#as a side note this is me shaming this whole movie for pairing off grown ass adult scott with 17yo allison

[patolemus]

Uuuuuh here's my take on a Teen Wolf movie fix-it, because god do we deserve it.

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

“Stiles, think of her father! He finally has her back!”

“Think of his son! Scott, he’s a child,” Stiles’ voice breaks as he thinks of Eli, young and alone after losing his only parent. He thinks of himself, and who he might have been had he lost his dad at Eli’s age.

Mostly, he thinks of Derek. Selfless, martyr, stupid Derek who still thought he was disposable after all these years, after raising a son and settling down and getting the quiet life he always wanted. Stiles thinks of Derek, and he feels himself falling apart at the seams because why is it that life still likes to punish kind, battered souls like Derek Hale’s? Why couldn’t it decide that he’d had enough, why did it have to kill him before letting him rest?

Stiles can’t accept it. He won’t accept it. He’s going to bring Derek back from whatever kind of shit afterlife he’s in, and he’s going to force him to live out his quiet life with his son if it’s the last goddamn thing Stiles ever does. That is the only ending he’ll accept for this beautiful, broken man.

Fuck everyone who wants to stop him.

“Stiles, he’s gone. You can’t— he’s gone,” Scott says, voice softening, obviously trying to be placating. Stiles doesn’t care for it.

“You can keep your head in fucking Allison land all you want, Scott. Get your child bride, fuck off back to wherever it is you left Beacon Hills for. But don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do. If you want to keep her, you’ll do it far, far away from here,” and Stiles thinks maybe this is the moment Scott finally gets it. That he is not the same boy who left after high school graduation. Whatever soft spot Stiles had for Scott is gone, went away with time and therapy and the realization that Scott would never care for him the way Stiles did for him, that he was kept close for his usefulness until it ran out and he became disposable.

So yeah, Scott can keep Allison. Stiles will be happy for him, even. But if he dares interfere with his own plans, Stiles will put them both in the ground himself.

It’s not like it’d be the first time he’s done so.

[angry-geese]

Alien Blues

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Warnings: none! sfw. romantic/platonic(interpretable). mainly fluff. mentions of overworking and death, but nothing graphic. gn!reader

Notes: touch-starved Gojo

Word Count: 2.3k

Gojo doesn't get a lot of downtime in his line of work.

It comes with the job. Sorcerers don't exactly work a 9 to 5. This line of work is far from a normal one. Curses don't exorcise themselves, nor do they pick convenient times to show up. He usually has his hands full; be it taking down curses, or dealing with his students. A guy like him really can't take a vacation.

Despite going to the same school—and being only a year younger than him—you didn't meet Gojo until well into your adult life. After graduating, you went off on your own. The typical way of life for sorcerers wasn’t for you. You really didn't want to work with—or under—any of the major clans. At that point, you just wanted to do your own thing. To hell with the school; you’d be fine on your own. And you were.

You spent much of your time exorcising curses across the world, traveling from place to place, not staying in a single town for very long. A lot of it was freelance work. Such jobs were typically frowned upon, or at least looked at strangely. But it really didn't bother you. On your own you were powerful, and an impressive fighter, but you were working in a world that didn't accept you.

So you said to hell with fitting in.

Doing your own thing was the best decision you’d ever made. To this day you’ll stand by that. The jujutsu world is meant for people like Gojo. It demands so much more from you, and in return gives a whole lot less. It demands perfection from you—maybe even more—while he’s the set standard for this perfection. You hold no ill will towards him for it. He didn't make things this way. But it's hard not to envy him at times.

When you came back to the school, you were first assigned a teaching job.

Although you were a talented sorcerer, it was clear from the beginning you weren't meant to be a teacher. Your teaching style was viewed as a bit harsh, as you tended to just throw your students into a situation and let them figure things out for themselves, correcting them where needed. Overall you weren't a bad teacher, but your students got sent to the infirmary often. And by often, it was nearly every day. You just wanted them to be capable. You wanted your students to be prepared. To be the best of the best. How are they supposed to improve if they don't have experience?

To be fair, your students were some of the best in their grade.

For the most part you substitute if needed.

Upon first meeting, he was too eccentric for your tastes. Really, you found him annoying. Your first impression of Gojo was that he was full of himself and out of touch with the world around him. His first impression of you was that you were stuck up and a bit of a bitch.

There wasn't one thing that changed. Maybe he wore you down to the point where you tolerated him. He likes to think it was because of his charming personality. You know otherwise. His charms rarely work on you; if ever. Over time you found yourself less and less repulsed by him. The two of you bonded over harassing Nanami. On your own you weren't much trouble, but when paired with Gojo, Nanami learned to stay out of your way. If you let him. Usually you tracked him down. Your sweet tooth was just as insatiable as his. When you first took up baking, he was always nearby, wanting a taste. You’d drag him along to see new movies or shows or anything you’d think he’d like. He likes co-existing with you. The two of you don't have to even be doing anything. He can sit for hours with you by his side, doing absolutely nothing.

You've gotten to the point in your relationship where you show up unannounced. It's payback for all the times he’s come to your apartment, claiming he has some work for you, only to stay and raid your fridge, conveniently forgetting what he had to tell you. Yes you have scared the absolute hell out of Megumi on several occasions. In Gojo’s defense, he likes your cooking.

He’s not used to having you stay in one place for so long. You’re not used to it either. It feels strange sticking around Tokyo for so long. You hate feeling trapped more than anything. Maybe that’s why you moved around so much. Maybe you’re getting sentimental the older you get. For the first time in years, you feel truly at home. Gojo is one of your closest—if not your closest—friends, and there’s not much you wouldn't do for him.

You guess this is home. The end of the line, or whatever. You don't see yourself leaving for a while.

It's well after dark by the time he gets home.

The place was empty when you got here. Megumi must be out with friends. He's a strange kid. Strange circumstances lead to strange adults—or almost adults in his case. You try not to judge him too hard. You don't have a whole lot to say on his… situation.

He notices your form curled up on the couch, your face illuminated by your phone screen. The tv plays some horror movie you’ve long stopped paying attention to. Your face lights up when you see him.

His hand briefly touches your head, messing up your hair. He looks tired. There's dark circles under his eyes. He was gone for a while this time.

“I brought takeout,” you say, gesturing to the fridge, “I wasn't sure when you’d get home so I put it in there.”

“Did you eat already?” He asks. He makes a note to pay you back for the food later.

“No, I wanted to wait for you.” You say.

A bit of guilt hits him. You really didn't have to wait for him. You know his habit of being chronically late. He says he’s fashionably late, to which you reason he is never fashionable ever. He actually seemed a bit bothered by that one, which only made you tease him more.

Momentarily he disappears into the kitchen, returning with your food. You have his order memorized. There's only a handful of things he’d get anyway. He’s not a picky eater, and usually gets what you get. Pick one of about three things and he’ll probably eat it.

The food is still good even while cold. Gojo talks about his recent job while you eat. He says it was nothing special. But he called Nanami for backup, so you know that’s a lie. He hardly touches his food. Since when doesn't he want to eat? The guy has a pretty impressive appetite at times. Seriously, he could eat you out of house and home.

“Are you done?” He asks.

You nod.

He clears away the empty takeout containers from in front of you, returning the leftovers to the fridge.

When he returns, he sits next to you, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. The leather is an ugly shade. You’re sure if it weren't for Megumi, he would have bought something much worse. His taste—in everything, really—can be tacky. You make sure he knows this. Always have to keep him on his toes. Nanami is right about some things. You never take Gojo’s side for too long.

“You were gone for a while this time.” You say.

A smug looking grin spreads across his face. It's almost enough to make you roll your eyes and groan. “Sounds like you were worried about me.”

Really, you could worry yourself sick thinking about him. It's hard not to. Everyone has their limits, and you constantly wonder when he’ll hit his. Strongest or not; he’s human after all.

“Of course I worry.” As much as you hate to admit it, you care about him. You won't say it. It feels like bad luck to say it out loud.

He knows. He feels the same way. Over time he’s grown jaded and angry with the way things are. He tries not to worry too much about you. This life isn't an easy one, but you can handle yourself. He knows that. Years on your own have proven you're not only a capable sorcerer, but a talented one. The strongest doesn't need to worry about himself, so much as the people around him.

In a weird way he’s proud of you.

You open your arms, instinctively he goes into them.

You pull his head to your chest. He does little to fight against you. Hell, he practically leans into your touch. You take his glasses, setting them on the table beside you. His eyes close when your hands move to his hair, gently pulling it out of his eyes. He’s not quite sure what to do with his arms. Eventually he settles on resting them at his sides. One snakes around your stomach, coming to rest on the fleshy part of your hip. You're awfully comfortable to lay on, he notes.

Your movements are familiar, and oddly comforting. He makes note of the way your heartbeat suddenly drops off, before picking up in pace. From the smell of your shampoo, to the sound of your breathing. He can only describe it as home.

Lots of people will die in this line of work, but he has faith you’ll always be around. You’re too stubborn to die.

Touch in a sense like this is almost foreign to him. Touch in a non fighting context is just bizarre. He never de-activates infinity long enough to get hit. He's had his fair share of one night stands. Hell, he could have anyone he wants. He’s had everything and anything in between. Men and women across the world either want to be him, or be with him. But this—intimacy like this—is strange. The others get kicked out the morning after. But you’ll always be around. He likes to think he’ll be around for you too.

Maybe he’s more touch starved than he thought.

He’s Satoru-fucking-Gojou, a man like him doesn't get touched starved. He feels a wave of shame at his reaction. His face burns. His pride won't allow him to admit how much he enjoys this.

It's the first time you’ve held him close like this. The action is so oddly intimate and it’s not even in a sexual way. Your movements are familiar. He fits so nicely against your chest, he notes.

He practically purrs in delight as your fingers brush a sensitive spot towards the back of his head—where his neck and shoulders meet—sighing softly. Goosebumps rise along his exposed flesh. You take note of his reaction, and focus on that spot more, dragging your fingers across his skin. Your nails are getting long, and feel nice against his scalp. His eyes close as he leans into the crook of your neck.

"Do you want to watch something different?" You ask.

His heart nearly stops when your hand moves to cup his cheek. His face is warm. He's a wimp when it comes to horror movies. He says they don't scare him. They do. You’ve spent plenty of night sitting next to him, watching his body tense with terror.

He wasn't paying attention to the tv until now. He shakes his head, but his eyes remain fixed on the ground and not the screen.

"This is fine." He says.

"You sure?"

He nods.

He fights sleep as long as possible, but eventually he'll have to give in to it. You’ll be there long after he’s fallen asleep. Maybe even after he wakes up. His head nods, his eyes struggling to stay open. His breaths even out, his chest rising slowly.

You're not really sure what to do once he falls asleep on you. Your position isn't the most comfortable, but you suffer through it so as to not wake him up. If he’s fallen asleep on you, then he definitely needs the rest. He’s a light sleeper anyway. Any movement would be sure to wake him up.

It’s not long after that his body heat—and the sound of his steady breathing—lulls you to sleep.

You wake up to a blanket haphazardly tossed over the two of you. The tv is off. Two glasses of water are set out on the coffee table, condensation collecting on the outside. Megumi must have come home. Gojo's drool collects in a small pool on your collarbone, which is a bit gross. You use the corner of the blanket to wipe it away. It’s a bit odd seeing him so at-peace. It's rare he even lets his guard down. You rest your chin on the top of his head. His hair is soft, and tickles your neck. The sight of him makes your chest swell with affection. The intimacy of it all is enough to overwhelm you. It's been a while since you’ve cared so much about someone.

It's nice having him home.

He stirs, stretching out a bit like a cat. You card a hand through his hair. He grumbles something in response. Probably a weak “what?” Your joints are a bit stiff from staying in the same position for so long.

“Do you want coffee?” You ask.

He sleepily mumbles an answer—one which you don't understand. It's just as legible as the first. His eyes don't even open. You take it to mean he wants to go back to sleep. You pull the blanket up around his shoulders, tucking it under his chin. The sun is still barely up. You’re not in a rush to get up. You don't have anything to do today anyway, work can wait. If Nanami calls, you’ll just ignore him. You could stay in all morning if you wanted.

And you just might.

Come hell or high water, you’re staying on this couch.

In a bit you should get up and start breakfast. Most of the food in the house is for Megumi, but there should be enough to make something small. Pancakes sound nice.

[radiowallet]

December 25th - Presents

Summary: Missy thinks about presents on a visit home at Christmas time. (I’ve placed this well into the future. Missy is about 21 here).

Pairing: None. Marcus and Missy Moreno bonding time.

WC: 1.7K

Warnings: Mature, Angst,Grief, Christmas warnings all apply. 

Notes: Thanks to @toomanystoriessolittletime​ for putting together such a wonderful prompt list. Something about December 25th is always a little bit somber to me. Holidays in general are good time to think about those we lost and to hold them close to our heart. 

Merry Christmas to all my mutuals and friends who celebrate! And to those that abstain, I hope you’re having a beautiful winter day! I love you all!

What do you want for Christmas?

He asks Missy every year on December 1st. Like  clockwork, without fail. One of many constants that he’s provided over the years. She could be 50 years old, weathered skin and crows feet marking time across her face, kids of her own, a partner by her side, and he’d still make it a point to call and ask. Always ready to give her whatever he can, whatever she can dream up, whatever is in his power. Say what you want about Marcus Moreno- the man is consistent.

It’s such an easy question. Simple. All she has to do is close her eyes and picture her heart’s content. At five it took nothing at all to get an answer; baby dolls, dresses, a pony. At eight it got a little harder; super powers. At ten it was impossible-

Mom.

She’ll never forget the look on her father’s face. For the first time in her small existence she saw him at a loss for words. He stammered and stuttered, pulling his glasses off and putting them back on, a repetitive exercise to keep his nervous hands busy. In the end he simply pulled her into a too tight hug, letting her cry herself to sleep in his arms, no way to explain away the injustice of a cruel world and an ugly truth. Missy never answered his question that way again, even at that young an age understanding that some things were just too painful, even for grown-up’s. But it didn’t stop her traitorous mind, every year on December 1st from having that one single thought. Wishing it. Begging it.

And now, 21 and nearly done with college, sitting in the living room of her childhood home, cradling a mug of coffee between her cold hands, she still can’t seem to help it. At the back of her mind, in the tiniest corners of her heart she silently wills this one single Christmas present into existence. This one thing that she wants so desperately but knows that it simply cannot be. Just a day. No. An hour. An hour to walk with her again, to talk to her, to hear her voice, to ask all the questions, big and small, that have piled up over the years. Just a small moment to present herself, grown and whole, to the woman who made her and find out if she would be proud of the person Missy Moreno has become.

They could lay in her tiny twin bed together, her body wrapped around her own, a kiss to her hand, a kiss to her head. Soft lullabies and warm eyes, falling asleep together like they used to on those cold winter nights when Missy would call out for her, a nightmare or the harsh wind or just her loneliness keeping her from her dreams. She came every time Missy called, that foundation of trust never rocking, not one single time, until that very first night she called for her and she never came. The only promise ever broken. Anger and sadness, utter in their absolution, still live somewhere inside her and Missy hates herself for it. For not knowing where to place it at the end of the day, and when she pictures her mom, when she looks at her dad, she can’t help the swell of shame that she’s somehow letting them both down when locked in this one selfish wish.

What did she expect now that December 25th was here? That it would be like the end of some cheesy holiday movie? Waking up from an ugly dream or the universe righting itself on its axis and things would be as they were all those years ago? It’s silly and endlessly annoying and she can’t help but wrinkle her nose at herself. Missy Moreno, future of the Heroics, their leader, their guidepost, was better than this.

Wasn’t she?

She pulls her knees close to her chest, curling up  and around her coffee, keeping the rim of the mug close to her lips, the warmth barely anything to chase away the chill in her heart, but she sips at in a futile attempt to do so anyway.

Her dad is in the kitchen, the clink of his own mug as he fills it with coffee and mixes in a splash of cream, his large frame towering over the countertop. There’s a little more gray in his beard now, some of  it smattering the curls of hair he’s let grow out, and the laugh lines around his eyes have grown deeper with years of laughter, but he still smiles just as wide, boyish and joyful, not an ounce of cynicism in his heart. Sometimes she thinks about asking him how he does that; lives his life so genuinely, but she’s not even sure he realizes it himself. He makes his way to the couch, sitting opposite her and cheating his body in her direction before taking his first sip, a hum of satisfaction slipping from between his lips. It’s quiet, save for the ticking of a clock in the background, soft and persistent, matching the cadence of time moving steadily forward.

“You’re thinking too hard for someone on vacation, mija.”

“Just a lot on my mind...the holidays….” she offers, dancing around the truth trapped between them, still so afraid to say this one simple thing out loud.

He considers her over the rim of his coffee mug, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, eyes tracing her face before drifting out the window to watch the light dusting of snow swirl up and away from the cold ground.

“Your mom.”

She can’t help it; she rolls her eyes. Not at him, never at him, but at the uncanny ability he has to see through her, right to the center of her heart, and know exactly what she’s thinking. It had to be the inane ability of a father, that way that he knew her, knew her insides, her outsides, her fears and passions. The way he understood the aching heart she carried with her, but never pushing her to share more than she was willing. Eternally patient and endlessly giving, and Missy isn’t sure she’ll ever truly appreciate it in a way he deserves, but like hell if she won’t keep trying.

“Do you-” she stops herself, and takes a breath, fingers gripping tight to her own mug, watching the amber liquid shake from the force of her hold. “Do you ever wish things had been different or...that we could have her back?”

His smile doesn’t change, it’s shape and size unwavering as he looks at her from across the wide expanse of their old leather couch, littered with memories old and new, worn down edges and indents that showcase the life they’ve lived together in this house. She had joked a year ago that he should replace it, getting something new, no stains, no tears. He only shrugged and with all the finality of a man whose mind won’t be changed, he refused. It’s comfortable, he had said. Maybe what he meant to say was I’m comfortable. His eyes don’t leave her as he takes another sip of coffee, dark brown and so very much like her own watching her closely as he prepares his answer.

“All the time.”

Before she can even form a thought around his answer he’s speaking again.

“And never.”

She scowls down into her mug with a sigh.  “You can’t have both answers, Dad.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

She looks back up and he’s still smiling, just as patient, just as kind, and it occurs to Missy for the first time, maybe ever, that she isn’t the only one who makes a futile wish every December 1st. Maybe Marcus’s list matches very closely to her own, but time and age are a generous gift, and she can’t help it, a hot wave of jealousy rising up her throat at the sight of his calm demeanor, of how easily he accepts what he can’t have, sipping at his coffee and watching the snow with that quiet smile.

“You asked me once, for your mom, as a Christmas present.”

Missy ducks her head low, embarrassment joining jealousy at the table in her heart, and she feels the familiar flush of it all rising up her neck. She takes a sip of her coffee, trying desperately to give herself something else to focus on, but it’s a short reprieve. The genie is out of the bottle, spilling out and over and filling up the room, and she knows the only way around this thing she started is to go through it.

“You remember that?”

He tilts his head and this time his smile does get wider, the entirety of his bright eyes pointed directly onto her. “I remember everything you say, kiddo.”  

“Dad…”

“Listen,” he offers, and she knows he’s about to attempt some form of patriarchal wisdom, coffee cup set aside, body shifting closer, one arm opening wide to rest on the back of the couch, an offer for when she’s ready. “It’s hard and easy all at the same time to wish for these things that we know we can’t have. Trust me, I’ve done my own time on the subject.”

She feels her own body shift, an inch forward, just barely, as she takes in the weight of what he’s admitting to her. When she finally speaks, her voice is thin, wavering like the child she very much feels like in this one single moment.

“But it’s been so long. Why can’t I feel better?”

“Mija,” he murmurs, fingers flexing where they rest against worn brown leather, “what makes you think I do?”

And suddenly she’s 10 not 21, falling forward, small body resting in his own, cheek pressed to the solid beat of his heart. There’s no tears this time, no need for them, not when things are so muted, so soft, and maybe, she thinks, time has been more generous with her than she originally thought. She breathes in the familiar scent of her father, allowing herself to find comfort in the solidarity of pain as her tired mind tries to make sense of the whole mess of time, and how even when things change and the world moves on, there will always be consistency here in his arms and his words, sitting on this ugly old couch that he refuses to replace.

Main Masterlist

31 Days for Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Tag List: @nolanell @honestly-shite @leslie-lyman  @gingersnappe-9 @mandocrasis @dobbyjen @sergeantbannerbarnes @lowlights @cowboy-turtle @mindidjarin @alm0501​ @castleamc​ @tintinn16​ @hnt-escape​ @magpie-to-the-morning​ @mylovelycomandante​ @jazzelsaur​ @prostitute-robot-from-the-future

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 5

“She broke up with me.”

> genre : Angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 4k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity; jjk heartbroken & crying; some wholesome flashbacks to make you swoon

previous - next

The next box arrives about a month or so later. You haven’t seen Jungkook in a while. He had been out of town, hopping from shop to shop, completing a series of long-awaited guest positions. 

He’s kept you up with his days and his appointments as much as he could, sending you dorky selfies, little videos of city landscapes you’ve never seen before, and exhausted late vocal notes made in tiny, with dragged on, mumbled words, to wish you luck and send you some courage for work. 

You did not expect that the day you’ll meet again, he’d be so different from the Jungkook you prefer and left a month ago.

It takes you a few seconds to realize. At first, you’re preoccupied with the sudden set of needles stinging your insides when you hear the peculiar sound of your front door being unlocked. There’s a very finite amount of probability that it’s not him, he's the rudest of your tiny group of friends and the only one that feels comfortable enough in your home to invite himself without any prior warning.

It’s him, your best friend and subject of too many of your both daily and nightly thoughts and preoccupations.

Once he appears in the door frame, with his heavy coat on his heavy XXL sweatshirt, in his heavy military pants, face turned down hidden by his hair, the magic thing, that grows so mysteriously quick. There’s the little explosion of warmth in your chest. The one that makes you smile tenderly without meaning to. He’s allowed to see how happy he makes you, as a friend anyway. Everybody smiles this way when he walks into a room.

Your eyes catch sight of a box, all white, that fits in his hand. Your eyes roll on reflex. You’re about to curse again. It’s not nice, you don’t want to, to attack him as soon as he returns to you but he’s asking for it, isn't he?

He’s still in the hallway, slowly slipping his shoes off, focus fixed on the present in his hand. The time he takes doing it and the seemingly seriousness you feel irradiating from his aura, confuse you.

Jungkook shakes his head twice, the way he does, kind of like a wet puppy would, before setting the box on the counter of your open kitchen.

It’s only when he starts walking towards you, that his head raises up, just a bit, enough for his eyes to meet yours through his hair. He has a tiny smile as a greeting. He looks really upset. 

He should be bouncing on the balls of his feet, he should be doing some TikTok cringe dance moves to make you laugh or yell some greetings in a dialect. He has a lot of peculiar, very Jungkook ways to celebrate meeting you again after a while. Even if neither of you has ever said the words, you do miss each other a lot when you can’t see each other, and the excitement that blooms during your reunions translates that. 

But he’s sad today. It’s obvious. 

When he takes a seat beside you on the couch, he avoids your gaze. You’re agape, watching him with probably too much insistence, a hand holding a spoon half-filled with yoghurt in the air.

These few moments are decisive. They’ll determine rather he’ll talk or not. Jungkook, for someone who cries easily, is not good with feelings and sharing them aloud. Sometimes he can, often he can’t. He’s told you not to worry about it before, that it was fine because sometimes he just didn’t need to, he just wanted a shoulder to lay his head-on. 

“You okay, Guk?”

He shrugs. You just have the time to catch his upper lip sucked in, a twinkle in his eye before he’s switching position, bumping into you and hitting his own shin against the coffee table like a giant dog, unaware of his own growth, would. Only to settle for an impressively tiny huddle against your side, cheek pressed to your shoulder. 

So that’s how it’ll be. 

It’s heartbreaking, torturesome. You always feel miserable when you know he’s sad but not knowing the reason makes it a thousand times worse. You might be the same vengeful kid you used to be. The one who’ll inquire straight away who made him cry and immediately went on her way to beat that reason up -it being another child or the troll of a tree that made him trip. 

Except you are grown-ups now. He knows he can deal with his problems on his own and he would probably not let you go and try to beat up everyone -he probably doesn’t believe you can too, even though he’d be wrong about that. 

Jungkook tears his hand out of his pocket only to mime you to turn up the volume of the television. You do so and the pretty hand is gone and if it wasn’t for his quiet sniffling and the heavy press on your side, you wouldn’t know he’s really here with you at all. 

Your heart hurts the whole duration of the shitty afternoon movie, even if having his warmth next to you helps a little. He leaves later the way he entered, mostly silently, only smiling a bit when you smooch the side of his head and squeeze his forearm in a wordless comforting effort.

Guk

Sorry for earlier

Guk

It was nice seeing you though

You

Don’t be sorry. Can you call?

Guk

Yes, in 5

The five minutes turn out to be twenty. You wonder, hoping to be wrong, how numerous those tears were that he needed twenty minutes to dry them. 

When he finally calls, voice quiet and throat dry, whispering through the phone straight in your ear, uneasiness settles deep and heavy in your stomach as you know, you were right. 

“What happened, Jungkook?”

He must not have heard you this soft and gentle for a while because you can hear a humourless chuckle you recognize as incredulity. He clears his throat a first time, inhales deep and has to clear it a second time before he can start, still choking out on a syllable or two. 

“She broke up with me.”

The gasp that escapes you, loud and obnoxious, could not have been faked. This news is hardly believable to you. First of all, because, to your greatest guilty despair, Jungkook and his girlfriend, who’ve been dating for almost a year, are probably the embodiment of The Power Couple. There’s no doubt, in all the people that know them, that they are meant to be. They look good together. They are on the same page, always, it seems. They’re beautiful and enviable, an example of a match from Heaven, healthy and aesthetic if that's even a mentionable point.

You can’t, even in your deepest, darkest fantasies, have imagined them to break up. 

But the thing that makes it all the harder to comprehend is that she is the one who did it. The girl is great. She’s beautiful, she’s smart and funny, so you heard. She has that glamour to her, with her dainty pretty milky hands and long thin milky neck, with her silky, shiny black locks wondrously floating over her shoulders. She is great, matches him well.

She is not that far behind him but she's still not Jeon-Jungkook-great.

How could she have broken up with him? Someone dumping him makes no sense to you. 

“That’s-“ You catch yourself before the words slip out clumsily. You’ve never really been talented at comforting people with words, especially a crying Jungkook which is the equivalent of your very own kryptonite. “I’m so sorry, Jungkook.” And you mean it. Even more so when you hear him snivel hard. You’ve never allowed yourself to, even just for yourself, in the quiet and discreet comfort of your own head, wish for that to happen. Because if there’s one thing that you want more than anything else, more than having him for yourself, more than your own fulfilment, it’s his happiness. And he was happy with Jiyeun. He’s got the girl he had a crush on for months and they went so well together. “But why? Did she give you a reason?”

You hate how eager you sound asking. The question is so pressing though. You wish to know so bad why, in what circumstances, Jeon Jungkook gets dumped. 

“She-“ There’s a sob he swallows back. “I know what you’ll say,” Your eyebrows dip low on reflex. You couldn’t imagine the reason. He must have really fucked up but Jungkook is not the kind to fuck up. Even when he’s annoying, even when his mindset on something turns a bit auto-centric, he’s too compassionate, he’s too considerate and loving, to suddenly stop wondering how the person facing him is feeling and act without care, hurt them, in any way. It’s just not his kind. So what did he do that even you’ll have a word to say about it. “Spare me because she’s done enough.” 

It takes another set of minutes for him to gather himself, find most of his voice back clear enough for you to decipher. You show yourself patient, not saying anything and leaving him all the time that he needs. In all honesty, in the darkness of your curtain closed bedroom, tucked comfortably in your mountain of pillows and blankets, with your phone stuck to your ear and just the quiet sound of his breathing and humming to himself to break the silence, but rock it rather than disturb it, it’s easy to be patient. Feels like an ASMR. A class A type of ASMR, his breathing to your ear could so easily lead you to sleep. 

“Yesterday, she came to welcome me back and-“ Rather than hurt, his tone sounds weakened by shame now. What the hell did he do? “She found the- the thing I brought for you today.”

The fucking idiot.

“Oh my God.” You feel instant nausea. It's not like you never thought about it. You wondered, multiple times, if she was aware that her boyfriend was buying you these. You never allowed dipping far in the questioning because what would be the point? Ultimately, it's his relationship. And it's his way of shaping your friendship. If she kept smiling pleasantly, asking politely, as she always would, how you're doing whenever you happened to cross her path, leaving his apartment, or visiting his shop, it was fine by you. It must have been fine by her. She might have known about it, or she might not, didn't really matter. Jeon Jungkook is a grown-ass man, who's allowed to make his own decisions, no matter if they make sense to you, or her, or whoever.

But he's a fucking idiot.

If she didn't know, if he didn't warn her, and now she's mad after learning about it, and he's surprised and he's sad then he's a fucking idiot.

“She asked if it was for her, I wasn’t gonna lie!” Fantastic. He's passed the shock, soaked in wrath now. That was quick.

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook!"

"What?" He sounds a bit hysterical on the phone, voice rough and angry, incredulous, even mad that you might suggest he's wrong. Obviously, he already knew you'd react this way, hence the primary warning. "You're my best friend. I get to gift you whatever the fuck I want." He whisper-yells, suddenly very much aware again of the late time and the quiet calmness he'd perturbed. "She-"

"I don't think that's the issue, is it? Did she- Did you tell her that- Like, nothing was up?" You don't know how to articulate what you mean to ask. It sounds so bizarre, so irrealistic, the idea of something romantic or sexual going on between you two. It sounds so ludicrous you can't even say it. And again, you're scared to say the words. You don't know how they'll sound leaving your mouth. Suspicious, maybe revealing.

You owe to ask the question though. Because the cause of the sudden nausea comes from one surprisingly major reason, you would hate for her to hate you. To think of you as the bad guy, the massive bitch who stole her boyfriend. It shouldn't matter but it does.

"What do you mean?"

"That it was just friendly. Did you say that to her?" You stutter, largely on edge.

"Of course, I did." He doesn't seem to notice. Or to pay attention to the, evident to your ear, change in your tone. "She said that it didn't matter." You bite your tongue, along with the couple of words threatening to slide off it. Quite frankly, Jungkook is a weirdo with his own intake on the world surrounding him, she chose to date that special, in a lot of different ways, one, however, you can fairly understand that she wouldn't accept any explanation, of any kind, for this situation. "Do you get that? If she thought I was cheating, I'd understand that she'd be mad but- it's not even the case!"

You try to focus on the essence of the conversation, annihilate the faint words you can read in between the lines. The ones that say that even his girlfriend, in those strange circumstances, couldn't imagine the two of you as more than friends. Just as he couldn't. Just as you can't either.

"She knows and she's still mad. But- I do- I was just curious about it."

"About what?"

"The toys." He pouts, barely articulate like the kid he really is.

"Why didn't you get them for her, then? She's your girlfriend."

There's a pause after your words coming from him.

"She hates those." The pout sounds so thick now, in between the sniffs, you wonder if his mouth won't stay stuck in this position, like a cute permanent raspberry on his cute little dumb face. "I did once and she- threw it in my face and called me a freak."

"Jungkook." You sigh. "That explains a lot, by the way." This comment might be mainly for yourself. He doesn't need an explanation, as it seems. He doesn't seem that troubled about the whole deal, about that new hobby he's picked for himself. But you did. It's hard to simply content yourself with a "well, it is what it is" and nothing more.

He's been curious about them, couldn't buy them for Jiyeun because she wouldn't use them and make him feel guilty about his interest. He's sort of living it by procuration this way.

Now you feel guilty. He can't have found much satisfaction from your reviews if you ever have given him any. And she called him a freak. What a bitch. You wouldn't have imagined that coming from her.

Your mind is a mess.

"And it makes you happy. I see the way-" You hear the friction of tissues, the squeaking of his bed, and the deep sigh that follows when, as you picture, he finds a comfortable position on his back. "You seem much better. Less stressed and-" You cannot deny that. Even though it's partially frustrating, to think that he has this very unpleasant picture of you, of the version of you preceding the very first orgasm brought by him - sort of. You are feeling considerably better. Even if you have to force yourself not to abuse the masturbatory habits, not wishing to turn into a jerk off crazed teen like you once was when your hormones were fucking you up, it helps a lot. Sometimes it's a late-night quickie, other times a longer seance to celebrate the start of the weekend, or find force for the beginning of a new week.

"What was that again? Youthful?" You wonder aloud, an annoyingly amused smile on your face.

"Rejuvenated." He's laughing a bit. And for that, all the turmoil he's been putting you through feels fine and worth it. When you think about the heartbreaking tone of his voice when you first heard it through the phone, it eases an incredibly heavyweight to your heart, enchants you to know that he can still laugh, and you can still be the one reminding him how to. Unfortunately, his heart's just recalled how to hurt and the ache is back as quick as it pretended to leave an instant ago. "She said to never call her again." He confides with a hearable sorrow.

"She didn't mean it." It's surprisingly easy to be a good friend to him. The words you know he needs to hear not even hurting that bad.

"I don't know. We never fought like that before."

"Of course, you didn't. But it's been a year, it ought to happen at some point."

"But if she won't even let me talk to her, how am I supposed to make it better?"

"Be patient and leave her time to cool down." He sighs, already defeated. "Maybe send her a vocal note, she'll listen when she's ready.” They're awfully nice when he sends some to you. “It'll be fine." You're made to be together, probably, you should add. You could add, it might help him immensely, to dry the tears you can picture filling up his eyes. It's a little too much though. You're not that strong of a masochist to force this on you.

"How do you know that?"

"I just do. Don't worry too much." He can't. His heavy silence precisely screams that. "Do you wanna come to my island? I'll let you run in my flowers if you want."

It makes him laugh once again. The lovely, most satisfying sound to your ear.

"That's sweet of you." And it is, extremely sweet of you. If there's one thing that you despise is him sprinting through the mindfully planted flower beds of your Animal Crossing island. It pisses you off. Even more so when he does it by accident than on purpose, because this shit happens way too often. And now, you're allowing him to do so. You're definitely too good at being his friend. "It's fine though. Turnips sell at 138 on mine if you're interested."

It's your turn to be laughing now. You love how even with his heartbroken, upset and crying, he still picks up his Switch to check where's the turnips' stock at.

"Jungkook." I adore you.

You have for seemingly ever. Since the very first time you met.

You'd never forget it. How you almost passed out from laughing because of the street sign that nearly knocked him unconscious. His forehead was already bruising dark, eyes unfocused and shiny with tears. You didn't mean to laugh but he was adorable and funny, and even if you felt guilty for enjoying it, people don't run their faces into street signs every day. You called it in your own head a miracle.

He had to sit for a little while from how dizzy he felt. His ears were burning with embarrassment too, your uncontrollable giggling not helping. He just sat there, on a bench you had dragged him to, hands tucked in the pocket of his sweatshirt, waiting for you to allow him to leave.

The kid stood unbalanced the four times he tried to walk and even if at eleven, you had nothing close to a doctoral degree, you still felt like it was wrong to just let him stumble his way back home straight away. You had to hold him hostage for a little while. You had shared your homemade cookies with him, the ones you hid deep in your bag for you didn't want anyone to ask for a bite at school. You made him drink the whole content of your water bottle because drinking water is never an unhealthy thing to do, therefore, it felt like a good idea.

He was so shy that your own timidness quieted down enough to allow you to make conversation to him. Or more accurately talk over the silence and distract him. He giggled a lot and smiled with cute bunny teeth. Kept saying thank you for every bit of cookies you'd given him and once you had walked him home and he arrived safe and sound, he bowed very low, apologized and thanked you again.

You thought it'd be the end of it. He pretended to be going to the same school as you but you had never seen him also he was a few years younger.

The next day, and every single day after that, at recess, he would appear out of nowhere. Wearing his adorable smile, and a tint of red on his ears, a bunch of homemade cookies of his own filling up his pockets. As a puppy would, he'd follow you around with a certain distance until you waved him over, rolling your eyes, because if he was going to stick by your side, he might as well actually play with you.

The most precious friendship you have ever experienced bloomed from this seed. A friendship, at the start, mainly based on a shared interest for very sugary treats, marbles, and that common memory of him eating shit in this street sign. You didn't mean to remind him, it made him flush furiously each time and you were not that cruel, but you couldn't help bursting out in laughter whenever you'd walk home -with him or alone- and pass that sign. It's your favourite spot in your home town. You never miss an occasion to take a selfie for him whenever you go to visit your parents.

It's hard to define the moment your feelings, once purely platonic, changed. But there's a memory that feels notably significant.

A guy made you fall. A useless asshole, who in retrospect was not even worth a single crumble of your time. You were confused. As you often get, without really knowing why. Maybe it's just you, maybe it's for everyone the same. People start by being too good in your eyes, too good for you not to give them your all, and maybe build pyramides upon pyramides of expectations.

Until they're not anymore.

Suddenly, they hurt your feelings. They suck ass and you felt so invested emotionally, way too invested for it to be any kind of healthy, and their very human selves harm you straight in the heart, where it is the most painful.

It didn't feel like a mistake this time. Like any of the other times, at the beginning, of course, otherwise, it wouldn't catch you again and again.

You fell hard and it's Jungkook who picked you up. He had cooked for you, one of his mother's infamous recipes because he knew you wouldn't even bother eating otherwise. He had held you close. He had kissed the top of your head, your cheeks and your eyelids when a diehard tear had slipped. He had called you baby and sunshine and his little kitten. Had showered you in an unfamiliar type of loving. Something so soft, so tender and warm. Hands firm when they'd wrapped around you and pulled you in. Fingers gentle when they'd brush the hair out of your face. He took care of you, made you feel good in ways no one has ever had. You had not known him to be like that. Suddenly, he really felt like a man when he touched you, when he talked to you. He wasn't only a dorky little overgrown baby anymore. He was a man, shaped like one but also able to act like one. Able to take care of a woman, please one you were sure of it. And suddenly, you wanted, so desperately, to be that woman. To have the same free access you had on his usual candid-self, on this newly met man.

Of course, it's too ludicrous for you to ever act on it. But deep down, a naive tiny voice kept claiming, in the back of your mind, that you could spoil him. Very few people in this world know him the way you do, surely, no one can please him the way you could.

Guk

She listened to my note!!!

Guk

She said she'll make me miss her a bit more and then she'll call

It took less than a day for her to give him a sign. You're not surprised. It's hard not to miss him. You're not surprised but somehow, still, disappointed.

A/N: tadam!! i needed to include some flashbacks because i know my fellow f2l addicts just adore these, also, i just can’t get over writing kookie as a cute kid.

Guess what guys? there is only one chapter to go *sweats profusely* I- am worried. I hope you keep enjoying it and will enjoy the rest. :] For now, let me know your thoughts. I hope you have a sweet, lazy Sunday and wish you a lovely, peacful week! bises!

As always please ask to be tagged for the final chapter on this post

[leossmoonn]

It’s My Job [Spencer Reid]

masterlist

pairing - spencer reid x gender neutral! reader

type - fluff

note - hey, guys! i hope you enjoy this, this is a short one. this was a request by @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto

summary - you help to try and make spencer feel better after a hard case.

————

*gif isnt mine*

The whole car ride back home was silent. The events of what the couple had witnessed was terrible, to say the least. 

Y/n L/n and Spencer Reid had just gotten done with a case. Approximately 20 minutes ago, they had gotten off the jet and went to head home. Y/n was their usual, talkative self, but Spencer was quiet and distant. 

The case had involved a man killing his old classmates’s kids because he had been bullied by the parents. The boy had reminded Spencer of himself when he was a child. Spencer and the boy were both bullied all their school life. Spencer and the boy’s bullying stories were a little bit too similar and it caused Spencer to think about his school days. Where the kids would taunt him for being so young and so smart. 

For Y/n, it was hard for them to see this case. Dealing with kids being murdered was never easy, but they didn't have the same connection their boyfriend did. Sure, Y/n was made fun of from time to time because of their glasses and how they knew every answer in class, but it was never as bad as Spencer’s childhood. 

It was also hard for Y/n to see their boyfriend so depressed. They knew nothing they could say would make him feel better. It would be the same things Spencer had heard before, so they decided to do a few things to make him feel better instead of having a talk with him. 

Once they arrived at their apartment building, Spencer almost ran in the building. He climbed the stairs quickly, barely giving Y/n a chance to catch up with him.

Once Y/n got to their apartment door, they saw that Spencer had left it cracked open for them. Y/n went in and locked it, sighing once they heard Spencer’s whimpers and cries behind their bedroom door. Y/n decided to leave him alone for a few hours so he could let it all out. In the meantime, they were going to carry out their plan to make him feel better. 

Y/n took off their coat and shoes. Though she preferred to be in swearpants and Spencer’s t-shirt, they knew Spencer needed some alone time and didn't want to bother him just for clothes. So, they went into their kitchen and got out their pans and cooking utensils.

Y/n was planning on making Spencer’s favorite, Creamy Tuscan Chicken. The two had some extra chicken breasts from when she last made this, so Y/n decided to use the rest of them. 

Y/n waited for the pan to heat up and once it did, they put the four chicken breasts in the skillet with salt, pepper, and oregano. They then flipped them after about 8 minutes. Y/n then set them aside, moving onto the sauce. 

They finished the dish 15 minutes later and set it on the table. They then got out two wine glasses and set them on the table. They hoped Spencer would be up for eating otherwise, they would have to eat another time.

It had been a good 30 minutes since they arrived home. Y/n decided to see if Spencer wanted to come out and eat. 

“Hey, Spence?” Y/n said softly outside of the door. 

“Come in,” she heard him sniffle. 

Y/n opened the door and their heart broke once she saw him. His hair was tousled and his eyes puffy and red. His lips were pulled into a frown and his tie was thrown across the room. 

Y/n went over to him and sat next to him on the bed. They opened their arms for him and he immediately went into them. Y/n wrapped their arms around him, rubbing his back soothingly while he cried. 

“It’s so stupid. I’m 30. A grown man. I shouldn't be crying over this,” he sniffled. 

Y/n smiled softly and kissed the top of Spencer’s head. “There no shame in crying at all. If that’s what helps you, then go for it. It’s not stupid at all.”

Spencer looked up at his lover. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I know the case was hard, but you made it, baby. And with this job, it’s hard to deal with every case. It’s okay to breakdown once in a while, especially since this one hit a little too close to home,” Y/n said. 

Spencer gave her a half-smile. “Thank you for letting me cry.”

“Of course,” Y/n said and kissed his forehead. 

Spencer then sniffed the air, his eyes lighting up. 

“Is that-” “Creamy Tuscan Chicken? You bet!” Y/n smiled. 

Spencer shot up and ran to the kitchen. “You are the best person ever.”

“I know,” Y/n smirked. 

Spencer kissed Y/n on the cheek and the two sat down at the table. He poured them wine and dug in. Soon after eating, both of them changed into comfortable clothing and went to snuggle on the couch. 

Y/n noticed Spencer's spirits lift, but the case was still bothering him a little. So, they decided to watch some of his favorite shows and movies. 

“What do you want to watch?” Y/n asked. 

“Do you even have to ask?” Spencer said. Y/n laughed and turned on Star Trek. 

They both watched a movie before passing out on the couch. In the morning, Y/n woke before Spencer. They smiled and squealed silently at how cute he looked. 

Soft snores came from his mouth. His had major bedhead. and he was hugging her from the side. Y/n decided to escape from his grasp to make breakfast. Y/n decided to make chocolate chip pancakes. 

While about to put the first cup of batter into the pan, Y/n felt a pair of arms snake around their waist and lips on their neck. 

“Good morning,” Spencer mumbled. 

“Good morning, babe. How do you feel?” Y/n asked.

“A lot better. Thank you so much for making me feel better. It was just a really rough case, I-”

Y/n turned around and placed a finger on his lips. 

“Do not apologize. I am happy to help. Plus, it’s my job as your loyal and loving partner,” Y/n smiled.

Spencer smiled, too. He kissed Y/n on the lips, pulling them closer. 

“Mind if I help with the pancakes?” He asked after pulling away.

“Not at all,” Y/n smiled. 

————

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[jimlingss]

For a request, how about Tae and the reader where hs sweethearts and really loved each other, but then the reader had to move far away for some reason and they lost contact. Then years later when they’re both adults they meet again because they end up working at the same place. Maybe Tae wants to try things again because he really felt they were real but the reader is unsure and thinks they were too young before. You can decide the ending. It’s a story idea I’ve had for a while now 😅 Thanks! 💜

↳ Sixteen Over Thirty

1.5k words || 100% Fluff || Kim Taehyung

Everyone has a period of time in their life that they want to hide.  For you and many others, that time is high school. When you were awkward and gawky, limbs suddenly longer than they’ve ever been before, acne cursing you as you tried to fit in the cesspool of superficial teenagers. You still cringe remembering just how unbearable you were. On your worst days, you’re reminded that you used to write lyrics of romance songs on the margins of your notes and that you wanted to someday get a tattoo of them. You wrote romantic poems, daydreamed scenes from chick flicks and thought it was your own life. Worse of all — you thought you found your soulmate. You used to scribble ‘Kim Y/N’ all over your journal, and you’re sure your teenage self would’ve gotten married had it been legal at sixteen. You would’ve said yes the second he popped the question. It’s a horrifying thought. “Why’s it horrifying?” A mirage of your teenage self confronts you with her arms crossed. She has that glare on — the one she thinks is scary, but comes off more as bratty. “You’re too young to get married.” “But I love him!” “You don’t love him,” you spit at her in distaste. “God, you don’t even know how to do taxes, don’t talk about love with me, you child.” “Ugh, you’re just like mom and dad!” She dramatically rolls her eyes. “What happened to you?!” “Life,” you tell her in disgust. Why she was wearing neon pink eyeshadow was beyond you. “I wish you’d become me sooner.” “You can’t tell me what to do!” She shouts at the top of her lungs. “I hate you!” The hallucination stomps off and slams the door shut, leaving you with a sigh. Everyone has a dark past of embarrassment and shame that makes you kick your blanket at night. But sometimes, it returns to truly haunt you, materializing right in front of you with no escape. And this time, it’s not a mirage of your past self formed from your active imagination. It’s someone real and tangible. “Y/N!” Your colleague waves you over in the lobby with a smile. “You got a lot of energy for a Monday morning.” “‘Course, I’m just showing the new recruit around. Kim Taehyung, this is L/N Y/N. She’s the senior director of the marketing department.” Your ears are ringing. It couldn’t be…. But the minute he steps aside, you come face to face with a tall individual with blonde hair. He has a bright smile, holding a curious stare, his brown eyes peering into yours. “Y/N…?” “T-Taehyung?” “Do you two know each other?” Your colleague looks between the both of you and your expressions of wonderment. “Yeah. We...went to high school together.” “Oh, really? Wow. What a small word!” It’s a small world indeed. It’s way too small. You should move to another fucking planet — NASA should make it to Mars faster so you can migrate. But alas, there’s no escape. Not today, not in the next few months. Taehyung works right in your department by your side. The pair of you see each other day in and day out, and he never hesitates to make small talk with you, catching up on the years you've missed of each other's life. Just like before, he places himself too close to you. Kim Taehyung is talented in how he worms his way into people’s lives and bring their guard down. And one night, you find yourself realizing this at a bar during happy hour with all your colleagues. You’ve taken your place alone at the counter on a stool, and he slides right up next to you. “Drink’s here are good.” “Yeah, I know.” You keep your speech polite, distant. “Not bad for the price.” He hits you with a memory. “We used to pass here all the time, remember? Always wanted to go in together when we were old enough.” Stiff laughter leaves your mouth and you click your drink with his beer bottle. “Guess we made it.” The man hums, his elbow propped on the counter. He rests his cheek in his hand and stares at you, a little too intensely, but you don’t comment. He shouldn’t look this good in a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and fitted trousers. Damn him.  “We had a lot of things we wanted to do when we became of age. Didn’t you want to get matching tattoos?” He snaps his fingers, eyes lighting up. “You even had drawings of them!” “Oh god.” You groan. “Don’t talk about it.” Taehyung gives a cheesy smile. “Why not?” “It’s embarrassing.” “I don’t think so,” he muses. “It’s cute.” “We were young.” “Still are,” he says and takes a long sip of his drink. The oncoming intoxication makes it easier to speak sober thoughts, and he must find it simpler too because he asks— “I heard you’re not seeing anyone. What’s up with that?” The bomb is dropped. You’re caught off guard. “What do you mean?” Taehyung shrugs. “I just thought you’d be married by now. You always talked about wanting to be married and having kids before turning twenty five.” “Well, I was a dumb teenager, Taehyung.” It’s nostalgic to sit next to him like this, to talk this quietly as if it’s just the both of you in this busy place, and you’re not sure if you welcome the feeling. “We all were.” “Do you ever think about how we could’ve been?” he asks, looking at you carefully. “I mean, if you never had to move away for college.” “I don’t know.” There’s a long silence as your mind travels. Maybe you would’ve gotten married to him by now, have kids, working mediocre jobs and coming home to the family. A white-picket fenced life. Then again, people don’t often end up with their high school sweethearts, not when their innocence sooner or later becomes ruined, when their immaturity sheds, when they realize the horizon’s so big…. Yet somehow, your teenage self would like to disagree with your cynical view. “Why’d you never call me when you came back?” “I didn’t know you were still here and I didn’t want to bother you. I thought you’d be married by now.” “Same here. Guess I just never found the person I wanted to marry.” Taehyung gaze is deep and imploring. “At least there was no one like you.” You laugh, lolling your head to one side. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Kim Taehyung?” “Is it working?” he chuckles, sipping on his drink as you roll your eyes playfully. “It’s inappropriate.” “Well we’re not at work,” he counters. “Everything’s fair game, right?” A noise comes from your mouth that he relishes in, a half-scoff and half-laugh. “Some things don’t change, do they, Taehyung?” “Some don’t.” The corners of his mouth draw upwards. “So you should let me take you on a date.” You blink hard, not sure if you misheard or not. “Pardon?” “I think….I might still be in love with you,” he admits over another tentative sip of his drink. Your face feels hot. Your stomach flutters as if you were still a teenager and not a grown woman. And your heart stutters against its will. Your composed exterior is vulnerable but you laugh it off. “Don’t be ridiculous, Taehyung. We were like five.” “We were sixteen,” he corrects. “Yeah, well, I’m thirty now and that feels like eons ago. I have to go get my cane.” He laughs noisily and it’s nice to see him be so unabashedly himself. “That’s not old. You’re not a grandma and even then there’s nothing wrong with that — I’d still want to take you out to dinner and a movie.” Your flustered, swallowing hard. “Sure. Good luck with that.” “Why, you don’t believe me?” Taehyung leans in closer, his breath skimming on your cheek and making you feel a kind of nervousness you haven’t felt since you were an adolescent. “Is it so crazy for you to believe that I like you?” “I think you’re hanging onto a fantasy.” “And what fantasy is that?” he asks.  “I..I don’t know. The whole fantasy that we’d work out. That everything will be perfect. The whole seeing the world through rose-coloured lenses.” “I don’t think so.” Taehyung pouts and thinks about it. “I don’t think everything will be perfect. I don’t know if things will work out — we’ll have to see. And I’m pretty sure I see you how you actually are.” The distance has closed. He’s still smiling in that way that pisses you off, but makes your palms sweaty. God, he always knew how to soften you right up. You feel like melted butter. There’s a moment of quiet and you finish your drink, slamming it down on the counter. “Where would we have dinner?” The man has a shit-eating grin, one of delight, excitement and victory. “At that breakfast diner we used to go to.” “Walking down memory lane, aren’t we, Kim Taehyung?” You grab your purse quickly and muster a nonchalant shrug as you hop off the stool. “Fine, I like their pancakes anyways.” Kim Taehyung laughs, following closely behind. You embrace your teenage self instead of shaming her, and she stays right by your side, singing love songs already.

[beepbeeprichiellc]

Please, please, please, PLEASE tell us what happens in the 74 and 86 promp fill that you did. How is Eddie going to react? Is he going to forgive Richie just like that or will there be angst???????

This took me forever! Sorry…. Part 1, Part 2

Eddie awoke with a painful crick in his neck. 

Not that he would ever complain about it, or the fact that his bed had lumps or that his room was always ten degrees colder than the rest of the house. There were a million things that scratched at his skin but he would never ever tell a living soul. Throwing his floral bedspread over his awkward form he reached over and shut off the blaring alarm, groaning into his pillow. At least it was Friday, the mask he wore around school could finally be peeled off and he could sulk in all the things that weighed him down. It was easy enough, fooling the people at school. They ate right out of the palm of his hand, fawning over the new and improved attitude that he had developed over the past six weeks. Even the losers seemed unaware of the torture he was in. 

If people knew that he had been kicked out of his home, thrown into the night like some kind of dog that his mother had grown out of they would mourn his so called loss. What they would never know was that he-Sonia’s perfect little Eddiebear-had been the one who initiated it, the one who screamed at the top of his lungs until they were black with hate and vulnerability. He had called his own mother a bitch and a whore like he was some delinquent with a vendetta. It was like he was a puppet who had finally pried the ventriloquists hand out of his own ass and made a break for it. In the end he was put out with the clothes on his back and twenty five dollars in his wallet. 

He had made it to the park where he sat until nearly dawn just soaking in what had happened. There was no home anymore, no roof over his head or meals for his stomach. There had been a thought-or rather a person that had popped into his head but his heart hung heavy at the realization that he could no longer go to him-that door had been slammed shut. More than anything he wanted to walk that familiar path, bang on that familiar window and puff his chest out with dignity. Richie would’ve been so proud of him, or at least the memory of Richie would. Eddie had never felt so alone, so lost. With nowhere to go and no one to call he waited for something-anything to do that would keep him alive long enough to see the sunrise. 

That something turned out to be a red haired girl who was cutting through the grass, on her way home. Without a word she had sat beside him and pulled him close which shattered the illusion. Somehow she had known, and in that cold morning he had wept for the person who he had been and also for the person he was going forward. Eddie Kasprbak had died on that bench and he was terrified of what was left. 

There was a knock at his door, “Wake up Eddie, we are going to be late.” 

“Okay!” He yelled back, forcing his body out of bed. Without really thinking about it he went through the motions and made it down the staircase in ten minutes flat. While running his fingers through his messy hair he followed the smell of cooking meat and was surprised to find a full spread on the kitchen table. “What is-”

“Happy Birthday!” The Hanscom family sang, including Beverly who either just got there or had snuck in sometime last night. While Eddie stood there dumbstruck, Mrs. Hanscom came over to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a sideways hug. It was warm and inviting, unlike his mothers which had always seemed greedy and cold. 

This woman-Eddie had decided-was some kind of angel. Arlene Hanscom had always wanted a big family but that had been stolen from her the day her husband had come home with a folded flag. Ben mentioned her a few times but Eddie himself had never really met her until Beverly had brought him there from the park. It took literally no convincing-not even a nudge from either Ben or Beverly and before Eddie knew it the spare room was cleared out just for him. Beverly was there nearly every night-seeking comfort after her father had fallen asleep. In that sense, Eddie was jealous. Ben was there-always there for her no matter what shape she was in and never asked for anything in return. It was hard to adjust to but Eddie made sure to do his best not to offend his hosts. 

“Don’t tell us you forgot your own birthday!” Mrs. Hanscom cooed, leading Eddie to his chair. “Eighteen! My, what a fun age.” 

“You really didn’t have to do all of this.” Eddie said, looking up to the woman. 

“Nonsense.” She replied, brushing off his sympathetic look. “A birthday should be celebrated! You are finally an adult Eddie!.” Eddie smiled, it was a thin one that came from somewhere in his chest but it was enough to keep Mrs. Hanscom happy. Turning to the food he felt no hunger, which was more normal than not. 

“So, you are finally the big one-eight. How does it feel?” Beverly asked, shoving a partially eaten sausage into her mouth. 

“I don’t know, the same I guess.” He shrugged. 

“Well we are all going to get together tonight to celebrate.” Beverly shot back, making sure that Ben’s mom was turned away before adding, “Mike’s scoring the beer.” 

“I’d really rather not.” Eddie said to his eggs. 

“Oh come on.” Ben chimed in, “It’s your birthday.” 

Eddie huffed, knowing full well that here was no win in this. The Losers celebrated every birthday the same way since 16, getting secretly shit faced at Mike’s farm and soaking in each others company but that was the thing-Eddie wasn’t really enjoying all the company lately. Things had been shaky between the group, all subtly joining sides after his and Richie’s falling out. Eddie tried not to notice, but the tension was so taught he could play it like a violin. Yet another thing that weighed down on his shoulders. 

After finishing breakfast they walked to school, Beverly talking on about their little get together. Eddie zoned out somewhere between what she was going to wear and what she was going to burn in the bonfire. Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin when a pair of hands grabbed his hips from behind-the noise that came from his mouth was less than manly. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a friend but rather Rick, someone who Eddie had been somewhat seeing over the past month. “Jesus don’t do that.” He scorned. 

“Sorry Eddie, I was just trying to surprise you!” Rick cooed, moving to the space between him and Beverly. His arm slipped around his shoulder making Eddie’s cheeks flush. “You know if you would just let me drive you, I wouldn’t have to sneak around.” 

“Sorry but I can’t let these two walk alone, they would never make it to class.” Eddie’s excuse made Beverly snort. It was a lie, and they all knew it. Only one person had ever driven him to school, it had been a tradition since the trashmouth had turned sixteen and Eddie couldn’t bear to let anyone else take the mantle. 

“It’s okay.” Rick assured, smiling over to the couple as they parted at the double doors of the school. “I get it, your friends mean alot to you.” 

God why did he have to be so perfect, it just wasn’t fair-Eddie didn’t deserve it. In reality, this thing was just something Eddie was using to busy himself with which was a shame because holy fuck-Rick was so sweet. In another world-another universe Eddie could see himself really falling for him but his heart was still swollen and bitter from the last time Eddie had tried to give a piece of it away. 

“Hey Eddie! Happy birthday!” Mike called from just down the hall, ensuring that every person after wished him as well. This made Eddie cringe at the attention. 

“Holy shit, it’s your birthday?” Rick asked, sounding disappointed. “Oh man, I’m so horrible! I didn’t know!” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Eddie muttered, letting Ricks arm fall so that he could get to his locker. “I forgot myself.” 

Rick laughed, the sound something he wished he could substitute for someone else’s. “You forgot your own birthday? Really?” Eddie shrugged, “Okay, how about I make it up to you tonight? I’ll take you out to a movie, your pick.” 

“Can’t.” Eddie sighed, “The gang is getting together to celebrate. It’s kind of a tradition.” It was like venom dripping from his tongue, the annoyance clear as day. 

“Ah I see.” Rick sounded disappointed, making Eddie’s heart clench. “You know Eddie I wanted to talk to you about something. I think I want to-” The bell rang out, silencing whatever Rick was going to say. Eddie shot him a look of sympathy, making Rick’s mouth snap shut. “Let’s talk later.” Rick said, bend down to place a peck onto Eddie’s cheek. This should make Eddie’s stomach flip but all it did was leave him with a sense of emptiness. 

Eddie watched him leave and begged himself to feel something-anything but couldn’t. Giving up he swam through the sea of students to get to this most dreaded period. Without looking around he sat in his seat, right up front. This was the only class he shared with Richie and in the nine weeks following his little slip up they had talked a total of one time and that was just when Eddie was forced to ask him for his notes. It was weird and cold and Eddie vowed to fail before doing it again. 

“Hey Eds.” 

Eddie choked on the air in his lungs at the sound, the voice sending shivers down his spine. There sitting at the desk beside was Richie Tozier himself, wearing his favorite ripped jeans and the hoodie Bill had gifted him last Christmas. Eddie blinked, unsure that he wasn’t imagining the whole thing. “U-Uh yea?” 

“I know we haven’t really talked since well-” His voice trailed off, his hand making a vague geustrue in the air. Clearing his throat he continued. “I just wanted to say happy birthday and to give you this.” Reaching into his bag Richie pulled out a small box gift wrapped in bright colors. He handed it to Eddie-who only starred. “Uh-I got it for you-” Still, Eddie watched, unmoving. “Okay well here ya go.” In slow motion he put the box in front of Eddie, as if afraid that he would scare him away. 

Richie disappeared back into the back of the class and the teacher began to lecture. Eddie could only watch the box, the rainbow Happy Birthday mocking him in every way. Despite his better judgment he pulled apart the wrapping and peeled open the box. 

It was a music box. 

Not just any music box but the one Eddie had fawned over six months ago in that thrift store the group had dragged them to three towns over. As he opened it the ballerina began to dance, the melody floating up towards the sky as if trying to escape the darkness of the world. It was just as beautiful as it had been all that time ago, the porcelain cold and frightening in his hands. 

Oh god, he was going to be sick. 

Grabbing his backpack he bolted from the room, the sound of his own name following him out into the all. There was no stop, not when he met the double doors or when the crisp wind touched his tear streaked face. Eddie had no idea where he was going but he knew that he had to get there before he completely broke down. 

So he kept running. 

What a fucking birthday.

[ladybugsfanfics]

Awkward Walk In | Tom Hiddleston x reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader | cameo of Emma Hiddleston and her husband Jack 

Style: One Shot

WC: 5672

Warnings: cursing

Prompt: My neighbour’s sibling got the wrong house number and barged into my apartment on accident.

A/N: this one is like so long but i kinda love it? Anyways, hope you guys enjoy ^_^

If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know.

“...like you’re always stuck in second gear. When it hasn’t been your day, your week, your month, or even your year, but I’ll be there for you.” 

The Friends theme song plays in the background as you finish making your sandwich. After a long week, it’s finally time to just sit down on your couch, watch some ‘in-the-background’ TV and just relax. 

You sit down, snuggle up under a blanket and pull your plate up to under your chin as to not litter crumbs. Something easy to eat on a friday night is just perfect―not that it is night yet, it’s like five PM. 

Despite having the TV on, it’s really not that interesting and after you’re done eating you end up scrolling through your phone. Nothing is really going on, with the exception of everyone talking about the new Spider-Man movie (which you saw on the premiere). 

Friday nights are especially boring when there’s nothing to do. Your friends are all busy so there would be no get together (to be frank, sometimes a night on the couch was rather nice and you would’ve thought that was what you needed after your week, but… life has other ideas). There are your neighbors, one of which you’d grown rather close to and hung out with on occasions. The catch; her older brother is coming to town and he’s rarely home because of his work and she’d said maybe you could come over once but he would probably say no. 

So, you’re left to watch TV or read for the rest of the evening. Or maybe, left to scroll through social media. A shower sounds like a good idea, though. Or maybe a bath―you don’t have a bathtub though which complicates that last one. 

Therefore, it ends with a shower. You use rather a long time to take it. The hot water on your skin cleanses the stress; the little head massage you use to get the shampoo all in is just the perfect thing; taking the time to shave actually felt nice for once. To be able to not rush was perfect. 

Not having taken with you any clothes to when you’re done, you make sure you’re completely dry before getting out and going to your closet. Since you’re not doing anything other than slouch on the couch, you decide to skip taking on a bra―what’s the point they’re just annoying. 

You’ve managed to take on a pair of boxers (it’s way comfortable) before you’re door bursts open and a tall, handsome male comes in. “I’m really sorry I'm late―” He stops mid sentence and you’ve barely managed to react with anything but slowly cover your boobs. 

“I think you’re in the wrong apartment,” you say. How you can possibly be this calm―because the man has practically seen you naked!―you don’t know. To be honest, you had imagined it on multiple occasions as a chance meeting, but you’d never thought it could ever happen. Of course, the difference between those little dreams were the little sex ending, but that’s not really the whole big deal, right?

He flushes red, looks around and nods. “I think you might be correct. Do you know where Emma Hiddleston lives?”

You nod. “Yeah. She’s the apartment across the hall.” So this is the older brother, mind you, Emma, did you maybe do this on purpose? The girl had mentioned that he was single on more than one occasion; maybe she had hinted to something. 

“She must’ve pressed the wrong number, probably,” he said. He purses his lips and nods again, but he doesn’t leave. 

“Weren’t you late?” you ask, hoping that you can stop covering your breasts, get on some clothes and text Emma that she better have a good excuse. 

His eyes widen and he nods. “Yes, I am. Again, so sorry.” And then he turns and leaves, closing the door after him. 

You sigh and put on some clothes―a big t-shirt and some ‘sweater shorts’ as you like to call them. Basically shorts but really baggy and kind of cute and highly comfortable. Having clothes on, you turn the lock on your door so no one can suddenly burst into your apartment again. You also make a mental note to always do that. 

You take a last trip to the bathroom, getting your glasses―no twenty-twenty vision here―and finally get down to the couch to sit and watch some more Netflix. Whilst more episodes of Friends play in the background, you find Emma’s number in your contacts. 

You: Emma! Emma! EMMA!

Surprisingly, she replies right away. 

Emma: What? Something wrong?

You: Yes! Very much so, and I would prefer not to do this over phone but youre brothers visiting you so like, this might be my only option!

Emma: Hes busy, I can come over for like five minutes

You: Then come!

You stand up and lock open the door. It takes another ten seconds before Emma opens it and comes inside. She looks at you expectantly. “What’s going on?”

You take a deep breath. “Your brother. He’s tall, kinda good looking, wears like a blue jacket, I don’t know brands but I think like Ralph Lauren? And like black jeans and a white tee?”

Emma nods. “How… how do you know this?” She shakes her head. “You haven’t even seen any of his movies.”

“Nope, still haven’t. Uh, just he kind of came into my apartment,” you say. You look down at your feet and mumble, “and I was wearing only boxers.”

“No!” She practically yells. “No. He did no…” Emma looks at you incredibly, seeming to have lost her voice. 

“Yeah, that happened.” You nod slowly. “He’s hot, though,” you add and shrug. 

Emma playfully hits your arm. “Fuck,” she says. “Just… don’t tell me if you two start dating, please. He’s amazing and you couldn’t do better but it would be so weird.”

You let out a laugh. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“Don’t be so sure. I know you’re his type.” She gives you a small, pained smile and leaves. And all you can think about for the rest of the night, is her little I know you’re his type. 

 __________

For the nth time you check the clock. 12.39 AM. Netflix has stopped with the ‘Are you still watching?’ question. Shrugging halfheartedly, you press continue and watch another episode. It’s Friday night, you’ve got nothing planned all weekend. It can’t hurt. 

Well, it can. You’ve already fallen asleep three times. It’s safe to say you’re tired, you just don’t want to move from the couch, nor do you want to actually go to bed. Sounds tempting, but really, you don’t feel like it. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You frown at your door. Who the hell knocks on someone's door an hour after midnight? Nevertheless, you feel intrigued and move to open it. Since it’s so late, it’s a shame you don’t have a peephole, who knows what the person on the other side wants?

So, you have other means to figure out. “Uh, who is it?” 

There’s a shuffle on the other side. A light cough. “It’s, uhh, the male from earlier.”

Your eyes widen, but knowing it’s Emma’s older brother, you don’t fear his intentions. The lock turns with a click and you open the door to see said male nervously staring at his feet. He’s lost the jacket he had the first time you met. This way, you could see the white tee cling to his torso in ways you hadn’t expected. 

He looks up at you. “Did I wake you? Emma said you usually stay up late on weekends and I felt for, uh,” he scratches his neck, “apollogizing.”

“No, you didn’t wake me.” You open the door further. “Come in, maybe we can talk it out so it isn’t so awkward.” What the fuck is happening to me? Since when did I get so smooth? I’ve never been smooth? This guy is hot as fuck and I’m not even stuttering? Or blushing? Or anything else to signal he’s nice? Your mind races with questions on how the hell you can be calm; there is no way this isn’t a dream. 

“Okay.” He steps inside and you close the door after him. “I am really sorry. Emma saw her mistake after you told her. Though, to be honest, she might have done it on purpose.”

You smile at him. “It’s fine. And I’m sure she did.” You walk to the kitchen. “Can I offer anything to drink?”

“Water is fine,” he says.

“No, don’t be silly. I have wine?” You take two glasses out of the cupboard. Where is this confidence coming from? 

Emma’s brother comes closer. “I guess I don’t have a choice,” he replies. 

You nod. “Correct. By the way, not sure if Emma told you, but name’s Y/N.” You pour two glasses and put the bottle back into the fridge. 

“No, she didn’t. Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Tom,” he says and accepts the glass you hand him. As he says your name, you can’t help but feel it roll of his tongue rather perfectly. 

You take a sip of wine. “So, wanna sit?” You point to the couch. “I’ll turn off the TV, too, maybe.” A chuckle escapes as you make to do just that. The remote control, on the other hand, doesn’t agree because you can’t find it. 

“Looking for this?” Tom asks and waves the remote your way. You nod, take it from him and turn of the TV. 

“Thanks,” you say. Despite your confidence (like what’s happening; you’re even wearing sweater shorts, an oversized t-shirt and no bra) from before, the air hangs for a while. You quietly sit and sip your wine. Tom does the same.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea? No, screw it, you’re gonna do this. Maybe life will take a turn for the better. 

You set down your glass on the coffee table. “Sorry about the mess,” you say, noticing that it is, in fact, not clean at all anywhere. 

“That’s fine,” replies Tom. “Not like you knew I would come.”

“Yeah. It’s like one am so can’t say I expected company,” you say. “But I don’t mind. Don’t really have anything better to do either. Maybe sleep, but I wasn’t gonna do that.”

Tom chuckles. “You sound like a college student,” he says. “Or just maybe someone who struggles with sleeping.”

You nod. “You’re looking at an insomniac, yup.”

“You have any help?” he asks. 

“Tried a lot of things, nothing’s worked so far.” You tuck your feet under you, turning more of your body towards Tom. “Kinda given up now.”

Tom takes a sip of wine. “Sorry to hear that.” Then he straightens up and puts down the glass. “Anyways, it’s late and I came here to apologize so that’s what I’ll do.”

You let out a small laugh. “I’m more than ready to hear this,” you say. 

“I am really sorry I barged in. Really, there is no excuse. Usually, I knock, but Emma told me a long time ago to just walk straight in, and I was already late―she cooked and it was cold when I actually could eat it―and I don’t know any other words to use other than sorry. It is probably the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”

You smile, finding him rather cute in his explaining. “Don’t worry about it,” you reply. “You didn’t see anything? At least, like a lot of anything?”

He blushes. Oh, my god! What a cute blush! “I might’ve seen something. But really, you have nothing to be embarrassed about, you are really beautiful.”

“O.M.G. Some movie star called me beautiful,” you say, and smile at him. “Thanks. Don’t know how I stayed calm during it all, but there’s a lot I do I can’t explain.”

He lets out a laugh, this little ‘hehe’ sound, and his mouth draws into a big smile. You can’t not look at his lips as his tongue graces over the lower one. “Well, as someone who’s not an insomniac, it’s getting late and I have a couch waiting for me.” Tom stands up and smiles. “Thanks for the chat, and for being this cool about me barging in on you.”

Your eyes crinkle as you smile at him. “You’re welcome. Don’t hesitate to come by again.” You stand up to follow him out―not that that’s necessary since it’s two meters from the couch to the door, but there’s something in the gesture. 

“I won’t,” he says and slips out. 

You lock the door behind him, sigh and bite your lip. God, he’s…. something.

 __________

The sunlight shines through your blinds, basking your apartment in an orange-gold filter. You groggily turn around, drag the cover over your head and press your eyes shut in a desperate attempt to continue sleeping. It’s futile. 

You throw the cover away and turn around on your back, looking up into the ceiling. Annoyed you blow away the hair covering your face and let out a tired sigh. You check the clock. 11.00 AM. God, it’s way too early. 

After Tom left, the clock being one am, you’d turned on the TV again. Not before four am had you actually gone to bed. Only to lie there for an eternity trying to find the right position, the right temperature―cover here or not? Yes, but not there. Fuck, like that one spot doesn’t need it, get off (that one spot was like on your leg and that’s hard to not have a cover over when the rest of your leg needs one. And, yeah, with a mind racing over endless possibilities of the future days, angst filled possibilities.

Safe to say, you’d probably gotten a good five hours of sleep. Six if you’re lucky. There goes the hope of sleeping in. 

Even though you’re awake, instead of getting out of a warm and comfy bed, you find your phone on the nightstand and start to scroll through instagram. Nothing really special had happened since you’d done the exact same thing at two in the morning, but there is still something to it.  Being bored, tumblr seems the better place, though. 

Instead of the usual feed scroll and trending scroll, you decide to do some research. In the search bar you type in his name. Tom Hiddleston.

The first thing that came up is a gifset of said man with longer black hair, slicked back to reveal his ears. Scrolling further down you can see it’s how he looks playing Loki. Something goes off inside you, an alarm of a kind. If he plays Loki―everything’s tagged with marvel―that means he has to be pretty popular. 

Most of what you see, is of him playing Loki. More gifsets, some text post you don’t bother reading―you haven’t seen the movie it’s about so what’s the point―Benedict Cumberbatch’s name pops up (nice, you’ve seen Sherlock) and then there’s a picture of Tom, but different than the one you met. Instead of curly, grown hair and a beard, in the photo he has shorter hair with small curls at the top and the start of a beard-growth. He looks pretty damn good. You double tap and see the heart come up. 

After about an hour or so of scrolling through tumblr (you stopped with the Tom tag after awhile, maybe rather get to know him?), you decide to get out of bed. It takes strength you don’t really have and the trip into the kitchen to get something to drink is a lot longer than you remembered. 

You sigh as you take the time to make coffee. As it brews, you open your fridge to check the contents. Although you were in the store yesterday after work so as to not have to today, you still don’t really feel like anything in it seems like breakfast food. Pretty annoyingly, your gut growls. Fuck, you think and make a grimace as you peek further inside. There’s not even any leftovers to heat up and eat. Everything has to be made. 

“Argg.” You take a deep breath and let out a sigh, one where your lips flap and a small, annoyed sound, comes out. Without much choice, you decide that coffee alone is breakfast and take with you a cup and settle into the couch. The wine glasses you and Tom drank of yesterday are still there. 

Another sigh escapes your lips (looks like it’s one of those days) as you turn on the TV, let your head fall back and think about everything you should be doing but probably won’t do. Much of that is cleaning. 

 __________

“Hey, Y/N.” It pounds on your door as you hear Emma’s voice. You turn down the music from your speaker as you make your way there. Despite previous statements of not going to clean, that is exactly what you’re doing. Currently, it’s the bathroom and it sucks. 

You open the door to a casually dressed Emma. She gives you a smile and a frown. “What’s up?” you ask. 

She eyes you from top to toe. “What are you doing?” she asks, the confusion spread across her face to highlight it. 

“Cleaning,” you reply shortly. 

She lets out a huff. “Okay, well, I was wondering if you wanted to join me, Jack and Tom out for lunch?” she asks. 

“Going out means I have to change, I have to stop cleaning the bathroom and I have to actually go out.” You nod as you list the things. “As much as I would like to not clean, I kind of feel like I have to see this through and I don’t really want to go out, so no thanks on lunch. What about dinner? Tonight, here? It’ll be clean.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Fine, but like, don’t cook. Order.”

You give her an offended stare. “I can cook,” you say. “I won’t though because I don’t have the food for four people in here, but I can cook. You’ve tasted my food.”

“I’ve tasted your brownies. They’re heaven on earth, but I haven’t tasted anything else and since you’re the person who’s made the fire alarm go most in this building I don’t trust you.” She laughs. 

“I haven’t done that in three months,” you defend. 

“Yeah, and that’s not something to be proud of.”

“Well, to me it’s got to be some sort of record, so like, are you sure I’m not going to be proud?” Before she can answer you wave it away. “Anyway, dinner here at eight? Pizza sound fine?”

She nods. “Yup, no weird things. No pineapple,” she says and points at you strictly. 

“You got it. Text me what you guys want on and how hungry you are, please. Two big ones sounds fine, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’ll just text you toppings and it’ll probably be fine. We’ll bring something to drink, though.” She raises a brow at you. 

“Good ‘cause I got like wine, and that’s it.”

“Water?” 

You wave at her. “Doesn’t count.”

She shakes her head at you and smiles. “See you tonight.”

“Bye.”

 __________

07.27 PM. Finally done. 

You look at what was before a Mess™ and smile at the relaxation that falls upon the room. The coffee table is clean, only a book and a napkin holder―now full―on it. The kitchen, which has a dining room table, has no leftover dishes to do or old bread sitting on the counter collecting dust. The chair in the corner, also by your wardrobe that doesn’t fit in your bedroom, is finally free to use and not covered in clothes. And, the biggest ‘wow’ of all, your bed is made. 

The only thing not done is ordering pizza and getting dressed. You do the ordering first; two big pizzas with ham and pepperoni―the trio coming over didn’t have any preferences so you decide to go with something you know pretty much everyone likes. You also order dressing on the side. 

And then, with about fifteen minutes to spare, you go around to change. You should’ve taken a shower, but instead it becomes a last minute wash with a cloth and soap. Of course, the biggest question of all is what to wear. A very handsome guy you would like to fuck is coming over, but so is his sister and her husband and they’re your friends. How to be respectable and also tease the guy who has seen your boobs?

In the end, you end up wearing a pair of white, high-waist shorts (it’s summer) with a black belt that all around has holes in it and looks rather edgy and cool. With it, you go with a black crop top that accentuates your boobs but doesn’t look too much, and with that, you put on a flannel hooded jacket because you’ve had it forever and it looks great, plus takes away some of the flirty part of the look you know Emma won’t approve of. 

When you’re done the clock strikes 8.03. You find something to pay for pizza with, putting it in your pocket to make the whole ordeal easier, and you take out some dishes and―despite it being a disgrace―put out a fork and knife because who knows. You also find some glasses that you set the table with (not wine glasses, however you do have more of those than the ones you do use). 

And by that time, there’s a knock on the door. 

With nothing that can be called grace, you open the door and let the three in. Neither of them is wearing anything more fancy than you, but you do feel underdressed in some way. Emma wears a pair of blue jeans and a white tee with a denim jacket over. Jack has a pair of black jeans a white tee, no jacket. Tom, fuck, wears a pair of black jeans with a shirt that fits tightly to his chest, no tie and the top button opened―just the best freaking way to elude sexiness. 

Emma shakes her head at your outfit and Jack tries to hide a laugh as both of you catches Tom giving you a once over. After that, the difference in outfits doesn’t bother you as much; you got the reaction you wanted. 

“Pizza isn’t here yet, but it should be here any minute now,” you say and open up for them to come inside. 

Emma hands you a bag. “Soda, mostly, with a little surprise. And that’s totally okay,” she says as you take it. “But I hope it comes fast because I am hungry.”

Jack and Tom both nod in agreement. 

“Good, because I am, too,” you say. “Can I get you something to drink while we wait? I got what’s in the bag and wine.” You shuffle your way to the kitchen, putting the bottles in the fridge so they can keep the cold. 

“What about water?” asks Tom. 

You shake your head. “I don’t have that.” 

“What’s this then?” The man steps up to your sink and turns on the water. Perfectly fine drinking water comes out of the tap. 

“No,” you say, and turn it off. “There’s a rule that guests aren’t allowed to drink water because I want to be fancy.” 

Both Emma and Jack laugh at that, and you notice Tom trying to keep his cool but failing a bit. 

“Good luck with that,” says Emma and sits down. 

“Thanks. It’s worked so far.” You smile at her. Your phone vibrates in your pocket. “Ey, pizza’s here. Help yourself to the drinks, I’ll be right back.” You motion to the fridge and go off to get the pizza. 

You hope Tom doesn’t think you an absolute fool for saying no to water, but to be honest, you have no idea. 

 __________

“The worst part is that time you came to me for a band aid because you’d cut yourself at a pack of cheese,” says Emma and laughs. 

You stare wide eyed at her. “Why would you say that?” you hiss through gritted teeth. 

Neither Tom nor Jack manage to keep their laughter. “How?” asks Jack. 

“I don’t know. I just did it,” you reply, throwing your hands into the air. “I think it was about to fall of the counter and when I saved it I cut myself on, like, the hard part of it, one of the edges.”

“Still counts to your clumsiness,” says Emma. “What more could you have done?”

You sigh and busy yourself with one of the leftover slices of pizza. It’s grown cold, but it helps in not wanting to focus on Emma’s dead set mind on embarrassing you. 

“Oh!” She lights up. “I have another one, but it’s not about Y/N.” She turns to her brother with a smirk. “It’s about Tom.”

He sinks down in his chair and mutter an ‘oh God’ as Emma starts talking. 

“We were kids, don’t remember exactly how old, but I think I was around nine, making you fourteen.” You see on Tom’s face that he knows what she’s about to tell. “It was summer vacation and, uhh, we were at the beach. The only reason he and Sarah agreed to take me with them was because Mum promised they’d get another day without me. Tom, being his lovely teenager self, thought himself rather handsome and tried to pick up this girl. Only problem is he wasn’t as smooth as he’d like to imagine, and as the two of them walked into the water, instead of walking, he tripped over his own feet and fell face first. When he got up, he had a cut up his arm and the girl, who could’ve helped him, rolled her eyes and walked away.”

Tom sinks further down in his chair. “Why did you have to tell that story?” he asks and sends Emma a typical sibling glare, which Emma returns with a typical sibling smile saying ‘I know you love me’. 

You giggle at the story, not being able to keep the laughter in. “Well, now we have stories about me, Tom and Jack. Where are all the stories about Emma?” You raise a brow at the two people who knows her the best. 

Both men look down and make faces, probably in thought. Jack looks up first. “I have none. I know she’s suddenly had a band aid somewhere but she won’t ever tell why.”

Emma smiles devilishly. You actually recognize it as similar to one of the gifs of Loki you saw on tumblr. Maybe there’s some of that in the actual Tom as well, you think and bite your lower lip. 

“I have stories of our childhood, but none are really that embarrassing. Rather, I have one that she doesn’t remember, but all she really did was run around naked in our garden with the neighbour boy. We have video, though, that makes it better. But she was three years old, that doesn’t count for embarrassment.” Tom smiles, but it’s rather fond than anything else. 

“This sucks. She knows so much and we know nothing,” you say and squint at the girl across the table.

The girl just smiles widely. “Anyways, it’s getting late,” she says, looking at the clock. You do the same, seeing the long handle on eleven and the little one nearly on twelve. That was four hours around the same table, just chatting. Huh, how time passes when you’re having fun. 

“I hadn’t even realised,” says Tom. You all get out of your chair, and―old habits die hard―you take the dishes with you to the sink. Tom helps by taking the glasses, putting them down beside you. “I had fun,” he says, voice low and near inaudible. 

You nod. “Yeah, me too.” You shoot him a smile and get back to following the three out of your apartment. At least they don’t have a long ride or anything so there’s no feeling guilty for it being so long. 

“This was great. Gotta do this more often,” Emma says and gives you a hug goodbye. Jack nods in agreement and does the same. 

“We should. But let’s take it at your place because cleaning this shithole took more energy than I anticipated.” You let out a laugh and smile at them. 

Emma chuckles. “Yeah, sure. But an excuse for you to clean really is all you need to clean, right?”

You shake your head, annoyed at her constant correctness. “Get out, okay? It’s been a long day.” 

She smiles and the two of them walk over, giving slight room for Tom to say goodbye on his own. 

He stops by the door, leaning against the wall with a cheeky smile. “I would love to join the time you do this again,” he says. 

“Yeah,” you nod, “it was a lot of fun having you here. Wish you’d had more stories of Emma, though. She needs to be brought down a notch.” 

He laughs. The same ‘hehe’ from the night before. His mouth draws into a wide grin, though the tongue doesn’t appear. “I’ll see what I can do. There’s always Sarah, and Mum.”

“Yeah, your mother probably has the best stories though. Mother’s have a flair for that.” You smile at him. “Guess I’ll see you when you leave here, right?”

“Of course. I won’t leave without a goodbye.” His eyes crinkle as his mouth draws into a softer smile. “Will you be able to sleep when I go? Now, not leave-leave.”

You shrug. “Don’t know. Why?”

“I’m not feeling very tired, thought I could keep you with company if you wanted,” he says. 

“Never gonna say no to that. Now it’s clean after all.” You smile at him, and the tall man closes the door to your apartment from the inside. “What would you like to do? And can I offer you more to drink?”

He chuckles. “Whatever you feel like doing is fine by me, and perhaps, a glass of wine?” 

“Done, and done.”

 __________

You’re not really sure how you ended up in the position, but you’re sitting cozily in the crook of Tom’s arm. Surprisingly, with his toned chest, he is still rather soft to lie upon. The TV plays in the background, but you don’t focus on it. Instead, you’re focused on Tom.. How his hand mindlessly plays with yours. How his breathing is even and the quiet thump-thump of his heart. How he seems so focused on the screen when nothing really interesting actually happens. 

But, having been deprived of cuddles and the like for so long, you welcome it all with no questions. 

“It’s getting late.” His voice speaks softly in your ear, his breath cold on your neck. 

“Yeah,” you reply. 

Neither of you get up. Neither turns off the TV. Neither says anything more. 

 __________

For the first time in ages, you wake up feeling rested, feeling like you’ve gotten enough sleep. Groggily opening your eyes, you notice you’re in your bed. The last thing you can remember from the night before is lying in Tom’s embrace, changing a position so you can rest your head in his lap (on top of a pillow) and his long fingers gently combing through your hair. 

You smile at the thought of him carrying you into your room, and also look around for him. Who’s to say he didn’t stay? But he’s not there. 

Checking the clock and seeing it say 02.07 PM makes that more than understandable. Not only do you feel rested but you’ve actually managed to sleep in. Despite how good it feels, you can’t help but question it; Why now? And what did I do differently? 

You don’t have the answer to the questions and instead of pondering it further, you get out of the bed and drag yourself into the kitchen. There, on the other hand, you find Tom with a cup of coffee and his phone. He looks up as he hears you. 

“Good morning,” he says, “feeling okay?”

You nod, not sure if your voice actually works just yet. 

He chuckles. “I took the couch, if you wondered,” he adds. 

So he’d slept over. That’s something to note. But, you’d fallen asleep on him, why would he see it a problem to join you in bed? You would literally only sleep. Maybe he felt he would impose, it is an awfully small bed for two people. 

“You’re sure Emma isn’t worried about you? You came to see her, right?” You finally found your voice, and a cup of coffee is quickly in your hands as you ask. 

“She knocked on the door this morning and asked. I believe the only thing she was actually worried about was if we would,” he blushes, “do something.”

You sip the warm liquid. “Really? So, what about the coming-to-see-her part?”

“I saw her all Friday, all yesterday and I will probably see her today as well,” he replies. “And, well, I have to make up for walking in on you somehow. I believe keeping you company does that.”

“Thanks for that, by the way.” You sit down in the chair across from him. “Actually feel like I’ve gotten some sleep for once.”

His smile widens. “That’s good. Me as a pillow worked?” He purses his lips, sticks his tongue out for a quick walk (honestly, he has to stop). 

“Yeah, that worked. How long are you staying? You leaving today?” 

“I’m staying another couple of nights. Leaving Tuesday, why?” 

You take a bigger sip of the coffee, feeling in need of some boost. “I was thinking,” you start and avert your gaze from him, “if you’re not busy during the night, that maybe you could be my pillow again.”

His eyes wrinkle as he smiles at you, this genuine god-awful kind smile that makes it hard to swallow, hard not to look at him. “For as long as I’m here, I’ll happily be your pillow.”

Taglist: @inlovewith3 @mindlesschicca @bookgirlunicorn

[venus-says]

Kamen Rider OOO Episodes 01-16

I never expected a show aimed at boys would have THIS many scenes centered around male underwear.

The second series on my "watch all of kamen rider" madness! Yay!

The first word that comes to my mind when it comes to OOO is: weird. But it's not weird in a bad way, for the most of it anyway. I'll try best to not make many comparisons to either W or Zero-One, but just as a point of reference for this first statement, I'll mention them for a minute. W and Zero-One touch bases that I'm familiar with (detective stories, futuristic settings, etc.) while OOO is somewhat completely new to me so most of the time I wasn't ready for some of the things that were happening. But like I said, this is a good thing. I really enjoyed watching this first part, it had a few stumbles, but overall it was a great experience. To bring the comparison again, I didn't enjoy it as much as W's first part but I enjoyed it more than I'm enjoying this first third of Zero-One.

The plot of this season is quite interesting, it reminds me of Doki Doki Precure at some points (you can really draw the parallel of selfishness and altruism in both shows), though I wish some things had been established sooner and I feel like the thing with the core medals is a bit confusing, the plot is very engaging. They took a page from W's book, and most of the "weekly cases" are dealt in two episodes, but they also improve in this formula because even in the MOTW plots we can see the overall arc being formed and no episode was left without a hook for the next what makes the whole experience way better and more interesting to follow. If I was watching this weekly this structure would definitely make me excited to always get back to this season, and watching it now after the show is over makes me want to binge-watch everything in one sitting even though that's impossible. So, great stuff.

If there are things I don't like about the plot and the structure it would be, the weird commercial breaks, some of the weekly stories have characters that make them very weak, the many antagonist forces that make things feel overcrowded at times, and a problem I have with most shows when a new hero is about to come in that is when the show makes the protagonists weaker/less effective just to highlight how good the new member of the cast is. But that aside, I pretty much like everything. The comedy, the absurdness, the drama, and the action have had a very good balance so far so OOOs hold many positive points to its name.

Talking about characters, our main protagonist this time, Eiji, while not as charismatic as I would like is still a sweetheart. His lifestyle is a bit questionable, and he has a bit of the Aida Mana syndrome where he gives himself way too much sometimes, also the show doesn't make a good job on keeping his clothes on brand - I mean the dude apparently has only two underwear and one pair of pants but somehow he has many top options and we never know where he keeps all those shirts and tunics - but I really like him. I think what I like the most about him is that at first glance he could seem like the standard "dumb protagonist" but he's actually pretty smart and his smartness doesn't affect his emotional drive which is great.

Sadly his partners on the good side aren't as good. Ankh has a very difficult personality which makes him VERY hard to like, every time he opens up his mouth to babble about his medals I just wanna shove 30 popsicles on his mouth to make him shut up. My biggest problem with him is that we haven't seen him change not even for a bit in all of these episodes and I'm afraid that when they decide to make an emotional climax with him it won't work as well and it'll just ruin what could be a strong moment. Though I love how Eiji knows exactly how to keep him in check, that's another sign of how great Eiji is. Accompanying Ankh we have Hina who's just boring as hell, I don't know if this is a problem of the character or the actress but she really bores me to death, not even her quirk of being insanely strong that could be very fun works with me, which's a shame. And the last character of this group is the owner of Cous Coussier that is a very good minor character that helps to make Ankh and Hina bearable sometimes.

Moving to the antagonists, the GREED are the typical villainous team so I don't have a lot to say about them, their designs are cool and I like that each one has a very strong personality trait and their greediness makes for a very interesting plot point when Kazari decides to betray them. The MOTW are weird as hell, I'm very grossed out every time that coin slot appear on people, but I like that there are different types of them each one works on a different way and it is quite interesting to see how each type feeds on the desires of the population, my favorites are the parasite type and the Mezools' ones. It makes me sad that apparently Mezool and Gamel were the first ones to be defeated because they're my favorites, I think the group has lost a lot from their defeat.

The next antagonists are the Kougami Foundation, and I really love them. Kousei is just as charismatic (or maybe even more) charismatic as Ryuubei was and watching him is a true joy. Maybe it's just my love for baking that draws me to him, but I really think he's a great bad guy. Another great asset Kougami has is the secretary, I don't remember her name but the fact she seems completely apathetic to everything that goes on in that company to me is just hilarious, I'd love to be her friend (I'm sure she's amazing at throwing shade). The weakest link of this company is without a doubt Gotou, he severely lacks in personality and his turmoil of not thinking Eiji is suitable to be Os just because he's jealous since he wants to be the savior of the world makes him sound like an immature kid rather than an interesting character.

Coming as the (unnecessary) third antagonist we have Professor Maki who just makes me want to bang my head against a concrete wall. Like, I really don't know WHY they had to make him a villain, he makes me have war flashbacks of W when they changed the role of final villains from the Sonozaki family to that very boring, soulless guy from Foundation X. And it makes me even madder that they did this change WHEN THEY HAVE A PERFECT SET OF VILLAINS ALREADY IN GREED AND KOUGAMI. All this guy has going for him is that creepy ass doll that will definitely give me nightmares, but other than that he's just completely uninteresting.

Talking about riders, when I saw it on W's movie I really wasn't into Os design, but now I've grown used to it. The medals gimmick is also pretty fun and it gives a good variety of forms the main rider can have, though I think this thing of each Greed having 9 core medals is more complicated than it needed to be, and I really dislike how arbitrary the system of getting core medals from the Greed/O's seem to be, it's also very hard to keep track of who has each medal with how easy the lose and get new ones. I really like the gadgets from this season, I love the idea of everything being on a vending machine, the bike looks really cool, and I LOVE the candroids to death, I'd love to buy a few of them if I wasn't so broke. XD On the other hand, the transformation belt I horrendous, and not even the "sixth ranger" could save it this time because that gashapon belt is just hilarious and I can't take it seriously.

And speaking of said "sixth ranger" here's probably the element I hated the most from these sixteen episodes. Much likely Doki Doki precure, they pulled a Regina/Cure Ace thing where they build-up for Gotou to be the new rider, but comes episode 16 and Kamen Rider Birth is actually A DIFFERENT COMPLETELY NEW GUY. Do I like Gotou or his "arc" that would lead to his possible transformation? Absolutely no. But having that would've been way better than seeing an unknown guy, who came out of the ether, become the new rider. I REALLY hate new members who come out of nowhere, and to top it off the milkshake of hate they made this new guy steal that spotlight of a guy they had been building up for at least 4 episodes prior.

I usually ended these with specific points of specific episodes, but I really covered everything I had to say and If I went on each episode it would be to just point out a few unnecessary nitpicks, so I'll skip doing it this time. I hate to end on such a salty note, especially considering that I genuinely like this show so far, but there was no way to escape from it, I'll try to watch fewer videos of the NerdECrafter before I write next week's post to see if I come here with less salt in my veins, I promise. XD

And these were my first impressions of OOO, thanks for sticking with me for another week and I'll hopefully see you, folks, very soon. Bye bye~.

[trashpandaorigins]

GOTG Holiday Extravaganza: Halloween

Drax and Rocket love this Halloween thing Quill keeps on about. Mantis...not so much.

Something was watching her, Mantis tore her gaze away from the intriguing purple light of the Benetar’s many corridors and turned instead to the dark corners, tucked away from the main hallways. The ship was so large compared to Ego’s tiny transports. It was still awkward moving about the ship, always bumping into things or happening upon someone who’d rather be left alone.

“Nebula?”

Mantis stepped closer towards the adjacent stairwell leading to the cargo bay, peering down into the depths. Not even her annenate were enough to illuminate the place.

“Hello?”

Something hissed up from the blackness. Tall and...were those… red glowing eyes. Mantis stomach clenched in fright, stepping backward.

“Drax, if this is one of your jokes it is not funny!” The stairwell remained motionless of course, the pitch black of it descending downward. The hissing began again, this time closer, snarling, more angry. The hairs on her neck rose in apprehension, heart thumping fast.

“Who...who is it?!” She couldn’t stop the whimper from her voice. Whatever was down there gurgled and hissed once more, closer this time. She peered downward, trying to makeout the last step through the fathomless black. Her heart raced in dread. It’s okay...it is okay…it’s just the…

“AAAAAHHHHHRRRRGGG!”

Mantis shrieked, flinging herself backward against the wall and clinging to it, legs shaking, pinching her eyes closed.  Yet through her fright...she could sense it... amusement, laughter. She opened her eyes with hesitation then frowned. The puppy and Drax. Shame instantly welled in her gut, tears pressing against her eyes.

“That’s not funny!”

Drax howled in laughter, clutching his sides while the puppy chittered atop his shoulders, the two of them had wrapped a black drape around themselves. The puppy’s red eyes no longer glowed in the darkness but were brimming with tears of laughter.

“Really? Cuz from where I’m standing it was pretty funny!” He cackled, hopping down from Drax’s shoulders.

Nebula’s foot falls echoed down the hall, gaze iron-clad as ever. Drax and the puppy’s laughter fizzled and died as she neared.

“What’s going on?” The cyborg woman glared at daggers at the two trickers, who at least had the sense to look away.

“It was only a joke,” the puppy defended lamely.

“If you scare Mantis again, I will kill you.” The woman reached the knife at her belt.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Peter swept in, running down the hall. “How many times do I gotta say it? No one is killing anyone on my ship!”

Nebula huffed, but dropped her hand.

“They frightened Mantis,” she growled. Peter redirected his scowl to the puppy and the Destroyer. The empath glanced appreciatively at Nebula, and didn’t not miss that ever so subtle smile she returned. It dispelled the fear in her heart.

“Guys, Halloween is about fun scary!”

“How can one be fun while one is scared?” Drax demanded.

The human sighed exasperated, “we don’t want to make Mantis cry. That’s a bad kind of scary. We want to make people laugh and maybe scream a little for fun, but not a real scream.”

“All screams are real,” Drax retorted, clearly skeptical.  Nebula only scowled, muttering something about “stupid Terran traditions,” but Peter let it slide easily enough, tossing Mantis an apologetic glance that she appreciated.

“Peter,” Gamora poked her head into the hall. “Your mumkin seeds...they’re burning.”

“It’s pump...neve rmind,” the empath followed with curiosity as he dashed towards the kitchen area, towards a burning smell. “Shit!” He exclaimed, yanking a tray from the oven. Little burny seeds scattered about, now slightly charred on the tray.

“Our lanterns are not even lighting this kitchen properly,” Drax folded his arms with confusion, nodding towards the so called “Jack-O-Lantern’s” Peter insisted they carve. Drax’s has been nearly stabbed to oblivion, held together loosely by strands of tough orange skin. Gamora had carved mesmerizing swirls into hers, which Mantis herself tried to replicate, adding stars and moons and planets. Nebula had admired it, that was the highest praise of all. Groot was somewhat disturbed by the whole notion, crying until Rocket had consoled him. The puppy’s own pumpkin was faring no better than Drax’s with several rounds of Ewan plasma bullets fired into it. It now glowed an odd blue color. Nebula had stuck several knives into her pumpkin at various angles. Peter had tried to carve some odd spaceship into his gord. He said it was from the movie Back to the Future?

“They don’t taste that bad,” Gamora assured him between bites of the seeds, crunching them with some effort.

“These are repulsive,” Nebula spat out the pits onto the floor. Mantis suppressed a giggle.

“You guys, we haven’t even gotten to the best part of Halloween!” Peter shoved a handful of pumpkin seeds into his mouth.

“There’s more? The puppy bemoaned. “You already made us watch that movie with the kids in the cabin and the guy with the weird mask. Still don’t get why he didn’t just use a blaster.”

“And your atrocious decorations,” Nebula swung her cybernetic hand at the fake bat hanging from the ceiling.

“We have to dress up!”

“But Quill, we are already dressed….”

“No man, in costumes! You dress up as someone or something else! For fun!”

Gamora and Nebula exchanged bewildered glances, whilst the puppy and Drax continued to eat the seeds. It took Quill another hour before Mantis and the rest of them got a vague idea of what they were supposed to do.

Mantis scrounged around for something, per Quill’s suggestion for something to fashion into a halo. Some white garments for wings, an angel costume he called it. She skipped back to the main kitchen room excited to see what the others had found in the hour Quill had given them to make costumes.

---

They convened back in the kitchen. Gamora was dressed as a Trekonic warrior, evident by the red cape. Groot had simple grown many black colored flowers from his limbs. Peter was dressed in an odd half-shirt that he insisted was called a vest, someone named Marty McFly. The puppy had dressed himself as a space pirate what with a bandana, and small dagger Gamora had leant him, (more a sword by his stature).

“Drax...what even is your costume?”  

“He’s Kevin Bacon!” Mantis squealed happily, it had been her idea after all. He sported a pair of Quill’s jeans and a white tank top. The man had made them all watch Footloose enough time to memorize the attire.

Peter shook his head, a grin spreading across his face, he shook his head.

“Well damn man, I thought you’d be more of a terminator than Kevin Bacon!”

They blinked, blankly before Peter shrugged it off.

“Can we dive into that candy now or you just gonna lecture us on this Kevin guy?!” The puppy growled.

“Alright, alright!” Quill took the canister off the table, dumping the contents out before them. Mantis laughed giddy, diving into the pit. Filling themselves with enough candy to last multiple lifetimes, Mantis finally slipped back down the hall. Feeling the feelings of others was a blessing, and a curse. With so much energy bombarding her she made to get away for a little while back down the scary corridor.

The empath stopped short, Nebula. The woman hadn’t joined in with the others but she was dressed up. She was much the same as usual, but she’d embellished the metal in her head with light turquoise paint, her lips matching. She’d colored her lips too, the same color. She had replaced her utilitarian suit with a long purple skirt and black boots.

“Nebula! You look so pretty!”

The woman’s eyes widened for a moment, surprise, flattered, sheepish. Mantis grinned but she knew better than to touch the woman.

“Th...thank you.”

Mantis waited for Nebula to continue, wringing her hands nervously. It was clear the cyborg was not one for talking but at least she was taking part in the holiday. It was nice to see her having some semblance of fun. She deserved it.

“Mantis!”

The empath halted in her steps, glancing over her shoulder. Nebula shifted awkwardly.

“If they ever try to scare you again. Tell me. I...I got you.”

Mantis antenna glowed with light, mirroring the bouncing in her heart. Whatever emotion it was, it was scary. But not...the bad kinda scary Mantis supposed, watching a subtle smile creep across Nebula’s face. Maybe this was the good kind of scary and maybe Halloween wasn’t so bad after all.

---

Awesome Holiday Mix: Halloween

Don't Fear the Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult

Werewolves of London -  Warren Zevon

Monster Mash - Bobby Pickett

Ghost Busters - Ray Parker JR

Notes:

[whydoyouwantmyname]

Imagine everyone realizing...

A/N: all the italics are lyrics from the song Tear in my Heart by Twenty One Pilots

My heart is my armor She’s the tear in my heart The songs on the radio are okay,

But my taste of music is your face,

Sam didn’t realize Dean was in love with you until he was sitting in the back of the impala, driving to the first case they had ever taken you on. It was easy, a simple salt and burn, one that Dean thought the researcher would love to go on.

A normal car ride consisted of two things, snacks and rock n roll. And while there were plenty of snacks in the car, the speakers were dead. Not a single musical note filled the space, however it wasn’t silence that met the boys ears, rather your laughter as you and Dean just talked the whole way. Sam would chime in on occasion but he more enjoyed watching the way Dean would glance at you ever so often, or how he would smile when you would, or how he never once went to turn on the radio. He seemed completely content with the fact that your voice was the sole thing radiating throughout the small enclosed area of the impala.

You fell asleep in my car I drove the whole time

But that’s okay I’ll just avoid the holes so you sleep fine

I’m driving here I sit

Cursing my government

For not using my taxes to fill holes with more cement

Castiel didn’t realize Dean was in love with you either until you were all in the Impala, in front were the Winchester boys, in the back a wide awake Castiel and you. You, however, were fast asleep, your head rested against the window, your breathing shallow, and your eyelids fluttering. Every few minutes Cas would catch Dean continuously glancing up into the rearview mirror and his lips would grow wide in a smile at the site of your sleeping form leaning against the window.

However his smile soon turned into curses once he hit a bumpy patch of road, “ what the fuck is with this town! Wouldn’t you think if the road was this bad the town workers or somebody would invest in fixing it!?”

“Dean, we have driven on much worse...” Sam started however his statement was cut short at the sound of your head bouncing off of the glass and slight groan exiting your perfectly pouted lips.

“You okay Sunshine?” Dean asked as you slowly sat up straight, sleep still present in your eyes as you replied.

“I was until this dumbass road made my head bounce of the window.”

“Well we will be the Motel soon, then you can take the perfect nap.” He smiled in reply, before Cas whispered, “If you would like you can sleep upon my shoulder, I saw it in a movie once.”

“Thanks Cas.” You smiled before you leaned down, sleep taking you back over in seconds as Cas continued to look at the sky. However he couldn’t help but notice in the corner of his eye the look Dean was giving him in the Rearview. And it was then that it all made sense.

Sometimes you gotta bleed to know That you’re alive and have a soul But it takes someone to come around To show you how

Crowley sat in the bar, his drink in hand, and his brand new knight of Hell at his side. He watched the knight battle against the local village idiots in a game of darts, each victim falling prey to Dean’s hard eyes and devilish grin. Even the woman were not safe from the harsh, care free attitude of Dean, being a demon suited him, or at least Crowley thought so. That was until Dean’s phone came to life, and this time Crowley wasn’t there to press ignore, cause just by the way Dean’s harsh features softened, and he began to look as he did before the black eyes, he knew it was you.

Dean withdrew from the game, leaving a twenty on the table as the reward for beating him at his own game. His finger lingered over the talk button for a second, but soon the callused pad of his thumb suffocated the button, and the phone was to his ear. 

“Hello Beautiful.” He said, his voice not as gruff, he appeared to be calming, as he slowly sat beside the king.

“I told ya, I don’t want you...”

“I know, but....”

The king could tell you were arguing with him about finding him, wanting to know where he was so that you could infect his veins with purified blood. As you argued though, Crowley took note of how Dean’s temper was, if any other citizen of the bar acted that way with him, that citizen, male or female, would have been thrown, or at least tasted the sharp tongue of the eldest Winchester. However with you, he was calm, and almost smiling just at the sound of your voice, demanding he come back to you and his brother.

“Listen [Y/N],” Crowley heard him whisper over the sound of his own thoughts, “You know I would come back to ya if I could, but we both have seen what this mark can do, and I refuse to have you get hurt from it.”

Then Crowley remembered the way Dean behaved when Sam called, he screamed, and fought and was not as calm and loving as he was right now. It almost seemed like he was talking to just some stranger when Sam called, but with you it was like he was talking to some long lost.....

And that was when Crowley Realized......

My heart is my armor She’s the tear in my heart 

Dean didn’t realize until it was too late.....

Amara was in full swing, her power was growing, along with her obsession with the one and only Dean Winchester. 

Dean might have been fighting his feelings towards you, but Amara could see that he was losing that battle, and so were you, she could see that you both were meant for each other, the perfect balance for one another, true Soulmates, and even though you both denied the urges to move forward, Amara could see that if she truly wanted to be Dean’s sole obsession, she would have to rid of you.

It was a basic hunt, some vengeful spirits were creating havoc in a local hotel. You and the boys figured it would be a nice break from the whole Amara mess, since not even Chuck could figure out how to stop her. 

“We split up, Dean take the ground floor, Sammy takes second, Cas takes the top, and I’ll take the basement. We find anything, we radio in on these.” You instructed as you handed out the walkie talkies you bought. 

“And why do we need these?” Cas asked, “Why can we not just use our cellular devices. or our voices?”

“Because, I think they will make us look cool.” You smiled

“Or like those freaks on Ghost Facers.” Sam joked as you shot him a look

“Well sweetheart, I think they look amazing.” Dean chimed in, thinking it was very cute how you were taking charge of this case, and how much you have grown as a person since they had first met you. 

“Thank you Dean, now let’s go find some ghosties.” You smiled before entering the empty hotel, each of you going to your assigned floor. 

The basement was dark, and a cold breeze drafted through the small, damp space, as you swept over the darkness with your small beam of yellow-orange light. You slowly moved across the concrete floor, making sure not to disrupt anything in case...

“Hello [Y/N].” A light voice sounded, the darkness completely surrounding the source of it, but you knew exactly whom it belonged to.

“Amara.” You replied, “Always a pleasure to hear from you, tell me will you be smiting any angels today?”

“No, but after this I will be making love to the Eldest when I am done here.” She taunted, before lifting her hand, and using every force of power she had to throw you against the wall, several metal pieces falling from the shelf above you, clanging against the flooring. You tried with all you might to move, yet she was pinning you to the wall and floor, as she strolled towards you, her dress trailing behind her as she raised her fingers to her chin. 

“How upsetting, I don’t see what Dean ever saw in you, I am not even using all of my powers and yet you still can’t get out of my hold. Face it [Y/N] you are weak.”

“And you are a bitch.” You spewed.

“Well see, I wouldn’t have to be a bitch if you had just stayed away from the Winchester boys, and I wouldn’t have had to make this fake story of ghosts in  a hotel to lure you all here. But this moment was inevitable, since your soul and Dean’s soul have always been bonded, longing for each other, as the flesh denies their needs. Tell me, when did you first realize you were weak in the knees for my emerald eyed prince?”

“He is not yours, and he will NEVER be yours.” You hissed, “Not while Sammy and I are...”

“And that my dear is why I am here. You are the only rock in my path, and in order to clear my path to world domination, and to Dean’s heart I must remove you, which is a shame. I think if the story line was different we could have been great friends.” 

“Go to Hell.” You hissed, before your whole vision went dark, and though you could no longer hear her, after the echo of the crack died away Amara whispered, “No darling, you go to hell.”

“Third is clear.”

“Second is clear.”

“First is clear.” 

The three men’s voices one at a time came over their walkie before they all gathered on the first floor, sitting among the stairs to discuss where the spirits could be, and waiting for the one feminine voice to echo out of the old speakers. Dean’s gut twisting as though he already knew something was wrong, every second bringing another knot to his fear and worry, and after 120 seconds, he took off toward the basement door without a word, the other two trying to protest as he raced down the creaking wooden stairs.

“[Y/N]” He shouted once he hit the hard concrete, not caring what came for him. He swung his own yellow beam around the darkness, until it reflected back at him when it hit upon a out of place copper vase. He slowly approached as his light remained fixated on it, and once it had been reached he slowly trailed his light forward, until his light illuminated a single, light brown, leather, lace up boot, which looked identical to the pair you were wearing when you left the bunker with the guys that morning. Dean’s feet moved faster then before, his knees hitting the ground as his flashlight dropped beside him. His hands met your face as the tears began to pool, the panic in his body swelling up as he softly pleaded for you to wake up, to move, to do anything. 

He was so consumed in his own mind, that he failed to notice the light of the other flashlights, or the fact that your eyes weren’t closed, but just cloudy, or that your neck had been broken. All he knew was that you weren’t waking up, and the core of his soul shattered at the fact that the love of his life never got to hear him confess his love.

PART TWO!!!!