#i feel like trash thanks to her. hope you're happy and found some joy in making fun of me. in ridiculing me.

[darkdragon768]

I feel like crying.

[atmostories]

Your Yandere!Terry Silver ficlet was positively amazing and just so very detailed, nuanced and in-character that I absolutely must request more if you're willing to write more. Really, whatever comes to your mind, doesn't even matter, so long as you grace us with more material (greedy grubby hands) - Reading about this dark, evil man just being so sweet for someone melts my heart. 🖤

A gift to my dearest anon, @kingkarate and @villains-are-sexy​ ♡ ♡ ♡ The first time he noticed you was after Margaret had laid out your employee file in front of him. You'd been working in the logistics department for two years, your record was clean, all of your performance evaluations were very good, if not exemplary. Margaret had personally recommended you so really that was all the evidence he needed that you had at least some value. Her team needed an extra member due to an increased workload and a reorganisation of staff. Margaret was going to retire in a few years and needed to find a replacement before she left.

Terry tried not to think about her being replaced, it irked him greatly to be losing such an asset, and a good friend. There was still plenty of time, for now. You were moved into Margaret's team on a trial basis in order to assess your suitability. Whenever Terry would look across the office, you were always working. You seemed to speak to other coworkers only when necessary. At first he assumed you were being studious and trying to make a good impression for Margaret, but he soon realised that that was simply how you were, quiet, withdrawn. You also treated people the same, no matter who they were or what sort of social rank they held, you would give the same polite smile to him as you would to one of the office cleaners. It was odd. He expected you, like most other rational people, to show him greater respect, he did own the entire company after all. A few words from him and he could render you jobless and homeless, begging for scraps out on the streets. And yet you seemed so unphased by the power he yielded. He got into the habit of calling you into his office for updates on the various projects you were working on. Margaret would always keep him informed of the latest developments, but he liked to hear how you would describe them. He also liked hearing you call him Sir. He'd corrected you when he first met you in person. "Thank you, Mr. Silver," you had said. "No. . .thank you, Sir," he murmured softly, hoping to provoke some reaction. "Of course. Thank you, Sir" you replied plainly. No one else called him Sir. He wondered how long it would take for you to notice that. During your lunch breaks, rather than head off with other coworkers or go to the staff room, you would leave by yourself to take a walk when the weather was decent or you'd eat at your desk. Before you were offered a position at DynaTox Industries, a background check had been carried on you to ensure that you would be. . .malleable if certain circumstances arose. If you found out something you shouldn't, you would be in a weak position, easily blackmailed. Terry requested a more in depth background check and was rather pleased when one of his private investigators handed him a sizeable file containing all of the facets of your life, along with a fortnight's worth of photos while you were under surveillance. It outlined where you went aside from work and as anticipated, it was all very dull. Your financial situation was practically destitution in Terry's eyes. What was most intriguing about your file was your ex who was currently in prison for assault and battery. You were the unlucky victim. As he read the police report and saw the pictures of your injuries, he ignored the swell of anger in his gut. The transcripts of your interviews detailed the abuse you had endured. Was this why you were so withdrawn? So focused on your work rather the people around you? While you were at the office, he broke into your apartment for further investigation. It was comically small. Your possessions were, he supposed, modest for someone so economically challenged as you. Your taste in music was not as sophisticated as his own, hardly surprising. There wasn't much food in the refrigerator or in the kitchen cupboards. He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a hundred dollar bill. Perhaps you didn't see these very often. After scrunching up the bill, he threw it haphazardly onto the floor, wondering whether there would be a smile on your face when you found it. What was he thinking, of course you'd be happy. He made a note to bump your salary enough so that you could move somewhere else, somewhere safer, somewhere which didn't automatically make him want to shower and scrub himself clean. Rather than have Margaret give you the good news, you were called into his office. Terry explained that you'd be permanently assigned to Margaret's team due to your performance. He mentioned a report you did the week prior, highlighting that it was good work. Rather than thank him, you responded by saying that the conclusion needed to be improved and you weren't sure about certain aspects of the analysis. “I said it was good work,” he told you with blunt finality, giving you a harsh stare. Your lips parted open slowly, your eyes were wide, your expression almost one of disbelief. Was it so difficult for you to accept a compliment? To accept praise when it was given to you? “Did I not?” He asked, prompting you to speak. “Uhh, yes. I'm sorry, Sir,” you mumbled back, shoulders hunching even further. Something seemed to twinge in his chest and he wasn't exactly sure what it was. Was it pity? No, it wasn't that, it was almost disappointment, like seeing wasted potential. He invited you along to an executive meeting, his excuse to include you was to take minutes, but really he wanted your opinion on the people who were present, their behaviour, their opinions. Terry wanted to assess how observant you were of other people, and he also wanted to test how candid you would be with him. The meeting went on as usual, dull, insipid. At least your presence offered a little distraction. After it was finally over, he invited you to join him for lunch at one of his favourite restaurants. He could see you eyeing the place curiously, taking in its lush décor and finely dressed staff. The purpose was to put you on edge, to make you feel abysmally underdressed and out of sorts. He had the whole corner of the restaurant cleared for just the two of you, he wanted to examine your every reaction without any disturbance. With drinks and appetisers ordered, he began his questioning. “Do you think Mr. Elroth would be suitable for the New York merger?” He asked, sipping some champagne. “I don't think he likes you,” you responded without hesitation. He pulled the glass away from his mouth, rather taken back by your honesty. “Why do you say that?” “He didn't like listening to you. He kept looking away, he even rolled his eyes a few times.” “And why do you think that is?” “Well. . .maybe it's because you're too young and you're too willing to take risks. He seems very traditional and set in his ways.” “Hmm.” Terry drank the rest of the glass, motioning to a waiter for a refill. He continued to ask questions throughout the main course and dessert. Your answers were always honest, you didn't try to soften any of your responses for him. He liked that. You reminded him of Margaret. Unblemished opinions were hard to come by for someone like Terry. They were always marred by people wanting to impress him, people trying to make the best impression possible, people looking for favours. He was beyond the grasp of normal society and yet you sat in front him, eating several courses which cost most, if not all, of your monthly salary, totally unphased and giving your opinions freely. He'd never once thought it possible for Margaret to be replaced by someone of her calibre, but perhaps he'd been too quick to make that assumption. When you moved into a new apartment, he had a forged deposit and contents insurance rebate drawn up and sent to you. The next day you had actually gone out and bought lunch rather than bring your own. He'd followed you to the little cafe and he noticed a small, satisfied smile on your face as you tucked into the food. How curious that something so insignificant would give you such joy? Was it really so difficult for you to get by? He bumped your salary again, you were supposed to be happy, but instead Margaret had told him that you went straight to the finance team to query it as a mistake. He scoffed out a laugh, incredulous at your behaviour. Was it so hard to accept when something good happened to you? He had you brought into his office, explaining to you clearly that any future queries regarding your salary would be directed to him personally. “But it's almost triple my original salary, I'm not sure that. . .” you trailed off when he stared down at you. He watched your throat as you swallowed nervously at his proximity. Raising an eyebrow at you, he waited for the proper response. “Thank you, Sir.” He didn't bother to stop himself from smiling. A few seconds later, a shy smile pulled up your lips. Financial security might have offered you some peace of mind, but Terry knew there was more work to be done. He looked over the police reports again, thinking about disposing that piece of trash who had hurt you. Surely that would make you happy? No longer living in the same world with the person who had almost beaten you to death? He had Dennis make some enquiries, found a trustworthy guy who was in the same prison as your ex. After that it was simply a matter of payment for services rendered. He had requested a slow, painful death and the photos from the autopsy showed just that. The unfortunate incident happened over the weekend, ensuring that you would have found out by Monday morning. Instead of happiness on your face, you seemed sad, lost even. He called you into his office, trying to hold back the rage growing in his gut. He had gotten rid of someone who had inflicted so much suffering on you, why weren't you happy? Why weren't you pleased? Surely you couldn't still care for that bastard? Did you really love so carelessly, so irrevocably? “You're distracted,” he stated. Your eyes were focused on the floor, you were making an effort to stop your leg from shaking. “I'm sorry, Sir. I received some. . .news yesterday.” “Bad news?” “I'm not really sure.” “Tell me what happened.” You looked up at him, your eyes were filled with hurt. This wasn't meant to happen, why the fuck were you upset? “Someone I knew. . . passed away. But he wasn't. . .he wasn't a good person.” “And you're grieving him?” “No,” you replied softly. “I should but. . .is it wrong to feel glad when someone's died?” “Not when they're bad.” You nodded a few moments later, a small grin finally lightening your expression. Terry had to repress a laugh. The only thing you were upset about was that you didn't feel upset, you didn't feel bad at all. The thought made him preen in delight, he'd done right by you after all. It took a while, but you were finally starting to lose that heavy burden you'd been carrying all this time. The change in you was not particularly obvious, you didn't start to suddenly make friends with everyone in the office. Your smile was a little wider, you walked with more confidence. In one of his meetings, as you sat right next to him, he whispered an amusing observation about one of the investors into your ear, and you snorted out a laugh, barely able to contain yourself. A week after that, something unexpected happened, something he still didn't quite know how to feel about. Mr. Elroth stood in front of Terry, blabbering on about nothing of interest. He'd gestured for you to come over to give him a point of interest. You stood dutifully by his side, but when Mr. Elroth reached out his grubby hand, about to touch Terry's forearm, you quickly stepped in front of him, blocking Mr. Elroth from touching him. You interjected yourself into the conversation, successfully distracting Mr. Elroth and causing him to lower his arm. Terry dismissed him a couple minutes later and pulled you to one side. “What was that?” “I thought you might have wanted a distraction, I didn't mean to be rude, Sir.” “Why did you move in front of me?” “Mr. Elroth was going to touch your arm,” you explained like it was obvious. “And?” “You. . .you don't like to be touched.” “Excuse me?” “You always initiate, you don't like it when other people touch you. I'm sorry if I've made the wrong assumption. It wasn't my intention to cause any offence, Sir.” He continued to stare at you, letting the words sink in. Margaret most conveniently called you away like she could read his mind and Terry nodded at her in thanks, thinking that he'd have to review her retirement plan, add in a couple more vacation options, maybe an extra masseuse for the weekends. He didn't know how he felt. He was agitated by what you had said, almost uncomfortable. That wasn't something you were meant to notice. Terry took great lengths to not show any kind of weakness, and shying from physical contact was certainly one. For you to not only see it, but then to try and protect him? Even though you’d been abused in the past? Even though you shied away from physical contact yourself? He clenched his fists, his heart aching in a way it never had before. That night, he broke into your apartment. It was thankfully a significant improvement to the last one. After looking over the kitchen and the living room, he went to your bedroom, watching you sleep soundly and peacefully. Part of him wanted to sink his hands around your neck, make you experience every bit of discomfort that you had made him feel. He slowly sat down on the mattress, his gloved hand gently caressing your cheek. You cared about him, but how much of that was the same sort of empathy and respect you'd show to everyone else? How much of it was just for him? He needed all of it, your heart, your mind, your soul. He'd been so used to taking everything he ever wanted, there'd never been anything worth his patience. . .but you? Watching you emerge from the shadow you used to be gave him a deep satisfaction that nothing else came close to. Destroying you would be too easy, you were already so broken, even now. Making you whole again? Now that was a challenge he'd accept, a challenge that he was going to excel at. No one else was going to hurt you again. He recognised the value of your devotion, craved it like nothing else. His fingers traced over your lips as he imagined the moment you were going to kiss him of your own accord. What a sweet, precious moment that was going to be, he would wait for it. He was going to wait for you. And when you were his, he was never going to let you go.

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XV — masterlist

concept: the three times chris comforted you, and the times you returned the favour. the slowest of slow burns, the angstiest of all angst. part sixteen of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 3,8k

warnings: drinking, so much fluff, heartbreaking angst

author's note: this one, guys, gals, and non-binary pals, is for @fangirlovestuff because it's her BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABYYYY (and i'm sorry in advance). the songs are linked, so if you don't know them, you can check 'em out :)

In your ten months of knowing him, Chris had always known how to cheer you up, irregardless of how big or small the issue was.

You would even go so far as to call him a master of distraction – because by the end of the day, you wouldn't even have known you'd cried at all.

You could recall three times he had been there for you, and the two times you returned the favour.

The first time he had seen you cry – about three months into your living situation – he had been by your side immediately, pulling you flush against his body. He held you in his big arms for the longest time, and just waited the sobs out.

He wasn't the type of person to press, and he knew you'd tell him what was wrong if you wanted.

Instead, he asked you what you wanted.

You were lightheaded and cry‐drunk, so it took a moment to come back to yourself. "Huh?"

"Do you want to be quiet or loud?"

"I just..." You struggled to find words that didn't make you sound needy, but you found none. "I don't want to be alone."

"That's out of the question," he smiled knowingly. "So, what will it be, {your last name}? Quiet or loud?"

He had a twinkle in his eye, one that suggested his question delved deeper than the words implied.

"Quiet."

And then he was pulling you up off the couch and out the door in total disregard of your chosen attire.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Chris, I'm literally in my pyjamas–"

But he was already opening the garage, the creaks of the gears overshadowing your weak protests.

"You're wearing pants this time," he winked at you. "So we have that going for us."

And then you were in the car, location still a mystery.

Any attempts to get a modicum information was shut down with a simple "it's a surprise."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"Because then it wouldn't be a surprise."

And you were glad he hadn't told you, because soon, you were pulling up outside a place you hadn't been to since you were a kid and going on school trips. You'd never been to any L.A. ones, having moved there only half a year ago. But the way your whole body immediately was overcome with such calm...

It was like you had been hoping to come here since you'd woken up that morning, and had received the news of your grandfather's admittance to the hospital earlier that night.

But there was no way for Chris to have known that your grandfather had taken you to the aquarium when you were young, telling you about all the fish, helping you make up increasingly bizarre backstories for them.

He just knew you had to leave the house, and go somewhere quiet.

And it was a weekday, so the chances of kids screaming and running through the aquarium hallways were slim to none.

So while you walked in the tinted blue light, eyes scanning over information plaques and watching the multi-coloured aquatic animals lazily drift past the glass panes in a comfortable silence, you reached out to give his wrist a gentle squeeze.

His hands had been sitting in his pockets, giving you your space, but hovering close enough to you to let you know you weren't alone.

"Thank you," you croaked out softly.

When you turned your head to look at him, he had been looking at you, a smile of heartwarming endearance on his face.

If you hadn't been so consumed by the exhibits, you'd have known that he hadn't taken his eyes off you the entire time, and you'd have known he also hadn't stopped smiling. Smiling at you, seeing just how happy you were, even though your eyes were still watery and worry was still thick in your throat.

He slid his hand out of his pocket easily to lace your fingers together, loose enough for you to pull away if you had wanted, but tight enough for you to know that he had no intention of letting go first.

But you didn't pull away, instead strengthening the intwining grasp.

And so you continued, walking through the aquarium in that comfortable silence. And at some point along the way, you found laughter again, pointing out the ugliest fish and saying it was him, only to have him gasp in mock surprise.

"My God, you're such a flirt," he'd say.

And then he'd point out the most beautiful fish he could find.

"That's you."

——————

The second time was a week later.

It was your grandfather again, but the issue had been more serious than any one of your family members initially believed.

You didn't cry this time, but Chris could sense the immeasurable sadness in your posture, the way you sat on the couch, staring blankly ahead.

He came to stand in front of you, and gently knelt down so your eyes would focus on his. Everything about his stature screamed concern as he caressed the hair away from your face.

"Quiet or loud?" He had asked so softly, so simply.

"Loud."

He helped you up, careful with your fragile state. He walked you to your room, into the bathroom, and left you to take a calming shower by yourself.

When you'd gotten out, gotten ready for whatever surprise excursion was next – dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, scuffed sneakers on your feet but Chris would claim you looked prettier than he'd ever seen you – Chris was waiting for you by the front door.

You knew better than to ask him where he was taking you this time. And honestly, you were too drained to even muster the words.

You wanted loud, to drown out the misery.

And you got what you wanted.

Chris had taken you to a local pop-up carnival, and in spite of the cloudy weather mirroring your emotion, threatening rain, it was filled with screaming kids and the sounds of joy.

"They come by once every six months," he explained while you waited in the line to enter. "I wanted to take you under different circumstances, but..."

"It's wonderful," you assured him, although your tone didn't sound like it.

He paid your entrance fees – buying a large roll of game tickets for the both of you – and with his hand ghosting over the small of your back, he guided you inside.

Your smile first came when you were on the ferris wheel, and it didn't fade until you were back home, saying good night.

You had spent the whole afternoon there, and even most of the evening, until around ten, when they had begun to take down the stalls and unpitch their tents.

"I'm totally going to crush you at this," you had grinned at him at some game or another. And you did, but only because he wasn't entirely focused on the game, but watching you.

He would tell himself later, as he lay in bed, the reason he couldn't take his eyes off you was because he had wanted to make sure you were alright, and having a good time. But that was a half truth. The full truth was simply because he couldn't stop looking at that smile he loved so much, on the girl he loved more.

A sense of pride would swell in his chest at the very thought of him having played a part in your happiness.

And so you did absolutely crush him. But only because he'd been distracted, and, if truth be told, because he let you.

You held your prize – a hilariously massive teddy bear, drowning you in its fluff – with both arms, laughingly taunting him for his loss, which had got him a much smaller bear (a participation trophy at best) which he carried in one hand.

You had also gone to the circus they had there, your teddy bear seated beside the two of you, taking up a whole seat by itself. You marvelled at the trapeze artists, the charisma of the ringleader, the fire juggler from Prussia, and even found it in yourself to giggle a little at the clowns who you thought you'd be irreparably prejudiced against since you watched Stephen King's It.

And if you were to now scroll back in your camera roll, you would find the hundreds of pictures you had taken together in the hall of mirrors, and the beautiful twinkling lights of the distant city that sparkled like their own constellation from your view at the top of the wheel.

But you wouldn't scroll back now.

Not now.

———————

The third time had just been a bad day.

Nothing set it off, but you'd woken feeling like trash, and it really didn't sit well with you.

It had been post kiss, post Vegas, in that week Chris had returned, and he could feel it the second you stepped into the kitchen.

His usual morning greeting of "good morning, Sleeping Beauty" fell short on his lips.

"Both," you said to him, already knowing the question he was going to ask.

You had managed to get yourself dressed that day, thinking that that one step into productivity would pull you out of your slump. It hadn't. So you told him "both," and he immediately complied.

Setting the mug down, coffee unfinished, he grabbed his keys off the counter. He called for Dodger, and you were in the car again.

This time, you already knew where you were going. It wasn't a difficult puzzle to solve, especially with Dodger there with you.

And your suspicions were confirmed when he pulled up to a remote beach, a hidden gem that only locals would know about.

And in the secluded bay, you walked alongside each other, Dodger prancing ecstatically into the water and darting across the sand.

You watched him greet other dogs, tail wagging. You encountered very few people, giving them a greeting smile in passing.

It really was the perfect mixture of both – serene in the best way possible, ocean waves loud in their crash on the shore.

Chris made no effort to hide his gaze on you this time, aside from a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, obscuring his eyes.

"Why are you wearing those?" You chuckled.

"What?"

"You're wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Did it not come with instructions or something?"

"Oh, that," he grinned. "I wear the cap for the aesthetic, sunglasses for the disguise."

You had to reach up on your tippytoes to do what you did next – which, if you were so inclined, could be referred to as theft in the court of law.

You easily snatched the cap off his head, and, dancing out of his reach, put it on. It was a size too big, and dipped into your eyes, making him laugh through the stern demeanor he was jokingly putting on.

"Give that back," he warned. "You're ruining the aesthetic."

You repeated him mockingly, and then he was chasing you down the beach, your squeals of delight interrupting the peace and grabbing Dodger's attention.

You weren't being chased down by one Evans anymore, but two, and hoping to find sanctuary, you made your way into the water.

The sea lapped eagerly at your knees, stray droplets clawing to soak into the frayed denim of your shorts.

Chris had been wearing jeans – not exactly intending for a beach day that morning – and you'd hoped that would be enough to halt the attack.

"If you think that some water is gonna stop me from righting this injustice," he began, equally as out of breath as you were. He had been holding himself back from outright catching up to you, and you knew that – Chris was the epitome of fitness. What did you expect? To outrun Captain America? – "nay, this crime, then you are dead wrong."

"I'm in international waters!" You called back, flicking the peak of his cap teasingly. "I'm out of your jurisdiction!"

"Fuck jurisdiction!" He yelled out, and then he was wading towards you.

Water slowed both of you as you tried to keep out of his grasp, but he had the benefit of being naturally quicker. He had you in a bearhug, trapping your body against his as you struggled to break free.

"Give it back," he playfully growled into your ear.

"Never! You'll never take me alive!" You fought the words out through your laughter.

And then Dodger was there too, all but pushing you over into the shallows of the shore.

You both lay there, allowing yourselves to be drenched, through and through, Dodger licking your faces excitedly.

And as the laughter slowly subsided and the cold the breeze introduced to your wet forms finally registered, you both got up.

"Alright, have your stupid hat back," you sighed, moving to take it off.

He captured your hand in a lightning quick grip, stilling your movements. "Keep it," he smiled. "Looks better on you anyways."

You smiled back sarcastically, rolling your eyes, before pushing him back down onto the sand playfully. "All this?! All this for me to keep it?!"

He propped himself up on his elbows to peer up at you, sunglasses knocked askew.

"Dodger, as my head torturer," you said to the exhilarated mountain of a dog. "I command you to execute this man."

———————

It was hard to watch a strong man crumble, and there were days when that happened, too.

It was the day of Dodger's operation – a hip surgery, nothing too life threatening – but Chris, with all his quick wit and charming smiles, was a shell of himself.

Of course, you were worried too. But Chris needed you more than you needed him, and so, in the mournful silence of the waiting room, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He flinched a little at the sudden contact, but didn't pull away.

"Quiet or loud?"

In all definitions of the word – in the hour he had been in that waiting room, leg bouncing – he never thought he could hate quiet as much as he did now.

"Loud."

It took some effort to tug him to his feet, his body sluggish with worry. But he was up, and you were guiding him to the door, leaving your number with the vet secretary for any updates.

You didn't want Chris to be worrying and checking his phone every five seconds, because you knew how that dread felt. No, he needed a distraction.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

You had never understood why Chris enjoyed doing that to you, never telling you where he was going to take you, but with the thrill of him not knowing, you got it. Spontaneity ran in his veins, and he didn't press like you so often did in the past.

You had been in L.A. long enough to find your own little secret spots, and to know exactly where you were without much guidance.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn't really know where you were taking him until your legs had absentmindedly taken you to an old vintage diner you knew had once been the talk of the town – filled to the brim with hipsters – before once again slipping into obscurity.

It was late into the night, but the diner was open 24/7, and you knew Chris hadn't eaten in a while.

When the bell jangled upon your entry, the waiters jolted, having taken to sitting down in the vacancy of their restaurant.

A few customers lingered here and there, club goers drunkenly scarfing down fries to try and sober up a little before hitting the next party and insomniacs downing their third cup of coffee that hour.

But for the most part it was empty, and, unfortunately, quiet.

"You here for karaoke night?" A bubblegum popping waitress asked. It really felt like the cliché, but it weirdly added to the charm. She stood, perched on the rubber stop of her roller skates, waiting for your response.

"Oh, hell yes we are," you grinned.

She took you to a table situated in front of a makeshift stage, a jukebox-karaoke machine hybrid standing proudly to one side.

Chris sat down, anxiety still heavy in his bones. You quickly ordered – two burgers, and a milkshake to share – before you were shedding your jacket and making your way on stage.

You didn't care about making a fool of yourself. The only thing you cared about was seeing Chris smile again, and in that moment, you'd do almost anything to make that happen.

You hummed in thought as you perused the songs available to you. You didn't expect much from the collection, given that the whole vibe of the diner was 50's through to early 90's. A total pocket dimension in time.

A song caught your eye and you grinned, selecting it immediately. Chris didn't want quiet – and you were going to be the loudest bitch here.

You could hear the whir of the machine as it came to life and you made your way to the vintage microphone. It crackled and whined when you pulled it closer to yourself.

You had caught the eye of the sobering-but-still-quite-drunk party animals, and they had come over to investigate.

"Sorry," you winced, voice booming on the mic. "This song goes out to my good friend Chris."

And then the music started to play, and he groaned. He knew the song decently enough, it having been one of your most replayed disco bops of the week.

"This is Sunny, by Boney M," you said over the intro. "Hope you enjoy."

And then you started to sing, intentionally bad at first to wheedle that cry strained laugh from Chris, and then finishing off in that voice he knew you had.

Every time the song mentioned "Sunny," you'd look directly at him, giving him an exaggerated wink. And at "I love you," you'd point at him, smile growing on your face as you danced ridiculously with the mic.

He was laughing, whole body shaking at how over-the-top you were being.

And when the song wrapped, you whooped into the mic, feedback squealing. "Thank you, everybody!" you panted.

The club goers applauded, screaming their drunken praises.

"YES, QUEEN!"

"YOU GO, BABY!"

"FUCK YES!"

"BEYONCÉ WHO?!"

That last one earned some shocked gasps and scolding. "Woah, dude. Too far."

"Thank you, thank you," you grinned, feeling alive. You could see the laughter starting to fade from Chris again, and so you moved to put on another song.

"This one," you whispered into the mic, "is a duet. So, please. Good friend Chris, wouldst thou riseth to the occasion?"

He shook his head, cheeks flushing at being called out.

"Oh, come on," you whined, the music already beginning to play out the intro. "For me?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, already smilingly weighing the pros and cons of his embarrassment. You batted your lashes. "I know you can sing, Evans. Don't start this shy shit now."

"COME ON, CHRIS!"

"YEAH, COME ON CHRIS!"

"Give the people what they want," you wiggled your brows.

He shrugged, muttering "fuck it," and reluctantly rising from his seat, he hopped on stage with one jump.

"You were working as a waitress at a cocktail bar, when I met you," he started singing flatly, eyes on yours, letting you know how much he didn't want to be up there. You arched a brow, pushing him let loose.

Slowly, with the encouragement of your smile, and the cheers from the drunk, he lost himself in the performance of "Don't You Want Me" by The Human League, even taking to dancing at your part of the duet.

And that's how you spent the rest of your waiting period – singing bad karaoke, shovelling food into your mouths between songs, and returning the favour of cheering on the clubbers when they had resolved to stay and sing because they decided the best time they were probably going to have that night was in that stuffy little diner on a street they probably would've walked right past on a regular day.

And when your phone rang for Dodger, you paid your bill, leaving a hefty tip in apology to the staff for having to endure your wailing. You said your goodbyes to your newfound friends of the night.

And Dodger was fine when you took him home.

And Chris was smiling again.

———————

You couldn't bare to dwell on the second time you took it upon yourself to cheer up Chris Evans, because the fact of the matter was, that just reminiscing about those other four had you muffling sobs all over again.

You thought about that day – the road back from Vegas, pulling off to Route 66, taking him to the food truck park – and the alcohol you urgently gulped down did nothing to numb you.

You had often looked back on those memories fondly. But now it was a gaping hole in your chest.

You were sitting on the balcony, overlooking the beach. In the distance, under moonlight, you saw a couple walking hand-in-hand, and you knew it was them.

"Thought I'd find you out here," a familiar voice said. It wasn't Chris', and that had you swigging another shot from the near empty bottle in your lap. "You holding up okay?"

"Ask me again in a month," you stated blankly. You hadn't even moved to address the newcomer, nor had you shifted over to make room for him. He sat all the same. "If you want to put a number to how long it takes to move on, ask Chris. The answer is a month."

It had taken a month for him to move from you to Lily. But it wasn't exactly like any of you had made your feelings and intentions known, aside from a kiss that you had claimed you'd been drunk for, and a confirmation of friendship.

If you let yourself think about it too long – which you had, on more than one occasion, this one specifically – it was your fault.

Sebastian reached over and gently pried the bottle from your iron grip. He looked at how much was left, surprised. And still, you gazed numbly ahead.

"This is how day one looks, huh?" He attempted a joke. Even he knew it fell flat, and instead took a sip to ease himself.

"The alcohol content in that bottle is directly proportionate to how many fucks I have left to give," you shrugged, voice monotonous.

"How much more are you going to put yourself through before you've had enough?"

"I've had enough," you sighed. "But I'll probably suffer a little more."

"You have more strength than I do, then."

His sympathetic arm wrapped around you, and you melted into his side, the comfort another person brought acting as a placebo salve to the pain. Like an ice pack on a shattered femur.

And you realised why you were so sad. Those memories meant nothing to you now.

They had lost their meaning because he wasn't there with you, on this roof, asking you that question when you needed it asked the most. Quiet or loud.

He wasn't there, and the taste of whiskey was chased away by ash.

[willymywonkers]

A Trip into the Factory

Summary: Maude gets invited into the factory for the first time in years. Chaos and fluff ensues.

A/N: This really is an excuse for me to try and write Wonka a little better. It's not too great I'll admit that, but I'm still getting used to writing him, lmaoooo.

It was a typical Tuesday afternoon for Maude, which mainly included grading assignments and checking over the kids work.

However, there was one thing different about this Tuesday. Charlie invited her over to the factory for dinner.

Usually she'd be happy to visit the Buckets, the only set back here was actually going into the factory.

Ever since Wonka and her reunited, things had been a little rocky. Maude was always busy with her students, and tried to creating some order in her schedule. Will was busy mentoring Charlie around the factory. There wasn't any time for them to really connect.

"Sure, I think she would thoroughly enjoy the factory, heh." Willy said, trying very hard to seem confident.

"And, when you're done, we can have dinner with my family." Charlie smiled with excitement.

"Yeah." Will gulped, slightly.

This was one of Willy Wonka's rare moments where he was uncertain. Usually, he knew exactly how people would react when entering the factory, but Maude was a different story. She helped sculpt every room when it was first built.

Willy had planned on asking Maude to move in with him before she got married. Being business partners was one thing, but being actually together was another. He knew from the start on why he didn't like her husband. Even during the wedding, Willy tried to be supportive of her. Hell, he even made especially for her a dozen chocolate roses. His feelings for her never really went away. He just wanted her to be happy.

After being isolated from the world for over 15 years, it really took a toll on how he interacted with others.

Meanwhile, Maude was dealing with her own worries. She looked at herself in the mirror, constantly overthinking.

She needed to leave in about 30 minutes, and that wasn't enough time either. Maude rummaged through her closet desperately searching for something to wear. Eventually, she found a brown dress that was casual enough to wear without looking completely overdressed.

She slipped on some heels and grabbed her coat before heading out the door. She was lucky the factory was walking distance from her house, but when the gates opened, she was extremely hesitant to go inside.

'Come on, Maude. Don't be pathetic.' She thought as her hand was just inches away from the door.

She bit her lip, tapping her gloved fist against the cold steel door.

Suddenly, there was a click and the door swung open. Maude stepped back, surprised a little at the sudden opening of the door.

Wonka stood just a little bit outside the door. He smiled, greeting Maude at the door.

"Heh, welcome, Maude." Will flashed a big smile at her.

She smiled back, taking off her coat. "It's quite warm in here, Will."

"Ah yes. It's because of my oompa loompas. They just can't stand the cold."

Maude tilted her head at Will. "Right, and what are oompa loompas again?"

Charlie had told her about these 'oompa loompas' but she wasn't entirely sure about what they are.

"Oh, well, they're my workers. They were directly imported from Loopmaland." Will explained as the two walked down the large hall.

"Loopmaland? I've never heard of that place before." Maude seemed to look even more confused.

"Well, I discovered it while I was searching the world of exotic candy." Will hummed.

Maude couldn't help, but be amazed at the amount of things Will had done throughout the years. Maude felt that she didn't really accomplish anything. After she left Ron, she mostly did boring adult stuff. When she worked in the factory, Maude felt unique and carefree. Will would listen to all her ideas for different kinds of mixtures. She remembered a time where she felt happy being in the factory, because it almost was a sanctuary to her.

The hallway began to get slimmer and slimmer. Soon enough Maude and Willy crouched down to get to the very small door at the end of the hallway.

"I don't remember the chocolate room being this small." Maude joked, trying not to hit her head on the suddenly short ceiling.

Willy shook his head. "It's not. Just watch."

Just as he turned the key, a whole world was opened up for Maude. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted at the view.

It was meadows of gorgeous green grass, and luscious chocolate river that flowed throughout the factory.

There was buttercups at her feet, and a jelly pumpkin on her right.

Maude felt overwhelmed with joy. "You did all this?" Her voice was below a whisper.

Willy smiled wide. "Yeah, I did."

Maude turned to Willy, smiling dreamily at him. "Wow.." Her body suddenly when limp, as she passed out in a sudden trance.

Willy panicked, catching her before she hit the ground. "Maude? Maude!!"

She snapped out of her trance. "Yes? Yes! I'm awake."

Will took a deep breath. "Heh, good. I was worried that I killed ya there."

Maude chuckled, blushing slightly by the way Wonka was holding her.

Wonka seemed to noticed it too. He cleared his throat. "Well, let's get a move on. There's lots of things I wanna show you."

He set Maude back down on her feet. She chuckled nervously, still amazed at the view.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of low drumming. A purple sea horse shaped boat pulled up right next to Willy and Maude.

"Hop on board!" Willy stepped onto the boat, with Maude following behind.

The Oompa Loompas seemed to be chattering amongst themselves and chuckling.

"What are they laughing about?" Maude chuckled.

He laughed nervously. "Surely, it's from all those doggone coca beans. They're a bit of a handful."

Maude smiled. "They seem quite lovely. I think I got a report from Charlie, talking about living with the Oompa Loompas. It was incredibly-"

"Weird?" Willy interrupted.

"Yeah, but, a good kind of weird." Maude chuckled. "You're a great mentor."

Willy's smile faltered slightly. "Well, I have to get him prepared to run this factory. There's not a lot of people I could trust to hold the secret recipes, and keep them secret."

"Right."

"I guess the only other person would be you."

Maude's expression shifted from happiness to a bit of sadness. She attempted to smile. "Thank you, Will."

She stared blankly for a few seconds. She began to remember Ron's horrid yelling.

"You'll always be in his shadow, Maude. Don't you want your own factory? He stole most of your ideas, Maude. A few of his would be nothing."

Maude would always refuse to steal from Will. Ron would call her a coward. Still, this torment would go on for hours, until she resigned.

The boat began to diverge into a dark tunnel. Maude's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the Oompa Loompas drumming as it began to get faster and faster.

"Can they see where they're going?" Maude said, as she turned to Willy.

"Hehe, no." Will chuckled. "There's no telling where they're going."

Maude's face turned pale as she held on to the side of the boat.

The boat suddenly took sharp dive right into the tunnel. The boat looped and turned as chocolate splashed its sides. Maude suddenly had her arms around Wonka's, holding onto dear life. Will looked over at her a little surprised. In most situations, Will despised human contact. Here, he was just amused. Even when he was a little boy, he hates when adults touched his hair, or even when they lightly tapped his shoulder. However, he was very loose when it came to Maude. She didn't appreciate close contact either, but in very few moments, Maude would casually touch his hand accidentally. She would always say sorry, but it was strange because Will didn't mind it. It was an odd connection between the two. They really just couldn't explain it.

Maude was still holding onto Will as the boat came to a stop. She sighed in relief, but quickly let go of Will.

"Sorry." Maude muttered.

Will gulped. "No matter. Let's continue."

The boat had stopped in front of the experimentation room, a place where Maude was quite familiar with.

"The experiments room. I'm pretty sure you know this one, heh." Will said, hoping off the boat.

Maude looked around, admiring the enormous amounts of lab equipment, as well as different kinds of experiments. "Oh, wow. It's gotten quite modernized."

"You're darn right. I've testing out a ton of new candy, but sometimes it's so hard to focus on one." Willy turned towards a big machine. He turned it on and out came a single stick of gum.

"This piece, right here, is a full 3 course dinner all in itself."

Maude picked up the stick of gum, and simply looked at it.

"I wouldn't eat it. There's still a few things wrong with the mixture."

"I see, and what seems to be wrong with it." Maude carefully set the stick back down.

"Well, it's ok, once it gets to the end. It's the blueberry pie that does it. I've tried it on like 20 Oompa Loompas, and each one ended up like a giant blueberry."

"Do you think it's because you made the mixture of the pie too strong?" Maude examined the sample closely, just before sticking it in her mouth.

"Yeah, well." Will's eyes widened as she stuck the gum in her mouth. "Just spit it out once it gets too sweet."

The flavors were very incredible, however it didn't mask the faint blueberry aftertaste that plagued each flavor. Once it got a but too sweet, she immediately spat it out.

Will looked at her with a bit of disgust. He kept a bit of a distance from her. After a few moments, nothing happened.

"I think I know the problem. The blueberry pie mixture is too strong. It masks all the other flavors with a sweet aftertaste." Maude put the gum in the nearest trash can. "If you eliminate that strong aftertaste, then I believe the gum should be just fine."

Willy's expression turned from disgust to ecstatic in a matter of seconds. He grabbed Maude by the hand, and shook it vigorously. "Maude, you're a genius. Absolutely incredible. I don't get why I didn't think of that sooner."

Maude smiled slightly. "This is just like old times. Remember when we were experimenting with those fizzy lifting bubbles? We flew so high. We almost lost our heads."

"Yeah, haha. I remember." Will nodded, still holding onto Maude's hand.

"I remember Ron being so worried." Maude laughed.

Willy's smile soon faded. "Yeah, him."

Hearing that name again really made Will's blood boil. He had an idea what was happening with Maude and Ron. Will had really hoped Maude would choose candy making over Ron, because that's what made her happy.

His gloved hand had a tight hold on Maude's. "It's really weird, heh."

"What is?" Maude asked.

"Being here with you. I just would've figured you'd always be with me, making candy in the factory."

"Well, I'm here right now."

"That's not what I mean."

Maude tilted her head up at him, a little confused. They looking into each other's eyes for a moment. His gorgeous purple eyes burrow deep into her dark chocolate ones.

He leaned in, giving Maude a tiny peck on the lips. It was quick and painless. Still, it made Maude go red as a cherry.

Willy giggled, wiping the tiny kiss off his lips.

"W-wow.." Maude muttered. "That was unexpected." She blinked for a few moments, promptly pinching herself, before even realizing what had happened.

"Heh, I've always wanted to try that." Will said, smiling wide. "Kissing is so weird."

"But it's a good kind of weird." Maude chuckled, as she pulled Will into another kiss.

This was so much better than she could've imagined.

[jenhedgehog]

[1] Hey there ! Ok so first, I want to say I love what you do. I've been a huge Lap/i/dot shipper for months (actually enven before watching SU I thought these two were already a couple XD), and I'm glad I'm not the only one this ship brings hapiness to. I'm gonna make a post about some anecdotes about this ship I got with my friends but for now I saw you're were not in a good mood so I wanted to share this one directly with you since it makes me smiles everytime I think about it - So, hum-

About a month ago, I went in a convention where I met friends and met new ones. I found a woman who was making a bunch of fanarts and asked her if she could make a SU one with Lapis and Peridot (no ship stuff, just them). When I said that to my friends (old and new) they all told me they'd want to see it because they love the ship. "Can you remind me the name of this ship ?" the woman said after this - I just said it was Lapidot and she responded "Ha, a classic~" which made everyone laugh. Then-

After this I realised she actually was drawing some ship material XD Then she finished, we all decided we would take a photo with the picture so we would be called the "Lapidot squad". After this a child we met before, about 12yo, asked what ship we were talking about. After telling her she said she didn't knew it but wanted to see. We showed her the picture and then "Oh wow, I ship them. Idk who they are but they are just SO CUTE together !!" I just tried not to scream of joy damn.

(I swear this is the last one) Note that I didn't even know any of these persons were actually watching SU (well the child wasn't lmao). I discovered that because they were all freakin Lapidot trash like me and it made me so happy to find that out ! - Ok now I'm sorry for all these asks I talk waaaay too much omg XD I just hope this helped you feeling better like it did for me and that you'll get better soon, I got depression too and I know how bad it is >

Hi!

Oh wow, what a lovely story!  Thanks so much for sharing this with me, and also for your kind words - these asks really made me smile :)