask, voice quiet.

He nods and mumbles, “Yeah. Brain almost collapsed.”

You think that’s an attempt at a joke. You’re too concerned to laugh, even fake it, and slowly move your arms back to the med kit you’re rifling through.

“Brain dumb.” He adds.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, Hotch.”

“Aaron.”

You look up at him through your eyelashes. Aaron surprises himself by wanting to cry at how beautiful you look.

“My name’s Aaron. You should call me it.”

You laugh quietly – the blood loss is beginning to get to him and he’s losing his professional barrier. The barrier that he lets down rarely, usually only when he’s in the comfort of his home, maybe relaxing with you and Jack. This is a special version of that, amplified by his injury.

“I’ll call you Aaron, then.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s alright, Aaron.”

He goes back to watching you, contentment coming off him in waves.

You’re done a few minutes later, Aaron’s cut all cleaned and stitched up. You wrap it in gauze and move the med kit aside, standing before him and sighing, hands on your hips.

“Alright. Bed time.” You say.

Aaron flops back on his bed, arms spread – it makes you giggle. It reminds you of the one time you had to bring drunk Hotch home.

“Move up, Aaron. Against your headboard.” You command.

As he moves, you grab some of the pillows he doesn’t use and place them under his legs to elevate them. You go to his ensuite and fill a glass of water, placing it on his bedside table, and look at the handsome unit chief seemingly asleep. You lean in closer to get a look at his condition – is he pale, cold, clammy?

His eyes snap open. You jump back in shock.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” His voice is rough, he’d almost fallen asleep, and his dimples begin to show when he smiles at your surprise.

“I’ll always take care of you, Aaron.” You say instantly, trying to fluff the pillow behind his head. You don’t realise what you do to him, he thinks, or what the things you say do to him.

“Let me take care of you, too.”

You smile, ignorant to the way he’s looking at you, “You do take care of me. You take great care of the whole team, A. You’re kind of amazing at it.”

You move to tuck him in, like you’ve watched him do to Jack many times.

“I mean-“ He stops you, large hands holding your wrists, “Let me take care of you. No one else.”

Your brows furrow, “What do you mean?”

“Me, Aaron, take care of you, Y/N.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I can take care of you.”

“Yeah, I know,” You laugh at the situation, the ridiculousness of how you’re going in circles, “I just told you that you take great care of me.”

He lets out a deep breath in exasperation, “Let me take care of you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That sounds sexual, sir.”

��Oh. No, I didn’t mean it-“ He cuts himself off, “I mean, yes, but no, at the same time.”

You open your mouth to say What?!

“I’m trying to ask you out, Y/N.”

Oh.

You’re stunned, to say the least, and speechless. There’s nothing more you’d like than to go on a date with him, but he’s… vulnerable right now. Fragile. You’re not sure he’s in the right state of mind for this conversation.

Hotch senses your hesitation before you even register it yourself. He begins to backtrack.

“I’m sorry, I know that’s inappropriate-“

“Aaron.”

“Yes?” Despite the look on your face, filled with doubt, he’s still hopeful.

“I would really like to go on a date with you.” He smiles at that. “But you’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re concussed AND you’re exhausted. I can’t take what you say now as, like, gospel.”

He nod as if he understands, but the concoction of ailments he’s got going on make him incapable of truly recognising what’s going on. All he knows is that you said you’d really like to go out with him, and that’s good enough for him.

“Say this again tomorrow and I promise you I’ll make it worth your while,” You grin, now smoothing his hair away from his face as he blinks slowly at you.

“Make it worth my while, huh?” He sleepily smirks, a teasing lilt to his voice. If he wasn’t on the brink of sleep you’re sure he’d look too good for you to handle, but now he just looks adorable.

“Oh yeah. So worth it.”

“Alright then. Night night. You can kiss me on the forehead, if you feel so inclined,”

You roll your eyes and give a big sigh jokingly, “Only because you’re injured.”

You lean, give a quick peck to his forehead, and his dazed gaze follows you like a magnet.

“See you tomorrow, Hotch.”

“Aaron.”

“See you tomorrow, Aaron.”

[luxekook]

make you scream » ksj

» pairing: sully!seokjin x reader » genre: monsters inc. au, crack, smut » summary: there’s a monster in your closet, but you want him in your bed. » word count: 2.1k » warnings: 18+, cursing, bad jokes, teasing, TMG references, reader ties jin up, generally clueless seokjin, smut [oral (m receiving), mentions of sex and impregnation]

» request: @j-sope​ said: jin + mystery drink!

as part of the bangtanhq drinks and drabbles challenge

Ever since you moved into your new apartment, you’ve had a slight monster problem. And you aren’t talking the energy drink. You’re talking a living, breathing monster who creeps out of your closet in the wee hours of the morning in an attempt to scare you shitless.

At least, that’s your current theory of his intentions - mainly compiled from dark web searches and reddit threads. You aren’t sure what exactly his motive is with you, but you do know one thing - you don't want to scare him away. Whatever monster lab created him had royally fucked up, because your monster is really fucking hot.

You aren’t even sure if you can actually call him a monster given that he looks like a fucking god amongst men.

He’s been visiting you for three weeks now, and you have stopped acting frightened since week two. Your silence seems to be both baffling and vexing to your nightly visitor. Neither of you have spoken to the other. Hell, you aren’t even sure if he can speak. He’s only yelled and jumped out at you so far in an attempt to draw your screams.

But, tonight you plan to change things up and finally get some answers.

As the clock grows closer to 3am, you pretend to sleep, nervously awaiting your monster.

Finally, you hear the telltale creak of your closet door and the soft footfalls that always follow. Your heart thumps in your chest.

Before he can scare you, you hop out of bed, catching him off guard. Using his shock against him, you push him into your desk chair and quickly grab the jump rope you had set aside for this very purpose.

“Yah!” Your monster struggles as you tie him up, “Stop that! Get your hands off me!”

Ah, so he can speak. You secure the knots that tie him to the chair and step back to assess your work. Flicking on your bedside lamp, you check out your monster in all his glory.

He’s glaring up at you with a vicious pout that would be menacing if he wasn’t so fucking adorable. His hair is a mix of blue and purple with two small horns twisting up amidst the strands. His body is long and lean with shoulders that give you way too many dirty thoughts.

Finally, your eyes meet his. His brown eyes linger on yours for a moment before wandering up and down your own body, reminding you of your current outfit of just a long shirt and underwear.

“Well?” You place your hands on your hips, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Your monster scoffs and pulls at his restraints, “Untie me, human!”

“Puh-lease,” You roll your eyes, “You’ve been barging into my house in the dead of night for weeks, and you think you can order me around? No, sir. Not today.”

“Well, I wouldn't have to keep coming back if you would just scream for me,” He mumbles, hands clenched into fists, “I have a quota to meet, you know!”

“That sounds like a you problem,” You shrug, edging closer to him. He tenses at your approach. “Why don’t you like humans touching you, my little monster?”

“Little?!” He exclaims, “How dare you! I am Kim Seokjin, top Scarer at Monsters, Incorporated!”

You reach out to cup his cheek, “Aw, did I hit a nerve, Mr. Kim ‘I’m so scary’ Seokjin?” He glowers, refusing to answer.

“Going to have to shred your door now,” He mutters, looking defeated, “And get sanitized.”

You snap back, “Sanitized? Well, that’s just rude. And if you even think about destroying my closet door, just know that I will be sending you the bill.”

“I don’t know who this Bill is, but don’t send him to me,” Seokjin scrunches his nose, looking thoroughly displeased.

You laugh, shoulders shaking at his dead serious remark.

Your monster’s eyes widen as he stares up at your laughing form.

“What?” You ask, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen and still chuckling slightly.

“Can you do that again?” Seokjin asks again, looking at you with a peculiar yet hopeful gleam in his eye.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows, “Laugh?”

He nods, and you immediately get suspicious. “Why?”

“Because it apparently works the same way as screaming,” He shrugs, “I don’t make the rules.”

“So you do need my screams,” You smirk, “Interesting… Do these screams that you gather only come from fear?”

“Duh,” He rolls his eyes, “What other kind of screaming is there?”

You laugh again, ignoring how happy he looks that you did so. “There is one that comes to mind, monster boy.”

“Tell me!” He practically bounces in his seat, despite being tied up.

“Nah,” You shake your head, undoing his restraints, “I think that’s enough for one night. Out you go.”

“What?”

You pull him up from the seat and shove him towards your closet. He argues with you the whole way. Peering into your closet first, you pout when you don’t see anything out of the ordinary - that is, until Seokjin slips past you.

The back of your closet disappears before your eyes, and you see what looks like a warehouse with almost-human-but-not-quite individuals milling about.

Seokjin turns to leave, and you panic, your hand darts out to grab his wrist. You want to see him again.

“What is it, human?” Seokjin looks at you hesitantly.

“(Y/n). My name’s (y/n). And the other kind of screaming? It's not from fear; it’s from pleasure.”

His eyes practically pop out of his skull as your words sink in, “Pleasure—! But-but how?”

You push him out of your dimension.

The next evening, you don’t even feign sleep. This time, you wait up wearing nothing but a satin robe.

It seems that Seokjin also doesn’t follow his usual pattern as he storms into your room right on schedule. “(Y/n)! I demand you scream in pleasure for me!”

You choke on air, “That’s not how it works, Seokjin!”

“Well,” He crosses his arms, staring down at you from the foot of your bed, “Then tell me how it works.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” You sigh, shifting your legs so that your upper thigh peeks through the slit in your robe. Predictably, his eyes follow. “You’ll have to touch me, and I know you wouldn’t want to.”

You watch as he swallows hard, his eyes glued to your body, “I-I never said that.”

“Really?” You shift again. The tie of your robe loosens slightly. “I could have sworn you said ‘get your hands off me’ last night.”

He shakes his head emphatically, “No, that wasn’t me! That was, uh, Jim Seok-im!”

“Any relation?” You cock your head, entertaining his terrible effort to convince you.

“Nope, never met him,” Seokjin inches closer to you.

“Right,” You deadpan. “Well, don’t you all have sex over there in monster land?”

Seokjin gapes at you, “Yah! I am not making a child with you!”

“Good god, Jinnie,” You laugh, “Not all sex ends with pregnancy.”

“Ours does,” He scowls, looking thoroughly put out.

“So, let me get this straight,” You stand, walking the short distance over to him, “You monsters have monster sex with your monster cocks, and you don’t monster scream in monster pleasure?”

“Motion to ban you from saying the word ‘monster’ again,” He mumbles, still looking miffed.

“Motion denied, you monster.”

Seokjin pinches his nose in frustration, “Sex is purely for reproductive purposes. It’s a transaction. I don’t see how it can feel good.”

“What the monsterfucking fuck!” You just about blew a fuse. “What have you been doing? Just staring at your dick? Don’t you touch yourself? Have you never gone down on a girl monster? A boy monster? A gender-nonconforming monster?”

Seokjin slams a hand over your mouth, “Shut up, my human. Now, show me how to make you feel good so that I can collect your pleasure screams.”

Swatting his hand from your face, you shake your head, “I think I want to hear yours first.”

“I would like to see you try,” He laughs in an endearing squeaky way that makes you want to give him the suck of his life.

“Bet.” You sink to your knees, making quick work of his pants.

“Oh my sweet monster cock,” You breathe as you take in the sight before you. His cock is the biggest you’ve ever seen - thick and long with veins running down its smooth skin.

He’s hard already, and you shoot him a skeptical look. “What?” Seokjin shrugs, “It’s just my body acknowledging you as a potential mate. It’s happened before.”

Fury bubbles up inside you at the thought of him getting hard for anyone other than you. God, are you actually developing feelings for your monster? Pushing that thought aside, you vow to make him come so hard that all his (hypothetical) future orgasms will belong to the mere thought of you.

Without pause, you suck the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip.

“M-my human, what are you doing?” Seokjin yelps, his hand digging into your hair. He’s a natural, you think, choosing to ignore his question.

Your hands run up and down his thighs before winding their way around to squeeze his ass. The gasp that results is delicious and urges you to move faster.

You take more of him into your mouth, sucking harder, your cheeks hollow. His breath hitches, “O-oh, (y/n), keep doing that. Feels so good. How does it feel so good?”

Oh, your poor little monster boy has no idea how good it will get…

You take him all the way, your nose nudging his firm pelvis. Seokjin moans, and when you swallow around him, he lets out a series of what you can only assume are expletives in the monster world.

One hand still gripping his ass, you bring your other one forward to tease his balls in your palm. He shouts your name, and you feel him twitch inside your mouth.

You release him with a pop. “Will you come for me, Seokjin?” Your voice is raspy from the deep-throating, “Will you come in my mouth for me?”

“Y-yes,” He pants, “I need to release. Your mouth is the best thing I’ve ever felt, my human.”

Laughing softly, you grab his monster cock once more, “Oh, my little monster, you are sure in for a good time.”

Without further explanation, you suck him harder than you’ve ever done to anyone before. You want and need to have Seokjin unravel before you, to come down your throat. And it isn’t long before his moans grow louder and louder until he comes with a yowl that honestly rivals what yours had been like when your monster had scared you at first.

“My human,” Seokjin finally mumbles, as you pull your mouth away from him, “What was that?”

“A blowjob,” You shrug, getting to your feet, “Sometimes referred to as ‘giving that sloppy toppy’ or ‘putting that dick through a carwash’ or ‘showing them that 360 degree spin cycle’.”

He looks baffled, “I understood none of that, but can I give you one of these ‘blowjobs’ now?”

You laugh, “My greedy little monster, come back tomorrow, and we’ll talk.”

He pouts adorably, and you can’t help yourself from pressing your lips to his. A blush overtakes his cheeks and the tips of his ears, “My human, why did you do that?”

“You’re so cute, Jinnie,” You shrug, “I wanted to kiss you to show that I like you.”

He blinks, “You-you—?”

You shove him once again towards your closet, “Tomorrow, my handsome monster. Get ready, there are so many things I still have to show you.”

His eyes widen, “There’s even more!?”

“Oh, yes,” You flash him a wicked grin as you kick him out of your room, “I’m going to fucking rock your monster world, baby.”

Four Months Later...

“Hey, my pretty human,” Your monster whispers, his breath ghosting over your ear. Goosebumps rise across your skin.

“Hey, handsome,” You answer, your eyes shooting open to meet his.

“Yah!” Your monster stumbles back, “Would you quit doing that?” His pout only draws your attention to his plush lips.

“No,” You grin, sitting up in your bed. “Are you ever going to quit creeping around my room at night?”

“Never,” He continues to pout. “Besides, you love it.”

And you really do.

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[lightneverfades]

What if instead of Sylvie, Loki falls in love with a variant called Lok that looks exactly like him throughout the series, but experiences the same loneliness and devastation of being ‘the dangerous variant’? 

When they get to He Who Remains’s fortress, they fight. And what occurs after is all the more... chaotic.

x

Fic

“Trust me... you don’t want to do this.”

“Oh, I think I do. Can’t you see the TVA has hurt us, hurt you? He’s taken everything from us. And now you want to simply abandon the mission?” Lok speaks and the Loki can see the clear hurt in his eyes. His grip on the sword tightens.

“I know they did. But what if by killing him we risk unleashing something even worse? The balance of the universe is at stake.” 

Lok sneers at him, “And when was the balance of the universe ever your problem?” 

Anger flared in Loki and fought against the calm he was trying to maintain throughout this conversation. “When you became a part of it.” 

“Sentimentality,” Lok spat, “You think you can flatter me? The only thing that should matter is the mission.” 

“All I’m suggesting is that we take a minute to think about it.”

Emerald green eyes, a direct contrast to Loki’s crystalline blue, looked at him incredulously. The curves of Lok’s lips curled downward into a frown. 

“What was I thinking, trusting you?”

“You can trust me,” Loki whispers, but he could see every ounce of reason in Lok’s face was gone. The act was swift and he had only mere seconds to dodge Lok’s sword before he was making his own move, swinging the sword his younger self had given him for this mission. The mission. 

They’d been so adamant on finding out the truth behind Alioth, behind the TVA and who had wronged them. But how could Loki have known that the man behind the veil would not only be the one who orchestrated this whole mess but had also been the one who maintained some resemblance of order? 

And Lok... Loki had met him only a few days ago, and yet he felt an infinite connection with the variant like nothing he’d ever felt before. The first time he felt it, he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Lok was ridiculously stubborn, angry and unpredictable, like himself. But he was also sensitive and kind when he wanted to be. Loki saw it first hand when he’d been injured in the blast after their failed attempt to board the Ark. The rubble had fallen over him and it was Lok who had gripped his shoulder and pulled him out of it. 

“Stay still, I can’t heal you if you won’t stop squirming,” Lok snarled, which Loki noticed he did a lot. 

“I am trying!” Loki protests, as he lets the variant heal the deep cut that had pierced through his stomach. Fortunately it had missed his vital organs, but it still hurt like Hel. And Lok’s magic, whatever it was, was not working fast enough. The green light that poured into his wound knit through the damage.

“You’re not. I can take more pain then you’re enduring under my touch,” Lok spoke, and Loki looks up to meet the variant’s eyes. Apart from the different eye color, Lok was like looking straight into a mirror. Same facial features, expressions, the way Lok furrowed his eyebrows also made Loki wonder if that was how he looked when he was concentrating intently on something. Or the way his lips tightened.

With a final hiss, the wound sealed itself and Loki felt the pressure Lok was applying on his stomach disappear, as well as the hand that had been touching his neck. He felt its loss, the warmth of it, and he felt a little unsteady. It was probably the blood loss, and the fact that they were going to die anyway. 

“I don’t know why you insisted on healing me when we’re going to die,” Loki spoke softly, looking up at the sky. They’d dragged, or rather Lok had pulled Loki, out of the city and into an abandoned pond area. Remnants of the meteors from the dying planet about to impact against Lamentis flew straight down, burning around them.

“I...” Lok doesn’t finish his sentence, but Loki can see something in his eyes that makes him understand. You didn’t want to die alone, Loki thought, realizing that he didn’t want to die on his own as well.

In spite of the imminent death that hovered over them, Loki found himself feeling safer and calmer then he felt in a while. If this was the end, then at least I went down fighting...

Loki sees Lok shudder, and Loki gently takes Lok’s hand. The look of surprise in the variant’s face almost makes him laugh, but his smile had already reached his eyes. “I know.” 

“We never survive...” Lok speaks, and the defense mechanism, the usual growl or retort at the end of his usual conversation slips. And that’s when Loki sees him, really sees Lok for the first time. The fear, the regret, the pain, the aching sadness of a life unfulfilled. Lok’s entire life from the day he was on the run was riddled with bitterness and disappointment. All of that was absorbed and reflected in his viridescent eyes. “We’re destined to lose.”

“We may lose,” Loki says and he takes Lok’s hand in his, weaving his to the other man’s. That same buzz of energy and warmth he’d felt was back, thrumming through his hand. “But we never die. There’ll always be a Loki. Always.” 

Lok tightens the fingers interlocking with his, and Loki feels what he could only imagine was an earthquake shake his entire core. It could have easily been the ground starting to shudder beneath him, but he felt something inside of him blossom in him that was unfamiliar. Warm. Comforting. 

And Lok. Loki saw the faintest of smiles finally grace those lips that had been so used to frowning with disappointment.

I wish I’d met you sooner, Loki thought, and that was his only regret as the world roared around them, smoke flourishing from all sides as the meteor hit the planet’s surface...

They would have died that day, if Mobius hadn’t found the strange Nexus Event occurring on screen. “The Nexus Event the two of you caused... how did you do it?” Those had been Mobius’s words as the TVA agents strapped the Time Collars on their necks and pulled them away from each other.

That had been then. And this was now.

“You said you wouldn’t betray me!” Lok screams as he swings his sword with quick precision, the tip scratching Loki’s arm. It was a knick, a warning, Loki knew it. 

“I’m not!” Loki shouted and swung to the other side as Lok pulled a chair with his magic and shot it back in his direction, green sparks flying around him. 

A frustrated snarl escapes Lok’s lips as Loki appears before Loki and grabs him, locking them together in a tight and forced tangle of arms, each of them holding the edge of their blades right on their necks. 

“You’re a liar! You only ever wanted the throne. You pretended to care, but what can you hope to gain from befriending me? Nothing! I’m nothing to you!”

“No, Lok, that’s not true-”

“Then you’d have joined me and we’d have taken him down before he even spoke a word! But you chose your side, Loki. And it’s not with me.”

“Maybe he’s lying!” Loki says, “But maybe he’s not!” 

“I. don’t. have. time. for. this!” Lok hisses, pushing forward and Loki grits his teeth, the edge scraping his neck.

“We won’t have time for anything, not if he’s right!” 

Lok’s eyes burn him, the ice cold anger that lights up within them causes Loki to flinch. He’s knocked back with a kick to the abdomen and it knocks the breath out of Loki. It’s enough for Lok to run straight in the direction of He Who Remains.

The world seems to slow down as Loki conjured his seidr to appear right at the very moment when Lok crashes into him, his blade slicing through his chest. A pained cry escapes Loki. The sword slips from Loki’s fingers, clattering to the ground. 

“Stop...” 

Loki meant to reach out slowly to Lok, but his attempt fails as he collapses forward, slumping as the sword still embedded into his chest digs deeper. He lets out an agonized cry, and he sees the anger in Lok’s eyes slip away, quickly turning to regret.

“Loki, oh Hel, what have I done,” Lok whispers as he pulls the sword out of Loki. Loki leans forward, losing his step and he feels Lok grab him. He’s kneeling on the marble floor beside Lok, who’d knelt beside him, holding him upright, his hand already reaching out to heal the damage he’d caused. 

“Why are you always in my way...” Loki hears it, very subtly, being spoken under Lok’s breath and he lets out a weak laugh.

“Because you are my way.” 

Loki doesn’t think, only acts, as he leans closer and this time, he’s not just doing it because his body feels heavier or colder and was drawn to Lok for the warmth. His lips crushed into Lok’s because he needed it. He wanted Lok, desperately. He’d felt the connection in Lamentis when they were about to die. And he had felt it ever since he knew that they were one and the same. In spite of what fate had in store for them, the universe had brought them together. My Lok, always my way, my path, my alternate future. 

Lok let out a shocked breath, and Loki thought he might almost break away, but the relief is paramount when Lok’s other hand finds its way up his neck and brushes through his tangled hair. Lips part and they are well matched in their desperation and desire for connection, the pull and taste of each other irresistible. If it weren’t for the agonizing thrum of pain in his chest, Loki would never have parted. 

But he does, and when Loki meets Lok’s gaze, his eyebrows furrow in confusion when Lok looks at him with an expression that puzzles him. 

“Loki... your eyes...” 

Loki feels a tingling sensation around his temples, and it spreads. He feels the heat, mingling among the pain.

“The universe is breaking apart, kids. Time to make up your minds. Or it’ll make it for you,” He Who Remains speaks from the background. “See? It’s choosing Loki.”

“What are you doing to him!” Lok snarls, and He Who Remains sighs.

“The branches, see, they’re alive. Just like you and me. And they want to be stable. They want a new person that can continue my life’s work. Free will is a lie. It always has been.”

“Lok, no,” Loki tries to grab Lok, but his body was weak. Even as he tried to tug at Lok’s leather bound arm, he knew his hold will not last. The euphoria he had felt moments ago is replaced with dread. Had he done the right thing? What was He Who Remains talking about? Was he being chosen to take over already, even if it meant he was an unwilling participant in this grand scheme of things? Maybe that was why he’d survived...

“I am not letting you become the thing I’ve been training my whole life to destroy!” Lok says and he pulls free from Loki. 

This time the sword does not miss its aim, sinking deep into He Who Remains. The man slumps into his chair, but not before whispering the words that caused Loki to shiver. “Got you.” 

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt.3

Part One, Part Two, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: The case stalls, but no one’s willing to give up on you just yet. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

(Longer one this time! As always, let me know if you want to get tagged in the next part.)

—————————-

“I hate this,” you whined, as Garcia pulled you through the crowded streets, “why didn’t we drive straight to the office, again?”

“Because, my little Grumpy Gus, you look like you barely slept, and this place has the best coffee in the city.” She promised, giving your arm a squeeze.

You grumbled under your breath, but didn’t complain, letting Garcia ply you with endless cups of coffee.

“Are we getting for the whole team?” You asked, your mind drifting to your late night message to Spencer.

Garcia paused, her eyes narrowing with suspicion, “Yeeeeees, why?”

You shrugged, “I was just asking. No need to read into anything.”

“This is about Spencer, I can tell. Spill it.”

You groaned, letting your head thump down onto the table, “How do you do that?”

“I’m a veritable fountain of knowledge, Y/N, you know this,” she teased, “plus I speak fluent Y/N, especially the little known Spencer Reid dialect.”

“Witch!” You said accusingly, “You’re a witch!”

“You flatter me,” she winked, tapping your forearm, “now spill it.”

You sighed, taking another sip of your coffee, “It’s nothing, I just-I messaged him, alright?”

“You did what?”

“I messaged him! And it was stupid and he didn’t even respond, so it’s not important.” You explained, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Penelope gasped, “He didn’t respond?”

You shook your head, “Nope. Nothing, look-“

You took out your phone and glanced briefly at the screen, frowning when you spotted the notification from the night before. You swiped up, your eyes tracing his response. Something in your stomach pinched.

“Huh.”

“What?” Penelope asked, “What is it? You’re legally obligated to tell me, it’s in the rules.”

“He-uh-“ you stared at the screen, still frowning, “he responded. I must’ve fallen asleep…”

“Ooohhh my gosh, what does it say? What did you say? Is it romantic?”

You pressed your lips together, your mind whirling at a thousand miles an hour as you try to figure exactly what Spencer meant by “I did.”.

“It’s-“ you shook your head, “I don’t know really.”

Something in your tone must’ve let on how conflicted you were feeling because Penelope let the matter slide, just giving your arm a comforting squeeze.

“Let’s get to work, Sugar,” she said, standing and extending her hand for you to hold, “we’ve got crimes to solve.”

You gave her a weak smile but let her pull you to your feet, trying to force your mind away from Spencer and back onto your case.

“That we do, Garcia, that we do.”

——————————-

“We come bearing gifts,” Garcia announced as she pushed open the door to the BAU, “sustenance in the form of sweet, sweet caffeine.”

Your eyes instantly flew to Spencer, giving him a weak smile which, to your intense relief, he returned. You also noticed, with a rush of fondness, that he’d kept your side of the desk clear.

“Garcia you’re an angel,” Emily smiled, pushing away from her desk to accept a cup.

“Speaking of angels,” you sighed, carrying a cup of coffee flavored sugar over to Spencer and taking your seat next to him, “have we got an ID on our victim yet?”

“Marcus Wilcox,” Spencer said, flipping open the file closest to you, “25 year old drug addict and male prostitute. He went missing two weeks ago and was reported missing by his best friend.”

You glanced over at the picture of the man whose body had been left in your bookstore and felt the familiar pang of sorrow in your chest. There was always going to be another one, another life cut short, another dead son or daughter who’s family would grieve their loss for years. It was enough to put a damper on anyone’s morning.

You could feel eyes on you, heavy and questioning and you found you couldn’t look up to meet their gaze.

“Anything unusual in the M.E.’s report?” You asked, still avoiding the eyes.

“All the mutilation was done postmortem, so that rules out sadism as a motive,” JJ suggested, accepting a cup of coffee gratefully.

“High levels of caffeine in the blood too,” Emily pointed out, “and…” she pressed her lips together.

“What, Em?” You asked.

She looked up at you nervously, something like sympathy in her eyes as she said, “Biscuits, in his stomach. They found brown butter biscuits and coffee in his stomach.”

Your blood froze and you felt a rush of nausea. You put your cup down, suddenly not thirsty anymore.

“Is...that significant, somehow?” Hotch asked, his perpetual frown firmly in place.

“They’re the best sellers at Y/N’s coffee shop,” Spencer said, something off in his voice, “she sells them fresh every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

You looked over, shocked, and noticed that Spencer was working his jaw, like he was angry, his one hand curled into a fist under his chin. You itched to reach out and touch his forearm, like you once would have, but you restrained yourself.

“What the hell is this guy doing?” Emily asked, “Why go through all this trouble to personalize the crime? What’s driving him?”

“It’s gotta be erotomania, right?” Morgan asked, “Someone’s trying to get Y/N’s attention.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you insisted, frustrated with having the same conversation again and again, “stalkers don’t start off with an elaborate and expertly executed murder. If it was erotomania, why not call first, or email or leave notes at my apartment? There’s been no build up to this sort of violence.”

“Plus, the victim has no connection to Y/N,” Spencer pointed out, “erotomaniacs want to reinforce their supposed devotion to the object of their affection, if he wanted to do that he would’ve picked someone Y/N knew, like an ex-boyfriend or an enemy of some kind.”

“Some who he thinks Y/N would actually want dead,” Emily agreed.

“Reid and Y/L/N are right, there’s something more to this, something we’ve missed,” Hotch said, “Garcia, I want you to go through everything you can find about Marcus Wilcox and see if he came into Y/N’s store at all. Maybe he’s a customer who was rude and offended the UnSub. After that, comb through Y/L/N’s life again; old friends, high school classmates, college professors, agents she worked with on cases, anyone who could have formed an attachment and been stalking her without us knowing.”

Garcia paled under her Barbie pink lipstick, “Sir, I-“

“It’s fine, Garcia,” you assured, giving her a soft smile, “I’ve got nothing to hide. You’ll have to get permission from the CIA to access some of my case files though, there’s some sensitive data in those.”

“I’ll call the director myself,” Hotch said, “that’ll expedite the process.”

“But, sir, sorting through all that data could take weeks,” you pointed out, “what do we do in the meantime?”

Hotch pressed his lips together, and you sighed, sensing his next words before they even came out of his mouth.

“We work cases, as usual,” he said, “Y/N, yours will still be our priority but, until we get a new lead…”

“We’re stuck.” You finished. You breathed in, trying to calm your restless nerves, and pushed yourself up, “Well, it was lovely seeing you guys again, but I guess that’s my cue.”

“What?” Spencer said, sitting up suddenly, “No, Y/N you can’t just leave, if there’s someone out there delusional enough to do this to get your attention then it’s not safe.”

“I’m with Boy Wonder,” Garcia agreed, shooting you an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, Sugar Plum but this whole thing is just icky and gross and I’d feel much better knowing you were here.”

You looked around, but we’re met with a wall of concerned faces. You wanted to scream. Nothing about this situation was fair. You hated feeling helpless, it was why you’d joined the FBI in the first place and, ultimately, why you’d left.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do while we wait for a lead?” You asked, “I can’t go home, I can’t go back to work, I can’t just sit here all day until my assigned babysitter for the night is free.”

“You could join us on cases,” Hotch said simply, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re still officially an agent so you’re cleared to be in the field.”

Spencer and Emily sucked in a breath in unison, and you shut your eyes. Shit.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Emily asked, “You never actually resigned?”

You shot her a sheepish look, “I meant to! I did! It was just,” you shrugged, “at first I wanted the safety blanket in case normal life didn’t work out and, once it did, I just-“ you trailed off.

Truth be told, you didn’t know why you’d never left. It was really only one document that you needed to sign, it would take less than three minutes to complete, there was nothing stopping you. You’d even filled it out once or twice but, for some reason, you always stopped before actually submitting it.

You shot a nervous look at Spencer, who was determinedly avoiding looking at anything except a particular patch of empty air, and sighed.

“So...what does that mean?” Morgan asked, “You’re back on the team?”

“Agent Y/L/N has technically been on an extended sabbatical for the past year,” Hotch explained, “ideally we would be able to keep her on in an advisory capacity while we work her case but, with her safety being such an issue, for the time being, yes, she’s back on the team.”

——————————-

You collapsed into your old seat on the jet, exhaustion weighing you down like a ton of bricks. It had taken almost no time for Hotch and Garcia to brief you on the team’s newest case and, before you could even pack a proper Go-Bag, you were wheels up and on your way to Tampa Bay. It was a fairly standard case, or as standard as it got for the BAU at least, and it had only taken three days to catch the guy, but it had still taken the life right out of you. Hotch had noticed your distress and sent you ahead to the jet with Rossi while the rest of the team finished packing up. On the one hand you resented being treated like a child, on the other….well, you were exhausted.

Rossi sat down across the aisle from you, handing you a mug of warm hot chocolate, which you accepted gratefully. He raised his eyebrows in that grandfatherly way, like he was asking you a question, and you smiled.

“What?” You asked, “I can tell you’re thinking something.”

“You love this” he said simply.

“Love it?” You laughed incredulously, “Rossi I haven’t been this tired since I spent three full days setting up my shop. I’m exhausted.”

“And you love it,” he insisted, “I can see that Evil Genius sparkle in those pretty eyes of yours.” He gestured at your face and you smiled, “Not that I blame you. Catching killers tends to be more exciting than baking cookies.”

“Hey, I thought you loved it when I made cookies!” You complained, whacking his hand away in mock outrage, “You said they were your favorite!”

“They are, I’m just making a simple observation, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” you said suspiciously.

“Here’s another one; there’s tension between you and the Good Doctor,” he continued.

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t disagree, letting your mind wander back to the last three days. After Hotch’s little announcement to the team, things had been...odd with Spencer. Actually, you couldn’t be sure that was the catalyst, for all you knew things could’ve been weird before that but, now it was just impossible to miss. He would bounce between avoiding you like the plague and actively seeking out your company; sitting next to you at dinner one minute and then purposely standing as far away as possible the next minute. It sucked. It sucked and it hurt your feelings and it was confusing, so there was no point in denying it to Rossi.

“I just wish he’d talk to me, you know?” You said, “Or yell, or shout or something. Like, if you’re angry then be angry. At least then we could talk it out, but this-“ you shook your head, “I hate it.”

“Ah, kid,” Rossi commiserated, patting your knee comfortingly, “I don’t think he’s angry, and that’s probably part of the problem.” You looked up, confused, and Rossi continued, “If he was angry, things would be a lot simpler. Like you said, you could just yell for a bit, and then it’d be over. No, I think Spencer’s just hurt and confused. He blames himself for you leaving and, now that you’re back, he’s happy, but he feels guilty about being happy because you’re in danger.” He explained, “It’s a confusing time for him, for you both.”

You sat up, “Wait why would he blame himself for me leaving?”

Rossi looked down, like he was thinking hard but, before he could say anything, you heard footsteps and the rest of your team boarded the jet. You shot Rossi a look that said “we’ll finish this later”, and then turned away, smiling at your friends.

“Hey,” you greeted, letting Morgan ruffle your hair.

JJ gave you a small smile, but your eyes went straight to Spencer, Rossi’s words bouncing around inside your head. To your surprise, he collapsed into the seat beside you.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I-uh-I was hoping we could talk.”

Your heart leapt, but you tried to keep your face neutral as you answered, “Sure thing, Reid. What about? The case?”

“Actually,” he said, his voice still low, “I wanted to talk about you.”

You pressed your lips together, but nodded, following Spencer’s lead and leaning in to avoid being overheard as your team settled in for the flight home.

Spencer was silent for a moment, like he was thinking, and then, “Why didn’t you resign? I thought you wanted out.”

“I did, or I thought I did. Reid, when I first left I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I guess I wanted to be able to come back if things went wrong.” You explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You paused for a moment, “Spence-“

His breath hitched in his throat, “The first time, when you were thinking about leaving. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-“ you sighed, the exhaustion rolling over you like a river, “I didn’t want to worry you until I was sure and then, after that….” you shrugged, “it all happened so fast. I’m sorry.”

He nodded, like he understood, and you watched some of the tension leech out of his body. For the first time he met your eye, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

“I’m sorry too.” He said.

“Spence you’ve got nothing to-“

“I do,” he interrupted, “I promised you that we’d always be best friends and then, after you left, I just stopped trying.”

You were conflicted. Some part of you had been longing to hear this for months, ever since the texts, visits and calls had stopped out of the blue but, now that you were actually hearing it, it just made you sad.

“You did try,” you reminded him, “you came to the store a few times, helped me organize my books.”

He shook his head, “Not often enough. It just-it just got so hard, you know? Seeing you every weekend and knowing you weren’t going to be there when I got to work the next day,” he explained, his voice cracking, “watching you have this whole life outside of us, it just started to feel like maybe I didn’t fit-maybe we didn’t fit.” He gestured to the team, “And I thought maybe you were better off-“ he trailed off.

“Hey,” you cut in, reaching out and covering his hand with yours, “hey, listen to me. You guys are my family. You’ll always be my family, no matter what happens. I’m sorry you ever felt like anything else was even possible. I could never be better off without you guys.”

The hint of a smile played at the edges of his mouth, and he squeezed your hand gently.

“If it’s okay,” he said, still smiling hopefully, “I’d really like for us to be friends again. I know I broke a solemn oath but, if you’ll trust me, I’ll never let it happen again, I promise.”

Your smile felt so wide that it hurt your cheeks as you pulled him into a hug, savoring the way he chuckled as he hugged you back.

“Of course, Spence,” you smiled, still holding him close, “of course.”

“God, I missed you,” he admitted into your neck, “no one else pretends to care about Star Trek as well as you do.”

You laughed and let him go, feeling the distance that had formed over the last year vanishing bit by bit.

“I’ve missed you too, Doctor Reid.” You said, “But, I’ll admit, I haven’t missed the Star Trek talk as much.”

“None of us miss the Star Trek talk,” Derek said, making you both jump, “honestly, I miss not knowing about Star Trek.”

“Preach,” JJ agreed, “Y/N/N, I know you’re in charge of what we watch tonight but I’m begging you, please pick something made for adults? I’ve been watching nothing but Marvel and Disney for months.”

“But I love Disney,” Emily complained.

“Rest assured,” Rossi interrupted, “it’s my entertainment system and I don’t even have any Disney.”

“You have Lord of The Rings though, right?” Spencer asked.

You watched your team bicker amongst themselves, laughing like you hadn’t laughed in months. Being together like this was like a healing balm for your frayed nerves, bringing you back to a place of calm, like you’d just come home from a long trip. In the back of your mind, you knew there was still work to be done, old wounds you needed to address and mysteries you needed to solve but, for now, you were just happy to be with your family. For now, this was enough.

—————————

Spencer felt like he was living in some sort of strange fever dream, like all his months of sulking had finally driven him mad and now he was physically imagining things as he helped you out of his car. Touching you always made him a little dizzy but, over the years that you’d worked together every day, he’d managed to build up a tolerance, a tolerance that was now almost completely gone. It had been months since everyone had agreed to have family dinner at Rossi’s, but now that you were back, he’d insisted. Spencer was on cloud nine. He had his best friend back and, for the first time since you’d left, things felt good again, like he was exactly where he should be.

As you sat around Rossi’s table, swapping stories and reminiscing over the past, Spencer had to fight to stop from staring at you. You were really there. He could reach out and touch you. If he called your name you would respond and your eyes would light up the way they always had, like he was the only person in the world you wanted to see. It was surreal. In the back of his mind, Spencer knew he was being selfish, that he shouldn’t want you to stay this time and he should be itching to find out who was stalking you so that you could go back to the life you’d built. But he wasn’t.

When JJ had gotten the call that you needed them, Spencer had thought his heart was going to implode from all the pent up longing he’d kept stored away. Seeing you hadn’t exactly improved things. He’d spent the entire day trying to hold himself together, unsure of how to act around you, playing through every single memory he’d been keeping repressed for all this time like it would somehow give him the answer. God, half the time he’d wanted to scream, the other half he’d wanted to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go ever again. As his eyes traced the plains of your face, plains he’d memorized a million different times, he felt a flicker of that old flame burn in his chest, like the embers of a fire that had never really been put out, and he sighed.

“Hey, kid, where’s your head?” Morgan asked, his voice soft enough to avoid being overheard.

“Hmm? What?” Spencer replied, tearing his eyes away from you as you laughed at something Garcia said.

“Your head,” he repeated, where’s it at?”

Spencer thought for a minute, and then smiled, “I’m good. Really good, actually.”

Morgan nodded, a little too knowingly for Spencer’s liking, but let the matter drop. Just then, the unmistakable ping of Hotch’s cell cut through the late night air and, as if on cue, every eye in the house turned to face the sound. Hotch examined his phone, his frown deepening and sending shivers of worry up Spencer’s neck. He wanted to say something, to stop Hotch from giving them whatever horrible piece of news was on that phone, but he couldn’t. He just sat and waited, like everybody else.

“Hotch?” JJ eventually asked, her hand gripping yours, hard.

“They-uh-” Hotch started, showing a rare moment of nerves, “they found another note at Y/N’s apartment.”

Several people swore, Garcia whimpered, Derek slammed his fist against the table, but you just stared straight ahead, your face stony and unmoving. Spencer wanted to reach out, but he was frozen in place.

“What did it say?” You asked, “Is it another love poem?”

“No,” Hotch answered, “it’s a string of numbers; 29.07.15/18.01.14/38.8765.77.0006.”

“Reid, you got that?” Morgan asked, shooting him a look.

Spencer felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, but he nodded, “I’ve got it.”

“But, that’s not all, is it?” Rossi asked.

Hotch shook his head, “They found another body. This time in an empty storefront a few blocks away from Y/N’s apartment.”

“Probably the site I’d picked out for the second branch,” you supplied, “I just signed the deal three weeks ago.”

You buried your face in your hands, sighing as the atmosphere around the dinner table took a turn for the worst.

“Well,” Emily said, “Looks like we’ve got our lead.”

Hotch nodded, “Let’s get to work.”

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

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​, @confused-and-really-hungry, @word-scribbless​, @reidloversisforever​, @ashookykooky​, @l0ve-0f-my-life​, @shilohpug​, @tangerinenotions95​, @petitchatonbleu, @pirateismywayofspeaking​, @must-be-a-weasley-92​, @whovianayesha, @holding-on-to-my-youth​

[ginkgomoon]

I Like You A Latte- Gavin ☕️

Happy blog birthday to @cheri-cheri. Another gift would like to present itself to you! 💙

“The exam is officially over,” you sigh.

All those years of studying and recurring late nights pouring the blood, sweat and tears for you push towards the finish line were all worth it.

You are now free.

Kind of… but not really.

For once, you were outside not catching the train to go university, heading off into another library or exam room. You had thought to savour this rare time to yourself before heading off to find a job. Thankfully, public transport is convenient enough to take you just about anywhere in Loveland City.

With only your phone, wallet and keys in hand, you stroll along the all too familiar building blocks near your home, pondering on where to go for the long awaited first day out by yourself. Should you go for some udon? Bingsoo? Pudding, perhaps?

While breathing in the sweet air of freedom, you admire the city that you grew up in, absorbing the view from down below and up at the infrastructure that the city was so renowned for.

The height, distance and those buildings haven't changed. But you- the stages of your life, experiences and perspectives have. The city almost seemed a little bit more… brighter. More alive. Or maybe… would it be for just this once?

This, you fear.

The glare of the sun continues beating down, its light reflecting off the glass buildings passing its judgement on the entire city. The heat is suffocating and you long for a cool drink or nice air-con to rely on to keep you sane.

A vision suddenly intrudes, presenting the clean pastel coloured store-front of the café that had just opened up nearby. You remember that you had power-walked right past the “WE ARE OPEN” sign on your way home from a past exam to prepare for the final one a few days ago.

You know you rarely enter any cafés at all, but your love for coffee and urge to explore someplace new begin to steer your legs into the walking direction of where you had remembered it to be.

As you soon reach the entrance, the sign you saw from the peripheral of your memory greets you.

“BRUNCH CAFE. WE ARE OPEN.”

You push open the heavy glass door, instantly entering a world of relief. Still in between the two opposing temperatures, you hastily swing the door back and encase yourself in paradise.

You take a moment to briefly scan your surroundings. The café, although it claims to be open, has everything but the barista. It wasn’t as big as the Starbucks down at the shopping centres, but it was humble enough for its size and able to fit all the requirements a café needs.

Soft instrumental music starts to reel you in further, like a siren hypnotising a sailor. You feel... peaceful. Though you wonder if you were hearing the non-diegetic music of the film occurring right in front of your eyes instead of your almost-dream café.

The minimalist designs, the ambience, and the extremely posh and elegant windows that you didn’t admire enough the first time strikes your appeal. You also confirm with yourself that this was the café that you would choose to break the cycle of drinking instant coffees everyday.

Just this once.

On the left side, those posh windows were flaunting on display, and to the right had little cubicles laid out perfect for providing spacious privacy. You marvel at what a genius idea the store owner had to create such a comforting and unique interior for a café. There was not a thing out of place.

Except of course, the barista.

You head over to where the cubicles were waiting and as you turn into the corner, you almost trip over something that looks like… a foot?

Following the coffee-stained sport shoes, your eyes slowly drift up on its owner, locking on a sleeping figure on the seats of the cubicle.

A young man with a soft aura.

You squint in confusion.

The poor cubicle clearly wasn’t big enough to fit his entire body. His hair seems to have fallen into place like dominos having slightly covering his eyelids, and appears to be breathing in a gentle rhythm with his chest following in sync. Your eyes also end up emphasising his jawline as you continue to stare.

His chest- wait.

A little badge on the right corner of his shirt immediately becomes the salient object.

So, he is the barista.

Barista… Gabin?

You lean closer at the words printed out on it.

No, it’s Ga-vin.

Apart from how attractive he looks, you question yourself- why is the barista sleeping during opening hours?

The man’s eyes slowly crack open, like a shell opening to display the pearl from inside, and you finally see his eyes of beautiful amber squinting back at you. Though, you can’t tell if it was because of the bright lights inside the cafe, or if he was solely observing you- and why you were so close to him at this very moment.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” you cry, instantly retracting from your forward-leaning position. Your brain tries to racks up reasons why you two were in this situation incase he asks.

“There was something on your face” or “your foot was in the way” could work. No- “sorry, I’ve never seen another human being before” sounds a lot more believable.

Gavin, the barista, furrows his eyebrows in confusion then seemingly in frustration.

Your body tenses.

It’s coming.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep…” he sighs softly.

You do another quick scan and take that only the two of you were in the cafe now, unless there was another sleeping barista somewhere else you didn’t notice.

“If you're here for coffee, it’s on the house. An apology for what you saw just now…. Just don’t tell the boss if he’s here,” Gavin lightly coughs.

“Oh okay... Thank you. A latte please,” you say, rather not wanting to question it further. For now. But free coffee made by this gorgeous barista? How could anyone refuse this offer? All you did was stare. In that case, you would gladly do it again.

You settle your belongings on the table and catch Gavin rolling up his sleeves, putting on the display of his toned forearms. Luckily, your cubicle entrance was facing the direction of the workbench allowing yourself to watch him set up.

You start to wish for your coffee to be as hot as him.

Scalding hot.

Gavin steadily handles the jug and effortlessly pours the milk into the latte glass with the espresso already inside. Despite your sight of his expertise, he still can’t hide the subtle droopiness of his eyes and the slight furrow of his eyebrows again.

You figure it would be better if you come up to him instead so he wouldn’t have to travel the whole way to your cubicle with his current state being like this.

You gingerly make your way to his workbench while fumbling for a topic to break the awkward silence in your head.

“Is it just you working here today or��?” you ask.

“Is there another hot sleeping barista I should know about?” you continued in your head.

Gavin hands you the transparent cup accompanied by the saucer, a little spoon, a packet of sugar and a complimentary ginkgo-shaped cookie on the side.

The art displayed formed a symmetrical heart with perfect one centimetre foam to present the perfect latte.

“There’s the chef who’s actually the boss of this place but sometimes he dashes in and out. Especially when there’s no customers as of late. I have no idea where he goes, actually. Right now is no exception,” he replies, sweeping the remains of the coffee grounds into the knock box.

“And you do all the work for him? That doesn’t seem fair. Does he allow you to make your own cup of coffee at least?”

“Well, not exactly. I just work over-time till late. Plus, I think my body is practically immune to caffeine by now,” Gavin laughs.

"Me too," you comment.

As tired as he looks, he still has the energy to light up a smile, even with a stranger. His mouth forms an effortlessly handsome arc and you feel something emerging from within your heart, so subtle that you almost think that you could have mistaken yourself as the protagonist in a romance novel.

Though working overtime till late… at a brunch cafe?

You don’t question him any further. You take a whiff at the single delicate-looking plain ginkgo cookie and have a bite. This moment of peace and serenity was offering the much needed break from all that tension and pressure you were under- apart from Gavin being here, though he didn’t seem to mind your presence.

You lean forward to place your elbows on the counter and stare at the coffee in front, frowning a little at the reality of ruining the beautiful heart. You rip open the sugar and pour in half, then give it a stir with the spoon. The foam is perfectly silky and frothy, fusing with the crema like a starry galaxy.

You remind yourself that "it was okay" because this moment would forever remain in your own heart instead. Delicious, creamy arabica coffee.

Like those ginkgo leaves dancing in the wind that autumn day.

You smile at the memory before multiple begin to overlap with another. Ones where you had passed by the senior classrooms catching a glimpse of a boy staring out of the window or down in a random alleyway on your bicycle.

You didn’t think much of it back then either, but he had always looked familiar and seemed to be everywhere you were too. Crossing paths in hallways and even at the library, reading. That upperclassman boy named-

“-Gavin?”

He looks up.

“From school?”

You wonder why you hadn’t realised.

His facial features are now more defined, sharper, and still a head taller than you. Who would have thought the hot barista was actually an old schoolmate. You put your coffee down and internally scream.

“You remember me?” he softly asks.

“Just a little bit. Wait, do you know who I am?”

“Just a little bit.”

Gavin smiles.

You break eye contact and continue drinking, not wanting the coffee to get cold during this exchange. But even now it tastes different than before.

“So, what brings you here?” he asks.

“Taking a break before I find a job. See if any place will accept me…”

“Of course they will. You’re brilliant at what you do. I have no doubts that you will be successful.”

You smile in response, taking in the last of the remaining coffee.

“How do you know? We haven’t seen each other in so long. And I don’t think we’ve ever interacted this much in the past."

“I just do… Trust me.”

You look back up. His eyes light up with so much sincerity that could power a whole entire city’s electricity.

"I never thought I'd see you again," you say.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You seemed like... you were just so difficult to figure out, especially for people like me who don't know you that well. So I never gave it a second thought either. And now here you are, making my coffee. Anyway, this is probably not making any sense..."

"No, I understand," Gavin states. "In your opinion... what kind of man am I?"

Before you could formulate a proper response, hot heat suddenly finds its way in, corroding with its cooler counterpart and signalling the entrance of another person.

Your eyes catch sight of a tall and handsome man, his aura so dominating that the heat you feel could just be from him instead.

“That’s the boss,” Gavin whispers.

The boss saunters his way in straight towards you two. His black hair matches his suit and tie, making him appear more like a CEO than of a chef.

“Don’t worry, I’m just going to the back to restock some things, I’ll be right back,” Gavin says, shooting you a comforting smile.

While trying to process all of this, your eyebrows are the ones to furrow now instead. How could this boss treat an employee like this? Working overtime without proper breaks? This to you was appalling and certainly see this as an act of injustice. Being the good and lawful citizen that you are, you decide to treat this like one.

“Excuse me.”

Before he enters the kitchen, he turns, offering his full attention to you. You thought you had a good grasp on what you wanted to say, but it seems that your head had disconnected from your voice box.

“Your employee…” you begin, “he seems very fatigued. I think you should be sharing the workload equally instead of leaving the cafe. Haven’t you ever heard of a collegial workplace before?”

His eyebrow lifts- in amusement, mockery or consideration, you don’t know. After all, your words carrying the “sense of justice” did sound a lot better in your head.

“I don’t interfere with anyone’s personal lives,” he said, his deep voice shattering your “prosecution”. But before you could have another go at him, he retreats into the kitchen.

Gavin returns with takeaway cups and lids and sees you standing flabbergasted at your interaction with the boss.

“You okay?”

You reply back with a little “humph” at the direction of the kitchen then turn to Gavin restocking the items on the cup warmer of the coffee machine.

"I-it’s nothing."

After all, this was your first and last time here, and maybe you shouldn't have acted so impulsively on a situation like this. Plus, how would Gavin react if you push the topic further?

You sigh. Hopefully the plan to have a drink and catch up with an old friend later in the night will settle the agitation you feel.

A soft ding is heard from your phone reminding you to get ready to leave.

Perfect timing.

As you reluctantly pack your things, you glance at Gavin’s way, who looks like he’s about to end his shift for the day as well.

You don’t want to be supporting a business owner who treats his employees like this, but yet seeing Gavin this way made you feel helpless. It’s a shame that you won’t see another handsome barista like this again. Or see him again. Or probably enter another cafe at all after this.

“I have to go.”

Your voice interrupts his workflow, and he frowns.

“Now?”

“I have somewhere to be, unfortunately.”

Gavin takes a moment to process this.

“Why don’t you wait till I leave? That way, I can see you off. It will only be a minute.”

More like a minute's time to sob about this man who could have been your boyfriend in a parallel universe. But as long as you won’t be late to meet up with your friend, you agree to wait for Gavin to finish up.

You linger by the entrance, not wanting to intrude his workspace again and steer clear from the awkwardness that could arise from watching him up close.

But after that literal minute, he steps outside with you and the heaviness in your heart starting to simmer back up again. The air already seems to have to cooled down, providing a thankful comfort to your surroundings.

Looking at him now, you almost change your mind. You could maybe see him again when you have time in the future. To... catch up.

Just maybe.

“Thank you for today," you say. You remind yourself to not get too attached, having really not know if you would be ready for all of that, especially for what was to come in the future.

You slowly walk backwards into the direction of your home, back where you need to get ready for the night out again.

“Thanks for coming. It was nice meeting you again,” he replies.

As you turn to leave, in your peripheral vision Gavin tracks forward to cover every step you took away from him, pulling a hesitant arm up to say something more.

But by then, you were already turning the corner and out of sight.

-And after all this time, your thoughts keep returning to those moments.

A couple of hours pass and your mind still orbits Gavin and that café. You wonder if there was something more you could have done or said. Hopefully he didn’t mistake your hurried steps for something else.

You soon arrive at the venue that you and your friend unanimously agreed on, though as you tippy-toe your way through the crowd to spot her, it seems that she hasn't arrived at the agreed time yet.

As you wait, you fiddle with the side of your dress. You decided to go with the classy minimalist look- a black dress and simple ginkgo drop earrings you bought recently. You didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, but you were satisfied that you were well-dressed enough to feel glamorous for the night. However, wanting to avoid the additional heat of the weather sticking on your body like a tattoo, you decide to head in first.

The music gradually becomes clearer and definitely louder as you weave your way through the hallway entrance towards the heart of the club, with the lights dimly lit and its walls enclosed for the darkness to rule.

You haven’t been in a place like this for so long, especially when you got used to the quiet and calm environment of libraries, the home, and the café earlier…

You could feel everyone’s body heat from a good healthy distance away, even at the seat of the bar. You don’t plan on getting drunk tonight, but you know your alcohol tolerance is so low that you figure it would be best if you should order a little fruity mocktail first instead then perhaps have a real drink with your friend when she arrives later.

You give a quick text notifying her of your location and place your phone back into your purse, ready to order.

Darkness continues to stir as you struggle to locate the bartender.

What kind of bartender is this person if they’re not at the bar?

Lights rotate and blind its way in every direction. For a fleeting second, it lands on the person across from you, illuminating those unforgettable eyes and smile of its owner.

His eyes are just as wide as yours.

"It's you."

The barista- no, bartender, was Gavin.

[go-ldy]

Riverdale 5x03

Man, I found this episode hard. There were some poignant moments, but there were also a lot of moments that were frustrating as hell. My emotions are mixed. But mainly sad. Hold me.

It really says a lot about this show that despite setting aside a whole episode dedicated mostly to character building and relationships rather than plot, it still felt like the show bit off more than it could chew. So much felt rushed including Bughead’s breakup.

anyway, the positives first:

Varchie were beautiful in this episode, and I am so happy for my Varchie mutuals for the care put into developing them and giving them this kind of send off (esp. considering the mess of 4x17 and 4x18). I loved how Archie’s flashback of his life over the last three years was just 90% about Veronica and how much she means to him. It especially contrasts to the BA “flashbacks” from 4x17 l o l. 

Archie spontaneously deciding to join the army and shipping out on an actual bus 24 hours later was so Archie and so Riverdale.  “Archie, there’s a war going on!” made me laugh out loud, IDK. 

Veronica, Betty, and Jughead chasing Archie down in the jalopy to say goodbye was a sheer delight.

Betty Cooper: FBI trainee, default law enforcement officer, yearbook editor, serial killer genes, daughter of the black hood, sister of notorious killer Charles Smith - ALSO class Valedictorian! (Can u still be class Valedictorian if you were once suspended for cheating on a Quiz Show? Riverdale High says ‘yes.’) Good for u, B. Coop.

yessssss at Hiram Lodge being forced to put Sheriff Keller back into a job to arrest those kids hiding out at Archie’s boxing studio (and Archie didn’t notice that these youth were squatting there for months ?????? lmao). I KNEW RIVERDALE DID NOT HAVE A SHERIFF THESE LAST FEW EPISODES. Truly the lawless hellhole we have come to know and love.

Jughead staying in the Andrews’ home while it was put on the market to be sold was hilarious to me. I know it was supposed to be sad - and it was - but ALSO, can you imagine perspective buyers coming into the house only to find that there is a homeless person camping out in there without furniture or electricity or heat? “Why is there a rolled up sleeping bag in the corner?” “Is that a typewriter on the floor?” “Did I just step into an old can of soup?” JUGHEAD, MAN. They probably had to turn off the electricity and heat to save money because he was single-handedly keeping the house from selling.

It was very sad that Jughead was the only one who showed up at Pop’s a year later (and then sees a blonde girl come in and immediately his eyes light up because Betty before the disappointment o m g, murder me), but also a surprisingly relatable moment? I barely remember my own high school graduation, but I do remember that my high school friends felt like everything to me at the time, and I have since fallen out of touch with, uh, all of them. Life happens.

The stuff that was meh:

In theory, I am not opposed to the idea that Jellybean became the auteur/voyeur because she felt neglected and wanted attention, but it still feels like Jellybean is only about 25% of a character. Like, we heard a lot of other people (mostly FP and Jughead) tell us about JB’s motivations, but did JB have a single speaking line in this episode where she actually got to express to anyone what she was thinking and feeling? ugh. 

I don’t care about Falice, but ????? @ FP’s solution to fix JB. So... taking her back... to her drug dealing mother who did not even show up for her own son’s funeral.... is better than a child therapist? Fine. 

Nobody seemed to have any lingering reactions or trauma to Charles being a serial killer?? Like what. Is he even in jail? Or did Betty just let him go? This is actually quite inconvenient for me from a fic-writing perspective. Nobody is a better deux ex machina when Betty or Jughead need something in fic - just call their brother Charles who works for the FBI! I guess that’s done now.

I did feel for Alice, and Alice is not a character I usually feel for because she is the worst. But her husband and eldest son ended up being serial killers, Polly is in an insane asylum, the twins have disappeared from planet earth, and now FP is leaving her. Damn. That is a lot.

So did Choni breakup? It literally happened so fast with so little emotional fallout. Whatever, I don’t care about Choni.

The Beronica and Jarchie scenes were so rushed and forced. I just don’t get this storyline, y’all. What was the point of doing what they did with Betty and Archie in 4x17 and 4x18? Was it simply to break up our two main couples? Veronica and Jughead should have each had the time and space to be angry with their BFFs over what happened (because as crazy as this town is, it is still a massive betrayal) but instead they were both like: “NAH IT’S COOL SHIT HAPPENS LET’S HUG IT OUT.” It didn’t feel earned. I feel like RAS & Co. wanted the immediate drama of the ~kiss but also wanted to have this touching, Core 4 friendship moment before scattering them. What was the point. (I KNOW, I KNOW, ‘IT’S RIVERDALE’ but these characters matter to me ok and I want to understand where they are coming from.)

Bughead

This episode was... very hard. There were some cute moments, but the breakup felt so rushed and... empty? For the most part, we still have no idea where Betty’s head has been since 4x18. Presumably, she has been wracked by guilt, but terrified of telling Jughead the truth in case she ended up losing him (which, it turned out, was exactly what happened).

The scene in their bedroom where she tells him and they kiss desperately was a beautiful scene and the acting from both was oof. But I feel cheated that we did not actually get to see them talk about “us” as Jughead suggested. So did that conversation happen or not? And then to be told in a voiceover and montage that they grew apart in the space of about 45 seconds.... it was all very empty, and painful. I just.... :( :( :( 

I guess we are supposed to assume that Betty and Archie’s kiss created this chasm between them that they were unable to talk about or address head on. But it was so rushed, very “tell not show.”

anyway, this stupid show has made me sad. I AM SAD. My heart is :( @ the unspoken hurt between them that they won’t talk about for seven years. And this show is never going to address the hurt between them in a realistic or satisfying way because it is Riverdale. Usually I would immediately reach to fic to get out my feelings, but in this case, I feel more like hiding in my zombie AU then dealing with how sad this all is lol. Is that insane? That’s what Riverdale does to us. I take heart in the fact that I am not alone in my madness.

[notmrskennedy]

The List

(Spencer Reid x GenderNeutral?Reader)

A/N - In order to curb the crushing weight of being bested by a vacuum cleaner at work and stressing about my calc test, I’m posting this. I hope you all like it as much as the last one. Y’all are just the fuckin sweetest. 

Also, this was inspired by @definitelynotkatesblog and her awesome work Something to Cry About. It’s the cutest freakin thing. 

Summary - A little list on what makes Reader fall asleep at night...

Word Count - 2.2k

Warnings - swearing, but what’s new?

----

1. A Podcast Episode on Epicurus and the Hellenistic Age

“Spencer, christ,” you laugh, fluffing your curls. “I can assure you that I am not touchy and sharing a bed won’t kill us.”

Spencer fidgets in his spot in the doorway, crossing his arms to keep from shaking too much. Is it wrong to be jealous of your casualness surrounding this? Is it wrong to wish away that massive crush he’s got? Just at least for one night—pretty please with a cherry on top.

You wait with a half raised eyebrow at the side of the bed he clearly doesn’t sleep on. Your hand poised above the comforter like it’ll make his decision any quicker. Like you can’t see the turmoil that has to be written across his face.

Because what does this mean? What does it mean to sleep in the same bed with your best friend for the first time? What if you end up snuggled up in the morning? Is that bad? Is that good? Is he totally secretly wishing that’ll happen and spur you in falling in love with him just as much as he’s fallen for you?

He glances one more time between your calm eyes, the made bed, the clock, the giant college t-shirt you’re wearing, finally back to your face. He nods. Adds in a dash of blushing. A teaspoon of agreeing words.

You shake your head, smile at him like he’s an idiot—though he supposes he is with you—and wrench the covers back. Like you belong. He wants you to belong.

There’s still time to back out and sleep on the couch. Does he really want to?

He wills his feet forward. Tries to tell himself that this is just like every night. Sets his watch on the nightstand, plugs his phone in, slips into the covers.

“Hey, bud?”

He hums as he turns his head to look over at you. He’s still sat up in bed, hand poised over his stack of books. Are you going to tell him to turn out the light?

You smile, shifting your weight ever so slightly. You’re the restless sort and he wonders how you work the boring middle management job that you do. Pulling your lips back into a nervous smile, you gently say, “I can’t fall asleep to the quiet, do you mind if—“

“Do you want me to read to you?”

He hopes the excitement goes unnoticed. It seems to as you chuckle. “I wish it would work. You’re too interesting, Spencer Reid. Podcasts on Hellenistic philosophy however—do you mind if I listen? It won’t be too loud.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all.” Never for you.

“Thanks, Spence,” you chirp through a stifled yawn. And as you turn the podcast on and flip over to press tightly onto the pillow, you say, “and don’t worry. I promise I keep to my side of the bed.”

And unlike the liar he wishes you are, he wakes up to find that you are very true to your word.

2. Discovery Chanel, Documentary on Revolving Door Manufacturing

He’s never seen you cry before. You make it a point to keep saying between sobs, “I hate crying in front of other people. I’m so sorry.”

He can’t fathom why it’s you that’s sorry, not after you asked him to pick you up from your mother’s. The same mother who’s apparently found it within her purview to explain just how much she hates you over a nice dinner. He’s buzzing with anger on your behalf—anger that clearly isn’t shared, though he knows it’ll come later.

It takes roughly 20 minutes to get you over the hill, trading tears for tissues. Snot for begrudging smiles at his bad jokes. He’s promised himself that he will listen—for once in his goddamn life—to your whole story without interrupting. You seem to appreciate the sentiment, punctuating the whole experience with asking for one of those hugs that just never ends.

You try to explain it—“like cats, Spencer, you know?”—like he doesn’t already empathise completely.

And weirdly enough, it gets to a point where you two switch positions without breaking the crushing amount of contact you have. It gets to a point where you insist on watching the most boring documentary he’s ever seen on revolving door manufacturing. It gets to a point where you pass out after 15 minutes and turn over into his chest.

He doesn’t dare move. Not until he’s effectively sure you won’t be waking up anytime soon. Spencer falls asleep with your soft breath fanning across his chest and his hands tangled in your hair.

5. A Librivox Recording of ‘The Five Orange Pips’

Now this is ridiculous. And he says as much as you roll your eyes. You’re both sweaty and exhausted and he’s sure he’s never met someone who looked this awake after a romp at one AM. Your eyes are twinkling the same way someone does after they’ve run a mile and feel like they need to run another. You’ve got energy and he can’t fathom it.

“Spencer,” you whine, falling back into the bedsheets. It’s really the first official time you’ve spent at his house as more than a friend—much more. He’s gotten accustomed, understanding even, to the little podcasts you listen to to fall asleep. There’s no sense in understanding your sleeping habits, not yet at least, but he understands the boring, droning voices you let lull you to sleep.

But this! Sherlock Holmes?

“Y/n, I literally have the story on my bookshelf. I could read it to you if you’re so choosy!” he mirrors your position with a huff, already reaching out to drag you over into his side. The feel of your skin is addictive. The safest kind of high he can get. The only one he really wants.

You pout, sticking out your lip. It’s adorable and breaks the tweak of frustration resting hard in his features. “Love-bug, with you talking to me, I’d never fall asleep. It just doesn’t work like that and I don’t make the rules.”

“Fine,” he mutters, effectively pulling you close enough you can share the one pillow. You giggle, kiss his nose, and reach behind you for your phone. It takes five seconds for the Librivox recording to start and he realises that as he listens to the intro, he’s already dropping off. It’s understandable—he guesses—but he hopes that one day you’ll pick a story he hasn’t read already.

9. News in Slow Spanish

Listening to you get ready for bed will never be tiring, Spencer thinks. Not when he’s playing a game with himself. He’s so terrible at guessing what you’ll choose to listen to. There’s never any rhyme or reason. Never a solid thought process that he can decipher. He’s kept to making a list—half because he likes lists, half because he wonders how long it’ll get.

Four months in and he’s at number 9—more or less.

This one shocks him though. Has him poking his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush still stuck in his mouth. You’re pulling your hair out of a pony tail, humming along to the intro music for a newscast in Spanish. Do you speak Spanish?

“Sugar plum—“ he loves every weird nickname you’ve given him over the months— “I can hear the whine of your brain from here.”

It’s then you turn to really look at him. Smirking. Gleaming in the shadows of the bathroom light. Wearing nothing more than a sports bra and shorts. His mouth runs dry as he tries to keep his thoughts present and clean.

He takes the toothbrush from his mouth. You giggle as he speaks through the spit. “Do you speak Spanish?”

“I must not talk about work enough,” you mutter to yourself, slipping into bed. Like you belong. “My entire job is setting up relationships between the hotel company I work for and Latin American, well, anything. Hotels, river cruises, restaurants—I speak Spanish more than I do English some weeks.”

He nods, finishes brushing his teeth to process the thought. No, you don’t talk about work enough, and he’s suddenly worried about what you don’t talk about. It suddenly feels suffocating. Like he doesn’t know a single thing about you. Like he’s never known anything about you.

But as you drag yourself into his side once he’s beside you, as you kiss his cheek and settle in, he’s reminded that he doesn’t need to know everything to care. For you to care back. There’s enough time in the world to figure out all the other stuff. He’s content to learn as it comes. Appreciate every new thing he can get his hands on.

And, hey, if you listen to this podcast enough, he might learn Spanish too.

11. Whose Line is it Anyway? Reruns

“No, absolutely not. I’m putting the kibosh on this. The applause will drive me wild. Please, y/n, anything else.”

15. Spencer

If there hadn’t been a nightmare involved, it wouldn’t have been as terrifying to find you not in bed. To hear the door latch click with someone’s arrival. Or someone’s departure.

He’s out of bed before he can process. Before his brain can calm down enough to remind him that it’s fine. That there’s no way a burglar is going to be as loud as you’re being in the next room over.

He jumps out of the bedroom, ready to strangle the intruder with his bare hands, when you give a startled shout, “Jesus christ!” 

Spencer settles. Realises that it’s just you in a sweatshirt and slippers. You look utterly exhausted in the dim light of the apartment. Fidgeting and restless despite the slump to your shoulders. He vaguely wonders if he should make you a pot of coffee to calm you down.

The world catches up to him and he slumps into the wall. Is it so wrong to be this decidedly tired after a nightmare that he could’ve sworn wasn’t coming back? The two of you stare each other down, both equally apprehensive to the other for decidedly similar reasons.

Spencer’s entire body is beginning to light on fire. He doesn’t want to burn you in the process.

You’re buzzing and tired and angry and there’s no reason to take any of that out on him.

“Can’t sleep?” he finally prompts.

You scrub your hands over your face, fluff your curls, in response. “I walked the stairs four times, bug. I’m so—“

“Frustrated?”

“Yes.”

He nods his head, waves you over. You half heartedly trudge over to him, lean your head into his chest and feel at least a tiny amount of frustration drift away. He pulls you both back to bed—he can’t believe he’s functioning this well, but maybe it’s just because he’s fulfilling the need to think about anything else. There’s a hesitance as you lay back down and he knows that you’ve probably tried everything. That you don’t believe you’ll get any sleep at 2:45 in the morning.

“You’ve worked through the list then?” he asks. Your eyebrows pinch as you settle onto your side, giving him your full attention. “The things that make you fall asleep,” he clarifies, “you know, that list.”

“Do you—do you keep a list?” your voice is almost judgemental, but decidedly too curious. He nods. “I’ve never had anyone care that much.”

“So where are you at?” he says instead. There’s too much to unpack. Too much for his still swimming brain. He needs something concrete. “What’ve you tried?”

You go through your list, letting every inch of agony you’ve faced for the last four hours creep over your face. Spencer watches as you turn over one more time and groan into the pillow. “I think I’d rather just suffocate at this rate.”

He chuckles. “Stop being dramatic. Come here, let me try something.”

“But—“

“Just—please, y/n?” he doesn’t understand your refusal to trust him sometimes—it’s always about such strange things, like how he does the dishes or what brand of milk to buy. You scoot over to him, settle into his chest with an indignant huff. As if you aren’t tightening around him like a vice.

He clears his throat, drags his fingers softly up and down your spine, and picks the most boring thing—for you at least—he can think of to recite: quantum physics. He feels you relax after a minute. Your eyes close and your nose sinks a little deeper into his shirt. It takes nearly two chapters to get you to zonk out. Long enough that he’s worried you were right, that he was just too interesting for you. Even if he was reciting quantum physics literature.

He keeps droning for a little time after he thinks you must be—have to be—asleep. And just as he settles, just as his eyes are closing and he could drift off peacefully, he doesn’t miss the ever quiet, ever gentle words, “You’re too interesting, Spence, too goddamn interesting.”

You roll over, your back pressed against his side. He wants to laugh. He doesn’t, just ends up dreaming of something nearly as peaceful as falling asleep beside you.

[simpworthy]

Summary: It is no secret that your boyfriend, Keigo, has never had the time or luxury of Christmas, and you are determined to change that.

Part 1? Might make this into a few parts if it is too long.

Warnings: Quite a lot of cursing and language at the beginning. Just the fluffiest of fluff and some angst... But it all ends well!!!

There was a loud crash in the kitchen and you froze. You were certain that it was Keigo returning from his early morning patrol, but you held your breath, waiting for the loud cursing you knew would follow. Sure enough, strings of vulgar curses and a few choice phrases you were sure he had made up spewed from his lips.

“Fucking hell! I work my ass off all day, and this is what i get in return? This motherfucking cabinet is absolute shit!” The slamming of said cabinet door was a loud echo through the quiet apartment, and you slowly drug yourself out of bed whilst groaning to yourself. Keigo had been uncharacteristically angry and overly irritable over the past few weeks, and it was becoming overwhelming for you.

“Hello to you too, birdy,” you growled, crossing your arms when you strolled through the doorway. Scanning the room, you noticed how heavily your boyfriend was breathing and your eyes found the cabinet which collapsed and sent dishes, various food items, and some type of liquid crashing into a very frustrated man. This was no doubt the cause of Keigo’s current mood.

“Sorry I woke you from your precious sleep,” he stabbed, his voice laced with sarcasm and devoid of his usual playfulness. Stunned, you pressed a finger into his chest.

“I don’t know why you are taking all your frustration out on me and the furniture,” you hissed, struggling to keep your voice even,” but you better fucking pull it together. I’m not going to sit here in misery because you can’t communicate your problems like a whole ass toddler!” Keigo turned up his nose at you, clearly tryout words had made things much worse. He grabbed the hand that was firmly planted on his chest, and wrenched it away from him with a force that made you gasp.

“Y/N, I am not going to stand here and let you tell me that I am the childish one!” He let go of your hand, and began to stalk towards the shared bedroom.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?” Your voice was shaking, tears threatening to spill over. Keigo kept his back turned to you, but he had stopped walking.

“You wouldn’t get it, so just drop it, Y/N!!”

“No! I’m not going to just drop it,” you raised your voice, a few tears running down your face,” You can’t just shut me out and become some kind of raging monster for weeks, Hawks. I haven’t done a single thing to deserve this!” He tensed at your use of his hero name. You saved that for when you were serious or extremely angry.

“You’re right, you don’t deserve it,” he muttered under his breath. He sighed and shook his head, making his way to the bedroom. You could hear the door click in place as he closed it, and you took note of the fact that he had not slammed it.

Wiping the tears that had fallen down your cheeks, you began to pick up some of the contents that had fallen from the cabinet, taking care to throw away any broken or unusable items. You were muttering to yourself when you picked up a small package. You crouched down and unwrapped the package, examining the small mug that had been broken. You pulled out a small slip of paper that was still intact, and looked closer at the loopy handwriting. A small smile was brought to your face as you recalled the small girl who had given the mug to you while you had been patrolling.

“Heroes deserve Christmas gifts too,” she had told you, handing the small package to you,” My grandmother’s special recipe is in there. She always told me to share it to people who need a little warmth on Christmas Eve!” You had smiled and crouched down to be eye-level with the young girl. You had grinned, taking her mittened hands in your bare ones.

“Thank you, that’s a very thoughtful thing for you to do for me!” The young girl beamed up at you after getting a picture with you, and you had watched as she skipped while holding her mother’s hand. You had placed the mug in the cabinet for safekeeping, wanting to remember the little girl’s kindness.

“I can think of some people who could use a little warmth,” you mumbled, running your hands over the shards of broken ceramic. You placed as many pieces as you could into a tubberware container, throwing away the smallest slivers that were just an outright safety hazard. Standing to your feet once more, you read the instructions that had been written on the paper with care.

Mama Tanaka’s Homemade Hot Chocolate

Remember young one, this recipe is for all to share! Go spread some Christmas cheer and a little warmth this Christmas Eve!

Ingredients: cocoa powder, chocolate chips, vanilla extract, peppermint pieces; and love, joy, and cheer

-Place the milk of your choice in a saucepan over medium-low heat. Using milk instead of water, makes this hot chocolate extra creamy and flavorful. I prefer whole milk or 2% milk, but you can choose any milk that you choose (I’ve even used unsweetened almond milk).

-Whisk in cocoa powder and sugar, and heat until warm.

-Once the milk is warm, add chocolate chips, whisking until they melt into the milk.

-Add a splash of vanilla extract.

-Serve immediately, topped with your favorite garnishes: marshmallows, whipped cream, chopped chocolate, crushed candy canes or more.

It was a simple recipe to follow, but your inability to comprehend the most simple of instructions was causing the frustration to build up again.

“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!” You slammed your fists against the countertop, throwing all attempts of being quiet for Keigo out the window. “If a little girl can make this why can’t I?! I’m a pro hero for fuck’s sake!” You groaned trying not to lose it over a simple pot of hot chocolate.

“Maybe the stove eye is too hot,” Keigo suggested from where he was leaning against the doorway. You glared at him. Oh how the tables had turned.

“Did I interrupt your beauty sleep, or did you come to make sure I was perfectly miserable?” Keigo chuckled, casually making his way over to you. His body pressed against yours as he wrapped his arms around you to pry the wisk from your shaking hands. With his other hand, he turned down the heat.

“Let me help,” he offered, resting his head on your shoulder,” and no, I came to apologize.” You were taken aback, and you sighed. Keigo hummed a tune as he attempted to salvage the damage you had done to the now boiling pan of hot chocolate.

“I will finish this and then we can talk, yea?” You nodded in agreement, closing your eyes to dwell in the warmth your boyfriend was providing. Time seemed to slow as you stood there, letting all of the anger and pent up frustration melt from your shoulders. It was a heavy weight lifted from you and you felt relieved.

Keigo let go of you as he grabbed two mugs, and you couldn’t help but whine and complain at the loss of contact. Keigo smirked, pushing a mug into your hands. The rich smell if chocolate wafted to the air and you grinned.

“Come on, baby bird.” You let him lead you into the living room where you sat in the couch, pressing your body against him again. There was a comfortable silence as the both of you drank the warm beverages, happy and content to be together and happy to not be fighting. Your boyfriend was the first to finish his drink, and he set it on the coffee table, looking up at you. You hummed as you set down your mug shortly after.

“Ok,” you broke the silence, sliding your hand into Keigo’s,” let’s talk.” Keigo inhaled deeply, closing his eyes briefly before meeting your gaze once more.

“It’s this whole Christmas season thing,” he began timidly,” Everyone is so, I don’t know, happy?” Keigo stared out the window behind you as you cocked an eyebrow.

“Keigo? I hate to break it to you,” you chuckled,” but you’re one of the most disgustingly happy people I’ve ever met.” Keigo frowned down at you before looking back out the window.

“I’m... that’s not... wait! I am not! But, that’s not what I mean,” he protested,” It’s all so fake and not genuine whatsoever. Reminds me of my old man.” Now you had gotten somewhere. Keigo was never very open about his past and his father, he only let you see snippets of the things he had been through. He said he preferred looking to the future rather than to the past.

“Keigo, not all of it is fake, you have to know that,” you argued, sensing that Keigo’s mind was beginning to drift elsewhere.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right kid, I just never have had a Christmas, if you want to put it that way. I don’t see any point to it, I guess,” he shrugged. To say you’re heart shattered would be an understatement, and you rubbed your thumb in reassuring circles against his palm.

“What if I gave you one? What if I showed you Christmas isn’t all that bad?” Keigo raised his eyebrows at your words as if he was trying to completely wrap his mind around what you had said. Was it really be possible that you cared enough to make Christmas special for him? He smiled at the thought.

“Ya know, babe, I’d like that,” he laughed, his golden eyes meeting your gaze again.

“I’d like that a lot.”

[rextasywrites]

Little Darling 4 - a Lady Dimitrescu x Mia Winters fanfiction

"The walls of the basement were still as cold and slick as the day Lady Dimitrescu turned into what she was today. Some mold was still growing in corners here and there, but mostly it was contained to sealed boxes. “You turned because of the mold too?”"

what awaits Mia in the basement of Lady Dimitrescu's castle? how is the mold connected to both survivour, even if their trauma was 500 years apart?

ohhh boy i am SO happy with this fic yall have no idea. big thanks to everyone who has commeted on my fics so far, you make writing a fun process. i hope you enjoy the new chapter! !!!flashbacks are written in cursive!!! <3 <3 <3

Warnings: mention of child death, various mental illnesses

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

During the night, the snowfall in the valley had increased, snowing most of the village in. Lady Dimitrescu stood on the balcony, taking a drag from her smoke, blowing out smoke that nearly froze in the cold air. Mia was still fast asleep, the exhaustion caught up on her once the nightmares vanished. Lady Dimiterescu didn’t get any sleep during this very night - sleep was barely needed for her anyways, but she had ignored her own tiredness in favour of making sure Mia was okay. Guess the ‘human’ touch worked wonders on the traumatized.

“Lady Dimitrescu?”, Mia’s tired voice ripped her out of her thoughts and she turned around to face the young woman, standing in the doorway to the balcony, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Can you close the door? I am freezing.”

“Oh right, you humans and your temperature problems.”, Lady Dimitrescu chuckled as she stepped back into the bedroom, “and please, call me Alcina.”

“Alright, Alcina.”, Mia chuckled, sitting back on the bed she had just emerged from, stretching her body from this good night’s sleep. “What is the plan for today? Will you show me where Rosy is?”

“Not yet. Before, you have to understand a few things. A few things about us. You worked with bio weapons before, so you will understand quickly enough…”

*

The walls of the basement were still as cold and slick as the day Lady Dimitrescu turned into what she was today. Some mold was still growing in corners here and there, but mostly it was contained to sealed boxes. “You turned because of the mold too?”

“Exactly. I spent hundreds of years dissecting my own blood to find out what was the trigger in this very mold, turning me into...this.”, Lady Dimitrescu said as she took a seat in the very same place the plague doctor had been on. “What I have come to realize - the plague doctors and fuck knows who else worked on the mold...they created an early version of the mold you were infected with. Of course, early and very simple, but you can see what it did to me.”

Mia nodded as she listened to Alcina talk, taking in the surrounding. It all reminded her so much of the basement she was locked in for three years, she could even feel the hard mattress under her spine. Something she never told Ethan was that she spent most of these years either trying to escape or sleep her injuries off. Eveline didn’t let her go. “How did they manage this back in...1500-something?”

“You are asking good questions, dear. I suppose the mold had a spontaneous mutation which caused its effects on me. I saw the dead bodies of previous victims. They died of mold poisoning or its effects on their lungs. Was lucky there, ‘suppose. And now I am immortal and could take over the world if I wanted to. Do I want to? Fuck no.”

“Why not?”, Mia chuckled at the thought of a vampire lady ruling over the world. What would the aliens say that watch us all day long? “Nothing could stop you. Not even any kind of bio weapons so far.”

“That’s the thing! Redfield and his team are developing a cure to the mold as we speak, with Rosy’s blood. The mold we were infected with is dangerously similar. Since no D-series exists anymore, they had to work with what they get. Ever since I got word of the D-series and the mold, I kept my eyes on your team and you. Because you would be the key to our deaths.”

“But why are they after you and your daughters? You haven’t caused any significant troubles, like turning a whole city into zombies…”

“Because we are mutants in the end. We shouldn’t exist in a perfect world with all sunshines and rainbow pooping unicorns. Too bad the world is a cruel place. Helping Redfield with the resurrection of Jill Valentine was the worst mistake I have made in over 500 years of living.”, Lady Dimitrescu explained, trailing over her exposed arm. Her veins were visible, but it was clear the mold had taken over her bloodstream judging by the colour alone. “The mold feeds off human blood. Once my blood was out, I started to thirst for whatever blood I could find. Most of the time I settled for homeless or old people - you know, the kind of people no one would miss.”

“...that makes sense, and that’s something rare to say in a situation like this.”, Mia said, earning a smile from Lady Dim- Alcina. “And why...don’t you just surrender and die? You have lived for over 500 years?”

“Oh Mia.”, Lady Dimitrescu chuckled as she stood up, cupping Mia’s cheeks, “Death is something so personal, trust me. It’s about the choice. If I want to kill myself, I’d just turn the mold into a vaccine. But being killed by a big mouthed assface who thinks the world belongs to him? I won’t give up without a fight. My daughters won’t give up without a fight. Suicide is something so personal.”

“Here.”, Carlos placed the newspaper article in front of Chris. Several homeless people had been found dead, drained of their blood. Chris read it with great interest, even though his Romanian was rusty. “Drained of their blood in Romania? This is either some sick dracula cosplayer or we have our eyes on vampires. Maybe they are the key to life!”

Chris raised an eyebrow at Carlos, “You really are into the thought of bringing her back to life, aren’t you?”

“Chris, look”, Carlos sighed, frustration and anger present in his mimic, “This is not the death Jill deserves. She deserves a second chance! Without the blood and pain and bio weapons. Fuck, let her adopt five cats and a llama if it makes her happy. But this is not the death she deserves”, and he pointed towards the cold camber her lifeless body was resting in. She looked so peaceful, as if she was just sleeping. Her blonde hair had fallen over her face, as if she was a fallen angel, ready to spread her wings at any given second. Chris might have given up on her, but not Carlos.

“Send out Kennedy then. He knows how to deal with the dirty work.”

*

The reports from Leon were clear. Mutants had infested the castle, but they weren’t much of a threat while Leon had been in there. It actually seemed as if they were avoiding him. But the key was a moment he accidentally witnessed.

“Lady Dimitrescu!”, a cry broke through the quietness of the castle. Leon had heard this sort of cry before - a mother who had just lost her child. A cry he never wanted to hear again. “Please help me! My daughter, my little baby…!”, she wailed as the three daughters surrounded her, taking the dead body of the toddler from her. The blonde daughter ran to where Lady Dimitrescu was staying while the two others comforted the hysteric mother. The child was pale and stiff, and must have been dead for quite a while. Leon swallowed dry at the view. He could deal with zombies and mutants in the weirdest ways, but dead children...he could never get used to this.

About an hour later, Lady Dimitrescu walked out of her study with the little girl, who was looking at least more alive. The colour had returned to her face and her chest was moving a little bit. “Here.”, she smiled as she handed the lady her daughter, “She needs rest for a few more days. Keep her warm and secure, bedrest is the best idea there. Also, she will be very thirsty once she wakes up. Let her drink all the water she needs, her body is severely dehydrated.”

Because of this, Leon decided to stay a few days more. He followed the mother to her home and stayed hidded. About a week later, he knocked on the door of the woman, asking for her help, if she had seen his dog ‘Rex’.

“Sadly, I have not.”, the woman said, and from the corner of his eyes, Leon was able to spot the once dead daughter, playing with some barbies. “But if I see him, I will let you know.” This was all the confirmation he needed. Leon headed back to the USA the following day to report from what he witnessed, and how they could be the key to saving Jill.