#I might need a tag for these if i keep doing them

[schemmentigfs]

can i request a fluff one shot where reader has to go on a trip (either for work or family reasons) and melissa meets them at the airport when they arrive back and is just super domestic once back at their shared apartment 🥺🥺

In the Quiet of Absence.

Summary: After spending a month in Paris for a work conference, you finds yourself longing for the warmth of home and, more than anything, for Melissa.

Tags: @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota <3

You sink into the plush hotel bed, a sigh escaping your lips as you look out at the city lights glimmering against the Parisian skyline. It’s breathtaking—no doubt about that—but after almost a month, even the magic of Paris can't dull the ache you feel right now.

“God, I miss her so much…” you mutter to yourself, rubbing your temple as you glance around the luxurious room.

Your right hand drifts to the nightstand, fingers brushing over your phone. Without thinking, you pick it up, your thumb tracing over Melissa’s name. You can picture her asleep back home, curled up in bed, her auburn hair spilling across the pillow, maybe even with little Sweet Cheeks nestled at her chest. The thought brings a goofy but genuine grin to your lips as you press ‘record voicemail.’

With the phone cradled in your hand, you start speaking quietly, as if she could somehow hear you through the miles of the ocean.

“Good night, Lis. I know you won’t see this until morning since you’re probably fast asleep right now. Paris is... well, it’s Paris. Beautiful, busy, a little overwhelming. Everyone says how lucky I am to be here, but honestly, it just makes me miss you more. I walked by a café today, and I kept thinking how nice it would be to sit there with you, sipping coffee, people-watching, maybe listening to you rant about the tourists. It’s just not the same without you here to share it with.”

Sighing softly, you add. “I spent the day at the conference, and honestly, I found myself daydreaming about our couch and Sweet Cheeks curled up between us. I wish you could’ve seen the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower. You would’ve loved it. I tried to take some pictures, but they just don’t do it justice.”

As you keep talking about the conference through voicemail, the people you’ve met, and the places you’ve seen, you can’t help but let your thoughts drift to home.

Home.

It’s hard being so far from home, but even harder being far from her. Paris might be beautiful, a dream city for most, but without Melissa next to you, it feels empty, just walls and skies. You’d flown here for work, a month-long conference that was supposed to be exhilarating, a stepping stone in your writing career. And while there’s been value in it, each day is a little heavier than the last. Every stroll past the Eiffel Tower, every quiet hotel room evening, only reminds you of how much you miss the life you share with her.

You’d never imagined how hard it would be to be apart from her. Sure, you two had spent nights apart before, but a whole month? It was almost unbearable. You miss everything about her—her laugh, the way she fills the room with her warm, unfiltered energy, and the little things she does just to make you smile. It’s like there's a part of you that just isn't here, and every day, that longing grows heavier.

Everything here felt too polished, too perfect. You missed the little imperfections that made life with the second grade teacher so damn beautiful. How Melissa would wrap her arms around you in the mornings, still groggy from sleep. Her face when she’d forget where she put her reading glasses only for you to find them perched on her head, or the way she’d tease over making the perfect cup of coffee each morning. The way she would immediately fuss over your packing, making sure you had everything you needed, and the soft hum of her voice as she reassured you that everything would be just fine while you were away.

Home was with Melissa Schemmenti, and every part of you ached to be there.

Your girlfriend’s voice on the phone helps – her late-night calls about what went wrong at Abbott Elementary that day, the accent you love laced with the warmth of home. “Mon amour,” you’d whisper into the phone during one of your daily conversations, a term of endearment that wraps around both your hearts, even across the miles. But her voice isn’t enough, not when you’re used to seeing her every night, sharing meals, her touch grounding you in a way nothing else can.

With a gruff, you close your laptop, packing away notes you’d barely read. That’s when you hear the knock on your door, breaking the silence.

“Bonsoir, madame,” one of the hotel staff says politely when you respond. “Dinner is ready downstairs in the lobby.”

“Merci, je serai là dans cinq minutes.” Your answer is quick, almost robotic. Despite enjoying the culinary wonders of the place, you can’t help but prefer the meals of a specific redhead who knows everything about cooking and Italian cuisine.

“Pas étonnant, si vous avez besoin d’autre chose, nous sommes à votre disposition.”

You thank them with a smile, but you’re already glancing at your phone, at the time difference that keeps you apart, counting down the days – just three more – until you’re back in her arms.

Back at the bedroom, after finishing dinner, you’re restless. As much as the meal was filling, your thoughts are back at home with her. You finish up the small dessert in your room, the excitement building to be back in her arms, in the life you’ve built together. The night stretches on, a quiet contrast to the bustling city outside, and your sleep feels even further away.

You slip beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling as the quiet surrounds you. Sleep eludes you as memories of the older woman flood your mind—her lavender smell, the comfort of her presence. Everything.

“Just three more days,” you repeated the phrase, over and over again. Feeling like a mantra.

Closing your eyes, the loneliness is creeping in again, but the thought of returning keeps you anchored, making the distance feel just a little bit smaller.

It won’t be long now.

Back in Philadelphia, Melissa is dealing with her own form of aching loneliness. She’d thought she could handle a month without you; after all, she’d done it before. But the days had dragged on longer than expected, and each night without you next to her was another reminder of how deeply entwined you both were.

The redhead’s days are packed with the usual chaos at Abbott Elementary, but somehow it doesn’t quite fill the space you left behind. She comes home to an empty apartment that feels colder without the warmth of your laughter echoing through it. Sweet Cheeks, her classroom guinea pig, has become an unlikely companion, curled up in a little cage by her couch. She started bringing him home on weekends, claiming it was to keep the kids excited for Monday mornings. But if she were being honest with herself, she liked the company—even if it was just a ball of fur and squeaks. Sweet Cheeks always listened to her rants about the day, his tiny, twitching nose and big eyes a small comfort in your absence.

She talks to him about you sometimes, about the things she knows you’re seeing in Paris. “She’s probably at some fancy shit right now, buddy,” she mutters, throwing him a piece of lettuce as she leans back on the couch. “Probably complaining about how boring those rich dumbasses are.”

Melissa had never really considered herself to be sentimental. She was tough, independent, and good at taking care of herself. But after so many years of you two being together, this past month had taught her just how much you’d become her home. She finds herself missing the little things—your goodnight kisses, the way you leave your books stacked messily by the bed, the warmth of your hand reaching for hers whenever you pass each other in the kitchen.

She sighs and reaches for her phone, scrolling through your photos, lingering on the ones you’ve sent her from Paris. There’s one of you smiling in front of the Eiffel Tower, looking radiant with the city’s lights sparkling behind you. She can’t help but smile, even if her chest aches. “God, you’re beautiful,” she whispers, running a thumb over the screen. The animal lets out a small squeak, almost as if he’s in agreement, and she chuckles. “Yeah, champ. I’m the luckiest gal in Philly, huh?”

Her phone buzzes with a voicemail notification, and her heart jumps a little. It’s your voice, soft and intimate, filling the quiet of her apartment as you talk about your day. You talk about the conference, the view from the Eiffel Tower, and how much you wish she were there. The familiar sound of your voice brings an ache to her chest, but it also fills her with a sense of peace.

She presses the phone close to her heart once your message ends, letting out a shaky sigh. “Just three more days,” she says to herself, mirroring your own anxiety. She settles back into the couch, Sweet Cheeks nestled beside her, as she listens to your message one more time, the sound of your voice helping her feel just a little closer to you.

The nights for your girlfriend are the hardest. She lies awake, staring at the ceiling, longing for the warmth of your body beside her. Sometimes, she’ll grab the spare pillow, pulling it close to her chest as if it could somehow substitute for your presence. She buries her face into it, breathing deeply, as if she can still catch a faint trace of your scent.

She’s tough, but she’s not ashamed to admit that she’s counting down the hours until you come back.

When Saturday morning rolls around, Melissa stands by the sink, her sleeves pushed up, humming a soft tune as she washes the breakfast dishes. Sunlight filters gently through the curtains, casting a cozy glow over the kitchen and giving her that familiar sense of home she craves more than anything right now. Sweet Cheeks squeaks from his spot on the counter, and she reaches over, giving him a gentle scratch.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Mama will be back soon, okay?”

Just as the green eyed woman was about to finish the last dish, her phone rang. Seeing your name, Her heart skipped, her fingers fumbling with the dish towel as she hurriedly picked up.

“Hey, amore mio,” she greeted, her voice soft and warm, as if she hadn’t heard from you in months, though it had only been a few days.

“Hey, Lissa! Guess what?” you said, excitement bubbling through the phone.

She grinned, already thrilled just hearing your voice. “What? Tell me!”

“I’ll be back tomorrow!”

Melissa let out a little laugh, caught between disbelief and pure joy. “Shit, really? Tomorrow? I missed you so much!” The words escaped her before she could hold back. She looked down, feeling a bit silly for how much she’d let herself miss you.

Sweet Cheeks, catching onto her excitement, squeaked louder at his feet, little paws tapping against the kitchen counter as though to join in. “See, even Sweet Cheeks missed you,” your girlfriend joked. “I think he’s been going nuts without his other mama.”

You laughed on the other end, and Melissa felt warmth spread through her. She didn’t want to admit it outright, but it had been a long, lonely few days without you, the routine things—the cooking, the tidying, even sitting on the couch—felt empty without you there.

“Well, you just hold tight. Tomorrow, we’ll make up for lost time,” you replied, and she could practically feel your smile through the call.

“That’s perfect. Love you, hon.”

“Love you more.”

After you hung up, Melissa wandered to the bedroom, feeling a deep swell of emotions, her fingers brushing over her pocket where a small, carefully hidden velvet box lay. She’d been carrying it around for days, checking it repeatedly, rehearsing the words she wanted to say once you were home again. The plan was all there—she’d wait for a quiet Sunday morning, like the ones she cherished so much, and then she’d ask.

Unable to resist, she pulled one of your shirts from the closet, bringing it close to her nose. The faint scent of you clung to it, bringing her right back to those lazy Sunday mornings that had become her favorite part of your life together.

She let herself imagine it: you, padding out of bed with only your underwear on, your hair a mess and your eyes still heavy with sleep as you’d pull her into a hug from behind. Every time, she’d grumble a bit, pretending she wasn’t as soft as she actually felt in those moments. You’d tug her back into bed with you, insisting on snuggling under the covers while she made her usual complaints about wanting to get up and start the day.

But truthfully, she loved being wrapped up in your arms as the little spoon. She felt a rare kind of safety there, the weight of your arms around her, the warmth of your chest against her back. She’d pretend to make a bad face, grumbling softly, but she’d inevitably relax, letting out the soft snores you always teased her about later.

And then, just when everything felt perfectly peaceful, Sweet Cheeks would start squeaking from the foot of the bed, weaving around your legs in hopes of an early morning cuddle.

Melissa smiled to herself, clutching the shirt close as she pictured the day ahead, wondering how you’d react when you saw her there, waiting to welcome you home—and how your face would look when she finally asked the question she’d been holding in her heart.

The next day, after what felt like an eternity, she drove to the airport, her heart racing with every step. When she finally spotted you through the crowd, her heart just about burst. She didn’t hold back, rushing over and pulling you into a tight hug, her face buried in your shoulder.

“I missed you so much.”

You held her just as tightly, murmuring, “Missed you too, Mel. So, so much.”

As you made your way back to the apartment, your laughter filled the car, and Melissa soaked in every second of it, feeling like the pieces of her world had finally fallen back into place.

Once home, she proudly led you to the kitchen, where she had your favorite meal prepared and ready, the smell of marinara sauce filling the space. Sweet Cheeks squeaked in delight at the sight of you, and you scooped him up, letting him nuzzle against you in greeting.

After dinner, you settled on the couch together, wrapped up in each other, your sweet guinea pig resting contentedly in his popsicle stick home nearby. The redhead leaned into you, her heart racing again as she reached into her pocket, fingers brushing over the small box.

She took a deep breath, turning to you with all the love she’d been waiting to share. “I know it’s just us, and this fella,” she said softly, glancing down with a shy smile. “But… I couldn’t imagine my life without you. So, I was thinking, maybe… we could make this forever?”

“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti, what are you doing?” you gasp confused, while blinking.

She cleared her thoart and kneeled down. “Y/N. Will you marry me?”

Your eyes widened as she pulled out the box, revealing the ring she’d been carrying. In that moment, with tears in your eyes, you nodded, pulling her close in an embrace filled with all the quiet love and warmth that had defined your life together.

And as the night wore on, Melissa held you close, feeling finally, deeply at home.

[bringbackmaes14]

I don't think it's ever reasonable to stop interacting with minors. Sociologically, it's really important for people in different age groups (or generations) to interact with each other. That means people who are 17 and 36 or 45 and 84 or 3 and 52, whatever the age difference. It helps us build language and uphold a sense of community, and it's also important to interact with people of all ages to learn new and different things about the world. A Baby Boomer might be able to tell a Gen Z person about things they remember from the Civil Rights Movement in the United States that aren't commonly taught in the school system, and vice versa, maybe the Gen Z person learned something about the Civil Rights Movement in their high school history class from a document that was found discovered in the 80s that the Baby Boomer had never heard of. And you can learn all kinds of things at any age from any person! For instance, statistically, how many adults do you think are learn facts about dinosaurs or bugs from people their own age? Probably most of the dinosaur or bug facts that they hear/learn are from children who in turn learned it from adults on TV or online. It's all a cycle of learning!!!

That's not to say that kids/minors and adults don't need their own separate spaces to exist with their peers, but I think if you turn 18 and you say "okay I'm never going to willingly interact with minors again unless I become a parent or choose a job that requires me to interact with them" then you're losing out on a lot of learning and a lot of community. And you don't even have to like kids/teens! I personally don't particularly like children, but I don't necessarily go out of my way to avoid interacting with them if the opportunity arises either (there are a lot of little kids in my neighborhood who like to ring my doorbell and ask if they can pet my cats and sometimes I have to tell them I'm busy but there have been occasions where I'll let one or two hang out for a minute to pet the cats with their parents' permission, and while hanging out I've found that each of the kids is very endearing in their own way)!

As far as online spaces go, I think the "minors dni" label is silly. For the above stated reasons but also because it doesn't truly work. I believe that (if we're just talking about Tumblr) blogs that are going to post a lot of NSFW things should advertise their blog as such, but it should be kind of the same as the warning on AO3, y'know the one that's like "hey you've clicked on a work that includes mature topics and we just wanna make sure you know that before you proceed, just go ahead and hit yes or no". I'm not saying we should just give minors free access to all things NSFW but like, what teen in the age of computers didn't look up videos or pictures that they weren't supposed to? We've all heard the "yes of course I'm over 18 years of age but just to be safe I'm going to set my birth year as 1934" bullshit. I definitely did stuff like that as a kid when I wanted to access an age restricted website.

Overall, it's probably not gonna stop minors if you have a "minor dni" tag on your blog. And it's up to us non-minor folks to teach those minors Internet safety and decorum. Teach them to check their sources. Teach them how to keep their information private. Teach them reading comprehension. Teach them to look out for warning signs like "NSFW" or "18+" and how to filter tags or posts that might trigger them. Teach them that if a post is properly tagged with all the appropriate trigger warnings and they looked at it and it triggered them, that's not the creator's fault; it is everyone's own job to curate their social media experience and social media works the same way as fanfiction: if you don't like it you don't have to interact with it. It's literally as simple as backing out of the page. Most of all, teach them that they do not have to be afraid of adults or minors on the Internet. Yes, of course there are always going to be scary people on the Internet and a lot of them are adults, but what I mean by the previous statement, especially in a fandom heavy space like Tumblr, is interact with people outside your age range! Get different perspectives on your blorbos! Learn that the Internet, fandom, and the world, are not just for young people, because no matter what age we are, we're all people. Senior citizens are people. Preteens are people. Newborns are people. And ultimately, I highly doubt you will ever run into a single person, online or face to face, that you will learn nothing from. You could learn something from them as huge as astrophysics. You could learn something as small (but just as important) as the name someone chose for their pet fish and what it means to them.

Always keep learning, as long as you are able.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[usermischief]

♚ Pairing: Sterek ♚ Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale ♚ Tags: canon divergence, getting together ♚ Words: 2883

ao3

---

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Satisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?”

Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. It’s not particularly comforting – that is, until his gaze drops to Stiles’ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.

Stiles’ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. “Delighted my trauma amuses you,” he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.

“Delighted I don’t have to kill you.”

---

Click.

Cursing softly under his breath, Stiles flicks the light switch up again. Down. Up. Down. Up. “Fucking hell.” Stiles massages the bridge of his nose. His stupid light. Everything else – even exorcising this damned place – worked out beautifully. Which is a miracle. Thanks to the residual demon, who infested this place after the previous owners fucked around – and found out – with a Ouija board in the late 50s, this house has been in a nightmarish state. Every inch of this place was a deathtrap. Rotten wood. Broken stairs. A ceiling, roof and second floor so unstable, a gust of wind could cause everything to collapse in a heartbeat.

Stiles spent more than one night in a tent in front of the house.

A bark cuts through the silence of the house, startling him out of his thoughts. Drawing his brows together, he looks past the stubborn ceiling light to the second-floor landing. The puppy he’s found under the house, white fur crusted with dirt and blood – aptly named Bobak, Bo for short – and who has refused to leave Stiles’ side ever since he fed him for the first time, is staring at him almost expectantly. Although some dog owners most likely won’t be happy about his lifestyle – flipping and clearing out haunted houses and constantly moving around – Stiles refuses to give Bobak away. Bo might not be the cuddliest or most social of dogs, he still makes Stiles’ life less, much less, lonely.

Bo barks again.

Stiles quirks a brow. “What? It’s not dinner time yet.”

Wagging his tail, Bo bounds down the stairs, nearly tumbling down the last two steps. He catches himself, jumps up the front door once before all but flying around Stiles’ legs then, finally, making a mad dash out of the backdoor and into the yard. There, he keeps zooming around, causing colored leaves to fly into the air, and barking his adorable little head off, too big ears fluttering in the wind. He’s going to miss Bo’s floppy ears once he’s grown into them.

Before Stiles can follow him, there’s a knock on the door. He glances up at the clock, narrowing his eyes once more as it passes the current bane of existence – maybe he should just get an electrician this once – and turns to the front door. It’s not late, per se, but darkness is setting in, and people are still keeping their distance to this place. So, he isn’t usually expecting anyone to swing by, even less since his closest neighbor lives around a mile away, but the person he never imagined to come over is Derek Hale.

Drawing his brows together, Stiles swings the door open.

“Hey.” Derek’s smile seems strained. To be honest, he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else – not unlike the first time they met at the only diner in town. Well, met might be stretching it. That day, Derek couldn’t finish his lunch fast enough, even Sally was surprised by his precipitate behavior. So much so, she commented on it while serving Stiles his food.

He had chalked it up to Derek sensing something about him the same way Stiles clocked him as a werewolf the second he laid eyes on him – aside from noticing that the guy is a walking and talking Calvin Klein advertisement. Instead of avoiding him, however, Derek kept showing up all over the place. It seemed accidental, but Stiles has dealt with enough supernatural creatures and grew up with a sheriff that he can recognize stalking behavior when he sees it.

Derek’s never been lurking around here, though.

Well, not until today, that is.

And Stiles’ heart is having a field day with it, which is rather unfortunate with Derek’s supernatural hearing and all.

Stiles manages to clear his throat about thirty seconds into the terribly awkward silence. “Hey.” He sounds like an idiot. He feels like one too. “Can I- do you-” Bo interrupts him with a slew of excited barks, zooming through the hallway and back out again, sending more leaves flying around; it gives Stiles a few seconds to gather himself. “You wanna come in?”

“I bought dinner,” Derek says at the same time.

They both stare at each other, and the silence makes Stiles’ neck grow uncomfortably warm.

Luckily, Derek cuts it short. “I’d love to.”

Stiles steps aside and gestures for Derek to come in. This is happening. He’s not entirely sure how or why, but it is, and Stiles is not about to complain. The last time a hot guy walked into his home was – when? Stiles doesn’t really remember. Which is sad, honestly. Sure, he’s been aware that both his social and love life have sailed off a cliff once he started dictating his life to ghost and demon hunting, but now, watching Derek stroll into his kitchen, he realized for the first time how bad it’s really gotten in the past four years.

“Looks good,” Derek remarks, almost curious in the way he’s taking everything in. “You did an excellent job keeping the old charm alive.”

Crossing his arms, Stiles leans against the large doorway leading to the kitchen. “You’ve been here before?”

Derek shrugs as he puts the bag with the takeout on the dinner table. “Teenagers and haunted houses.”

“Werewolves too?”

If Derek is surprised that Stiles knows, he doesn’t show it. Instead, an almost cheeky grin curls around his lips. “Werewolves especially.”

Stiles snorts and crosses the room. “I expected you to be smarter.” He glances at Derek, smirking briefly, and steps in front of the only cupboard he uses. The good thing about moving around so much is that he never collects any clutter. As a teen and college student, things looked very different. Two boxes, a couple of suitcases and his backpack fit into Roscoe anyway. Now that Bo is traveling with him, he’s got to figure out the new logistics.

“How’d you do it?” Derek asks as he takes the two plates from him.

Their fingers brush, either on purpose or entirely accidental. Stiles doesn’t know, but the touch sends a tingle through his whole body. A good tingle, great even, and Stiles hates to realize how touch starved he really is.

Stiles opens the fridge, scowling a little as he’s greeted with emptiness. He really needs to go grocery shopping. “Very carefully,” he replies and grabs two bottles of beer. “And lots of research." Once he's figured out where to look, finding pictures of old houses isn’t that much of a struggle. Often, he meets the previous owners, who either think he’s suicidal or are very happy to help.

Derek watches him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “The demon or the house flipping?”

“Ah.” Stiles sets the bottles on the table and leans against the edge. “That’s why you’re here.”

Derek merely watches him, eyebrows climbing higher as his expression turns more and more expectant. An alpha after all. He’s probably used to people jumping at his command.

It might be fun to let him stew for a little longer. “You know, you could’ve just asked.”

“I just did.”

Stiles snorts out a laugh, “I meant ask me about why those werewolf senses are tingling whenever you’re around me.” He cocks his head to the side and decides to put himself out there, for once, “unless, of course, there are other reasons for that.” He’s got Derek in his house already and considering that he leaves as soon as it is sold, there’s no harm done, no awkward darting around each other needed in case he’s rejected. Two months tops, and he’s out of this town, where everyone knows everybody, and nothing ever stays secret.

Derek’s lips twitch.

Good. So, Stiles didn’t exactly imagine the lingering looks whenever they, clearly not entirely accidentally, ran into each other absolutely everywhere. In a town with less than 100 people, it’s impossible to hide anyway.

“Tingling?” Derek echoes, more amused than in disbelief.

Stiles lets his head fall back, watching out of the corner of his eye as Derek’s gaze drops to his neck then back up again. “You’re a poor conversationalist.”

“And you’re dodging the question.”

Stiles clicks his tongue, rolling his head to the left to look at the werewolf again. “Geez, D, you can’t just ask people why they’re making you feel weird.”

A flicker of annoyance dances over his features, either at the nickname or his refusal to give him the desired reply. Still, Derek props his hands on the table and leans closer, one eyebrow raised. “I can if I consider them a danger to my pack and territory.”

Fair point.

However, “I literally exorcised this fucking demon.” Although nobody has died in this house in almost a decade, Stiles considers it future deaths prevented.

Derek taps a finger against the table, allows red to bleed into his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles pushes away from the table and faces the werewolf, arms crossed firmly in front of his chest. Although Derek didn’t outright threaten him, Stiles is fully aware that this evening could easily turn into his last if the big bad alpha considers him too dangerous, which would very much be the exact opposite of how he’d prefer this evening to go. He sighs. “I was possessed by a nogitsune when I was sixteen.” Stiles doesn't miss as Derek’s expression return to stoic, listening, waiting. He sees the way his shoulders tense, the way something in his eyes shift, ever so slightly. The moment of truth, always and forever. "It did some weird shit with my body, cracked my mind like an egg, hence the whole-” he waves his hand around. “Thought I could do something good if I can pierce the veil, you know?” It makes him feel less guilty about the shit the nogitsune did while using his body like a meatsuit.

But that’s something nobody else needs to know about.

Derek straightens.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Satisfied? Or do you need my social security number too?”

Still, Derek stays silent as he looks at him. It’s not particularly comforting – that is, until his gaze drops to Stiles’ mouth then flicking back up again, a slow smile curling around his lips.

Stiles’ heart jolts in his chest, and he clears his throat. “Delighted my trauma amuses you,” he mutters, disregarding the fact that he continues to make jokes about it as well.

“Delighted I don’t have to kill you.”

“You think you can kill me?” Stiles chuckles, playing pretend. Dealing with demons is one thing. They’re very capable of murder, more so than ghosts, but depending on their strength and rank, they need time – time to get into your head, time to fuck with you. They have to chip away their target’s defenses. Knowing and being prepared for a demon makes dealing with them a lot easier. Plus, if he’s learned anything from his own possession, it’s how to keep things out of his mind. Werewolves are a different beast entirely. If they want someone dead, all they have to do is pin them down and rip their throat out.

Derek pushes away from the table and all but stalks closer to him, narrowing the small distance the table offers. “Of course, I could.” He runs his fingers along the edge of the table. It’s one of the few things Stiles could repair from the old furniture, so, luckily, Derek keeps his claws in check.

Stiles swallows drily and rips his gaze away from Derek’s hand, locking eyes with him again. “Awfully confident there, buddy.”

His words are met with a near predatory glint in the hazel eyes. Beautiful hazel eyes, at that. Easy to get lost in.

Focus.

“You don’t scare me.”

Derek stops directly in front of him. They’re nearly chest to chest, and although Derek isn’t necessarily taller than him, Stiles feels weirdly small. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but the way he is holding himself, the way he is looking at him – as if Stiles is a rabbit cornered by the big bad wolf. Red bleeding into his eyes accentuates the whole predator predicament.

Fucking werewolves, seriously.

“Cute,” Stiles comments anyway, uncrossing his arms and straightening his shoulders and spine. “Still not scared, though.” They’re probably both aware that’s not entirely true, but he’s never been someone to back down from a challenge. “You gotta do more than creeping around in the bushes and stare at me with your alpha eyes.” Especially since the latter is actually pretty damn hot, which isn’t exactly helping the situation.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” Derek informs him in a casual yet amused tone.

“Really? Could’ve fooled me, big guy.”

Derek chuckles, letting his head fall forward as he does so – and Stiles can’t help but watch his mouth move. It’s fascinating. Every time he’s seen Derek, the guy has been scowling. Stiles didn’t think he could chuckle, much less laugh.

Fuck, he’s pretty.

Beautiful even.

His heartbeat picks up when Derek locks eyes with him again. “You’re not very attentive.”

“Oh, really?” Now, that is just plain rude and so uncalled for. “How do you think I’m finding these demons? By paying very close attention to details. So, I am attentive. I’m actually the most at-”

Derek kisses him. No ifs. No buts. No hesitation. He just does, and his lips are so soft and warm, their touch makes Stiles’ stomach twist with anticipation. Derek moves his hands and cradles his cheeks, thumb tracing a slow, ever so gentle line along his skin. All of Derek’s hard edges are replaced by something tender and raw.

Stiles’ heart stutters in his too tight chest, and his mind blanks, every single thought swept away by the warm lips pressed to his own. He melts against Derek, pressing closer as he curls his fingers around Derek’s bicep and his eyes flutter shut. A soft, almost helpless sound escapes his throat as a warmth floods through him, followed by a kind of ache Stiles doesn’t quite have a name for. They both settle deep inside of him, spreading into every part of his body. His entire body lights up with a want he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever, a need for closeness more than just desire.

When Derek pulls back, Stiles moves with him, desperate to hold onto the kiss just a little bit longer.

Derek regards it with a soft chuckle, his warm breath ghosting over Stiles’ lips.  

The sound alone makes Stiles wants to kiss him again, but he doesn’t, clears his throat instead. No words come, which in itself is quite the curiosity, and Stiles is almost relieved at the sound of paws hitting the wood. Here to interrupt any possibility of an awkward silence. Stiles glances over his shoulder, watches as Bo enters the room and sniffs the air. It’s probably best to be upfront.

Once more, he clears his throat. “I’m not staying.” He crouches down and can’t help but smile when Bo bumps his head against his leg, demanding attention. “At least not forever. Until the house is sold, and I found the next… target, I guess.” He runs his fingers through Bo’s soft fur as he tries to ignore the way his heart aches at the thought of leaving.

For the first time in years.

Which is ridiculous. He doesn’t know Derek; not how he is as a person, that is. He only knows superficial stuff. What happened to his family, that he’s a werewolf and that he owns the only garage in town, and that he doesn’t need to crawl under cars or get car grime and oil all over himself because he’s loaded. So, he’s either doing it for fun or for the people living in this town… or both. Derek seems to be a good person, but so is Stiles, and Stiles won’t lie — he’s not only a handful, he’s also not particularly nice. Many people called him an asshole. They’re not entirely wrong.

“I’m not asking you to stay,” Derek says as he slides onto the chair at the head of the table, very clearly indicating that he’s not planning on leaving soon. “But maybe I can convince you to come back.” 

Stiles blinks up at him, scratching Bo behind his ears. “You don’t know me.”

“Yet,” Derek adds and looks down at him with a smile.

This fucking guy is going to give him a heart attack before Stiles has figured out his favorite color. Aside from that, it dawns on Stiles that he may have misjudged the guy. “So, you stalked me because you like me.”

The tips of Derek’s ears turn the slightest shade of pink. Adorable. “I never stalked you.”

Bo barks.

“He says you’re a liar.” Stiles raises to stand and pulls a chair out. “I think you followed me around, but didn’t know how to approach me.” Smirking, he sits down as Bo uses his chance to curl up under his chair.

Instead of replying, Derek opens the bag of takeout and pulls out only the best of Sally’s diner. His ears turn just a shade darker.

Stiles props his chin on his hand, not even bothering to hide the smile forming on his lips. He totally could get used to this.

[brokenpieces-72]

Hybrid au is so tastyyy

My minds stuck on reader getting their first romantical partner and the boys just being EVEYWHERE the lovers don't get a single second alone and do not even think about closing the door when alone that's a no no

Okay so I would say this happens when Spirit is a little older. As to whether the partner is human or hybrid I’m not sure.

Romantic Recon

You started with just hanging out but you got curious about a romantic partner. You got attached to them and they enjoyed your company. They were sweet and charming. Thought your ears were cute which always made you blush. Sometimes Johnny would notice and inquire, but you wouldn’t notice so you just shrugged it off, all happy and sunshine. Johnny doesn't let it go.

Your partner finally asks if you want to start spending more time together, and lo and behold, Konig overhears. Does he bring it up with Soap? Yes absolutely. Ghost is with him, and so is Gaz. They’d already suspected, your hormones do increase when you’re close to your partner. And of fucking course they get protective.

Horangi teases the fuck out of it. You swear everytime you just want to sit and talk with your partner he comes into the room to “grab something” or “pass through”. Yeah right, you know recon when you see it.

Konig does accidentally walk in on you. At one point you are audibly frustrated, and he backs out of the room. He didn’t mean to walk in, really. You probably shouldn’t close doors though. The last thing he wanted was to walk in on something you shouldn’t be- okay okay, you got it. Please don’t go into detail.

Price doesn’t mind you having a partner, but no closed doors. He’ll knock, to give you some space, but it’s more like a chance for you to stop canoodling before he opens the door. Door has to stay open or you can be out in rec room. Besides you have some work to do anyways. No you don’t get to bring the work back to your room, and your partner has another task they’re needed for.

Alejandro steps in when your partner is alone, you had to get up to grab something. At some point he calls your partner aside to ask a few questions, making sure they did the work they were supposed to. Then he asks what your partners intentions were with you. That made your partner uneasy. Nothing bad sir, they swear.

Rudy tag teams with the colonel, and will have the cadejos scratch on your door if it’s closed. Once you tried to hide with your partner just to talk, it was really just meant to be a simple chat. They were having a rough day and you wanted to know what was going on. Everything would be okay, you know it would and-really?! Rudy just stood there holding the door open. Everything okay in here? Obviously just go! The door was left open and you apologized profusely to your partner.

Ghost is annoying cause he acts like he hasn’t done anything. Yeah he definitely didn’t pass through the walls to see what you were up to. Closed doors are fucking useless with him. You half suspect Johnny put him up to it. No he just found it easier to pass through on his way to coffee. You roll your eyes, and tell him not to that. You’re a grown woman, and don’t appreciate him just coming in to your room whenever he pleases. You have a full on confrontation after he walked in on you and your partner in your room. You get why he did it when you were younger and your handler was a jerk, but he didn’t get to do it now. Simon actually respects your wishes. He still keeps watching though.

You figured if you couldn’t get privacy inside you’d try outside.…Gaz what the hell? You tried the roof where you sometimes sat with Gaz, but Gaz landed and told you two to get another roof. Oh come on, you were there first. Whatever. Your partner suggests a hike later on, and you love hiking and think you might actually get away for a bit! Yes! You could show your partner some of the best spots! Your partner finds your excitement adorable. Gaz flying overhead made your cloud watching a little annoying. Your partner is used to it at this point.

Johnny… okay Johnny was the one you could understand being protective but holy shit could he tone it down! When he asks who made you blush and you told him he went straight to the soldier. Since then he was watching like a hawk or asking someone else to check up on you. If he even sensed your hormones being different he would ask what you were up to tonight. Yeah, right it’s not nothing. You’re still not telling. He’ll sniff it out. He does and it’s frustrating. If he walks in he tries to cover it up, like it’s nothing, sorry he was just grabbing some food, or something. The final straw was when you still didn’t tell him what you were doing and he learned you went out without telling anyone with only your partner. He went full wolf mode tracking you down. That was fucking it! When you heard him coming you went into your full wendigo form, staring him down. The werewolf growling and your towering Wendigo form startled your date, and when you finally returned to base they asked if you two could take a break.

Price did give Johnny a hard time about go so protective. He understood why, but ha! You weren’t letting him off that easy. That night you were upset and did some crying. This wasn’t fair, you were an adult… and as an adult you were going to set some rules of your own. No joke you came to Price a day or so later requesting a meeting. No not with him, though you wanted his attendance, you wanted it with the whole team. Yeah Horangi better be there too or you would ask Konig to help you strap him to a chair to listen.

The atmosphere in that room is awkward. When Johnny tried to apologize after what happened you ignored him which never happens. As you left the room Ghost made a comment about him being in the dog house. You poked your head back in glaring. Oh no, Ghost was haunting that dog house too. Shit. In the meeting room everyone was present.

“Are you all aware I’m an adult?” You asked.

The room was very quiet with a few exchanging looks. You’ll take that as a yes.

“And you are also aware I am fully capable of making my own decisions? Of making my own mistakes and maybe even making good choices?” The room gave a few nods. Yeah okay, where was this going?

“So then you should also be aware that despite being the youngest on this team I am fully capable of having my own sex life.” You stated, arms crossed and glaring at each of them. Some of them went red.

“You’ve been avin sex?!” Johnny asked, voice raised. That’s what he focused on?!

“FUCKING NO!! Not that I would even have a chance with you lot fucking spying on me 24/7 like I’m thirteen!” You shouted back. That got Johnny to back off. You were upset, and he was the cause. They all were in some part.

“Spirit, what is this meeting about?” Price asked. You know he wants you to get on with the main point. It wasn’t just to have an argument with Johnny.

“I just want to have some proper alone time with my partner. We can’t easily leave base whenever we want, and there’s tons of people coming and going, I get that. But the few times we can be together to just hang out or cuddle for a bit, someone walks in on us, and all of you seem to have forgotten how to close the door, or that I am entitled to some level of privacy!” You explained. Okay, that was a much better explanation. There’s some undertones of emotion in your voice. The team was so used to you being their little one, they seemed to forget sometimes that you’d grown up.

Price gives in, and asks what you propose. You want to set some ground rules. You were permitted to be alone with your partner if you so desired. If they needed you, they could text or call for you, you could hear it. If the door is closed they had to knock, and had to wait for your response before coming in. No trying to get between you and your partner, or pulling you apart for other tasks unless it was actually required. It was something they all had to follow, but Johnny had only one condition. That you at least tell him where you’re going if you do leave for something. He’d only follow if it was an emergency.

By the end of the meeting, everyone parts ways to go about their usual routine. Gaz stuck behind while Johnny gave you space at Simon’s request. He noticed you were upset and wanted to apologize for the fly by. Not that it would matter, since your partner wanted a break. Kyle assured you that your partner needed time to relax, and adjust to the crazy hybrid family you had on base. It couldn’t hurt for you to take some time for yourself as well. Give it maybe a day or so, and then go talk to them. The woods would probably be the best to ensure you have some privacy. If you want, Kyle will wait for you on the roof.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving @cutiecusp @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @yune1337

[bjornshouldvelivedddd]

18+caged

A/n: obviously NONE of the stuff in this fic is good to do, this is inspired from the movie fresh completely so if you haven't watched fresh don't read this maybe, I’m bringing Tyler into this so just for some verification Bjorns the one who sells the body parts and eats them(maybe just sometimes) but Tyler only sells them because he needs money or just because he’s trying to be a supportive cousin😭 I don’t like this at all so I might delete it and re do it

Tags: @spikedfearn thank you for helping me come up with the Tyler idea🙏 also thank you for matching my freak with this

Pairings: Tyler Harrison x fem!reader x Bjorn

Warnings: cannibalism mentioned, mocking, reader being held in a prison cell, cannionbalistic Tyler and Bjorn, manipulation, false hope, corrupted!Tyler, degrading and praising , dub con, oral f!receiving, lying, Tyler being desperate to just touch a girl in general, orgasm denial, p in v, non protected sex

You’ve been there for at least two weeks, of course you have no way of tracking time but it feels fitting, two weeks of being stuck in a cage with cold hard floors, you also have a small shitty mattress and a thin blanket but it doesn’t help much when it’s night time and freezing cold, the only upside to this is you still have all your limbs also Bjorn brings you food down every day, you shouldn’t really trust the food he brings you but it really does taste good and you also negotiated with him to get the chains of your ankles, another good thing.

You’ve notice that Bjorn isn’t always there, you assume he goes out to the city for groceries or something, but you don’t know.

Your laying on the mattress that hurts your back, just staring at the ceiling when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs which immediately makes you sit up, you heard Bjorns car leaving a hour ago which means he wouldn’t be back so who is that?

A fairly tall man comes down the stairs, you can’t see him front on but from the back he has short brunette hair and he’s well built, he walks over to the door of the cell and looks at you, now that you can see him front on he looks the same as he does from the back except now that your looking at him front on you notice he he has brown eyes “So your the new girl my cousin has down ere’, Bjorn wasn’t kidding when he said yer’ a pretty thing”Tyler says he smirks slightly, eyes roaming over your form before he leans against the cage.

"Don't worry, I don’t usually come down ‘ere" He says "just wanted to check you out, see if tha’ dick head cousin of mine was telling the truth" He mutters, you just look at him, your even more confused now, is this some kind of fucked up family business? “What do you want.”You ask bluntly, Tyler chuckles “No need to snap a’ me luv, it’s jus’ such a shame, a pretty girl like you down here all by yer’self..”He trails off, noticing how scared you look "ya' gonna keep looking at me like that luv’?.. You look terrified..." he chuckles softly "I could make ya' a deal" he offers, noticing the way your eyes light up with what seems like hope “how bout’ ya’ let me touch and and I’ll let ya’ walk straight outta’ ere’?”he asks, tilting his head to the side “c’mon I’m sure you wanna’ be touched, hm? It must get lonely down ere’..”he mocks, taking keys out of his pocket and opening the cell door and stepping inside, walking over to you.

“I can distract you for a bit, take your mind of all this.”He mutters, placing a hand on your chin and pushing it up so your looking at him “and I’ll get something outta’ it too of course, but so will you and tha’ will be gettin’ outta’ ere’, so?..”He asks, you clench your jaw, if you say no you stay in here for who knows how long, if you say yes you’ll get out of there, it’s a no brainer really. “Fine.”You huff out stubbornly, just like that and he’s kissing you, tongue probing at your bottom lip asking for access, left hand sliding up your shirt to lightly grope at your breast through your bra, other hand is busy sliding down your shorts, thumb pushing your panties to the side so he can sink two fingers knuckle deep into your wet core, you moan quietly and buck your hips against his hand, he moves his fingers in and out of you at a torturous pace.

Tyler presses kisses down your neck, stopping on a certain spot to lightly bite at it, he continues kissing down your body until he gets to your thighs, he pulls your panties down and he pulls his fingers out of you just as you were on the edge of orgasm, he brings his fingers up to his mouth and maintains eye contact as he sucks them clean “taste so sweet, so good..”He mutters before leaning down, his warm mouth wrapping around your core, your hand immediately going to his hair, fisting at it slightly to bring him closer. He’s eating you out like he’s been craving to eat someone out, his jaw is flexing as his tongue works over your slit, going from little licks to gentle sucks “Mh, Bjorn was right, such pathetic noises comin’ from ya’, you we’re jus’ sittin’ ere’ beggin’ ta’ be touched, pathetic almost..”He hums against your core, sending jolts of pleasure through your body “taste so sweet though, sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted thats f’sure..”He sucks on your clit, your on the brink of orgasm once again, just like before Tyler pulls away from you, licking his lips, you think he’s gonna just walk out now but instead he undoes his belt and thrusts into you, no warning at all for you, he rocks his hips eagerly against you, his rock hard cock aching for release inside of you. “Feel s’ good too, fuck Bjorn wasn’t lying bout’ how tight you are..”He groans. You whimper under him, clenching around him tightly. Tyler burys his face into your neck as he cums inside you, the head of his cock pressing against your insides, your about to cum around him but before you have the chance he pulls out, it’s just cruel at this point. Tyler smirks at you before standing up “well-“he tucks himself back into his pants and does his belt up along with brushing his clothing off “a deals a deal.”he motions to the door, walking out of the cage himself.

you quickly pull your underwear and shorts on, your so relieved you can finally leave, as soon as your about to walk out Tyler slams the door on your face. “C’mon, you really thought you were gonna’ get out tha’ easily?”He mocks, smirking at the anger on your face “sorry luv. Can’t let ya’ out, ma’ cousin clearly has ya’ in ere’ for business reasons.”he says casually before locking the door again and walking back upstairs.

[quitealotofsodapop]

Diet peach soup would probably have the celestials and Marshalls get involved a lot sooner. Overpowered babies are not a good idea to leave unsupervised. As for Macaque, the lady bone demon is most likely going to just shove him onto the thrall, as his problem. Either to be raised as her soldier, or as a potential backup vessel.

Prev.

Yeeeaah the Stalwarts have to get involved sooner than later since their king is now in his terrible twos (again). They present themselves to Pigsy and Tang as village elders who want to help them in raising the boys, and introducing them to their culture. Pigsy was eh on the idea, but Tang was uber excited! Monkey demon culture lessons!

Peaches and MK honestly thought that the Stalwarts were their grandparents for a long time, especially since they didn't know Papa Tang's side of family and assumed he was a just patchy-furred monkey. XD

Nezha, checking in on Wukong: "Why do I sense two baby stone monkeys- WHAT THE SCALLOP!?"

Peaches still gets his school bestie in the form of "Nez", albeit from an earlier age. Nezha can risk a mini-god running around without a voice of reason. Moksa tags in on his younger bro's behalf + as a kindness to Guanyin, as a "cool older kid" watching out for the little monkeys. The -Zha brothers want to keep Sun Wukong's condition as much as a secret as possible from the rest of the Celestial Realm.

Erlang takes one third-eye-look at the situation and goes "Ah crap, I'm gonna have to be their mentor." Cue an Athena and Telemachus dynamic developing between Erlang and the boys once they lift the Staff. But for now, he's Babysitter Jian - the only kid Pigsy and Tang have ever seen feed, wash, and entertain the little monkeys without so much as a grumble. (Jian, shrugs: "I have little cousins.")

Even the Peach Maidens who attended the Orchard with Wukong long ago ensure that he and his little brother are well-watched - glamouring themselves as a gaggle of old ladies in their favourite park. Always ready to pinch cheeks, give fresh fruit treats, and tell the boys how big they're getting!

The Thrall is currently reforming his body after Wukong slapped him across the country for stealing the Stone Egg (aka unhatched MK) + forcing him to drink some nasty potion (Meng Po's soup), so he's not much help in raising de-aged macaques rn.

Macaque accidentally dodges LBD by being a slippery little guy! Falls and crawls through so many shadows that its hard to keep track of him from the Underworld. Lives rough on the street for some time before ending up in the hands of someone who would truly care about him.

Sandy: "Aww. You're an odd little kitten aren't ya?" De-Aged!Macaque: (*spitting and hissing at the giant with all his might, violently protecting the cat food he found. Is barely the size of a football*) Sandy, gently picks up cub: "Hey hey... I used to be an angry little guy too. I learned that when a lot of people are upset, they're really just scared about something that hard to explain." De-Aged!Macaque: (*angry grumbles as he's picked up! Presses ears against fish man's chest to drown out the sound of the city*) Sandy: "Are your ears at you, little buddy? I can see why. One, two three... six ears! Thats a lot of earmuffs." De-Aged!Macaque: (*grumbling gets quieter. Absent-mindedly sucks on his fingers.*) Sandy, conflicted: "I... I really should just bring you to a police station or something. But something tells me that you'll need someone in your corner who understands how messy life can be. If I can manage it, would you be ok staying here with me?" De-Aged!Macaque: (*uninterested squeak*) Sandy, smile forming: "I'll take that as an Okey-dokey. Now... how about a name? Your white fur is super shiny in the moonlight... how about Moon?" "Moon": (*tares up at his new guardian with big violet eyes, one is milky and possibly blind. Makes a curious chirrup at the name.*) Sandy, heart-warming smile: "I think thats a winner."

Little Moon is a curious little guy. Not only because of his ears (the fish man jokes that it's his son's axolotl-like gills), but from an early age Moon has had control over shadows.

It began as simple fascination with stage magic. Moon watched stage magicians preform their tricks of misdirection and illusion, and wanted to see if he could replicate it.

Sandy: (*makes a bunny shape in the shadow of a lamp*) Moon: (*excited cheep!*) Moon: (*manipulates shadows to make many bunnies!*) Sandy, surprised: "Oh!"

Sandy was worried that this power wasn't something that could be trained easily, and an incident where Mo disappeared into one of Moon's shadows for an afternoon (reappeared unharmed once the treat bag was shaken) prompted the fish man to try and find an outlet for his kid.

Thats how he met The Nine Tailed Vixen. The elderly huli jing was hosting a children's acting class at her theatre, and Sandy wondered if it would aid his son's creative drive. It turned out to be a blessing since the heavenly fox was quick to identify, and help Moon tame his wild magic.

(Jiuweihuli is so relieved to have her protégé safe and sound again. Sandy is a good man, and she's glad that her little shadow has found a kind papa.)

Sensing a hunch, the old fox contacted Nezha on whether there wer other de-aged little monkeys...

Peaches and Moon meet during one of the acting camps. At first they cannot believe their eyes.

On sight they feel as though they've known the other their entire lives and beyond.

At the end of the day's acting camp, a group of old friends reunite.

Pigsy, with MK in a sling: "Sandy!?" Sandy: "Pigsy!" Peaches & Moon, running to their respective parent: "Baba!" Pigsy & Sandy, both surprised: "Baba!? You?!" "Yeah!" "Since when?" "Since I found him on the street!" "Whoa. weird."

Peaches and Moon are hard to separate after that meeting. Even if acting camp didn't turn out well for the ginger monkey (stage fright activated), they rarely go more than a week without an excited play date or visit to the theatre.

DBK's gut reaction to the young monkey demon holding his sworn brother's staff is; "Did Sun Wukong have a child- wait. What in Yama's name happened to you!?" Peaches doesn't answer the question as he nearly passes out screaming. Moon is half-way across town wondering what's scared his bestie so bad.

[sonofatoasterwaffle]

Tidbit Tuesday

the wonderful @playinginthunderstorms tagged me to share something I've got in the works (thank you, charlie!), so I bring you the freak4freak buddie/nde/blood kink/buckfidelity monstrosity that's been occupying my brain as i try not to freak out about the us election.

pls enjoy

He pulls himself up to sit while Buck crouches in front of him, hands fluttering everywhere like he’ll be able to tell if Eddie’s hurt from touch alone. Eddie knows what he’s taking in. Wet, shivering shoulders, hair plastered to his forehead, blood all over his face from a cut high on his forehead– a split lip.  Hen and Chimney work on Hattie behind him, one of them yelling that they’ll be right over. Eddie doesn’t mind. He’s fine.  But Buck is– he’s–  Eddie’s own hands come up to Buck’s jaw, shaking with adrenaline. “Buck–” he starts, starting to panic. “Your neck–”  It’s cut. He’s bleeding.  It’s sluggish and red, sluicing down his neck. Eddie can hear it, like he’s been hearing the relentless crash of the waves under him, behind him, building up to take him under and make him disappear for good. He can’t disappear. Not now, not when Buck’s here and warm and safe and alive.  He needs–  His own blood rushes loudly in his ears, and he knows Buck’s trying to say something. Trying to talk to him, but all Eddie can hear is the blood. just like before.  Out on the street in front of Charlie Manning’s apartment, the bullet slicing hot through Eddie’s shoulder. The blood spraying all over Buck, his open mouth.  Buck, confessing in the dim light of Eddie’s kitchen. I tasted it, Eddie. tequila sour on his breath as they traded the bottle again. Another horrible day without Chris. Another shift ended with Eddie’s bandaged wounds. It was all I could taste for days. Now, when you get hurt— i- I can taste it all over again. Eddie returning a lie for the admission. I didn’t know that. Really don’t remember much.  If Buck knows– If he’s already—  Then Eddie needs to. He needs it like he needs to breathe. Like he needs Buck against him. Like he needs to keep him.  “Hey, hey, no,” Buck is trying to assure him. “I’m fine, I promise, just let m-”  The blood rushes louder in Eddie’s ears and he pitches forward, fits his mouth to the wound. Warmth explodes on his tongue and he might moan or he might just try. Either way, Buck makes a strangled noise above him, and he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t tell Eddie to stop, so he doesn’t. He drags his tongue over Buck’s pale skin, trying to clean up what’s already staining him, taking in the taste of copper and warmth and Buck.  He’s shaking with it, needs Buck all over, inside him, filling him up. Buck’s already his, right? All Eddie has to do is ask.  He told himself he was going to ask.  “Eddie,” Buck says, his voice thick. “Fuck,”

no pressure tagging a few writer mutuals if y'all wanna share! @divine-victory @semperama @littlefreakbuckley @dracculaura

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 33

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 7k

A/N: Missed you all!

What do you say to your ex-boyfriend after you make him come so hard he cries?

Age old question. 

“Do you need water?” You ask, ankles wrapped around his lower back. Sated and satisfied, he nods before parting his body from yours. Eyes heavy lidded, staring at you bare covered in his come. Your questions sinks in and he takes back his nod with a furrowed brow.

“No-let me clean you.” He stands before you can protest that you can do it yourself. His jeans hanging low, sweat painting his hairline, he walks away. 

You’re left alone on the couch, a bit shameful you’d say. You might never look at the couch the same again. Thank goodness Chucho only ever sits in his recliner, he’s saving you from decades of embarrassment. The tv was shut all the way off and the December breeze creeped through the window steadily then all at once. Sobering your mind that only had the capacity to be turned on. Your pleasure sensors doing its job. 

He comes back, shifting his bulge with his palm. Kneeling before you, and wiping you clean. “We always seem to get here.” He whispers, leaning down to grab your panties off the floor. You thank him silently and pull them back on. He stands and watches you for a moment. He’s still licked with sweat and red eyed from his orgasm. “I don’t want this to be a step back-”

“It won’t be. We’re… human. And I’m almost getting my period so…” You ramble and he hums. You usually can keep it in your pants. And you talked up such a big game about boundaries just to fold the second your hormones whacked and Javier made the slightest reference to your previous sex life. You had an extraordinary forty-eight hour attempt of celibacy. 

He nods, leaning back in the seat. “Going forward?” He crosses his arms. Your brows shoot high, he waits for you to set a new rule. His pants are still unbuckled and he looks fucked out. Too sexy for his own good, that fucking mustache drives you up a wall. 

“Going forward…” You straighten up, criss crossing your legs. “I’d like to… not make it a habit while we’re figuring it out. But… if we get… in a mood-“ He chuckles, you stumble over your own words as if you weren’t just talking him through coming all over you. You narrow your eyes at him and nudge him with your foot. “No sex. Penetrative sex. No kissing.” You stabilize your voice, his eyes saddened at the last part. 

“Can I eat you out?” He asks like it’s nothing at all, like he’s asking what’s the weather like. You think for a moment. 

“Do you want to eat me out?” You ask, not sure why—

He looks down at your lap. “Please.”

You kick him. “Pervert… Yes you can. If! It happens to progress that way not just because we want to. We aren’t together-“

“Yet.” He nods. “Not together yet.”

You snort, “You’re confident.” 

“Andrea. I know you don’t want anyone else.”

You scoff this time, sitting up. “You’re right. I don’t. But if you can’t prove to me that you’re ready I’ll have no fucking problem setting foot to New York alone. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Your face is red, feeling something close to anger. No, you weren’t trying to be controlling. You’re just not the passive twenty-two year old ready to just cry and move on. Over and done with it. “Tomorrow. I want you to visit Lorraine. I’ll come with you if you’d like, I can’t promise to help the situation because I might pop her.” You exhale, running a hand through your hair. Genuinely frustrated and violent when you think of her. Javier smirks and nods

“Okay. But I need you there with me.” 

Flustered and frankly pissed off, “Alright.”

His under eye twitches and he opens his mouth just to shut it again. You squint at him, annoyed. “What.” You snap.

“You’re so sexy when you’re angry.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“So you’re back together” Genie wipes her lips, just to take another bite of bruschetta that drips on  the plate. You and Javier napped on the couch until four pm when the sound of a polaroid click and flash jolted you upright. Chucho stood at the couch without a clue, grinning as his photo developed. You yawned and Javier drove you back to your motel. He didn’t want to say goodbye, watched you until your waved at him from inside the room window. 

Then you put on your bumiest clothes and drive to your brother's house. In desperate need of talking to a woman. As much as you missed your brother, you were absolutely thrilled to find that he took your niece to a birthday party. 

Your lips tangy and oily, Genie was trying something new as a snack. “No. We aren’t-“

“So please explain this to me again.” She uses her bisquit to pick up what fell off before, grunting when it falls again. 

You sigh, licking your lips. “He ate me out on Christmas.”

“That’s blasphemous.” She grins and you roll your eyes. 

“Whatever, I think we were just high off of seeing each other. Missed one another, then we both felt shit about it the next morning. I told him we had to do this differently. I told him that we had to have rules because I want this to work so badly— Genie you don’t understand. I’m so tired of running around in circles.” You aggressively bite into another piece of bruschetta. Genie gives you a sympathetic nod, “I told him no kisses, no sex, just honesty. I need him to continue getting help—I need him to talk to Lorraine.”

Her brows shoot up, moving to stand and grab the bottle of wine left uncapped on the counter behind her. Internalizing all that you’ve said, she pours you another glass. “Don’t you think maybe… that won’t be a good idea. Like it’ll bring up old memories.”

And of course you’ve thought about it. You wonder if there’s a part of you who’s just being the jealous little girl you once was, You think that if he came back here, the same person he was in 1986 you’d be a bit crazy for making him talk to Lorraine. But that isn’t the reality, But that isn’t the reality, Lorraine intruded, she placed a wedge in the track of his life. Leaving him even more uncertain than he was before she came home.

There’s a part of Javier that stayed with her, a person isn’t made to be lied to in that way. You’re not sure if you can move on without officially leaving her in the past. 

You shake your head, “Lorraine is more than an old memory. She baby trapped him, attempted to isolate him on purpose, so she could keep him. And it has nothing to do with me—or-me feeling like she was taking him away from me. Even if we weren’t involved she still took advantage of him. It was an abuse of power, simple as that.” You crunch so loud it acts as a closing statement. Genies brows raise a bit, internalizing all that you’ve said. 

Genie is your family. She is your best friend. But she has also never left Laredo, Texas. She has lived her whole life in a bubble. She’s smart, she’s charming, she’s the only woman you’ve ever looked up to. But, she’s also very, very, southern—“You sound so damn therapized. That’s probably healthier than whatever I would have done!” She snorts and she means no harm. 

You laugh too, you love her so much sometimes you forget she isn’t really your sister. 

“What would you have done, Genie Diaz?” You quirk a brow. 

“Spun that bitches jaw at the altar!” 

“She was pregnant!” You cackle and Genie shrugs. 

“You’re right. I forget she didn’t lie about that. I don’t know, maybe spit in her face or something, she ain’t pregnant now. You should try it this time.” She gives up on piling her tomatoes on her biscuit and begins spoon feeding herself. You do the same.

“I’m trying to be good—I want to be healthy and mature about this. “ You say, mouth full of tomatoes. 

You playfully reach your spoon onto her plate, your silverware clanking. You find a scoop anyhow. “Huh. You’re really putting a lot of yourself into this.” 

You frown, because she knows. Because you have to say it anyway. Say it out loud. Face solemn and inward. Everyone always said you could never keep an emotion off of your face. 

“He’s the love of my life, so.” You shrug like it’s nothing to the ear. Genie smiles a small biting thing. You know she loves to hear it, you want to tell her to look away. But you don’t, “I will do anything to make it work. I’ll be thirty in a few years, I want to start building my life with him.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more happy to hear anything in my life.” She taps her spoon against yours, it’s like a hug. Like a kiss on the cheek.

 You tap hers back and burn bright red.  

This shit better work. 

Is the first thing Javier thought of the second you left his house. Feeling aimless and confused, which could be unhealthy but he just figures it just the effects of missing someone so much. 

He unpacks a few things, leaving most of it in its place. He’s ready to leave with you, if you say yes of course. He puts on his fathers records and picks up the living room. His brain was a bit clouded from the pseudo-sex you two had. Banishing himself from replaying it over in his mind. Ears hot with embarrassment and arousal thinking about the way you held his head when he came. 

His semi died in his pants the moment he remembered he needed to just call Lorraine, see if she’s even willing to speak. Javier’s therapist had been suggesting that he do something like this for a few years now. She believed that the way it ended wasn’t truly an end. And it wasn’t, he never got to face her and just ask her why. 

Granted, he’s been too fucking angry and rather never see her again. 

But it was you that asked, so he’ll do it. 

He knows he needs to, it petrifies him. But he wants to be with you so badly, the thought of this not working petrifies him in a whole other way. A way he won’t recover from. So he looks through his fathers phone book and finds her name.

It only took him two cigarettes, a lap around the kitchen and four minutes of silence to ring her. 

It rings twice and he hears a child's screech. Javier feels his world crashing down on him for a second.

“Hello?” 

Her voice makes him go cold. It makes him angry in a way that quickly turns to grief. All in twenty seconds. “Hello?” She asks again. 

He blinks, ashes his cigarette and straightens in his seat. It squeaks the same way it did when he sat half asleep over fifth grade math homework. The thought scares him, he’s been in this house for too long. Change becomes too much when you can pinpoint exactly what you did in that very spot twenty years ago. What he would give to do it all over, to drool over homework while his mother cooked. Instead he sits here with years of trauma, on the phone with one of the perpetrators. He blinks three times, “It’s Javi.”

There's a small breath from the phone, some shuffling and a similar creak that only a wooden chair could make. “Okay…” Is all she can say and he wants to bang his head into the hand sawed table Javier built with his father when he was fourteen. 

“I want to… talk to you. In person.”

“When… when did you come back to the states?”

“That doesn't really matter. When are you free?”

She does something that sounds like a scoff and his ears ring. He closes his eyes and sees you and everything clears up. “I guess tomorrow. Andy won’t be home.”

Javier’s brows furrow, “Who-”

“My son. My parents are taking him to the indoor waterpark. Does noon work?”

His eyes burn, chin usually strong but nearly quivers. He closes his eyes and can only feel heat surrounding his senses. His face an inferno, he feels so uncomfortable in his own skin at just a few words. He feels it, the isolation. Where would he be? How miserable would he have been with her. She speaks to him in that rude passive-aggressive tone she’d give him after a long day of classes.  Like he was a child needing reprimanding. 

He agrees with a simple sure and has what his therapist would describe as a panic attack. He cries again today. He feels stupid, exposed and weak. Unlike a man. He locks himself in his room for the rest of the night, doesn't come down for dinner and avoids thinking of you. He knows you’d cry with him and tell him he isn’t weak or stupid or whatever–he avoids thinking of you some more. He chooses not to be hopeful tonight, and that's what you are for him. 

He feels even more embarrassed when he wakes up at eight in the morning and realizes he fell asleep because his panic attack took the energy from him. He wakes up an anxious mess and he calls you to tell you that he’ll be at your hotel in two hours. He  barely lets you speak beyond the agreement, he wasn’t ready for this yet.

He showers and dunks his face in cold water, hoping his eye swelling will settle. He dresses the way he likes, denim, button up and boots. Burns one on the road, he knows you hate the smell. 

His panic fizzles the moment he pulls his fathers truck into the dingy motel “hotel”. What a rare thing you two have got going. You come out of the room, locking the door behind you and he already feels better. 

His lips twitch in a smile watching you struggle to work the overused key. He stares at what you decided to wear. Looking like a vixen, hair straightened, pencil skirt stretched across your behind taut like it's struggling. A sweater similar to yesterdays, white this time. And heels, like you're on your way to be the sexiest defense attorney in the state. He wonders if you could just forget it, fuck Lorraine, we can be fine without ever speaking of her again. 

Then he panics and looks at his eyes in the rearview mirror, still swollen and he decides maybe you have a point with all of this. He swallows his fear.

“Hi.” You chirp, not too excited for the day but excited to be with him. He furiously avoids  eye contact with you. 

“Hi.” He leans forward to kiss you cheek fast and you feel like an absolute loser for getting full body chills. “You look pretty.” He turns the key and the car rattles. The day is gray and depressing. The moment you opened your eyes alone in the itchy sheets of the hotel, you beamed at the sound of Javier's voice from your temporary home phone. Left sad at the brief tone and the Lorraine related reality check. You stared at the popcorn ceiling and cried for a few minutes. 

You see him now and figure maybe he feels the same way. 

The line between your brows creases, in the way that bothers him. You can’t help being worried about him. He had gone through so much without you. 

You observe his every move as he pulls out the lot without a word. Watching the way his hands look older on the steering wheel, thinking of what they’d look with a wedding band. You see a glimpse of the freckles on his cheeks that seemed to have layover from the Colombian sun. You see that under his eyes are puffy and that he’s clenching his jaw. 

He comes to a light and you can’t help yourself. Your hand flies to the back of his head, nails gently scraping his scalp. He pulls his brows together and leans into your touch. “Hey…its okay we don’t have to-”

He grunts, “Andrea…”

“We can go home, find another way– I can feel how unhappy you are it’s-”

“Andrea, please don’t do that-”

You drop your hand. “Do what.” 

The light turns green. 

“Try to take care of me– try to change the plans just because I’m not happy about it. It's right for us–I want to get it right.”

You frown and your hand feels as if it’s been stung. 

“I can't take care of you?” You whisper. 

He clicks his tongue, “I don’t want you to worry about that. That’s for me to handle.” Still, Javier has yet to look you in the eyes. Your face is filled with heat. 

“No.”

“No, what?” It’s meaner than he anticipates, you can tell in the way his forehead creases. 

“No. That’s not how this is going to work. Yes, I shouldn’t coddle you and I’m sorry for my immediate reaction to you being upset. But as long as I’m around I’ll want to take care of you. Let me have that.” You cross your arms, feeling like a petulant child, also not caring at all. His chest puffs and you can tell he’s about to speak again. You cut him off before he even begins. “You hurt me when you don’t expect me to care just as much as you care about me.” 

He looks at you, nostrils flaring and his face crumbles. He clenches his jaw and you watch the muscles in his face twitch, wanting to shut down and turn away. But he doesn’t, “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just trying—you’re the most important part of my life. I’m not used to feeling this… open.”

“We don’t have to see her today.” 

He chuckles, “No. Now I have to see her today. She was just as callous and cold on the phone as she was years ago. It fucking pissed me off.” 

You smile, leaning your head against the window. “I probably shouldn’t come in with you. For her safety.” 

He snorts, a long loud beep snaps them both out of the little world they’ve created in that truck. Javier looks at the rear view mirror and cringes, before stepping on the gas. “How many times do you think that light changed?” He leans forward and readjusts himself to his regular driving posture. You take a deep breath and just shrug which makes him laugh again. “And I need you to bear witness to her manipulation.” 

“I’ll try to behave.”

He raises a brow at you but returns to be inward. You allow him, he lets music play the rest of the ride.

The lawn is only slightly overgrown. Overgrown in the way that everyone’s lawn is in the winter. Even in a place where you don’t get snow, or really cold weather. Still winter is a feeling, feeling like your lawn isn’t important. There’s a mailbox too, only the last name Smithfield is on it. So she isn’t married which honestly comes as a surprise to you. 

You’d assume in some ironic alliance of the stars she’d get all that she wanted and you’d suffer. Or maybe she realized she needs to be alone in order to figure herself out entirely. 

Javier lets you knock when you ascend the stairs. There’s a cat on a porch swing. It meows at the sight of the two of them. Like the world’s softest guard dog. It makes Javier smile for the first time since he stepped out of the car. 

You aren’t nervous, you had your moment to confront her. You’re not nervous in that way. 

Javi though, you could almost feel it lift from him. Since the moment he picked you up, you saw it in the bags of his eyes and in the way he snapped and hurt your feelings. The way he gets in a headspace where he cares so much about everything and he can’t conceptualize someone else caring for him. 

He’d look into the eyes of killers, men so ruthless, so deeply connected that bringing them to justice is a task nearly impossible. But when Lorraine opens the door his eyes dart to the ground first then to hers. But it’s no use.

Her eyes are on you. 

You aren’t expecting it but it doesn’t show. 

She looks the same, hair still blonde, brighter now like she goes for a touch up once and a while. Her cheeks lost its roundness and she’s skinnier in the way that moms get. When they realize that maybe they should focus on themselves too, fifteen pounds lighter later. There’s not a lick of makeup on her face and her nostrils flare at the sight of you. Then she looks at Javier. 

“Well. Come on in.” She bites out in a tone that seems like an attempt to be nice. She turns and walks straight in. Javier follows first, taking a glance at you and clenching his jaw. The house is nice, modern, and tidy. The front door leads you to a hallway that brings you into the kitchen. Lorraine’s back is still turned. Picking up a toy from the floor and mail from the dinner table and placing it on the counter next to the stovetop. “I made lunch, I wasn’t picturing a third person here.” 

She glances over her shoulder and runs her eyes from the top of your head down to your heels. You smile back and you know it disgusts her. She turns her face back to the food on the stovetop. It’s a casserole, she had no reason to complain about her lack of food other than to assert some pseudo dominance over you. 

It’s laughable, you watch as she serves you a plate as well. 

Javier shakes his head as he notices her comment was unnecessary as well. “Should we sit at the table?”

“Yes. Water?”

“Sure.” You respond and the sound of your voice has her shoulders tensing. 

It’s a brown table with two chairs on each side and two at both of the heads of the table. You and Javier sit side by side. 

Javi places his hand on your knee, soothing you to soothe himself. It makes you frown, it feels like the first time you aren’t hiding yourselves and it’s in front of Lorraine. 

Someone who doesn’t deserve to see. The second Lorraine walks towards them with plates and forks and water and whatever she puts in that casserole Javier straightens up. 

Lorraine settles down and sips her water, her eyes attempt to avoid you but they lose. 

Javier doesn’t like this. 

The way he stares at Lorraine is the way you pictured him staring down the face of officials, criminals, and his boss. It’s like in one moment all the nerves he once had cease to exist, all that was left was the anger he feels and the itch for confrontation.

Her fork drags across the plate in an ear aching screech. She takes a bite, waves the fork gesturing between the two of you. “So? You too finally together?” She says with a smirk, a knowing hint of sarcasm. She talks with the knowledge of her role in all of this. 

Javier clenches his jaw, “No. We aren’t. I just got home.” He doesn’t entertain her 

foolishness.

Her eyebrows furrow, she frowns and looks at you. 

“Ah— that’s unfortunate-“

“Where’s your kid?” You cut her off, taking a sip of the water she served. The smirk is immediately wiped off her face.

“Andy is with my mother. Not like it’s any of your concern.”

“Well my relationship status wasn’t your concern either so I suppose we’re even.” A timer goes off in the kitchen, Lorraine startles. It settles something in you, she’s much more affected than you are. 

She ignores the noise. 

“I want to talk about the wedding—I want you to tell me about it.” Javi sits straight, pushing his lousy dish to the side, it clinks with your cup. He pats his pants, digging for his pack. He taps it against the table. “Can i?” 

Lorraine shrugged. The apartment reeked of smoke anyway. 

Here is where you need to take the backseat. Let him feel. Let him ask. It’ll be impossibly hard to just let it happen but he needs it. He lights up. 

“What do you want to know?” She leans back, food abandoned only twenty seconds into the conversation. 

Javier furrows his brows, like, what a stupid fucking question. “Why. Why did you lie? When did you decide to fucking lie? Who’s the father—just fucking tell me.”

“You were in love with another woman.” She looks at you and you feel that stupid pang of shame. “I don’t know why I fucking agreed to this—why did you bring her?” Her voice breaks but there’s no tears, she’s afraid of being vulnerable in front of you. 

And you want to claw her eyes out. Flip the table over. Call her evil. And yet, you see a girl so insecure—so jaded by what she perceived as normal—and you feel pity beyond belief. 

Javier doesn’t reply, neither do you. Because she knows why you’re here. How life would have been different for them if she hadn’t come back around. She knows, so she frowns and the facade is gone. The act, like she’s above all of this mess, like it was just some thing she did that she got over so he should too. It’s gone. 

Finally she looks at Javier. “I- In high school you—we were so good. I fucked it up— I know. I thought because we already were planning a life that we could be adults and work through it.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I told you I was sorry—for cheating. I told you that you were it for me. That I’d try but it was written all over you. You were over me so fast, I couldn’t understand that. We were together and you were over me. I became the other woman in our own relationship. Watching you fucking glow whenever she was mentioned. Or watching you hold yourself back from talking about her.” She exhales, she avoids your eyes the entire time. Like it could maim her. 

You can’t help it but you do feel an ache in your chest. Javier clenches his jaw once more, his cigarette sizzling before he drags again. 

“I was stressed too, we said horrible things to each other when we were like that. Then we’d make up, and be sweet and it would be good. That’s what couples do…”

“They don’t Lorraine—they shouldn’t. We were worse than horrible when we fought, you know that.”

She shakes her head, “I was blindsided when you asked to separate. You’d say we weren’t together but we’d have sex and you still paid for everything.” 

Your brows furrow and Javier has a face of guilt. Like maybe he doesn’t want you here anymore. 

“We had an agreement.” He says lowly and Lorraine rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her water.

“Sue me then! For still having feelings for an ex boyfriend who is still living with me, paying for my life and fucking me at night.” She slams the cup on the table and your untouched silverware rattles. 

Javier narrows his eyes at her outburst. 

“Lorraine.” He says it like a whisper and her chin quivers. She could play the role of the heartless unaffected woman but she breaks character. “It was… irresponsible of us. Of me. I know that, and I’m sorry. It was six years of confusion and I really am sorry but I’ve apologized for this. Before I left, we had that talk, I was moving out. It was over that spring, you were seeing other people. I was going back home. You tried to baby trap me—that isn’t normal—that isn’t okay.”

“I wasn’t going to—then I saw the two of you at the wedding and my parents they-"

June 16th 1986

Lorraine is sobbing into her hand the second her aching body sits on her couch. Her parents followed behind her. Coming to sit down next to her. She put on a strong face when she walked in on them in the bathroom, telling each other they loved one another. She stared at herself in the mirror and smiled as tears threatened to fall. Her stomach is touching the sink. 

Her parents were livid when she burst into tears on the car ride back. When through a snotty nosed red face she says that Javier was with Andrea. 

They assumed he was the one who knocked her up. But she knows it doesn’t add up, she knows the man who did would never take responsibility in the way Javier would. She knows she can never find him if she tries. One drunken night with a man on a work trip. She continued to cry while they cursed his name, saying that he was less than a man.

“We will figure something out, he’ll step up once you tell him he’s his. You were together for nearly a decade! We know about Andrea. She was a fast little girl, brings shame to her family name.” Mrs. Smithfield paces then pauses to stroke Lorraine’s head. “She’s just a temptation.”

He held Andreas hand, comforted her at the sight of me. That was supposed to be me.

She remembers less than a month ago when she had just come home from her second appointment, getting on the phone with Genie. Asking about them, knowing the possibility of seeing Javier with you when you came back. She wasn’t prepared.

Lorraine hiccups, “I need him,” There it is, the truth. There's a part of her that loves him but most importantly she needs him. Overcome with that fact she can't seem to stop speaking through her tears. “He-he isn’t the father but I need him to be I can’t do this alone I-”

Mr. Smithfield storms out of the kitchen at that.  “Lorraine Marie. What are you saying?” He booms and Lorraine’s mother sits back in the recliner, head in her hands. Lorraine begins to cry more. Burying her head in the crook of her arm. “Sweetheart! Do you know what they’ll say if they find out. Your mother would lose her spot on the board, we’d never be welcomed in the church again.”

He mutters curses he would never dare say outside the living room. Lorraine sees the looks of their disappointed faces. She sees the same face they gave her brother before they sent him away. She thinks of all they’ve sacrificed to be here. To give her this life, their status. She thinks of the way she was brought into this world. A saving grace of her parents' marriage. Her heart clenches in her chest. To help her sleep at night she may say it's at the thought of being with Javier but something tells her it's the thought of taking him from you. 

“I…he doesn’t have to know it isn’t his.” She fills the silence.

Mrs. Smithfield lifts her head and there's a glimmer in her eye that maybe Lorraine should fear.

She accepts it. 

Javier is stone faced the entire retelling. His hand is holding his fist in a ball at the table. Watching Lorraine justify her actions. Excuse after excuse, thinking that pity will save her. At least that’s what you see. Product of her own environment, he wasn’t foolish enough to accept that. 

You hope Javier sees through her, he should. You know he’s worked on this in therapy, he told you he can no longer be manipulated by her.

 She’s rambling, and then she’s silent. She stares at the children’s drawing behind Javier’s head for a few moments and her face crumbles a bit. 

“My father was going to leave my mother. It had gotten so bad that despite his devotion to God and his-his dedication to maintain his image— he still filed divorce papers.” She lays her hands flat on the table then drops it into her lap. “But my mother was determined to keep her husband. She—had an idea of what her life was going to look like and she made sure of it. So she made sure their contraception wouldn’t work— and she saved her marriage with her pregnancy. That’s how I was brought along. That’s what I know — Javi I was going to do anything to have you again-.” She stares at him with an intensity like no other, the eyes of a manic woman. The eyes of a woman who hasn’t grown up. 

Javier shakes his head, and sits up straight. Heat swarming his face, he’s angry and you watch. Still you feel out of place here, you look away to avoid feeling the urge to cry at his pain. Then his voice booms and he’s pointing his finger in her face. “It’s not good enough— you can’t fault your parent’s actions for your own decisions. Choices you made as an adult—a choice you didn’t have to make. We were over, I didn’t want you. Don’t go using the way you were brought up as an excuse.” He leans back in the chair like the burst of anger pained his aching body. He exhales and Lorraine stays quiet.

Your teary eyes stare at the floor parts and look into the eyes of Lorraine. Her chin quivers but she doesn’t cry. She looks at you finally.

“Then what do you tell her? Huh?” She points her chin towards you, crossing her arms. Mirroring Javier’s posture while you perk up. His nostrils flare. 

“What are you talking about Lorraine?”

“Every time you leave her, every time you come back. Do you tell her it won’t happen again? Do you tell her you’re afraid of becoming like your mother so that each time you come home you can fuck up her life, keep her burning for you, and then blame it on it being the only way you know? Do you accept her dependency on you because you know she was neglected by her parents? Tell me Javi. Just fucking say it! Tell me it’s okay for you to be flawed and fuck up peoples lives, tell me I can’t live by those rules.”

You stand so fast, the wooden seat behind you clatters and falls. “Fuck you!” You yell, “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know anything about me— you don’t know how hard I've worked to recognize my issues and deal with them! You don’t know about our relationship.” You look at Javier, he’s completely shut down. You reach down and grab your purse, you gesture your finger between Lorraine, you and Javi.

 “You see— the difference between you and us is that we know we’re fucked up. Everybody is fucked up! But we are trying to take responsibility and grow. You—you’re the same mean spiteful girl you were when you made the conscious decision to trap Javier into a marriage.” Javier’s brain catches up with his body only barely when he stands. Lorraine watches his every move like she’s expecting him to stay. 

Your outburst harshly contrasts his tone when he does finally speak again.

“Lorraine—you will always be miserable and full of guilt and anger and fucking resentment for us if you don’t seek some help for your own fucked family trauma.” She stands too, wipes her face and you move away from her. You grab Javier’s hand and he stares at it for a second before following you toward the door. 

You step outside and Lorraine follows after. 

“Javi!” She calls from the doorway, crying hard. His brows furrow at her call, still holding your hand, he turns. 

A crack of sun shining on his face as he looks into the eyes of his former fiancée.

He shrugs, “I never want to see you again. You’ve made my life hell for too long, I'm tired of knowing you. I hope you figure your shit out for your—for your son.” 

It’s a harshness she deserves but a cruelty unlike Javi. You know it takes so much of him to be so headstrong. Your heart breaks for him as he turns away and drops your hand. Walking ahead of you as the sound of a screen door closing ends an excruciatingly long chapter. 

He raises his fist to his mouth in a motion and sounds akin to a cough but you know he’s hiding his tears from you as you follow him into the truck. You swing the door open and settle in, your heart beating so loud in your ears you feel like your cheeks may burst. Shortly he loads in, sniffling and crying in the way that he does. Continuous tears and furious shameful wipes. 

You’re so proud of him. 

You’re brought back nearly four years ago.

You in the car, with your head in your hands. Crying so hard you think you might drown. Replaying each word your father said to you, waiting for a comfort that cannot be provided by a kiss or a hug. But instead—

He wipes his face again with a shaky hand, he can’t seem to find the strength to away. 

You’re reluctant, afraid to overstep, afraid he won’t remember. 

Still you reach your hand over to his shoulder, up his neck and with your pointer finger and thumb you rub his earlobe. His simple gesture of, I love you, I’m your family.

 When he rubbed the beautiful bee earrings he got you in New Orleans.

You love him so much. You’re afraid to say it again. Instead you rub his ear to remind him. A quick pass that his brow relaxes at, your fingers caressing the shell of his ear. He leans into your touch for a moment before going frigid. You frown moving your hand to his jaw, holding his face with your face crumbled. 

You feel young again.

“When we were little—when we were young you’d always avoid talking about your feelings—or your personal problems when all four of us would get deep at 3 am. You’d listen to all of us but you always sat quietly.” You’re rambling but you picture the night.

 The summer before Javier’s freshman year, you, Genie, Frankie and Javier stayed under the stars way past curfew. The night Genie started crying when she told them about what happened with her dad’s friend. That sometimes she feels like the only person in the world who’s struggling. Frankie was already in love with her. He comforted her and talked about his dad. Which was a topic untouched between the two of you. You remember crying for him too.

 You told them about the way you felt inside, you sat there wondering if your brother would feel bad for you. And Javi, young, fourteen year old Javi said nothing. He just gathered you when you cried. And Javi, who still, sometimes says nothing, just put himself out there in a painful display of commitment to bettering himself. 

He knows what you’re talking about because his eyes soften at the mention. “I remember thinking how badly I wanted you to open up. How badly I wanted to comfort you in the way you comforted me-“ He closes his eyes and moves to part from you but you reach back out. “No— no one deserves to be manipulated and hurt in the way she hurt you. And i’m so—so fucking sorry I made you come here I thought it would be good for you-“

“Andrea-“

“No, Javi. Please. At Frankie’s wedding she got in my head— i’ll admit it. She made me feel ashamed of being in love with you—you told me you loved me that night and I’m sorry I didn’t say it back.” He wants to run, you know it, You see it on his face. “I can tell, I know you. She got in your head when she suggested that you’ll find another way to hurt me. But you won’t. I know you won’t hurt me again. You’re only finding a way to hurt yourself and I’m not letting that happen. When you hurt yourself—you hurt me, do you understand?” 

His hands come to hold to your wrists. “I’m not good for you.”

You chuckle through tears, “You think that’s enough for me to leave you alone, you’re out of your mind. Please can we go home.”

His skin is so soft under your palms, “I’m sorry.” He gravels out, voice thick with emotion. You couldn’t care for an apology, you don’t need any. “I—I need to be alone for a moment. I need to process alone I think. I’m sorry.”

Your chest swarms with worry. Your hands drop from the side of his face to his shoulders, you inspect his face and let a beat pass. 

“Are you sure?” You feel desperate. You want him to retract, you’re being bad but you hope he kisses you. He looks at your lips when you think this, he stares at you and looks pained. His hands remove yours from his chest and he turns towards the wheel, starting the car. 

He never answers and you drive in silence. It feels like a closing of a door, you’re not sure which. You look for an olive branch when he pulls into your motel lot. 

“Will you call me?” You ask, you try your best to let him feel on his own. After all, you were the one to put in place all these rules. Javier averts his gaze from you for a moment.

Then he does, his eyes soften at the sight of you. You’re vulnerable and open for him. Standing at the door of his car. “Yes. I will.”

A door inside cracks open. 

[antianakin]

I'm gonna toss your tags on here, too, since I'm kind-of responding to that, as well.

The amount of times I started an AU and it went WILDLY in a different direction than I thought are too numerous to count. Half the time I start an AU it's out of some level of bitterness or spite towards something I didn't like and then I spend a lot of time on those questions that are like "Wait would this character ACTUALLY do that? Is that ACTUALLY how they'd likely react?" and of course the most frustrating "Is that actually how I WANT them to react?"

My Caretaker Luke AU was supposed to basically be a very bitter answer to the question of what would happen if Vader actually survived ROTJ, and then ultimately it became an exploration of what might actually help Anakin HEAL in that situation, what would it take to truly help someone like him genuinely come back from that darkness he'd stewed in for almost three decades (because no matter what kind of sacrifices he made, there's NO WAY he'd be completely snapped back to being a good person if he survived, that bitch is STRUGGLING). I made an Obitine AU that looked at how miserable Obi-Wan would've been if he'd actually stayed with Satine and married her when he was in his teens and that ALSO ended up with an exploration of how to save Anakin (though for different reasons this time). Sometimes these fuckers have a mind of their own and the more I take myself down that rabbit hole the further from my original concept I seem to get. It's not always a bad thing, often it's still really fun, but it's such a weird experience to look back at all this work you've done and not quite understand how you even GOT here when this isn't where you thought you were going when you started.

I made a point in the last AU I came up with to just... ignore some of those questions to focus on what I WANTED to happen (in this case, I was ignoring how Padme realized Anakin wasn't good for her and how she managed to actually escape him and that relationship and what path Anakin went down afterwards as a result because I just wanted to focus on Padme's NEW relationship and how that helped HER heal). Why did things happen? Because I wanted them to, next question.

And while I'm not a writer really by any means, it seems like a lot of writing is just... finding a balance between following that rabbit hole and seeing where it leads, and knowing when to say "This thing happens because I want it to in order for the next thing to happen." Not everything NEEDS an explanation, but it can help YOU to flesh out the culture and its intricacies and where certain traditions and feelings came from in order to lend a feeling of authenticity to the story even if you never actually explain any of it in the final draft. Even if you don't end up using any of the purity culture stuff you put in your last reblog, hopefully it was still helpful to think about how you might answer some of those questions and work through what parts are important to keep and which parts you think ultimately don't work.

I found your thoughts on how the clones might end up feeling about the idea that their "species" as such might eventually disappear really interesting! I also personally tend to think of them as their own "species" in a lot of ways, but that's usually for my own internal purposes rather than a way to consider how the CLONES think of themselves. I often have only really considered how the clones differentiate themselves in terms of their lived experiences and not necessarily in terms of their physical differences. They're obviously visibly human and would pass as human to most people and I imagine there's probably plenty of clones who would prefer to simply be considered a slightly augmented human rather than considered a whole separate species, while other clones would prefer the opposite.

I really respect your willingness to consider how the clones might end up with problematic values as a result of their experiences, to give them qualities you would personally consider unlikable. I'm not quite as good at that, so I really admire the way you work through some of that, even if you ultimately decide you don't like it and don't want to use it in your worldbuilding.

I've decided that Rex is the one who paints Kanan's eye mask with his bird of prey design.

Kanan's feeling pretty low still just after Malachor, he's still distancing himself from everybody, and Rex decides to go try to talk to him at one point and the first thing he comes up with to say is to point out that his new mask is pretty plain. It's awkward, he regrets it immediately, but then Kanan says that it gets the job done and Rex is abruptly reminded of himself so so long ago back at the beginning of the war.

He sits Kanan down and tells him a story about how, at the beginning of the war, only a few of the clones had paint on their armor, to designate things like rank and battalion in order to make it easier for officers to find them in the middle of a busy battlefield. The paint was practical and it was limited to a very select few. But the Jedi almost immediately started trying to encourage the clones to utilize the paint less sparingly, suggesting that maybe everybody could wear at least a LITTLE paint and use more individualized designs so that it was still easy to tell the commanders and captains apart from the others when needed.

Some of the clones had taken to it with gusto, but others had been more hesitant, and Rex remembers having been one of them. He remembers telling Obi-Wan that there was no real REASON to paint everyone's armor and especially not to come up with personal designs. The armor was practical and it served its purpose with or without the paint and special designs. But the Jedi had insisted on at least TRYING to come up with his own design and if he didn't like it, he could always take it off, so Rex had given in and chosen something to paint on the armor. And, somehow, it felt a little lighter the next time he put it on. It didn't erase the horrors of war or the pain of loss or anything like that, but it helped.

He tells Kanan that the mask right now is just a reminder of the pain of the injury and whatever other feelings he's still got all caught up in the Malachor mission (guilt over what happened with Ezra, grief over Ahsoka's loss). But if he puts his own design on it, it might turn the mask into something other than a constant reminder of something bad. Instead, it's a reminder of who he is, the combination of the person he once was and who he's become. He is more than just his injury or this mission and he can use the mask to declare that if he wants to.

Kanan says he never realized Rex and the other clones had cared so deeply about their armor and Rex says that the armor itself was meaningless. It's better than what's being handed out to stormtroopers, but not but a LOT. It was the design on it that had meant something and, more than that, it was what the design REPRESENTED: having a choice about how you were perceived by others.

Kanan asks why Rex had chosen his particular designs, the bird of prey eyes on his helmet in particular. Rex explains that he chose it because he liked birds and thought it looked cool, but he's kept the helmet for as long as he has because it's come to mean something ELSE now. It's not just a cool-looking design, it's a reminder of a better time in his life. It's a reminder of when he'd been a part of something greater than himself, with the other clones and the Jedi. It's a reminder of a time when he'd had hope that he and his people could one day come out the other side of this war towards a brighter future.

Kanan looks at the mask he'd grabbed from storage somewhere or something just to keep light from hurting his eyes as they recovered and to cover up the injury from other people's stares (even if he couldn't see them staring), then hands it to Rex and asks if Rex minds sharing that symbol because he'd like a reminder of that, too. Rex remembers the 332nd and their helmets that they'd painted to look like their chosen Jedi, almost blindly giving away their individuality in favor of that loyalty that had been stripped from them anyway. And then he looks at Kanan, choosing to make himself look LIKE REX, someone who had shared his face with millions once, because he wants to honor both the connections he'd lost as well as this new connection the two of them have built together now. And Rex says he'd be happy to share.

[geraldmariaivo]

Another one of these

Damian’s new classmate is odd, though not nearly as unpleasant to be around as everyone else at the school.

He doesn’t seem to be from wealthy family, but he also seems mostly unconcerned with the punishments doled out by the school for “getting into fights with his peers,” unlike many of the students in on academic programs. He thinks himself stupid, but Damian would be worried about having him as a rogue from the things he’s seen the boy tinkering with if he didn’t know that Fenton had his heart set on NASA. He’s clumsy, but it seems to be out of habit rather than any true issues with balance and spatial awareness. He filled in Damian’s gaps in knowledge concerning social structures and how to operate within them, with only minimal prompting. Whenever Damian forgot a word or figure of speech in English, and used the equivalent in a different language, Fenton always understood.

He has a dog that he has yet to let meet, but claims that “Cujo isn’t really my dog, he just hangs around.”

He is clearly metahuman. If the abnormal body temperature, changing eye color, and ability to avoid Damian so consistently weren’t enough evidence, then the fact that his presence made Damian so at ease, made him feel safe, energized, and reassured of his own competence in some strange way the not even his father or Richard could, was the nail in the coffin.

Naturally, Damian sought out his company during lunch and group projects.

It was only logical to evaluate Fenton so as to make sure he knew what to expect should the boy be controlled either by extortion or by any of the rogues’ mind control methods. It was only a beneficial side effect that doing so made Damian feel safer, made his thoughts of inadequacy quiet down, and made it easier to rest without a weapon. It also helped that Fenton didn’t question things like most of his family did. His peer didn’t ask why he needed a nap after a 3-day weekend with no homework. He didn’t ask why Damian was out “sick” so often. He simply handed Damian a sleeping mask to make it easier to rest, even if he didn’t fall asleep. He gave Damian a guide to the shorthand he used for class notes, and filled him in on what he missed whenever he came home from being “ill.” He offered smuggled-in over the counter medications during study sessions freely, and with no question as to why Damian favored his right leg for the next week or so.

Damian saw Fenton during patrol once, when he and Batman had gotten to the crime scene after Fenton had broken the ribs of one of the robbers.

Damian would even go so far as to call Fenton his peer in his civilian life, though he would appreciate it if the rest of his siblings would stop teasing him about his “new friend,” and asking him “when are you going to invite your friend over?”

As tempting as it was to stab them into stopping it, he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Alfred’s disappointed stare.

This fondness for Fenton was the only reason he didn’t immediately hold a knife to the boy’s throat when it was clear that he knew about what had happened.

“What had happened” being Damian falling through his chair, and partway into the ground with no warning.

That, and Fenton’s response of “Damn, this is the first time I’ve seen you fall through something all year. What made you finally slip up? Family issues? Death day coming up?”

[silusvesuius]

nnnnnnnnnnnnno maa'am

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

So… An update…

(We’re watching episode 36 next, can’t recommend Toqger enough)

[krysmcscience]

I will be the first to admit I'm not the best at drawing animal or furry characters, but I wanted to get something scribbled down in my Non-Goof style, anyway. Plus, I've been enjoying the many reference pages folks were posting of their own designs for the Lamb and Narinder, so, uh. Here's mine, I guess! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

do not comment on how long narinder's tail is or i swear to the lamb i will make it even longer next time >:]

[pepperpixel]

“Can't remember when we walked past the O.R. sign!

(sur-ger-y!)

Can't remember passing out with her hand in mine!

(my-my-mind!!!!)

I remember waking up with my mind repaired.

(A-OK! ^^)

I remember when I realized, she wasn't there...”

Amnesia was her name….. is. so. horrifically. sadly fitting for these two in literally every single line. And I’m gonna NEED ALL OF U GUYS TO GO LISTEN TO IT NOW OK… THIS ISNT A DRILL GO GO GO GO!!!

Anyway… uhh. the fact Betty “blessed” this guy to like. An eternally long lifespan w THIS FUCKED UP OF A MENTAL STATE IS SO SCREWED UP GHGH- Like poor Simon god damn…! u kno he’d rather just keep on not sorting out his baggage and trauma forever too cuz it’d be too complicated… too much… force him to admit things about himself and about BETTY that he really really doesn’t want to… better to just leave it all unexamined.. pack it all into lil boxes so he can just try to ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist… HE GOTTA LIVE FOREVER W IT THO… *ME BANGING ON SIMONS DOOR AT 3 IN THE MORNING*: “SIMON U GOTTA ACCEPT URSELF!!!! LOVE URSELF!!!! ACKNOWLEDGE N ACCEPT EVEN THE “BAD” PARTS OF URSELF!!!! SIMON PLEASE!!!!! SIMON EVEN PPL WHO LOVE YOU AND WHO YOU LOVE CAN HURT YOU!!!! ACKNOWLEDGE IT!!! ACKNOWLEDGE THE HURT AND ACKNOWLEDGE UR FEELINGS!!!! AND URSELF!!!!! SIMON!!!!” anyway… gGHGH YEA, SRRY. SIMON PETRIKOVS MENTAL ILLNESSES MAKE ME FEEL LIKE IM GONNA EXPLODE. ANYWAY HAVE SOME ART. W a bunch of diff versions cuz I’m indecisive!

[stagefoureddiediaz]

New super delightful blog to block if you haven’t already - they are actively going through posts on the anti bt and anti TK tags and writing some truly horrible things and being super insulting - so not cool - I’ve put the screenshot of one of the comments they left me on one of my posts before I reported and blocked them (below the cut as the language isn’t pleasant and this is the tamest one!)

workinthemorning is the url

Feel free to reblog this - so others know too - let’s keep our side of the fandom safe from this kind of person and behaviour (and hope that side of the fandom also blocks them as well - I wouldn’t want to be associated with it if it were coming from this side and I found out!)

[tiredrobin]

i wanted to try shading this properly so mayb i will but. scratches chin. we'll see. anyway i might be doing mangacap and 98 screencap redraws for a while because idk how to draw. might reupload another version later xoxo