#they need to sit the hell down and find a family therapist i fucking swear-

[soulless-bex]

the red hood vs batfam thing makes my blood boil because when you really consider it, it’s really only born from miscommunication (from everyone involved), manipulation (from talia) and emotional constipation (from everyone involved)

[thewatcher-ofmedia]

🔥CHARACTER REVIEW TIME🔥

(Can you tell that my portuguese teacher didn't come so I have 100 minutes without shit to do)

ANYWAYS, since I'm in the 4th episode I think it's a good time to see first impressions

MAIN CHARACTERS

CHARLES

I love him so much, like I was 10 minutes in and saying "I would die for you, I would kill for you, just ask and I'll do it"

Favourite character obviously

Wanna put him in a jar and protect him from everything bad in the world

He's brunette, has curls, is the sunshine character, has daddy issues and uses humour to cope so obviously he's also on the list of fictional crushes

Also something that I absolutely love about this show is that they pick this "stereotypical characters" and make them better.

Like, in this case the always happy character would have a ton of trauma but the show (or the characters, but that's a talk for another post) would not acknowledge this, they would show real depressed shit and then completely ignore it for the rest of the show.

Or just show it in the end of the series then kill him off.

But here they're letting people know from the beginning AND it's visible that the fact that he hides it is gonna be a major plot point in the show which makes me SO HAPPY

And in the loop scenes they made sure to focus on Charles face and reaction every. single. time.

Anways, I'm soo curious to learn more about his trauma and death and to see his character development

And he's so cute and trying so hard to make sure everyone likes him and lighten the mood and to not be a bother and to make everyone happy and I'm gonna cry

EDWIN

I also love him so goddamn much

He's also going in the jar, don't worry I'll protect you from everything

He's my baby (he was born more two hundred years before me and is my age BUT HE'S MY BABY)

Seriously someone needs to sit him down and say that everything is going to be ok (and get death the fuck away from him, my boy does not deserve hell, he deserves to be with his boyfriend best friend)

Also love this concept that everyone around him knows he's not straight, he knows that he's not straight but somehow he's still in the closet. Like, he never says he's straight, but he says to Niko that Mounty and him both boys, so one cannot be into the other and when Niko says that boys can like like each other he just turns the conversation around

I think they're writing that so well. It's subtle yet obvious, it's so good

Also, he's autistic, definitely in the spectrum. He obviously doesn't know because the first diagnosed case of autism was in 1943

And the dynamics that he has with everyone is SO GODDAMN GOOD

CRYSTAL

Someone give this girl an aspirin, a therapist and a bed

My girl cannot catch a break

One more in the protection jar, don't worry, I'll find your family for you, you need to rest

Overall great character, she's sassy, she's funny and she's the only emotional intelligent one

She's definitely gonna be the bridge for Edwin and Charles' romantically relationship

Like she's Miss "Edwin is acting weird because he's jeaulous of the sexual tension that we have, Charles" and Miss "Charles got stuck in the loop because he has strong feelings towards abusive fathers because he had one, Edwin"

Really love that we have someone to smack this idiots and say "You're in love with each other" because they are not gonna realise that by themselves

Also, DAVID GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER, SHE DOES NOT DESERVE YOU. I'LL GET THE CROSS, I SWEAR I'LL DO IT.

NIKO

She's so cute, I wanna protect her from this cruel, cruel world

This means that I already have her in the jar, no one else is gonna get to her

At first I thought she was gonna be this really closed and introvert character that was gonna talk when absolutely necessary and was a bit emo. But like her hair her personality lightened up as soon as the parasites got out (she was sick it's normal that she was wuth a really depressed attutude but Bea's too focused on the story to remember how people act socially)

I really wanna hug her, I need to

Also love how eager she is to help and how she has nothing to do with the boys , she's a "cas closed" but even Edwin can't say no to her

I feel like her "almost dying" trauma is gonna be a bit underrated (although I see that they are not completely ignoring because of the 3rd episode where she felt like she couldn't deal with death since she almost met her the week before) but I want to believe the opposite because until now the show has not disappointed me in terms of traumas (or in other terms really)

SIDE CHARACTERS

ESTHER

I don't have much to say, I like her in the twisted "this is a fun villain" way

I'm really curious to know more about this Lilith and immortality thing

She did loose some points in my book with the whole torturing the crow thing

I am ✨️traumatised✨️

CAT KING

I'm so confused about his character

Like, he's a really fun character

And his outfits are great

But at the same time, get the fuck away from Edwin, in both the scenes with both of them I was so scared that he was going to the "no consent" zone

I do love that both the scenes where he's in he slays the outfit, tries to drag Edwin out the glass closet, fails, keeps him trapped so he can try to do this one more time and goes away

Like, he has one objective and one objective only and honestly, respect

JENNY

My patient queen

I have not much more to say

She accidentally adopted two really weird teenagers and regrets that so much

I respect her so much

As an older sister, if she snaps, grabs a knife and kills them both out of annoyance I would support it

That's it 🫶

If you haven't understood yet I have way too many thoughts about this series

[enrosadiraanisaaa]

Within Session .Part Four.

Hey there cuties, glad to finally post another part of Within Session! This fanfic consist of Yandere!Leon Kennedy. I intend for this fic to progressively become disturbing and fucked up with each chapter. While the first few chapters will be tamed, expect the following in this series:

~Stalking, Kidnapping, Forced Breeding, Degradation, NonCon, Gang Banging, Forced Pregnancy, Somnophilia, Blackmail, Manipulation, Abuse, Pet Names, Obsessive Behavior (Duh), Torture, Constraints, Mentions of Blood & Gore, Mental Degradation, Toxic Relationship, Sexual Abuse, Masturbation, Drugged & Drunk Sex, Loss of Virginity, Forced Penetration…

Also you will be retconned (Too bad 😏): Female Reader, 24 Years old and from Texas 💝

This story was purely written with RE 4 (Remake) Leon in mind. So no puppy dog Leon from RE2 or DILF Leon from later games & movies. The story takes place several months after the events of RE4. Yay, you’re in 2004!

I plan to make this series long and fleshed out, but I promise what you want will hit you like a train~🚂

This chapter does not contain any 🔞 material. This story will contain +18 content (NSFW) in the near future 🔞 If you’re a minor, please go read a real book or something, don’t cry to me when your mom finds your shit.  This story will eventually hit that point so don’t set yourself up.

Summary

As an on sight therapist for STRATCOM in Nebraska, you’re tasked with providing quality therapy for US military personnel and government agents. After working at the headquarters for 6 months, Hunnigan recommends you to a notable government agent, Leon Kennedy, who is in need of therapy. After a number of sessions with you, Leon notices a substantial stability in his sanity yet is threatened when you are offered a position back home, closer to your family and friends. Your choice doesn’t sit well with one particular client, who can’t fathom you out of your role as his therapist. Leon has found a means of keeping his precious therapist and realizes you are the key to his permanent solace. You were obviously destined to be his in some form. Why dream of him letting you go?

A\N: I was heavily inspired by Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue 💙, ExploreVenus’s Something Permanent and Guardian Angel by NexysWorld. We're getting closer to the nitty gritty of the story. Hope y'all like this bit slice of life before shit gets fucked up. Expect the next part to be out around in two weeks.

Hope y'all enjoy the forth part! More to come 💝~ Anisssa أنيسة

Here is Part One , Part Two, and Part Three of Within Session

Cherish These Moments

Silence soon settled into the office when Leon departed out of the room after the conclusion of his session. Typically, the end of the day consists of reflecting on each session into notes. These notes along with legal documentations and insurance sheets are submitted to your supervisor every day. Now alone in the office, you were seated at your desk, hastily typing on the keyboard while staring at the computer screen to complete these synopsis to turn in so you can leave for home. It was tedious work after consulting a number of clients throughout the day, which compelled you to finish these tasks immediately following the last client. As much as you loved your job, required work tasks such as these were mundane and annoying.  

       At this time, you were well aware the sky was already night outside due to it being the middle of winter. The drive home was always more extensive than you would like to admit due to the snow that has accumulated over the roads, and as a Texan, you were not well versed in driving in these conditions. People back home would swear up and down hell froze over if an inch of snow touched Texas soil, but snow was an ordinary occurrence in the Midwest, especially in Omaha, Nebraska. 

Eventually, you complete all the necessary notes after 40 minutes and send them through an encrypted email to your supervisor. A groan escapes your lips as you stretch up from your desk chair, standing after being seated for most of the day. With the documents and signature sheets in one hand, you turn to your chair to pull off your oversized coat from the back of your chair.

      “Fucking finally, I’m out this bitch,”You mutter in a whisper to yourself, stepping out the office and turning to lock the door. In tip-toed steps to quiet the clacks of your heels in the hallway, you reach a few doors down to slide in the documents and signature sheets in a plastic wall file holder. Now, walking in the opposite direction, you head towards the entrance of the building. While the steps of your heels echoed, you swung the oversized wool trench coat around the back of your body to stuff your arms in the sleeves. At the sight of your own red blazer and form fitting skirt, an involuntary huff resonates from within as you recall Leon’s stare upon your outfit, his sly remark and odd begrudging attitude when he first notices your attire.

     “Dude’s weird…”

          You simply shrug, tightening the sash to keep your oversize coat wrapped around your body as you brace to trudge cautiously in this godforsaken weather. Upon opening the entrance door of the building, the penetrating cold immediately stings your skin. Among the rows of cars in the parking lot of the building, you instantly locate your car that was slightly covered in flurries. Your baby- a cherry colored 1986 Nissan 300zx with turbo and T-tops that was bestowed to you as a parting gift from your father. This car was a part of your life since childhood, the memories of riding in the passenger seat while the t-tops were off impeded as staple moments you cherished. 

         Around the parked cars of the parking lot, you scurry towards your car, nearly slipping the process. Once inside your car, you turn the ignition on with the turn of your key, allowing the car to warm up. Thoughts of Leon invade your mind once more as you rest back on the driver's seat. During the session, you notice his attempted subtle glances and him anatomizing your figure. While Leon was fairly attractive, you hope this was not a recurring thing in future sessions, or he might have to be referred to another therapist. Violating boundaries and etiquette as a therapist could cost your career, and all the endeavors you endured in the past would be in vain for a man. ‘Not fucking worth it.’

      With that last thought, you shift the gear into drive, steering the car cautiously out the parking lot of the USSTRATCOM headquarters to proceed home. Through desolate roads, you navigate in ceaseless fall of sleet during nighttime, ultimately arriving an hour later in front of an old Victorian house. Once your car is parked on the side of the street, you venture towards the entrance of the house from your car. 

     The Victorian house was renovated into two apartments, the upstairs and downstairs into their own sections. Along with a roommate, you rented the upstairs section of the house that consisted of two bedrooms, one bathroom, a small living room and kitchen. 

      With your belongings in hand, you unlock the door to your upstairs apartment, making your entrance known to your roommate. 

       “Daddy’s home!”You holler upon opening the front door in amusement. 

     From the kitchen, a head peeped out to reveal your roommate, a 19 year old Mexican kid from California, Mateo. At this point of living six months with him, he became like a little brother to you, although you never understood why a profound kid like him lived in this city. 

      His caramel colored eyes peered from behind the wall, narrowing at you across the room before he visibly rolled his eyes. Mateo steps from the kitchen, clearly shaking his head at you as he glances disappointedly at your attire,”Ay pendeja, there you again, wearing a skirt in the middle of winter…” he exhales, walking towards you at the entrance. 

      In response to him, you shut the front door with a sly grin, loosening the sash of your wool trench coat to further reveal your attire. “Hey! I already had a new client today ogle at my outfit today! I don’t need you to say something…” You protest, walking past Mateo to set your belongings down on the couch in the living room. 

     A snicker can be heard from Mateo as he strides by your side,”Oh, they assigned you a new client today? And they were looking at your outfit?”He questions, crossing his arms.

     You nod, sighing in the process,”Yeah, they assigned a new client today on short notice, but I don't mind having new cases. Just this new client… he kept glancing at me during the session with this certain gaze. I don’t want to already form an impression based on the first intake session of a client, but I don’t know. And my friend who is a colleague of his recommended me…”

       While Mateo was intrigued by this revelation, he raised his eyebrows at you,”Oh, well is he cute?”He asks with a grin on his face, obviously to fuck with you.

       There was a momentary pause from you as you huff in annoyance,”Well yes, he is extremely cute…but I don’t want to think about a client in that way,” You continue, providing a playful glare to the brunet beside you. 

        “What’s his name?” Mateo inquires again, resulting in your eyes to narrow at him in suspicion. 

         “Leon,”You simply answer, unsure where he was going with this conversation. 

         “Oh shit, his name sounds hot. What does he look like?” He chuckles with a cunning smile. 

           A perplexed expression forms on your face, shaking your head to his inquiry about your attractive client. At this moment, you kick off your heels before you plunge onto the couch despite wearing your work attire, allowing the cushions of the couch to engulf your body into a state of ease. “Mateo… I was trying to describe my day at work to you, not for you to devise a plan to fuck my client. I know you, Mateo. The dude seems broken enough,”You relent, peering at Mateo from the couch. 

      From Mateo, an audible gasp escapes his mouth followed by a guilty grin,”Me? I would never… Anyways… I have something you might like but you wanna come home all snarky.”

      You instantly prop yourself on your elbows while laying back on the couch,”Aww, you got me something? Show me!” You demand, watching Mateo briefly leave the side of the couch before returning by your side to gently smack your face with a plastic cover. As stunned as you were, your eyesight instantly unblurs to reveal the hard case cover for Halo 2, directly in your face.

       With a drop of your mouth, you direct your attention up to Mateo as he stands beside you while you lay the couch,”No fucking way, you bought me the new Halo?”

     Mateo retracts the game case from your face while he smiles proudly at your reaction,”Yes! I was thinking we would invite the guys over after work on Friday for a little party… Do you have anything planned for Friday night?” He asks curiously. 

      A seething sound emits from your mouth as you recall plans for Friday night,”Damn, I promised Hunnigan I’d join her for some late night bingo,” You inform Mateo, forming a pout on your lips.

To your answer, Mateo merely shrugs while waving the game case with his hand as if he was enticing you,”It’s your call, or you can get your little bingo dauber and bet money you will no doubt lose,” He expresses with smugness. 

       You pout, contemplating how you will spend your Friday night,”But I want to spend time with my girl, Hunnigan… Fine, I will reschedule with her for a dinner date or something…Only because I want to beat ass in that game!”You huff, raising yourself from the cushions of the couch to sit up.

        By leaning over the other side of the couch, your hand reaches inside your purse to pull out a pink Motorola flip phone. Upon flipping the phone open, you immediately press buttons to dial the phone number of Hunnigan. Several rings pass until you hear a familiar feminine voice,”Hey, are you okay?” Her voice responds. A guilty sensation blooms in your chest, you were timid to cancel plans with her. Seconds pass by, you seem to have paused longer than you should.

       “Are you calling about Leon? Did the session go okay with him?” Hunnigan then asks on her end, her voice consisting of a slight concern.

        “Ah no, it’s not about that. Something actually came up on Friday… I was wondering if I can join you for bingo another time…” You finally answer in a nervous tone.

       A light giggle can be heard through the phone,”It’s fine, we can schedule another bingo date some other time.”

        You sigh in relief, clutching the cell phone to your ear,”Sweet, maybe a dinner date in the city? It’ll be my treat…”

      “Definitely…Well, I have to be at the headquarters building early in the morning. Let’s speak later about it another time,” Hunnigan then gently remarks.

       “Sounds good! Goodnight, Hunnigan!” You beamed before ending the call, clamping the flip phone shut. With a cheesy grin, you whirl your torso to Mateo, who is leaning against the couch,”She was okay with it…so party on Friday? Maybe we can make it a recurring thing on the weekends with the guys…” You suggest while nodding. 

      Mateo chuckled at your proposal,”Maybe…” he simply states.

A smile formed on your lips now that there was something to look forward to on the weekends. However, you would have to persevere through the remaining days of the week, especially with the last client on Friday.

[cambria-writes]

good evening hellions! i am finally recovered! mostly! pretty much! the flu i got last week kicked my ass something fierce and i was lovingly reprimanded by both my friends and family as well as my doctor that next time i have a fever for more than three days i should probably go to a fucking hospital lol rating: M,, each chapter rated individually warnings: mention of guns, discussion of suicide attempt, vague implied mention of billy, max is still cursed, reader tries to be a therapist but has no idea how to human, swearing, gun mention, mention of hospitals, mental health discussion word count: 4,043

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𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊: 𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔱𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔶

You wake up with your left hip throbbing in pain. You try to wiggle around to get it to go away, but there’s no helping it. And all at once, you remember that you fell asleep under a giant rock formation the night before after having escaped a rabid basketball player and his…

And his very dead teammate. Fuck. 

When you push yourself up to sit, you notice that there’s a folded-over piece of denim under where your head had been. Eddie’s denim jacket, probably. You only appreciate the fact that it’s dry before you realize that means he’s awake. But a quick look around, while you rub the sleep from your eyes, does not magically produce a fugitive metalhead. 

You let yourself fall back down and roll over on your back. So much for letting you know when he was leaving. Asshole would probably say that you looked like you were sleeping too well, or needed the sleep—which is bullshit—or that he’d tried and you didn’t wake. Which, though plausible, is highly unlikely given the situation.

The sun’s up, at least, so you have a better view and grasp of your surroundings, if you wanted to go out and explore. Which… you really don’t, actually. You’re very content waiting here until Eddie comes back so you can yell at him about ditching you.

What if he gets caught? What if someone spots him? What if that sends people your way, and then you get caught? There’s another dead high school kid now, and both of you were at the lake when it happened. There’s no reasonable way to tie either of you to the boy’s death, but that’s the problem isn’t it? 

You don’t expect anyone in Hawkins to be reasonable about this. About either of you.

Not that there’s anything reasonable about you being able to plane shift, either, or about the fact that you’re counting on a bunch of high school freshmen and their babysitters to get you out of trouble and—what? Kill the lich king? 

Whatever anxiety you managed to shirk last night is back with a vengeance. You have no way of knowing how long Eddie’s been gone. If he left right around sunrise… maybe an hour? Two? How long would he even have had to walk to find a construction site? And how long would it take him to come back? 

You’re halfway out of your mind when you start to hear voices. They’re far away, and they’re not shouting, but it makes your heart leap up into your throat all the same.

You do the first thing that comes to mind: you look around in a rush to see if there’s any trace of your presence that you need to pick up—grab what is, in fact, Eddie’s denim jacket—and then pray that you’ve retained some of your younger years’ ability to climb up trees. 

Your arms burn and your hands have a few too many scrapes from the rough tree bark, but eventually you make it to a branch that seems sturdy enough to hold your weight, and lets you hide behind the trunk from whoever it might be that may be heading your way. You cover your mouth with a hand, keeping the other firmly on the branch below you for balance, and hope that you can manage to stay perfectly still. 

You stop breathing altogether when you hear a familiar voice saying ‘boom’.

“Even when it’s staring you right in the face,” Steve says. “You just can’t admit it. Can’t admit you’re wrong, you butthead.” 

You throw Eddie’s denim down first, and when you hear Henderson start wondering what the hell that’s doing there, you let yourself fall and dangle from the branch before letting yourself drop the last few feet to the ground. You don’t say anything while Dustin and Steve calm their nerves—apparently they weren’t anticipating a whole human being falling from the treeline.

“Wait,” Dustin interrupts, holding his hand up. “You’re here and that’s very nice and good, thank you for staying alive and uncaptured, but where’s Eddie? He’s the one who told us to meet you here.” 

“I—he. He left before I woke up. I have no idea how long he’s been—”

The end of your sentence is interrupted by something soft smacking you in the back of the head. When you turn around, you hear the commotion behind you before you see Eddie. You graciously give him a few seconds to let him hug Dustin, but promptly step him to give him a shove. 

“What the fuck was that about, you fucking jerk? You said you’d wake me up!” You shove his shoulder again for good measure, but slap Eddie’s chest when he opens his mouth to speak. “No! You asshole, I have a—a god damn anxiety disorder and you think that now is the perfect time to fucking ditch me in the middle of the forest when I have no way of knowing if anything happened to you or how to even get the fuck out of here?!”

“...that’s kind of messed up, dude,” Steve concedes. You turn around and gesture at him. 

“Thank you, that is profoundly messed up!” 

When you round back on Eddie, both his hands are held up in surrender, but you’re still fuming. And you know that a lot of it is just the stress of the past few days catching up now that you can actually scream and yell and throw a fit, and that the rest of it is just extremely poorly managed nerves.

You punch Eddie in the shoulder one last time for good measure. “Don’t fucking do that again. I was losing my mind.” Your voice is weaker as your Anger Train runs out of steam. There’s an apology on the tip of your tongue, but you choke it back down when you turn to your audience.

“We, uh,” you start quietly, crossing your arms and doing your best to avoid direct eye contact with literally anyone. Wave vaguely at Eddie behind you before bringing your arm back in. “He went out to look for a walkie to, uh, commandeer since we kind of lost the one you gave us.”

“Do… do you know what time this was?” Nancy asks, and when you look over at her you’re both relieved that she’s looking down in thought but also a bit disconcerted at the question. “The attack.”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie starts. “Walkie wasn’t the only thing KIA.” You jump a bit when something flies by you, straight into Nany’s hands.

“9:27,” she reads and nods. 

“Same time our flashlights went kablooey.”

“I’m sorry what? Your what exploded?” you ask, but Steve steps in. 

“Which means what, exactly?”

“That that surge of energy was Vecna attacking Patrick.”

Patrick. You’re not sure if you like having a name for the body you heard snapping last night. When you turn to look at Eddie, he looks just as confused and discomfited as you feel. When you turn back to the other, you can’t help noticing that Dustin’s still pacing back and forth. Which he’s been doing ever since the lot of them got here.

“Well, we’re one step closer,” Robin sighs. “We know how Vecna attacks.”

“And where he attacks from,” Lucas says, but you raised your hand.

“Which is where, exactly?” you ask, taking a step forward. “We haven’t really been in the loop here.”

“Victor Creel’s house,” Nancy fills in. “When Robin and I spoke to him at Pennhurst he said there was something in his house, and…” She trails off and looks back at Max.

“It’s the same place I saw when he cursed me.”

“Excuse me?” You uncross your arms, slack-jawed. “You’re what?”

“Look, it’s fine.” It’s very much not fine, but Max continues before you can say anything else. “We just need to sneak into Vecna’s lair in the Upside Down and drive a stake through his heart. Problem solved.”

“If he even has a heart,” Robin scoffs.

“A stake? Is he a vamp? Is he a vampire.” 

“No, you idiot,” you groan at Steve. “It’s a metaphor, jesus christ.”

“A bullet should work on him, right?” Eddie offers. 

“I say we chop his head off.” 

“I’m with the jock on this one,” you say. “If he actually is like, some kind of lich, a bullet won’t do shit.”

“Yeah,” Nancy interrupts, holding a hand up. “I’d say all of the above except we can’t do any of that until we find a way into the Upside Down.”

“We need El to get her powers back,” Max laments, shuffling her feet.

“No you don’t.” You frown and turn to Eddie, and though he’s staring at you with wide eyes and shaking his head, you continue. “Last time I was able to—”

“Hey, uh” he interrupts you and puts a hand on your shoulder, pointing at a still-pacing Dustin. “Henderson’s not like, cursed, is he?”

“Cursed? No, no no no, he’s fine,” Steve brushes it off like it’s nothing. “Mental? Absolutely.”

When Dustin shouts loudly enough to echo through the entire damn woods, you jump enough to slam back into Eddie’s chest and stop breathing for a second. 

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” you whisper, but Eddie doesn’t let you go before whisper a quiet reassurance an rubbin your arms for a quick second. 

Steve frowns at you before shaking his head at Henderson. “The hell was that for?”

“I was right,” Dustin declares, a little bit too smugly. “Skull Rock was north.”

“Seriously? You’re serious?” Steve sounds disproportionately pissed.

“What am I missing here?” 

“This little dipshit,” Steve starts, uncrossing his arms to point at Dustin, who still looks very proud of himself. “Led us on a wild goose chase with his stupid little compass for over an hour before I was the one who got us here.” When he turns back to Henderson, he gestures widely at the rocks behind you. “This is Skull Rock.”

“M’hm,” Dustin nods, and you’re entirely confused about why his grin seems to be getting wider.

“You’re totally, absolutely, one hundred percent wrong. Right now.”

“Yes,” Dustin concedes, leaning in. “And no.”

“No actually I think he might be a little bit cursed,” you state, looking over at Steve who looks all the part like an exasperated parent at the end of his rope.

Dustin holds something up, and you have to squint to see what it is. “This compass worked correctly when we left the Wheelers’,” he starts, and you have to take a second to wonder why the hell everyone was at the Wheelers’ of all places. “It was correct when we got in the car on Curly, but it started to slip the further east we went. Now, it’s way off. When I was leading us here, I wasn’t wrong, the compass was.”

The mention of a compass brings up the flash of a memory, only for a second. You’ve seen that before—or, at least, you remember other people seeing that before.

“So you’re using faulty equipment, you’re still—”

“No,” you interrupt Steve. “It’s not faulty. A strong enough electromagnetic field can throw a compass out of whack,” you explain, looking over at Dustin. “That’s what’s happening, right?”

“Bingo.” You shouldn’t feel as proud as you do to have a high schooler acknowledge you. “Lucas, do you remember what had a strong enough magnetic field to disrupt a compass’ magnet?”

There’s a second of quiet before there’s a dawning look of realization on his face. “It’s a gate.”

“But we’re nowhere near the lab,” Nancy cuts in.

“But what if,” Dustin counters. “Somehow, here’s another gate? A gate that we don’t know about. It’d have to be smaller, way less powerful.”

“Snack-size gate,” Robin says quietly, and you can’t help but snort at the term.

“Why?” Steve asks. “How?”

“No idea,” Dustin starts, but you clear your throat and put your hand up again.

“I have a… like, a fraction of a running theory,” you say slowly. When Dustin motions at you like you’ve got the floor, you clear your throat again and cross your arms. “I’m not gonna go in depth about why I know this so please don’t ask, but when Will was taken the first time, those things, the uh…”

“Demogorgons,” Lucas says, and you nod and thank him.

“Right, the demogorgons. They were making their own, like, temporary gates, right? You probably never caught those on a compass because the bigger gate you found in the lab was way stronger.”

“Where are you going with this?” Steve prompts, and you wave him off. 

“Shut up, I’m getting there,” you hiss. “My point is that if the wannabe foot soldiers could open their own gates and yank people through them, maybe Vecna’s been trying to do the same thing. Yank someone specifically to rip open a gate.” 

There’s a moment of silence where everyone else seems to be contemplating what you’ve said.

“Why not just use the demogorgons then?” Robin asks, and you hum as you think. 

“Those were temporary,” Dustin answers instead. “Maybe he’s looking for something more permanent.”

“Okay, but we still don’t know why,” Steve points out. 

“Does it really matter?” Eddie asks, pointing over to Max. “If there’s some kind of gate to the Upside Down, we’ve got our way to Vecna. We can…” He trails off, clearly uncomfortable mentioning what the eventuality is if Max is kept under whatever curse is on her, now. 

“Kill Vecna, break the curse,” she finishes for him.

She’s barely done speaking before Dustin wheels around and takes off down a trail. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Steve asks. “Hey, hey hey hey!” Dustin stops and turns around, seeming extremely put out, the picture of impatience. “These two are still wanted. We can't just go for a hike in the woods.”

“I’m gonna agree with him on that,” you point out, taking a careful step back. “We practically got hunted down when no one was supposed to know where we were. Shit’s not safe for us.”

“This little steel capsule,” Dustin starts, and gone is the smug expression. “Might be the key to saving Max, Eddie and you.” When he turns to Max, she shrugs; she doesn’t really have to worry about getting caught. “What say you, then, Eddie the Banished?”

When you turn around to look at Eddie, same way everyone else does, he’s backed off and crouched low, screwing the cap back on to a catine of water you hadn’t noticed he had. Probably pilfered with the walkie, you figure.

“I say,” Eddie starts slowly, looking away. “You’re asking me to follow you into Mordor.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Which, if I’m totally straight with you? I think is a really bad idea. Been there, done that, it sucked.” 

“Thank you, that’s what—”

“But uh, the Shire,” he continues, holding a finger up to quiet you. “The Shire is burning.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, and throw your hands up when you turn away. Close your eyes and run both hands down your face when you see Dustin hopping up and down excitedly. 

“So Mordor it is.” 

“You’re fucking kidding me,” you mutter, though you’re the first to walk after Dustin when he starts back down the trail again. “It wasn’t enough that we almost got turned into demonic dog food, but now he actually wants to fucking go deliberately.”

“I’m sorry, you almost got turned into what?” Robin asks behind you, and you can hear her speed up to walk next to you.

You sigh and shove your hands into your pockets. “So when Vecna attacked, the day Nancy went around Forest Hills…”

“You said three!” 

“What the fuck Harrington, why the fuck am I left here too?!”

Steve has the gall to mouth a quiet ‘sorry’ while he, Nancy, Robin and Eddie coast off towards the center of the lake. Though the other kids don’t seem too fussed about the entire thing—probably used to the whole ‘the kids need to stay behind’ bullshit by now—you and Dustin both are fuming.

“It was my goddamn theory!” Dustin repeats again, throwing his arms in the air before turning around and walking off.

“And I’m the one with the fucking gun!” You shriek out, but all you get from the boat is a wave, and you’re not even sure whose arm it is. “This is bullshit!”

“Wait, you have a gun?” Max asks, and you pull it out of the back of your waistband maybe a little too forcefully. When she, Lucas and Dustin take a stunned step back, you put your arm down and sigh, annoyed. 

“The safety’s on, relax, jesus,” you grumble, stalking over to the leftovers of a fallen tree and sitting down in a huff. “What now?”

“Wait until they say something I guess,” Lucas shrugs, sitting down on the log with you. 

“Bullshit,” both you and Dustin mutter, and you lean forward to rest your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands. 

With a deep sigh, and for lack of anything better to do, you shove a hand into the pocket of the sweater Eddie has so thoughtfully thrown back at you earlier to fish out the one spare magazine you thought to take with you. Popping out the one that was in the Beretta, you inspect the amount of bullets left in it.

Only two. Seven more in the spare mag, and maybe a handful of bullets in one of your pant pockets. So much for trying to carefully arm yourself; you have no idea where the other Beretta is, and at least one of the shotguns is probably nice and settled in the bottom of the lake. 

You don’t stand to follow when Dustin asks Lucas for his binoculars and they both end up by the lakeside watching on. Max awkwardly takes Lucas’ place, watches you silently as you do the best you can manage to refill the near-empty magazine with five of the six bullets you’re able to fish out of your left pocket.

“Well?” You ask, keeping your eyes on the magazine as you try to load it. “Spit it out. I can practically hear you thinking.”

“It’s just,” Max starts, and you can see in your periphery that she’s wringing her hands. “I don’t wanna be a dick about it but…” When she trails off, you put everything down in your lap to sit up properly and look at her. “I mean, it was probably like, before I even moved here but. You’re—are you the one who got pulled out of school?”

You hum and nod. “Yeah. Pulled out of school cause I tried to off myself, yeah.” Max has the decency to wince at that, but you shake your head and wave a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. There’s no easy way to say it. It is what it is.”

“What,” Max starts, but clears her throat. “How did you, I dunno. Get past it?” 

“The wanting to die bit?” you ask, and when Max nods, you take a deep breath. “If you’re asking me cause you think it’ll help, you’re out of luck,” you say quietly, shoving the filled magazine back into the gun and making sure the safety is back on. “They drugged me up. A lot. I can’t really remember that year at all. My mom said I managed to graduate from home, somehow. She probably lied and falsified, like, so many documents to get me through.” 

Max huffs out what you think is some weird aborted laugh, but you can’t help but chuckle along, too. It’s definitely something a bit wild to imagine some mother of two trying to scam the government into getting her psycho youngest daughter a high school diploma. 

“But to answer your question honestly,” you continue, reaching around to shove the gun back into your waistband. “There wasn’t any getting past it, for me.” You clasp your hands in front of you and lean your elbows on your knees again. “The reason why I… did what I did, it was because I kept dreaming of what happened to you. To them.” You nod back, towards Dustin and Lucas, but also to the four on the boat. “I kept trying to tell people that what I was seeing was real, at first. When Will went missing. I saw about twelve different therapists until my parents got a psychiatrist to hop me up on a bunch of meds. And that helped, for a while. Until it didn’t. Until I—when I saw…” 

You trail off, choking up, and hating it. You should be used to talking about these things by now; for at least two years you’d repeated yourself until you were blue in the face. Maybe, somewhere along the way, you started bottling everything up to make other people think you were getting better.

Maybe the fact that it’s Max you’re talking to—about seeing people die in admittedly horrible and cruel ways, when her brother is part of those people—makes it a bit harder, too.

You can”t help but jolt when you feel a hand on your shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Max whispers, but you shake your head.

“It’s,” you try, but clear your throat to try and get rid of the lump there. “Fine. It’s fine.” You take a deep breath, though a bit shaky, and sit up a bit straighter. “You’re not gonna believe me, but for what it’s worth, you don’t—you have nothing to blame yourself for.”

Max looks stunned when you turn to look at her, but scoffs. Before she can say anything, you hear Dustin behind you bemoaning how hairy Steve is. You make an obvious gagging sound, but Max immediately stands up.

“Lemme see,” she demands, grabbing the binoculars and… Saying absolutely nothing. 

You can’t help but laugh. “Wow, peeping Tom over here.”

Max doesn’t say anything, but waves at you to be quiet. But then you realize: why is Steve shirtless? 

“Hold on, gimme that,” you mutter, taking the binoculars from her and looking out at the water yourself. You find them just after Steve’s taken a plunge, apparently. “That’s so fucking stupid,” you whisper, putting the binoculars down for a second before turning to the other three. “Isn’t it really stupid to go down there alone?”

Dustin shrugs. “The gate itself isn’t dangerous, as long as he doesn’t go through.” 

“As long as he doesn’t go through, uh huh.” You bring the binoculars back up. “Yeah, like he’s smart enough not to do that.”

You keep your eyes glued on the boat when you hear people behind you. You look to your side; Dustin, Lucas and Max all look like deer caught in headlights. When you look behind you, there’s the distinct, sweeping glow of flashlights through the trees.

“Shit, hide, hide!” You whisper harshly, motioning for them to hide behind the log you’d been sitting on. You press your back against it when you drop to the ground, but immediately bring the binoculars back up to look at the boat. 

Just in time to see Robin tip off the boat backwards into the water.

You shove the binoculars into Dustin’s chest and pull the gun from your waistband, flip the saftey off and cock it. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Dustin asks, motioning behind you. “You can’t shoot the damn cops!”

“I’m not going to,” you confirm, closing your eyes and taking another steadying breath. “Whatever you do, do not go into the lake, and do not let them know where we are. Clear?” 

“Copy,” Max confirms, and lifts her head a bit to look at where the cops are slowly creeping in on you. “I’ve got an idea.” She turns back to you, and puts a hand on your shoulder again. You don’t jump this time. “Stay alive.” 

You nod before you stand up, and take a few steps towards the lake. You turn back towards the three teens and, with the hand that isn’t holding the gun, wave at them. 

“See you later.”

You only hear the beginning of Dustin saying ‘holy shit’ before his voice fades away. Your stomach drops, and the ground disappears from under your feet.

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

@anothermunsonsimp @storiesbyrhi @doratheignora

[sugar-petals]

can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house. 

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like. 

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine. 

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship. 

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like. 

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that. 

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same. 

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket. 

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching. 

© submissive-bangtan 2017-2021. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate. all depictions fictional.

[thetravelerwrites]

Errol (Naga) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Human/Male Naga Additional Tags: Cheating, Infidelity, Break-ups, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Secretly In Love, Angst, Sex, Breeding, Pregnancy Kink, Dom/Sub, Ovipositor, Oviposition, Pregnancy, Babies, Eggs, Egg Laying Words: 7887

A commission for @anjhope1​​! After catching her fiance cheating, the reader breaks up with him and goes home miserable. The ex-fiance's brother, Errol, arrives on his brother's order to get his things from her apartment, but Errol is more interested in taking care of the reader and making sure she's okay. It leads to some confusing feelings and a confession. Please reblog leave feedback!

The Traveler’s Masterlist

You’d had your suspicions for a while, but it wasn’t until you got the message on social media from a girl he’d dated and dumped who had photographic proof of it that you finally had to face the truth.

Your fiance was cheating on you.

Eric was a naga and had been with you for more than five years. He had asked you to marry him, ring and all, on New Years Eve with his family. He had made a big show of it, too. And now, you were going to have to confront him about being a cheating bastard.

The woman who had been dumped told you that he was now dating her friend, and she had gotten the room number where they were supposed to meet. You got to the hotel with your heart in your throat and knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” That was definitely Eric’s voice. He had told you that his friend needed help moving and that he’d be staying over to help him. What a good friend he was.

You deepened your voice in an effort to mask it. “Room service.”

“Oh, good, I was wondering if you were ever going to come,” Eric said, and the door swung open. As soon as he saw you, the blood drained out of his already pale face.

“No, wait--”

“Hey, babe, did they bring the right wine this time?” A female voice said from inside.

You took off your ring and threw it in his face and called inside the room, “You can have the bastard.” And walked away.

“Wait, please, this isn’t what you think,” Eric said, slithering quickly down the hall to catch you. He grabbed your arm and you wrenched it violently out of his grasp.

“Babe, who’s this?” The woman said. She was human and pretty, you guessed.

“I’m his fiance,” You retorted. “Oh, sorry, ex-fiance. Don’t worry, he’s all yours.”

“What the fuck, Eric?!” She shouted at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“Rachel, it’s not…” He stuttered. “It isn’t…”

Rachel slapped him and pushed past you toward the elevator, not looking back.

“Babe--” He started, turning back toward you.

“Don’t you dare call me ‘babe,’ you son of a bitch. Why? Why would you do this to me? Why would you waste five fucking years of my life?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you--”

“I don’t give a shit what you meant to do! I want an explanation. Was the sex bad? Do you not love me anymore? Are you just the type of person who has to have a side-chick? What? What about this is good for you? What about all this made destroying our relationship worth it?”

He groaned and scratched his head with both hands. “I… It… I can be anything I want to be with those girls, you know? If I say I’m rich, then I’m rich. If I say I’m successful, then I’m successful, and they don’t know better. They don’t know I have a shitty job that I hate. They don’t know that my girlfriend makes twice as much money as me, that she’s popular with people and everyone likes her better than me, even my own fucking family. They don’t know what a fucking loser I am.”

“And that’s my fucking fault?!” You screamed at him. “You know what you could have done instead of ruining a five year relationship? Gotten fucking therapy! Or, better yet, talked to me about it! I have been nothing but supportive of you. I have encouraged you to leave your job and find a better one. I told you I would support you until you found something that made you happy. You could have gone back to school or done and apprenticeship or vocational work, whatever, and I’d have been there! You could do whatever you wanted, and I would have helped you, and you know that!”

“Right, because you so fucking perfect, huh?” He yelled back. “It’s not enough that you rub your perfect job in my face every day and go around spending whatever you want because you don’t have to worry about money, but you also have to be perfectly supportive and perfectly giving and perfectly loving, too, right? How am I supposed to feel good about myself when you’re always better than me at everything?”

“So, it’s my fault you’re cheating on me because I’m a good girlfriend? Is that what you’re saying to me? I’m too fucking nice, so you had to put your dick in random women to feel better about yourself?” You raised your hands as if surrendering and shook your head in disbelief. “You know what? Fucking forget me. Forget our relationship, forget getting married, forget you ever knew me, forget my fucking face, don’t ever come to my house, don’t ever message me again, delete my number from your phone. As far as you’re concerned, I don’t exist to you, because you sure as shit don’t exist to me anymore.” You turned to leave.

“What about my stuff?” He protested.

“Send your brother to come get your shit,” You said without turning. “If you set foot on my property, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. I’m not fucking around. I’m so fucking glad you never moved in when I offered. ”

“So that’s it?” He said as you waited for the elevator to come back up. “You’re not even willing to work this out? It’s just over?”

“Get fucked, Eric,” You said, stepping into the elevator. “Oh wait, you already did. Do yourself a favor and sell that ring to pay for a therapist.” And the door closed on him.

As soon as the elevator started to move, you hit the floor and sobbed. Why? Why was he like this? You thought everything was perfect up until a few months ago, and you hadn’t know he felt like this. He always seemed happy. How were you supposed to know otherwise if he never said anything?

How you got back home, you didn’t know, because you didn’t remember it. You grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the freezer and didn’t even bother with a glass. For about an hour, you just sat there disheveled on your couch, crying and drinking.

Sometime later, there was a sheepish knock on your door. You hoped to God that it wasn’t Eric, but when you opened the door, Errol was there. Errol, Eric, and their sister Enya, were all from the same clutch of eggs, so he looked a lot like his brother in that they all had white, black, gold scales, golden eyes, cream colored skin, and blond hair. Errol was a bit larger that Eric, and where Eric wore his hair short, Errol kept his long and braided back. You always thought that it made him look elegant, despite his size. He was still wearing his work clothes, as if he’d just come from his construction job.

You and Errol hadn’t spent much time together alone, since Eric was a little jealous of other men. He’d always been very nice to you, though, and liked you just as well as the rest of his family. He’d even given you advice a few times in the past when you and Eric were fighting.

“Can I come in?” He asked, wincing.

“Did you know?” You asked him, your throat raw and hoarse from crying.

“No, I didn’t know,” He said solemnly.

“Don’t bullshit me, Errol,” You replied harshly.

“I swear I didn’t know. I would have told you, I promise. My brother can be an asshole, but I never thought he would do something like this.” Errol grimaced. “Are you okay?”

“Do I fucking look okay?” You retorted, your voice shaking as the tears returned. “If you’ve come to get his stuff, just get it and leave.”

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about his stuff, I’m here for you,” Errol said. He held up a couple of plastic bags. “I brought take out and ice cream.”

“I’m not hungry,” You said vaguely, but you moved aside to let him in.

“I got alcohol, too,” He said as he slithered inside. “I could make you a Bailey’s float.”

You sighed and sniffled. “Okay.”

You sat at your table as he bustled around making the drink, laying your tear-flushed face on the cool surface of the wood.

“What did I do wrong?” You asked weepily with your cheek pressed against the table.

“Nothing,” Errol said as he lay the glass in front of you, moving a chair so that he could coil up next to the table. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why did he do it?” You asked, sitting up and taking a watery bite of the ice cream. “Why wasn’t I enough? He said ‘girls,’ which means there’s probably more than the two I know about. How long has he been doing this? Our whole relationship?”

“When he called me to come over here and get his stuff for him, I asked. I’m not sure if he was telling me the truth, but he said it’s only been the last year.” Errol snorted derisively. “Only.”

“How many girls?” You asked.

He shook his head. “He wouldn’t tell me. He kept trying to get me to side with him, but…” Errol rolled his eyes. “I’m not buying anything he says right now.”

“Did he do this to his other girlfriends?”

“Well, you were his first serious girlfriend,” Errol said. “Before you, he only dated casually, so it was never a problem. When he said he really loved you, I thought he meant it.”

“Yeah.” Your lip quivered and you stabbed the spoon into your float. “Me too.”

Errol reached out and pulled you into a tight hug, which you sank into and let loose again, soaking his shirt in tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Errol whispered into your hair.

At some point, Errol put you to bed. You were exhausted and drunk and just wanted to sleep, so he lay you down and left you to it.

When the morning came, you felt like your head had been run over with a truck. You decided to get some coffee going before taking a shower, but to your surprise, Errol was still there. He was in the kitchen on the phone, his hair out of it’s usual braid and tumbling down his shoulders.

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Errol said. You immediately realized he was talking to his brother. “No, I’m not picking up your shit. I don’t care if she burns it all.” He was silent for a moment, and you could hear Eric speaking. “No… No, you’re full of shit. Do you know what a good thing you had? Do you have any idea what I would give to have what you just shit on? …fuck no, I’m not going to talk her into taking you back, are you insane?! Get over yourself… No… No, it’s not happening, you can go fuck yourself right now… Look, I don’t have time for your bullshit right now.”

Errol hung up and turned, startled to realize you were standing there. “Oh, hey,” He said. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” You replied honestly. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, you were in bad shape last night and I didn’t want to leave you alone. I slept on the couch, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” You said. “I was just going to make coffee.”

“Oh, I already made some,” He said, going to the coffee pot and pouring you a mugful. “I figured you could use it. I’ve got breakfast coming too, something greasy to absorb all that alcohol.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” You said, sipping the coffee. It was really good, but not your normal brand, though it tasted very familiar. Actually, now that you thought about it, you always drank the gross coffee Eric liked. This was a nice change. “I’m going to take a shower and wash last night off of me. Are you okay here?”

“Yeah, yeah, take your time,” He said, turning to pull down plates and prepare for breakfast.

You were about to turn to the bathroom but stopped. “Errol.”

He looked back up at you. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for… thanks.”

He smiled at you. “It’s no problem at all.”

You took your shower with your head pressed against the tile. Why couldn’t you just forget? Why couldn’t you put all of it out of your mind and stop thinking about it? What would it take to make the pain stop?

The water was cold by the time you got out, and when you went back into the kitchen, the food had arrived and Errol had everything set out on the table. He looked up anxiously when you came in.

“You okay?” He said, concerned. “You were in there for a worryingly long time. I was thinking about going in there if you hadn’t come out in five minutes.”

“I’m fine. Well, not fine, but you know.”

“Yeah,” He said sympathetically. “Try to eat. All you had last night were two bites of ice cream and a lot of alcohol.”

You picked up your fork and speared a sausage. “I must look horrible.”

“Nope, not possible,” He said, tucking into his own plate of food. “A person can look tired and cute at the same time, you know.”

You snorted, prodding your puffy face gently. “You’re too nice. Maybe I should have dated you instead.”

He laughed. “You know, it’s actually kinda funny, I was going to ask you out back in college before you started dating Eric.”

“Really?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he kind of sniped you, if I’m being honest.”

“I never knew that,” You said. “Did he know you wanted to ask me out?”

“Oh, yeah, I told him,” He said, shoveling eggs into his mouth. “I told him there was a girl at my college who always went to this one coffee shop near campus, and I told him I was going buy you your favorite coffee and cookies as an icebreaker.”

Your head rocked back. “That’s exactly what he did when he asked me out.”

Errol tsked sardonically. “Yeah. I know.”

You scoffed. “Wow, what an absolute asshole.”

Errol shrugged and smiled. “Ancient history now. Do you want some more coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks,” You said as he filled your cup. “This is really good, what is it?”

“Orange and almond mocha.”

You cocked your head. “Wait… isn’t that the blend I drank at the coffee shop? It used to be my favorite.”

“I know,” He said. “I ordered some. I thought it might be a nice pick-me-up. The shit that Eric drinks is revolting.”

“That’s definitely true,” You said, looking at Errol closely. “You remembered what my favorite coffee blend was from five years ago?”

Errol looked up at you. His face seemed carefully blank.

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s no big deal.” He wiped his mouth and sat back. “I should get going, I have work in a few hours. Are you going to be okay here on your own?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I think I’m going to take some personal days.”

Errol nodded.”That’s a good idea. I’ll call later to check on you, okay? If you need anything, just text me.”

“Okay,” You said, feeling a little off-balance.

Errol smiled and let himself out, and you were left standing there, staring after him as an overwhelming sense of realization hit you like a freight train.

…did I date the wrong brother all this time?

Later in the day, Eric called. You almost weren’t going to pick up, but you decided to see what he had to say for himself now that the heat of the moment had passed.

“What do you want?” You said brusquely.

“Why did my brother spend the night at your house last night?” Eric said immediately.

“...excuse me?” You replied, incredulous.

“You heard me. What the fuck was he doing there?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“What do you mean, it’s not my business? He’s my brother and you’re my fiance!”

“Ex-fiance,” You corrected him. “First of all, you are the one who told him to come over in the first place. Secondly, I was not obviously doing well last night and he stayed to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid or die in my sleep of alcohol poisoning. And third, and I cannot stress this enough, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Don’t bullshit me, you know he’s in love with you.”

Your head snapped back in agitation. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, you really don’t know? Ms. Perfect doesn’t know that my asshole brother has had a crush on you for years?”

“You’re full of shit, Eric,” You retorted. “Don’t drag Errol into this.”

“Did you just decide to fuck my brother to get back at me, is that it?”

“Fuck you, Eric!” You hung up the phone and hit the floor, a wave of anguish washing you again. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he have to make everything worse?

The phone rang again, and it was Eric. You decided to block him and be done with it. You got a notification from Facebook, and then Twitter, and then Instagram, all from Eric. Every new notification made your anxiety rise higher and higher until you were balled up on the floor, sobbing again. In desperation, she dialed Errol’s number.

“Hello?”

“Please help,” She begged, weeping. “He won’t leave me alone. He keeps messaging me and calling me. I can’t… I can’t do it…”

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” Errol said. He sounded angry.

“Can you come over? Please?”

“Of course, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay. I’m going to turn off my phone.”

“That’s a good idea,” He said. “If I need to, I can message you on your gaming console.”

“Okay,” You said. “Bye.”

He hung up with you and you turned your phone off, sitting on the floor of your kitchen in the blissful silence, unable to get up.

Was that true? Could it be possible that Errol had been in love with you the whole time you’d been dating Eric? He said he’d wanted to ask you out. He remembered tiny details, like what your favorite coffee had been. He made you your favorite dessert when you were miserable without even having to ask what it was. He stayed overnight to make sure you didn’t get hurt or hurt yourself. He bought breakfast and defended you. He didn’t have to do any of that. He was just your fiance’s brother. Ex-fiance.

He arrived shortly after you called him. As soon as he entered the house, before he had a chance to say anything, you reached up, took his face in your hands, and kissed him. For a second or two, there was no reaction, but then he leaned into the kiss, deepening it, savoring it, before abruptly putting his hands on your shoulders and pushing you back, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“...why did you do that?” He asked you, his face grim.

“Eric told me,” You said. “He said you’ve been in love with me the entire time I was dating him. Is that true?”

Errol looked down and away. “Look--”

“You told Eric on the phone that you’d have given anything to have what he had. You meant me, right?”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Errol, look at me!” You shouted.

It seemed to take a lot of will, but Errol’s eyes flicked back up to meet yours. They were pleading with you.

“Do you love me?”

His face scrunched as if he were in pain and he swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t…

“Don’t…lie to me,” You said in a tense whisper, tears spilling from your eyes. “Do you?”

Tears began to gather in his own eyes. His response was barely audible.

“…yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since I first saw you in the coffee shop.”

You tried to press forward to kiss him again, but he held you firm, sniffing. A tear rolled down his cheek.

“But I don’t want to be used to get revenge on my brother,” He whispered back, his voice strangled and uneven. “It’s not good for you and it’s not fair to me. You know that.”

Your face crumpled. He was right.

“I’m sorry,” You sobbed, unable to look at him anymore. “I just don’t want to think about him anymore. I don’t want him in my head.”

Finally, Errol pulled you into a hug.

“I know,” He said. His body was tense, as if he were restraining himself. “We can revisit this later. Much later.”

“When?” You asked piteously.

“Not now. Not soon. You need time to heal and I… need to think.”

“I’m sorry, Errol,” You cried into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never saw it.”

He laughed slightly. “It’s not your fault. I got really good at hiding it. And Eric always kept you at arms length from me. I think he was afraid I’d steal you away or something.”

He let you go and you stepped away, looking at the ground in shame.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was using you,” You said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He put his hand under his chin and made you look up at him, his thumb stroking your cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’m relieved the secret is out now. Tiptoeing around you and Eric was exhausting. The engagement was my worst nightmare, because it meant I’d have to just suffer in silence forever.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s over for both our sakes, then,” You said, attempting to smile.

He smiled too, but it was very soft. Gentle. “I don’t… think it’s a good idea for us to hang out together much from now on, at least for a while,” He said, letting go. “But… we can text. We can call. If you need anything, I’m always here for you. That’s always been true.”

You nodded. “I know.” You sighed and took another step back. “I’m going to miss you.”

His smile widened sadly. “I’m not far, but… I know what you mean.”

With the both of you in tears, he turned, opened the door, and was gone. Thirty seconds after he left, however, you got a text.

>Are you okay?

You smiled through your tears, feeling glad and grateful that he was still communicating with you. >No. But I think I will be.

>Good.

>Are you okay? You asked in return.

>Honestly, I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. This was a lot at once.

>Yeah, no kidding. I think I may see a therapist to help me out.

>That’s a really good idea. Maybe I should too.

>I think everyone should at least once.

>Yeah. Do you need anything?

>No, I’m okay. Thank you for everything, Errol.

>It’s my pleasure.

Some time passed. You and Errol talked and texted every single day. Neither of you brought up dating each other and carefully avoided affectionate language. He wanted you to heal and you wanted to give him a fair chance without the cloud of his brother hanging over you.

Talking to him was effortless, like talking to yourself. You each had your own tastes and dislikes, but you both loved a lot of the same things and had similar desires. You both loved your jobs, enjoyed the same music, gushed over books you’d read, and liked playing board games. One of your favorite things to do was watch movies remotely over Zoom. It was almost like being on a date, even if you couldn’t be together.

As hard as you tried not to, you compared everything Errol did to Eric. Even still, it was obvious that Errol had always been better suited to you than Eric ever was. It was abundantly clear that you had indeed been dating the wrong brother the entire time.

On what was supposed to be your anniversary with Eric, Errol sent you a link to play a horror game with him. Errol hated anything horror, so instead of spending the day crying and drinking and cursing Eric for being alive, you got to laugh the whole day at how loud Errol screamed when he was startled. It ended up being a wonderful day.

You did see a therapist, as did Errol, and the two of you would talk about your sessions with each other, sharing the advice the counselors had given you. He also sent you gifts through delivery, like the coffee you loved and your favorite treats. Whenever you’d had a bad day or had to deal with Eric due to post-breakup business, a treat would arrive the next day, and it always put a smile on your face.

You were worried that all the time apart might change how Errol felt, but he never wavered. You woke up every day to a text saying good morning, and went to bed after talking to him for at least an hour about your day. After a month, you realized that a day or two would go by when you wouldn’t think of Eric at all. You hadn’t thought that would be possible when you first broke up with Eric, and he did still haunt your thoughts most of the time, but the respite from the emotional distress of thinking of him, even for a short time, was wonderful.

Three months after the breakup and his confession, you, Errol, and your therapists all decided that you were ready to date again. That same day, Errol showed up on your doorstep with flowers. The sight of him was like breathing fresh air after being underwater.

“Hi,” He said, smiling brightly.

“Hi,” You replied, stepping forward to pull him into a hug. He reciprocated without hesitation.

“So…” He said, not letting go. “Do you want to go out with me tonight?”

“Yes,” You said, cuddling him closer.

He pulled back and kissed you for a very long time, tasting your lips and teasing his tongue just inside your mouth. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and just looked at your face, touching your cheeks with his fingertips. Eventually he stepped back.

“Let’s go.”

Dating him was amazing. He knew everything there was to know about you, so he took you to places you loved, to all your favorite restaurants, to concerts he knew you’d enjoy. It was like you’d been dating for years already, even though it was just a few weeks. You made out like teenagers, hot and heavy, but he was careful about being intimate too quickly, though, still fearful about being a rebound. You respected that.

You were already talking about the future, though. You both wanted to get married eventually and to be parents before you turned thirty. Before breaking up, you had been talking about having kids with Eric, which was something he had expressed interest in during the start of your relationship, but recently he had been making excuses, like he didn’t have enough in savings or he didn’t feel ready. You guessed you knew why now.

You were worried that his family would be angry with you for ending your relationship with Eric and dating Errol, but they seemed completely understanding. It was likely they were also aware that Errol had been in love with you forever, and the fact that Eric cheated on you wasn’t something they were proud of. You were still warmly invited to all the family gatherings with Errol, and while having Eric there was a little awkward, his seething anger at seeing you happy with Errol was the best revenge you could have asked for.

“They let everyone in the office have the day off. Do you want to hang out today?” You asked Errol one night after about a month and a half of dating.

“Ordinarily I’d love to, but I’m feeling kinda weird today. Squishy. I think I’m going to have my period soon.”

He wasn’t being hyperbolic; nagas with male sex organs both created the eggs and fertilized them, but they didn’t have a womb or cavity in their bodies where the eggs could incubate, which is why they needed people with uteruses to propagate the species. It took a month for the eggs to develop inside them, but after that, they could implant them into another person’s body at any time they chose. However, after a year, the eggs died naturally and were expelled from their bodies, therefore, male nagas experienced periods once a year. Eric usually went to a specialized facility where the eggs would be humanely disposed of.

“Are you sure? Isn’t it rather soon for that.”

“I went into heat last week. The eggs usually die quickly after that.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” You said. “Why did you go into heat? That typically only happens when nagas in a sexual relationship with someone, right?”

“That, and if you’re experiencing extreme sexual needs that aren’t being met.”

“Oh. Ohhh…” You hissed in a breath. “Is it because of me?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” He reassured you. “It’s my problem. I’ll take care of it.”

You were silent for a moment of deep contemplation. He seemed to sense you were thinking about something.

“What’s the matter?” He asked.

“Do you think the eggs are still viable?”

It was his turn to be silent. “Um… maybe. Probably. I think it’ll be another week before I need to go in to evacuate them. Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking…” You said slowly. “We both said we wanted kids. And I know we’re just starting out, and this is super sudden, and it probably doesn’t even make sense to do this now, and we haven’t even had sex yet, but… oh, god, I’m rambling…” You sighed heavily. “If you’d like, we can wait until next year when we’ve been together for longer, but… it just seems like this is a good opportunity. It… feels right, you know what I mean? If that’s what you want.”

He took another moment of silence to think really hard about what you were saying. “Are you sure about this, honey?” He asked you finally.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” You said resolutely. “I love you, and I’m in a good place, both emotionally and financially. I’m ready to be a mom. I have been for years.” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt anxiously. “Is this something you want? I mean… I totally understand if it isn’t. If you want to wait, that’s fine with me. I just… I want to do this.”

His voice turned sultry. “You really want my eggs?”

You grinned and bit your lip. You’d learned through hints in conversations you had with him that he had a little bit of a breeding and pregnancy kink.

“Yeah. But we should act fast if we want them to take.”

“I’ll be right over,” He said, and the phone clicked.

You immediately went into the bathroom to get ready, feeling nervous. There was a weight of expectation on you, not just because you were talking about getting pregnant, but also because of how long Errol had wanted to be with you. You were scared that you wouldn’t live up to his expectation.

He arrived shortly after, looking excited and nervous. You pulled him into your arms and kissed him. He was shaking.

“Are you okay?” You asked.

“Yeah,” He said, touching your face reverently. “I’ve just… I’ve been dreaming of this for so long. I can’t believe it’s actually happening.”

You smiled softly at him. “Come on.” You took him by the hand and pulled him toward the bedroom. He took a deep, shaky breath and followed.

Once in the room, he pulled you in and kissed you again, deeper this time, more probing, his body pressed flush against yours.

“I’m not sure how to… begin…” He said. “I don’t know what you like and don’t like yet.”

“We can learn as we go,” You said. “We don’t have to rush.”

“Well, what do you like? Do you have any kinks I should know about?”

You laughed. “I have a few, I guess.”

“Tell me about one,” He said.

Instead of telling, you knelt down and sat on your knees with your butt resting on your feet, perched forward on your hands, and looked up at him through your lashes.

“What would you like me to do for you?” You asked, biting your lip.

His eyebrows rose and a startled smile spread across his face. “Oh,” He said. Slowly, he took off his long shirt, exposing his torso and the slit on his lower abdomen, usually closed and imperceptible from his scales, but now swollen and puckered slightly. He ran his fingers through your hair where you were crouched on the floor and came close, so that his slit was near your face.

“Touch it for me, sweetie,” He said.

Gently, you circled one finger around the slit, feeling it pulse under your touch. He exhaled sharply and his head fell back, his braid swinging. With your forefinger and middle finger, you stroked it up and down, watching it open slowly. You leaned forward and kissed it, and he spasmed, groaning.

Gradually, two dicks emerged from his slit, a long, thin one with a spear-like head, and a shorter, thick one with a bulbous head. You knew each had a different purpose. Normally, the thin one would be retracted so that nagas could just enjoy sex, but the thin one was an ovipositor. It’s what implanted the eggs. You knew not to touch it, since it secreted a numbing agent that made implanting the eggs easier.

“Now?” You asked.

“Not yet,” He said. “You’re not ready yet. Stand up.”

You obeyed, and he began to undress you. You started to help, but he said, “No, no, let me do it.”

You put your arms back down and let him peel your clothes off. And then he just looked at you.

“Stand still,” He said. “Stay quiet.”

You nodded, obeying.

“Good girl,” He whispered. “That’s my good girl.”

He started with your shoulders, letting his fingers run over your skin, down your arms, up your sides, caressing your breasts, down your belly, and reached one hand between your legs. You gasped.

“Shh,” He said. “Stay silent.”

It was a hard order to follow, as he touched your pearl and massaged it slowly, running a finger inside your slit as he did. Your breathing was uneven and you had to bite a finger, but you managed to be quiet.

“You can make all the noise you want soon,” He promised seductively. “I just want to test how good you can be for me.”

You nodded again, your body shivering at his touch.

He brought his face very close to yours, so that your lips were mere millimeters apart, but stopped short of actually kissing you. You could feel his cool breath on your neck and chest, and it made your heart race.

“You’re getting there,” He said, pushing a finger inside your entrance. You inhaled, but bit down on your cheek to stay silent.

“Good girl,” He said, pulling his finger out. "Lay face down on the bed and lift your ass up. Spread your legs open.”

You nodded again and followed his orders, doing exactly what he asked of you. He slithered up behind you and went back to touching between your legs with one hand, the other sliding up and down your spine. You felt him sink down and kiss your thighs.

“You can moan for me, darling,” He said.

You were happy to obey, and whimpered against your pillow as he licked a long stripe from behind, kneading your buttocks as he did. He moaned as he sucked on you, your legs shaking. He pressed his thumb into you as he sucked, and you thought you were going to cum. He stopped just before that happened, leaving you feeling desperate.

“Good,” He said. “You’re perfect.” He crawled over you from the back so that his face was next to yours and he kissed you. “Are you still sure about this? We can just have sex, I don’t have to breed you.”

“You want to, don’t you?”

“Don’t worry about what I want right now, are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes,” You simpered. “I want it. Give them to me. Please. I want them.”

He bit his lip, looked at you like you were something he wanted to eat, and grinned. “Good girl.” He went out of view then, and you felt his hands on your hips.

“Be still,” He said. “Let me in.”

You nodded, and felt the slim tube enter your body. The anesthetic began working immediately, so you only had a vague sensation of it pushing all the way in, penetrating your womb, and fixing itself there.

“Are you hurting, love?” He asked as he lay over you, putting his arm under your head so that you could lay on it and resting his body on top of you. Your hips were still in the air and your stomach wasn’t touching the bed.

“No, I’m okay,” You replied.

“Good,” He said, sounding a bit strained, his body tensing. His stuttering breath blew through your hair. “It’s starting.”

He grunted, but you couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or pain. His breathing was sharp and punctuated as the egg moved down through the ovipositor and into you. You could feel a small swell in your stomach, but it wasn’t painful. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder and relaxed and shuddered, gasping.

“Did it hurt?” You asked.

“Not exactly,” He replied a little breathlessly. “It feels good, but it’s also a bit of work to push it out. Sorry this isn’t as sexy as you might have hoped.”

“Who said it wasn’t?” You replied, nuzzling him. “It’s like a special kind of foreplay. Besides, I’m really enjoying all the sounds that are coming out of you.”

“I can feel that,” He said, laughing. “You keep squeezing me.” He tensed again and started grunting, hugging you tightly.

“You’re doing great,” You told him.

“This is… harder than I thought it would be,” He said stiltedly. You could feel the sweat from his brow dripping on your skin.

“You can do it,” You said, kissing his arm as it gripped you and biting his thumb. “How many do you think there are?”

“I think three,” He said. He exhaled forcefully, and you felt another swell slip into you as he panted.

“One more, honey,” You said. “Deep breaths.”

He snickered, and then groaned. “Okay…” He said. He gripped you hard as the last one came and passed through. You were beginning to feel a full sensation in your belly and felt glad this was the last one.

Once it was out, the ovipositor retracted and he flopped onto the bed, gasping like a fish.

“Whoa,” He said. “Laying them in a person is way different than disposing of them.”

“How so?” You asked, moving to lie on your side so that you could touch him. He was clammy and cold.

“That felt great,” He said, looking over at you and smiling. “Like, it hurt a bit, but it felt like a small orgasm every time.”

“Probably a biological incentive to procreate,” You said, kissing his chest and neck.

He snorted. “Probably.” He looked at you with his eyes half lidded. “It’s going to be a few minutes until you get the feeling back down there. Why don’t you spend some time and play with me?”

“Is that an order?” You asked.

“Do you want me to punish you?” He asked.

“Maybe I’ll like it,” You said with a smirk.

He took you by the chin and made you look down at the second, larger cock, which was still erect and bobbing. “Touch me.”

You went down and sat astride his tail so that he could watch you take his cock in your hand, and begin to slowly pump it up and down.

“Hmm, that’s good,” He said with a satisfied sigh. “Let me know when your feeling comes back. We don’t want to waste time.”

“I will,” You said, stroking him. Your stomach felt tight, so you rubbed it as you touched him, drawing his eye. He watched you hungrily.

“I can’t believe you did that,” He said, smiling at you.

“We’re only half-way there,” You told him. “Don’t get too excited.”

He bucked his tail and nearly knocked you over onto the bed, making you shriek and laugh.

After a few minutes of teasing and touching and good-natured laughter, the feeling began to return. You started rocking on his tail to be sure, and realized that you were extremely sensitive.

“It’s back?” He asked

You nodded, pleasuring yourself against his body.

“Good. Lay down.”

You obeyed, and he moved to lay on top of you, his tail between your legs and his slit lining up with yours, kissing you deeply and rolling your nipples in his fingers. He pushed himself inside you as he kissed you, careful not to go too deep, as the ovipositor had made you a little sore. You rolled your body against his in time with his thrusts. You were so sensitive that you could already feel the crest of ecstasy beginning to wash over you.

“I love you so much,” He whispered against your skin. “I’m so happy.”

“I love you,” You replied, your hands in his hair as he moved inside you with purpose, precision. “I’m close. I’m so close.”

He stopped immediately, and you groaned shrilly, the sensation of denial sending a shiver up your back.

“Not yet,” He said, biting your lower lip. “Not until I say. Be a good girl.”

You nodded, panting and trembling, but your body was betraying you, writhing desperately against him, trying to regain the friction.

“Be still,” He said. “I’m not going to move again until you be still.”

You squealed in need, but you did your best to make your body stop clutching at him. It took a minute, but you managed to settle down.

“Good,” He said, slowly moving inside you again. “Good girl.”

“Cum inside me,” You begged. “Please.”

“I will,” He said, kissing you. “When I want to. Be patient and I’ll reward you.”

Your body was wound so tightly that you thought you were going to explode, practically vibrating underneath him. The sight of it made him grin.

“You’re so beautiful,” He said, licking your earlobe, still keeping the maddeningly slow pace. “Do you want it that bad?”

“Yes!” You groaned. “Yes, please. Errol, please.”

He thrust sharply, but not hard, and you nearly came undone. You cried out, about to snap like a string.

“Are you always going to be a good girl for me?” He whispered sinfully.

“Yes!”

“Do you promise me?”

“Yes!”

“Say it. Say ‘I promise.’”

“I promise, I promise, please!”

His thrusts became targeted again. “Beg me some more.”

“Errol, please! Please let me cum, please!” You cried. Every muscle, every nerve in your body was screaming for release.

“You can cum when I tell you to,” He said, though his movements were extremely efficient now. He was very good at drawing this out.

“I can’t take it, please!” You begged.

“One more time, say you love me, and I’ll give you what you want.”

“I love you! I love you so much! Please!”

From there, he wasted no time, slamming himself into you with speed. In no time at all, you were a screaming, shaking mess underneath him, thanking him over and over. The tension in his body and the sudden shout and moaning from him told you that he had reached his peak too.

“Not yet,” He gasped, rearing up. “I’m not done yet.”

He had leaned up so that he could look down at you and put his hand on your stomach, feeling the new hardness there. He kept going, pistoning against your body, snapping his hips against you, and rode the wave for a second time, all focus and concentration.

The both of you came one final time before he collapsed on the bed beside you, sucking in air as hard as you were. For a few minutes, all you could do was breathe.

After some time, he left the bed and went into the bathroom, and you heard the water in the tub running. You were barely conscious when he came back and lifted you out of the bed, taking you into the bathroom, and lay you down in the warm water of the bath. You were so tired and boneless that you could hardly raise your head, so he carefully, lovingly washed your body, paying special attention to your belly.

“Are you alive?” He asked after some time of sitting next to the tub, watching you drift in and out.

“I think so,” You replied, opening your eyes to smile sleepily at him. “Do you think they took?”

“We won’t know for a while. You should take it easy until then.” He smoothed the hair away from your face and stroked your cheek. “You’re going to have my babies,” He said, laughing a little.

“I hope so,” You said, taking his hand and kissing the palm.

“Eric is going to be pissed,” Errol said, snickering.

You snorted. “Honestly, I haven’t thought about him once today. This isn’t about him.”

Errol kissed you. “You’re right. It isn’t. It’s about us.” He lay his hand on your stomach and smiled gently. “All of us.”

Only one of the eggs took, but that was okay. Errol’s parents were overjoyed to learn they’d be getting a grandchild. Both you and Errol decided Eric could learn it on Facebook, like all the other strangers and acquaintances in your lives.

You took maternity leave so that you could pass your gestational time in relative peace. Errol fussed over you, making sure you ate properly and went with you to all your appointments. You made the decision to lay the egg at home instead of the hospital, and Errol’s sister acted as the midwife. It was the toughest work you’d ever done, and Errol was the best cheerleader you could have asked for.

Errol took paternity leave, like you had done, since he couldn’t leave the egg, anyway. He incubated the egg for the rest of the gestation period, curled up around it day and night. Errol’s son, Ewan, was born six months after being conceived, and within another year, you and Errol were married.

You often wondered if things had been different, if you had dated Errol from the beginning instead of Eric, if you’d be as overjoyed as you were at the moment. But then you figured that wondering about what ifs was a waste of time. You had a happy family to look after now, after all, and another clutch on the way. There was no time to worry about the past. The future was right in front of you.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[wishfxljikan]

me: alright new fnaf game don’t get attached don’t get attached don’t get attached don’t go to the community

me, about 8 hours later: fuck

me, 12 hours after that: god damnit I’m attached.

I can’t escape the himbo bear and the sassy child, the gay gator, trans rights roxanne and Trash eating bi bird

anyways h/cs with hopefully no spoilers without understanding of the timeline cuz it’s been a good 7 years since I decided to think about the lore and all I know is “haha dead kids” from fnaf2

personal h/cs - I don’t like the trend of dead childrens possess animatronics so what if they were their own sentience entities instead, meaning everyone below is of my own base of this h/c so brrrrr - None of these guys go off batteries / power, they’re all self-powered and self sustainable, their own wills and needs/wants

ROXANNE - trans, fight me and die if you disagree - Listens to more Rock music than Monty ever has in his lifetime - actually really wants to see what Actual cars can do and not the toy ones in the Pizza Plex - “Monty is such a fucking dumbass don’t listen to him” (instantly listens in on him) - Playfully jabs @ Monty and Freddy - Always tries to be just as flashy and out there to impress the others but they’re fine with just how she is. - hardcore inferiority complex, the others know of this and help them through it when possible. - Listens to Eurobeat / Eurodance in secret. - Sits at the racing game arcade machines in free time. - Lesbian

MONTGOMERY - Gay I C O N - Is the only one who knows Rox’s likes for Eurobeat / Eurodance - Not the smartest but has good intentions i.e giving the sassy child a gun to fend themselves with - Yeah good luck finding out where he gets those weapons - actively swears off stage - Unironically has memorized all of Alfred’s Eggman Lines - The swear jar exists only for Monty and the occasion Roxanne / Chica - Actually prefers J-Rock and Chill Electronic stuff over Rock/Punk Rock/etc... - Is the only one that plays the Dance Dance Revolution Arcade Machine out of the four - Super competitive, like, REALLY competitive. He likes watching the competition. - Sadly the easiest to manipulate, anger issues are something he’s been working on but there’s a blindspot that easily allows him to be controlled :( - Rhythm Game nerd - Yeah he’s FC’ed Soulless 4 Unnerfed, what about it?

FREDDY - Dad. - Not that dad, filthy animal, Family-Dad - A himbo, we all know this by now, huh? - These three are his best friends, and if anything bad were to happen to them he’d shut down emotionally. - Secretly yearns to escape from the Fazbear Company with his friends, he and chica have been there the longest and they want out - Has kept himself sane through all of this hell over the years. Doesn’t know how, but he’s completely mellowed out. - Secretly in love with Montgomery - Scans Monty just to call him “yep, gay” every day. - They never get tired of it. - He lowkey acts as Monty’s therapist and honestly some nights they all have just personal singing sessions, let it all out, guys. - Prefers to listen to Jazz / Pop Rock / J-Rock / Electronic Swing, taking notes from everyone’s interests - He’s slowly learning how to draw from the kids... - Bleed-in memories from the past, was that him, or was it someone else as him? Doesn’t know. - Also Bisexual

CHICA - Has been alongside Freddy since the beginning, also shares that bleed-in memory effect, very confusing - Punk Rock, Rock, Speedmetal, Trance, Jazz--the most unpredictable music genre one of all of them. - Was the one who showed Guitar Hero to Monty. - Bisexual - You realize no one here is straight, right? - The main one there with Coming Out parties - “ GET THIS HET OFF OF ME, FREDDY.” - Get them something that isn’t trash...pls--the FINEST metals and stuff like come on-- - “I miss my wife, Freddy, I’ll be back---” - Also joins Monty on the memorizing the snapcube lines - Genuinely enjoys everything Roxanne does and says

THEY. ADOPT. THE. CHILD.

that’s it, that’s the post.

edit -- oooo secret link, wonder where this goes

[redwingsupportgroup]

can you please make a fic recommendation list or something like that, I trust your taste because you love Sam and you'd love fics where he is appreciated or well written ☺️ the fics could be from ao3 or tumblr anything 🙏

if this is too much to ask then ignore the ask, I love your blog tho 🥰

you should get some sun by heatwves

Sam is grieving, and Bucky tries to help

told you that i'm on the way, i'm like an exit away by quidhitch

Bucky is coming home from therapy one day and Sam is just. There. Leaning up against the side of his hut, staring warily at a goat and gnawing on a mango. The navy duffle at his feet makes Bucky’s pulse hum.

“What the hell?” Bucky says, by way of greeting.

“You look like shit,” Sam says back, tossing his mango peel in the general direction of a goat.

baby we'll be fine by napricot

“Just to clarify, when you say vampires, you mean literal, actual vampires. Not, like, aliens that act like vampires,” asked Bucky slowly.

“They’re literal, actual vampires, yes,” said Blade, a combination of words that Sam had never wanted to hear outside of an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. “And I’ve been fighting them since they killed my mom.” Sam couldn’t see his eyes, but Blade’s whole face went tense and his next words came like he was forcing them out. “l could really use some superhero backup.”

This, Sam reminded himself, was his life now. Being Cap. Living with Bucky. Knowing about...vampires. He took a deep breath in, let it out slow. Vampires are real he tried, testing it out. It didn’t feel great.

Sam discovers he's got limits on this superhero bullshit. Bucky sympathizes.

losing him was red by casdoms (moffwithhishead)

Wanda scoffs under her breath, taking a sip of tea that wasn’t there before, “Men. They’re so...”

Bucky snorts, “Thickheaded?”

Friend of Dorothy's by rainyndigo

"Sam looked at the broken pieces of a man laid bare in front of him like Icarus looked at the Sun. If he got close, close enough to take those pieces sharpened by time and pain, by the ugliness of the world would his wings melt too?"

They argue, they look back to times now gone, they dance and nothing gets easier.

warm blood (feels good, i can't control it anymore) by notcaycepollard

Sam's just chilling watching TV one evening when Bucky comes in and stares at him silently for a minute or two before sitting down on the couch. He's pretty close to Sam.

Okay, he's really close to Sam. Like, Sam would be using the word 'cuddling' if it wasn't so bizarre.

"What," he says, carefully not looking at Bucky, and Bucky huffs a sigh.

"Steve's not here," he says as if it's obvious.

"Don't make it weird. Just- shut up."

reach out by heatwves

"Sam closes the door behind him. The noise from the party subsides, now just muffled sounds and indistinct music.

"Sharon told me you'd be here," he says, his voice soft but still audible."

Missing scene from tfatws ep 3 where Bucky and Sam work through what happened at the bar.

Hot Cocoa and Feelings by maddienole

This wasn't the first time Sam found Bucky on his doorstep in the middle of the night.

Skip, Reverse by AidaRonan

Sam stood in the middle of their local Target with a throw pillow in each hand. The one in his left hand was butter-soft and matched the drapes in the living room, but Bucky had walked by five seconds ago and declared the one on the right “absolutely fucking hideous,” and so now Sam kind of wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything.

Sometimes romance is just bickering with your superhero partner/roommate at several different Target locations.

Geriatrics by Honorable_mention

“You’re not gonna believe this, Sam, but I knew this guy back in the thirties. We grew up together.”

Bucky leaned back in his plastic chair.

“Mrs. Chbosky made the best fruitcake on the block.”

“I swear you were the only one who liked it, Barnes. That thing was inedible.”

“Well I thought it was nice.”

The Got-Your-Man (And Now What To Do With Him?) Method for Not Screwing This Up by rhombus

Sam Wilson does not need any more therapy, thank you very much. What he needs is for his boyfriend (official label TBD) to simmer the hell down.

Smooth sailing? Ha. Not even in a kiddie pool.

(aka when a couple of sweet idiots completely ignore Dr. Raynor's advice to actually talk to each other like grown ups.)

A follow-up to The Gottman Method for Dealing with Conflict.

Mr. and Mr. Wilson-Barnes by @sammy-souffle

Just a regular day at the Wilson-Barnes household

if i gave you my hand (would you take it) by @omg-just-peachy

“Where does it hurt?” Bucky asks, holding onto the ice pack. He’s wrapped it in a dishtowel, Sam notes, which is… nice.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam says with a grimace.

“I can take care of myself.”

Bucky’s quiet for a long minute, face half caught in the shadows, but he smiles to lighten the mood.

“I know you can,” he tells him. He holds Sam’s gaze like he’s making sure Sam’s really hearing him. “But you don’t have to.”

(Or, 5 times Bucky dotes on and flirts with and takes care of an increasingly flustered Sam, and one time Sam catches on)

Follow by @attaining-fic

After arguing about the shield with Bucky, Sam can’t find any sleep. He’s surprised when he hears ‘Trouble Man’ coming from Bucky’s room. Maybe the conversation wasn’t over.

Can be read as pre-Sam/Bucky or just platonic. Blink and you’ll miss it implied Sam/Riley.

be around me by @yaksomins

“so, what are you boys getting into today?”

bucky and sam exchanged glances.

“i meant the actual kids,” sarah stirred a spoonful of sugar into her coffee and took a sip, “not the two grown men that behave like children.”

sam gestured at her with his syrup-laden fork. “i resent that.”

Hope is the thing with feathers by @janeyfoster

Sam smiled, eyes soft. He leans in, lips just a breath away from Bucky's ear.

"Wanna hear a secret? It starts with 'I' and ends with 'love you'.".

After the events of Endgame, Sam goes home to his family in Louisiana.Bucky isn't too far behind.[ rewrite of the falcon and the winter soldier ]

Bucky's Dating Tips by Six2VII

Bucky gives Steve his dating tips. Sam is not amused.

Another One Bites the Dust by @yikesdontlook

“So,” Sam starts. “Where did Sergeant Barnes learn how to steal a car?”

If the question amuses Bucky, he doesn’t show it.

“Nazi Germany. And we’re borrowing, get your dirty feet off the dash.”-

this is what it's like to be lonely by @uhthor

Bucky explores the five stages of grief with his therapist.

Please don't read unless you are up to date with TFATWS. Each chapter will be based on an episode, so this is your spoiler warning

I have a tag too where you can find more tumblr fics and the authors accounts <3

[sunmoonandeddie]

feelings are fatal (20/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 4,030

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing, violence, fluffiness

masterlist

a/n: I really hope

There was something to be said about how much Bucky Barnes cared for the people in his life that he considered his friends, his family.

Hell, he’d jumped out of many, many aircrafts for Sam, even though he wouldn’t admit it was for him.

He sent his therapist flowers and a gift for her birthday, despite the fact that more than half the time, they just annoyed the shit out of each other.

The amount of times he’d pulled you out of a funk was… Well, there was a lot.

However, there was also something to be said about how overboard Bucky Barnes could go when someone he loved had gotten hurt.

Or kidnapped by a Nazi terrorist organization and almost shot in front of him.

“Alright, you’re all tucked in,” he muttered under his breath, even as he went around the bed once again, his hands carefully tucking in your comforter all over again. “There we go… Are you comfortable? Too warm? Not warm enough?”

He’d been hovering the past four days since you’d gotten out of the medbay, and the five days before that when you’d been in and out of unconsciousness.

God, the feelings that had washed over you when you’d woken up again and found that he was back and your Soldat was gone. It was so bittersweet. You loved both of them, even if it was in different ways. Different shades, different tones of love.

You just kept telling yourself that the Soldat was right.

It was time for him to rest. Your time together was over.

But that in itself meant that it was time for something new to begin.

If only you could find a way to tell Bucky how you truly felt.

You watched him with your eyelids half closed, a drowsiness slurring your words as you laid there. “Jamie… Can you stop for a moment?” You don’t even think about how your words might make him feel, how they might sound.

“Oh… Right. Sorry if I’m annoying you,” he said, his voice dropping to where it was almost inaudible. He started to head for the door, having set down the water bottle in his hands.

“What?! No!” You said, quickly sitting up. You still felt like absolute shit, but you couldn’t let him leave. “I’m sorry. That’s not the words I wanted to come out. I… I just want you to relax for a moment. I’m okay.” Pulling your arm out of the warmth of your blankets, you patted the spot next to you. “Can we just… lay down and watch a movie for a bit?”

Bucky’s baby blues softened immediately, and he nodded, toeing off his sneakers. “Of course. I’m sorry… I’ve been…”

“Helicopter parenting?”

His cheeks flamed fire engine red as he slipped into the bed beside you, hesitating before pulling the blankets over him. “I don’t know if I like the parenting aspect of that,” he muttered, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. “FRI, can you turn on a movie?”

“Legally Blonde,” you added without a second thought, grinning at the confused look that painted his face. “Have you never seen Legally Blonde?”

“What? No? What the fuck is a Legally Blonde?” He asked. And, okay, yeah, he could gather from the context that it was a movie, most likely a girly one based on the title, but he loved the way you looked so aghast and the way you laughed at his old man tendencies.

“Only the greatest early 2000s chick flick of all time!” You squealed, playfully smacking his chest.

A wave of contentment, of happiness, washed over you as you laid half on his chest to watch the movie. His fingers were absentmindedly running up and down your spine, his breath tickling your forehead.

And it hit you that you could have this for the rest of your life. You could have this happiness, this peace, for the rest of your life with the man that was holding you.

Once again, you just needed to figure out how to tell him how you felt.

“Wait… So he broke up with her because she wasn’t… serious enough?” Bucky asked, his brows furrowed. “Or because she was too pretty and girly?”

“Both,” you said, glancing up at his face. “He sucks.”

“Yeah, he fucking does.”

When the movie ended, you sat up, risking a glance at Bucky’s face. “Well? What did you think?”

He couldn’t help but shake his head, groaning dramatically. “If Sam finds out that I’m a fan of early 2000s chick flicks, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

Oh, this was good. So, so good.

“Jamie, I’ve watched Legally Blonde and other chick flicks with Sam. He loves them,” you revealed, watching the way his eyes lit up.

“There’s more?!”

You took it upon yourself to show him the best of the late 90s and early 2000s, finding that when he was distracted with tales of cheesy romance and girl power triumphing, he wasn’t so worried about your health.

But he did have a few problems with Clueless. “Let me get this straight,” he said with a scowl as he held you close in between his legs. “She’s… still in high school. Sixteen, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And he was her step-brother?”

“Yes.”

“And… he is still treated like her step-brother by her father?”

“Yeah.”

He blinked owlishly at the television that hung up on your wall, his mouth hanging open in an astonished ‘o.’ “And people just…”

“Decide to ignore that bit? Yup,” you supplied, turning your head to look up at him.

He frowned, tightening his hold around you. “I really don’t know how to feel about that. It’s a good movie. But…” His head then slightly cocked to the side. “Her step-brother looks like that one guy that helped us at the fight in Germany… You know, the one at the airport?”

“You don’t even remember Scott’s name?!” You asked, snorting. “You really are an old man.”

His fingers flew to your sides, tickling you mercilessly. “Yeah?! And what about it?! Huh? Huh?” When he finally stopped and your laughter had died out, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and took in a deep breath. “I missed you… when you were gone… Sometimes I forget just how integral you are to my life, but that… Being without you reminded me of how desolate my days were when we were separated before.”

Heart clenching, you squeezed his flesh arm with both of yours, resolving yourself to not move the rest of the day. You’d quickly come to the conclusion that cuddling with James Barnes could be considered one of the great pleasures in life. “Well, we’ll never have to be apart again,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “What if… What if we took some time away? And we went on a little… vacation or something?”

“A vacation?” He said, and you could feel his heart rate speed up underneath your head. A vibranium hand smoothed over your hair. “Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know…,” you admitted with a snort, shaking your head. “Just… away. Give us time to relax and really… I don’t know. Process?” Your eyes fluttered shut at his soothing touch. “Maybe we could go up to the cabin for a few days… maybe a week…”

“Yeah? You wanna stay a whole week with just me for company?” He asked playfully, even though he felt like his spirit was soaring.

Biting your lip, you pulled your knees up to your chest until your entire body was pressed against his chest. “Could spend my whole life with just you for company, Jamie.”

He’d understand, right? He’d understand that you meant ‘I love you.’ He’d understand the words that you were trying to say but were too nervous to get out, that your throat closed up and your eyes burned because the last person you said those words to in that way had demolished your heart, your soul?

But then again, he’d been the one to teach you what those words meant in the first place. Well, the Soldat had.

Bucky’s entire face was pink, all the way to the tips of his ears, and he leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Me, too, malen’kaya.”

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair. It had grown out since his last haircut, and it was getting to be about ear length. “You know who you look like right now kinda?” You asked, an impish smile on your lips.

“Who?” He was clearly already anticipating the worst, even though he was letting his head tip forward to let you continue playing with his hair.

“Prince Kit or whatever his name is.” You were preening as your foreheads pressed together, his breathing even as you massaged his scalp. “From the new live action Cinderella.”

You can hear the smile, even though you can’t see his face. “You think I look like a prince?”

“Don’t get cocky on me now,” you shot back. But, in truth… You liked this side of Bucky. You had caught little glimpses of it when you were on the run with Steve, Sam, and Natasha. But this felt like the real him, and you loved it.

And as far as you were concerned, he could be as cocky as he wanted to be.

“Let me check with your doctors and get their opinion on when they think you’ll be okay to travel,” he said, his lips pressing to your hair. “And then I’ll talk to Pepper about letting us steal the cabin for a bit…”

A huff escapes your lips as you tug on his hair in retaliation. “Do you really think Pepper isn’t gonna let us stay there for a bit?”

You missed the way his breathing had hitched and his heart had skipped a beat, and he nuzzled into your hair to hide himself even more. “No, but it’s still nice to ask, you heathen.”

“Soldat, where are we going?” You asked curiously as you were led out of your ballet class, your hair still pulled back into a tight bun. “What’s going on?”

“No time to talk. We have a mission,” he said sternly, his voice deep and gravelly.

A mission?

You’d never been on a mission.

“Wait, are we leaving the Red Room?” You asked, glancing at the handlers that flanked the both of you. “Where are we going?”

“Do you understand the phrase ‘no time to talk?’” The Soldat asked with a snort, shooting you a glare.

Something was off.

The Soldat and you had been training together for over two years now, almost three, and you’d never gone on a mission.

Also, he never spoke so harshly unless there was something wrong or there were others present, and the handlers around you weren’t important enough for him to put up the mean teacher facade. No, there was something else going on.

Two hulking doors were waiting at the end of the hallway, leading to the outside world. Snow was swirling outside, frost painting the windows.

And you were still in just your leotard and tights. Fuck.

Of course, they weren’t gonna give you time to change.

You hadn’t even been outside of the Red Room since you were a toddler. Hell, you didn’t even own any cold weather clothes.

The doors opened, and you let out a sharp gasp as the icy cold wind hit you. In your peripheral, you could see the Soldat look at you and immediately move to take off his jacket, before remembering who was around and stopping himself.

It was a nice thought, knowing that if he could, he’d warm you.

Maybe you could daydream about him scooping you up, holding you in his lap… He’d run his fingers over your hair, his other hand smoothing up and down your back. That deep, gravelly voice you loved so much would murmur sweet things to you, his lips tickling your ear…

God, your little crush was getting out of hand.

Snow covered your hair as you were led out to a van that was waiting for you, smoke coming out of the exhaust pipe as the headlights shone through the dense white landscape. One of the handlers shoved your head down as you were pushed into the back seat, the Soldat following right after. A thich, kevlar covered thigh pressed against yours as you settled in. Pretending to not be cold was becoming a lot harder than you thought it would be.

“So… What exactly are we doing?” You asked tentatively after about ten minutes of terse silence.

“You’re our bait,” one of the men said simply, cocking his gun.

Ice cold water ran down your spine as you blinked at him. “Bait? What… What do you mean?” You could feel the Soldat’s thigh tense beside you, and you realized that he had known.

That’s why he’d been so cold, even beyond the fact that there were others present.

“It means you’re going to be bait,” another man said with an eye roll.

“Well, I mean… When you say bait, do you mean like bait that can be reused so you keep it alive or bait like a worm that ends up dead on a hook?” You said, your arms crossed over your chest. Being sarcastic probably wasn’t the best thing you could do at the moment, but whatever. If you were gonna die, you might as well die with a few good one-liners.

Beside you, the Soldat’s chest jolted, his lips pressed together as though he was trying to stifle a laugh.

See, you knew he’d get your humor immediately.

“Guess we’ll just have to see how well you behave,” the first man snapped, his voice threatening.

When you finally arrived at your location, it was several hours later, and you’d passed out, your head lolling back against the seat. You jolted awake when the van stopped, realizing that the sun had set. “Where are we?”

No answer.

“Great talk.” One of the handlers yanks you out of the van, pulling you over the Soldat’s lap and almost dislocating your shoulder in the process. “Fuck! You didn’t have to manhandle me, you asshole!” You’re not shocked when his hand meets your cheek, though you do have to take a moment to take a breath. “Can you just tell me what I have to do so I can do it and we can leave?”

The mission is simple enough, at least on your end. Apparently, there were a few vigilantes running around that Hydra needed gone.

And what vigilante doesn’t love a young damsel in distress?

It’s over before you realize, and you’re hit with a deep realization.

You had wanted the vigilantes to win, just for a second or two. You had wanted them to win and maybe you’d get to go somewhere where you weren’t almost killed everyday, where you were handcuffed to your bed each night, and where most meals consisted of protein shakes.

But only if it meant the Soldat could be rescued with you.

“We’re not going back tonight?” You asked in surprise when the van pulled up to a seedy motel.

“No,” one of the men said with an eye roll. “Don’t feel like driving.”

You were left alone in the car with the Soldat as the men went to get a room, but you didn’t mind. “Are you okay?” You asked softly, eyes flickering up to meet his.

The man grunted, his lips pressed into a thin line as he kept his face forward, watching for the men to come back. But his hand slowly moved down his thigh until you felt cool metal, and his pinky linked around yours.

It stays there until the men come back, and he lets go at the right second, as the van door is starting to open.

“Come on,” one of the men grumbled, leading you two down the length of the motel. “This is where you two will be staying,” he said as he opened up a door.

Brows furrowing, you looked up at him. “What? Alone?” They trusted you like that? You were going to be staying the night with your crush in a room alone?

“Just don’t get her pregnant. She won’t go through graduation for another few months,” another one taunted, letting out a loud, obnoxious laugh. They all looked the same, and sounded the same. Like Hydra had created a bunch of clones. “And you know what to do if she tries to escape, Soldat.”

There was a rock in the pit of your stomach as you walked into the room.

The men had left you alone with the Soldat because they thought he’d have sex with you.

They thought he’d already had sex with you, despite the fact that you were just seventeen.

And your Soldat wasn’t like that. Despite the fact that you were (admittedly) in love with him, and despite the fact that you’d heard of the other Soldats having… pleasure women, you knew that he’d never touch you.

Not like that.

That was the only thing that relaxed you as you walked into the room and the door shut behind the hulking man, a dim yellow light casting shadows all around the room.

“I’m not—”

“I know,” you said as you turned to him, cutting him off. “I know you’re not going to… do that. I trust you.”

He slowly nodded, a weak smile spreading over his lips, and it occurred to you that it was possible that no one had ever told him that they trusted him.

At least there were two beds, because you didn’t think your little heart could handle sleeping so close to him. God forbid you wake up cuddling him. You’d be absolutely mortified.

“I’m gonna grab a shower,” you said, pointing to the bathroom. You didn’t wait for a response before speeding over and shutting and locking the door. Fuck. You were gonna have to sleep in your leotard since you didn’t have any other clothing with you.

The shampoo and conditioner the motel provided smelled like nothing, and the body wash and face wash were the same. Even so, you took your time lathering and scrubbing and washing, taking a shower that was longer than five minutes or so for the first time.

It had been over an hour by the time you got out, every inch of your body scrubbed and then scrubbed again. It probably wasn’t good for your hair, but you washed it twice, just because you could.

What you were most surprised by was the few suitcases that were on the bed closest to the inside wall when you got out, redressed in your leotard.

“What is this?” You asked the Soldat, who had stripped out of his leather and kevlar and was just wearing his cargo pants and a white shirt.

“You didn’t have clothes,” he said bluntly, glancing over at you as he sharpened his knife on the cheap chair.

“Where did you get these?”

“Lost and found. I just grabbed a few in case one didn’t have what you needed.”

Sometimes you forgot just how caring he could be in little ways.

“Thank you,” you said with a grateful smile as you moved to dig through them, eventually moving to the bathroom to change into a fresh pair of underwear and a huge t-shirt and shorts. “How do I look?” You asked as you came out, striking a dramatic pose.

The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he looked up at you. “Radiant,” he said after a moment, having thought of the perfect word. “You always are.”

Why the hell did he have to say such things when you knew you couldn’t be with him? You were too young, and the likelihood of Madame B allowing you to be together was… zero.

He motioned for you to get in the bed farthest away from the window. “You need rest, malen’kaya. I will keep watch.” After watching you crawl under the blankets and cuddle up to your pillows, he moved to sit on the bed, caressing your cheek. “Sleep… I will be here when you wake…”

“Sometimes I forget just how fucking beautiful it is out here,” Bucky said with a breathy laugh as he pulled up the long drive to the Stark Cabin. The sun was glittering out on the lake, the leaves just beginning to turn shades of ruby and gold. He threw the car into park and rushed around to your side to open the door and help you out before you could even blink.

The look you gave him didn’t do much as you placed your hand in his. It had only been a few days since he’d even let you get out of bed on your own and walk around.

As much as you loved him carrying you around like a blushing bride, it became a bit much when he was carrying you to the bathroom because you had to pee.

“It feels like so long ago… last time we were here,” you said as you watched him grab your bags.

He barely let you walk, there was no way in hell he’d let you carry your own duffel bag.

“What are you feeling for dinner?” He asked as he led you inside, setting your bags on the couch for the time being. “I was thinking maybe I could whip up some of that creamy chive chicken I made the other week? You liked that, right?” Bucky seemed to have a nervous energy running through him as he moved to the kitchen and began to figure out what they had. “I’ll need to have some groceries delivered…”

“Anything’s good with me,” you said faintly as you watched him, leaning against the doorway. “I’m really glad we decided to do this… It feels nice… getting away from everything for a little bit…” Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at the ground, arms crossing over your chest. “I mean… I love our family. You know I do. But—”

“It can get loud and crowded,” he finished, a kind smile on his face. “I get it.”

There’s a light inside your chest as you move further into the kitchen, giggling as his hands immediately go to your waist and lift you up onto the counter. “I knew you would.”

Bucky glanced up from his phone, having put in the grocery order faster than you expected. His vibranium hand rested on your thigh, and he gave a gentle squeeze. “You in the mood for a drink while we wait on dinner supplies?”

“Depends, bartender. What are you making?” You asked, letting your legs kick back and forth. You had to do something to prevent yourself from wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him close.

Would he ravish you like in the dreams you sometimes occasionally but totally-not-often had?

“Baby doll, I can make whatever magic potion you want,” he said, winking. His lips found a place on your cheek, letting it linger before he left your side, his hand leaving behind a warm spot on your thigh that felt empty without it. The way he moved around the cabin, so confidently, was such a far cry from when you’d been spending a few days in the guest rooms after the final battle.

It was fucking hot.

You were barely paying attention as he listed off cocktails and various concoctions.

“Malen’kaya? You there?” He called out, though you didn’t really hear him as he said your name.

It wasn’t until a floorboard creaked under his weight that you focused back in on the present. “Huh? Just… whatever you think I’ll like. I trust you,” you said, rubbing your hands nervously on your thighs.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said as your tongue wetted your lower lip.

“Okay, if you say so,” he said as he glanced back at you with a fond smile, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “And… I agree.”

Your head tilted to the side. “Agree about what?”

“I’m really glad we decided to do this.”

[specialagentsergio]

wish i were

summary: Emily’s back where she belongs, but she’s learning that you can’t come back from the dead the same as you were before. Spencer’s reeling from betrayal and broken trust. Then there’s you—their safe port in the storm. But you’re not okay either, and you have a choice to make.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: lots of swearing, mentions of/implied sex, mentions of vomiting (nothing descriptive), fighting, negative feelings towards other team members, bittersweet ending

a/n: it’s finally here. thank you all for your patience. i wasn’t planning on posting angst and unrequited love on valentine’s day, but i don’t want to wait another day to post this; i’m kinda sick of looking at it tbh. anyways, i hope you enjoy it and it lives up to your expectations. sorry it’s so long. apparently i have a lot to say.

word count: 8.7k

series masterlist || masterlist

Ten weeks ago.

“Absolutely not,” Emily croaks out. Her voice is rough and broken from the breathing tube, and it hurts her throat to speak, but she ignores it. “No. I won’t do it.”

She can hardly believe what she’s hearing. She’s only been awake for a few hours and she’s already fed up with the bullshit the world is throwing at her. Right now, it’s in the form of her boss asking her to fake her own death. “You can’t seriously think this is an acceptable solution.”

Hotch is unreadable, his unit chief face firmly in place. “It’s for your own safety.”

Emily scoffs, then immediately winces at the pain that shoots through her midsection. But she continues. “So put me in a safe house or something. I’m not making my friends bury me.”

“It’s for their safety as well,” he replies. “Doyle’s still out there. He’s targeted them before. You know he’ll do it again to get to you if he finds out you’re alive.”

“Then let them in on this,” she argues. “They can keep a secret.”

His expression slips—just a little bit, but she sees it. It’s hesitance.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” she asks, a feeling of dread settling over her. “I want to see her. I’m not making a decision like this without her.”

Hotch folds his arms over his chest. “It’s not your decision to make, Emily,” he says quietly. “It’s already done.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She looks him up and down, searching desperately for any sign that he’s lying, that this is all just some cruel joke, that any second now you’ll be walking through the door, a smile on your face—

There are none.

Her lungs burn and she’s forced to take in a breath. “You son of a bitch,” she whispers. “You... son of a bitch. How dare you? How dare you.”

He doesn’t so much as flinch as her voice increases in volume, which only serves to make her angrier.

“How fucking dare you! You let me see (Y/N) right now, you bastard!”

The door opens—her heart leaps—

It’s JJ, who, if Hotch is to be believed, is the only other one to know about this. JJ hurries to her side and reaches out, but Emily yanks her arm away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snarls. “You—” Her eyes land on the water pitcher on the table in front of her and she lunges forward, the searing pain it causes barely registering. She seizes it and throws it with all the force she can muster.

Hotch doesn’t move out of the way, letting it hit his chest and soak the front of his clothing. Its accompanying cup follows, then the TV remote. It’s not until she grabs the vase of flowers that he ducks out of the way. The glass shatters on the floor. All the while, she’s screaming obscenities at him.

JJ tries in vain to calm her down, holding up her hands placatingly. “Emily, please—”

“Don’t talk to me!” she yells. “You have the audacity to come in here and speak to me when you know I’m alive and my girlfriend doesn’t!”

“Emily!” Her voice is stern. “I understand you’re upset—”

“Don’t use your fucking mom voice on me, Jennifer, I’m not a fucking child—”

“What’s going on in here?” A pair of nurses enter the room, no doubt drawn by the commotion.

“She’s bleeding,” JJ answers immediately. “I think she might have aggravated something when she sat up.”

“She’s not supposed to be sitting up at all. What did you two do?” one of the nurses scolds.

“She just got some bad news—”

“Well, isn’t that a nice way to put it!” The nurses are trying to coax her into laying back down, but Emily resists it. “A really great way to describe the two of you trying to force me into letting my family and girlfriend think I’m dead!”

“I think some of the stitches tore,” the second nurse says.

“Go get the doctor,” the first one instructs an orderly standing in the doorway.

Movement catches Emily’s eye and she looks towards it to see Hotch taking a step backwards.

“Don’t you dare leave!” she screams. “I’m not done with you, you motherf—”

“Agent, please, you need to lie back.”

“And you two need to leave,” the older of the nurses says.

Then there’s a third person at her side. Judging by the white coat, it’s the doctor. “What’s the problem?” he asks them.

“She’s agitated and we think some stitches might have burst.”

“Damn right I’m agitated!” Emily cries. “They’re trying to—I—” She looks past the doctor to find that JJ and Hotch are gone.

“Emily, we’re going to give you something to help you relax,” he tells her.

Her vision goes blurry and she can’t figure out why until she feels the tears sliding down her cheeks. She lets the nurses push her back now and her head thumps against the pillow. “Please—” she chokes on a sob. “Please, I want to see my girlfriend.”

“What’s her name?” the doctor asks kindly.

“(Y/N). We’ve been together for almost a year. I need…” Her limbs are starting to feel heavy. “I need to call her, or—or something. She thinks… she thinks….”

“Shh, you’re okay,” one of the nurses soothes. “You’re going to be okay.”

Emily blinks slowly and shakes her head. “But she won’t be. She…”

The world fades to black.

---

There are tear stains on your pillowcase.

That’s the first thing Emily notices when she walks into your bedroom. She recognizes them so quickly because similar ones were on her pillows in Paris.

“Sorry, I’ve been meaning to run the sheets through the wash,” you say when you notice her looking.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” She sets her bag on the bedside table, careful to jostle Sergio as little as possible. He’s in her arms, pressed against her chest and purring loudly. He definitely remembers her—she’d been a little worried that he wouldn’t.

Emily is absolutely exhausted. It has been a very long day. Doyle is dead, Declan is safe, and now all she wants to do is take a nice, hot shower and curl up in bed with you. But you haven’t been able to keep eye contact with her for more than a few moments at a time.

She expected something like this to happen. She knew once the relief of seeing her alive wore off, there was going to be a heap of more, uglier emotions surfacing.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

You glance up at her just briefly, busying yourself with stripping off the pillowcases and replacing them with a clean set. “I don’t know what to say, Emily,” you sigh. “I just… I don’t.”

She strokes Sergio’s back a couple of times to calm herself before replying. “You can say anything. You’ve been through so much, and I… I’m not going to hold what you’re feeling against you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

It confirms her suspicions. “(Y/N), you’re allowed to be mad at me,” she says. “Hell, you could even yell at me if you wanted to and I’d be okay with it.”

You snort. “I don’t want to yell at you. But, um, could I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“Okay. Well…” You shuffle from one foot to the other. “I’m… not really sure how to ask this, but, how… how did this happen?”

Your voice is hesitant. You’re holding back, but Emily can read between the lines. “You mean, how could I let you think I was dead?” she corrects softly.

You breathe in sharply and wrap your arms around yourself. Your eyes are wet when you look up at her and nod.

Emily tries not to let her next words come out too fast, lest it seem like she’s dismissing your feelings or making excuses. “I didn’t get a choice.” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat. “When I came to after surgery, the funeral had already been held.”

Your mouth drops open. You stare at her for a few seconds, then blink several times. Your eyes move around, focused on nothing in particular as you try to process what she’s just told you. Eventually, they settle on the bedroom door behind her. “I’m gonna punch his face,” you whisper.

Emily can’t stop the genuine laugh that bubbles out of her. “Yeah, Hotch heard similar things from me.”

“Oh my god, Em,” you breathe out, and her heart skips a beat at the nickname. “That must have been awful.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t fun,” she admits. “But at least I knew you were alive and that I’d see you again someday. It can’t come close to what you went through.”

You shake your head. “This isn’t the suffering Olympics. It was harder for you in some ways than it was for me, I’m sure. Like, if I was waking up after being stabbed, I’d want my girlfriend there holding my hand.”

Emily’s eyes prick with tears as she listens to you, remembering how it felt to be at the hospital without you there to hold her hand through all the scary bits. But you? You had buried her, and now you’re here considering how Emily had felt throughout all this. She’s not sure if you’re actively trying to make her fall even more in love with you, but if you are, you’re succeeding.

“I can’t promise to never be mad at you about this,” you continue, “but I’ll take being mad at you for actually being alive rather than being mad at you for dying.”

“That’s… really mature of you,” she observes.

“I started seeing a therapist a few days after the funeral,” you say with a shrug. “Can you put Sergio down and help me change the bed sheets?”

She nods and places him gently on the floor. She’s about to ask why you’re wanting to change them right now, when you’re clearly just as exhausted as she is, when she finds a tie wedged between the top and fitted sheets at the foot of the bed. She frowns as she lifts it up—it’s not one she recognizes as yours or hers, but she does think she’s seen it before.

“Oh, so that’s where that went,” you say.

“I don’t remember you having a tie like this. Is it new?”

“It’s Spencer’s,” you clarify.

“Oh. What… what’s it doing in your bed?” she asks hesitantly.

“He would stay over sometimes when I couldn’t sleep and he’s too long—“ you spread your hands apart “—for either of the couches.”

“I see.” Emily smooths out the wrinkles in the fabric and crosses the room to put it on top of the dresser, trying to tamp down the sting of jealousy. The other side of your bed is supposed to be hers.

“Nothing happened,” you say and she realizes she’s frowning.

“I know,” she replies, and she does—she just wishes it had been her in the bed with you. But you’ve at least given her a good lead-in for her surprise. “Anyways, you wouldn’t have even had the time with the amount of online Scrabble you were playing.”

Now it’s your turn to frown. “How do you know about that?”

The corner of her mouth turns up. “I was there for every game, sergio2010.”

It takes you a moment to put it together. “You’re cheetobreath?” you ask. “I thought that was JJ.”

“It was her idea,” Emily says. “And that’s what you were supposed to think.”

Your reaction delights her—you start laughing. “That’s ridiculous!”

“I had to stick it to Hotch somehow,” she defends, barely holding back her own laughter.

You shake your head fondly as you finish tucking in the fresh sheets. Emily helps you spread the comforter back over the bed and return the pillows to their spots. She isn’t sure what to do after that, though, and nervously clasps her hands in front of her. You’re silent for a few seconds, watching her from across the bed.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” you say eventually.

“Um, okay,” she replies. “But you know, I could go stay at a hotel instead if you’d prefer.”

You shake your head. “You’re gonna join me.”

“Ah.” Emily swallows, part nervous, part thrilled. “That’s… I mean, yeah. Okay.”

You hold out your hand in invitation; she circles the bed and takes it.

After, when you’re both clean and settled into bed, she pulls you as close to her as she can. “This is so nice,” you sigh into her skin. “You’re so soft, Em.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Um, thank you?”

“Spencer’s bony,” you explain.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, I know. I fell asleep on his shoulder on the jet a few years ago and it was painful.”

You giggle. “Did you know he talks in his sleep?”

“Morgan’s mentioned it. You learn anything else when you were snuggled up with him?” she teases, running her fingers through your damp hair.

“It wasn’t like that,” you protest. “We didn’t snuggle. I’d just kind of… press my forehead on his arm and one leg against his.” Your voice lowers as you continue, “I just really missed being close to someone.”

“I did, too,” she whispers back. “I wish it had been me, but I’m glad you had him.”

You nod against her in agreement. “I love you, Emily,” you say, briefly tightening your grip on her.

“I love you, too,” she replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So much.”

You drift off to sleep quickly, and she’s not far behind.

It’s the best sleep she’s had in months.

---

Spencer’s barely heard from you since the hearing last week.

He’d gotten plenty of texts from Jennifer (all of which he ignored), but only a few from you. That’s probably normal for most adult friends, but not for you two, especially so when the fact that you were the only two people not to apply for reinstatement to the BAU is taken into consideration. He thought that he’d be able to seriously talk about it with you, to share his feelings and maybe work it out together. But all he had gotten was a brief message:

Emily was reinstated, so I’m going back, too.

It left him frustrated, but when it came down to it, he understood—he was the same. Since you were going back, so was he.

On Monday morning, everyone’s first day back together, he gets off the elevator and is immediately confronted with the last person he wants to see.

“Hey, where have you been? I wanted to do brunch this weekend,” Jennifer says.

Spencer barely resists rolling his eyes, instead keeping them fixed on the file he’s holding. “I had to deal with some stuff with my mom.” It’s not a lie—he did have to check in with his mom. It just didn’t take as long as he’s implying. “Have you seen Garcia?”

“Uh, she’s with Rossi,” Jennifer answers, and she sounds startled by his behavior, but he doesn’t care. You’re at your desk, and as he passes by, he takes your arm.

“Wha—Spencer?” You’re taken aback, but you let him pull you along and into a file room.

“What?” you repeat when he turns to you after closing the door.

He tucks the file into his bag, the folds his arms over his chest. “I barely heard from you last week.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Well, yeah, I’ve been busy,” you say. “Emily’s moving in with me so we’ve been taking her things out of storage and to my apartment to unpack.”

Spencer glances away, trying to ignore the stab of jealousy in his chest. Just two weeks ago, he was in your bed and he’s quickly been replaced. And sure, he knows you don’t feel that way about him, but it was easy to pretend you did when you were asleep right next to him. “Not busy enough to make a decision about work,” he points out.

“So?”

“You’re the only other one who didn’t apply for reinstatement to the unit,” he replies. “You’d think that would be something for us to talk about.”

“You never said you wanted to,” you say, giving him a little shrug.

He doesn’t resist the eye roll this time. Does Spencer know he’s being a bit unfair? Yes. Does he care? Not particularly. No one bothered to seriously check in with him last week. He wasn’t expecting everyone to, but he was expecting it from you. He’s only been at work for five minutes, but his emotions are already running high, and he doesn’t care to reign them in. “I didn’t think I’d have to.”

“You should’ve. I can’t read your mind.” Now you’re getting defensive. “And what does it matter, anyways? You’re not my boyfriend; I don’t have to run my decisions past you.”

“I know that,” he snaps. He really could have done without hearing you say that. “I’m just there to warm up your bed when you’re lonely is all, huh?”

You’re shocked for only a moment before pivoting to anger. “I didn’t make you do anything. You could’ve said no. And I certainly don’t owe you anything from it.”

“Clearly,” he mutters.

You heave an angry sigh. “Look, I know you’re mad about the whole thing, but don’t take it out on me. I don’t know why you’re so surprised that I wanted to spend the past week catching up with my girlfriend after thinking she was dead for ten weeks. If you wanted to talk, you should’ve said so. Stop being such an ass.”

Spencer doesn’t answer. You’re right, and he knows it, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it. He just looks down at the floor, avoiding your glare.

When it becomes clear to you that he has no intention of responding, you mutter, “whatever” under your breath and duck behind him, walking out of the door and leaving him alone again.

---

The case has been miserable.

In rural Oklahoma, their unsub is burning his victims with acid. Not the worst they’ve seen, but not pleasant, either—this job never is.

You’re still mad at him, which is bad enough, but he’s also had to watch you be far more… touchy with Emily than you ever were before. It’s not super apparent—you still keep it professional at the local P.D. and when you’re out on work assignments, but you’re going out of your way to find any excuse to touch her that you can outside of that.

Then there’s the motel they’re staying at and its thin walls. He heard a few things last night from your room next door. It was quickly followed by shushes, but he heard enough to infer what was going on. So he’d dug his noise-canceling headphones out of his bag. It had been a good solution at the time, but then he’d fallen asleep with them on. As a result, he’d slept with his neck at an odd angle. It’s midday now and it’s still aching.

To top it all off, there’s Jennifer. He’s been trying to keep his distance from her, and had thought the snide remarks he hadn’t been able to hold back might encourage her to stay away. But she keeps pressing the issue, and when she tells him she thinks he’s mad about micro-expressions, he can’t hold it back anymore.

“You think it’s about my profiling skills? Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

She protests, so he brings up Dilaudid. He knows it’s a low blow, and that she still feels guilty about them splitting up all those years ago, leading to his abduction and subsequent problem, but he doesn’t care. He just wants her to hurt like he is.

The team is staring and Emily says his name, but he just tells Jennifer that it’s too late to be sorry and leaves without another word.

Outside, he sits on the curb in front of one of the SUVs and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He’s not alone for long, though. Just a few minutes later, he hears footsteps coming from behind him. The sound that involuntarily comes out of his throat can only be described as a growl.

“God, Jennifer, what do I have to do to get you to understand that I want you to leave me the fuck alone!” he nearly yells.

But it’s not Jennifer that answers. “It’s me,” you say softly.

Spencer sighs. He drops his hands from his face but doesn’t open his eyes. “What?”

“Can I sit?”

He’s not sure he wants to be around anyone, but it’s hard for him to say no to you. “Sure,” he says dully.

You join him on the curb, but keep a few feet of space between you. You don’t say anything, though, just sit quietly, letting him make the first move.

“How are you okay?” he asks eventually.

“What?” You sound incredulous. “I’m not sure where you got that idea. I’m so mad at Hotch that I can barely breathe when I’m in the same room as him.”

Spencer considers this for a moment, recalling when everyone’s been in the same room during this case. He realizes that since he’s been preoccupied with you touching Emily and trying to avoid Jennifer, he’s missed how you tense up whenever you see Hotch, and that you keep him out of your eyesight whenever possible.

“But you’re fine with Emily,” he observes. That does honestly confuse him, because he’s mad at Emily as well. And if it had been you in her place? He’s not sure he’d ever be able to forgive you, even without you knowing the way he feels about you.

“For the most part,” you say. “I still feel a little mad at her sometimes, but it helps me to remember that it wasn’t her fault.”

He finally looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being alive in Paris and not telling you isn’t her fault?”

“She didn’t really get a choice. When she woke up after surgery, the funeral had already happened,” you explain. “Hotch made the decision without her.”

“Hmm.” He files that information away to think over later. “And Jennifer?”

You shrug. “I can’t be too mad at her, since she did so much for me during those weeks.”

He snorts. “Yeah, out of guilt.”

“Probably, yes,” you concede. “But not having to pack up Emily’s things and take them to storage myself, feeding Sergio and bringing him to stay with me, bringing me hot meals when I was surviving off of cereal alone because I could barely get out of bed, let alone cook for myself… it went a long way.”

On the one hand, it’s a bit comforting for him to hear how Jennifer helped the woman he loves. On the other, she could have ended your pain with three words—Emily is alive—but she didn’t. She let the woman he loves suffer the pain of the loss of a partner.

And she sure didn’t bring him hot meals.

This shouldn’t surprise you, Spencer. You’ve always been the afterthought. The burden. You should be used to this by now.

He clenches the fabric of his pants in his hands. “That doesn’t make me any less angry,” he mutters.

“That’s fine.”

“You can’t expect me to just—wait, what?”

“That’s fine,” you repeat. “I’m not trying to tell you to just get over it or whatever because she was nice to me. Like Em told me, you’re allowed to be mad.”

Spencer bites his lip, resisting the urge to ask you to stop calling her Em. You’re the only one that calls her that—or rather, is allowed to call her that, and it’s obvious why. It’s also similar enough to you calling him Spence that he’ll always start comparing himself to Emily when he hears it, and he’s been trying to stop doing that for months.

“Maybe you just, I don’t know,” you continue, drawing him out of his thoughts. “You could just try to be a little less passive aggressive with JJ?”

He opens his mouth, about to flat-out refuse, but before he can, you tack on, “For me? Just a little bit?”

God damn it.

“Only if she stops bothering me,” he says bluntly.

“Yeah, she, um… she was crying when I left, so I think she’s got the message now,” you say quietly.

He feels a bit guilty upon hearing that, but not enough to apologize, or even really regret it. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it, he rationalizes to himself. She’s the one who decided to push it anyways.

After a few moments of silence, you reach out and pat his knee. “I love you, you know.”

He knows what you mean, knows that you don’t mean it like that, but his heart still skips a beat. He responds to you with a nod.

You push yourself to your feet, tell him to take all the time he needs, and you’ll see him when he’s ready to come back in, then walk away.

When he’s certain you’re out of earshot, he whispers back, “I love you, too.”

---

Emily sits down across from him on the plane, and Spencer is immediately reminded of the morning after he caught you and her together. That time, Emily had folded her hands in front of her on the table. This time, she slides something across it to him. He looks up from his book and sees his missing tie, wrinkles ironed out and folded neatly.

“It was in her bed,” she explains when his brow furrows.

Spencer wonders if that made Emily jealous.

He’s not a good enough person to not hope it did.

“Thanks,” he mutters, putting it away in his bag.

Emily’s quiet, but she doesn’t leave. She must have something else to say. He sighs. “What is it?”  

“Are you going to Rossi’s house tomorrow night?” she asks.

He looks back down to his book. “I don’t know. I’m not so sure I can make it.”

“Okay. Well, Reid, you can be mad at me for as long as you need to. I’m okay with that.”

Spencer frowns. He kind of wishes she wasn’t being so nice and understanding. It makes it harder to be upset with her, and he wants to be upset with her.

“I’d like to say something to you, though, if that’s okay,” she says.

He reluctantly looks back up. “What?”

Emily holds his gaze. “Thank you,” she says earnestly.

He blinks. “Uh, for what?”

Her voice wavers slightly with emotion as she speaks. “For looking out for her when I couldn’t.”

His eyes drift away from Emily and to the couch where you’re sleeping. “My pleasure,” he replies quietly. When he looks back at Emily, she has a curious look on her face.

For the first time, instead of panicking over keeping his secret, instead of shying away, Spencer looks right back at her. A few seconds later, he thinks he sees a flash of realization in her eyes, but it’s so quick he can’t be sure.

“Well, thank you,” she repeats, and takes her leave. He watches as she leans down and tucks the blanket closer around you. He closes his eyes, leans back in his seat, and imagines a world where he was the one adjusting it instead.

---

“You’re gonna go weeks, months even, feeling fine. And then you’re gonna have a bad day.”

Emily can barely get the hotel room door open, her hands are shaking so much. A bad day. What Hotch called it, she thinks, was a bit of an understatement.

She’s just come back from taking a witness statement to help wrap up the piano man case—or rather, she was trying to take one.

“I was told that you would only give your statement to me.”

“Why didn’t you let me pull the trigger?” Regina asks.

“Because you would be in prison.” Emily understands why Regina is mad at her, and she’s fine with taking the brunt of it. Lying to her to stop her from shooting the unsub was the right thing to do. “I know it’s hard--”

“No, you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like…” Regina pauses briefly, anger radiating off of her. “When the monster from your nightmares comes back for you.”

Emily breaks eye contact and looks down. She knows exactly what that’s like.

Regina recognizes it. “Wait--”

Redirect, redirect, redirect. “Look, I’m here as a courtesy--”

“Something happened to you.”

“So do you want to give me your statement or not?”

But Regina is relentless. “What did you do to him, huh? Did you arrest him like a good FBI agent? Or did you kill him?”

Emily sits down heavily on the spare bed, drawing your attention away from packing up your things for the flight home. “Em?”

She just shakes her head, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and closing her eyes. “It was the right thing,” she whispers to herself. “It was the right thing. I did the right thing.”

You sit down next to her and place your hand on her back. “What happened?”

Emily swallows hard, feeling sick to her stomach. Her hair is sticking to the back of her neck; she tilts her head to try and dislodge it. You catch on and pull it to the side for her.

“Talk to me, baby,” you urge gently. “Just something, anything I can do to help.”

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down enough to speak. “I—I think,” she stutters. “I th—think I just ruined a woman’s pe—peace of m—mind for good.”

You start rubbing circles on her back and ask, “How?”

“You know, when they talk about victims getting revictimized by the system, they mean you.”

Emily shudders involuntarily. “I… you know how we found the unsub with a—a victim?”

Slowly, in sentences fractured by gasping breaths, swallows to hold back the nausea, and even a few sobs, she recounts what Regina said to her.

You murmur something under your breath that she doesn’t catch, then, ever so gently, you pull her into your arms.

Emily Prentiss isn’t one to break down, not in her own home and especially not in front of others. She controls any “negative” emotions as best as she can, her feelings only displayed through a trembling voice, misty eyes, or run-down nails. Screaming, tears, and nervous gestures were not befitting of an ambassador’s daughter, after all, and those habits formed in childhood have stayed with her until this day.

But there’s one person who’s the exception. There’s one person with whom those walls just don’t seem to exist. That person, of course, is you.

You pull her into your arms, and Emily Prentiss breaks down, because she can. She can because she knows you’ll be there to help put her back together again.

“You never had a chance to mourn your own death, did you?”

She hadn’t understood what her therapist meant when she said it yesterday morning, but Emily thinks she does now. This time last year, what Regina said would have unsettled her, and she would have felt sorry for her, but she probably wouldn’t have dwelt on it much. It’s not last year, though. It’s this year, and she’s coming undone in your embrace over Regina’s words, words she knows will never leave her.

“I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“Still… your monster’s dead. I have to live with mine. That’s my statement.”

Emily has a promise to keep, so she boards the jet early. A few minutes later, Hotch slides into the seat across from her and waits. It still takes her a few moments to collect herself enough to say the words.

“I’m having a bad day.”

---

Spencer’s not sure if you’re going to be able to keep doing this job. He became very familiar with your nervous tics and outward signs of stress during those weeks, and now he can notice them almost immediately.

You seemed okay for the first few months. A few habits cropped up now and then—biting your lip, tapping each fingertip to your thumb in turn—but that was fairly normal. It’s a stressful job.

But then your bottom lip starts getting chapped again, and during conversions with anyone other than Emily, you’re quiet; you often have to be prompted to share your thoughts.

He tries to find out what’s wrong, but when he asks, you shut it down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. “But, um, you probably should talk to… somebody, you know?”

You barely look up from your paperwork as you respond. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ve been seeing a therapist since this whole shitshow started. I’ve got Emily, too. If anything, I should be telling you to go talk to a professional.”

Spencer just says “okay” again, then a few minutes later he excuses himself to go hide in the bathroom and nurse his hurt feelings. He knows you weren’t trying to be mean. Flipping around the suggestion to him most certainly came from a place of love. But he’s not interested in receiving any kind of psychiatric care—he’s actively opposed to it. So being told anything of that sort upsets him and often makes him angry.

Today it’s just salt in the wound, though. The wound itself is Emily. And god, does he ever feel guilty about the resentment that crops up every time her name is in your mouth. She was dead, and every day she was gone, he wished she weren’t. He cried countless tears over her and would’ve given anything to at least be able to say goodbye.

Then the impossible happened—she came back. He didn’t have to say goodbye at all. And sure, there was the initial relief and happiness, and the warmest hug ever, but now he finds himself resenting her. He’d never wish for her to be gone again, but he can’t stop the jealousy, no matter how hard he tries.

Recently, when Emily was shot during a case in California, he held back your hair as you leaned out of the door of the SUV and threw up upon receiving the news. Spencer Reid would never deny that he’s a germaphobe, but he wants that. He wants to be the one taking care of you, the one whose shoulder you fall asleep on, the one going home with you at the end of the day.

He doesn’t want Emily gone, never, ever again, but he wants you back. Those ten weeks, as awful as they were, weren’t the worst he’s had, because during that time, you were always seeking him out. He knows you didn’t want him that way, but if Emily had really been gone, he thinks one day, that might have changed. The thought always brings tears to his eyes.

Still, he would settle for having you the way he did during the years before he fell for you. Things just haven’t been the same since Emily came back. You don’t stay up late talking anymore. You haven’t a movie night in months. You don’t ask about the books he’s reading or what he did over the weekend. This is it: this is exactly what he was afraid of happening when he found you with Emily.

Spencer doesn’t think it’s personal. He thinks it’s because you’re barely hanging on these days, and just don’t have the energy anymore to do things like you used to.

It still hurts, though. He wonders if it’ll ever stop hurting.

---

Respite can come at the strangest of times and in the oddest of ways. Today, it comes to Emily in the middle of a hostage situation at a bank, in the form of a job offer.

The team is trying to find the I.D. of the Queen of Hearts, one of the robbers, when she gets a surprise call from Clyde Easter, her old Interpol Unit Chief, who gives her the information he knows about the unsub. He doesn’t know her name, but he reminds her that she’s seen the unsub before, at a robbery in Paris while she was living there. Then when the team learns that their unsubs want to fly out to Chad, she calls him back.

“Well, unfortunately Interpol doesn’t have many assets in that particular region in Africa. Maybe that’s something you could help me with when this is over.”

Emily scoffs. “Work for Interpol again? That’ll be the day.”

“Not work, darling. Run,” he corrects. “You see, I’ve been promoted. So, the team’s yours whenever you want it.”

“It’s a hell of a time to bring that up,” she says, ignoring the questioning glances she’s getting from you, Reid, and JJ.

Clyde asks her to think about it, but there’s no time to do that now. She pushes it to the back of her mind and goes back to work.

By the time the day is over, she’s tired. Just tired. You both narrowly survive the explosion in the bank thanks to the alcove you were in, trying to help two elderly patrons. Then a mere hour later, you scare the shit out of her by finding Will strapped to an active bomb and deactivating it yourself. So Clyde’s offer doesn’t come up again until the next morning, when light is spilling through the curtains, illuminating the bedroom with a soft, warm glow.

You face each other in bed, legs twined together under the covers. “What was that about working for Interpol again?” you ask softly, tucking your arm under your head.

“Clyde was promoted,” she replies just as quietly, as to not disturb the peaceful morning feeling. “He offered me his old job. He wants me to run the London office.”

Your eyes widen. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you feeling about that?”

Emily blows out a breath. “I’d like to at least… consider it.”

You reach out, finding her hand in the sheets and lacing your fingers between hers. “What’s stopping you?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” she replies, squeezing your hand back.

“Well, then I think you’re more than just considering it,” you say. “You wouldn’t bring it to me if you didn’t want to take the job.”

Emily thinks for a moment, then admits, “I… I do want to take it. But I have to know what you think, honestly.” She was already robbed out of making one life-changing decision without you in this past year. She has no interest in that happening again.

“Honestly?” you repeat, shifting a little. At her nod, you continue, “I think it’s a good option for us.”

“Us?” she asks, eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, us,” you affirm. “What, you think I’m just going to stay here if you move away?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe. This is the first time we’ve talked about something like this.”

“Fair point,” you say, then sigh. “We’re… both struggling here in D.C., Em. I know it and you know it. This place, this team. It used to be my home, but now, I just… it’s not like it was before.”

“You don’t trust Hotch anymore,” Emily says quietly.

You let out a small, broken chuckle. “I’ve tried. I’ve been trying so hard. I know he did what he thought he had to, but I just… I can’t.”

“It’s okay to feel that way,” she points out. She lets go of your hand to reach up and wipe away a tear that breaks your lash line. “In fact, I’d say it’s reasonable, with what you went through.”

You close your eyes and nod, putting your hand on top of hers to keep it on your cheek. “I know it’s been hard for you, too.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I wanted to come back, and at first, I felt like I was home. But I just can’t go back to my old life and pretend that nothing happened. The only time I feel at home now is… well, it’s when I’m alone with you, just like this.”

“Emily Prentiss, I had no idea you were such a romantic,” you say, cracking a smile.

“Oh, stop,” she says, but she’s blushing. When your giggles subside, she speaks again. “I would love for you to come to London with me. But I don’t want you to forget what you’d be leaving. There’s still a lot of good here.”

You nod. “There is. I’m just not sure it’s enough anymore,” you say softly.

“I understand. You can think about it. I don’t need an answer now.”

So you don’t give her one, not right away. But you do a few hours later. So Emily picks up her phone and dials Clyde’s number.

---

JJ’s a beautiful bride, but Spencer’s eyes keep drifting over to you. The dress you’re wearing tonight is wonderful; from the cut to the color, it suits you perfectly. But that’s not what’s really got his attention. It’s the way you’re carrying yourself. You’re smiling, and you seem truly happy, without any reservations. But there’s also a bit of sadness clinging to you, and he can’t tell what’s causing it.

The party has been going on for a while by the time he finds himself dancing with you. You’d asked him, and now you’ve steered him a little ways away from everyone else. “There’s something I have to tell you,” you say just as he’s about to ask what’s going on.

To his dismay, he doesn’t have a clue what it’s going to be. He doesn’t like not having at least an idea. He swallows, then says, “Okay.”

You can’t meet his eyes; you look down to the floor instead and watch your feet move in time together. So whatever it is, I’m not going to like it, he thinks, and his anxiety spikes. “What is it?” he asks, tightening his grip on you without really meaning to.

You take a deep breath, then look up. “Emily and I are leaving.”

His heart drops and he stops in his tracks, causing you to stumble a little over his feet. “Oh, shi—sorry,” he says. “I just—you’re leaving the BAU? But you’re still going to be in D.C., right?”

You sigh, then guide him off the dance floor and to a quiet spot not too far away. “You remember what Emily said about working for Interpol again yesterday?”

“Interpol?” he repeats, his voice pitching upwards. “You mean, like, overseas?”

“London, to be specific.”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know what to say. Things were a little rocky between you and him when Emily came back, and for a little while afterwards, sure, but recently he’d started to feel like he had his best friend back.

Apparently he couldn’t be more wrong.

Spencer’s used to people leaving. First it was his dad, then Ethan. Elle was next, quickly followed by Gideon. JJ was forced out, and although she ended up coming back, it didn’t erase the pain he felt in her absence. And then there was everything that happened with Emily.

So, Spencer’s used to people leaving. In a way, he almost expects it.

He just wishes it would stop hurting so damn much.

What is it about me? he wonders. What is it that makes people run away? There’s clearly something wrong with--

“Hey!”

He jumps, startled out of his introspection. When his eyes refocus on you, you put your hands on your hips.

“I don’t appreciate people being mean to my best friend, you know,” you tell him seriously.

“Uh…” He blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“That includes him being mean to himself,” you continue. “I know what you were thinking.”

“What? No, you don’t,” he protests.

“Don’t I?” You put the tip of your finger on your chin. “Was it or was it not something along the lines of, people always leave me, why do they do that, there must be something wrong with me?”

He hates that you’re right, so he doesn’t answer, just scowls and looks away.

“It’s not true, you know.”

“Sure,” he mutters. Sure it isn’t. You’ve only just added your name to the list.

“I mean it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look at me.”

Spencer doesn’t, and your resulting sigh sounds so frustrated, and then he thinks, Oh, great work, Reid. (Y/N) tells you she’s leaving and what do you do? You piss her off. Honestly, it’s no wonder--

And then your hands are on his face, cradling his cheeks, and he’s too surprised to resist your gaze anymore.

“It’s not your fault, Spencer,” you say, your voice equal parts firm and gentle. “You didn’t drive me away. Not even close. There’s nothing inherently wrong with you, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He sniffs, trying to hold back the sudden onslaught of emotions you’ve just caused. “Well, I could have gone without picking a fight with you on our first day back at work,” he says, sniffling again.

“What’re you tal—Spencer, that was almost a year ago.”

“Nine months.”

“Whatever. The point still stands. You’re not why I’m leaving, okay? You’re…” you trail off and he’s alarmed to see your eyes grow wet. “You’re the opposite, actually. You were the only thing keeping me here when Emily was gone. And now, you’re why it’s so hard to leave.”

“I am?” he whispers before he can think better of it.

“You are,” you affirm. “I think Emily’s actually a little worried you’re gonna talk me out of it.”

It gets a laugh out of him, but right after a little sob escapes him and he squeezes his eyes shut. When you hug him, he immediately reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your middle tightly.

“Hey, this isn’t the end, okay?” you say, and he can tell from the way your voice is trembling that you’re crying, too. “I know you like to ignore it, but we do live in the digital age, and I’ll be hounding you to talk to me at least once a week. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I’d certainly hope not,” he murmurs, resting his head on your shoulder.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just holding each other, trying not to cry too much. Eventually, you pull away. “Besides, it’s not like I’m leaving first thing in the morning. Our flight isn’t for another ten days. I’m gonna be around.”

Spencer nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, then swipe at your face, clearing away the tears. “Um, we should head back. You still owe me a dance.”

And dance with you he does, swaying gently from side to side with his hand resting on your waist. A look over your shoulder shows Emily and Derek dancing in a similar manner; judging by the way he’s holding her, she told him the news as well.

He has an eidetic memory, but Spencer makes the effort to commit this moment to his brain all the same. He wants to remember the way you’re holding him, resting your head on his chest and running your thumb over the back of his hand every so often. He wants to remember how your skin feels against his, the texture of your hair. The lighting in the backyard and the way it makes you glow. The words that you said, telling him that it’s not his fault, that nothing’s wrong with him. He’s not quite sure he believes it, but you’ve never lied to him before, so he’ll try to accept it.

The song ends, and tears threaten to fall again when you pick up your head and take a step back.

“Hey, no more crying tonight,” you say. “Because if you start crying, I’ll start crying, and I don’t want to cry any more tonight. Save it for my grand exit at the airport terminal.”

That makes him break into a smile and he’s able to blink back the tears. “Okay.”

“Do you mind if I take this dance?” It’s Emily, and she’s looking at him, head tilted in your direction.

“Oh, um.” He clears his throat. “No, um, go—go ahead.”

He passes your hand to her, and what he feels is silly. You’re not some prize to be won; you don’t belong to anyone other than yourself. But he feels like he’s passing you off to Emily, almost… entrusting you to her. The look Emily gives him makes him think she understands this.

“Wait,” you say before she can properly take you into her arms. You lean towards him and press a kiss to his cheek.

Spencer doesn’t stay around to watch you two dance. He retreats back into the house, fingertips on the spot you kissed. He lets them sit there for a moment, then forces himself to drop his hand. It’s far past time for him to try and move on. He doesn’t want you to leave, but it might be what he needs.

Maybe, just maybe, with some distance, he can begin to heal.

---

On the first day at work without you, Spencer finds a small frame on his desk. He immediately recognizes the picture inside of it—it’s the one you’d kept as your lockscreen for months, much to his dismay.

It’s a picture from the relatively early days of your friendship, well before he felt anything that wasn’t platonic towards you. You’d dragged him out on a weekend off to a nearby amusement park, because, “you can’t die without having ridden a roller coaster at least once, Spence.” He had no desire to do so, but he didn’t have any other plans, so he went along with it.

The roller coaster ended up making him vomit, and the picture is from shortly after that. You’re holding up the camera with one hand and making a peace sign with the other, smiling from ear to ear. He still looks a little queasy, only managing a small smile, but he still looks somewhat happy. And he was, that day. Other than the nausea, he’d had a lot of fun with you.

He picks up the frame and feels something on the back of it. He flips it over and finds one of his lilac colored post-it notes, displaying your handwriting.

“When it’s time to go, remember what you’re leaving. Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.”

Tears blur his vision. Doctor Who. Of course you picked Doctor Who. And you’ve written something else, too, in smaller letters:

If you don’t answer my calls at least twice a month, I’ll tell JJ you’ve been stealing from her Cheetos stash for eight years. Love ya.

He laughs out loud, a little wet giggle that he has to follow up with a sniffle. He slips the note under the frame’s felt backing to keep it safe, then rearranges his things until he settles on the perfect spot for it to sit on his desk. He retrieves a fresh sticky note and scribbles down a reminder to himself to call you when he gets home, sticking it the cover of one of his books. After all, he can’t have JJ knowing about his thievery. The team’s good at what they do, but he doesn’t think anyone would be able to find his body once JJ’s done with him.

His eyes drift back to the photograph, coming to a stop on your face. He misses you already. He even misses the ugly bits, when you’d snapped at each other, when you were crying on his shoulder. When he saw you with Emily that first time. It’s an odd mix of emotions. Longing, nostalgia, grief, happiness, safety. Belonging.

Remember the best. My friends have always been the best of me.

Spencer couldn’t agree more.

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

tell me what you thought here!

oh my god, i can hardly believe it’s over. there’s still going to be a small epilogue, but it’s optional. thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who read and supported this series and your enthusiasm for it. you’ve made me so very happy. and if you relate to spencer in this, i want you to know you’re gonna find your someone someday. if that’s what you want, i believe you’ll find it eventually. much love to all of you. 💖

series taglist: @sobereinstein , @zizzlekwum , @goldensatine , @closetedreidstan , @afuckingshituniverse , @uswntxx , @johnmulaneyslut , @90spumkin , @mcntsee , @zhuzhubii , @shadyladyperfection , @mggbler , @eva-cadeau , @esmesisle , @anothergayinthelife , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @zozoleesi , @calm-and-doctor , i think that’s everyone?? so sorry if i missed you.

[on-maars]

Find My Way Home (Back To You)

Alright I wrote a post Eddie Begins episode fic and I really hope you’ll like it :)

Read it on AO3

Eddie sighs and turns around for what might be the tenth time in the past two hours.

He can’t sleep. He can’t sleep without being back there again. He can’t sleep without stopping the nightmares. Not about the war. He’s had his fair share of night terrors about the war, but lately the nightmares have taken another direction. He doesn’t dream of being the target of a thousand snipers anymore. He dreams of that moment. He dreams of being back there again, buried in the ground, thirty feet of wet earth above him, trapped, without any way of getting back to his son, without any way of getting back to his family. It’s suffocating, and Eddie often wakes up soaking wet, his hair sticking to his forehead, his sheet drenched in sweat. Drenched in sweat, and tears. His tears.

He can’t sleep and he tried everything. Every method he can think of. Every method his mother used to teach him when he was scared and alone at night, suffering from insomnia. He tried some breathing exercises his therapist showed him the week before, tried taking a walk around the neighborhood to clear his head and take his mind off things, he tried reading a book and even went through some meditations videos on YouTube that Buck recommended to him a while back. But nothing is working. His mind keeps sending him back to that place. To the well.

Eddie turns around again and lets his eyes fall on his alarm clock as it reads 2:49am. Eddie sighs and presses his hands to his face, apprehending the 24 hours shift waiting for him in the early hours of the morning. Not necessarily because of the fatigue. After all it wouldn’t be the first time Eddie gets through an awfully long shift with the 118 with only a few hours of sleep in his system.

No, he’s only apprehending it because he knows, deep down, that he’s so far from being in the right state of mind to face the difficulties of his job. He feels more restless, more fidgety, less focused than usual. And if there is no doubt in Eddie’s mind that the 118 is going to notice his mood swings. And if they notice, then he’s going to need to explain. Explain the extent of how messed-up he is in the head. Explain how the war still terrorized him sometimes at night. Explain how tight his throat is ever since he’s made it out of that well. And that’s a conversation he’s not ready to face.

Eddie looks up at the ceiling and gropes around in the dark until his right hand finds his phone. He knows scrolling mindlessly the news is only going to keep his brain more awake but he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He unlocks his phone and frowns when he notices an unseen message from his sister in his inbox. The message is short, but it catches Eddie’s attention.

“Isn’t he your friend Buck?!”

There is a link just underneath it and when Eddie clicks on it, his breath catches in his throat and his heart starts pounding hard against his chest. It’s a video. A video of that day. A video of the rig, collapsing, and burying him under thirty feet of earth in the process. Only the video doesn’t show only that. It also shows his coworkers’ reaction. It also shows Buck.

Buck

Buck, who collapses on the ground and completely falls to pieces. Buck, who screams his name and starts digging the earth with his bare hands. Buck, who bursts into tears and whose face is contorted with fear, rage and pain. Eddie watches him as he continues calling out his name in agony, he watches him as Bobby needs to physically restrain him to stop him from digging, and Eddie swears he can feel his heart cracked open at the sight.

The scene is devastating, heartbreaking, and the last seconds of the video only shows Buck, sitting on the ground, his head down, tears rolling down his face, as the rain continues pouring down on him.

By the time Eddie finishes watching the video, his hands are shaking and the room is spinning. His whole body is tense, buzzing with a nervous energy and Eddie closes his eyes fiercely but he can’t get the images out of his head. How can he? How can he when he had to sit through and watch his best-friend having a complete breakdown in a video with more than a million views? How can he when until then, he was so far up his own ass not to notice that Buck was hurting too? Not to notice that he wasn't the only one who ended up traumatized by this day?

He sits back straight on his bed, and leans his back against the headboard, running both of his hands through his hair a few times, ignoring how his heart pulses in his head, making it hurt.

He takes his phone in his hand and gets up, stepping out of his room and going down the stairs until he reaches the living-room. Here, he lets himself fall on the couch, rubbing his temples with his fingers, his eyes closed. In vain. It’s no use. It’s no use trying to get his breathing back to normal while the only thing he really wants is to see his best-friend with his own two eyes and make sure he’s okay.

“Can you come over?” He sends. It’s short and vague, but Eddie knows Buck keeps his phone in sound mode at all times just in case this kind of emergencies come up.

But is it an emergency? Eddie asks himself as he brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. It’s not. Not really. But Buck’s answer still comes after just a few seconds.

“Be there in 15. You okay? Christopher?”

“We’re okay. Just need to see you.”

Eddie jumps out of the couch and starts pacing back and forth in the living-room, not knowing what to do with himself. He squats down and starts picking up every Lego bricks lying around on the carpet, on the coffee table under the sofa. Christopher was in the middle of building a (more than unstable) house before heading to bed and he seemed so tired from his school day Eddie didn’t have the heart to ask him to tidy. He’s in the middle of retrieving a brick which ended up under the carpet when he hears the distinct sound of someone opening the front door.

He whirls his head around and finds himself face to face with Buck who looks around the living-room in alarm, his eyes wide. His hair is disheveled and his shoes are mismatched and Eddie almost feels bad for waking him up in the middle of the night while they both have a 24 hours shift waiting for them in a few hours. His best-friend’s face softens when his eyes fall on him, and Eddie doesn’t waste any time to close the gap separating them and wrapping his arms around his neck to hold him close.

“Evan Buckley I swear to god you’re going to be the death of me.” He says, not thinking twice before burying his face in the crook of his best-friend’s neck. Buck seems taken aback for a few seconds, but he doesn’t question it and reciprocate the embrace with just as much vigor. “I’m sorry.” Eddie eventually says, grabbing his tee-shirt with his right hand.

“You’re sorry?” Buck repeats, his voiced filled with confusion. “About what?” He adds.

“God I’ve been so far up my own ass these past few days, haven’t I?” Eddie asks, taking a step back and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, following his gaze until he’s sure Buck looks at him in the eye. His best-friend seems reluctant at first, almost as if he already knows where the conversation is going, but then he finally meets his gaze and Eddie’s look is so intense and he’s watching him with so much attention something in his face just breaks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what, Eds?” Buck asks, but from the way his voice breaks, Eddie knows it’s just a way for him to try and take the conversation elsewhere.

“Buck.” Eddie says, and it’s a warning. We’re having that conversation whether you like it or not.

“Eddie, just- Don’t, alright?” Buck starts. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s all that matters.”

“I saw the video.” Eddie says, taking another step backwards until he sits on a kitchen chair, running his right hand through his hair.

“What video?” Buck says, his voice small, but sighs and looks down when Eddie maintains eye-contact. “Took you long enough.” He only adds, leaning against the fridge. “It was literally everywhere on the news. Big headlines too.” He says, letting out a humorless laugh.

“Buck-”

“But again, I’spose it’s fun to see a firefighter completely losing it after his best-friend has been buried thirty feet underground.” Buck cuts in, his voice hollow. “I guess it ‘entertains’ people just fine”

“Buck-” Eddie starts, but his friend is faster.

“As if I want to relive that moment, you know?” Buck goes on and his voice is louder now, more aggressive. “As if one time wasn’t enough.”

“Buck, I-”

“Eddie, you cut the damn line!” He exclaims and Eddie jumps with surprise at how raw and demanding his tone is. “You cut the damn line!” He repeats and a tear rolls down his left cheek. “And you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that I can’t even blame you for it! You wanted to save that kid… I mean, how can I blame you for wanting to save that kid, Eddie? I can’t. I would be a fucking hypocrite if I did, man. Cause I would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t be mad.” Eddie says, keeping his eyes down, incapable of meeting his best-friend’s gaze. “It doesn’t mean you can’t be angry.” He adds. “Hell, I know I would be.”

“I just- Eddie, did you ever stop for a second to imagine what it was like for me? I was pulling you out Eds. I was pulling you out and then the weight was just- the weight was just gone. You were gone.” He says through gritted teeth and Eddie darts his eyes towards him for just a second, but that’s still enough time for him to see the expression of complete agony and pure heartbreak on his best-friend’s face. Eddie looks away just as fast and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“But that’s not even the worst part, oh no.” Buck goes on and Eddie knows this one is on a roll. He’s determined and he won’t stop until he got everything off his chest. “ Because then this damn rig just collapsed and I- I couldn’t get you out, I- You were… You were buried, Eds. You were buried and I swear to god I would have dug the whole thing with my bare hands if I had to.”

“I know you would’ve.” Eddie only says, staring at Buck, his eyes filled with the tears he’s been trying to hold back for the past fifteen minutes. “I know you would’ve.”

“I didn’t give up on you.” Buck answers, as if he’s trying to justify his actions in a courtroom. “You’ve got to know that, alright?” He repeats. “I didn’t give up on you. Even when people were trying to convince me that there was no way you would have survived that, I didn’t- I didn’t give up on you.”

“Hey, hey, I know.” Eddie instantly reassures him, getting up and closing the gap between them. “I know.” He repeats, cupping Buck’s cheeks with his hands. “You didn’t give up.”

“I didn’t give up.” Buck nods, his lips quivering.

“Buck, do you think- do you think I’m mad at you because you didn’t try hard enough?” Eddie manages to articulate, his fingers playing with the roots of Buck’s hair. “How could you have tried any harder?” Eddie adds, letting out a nervous laugh. “For Christ’s sake Evan, you told me yourself you were ready to dig the whole thing by hands. There’s nothing you could have done. You hear me?”

Buck frantically nods and Eddie sighs, wrapping his right arm around his neck to pull him forward. Buck’s whole body tenses and it’s only when his shoulders start shaking that Eddie realizes his best-friend is full-on sobbing against him, his tears wetting his white tee-shirt. Buck rests his forehead on his shoulder and Eddie simply runs his left hand through his hair while the other traces small patterns on his back, holding him tight. He presses his lips on his hair, closing his eyes fiercely for a few seconds while throwing his head backwards, looking up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry.” Buck says against him. “Here I am again, making the whole thing about me while you’re the one who’ve been buried underground.”

“Don’t be stupid Buck, I’m the one who should apologize here. I was so focused on my pain and the nightmares that I-”

“Nightmares?” Buck whirls his head up to meet his eyes. “You have nightmares about the well?” He asks, his eyes full of concern, and Eddie lets out an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah but that’s not the point, Buck.” He says, dismissing his concern with a hand’s gesture. “I should have seen you were hurting. I’m sorry.” He adds. “And yes I have nightmares but Buck you need to know you’re the only reason I got out. You and Christopher? I couldn’t have done it without you guys. Wouldn’t have done it. But I promised myself I’ll always find my way back home. So I did.”

Eddie cradles his chin with his left hand, forcing him to look up.

“That… That was sappy as hell, man.” Buck tries and Eddie snorts, placing his hand on his cheek to make him look away.

“Says the one who was ready to dig thirty feet of wet earth with his bare hands.” He says playfully and then Buck does this thing again where he looks down with a shy smile and Eddie’s heart just melts at the sight.

When Buck lifts his gaze again, their lips are only separated by a few inches of space and Eddie’s head is spinning. He stays there, motionless, not knowing whether he should finally gives in to years of pining and unresolved tension. But then, Buck’s eyes dart towards his lips and all his good sense goes up in smoke. Eddie looks at him for permission and when Buck nods, he places his hand on the back of his neck and presses their lips together. It doesn’t last long. It’s brief, and when Eddie takes a step back, Buck’s lips chase his own a second time and he only smiles and complies happily.

This time, the kiss is more heated and Buck’s hands find their way on the back of Eddie’s neck, biting his lower lip to demand access to his mouth. Eddie smiles against his mouth and runs both of his hands through his hair, bringing him closer. This earns him a small whimper from Buck and Eddie only kisses him harder, pressing his best-friend’s body against the fridge and sliding his hand underneath his tee-shirt.

“God I can’t believe we waited three years to do that.” Buck says Eddie huffs out a laugh against his lips.

“Well I mean you were a bit slow on the uptake.” Eddie teases him.

“Oh fuck off.” Buck taps him on the head playfully. “You know I couldn’t just- I had to be sure.”

“I know.” Eddie says, his voice soft.

“I couldn’t do the first move. I had to wait for… I had to wait for you to do it. Even if I knew that you- because I knew. Of course I knew. But-”

“Hey.” Eddie cuts him off by cupping his cheeks with his hands. “I know.” He repeats. “Alright then Evan. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Lead the way, Edmundo.”

“Not my name.” Eddie says with a smile, taking his hand in his to guide him towards the bedroom.

“Sorry. Eduardo.”

“Still not my name, man."

"Diaz?"

"That's it, you’re sleeping on the damn couch, Buckley.” Eddie warns but the smile on his face betrays him.

“Really? You would make me sleep on the couch? The guy who was ready to dig 30 feet of wet earth with his bare han-”

“Oh my god will you shut up?” Eddie whispers loudly, being careful not to wake up Christopher fast asleep in the adjoining room.

“Make me.” Buck says, a hint of amusement in his voice and Eddie?

Well Eddie wastes no time to crash their lips together another time.

[occasionaloneshots]

Ring- zNation

younger brother! 10K, wife! Georgia, female reader 

CW: Mentions death, explosions (all canon related) some-what angst, minor swearing

In which she only knew he was  her brother when he recognized an old ring and she didn’t truly recognize him until weeks later. 

Word Count: 1644

    The urgent steps of the short haired woman quickly caught the attention of her wife, leather jacket flying up behind her slightly as she walks. The other woman’s eyes follow her, eyes lifting from the speech she was editing. “Georgie?” She jumps up from her seat, “What’s wrong?” “Talkers at the welcome center. They’re hungry and the center doesn’t have any bizcuits.” The dark haired woman blows a kiss to her wife as she speeds out of the building. Sliding the pencil and speech into her pocket (Y/N) stands up from the table, heading for the double doors that her wife ran out of moments before. A new set of arrivals wasn’t something new for Altura, this happens pretty often, and (Y/N) has desperate hope every single time one does. 

       Head of Pacifica security heads over to the quarantine station of the bigger outpost. She knew it was a slim chance, yet every time there was new arrivals she had the need to check for the boy. Twisting the ring on her right finger, the woman waited patiently for the truckload to return her wife and bring in a new shipment of dirty, tired faces. Her nervous eyes search the area around her, a few welcome committee members give her a gentle smile, others shaking their head in exhaustion. Eight years of apocalypse couldn’t shake her belief that her family is out there. Anyone other than Dante and Georgia would call her hopeless for still believing but (Y/N)’s intuition had never failed them. If her gut told her they were still out there, the two would believe her until the end. 

       Nervous summersaults enter the girl’s stomach as a vehicle comes into her sight line. “Don’t get your hopes up,” the woman whispers to herself, toying with the piece of metal on her finger. A kind voice speaks to a doctor, telling him that he and his friends had to go through quarantine before gaining citizenship. (Y/N)’s eyes search the group, one face catching her eye. He was too far for her to tell for sure, but the woman swore she recognized him. Georgia leaves the group, making her way to the woman. “One day playing with your ring like that is going to make it get stuck,” she chuckles, kissing the worried woman on her forehead. Shaking her head, (Y/N) leans into her lover’s side, “I’m just  nervous.” Rubbing a hand up the soft material of her wife’s sweater Georgia frowns, “Did the feeling go away?” “No, no, I’m still sure someone is out there,” she bites her lip, “I just, feel like I know that guy, the dark haired one you just brought in. I can’t place him though like it’s been years since I passed him in a crowd or something.” 

       “After he gets through quarantine, you and I can go talk to him together okay?” “That would be great,” she pulls the speech out of her pocket, handing it and the pencil to the woman on her side, “You need an opener, a joke or something to get people’s attention.” “You are an angel,” George laughs, pressing another kiss to her forehead.  “I try,” she teases, smiling over at the woman. “His name is Ten Thousand, if that helps.” “That’s a number, not a name. What was he before the apocalypse? A government experiment?” 

      (Y/N) waiting patiently for the quarantine process to end on the new arrivals, it felt like someone had their eyes on her the whole time. The feeling made her stomach feel like it was churning, the nerves killing her. George’s hand on her back lead her over to the group. She learned that the doctor Georgia was speaking to wasn’t a doctor but more of a therapist turned drug dealer from a small conversation. The short woman with him, Sargent Muller was a sweet girl, a fellow marine from before the world fell apart. The whole time she spoke to them, she twirled the ring, cutting eyes at the boy. He was glaring at her hands watching the metal and gems spin. 

        “Where the hell did you get that,” it was the first thing he said  and it felt as if he spit it at her. “Pardon?” The girl tucked herself into her wife’s side, the voice made him even more familiar but the anger in his tone was something she didn’t expect. “Where did you get that ring? You steal it off a corpse or something?” His face was full of disgust as he snatched her hand up. The stranger stared at the silver flower, eying the center gems. 4, his birthstone, his ma’s. his pa’s, and (Y/N)’s. “It was a gift from my mother, thank you,” She scoffs, yanking her hand back. For the first time she took a good look at his face. She knew those eyes anywhere, they were her mother’s, the scar in his eyebrow from where he got hit by a hunter’s knife as it slipped from her hand. And suddenly, she didn’t have to trust the feeling anymore, her brother was most definitely alive. George moves to step between the two, not liking the way the stranger roughly snapped her wife’s hand up. She’s shocked to feel the other woman shove her to the side, hugging the man suddenly, “Tomcat!” The male’s body jolts at the impact, pushing her off slightly, “(Y/N)?” She slumps her shoulders, affected by the rejected hug from her once clingy brother, “Yeah, it’s good to see you.” 

                                                          -----

     (Y/n)’s back is pressed against the side of the building, trying to ignore everything happening in the building. She feels guilt already building  in her stomach for being out in the grass while the woman she loves gives a speech she promised to be there for,  but being in there feels impossible. Hot tears burn her eyes as she stares into the distance, eyes unfocused. “Hey,” the voice catches her attention, her eyes refocusing on the frame that appeared before her, “You missed an amazing speech you know.” “Yeah, she’s good at them, you should hear her when she has to give a speech on the spot,” her voice is slightly hoarse as she looks up at him. “So uh,” he waves to the ground beside her, “Mind if I join you?” “Go ahead, 10k,” she lets out a half-assed chuckle. 

    Hearing his chosen name in her voice stung like venom as he sits down beside her. “You know, in fourteen years of living with you, I don’t think I can ever remember you crying, (Y/n/n).” She sniffles, smiling at the old nickname, “Well, you were the clingy family softy back then and I was the heartless one, remember?” “You were never heartless.” “Fourteen year old you felt different. You know the last thing I said to you was ‘the world won’t end while I’m gone’. It’s almost hilarious the way the world works like that,” she toys with the hem of her shirt as she talks. “Yeah, and I told you eight months might as well been eight years, look where we are now.” She laughs, leaning into his side, “What the hell happened to us?” “The real question is, why are you out here? I don’t know much about Georgia, but she seems pretty good to you.”

      “She’s amazing, too good to everyone sometimes if we’re all honest. All about trust and second chances. Georgia can really give you insight into your own humanity you know? I lost mine for a while, then there was her.” He nods, “Yeah I think we all lost ours a some point.” “Not her though, and I’m so proud of her, but the idea of walking back into that room made me feel sick.” “You know he can’t hurt her again, right?” She nods, her head falling back, “I know, but last time I was in there I was laughing with Dante, we were planning a double date to celebrate that the vote went through until he had to leave. Now he and Marge are dead, my wife has a black eye and a busted lip, and I couldn’t protect either of them, or you.” “My hand wasn’t your fault, you weren’t here. You didn’t kill Dante, or torture George. That’s not your fault.” “No, Ten, how long were you alone out there before your team found you? You lost Ma and Pa and I was with Lieutenant Dante looking for his wife states away. I should have gone looking for you the moment the apocalypse started, fuck my orders.”

       “You knew Dante a long time?” “I did, he was my Lieutenant until we got separated in Colorado four years ago. I just headed North from there, found Georgia, and trusted my gut that I would run into you instead of looking for you.” “Stop blaming yourself for me being alone, I grew up (Y/N). And we found each other eventually.” She fought a laugh, the person she knew as her brother was lost, she would have to find comfort in the new person who occupied his body. She never expected him to be the kid she left alone years before but she never imagined he’d be like this now. “I guess we did, Tomcat.” The dark haired male laughs, standing up and offering her his hand, “Now, let’s get you to your wife. You need to properly introduce me to my sister in law.” She laughs, taking his hand, “Thanks for being cool about that by the way. Pa would have lost it the moment he saw us together.” “We always had each other’s backs, it was the ruling of not getting in trouble with Pa,” the boy laughs, pulling her up from the ground. And for that moment, he was Tommy. 

[jjkyaoi]

this is quite long (1100 words or so) and i wanted to write more than this 😔😔

so you know those like, stories of pta parents nshit??? imagine that but with sbi yeah trust me on this trUST ME-

and so in this au i guess, puffy is school therapist and sam is like a teacher.

puffy and sam are like, mega best friends that have known eachother since highschool or sumn yeah??

anyways, tommy has been getting into fights and arguments with his classmates for whatever reason, and the staff have called dadza to come to meetings and shit but its always tommys oldest brother wilbur (im not projecting being the oldest siblling in my family and being forced to mature quicker wdym-)

sam, being tommys favorite teacher ofc, decides "mmm, yeah hes mine now," and we get some nice dad!sam bc its waht tommy and us deserve.

but tommy is still getting into these fights so they send him to the school therapist and she takes one look at this scrawny, scuffed up kid, with holes in his shirt and dirt on his pants and ALSO decides "thats my son now,"

of course sam and puffy find out that tommy doesnt have the best home life but "its okay, he doesnt hit us so its not abuse :)" and theyre like "mmMMMmn no tommy thats still abuse sorta" bc having a father that doesnt pay attention to any of his kids is abuse im pretty sure. and they decide together that theyre gonna try to get the rights of tommy, or something to ATLEAST bee a semi-gaurdigan bc they love him now and thats their son >:(

and somehow they manage it, they get shared gaurdianship over tommy with dadza. i dont know how bc i am but a humble person in need of dad!sam and momma!puffy

BUT they do, and now whenever tommy gets into fights, its one of them (or both) that comes to the meeting. the other staff dont question it bc they know how intimidating sam and puffy are about their "children" (its mainly just kids that they pick up and are like "ur my child now" but nO ONE HAS TO KNOW THAT)

sam and puffy both start asking about these fights and how they can helpn all, partly bc its their job but mainly bc they love him as their own. n slowly but surely they help tommy not get into fights. most of the time its the other student who starts it bc they know that tommy is easliy angered but there are times when tommy starts it (mainly for good reason tho and they just dont have the heart to punish him, just softly scorn)

one day tho, tommy gets into a fight,and the staff start the whole dance of calling dadza, him not picking up and just letting puffy or sam go in place.

EXCEPT he pickes up this time, and it desolves into fucking CHAOS in the office. like, the whole office knows that tommy is sam and puffys kid and so they gather around this one front desk worker who is the unfortunate soul who has to talk to him and are like "is that him??? im gonna wring his neck when i see him" cuz the office has seen tommy in there one too many times with a black or bloody nose or both.

and so they tell him that his son has been in a fight and they need him to come to a meeting for it, and dadzas like "yeah sure, what do i need to be there?" and they tell him, but they realize they have a problem on their hands, bc philza NEVER fucking picks up - and by never, u mean this is probably the first time they heard his voice-and bc philzanever picksuo they usually just tell puffy or sam that they have a meeting wayyy before they call philza bc the outcome is always the sam.

so they call up both sam and puffy with major reluctance bc they have a feeling they know whatll happen. n theyre like "hey, uh, so you dont need to attent that meeting for tommy today. his dad is coming in-" "oh, HELL NO, that fucker is NOT going in place of us. expect to see me AND sam at the meeting today" sam is very similar except with more swears which is a tab bit surprising but whatever yknow?

and so the meeting rolls around and tommy is sitting inbetween sam and puffy but notices theres another chair to the right of sam and fucking dadza walks in, and tommy feels his heart stop he feels puffy holding his left hand and tryring to get him to take deep breaths but his anxiety is so overwhelming and he hasnt seen his dad in almost 3 months and whyisheherewhyishehere-

so tommy is having, like a silent anxiety attack as we all do. and sam i scowling at philza and hes like borderline growling and baring his teeth at him lol

philza takes a seat next to sam with reluctance and tries to look around him to see tommy but sams like "nuh uh, fucker. leave my son alone." and philzas like " 'my son?!' " before the meeting starts

(also the other family who tommy got into a fight with is all watching this go down bc theyre highkey confused bc "sam and puffy arent tommyy parents???" bc this is definitely not the first time tommy has punched their kid)

during the meeting tommy comes down off his high of his anxiety attack and is really exhausted, and whenever hes asked a question he whispers it puffy and she says it for him. philza doesnt get a word in and before he knows it the meeting is over.

as they stand up, he tries to get tommy to come with him to go home but sam is faster than him and he goes "hey tommy! lets go and do some crosswords in my classroom yeah?" and tommy is for it, one bc he loves doing crosswords and itll help him calm down a bit more, and two he does n o t want to speak to philza.

n they leave and philza is left with puffy and the other staff member who are minding their fucking business bc heaven knows they dont want to cross puffy whens she in a rage. and they all expect like an outburst of anger and yelling, and them having to pull her away so she doesnt murder him where he stands but no, its not that at all.

philza turns to puffy to say something but he stops dead in his tracks when he sees the way shes looking at him, theres an inferno of rage building up inside her, but she just goes,"he's not your son." and leaves.

*holds this gently* thank you for the,,,.. thank you for the food i’m. i’m soft now. :( anyway haha fuck c!phil he can go suck a cows ass amiright!!!! :DD

[buckthegrump]

IBTHNTTTY - 16

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Y/n hates Bucky Barnes. Absolutely loathes him what makes it worse is that she has to share her office with him. Now with a promotion on the horizon she has to find a way to work with him and not against him.

Word Count: 1533

Warnings: swears, angst,  i think that’s all for this chapter

A/n: listen, i -

Thursday came a lot quicker than Y/n would’ve wanted. But it was time to go over to Tony Stark’s house, according to Bucky he was the only one with enough room to host everyone. Bucky offered to pick her up and take her, so he was showing up at 6:30.

At one point Y/n almost said they should just hang out before the dinner because it seemed silly to say goodbye at 5 then hello again in an hour and a half. But she needed to get herself together before the dinner.

Oh god, she was going to dinner with Bucky’s friends. Essentially his family, they called it family dinner for fuck’s sake.

She’d changed her outfit a total of five times. And she finally landed on a pair of black leggings (jeans could suck her ass) and a very glamorous sweatshirt. She’d called Bucky and he assured her three times that her current outfit was fine, he wouldn’t be dressed any better. And this was her best sweatshirt. 

But that wasn’t making her any less nervous, she was about to go back and change when Bucky called her.

“I’m here and if you change again,” he said, not bothering with a greeting, “we will be late so grab your purse and get down here.”

“But what if -”

“Don’t make me come up there and drag you down here. I’ll do it and it won’t be pretty,” he said.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But I’m driving.”

She walked out of her place and down the hall. 

“Why would you drive? My car’s here I know where we’re going, and it would just be -”

“I’m driving,” Y/n insisted. The truth was if she had to sit and watch Bucky drive one more time, she was going to lose it.

“Fine, it’s ridiculous but fine.”

* * *

“Do you know how to drive a stick?” Bucky asked while they drove down a mostly deserted road.

“If you’re making me drive out into the woods so you can kill me -”

“First of all, you forced me to ride in your car so that’s on you. Second of all you haven’t answered my question,” Bucky sang.

“No, I don’t know how to drive a stick shift. And you of all people are not teaching me,” she scoffed.

“Why the hell not?”

Y/n started giggling. There were about a million reasons that she could think of that, the biggest one being that if he was a good teacher she would lose her mind. Just imagining Bucky as a patient and gentle teacher made her blood boil.

But instead of saying that, she said, “I would make a terrible student. We would no longer be friends if you tried to teach me that.”

“I don’t think so,” Bucky said as he shifted in his seat, “I think you would catch on quickly. And I know that we would still be friends.”

“Think what you want, I’m a terror.”

“I think I’ve seen you at your worst.”

“Ha, ha,” Y/n barked, “No, you really haven’t. It’s funny because I went crazy for a spell there in college.”

“Did you?” Bucky sat up straight.

“Yeah, I would just go bonkers after 11:30. I think my mental health wasn’t the best during my senior year. I think I had a few psychotic breaks and that’s why I went crazy,” Y/n bit her cheek, “Ohh, some much makes sense now.”

“I’m sure your therapist will be glad you had this break through.”

“I’m sure they would be happy, if I had one. I’ve been before but I kind of stopped going because I didn’t have any time and then I just kept not having time.”

They were quiet the rest of the way, the only thing that kept them from being in silence was the music. 

Y/n parked the car in front of a ridiculously large house. She glared at Bucky who shrugged.

“Not my house,” he said.

“I kind of want to punch him in the face,” she muttered as she got out of the car.

They walked up to the door and Y/n went to knock but Bucky just opened the door and walked in.

“Tony!” He yelled. “I’m here!”

“Good,” a voice yelled back. Y/n walked through the door just in time to watch Tony walk into the entry way as he said, “Did you bring that girl that you’re in love with?”

Bucky put his head in his hand and groaned. 

“I’m not in love -”

“Don’t lie to me,” Tony spoke as he walked towards Y/n, “You must be Y/n. We’ve heard a lot of things about you. All good. Well some bad -ish. It’s a little unclear on how we as a group are supposed to feel about you because sometimes you come off as a major bitch.”

Y/n couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not, but she went with the most likely option of him being completely serious, and now she wanted to vomit.

“Tony, stop,” Bucky scolded, “You just met her. You can’t make her think you actually hate her within the first 30 seconds of meeting.”

Bucky placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her into the living room. All of his other friends were sitting around chatting until she and Bucky were standing in the archway. They all fell silent and stared at them. 

Y/n turned to Bucky about to tell him that she couldn’t do this and was going home. When a familiar voice rang in her ears.

“Y/n,” she turned to see Dr. Sam stand up and walk towards her, “It’s good to see you up and moving about.”

“Dr. Sam, just the person I wanted to see. I was going to ask you if you still wanted to specialize in -”

“Ok,” Bucky cut her off. “Y/n, this is Steve, Pepper, and Bruce.You’ve had the ‘pleasure’ of meeting Tony already. And you clearly already know Sam.”

“I’m still upset that Sam got to meet you before the rest of us,” Steve said as he got up. He offered his hand to Y/n, who took it apprehensively. “I’m Steve, Bucky’s childhood friend. Don’t worry about what Tony said, he’s a dick that doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Pepper, Burce, and I are so much nicer than Sam and Tony.”

“I helped take care of her while she was sick,” Sam gasped.

“I don’t see how commenting on my ass and tits are helping,” Y/n joked and instantly regretted it.

“Ooo, Bucky,” Tony said reentering the living room, “You didn’t tell us she was funny.”

“You made comments on her body while she was sick?” Pepper asked.

Sam stumbled his way through an explanation as they all seemingly resumed their conversations. Y/n interjected things where she could but they were talking at a speed that she was having trouble keeping up with. 

* * *

Dinner had been served and everyone was being quiet, which Y/n knew was uncharacteristic of them.

“Are y’all gonna start questioning me aren’t you?” Y/n asked.

“Normally yes,” Tony answered. “But our usual interrogator is busy tonight.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Bucky said around the food in his mouth, “Natasha already loves her.”

“They know Natasha?” Y/n looked at him.

“Yeah, she is one of our friends. But she hasn’t told anyone here, I’m not sure why.”

“Probably wanted us to come to our conclusions about you,” Steve said, “So, tell me. . .”

Steve and the rest of Bucky’s friends questioned Y/n and she took them with ease, or at least she would say she did. 

After what seemed like hours they let Y/n and Bucky leave. Once they were in the car again she sighed and pressed her hands to her face.

“I think you handled it well,” Bucky said. “And I think they liked you.”

“Why did it feel like they were questioning me as your girlfriend? With the ‘what are your intentions’? Or the ‘don’t you hurt him’ comments.” Y/n stared at him with wide eyes. “Do they think we’re dating? Wait -”

“No,” Bucky said, “That’s just their kind of humor. I never told them that we were dating, they’re just dicks sometimes.”

Y/n sighed as she started driving. There was a long silence before Bucky spoke.

“Is the idea of dating me really so bad?”

Y/n chuckled and made it a point to keep her eyes on the road. “No, not you. But the idea that someone wants to date me is very laughable.”

Bucky didn’t respond, and the rest of the car ride was quiet.

* * *

They got back to Y/n’s place and she walked him back to his car. She was about to bid him a goodnight when he stopped right in front of her and faced her.

“You have to stop thinking that you are undateable,” he whispered, “It’s simply not true.”

She chuckled. “What are you gonna do? Date me to prove your point?”

A half smile made its way to his face as he shook his head. “Good night, Y/n.”

[rosesvioletshardy]

life as we know it - b.h. chapter 8

a/n: i’m posting today because i needed some sort of mental break form everything happening. i was about to go to a blm protest yesterday in my city until i heard what was happening and before it escalated too far and people were running for safety. i’ve been signing petitions and donating as much as i could non-stop and it really got to me. really hope you guys like this chapter

black lives matter

masterlist

summary: when their two best friends die, it’s up to ben and y/n to take care of their goddaughter and face the challenges that come with it

# of words: 3,557

warnings: reader being a dick at one point, FLUFF, panic attack

not edited so i apologize for any mistakes

taglist: @myfatbottomedgirls, @evemarie05, @suckerfor-fanfics

--

(my gif below, please credit if using)

july

a couple of months have passed and  ben and y/n have managed to do everything their way and the way christian and lennon would’ve wanted them to. they had both seen therapists to truly get in touch with the situation and there was no more freaking out and ever since the fiasco about them “dating” and charlie being *their* daughter. sean on the other hand needed his plan to go quick before she understood her real feelings and how she truly felt and broke up with him. a lot of people didn’t believe that what they were saying was true and would rather believe a gossip site rather than the true source itself because they’d think it would be a good way to promote more self image and business. 

when it came out, sean was furious. she knew it would happen and tried to call him to explain the situation that they weren’t together and charlie wasn’t their daughter but he knew that. he wanted her to feel guilty  

flashback

“did you see the news?” he asked 

“yeah listen, ben already talked to his publicist about it and the daily mail is going to post another article about it’s not true, he’s not my boyfriend and charlie is our biological daughter.”

“he better. i swear to god he ruins everything.” he told her gritting his teeth, and grabbing her wrists and throwing them away 

“no he doesn’t.”

“yes he does, but i need to keep making sure he doesn’t touch you in any way possible okay? you’re mine only.”

“i’m yours only.” she told him tears creeping up in her eyes

flashback over

there were some ups and downs like recently charlie decided she needed to go number 2 while they were giving her a bath that turned into a doctor’s visit the next day

“she still has soap on her head.” she told ben 

“yeah i can see” he said as he moved the shower head and covered charlie’s eyes as she played with the rubber duck

before ben could cover her eyes, she saw charlie do her poop face

“she’s making her poop face” y/n voiced

“What?”

“her poop face! that’s the face she makes when she needs to go. she’s going to poop in the tub” she yelled picking charlie up to take her to the toilet

ben started to freak out as he moved out of the way to take the lock off of the toilet that was installed

“hurry up! she’s going to do it any minute!” “‘m trying! i don’t remember how i opened these!” ben panicked

“she’s going to poop on me. here let me try” she panicked giving charlie to ben

y/n then began to struggle like ben did and kept trying to pull the latch before doing the unthinkable and taking ben’s beanie and holding it under the baby

“no, no, no MY HAT! oh my god that’s my hat” 

“i’m so sorry. i’ll buy you a new one. i promise.” she giggled

“oh it’s funny. yeah, laugh it off. that’s real funny” ben said starting to laugh along

“wait what is that?”

“what?” 

“that lump on her stomach”

“‘t’s her belly button. she’s an outie.” ben told her

“No, that was not there yesterday when i changed her.” she told him

“okay. we’ll make a doctor's appointment for tomorrow. let’s just get her cleaned up and ready for bed.”

that was all on her mind throughout the night and before the appointment. she had taken charlie on her break so ben can have some alone time for a while seeing that he’s been busy and wants one day without hearing the wiggles music all day.

here she was, holding charlie and pacing back and forth talking to tyler about an event

“we can’t afford to be snobby. it’s our biggest event. just bring out all the most popular foods, you know? anything that’s sweet and could be counted as finger-food.” she told him before the doctor came in

“sorry to keep you waiting. my mother wouldn’t hang up.” the doctor said

“that’s fine. i know the feeling sometimes”

“so you are charlie’s new guardian, is that correct?” dr. smith asked looking at charlie’s chart

“yes that is correct.”

“i’m really sorry about what happened to her parents and your friends” he said as he gestured for her to sit charlie on the table

“thank you.”

“okay. now, how is she doing? is she sleeping okay? regular bowel movements”

“well not at first but now it’s very regular. but she has this protrusion on her stomach and i don’t know what it is. i don’t know anything about kids. lennon was the first one of my friends to have a baby and she was amazing with charlie. she would be the first person i would call about this. i-i mean, she was the first person i called about everything. and it hurts that i can’t call her and i’d really like to tell her “oh my god what the hell were you thinking? I mean you could’ve left me with your pearls or the YSL clutch. this is just a little too much and hard. i don’t even know what i’m doing even with the help.” oh god i’m ranting. i’m so sorry.” y/n said taking a deep breath

“it’s fine. a lot of parents do that, especially first time parents. so, charlie’s got an umbilical hernia. it’s nothing to be worried about, they mostly go away on their own, but we’ll keep watching it.” dr. smith told her taking out his prescription pad and began to write

“wait, you said it goes away on its own.”

“this is for you.” he finished writing down and giving it to her

she took the paper and began to read it out loud

“one bottle of pinot noir, one to two glasses as needed.”

“or white, same dosage though. look, you and whoever is with you are doing is pretty incredible. but don’t forget to give yourselves a break every now and then. Okay? So i’ll have the nurse set you up in a week? bye charlie, you’re going to be okay. it was nice to meet you.” dr. smith told her shaking her hand

“you too, and thank you.”

y/n left the building with charlie in her stroller and they began their journey back home. on the way, they ended up seeing sean but he wasn’t alone. at first she thought “maybe it’s just a co-worker of his out for lunch or maybe just an old friend.” but then she saw what she thought was the worst thing ever. he was cheating on her. she didn’t know what to feel other than betrayed and she hadn’t felt like this in a way since she found out about the death. wiping the lone tear away, she walked away and straight home and wondered how long it had been going on or if ben knew.

when she got home, she was met with what seemed like drumming. taking charlie out of her stroller and down for a nap, she walked into the family room to find ben sitting at a drum set and looking at music sheets. 

“what the fuck benjamin. what is this?!” y/n exclaimed

“well, as you can see, it is a drum set. they are usually used by drummers for band and are set up in the ba-” ben tried to explain in a sarcastic tone before getting cut off

“i know what a drum is. i mean what is it doing in the room? why do you even have it?” 

“this new role i got involves drumming and i said i could play so here we are now.” 

“but you can’t play.”

“exactly that’s why i’m practicing. why does it look like you were crying?” he asked curiously after seeing her puffy eyes

“um no reason. what is the role that you need to learn drumming so badly?” 

“okay. do you promise not to tell anyone?”

“yeah i promise”

“this is really private and it hasn’t been announced yet so do you really prom-” “yes, ben i fucking promise. Jesus”

“fine. geez. i’m going to be playing roger taylor in the queen biopic” ben told her really excited

this caused her to laugh and she couldn’t understand why. she didn’t mean to be rude it just sort of happened.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to laugh. i just couldn’t get the thought of you playing one of my childhood crushes. oh my. how long have you managed to keep this from me?” 

“can you please leave me alone now? i don’t have that much time to learn a shit ton of songs. and i went to the meeting about it a couple of  months ago, remember when i left in the middle of dinner? then i started lessons after i got the part and somehow managed to pull off one song so far.” ben told her fixing one of the cymbals

that’s why ben was constantly gone for a while and they had to ask charlie’s babysitter because she couldn’t take care of charlie and go to work at the same time

“now can i leave for practice? i can’t believe i’m telling you this, but we shoot the live aid scene soon and joe, rami, and gwilym are still trying to get to know one another?” ben asked

“yeah, sure.” she said before continuing

“why don’t you invite them over? i can make dinner for all of you.” 

“are you sure about that? wouldn’t it be too much?” 

“no, it’s completely fine. have you forgotten how many places i’ve catered? or how many people i serve for a day when i work? it’s practically my specialty.” 

“fine. but you better not tell anything embarrassing that’s happened to us so far.” ben warned

“ooo i’m so scared” y/n exclaimed in a teasing way

“watch it.” ben warned pointing at her with a drumstick

“fine.”

after their exchange, y/n began to look around the kit as ben got ready to leave. walking into the kitchen she began dinner for later in the night and made something that ben could easily heat up later.

“alright, i’m leaving. bye charlie girl.” ben said giving charlie a kiss on her head as she continued to sleep

hours passed and it was now around 8 in the evening and y/n took the doctor's advice and decided to drink some pinot noir. for some reason she managed to handle her alcohol this time and not send anything risky. ben walked in the house to find her giggling as she had managed to drink a little more than usual.

“BEN! oh my god. thank god you’re here. have i told you how much of a great dad you’ll be? i mean i really hate you but you’re like a great dad or “dad” with charlie i guess but still. i’m literally going to be so jealous of whoever gets to have your kids. oh my god i feel so good! but there is one thing i’ve realized the whole time she has been asleep and it’s that i’m never going to take a great bath in this house. this is a shower house. why does it always look like you never brush your hair? that must save a lot of time.” she told him

“how’s that wine treating you? you not going to send anyone anything?”

“no. my phone is in the kitchen so i wouldn’t touch it while i drink. oh. did you want some? because i can definitely share.”  

“nah i’m good.”

“maybe it’s because you don’t worry as much. that’s what lennon told me when they set us up. she said “honey, you just got your ass dumped by your boyfriend of two years and cheated on you, you need a good time.” then you showed up! your charming self shows up at my door and it’s a total asshole at the door. and now i’m about to raise a kid with said asshole.” 

ben didn’t know what to feel but hurt. he really thought that she would come around but clearly she didn’t

“oh god i’m going to regret this huh? i shouldn’t have poured my feelings out to that doctor and just listened to the therapist instead.” she said putting the glass down

“come on. off to bed, i think you’ve had enough.”

“i’ve had so many things thought of that i wanted to say but i can’t remember them” 

“‘kay so you’re a horny drunk and a belligerent drunk? That’ll be a fun next 18 years:” ben told her as they started to walk up the stairs

“i’m a fun drunk too. it just depends on what i drink.” she said as they heard the doorbell ring

ben went to the door to see who it was thinking it was one of their neighbors asking for something but it wasn’t

“Hi”

“hi. i’m janine williams. your caseworker from social services?” the woman said shaking ben's hand as y/n creeped up behind him

“you were told that we’d be making a few unannounced visits.”

“yeah. this is definitely unannounced. just give me one minute.” ben told her closing the door

“social services are at the door. so go and wash your face and get your head out of your ass and hope that you’re as good at acting like you are baking. you got like 5 minutes to sober up.” ben whisper yelled at her pointing towards the stairs

“please come in. i’ll show you around” ben said as he opened the door

she tried her best to sober up as much as she could while ben showed janine around the house and making sure that they could do what they needed to do

“are you sure you don’t want to see it again?” 

“nope, twice is usually my limit.” 

“i’m so sorry. i was finishing up cleaning the dishes. i didn’t have time to do them in the morning so with charlie down i got to do them” she said as they saw a few dishes in the sink

“okay. um let’s get started then”

y/n and ben sat next to each other while janine sat opposite of them

“let’s just talk. just get the sense of the both of you, your plans. where do you see yourselves in, say, five years?”

“OH I KNOW!” y/n practically yelled as ben tried to calm her down

“i own a small bakery, hopefully a full restaurant. anyways i hope to own my own frozen food, organic of course. but charlie, i didn’t include her but she is a part of my plan.”

“that’s fine. Thank you. ben? where do you see yourself in five years?” 

“wow, well hopefully i’ll still be acting. um like she said Charlie is a part of my plan to. i want to show her what i do-” ben started before getting cut off

“that’s what i wanted to talk to you about. the acting. i know actors manage to pull it off all the time but can you do it? can you still make sure that charlie will be provided and seen if y/n is needed for something?”

“yes. of course. with my new film i’ll be shooting here in london and around but i won’t be too far away from them.” ben told her

this was a surprise to her but it shouldn’t have been because of what it was about 

“there’s also another thing i’m concerned about. the dog-”

“yes. frankie. don’t worry, she is completely trained and would never harm charlie and pretty much has been like a protector to her. she knows when to listen and what to do.”

“okay, good. one last thing is the relationship between you two. i did read the daily mail and what they have said and didn’t believe them because who would. but i want to make sure that nothing in this relationship could cause any problems for charlie, especially when she gets older.”

“i’m actually in a relationship right now. and let me tell, it’s not so hot right now but he doesn’t know that. i can promise you that the problems between ben and i can be completely totally worked out.” y/n giggled out 

“exactly. if we have any problems i’m sure we would be able to work them out no matter what the situation is in a nice calm matter for charlie.”

“Good, well not with your relationship, hope everything's alright but with you two living together, the only thing we are concerned with is charlie losing more people she’s close too. well i think that’s it. just know we’ll be making a couple more not to many visits by the end of the year and if there’s any problems, just call us.” janine told them standing up shaking their hands 

when ben closed the door, he began to wonder what she was talking about and thought about whether it was a good time to tell her about what he heard sean say at the funeral 2 months before. 

“there’s something i need to tell you. you probably won’t remember because i can tell you’re still a little tipsy but it’s about sean” he started 

“a couple of months ago during the funeral reception, i overheard sean say something. he’s cheating on you and he wants to marry you because he thinks he’ll be able to get your company and expand it to become more rich.” 

“i know he’s cheating on me. i saw him earlier today that’s why it looked like i was crying.” y/n explained as she put her head on the couch pillow 

“we’ve had a rocky relationship from the start but i was too blind and naive to notice.” 

“so are you going to break up with him?”

“no.”

“no? why? he broke your heart, he’s controlling-”

“you think i don’t know that? every guy i have been with has been like that”

“what about me? we didn’t date but you don’t think i’m like that”

“no i don’t but you deserve someone who’s better.” she told him before continuing 

“i’m going to sleep. g’night ben”

“wait.”

ben did the unthinkable and grabbed her hand, turned her around and kissed her. it was too much to process but she kissed him back and put her hand up to his face 

“please break up with him.” ben whispered to her when they pulled away as their forehead touched

“i’ll try. i promise” she whispered back

the both laid in their beds that night and replayed the kiss in their head over and over again. y/n did have a plan to break up with sean. she didn’t know if it would work seeing that there were possibilities of what could happen. ben couldn’t stop smiling and felt like a teenage girl who just had her first kiss by the boy she liked. he never would’ve thought that the woman he took a booty call in front of a year ago would end up living with him and raising a child with him. 

throughout the night, she kept tossing and turning. not being able to sleep, she went downstairs to find ben peacefully asleep on the couch. she always felt guilty that he had to sleep there but he was too stubborn to let her sleep on the couch while he had the bed. ben woke up from noise being made in the kitchen and quickly retreated only to find her drinking some water. putting his slipper down, he walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder, shocking her

“oh shit you scared me” she said putting the glass down and her other hand over her heart

“yeah sorry. i was just wondering why you were up”

“uh i couldn’t sleep. too much going on. what are you doing up?”

“i heard something, thought it was a burglar”

“and you decided to defend yourself with a shoe?”

“hey shoes can be weapons”

“okay, well i guess we should go back to sleep. i’d also like to apologize for earlier. i know i was drunk but it still doesn’t excuse me and my actions for what i said.”

“it’s fine, i felt the same way in a way i guess at first but i guess i’m over it and yeah we should.” he said as they both awkwardly stood there

as they started to go their separate ways, y/n stopped in her tracks and decided to ask ben something she wouldn’t never thought of 

“hey ben?” 

“yeah?”

“cou-could you stay with me? i don’t know if i’ll be able to sleep, if you don’t that’s okay.” she started to stutter out as her face turned red

“no, no it’s fine. and i’ll stay with you” he told her as he walked over to her and taking her hand

they stepped inside the room and got into the bed. at first they were facing away from each other before they turned around to each other. ben grabbed her waist and pulled her into him. she felt his chest rise and slowly falling back, taking in his scent which consisted of his cologne and cigarettes mixed together. y/n soon felt her eyes close as she felt safe in his arms.

[shirtlesssammy]

2x02: Everybody Loves a Clown

Then:

Dean wore cute hospital PJs once. And I’m being really flippant over a very cool Then sequence. 

Now:

Medford, Wisconsin

At a fair, the locals are enjoying the rides, and carnies, and clowns (and fire breathers--I mean, I spent many a summer at the county fair in my youth, but I guess, never the one in Medford, WI...wow.) A family with a young girl is enjoying the day. The daughter sees a clown in the distance and waves. 

Yay CLOWNS! If the fucking thing didn’t look like Pennywise’s depressed cousin, maybe I wouldn’t be so skeptical right now. 

Later that night the family drives home in their little Smart Car when the daughter sees Pennywise’s cousin again. Even later, the daughter, hopped up on cotton candy and Fun Dip, can’t sleep. She looks outside to see Pennywise’s cousin chillin’ in her backyard. TOTES NOT CREEPY. She races downstairs to let him inside. 

Meanwhile, the brothers give their father a hunter’s funeral. Sam is overwhelmed and wants to know if John said anything to Dean before he died. WHelps, NO Sam, NOT AT ALL. Dean lets a Single Man Tear fall because he’s not emotional and not lying and not a big ball of pain and anger and relief and guilt. 

One week later, Dean’s at Bobby’s fixing up Baby (and finally grooving to the actual music of the show, thx Netflix for always ruining my season 1 experience). 

For Is This Pornography Science:

Sam wants Dean to admit SOMETHING. Dean wants to bury it all REAL deep and continue to fix his soul car in silence. 

Sam also has a voicemail on their dad’s phone from a woman named Ellen. They agree to head out to find the woman. 

Sidenote: I love that the minivan only plays AM 70’s music. GOLD. 

Anyway, they end up at a place called the Roadhouse. They head inside to the seemingly deserted bar. There’s a man sleeping on the pool table. Dean is accosted by a young woman with a shotgun. He gets the better hand without issue though. She punches him though and Sam comes out from the back at the end of another gun. Boy, this is a real fun crowd. 

Meet Ellen and Jo Harvelle. They know Sam and Dean, but Sam and Dean don’t know them. And I know John is fresh in his grave, but fuck you, man. Way to isolate and terrorize your children their whole lives. Ellen tells them she could help with the demon. She then puts it together that John is not alright. Sam admits that the demon probably got him. 

Ellen tells them that Ash can help them with their cause. Enter: Ash and all his mullet glory. 

Dean and Ash flirt unnecessarily. Ash is a genius and can’t believe what John accomplished. (I mean, what does a genius have to do with hunting, but ok. Sam and Dean are geniuses too but I’d say it’s their street smarts that’s kept them in the game this long.) 

Anyway, Ash can track the demon. He just needs time. Dean tells Ash that he really likes his hair, and then the camera thought that was too gay so it cuts to Jo’s butt. It’s a cute butt and all, but Dean’s still very bisexual. 

Sam asks Ellen about a folder of case information. 

Dean asks Jo about how Ellen got caught up in the hunter life. Jo’s dad was a hunter. He passed away. There’s a moment of Dean thinking about Jo in more than a friendly stranger way but that passes really quickly. Jo calls him out but Sam interrupts (as he does). He’s caught a case!

Sam actively wants to pursue a killer clown case. What kind of upside down world are we living in? Oh right, the world where Sam works cases to process/push through his grief. The brothers try to figure out what’s happening. Dean wonders if it’s a cursed object since it’s moving from town to town with the carnival and it’s happened in the past. Time to find that needle in a haystack!

At the carnival, a disillusioned kid wanders around the funhouse with his dad. He sees Pennywise’s cousin. 

He’s scared but his dad tells him they’re his friends. That night, little Evan lets his new friend into his home to murder his parents. Boy, I dread thinking about the panel of therapists he’ll need in life.

The brothers decide to pose as carnival workers to blend in to find the cursed object. Dean immediately gets off on the wrong foot with one of the carnival workers, who is blind and has an apparent hair trigger temper. Papazian, the worker, is also adept at whirling blades right into a bullseye which is definitely #goals. Dean then pulls an older brother and makes Sam sit in the clown chair during their interview. “This place is a refuge for outcasts,” the carnival manager says. SOLD!

The boys patrol the carnival with EMF meters, until Sam discovers a real human skeleton dangling in the funhouse. YEESH. Papazian overhears Dean talking about the case over his phone and stops him to ask about “EMF” and “skeletons.” Dean scrambles for an explanation. Um, they’re writing a book about...ghosts! Phew! Saved it, Dean Bean. Before the end of the day Sam and Dean witness another kid who sees an invisible clown. Dun dun DUN. 

Sam and Dean tail the family to their home and then sit outside waiting for the clown to appear. It’s much later when a light turns on in the house. The little girl is awake and she’s ready to bring in her new playmate!

My GOD. 

Dean and Sam intercede in the most shotgunniest of ways, by breaking into the house and blasting away at the clown. The clown suddenly fades to nothing and launches out the door.  

Invisible clown on the loose? G R E A T

Later that morning, the Winchesters ditch the van in the woods off the side of the road.

While they walk, they discuss emotions. Sam pushes Dean to grieve in a healthier, more open way. But Dean is OKAY, he’s FINE! He pushes Sam in return to deal with their Dad’s death and stop trying to bury himself in hunting. 

Later, with emotions safely squashed into a tiny space in their chests again, they go over the case. Ellen’s crew turned up a likely suspect: they’re dealing with a rakshasa, which feeds on people and can turn invisible. They eat every 20-30 years so it lines up with the earlier carnival. Carnival manager Cooper worked at both carnivals, and is now their top suspect. 

Sam breaks into Cooper’s trailer, while Dean heads to Papazian to borrow a brass rakshasa-killing knife. Papazian invites Dean to look for the knife in a trunk, only Dean discovers a clown wig inside. “You?” Dean asks before Papazian morphs out on him.

Dean breaks out of the trailer and runs into Sam. He didn’t get the knife, but he found the killer! Good job? Unfortunately Papazian is currently in invisible mode. Sam races for the funhouse to get some brass, heading for the piping hot pipe organ to steal a few blades. 

In the funhouse, knives whirl out of nowhere, pinning Dean to the wall. He pulls the fire extinguisher system and the invisible shape gets trapped in the mist and strobe light. The Winchesters stab it with a brass pipe and it fades away into a pile of clothes. 

Back at Ellen’s bar, Jo congratulates them on a successful hunt. She heavily hints that Sam’s a third wheel and Sam miraculously leaves so that Jo can make her move.

Dean admits that he’d be heavily on the side of massive flirtation, but he’s been having a rough time lately. “Wrong place, wrong time,” Jo surmises. Yep! 

Ash wanders in. He scraped out all the data from John’s notes and turned it into a genuine demon tracking program on his computer. He’ll notify the Winchesters if omens turn up. 

Ellen offers the Winchesters spare beds but they head back to Bobby’s so Dean can drink and work on his car and pretend that he doesn’t feel things. Sam admits that he’s got a lot to work through about their Dad’s death. He feels guilty that he never mended fences with their dad, and admits that he isn’t okay. He tells Dean that he knows he’s feeling the same. Dean admits his own feelings, except instead of words he uses a crowbar to bash the living hell out of the rear trunk of his soul. I mean car. Dean bby

DEAN SMASH:

I feel like a friggin’ soccer mom!

Was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?

I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?

“Planes crash!” “And apparently clowns kill!”

I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches

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