#I really just wanted to see if I could make less grainy gifs now

[fairycrackhead]

𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 | toxic fuck boy Gojo x toxic reader

pairing: toxic fuck boy.ᐟGojo x toxic.ᐟreader

summary: Halloween night is now engraved in your memory which you can only assume it will be for the rest of your lives. When you two should have been trick or treating as normal 14 year olds would do, you instead opt to take each others virginity’s. Now you two are stuck in an endless cycle of toxic bad romance.

warnings: mention of abuse, drunk people, porn, minors watching porn, minors having sexual Intercourse, slight degradation, having unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, hair pulling, mentions of murder, toxic relationship.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this was a random idea i thought up of when i heard the song ‘bad romance’ by lady gaga on the bus the other day! anyways this is my first fic i hope you sluts enjoy :)

⎜ 11:32 pm My Bitch (y/n) : your seriously a dick yk that?

⎜ 11:37 pm My bitch (y/n): i fuckin despise u

⎜ 11:45 pm Mr. Cock (Gojo): and your telling me again, y?

⎜ 11:47 pm My bitch (y/n): bc your w/ another girl like it’s clockwork, do you not see the problem here, Gojo? i asked you to stop the bullshit.

⎜ 11:49 pm Mr. Cock (Gojo): ur not my gf. im in for pussy that’s it. yk im not a relationship guy

⎜ 11:52 pm Mr. Cock (Gojo): and yet you continue to come back to me. pathetic honestly

⎜ 11:56 pm My bitch (y/n): fuck you

⎜ 12:00 am Mr. Cock (Gojo): already needy? 😂

You should’ve known what kind of man Satoru Gojo was when you lost your virginity to him on Halloween night, 2011. It’s not like it was forced upon you, besides the occasional talk in the middle school hallway that ‘girls who were virgins were prudes’ or ‘how pathetic is it that there’s still virgins in the 8th grade’. Looking back at it now, it sounds really stupid…like really fucking stupid. All those supposed ‘women’ they would call themselves, ‘women’ who just now learned how to correctly put a tampon into the pussy that they just mercilessly shaved, (more like butchered), were all still scrawny, pathetic little girls inside. Of course hearing all the chatter about everyone’s virginity losses, the stories that were so horrific it made you wanna vomit and change schools, made you insecure on the inside. It’s not like you hadn’t thought of sex before, it just wasn’t your current desire to have some undeveloped boy’s dick in one of those…holes down there. Which also brought up another concern for you: how to even do the act. You assumed that the other person would lead (which was a bad guess because Gojo was a fumbling inexperienced idiot as well).

And it was almost nothing like the old pornos your dad had playing on repeat on the old box tv. He’d spend all his off days (which were more than days he actually got his ass up and went to work), drinking, belching, an occasional scratch of his ass, and watching naked women dance around on the grainy tv. You guys never got the money to buy a new one, maybe if he went to his job down the street at the local corner store he could afford more than the crappy ten dollar pizza down the block.

But who knows, you’ve seen those disgusting scenes, at an age way too young to even comprehend, so did you really have any knowledge? You were a curious kid, not a dumb one, you could easily depict whether or not the porn on the screen was realistic or not. Most the time it was the latter. The overdramatized moans and screams made you wince, on more than a few occasions, but it’s not like the paper thin walls separating the living room and yours did much to help. From having no mother figure to really correct your behavior, and a father that couldn’t give a fuck less, it started your one of many issues. Discovering sex at a really young age, not the act itself but any form of porn an eight year old could get their sticky, grubby hands on. The noises from the tv haunted your mind in a chilling way, making you want to stay as far away from it as possible, yet were still so fucking intrigued.

Until it was the start of the 9th grade, and surprisingly the comments the ‘women’ made in the locker rooms were still present in your mind, not surrounding your every thought, but still there deep down in the back of your mind. ‘Girls who are virgins are lame prudes’. If only you knew that those girls were bluffing about the whole virginity loss thing, but it seemed convincing enough at the time. The way they described how their ‘mans’ bent them over countless times over their granite countertops, or on the elementary school playground. It sounds absurd now, but they had big boobs, and horny teenage boys liked big boobs, so it must of been true, right?

And now here you are, at an headache inducing party, or rave, whatever you wanna call it, watching Gojo talk to yet another girl, more like plain on flirting. She seemed like one of those girls that wouldn’t know if a forty pound dumbbell hit her right in the forehead, so just Gojo’s usual fuck of the night. All he did was stare at her boobs which were spilling out the corset of her trashy costume, and make very poor conversation. What a man whore. You could see Gojo’s shit eating smirk on his lips even from far away and in the almost completely pitch black room, only flashing lights that could cause seizures giving you any sort of seeing ability.

His eyes move from her lips to her tits. Lips—tits—lips—tits. You just wanted to knock the red solo cup out of his overly large fingers and put them somewhere useful. (Such as your aching cunt just dripping in anticipation.) You wanted to go to the nearest open bedroom, drag him by is weirdly hot silver chain, and let him have at you. But you hold back your desires, trying not to let into another spiral of emotions with this man, the same cycle that’s been happening forever now.

You practically crush your phone with your bare hand after receiving that last text, but you refrain and shove it back into your bra since your day to day purse didn’t match your outfit. You take a long deep breath, one you often had to take due to Gojo’s infuriating cocky persona. Walking over to the kitchen, a mini bar was set up in this random kids house, which wasn’t even his you assumed by the family pictures propped up on basically every flat surface.

You hated the parties your friends dragged you to, you felt too old to be in the scene of just barely legal adults blacking out and throwing up so much to the point of you having to look around before walking to avoid stepping in someone’s chunky puke. But to your surprise you actually enjoyed the noise, not making it, but watching others create it. It gave you some sort of distraction from your thoughts which seemed to consume and take over your life since the 9th grade. You wouldn’t call it trauma necessarily, it’s not like you knew you had a fucked up home life until you were fresh out of high school. People on the outside saw your drunken father, crappy rundown home, and the rotational three outfits you wore each week to school and saw it has straight abuse. On some level, the lack of care you were given could be seen as abuse by default, but you were a happy kid. Sure, you were exposed to porn by the time you were eight, but it was just normal to you…in some kinda depressing fashion.

Gojo came from a completely different background, whenever you stepped into his gated community it felt like you were in some other world, an insanely futuristic environment. He was rich, but he wasn’t cocky like those spoiled brats you see on those UK television shows like Super Nanny. At least not when you two had met. It wasn’t a close friendship necessarily, but you two enjoyed each other’s company’s to the point of having sex with each other, so maybe you were closer than you originally thought.

⎜12:08 am Mr. Cock (Gojo): don’t forget you made me like this. don’t get pissy abt what u created.

You dig your phone back out of your lace bra and scoff when you see the message, your hand threatening to go find this piece of shit and chuck your phone at his big head instead. You don’t answer, stuffing your phone back where it came from. You gently push other drunks out your way, reaching for a beer from the ice chest. Using your mouth (one Gojo would call very useful and efficacious), popping it open with your canines.

One thing you loathed about Gojo (not to mention the other 52 things written in your notes) was he thought you were the reason for his ‘fuck boy’ qualities. Yes, you both took each other’s virginity’s, it’s not like he didn’t want it, in fact he wanted it more than you, judging the throbbing of his cock when he first showed it to you. It always comes flooding into your mind every night, more so each Halloween. You came to resent the holiday since it only reminded you of that night 13 years ago. Despite it being over a decade ago, you still recall the nervousness and excitement that you felt when he finally came inside you. It makes you laugh when you remember how totally freaked you were, how you thought you’d get pregnant with his baby.

At that moment you repeated over and over again how ‘this was a terrible idea’ and ‘i hate that you let us do this’. It was an all around shit show for a good twenty minutes before Gojo finally snapped and yelled at you to get over it. Besides it not being the most calm way to handle your panic, it worked. Who could blame him, he was scared shitless too. You both ended the night by trick or treating, it was a kinda dud of a night considering typical trick or treating hours ended two hours ago during your private fun. Luckily Gojo spotted a house on your near midnight walk, a load of halloween candy left in a bowl on some old lady’s porch.

“We shouldn’t-“ but of course, he didn’t let you finish, pressing a shy brief kiss on your lips instead. He had a subtle blush on his pale cheeks, a blush you would only see now during your angry make up sex sessions. Grabbing your hand, and practically dragging you to the house. “Just grab the fuckin’ candy, ya scaredy cat.” He laughs, looking around the dark streets before snagging the candy bowl with a big orange pumpkin face plastered on the front, running off.

“Gojo! YOU FUCKIN’ THEIF!” you giggle, suddenly the porch lights flicker on like some horror movie, and your heart drops into your ass. The door swung open to have your neighbor, Mrs. Miller standing there seething, her mini chihuahua perched in her arms like it was her newborn child. Gojo stopped in his tracks, still heavily breathing like some out of shape forty year old.

“Why you little!” Mrs. Miller reached out to grab you, only for you to duck her failed attempt of dragging you back. Gojo jumped up and down with an amused smile on his face, calling out for you to run faster, which you try to comply as best as possible. You run over to Gojo as fast as your legs would carry you, locking arms and running to who knows where, you can’t quite remember each detail. After that point the rest of the night was a blur to you, still thirteen years later. The sound of Mrs. Miller’s feisty chihuahua, later identified as ‘FeFee’ chasing after you being the most exciting part of the whole ordeal. Gojo and you laughing your way home, still heaving from running so fast from the tiny animal, a ‘disgrace’ to the dog community as he called it.

You both promised that after the scare of possibly having to raise a baby at the ripe age of 14, (and almost having bloody ankles due to FeFee) that fucking each other would be a one time thing.

But it wasn’t.

“F-fuck..! mhmph—God!” He continuously rammed into you from the back, his hands gripping your waist so hard it felt like you had broken bones. Your halloween costume was now thrown somewhere in the corner of this bedroom, who’s bedroom? You had no idea, but at the moment you couldn’t give two shits.

“Yeah? You like that baby?” Gojo thrusted harder, making a broken cry fall from your lips like water. “Knew you c-couldnt…resist my cock any longer, bitch.” Possessed grunts come from him at each thrust and movement he makes. Vibrations from the music of the party travel through the walls, Gojo going deeper and faster to the sound of the horrible rave music downstairs.

If it wasn’t a party, people might of thought a murder was going on by the sounds of your wails of pleasure, but it was normal to fuck at a party, no matter the location.

Tears seep into the pillow that the side of your face was squished down onto, mascara running down your face as you sob from a mixture of pain and pleasure. “Gojo!” you sob, the pleasure becoming too much to bare, yet you couldn’t get the established safe word (which you two only made in 10th grade because you overstimulated him by riding his cock to the point of him passing out) to come out. His dick was that fucking good.

The sound of his heavy, cum filled balls coming in contact with your plush ass make you clench around his length, causing an animalistic moan from Gojo. A room echoing SMACK comes in contact with your ass, making you thrust your back into him, fucking him right back. The burning of the stinging sensation leaves you wanting more, the feeling of his hand still lingering on your left cheek.

Gojo begins going at an alarmingly hasty pace, his whole body aching for more of you, all of you, every single cell. The sound of your sloppy pussy squelching each time he pulls in and out, makes the heat in the pit of his stomach rise. By now you can’t see clearly, eyes welled up with tears and the remains of gooey eyelash glue. One of his hands leave your sore hip, grasping into your messy locks, giving it a good tug “MHMP! ….F-f—fuck!” This only causes him to yank your whole head back, you look up through your lashes, which are stuck together with a mixture of glue and sweat.

“Y-yeah,” he huffs, gripping your roots to a point of it being just downright painful. “keep looking at me….yeah mhmph—j-just like that.” The intense eye contact makes his thrusts even quicker and more efficient, his fat, squishy balls hitting your puffy clit over and over. “So fuckin’ tight for me.” Another hard spank wipes itself across both of your cheeks, the jiggle of them causing yet another guttural moan from Gojo’s throat.

Your soppy wet cunt drips all down his cock, his balls picking up the reminisce of your warm, flowing juices. Gojo’s fingers unravel themselves from your now frizzy hair, the thought of having to wash it later tonight makes you internally groan. His fingers make a slow, tantalizing path up and down your back, the contrast evident between his soft, gentle touch and his monstrous rock hard cock going in and out of your folds. Your face plants back down in the tear-drenched pillow case, the bed creaking from the force of your two bodies going at it.

His slow paced, soft finger touches come to an abrupt end when it meets your soft breasts. An aching cry sounding from your lips as his pointer and thumb mesh together around your now hard nipple. “Mhm…look at you…all whiny for m-me.“ He thrusts harder, your cervix feeling almost numb and incredibly bruised. At this point, your slobbering at the mouth like a dog with rabies, eyes rolling to the back of your brain each time his cock hits every delicious spot.

Gojo’s movements start to get sloppy, as well does the kisses he starts to place on your neck, back, and shoulders. The quick erratic pace starts to slow, forearms trembling from the strength he’s used to hold them on the side of your head all night. His thrusts are slow, long, almost like he’s grinding in slow motion, yet it’s not any less effective. Your thighs begin to shake with overwhelming pleasure, the pressure your body is holding in making you wanna scream it all out. “Mhmph g-gonna cum!” You practically scream a moan out, making Gojo’s lips turn upwards in a smug grin. His lips make their way from the left side of your neck to the middle, and then to the right, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in their wake. Dark red and purple bruised hickeys are now spread all down your body, surely to be left there for weeks to come.

“Nuh uh…not yet,” Gojo grunts as he feels your warm cunt clench around his throbbing cock for the millionth time that night. “This is my pussy…I g-get to tell you when to cum.” You almost wanna roll your eyes at his statement but your too drunk off his cock to care. You attempt to protest, the knot in your stomach becoming too hot to handle, but you get shut up right away when his fingers twist around your sensitive nipple once more, letting out a deep moan from your soul. Your hands grip the silk sheets in desperation, needing to grab something in order to keep you stable. “Mhm, tell me baby…who’s pussy is this?”

You cry into the pillow, pain, pleasure, and the feeling of being absolutely turned on in your whines. After not answering right away, Gojo grabs you by the hair again, yanking your head back, causing your neck to stretch to lengths you didn’t even know you had the flexibility to do so. “I asked, who does…this pussy belong to?” He says through gritted teeth. You feel every 8 inches of his cock in your stretched out pussy, every inch filling you up to as much as you could take. Each vein, the pounding pulse that acts as a second heartbeat, every thick, gurthy inch. When you don’t respond for the second time, too delirious to even understand what’s going on, he throws your head roughly back into the pillow, picking up his pace again.

Everything able to clench on your body does, gripping the pillow with such force that your knuckles turn white. Drops of sweat patter onto your back from Gojo’s forehead, the warm salty liquid making you squirm. Another sudden spank lands on your fat ass cheeks, and you couldn’t help but let loose. “FUCK—GOJO!” Strings of loud breaking moans and screams escape your mouth, sounding like a real murder now.

Gojo throws his head back once he feels your warm, sticky cum surround his palpitating cock. He pumps his dick back into you, pushing your cum back into your dripping wet cunt as far as his cock would let it. He himself finally let’s go, the thin string in his body snaps as his warm liquids mix with yours, in all too familiar feeling. His deep moans rush right to your core, the thrusts becoming inconsistent and sloppy once more. You hear the big analog clock from the entry way downstairs, giving you a slight reminder where the hell you were. Some random persons house, where his parents would probably be any second, and maybe you were even fucking in their bed. You bite your lip, slightly turned on by the fact of possibly getting caught, like you were a teenager back home, sucking Gojo’s cock before his father returned from work.

You whisper moan Gojo’s name over and over like a mantra, in other words, thanking him for finally giving you what your aching pussy had needed. You can tell he’s grateful too, being more gentle as if he had not just fucked your lights out. Caressing your back, like he did the first time this toxic relationship began back in 9th grade. Any memory loss from him talking to that girl just an hour ago was completely thrown out the window, even though you knew deep down you were just like her. One of his play things, the only difference was you weren’t oblivious to his motives. In fact you played into them, driving the toxicity just as much as he did. It made it fun that way. No matter how many guys you fucked, the number of cocks you sucked, the lips you kissed, none of them compared to his, and it made you feel sick in the most pleasurable way possible.

Gojo eventually pulls out, after speaking strange sweet nothings into your ear, which you haven’t heard since he was fifteen. You hated how it made your heart feel so warm, unlike the feeling of the cool air hitting your cunt. The cold air makes you wince, missing his cock already despite still feeling it’s outline in your folds. Fingers leave your hard, tender nipples, bringing them down to your dripping cunt, wiping the access off your thighs.

You start to come back to reality from the moment, the room still filled with humid sticky air caused by the amount of hot breaths and touches made throughout. The only sounds now being your heavy breathing, reminding you of the night you two ran away from FeFee, and slurping from Gojo, licking away at his fingers coated with your sweet salty release. Your folds still leaking with a mixture of your cum, trickling down your painfully sore thighs.

Gojo looks at the syrupy goodness leaking onto the silk sheets, a liquid you would only expect to see on waffles at the local cafe down the street. He finally collapses on top of you, softly massaging your right side, face pressed into the crook of your sweating neck. Placing gentle kisses on your sticky skin, bodies molded into one by your muggy bodies. You savor the moment, knowing deep down in your heart that things would go back to how they were in just a couple hours, fighting, screwing other girls and guys, and all together, a toxic romance.

You sit on the curb, voices from the party still able to be heard as you wait for your cab. You sit there like you’ve been through hell and back, you were if it meant having the best sex you’ve had in a good long while. Sitting on one cheek, the other still too sore to have pressure applied to it, you hear a ding from your phone. You wait a minute, trying to calm your pounding headache from both the alcohol and the amazing sex you just endured. The cool fall air blowing past you as you open the text you received, a small smirk tugged up your chapped lips.

⎜1:34 am Mr. Cock (Gojo): had fun. see u next halloween baby 🫴🏻🍑

[pdouwes]

Hi, I'm a big fan of your blog and your gifs in general! I was wondering if you had any tutorial on how you color? Particularly your Wicked and Hadestown gifs look incredibly gorgeous and the colors really pop, and I'm so curious as to how you achieve those effects. Amazing work overall :D

hiii, oh my god thank you so much!! 🥺❤️

i'm happy to show you how i color my gifs but pls note that i basically have no idea what i'm doing, everything i know i taught myself via trial and error and this is just something i found works for me.

that being said, here's a quick (and very messy) bootleg coloring tutorial under the cut!

okay so, when it comes to making gifs and coloring in general, good source material is key. bright and clear videos make the coloring process SO much easier.

i picked an old 2010 wicked oberhausen boot for this tutorial. it doesn't have the highest resolution but the colors translate nicely and the lighting is pretty good as well.

now, this is our base gif cropped and sharpened. i usually want my gifs to look as natural and as close to their base version as possible with just colors and contrast enhanced slightly. baby steps are important here!

first thing i do is add a brightness/contrast layer. these are my settings for this gif:

i rarely ever go above 20 with either brightness or contrast. adding too much early on will make your gif look grainy in the end. our gif now looks like this:

not much has changed but a little goes a long way, trust me. next up is a curves layer. i click the little arrow to open the drop down menu and select increase contrast (rgb). afterwards i reduce the opacity. for this gif i set it to 52%.

this will darken the gif again but it also gets rid of these white spots on elphaba's dress which is great.

next, we start playing around with colors. i usually use 3 color fill and one or two selective color layers. this really is just playing around until you find the settings that you think look good. for this gif i wanted to enhance the green and neutralise some of the yellow, so i went with two color fill layers first.

green to slightly enhance the green of elphie's skin and blue to neutralise the yellow in glinda's hair.

next we're going with a selective color layer. think of the colors you want to pop. for this gif the obvious choices are elphie's skin and glinda's dress.

i added a second layer to further adjust the greens

and ended up with this gif

i then added another color fill layer, set it to multiply and reduced the opacity to 12

followed by a color balance layer

the purpose of these layers is to slightly "cool down" the gif, meaning they decrease orange/yellow undertones while enhancing the blue and purple ones.

next up is a levels layer to add a tiny bit more brightness

followed by a vibrance layer to make existing colors pop

and another curves layer for more brightness/contrast with the opacity set to 50%

our gif now looks like this:

almost done! we're finishing up with a black and white gradient map layer for some more depth

and a cooling filter to further reduce the yellow/orange tones of glinda's face and hair

and that's it!

so, here you go. this is my coloring process most of the time. sometimes i add more layers (on top or in between), other times i use less, it all depends on the specific scene and the mood i'm in lol.

now, could you leave out some of these steps? yeah, definitely. some layers probably don't even make that much of a difference but i like adding them anyway.

you can download the psd here. feel free to play around with my settings and add or delete layers as you see fit. hope this was at least somewhat helpful!

[misharoux]

Never forget the best lip sync video in Syracuse Crunch history

[flochsdishwasher]

Back breaker.

Floch x afab! Reader

Floch popping, massaging and breaking our back bc my back hurts and I think I actually need a chiropractor.

My back is better now btw.

Idk why the gif is so grainy. It was fine before🤨.

I feel this is my worst yet ngl. I tried inserting “humor” to make me feel less awkward, but I feel it just made it more awkward and I just.

Anyways.

Feel free to correct any grammar mistakes cause I type really fast 😭.

There’s definitely going to be some mistakes so rip.

All consensual obviously.

Smut under the cut.

“Oh fuck.” You muttered, placing your hand on the lower part of your back as you hunched over In pain.

“I should’ve listened to captain Levi when he told me fix my posture. Ugh fuck my life so hard.” You put a hand to the wall to help balance yourself, continuing on with your head hung low.

The last thing you wanted was someone spotting you like this, so you tried to walk or at this point shuffle your way quickly to your room.

However the universe decided it despised you today and didn’t listen to your pleas to just get to your destination quickly and quietly without interruptions.

swift footsteps were present from behind you and only got louder as they got closer.

You shut your eyes anxiously, knowing that this person was going to see you whether you liked it or not; so you just decided the best thing to do was wait until the person passed you by.

Though that didn’t happen, and you became confused as to why you hadn’t heard the steps walk by you yet; coming to realize, there was now complete silence.

“Uh?”

The someone gasped from behind you.

“Jesus Christ!”

You turned your head languidly, looking over your shoulder only to see the last person you wanted to.

Floch.

You dropped your head back down instantly.

“What the hell are you doing standing there like that you weirdo!?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You told him before shamingly continuing your walk to your room.

He went from scared to cocky In only a second.

“Or what? You gonna hit me with your cane grandma?” He teased, tugging on your hair lightly.

“Fuck off.” You felt your face go hot due to his face getting closer to yours.

Floch only laughed in response, making sure to pinch your cheek in between his fingers.

“Come on babe, tell me why you’re walking like an old lady.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and turned you the other way so you could face him.

“My back hurts like a bitch. It even hurts to walk.” You whined out dramatically, leaning your head back on his shoulder.

“Well, luckily for you,” floch retracted his arm from around your shoulder and stretched his arms out in front of him, proceeding to crack his fingers along with rolling his neck. “-I consider myself to be one of the best chiropractors out there.” He finished smugly.

“Consider….yourself?” You stared at him confusedly.

“Yea. Confidence is key.”

“That didn’t make sense.”

“It kinda did. Cause like I’m confident I’m the best.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

~

“I can’t believe I actually agreed to let you do this.”

There you stood in floch’s room, hugging yourself around your chest with his arms wrapped around the front. He locked his fingers together and took a deep breath before asking you to do the same.

“Alright now relax your muscles.” You did as he said and let yourself go limp in his arms.

“Is it gonna hurt?” You asked in a curious, yet fearful voice. What if he broke your back? Well maybe not break it but make it worse?

“No way. You’ll feel 100% relieved once I’m done with you.” He whispered in your ear in a way you couldn’t really describe.

You hid your nervousness by letting out a laugh.

“What?”

“That sounded kinda-”

“Shut up or I’ll make it hurt.”

“Okay.”

Floch leaned backwards, squeezing you to him tightly as he took you up in the air little by little.

Three satisfying ‘pop’ sounds came from your back as your feet were now fully off the ground; You let out some very obscene noises as one final crack sounded through the room.

“fuck.” This seemed to be your favorite word today.

“You alright?” Floch asked, slowly lowering you to the ground. “More than alright. I feel like a completely new person.” You said while rolling your neck and shoulders.

“Wow Floch i- uh- you’re really-” floch put a hand out in front of him.

“I know, I know. I won’t tell you I told you so.” He confidently spoke with his eyes closed in satisfaction.

“I- okay I’m gonna leave.” You turned to head toward the door, but a quick hand stopped you before you could.

“Oh c’mon I’m joking. Stay a little while.” Floch tugged on your hand, grip firm, but not tight.

One look at his face and your knees were jello. the usual cocky, smug look he always had on his face was now replaced with a more soft, pleading one.

You couldn’t say no even if you wanted to.

You sighed with a smile.

“Okay I’ll stay.”

~

Now you definitely weren’t expecting this. Not at all.

If someone had told you as soon as you woke up that Floch Forster would be massaging your back with your bare chest pressed against his sheets, you would’ve told them they were fucking delusional.

No way did you ever see this coming. You and floch were close, yes, and you had to admit you kinda had the hots for him, but all of this was happening so fast. though as his hands kept rubbing and kneading at the tight spots in your back, you found it hard to care.

“Fuck! How did you get to be this good?!” You muttered out shakily.

Floch leaned down next to your ear, close enough to the point you could feel his breath hitting the shell of it.

“Practice, my love.” He pressed down on a particularly tight spot that made you suck in a breath before he leaned away silently.

After a while of more knewding, he used his fingertips and ran them down the sides of your body, gradually going up your spine.

You could feel goosebumps starting to rise on your skin from the gentle running of his fingers. you shivered, tucking your arms under your chest.

“Cold?” He asked.

You nodded.

He chuckled before speaking, “I know a way to warm you up but only if you let me.” His hands travelled down lower until they came in contact with your ass.

Your shoulders jumped at his new hand placement; he took notice to this and moved his hands back to your shoulders.

“So? What’ll it be? You know I’m really not afraid of the word no.” Floch removed his hands from you and instead placed them by the side of your head, looking down at the side of your face that wasn’t pressed against the pillow.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye before turning your body over completely so that you were now resting on your back and looking up at him. You grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a breath-taking kiss that knocked the air out of both of your lungs.

Floch was the first to pull away, a fat grin sitting on his red tinted cheeks.

“Is that a yes?”

“Obviously.” You breathily spoke before pulling him into another heat-filled kiss, tousling his hair and undoing his buttoned shirt halfway until his hand stopped you.

He pinned your hand by the side of your head, keeping eye contact with you as he pushed himself up to his knees.

You could feel your face burning hot and shyness creeping up your limbs when he kept staring down at you as he finished undoing the last of his buttons, sliding the sleeves off sensually, making sure you were watching him the entire time.

This was hot, too hot, you felt as if you could explode at any given moment now.

The heat in your stomach only increased as he leaned down once more to connect his soft lips with yours. It wasn’t rough this time, only light and gentle as if you would crack at the slightest movement.

Floch placed his hands at the hem of your pants and looked up at you, silently asking for your consent to remove your bottoms.

You nodded eagerly and even assisted him by kicking them off your feet, tossing them somewhere in the room. You pulled him back towards you, smashing your lips against his for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

Your chests collided, sliding against each other as you continued rolling your hips against his.

Floch grabbed the sides of your thighs and wrapped them around his torso. He then ran one of his hands down from the top of your shoulder to your bottom, giving the exposed flesh a rough squeeze before kneading over it gently.

You gasped softly into his mouth, soft gasps turning into loud moans as he pushed you harder against his bulge.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He moved his hand from your ass to your face, cupping it and pulling you into another deep kiss, you continued moving your hips against his, digging your nails lightly into his chest, leaving small crescent marks behind.

You were both eager to just touch each other, even now as you were both completely exposed and groping at each other’s bare skin. It just didn’t feel like enough.

“Please, touch me more.” You begged, grabbing at the back of his head desperately.

“Yea? Okay I will just calm down.” His thumb caressed the front of your cheek softly; that same thumb making its way down your front, pausing below your belly button and pressing down gently, then stopping at the skin just above your core.

He leaned down towards your lips, not pressing them against yours fully, but just lightly brushing them with yours, until finally slipping his index and middle finger down, instantly finding your clit the moment his finger came in contact with you.

You grabbed onto his forearm for dear life; your nails digging into his skin so harshly, he’d probably feel it days after.

“Shit, sweetheart, you trying to make me bleed?” Floch smirked down at you as he continued rubbing at your clit, pace a bit faster now. You said nothing, only loosened your grip on his arm, and smoothing your thumb over the marks in silent apology.

Floch’s cheeks flushed at the sight of you trying to soothe over the marks you made on him. Keyword: trying. Since he had started moving his fingers faster, causing your thumb to slip and your hands tremble.

He only smirked down at you though, wrapping his hand around your wrist and bringing it to the back of his neck.

Floch’s fingers swooped down lower until they reached your entrance, circling over it teasingly just to get a reaction out of you.

“Floch, please don’t fuck with me.” You begged, squeezing his torso with your thighs before spreading your legs and pushing your hips up towards his.

He only shushed you with a small chuckle, still circling his middle and ring finger around your hole.

You clenched your eyes shut in frustration, already starting to feel tears build up at the feeling.

“Awww c’mon don’t cry. I’m just playing around.” In one swift motion his two fingers were buried deep inside you, stroking over every spot before pulling them out just to push them back in.

Your hands clenched the sheets below you; you felt all the air had left you as his fingers kept pushing in and out of your hole.

“Is this what you wanted babe?” He touched foreheads with you, staring at your closed eyes with an amused smirk.

“Come on you were so talkative earlier, Touch me more floch.” He mocked.

You only shut your lips tightly, eyes crinkled shut as much as they could; though they opened abruptly as a warm hand patted your cheek twice to get your attention.

“I asked you a question,” floch’s pace increased greatly. “Is this what you wanted?” He breathily whispered, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and tugging at it harshly before letting it go with a pop.

“Y-y-yea, fuck!” You cried out when his finger hit your sweet spot.

you tried to clench your legs shut, but to no avail. Floch’s hands pushed them open, keeping one of his hands on the inside of your thighs to keep you in place as the other kept working inside you.

“You like how that feels?”

“Please! Just k-keep going!”

Your hips bucked up violently, still restricted by his hand but still moving. He kept on with his movements and never stopped even when you were twisting and turning like an animal.

He didn’t try and stop you either, just kept his eyes on your figure and face as you writhed around on the bed.

Eventually, floch pulled his fingers out from you; you whining in protest at the loss of feeling.

“Why’d you stop?” You questioned in disbelief. Floch only licked his fingers silently before responding.

“I want you to cum on my dick instead.” He answered nonchalantly, moving you onto your back with ease and placing your legs at the side of his hips.

He then pumped himself a few time before positioning himself at your entrance. Though he didn’t push himself in right away; for what felt like an eternity, he just rubbed at your folds, ignoring the way you whined and grabbed at his arms.

“Oh come on, please!” You dug your nails into his shoulder blades harshly, not even caring at this point because you were so frustrated.

Floch brushed your hands off of his shoulders and pinned them to the side of your head.

“Shh, or else you’ll have to wait longer.” He cooed down at you mockingly. You only groaned in response, but complied, relaxing your arms to which he let them go.

“See? There we go.” He grabbed the base of his length, running it down your slit before pushing the tip in slowly.

“Fuck.” You breathed out shakily, pressing your forehead to his shoulder to watch him slide himself inside you. “You feel so big.” Floch smirked into your neck, planting a small kiss there.

“Oh yea?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright then.”

He pushed the rest of himself inside in one motion.

“Oh my- oh my God!” Your throat closed up for a good 5 seconds before you were able to mutter out those words.

“Shit— loosen up a bit will you?” He growled out in a raspy manner, “you’re going to tear my dick off sweetheart.” He tried to joke and laugh but you could hear the slight fear present in his voice.

“Okay okay, sorry! I just haven’t done this in a while. Give me a moment.” You moved your hips for a bit, trying to get used to the feeling of something so big inside you.

While doing this you were able to brush against one spot that made you jump and scream in a pleasure you had never felt before.

“Did you feel it?” You heard him breathily mutter from your neck.

“Yea, fuck.” You continue to thrust your hips upwards to try and hit that one spot again, but a soft hand stops you in your tracks.

“Let me take it from here.” He pulled out, pushing himself back in immediately; only this time, he pressed a hand to the spot below your belly button, which increased your pleasure tenfold.

“How did you- how?” You asked, already feeling out of breath with just this little gesture. 

“I have my ways. Now just relax.”

Floch intertwined his hands with yours; he made sure that he was at eye level with you so he could see all your reactions as he fucked you into absolute ecstasy.

He started off slow, enjoying the way you would whimper and beg for him to go faster, then he slowly started to pick up the pace, but would halt and go back to his original pace, literally just teetering you over the edge at this point.

You cried out in frustration once again, feeling so utterly pathetic and embarrassed that you were this desperate for his dick.

“Not again, floch please, just please!”

He slapped you lightly on the cheek, enough to sting but not mark.

“What did I say last time hm? I said if you didn’t shut the fuck up you’d have to wait longer.”

He didn’t say that. He definitely over exaggerated that, but you’d make fun of him later. Right now you just found it so hot to the point you were having trouble breathing.

“You gonna quiet down now?” He was moving so painfully slow inside you, and you just couldn’t take anymore, so you nodded silently.

The corner of his lip went up at that.

“Thats a good whore.” (A/N ISTG pls.)

Floch didn’t go faster, but he did go harder. He made sure he hit that special spot inside you each time, though only briefly just to keep you on edge.

Did you say a word ? No.

You let him tease the hell out of you because you were that desperate for him to fuck the living daylights out of you. You wanted it, needed it, craved it. (A/n sorry anyways, please don’t make fun of me😔.)

“You’ve been real good with this. I think I’m ready to give you what you want now.” Your body jumped at that, wanting to just lunge at him and do God knows what. Punch him, kiss him aggressively, kick him? You weren’t sure so you stayed put.

He kept his eyes locked with yours as he pushed himself inside you, leaning down towards you slowly until his chest was pressed up against yours, neck arched up so he could still have a good view of your face.

And he didn’t blink.

Didn’t blink as he started off slow once again, though this time, his pace increased a lot faster, and soon enough, his hips were slamming against yours violently.

Loudly.

You let out what could be described as a mixture of a groan and whine; your throat was doing all sorts of things.

Floch kept on hitting that sweet spot inside you too. He’d see you jump and start elongating his thrusts on that one spot, also making sure to slam his hips harder against yours so you could really feel it.

“I never- ugh, thought that I could ever feel this good.” He whimpered out, bowing his head and looking down at the area where you were both connected. (?) A bead of sweat formed on the corner of his forehead, running down to the side of his eye; you absentmindedly reached up to wipe it off, not taking notice to him now staring at you with an unreadable expression present on his face.

You only took notice when he smoothly caressed the side of your face, bringing your attention back to him.

No words were said as he leaned down towards your lips, connecting them softly with his.

After about two minutes, he leaned upward for air, the two of you just staring at each other in silence the only audible sound being you and flochs uneven breaths.

“Wow.”

“Wow.”

“You’re a great kisser.”

“I know, you wanna-”

“Shut up.” And then you grabbed both sides of his cheeks, tightening your thighs around his hips before flipping him over onto his back.

You wasted no time in moving your hips against his; you were now in control and you weren’t going to take it for granted.

You pushed your lips against his again as you continued to roll your hips, moving from side to side, front and back and even going as far as spelling out the word coconut with your hips because you heard some talk that it made guys go crazy.

Boy were they right.

His thighs clenched, hands going to your ass to squeeze roughly.

“Where’d you learn that one?”

“I have my ways. Now just relax.” You imitated, to which he slapped your ass playfully.

“Don’t go stealing my lines now.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes ma’am.” You smirked and started moving your hips in a sensual manner; you wanted him to remember every movement you made, never forgetting the way you could make him feel.

That was it for him though.

“Oh god! I think I’m gonna-” floch didn’t finish his sentence though, as he had hurriedly pushed himself up into a sitting position, wrapping your legs around his lower back and readjusting himself.

He then went on to move you up and down on his dick, no slow starts either. Just fast and rough so you could both reach your highs.

“Shit! I think- I can feel it!” You yelled out, biting into his shoulder and running your fingernails down his back unceremoniously.

“Fuck, you got a harsh scratch babe.” He tried to joke, but failed yet again as his laugh quickly turned into a moan.

The headboard banged against the wall loudly, most likely to leave a dent and wake up the people next door, but you couldn’t feel any ounce of concern or fear. The only thing on your mind right now being floch and his holy dick.

You did voice your thoughts though.

“We m-might wake the people next door floch.” You struggled to get the words out of your mouth.

“Who cares besides you? Let them hear. I’m fact I want them to know how fucking good I’m making you feel right now!”

He intentionally raised his voice up an octave when coming to the end of his sentence.

“Why don’t we show them how loud we can get hm?”

“I don’t know flo-” he shut you up with a rough, sloppy wet kiss.

“Shut up.” He smirked, wiping the saliva from his lips with the back of his hand.

He dug his fingers into the flesh of your ass as he pushed you back and forth on his length.

“Oh God! I really think I’m gonna-”

“Cum.” He whispered in your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and tugging at it firmly.

And that was all it took for you to finally let loose, everything spilling out of you all at once.

Floch went stiff for a moment, lifting your hips off of his so fast that it was kinda scary.

Not even a second later, thick pearls of white cum erupted from his tip, and Floch let out the most loudest, sexiest, high pitched, moan ever known to man.

You were just a little startled at the sudden noise, but found it to be very fucking hot.

Then the silence was back, same thing with the only noise being yours and flochs ragged breaths.

“I uh- wow. I didn’t know you uh-”

“What? Knew how to pleasure someone?” He laughed.

“I know a lot of things. I’m just insanely smart.” Floch said, cocky attitude making a quick comeback.

You rolled your eyes at this, pushing at his chest so he was now resting on his back.

When you went to go down and kiss him, you felt that familiar pain in your lower back.

“Mm Floch, I don’t think you got all the knots.” You muttered out, embarrassed.

Floch only laughed in response.

“Don’t worry babe. I think I’ve got another way to get rid of those knots.”

“I swear to God if my back is broken after this-”

[neonlights92]

Night Changes: PART ONE

Jeon Jungkook has spent the last twenty years alone.  Single.  Solo. 

And that’s just the way he likes it.  That is, until he meets the supposed love of his life.  Suddenly he’s falling over himself at the chance of a real relationship with someone.

The only thing getting in his way? You.

genre: fuckboy!jungkookie, college!jungkookie, romcom, e2l (kinda)

A/N: my attempt at a college kookie story? enjooooy

--

Perhaps it is the universe telling him to stop drinking. 

Jeon Jungkook really needs to start listening to the universe, and stop listening to - well to put it bluntly - his penis. 

When he wakes up in another stranger’s bed, with a splitting headache, and lipstick marks scattered across his chest, he reckons he should start making better life choices. 

The young woman sharing his bed - a girl from the party last night, with legs that go on for miles - rolls over and blinks her eyes open sleepily.  She smiles at him.

“Hi Jungkook.” 

He racks his brain for her name.  Jisoo… Jennie… Lisa… Rose? 

He feels bad - he really really does - but what can he do?  He was seven tequilas in, when Taehyung convinced him that taking her home would be a good idea. 

“Hi…. You.”  He finishes lamely, smiling sheepishly. 

She blinks again, this time a little more furious.  Her eyes narrow after a moment. 

“You don’t remember my name, do you?”  She purses her stained lips, and Jungkook really does feel awful.

Or maybe that’s just the hangover. 

“I uh - maybe.  It’s.. Last night’s a little bit grainy for me, to be honest.”

She seems unimpressed, arching a well-groomed brow, “You’re in most of my classes at college, Jeon Jungkook.”

And really that’s when he feels like a complete asshole. 

“Shit.  I’m sorry,” He tries to place her - he tries so fucking hard - but he knows he doesn’t recognise her, and a worm of guilt starts niggling in the pit of his stomach.

She rolls her eyes and sits up, pressing a hand against her forehead and clicking her tongue, “Whatever.  Just get out.  Jerk.” 

Jungkook feels bad.  Seriously, he does. 

But he can’t help but share her sentiment.  

He scrambles out of bed, fishing around her bedroom floor for the jeans he so carelessly threw off, and the white shirt he’s sure is stained with something he’ll never be able to get rid of.  He stumbles into the clothing and turns back towards the nameless woman glaring at him from underneath the covers.

“Do you hate me?”

She rolls her eyes, “Get out of my house, asshole.” He winces.  He knows he deserves that.

“See you soon?” She shakes her head, and tugs a hand through her unruly hair, “Hopefully not.” Jungkook bolts out of there like his life depends on it but just as he pulls the front door open, somebody else blocks his way.  And suddenly everything in the world shifts, and he feels as though his heart has just split open right down the middle. 

Because standing in front of him, holding two bags of groceries, is an absolute angel.  

Jungkook thinks - no he’s certain - she’s the most beautiful woman he’s seen in his entire life, and now he understands the songs, and the sonnets and the plays.  This is what love at first sight is.

It has to be.

“Oh.”  She laughs a little, “Hi.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widen, “Hi.”

“You must be Y/N’s guest.” 

Y/N.  So that’s her name.

“Uh… Yeah.”

Her cheeks flush brightly, “I’m Soomi, Y/N’s roommate.” 

“Nice to meet you Y/N’s roommate.  I’m Jungkook.”

When she giggles, Jungkook feels like he’s ascended into another plane of existence.  

“Well it’s nice to meet you too.”  Her eyes lower to his haphazardly buttoned shirt, “Under the circumstances.” Jungkook feels stupid and wonderful all at the same time, and just as he’s about to do something crazy - like ask for her number, or ask her to marry him, even - somebody clears their throat from behind him.

In a moment, Jungkook remembers exactly where he is.  His heart drops.

Shit.

Y/N.

“I see you’ve met the asshole I slept with last night,” Y/N raises a brow and clicks her tongue, “You were just on your way out, Jungkook, weren’t you?”

“I… Uh…  Yeah.  On my way out.” Jungkook knows he has no right to feel dejected - after all he was the one who couldn’t remember Y/N’s name in the first place.  But he’s sure Soomi might very well be the love of his life, and he can’t possibly just walk out like this, can he? But when he turns to face Soomi he notices she’s already stepped out of the way for him… And there’s really nothing more he can do.  

“Well uh… It was nice to meet you Soomi,” He moves into the hallway and turns to give Y/N a half smile, “See you in class.”

“Like I said.”  Y/N pulls a face, “Hopefully not.”

Soomi giggles again and he feels like he’s been shot straight through the heart, “Bye Jungkook!”

The door slams shut in his face, and the moment Jungkook is alone he notices how quickly his heart is racing.  Oh god.

He’s in love. 

He has to be.

//

“Jungkook.  You’re being ridiculous.”  Jungkook’s roommate Namjoon rolls his dark eyes, “She is not the “love of your life.”  Stop being so dramatic, you sound like Jin.” Jungkook feels like his heart is about to burst.  It’s been less than three hours since he met Soomi and all he can think about is the curve of her smile.

“No.  I’m serious, Namjoon.  C’mon, when have you ever known me to feel this way about a girl?”

Namjoon sets his mug of coffee to one side and clicks his tongue, “Never.  I’ve never known you to feel this way about a girl.  Which only further proves my point - you’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re just made of ice,” He comments bitterly, “I’m serious Namjoon.  I’m in love.”

“Listen Jungkook you know I usually love to disagree with Namjoon,” This comes from Jungkook’s other roommate Taehyung who is slung across the couch lazily, “But I’ve got to say… This time he’s got a point.  You sound like a crazy person.”

“If you saw her you’d know exactly what I mean.” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes so hard Jungkook is surprised he doesn’t lose one to the back of his skull.

“It’s a girl Jungkook.  A girl you met for all of twenty seconds.” “She was an angel.”

Taehyung giggles, “You’ve really got it bad huh?” “My heart hasn’t stopped pounding since I left her.”  Jungkook feels himself deflate slightly, “I need to see her again.” “And how are you going to do that?”  Taehyung raises a dark brow, “Surely you don’t have any classes with her, or you would’ve seen her by now.”

“No but… I have classes with Y/N.”  Jungkook knows it’s a dumb suggestion.  

But he can’t help it.  He needs to see Soomi again. 

“Y/N as in the girl who you slept with and who’s name you couldn’t remember?”  Namjoon scoffs, “Even you can’t be dumb enough to think she’d help you out of the goodness of her heart.”

“No… Maybe not out of the goodness of her heart.”  Jungkook agrees, carding a hand through his cherry red locks, “But I can figure out something she wants.  Y’know… Mutually beneficial.”

“I hope you’re not talking about your penis,” Taehyung pulls a face. 

“Have you not been listening for the past hour Taehyung?  I am in love with Soomi - I’m not about to sleep with her roommate...Again.  I’m a one woman man.”

Namjoon pushes himself to his feet, “Your only hope is that she’s in love with somebody else.  Somebody you could potentially help her seduce.”

Jungkook stands too, “That’s brilliant.” “What about Hoseok?” Taehyung cocks his head to the side, “Everybody’s in love with Hoseok.”

“Do not drag Hoseok into this Jungkook.”  Namjoon gives his friend a pointed look, “I’m serious.  He’s still heartbroken over Alexa.”

“Alexis,” Taehyung corrects, “Why can’t you ever bother to get the names of our girlfriends right?”

As Namjoon and Taehyung argue over Namjoon’s inability to remember names correctly, Jungkook starts thinking of all the ways he can convince Y/N to help him with Soomi.

It’ll be a piece of cake.

Or so he hopes.

//

Monday morning rolls around and Jungkook spends practically every minute from the moment he leaves his dorm scouring the campus for Y/N.  She isn’t in his first class of the day - or even the second.  By his third class of the day he starts to wonder if maybe she’d confused him with someone else.

Maybe there’s another Jeon Jungkook on campus who sleeps with attractive women and forgets their name in the morning.  Somebody else is stealing his game.

But then - like a vision from heaven - she walks into his political science class as if she isn’t the key to all his happiness. Her eyes flit across the lecture room and when they land on Jungkook she glares.  He wants to sink back against himself but he refuses - instead he smiles widely and gestures for her to sit in the empty seat beside him.

She shakes her head as if he’s crazy (and to be honest, he might be) and instead moves towards the very back, sliding into a seat all on her own. 

Jungkook grunts.  He can’t really blame her. 

Still.  Does she really have to make things so difficult?

He grabs his books and shuffles over to where Y/N is sat, engrossed by something on her phone.  When he looks closer he realises it's one of those pimple popping compilations on Youtube.

Gross.

Jungkook clears his throat and when she looks up her expression morphs from surprise into annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“Sitting beside my new friend,” He grins wider, “Y/N.”

Her eyes narrow into slits, “What do you want?”

“To make amends,” Jungkook answers immediately, “I kind of feel like an asshole.” “You should.”  She gives him another look of annoyance, “But I’m also not stupid.  You’ve got the hots for Soomi, haven’t you?”

Jungkook feels his stomach drop.  Is he that obvious?

“Everyone has the hots for Soomi,” Y/N waves her hand noncommittally and gives him a once over, “Though not everyone has slept with her roommate.”

Jungkook winces.  It’s clear Y/N despises him.

“Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

“For forgetting my name or for giving me the worst head of my life?” The insult sears him.  Jungkook may be a little bit of a lady’s man but he’s always been determined to please his lovers.  He wishes he could remember any part of their tryst (to prove her wrong, more than anything) but once again he draws a blank.

“I can make it up to you.” She raises a brow, “I highly doubt that.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to argue with her - before Y/N’s attention is stolen by the figure that has just walked through the double doors of their lecture room.  Jungkook follows her gaze and smirks when he realises who she’s staring at.

“So you have the hots for Park Jimin then?”

Y/N’s eyes snap up to meet his and she seems flustered, “What?”

“You just looked at him like he rearranged the stars to spell your name,” Jungkook’s smirk widens, “You like him.”

Y/N looks ready to smack him across the face.  

“Shut up.”

“I’m not wrong though, am I?” When her eyebrows dip into a scowl, Jungkook knows he’s won this battle.  He leans towards her, conspiratorially. 

“I know Jimin well.”

That’s kind of a bold statement (and kind of a lie.)  Jungkook knows of Jimin.  He’s on the same dance team as Taehyung and Hoseok - two of Jungkook’s closest friends.  That’s enough of an in, isn’t it?

“No you don’t.”  She mutters with a roll of her eyes, “I can see where you’re going with this.”

“No seriously.  He’s best friends with Kim Taehyung,” Again a slight overstatement, but Jungkook doesn’t correct himself, “And Taehyung is like my brother.  We grew up together.”

“So what?  You help me out with Jimin and I have to do the same for Soomi?”  She scoffs, “Soomi and I are best friends.  I don’t want to lie to her.” “It wouldn’t be lying.”  Jungkook’s voice pinches a little, “It’s just helping fate along.” “Fate?”  Y/N’s expression morphs into one of disbelief, “Oh my god.  You really do have the hots for her.” “If cupid himself descended to earth and shot me in the ass with an arrow, I’d feel exactly the same for her.  Seriously.”

Y/N seems to contemplate the suggestion.  Her eyes move to meet the back of Jimin’s head - where he’s sat in the front row - and she sighs heavily.  Jungkook tries to read her face. 

Is she softening up to the idea?

“Let’s say I agreed to help you.”  Her voice is flat, “How can I be sure Soomi won’t just be another notch on your bedpost?”

Jungkook feels his chest constrict, “I resent that.  Just because I have more experience than others doesn’t mean I’m an asshole.  I don’t pursue women with the intentions of fucking them over.”

He won’t admit it but that assumption kind of pisses him off.  

When Y/N is quiet a moment longer, Jungkook sighs and tugs a hand through his hair. 

“If I do fuck her over…. Which I won’t.  I give you full permission to start a rumour that my penis is the size of a cocktail sausage.  I won’t even deny it.”

Y/N’s eyes widen and Jungkook notices (but doesn’t comment on) a red flush to her neck.

“Alright.  Fine.  I’ll help you out with Soomi, if you help me out with Jimin.”

Jungkook has to force himself not to punch the air in triumph.  Instead he grins - nice and wide - and nudges Y/N playfully, “I think this is the start of a very beautiful friendship.”

She groans.

“I’m already regretting this.”

//

Jungkook sends Y/N a text message the next morning, bright and early.  He doesn’t expect a response from her - he assumes she’s more of a night owl than an early bird - but then his phone pings in response and he has to say he’s a little surprised.

Jungkook: good mornin’ y/n… this is cupid calling 

Y/N: y’know..  I knew giving you my number was a bad idea 

Jungkook: oh c’mon don’t be like that, now that we’re friends you should definitely start warming up to me

Her reply takes a little longer but Jungkook isn’t worried.  Despite what she feels towards him, Y/N thinks her only way to Jimin’s heart is through Jungkook.  So she’ll just have to put up with it.

Y/N: I just puked in my mouth at the thought of warming up anywhere close to you.  Gross

Jungkook smiles at her response.

Jungkook: I think you like me more than you're willing to admit.  Anyway we need to get on with our…. Agreement.  Want to come round this evening to discuss arrangements?  I’ll even throw in some pizza and beer.

Y/N: I only like hawaiian.

Jungkook: Disgusting.  You and Namjoon will get on fantastically then.  Alright hawaiian it is. 

He sends her his address and when she replies with the puking emoji he laughs despite himself.

Maybe she’s not all that bad.

//

“Pineapple on pizza is a cardinal sin.” Y/N glares at Jungkook as she tucks into her third slice, “Why are you hating?”

“I just - I don’t get it.”

Y/N had arrived at his apartment earlier that evening with a six pack of beer in what Jungkook had assumed was a begrudging olive branch.  The two of them had spent the last hour discussing the delicate intricacies of mario kart, and Jungkook had found himself enjoying her company more and more.

He hated to admit it but she was kind of cool.

Only kind of, though.

“You don’t get it because your taste buds are subpar,” She moves her mouth into a small smile and Jungkook almost gasps at the gesture, “Hawaiian is the only acceptable way to eat pizza.  Period.”

“Y’know you look much cuter when you smile,” He quips, watching as she chokes on the last piece of crust, “You should do it more often.” Her eyes narrow into a glare, “I smile at people who bother to remember my name.”

“I thought you’d forgiven me for that.  I’m helping you out with Jimin aren’t I?”

Y/N laughs - and Jungkook is surprised at the warmth in her tone, “At a price.  Or are you forgetting I’m setting you up with Soomi?”

“Which reminds me,” He scoots closer towards her, pushing the pizza box out of the way, “What’s our plan of action?” Y/N seems to pause for a moment, her eyes flicking nervously across his face as she tucks some of her hair behind her ear.  Jungkook doesn’t comment on her sudden shift in behaviour, but he notices it. 

Man.  Girls are weird.

“I thought maybe… You could come over one night, to watch a movie or whatever.  And you could ask Taehyung and Jimin to join, too.”

Jungkook nods emphatically, “That’s a good plan.  Something intimate to really plant those seeds of love.”

Y/N laughs again and he notices the crinkles at the sides of her eyes when she does so.  Weird.  Why hasn’t he seen those before?  Admittedly… It’s kind of adorable.

“Plant those seeds of love,” She pulls a face, “You really are a wordsmith, Jeon Jungkook.” 

“Is it any wonder when my major is English lit?”

“Me too,” She cocks her head to one side, hair falling out from behind her ears, “Makes sense why you’re in most of my classes.”

Jungkook feels kind of (very) guilty as memories of their morning together are brought back.

“I really do feel like shit for not remembering you.”  He rubs the back of his neck in that universal boy sign for awkwardness, and clicks his tongue, “I wish I had.”

She shrugs, her eyes darkening a moment as she looks away, “It’s alright.  I’m kind of used to it to be honest.  Always been more of a... Background kind of person.” 

Jungkook clucks, like a mother hen disappointed at her chicks, “Hey don’t say that about yourself.”

When Y/N moves her eyes to meet with his own again, Jungkook notices she doesn’t seem angry or bitter.   Just resigned.

“But it’s true,” She licks her bottom lip and smiles almost sadly, “Soomi’s always been the centre of attention everywhere we go.  And I’ve known her… Forever, really.  So it makes sense.  Someone always has to take the back seat.  I don’t mind it.  Suits me just fine.”

Now Jungkook really feels like an asshole.  When she was prickly, it was easy to shove everything under the carpet, and pretend that not knowing her name wasn’t sort of horrible.

But now she was being nice, it made everything a hundred times worse.

“I’m sorry Y/N.  Really.”  

She meets his gaze again and smiles - this time a little lighter, “Don’t worry about it.  Now you know who I am… And you’ll never forget it.  Not least because I’m the love of your life’s best friend.”

Jungkook feels kind of awful right now, but he knows that apologising again will probably only annoy her.  He tucks his guilt somewhere into the back of his mind and smiles widely, trying to ease the mood.

“Right.  And I’m the person who is going to help you snag the man of your dreams!” 

She laughs at that, taking a final chug of her beer before setting the empty bottle to one side.

“Park Jimin here I come!”

“You’ve got a one way ticket to Bonetown and Jimin is flying first class!”

She laughs louder, this time snorting, “That makes no sense, but I’ll take it.”

They spend the rest of the evening hanging out in a way that feels strangely familiar, and it’s only when Y/N’s head begins to lull to one side that Jungkook realises it’s past three am.  And as he orders her an uber home, and insists she takes the final slice of pizza for the journey home, Jungkook realises that Y/N is more than just kind of cute.

She’s kind of great.

//

Later on that week, as Jungkook fills Namjoon and Taehyung in on his progress with Y/N, the former seems less than impressed.

“This is only going to end badly.”  Namjoon shakes his head, “Haven’t you ever seen a romantic comedy?  Shit like this only ends in tears.”

Jungkook takes a swig from his beer and rolls his eyes, “Have you ever tried to be positive a single day in your life Namjoon?  Y/N agreed to help me.  It’s progress.”

“But you dragged me into it,” Taehyung seems unimpressed, “And I told you me and Jimin aren’t even that close.”

“Okay so I might have embellished slightly….”

“Slightly?  You called us the best of friends,” Taehyung groans at his friend’s stupidity, “I’m not sure Jimin even knows what major I’m taking.”

“This is the most Jungkook problem of all time,” Namjoon guffaws at the situation, “How the hell are you going to sort this out.” “Tae - I just need you to convince Jimin to come on one date.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “I don’t know him that well, Kook.  What exactly am I supposed to say?” 

“I don’t know but you once convinced your mom those nudes of you that got leaked senior year of high school were actually for an art project,” Jungkook pleads with his friend, “I know  you can do this.” Taehyung laughs at the memory and pulls a face, “If he says no though, there’s not much else I can do.” “Fine.  But at least try.”

Jungkook knows that the universe is working in his favour.  It has to be.  The moment he laid eyes on Soomi he knew he’d never be happy again without her.

“Alright Kook I’ll try.  But I’m not making any promises.” Jungkook grins, “You’re the best.”

“I know I am,” He leans further back into the couch and grabs a slice of the pizza Namjoon ordered, surreptitiously picking off the pineapple, “Now what are you going to do about Y/N?” Jungkook raises a brow, “What do you mean?” “Well you described her as a she-demon,” Namjoon snorts, choking on some of his beer, “How exactly is that going to seduce Jimin?” “Remember everyone loves him,” Taehyung tacks on - less than helpfully - his smirk growing, “She’s going to have to get in line.” “Everyone does not love Jimin.”

Taehyung scoffs, “You’re kidding right?  I once watched him turn down three girls in one night.”

“Yeah.  This girl from my psych class says he’s still heart broken from his ex,” Namjoon seems to be enjoying Jungkook’s predicament a little too much, “Says he won’t even give anyone a chance.”

Jungkook refuses to let his friends’ pessimism get in the way of his elation.  He’s one step closer to Soomi, and if Jimin thinks he can be the one to stand in his way he’s got another thing coming.

“I’ll make it work.”  He answers with more confidence than he necessarily feels, “Besides, Y/N’s not that bad.  In certain lights she might even be considered kind of… Cute.  She’s just a little...brash.”

“Could her brashness towards you be due to the fact you forgot her name after an evening of vigorous love making?”  Taehyung gives his friend a knowing look, “I mean that would probably even hurt you Jungkook.  And you’re the master of not giving a fuck.”

“I apologised.”  He says it like that should fix everything, but in the depths of his heart Jungkook knows forgetting her name was kind of (really) shitty, “Besides.  If I really do set her up with Jimin and this all works out perfectly she’ll have a lot to thank me for.  Might even forgive me.”

Taehyung laughs and Namjoon pulls a face.

“We live in hope.” “That we do Joon.” Jungkook grins, “That we do.”

//

[hologramcowboy]

This kind of got away from me so it’s much longer than I anticipated.

Jensen gives me the worst second hand embarrassment when he tries to use A list actors for clout. He did it with Ben Affleck a few years ago (they both auditioned for Pearl Harbor) and now he’s doing it with Chris Evans. Why he thinks losing a role to someone is a bragging point I’ll never understand because it’s essentially admitting you didn’t have the talent required for the role. And let’s say he has gone to the final two with Chris Evans in the past. It would have been before Captain America, so it would have been for a leading man in a rom com or a small TV role, nothing prestigious like he was hinting at. Danneel has done the same thing in the past, acting as though her role in a TV show or movie was much bigger or more prestigious than it actually was. I don’t know why he would decide to mimic this behavior, he’s had a front row seat to how it didn’t work out for her.

His sudden desire to be a big star is so odd, though I suppose it’s not so sudden and has been building up slowly over the past several years since he realized that Supernatural wouldn’t last forever. I don’t think it’s going to happen for him. Not because he’s not handsome enough or talented (though I do think he got very lazy along the way, his acting in the first 6-7 seasons of SPN is leagues ahead of what he’s showcasing now) but because he doesn’t want to play the Hollywood game. Being cast on The Boys is a great start. It’s still TV which he’s familiar with, but it much more respected within Hollywood than network television. But it’s only a start, he has a lot more work to do if he wants the fame that he appears to be seeking.

The very first thing he should have done as Supernatural wound down was find a public persona and stick to it. He’s been so all over the place, even his fans have no idea what’s going on with him. He’s tried branding himself as a family man, as a laid back guy from Texas, as a quirky, eccentric rich guy with an equally quirky wife, as a gruff but lovable asshole and I’m not sure what he’s currently going for but to me he just comes off as a self absorbed guy too big for his britches. The only consistent thing has been that he’s kind to fans, though the last con in NYC where he “joked” about the poor prequel response makes me think we might see the end of that soon.

The second thing he should have done was raised his public profile. The most extreme version of that would have been moving his family to LA or NYC and calling paparazzi to take photos so that he could be in the mainstream media regularly. A harsh reality, but all famous people do it until they finally are famous enough that they transcend manufactured media attention. He and Danneel did that semi regularly from when they went public to a little after JJ was born, and recently the family trip to Disney. Those were not fan photos, Jensen looked too poised and happy, they were taken all over the park, the camera/quality was too high (they would have been super grainy if they were taken from far away on a phone camera) and only one showed the children (and you couldn’t even really see JJ in that photo). If they had been fan photos, they would have all occurred in the same location, would have been very candid, low in quality and his family (Danneel, JJ, Arrow and Zeppelin) would have been in them not just him. A less extreme version would have been regularly appearing on podcasts or daytime talk shows (he doesn’t have the fame for late night). Now we all know why he didn’t take the podcast and talk show route, he does not come off well at all when he opens his mouth. That cocky, abrasive personality is even bleeding over to his carpet appearances and interviews. At the very least he and Danneel should have been active on social media. I’m including Danneel because she’s not going anywhere any time soon and Jensen is apparently hell bent on bringing her along for the ride.

He should have been posting behind the scenes pictures from The Boys like the rest of the cast, or snippets of the work he’s doing at FBBC or for the next Radio Company album. Occasionally post a more personal family photo or couples photo. I understand that he’s a private person and that’s why he doesn’t really use social media, but you kind of have to pick between fame and privacy. Danneel should have kept up her wife and mother of three schtick, because we all know she has nothing else to offer to boost Jensen’s standing. She hasn’t worked in years, and her last role was a handout one on Supernatural. I don’t even want to call her an out of work actress because that’s an insult to out of work actresses. So her role is to prove that Jensen is an honorable family man and give fans a look into his life. She should have kept her slacktivism to a minimum and boosted her own standing by posting anything she was able to about Chaos Machine Productions as a “hey look, I’m more than just a gold digging underachiever who couldn’t make it in Hollywood!” Instead, she pretended to be an activist for a short amount of time until everyone cottoned on to the fact that she’s a fraud and then pretty much abandoned her social media. Only 4 posts so far for 2022, and the occasional post on her stories. My theory is that she posts mostly stories because she couldn’t keep up with constantly deleting comments and picking fights with Jensen’s fans.

I had a brief moment of hope for Jensen when he hired a new PR manager, but that died quickly. I think he got used to being the big fish in a little pond, wanted more and then quickly discovered he’s not cut out to be the little guy. He’s used to his privacy, being able to do whatever he wants without being questioned or told no, and being worshipped by his dedicated fan base. Now he’s dealing with people who could care less about who he is (whether it’s fans of The Boys or people on social media who destroy him every time he makes it into entertainment news) and casting directors who are treating him like any other Tom, Dick or Harry. I think he thought that everything post Supernatural would be like getting his gig on The Boys- calling someone up and being pretty much guaranteed a job.

Beautifully written, Anon. Thank you for blessing my feed with this post. ❤️

You've already covered everything but I just want to add a few points: "Danneel has done the same thing in the past, acting as though her role in a TV show or movie was much bigger or more prestigious than it actually was." This right here is one of the worst things and Actor can do and it can lead to being blacklisted, casting directors and agents, managers, etc hate it when an actor takes a credit and turns it into something it is not. It's full on lying and people get caught because background checks are done. I remember Danneel's ridiculous interviews in which she made it seem like she was more than just a two line role in a movie with JLo, she also had other interviews regarding other movies where she acted the same. Thank you for noting that Jensen needed to get his branding in order, people get so angry when I write this but it's key to his business. Like it or not, an actor is an entrepreneur and he himself is the product. Jensen is confusing his buyers, like you so beautifully exemplified. Jensen being hellbent on bringing someone as low tier and skill as Danneel is one of the main factors that lower his credibility, like you noted. Yes, he should have focused on promoting his projects instead of badmouthing productions and other actors or trying to create needless comparisons like he appears to be doing now. It all screams insecurity and in the case of the Jessica remarks, unreliability and a production risk. No one wants people around that minimize projects or other people because the industry runs on marketing. He needs to find ways to promote himself intelligently rather than arrogantly unless he wants to rub people in the industry the wrong way. I hope you don't mind I added a few thoughts, I'm going to stop here because I want everyone to read your post, it is flawless.

[msdanvers]

hi, i love your gifs! i’m wondering, (assuming you use photoshop for your gifs) do you use a downloaded color pack to help with the coloring of your gifs? or do you just have a magical recipe of mask layers you use to get such great coloring?

thank you!!!! you're so kind :) and yes, i do use photoshop! there's no magical recipe i'm afraid, every scene is different and what works on one gif can look absolutely awful on others. but i did learn how to color by downloading psds other people made at first!! it's a great way of learning new things, and i would definitely recommend you try it. i found them on deviantart mostly - just search for 'psd', and download a couple that look good. then try them out!

i'll add a little tutorial as an example, for which i downloaded this psd (add it to your favorites if you use it too, to support the creator)!

okay so step one: open the psd in photoshop and make sure that you have 'properties' visible, so that when you click on a layer, you can actually see what they did (go to window and make sure properties is selected), and tweak it if you want to. like this:

then of course we need to make a gif, i'm gonna assume you already know how to do that but if you don't, feel free to shoot me a message if you need any help! and i'm a bit tired so please also send me a message if any of this is unclear or i forgot to explain something! i'll use a gif from my last gifset, which without any edits looks like this:

and when you put the psd on top of it, it'll look like this:

that's pretty good, right? now, what i usually do is turn the individual layers off and on one by one to see if the gif looks better with or without them (for example, maybe the gif is more vibrant than you'd like, and turning off one of the vibrance layers makes it look better). in this case, i didn't delete any layers, just adjusted the opacity of some of them: i lowered the opacity of 'Channel Mixer 11' to 60% and the opacity of 'Exposure 2' to 20%. now it looks like this:

and that could be all you need to do! we got lucky this time and it looked good right away - it's a well-lit scene, and the psd is nice! but maybe you want it to be purple! (add a hue/saturation layer, go to cyan, and set the hue slider to +43)

or maybe you do like cyan but you want it to look softer and less vibrant! in that case, make sure you change the vibrance and saturation layers at the bottom first, because removing saturation after adding it makes your gif look grainy (unless you want it to be grainy of course!!). i turned off all the vibrance layers and added a new folder with three layers: (1) hue/saturation, where i lowered the cyan saturation to -28, (2) selective color where i made the red a little more cyan (+6) and (3) gradient map, black and white, with the checkbox 'reversed' checked, with the opacity set to 10%. this is the gif now:

etc!

but you probably want to learn how to do all of it yourself! i'm not gonna lie, you're gonna have to spend Some Time to figure out how the different adjustment layers work and what you can do with them. but seeing how other people use photoshop really helps! and googling stuff helps too. or asking me!

p.s. there's a 'gradient fill' layer in this psd - it was likely made for images, not gifs, and this is one of those layers that doesn't automatically adjust to the length of your gif. so make sure it doesn't look like this:

but like this:

to make sure this doesn't happen:

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

-

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

-

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Phoenix (Pt. 3 | S.R.)

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue |

Summary: Reader takes a few trips to the hospital. An old friend returns. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Angst Content Warning: Pregnancy, miscarriage Word Count:  5k

MASTERLIST

There was something inherently odd about the prenatal ward in the hospital. Although everyone was happy to be there, it was difficult not to be nervous. It should've been a happy occasion - and I'm sure it was for most people - but all it did was remind me of how fragile life really was.

The anesthetic still made me nauseous. The overly joyous technicians seemed almost unsettling. Plus, the ultrasound transducer pressing into my occupied uterus was always an awkward sensation.

“And… if you hear that..." started the chipper technician. She didn’t need to finish the sentence; I already knew what the sound was.

The soft thump, thump, thumping pulsed through the machine and shot straight through me. I sat up straighter, one hand instinctively going for my gel-covered belly but never actually making it there. The other remained where it was, gripping Derek's hand with enough force to make even him wince. He didn’t seem to mind, though, considering he was grabbing mine just as hard with both hands swamping mine in his grip.

“That’s a heartbeat!” I shouted using all the air from my lungs.

“Yes, it is!” she excitedly replied.

“Wow, would you look at that. Already an overachiever," Derek mumbled through a stupid grin on his face.

The technician smiled back, this time less forced than the last. To her credit, she seemed to have finally become comfortable with our unique situation. The poor thing must've already been drained of her empathy, considering I’d already put her through the awkward ‘This isn’t the father’ conversation and broken down crying three times.

But she somehow kept her sunny disposition as he clacked away at the machine. She glanced over at us and gave a dreamy sigh and offered, “I know it doesn’t look like much yet, but would you like me to print out some pictures for you?”

For whatever reason, the question hit me like a punch in the gut. That annoying, unexpected twist of grief robbed my lungs of air as I tried to enjoy the moment for what it was. I tried to forget about the fact Spencer wasn't there to hold my hand.

I turned to the man beside me, instead, only to find him staring up at the monitor with wonder in his eyes. Because Derek saw the same thing I did in the blurry, grainy blob.

He saw Spencer.

“Yes, please," I answered before turning back to face the kind woman. "And… Would it be possible… could you send me a clip of that? I just… want to keep the sound.”

“Sure thing, dear. At least until the next visit. You’ll have a lot more to look at then.”

“Thanks,” I replied with a genuine smile, “I can’t wait.”

And in that strange, contradictory way, I couldn't. I was buzzing with excitement to meet our child. I wanted to look into young, innocent eyes and see the timelessness behind them. I wanted to hold his hands and feel the softness and know that there were still so many beautiful things.

After the door closed, I used the damp cloth to wipe the remaining gel from my stomach. It was so strange, to look at my only slightly bloated stomach and think that there was a person growing inside.

“So how are you feeling now?” Derek asked cautiously, as he clearly aware of my unease.

I laughed when I placed both hands on my stomach and leaned back in the bed.

“I feel like... there’s a tiny person growing inside me," I answered.

We both laughed, then. Especially when I awkwardly tried to navigate my way out of the bed without exposing myself to the poor man I'd dragged along with me. Eventually, I managed to stand.

Derek still grabbed my hand with that typical overprotective nature he’d adopted since Spencer…

“You good?”

Died. Since Spencer died.

“Yeah,” I lied, “I’m good.”

Derek raised his eyebrows in a challenge. I could hear him asking me if I really wanted to lie to him, if I thought he was stupid enough to believe me when I said any of this was anything even remotely close to 'good.' We were both profilers, after all.

“I just… I wonder what he would have said,” I explained, finding that it sounded less pathetic than I'd expected.

My companion took a seat next to me on the much too small bed in a room that was too large for just the two of us. We both tried to pretend like it was enough that he was here instead of Spencer. Before he responded, Derek was already stifling laughter. He placed a gentle hand on my back to soothe the both of us before he sighed.

“Knowing him? He would'a had a bunch of incredibly uncomfortable statistics.”

I cursed my hormones for the tears that stung at my eyes. I leaned against him, as I so often did nowadays. Then, I slowly wrapped my arm around him, too. We both closed our eyes and took a deep breath as we imagined the same overly-excited and terrified rant he would've given.

“Is it weird that I wish I could’ve heard it?” I blubbered through newly formed tears.

“Nah,” he answered with a solemn smile before chuckling, “but I’m still not doing the research.”

The two of us laughed together; the kind of sound that holds a promise that everything will be alright again one day. For a second, I'd even believed it.

The room was no longer a cavern, but a small cave, and the sunlight was filtering through the cracks.

“Congrats, kid. Save a picture for me, would you?”

“Of course,” I promised.

And in the back of my head, I could still hear Spencer's heartbeat.

Getting up on the chair was different the second time around, and by different, I meant difficult. My belly, while still relatively small, had taken on a distinct bump that made bending at the hip feel strange and alien. The paranoid part of my mind was still convinced that I'd crush my poor baby if I moved too freely.

Derek couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, and I shot him a warning glance with a smile to remind him that I was fully ready to kick his ass if I needed to. He nodded like he knew, but continued to snicker as he helped me up.

“I know I’m not supposed to say this, but you’re really starting to look pregnant,” he joked.

Choosing to ignore the smugness, I graciously accepted the observation from the peanut gallery.

“Well, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“As you should,” he warmly replied before pulling a chair up to the other side of me. It was clear that he'd wanted the best view of the screen from his seat, and I couldn't blame him.

But instead of staring at the nothingness on display, I turned my head to him, instead. I chewed on my bottom lip until I could find the courage to ask the question I’d been wondering. The same question I already suspected he wouldn't answer.

“Should I ask to find out the sex?”

Derek immediately raised his hands in the air. He went even further, shaking his head and leaning back to demonstrate just how much he didn’t want to be a part of this.

“I’m not falling for that trick. That’s up to you.”

“It’s not a trick!” I shouted through my laughter at his dramatization, “I can’t decide. Help me!”

“Nuh-uh. Not doing it, babygirl.”

I equipped myself with my best pout, but it had absolutely no effect. He remained obstinate, albeit laughing.

“You are absolutely no fun, Derek Morgan," I whined.

He nodded in agreement. Then, when he'd thought I looked away, I saw it in my peripheral. The joy in his eyes morphed into something else. A powerful pity that made my nausea so much worse.

I never knew how to respond to it. He’d known Spencer for longer than me, and had so many stories to share that I’d never had the chance to hear. If one of us should've had permission to miss him, it would've been Derek. But he never once made it about him. I was starting to grow jealous over his apathetic mask.

Part of me also wondered whether we would still have been close if I wasn’t carrying his best friend’s baby. I knew it was an unfair thought, but it overwhelmed me all the same. Of course, we still had a shared grief — Spencer had even told him about what had happened between us that night before. But it had been so long since I'd been anything other than the one Spencer left behind.

Sometimes when Derek looked at me, I swore I saw that same frustration in his eyes.

Maybe it was just the hormones.

Either way, the thought was interrupted by our favorite friendly ultrasound technician bursting through the door like the human equivalent of sunshine.

“Welcome back Ms. (Y/l/n)! How’s it going?” she happily sang.

I smiled as I tried to reposition my new body to give the appropriate access to my stomach. All the while I grumbled, “Well I don’t have to puke every five seconds anymore, but I had to size up my tactical gear so…”

I glanced at Derek as I mentioned my new weight, and he just bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from getting into any more trouble. I could hear the snarky remarks loud and clear, anyway. They still made me smile.

“That’ll happen,” the woman laughed before looking over at the man accompanying me, “Derek, right? Nice to see you again.”

He took her hand to shake as she held it out to him, and he seemed genuinely excited about it. I couldn’t blame him; I was, too. But I felt a little guilty for it, as well. Like always, I held my hand over the fire of grief and pretended the burning was meant to keep me warm.

I sustained the scorching heat and chose to envision the phoenix rising from the ashes.

What would our child look like? Would they look like Spencer? And what would that mean if they did? Would I be able to look at them without crying? When would it become normal again? How would I explain everything to them?

It was still too early to know, anyway. They were worries left for another day. Until then, I would simply enjoy the warmth of the fire.

Back in the clinic office, Derek was still beaming with an equivalent joy to the woman seated in front of us.

“Glad to be here,” he responded with a chuckle, “Had to make sure I get my pictures.”

“Well I’ll try to get some good ones.”

As the warmed gel was spread over my skin, I had a flash of an unwelcome and false memory of Spencer’s hands on my stomach that made me tense. Her hands paused for a moment as she looked up to find me already nodding and urging her to continue.

It wasn't her fault. I’d been dreaming about him more often lately. Part of me wished they would stop, but in a twisted way, they made me so happy. Unfortunately, they also made his absence so much more obvious. They made me crave sleep in a way I wasn’t comfortable with.

I almost lost myself in the dark thoughts, but soon the familiar thumping boomed through the room and took the dread away one at a time. My eyes shot open and over to the screen with an overwhelming relief.

The sight before me shocked me to my core. I almost put my hand on my stomach out of instinct. Luckily, though, Derek’s hand caught mine first.

“Oh, wow, it looks so different. I-It looks kind of like…” I trailed off before the technician took the initiative to finish for my flabbergasted self.

“A person? Yeah, it’s about that time.” Her voice was comforting and proud; her smile warm and inviting in all the ways that I'd needed in that moment. “In fact, believe it or not, your baby is starting to grow their very own toenails.”

Her strange factoid reminded me of him again. I could hear his voice speaking over her, rambling into a much longer rant on all the different data points he could possibly collect on this week, this day, this moment.

He would be so happy but so nervous. I could feel his emotions right alongside mine, swirling into a happy chaos of catastrophic proportions.

“Some studies suggest the baby is even able to hear you, so feel free to start talking to them.”

I choked on something between a sob and a laugh. I thought of Diana. I’d seen her again a couple of times since my last visit, and to think that the next time I went I could ask her was… overwhelming. My heart began to swell until it ached.

It was time for me to start asking about the ethical implications of it, and I just wasn’t sure I was ready. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready.

No, I decided. I would never be ready.

Derek offered a welcome distraction.

“Wow, look at that big old head. Which one of you did they get that from, (y/n)?”

I clicked my tongue at his taunt, and turned to the woman with a devilish glint in my eye as I whispered, “Am I allowed to hit him in here?”

Leaning in close, she flashed a brief wink before she answered, “Only when he deserves it.”

With a brief laugh, I was already back in my own head. The small, robotic whooshing and thumping of the machine was like a metronome of my deepest fears and greatest admiration. I didn’t know how to carry the two together in a being the size of an avocado.

“The heartbeat sounds so much louder,” I spoke softly, trying to regulate my own so that it wouldn’t drown out this chance to hear a piece of Spencer.

I ground my heels into the moment; I stared at the grainy image until even the tears couldn't feel my eyes from drying out. I gripped Derek's hand until I felt the burn in every part of me. I let it keep me warm.

“Well, it’ll be a few more weeks until your baby has a full grown heart so, you still have even more to look forward to," she continued, subtly correcting my understanding that what I heard was in fact a true ‘heartbeat.’

Was it normal to feel so connected to something that was barely in existence? Of course, I was sure it was. After all, evolution made us this way, right?

“Speaking of looking forward… Did you want to know the sex?”

I clenched dry eyes shut at the question. Despite anticipating it, I still hadn’t come up with a single satisfying answer. I had no fucking clue.

I would never be ready. But I have to be.

“… Yes?”

She wasn't convinced.

“You don’t sound very sure.”

Okay, I thought, apparently, everyone is a profiler today.

But honestly, it wasn’t that surprising that she could sense my hesitance. I couldn’t have been clearer about how uncomfortable and terrified this whole situation made me. Worse than my heart being on my sleeve, it was on the electronic display she manned.

“It’s… I don’t know. I feel weird. I just… wish I could ask their father.”

She knew about my situation, but still had no idea how to navigate it. I was sure I wasn’t the first person here under these circumstances, but it was one of those things that never became normal.

“I can give it to you in an envelope if you want to wait," she offered with enough confidence in her voice to make the idea sound logical.

Awkwardly, I shifted before I pointed out the obvious to remind myself it was real.

“I mean… I can’t ask him.”

“It’s still helpful to think about it sometimes.”

She was right to put an end to the pity party. There was nothing productive about hoping and wishing that she could make that pain go away somehow. She couldn’t. No one could.

This pregnancy was going to happen because I wanted it to. The longer that I pretended like it was some theoretical future rather than something happening to me in that moment, the worse it would hurt when I was alone with a child that had eyes just like Spencer's.

But even knowing all of that, I still decided to take the cowards way out.

“Yeah. Yeah, an envelope would be great. Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

The woman stood to leave, but paused to grab a warm, wet washcloth just like she had before. I let it rest in my hand as she took her leave. Just as she'd made it to the door, I saw her flash Derek a wink as she giggled, “I’ll grab some pictures for you, too.”

“Good ones, right?” he called as she left.

“Of course!"

I bit down on the inside of my cheek as I watched them, wondering how different things could have been. I was confident that no nurse would be winking at Spencer. If anything, they’d be strangling him. The visual was so clear in my head, of him ranting and raving about the possibilities and statistics while he gently cleaned the leftover gel.

But he wasn’t here, so I did it, instead.

The heated towel felt so cold compared to my memory of his hands.

It had been almost four months since Spencer had died, and for at least three of those months we had been chasing after the same fucking accomplice.

And we had found him. I had found him.

My feet pounded against the concrete faster than my heart could beat. Despite feeling like I was going to throw up or pass out, my feet wouldn’t stop moving. I reveled in the burn because I knew that it would all be worth it soon. Soon, I would be able to breathe again for the first time in four months. Because only one block in front of me, I could see him. The man we’d been looking for.

The only problem with that was that I was also four months pregnant. While I'd been able to withstand most of the pregnancy symptoms, they'd gotten exponentially worse over the past few weeks. The nausea had come back, and most days I was barely able to get out of bed, much less chase a grown man through the busy streets.

I could feel my instincts arguing with one another, one blaring a siren while the other saw nothing but blood red rage.

I couldn’t worry about what could go wrong. Not while he was so close. I couldn't manifest another unhappy ending.

But just as the thought of the stakes hit me, so did a nausea and dizziness unlike ever before. My feet started to slow, but I couldn't let them stop. When the cold sweat started to form on frigid yet scorching skin, I blamed it on the tactical gear and exhaustion.

I’d barely slept the past few days. Weeks. Months, if I were being honest.

I tried to find every reason to blame for why the world was fading away in front of my eyes. It wasn't until I ran out into traffic and nearly collided with a car that I admitted my own inability. I abruptly came to a stop on the side of the road only to realize that I hadn't been paying close enough attention to the man. I had been running on spite and inertia, and I had come to a stop.

My eyes scanned the crowds over and over, but I couldn’t see him anymore. But just as I was about to curse my own stupidity and pride, someone shouted to me from across the road.

“Hey! Officer! He went that way!”

I shot up with a second wind. I didn't stop to ask myself if going into this alone was a good idea. I didn't ask how the stranger had known who I was chasing or why, or how he'd been somehow paying closer attention than I.

I didn't care about anything other than finding him and putting an end to a miserable existence. I bolted in the direction the person pointed towards without a second thought on how careless the decision was. As far as I knew, this was a trap.

And it was.

The second I rounded the corner of the alley, I heard more than felt a fist against the back of my head. The forceful 'thud' made my stomach churn even worse. I fell to the ground face first, with my hands shielding my stomach before myself. But by some grace of God, I didn’t lose consciousness.

I liked to think that maybe it was Spencer looking out for us.

All I could hear was sirens and screaming. All I could see was blood soaked pavement and a black curtain ushering me towards the climax of the story. Struggling for my weapon, I felt the familiar taste of iron and regret fill my mouth. My mind began blurring reality and nothingness. '

I could feel a terrible nothingness preparing to swallow me whole until I heard Derek yelling my name.

Three gunshots sounded, but his voice never stopped. Even when he came down to me on the ground and held me. He was there. He was trying to tell me I was safe. I believed him. He was going to help me.

"Everything's going to be alright," he assured me with a panic stricken face, "Just stay awake."

At first, I wanted to. But then I saw Spencer calling to me in a dream and I decided to go to him, instead.

The soft humming of the machines was what first alerted me that I was in a hospital. I couldn’t remember why. Some deeply rooted part of me hoped that it was me waking up to find that the past five months had been a horrible coma dream. But then the anesthetic made me sick and I knew that it was real.

All the pain returned like it always did. Those few seconds of peace before I remembered my reality faded faster than usual. The memories hit me much like the blunt object used to disarm me earlier. The pain radiated from my head and stomach, two reminders of how horribly I'd messed everything up. I could hear the beeping alerting me of my own spiking heart rate as my body jolted awake.

I felt… cold. Gone was the burning. Gone was the fire.

It was just me, with hands trembling from the cold saline flowing through the IV needle.

Shortly after I awoke, so did, Derek. He said nothing at first, instead he just watched me with a distant look that almost felt comforting. In a way, it felt like he didn't see me at all. In that darkness, I thrived.

“Where am I?” I asked, not really looking for the location so much as an explanation, “What happened?”

“You’re in the hospital.”

He knew that wasn’t what I was asking.

“You blacked out,” he followed after a moment of silence.

“Oh… Is everything okay? Did you get him?”

Trying to sit up, I realized there was a deep and unusual pain in my stomach that prevented me from getting very far. I nearly threw up at the feeling, but persisted, nonetheless. The pain had been there before, I reminded myself, all the while failing to mention that it had felt different.

“Yeah, I got him,” Derek answered quietly.

Another moment passed before I realized the simplicity of his response. I turned to him, waiting for an answer that wasn't going to come.

Is everything okay? I tried to ask again, but my throat began to close around the words.

That distant, solemn stare was back, and somehow more forlorn than before. He had his hands folded in front of him like he always did when he met with the parents, the wives, the kids. He looked up at me with glassy eyes and a trembling lip. Derek Morgan struggled to speak the same way I knew he did when he had to give the worst news of someone's life.

Even more upsetting than that image was the distinct emptiness I felt inside.

“What’s wrong?”

The beeping beside me became faster, and in a way it felt louder, too.

He didn’t answer.

“Morgan, what happened?”

He didn't have to. I placed my hand on my stomach, and it all felt wrong.

“Is… Is my baby okay?”

“(Y/n), just get some rest.”

And there it was. The end of everything that I was, the collapse of my rib cage around an empty nest. The world was falling in around me, and I suffocated on the dust of the wreckage before the walls even hit the ground. I couldn’t breathe; I couldn’t see. The blinding fluorescent lights of the intensive care unit felt like darkness. The air was so cold that it burned my lungs.

“What do you mean?” The words rung hollow, “Is my baby okay?”

I was on fire. I was burning and there was nothing to rise from my ashes.

"Derek-"

But before another word could form, the door opened to reveal a young woman in a white coat. I didn't give her a single second to speak before the weight of my stare threatened to crush her where she stood.

“Is my baby okay?” I asked once more.

She didn’t need to answer. I saw it in her eyes.

I was a profiler, and I had already known the second I woke up. I had known it before. I just didn’t want it to be true.

“Ms. (Y/l/n), I’m so sorry but—"

Her voice felt like sandpaper on my feverish skin. The bleak, pungent odor of disinfectant felt so different than only a few weeks before, when they had held a machine to my stomach and showed me the face of my child.

“You… You were bleeding when you came in and it appears that you’ve lost the pregnancy,” she explained, despite the obvious indicators that I couldn’t hear her, “I’m very sorry.”

“He killed my baby," I muttered.

My eyes were fixated on the wall, listening to the new sound of my heart slowing back down, settling into a detached state of numbness that would have been terrifying if I could feel anything at all.

In that horrible void, I heard her cautious voice echoing.

“You… miscarried before the accident, Ms. (Y/l/n).”

It wasn't his fault, I heard, It's yours.

“What?” I asked, turning back to her with the same dead eyes, “What are you saying?”

Despite the threat behind my heaving breath and clenched fists, she continued, “When you came in you were already in sepsis. That’s… why you’re here.”

She glanced down at the chart in her hands and flipped through the pages frantically, like the words on the page would mean anything to me.

“No… That’s not…”

I wanted to say it wasn’t possible, but I knew that it was. I knew so strongly that something was wrong that my brain had ignored the possibility altogether. Now, the numbness was receding and sending me straight into a state of pure panic and hatred.

I saw the fear in her face the same as I'd seen it in Derek's. The overwhelming sensation of pity turned to rage in my veins until all I could think about was the pain. I wanted to make her feel it, to revive two dead men just to make them feel it, too. I wanted to hold the burning match of my body against them until we were all nothing but the same stupid, useless fucking ash.

The doctor turned to Derek with the hope that he could make the situation better. But he closed his eyes and bowed his head to pray to whatever God was left for forgiveness that he couldn't be strong for me, then.

“Are you the father?” I heard her ask.

“No,” he said quietly, “No, I’m not.”

Time passed so much slower after Spencer died, so why did it pass so much faster after our baby died? I thought maybe it was just the universe correcting itself, returning to normal speed. Maybe it just felt faster. The self-loathing monster inside of me convinced myself that it was some kind of cosmic mockery.

Regardless of the physics or religion of it all, two months had come and gone, and I had finally cleared my counseling. My first day at work couldn’t have come sooner.

Because today was the day that Derek gave me the call I’d been waiting for. They had him. After six months of painstaking work, the man who killed Spencer Reid was in our custody.

There was no possible way for me to get to the BAU fast enough, but I tried anyway. The sound of my sirens blaring down the back streets of Virginia felt like the swan song of my grief. For once, I couldn’t hear my heart over my breath, and the bizarre combination of anger, hatred, and happiness swelled inside of me like the perfect storm.

Today I could stare into the face of the man who took everything from me, and I could take it from him in return.

Or so I thought.

No sooner had I stepped off the elevator than I felt a strong hand cut off my path. I knew who it was before I even processed what was happening. Hotch stood in front of me like he had been waiting for me, as we both knew he had.

His eyes were still cold, still sympathetic and pitiful.

“(Y/l/n), you can’t.”

He didn’t bother explaining what he was talking about; we both knew. We had discussed this in the theoretical enough for us to have memorized the scripts. I knew it was pointless to argue with him, that he was my boss and someone I respected, but I didn't care. My logic and appeal to authority vanished the moment I'd heard he was there.

So, shoving Hotch's hand off my shoulder with more force than necessary, I scoffed, “Yes, I fucking can.”

He sighed. His frustration was evident in the way his jaw tensed between his words as he explained, “He knows how you feel about Reid. It’s not going to end well. He’s gotten to you once before already.”

I'd heard it all before. I'd blamed myself for it enough that I didn't need to hear him say it again.

“This is different,” I pleaded with tears already streaming down my face. I realized it had been a long time since I cried. It had been forever since I'd felt something. I didn't want to let it go.

“You’re right,” he conceded before adding, “It is different. It's worse.”

Biting down on my cheeks, I glanced over at the door to the room just as Derek stepped out. We looked at each other with a silent understanding of what sat beneath the surface. We both bit down until we tasted iron and tried to pretend like any of this felt fair.

“Hotch, I’ve been waiting six months for this,” I muttered. I begged my voice to stop shaking, to end the crackling that gave away everything I wasn’t saying. But it didn't. I remained pathetic as I whispered, “You have to let me in there. He— He killed Spencer.”

I paused, my eyes shutting as my hands turned to fists hard enough to hurt.

“He killed my baby, Hotch," I said even quieter. I tried to pretend like the lack of volume hid my rage rather than amplified it.

But he showed no mercy. He did not reward me for putting my pain to words. Instead, he just lowered his eyes to the ground and took a deep breath before he answered, “I know. That’s why you can’t be in there.”

Trying to slow down my thoughts and my lungs, I held my hands up to prevent myself from turning them to fists. The gun on my hip had never felt so heavy.

He was right there. What would it matter what happened to me after? What sort of future was waiting for me on the other side?

“If I can’t… Who is going to do it, then?” I managed to ask, unable to imagine who else on the team would know more about this case than me. Derek was the only one who came close, and I highly doubt he didn’t want me in there. Not to mention the fact that he'd wanted to kill the bastard just as badly as I did.

But his answer was as surprising as it was confusing.

“…That’s why I tried to call you here myself."

There was something in his voice that set off my profiler brain, warning me that something was coming that I wasn’t going to like. It wasn’t just the words, which were equally terrifying, but his entire demeanor. He looked like a child that was about to tell his mother he’d broken her favorite vase. I wondered if that's what I was.

The most frustrating part about it all was that I was scared, too. So I didn’t question him. I dutifully followed him into the conference room like I always did. I reverted to the soldier who follows orders because I was afraid what would happen if I let myself step over that first barrier.

I knew what would happen. I was being selfish.

As I walked into the conference room, I tried to reassure myself that the end result would be the same. That justice would be served, one way or another. I tried to convince myself that I was not the broken vase, I was not only ashes. But with each step, I felt the unease wash over me, not unlike it had when they told me that I'd miscarried.

I took the same seat next to where Spencer would have been. No one had claimed it, yet. I wouldn’t let them if they tried.

So why were there books on the table beside it?

Hotch stood at the front of the room with his hands crossed over his chest. The worry I felt exponentially increased with every passing second. His eyes met those of everyone in the room, except mine. I wondered if that was because he felt guilty, or because he couldn't bear to see the disaster where I was seated.

Either way, I stared at him relentlessly, with fists growing tighter each time he opened his mouth but said nothing.

And then he spoke.

“Six months ago I had to make a decision that affected this team,” he started with the volume to denote confidence, but his voice held none of the other indicators. “As you all know, Spencer lost a lot of blood after his encounter at the warehouse…”

My vision rocked at the sound of his name, the memories like a freight train over my body. Images of his blood coating my hands, legs, and arms. The smell of irises at his grave. The taste of tears and whiskey on my breath. It all came so suddenly until I was there, at the chess park, his apartment, his grave, the sanitarium. The memories were sickening in their clarity every time that I went back too far and could feel his lips on mine.

But all of it, everything came to a grinding halt when Hotch’s voice rang through the somber silence.

“But the doctors were able to stabilize him.”

Goosebumps and nausea filled every inch of me unlike ever before. The trauma and grief felt like a drop in an ocean of fury and dread that seemed never-ending. My heart stopped dead in my chest before trying to leap through my throat. I clutched my chest, digging my nails into my skin so that I might find that fire again.

I begged time to slow down again, to let me catch up, but it kept going in fast forward.

“What?” I spoke, but didn’t recognize the word.

I needed him not to answer, but he did.

“He was airlifted to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. His identity was strictly need to know until he was well enough to travel. He was reassigned to Paris where he was given several identities, none of which we had access to for his security.”

He spoke in impossibly beautiful lies. I had to be dreaming. This was a nightmare wrapped in pretty paper. The rug would be pulled out from under me and leave me falling into the endless once more.

He'd said the words so effortlessly, like they were the obscure local newspaper headlines he’d received the previous weekend. But they weren’t so carefree; they were suffocating.

I felt everyone’s eyes immediately turn to me, my skin once again paradoxically burning and freezing. A different kind of sepsis kicked in as I began to rot from the inside out. My heart wasn't burning, it was withering. It was frozen and sprouting something sharp. It hurt worse than anything I could have ever imagined.

The room felt so small, but the space between his chair and my own felt so large. I watched it, wondering how time and space could bend so freely to inflict the maximum damage on me.

“He’s… alive?” I asked when I found some semblance of breath.

“I take full responsibility for this decision,” Hotch said, as if that would ever entitled him to my forgiveness, “If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me.”

Derek’s entire body lurched forward. I could tell because despite staring straight forward, I heard his fists hit the the desk in an unbridled rage.

“Any issues?” he spat, “Yeah, I got issues!"

“Where is he now?” Penelope asked, playing her part as the voice of reason trying to prevent the brawl that felt like it was fast approaching.

With both hands perched on the edge of the table, I was just trying to find the strength to stand up. I had to leave. I had to move. I couldn’t stay here. Inertia be fucking damned. Damned like my heart ticking like a bomb. If I didn’t get out soon, now, I would take out everything inside the room, the building, the entire fucking base.

The sound of the door clicking open filled the room despite the tension permeating it. My back was to it, but I didn’t need to turn around to see who it was.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon. That feeling of calm just before the storm.

“… Hi, everyone," Spencer whispered.

The vacant stares in the room slowly made their way from the man in my shadow back to me. They surely saw the panic in my features, the pounding of my pulse in my throat. No one moved. No one said a word.

They watched me as his fingers curled over the lip of his chair. His fingers were the first part of him I saw, and my body immediately sprung into action.

I couldn’t see him. If I saw him, it would become real again. He would be real again. All my grief, my fury, my pain, it would have all been for naught. If I saw him, I would hate him. My heart, already shattered, would fill with chasms until the shards destroyed me from the inside out.

If I saw him, I would feel him on my body in a way that didn't hurt. But the hurt had become so familiar to me that I wasn't ready to let it go.

In that moment, the pain felt more real to me than he did.

So I ran. I bolted out of the door without ever looking back, trusting my intuition to take me anywhere but there.

And it would have, if it hadn’t been stopped.

“(Y/n), wait!”

His hand was the first thing to touch me. He grabbed hold of my wrist and jerked my body to a stop without any regard to how it would hurt.

Any thoughts I had were short wiring, the warmth of his touch felt like a fire. I stumbled back into him. I felt the warmth radiating from it like it always did. I was reminded, vividly and mercilessly, of where the fire inside me had come from. It had only been seconds, but it felt like an eternity of suffering.

He had not thought about how it would hurt me.

“Please, let me explai—”

The first time that I saw his face again, risen from the grave, I watched it collide with my open hand. The volume was too powerful, too loud as I shouted in the bullpen that felt like it only contained the two of us.

“Don’t!”

My hand stung with the evidence he was real. His face stayed turned away from me, his breath heavy and hurting. I wanted him to hurt like I had.

But don’t what? I wondered, Don’t explain? Don’t touch me?

I couldn’t decide, so I just repeated the word and hoped he would understand.

“… Just… don’t, Spencer. Don't.”

Sensing the way my hand shook uncontrollably under his, Spencer let it go. It fell away from him like a bitter goodbye, and it returned to me unhurried. Even in that moment when I hated him more than I thought possible, my body tried to keep him near.

I forced myself to get away. I carried myself to the bathroom where I once again found myself on my knees, trying to purge things that would never come up. Between the dry heaving, I stared at my hands like they would be able to turn back time themselves.

When I would rewind to, I didn’t know. Before he was gone? Before he had betrayed me? Before he had come back?

Having him back was everything I’d craved and prayed for. But not like this. Because now I knew for certain that when it came down to things he could leave behind, I was one of them.

And it hurt. It burned.

I tried to push the thought away, to ground myself enough to get through the case. No, to get through the day, the hour, the minute. I just had to see it through so I could leave it before. Whether he was here or not, I needed this chapter of my life to end.

This wasn’t about just him, anymore. It was also about me; my grief and my life without him and the disgusting lie that it was.

Picking myself up all over again, I put one foot in front of the other until I was back in the conference room. Passing by my chair, I found the seat next to Derek’s and sat with unsteady legs. I hid trembling hands from the rest of the team by placing them in my lap before they turned to fists.

I felt Spencer’s eyes glued to me, but I stared straight ahead.

Somehow, I spoke without screaming. I held myself together with spite and sheer force of will. The meeting proceeded as normal, save the way my hands continued to shake. But soon those would stop, too. Because from the seat next to me, Derek took my hand in his. The strength the small gesture afforded me would be enough to carry me through the second, the minute, the meeting.

And when it was over, Spencer followed me out the door towards our desks. We stayed in complete silence, navigating the minefield that was our own memories, now divorced and blemished by something that couldn't be taken back so easily.

By the time I looked over to him, he had looked away. My sixth sense told me I did the same thing to him seconds later.

My hand instinctively went to hold my stomach, but stopped halfway there and rested on my chair, instead.

From my peripherals, I saw his fingers brush over the tear stained documents scattered over his desk just like he’d left them.

We didn’t look at each other anymore after that.

| Part 4 |

[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter 7

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: Memories of attempted sexual assault, fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, injury, swearing, soft Javi, feelings, I have no idea how amnesia really works, brief mention of masturbation, Javi reads poetry...did you know that?!?!?...me neither!

Word Count: 4407 (again....Whoopsie!)

Notes: A trip to the office in an attempt to jog your memories ends up revealing more about Javier Peña then you expected. Plus, a trip to the farmer's market knocks some things loose and a thunderstorm brings you and Javi closer.

Read on Ao3

It had been a week since you’d come home from the hospital.

During that week, there had been so little success in regaining your memories save for those brief hopeful moments with Javi the previous weekend.  Javi had done as much work from home as he could this past week; when he did have to go in to the office, he usually returned with stacks or boxes of paperwork, spreading out on the coffee table or in the kitchen like now, grumping that he didn’t want to leave you on your own for too long if he could help it.  The time in the alone stretched on endlessly and you always felt a jolt of happiness when you heard the key in the lock and your husband strode in on a cloud of cigarette smoke, faded aftershave and cologne with (more often than not) a frustrated scowl decorating his handsome face.  You always took note of how that scowl slipped from his face when he greeted you, though, and that moment always made you smile.

The previous day you’d joined Javi at work for a short while.  You had discussed at dinner the night before that maybe more familiar surroundings would jar something loose...after all, Javi had said, the two of you usually spent more time at the office than you ever really did in your apartment.  You eagerly agreed.  If nothing else you were excited for a change of scenery.  

It had been more awkward than anything, really and you were disappointed that nothing short-term had seemed to come back to you.  Feistl and Van Ness had both greeted you warmly, inquiring as to whether you’d gotten the flowers they’d sent.  Both younger men had kindly remarked that you looked like you were doing well and then proceeded to lapse into an uncomfortable silence, glancing from one another and then Javi before quickly scurrying off to complete some menial task.  Dixon had found you as well, and had seemed a bit on edge when she had made small talk with you.  You simply chalked it up to stress, but you had seen her pull Javi a short distance away and speak furtively to him, clearly irritated with something he had said or done.  Javi’s brows had lowered over his dark eyes when the older woman had moved away and he had ushered you into his office, telling you he needed to pop into a quick meeting...shouldn’t take more than fifteen, twenty minutes and did you want to wait here or should he get a car to take you home?  

You’d been happy to settle yourself onto the worn leather couch, but as the time ticked by you grew antsy and started pacing around your husband’s office, tracing the pens on the desk, sitting in his chair and twirling in it absentmindedly, aimlessly gazing at the maps and photographs on the walls and bulletin boards.  As you wandered, the corner of your jacket caught on something on the edge of the desk, pulling it off and sending a stack of papers fluttering to the floor.  You cursed, then bent to re-stack the papers, hoping they had not been in any kind of order. You saw a thin, navy blue book also on the floor and reached to pick it up.

Rumi: The Book of Love: Poems of Ecstasy and Longing

You were struck for a moment: what was Javi doing with a book of love poems at work? You sat down in his desk chair again. Flipping open the small book you noticed a name written neatly in a woman’s handwriting on the inside cover: Sofia Flores

A small piece of paper, worn with time was tucked between the cover and the title page.  You carefully open it and read a small message in the same writing as the name:

Even though this marriage didn’t work out, my sweet Javi, remember: I will always love you. Xoxo

Your stomach clenched.  “This marriage” hadn’t worked out?  You felt like your mouth was suddenly sandpaper and you started to close the book and place it back on the desk when another loose paper fluttered out from the middle pages...one of many pieces of paper stuck there you realized as you flipped to the middle of the book of poetry, finding two with corners dogeared.  Two poems on opposite pages bracketed a small collection of what appeared to be newspaper clippings. The first poem read:

“Lovers find secret places inside this violent world where they make transactions with beauty.”

And:

“I want to see you. Know your voice. Recognize you when you first come ’round the corner. Sense your scent when I come into a room you’ve just left. Know the lift of your heel, the glide of your foot. Become familiar with the way you purse your lips then let them part, just the slightest bit, when I lean in to your space and kiss you. I want to know the joy of how you whisper “more”

Your breath caught at the simplicity and beauty of the poems, and it made your heart ache that your husband even possessed a book of poetry, much less one filled with such lovely words. You started to look through the clippings flattened between these two poems and were surprised when you noticed they all seemed to be about you.  

There were five total: one from what appeared to be an interoffice newsletter highlighting your work as a successful agent in a mostly male dominated field.  The short article included a photograph of you taken several years ago when you had graduated from Quantico.  The other four were in Spanish and had clearly come from local Bogota papers.  Each had grainy black and white photos of you (and two with Javi along with some other DEA agents) at different locations around the city taken during the last two years as you had worked to help unravel the mess that was Columbian drug trafficking.  In one, you and Javi and Feistl stood together surveying a map spread on the hood of a Jeep, most likely either pre- or post- op.  In another, you were escorting a minor drug crony from a building, his hands behind his back, your hand firmly on his shoulder and your torso covered in a sturdy tac vest.  The others were similar and at the bottom of the small pile of clippings, you found a polaroid photo.

It was another picture of you, but in this one you were sitting amongst a small group of co-workers.   Despite the others in the picture, you were framed at the center, clearly the focus of the photographer.  You remembered this night from over a year ago: It was Van Ness’’s birthday and you and several other colleagues had pitched in to buy him a Polaroid camera like the one that would have taken this picture.  It had been a good night out, a fun dinner with margaritas and beer flowing.  As everyone got more silly and giggly and loose, the camera had been passed around and each person had taken a turn snapping a photo.  You vaguely remembered glancing across the table just as the snap from this photo being taken had reached your ears and noticed Peña lowering the camera from his face, removing the picture from the roller as it slid from the device, growling something to the person next to him as he passed the camera. You hadn’t thought anything of it, thinking your partner had just taken a wide shot of you and your colleagues across the table. All of the photos had been collected at the end of the evening and presented to Van Ness, who had spread them all out on the table for everyone to giggle and admire one another’s silly faces and poses.  

The realization struck you that your husband must have kept the photo he had taken that night, a photo with you at it’s center.  It was worn, smudged along the edges and showing creases and a small tear in one corner.  Clearly it was handled regularly.

“Hey.”  The gruff rasp of your husband’s voice startled you and you looked up at him guilty.  “You ready to get outta here…?”  He stopped short when he saw the book in your hand, the clippings on the desk, the photograph in your other hand.

“I’m sorry!”  Your first instinct was to apologize; clearly this wasn’t something he wanted people to see. “I didn’t…” You quickly moved from being apologetic to feeling tears well up in your eyes as you remembered: “even though this marriage didn’t work out”...from “Sofia”.  You looked up at him.  “Javi?”  You could only choke out his name by way of question.

Javi’s face transformed to worry when he heard your voice say his name.  He moved quickly to crouch next to you in his desk chair.

“Hey, hey...it’s ok.  What is it?  Whatsa matter?”  He put a callused hand along your cheek, searching your eyes for an explanation.  You could only look back down at the book in your hands.

“Is our marriage over?”  You asked him, tears starting to fall.  His brows came together in confusion and he spoke softly.

“What?  What do you...what do you mean, sweetheart?”  You flipped back to the front cover of the book, smoothing out the note from “Sofia”.  

“Who’s Sofia Flores?” You held your breath, waiting for him to look guilty, ashamed, abashed at being found out, but you saw realization flutter across his eyes and his face relaxed; he released a puff of air...almost a small laugh, and he stood, leaning carefully on the desk next to you, wiping a hand across his face.

“No.  No, sweetheart...it’s not what you think.”  He looked at you for a moment, studying you carefully.  “Do you remember...do you remember me telling you about Lorraine?”  You nod and the next instant, you feel relief come over you.  Lorraine: his former fiancé back in Texas.  He had told you about her once, one late night at the office when you had both sipped a little too much whiskey and started swapping stories about miserable past relationships.  Lorraine: who had always put him down, made him feel like he was never good enough, a piece of shit, who demeaned the things he had found interesting.  You had never met the woman, but you remember feeling that night like you had never hated anyone as much as you hated her for treating Javi so poorly.  You also remember thinking to yourself that night how incredibly wrong someone could be about another human being.  But then again, you hadn’t been engaged to Javier Peña….yet.  Javi sees it click in your face and continues.

“Sofia Flores was my mom.  She gave me this,” he gently takes the book from you, “right after I left Lorraine...right before I came here.  She taught herself English with this.” He held the book up, pride sparking behind his eyes at the memory of his mother.  You nodded, remembering him telling you how she had passed during his first few months in Columbia; it had been sudden and he hadn’t even known she was sick until it was too late.  He hadn’t been able to get back in time to say goodbye…You noticed him swallow hard as he saw the articles about you spread on the desk.  

“What about…”you gesture to the clippings, the photo in your hand. “What about all of these?  Why do you have all this stuff about me stuck in here?  Why don’t you keep these at home?” He looked uncomfortable for a moment, like he was caught at something somehow.

“I, uh….I just...I had ‘em tucked away from...before we were…” He stopped himself, seeming to think carefully about what to say next.  Then he looked from the articles to you and then away again, almost shy.  “I guess...I had a little crush on you when we were partners and...I just never took ‘em out of there after...things changed.”  He took the photo from you, looking at it for a moment, then back at you; for a moment he looked like a little boy waiting to be yelled at for breaking a window with his baseball.  You smiled up at him and his face relaxed, returning the smile with a small one of his own.  He cleared his throat and straightened from the desk, returning the articles and picture back to their spot in the middle of the book and quickly depositing the book into a desk drawer.  He held his hand out to you and pulled you to your feet.  “Hungry?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, taking a step closer to him and keeping hold of his hand for a moment when he let go.  He looked surprised by your closeness, then smiled down at you again, carefully.  You stood on your tiptoes and carefully kissed him; a chaste, quick kiss lasting only a moment or two, but you felt a current dance between your connected lips, like sparks from an incorrectly attached jumper cable.  His eyes stayed closed for several seconds after you broke the kiss and settled back onto your feet; you smiled at how in awe of the taste of you he seemed to be.  Your smile turned into a grin when he opened his eyes and met your gaze, smiling softly back at you.  “I’m starving, actually.”  

You slid your arm through your husband’s as the two of you left the office and headed for a late lunch.

****

You’re a fuckin’ moron, Peña! Javier had thought to himself instantly when he had walked back into his office and seen her sitting at his desk with the Rumi book in her hand. He’d panicked when he’d heard her say his name and seen the tears in her eyes.  He’d quickly realized the confusion and had breathed easy knowing she hadn’t been angry with him.

 Once more he felt like a creep when he realized she had found the articles and picture he had kept tucked away inside it.  He saw her everyday in clearer situations: her beautiful face on the phone, tongue between her lips, determining if a tip is legitimate; listening through headphones as she giggled trying to seduce an informant; watching beads of sweat drip down her neck and the sound of her heavy pants after she’s finished running down a narco in the dusty streets.  

He’s not proud to admit that he has thrown his imagination to any one of these memories on the occasion when he would not seek out a woman to distract him and he had instead unbuttoned his jeans and pumped himself to the thought of his partner. That seemed to have been happening more and more in recent months, but he hadn’t ever used those photos for THAT.

He kept these for the even more frequent occasion when he would close his office door, stare at her face and reread one of those poems for the millionth time, feeling when he did a balloon expand inside his chest with yearning for her...aching to hold her close to him and whisper those lines in her ear; truths about how he felt about her.  

Now, he refused to acknowledge how much it made his heart sing as they walked through the outdoor market a few minute’s walk from their apartment.  They had returned home and had lunch, no new memories having made an appearance with exposure to their place of work.  She had been frustrated by and he had suggested they go for a walk, get out of the apartment some more...it was a beautiful day after all.

Now, they wandered past the tables and stalls of brightly colored pineapples, papayas, bananas, peppers and avocados, stopping occasionally to buy something for dinner or pausing for her to admire a woven bag.  She spoke Spanish to the merchants easily, a good sign, he thought, that her long term memories were strong.  

He discreetly admired his partner’s profile as she stopped to look at a bright display of flowers, enquiring about price from the kind, toothless, stooped older woman manning the stall.  She paid the lovely worker and put her nose to the large white bouquet of petals and Javi felt his heart nearly stop.  

She was so beautiful.

...It took him a moment to realize something was wrong, but when he noticed her stiffen and her brow furrow, he was next to her in an instant, his hand on her elbow, quietly saying her name.  She looked at him...but didn’t see him for a few moments, her gaze was elsewhere, seeing something else.  He knew she was remembering something.

“I remember…”she started, blinking her eyes and looking back down at the flowers in her hands. “Plumeria…” she said quietly.  “I remember we were next to...a swimming pool?  You and I?  It was nighttime.”  

Javi knew exactly what she had remembered.  He gulped, saying nothing, not wanting to distract her from remembering. She continued following the thread of memory the scent of the flowers had unlocked.

“We were…” Her face flushed suddenly and she glanced up at him, then away again almost immediately.  “...together.  You...had me up against…” she gulped, the blush in her face turning a deeper scarlet.  Javi remembered, too.

They’d made an early exit from Ortiz’s dinner party; she had feigned a headache.  They had believed Ortiz’s lab was beneath his pool, the entrance through the pool house in the back of his home.  While everyone else had been occupied with the forth course and an unknown number of drinks, the two of them had slipped back around the premises, creeping along the sparkling pool, trying to find some clue to get them into the lab, something they could use to get a warrant.  

Javi had heard the noise from the guards making their rounds first, and he had yanked his partner by the elbow, pressing her back up against one of the plumeria trees, shoving one knee between her legs, gripping her ass with one hand and holding her head carefully with the other as he shoved his mouth against hers.  She had fallen into the ruse seamlessly, recognizing instantly what he was doing.  Her hands gripped fistfuls of his hair, one leg coming up to wrap around his waist, drawing her skirt up and giving his hips more access to the space between her legs.  

Even though it was only pretend, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from growing hard...being so close to her sex he had found himself grinding himself into her without thinking, eliciting a small moan from her mouth.  He had torn his lips away and begun devouring her neck, making her gasp into the thick, flower scented air and signaling their location to the guards.  He had snaked his hand up the front of her dress and pulled down, releasing her breast to the cool night air.  She had pulled his head down and thrust her groin along the hard outline of his cock and he had gladly taken the pert nipple into his mouth, relishing in the sensation the soft pebble made between the gentle ministrations of his teeth.  

“Perdón por interrumpir, Señor Sanchez,” The two of them had sprung apart, reacting to Javier’s pseudonym, playing up the caught couple.  Despite the act, though, Javi had looked at her as she’d straightened her dress, running a hair through her hair and he couldn’t help admire her swollen lips from his kisses and the flush on her cheeks.  He had seen something in your eyes, reflecting what he felt himself.  

That hadn’t been all fake.

“I...I don’t remember anything other than...us...against the tree.”  Her voice snapped him back out of the memory; she was staring at the flowers in her hand sadly, grasping for more of the memory.  

He didn’t particularly want her to remember what had happened next.

That night they had been found out.  They had been followed back to their “home” and both beaten, separated for a time in different rooms.  He had heard her yelling and had heard over and over the sound of crashes and fists and palms meeting flesh amidst the sounds of the same happening to him.  He had shouted, too, wanting her to know he was still there, he was still with her, they were still in it together.  Later, after the sicarios had given them both a rest, they had been reunited when they were dragged into “their” bedroom and secured to their respective places, whispering to one another, made to wait through the dark hours of the early morning...until Ortiz’s men had returned when the sun had come up.  

The rest, he didn’t want to think about.

“Well…” His voice was gruff from the thought of how close he had come to losing her that day.  “That’s something.  That was...recent...just a few weeks ago.”  She looked at him curiously, clearly able to see that he was reacting differently to the memory of them kissing passionately beneath a plumeria tree.  She said his name, a question filling the sound.  He looked at her and forced a small smile.  “That’s good.” He said quietly, reaching for her hand.  “C’mon. Let’s go home.”  

+

+

+

+

Javier laid awake in the darkness of the living room, trying not to think about that night again for the millionth time.  The blanket was scratchy on his bare chest; he kicked it off of him and lay there, listening to the sound of the pounding rain outside, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the apartment, thunder crashing and rumbling loudly.  He hated that he would always have that memory of her, calling out, yelling in terror and panic.  

He sat up….had he dozed off?  He thought he had heard her screaming his name again, just like she had from the other room that fateful night.

Then he heard it again.

“JAVI!!”

He was down the hall and next to her on the bed faster than he could take a breath.  She was curled in a ball, the covers soaked from sweat and kicked off of her, shaking furiously.  In the light from a flash of lightning, he saw that her eyes were closed tightly, her face contorted into a terrified mask.  She was having a nightmare... 

...and was calling out for him.

He carefully placed his hands on her shoulders, gently nudging her, not wanting to frighten her more upon waking, but wanting desperately to rescue her from the terror of her dream.  She screamed as she bolted upright, nearly knocking her head into his.  He gripped her shoulders firmly as her arms flailed out around her, fighting against him.

“Heyheyhey...easy, it’s me….its just me.  It’s Javi.”  She recognized him after a moment, and he continued to murmur that he was there, that she was ok, that he had her, that it had just been a bad dream; she flung herself into his arms.  He held her against him, soothing her, whispering to her like she was a child, feeling her body shake.  He felt warm, wet drops on his chest and knew she was crying.  He gripped his arms around her more tightly, trying with all of his might to will her peace, a feeling of being safe.  

They stayed that way for a long time, him stroking her hair, murmuring into her ear, rocking her gently against him.  Finally, he felt her take a shaky breath and she whispered against his chest:

“It felt so real.  I was tied to a bed and...there was a man...he was trying to…” her voice choked into a sob once more and he felt the tears start to wet his chest again.

“Shhhhh….shhhhhh.  It’s ok.” His voice was hoarse from sleep, cigarettes, fear...memories.  “You’re safe now.  I’ve got you.” He buries his face in her hair and breathes her name. “I won’t let anything happen to you.  I’ve got you.”

More time passes.  Her breathing settles and her tears dry, but he continues to hold her.  He feels the tension in her body release itself, little by little and she takes a deep, shaky breath before pulling back to look at him.  The room is still dark and the rain still pours down outside, but the thunder has passed, is getting softer. 

“It was just a nightmare.” She whispers, almost to herself.

He can’t bring himself to correct her; that it was a memory.  Not tonight, he thinks.

She’s staring into his chest, appearing to think about something carefully.  He moves to unwrap himself from her, to settle her back into bed, but she grips his forearms firmly, stopping him from pulling away.

“Stay.”  She breathes and he almost doesn’t hear it.  He thinks for a moment, telling himself he shouldn’t.  It’s not a good idea.  But then she lifts her eyes to meet his and in the near darkness he sees them sparkle and she whispers: “Please.  Stay with me.”

He doesn’t say anything.  He just carefully bores her backwards until she’s lying on her back, her head on her pillow. He hovers above her, gazing down at her like a lover...like a husband might do before kissing his wife and bringing her to ecstasy…

...He shifts himself to lie next to her, behind her and he pulls her back against his chest, feeling her legs move to tangle with his.   He reaches down to straighten the sheets and pulls them over top of both of them, then wraps his arms around her.  He listens to her breathing get heavier and slow and he’s sure she must be asleep.  Just as he thinks about closing his own eyes, she turns and rolls to face him, wrapping her own arms around him, too and burying her face in his neck.  He’s sure she can feel his pulse pounding frantically, but she simply sighs softly, her breath skimming across his skin.  Her breathing slows and deepens once again.  She’s asleep.

Javi sighs, remembering the taste of her lips during that sweet, innocent kiss in his office earlier that day. Closing his own eyes, he buries his face in her hair, drifting off to sleep with the weight of her in his arms.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 8,  Chapter 9, Chapter 10,  Chapter 11,  Chapter 12,  Chapter 13

[lucascsinclairs]

omg how did you color that 3x01 lumax movie scene??? it looks amazing!! i totally agree with regards to the white point/curves tip- i've been using it on all my gifs for a while now- but other than that i'm completely lost when it comes to this scene lol

Thank you! I’m really happy with how the coloring turned out too, and I’m happy to walk you through how I did it and give some tips that could be helpful. So here's the unedited gif, just with sharpening but no coloring. It's pretty dark for sure, I was bracing myself when going into coloring it, preparing to put the work in haha

But like I mentioned in the tags, setting the white point in the curves layer really saved me! I like to use that tool especially with dark scenes or scenes with otherwise unusual lightning or colored lights or something (I'm looking at you nighttime Starcourt mall.) It doesn't work all the time but it's still worth a try, and sometimes it does work and gives you a great starting point.

Here's quickly how to do it if anyone wants to know: you create a Curves adjustment layer, and in there you go and pick the white color picker tool on the left (highlighted a bit here) and with that, you point at a spot in the gif that is supposed to be bright white. In very dark gifs that could be a challenge, if nothing else is there I try picking people's teeth or whites of eyes as a last resort haha! But with this gif it was pretty easy to pick the white sleeve of the person sitting behind them on the far right. It turned out looking pretty good right from the bat, but I tweaked the RGB channels just a bit to make it less green. Here's what the gif looked like with just that one adjustment layer. It really helped me out a ton!

I added a Brightness/Contrast and an Exposure layer to fix the brightness a bit more. Then the lighting was pretty much covered and I went to fix up the colors just a bit more.

I added a Selective Color layering to bring out the reds in yellows a bit more and fade out the greens (As just a general note, if you can avoid it, try not to mess with the actual red settings too much, since it can often mess up people's skin color and wash them out, which we don't want.) Then I added a Color Balance layer. It is pretty useful when editing dark gifs, since with the brightness going up, the darks can get a bit grainy and muddy and a bit meh looking. It wasn't a huge problem in this gif but you can see it a bit in the seats behind them and in Lucas's shirt. So I went in and turned up the blues, magentas and reds a bit, both in midtones and shadows. You do have to be careful here though, if you mess with the shadow color balance too much, they'll get darker again after you did all that work making the gif lighter. Just working on it little by little works best and makes the darks have more of a uniform and smooth color tone.

So this is what the gif then looked like after applying all the adjustment layers! The Curves layer really did the heavy lifting here, but the coloring layers helped make it look more cohesive in my opinion, and just made it fit my style too.

And here we have the final result! Hope this was helpful to you, please feel free to ask me if you have any follow-up questions or if my explanation was confusing haha! 

[letterstothemidnightsociety]

It's 2007 and somehow, miraculously, Supernatural survives yet another rocky (?) season of mediocre ratings to come back for a third season, or at least, half season, but that season starts out with a real bang! Like, just a real solid trio of an opener for season three. It reminds me of all the things I love about SPN and also it reminds us of all the things that frustrate the hell out of me on SPN. So where did we leave things off?

First up, there’s Dean, who sold his soul to the devil in order to bring Sam back from the dead. Sam, you’ll remember, was part of some overly complicated ponzi scheme to find the perfect vessel to open a door - yep, open a door - and lost to Aldous Hodge who just straight up murders Sam in the season finale. So Dean get’s Sammy back, but in exchange, he’s only got one year left before he permanently moves down south. Oh! And even though they got Sam back and Sam kills Aldous Hodge (RIP pal), they neglected to keep the door from opening. The door to Hell, that is, and now they’ve allowed a shiz ton of demons out to freely roam the earth. Way to go, boys, you lost again! They are two for two on these season finales guys!

OH but they DO kill the Yellow Eyed Demon, so that’s a plus, but not before he plants the most perfect seed of doubt in Dean’s mind - “How do you know what you brought back is all Sammy?” Like, ugh, UGH, ugh!!!! What a way to drive the knife in deeper! What a way to make the heart of this show slowly start to crumble! C’est Magnifique!! *chef's kissy fingers*

So with all that emotional baggage weighing us down, how do we start season 3? How else - with a threesome of course! And also some technicolor grading, it’s wild guys.

Oh boy guys, let’s talk about this opener for a hot sec. I got into it a little bit last season, but as much as I love Dean, you HAVE to admit that that boy is gross. Just like...he’s a little gross. I’m also old enough now to see exactly how many red flags he’s raising through the last 45 episodes. Like, sorry Little Me, but he is not boyfriend material. Not to mention that all this debauchery is 1,000% him distracting himself from the consequences of his own actions, but we’ll get into that later.

Meanwhile, Sam is doing something constructive and trying to figure out how to reverse the curse and save Dean’s soul. And here we have the culmination of two seasons worth of character development - faced with the imminent demise of Dean Samuel Winchester, Sam tries to step up and take care of his brother for once in his life; Dean parties like it’s 1999. There were two things I thought of during this episode - 1) isn’t this not unlike the sort of behavior you see in suicidal people who have finally decided to take their own life? Which is just, like, further held up by the fact that Dean’s big monologue at the end literally has the line “Truth is I’m tired, Sam. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.” and like...dude, you are NOT ok! Why isn't??? ANYONE??? ADDRESSING THIS????? And 2) Dean is sharing a lot of similarities with the demons in this episode.

Because MEANwhile, there’s demons! So many demons! Specifically, the Seven Deadly Sins ones, but also, spoiler alert, Ruby, who is gettin’ reeeeealll into that ketchup.

All these baddies just really taking advantage of their time topside cuz Hell is, as they so artfully put it, it’s like Hell, so they’re just livin’ it up while they still can ~almost like foreshadowing or something~?!?!?

Real talk though, it being a real long time since I’ve watched this season, it’s these kinds of details that I’m impressed with this time around. There is so much character work that goes into this show and it’s something I definitely connected with the first time around, but not on conscious level. Now I can look at it through time and experience and articulate what I’m seeing, which makes this re-watch infinitely more enjoyable.

Episode 1 of this season continues what they started in season 2 and just keeps building out that Hunter Community. Like, there really is a whole Community out there that keeps in contact and works together and makes sure everyone’s up to date on the latest hot goss, and it all makes John Winchester come off like a real creepy splinter cell lone gunman type. And that in turn makes the Winchester sons look like total, unprofessional boneheads who managed to open a portal to Hell. “UGH Great Jorb Guys, but can we blame them? They’re John’s kids,” is a conversation between hunters that I am headcannoning, but also 100% support.

Honestly, I love the idea of the Winchesters being just these real, like, b-grade, Walmart Brand Hunters that other Hunters are just SO done with. We kind of see a little bit of that with Isaac and Tamara, but by the end of the episode, the Winchesters prove that they’re...better Hunters? I hope somewhere in the next 12 seasons I get an episode that is told from another Hunter’s POV who is legitimately better/more emotionally balanced than the Winchesters and the whole episode is them just, like, cleaning up a bunch of Winchester messes like, SONuvabitch, these two ASSholes. I think we see a fair amount of episodes from the POV of people who are less qualified than the Winchesters who end up being mentored by them, but I’d be stoked for them to run into just a group of people who hate them for totally legitimate, professional vs amature reasons.

Bobby does not count because Bobby signed up to be their Dad and so he agreed to take care of their messes when he took that job.

And then we get to “The Kids Are Alright” which showcases one of my fav changes for this season - BRIGHTLY! LIT! HIGH! SATURATION!!!! And of course, by fav, I mean, Most Hilarious.

I do walk a fine line on this one truth be told. Like, season 1 was definitely going for A Look. It’s super gritty and high contrasty and stylized. Now, I got what they were going for but I wasn’t always crazy about it, mostly because the quality on the DVD’s was terrible. Quick tip for everyone: in order to get 2+ hours worth of content on a DVD, you have to compress the final edit of the program to a pretty small bitrate. When we drop videos onto DVD’s at my work (it isn’t often, thank goodness), the discs themselves only hold, like, 2GB worth of content and that is NOT A LOT when it comes to video files. The more compressed a video file is, the less detail you’re gonna get in the visuals. Watching episodes on Netflix (where everything’s probably at a higher bitrate and therefore is a better quality visual), it’s not bad, but on my DVDs, the compression is so heavy that we get SUPER hot highlights and SUPER crunchy shadows - what a lot of people would called “crushed blacks” because you’ve lost all the detail in the shadows and you’re left with a grainy, noisy, black hole on the screen. Like I lost so much detail in the pilot episode guys, I could not make out this guy’s face.

A rough approximation of my DVD quality. Still recommend it over Netflix for the Accurate Soundtrack tho.

Season 2 SPN toned that Look down a lot, like, a lot a lot. Enough that you still got the general vibe they were going for but not enough that you couldn’t make out faces anymore. But through this whole process, the CW execs kept pushing for the show to look lighter, more colorful, less film noir more...well, CW. And in season 3 it finally happened!!!

I get what those execs were going for, but also, I feel like the colorists on these first few episodes just REALLY went wild out of spite. Lookit this shot from “Magnificent Seven” right before Envy causes some rando innocent bystander to beat a girl to death for her shoes -

GREEN GREEN GREEN GREEN!!!! I WONDER WHICH SIN THIS GUY IS????

Then in “The Kids Are Alright” the birthday party looks like everything is coated in day-glow neon.

The Winchester Bros look like they just got back from 3 weeks in Aruba - LOOK at the saturation levels in these skin tones! LOOK AT THEM!!

My screencap ability aside, only in SPN can a cemetery at night have brighter lighting than a diner in the middle of the afternoon.

This is definitely a thing I will be tracking the rest of the season because I have a distinct memory of a future episode where the brothers have been magically gifted completely different lives where they were never Hunters, they know nothing of Hunting, and they’re completely normal until the end when everything gets snapped back and the episode literally changes colors. V. Excited to see just how saturated this season stays through the end.

But maybe more importantly in “The Kids Are Alright” we learn that Dean does NOT, in fact, have a son. Not that he would be a good father...well...maybe? I mean, this Dean, this season 3, definitely-suicidal, completely-reckless, can’t-keep-it-together Dean, is not good Dad material. Later seasons Dean? Probably fine? Earlier seasons Dean might ALSO be fine? And if he’d found out that Ben was his legitimate kid, it could have made a WORLD of difference, who knows. I know he ultimately does become father-like to Ben and that gives me a lot of feelings. But this Dean is not in a good place to take care of anyone, including himself and really, someone ought to do something about that.

I gotta say, this is an actual bummer. I can’t remember if, in the later seasons, they do any clarifying on this or not, but I am legitimately bummed that Ben is not Dean’s kid and that as far as we know, Dean has no natural children floating around out there with surly attitudes and soft hearts. Dean’s motivation from Day 1 has always been family and despite what comments he may make in early seasons, Dean’s secret desire is to have the wife and the kids and the dog and the white picket fence. And honestly, we’re only 3 seasons in and I just want Dean to have nice things!!

And then guys, we come to “Bad Day at Black Rock,” and I just...WHAT a masterpiece. I had almost NO memory of ever watching this episode before and I don't understand why. What a glorious masterpiece this episode is. Let’s make a list -

More Hunters™, who should be really annoying but were actually kinda charming in a Marx Brothers kind of way

Gordon’s in jail, where he belongs, but also is masterminding a coup against the Winchesters which is A+ spooky stuff

Slapstick comedy that I didn’t know I was missing from my life

Bela F*cking Talbot

Guys, I think this is my fav episode so far purely because I felt, while watching it, that the last 10 years of my life were not in vain and that I had in fact grown as a human person. I remembered hating Bela Talbot. Like, I DID. NOT. LIKE. HER. To the point that I questioned if her British accent was even real. It is, her mother is from the UK and she lived there for a time, but like, honestly, the audacity of Little Me.

This time around? Oh she’s defs my new fav. Just everything about her is like, A+, Great Job, Why-Did-We-Cancel-Her??? Like, oh yeah, probably because somewhere in here they try to shoehorn a romantic side plot with Dean. I don’t actually mind rioting over shoehorned romance, but also, if they’d let this play out for a season or two and then got the two of them to bone? I’m on board. I’m 100% on board.

Maybe it’s just that she is unapologetically out for herself, maybe it’s the fact that she is definitely a match for the Winchesters in a non-murdery way, probably it is both of those things. She's smart, she’s crooked, she has impeccable taste, she’s honestly a helluva lot of fun and I am so excited to see more of her and so BUMMED that she will not make it past this season.

Despite the fact that I absolutely adore all three of these episodes, they also bring up the problem that I was starting to see in season 2 - WHO is this show about? Isn’t it supposed to be about the Brothers as a whole? But the majority of these first three lean pretty heavily on Dean’s emotional arc. Granted, it makes sense. I mean, of COURSE Dean’s demon deal is gonna be the BIG thing in a season where he is literally staring down the barrel, but knowing that there’s a side plot about Is Sam Evil?? seems like...something we should really explore more? I believe it comes up in season 4, or at least, Sam’s demon-blood powers become a bigger deal in season 4, but I would have enjoyed seeing Sam have a more active stake in this season. I can see planting some weird new ticks being planted for Alive-Again Sam that just get weirder and darker and then a mid-season finale or a run up episode to the end of the season where Dean (finally) decides he needs to stop his demon deal because he needs to stick around so he can keep Sam from going completely off the rails. As much as I love Dean 5ever, I do think the show works best when the emotional weight of the season is distributed equally is all. And to be fair to the writers this season, there could have been a bigger plan for something like that but they ran out of time - their season was cut by about a third due to the Writer’s Strike.

Still, all in all, a solid opening to the third season. I want to say that these episodes feel like Classic SPN, but then I remember that this is season three out of fifteen. These ARE Classic SPN. Mostly self contained with enough emotional drama to remind us of the overarching plot. Maybe a little heavy on the emotional drama, but Dean’s only got a year to live and the show’s only got 16 episodes to resolve that crisis, so it’s fine.