#I’m on my knees Donovan please go through with this

[danhausensboots]

YO WHAT THE WHAT

[bunnylovesani]

You Belong To Me

Summary: You find out about your husband Spencer’s affair with another woman. It's safe to say you don’t have the reaction either of them were expecting.

Content warnings: infidelity, voyeurism, facetime sex, humiliation, p in v sex, creampie

WC: 2.3k

“Who is she?” You shudder with disgust as you stare into the sunken eyes of your husband. He looked almost unrecognisable to you now that you’d learned of his betrayal. 

“Her name’s Maeve. She’s a geneticist who’s been helping me with those headaches.” He sighs resolutely, knowing there was no point attempting to hide this from you. He didn’t mean to let things escalate but you’d been going through a rough patch and Maeve was just so understanding- she embodied all the things you lacked.

“Did you fuck her?” Your voice trembled with anger, goosebumps piercing through your thin blouse as you braced yourself for his response. 

“No. It was a purely emotional affair.” He stated a little too coldly. 

“Ah. And I suppose that makes it alright, does it?” You scoffed, getting up from the sofa you were curled up on with Spencer mere minutes earlier before he came out with his crushing confession. 

“Of course not. There are no excuses.” He looked down, not daring to meet your appalled gaze. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.” 

“Spencer Reid speechless? I never thought I’d see the day.” You chuckle darkly, fidgeting with your wedding band. You loved him with all your heart, the day you said your vows was the happiest of your life- now that he’d broken his, you weren’t sure how much any of it really meant. 

“Were you going to leave me for her?” Against your best efforts, your voice broke with a pitiful crack that left Spencer with a pained expression on his handsome face. 

“No! No, I promise. I would never leave you.” He interjected, leaving no room for doubt. “She was just a distraction. You’re it for me.”

You sunk back into the plushy couch with a defeated sigh, unwelcome tears pricking your glossy eyes. 

“I don’t know, Spence…” You sniffled, beginning to slide the ring off your finger. 

“Baby.” He took your hands into his own as he dropped to his knees before you, still in his work suit. “I messed up. I messed up in the worst way possible. I’m a fucking idiot. But if you forgive me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please, my love. I’ll do anything.” 

An unfamiliar desperation tinged his voice that made your gut twist into an iron knot. He looked pathetic right now; kneeling on the floor with furrowed eyebrows as he pleaded to save his marriage. 

“I want you to call her.” You exhaled sharply after an excruciating moment of contemplation.

“You- what?” His forehead wrinkles deepened with shock. 

“You heard me. Call the bitch.” He gulped at your request and his eyes darted around frantically as he analysed every possible outcome.

“A video call. I want to see what the little homewrecker looks like.” You spat as he remained motionless, mouth agape and eyes narrowed. “Unless you’d rather get a divorce?” 

“I’ll do it.” He shook his head clumsily, rattled by the whole ordeal. 

“Wonderful. Come sit next to me and prop your phone up on the table.” You patted the spot besides you as Spencer stumbled over, still confused by your unpredictability. 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Start dialling.” You snapped snarkily as he scrolled through his phone with shaky hands. Locating her contact, his fingers hovered above the call button. 

“Dr. Donovan, huh?” You peered over. “The one you told me had been helping you with a case?” 

“Y-yeah.” He whispered ashamedly. 

“Now this I have to see.” You murmured bitterly as the line began to ring. 

“Spence, hi! Wasn’t expecting you to call at this time.” The bubbly voice of the other woman rang out through his speakers. Your eyes zeroed in on the pixelated image of a brunette woman with a choppy fringe. 

“Why, do you guys have a set time for your little calls? When I’m sleeping, perhaps?” You popped into the frame, grinning wildly. 

“Oh. H-hello. Spencer, what’s going on?” She looked to him for help but he just sat there resignedly, knowing he couldn't appease you both. 

“So you’re the one who’s been helping herself to my husband.” You chuckled disingenously. “I thought you’d be a lot prettier.” You neared the phone to get a better look. “Really, baby? Her?” 

Spencer looked away, not daring to say a word to his wife or his lover.

“And you? You don’t have anything to say?” You opened the floor to Maeve.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her cheeks reddened as she stuttered, her nauseating voice ricocheting off the walls and worming its way into your ears. 

“That’s okay. I don’t need you to talk. Just watch.” You hissed in such a searing way that it made her feel threatened and inclined to obey. 

Spencer looked up at you in confusion but his doubts were swiftly answered when you loosened his tie and ripped off his collared shirt with a murderous lust. 

“Baby, what-“

“You’re not going to say a word.” You smoothly replied, voice barely audible. 

You observed his sad eyes, entrenched with light crows feet that worsened with the weight of stress and regret. You weren’t sure how you were even going to begin to process his betrayal but right now, you had to take care of her first. What better way to drive home the point that he was yours than to show her? 

Unbuckling his heavy leather belt with an urgency you’d never felt, you glanced over to make sure Maeve was watching. Sure enough, the demure woman couldn’t peel her eyes away from the sight unfolding before her. 

As you pulled down his pleated black trousers, you unbuttoned your blouse and pulled down your skirt, throwing the articles of clothing behind you in a rushed hurl. Trailing your fingers down his boxers with your engagement ring flashing in front of the camera, you settled on his waistband. 

“Now, Spence. You’re going to fuck me in front of her.” 

His breath hitched as the unholy words left your smirking mouth. 

“And you-” You turned to face Maeve, who’s hand engulfed her mouth in panic. “You are going to watch it all.“

“No! You’re insane-“

“Or I’ll tell everyone at your work that you’re a home wrecking whore.” You dropped the threat like a hammer and it instantly silenced her.

“That’s what I thought.” 

A twisted grin consumed your face as you looked back at Spencer, who licked his lips at the sight before him- his wife eagerly spread open on the couch, waiting to be filled up. You weren’t sure whether it was an anxious tick or a sign of arousal and frankly, you didn’t care. 

“Show me how sorry you are.” You breathed heavily as you hooked your black lace panties and pulled them to the side.

Needing no further initiative, Spencer lowered his boxers and let his heavy cock spring free from its confines. Despite sex being the last thing on his mind, he couldn’t help the natural reaction his body had to you- it didn’t matter how many times he’d seen it in the last 5 years of your marriage, the sight of you split open for him was always enough to bring him crumbling to his knees. 

Shuffling closer, he let a long string of spit dribble down to your pussy before smearing it around with his painfully swollen tip. He was in a state of delirium and shock as his body moved as though it weren't his own- whatever the consequences, he knew he couldn't lose you.

“You see that, Maeve?” You cocked your head to the side. “That’s all mine.” 

You moaned shakily as he pushed himself in, coating his shaft in your wetness. 

“Isn’t that right, baby? Tell her.” You ordered your husband as he grabbed the back of your thigh, pushing against it to go even deeper. 

“That’s right.” He groaned as he plunged his cock in as deep as it could go, his skin flush against yours. 

“Who do you belong to?” You gazed up at him, running your fingers through his messy curls. 

“You, baby. I belong to you.” He whispers before turning to face the camera. “I belong to her. She owns me.” 

Maeve let out a short huff of disbelief, wanting to look away but struggling. 

“Harder.” You choked out a whisper as your body trembled under his touch, longing for more, aching to possess and to be possessed. 

His thrusts sped up in response, his hips smacking against yours fervently as you clawed at his back like a wounded animal. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” He whined as he took you by the face with both hands, forcing you to look clearly at him. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Keep going.” You whispered frantically- the feeling of being perfectly stuffed paired with your volatile emotional state left you teetering on the edge of collapse. 

“She means nothing to me.” He grunted between thrusts and you bore a wide toothy grin at the capriciously sweet words. Real or not, you knew they had to hurt her- and that brought you a sadistic amount of pleasure. 

“What were you thinking going for her?” You tutted as he pounded into you like it was the last time, creamy arousal glistening in the dimly lit lounge. “I’m so much better than her. She’s so ugly. Isn’t she, Spence?” 

“Y-yes.” He whimpered. “She’s nowhere near as beautiful as you.” 

Satisfied enough with his taunting, you pushed him back with a bitter hand against his chest and climbed onto his lap with increasing desperation. 

“Bet you wish you could ride him like this, don’t you?” You sneered as you stroked his wet cock with a couple squelchy pumps. “But you never will. This dick is all mine.” 

You lowered yourself onto him, adjusting to his size with breathy moans as he threw his head back in deluge. Bouncing on it with more force than usual, you looked back to observe Maeve’s horrified face glowing on the screen. 

“You got that, bitch?” You jeered mockingly as you reached for his phone and flipped the camera to show Spencer’s exasperated face. “My husband, my dick.” 

With your final act of aggression, you hung up the call and threw the phone behind you. You were fairly confident she wouldn’t be inserting herself into your marriage again any time soon. 

“What the hell-” Spencer’s croaky voice rang out in intervals as you continued riding him with stomach-churning speed. “was that?”

“I was reminding you who you’re married to.” You halted for a moment to catch your breath. “You seem to have forgotten.”

His firm, calloused hands snaked their way around your hips as he dug his fingernails into your flesh, bringing you closer to him. 

“I'll never make that mistake again.” He declared solemnly, brushing the pad of his thumb against your cheek. “Do you forgive me, my love?”

Your limbs went numb and you felt paralysed at the thought. How could you ever forgive such an abuse of trust? 

Spencer firmly grabbed you by the jaw before trailing his hand to the nape of your neck. You wanted to wriggle out of his grasp but he guided your head to rest over his shoulder as he settled his touch on the small of your back. 

“I don’t know…” You slumped into him, feeling immobilised as you murmured mindlessly. 

He suddenly grabbed your ass and roughly spread it apart to allow easier access to your core- he thrust up into your weeping pussy with a force that had you huffing out wordless squeaks. He set a ruthless tempo, hammering into you as your gushing arousal dripped down his thighs. 

“If I’m going to let that little stunt you just pulled slide-“ He growled with a renewed ferocity. “then you’re going to suck it up and forgive me too.” 

Whining, you smacked the side of his bicep in protest but the way he was fucking your brains out left you unable to speak. 

“I don’t wanna hear it baby.” He kissed your temple sloppily as he patted your hair, smoothing it down while he massaged your insides. “You’re meant for me and I’m meant for you. We’re perfectly fucked up for each other.”

“Mmph-“ You moaned into his shoulder, drool dribbling down his skin as you bit into it. 

“I’m never letting you go.” He sped up as his force and aggression grew, leaving bruises in the shape of fingertips littered along your hips and ass. 

With one final thrust, you came undone - squeezing his cock so tight in the process that he couldn’t help but fill you up to the brim with his cum. You panted as you tried to catch your breath, creamy wetness pouring out of you as he pulled your sweaty bodies apart. 

“Okay.” You sighed. “I forgive you.” 

Spencer abruptly sat up as the precious words spilled from your swollen lips. “You mean it?” He trembled hopefully, melting expression tugging at your heartstrings. 

“Only if you swear to me it’ll never happen again.” You wagged your finger at him as he leapt onto you unexpectedly.

“Never! Never, baby, I swear.” He planted grateful kisses up and down your body as you indulged in a reluctant smile. “It’s only you. You are the only one for me. Now and for the rest of my life.” 

You could tell by his adoring gaze that he meant every word. Wrapping your arms around him, you settled into a healing embrace. He was allowed to make one mistake, you loved him enough to let it slide. And if resentment ever crept up on you, you could always fondly recall that drunken night with Agent Morgan. Who said married couples weren’t allowed a few secrets?

[twistnet]

pain in my side [ donovan rocker ]

⋯ SUMMARY ; missions go wrong, and when they do, donovan is quick to remind you where you are needed

⋯ PROMPT ; [ hurting 25 ] "i’m not ready to lose you yet"

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, tw [ blood ], angst [ mentions of getting shot + injuries ] + general fluff [ light humor + forehead kisses ]

“shots fired! shots fired!” your partner calls over the radio, interrupted occasionally by loud pops of sound that echo through each member of the team’s radio, “officer down!”

donovan’s blood runs cold at those words, body stilling as he looks over at in hondo’s direction, face paling before he issues the the go ahead signal, relaying to the team to head toward your and your partner’s last known location.

the team moves fluidly, quietly moving through the halls until they come to your position, where they are quickly waved over by your partner -- who’s hands are soaked with blood from pressing against the wound at your side. the second the scene is deemed clear, donovan drops to his knees, aiding nora as she gets you prepped for the ambulance just now coming.

donovon stays close, trailing beside you as you’re loaded onto the gurney and escorted out to the toward. climbing into the back the second you are loaded in. he keeps to your side, monitor each little thing the paramedic does before he’s walking in beside you -- only stopping when a nurse keeps him from entering the surgery wing, and guides him to wait in the waiting room.

the rest his his team and your’s shows up an hour later, filing into the waiting room and offering comfort where they can until a doctor can give an update on your condition. "i’m not ready to lose you yet" he repeats into his hands like a mantra, intermixing a few known prayers into his words. wishing for some good news.

a doctor steps in, calling out your name and prompting most of the room to stand. donovon heads the group, teething biting at his bottom lip as he awaits for the doctor to get over the initial shock of so many standing at once. the man clears his throat, looking down over his clipboard before speaking, “the bullet hit dead space -- no internal organs were ruptured or nicked. she’ll feel some pain in her side for the next few weeks, but i don’t see why she won’t make a full recovery.” reliving sighs fill the room as small cheers are made and donovan eyes the doctor once more, “can i see her?”

“yes... just keep the number of guests in the room to a max of two only please.” he utters softly before taking off towards the nurses station. the nurse at the doctor’s side ushers donovan on, guiding him to your recovery room where you lay hazed and comfortable from your surgery, “there’s my girl... how are we feeling?”

you groan softly, head turning slowly to look up at the man hovering over your frame, “like i got shot.” you muse, earning a short chuckle from him as he ducks down into the chair behind him, fingers quickly intertwining with yours, “i’m glad... gave me quite the scare when i heard your partner’s call over the radio.”

your mouth opens to apologize, only he cuts you off with a shake of his head, “you didn’t know what was going to happen after entering the building... neither you or your partner.” he sighs, gaze dropping from your own as he almost mutters, “i know you can’t promise that you’ll make it home each time you go into work, but you belong here with me. until the end of our days. cause believe it or not, you are quite the pain in my side.” he attempts to humor in hopes of bringing your spirits up.

which it does, however only short lived as the moment you start laughing, the muscle tugs at your snitches and you hiss, “and i have two pains in my side -- figuratively and literally.” you state, poking fun right back after the pain subsides and donovan nods in agreement, “would have it any other way.”

blog navigation ⇢ [ swat masterlist ]

[ssa-sugar-tits]

queen of hearts // chapter seven

summary: y/n y/l/n was crushed when she found out about maeve donovan. heartbroken, she left her entire life behind. what happens when she becomes the most prolific serial killer the bau has ever seen?

prologue + series masterlist & taglist

content warnings : nsfw, angst, smut, penetrative sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, choking, death penalty mention

a/n : reader is a psychotic murderer. this is purely a work of fiction and if you or someone you know are experiencing homicidal urges, seek professional help immediately.

-

SPENCER'S POV

-

I try to stay composed as I leave the room but I know Y/N sees right through me. She did the whole time. Every time I spoke to her my eyes drifted to her lips or body. Everyone's staring at me and I realize they must not have heard her whisper.

"What did she ask for?" Hotch asks.

I gulp, embarrassed. Embarrassed by her request and by the fact that I want to complete it so badly.

"Kid?" Morgan looks uneasy and JJ starts to lean her head on Emily. My voice comes out low and unsteady.

"She told me to..." I clear my throat and avert my gaze. "make love to her."

Reactions are varied. Hotch and Rossi both seem to have the same calm, yet concerned face. JJ looks uncomfortable and Emily looks... disappointed? But not in me. In Y/N. Morgan scoffs and surprisingly half-smiles to himself. He breaks the silence and asks, "Now what?"

"I-I have to, don't I? She has the location of Chris Lincoln and all the... hearts she's collected."

Desperate much?

Hotch lets out an unexpected, exasperated sigh before agreeing.

"It does seem to be the only way but Reid, you don't have to do this."

I have no idea if anyone knows I want to do this. And god do I want to. But I just nod and look back at Y/N. She's biting her lip and twirling her hair with a smirk evident and it only makes my ache for her grow even more.

"Pick one of us to stay and make sure she doesn't try anything and then go in there."

That's... it?

I'm surprised by the compliance from the team. Having sex with our unsub is easily classified as something that should not be done under any circumstances. Who to stay with me? I'd say Morgan but I'd also rather he not see this. I don't want anyone to see actually. JJ would be extremely uncomfortable... and so would everyone else. I scan the team once more before choosing.

"Emily." I croak out. Her eyebrows furrow and she opens her mouth to speak but changes her mind. I don't blame her, I'm a bit surprised that I want her to stay too. I know she blames me but she's the obvious choice.

"Okay, I'm here."

The team leaves and Morgan dials a number that I recognize as Garcia's. To update her? Vent? Probably the latter given how much this case is straining us all.

"Reid? You ready?"

"No not at all." She forces a weak smile before she pulling me into a hug.

"It's okay Spencer. Go."

-

I walk in and she's still twirling her hair slowly. Immediately I want to run my hands through it and take her body as mine but I know I have to be careful about this.

"So? You're accepting my conditions?"

The way she speaks and bats her eyes makes me fall in love with her all over again.

"Y-Yes." She smiles and lifts her cuffed hands as if to tell me to remove them. I do and she props herself up on the table. Her sparkling, glossy eyes look me up and down sinfully and my breath becomes ragged. Her soft hand rises to my cheek and another grips onto my hair. She reaches up and kisses me, passionately and deeply. My hands move to her waist and for the first time in 2 years I feel happiness.

In the Quantico interrogation room with a prolific murderer, I finally feel safe.

Her tongue brushes my bottom lip and I separate my lips to let the kiss go further. When her tongue meets mine, I can't help but moan into her mouth and smile. One hand moves down to the collar my shirt and I melt into her touch. She starts to unbutton it before removing it entirely and then she takes her own and throws it to the ground. I take in her beauty and moan as she leans in to kiss me again and her bare chest touches mine. Cupping her breast with one hand and hooking my fingers on her jeans, I pull them off and she works on my pants quickly. She wraps her legs around my waist and I know she can feel my length against her because she starts to tug on my hair and run a hand down my chest. My lips move to her neck and marks start to form on her soft skin. She hums in delight and I put my mouth on her breast. They're just as perfect and amazing as I remember. Her back archs against me and she moans softly. My tongue circles her deliciously and sucks at her nipple while she runs her hands through my hair. Neither of us says a word but at the same time the intimacy screams everything we need to say. She moves my head from her body and takes my boxers off, using her hand to touch my now free erection. Groaning and treading a hand on her thigh, I slip off her last piece of clothing and run a thumb over her clit prompting another pleasured moan. Kissing me again before pushing my body away, she spreads out on the interrogation table. Exposed and stunning, I can't contain the lust I'm feeling for her and I tell her,

"You're gorgeous Y/N. You're perfect." The rational thoughts in the back of my minds scream that Emily can still hear and that I'm giving Y/N more than I need to but all that is shoved aside by the undeniable fact that I need to fuck Y/N now. Her breasts sit still and her legs part, inviting me to ravage her. With a just a couple of movements, I'm on top of her and moving inside of her. A loud moan escapes me and for the first time since I've seen her again, she says my name instead of Doctor.

"Spencer... God Spencer!" She's screaming my name and I'm fairly certain the entire building can hear her but I don't care. I thrust harder into her and groan.

"Fuck Y/N..."

Moving my hands all over her body, giving her all the love and pleasure she doesn't even come close to deserving after what she's done. Digging her hands into my back and kissing at my neck, she keeps moaning and I'm doing the same. Her legs wrapped around me rub against my side and we fuck in complete bliss until we both finish our orgasms. I can hear her panting and she's still holding me. I kiss her again and this time it's sloppy and wet but it's still utter perfection. Conditions have been met, I should demand the location now. But instead I sit back down and pull her body until my head is between her legs. I place my mouth on her thighs and then my tongue on her pussy's core. She screams again and I keep using my mouth to prompt more moans. Tongue fucking and tasting her, Y/N wraps her right leg around my throat and pushes my mouth harder onto her.

"F-Fuck I missed th-this." She says it in a trembling, low voice while her hands keep digging in my hair. I groan again, forgetting Emily is even listening.

"I did too baby. Take this for me."

"Y-Yes Spence... God! Yes!" Continuing her screams of delight, I insert another finger into her, curling it inside of her and smirking as she cums again for me. Her eyes lock with mine and she pulls me back and I suck her juices off my digits enjoying every lick of it. I'm towering over her still laid out figure and I think about fucking her 20 times again. Her sexy, plump lips part and she gets off of the table, dropping to her knees. Shifting her head up to face me from where she sits, she whispers in a breathy, unbelievably hot voice.

"You did a really good job doctor. I should repay you."

Immediately attaching her mouth to my tip, Y/N's tongue flicks at my cock and slowly makes its way down my shaft. Once I'm halfway into her mouth, I can't contain myself and I let out a raspy moan before thrusting into her throat. She removes her head completely, her mouth popping as she detaches.

"Are you going to be this impatient? Or are you going to let me do this my way?" The teasing imitates irritation and bluntness as she strokes me slowly.

"Y-Your way. Your way Y/N, please." I practically whine.

Smirking, she takes me whole and immediately starts sucking and bobbing her head while my hands pull her soft hair. I don't know how long I last but suddenly I'm coming into her throat and she swallows my release. Her sweet, pink tongue dances over my cock and soaks up every last bit. I yank her back up by the hair and she yelps but moans in clear pleasure at the same time. Throwing her against the wall, I growl letting all my frustration out as I grasp at her tits again.

"We wouldn't be in this situation, having one last fuck in an interrogation room if you hadn't done this."

Still rolling her nipple in my hand and using the other one to grab her ass, she screams back at me and lets me hoist her up to touch her pussy roughly again.

"All due respect, doctor, maybe you shouldn't have been a cheating, lying son of a fucking bitch."

I can't take it anymore, I spread her legs and pound into her pussy much harder than before and she screams.

"Spencer! Yes!"

I keep thrusting and letting out loud moans while we both near our final orgasms. I wrap my hand around her throat and squeeze prompting more low pleasured noices and lovely strings of curses.

"I did cause this, didn't I? Either way murdering people is kind of a fucking overreaction Y/N."

She laughs and mumbles something incoherently while I come inside of her again and I scream her name as her walls tighten around me and she finishes all over me, spilling on her thighs too. When we've both come to the end of our goddamn spectacular orgasms, she looks into my eyes. She presses a soft kiss to my lips and I hold her close and innocently as if I hadn't just fucked her relentlessly. Her face buries in my neck and she speaks in a much less aggressive tone than before.

"Spence?"

I answer, "Yes Y/N?"

"I'm probably going to get death penalty."

I stay silent. My chest clenches and I try to speak but my mouth goes dry. She breaks the silence and her voice comes out more calmy than I'd have expected.

"Will you come to my execution?"

Tears fill my eyes and I consider telling her she'll be okay. But no more lies. I just plant a gentle kiss on her forehead and answer.

"Yes Y/N. I'll be there. I promise."

"Thank you.... I-I'll write down the address where Chris Lincoln is for. He's in the basement."

-

In all honesty, I'd forgotten the reason we were even here. What happens next is a blur, my body's attempt at masking the pain I'm feeling over leaving her. I come out of the room after getting dressed and giving her one last kiss. Emily has ear plugs in and she looks up at me, almost comedically.

"God that took long. I stopped listening after the first moan, did you get the address?"

I hand it to her and she takes it to Hotch. Give or take a few hours, our victim is safely cleared at the hospital and returns home to his wife, who I hear is choosing to file for divorce. Y/N is taken to a state prison to await her hearing.

-

Barely 3 weeks later I get the dreaded call telling me that she's going to get the electric chair. I sob and scream alone to myself wishing things had been different. The pain and aches I feel soon turn to numbness until eventually my phone rings again. I furrow my brows to see who it could be. Hotch.

"Hello?"

"Y/N's execution date has been revoked."

I sit up and my voice comes out much higher and anticipated than I intended.

"What? Why? Did something-"

"Reid. She's..."

Something tells me this news can't be good.

"She's pregnant.  About 3 weeks which means..."

He trails off and the phone slips out of my hand. I stare at the wall, mouth dropping open in disbelief. And while a million thoughts should be racing through my head it's radio silence. In my head. In my apartment. And undoubtedly in Y/N's cell.

-

[puckyess]

4 Times He Fake Proposed + 1 Time He Did For Real | Shay Donovan

Expect a double post this week! Hope everyone enjoys our Glue Guy! I’d love to know your favorite part, my inbox is open (& reblog pretty please!)

*** FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED ***

Words: 7k

Free Drinks

“Shay, what do you mean you don’t have your wallet?” You asked incredulously, glancing at him as you pulled into a parking space at the restaurant. “I specifically asked you if I should bring my purse before we left”.

“Now we’re going to be late, again because we have to go back and get money or we’re going to have to ask one of the boys to cover us again. For being called mom and dad we sure don’t act like it”. You huff, laying out your options for him.

“Don’t even worry that pretty little head of yours, Y/N. I’ve got us covered”. The grin he wears spells trouble and you know you’re not going to like whatever he’s planning in his head, but you ask anyway.

“I don’t like that look you’re wearing. How exactly do you have us covered with no money? Are you going to wash dishes in the back to cover our meal?” You sarcastically ask.

“Nope” he says, popping the ‘p’ at the end and grabbing your hand. You think he’s being sweet at first but then he’s pulling your hand closer to his face and examining your fingers. He nods as if he’s found what he’s looking for and slides one of your rings off of your finger before placing a light kiss on that finger and hopping out of the car.

You’re quick after him. “Shay Donovan, what’re you doing with that? Give it back” but he’s already holding open the door, waiting on you.

“After you, my lady” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. You refuse to walk in, standing in the middle of the door until he answers you.

“Give me my ring, Shay” you demand with your hand out.

He shakes his head at you and pulls the door open further. You’re getting irritated and there’s another couple getting out of their car so you stomp your foot at him. “Damnit, Shay just give it back” you hiss. He pulls you close to him, moving you out of the way to let the couple through and gives them a charming smile as they thank him. You roll your eyes at him once they pass and poke his ribs maybe a little harder than necessary.

“Ow!” He exclaims, putting distance between the two of you again and rubbing his side.

You just give him a look that says “well? You deserved that” and wait for him to hand over the piece of jewelry that was in his pocket.

“Look I’m just gonna fake propose to you and then everyone will just buy our meal and drinks” he says with a casual shrug like he’s talking about what he’s going to order.

Your mouth falls open. That was his plan? “Shay!” You exclaim in disbelief. “You cannot be serious! That’s awful. You can’t do that!”

He nods “yes I can! It’s perfect, everyone will believe it and they’ll offer to treat us. It’s what you do”. How he knows that, you’re not sure. He’s probably right but you didn’t know how you felt about a fake proposal, especially when you wanted the real thing so bad you weren’t sure you could handle a fake one and in front of a restaurant full of people.

He could tell by the look on your face that you were mulling over his proposal. “Come on, it’s a good plan. It’s not like you have a better one” he says trying to persuade you.

“Yes, actually I do. I’ll just ask one of the guys to pay for us and I’ll Venmo them. Bold of you to assume I’d say yes by the way, what if I were to say no?  bet ya didn’t think of that one now did ya bud?” You challenge.

This time his jaw drops and he’s stuttering, clearly thrown off his game. But he recovers just as quickly “well then I’d be the one getting free pity drinks and you‘d be getting booed out of the restaurant” he says as he holds the door open for you once more.

You glare as you walk past him, “No funny business Mr. Donovan. I’ll just ask your brother to cover us again”. But the ring was still in his possession so you should’ve known.

Despite not running back to your apartment for Shay’s wallet, you’re still the last ones to take a seat at your table. You barely sit down before the waiter is taking your drink orders.

“Rydes”, you sing song and bat your lashes.

He groans, “Let me guess, Shay conveniently forgot his wallet again?”

“I’ll pay you back” you promise him, giving his thigh a little squeeze.

“I’m telling mom to cut your allowance and give more to me. I end up buying for you guys all the time” he whines.

Shay rolls his eyes. “Very funny. Actually I have an announcement to make”, he says, clearing his throat.

Everyone’s eyebrows raise, especially your own. He actually looked nervous as he got out of his seat.

“Y/N, I knew you were the one from the very minute I laid eyes on you, cheering me on in a shoving match on the ice. You’ve been my biggest supporter since the night I accidentally on purpose spilled my drink on you to get your number and I can’t imagine my life without you by my side. So, Y/N,” he says dropping down on one knee, “will you marry me?”

Your mouth is on the floor, as is the rest of your table’s. Did he really just propose to you in a room full of strangers? After you had told him not to? Yet, here he was kneeling here in front of you, with your ring in his hand, held out to you. You had half a mind to say no, just to serve him right for subjecting to you this kind of embarrassment but when you saw the look in his eyes you melted. They were soft and filled with a twinkle of light that was reserved just for you. They were begging you to say yes and you wondered if maybe he meant what he said even though it was a fake proposal.

Your reaction was genuine as you nodded profusely and he quickly slid the ring back on your finger, this time on your left hand and picked you up, swinging you around in a circle. You buried your blushing cheeks into his chest as you said “I’m gonna kill you, Donovan”

He laughed as he set you back down, the biggest smile on his face and kissed you fiercely, a little less than appropriate for the amount of people watching. Everyone who was still cheering from the original proposal was now whistling and hooting and hollering for the two of you.

“So what’s everyone ordering” Shay asks as he re takes his seat at the table looking at everyone with a casual smirk on his face.

The boys’ eyes are still wide and there’s a split second of silence before everyone explodes with congratulations and questions.

Needless to say an Uber was necessary for the ride home. Shay’s plan worked accordingly and you had a dozen people offering to pay for your meal and rounds of drinks. The boys also bought a couple rounds to “celebrate” and for a minute it all felt too real.

Especially when Ryder came up next to you and told you that he knew all along you’d be the one to finally tie down his brother and to assure you that Shay was head over heels for you. “I’ve never seen a man as in love as my dad until you came around for Shay. I’m kind of annoyed he didn’t tell me first though” and you had to look away to not let Ryder see the tears starting to form in your eyes as you watched Shay laugh with Tarek. “And that look that you have right there, you’ve got it just as bad”.

You lay your head on Shay’s shoulder the minute you get into the car. He readjusts you so that your body is leaning against his chest and his arm is wrapped around you, holding you. He gives your head a small kiss and you let out a content sigh, playing with his fingers in the dark. “So when are we going to tell them it’s fake?” you mumble. you can feel him shrug beneath you.

“I don’t know. It’s kind of fun being engaged” and even though you know he’s playing around you’d be lying if you said you didn’t agree.

“It is, isn’t it?” You ask tilting your head back so he can see the smile tugging at your lips as the lights pass by.

“One of these days it’ll be for real” he says in the quiet, giving you a squeeze. You can hear the promise behind it and you bring his hand that’s holding yours up to your lips, kissing the place where his engagement band will be. It’s a soft moment and you relish in it.

Finally though he breaks the silence. “I knew you’d say yes” and you don’t have to see his face to know there’s a big old smirk on those kissable lips of his.

Drunk Shay

“Are you sure you don’t mind me going out with the boys tonight? Because I can totally stay in and we can get pizza and watch a movie and do face masks” he offers.

You laugh at his almost request and assure him that it’s okay. “While I appreciate your offer, you should go with the boys. I know they miss you and I love you, but there’s things I need to get done tonight and I can’t do that with you here. You’re a little needy” you tease him.

“Fineeee”, he drags out in a pout. You love that he sounds disappointed that he can’t stay here with you. If you didn’t really have things you needed to finish for work you would’ve given into his puppy dog eyes but you held strong and all but shoved him out the door when Ryder came by to fetch him from you.

“I’ll have him home by curfew, mom!” He called to you with a wave.

“All in one piece preferably” you told him before shutting the door.

A few hours and a handful of snaps later, there’s a knock at your door and you know it’s your boyfriend delivery. One of the many things you loved about Shay was his dedication and how that applied to every area of his life. He lived by the phrase “go big or go home” , drinking included. While he was careful when he was out with you to make sure you were safe, he was wild when you weren’t there to be his tether.

You already had the water getting ready to boil on the stove for his Mac and cheese. “It’s tradition to end every good night with Mac and cheese, I’m telling you” he’d say every time.

“He’s all yours” Ryder says gruffly, trying to make his brother walk through the door. Shay is practically hanging on his brother and Dylan and even though they’re as big as they are, you can imagine his dead weight is pretty heavy.

“Have a good time, baby?” You ask with a smirk.

At hearing your voice his head lifts and a goofy smile takes over his face. He stumbles toward you and Ryder and Dylan both have their arms outstretched to catch him if he falls in the small space between them and you. It was like watching a two year old make their way from dad to mom. He makes it though and wraps you up in a bone crushing hug, forgetting for a second that you were half his size.

Remembering your question he sticks out his lip. “No I did not have fun. No one would kiss me or sit in my lap like you do”

You giggle at your whiny boyfriend. “Well I would hope not”  

Dylan rolls his eyes at Shay’s clinginess. “Seriously though, if I had a dollar for every time he asked me to ‘just kiss his cheek’ I could’ve paid my tab”

You fake shock at this news as you turn to Shay, “you tried cheating on me?”

His eyes blow wide. “No no no, not at all I just wanted some kisses and Dylan was right there so, so , so” he stutters trying to defend himself. “You’re trying to get me in trouble” he says pointing at Dylan.

“I can’t take this anymore” Ryder says running his hands down his face. “I did my part, he’s in one piece.. kind of. Now he’s yours to babysit. Goodnight Y/N”

Dylan gives you one last look as if to make sure you don’t need him to stay too but is silently begging you to release him and you give him a little wave to send him on his way, leaving you with Shay who has wandered toward the pot on the stove.

You shake your head at the man who seemingly couldn’t go a night without you. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you and give you sloppy kisses on the cheek and you have to keep gently shoving him back from the stove. When he nearly makes you drop the pot on your way to the sink you banish him to the stool until it’s ready. He pouts at first but begins rambling on about his night while you stir in the ingredients.

When you set the bowl in front of him he shovels it into his mouth and is so amazed. He always says it’s the best Mac and Cheese of his life which you find hilarious because it’s literally Kraft dinner. After finishing almost the whole box except for the little bit that you steal he just wants you in his arms to settle in for the night.

He watches you change for bed and it’s like he forgets that you sleep in one of his old hockey shirts. He sees you and his lips form a little “o” and you swear you see his pupils blow even from across the room.

“Damn, baby. You look so good? And you’re mine?” And he lets out a low whistle.

“Come on, Shay. We’ve been over this” You laugh but blush at the same time because the look he’s giving you is one of pure awe and it warms you to the core.

He pulls the covers back for you and pulls you close once you finally crawl in bed. He lets out a soft sigh.

“I can’t wait to do this every night. It’s like a sleepover with my favorite person except you have to come out too next time” he tells you.

“Favorite person, huh? Don’t let Ryder hear you say that” you poke at him but his statement warms your heart.

“Well his favorite person is Clara so I’m allowed to have my favorite person and it’s you. I love you the most” he says matter of factly.

You laugh, knowing he’s probably right but you try to explain that family should be loved more than you and he gets real quiet, which is uncharacteristic for him.

“But you are family”, he says honestly. And now it’s your turn to go silent.

“I mean, my mom always asks how you are when she calls, my family loves you, everyone knows I’m going to propose to you. I wouldn't feel right if you weren’t a Donovan”.

He always talks about marriage on nights like these. And every time it hits you that you truly want nothing more than to spend your life with this man, making him Mac and cheese in the wee hours of the night and watching him be surprised every time you wear one of his shirts.

“I can’t wait for that day” you tell him.

“Well I can do it right now, I’m ready” he says, sitting up in bed and then trying to move to a kneeling position but he’s still drunk enough that his sense of balance is off and he’s face planting into the mattress.

“I have a speech” he mumbles into the sheets and you’re laughing at his efforts as he tries once again to kneel for you.

“I’ve been in-“ he starts to lean again, “fuck it, I’m in love with you and I want to spend forever with you that’s all that matters. Will you marry me?” he says as he finally topples over and off the bed.

“Shay sweetie, I love you too but I can’t accept a drunk proposal” you tell him through giggles, helping him back into his spot in bed.

Once he’s settled back in bed he agrees that he can do better. “It’s gonna be so good. I’ve already got it all planned out, Ryder thinks you’re going to love it. I hope you do”.

For the second time that night, you’re silent. ”I have no doubt that I will”, and you mean it with all of your heart. He spends a few more minutes talking about your wedding, how beautiful you’re going to look in your dress, how he’s sure he’s going to cry when he sees you for the first time in it. He’s so soft and heartfelt and much more serious than earlier.

Until he isn’t, when he dozes off in the middle of telling you that he wants his dog to be the ring bearer.

In a Fight

“I don’t get why you’re mad at me?” you say as you follow your pissed off boyfriend into your apartment. You had just been out at the bar with some friends when Shay abruptly decided he wanted to be at home and hadn’t spoken a word to you since. You were growing more and more frustrated by the second, especially with your question being met with silence.

“Damnit, Shay. What’s your problem tonight, huh?” you finally break and throw your purse on the counter.

“What’s my problem?” he asks spinning toward you, his face flushed. “You’ve got to be kidding me right now”

“Would I be asking if I didn’t already know?” you throw back at him.

He shakes his head, a disgusted look on his face. “Maybe this will jog your memory. ‘We’re just having fun. I don’t love him like I used to and I don’t know how long this thing will actually last’” he mimics, “Way to make a guy feel confident and secure in his relationship”.

His words take you back to your conversation at the bar with a friend. Taken out of context, you admit they did sound bad. You hadn’t realized he was listening in on your conversation as he had seemingly been preoccupied with his boys at the time.

She had asked how things were with Shay, how serious you thought it was. Her question scared you to death. You were having fun, some of the best fun you’ve ever had in your whole life. But it wasn’t “just fun”. You had gone into it all thinking you would just see what happened but with every kiss and every new memory made with him, you fell more and more in love with the man. And you didn’t know how long it would last. Sure, he told you forever, but he still had three whole years of college to get through and you had already had your fair share of little bumps in the road. It came with dating a big time college athlete, but it wasn’t part of any normal relationship and who were you to bank on forever. You weren’t the same person and didn’t want the same things when you left college that you did when you entered and you were afraid that the same would happen with Shay and you would be one of those things he grew out of.

“Shay-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I don't know what more I have to do to show you I want this, us. I thought we were on the same page, but after your comments tonight I’m not so sure. ‘Just having fun’, Y/N, really? And ‘this thing’? The way you’re talking you’re making it sound like this is some fling and you don’t want it to last!” he’s angrily throwing his hands around and raising his voice with every word. He’d never raised his voice at you before. His brother? Sure. His teammates? Sure, but never you.

And then suddenly his voice drops so low, you don’t even know that you hear him right, when he asks “Is that what you want? For this to not last?”

Your eyes go wide as you realize what he’s insinuating. “What? No, Shay. I want this. I just, I don't know” you groan trying to find the right words to say.

Your words or lack thereof do nothing to reassure him. “So what’re you saying? ‘You want this, but-’ what’s the but, Y/N? You want this now, but if I got down on one knee in this kitchen and asked you to marry me right now, you’d say no? I need to know if I’m in this alone, here”

His face was pained, but honest as he got down on one knee just to prove his point.

Even though you couldn’t come up with the right words to explain what you were feeling, the only words that made their way through your lips were “I want this forever”.

You watched as relief washed over his face and probably yours as well. You went over to where he was still on one knee and took a seat on his lap looping your arms around his neck and looked deep into his eyes. There was still something in those brown eyes of his that worried you.

“But you said you don’t love me the same anymore” he says and his voice is sad and vulnerable.

“No, no , no, baby. There’s so much I have to explain” you sigh. “I’m having so much fun with you, Shay. I meant that but it’s not all just light flirty banter anymore, somethings changed...into more. So no, I don’t love you like I used to. It’s a different kind of feeling now, from the way your lips kiss me to the way your hand fits in mine. It’s better, stronger the longer I’m with you and grows every single day. And well, you just promised forever but things change, Shay. Just because I want forever doesn’t mean that at the end of all this you will too”

He listens intently but shakes his head at the end. “Y/N I’m promising forever because I mean it. Yeah, things change but me wanting you isn’t going to, no matter if it’s me crushing on the hot girl next door in the stands  or planning a future with my future wife, I’m always going to want you”.

He sees your eyes watering and you chewing on your lip and lifts his hand to your chin, taking his thumb to pull your lip from between your teeth. Then he guides your lips toward his and puts some proof behind his words.

When he finally breaks away, breathless he pats your butt, “Alright, hun you’ve gotta get up. I’m too old for this, my knee can’t take this floor anymore”.

TikTok

“Babe, come here a second!” You hear your boyfriend call for you.

“Shay does it have to be now? I’m in the middle of something” you call back to him from your computer. You had a deadline to meet and Shay had been a minor distraction the whole day so you locked yourself in your room and left him to his own devices until you finished.

“It’ll just take a second” he promised.

You sigh as you move your laptop off your lap and onto the bed, grabbing your water as you pad your way over to him.

“C’mere” he says beckoning with his fingers to you. Like almost every other time he’s done that, you go to him. He gets down on his knees and pulls you down so that you’re mirroring him. “Ok now put your right knee up like this and touch mine” he says patting his leg

“Seriously Shay, I was busy” you whine, but do as you’re told.

“Okay now switch knees” he instructs. You roll your eyes but again, oblige.

“Okayyy, one more time. Put your right knee up” he says as he put his right knee up.

“Shay what is this about. I have to get my work done.”

“We’re almost done, just stand up”.

You take a big swig of your water as you stand up waiting for his next move. You don’t expect him to stay on one knee and dig into his pocket and pull out a black box.

When he looks at you with a full smile you nearly choke on your water, spitting it out and leaning over slightly to try and pull him up.

He’s dying laughing at your reaction and he tries his proposal again even though you’re still coughing.

“Y/N, you’ve brought so much light into my world and given me so many laughs like this one,” he tries but he can’t continue because he’s laughing so hard at you.

You’re still coughing and you look panicked with wide eyes and he just can’t believe how well you reacted. He looks over at his phone to make sure it’s still recording. You watch as he does so and put two and two together.

“It’s for a TikTok babe, you can relax. I’m glad that wasn’t real though, I never expected a rejection that harsh” he laughs as he tries to rub your back.

“I can’t believe you! That wasn’t funny” you say, annoyed. “You pulled me from work to fake propose for a TikTok? Unbelievable”. You grab your water bottle and turn to stomp back to your room. Was it a little bit of an overreaction? Maybe, but you had shit to get done and he was using your time to make tiktoks so you were a little annoyed. And he fake proposed again, on top of it all.

“Hey, hey, hey. It was just a joke, Y/N” he rushes to make sure you’re not really mad at him

“Well, I’ve got a deadline to meet, Shay!” you said  with your back to him. His long legs makes the few short steps to be in front of you.

“Something tells me that’s not what this is about?”

Damn him for being able to read you so well. His eyes are searching your face for any indication of where he screwed up.

“With this being like the fourth time you've proposed, but not for real I’m just starting to think you don’t take that very seriously. And well, I do and it kind of hurts that you don’t” Your words tumble out, finally getting the weight off your chest.

He reacts instantly to your words, his arms reaching for you to bring you into his chest. He’s stroking your hair and you can hear his heart beat fast as he says, “oh no, honey I promise you I’m serious about marrying you. You know me, I’m not a serious guy, but I swear to you if there’s one I’m serious about, it’s putting a ring on your finger and making you a Donovan. Not today, because obviously that didn’t work out”, he chuckles, “but I promise you, you’re getting that ring for real”.

You look up at him with a little smile, forgiving him easily with this new promise. “Pinky promise?” you ask, holding out your pinky.

He gives you a soft smile in return and locks his pinky with yours, bringing your pinkies up to his lips to seal the deal with a kiss. “Pinky Promise”.

+1

“Are you sure this is enough? I could probably make it bigger?” Shay asks turning to Ryder.

His brother shakes his head. “Dude, she’s going to love this. This is so her, just relax. Everything’s perfect”, he tries to reassure his brother.

Shay chews on his nonexistent thumbnail as he examines his list for the tenth time that day, making sure everything was in place. You were flying in later that day, thinking you were going on a girls date before the start of your second River Bandit Cup. You had loved the tournament so much last year, it was the perfect excuse for him to lure you out to Duluth even though you’d come anytime he asked.

“So mom, Clara, and Nessa are picking her up at 3, they should be there now actually and they’re going to go get their nails done or whatever and you and Boden have to help me get things ready here” Shay reminds him again.

“And what time are her family and friends coming in? You’re going to have to remind dad to go pick them up or he’ll forget” Ryder points out.

Shay looks up from his phone with a glare. “He better not forget or I’ll kill him. I’m on a very tight schedule here, everyone has to do their part or it’s going to be a disaster” he stresses.

“What’s going to be a disaster?” Vanessa asks as she walks in the room.

Shay’s eyes pop out of his head as he looks at his sister. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the airport right now! Where are mom and Clara? Who’s picking Y/N up?!” He practically yells as he jumps out of his seat.

“Someone’s a little on edge today” she tsks, “relax, I’m just meeting them at the nail place because the baker called and needed the cake picked up earlier than planned and I figured you’d have your hands full here. So it’s in the fridge in the garage, I do have to leave now though”.

“You’re going to be fine, everything is going to be perfect” she says, patting her little brother on the shoulder. “Good luck!” She calls over her shoulder as she closes the door.

Shay spent the next few hours running around, directing his brothers until there was absolutely nothing left for him to do but worry. He called to check all of the food was correct and ready to be delivered on time, made sure he had the right champagne, arranged the lights out back just so, sprayed the ODR with a fresh layer, reached out to everyone to make sure they knew where to be and at what time, placed and double checked the cameras and even ironed his damn clothes.

Ryder and Boden sat on Shay’s bed and watched as he stood in front of his mirror opening and closing the little box in his hand, trying to rehearse his speech and not lose his mind while he waited for the sound of car tires.

“You can do this, Shay. She loves you, you love her. Nothing to worry about. You can do this” he says like a mantra. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. He was a confident guy and he was 100% positive he wanted to marry you and he knew you wanted the same. This should be the easiest thing in the world and yet the anxiety and butterflies he felt were tenfold worse than any he had ever felt before any game.

His brothers echo his self hype and promise him there’s nothing more he can do to show how much he loves you and you obviously love him. Their pep talk is interrupted by the sound of people entering the house.

—

Hours later after lunch and a nail appointment, you’re finally in the car on your way to the person you desperately wanted to see. While you loved Shay's family just as much as your own, you were anxious to get to your boyfriend. You had weirdly barely heard from him all day, only a few texts double checking your flight time, making sure you landed safely and what nail color you’d picked out.

As you pulled into his drive, your brow furrowed. You had expected to come home to a driveway full of cars from his friends, like last year. Checking your phone, it was already 6oclock. Everyone should definitely be here by now. “Where is everybody?” You question.

Clara and his mom both shrug, little smiles on their faces as the car slows to a stop. Shay’s waiting for you on the porch, a smile on his face and your skates in his hands. He looks as handsome as ever under the porch lights in black jeans that hug his long legs and a grey knit, the same one he was wearing when you first met, you note. A smile graces your face at the thought.

“Well hello handsome”, you call out to him. “You look too nice to be bringing me home that River Bandit Cup”.

You grip onto his arms and raise up onto your tip toes signaling what you wanted from him. You melt when he gives into you and don’t even notice his mom and sister sneaking around to the backyard.

“Change of plans”, he says setting you down on the bench by the door and pats his leg.

You throw him a confused look. “What do you mean? You’ve been planning this for months now?”

He shakes his head, smiling to himself. If only you knew, he’d been planning this, not that for months.

Your leg is across his now and he’s taking off your boots, replacing them with skates. His tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth as his fingers expertly tie your skate. He pushes your leg off and picks the other one up to do the same, staying silent. Your boyfriend was never silent.

“Earth to Shay. What’s going on with you today?” You ask, running your fingers through his hair.

“Is there gel in your hair?” You ask with a confused smile on your face when you pull your hand away. You begged him to put gel in his hair, knowing it would help his curly hair look extra dashing but he refused, only allowing it on game day.

“Maybe”. He says quickly and stands up after finishing up on your skate. Without warning his arm hooks under your legs and he’s picking you up bridal style. You’re giggling as you hook your arms around his neck and hold on tight.

Finally your boyfriend is back as he throws his back laughing, soaking up the sound of your squeals and giggles. “Close your eyes and no peeking” he instructs you.

“What?” You ask him, but follow his command blindly, closing your eyes. You trusted him, even after all these times when he’s made tiktoks and played tricks, you knew your trust in him was well placed.

“Just do it. I have a surprise for you” and you could sense a change in his voice, there was a hint of nervousness.

“Something better than the RBC?” You teased.

He laughs. “I sure hope it’s much better than the RBC”.

“I don’t knowww...I really enjoyed drinking out of that cup last year”

“You’ll still get your cup, but tonight I have something else to give you” he tells you and now there was a hint of excitement to his words.

You can tell you’ve reached the ice in his backyard by the change in his movements as he glides and the crisp sound of his blade cutting into what sounds like fresh ice.

Your curiosity was killing you as you practically begged him to let you open your eyes.

“Okay, now you can open them” he says, holding onto you as your blades hit the ice.

You blink a few times as your eyes adjust to the lights. You look around you as Shay takes your hand, skating you both in little circles so that you can see the whole rink.

There are little candles all around the perimeter of the ice and twinkle lights draped along the fence and club house, creating a soft golden light. Rose petals lay scattered near the candles along with polaroids of you and Shay, dating all the way back to when you’d first met. The thumping in your chest intensified as you took it all in.

“Shay” you breathed. You wanted to look at him but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from each new picture.

There was one from the first game you had nervously waited in the hallway for him, one from the night he kissed you in front of the team to announce your relationship, one from your weekend getaway, and one of your personal favorites, one from the night you had to take him to the hospital because he bet that he could last longer on the mechanical bull than you and ended up throwing out his shoulder … and losing the bet. There was one from your first Christmas together, your first Valentine’s Day together. One of you across the table from him and one of him pretending to be studious at the library even though you know he was watching Netflix. He’s somehow managed to document every little moment of your relationship from the big firsts to unexpected candids. And in each one, no matter who is in the picture they look unbelievably happy.

“Do you like it?” He asks, when all you've said is his name.

“I - I have no words. Yes, of course I love it! What is all this though?” You search your brain trying to remember today’s date and whether or not it was important. You had been so focused on getting to see Shay this weekend that you had barely thought about anything else.

“Oh god, it isn’t our anniversary is it? What’s today’s date?” You asked him, flustered.

He laughed as he skated you back to the center of the ice, where one last picture was waiting for you. He picked it up but didn’t give it to you quite yet.

“Y/N, I’ve spent months trying to craft the perfect speech and I think I’ve come pretty close but no words will ever be able to describe what I feel for you, how much I love you. I knew you were the one from the very second I laid eyes on you in the crowd cheering me on in that shoving match against UMD. I told the whole locker room that night that I’d be marrying the girl in the third row. i looked everywhere for you after that game and low and behold you showed up at the same bar and I did the first thing I could think of and threw my drink on you” he laughs at himself.

“I knew that wasn’t an accident!” You exclaimed.

He shakes his head, “no it definitely was not. I panicked and just threw ice water all over you and then blamed Ryder for pushing me. I still got your number though” he says with a wink and then clears his throat to make himself get back on track.

“You’ve been my biggest supporter through every up and down. You’ve been there to celebrate every small victory like getting cleared to play again and passing my stats class and you’ve held me during my darkest days when I doubted myself and was so lost I didn’t know if I would ever be myself again. But you helped me through that and were my brightest light. You’ve encouraged me and cheered me on. You’ve made me want to be better and challenge myself to grow, not just for myself but for you” his hands are shaking slightly as he takes both of yours, the picture still in his hand.

“You’ve given me so many laughs, so many memories, so much love and I want to do the same for you. I want to be by your side for the highs and lows and tackle life with you, forever and a day. I want to look forward to coming home to you every night and eat Mac and cheese at 3 in the morning and lose my mind every time I see you in my stolen shirts. I want it all with you and I want you to finally have my last name because well,  you have everything else of mine, my heart included. So,” he hands you the last Polaroid as he gets down on his left knee. It’s a picture of a diamond ring.

“Y/f/n y/m/n y/l/n, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Will you marry me?” He asks, holding out a small box with a real diamond ring out to you.

You had passed the point of ugly crying long ago. His words were so filled with love you couldn’t contain the tears. Your freshly manicured hands were covering your mouth trying to hold in the emotions that were pouring out from you. You were nodding your head so fast, not even having to think about the answer to that question for a second.

“Yes?” He asks with a beaming smile just to clarify.

“Yes!” You practically shout.

You’re in his arms in the blink of an eye, skates fully off the ice. He’s twirling you around in circles and telling you how much he loves you when you hear cheering from all around the edge of the rink.

He sets you down and you see both of your families and friends lined up, cheering for the newly engaged couple. You start crying again and hold onto Shay a little tighter, if that was even possible.

“Thank you so much for this. You’ve outdone yourself, Shay. The perfect proposal”

He grins down at you and kisses the top of your head. “Better than the RBC?”

“Much better than the RBC.”

[detectivejay-chuckles-halstead]

Finally // Jay Halstead x Reader

Description: You were Jay’s partner the day Ben Corson was murdered. What happened that day to lead Jay to where he ended up?

Words: 4664

Warnings: Crimes Against Children

Pairing: Jay x Reader

A/N: I think we all deserve a few fluffy fics after this. So much ANGST recently. As always, I hope you guys enjoy!

Jay was the best partner you’d had. You’d been bounced around from district to district until you landed with him. The rest was history. Nights at the bar after shift, hockey games, baseball games. You were more than partners, you were amazing friends. That’s all you could hope for when it came to your job. Things were starting to take a turn though, friendship slowly easing into something more. An arm around your shoulder, a hand on your knee. Neither of you said anything though. You were too scared to admit that there might be more, that you might want more from him.

“You ready for today?” he asked when you walked out of the locker room. You just smiled, shaking your head as he pushed himself off the wall to follow you to the desk. The sergeant handed you the keys for your patrol car, nobody saying anything. It was a silent trade-off and it worked. Your patrol hadn’t really changed in the almost two years you’d been working with Jay.

“You’re driving,” you announced when the two of you approached the car, tossing the keys to him. Honestly, you weren’t the biggest fan of driving, and Jay seemed to prefer it. Occasionally it would switch, but it was not one of those days. You repositioned the seat as you got in, relaxing back into the seat, hands holding onto the top of your vest.

“Breakfast?” he asked. You looked over to see him push his aviators down over his eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if things progressed with the relationship.

“Yeah. How about that bakery off Racine and 47th?” you suggested. Jay nodded, putting the car in reverse. “My friend Jilly is getting married next month. Interested in being my plus one?”

“You asking me on a date, Y/L/N?” Jay countered with a smile, his right hand moving from the steering wheel to rest on the center console. It was the right opportunity, hands dropping from your vest, hand finding his quickly. He laced your fingers together, giving your hand a squeeze. 

“Do you want it to be a date, Jay?” You didn’t realize you were worrying your bottom lip until you tasted familiar copper. You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, trying to figure out what he was thinking. 

“It’s a date,” he agreed, letting out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “On one condition. I take you out on a proper date beforehand. Let’s say Saturday? I’ll pick you up at eight?” 

“That’s a deal.” He was nearing the bakery when the radio went off. 

“All available units near 38th and South Lowe respond for a missing tender age child. Name: Benjamin Corson. Last seen wearing a grey t-shirt and blue jeans last night at 20:00. Approximately four foot six, sixty five pounds. Brown eyes, brown hair, caucasian.” Jay turned the lights on, turning the car around to head that way. The way he held onto the wheel, knuckles white, was worrying. You’d seen him tense, worried, but this was different. 

“Jay?” you asked softly. 

“I know Ben,” he admitted, jaw tight. “I dated his older sister when I was in high school. Their parents came to my academy graduation. Today is his birthday.” You didn’t want to tell him it was going to be okay, that he’d be found. They drilled the statistics into your heads in the academy. It wasn’t yet 24 hours, so there was still a chance. 

He parked outside of a house, quickly getting out. There were multiple other officers there already, but Jay barreled past them into the house. You quickly followed, seeing an older woman embrace Jay in a tight hug, tears on her cheeks. 

“What’s going on?” Jay asked her, a man coming up behind her to get her to let go of Jay.

“He was outside playing last night,” the man answered, voice steady. Yet you could clearly see the grief on his face. “We heard him come in and go up to his room. And then when Gail went to wake him up this morning, he wasn’t there.”

“He likes that park, Donovan Park, right?” Gail nodded. “Then that’s where we’re going to go check. We’ll find him, Danny,” he assured them, your heart dropping. The two of you shouldn’t have been there to begin with. Jay was too close to the case. Danny shook his hand before Jay went to tell the leading officer where he was going to go look and why. You didn’t pipe in, just getting in the car. 

The park was less than a mile away, Jay barely getting the car in park before getting out again. You knew who you were looking for, staying close to Jay. Sure, splitting up would have ensured you covered more ground. However, if you found something that wasn’t good news, being close to Jay would be a better idea. The two of you began walking the perimeter of the park, working your way in. 

Jay was a few yards ahead of you when he suddenly stopped. He leaned down as you continued walking towards him, moving the brush. You saw a tennis shoe. Jay’s breathing was quick, shallow, not moving from his crouching position. You assumed the boy was Ben, matching the description. His eyes were closed, lips blue, bruising around his neck. It wasn’t a surprise that Jay was in shock, so you reached for your radio.

“Patrol 3887 to Main. Please send Homicide to Donovan Park. Victim is a tender age child matching the description of Benjamin Corson. Officers on scene,” you called out, your eyes stuck on Jay. 

“Who…?” He couldn’t get the rest of the sentence out, standing up and taking a few steps back. You knew you had to stay on scene at least until Homicide arrived. He couldn’t tear his eyes off of Ben’s body. 

Homicide came and taped off the area, having the two of you explain how you found the body, if you touched or moved anything, etc. 

“You knew the victim, right?” the lead detective asked Jay.

“I dated his older sister in high school. I saw him and his parents regularly,” he answered.

“I want you to go back to your district. I’m going to give a call to your Sergeant. The two of you are taking the rest of the day,” he insisted. You nodded in agreement. Honestly, you didn’t need to go home, but Jay definitely did. 

“Do you have any leads on who did it?” your partner asked, the older detective sighing. 

“One of their neighbors, Lonnie Rodiger, was caught masterbating outside of a school a week ago. We’re going to start the process of getting a warrant to search the home. We’re going to figure out who did this.” Jay didn’t say anything as you led him back to the car, getting in the driver’s seat. This was one of those times he didn’t drive. 

It was silent, which was never a good sign. Usually Jay was talking, joking, something other than just staring out the windshield, his lips pressed into a line. 

“I’m here if you want to talk, Jay,” you reminded him as you parked the car in the lot. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.” 

“I know. Can you come over? I just...I don’t want to be alone right now.” You two walked in, getting ushered into the Captain’s office as soon as your keys were in the Sergeant’s hands. 

“How are you holding up, Halstead?” the Captain asked, as if it was a loaded question. Which it was. 

“I’ve had better days, Sir. I just want to find whoever did this to Ben,” he answered. 

“I know you do. But it’s a conflict for you to actively work on the case. It’s in Homicide’s hands. I have asked that they keep Y/L/N in the loop. It’ll be up to her to keep you informed of any developments, at her own discretion,” the man explained. “This is a courtesy. Treat is as such. Both of you, go home, get some rest. You’ll return for your shift on Monday. No exceptions.”

The two of you nodded in agreement, heading for the locker rooms. You were the first one done, waiting for him with your bag slung over your shoulder. The feeling of your phone vibrating in your pocket pulled you out of your thoughts. Did Lonnie kill Ben Corson? You didn’t know enough to form a full opinion, but it was looking that way. 

“Got an expedited warrant. Searching the house now,” the text read. At least homicide agreed to keep you updated. Jay walked out, eyes rimmed red. It looked like he just threw his clothes on, not worrying about straightening himself out.

“Go home, Jay. I’ll pick up pizza and beer. I have stop at home first,” you suggested. He swallowed hard before wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. It took you by surprise, returning the embrace. He was hurting, you understood that. And he was your friend. It was your obligation to make sure he was alright.

The two of you stood there as the rest of the precinct hustled and bustled around you. Jay was the one to pull away. 

“I’ll see you in a bit?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon,” you agreed, walking out to the lot with him before going your separate ways. 

-----

“Found child pornography on his computer. Pictures of the victim when he was alive. Nothing to actually tie to the murder. Father is his alibi,” was the text you received as you walked up the stairs to Jay’s apartment, overnight bag on one arm, beer and pizza in your hands. It wasn’t the first time you’d crashed at Jay’s place, letting yourself in. 

“Hey, I’m here!” you called out so that he wouldn’t get startled. You didn’t see him in the living room or kitchen, figuring he was probably in the bathroom or something. You sat the food down on the counter, grabbing plates out of the cabinet, situating everything for him. “Jay, you okay?” you then called out after a few minutes of silence. Still, there was no answer. It was worrying, so you went looking. 

When you pushed his bedroom door open, he was sitting on the bed. A military issued pistol in his hand. You looked between him and the gun, his eyes meeting yours. You’d never seen so much anger and sadness in someone’s eyes before. 

“Jay. Put the gun down,” you coaxed, getting a dark laugh in return. “Whatever is going through your head, it’s not going to fix anything.” Obviously, you thought he was going to shoot himself. It was the only explanation. 

“Have you heard anything from Homicide?” he asked, gun still firmly in his hand. 

“Yes. I’ve gotten updates from Homicide. And I will tell you what I know when you unload the gun and put it down.” 

“Ben is dead,” he reminded you, loosening his grip on the pistol. You knelt in front of him, carefully taking the piece out of his hands. Instinctively you made sure the safety was on before placing it on the floor. 

“I know he is, Jay.” You took a breath, knowing what you were about to tell him was going to make it all worse. “They got an expedited search warrant for the Rodiger house. They found child porn on his computer. As well as pictures of Ben while he was still alive. The last they told me, they hadn’t found anything to tie Lonnie to the murder. His dad gave him an alibi.”

He looked between you and the gun again. “Stay with me tonight, Y/N?” he asked, eyes still on the floor. “If you leave…”

“I’ll stay,” you assured him. “Where’s your gun safe?” His head tilted towards the closet. You picked up the gun, unloading it before putting it back in the safe. “What were you going to do with the gun?” you then asked. You would never be able to forget how calm he was when he answered. 

“I was going to kill Lonnie.”

-----

He’d managed to get a couple beers and some pizza in his system which calmed him down enough to where he didn’t want to murder anybody. At least not then, which was a step in the right direction. He’d turned on some random movie, neither of you really caring what you watched. It was more as a distraction than anything else. A quick glance at the clock let you know you’d been there for four hours, not having really moved from your spot, your head on his shoulder and his arm around you. 

“Whatcha thinking, Jay?” you asked softly as the movie went to a commercial break. 

“Just wondering how I got lucky enough to get assigned with an amazing partner like you,” he answered, the two of you looking at each other. He had a goofy grin, easy to tell that he was a bit tipsy. It wasn’t like you weren’t in the same boat though. 

“Sure,” you agreed with a laugh, thinking he was joking at first until he pressed his lips against yours. It was a surprise, but you took it in stride, kissing him back. It wasn’t going to go further than that for the time being, knowing he was hurting. You didn’t want to just be some distraction. “I’d understand if you want to reschedule this weekend,” you finally told him when he pulled away.

“No.” He shook his head. “No. No rescheduling. We’ll wait forever if we wait for the quote-un-quote right time.” You kissed him again, hoping it would last. 

-----

It had lasted, the two of you just shy of celebrating your five year wedding anniversary. It had been going great, obviously having ups and downs like any couple. It was around this time, though, that you knew it was the hardest on him. Homicide had never charged Lonnie Rodiger with Ben’s murder. You and Jay both knew the man had done it. Even those in Homicide who were around when the case was new knew that he’d done it. There’d just never been enough evidence. 

You’d gotten detailed into Homicide around the same time Jay was detailed into Organized Crime. It was a sad day when you two rode out for the last time together, but you knew it was the natural course of things. You wouldn’t be beat-cops forever. Then, he’d gotten brought into Intelligence. You knew there might be problems, knew that Hank Voight wasn’t the cleanest cop ever. But it’s what Jay wanted, so you supported him.

There was one thing Jay didn’t know, one thing that you’d never been able to tell him. You kept an eye on crimes against children in the area, looking out for anything suspicious. You didn’t want to give him false hope that maybe you’d find something on Lonnie.

He’d come home the night of Ben’s birthday completely worn out. Part of it was the case they were working, but you knew it was because of Ben and Lonnie. He didn’t have to say anything as you grabbed a beer for him out of the refrigerator, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind as he sat at the dining room table. 

“He would have been fifteen today,” he told you as he took the first drink. “I might have...Phil Rodiger is getting a restraining order against me. I may have threatened him.” 

“May have?” you asked, not moving. Honestly, you weren’t surprised though. It was a long time coming. Seven years to be exact. 

“I parked in front of their house like I always do. Gail had convinced me to have cake this year. So, I leaned against my car and ate it. And Phil came out yelling that it was harassment -- after he’d called the cops on me, a patrol guy showing up. Then he said he was going to get a restraining order. I was just so angry about it all. How he helped cover it up, how he keeps protecting that sick fuck of a son.” His jaw clenched as he took a breath. “So I told him I’d give him a reason to need one oneday.”

“You can’t go around threatening people like that, Jay,” you reminded him, kissing the top of his head. “You’re not Voight. I promise, one day we’ll find a way to pin it on Lonnie.” His hand reached up, holding onto your wrist. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

“I’ll meet you in there in a bit,” he assured you, giving your wrist a squeeze before you stood, leaving him to his own thoughts. 

-----

It wasn’t even a week later when your Sergeant pulled you in her office, shutting the door behind you. You weren’t currently working on a case, so it was unusual that she called you in for a meeting. She wasn’t the talking type.

“I thought you would like to know that your husband has had a formal complaint filed against him from the Rodiger family,” she told you from behind her desk. You stood there, dumbfounded. 

“I’m sorry. What? That...That can’t be right,” you insisted. Surely Jay wasn’t stupid enough to keep going after Lonnie. First, he had no jurisdiction in Intelligence to do so. Second, he actually liked his job enough to not risk everything. Lastly, he’d promised you he’d drop it. 

“It is. I just got a call from Chief Perry. Sergeant Voight is going to speak with him today. I know you both were on the Corson case. Some calls hit us harder than others. Just...Halstead is going to lose his job if he’s not careful,” she reminded you. You nodded. 

“I understand. I’ll speak to him. Can I ask a favor, Sergeant?” you finally asked, not sure how she was going to take it. It was worth a shot though. 

“I understand the Corson case has been classified as a cold case. Would it be okay with you if I combed over it? Make sure nothing was missed?” She sighed, leaning back in her chair. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she mumbled before looking at you again. “Off the books. On your off time. Files do not leave this building. Understood?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” 

-----

You hadn’t told Jay about your talk with your Sergeant. He didn’t even tell you about the formal complaint, acting as if everything was okay. It made you feel a little less guilty when you told him over the course of two weeks that you had to work late, that you were working on back to back cases. You’d canceled date nights and dinners to try and save his job. 

“Figured you might be hungry,” Jay told you from the side of your desk, startling you with a gasp. You flipped the file closed, not even realizing you were the last one there. “What’s going on?” 

He pulled up one of the desk chairs, sitting across from you as you rubbed your eyes. You’d gone over the file time and time again, just waiting for something to change, for something to stick out like it hadn’t before. You were half tempted to agree that it was a cold case. 

“It’s just work, Jay,” you assured him, taking the fries out of the bag he’d set down. 

“This isn’t just work. You see, when it’s just work your colleagues don’t tell me that you just closed a case, that none of them have been working as late as you. Look, if...If you’re not happy…” His face dropped.

“God, no, Jay,” you quickly said, grabbing his hand. “I love you. And I’m still very happy with you. That’s not what it is.”

“Then what is it, Y/N? I’ve been driving myself crazy the past few weeks trying to figure out why my wife is gone before I get up and is back long after I fall asleep.” Your head dropped, eyes squeezing shut. You were exhausted, but this...this was so much more important.

“Why didn’t you tell me Phil Rodiger filed a formal complaint against you, Jay?” you finally asked, looking back at him as you popped a couple of fries into your mouth. He looked confused. “My sergeant told me as a courtesy. She told me that if you keep it up, you’ll lose your job. Jay, you told me you were going to drop it.”

“I can’t just drop it!” he exclaimed with a sharp shrug of his shoulders. “I can’t just...Lonnie Rodiger murdered Ben. And he’s out there, free. God knows if he’s done the same to other kids. And every year I see Gail and Danny. They have to see him every time they walk by that house. It’s not like they can just move. That would mean letting Ben go for good. Y/N.” His voice dropped into an almost whisper. “If that was our kid, I’d want to know there was somebody still trying to find justice.” 

“I was allowed to look at Ben’s case off the books, on my off time. That’s what I’ve been doing the past few weeks. I’ve been trying to find something they missed, something that got overlooked. And since I’ve been in Homicide, I’ve kept an eye on crimes around the neighborhood, flagging anything suspicious and looking at it further. Jay, I haven’t let it go. But for right now...You do. For my sake?” He agreed, the two of you finishing the make-shift dinner before going home for the night. Ben’s file would still be on your desk the next morning. 

-----

You actually had back to back cases that kept you at work late into the night. It was rough, having to put Ben’s case on the backburner again. It was necessary though. You weren’t expecting to close the case you’d been working on, just be told to go to Donovan Park for a DOA. 

When you arrived, your heart sank. You’d been expecting another kid, another one of Lonnie’s victims. Instead, you were met with the face of Lonnie Rodiger, staring up at the sky with a glassy look in his eye. You couldn’t get past the irony before you were pulled to the side. 

“Where were you last night?” your Sergeant asked quickly, quietly. 

“I was at the office until about eleven-thirty. Marks, Poulston, and Riggs can vouch. Why?” The older woman sighed. 

“Jay is at the top of our list for suspects. I was hoping you’d be able to give him an alibi.” A chill went up your spine. “I made a few calls. He’s being suspended for the time being until this is figured out. You do not give him information on this case. Understood?”

“Understood,” you agreed before going back to work. 

-----

A sigh escaped your lips as you dropped your backpack at the front door, kicking the door shut behind you. Jay was sitting on the couch, hunched over papers spread across the coffee table, a beer sitting at the edge. Quietly, you walked over, glancing over his shoulder.

“Where did you get the Rodiger file?” you asked him. When he turned his head to look at you, you saw the beginnings of a black eye. The first place your mind went was to the possibility that he’d done it. You hadn’t seen him since yesterday afternoon when he’d stopped by to drop off your bag that you’d forgotten at home. Yesterday afternoon, he didn’t have a black eye. 

“Dawson got it for me. They suspended me. Did you know that?” 

“Yeah. I was told. I was also asked where I was last night, in the hopes I could give you an alibi. I’m not supposed to tell you anything about the case, but it seems like Dawson got you in the know,” you sighed, sitting down next to him. You noticed pictures that weren’t part of the file. “I know you didn’t, but just...Jay tell me you didn’t kill Lonnie.”

“If I was going to kill Lonnie, I wouldn’t have let you stop me seven years ago,” he assured you, leaning back on the couch. “What if...Phil Rodiger said that Lonnie left the house to go for a drive and didn’t come back.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, knowing that because you were the one who took the statement. “Why?” He looked at you with guilt.

“What if I told you that was a lie?” Your brow furrowed as he handed you several photos, quickly looking at them. “I was following Lonnie last night. I found out...He was buying camping supplies, rope, and duct tape.”

“You think he was going to take another kid?” Jay nodded as you examined the pictures closer. 

“I took those photos. The last one,” you flipped to the last picture in the stack, “was taken at 22:15 last night. Lonnie, walking into that house. That’s when I came home.”

“So, Phil is lying?” Jay nodded, reaching out to grab his beer. 

“The Sergeant isn’t going to be too thrilled when I bring these pictures in tomorrow. But at least it should clear your name. You’re an idiot, you know that?” He smiled softly. You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in weeks. This case was the one that haunted him the most. You had your own, but now that it was back at the surface, you saw how tired he looked. Placing the pictures back on the table, you leaned over, kissing him. 

“I love you, Y/N. You know that?”

“Of course I do,” you agreed, kissing him again. “Now, why don’t we head to bed, unwind. I’ve missed you.” He grabbed your hips, pulling you to him, knowing he agreed with your suggestion. 

-----

“Jay,” you said softly, waking him from his sleep. Since he’d been off work for a week, his sleep schedule had been thrown off kilter. Or maybe it was the beer that had done that. You weren’t sure. What you did know was that the case was closed. Both of them. 

“Hmmm?” he hummed, rolling onto his side to look at you, still dressed from your day. You’d been sent home early, knowing that it had worn you down. 

“Phil confessed to Lonnie’s murder,” you told him. “You’re officially reinstated starting tomorrow. There’s one more thing.”

“What?” he asked, sitting up, sheet barely covering his lower-half. 

“We were able to get another warrant for the Rodiger house. This time for more than just the computer. Since it was just Lonnie and his dad, there was a lot less red tape than before. We found pictures of Ben, Jay,” you told him softly, carefully watching his face. 

“I mean...they found pictures of Ben last time,” he reminded you. You reached out, squeezing his hand. 

“Those were pictures of Ben from the weeks leading up to his murder,” you corrected. “These pictures were of Ben the night he was killed. At the park.” You saw tears glistening in his eyes. “Ben’s case is officially closed. And we were able to tie Lonnie to two other murders since then.” 

“It’s over?” he asked, voice cracking slightly. 

“It’s over, Jay. It took a lot of convincing, a lot of convincing...but I managed to convince not only Voight, but my sergeant as well as Chief Perry to let you be the one to tell Ben’s parents. You were the one that promised them that day that you’d find out who did this; that you were the one who never gave up. It’s only fitting that you be the one to tell them it’s over. If you want.” You weren’t expecting the tight hug he pulled you into, your hand stroking the back of his head softly as he held you close. 

“Thank you,” he whispered before pulling back to get ready. Finally, it was over.

[i-see-no-whump-up-here]

Whumpmas in July (Day 6): Mistake

A/N: I’m working on introducing some of the characters I write with, so this is a whumpee’s start with one of my usual whumpers, a whumpee collector who (pretentiously) calls himself “The Master”. I don’t think this needs any CW’s, but please let me know if I need to add any.

Jesse took a deep breath, and he knocked on the big, wooden door. Barely a second passed before he heard. “Come in.”

“Mr. Donovan? Sir?” Jesse cautiously opened the door to an ornate office. Tall, walnut bookcases lined two walls so they framed the fine furniture between. Mr. Donovan sat at his desk, backlit by a large bay window. He didn’t look at Jesse, continuing to write in his journal.

“Have a seat,” The man said. Jesse stepped around the leather studded chair and did so gingerly. He didn’t speak yet, too afraid to mess up this opportunity. He still didn’t know quite what it was, but he knew that he needed it. Mr. Donovan finished his thoughts and then set his journal to the side.

“So, Josiah—“

“Jesse,” The younger man corrected. Then, he realized he interrupted, and he backpedaled. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt. It’s just a habit. Never been a fan of my full name.” He laughed nervously. Mr. Donovan raised an eyebrow.

“Right.” Mr. Donovan grabbed a manila envelope and opened it, pulling out a small stack of papers. He set only the top page in front of Jesse. “Fill this out.”

“Sure,” Jesse looked around. He started to reach for the pen holder but stopped himself. “May I?”

“You didn’t bring a pen,” Mr. Donovan asked— or said, rather. Jesse’s face turned red.

“No. Sorry— sir,” He wasn’t normally one for formal titles, but in this case, he thought it was warranted. A few days ago, he received a call from Mr. Donovan. The man found his resume online, and he claimed to have a unique opportunity for him. Jesse looked him up to make sure it wasn’t a spam call. His full name was Henry Donovan, and apparently, he was quite wealthy, worth several hundred million, but he couldn’t find much more about him. An elusive type— not a man who often socialized, as far as Jesse could tell. Some part of Jesse wished he could find more information on him, but he feared looking this gift horse in the mouth.

The man hadn’t said no, so Jesse carefully grabbed a pen and twisted the tip out. He wrote his full legal name in the right spots, and then he looked down the rest of the page. The form contained a weird mix of personal, legal, financial, and medical information. He paused for a moment, wanting to ask why Mr. Donovan needed this. He didn’t quite feel comfortable putting his social security number in, but surely if the man was asking, this was legal. He must have a team of lawyers watching his wealth, and this wasn’t some shady online website. He filled it in and answered the rest of the questions.

He wrote his current address. He lived alone. He didn’t have a current employment. He didn’t receive money from his parents. When he got to the medical part, he marked them as deceased. He didn’t have any allergies. He didn’t know of any current health issues. His family’s medical history was clean. The last box asked him if he told anyone about this opportunity, and to share who. Jesse forced himself to speak up. “What do you need this for? What exactly is the opportunity? Is it research or something?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute. It’s fairly straightforward,” Mr. Donovan dismissed. As Jesse signed the bottom of the page, he pulled out two more pages from within the stack. “Sign on these lines.”

“It pays well though, right?” Jesse scrawled his signature a few more times, but the papers were pulled away from him before he could see what they said at the top. “You said you knew I was behind on my rent, but I have some other payments to catch up on. I was wondering if we might be able to frontload some of the pay? Then I can take less later.”

“It’ll all be taken care of,” Mr. Donovan promised. Jesse nodded. Right. He probably needed to get the job first. Or did he already get it? He drove all the way out to this insanely fancy manor, so surely he did something right. Mr. Donovan started to get up, and Jesse sprung to his feet as well.

The man walked to one bookcase and pulled on a few books. Then, he moved a few more aside to reveal a pin pad. He typed in a code, and there was an audible click. Jesse startled as a bookcase slid back. Okay… that was unique.

“Ah. Cliche,” He gave a weak smile. Mr. Donovan didn’t seem amused.

“Classic,” He corrected. Jesse flexed his hands at his side. “I need to ask that you turn off your phone and remove anything from your pockets. It’s a security concern.”

“I can keep secrets,” Jesse promised, but he did as requested. He set his wallet and keys on the desk, and he turned off his phone, setting it alongside. As an afterthought, he made sure they sat straight and neat. Then, he joined his potential employer at the bookcase opening. A staircase was visible now.

“After you,” Mr. Donovan gestured toward the stairs. Jesse hesitated. The whole scenario felt off. Not by much, but Jesse was generally suspicious of wealthy people, and the whole secret staircase thing wasn’t helping his secret lair vibes. Although, it didn’t look evil and dingy, nor like a sex dungeon. The stairs were nicely lit with elegant tile and an indent in the wall that acted as a railing. Mr. Donovan quickly grew impatient. “I’m a very busy man, Jesse.”

“Right. Sorry. I appreciate the opportunity. I really do,” Jesse insisted. Even if he was nervous, that wasn’t a new feeling for him, and he needed the money. Whatever he was getting paid, he was sure it would help, and he figured it’d be worth the weirdness of this all. The sum he needed to fix his entire life was probably mere chump change to this man. He forced himself to start forward. Mr. Donovan trailed a few steps behind him. At the bottom of the stairs was a small junction, with hallways going forward and either direction to his left or right. Jesse waited for the man to catch up to him at the bottom.

“Left,” Mr. Donovan instructed. “The door on your right.” Jesse went down the left hallway. There was only one door on his right, and it looked to be made of brass. Mr. Donovan had to scan his eye and fingerprint. The whole place was very high security, and Jesse wondered again what he was getting into. The door unlocked, and Mr. Donovan motioned him in. “Fourth on your left.”

This hallway had at least a dozen doors, but they were all made of metal. They had closed metal windows-- like prison doors. Jesse hesitated. “What’s down here?”

“I’ll show you in a second.”

“Why is it all reinforced? What is this?” Jesse asked. Mr. Donovan took a step forward, and it spurred Jesse to at least step into the hallway, still debating how much he could question in this position. He had to be pushing his luck as it was, and historically, no one appreciated his questions.

“Go,” Mr. Donovan said sternly. “Unless you want to end up in prison from debt.” Jesse felt his heart beating faster. He didn’t, obviously, but he wasn’t sure he wanted whatever was happening here either. Were there exotic animals in these cells maybe? Was he comfortable with that? Could he be? For the right sum? He didn’t know.

“Fourth on your left. Last chance,” Mr. Donovan insisted. Jesse numbly walked forward. He watched as the man typed in another pin, and then he opened the door.

It was a cell. A small cell with nothing but a white trash bin in the corner and a white padded bed. Holy shit. Holy shit! No. Absolutely not. No no no. Jesse took a step back, but Mr. Donovan was already behind him. “Go inside.”

“No!” Jesse yelped. “You’re insane. Absolutely fucking bonkers!” He swiveled his head to Mr. Donovan and then back to the cell. “What the heck is this for?! Do you think I’m just gonna go in there?!”

There was a click, and Jesse looked behind him again. Mr. Donovan held a small pistol in his hand. His soul might as well have left his body. Guns absolutely terrified him, and he’d barely seen any, much less had one aimed at him. He tried to find words in his dry mouth. He opened and closed it like an idiot.

“Step back,” Mr. Donovan ordered. Jesse compiled without even thinking. The man took a step after him, and Jesse moved back again automatically.

“Please,” Jesse’s voice strained. “Don’t shoot me.” He continued to back away, eyes trained solely on the gun. Mr. Donovan moved his hand, and Jesse flinched. The hand found the door handle. Wait. Jesse hadn’t even realized he was in the cell now. He surged forward.

The door slammed shut just as he got there, his hands hitting the padded metal surface a second later. He slammed his palms against it. “Wait! Wait!”

The window cover slid open, and Jesse could only see out through iron bars. “Mr. Donovan, please!”

“Technically, I have a doctorate--”

“Doctor Donovan--”

“-- but you will just call me Master.” The window slid shut. Jesse hit the door again in panic. He searched for a handle, for a crack, for anything to grab, and he found nothing. He yelled. He squeezed his fingers between the padding, but it was bolted down. He slammed his shoulder into the door so hard his entire body hurt with the impact, and he fell backward onto the floor.

Down there, the walls felt so high yet suffocating at the same time. He got onto his hands and knees and stared at the unmoving door. No... What had he done?

[blazingstar29]

No Room For Ghosts

Trigger warning for child abuse, self harm, homophobia

“My father died this morning,” he whispered but Sherlock heard it. He heard it very clearly and looked up.

-

John's abusive father dies opening the flood gates to some long forgotten trauma

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

John walked silently up the stairs without meaning to. Usually his heavy military walk announced his presence wherever he went but today he was too numb to do much more than shuffle.

Sherlock was lounging in his chair,  in his hands was a note left by the killer in Lestrade’s pigeon hole at the yard. Somehow the killer had got in and left the Yard without being seen by man or computer. He didn’t notice John lingering absently in the doorway for quite some time. Then the floor creaked and it was like Sherlock remembered he was there.  

“John you’ve been there for a while, what do you want?” He said vacantly. John broke from his trance and stepped in the room, gravitating towards his arm chair and sinking heavily.

The silence continued, stretching and sickening. John couldn’t stand it, so he broke it.

“My father died  this morning,” he whispered but Sherlock heard it. He heard it very clearly and looked up.

“I, John, I’m very sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine how you feel,” he said sincerely. John couldn’t help it, he laughed.

He laughed loud and hard, but it was stiff with emotion.

“I don’t understand, John?” Sherlock leaned forward to settle on one knee next to John, resting a hand on John’s forearm.

“Nor do I. Sherlock, I’m, I’m glad he’s dead. I’m so fucking happy he’s gone, he’s...he’s,” John started crying and his breathing disrupted as he wheezed.

“He’s oh god he’s, I’m terrible. I shouldn't.”

John was working himself up into a mess. Sherlock didn’t comprehend it, usually people were deeply upset when their parents had died.John was in obvious conflict about his emotions.

“John, I need you to talk to me, what’s wrong,” he tried again to get through to the doctor.

“It’s me, I’m what's wrong,” John cried out. “My father is dead and I couldn’t be happier.”

Sherlock frowned, “there’s some plausible explanation for this. Some sort of trauma…”

Then John slid to the floor and sunk against Sherlock, loudly and violently sobbing. He clung to Sherlock which the detective hesitantly returned and after a moment his grip firmed supporting John.

“John please talk to me,” Sherlock whispered desperately. John was lax against his body and still crying heavily but the horrific sobbing had stopped. John couldn’t find it in him to care; he was essentially curled up against Sherlock’s knee, his head resting on the man’s thigh.

And neither did Sherlock.

“He kicked Harry out when she was seventeen. She came home with Clara one day and said she was in love with her. I knew, I knew she was gay. Had for a long time. It’s when it all started to go to shit y’know?” John whispered, his voice croaky. “He was always yelling and breaking things, yelling at mum and me an’ Harry. But it was the straw that broke the camel's back.”

John’s desperate wheezing had reduced to sniffles now. Sherlock had laid back and John’ head had gravitated to rest on his stomach. Without realising it Sherlock was carding his fingers through John’s hair.  

“I um. When he told Harry to leave I swung at him,” John tilted his head and pulled up the hair at the base of his skull. It revealed a thick white scar,  “Got that for my troubles but it got Harry time. Got Harry and mum both time to grab what they needed. Me and dad were on the floor hitting each other with whatever we had. Then they were gone, I saw Harry at school. She was thriving, checked on me but didn’t...”

“But she didn’t see what was happening. You couldn’t tell her because she’d come back,” Sherlock said. It wasn’t the way he normally said his deductions, it was quiet and passive, not trying to prove a point.

“Yeah. I never told him I was bisexual. I’d be dead. He chased my family away, I was fourteen. I wanted to die. But Harry got to live, I think she would have died had she stayed. One way or another she would have. As soon as I could I left. No way I could afford medical school, so I joined the army.”

John sat up to look at Sherlock with watery brown eyes, “am I wrong? Is it wrong?”

“What is?”

“That I’m glad he’s dead, I’m not going to the funeral. I don’t think there will be one.”

Sherlock sighed, sorrow filling his usually bored eyes, “no John. You owe that man nothing. You surrendered yourself to be the sole target of his anger. You did an honourable thing. You owe him nothing.”

Without thinking Sherlock had to know the answer to something, so he tenderly reached for John’s arms and pulled down the sleeve of his jumper of his right arm. It was clean. With the apology on Sherlock’s lips but  John pulled the collar of his jumper down over his upper arm and shoulder.

Straight white lines, over and over and over.

There were five pink cuts, scabbing. No more than a few hours old.

Sherlock grabbed John close. They were eye level now as they hugged, quiet sniffling coming from John. Spontaneously and without cause Sherlock lowered his head and kissed the pink cuts softly. And then kissed the white ones. John turned his head away, embarrassment flooding his face but Sherlock pulled him back.

“I’m sorry you had to see tha-”

John was cut off as Sherlock leaned closer and kissed him softly on the lips. John showed no resistance and even with salty tears leaking down his face he kissed back.

“Don’t appologise for who you are,” Sherlock said firmly.

John smiled thinly, “I don’t want to be that person anymore. I tried so hard to not do it but I couldn’t stop myself. I rang Harry afterwards and told her. She said she was coming over but I was already in a cab here.”

The pair stayed on the floor for a while. When John dozed Sherlock thought about a case when he was awake they spoke softly. Sherlock would tell a story of his adventure growing up with Mycroft or John would tell more of his own life story.

In one of those times when John was in a deep doze, Lestrade rang.

“Quadripple murder outside the Hyde Park. The vics are clawed to death.”

“Not interested,” Sherlock said dully with his quiet voice.

“Not interested? Thought that'd be right up your ally. We need to prove it’s a murder not some random lion. What’s with the quiet voice anyway?” Lestrade responded with heavy confusion at the consultant’s hesitance.

“I’m not interested. I’m with John, I can’t come in.”

Lestrade was close to begging, “bring John. We need you down here Sherlock. Anderson’s back at the Yard.”

It was tempting, but now wasn’t the time.

“I can’t come down because of John. I’ll come this evening but not now,” Sherlock snapped.

Lestrade was even more confused and was losing patience, “Sherlock. Stop playing games.”

Checking John had completely dozed off Sherlock raised his voice an octave, “this morning John Watson’s abusive father died. He came back home this morning from God knows where, distressed and a danger to himself having cut himself this morning. I will not leave him until he wakes up and I can properly assess his well being until then do your own bloody job.”

Sherlock hung up and slid the phone across the floor.

-

Sherlock did go to the crime scene later that evening after feeding John some take-away and putting him to bed.

Lestrade was extremely apologetic but Sherlock quickly brushed him aside.

“How is he?” The DI asked sincerely.

“He’ll be okay but I’m sure you understand my hesitancy to leave him. He’s currently asleep and I hope he remains that way.”

-

John slept deeply through the night and woke late in the morning. He felt heavy and his eyes still stung. Sherlock’s violin drifted throughout the flat from wherever he was playing. He rose from his bed and ventured down into the kitchen resuming his normal routine like any other day.

Until he broke a plate.

Until the soft strings of the violin stopped abruptly.

Until Sherlock shouted “John!”

But it wasn’t Sherlock who John heard shouting his name, it was his father’s voice booming. Without thinking, fueled on fear, John fled the flat. More shouting filling his ears and no ability to differentiate where it came from.

When Sherlock came to the kitchen it was empty aside from a shattered plate and thes street door wide open.

John was gone.

Sherlock called Greg instantly. He had to repeat himself every few sentences because he was talking too fast.

“John’s gone, he’s gone, he’s run. He’s not on the street, he. Lestrade we need to find him now ,” Sherlock pleaded with an unfamiliar tone.

“Sherlock, I can’t send out units to look for him, it’s not my jurisdiction,” the D.I admitted softly. “I’ll put Donovan on this case, wait where you are and I’ll be there in twenty.”

For those twenty minutes Sherlock phoned John thirty three times before realising that John had left his phone at the flat.

“What happened?” Greg asked as he bolted up the stairs. Sherlock was close to distraught, still in his pajamas.

“He’s not in his right mind Lestrade. He self harmed yesterday, his joke of a father died yesterday. He is extremely unstable, when he broke the plate he fled as soon as I called out to him. He needs to be found now ,” Sherlock all but yelled. Greg nodded, the severity finally surfacing.

The D.I reached for his radio and spoke briefly, “all patrols in the City of Westminster look out for a man, five-foot-seven, Doctor John Watson is unstable, approaching calmly.”

As soon as the report went out Sherlock calmed slightly.

“What are his bolt holes?” Greg asked whilst moving to clean up the broken plate. Sherlock sighed and rubbed his face.

“I have no idea, he doesn’t. He doesn’t bolt, he freezes that’s…”

What Sherlock doesn’t know is that the Army taught John to freeze. Stop, assess, react.

John was a bolter, but Sherlock hadn’t met him when he was like that. He still had hidden bolt holes all over the city, he could be anywhere.

“Harry,” Sherlock suddenly shouted. “His sister!”

Sherlock rushed to snatch John’s phone and returned to the kitchen. He quickly broke into the phone, opening up the contacts list he rang Harry.

“John?” Harry’s voice rang down the line.

Lestrad snatched the phone before Sherlock could say anything.

“Harry Watson? I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard. I’m here with your brother's flatmate Sherlock. John bolted from the flat about half an hour ago after an incident. We believe he is unstable, is he with you?”

Harry was silent for a moment, fear coursing through her, “no, he’s not with me. I, I know where he might have gone.”

-

An hour later Sherlock, Lestrade and Harry were combing their way through woodlands on the outside of London. The once popular trail had been visited less and less over the years but the path was still there.

“John!” Sherlock shouted once more, his voice had steadily become rougher as he shouted for his friend over and over. Harry was sniffling quietly as she combed the undergrowth for her brother.

“John it’s me, Harry. Harry the raging fucking lesbain please. Please tell me where you are, “ Harry cried out. Her breath hitching with a laugh at the inside joke but she continued to cry. “John please. I’ve lost a terrible father today, I won’t lose my brother as well.”

Lestrade and Sherlock said nothing. After another fifteen minutes of searching they came across an open field. In the middle was John, lying facing the sky.

“No!” Harry shouted but Lestrade grabbed her around the waist before she could charge into the field. Sherlock sprinted ahead, begging whatever higher entity people normally believed in for John Watson to be okay For John Watson to be alive.

And he was. He had tear tracks down his face and his arms hard crescent shapes all along them.

“Oh John,” Sherlock whispered, clutching the man close. Together they cried, clinging to each other. Clinging, clinging. Harry was there too, she hung off John’s waist as she sobbed and sobbed and they were a mess all three of them. Even Lestrade was wiping a few tears of relief away as he embraced John at the edge of the clearing.

-

John slipped and he fell.

Sometimes he could lay there for hours and sometimes he got up in an instant.

Sometimes he couldn’t get up at all, not by himself.

Sherlock would find him broken on the living room floor or having an anxiety attack in the bathroom over the spilt water.

Mycroft once said to him it was no point crying over spilt milk.

One day John did. It was arduous finding an equilibrium to remembering and forgetting. There would be days when he was in the middle of a case and a memory would resurface beneath all the suppression.

Those were John’s worst days.

It was all well and good dealing with something he knew, but when the panic was clawing up his throat and he was choking on air and hands were ripping into his neck from some long forgotten ghost...That’s when John would break.

He would break hard, shatter.

John would break so hard he was scared Sherlock wouldn’t go get the sticky tape. That the detective would falter and wonder why he was still doing this.

Why would he want to look after John Watson?

But he never did, he never faltered and even if Lestrade and Molly were talking him threw a panic attack through a mic in his ear. Well, John never knew. All he knew was that his friend was there.

His over half was there.

And when his over half was there, there was no room for ghosts.

[overheardatthecontinental]

Kinktober Day 13: Almost Caught

It was easy to fall into a relationship with John, Helen thinks as she lays in his huge bed, watching the light rise over his property. John’s was already awake, had kissed her good morning, and he went downstairs to make coffee.

John was sweet. And caring. Generous in his attention. He spoiled her mercilessly but it was so much more than that, too. It was the way he made her coffee every morning and made space for her in his closet. The way he installed security over her house and did everything in his power to protect her.

He was paranoid but for the right reasons. He wanted her safe and he was terrified, above all else, that she was going to get hurt because of him.

She understood. She knew what he did. She knew he had enemies.

But that part of their relationship was hard.

The secrecy. The lies. Telling her family she was single but still dodging every date her mother tried to set her up on.

John didn’t really have to lie that much. He had acquaintances but he lacked friendship, outside of Helen. But she was still a secret. Someone he went home to but never spoke about. 

She understood. But it hurt.

Still, she would never let him know. The guilt was already heavy on his shoulders and she didn’t want to add to it.

Helen sighs and rises to her feet. She picks up John’s shirt off the ground from where it had fallen the night before as they collapsed together in bed. She rolled up the sleeves and walked down the hall just as John made his way up the stairs. He’s already dressed and carrying two mugs.

He handed her the daisy mug and Helen accepted. “Thank you, baby.”

“You’re welcome. I need to check my email. Want to come?”

She follows him into his study and leans against his desk as John boots his laptop.

“What do you want to do today?” John asks as he waits.

Helen shrugs a shoulder, “Lazy day? Crap television, crap take out, and amazing sex?”

He smirks, glancing up over his laptop. “Oh yeah?”

“It has my vote. Followed closely by crap television, amazing take out, and crap sex.”

John reaches for her and Helen sets the coffee on the desk, letting John tug her forward and onto his lap. She laughs, softly, as he tickles her sides.

Helen rests her head on his shoulder, "I love you."

He kisses her head, "I love you too."

She smiled and breathed in his delightful scent. Life was good.

“John? You home?” A male voice calls up the stairs.

“Fuck!” John swears.

“Who’s that?”

“Marcus. Fuck!” John says again. “Can you go to the bedroom and stay there?”

Helen rolls her eyes, “I thought Marcus was your friend.”

“He’s as close as I have but…”

“But?”

“Please, Hels. I’ll get rid of him fast?”

“John?” The voice is getting closer.

“Under the desk.” John says quietly.

“You’re fucking kidding.”

“Please, Hels.”

“Fuck.” She swears, looking completely unamused. “Fine, but you owe me so bad for this, John.”

“Whatever you want.” He promises, placing a hand on her shoulder as she slips to her knees and crawls under the desk. Never has John been so grateful to have such a large desk before in his life.

“You home?” Marcus calls.

“In the study.” John hollers back and Marcus appears in the doorway.

“Did Donovan really take a case out from under you?” Marcus asks, walking in. From her hiding spot, Helen can hear the sound of a chair being dragged out on the floor.

John scoffs, “I gave it to him. It was on a deadline and I have things to do this weekend.”

“Yeah, you look real busy. But Donovan is going around telling everyone that he snatched it out from under you.”

John leans back in his chair and Helen smiles as a thought forms. John had put her under a table. Well, fuck. 

If he was going to play this like that then she was going to damn well take advantage of the situation. It doesn’t take much to lean forward and crawl between his thighs. She feels him stiffen, ever so slightly, as she reaches through the opening of his sweatpants and wraps a hand around his dick.

“I’ll talk to him Monday.” John says and she knows that he is slipping into assassin-mode. He is becoming the man who can walk on a broken leg and continue to choke the life out of someone with a gunshot wound. He’s pulling that blank face down and she wonders, idly, if he can really keep it up.

She pulls him out of his pants as John continues to talk.

“But I have to say that Seamus Donovan isn’t high on my list of concerns.”

She runs her hand down his length, bringing his semi-hard cock to life before her. She uses a finger to trace the veins as Marcus speaks up.

“Nor should he be. Winston already publicly called him out about it and he went back.”

Helen is no longer listening as John’s cock pulses in her hand. She glances up, although she cannot make out his face over the desk and she brings her tongue to his length. She licks the head, swirling her tongue around his tip.

A hand grasps her hair and tries to pull her back. He can’t do much, however, without drawing attention to her. And she knows that John would much rather be tormented by her mouth than to have her revealed to anyone in the Underworld.

Jokes on him, she decides, keeping a hand at the base of his cock.

As much as she would like to take him down her throat, to choke and gag on him, she can’t do that silently. 

The next best thing will have to be this.

She bobs her head gently, taking him as deep as she dares while John’s hand tightens in her hair. Again, the joke is on him. As if a little hair pulling will stop her.

He’s still talking to his friend casually telling him about some fake plans he has. Such a liar. She almost wonders if she should stop just before he comes. If she should take him to the edge, make him rock hard under the desk, bring him to the moment of release and stop. 

It was a delightful thought. 

And he must sense what she is thinking because he loosens the grip on her hair and tugs her forward.

She must have slowed down, she realizes, because John is fucking her face as carefully as he can.

“I don’t think so.” John says, and she wonders if his friend has noticed the slight change in his voice, “I’m trying not to take any foreign cases right now.”

“Why not?” Marcus asks, “You’re usually the main guy for international.”

Helen almost snorts. Because, she thinks, moving her hand to gently massage John’s balls, he’d have to go days without this mouth. And poor John just can’t do that anymore.

She feels him tighten in her hand and she softly inhales, preparing for what is to come.

His cock pulses and his cum spills into her mouth, salty and thick. She swallows him down without a thought and the only evidence that anything has changed was a momentary hitch in John’s breath.

He’s going to get her back for this, she knows. Good. Maybe if she teases him a little harder, she’ll get his belt. 

She sits back on her knees, listening as John wraps up the conversation, insisting that he’ll be leaving soon himself.

She hears the chair be pushed out and poor John can’t even stand, his dick still poking through his pants.

“I’ll see you Monday, then.” Marcus says, moving towards the door, “Oh, and John?”

“Yeah?”

“Nice try at subtlety, but you got two coffee mugs on your desk.”

Oh yes, she’s definitely earned the belt.

...

Part 2-- John’s revenge comes tomorrow

[langdxn]

dance macabre part ii: recognition | sojourn!michael x reader

SUMMARY: Michael meets another Cortez resident... someone familiar.

WARNINGS: Nothing but angst and tension here, chief.

WORDS: 1400 - I’m getting better!

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long! I had to make sure I did this interaction properly and make all my usual cross-references, I really hope it’s okay! (again I’ve lost the gif credit, sorry!)

read part i here

Michael’s feet dragged wearily across the burgundy honeycomb carpet of the Hotel Cortez, his legs limp and his knees trembling beneath him. He’d walked so far to reach this 1920s sanctuary, he could barely put one foot in front of the other.

Every corridor looked identical to the last, but the monotony didn’t cross the mind of the aimless wanderer. Michael slumped along each hallway unfazed, swinging recklessly from the walls around every corner as if the merry-go-round were a source of entertainment.

It wasn’t that he was drunk, in fact he hadn’t had chance to touch a drop of whiskey in the Blue Parrot thanks to the intrusion of one James Patrick March, but the dehydration and sheer exhaustion left him in a state of quasi-hallucinogenic stupor, dizzying himself as each doorframe buzzed out of his periphery.  

“You need help finding your room?”

The low female voice calling from behind him suddenly startled Michael out of his daze, but not because of her intrusion on his quiet meandering — her tone sounded familiar.

“I’m fi—I’m fine,” he dismissed with a wave, weakly spinning on his heels to face her. As her stout form came into his kaleidoscopic, exhausted view, Michael’s breath hitched sharply.

“You don’t look fine, kid.”

Iris trudged toward him, her arms swinging dutifully by her side and her dowdy white blouse floating with her.

“Ms… Ms Mead?” Michael squinted harshly, propping himself up against the nearest wall and leaning in to get a closer look at his company.

Could it be? Surely not. He’d seen her body, touched her scorched flesh, watched her death in a vision — every last agonising breath snuffed out before him. Cordelia swore he could never find her again.

“Not quite, young man, the name’s Iris,” she corrected, sauntering toward him with a reassuring grin. “Let me help—”

“No—no,” Michael hissed sharply, firing his palms in the space between them, eyes darting frantically around him. “D—don’t come any closer.”

“Look kid, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m the least of your worries in this place.”

“You’re... you’re not real!” His fragile voice broke as his jaw trembled, processing the sight before him as a repetition of his earlier traumas. “You’re lying, I’ve seen you before... out in the woods!”

“Believe me, I haven’t been in any woods for a long time, sir,” Iris chuckled to herself, stepping tentatively toward him as he shrunk into a doorframe and slumped against the wood beyond. “This hotel really takes all the tree-hugging and bird-spotting right out of you.”

Michael swooped a despairing hand through his hair, congealed with patches of dried mud and dust from his sojourn.

“You’re trying to distract… distract me from my purpose,” he cried out, searing hot tears welling and clouding his vision of the short woman as she approached his side. “You’re not here to help me.”

Michael slipped down the door and crumbled into a heap on the carpet, his face buried in his knees to avoid looking at Iris, who instinctively dropped to her knees in front of him.

“I’ve been here long enough to recognise a lost soul when I see one.” Her sarcastic tone faded, replaced by one of maternal concern. “What’s a beautiful blonde boy like you doing here, kid?”

“I’m… looking for my father?” His tone raised as he trailed off, questioning himself as the words tumbled from his tongue. “I think I am, anyway. I don’t know anymore.”

Iris let out an understanding sigh, a pout curling her thin lips as she steadied herself on her knees before Michael.

“I lost my son too.”

Michael’s head lifted slightly, straining to see Iris at his level.

“Y—you did?”

Iris nodded softly. “He lost his way in the world, his purpose. I didn’t do the best job of bringing him up, admittedly. So he left, he left this hotel and I won’t ever get to see him again. But I still see him when I’m walking the halls sometimes, or at least I think I do. I hear footsteps and for a split second, my head goes, ‘Is that Donovan?’”

“Donovan?” Michael’s eyes widened, realisation washing over his face. “So you’re not my Ms Mead?”

“I told you, kid, I’m someone else’s devil momma,” Iris joked, hauling herself to her feet and outstretching a hand to Michael. “Now are you gonna get up and let me show you to your room? Or are you gonna sit here all night hoping your room will come to you?”

With a distinct rebellious pout, Michael accepted, pulling himself up and standing straight, before wobbling weakly and stumbling against the wood again.

“Easy there,” Iris lunged forward, looping an arm around his waist. “You look exhausted. Which room are you in?”

“I--I think,” Michael stuttered, falling into her arms and tipping his head onto her shoulder. “I think it’s room 64.”

“Well today’s your lucky day, young man,” Iris smirked, cocking an eyebrow toward the number on the door Michael had fallen against.

64.

“C’mon, l’ll get you cleaned up.” Iris reached into Michael’s top pocket, retrieving the clunky keychain and unlocking the door.

“Iris is a pretty name,” Michael sniffled softly as he slipped through the door on her arm.

“It is? Huh, I’ve never thought about it like that,” Iris scoffed, helping Michael across the room and tumbling his limp body onto the bed. “What’s yours?”

“Mi... Michael,” he murmured, just loud enough for Iris to hear as she skittered off to the bathroom.

“Michael’s a nice name too,” she called out from the en suite, her echo booming through the empty room. “Very Biblical.”

“I don’t think my mom was going for Biblical,” Michael chuckled softly to himself.

“So you said you were looking for your father? I haven’t seen a Mr Mead in the guest book but—“

“My father doesn’t sign guest books,” Michael interjected, the clattering of shaving products in the bathroom suggesting Iris was on a mission.

“So what makes you think you’ll find him here?”

“I...” Michael rattled through his scrambled mind for a sensible explanation, trying not to scare Iris with the truth but at the same time comforted that she was trying her best to help him. “I felt something bad when I walked past this place.”

“Yeah, this place does that to a lot of people. You go looking for trouble all the time or...”

Michael rinsed his face in his hands, prizing his exhausted eyes open to stare at the dingy wallpaper beyond the bed. Aged, worn, decaying; synonymous with his own life — once splendid and perhaps even celebrated, now torn recklessly at the edges, splaying into paths it never should have taken in the first place.

The silence between the curt clanking of toiletries ripped apart with the sound of carpet-muffled footsteps in the corridor, accompanied by a harsh female voice closing in on the room.

“Iris, which room is the new gir—“ the cackling voice halted mid-sentence, footsteps halted as they reached the room. “Jackpot!”

Michael swung around to find a woman leaning in the doorway, her predatory eyes boring into him as she consumed his figure slumped on the bed. Her jagged blonde hair sparked from her head like a bolt of electricity, a leopard print coat draped over her lithe figure as she leaned against the frame, a cigarette idly burning away in her fingers.

“Shit,” Iris cursed from the bathroom, rushing out amidst a crash of shampoo bottles. “Sally, don’t—“

Michael jolted back as the woman sauntered towards him, a devilish grin plastered beneath her lipstick, a deep red smudge smeared over her lips as she licked them hungrily.

“If you’d told me you’d found something far more tasty in here, I wouldn’t be looking for that new girl that arrived yesterday!”

“What did—what did you do to her?” Michael stammered nervously, almost curling into a protective foetal position as the woman neared his side. Her heels nudging his scuffed shoes as she stopped to tower over him.

“Oh nothing, yet,” Sally sneered, a predatory smirk distorting her words as she leaned down to observe Michael.

“Sally, please, leave him alone—“

“Shut it, Iris,” Sally barked, waving a dismissive hand behind her. “Go and find someone to check in or... dust your pigeonholes. You’ve meddled in my affairs for far too long.”

She lifted a curious finger to press under Michael’s quivering chin, lifting him up to face her as she hovered her lips over his.

“This one is mine.”

[ellewritesathing]

So Close - S.S. XXXVII

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist   Prev. | Part 37

Word-count: 3.4k+

A/N: this is an angsty angsty part my guys 

The quiet of the past five days was unsettling. The Dread Doctors were still out there, lurking somewhere, and the guilt was eating Stiles alive. He didn’t sleep unless you were with him, and even then it was a few hours at best. No one asked why the two of you were checked out of almost every conversation - just standing to the side, holding hands and staring into the distance - but then neither of you asked about their secrets either. 

Deaton was still missing and Stiles and Lydia were in the woods almost every day looking for the nemeton, but nothing ever happened. It made you wonder if you should just tell Parrish that he was the one taking the bodies and speed up the process because you were starting to doubt if the nemeton could even be found without him this time around. Then again, if they found the nemeton then they’d also find Donovan and Josh, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for those skeletons to come out of the closet just yet. 

Running on constant fight or flight endorphins to get through the day left you feeling hollow and sick. You almost started wanting something to happen just so that the numbness would stop.

Something was going to happen though. The Supermoon. It was a day away and you could already feel the effects; the anxiety, the anger … it was scary. Not any scarier than being locked up by yourself in Derek’s old loft so you wouldn’t hurt anyone, but still. 

“Hey,” you said quietly, bumping your knee into Stiles’. “You know I love you, right?” 

“Of course. I love you, too,” Stiles said, blinking a few times and adjusting to face you. “And you don’t have to go through this alone. I know we’re all on edge with Kira out of town and Corey in the hospital, but I can stay with you tomorrow.” 

You shook your head and interlaced your hand in his. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. I’m not like the others, Stiles, and I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You could never hurt me.” 

“I’ve hurt you before,” you said quietly. “Not again.”

Stiles was going to argue but his phone started buzzing. It was Scott, telling him that Corey was dead. He and Theo found him, stabbed and covered in mercury, in the ambulance bay at the hospital. 

“We need to get Lydia,” you said as soon as Stiles hung up the phone. “She’s supposed to be in the woods with Parrish right now.” 

---

Lydia, although she always had her phone on her, only answered much later when Parrish locked himself in a cell at the police station. Since both of them were safe, the priority shifted to Liam and Hayden at the animal clinic. They’d tried to run away and gotten themselves very badly beaten by the Dread Doctors in the process. 

The rain made your head pound as Stiles drove and the bright street lights didn’t do much to ease the pain. It was almost completely dark by the time that you and Stiles eventually caught up with everyone at the animal clinic, but Scott had just gotten there on his bike too. 

“Hey, sorry we’re late,” you said as you got out of the car. “We were looking for Lydia and then the Jeep crapped out on us again. Are they okay?”

“They’re fine. You should go in and check on them,” Scott said. He was acting weird, or at least weirder than usual. “We’ll be right there.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Scott, you okay, man?” Stiles asked. The rain had already soaked through his thin hoodie in the time it had taken him to walk from the Jeep to where you stood with Scott. 

Scott looked over at you for a second before looking down and reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out the wrench Stiles used to kill Donovan - you could still smell the blood and mercury on it. 

Stiles stared at the wrench and nodded to it. “Where’d you get that?” 

“This yours?” Scott asked. 

You stepped forward and put a hand out to take the wrench from him, but Scott moved it out of your reach. “Maybe we should-”

“Is this yours?” Scott repeated. Each word sounded like its own sentence, and each word broke your heart. 

Stiles looked out into the rain, his heart beat still racing but trying to calm down. He reached out after a second and took the wrench in his hand before looking it over. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott asked. 

“I was going to,” Stiles said. He looked at the wrench instead of at your brother as he spoke. 

“No, but why didn’t you tell me when it happened?” Scott asked. 

“I told him not to,” you said. Your jaw clenched slightly at the lie but Scott didn’t seem to notice, he was too preoccupied feeling betrayed and sorry for himself. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”

“But he killed him?” Scott asked, still trying to understand. He looked back over at Stiles, still trying to make sense of it all. “You killed Donovan?”

“Well, he was going to kill my dad,” Stiles said. His heart rate was starting to pick up again, and his movements were starting to get agitated. “Was I supposed to just let him?” 

“You weren’t supposed to do this,” Scott argued. He was so infuriatingly self-righteous. “None of us are.”

Stiles looked at him for a second in disbelief. He took a small step closer as he asked, “You think I had a choice?”

“There’s always a choice.” Scott stopped looking at him and stared at a spot on the ground.

“Yeah, well, I can’t do what you can, Scott.” Stiles took another step closer, and his hands started moving nervously. “I know you wouldn’t have done it. You probably would’ve just figured something out, right?” 

You took a step closer to get between them and diffuse the situation, but you fell short. Holding a hand out, all you managed to say was, “I think we should take this inside-”

“I’d try,” Scott said, lifting his eyes back up to Stiles.

“Yeah, because you’re Scott McCall!” Stiles swung the wrench as his body swayed. He was going into fight or flight mode, and you knew it was taking everything for him not to run. “You’re the true alpha! Well, guess what? All of us can’t be true alphas.” His free hand started hitting the air with every word he spoke. “Some of us have to make mistakes. Some of us have to get our hands a little bloody sometimes. Some of us are human!”

His yelling drowned out the rain and for a second it was the only thing you could hear. 

Scott looked disappointed when you looked back at him again. It broke your heart, and the rain couldn’t dampen the chemo-signals rolling off him in waves, but you couldn’t help feeling angry at him. He was too busy being the true alpha to give a damn about his friend. His best friend. 

“So you had to kill him?” Scott asked. 

“Scott, he was going to kill my dad,” Stiles said.

“But the way it happened …” Scott looked away for a second and you didn’t understand. If he knew how it happened then he should understand. He looked back up and he was more angry than disappointed. “There’s a point when it’s… When it’s not self-defense anymore!” 

“What are you talking about, Scott?” you asked. Neither of them broke eye contact to look at you. “Hey, what do you even think happened that night?”

Before Scott had the chance to answer, Stiles started arguing again. “I didn’t have a choice!”

Scott didn’t say anything. 

“You don’t even believe me, do you?” Stiles asked. 

“Of course he believes you,” you said. “Right, Scott?” 

The beat of silence was enough of an answer, but Scott answered anyway. “I want to.”

“Okay, alright. So …” Stiles took a breath, trying to keep himself calm. “So, believe me then.”

Scott shifted his weight and looked away again. 

“Scott, say you believe me.” 

You reached for his hand but Scott pulled his hand away. “Scotty?” 

“Say it,” Stiles said as he took another step forward. “Say you believe me.”

“Stiles, we can’t kill the people that we’re trying to save,” Scott said, not looking up from his spot on the ground.

Stiles took another step closer, this time lifting the wrench as he did. “Say you believe me.”

Scott took a step back and pulled you with him before you could shake him off. He looked between Stiles and the wrench, and Stiles froze. “We can’t kill people!” he yelled. “Do you believe that?”

Stiles tried to say something, but all he did was open and close his mouth a few times before looking back up at him. “Well, what do I do about this?” he asked softly. “What do you want me to do? Okay, just be … Scott, just tell me how to fix this, alright? Please, just tell me. What do you want me to do?”

“Scott, say something,” you said quietly. 

Scott looked over at you before turning to Stiles. “Don’t worry about Malia or Lydia,” he said after a few seconds. “We’ll find them. Maybe … Maybe you should talk to your dad.”

“Scott, no.” You reached out for him but he started turning away anyway. “No, you’re not leaving like this. Scott-” 

He stepped around you and opened the door to the animal clinic. Scott didn’t even look back before he closed the door in your face. 

“Stiles-” you turned back around but Stiles was just standing in the rain, turning the wrench over itself in his hand. You reached out to touch his face and he flinched. “Stiles, you know he didn’t mean it. He loves you. He-” 

“He doesn’t want anything to do with me,” Stiles said as he pulled away. “You shouldn’t either.” 

“Stiles, I believe you. Okay? I’m on your side,” you said. You put your hand over the one he was holding the wrench in. “I believe you.” 

“Let’s just get out here.”

Stiles pulled his hand away and started walking back to the Jeep. You’d never seen him so upset before; he’d never pulled away from you like that before. The door slammed shut behind him, but he didn’t switch the Jeep on until you were in the car.

Considering all the rain pouring down around you, you were surprised by how erratically Stiles was driving, but then you looked over and saw how upset he was and it wasn’t so surprising anymore. Not only was he carrying the guilt of killing Donovan on his shoulders, but now he was also carrying the weight of a broken heart. 

Stiles’ biggest fear had always been people leaving him - that’s why he came up with his big post-graduation plan with details about where everyone would go to college and how often he could come home to visit you - and now his best friend had left him. 

And now his Jeep was smoking under the hood and he had to pull over if he didn’t want to risk it catching fire again. 

The smoke started pouring in through the vents and Stiles pulled over to the side of the road, tumbling out before the engine had even come to a complete stop. It burned your lungs but you ignored it as you went around to check on him. He was coughing his lungs out but you helped him steady himself.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, holding onto his shoulders. “How much of that did you inhale?” 

“I’m fine.” Stiles pulled away, walked around to the other side of the Jeep and pulled his toolbox out of the trunk. He didn’t say anything else as he threw the hood up, but he froze when he opened the box. Everything was there, ordered exactly the way Stiles liked it, except for one of the wrenches. 

That particular wrench was blood-stained and wedged into the space between the driver’s seat and the armrest. 

Before you had the chance to come up with anything remotely comforting, Stiles picked up the toolbox and threw it into the road. You did your best not to flinch as it smashed into the pavement and sent metal clattering all over the road, or as Stiles slammed the hood shut and pulled open the door. He ripped the wrench out from where it was wedged in, irritating his shoulder muscle in the process. 

“Stiles, maybe we should-”

He moved out from under your touch and kept moving, but then he stopped in front of the Jeep. “Maybe we should what, huh?” he asked. “Go beg Scott for forgiveness? Tell my dad I killed somebody? Oh, I know. We should call Isaac and Cora, right? Because they always know how to fix things.”

“Stiles, please-”

“Well, what if I can’t be fixed?” he yelled. Stiles threw the wrench at the windshield and flexed his hand when he was done. He walked around as the glass shattered and sat down in front of one of the tires. In a voice much quieter than any of the others he’d used that night, he asked, “What if none of this can be fixed?”

You took a breath as you knelt down in front of him. You took both of his hands in your own and kissed them. “You don’t need to be fixed, Stiles,” you said softly. “You’re not broken.”

“How can you say that? After- after everything you know...”

“I can say that because of everything I know,” you said. “Stiles, you wouldn’t have killed him if you had any other option. Scott knows that. It just takes him a little while for his head to catch up to his heart.” 

Stiles didn’t say anything, but he tightened his hold on your hands when you started letting go to sit next to him. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. You squeezed his hands before shuffling a bit closer and sitting down. It was awkward as you moved your legs around and got closer to him without letting go of his hands. “I’m right here.”

You and Stiles stayed tangled up in the street until it started raining again. Even then, you stayed in the rain for a little while until it got worse and Stiles said you should weather it out in the Jeep. You weren’t sure how you fell asleep given the state of things, but when you woke up again the sun was out and you were covered in Stiles’ back-up lacrosse jersey. He was standing outside, leaning against the hood and staring out into the road. 

He didn’t say anything for a while as you stood with him, but it only took his hand a few seconds to find your own. It took every ounce of self-control that you had not to say anything that might push him as you moved slightly closer and rested your head on his non-injured shoulder. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you last night,” Stiles said when it felt like your nerves were going to eat you whole. “I didn’t… didn’t mean to do that.” 

“You didn’t scare me, not like that,” you said. He was quiet again so you went on, “I wasn’t scared that you would hurt me. I was scared that you would hurt yourself.”

Stiles continued to be stubbornly silent as he ran his thumb along the top of your hand. You wished he’d say something - anything - to at least let you know that he was okay, but all he did was take a few deep breaths. 

“I called us a tow truck,” he said eventually. He lifted a hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I doubt it’ll fix anything but I figured it was better than leaving this out in the street.” 

“Do you want to go home after they take the Jeep?” you asked. “I can get us an uber or something, if you want.” 

“No, I think-” Stiles took another, shakier breath and bounced his hands slightly. “I think I need to go talk to my dad.”

You nodded slowly, trying to figure out what to say but coming up with nothing. If Stiles wanted you there, he would have asked. 

“I should probably get to Derek’s loft while I’m still in control enough to lock myself up,” you said after a while. 

“You know you don’t have to do that, right?” Stiles asked. “You haven’t had a bad full moon since the first time.” 

That was because you refused to change, if you could help it. Fangs, maybe or claws when you needed it, but never the full thing and never around your friends. You’d almost killed them too many times for you to trust yourself to be in control. 

“I could come over as soon as I’m done with my dad.” 

“No, I-” You pulled away and took a breath. “I’m still new to this, and I don’t want to hurt you. Will you call me after you talk to your dad?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles said, sounding unsure. It hurt to push him away but it would hurt more if anything happened to him. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Stilinski,” you said with a smile. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

---

The loft felt eerie without any of the Hales around, and even eerier when you were chained to the floor where you’d used to curl up on the couch for movie nights. On the bright side, waiting around for the super moon gave you plenty of time to check your messages and go out of your mind when your friends stopped sending updates. 

Lydia was the first to disappear, and it wasn’t like you were on speaking terms with Scott so you had to ask Malia (who never checked her phone) to check up on her. Mason was the only one sending a steady stream of updates, but none of them were any good. Liam had gone AWOL and Hayden was still barely hanging on. Stiles was nowhere to be seen. The moon rose slowly, hurting more and more the higher it got in the sky.

You were so focused on trying not to rip up the concrete underneath you that you almost didn’t realise when your phone started ringing. Unclenching your fingers, you reached out and drew your phone back slowly. It was Stiles. 

“It’s Theo,” he rushed out. “We were right. It’s Theo. He- he’s got my dad. He’s gonna kill Scott.” 

“Stiles, I’m locked up,” you forced out. “I can’t-” 

“You have to!” Stiles took a shaky breath and you could tell he was doing his best to keep it together. “I’m getting my dad. You have to get to the school or he’s gonna kill Scott.”

“Okay, okay,” you said. “I love you. Stay safe.” 

“I love you too.” 

Your phone chimed as the line disconnected. It took you a few moments to calm your heart down enough to shift your focus from restraining yourself to breaking out. You cried out as the metal dug into your wrists, but it was only a second of pain before the chains snapped. As soon as they did, you struggled to your feet and out the door. 

The school was too quiet when you got there. 

All the lights were out and the parking lot was empty. The sound of blood rushing through your head blocked out any other sound, but everything came flooding back when you found your brother lying on the library floor and covered in blood. Every muscle in your body was screaming at you to rip open his throat and finish it off, and you didn’t trust your hands to touch him. 

This was the part of the bite that no one ever spoke about. It almost killed you.

You didn’t know where Mason came from, but soon enough he was by your side and asking how he could help. 

“CPR,” was all you could get out at first. “He- his heart isn’t beating. There should be an emergency defibrillator somewhere here.” 

“I’ll go find it,” Mason promised right before dashing back into the dark. 

You stared at your shaking hands for a second before forcing them to interlock with each other and push on your brother’s chest. The blood started covering your palms as soon as you did. Nothing helped. It felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

Just like Mason, Mel came out of nowhere. You didn’t hear what she was saying but she took over compressions while you did your best to breathe, and then Mason came back with the shock pads. 

They didn’t work. 

In a last ditch effort, your mom slammed her fists into Scott’s chest with every ounce of force she had left. 

Scott gasped for air and his eyes flashed red. He was okay. 

You took a deep breath and got to your feet. As relieved as you were that he was alive, you knew you couldn’t stay. You started walking away before Scott had even recovered enough to ask you to stay.

Tagged: @ietss​  @used-avocado​

[bestwishes1986]

2am Guest (pt 1 of Val and Donavan)

The rain was coming down in sheets that Tuesday night across London. Val stood with a glass of water in his small kitchen. His thick fingers holding the glass as if it were a lifeline to some unseen creature. Ten deaths, bodies ripped apart, the wings of each fairy consumed on sight. He had been wracking his brain as to why for days. All since he had met That Man. Donovan Roe, tall, muscular and above all beautiful with those sad gray eyes. Val had been so sure he had been the monster he had chased through brothels, tea rooms, opuim dens and back alley surgery theatres. But he had been wrong, all he had found with Donavan had been a scared twenty three year old on the run from that same killer.

Taking a long drag of the water he thought about those gray eyes pleading with him to let him go. Donovan was an incubus who had a few times gone to far in feeding. Left corpses in cheap hotels, by all rights Val should have brought him before King and the Council of Life. But something about those eyes had caused him to pause. Incubuses weren’t like other creatures, they couldn’t live without taking life. He knew that, had seen the bodies that Donovan had admitted to being his victims. No sign of a struggle, no bruises, just looks of pure pleasure burned into their final moments. He had brought Donovan to the Castle morgue under a false name and with a hood over his face.

Had he known then, that he would let the boy go? Even at twenty three Donovan seemed like a boy to him in his early forties. But what had done it? What had caused him to turn his back on the law, on the Council and let the man out at the Globe Theatre? He had driven them there, the drive silent. Silent save for Donovan’s sobs. The young man may have grown into a tall muscular man, but in the face of his own passive brutality he was nothing more than a scared child. The car had idled there for a while, he had waited hoping Donovan would run into the night. But instead he had been forced to turn the motor off. Get out and walk around the car to the passenger side and yank him out.

Donovan was a foot taller than him, but he was a stout man with more muscle than fat on his body. So getting the larger man out wasn’t a hardship.

“Please help me.” That request from the weak, labored by guilt voice had been too much for him. He had shoved the man away and got in his car and driven away. Looking in the rear view mirror, watching the man crumple to his knees on the sidewalk.

The water gone he went to the sink and crouched low. He only wore an undershirt over his expansive chest and tapered waist and blue boxer briefs. His vanilla skin beneath the overhead light glowed as he dug around the cleaning supplies in the kitchen cupboard for the tall bottle of vodka. Standing again he got a few ice cubes into the glass. A frown etched across his square sparsely bearded face that had once been a five o’clock shadow.

He poured the vodka half way up the glass and watched the ice cubes float a bit then dunked low and settled at the bottom of the glass. Val closed his eyes and thought of his daughter. Barely six years old who still believed his wife was on holiday. She had been the third victim of the killer, how would he form the words to convey hope to his Abigail? Sighing heavily he lifted the cup to his lips and drank.

A soft tapping at the door drew his attention from the glass and his thoughts. He glanced at the stove clock with it’s green numbers against the black plastic and glass. Two A.M. it read. He padded across the hardwood floor on long pale bare feet to the door and peeked through the small gold rimmed peephole. It took him a moment to focus with the darkness and rain but when the tall man came into view, he yanked open the door after unlocking it.

“Get in here,” he hissed, keeping his voice low.

Looking as pitiful as a puppy left out in the rain, Donavan slowly and timidly walked over the threshold. His thick soled boots creating noise Val did not want Abigail to hear. He glanced back into the house and waited but heard nothing as he closed the door.

“Take those off.” Val whispered before he rushed from the spot and down the hallway to the bathroom and grabbed towels and a first aid kit. He returned to the front door to see Donavan sitting struggling to get his one remaining boot off to our beside the other. Val didn’t know if it was the frustration on the young man’s face or the fact three toes were jutting out of a large hole in the other foot’s sock. But he felt pity. Once the boot was off and beside the other one, Donavan stood in a hurry. His white t shirt stuck to his chest and abs as if painted on. He was shivering but tried to look at attention as if Val were a drill sergeant.

“It’s done sir,” Donavan states and Val rubs at his eyes.

“I can see that, what are you doing here? This is my home, you have no right coming here,” Val says in a voice with a dangerous edge.

“I’m in trouble and didn’t know where to go, what to do, you’re card has your address on it. So I came. Please sir ya have to help me.” Donovan said as he lost his composure. As if reality had peeled off a layer of itself Val watched the glamour fade from Donavan and all the cuts and bruises appeared in the place of unruined skin.

Val’s dark eyes widened in horror at the sight of the gashes and bruises. His cop brain turned in his head analysis already working as he grabbed the man by the arm and led him to one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“Get out of your wet clothes and dried off and we can talk about what’s got into you and taken chunks for souvenirs it looks like.” Val jokes, it was in poor taste but it’s how he handled the crisis and this was a crisis. The man looked at him bewildered for a moment but still reached down and peeled the bloody wet shirt from his chest. He handed it to Val with apologies, Val let the words go as he held the shirt away from him and with his toes pressed on the release of the lid of the trash bin and dropped it in.

“I’ll give you a new one. It’s in ribbons anyway. Now sit for a moment while I turn the kettle on and get you dried off. Then a shower and bandages will be applied you can sleep here tonight or morning as it were.” Val said thinking he was being very spot on for being in the presence of a killer, he had to keep reminding himself of that. The man looked downright pathetic with how his head hung, dark bangs hanging around those sharp gray eyes. The eyes that were watching him with an expression of gratitude.

Val realized he had met those eyes gaze a moment too long and hastily turned his back to him and moved to walk to the electric kettle and ended up walking into the kitchen island. Pain shot up his torso and he had to bite down on his bottom lip to not make a sound.

“Sir, are you alright?!” He heard the deep husky voice of Donavan ask in alarm.

“Ye don’t need to be formal, I’m standing here in my underwear making a right fool of myself in front of ye,” Val mutters as he walks around the traitorous island to the kettle.

“I don’t know your first name. But Teague sounds not right to me to say cause of your wife.” Donovan said in a soft tone. The mention of Teagan cut Val deep behind the ribs where his heart beat. He froze and Donavan watched the long sculpted back of Val as he gripped the counter. The kitchen was quiet for far too long.

“…Teague…?” Donovan asked, the body before him stiffened. Donovan frowned at that, he knew he had done wrong by saying the name. But it was out of his mouth.

“Valiant. My name is Valiant Teague, but just call me Val, sorry I had a drink before you came here. It’s made me a bit…weak.” Val lied to save face and was bewildered as to why he felt the need to. He busies himself with the kettle and water and then moved to the pantry for tea. He was aware of Donavan watching him but didn’t feel fear.

Donovan patiently waited, his eyes enjoying the view of the man. His pert round arse almost made him forget the horrible day he had. Almost. When the shorter man turned with two steaming mugs of tea Donavan had tried to look at his face first, but his eyes had betrayed him and he had looked between the men’s legs first at what had to be the most impressive flaccid cock he had ever seen. Val cleared his throat and Donavan raised his eyes to Val’s. It looks could kill Donavan would be a pile of ashes.

“Sorry, just distracting myself.” Donavan said offhandedly looking innocent and Val’s eyes narrowed.

“You come here half dead, and you still have a mind to objectify me? After mentioning my dead wife no less?” Val asks, trying to keep his voice down.

“Half dead isn’t all dead Si….Val, I already apologized. What more can I do?” Donavan asks his own irritation to get the better of him.

“Drink your tea and let’s get you in the shower. Before you freeze to death in my kitchen.” Val states as he takes a sip from his own mug.

“Your kitchen with it’s murderous island,” Donavan said as he took a swig.

“Cheeky lil shit.” Val thought from behind his mug but a smile played at the corners of his mouth all the same. Donavan tried to smile but winced from laughter that stretched his wounded ribs.

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

Aftermath Part 3 - The Meeting

Sorry for the delay in the release of this next part. Mun has found herself lacking in motivation in writing. I hope you enjoy the next installment in my apocalyptic TMNT story. 

Raphael and Reader

Everything hurt; even your eyelids ached, throbbing red flashes of pain as you tried to peel them open to see where you were, this wasn’t normal. What was going on, why did…..oh….OH….it was coming back in vivid angry snaps of memory. You were fighting off those men on the roof, who came unannounced and dead set on bringing you back to someone, to break you? Those assholes almost had you too before those four giant turtle men came, distracting them. The red banded one’s face flashed before your eyes concerned etched in his features. He had tried to save your dumb ass as you stumbled back in shock. The rotted out opening in the roof, how could you have not been aware of your surroundings? You could hear your mother scolding you in the back of your mind. Idiot!

As the world came rushing back you heard voices, male voices, not good. The fear bubbling up from your gut hoped it wasn’t those men you had encountered on the roof, prayed in fact, which you hadn’t done in years.

“I think she’s coming around?”

“Dudes, you think she’s gonna freak?”

“Can you get back nutball? She’s gonna freak if she wakes up and your ugly mug is inches from her fucking face.”

“Raphael can you please watch your language. We have a guest.”

As the light pierced your vision green became the forefront. Once, twice you blinked as the green blurry masses came into focus. Crystal clear they became, large muscle bound shelled behemoths just a few feet from where you lay. In the back of your mind you had hoped they were a figment of your imagination as you tumbled to your doom, but the four very large, very real man turtles stood around you.

The tallest of the four seemed to be concerned the most, his brown eyes moving behind a tattered purple mask and a pair of tech goggles sat upon his green bald forehead. His upper body well-muscled was sans clothing except for suspenders littered with multicolored patches and an arm band which seemed to hold a working tablet. He had a pack on the back of his shell and a small solar panel perched on the top with a weird pole attached to its side, it looked electric? From what you could see of his lower half he was wearing black cargo pants that held an array of gadgets and unknown gizmos strapped to his narrow hips. His left arm despite green with scales was covered in several all black tattoos that went from his shoulder cap to his pointer finger. His right arm had a nasty looking scar around his bicep, the green scaled flesh faded to white scar tissue reaching from mid bicep to his armpit. By the looks of the damage he had nearly lost it.

The one next to him was the smallest of the bunch but did not lack in bulk, his eyes were a brilliant light blue outlined in orange fabric. The front of his plastron looked carved in intricate designs, scrolling from the top left to the bottom right, but to your trained eye you could see the designs were hiding a long deep gash that had to have been painful to endure. His whole right arm down to the middle of his open side was drenched in vivid pigment and abstract watercolors. Along with a brightly colored octopus on his left shoulder, tentacles running up towards his throat to around his collar bone. His lower half was covered with brown shorts and knee pads and what looked like homemade shoes for his massive feet. And hanging on each swaying hip were a pair of fucking nunchaku?! Nunchaku?

The third was the second shortest but by the way he held himself he was very important, maybe the leader?  His green crown was wrapped in blue silhouetting his vibrant ocean blue eyes, he definitely oozed control. The top of his plastron had the same intricate detailed carvings covering what looked like a jagged gash across his chest moving from the left to just past the middle of the boney plates. The difference in his carvings was the indents looked blackened, enhancing the artwork, making it pop. Across his broad chest sat what look like a holster, black leather with dark blue embroidering running the length of the strap. His lower half was covered by black pants with knee pads protecting his joints with a strap around his left thigh holding an array of blades.

The last was the brute, not quite the tallest but definitely the one who worked out the most. A red bandana covered his whole head draping down to cover the back of his thick neck. His biceps were bigger than your head with dense muscles shifting under the green flesh as he palmed a half eaten apple in his right fist. His plastron had the most carvings covering nearly all his front breast plates besides the lower left section. His wide hips held a belt that slung lazily holding a set of red sais. His bulky legs were covered in dark green camo pants tattered and worn from years of abuse. His feet also adorned specially made footwear because you had never seen such gigantic black boots in your life. You wondered who the shoemaker of the group was.

Slowly you braced your hands under your back and sat up eyeing each mutant warily.

“Careful now, you got a pretty nasty concussion when you fell. Take it nice and easy.” The tall purple one yelped reaching for you out of reflex. When you recoiled, his face fell into a deep frown and stepped back out of your personal space.

You didn’t feel like you were in danger but that didn’t mean that you weren’t. You’re first interaction with humans in 10 years had left a sour taste in your mouth. But these four weren’t really human, were they?

“Umm….did you set up your rig, it’s quite impressive?” the tall one asked obviously trying to break the tense moment between you all. “How did you get the engine to take the solar power?”

You were about to say something but the horror of it hit you, your truck and camper! How long had you been out? Someone could steal all your hard work! Then you’d be stuck here!

The one in blue must have sensed your inner panic and lifted his large green hands in a non threatening manner. “Hey, hey miss calm down. Your truck and camper are safe; it’s down here with us. After you fell and we dispatched Donovan’s men, we brought you and your vehicle down here where they can’t get to it. The reason Donnie is asking because he got to drive it and hasn’t stopped talking about your work for almost 3 hours.”

“Down here? Donnie? Where are we? Who are you? Why did you help me? Donovan’s men?”

“Whoa whoa whoa there, that’s a lot of questions.” The red one chuckled taking another healthy bite from the apple. “By the way, thanks for the apple.” He winked finishing the sweet flesh in one final crunch. “It’s been years since I’ve had one.”

“God damnit Raph.” The purple one moaned in frustration hold his head in his hands. When he lifted his face you could have sworn his green cheeks had a red tint to them. “I’m sorry miss; you are in the sewers below what used to be New York City. I’m Donatello aka Donnie. This one here..” he wrapped his arm around the small but bulky orange banded one pulling him closer. “Is Michelangelo and he’s the youngest of us all.”

“You can call me Mikey though.” Michelangelo winked reaching his hand out for a knuckle bump.

His large knuckles were massive and highly scarred, like he had lived a very hard life. Which from the looks of their battle worn bodies was true for all of them? Reluctantly you lifted your hand and completed the bump to his very apparent excitement. His blue eyes shone bright as he leaned further into Donatello gracing you with a large white smile that warmed your soul.

The blue one stepped forward and bowed slightly, “I am Leonardo, and I’m the eldest of my three brothers and the leader of our clan. The one who took an apple without permission is Raphael, my second in command and 2nd oldest. I apologize for his rudeness, but I must confess we all were a little excited seeing fresh fruit and vegetables. It’s been a while since we’ve seen, let alone consumed any. We live underground but Mikey had a garden set up on a roof top not too far from here, but it kept getting looted. Soon there was nothing left to regrow because seeds grew scarce and no left-over parts of the food to replant. It was a major disappointment to all of us. How have you managed to grow them after all this time?”

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed you rested on you cracked your neck and took a deep breath. “Ummm, my name is Y/N, yes I set up the rig, been working on it for years. I’m not from New York, let’s just say I’m from somewhere with a lot of land. I’m here scavenging for parts. My parents were preppers so when everything went down and I lost everyone, I had enough skill set to be able to survive.” And there it was, like an idiot with no filter you word vomited too much information to four complete strangers who were the first to be nice to you in ten years. “I have an extensive garden at home as well as live stock…..fuck.”

All four of them chuckled as you spewed word after word at an alarming rate. In fact they were surprised they could understand you at all with how fast you were talking. Donnie lowered his goggles and saw just how fast your heart rate was and the temp of your body rising rapidly. He began to worry if this was too much for you?

“You’re having a panic attack aren’t you? Are we too much for you or have you been alone all this time and not use to this much social interaction in one day?” he asked quickly stepping towards you still keeping an eye on the red flush drenching your cheeks.

Looking to your hands you saw them shaking and your lungs, Jesus Christ they felt like they were being squeezed from the inside. And let’s not talk about your heart, it felt like it was trying to hammer straight through your chest. Your fingers curled in your shirt clutching at your thumping breast. “Is that was this is? A panic attack? I feel like I’m dying…”

Soon you felt two hands, two very large hands on your shoulders holding you steady before you tumbled back from the bed you were perched upon. Golden green eyes and red flooded your vision and a musky scent of engine oil and leather invaded your senses.

Raphael was inches from your face, his massive body so close you could feel the heat radiating off his pebbled flesh. He smelled of masculinity and something rough, you could taste it on your tongue and it traveled to your belly warming it pleasantly. “Look at me, listen to my voice.” The rumble from his deep voice vibrated fluidly through the little space between you. Seeping into your pores and headed straight to the apex of your thighs. He smelled of trouble, the best kind of trouble.

“Deep breaths now, we ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

God he smelled good, you took slow deep pulls of his scent and found everything slowing down, your heart, your lungs and the whole damn room around you. All you could see was his face and the slow creeping smile that revealed his white teeth and the pink tip of his tongue bit between them.

“Do ya feel better now?”

Another hard swallow and you suddenly because aware your hand was now resting on the boney plates of his warm plastron. Why did it feel so comforting to touch him? Yep you were in trouble, so much trouble.

 All my works

@blossom-skies​

[woodelf68]

Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out

My long-promised homage to @worryinglyinnocent‘s Playtime ‘verse, because she managed to write fifty installments without doing hippies, and I had to rectify that. Also my contribution to @rumbelleishope. Rated E. 

***

The large cardboard box bearing items from the estate sale was like a time capsule from the late 1960s. Gold sorts through the items, fond memories of his early childhood stirred by such things as the beaded curtain and concert posters and the heavy stack of albums, their cardboard covers worn along the edges but still bright with the distinctive graphics of the era. The Who, Jefferson Airplane, Country Joe and the Fish, Iron Butterfly. Donovan, too, Glasgow-born like himself. He can hear them in his head, like a soundtrack to the Summer of Love, and he wonders if Belle will like any of them. He’s fairly certain that she’ll like the clothes, and holds up a loose, flowing smock with wide sleeves and delicate flowers embroidered around the neckline and hem.  It’s a pretty thing, and he can easily see Belle wearing it, hopes that she’ll want to.

Methodically he sorts through the contents of the box, dividing everything into three piles. One to be priced and sold – the two posters were what had drawn him to bid on this lot in the first place, and he knows that he can sell them for a pretty penny – one of things he thinks Belle might be interested in, and one of a few items of clothing that he looks at doubtfully, unsure if he wants them to fit or not. But he thinks of Belle in the short dress, thinks of surprising her with a scenario they haven’t played out yet, knows he won’t regret any temporary feelings of silliness at wearing what are, after all, fairly normal clothes compared to some of the things he’s put on for her. Making up his mind, he goes into the shop’s small bathroom and locks the door.

Several minutes later he’s studying his reflection, and surprisingly not feeling too ridiculous. although he would die of embarrassment if anyone other than Belle were to see him wearing a suede leather vest adorned with long fringes. But the undyed linen shirt with the open neck and band collar is soft and comfortable, and if it’s a little too big, it’s not overly so, and he can roll up the sleeves. Same with the trousers, he’s sure that the flare-legged rust denim was originally meant to fit a bit more tightly than they do on his frame, but although he knows that Belle would no doubt appreciate that, he’s gotten used to more freedom of movement. With a belt and the cuffs turned up if he doesn’t want them to drag on the ground, the jeans fit well enough. The clothes remind him of his childhood, those years after he had been taken in by his aunts, where he had learned the feeling of security, and being wanted, and what it was like to be praised and encouraged instead of constantly belittled. Whether it’s the warm memories associated with the era, or simply the fact that he knows his ten year old self would have loved to have had a fringed leather vest, he’s satisfied with his image.  Now all he has to do is suggest a scene. He thinks about it as he changes back into his suit and tucks the vintage garments into a bag. The shop is small, and would be easily decorated, but far too public for more than a quickie. The large Victorian house filled with fine antiques is not right at all. That leaves the cabin, he decides.

Saturday morning, he drops Belle off at the library and hands her a box tied with string that he’d stashed in the back seat of the Cadillac. “Don’t open it until lunchtime,” he says, knowing the pleasure of an anticipated surprise. “I won’t be in the shop today; I’ve got some other business to take care of.”

“All right; see you later.” Belle watches him drive off, mystified by the package in her hands. By the time lunchtime rolls around, she’s more than ready to tear off the box lid and find out what’s in it. A piece of paper sits on top of some tissue paper-covered contents, with the heading “Playtime?” She forces herself to read the rest before folding back the tissue paper and seeing what awaits her. “It’s 1968. Fibre artist and co-founder of Storybrooke’s new “Enchanted Forest” commune “Rumpelstiltskin” Gold has agreed to an interview with the hip young reporter from the local newspaper.  Please confirm interview at 6 pm Saturday.”  Intrigued, she folds back the tissue paper and nearly squeals with delight, instantly picking up the beaded, white leather headband that lays on top of the other items and tying it around her head. She gets out her compact mirror to admire how it looks for a moment before texting Rum back.

“Interview confirmed. Looking forward to it.”

He must have been waiting for her reply; his return message is swift. “Dove will have the car there for you at five; I’ll see you later.”

Dove arrives with the keys to the Cadillac before she closes the library at five, and as soon as she locks the front door, she retires to the restroom to change into her outfit. It’s a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and she drives out to the cabin as instructed, deciding what she’s going to say when she gets there.  Parking, she starts to head for the door of the cabin when she hears music coming from around the side of it and alters her course.  Gold is there, sitting on top of the picnic table, his spindle hanging down and twirling as he spins a smooth yarn from the basket of wool roving in the basket beside him. He is dressed – well, he is dressed to match her, obviously, and it suits him. It suits him incredibly well.  He looks softer, younger, his dark hair set off by the off-white linen shirt, feathering out over the band collar, the open neckline displaying the line of this throat and a string of love beads, mostly black with a few white and sky blue ones mixed in at regular intervals.  The rust-coloured denim of his jeans sits low on his hips and flares out below the knees and the fringed vest…she’d like to see him move with it on, see the fringes flare out. She kind of wants to borrow it herself, and thinks about what it would feel like to wear it with nothing on underneath.  Preferably while she was riding him in bed, rocking back and forth, the open edges of the leather rubbing back and forth against her bare skin… She swallows hard, and pushes that image back to take out and play with again later. Gold looks both snuggly, and sexy, and she wants nothing more than to go over to him and slide her fingers into his hair to hold him still while she kisses him breathless, but she has a part to play first.

”Mr. Gold?” she asks, approaching. “I’m Belle French, with the Storybrooke Mirror. You agreed to an interview.” She holds out her hand and he lets go of the dangling yarn forming between his fingers to reach out and shake it.

“Call me Rum, please.” He goes back to smoothing the spinning fiber into a smooth, even yarn, and Belle can’t help but watch his hands.

“That’s a nickname, right?” She takes out a pen and notebook from her purse, ostensibly jotting it down. “For Rumpelstiltskin, because of the spinning.”

“It is. I quite like it.”

“How did you get into spinning?”

“My aunts taught me. We had a wee croft, a few sheep, chickens, that sort of thing. Turned out that I was quite good at it. I like the rhythm of it, and there’s a lot of satisfaction in taking a bit of dirty, rough wool and combing it clean and spinning it into a strong, even twist of yarn that can be made into things.”

“Do you use the yarn yourself? Make it into things?”

“Aye, we do a fair bit of that here, at the commune. Granny’s our champion knitter, ponchos and scarves and mittens, they always sell really well at the Miner’s Day Festival. And my son and his girlfriend like to make dreamcatchers with the wool; they’re another popular item. And of course we make things for ourselves as well.”

“So is that part of your goal here? To be as self-sufficient as possible?” Belle drops her bag on the grass and sits down beside it, cross-legged, resting her notebook on her thigh and glancing back up after scribbling a few things down in it.  It’s a lazy sort of day, and for once she isn’t in a hurry to rush to the sex, instead interested in the unusually detailed background story he’s made up about himself, and hinted at in the letter he’d written. She wouldn’t mind being a journalist if she wasn’t a librarian, she thinks, and wonders if the Mirror might be interested in her starting a weekly column about books.

“Aye, I suppose. It’s cheaper to make your own bread than to buy it, for example, and better for you. You’ll have to talk to Anton, our crops expert, if you want to know more about that side of thing. He’ll talk your ear off about beans if you show even the slightest bit of interest.”

Belle grins, thinking of the gentle giant who ran the local health food store, and knowing it was actually true. “You mentioned your son; tell me about him.”

Gold smiles fondly. “He’s an artist. Does portraits when he can get a commission, freelance political cartoons, sign painting, anything really.”

Neal is indeed a good artist, she knows, even if he has chosen the steady paycheck that came with a job at the hardware store over any artistic dreams, preferring to keep it a hobby. “You sound very proud of him .”

“I am.”

“What about those other people you mentioned? His girlfriend, and Granny. Do they live here, too?”

“Aye, Emma and her parents are fairly new here. Her mother’s our respectable member of society – she’s a teacher at the school – and her father can do just about everything around here. Good with the animals, construction work, anything that needs doing. And I can’t even be jealous of him because he’s so nice, too.”

Belle laughs; it really is a good summation of David.

“And Granny, well, she’s been here since the beginning.”

Belle makes a note, and looks back up to watch the whirling spindle, his fingers never still as he forms the yarn between his fingers. “Tell me about the beginning. What made you decide to start a commune?”

“Well, we didn’t, not really, certainly not at first. When my son was young – “ he hesitates, and then continues. “His mother left us, and there I was, needing to go to work and having a wee boy to take care of at the same time. We didn’t have any family, or friends. But I knew the woman in the flat across from ours had taken in her granddaughter recently and was raising her on her own – there’d been some scandal with the mother, from what Milah had gathered. But the lass looked hearty enough, so I figured that the woman knew how to take care of a bairn and I was desperate. I went knocking on her door, thinking she might be willing to look after Neal for what little money I could offer her, since it would be in the convenience of her own home. And he was a sweet, well-behaved boy, no trouble at all.”

Belle looks up at him uncertainly, knowing that he was talking about his own real life here; at least as far as Neal’s mother leaving them went, and wonders about it. He normally never talks about that period of his life, maybe this was one way he could do so?  She isn’t sure about the Granny part; they don’t seem to have that sort of relationship. She stops herself from asking if Granny had really watched Neal, though, not wanting to break character yet. Rum has gone through a lot of trouble putting together a backstory for this particular scenario, and she doesn’t want to break the mood. She realises that she knows even less about Granny’s past, or Ruby’s parents, and makes a note on her pad to ask later. She squints against the sun, positioned behind his head and outlining the locks of hair falling forward into his face, and tries to think what would be the next question that a journalist would ask.

“Were you working as a spinner then?”

“Lord, no, an accountant. It’s only been in the last few years that people have begun appreciating handcrafted items again, enough to pay a little more for them than mass-produced factory goods. It was when the last of my aunts died that I took it up again. They’d left me their cottage, and everything in it, including their wheels and a good stash of both raw wool and spun yarn. I would have moved back to Scotland and lived there, but Neal had his friends and his life here, and wanted to stay, so I sold the place and brought as many of their things home with us as possible, things that I remembered from my childhood, even though I had to place most of it in storage. But I made Neal a scarf for Christmas from the yarn, and his friend Emma then asked if I could make her a hat, and paid for it with her allowance money, and then Granny’s Ruby wanted one, and pretty soon the boutique in town contacted me about selling some of my stuff there. I took a leap of faith and quit my job, but if I was going to spend all day at home spinning and weaving, then I wasn’t going to do it in my tiny apartment. This cabin was for sale, needed a lot of fixing up, but Neal was old enough to help by then and enlisted a bunch of his friends from woodshop at school as well. We had it fixed up and livable in quite a short amount of time, and well, that was the start of things.”

Belle mentally sorts out the facts from fabrication. His aunts had been real, she knows, but the cabin has never been more than a weekend getaway place. She is saved having to think of another question by the music in the background coming to a stop and Gold putting aside his spindle and going over to the record player to flip over the disc. A new song begins playing, with what she thinks is a bass line, a deep, thumping riff that gets under her skin and makes her want to move. She stands up, leaving her notepad and pen lying on her bag in the grass, and goes to meet Gold. “I like this song,” she says, beginning to sway in place as he turns back around to face her.

“Do you?”

“Mm-hm.” She takes his hands, trying to get him to dance with her. “In-a-gadda-da-vida, honey, don’t you know that I love you,” she sings, and nearly laughs at the way his eyebrows go up in surprise, biting back the remark that Storybrooke does have an oldies radio station, and it’s kind of hard to forget a song that seems to go on forever. “In-a-gadda-da-vida, baby, don’t you know that I’ll always be true?” She lifts his arms up, spinning beneath him, and smiling; he helps twirl her,  her lightweight skirt flaring out around her.

“Oh, won’t you come with me,” she sings, and her mind completely derails in a sexual direction. “Won’t you take my hand?” With a filthy smirk on her face she tugs at his hands, backing away, and he follows, entranced, helpless to do otherwise. “Oh, won’t you come with me and walk this land? Please, take my hand.” She stops as they reach the picnic table, putting her hands on his shoulders, swaying to the music, forcing him to move as well, his feet staying planted but hips and shoulders moving to the beat.

“That’s it,” she encourages, and he smiles, drawing her close with his hands on her hips, pulling her flush against his body. She loops her arms around his neck, playing with his hair, her gaze drawn to the open collar of his shirt. “You look good,” she says.

“Do I?’ He tilts his head, grazes his lips against hers.

“Mm-hm. You should wear light colours more often.” She dips her head, pressing a kiss against his collarbone, mouthing against the warm skin.

“Have we moved into the second portion of the programming?” he asks, amused, leaning in to run his tongue around her earlobe.

“New questions. Like, do you believe in free love?” She runs her hand up his back, feeling each bump in his spine through the soft shirt, and then back down again, slipping up underneath the sun-warmed fabric.

“Oh, most definitely,” he assures her, his breath ghosting over hers as the music throbs in the background, a primal beat that makes him want to move against her, inside her. He debates the practicalities of just lifting her up onto the top of the picnic table and taking her right there.

“And is there a reason for that picnic blanket that you spread out so thoughtfully in the shade of the tree over there?”

“There are twigs and bugs in the grass,” he says, and Belle snorts. “And I thought, if any visitors should wish to recline in comfort…”

“Well, then,” she says, and takes his hand, leading him behind her towards the blanket. She sinks down upon it and he sits down beside her, facing her,  and she can’t think of anything else to say, because all she wants to do is touch him. She slides her hand beneath his hair at the nape of his neck and draws him closer and he tilts his head and then they’re kissing languorously, need slowly building between them. Belle slips her hands up under the hem of his shirt, then back out again, tugging at the hem. “Off,” she instructs.

Gold breaks away from the path he’d been nuzzling along her neck to grin at her. “Run out of questions, have you?”

“The only thing I want to know is what you’re going to look like spread out naked before me,” she says, her voice gone a bit husky.

Gold sheds his vest first and then reaches back and yanks his shirt off over his head, his eyes darkening. The light breeze rustling the leaves above them feels good on his heated skin as he shakes his hair out of his eyes, reaching out to splay his hands over Belle’s ribs before she can touch him herself, very much aware that she isn’t wearing a bra and grazing his thumbs over her nipples. Her breathing quickens and her head falls back as he rubs them, back and forth and back and forth, feeling them tighten and swell until she moans and reaches down to grab the hem of her own shirt. Gold obligingly drops his arms so that she can pull it off and cast it aside, the motion lifting her breasts and stretching out her taut belly. She kicks off her sandals and Gold takes the opportunity to remove his own low cut boots and socks, shifting more comfortably now onto his knees, and drawing Belle forward to straddle one of his thighs before kissing her again, more urgently than before.

Belle begins moving, riding his hard thigh, rubbing herself against him. His belt buckle digs into her stomach, and she reaches down, tugging it open and free impatiently, and then going for the snap and zipper of his jeans, wanting only warm skin against her, feeling Gold slide his hands up under her skirt, his palms smoothing along her legs. She slips her hand inside his jeans, palms his growing hardness, and Gold makes a desperate sort of noise, pressing up against her and then pulling back, scrambling to his feet to shove down his jeans and underwear together, while Belle makes quick work of removing the rest of her clothes and tossing them to the side,  where she spots his discarded vest and, with a small smile, pulls it on over her bare chest.  It feels as good as she had imagined, the suede soft but with just enough of a roughness to its texture to make her very aware of it as it shifts over her breasts, the edges grazing her nipples. Gazing up at Gold, she thinks it’s a good angle, his cock already half hard and lifting away from his body, and she thinks about rising back onto her knees and taking him into her mouth,  but as she shifts onto her knees and curls a hand around his ankle, he braces his hands on her shoulders and lowers himself back down to the blanket, stretching out above her, one hand supporting her lower back, and she lets him ease her down, enjoying the weight of his hips pressing her down against the ground. They kiss, long and slow, and then he begins working his way down her body, touching and tasting, fingers and lips and tongue as her head falls back and her body arches into him.

She buries her fingers in his hair and gazes up into the branches of the tree as he suckles at her breasts. Something glints there, catches the sun and magnifies it. She closes her eyes briefly against it, becomes more aware of the pulse of the music in the background, the pulse of her blood in her veins. She opens her eyes again as his mouth leaves her and he moves further down, leaving her nipples wet and swollen and aching. She looks down at her body as she lifts her hands to cup her own breasts, to tug and pinch at the nipples and sees small rainbows dancing over her chest, her skin dappled in light and shade from the sun filtering through the leaves. She looks up in puzzlement, and then smiles in delight and reaches up as if she could reach the crystals she spots hanging from the branches of the tree, their prisms catching the light and breaking it up into the bands of colour that paint her skin and increase the dreamlike quality of the moment. She knows at once where they’re from, thinking of the box in the shop’s back room full of dismantled chandelier parts, but the knowledge doesn’t lessen their magic.  She traces one along her skin, then takes one of the vest’s long fringes and shifts it back and forth over her nipple, sucking in a breath as it catches briefly before rolling over. Gold runs a hand along her thigh and she lets her legs fall apart and half closes her eyes as his fingers slip inside her, drawing out her moisture and using it to draw slow circles over her clit.

He watches her rolling the fringe back and forth over her nipple, the flesh visibly puckering around the hardening nub,  and his own cock hardens in response. He longs to take her into his mouth, but cannot look away.

“You would fit right in at Woodstock,” he says huskily. “Imagine us there, listening to the music, and I’m standing right behind you, and we’re swaying to the music. You’re wearing nothing but your skirt and that vest, and it’s open, and I’m cupping your breasts in my hands, and playing with your nipples.“

Belle’s hips jerk, as the image goes straight to her core.

Gold dips his fingers into her again, and feels the effect his words are having on her. There’s plenty of slick now, for his thumb to glide easily over her flesh, that light, grazing touch that causes her clit to swell and harden in response. His voice drops in pitch, his Scottish accent strengthening without him being quite aware of it. “There’s people all around us, but it doesn't matter, no one does more than glance our way.” He searches his memory for images from the documentary of the famous concert. “It’d been pouring rain earlier, and your shirt had gone drenched and transparent in minutes. Other people were stripping off their wet things, and you’d boldly done the same; there’s no shame here, no constraints. Bodies are natural, they’re beautiful, there’s no need to hide them.  There’s people with body paint, offering their services. Perhaps we’ll ask one to decorate your breasts; would you like that?”

Belle can’t keep from squirming, her eyes wide as they rake over his smooth, lightly tanned chest and lower, his cock blatantly erect for her.

“If we could paint you, too.  What about you? Is your shirt off?”

“Oh aye, my chest is bare against your back, and my jeans are clinging to me like a second skin, and my cock is straining against the zipper; anyone who looks at me would know how much I want you. I want to take you away from the crowd and find a place to lay you out on the ground and rut into you like a wild beast, but I need you to come first, come on my hands, come for everyone to see  – “ He slid his free hand up her chest, pushing the suede leather of the vest aside, completely baring her front, and cupped her breast in his warm hand, his hips shifting and pressing down against her pubis as he leans over her, thumb being replaced by middle finger, changing the angle, rubbing relentlessly. “Come on, sweetheart,” he urges, kneading her breast, his touch rougher here where she prefers lighter down below. 

The music pulses in time with her blood and Gold’s hair falls forward to hang in his face. He blocks out the sun, he is haloed by it, sun and shade and the scent of grass and incense and she is here and she is there at the same time and his cock is heavy and stiff against her thigh and the hard knot of pleasure bursts within her and she comes with all her muscles clenching tight and her fingers digging into his skin where she’d reached for him. His finger stills against her, knowing not to move again until she relaxes, the tension sagging out of her body, and she feels good but it’s not enough, there’s an aching emptiness inside her that needs to be filled. She sits up abruptly, tumbling him onto his back, and straddles his hips, taking hold of his cock and stroking it firmly. 

“We’ve gone away from the crowd now,” she tells him. “Found a place by the lake, behind some bushes. They offer us some privacy, but we can hear people nearby, going down to the lake, to bathe, to swim. Someone could easily come upon us, if they came in just the right direction.”  She rubs her thumb over his slit, coaxing out a bead of moisture, and he lets out a nearly inaudible whine. “I don’t care, though. I want you, and I don’t want to wait. Are you willing to risk it? Willing to risk someone seeing me riding you into the ground?” 

“Hell, yes.” He can’t wait, either. “Let them see. Let them see a beautiful woman like you wants someone like me.”

“You say “someone like me” as if I’m not dripping wet for you, as if I don’t want to have you buried inside me more than anything in the world,” she says, and rises up, positioning him at her entrance so he can feel the truth of her words. “You have to be quiet,” she warns, mischievously, and sinks down. 

Gold swallows down the noise that wants to escape his throat as she engulfs him. “I don’t know if I can promise that.” He splays his hands out on her waist, just under the edge of the vest, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Hanging open as it is, the vest only half covers them, baring a lovely wide strip of pale flesh right down the center of her body, adorned only by the love beads she still wore around her neck. As she shifts above him, the edges of the vest fall back, just revealing her nipples, and his cock throbs in response. He bucks up, everything feeling tight, and hot, and urgent. “That vest is a good look on you; we should keep it.”

Belle grins. “I’m glad you think so; I quite like it myself.” She leans forward over him, resting her weight on her hands, and begins to ride him, deliberately shifting continuously in a way that keeps the edges of the vest moving and rubbing against her breasts, her nipples staying hard and sensitive from the teasing friction. She undulates; rising and falling and pleasuring herself on his shaft, the long fringes falling forward as she lowers herself above his body. 

Gold arches up as the leather fringes trail over his belly and swing forward to drag over his nipples, driving himself deeper inside her as he seeks more of the teasing sensation. He cups his hands over her breasts, rolling her nipples between forefinger and thumb, and Belle moans. He grins. “I thought we had to be quiet.”

"I never said I would be." She lifts herself up until just the head of his shaft remains within her, glancing down to see the hard column of his flesh joining their bodies. She tightens her muscles around him, squeezing as hard as she can. 

Gold's whole body jerks as he cries out, his balls tightening and drawing up. He drags her back down upon him and rolls them over, pulling back out just enough to slam forward into her, rocking her backwards. He thrusts into her again, all control gone, feeling his climax rapidly approaching. 

"That's it." Belle braces herself with drawn up knees and urges him on. "Come on, Rum, give it to me." He is all lean, wiry muscle, and dark hair falling forward and shielding his eyes from her view. She arches up into his next thrust, digging her fingers into his lean buttocks and feeling him long and thick and solid inside her. "That's it, so good, come on, come for me."

He snaps his hips forward, driving deep again and again until his body seizes with pleasure and he stills, braced on his forearms with his hips sealed against hers while the hot flood of his release spills inside her. After a few seconds his muscles unclench and he lowers himself to lay atop her, panting and letting his eyes fall shut as he savours the fading rush of ecstasy, his cock twitching a few times in aftershock as he softens inside her. He feels her fingers run through his hair and turns his face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and the smell of crushed grass beneath the blanket, the air moving lightly over his sweaty back. A bird chatters above them, and he realises that the record had stopped playing at some point, unnoticed. He takes in a deep breath and rolls off to the side, blinking up at leaf-dappled sunlight and rainbows dancing in the air. He turns his head to the side and the corner of his mouth quirks up as Belle does the same and meets his eyes. She looks as debauched as he feels. 

"So, Rumpelstiltskin," she says, reaching out to twine her fingers with his. She feels thoroughly well-used and it is about all she has the energy for at the moment. "Do you have any final words for the readers of our paper?"

Gold's smile widens into a grin. "Yeah. Turn on," He draws their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles.  "Tune in, and drop out." He lifts his free hand and flashes her a peace sign, feeling utterly sated and stupidly happy. He thinks of the box from the estate sale. 

Best buy ever. 

[valmerappreciationhours]

Room 313

Clenny Week Day 4--omg they were roommates

(read on ao3 here)

Clyde Donovan has been looking forward to meeting his college roommate for months. Unfortunately for him, Kenny McCormick isn't quite what he was expecting.

“You smell that? That’s the smell of new beginnings, my compatriots.”

               “Bold to say for s-someone who peaked in hh—hu—high school.”

               “Smells like manure and sweat.”

               Clyde stopped in his trek to turn and glare at his companions, varsity jacket-clad arms crossed. His height certainly wasn’t accomplishing any wonders in terms of intimidation. “You’re just grumpy since your boyfriend didn’t come with us.”

               Craig’s mouth remained set in a straight line, but a small crease formed between his brows. “I’m simply stating facts. And you didn’t say anything about Jimmy’s comment.”

               “Jimmy’s comment was funny.”

               “I aim to please.”

               As the group continued their teasing, a cold autumn breeze picked up, whisking a few leaves past the party. The spare bits of concrete that were visible under throngs of students were littered with empty chip bags and discarded cigarettes. Booths advertising various clubs and events were scattered throughout the square, with a couple of plain buildings filling the space beyond. The clatter of voices and the rustling of bodies generated a cacophony that was a chore to speak over, but the three had plenty of practice.

               “Who has the map? I’m r-ready to get out of this.” Jimmy had cut over to an empty area by a trash can and quickly readjusted his crutches.

               “I second that.” Craig swiftly unfolded the campus map from his jacket pocket. “We’re going to my residence hall first. Token’s waiting with Stripe in the car and I need to get her set up.”

               “Aw, Craig!” Clyde whined but sped up to keep up with the long strides. “You mean they’re not close?”

               “Did you not look at any of your papers?”

               The silence from Clyde was deafening.

               Jimmy laughed. “Nice to know Clyde’s still the same old guy ev-even at a b-b-bi- a big university.” It was not a big university. It may quality as big by some standards, or a university by others, but the community college was far from any Ivy League school. The minimal requirements and low fees were what made the school attractive more than anything else.

               “But I’ll be so quick! I just wanna meet my roommate and then I’ll be right back to help set up! I’ve been waiting forever for this.” Clyde’s excitement and fierce determination sparkled in his brown eyes, and Craig sighed.

               “Do you need the map?”

               “He needs the map,” Jimmy confirmed.

 Clyde raced across campus, dodging other new students and luggage. His backpack thumped uncomfortably against his back, but it was no match for the exhilaration of discovering who he was going to be rooming with. Hopefully someone cool who also loved football and parties! Maybe even a science nerd like Craig, who would be down with making miniature explosions in their dorm. Clyde nearly toppled two boys hefting a crate, and made hasty apology as he scrambled up the stairs. Third floor, room 310, 311, 312, yes, 313! The door was cracked, and Clyde thrust it open to finally reveal…

               An empty room.

               Wait, no, there was a ratty brown backpack on the floor. Clyde glanced around, searching for something, anything more. He couldn’t have run here just to beat seeing his roommate.

               The bunkbeds lacked any personal items, there were no posters, no pets. The beige walls and gray rug stared back, empty and unyielding. The desk, aside from coffee stains and indentations, bore no mark of human life. Clyde stood for a moment more, hoping for something before he left to go help his friends set up.

               His saving grace was an incomprehensible muffle from behind him.

               Clyde whipped around fast enough to produce a neck injury, and was met with an individual ingulfed by an orange coat covered in patches. His jeans were completely torn at the knees, showing off scrapes and bruises underneath. His shoes were unidentifiable simply by the sheer amount of duct tape holding them together. He stared, and the other stared back, blue eyes unblinking. Eventually the muffle sounded again, but now that Clyde was paying attention it sounded much more like “do you live here?”

               “Yeah, I live here.” Clyde flashed a smile, leaning against the doorframe. A surefire way to make a good impression, and if this orange blob was his roommate, he wanted to look like the coolest dude on the face of the Earth.

               The boy under the coat stuck out a hand, showing off fingerless gloves. Clyde took it, wondering if the gloves were a sign his roommate was chill or if he was a former homeless person. At any rate, his hands were clammy anyway.

               “Kenneth McCormick,” he introduced through a thick layer of fabric. “You want top or bottom?”

               Clyde let his hand keep shaking, but his cheeks reddened. “Clyde Donovan, and, uh, that’s pretty straightforward.”

               Kenneth put his hands back in the pockets of the orange monstrosity. “Well, we gotta figure it out before bed.”

               Oh, geez, that was straightforward! “Hey, man, you seem alright and all, and I’m sure you’re attractive under that hood, but…”

               One could practically see the pieces fit their way together in Kenneth’s mind, and his eyebrows shot up. He took a hand and pointed behind Clyde, who turned to see the bunk beds. Well, what did that have to do with---ohh. Oh.

               Clyde turned back in horror, cheeks surely flaming. His roommate’s eyes crinkled at the corners, alive with mirth. “Uh, why don’t you have first pick? My treat.” He quickly started moving around to the exit. “I actually gotta go help my friend set up, so, I’ll see you later, I guess.” Once out, Clyde forced a casual stroll down the hall until he couldn’t see his room anymore, then bolted.

               He was going to run to Craig’s room, and he was not going to cry all over his friends because he totally bombed his first impression. Jimmy would tell a joke and make everything better, and somehow Token would provide a solution that would make perfect sense and Clyde would wonder how he hadn’t thought of it. Yeah, it would work out. Just the thought of his friends lessened the burn in his face. It would probably be brushed off and forgotten by the time he returned.

               Kenneth McCormick had not forgotten. Clyde was sure of this when he headed back to the room, backpack and bags in tow, and his roommate leaned down from the top bunk. Instantly, those blue eyes crinkled. “I chose top,” he said through the coat, and Clyde wanted to scream.

                 “I’m doomed,” Clyde said into his mug.

               “You’re doomed,” Craig agreed, not batting an eye.

               “What is it this time?” Token didn’t look up from his place on the tablet screen. He may be miles away at a fancy university, but he wasn’t getting out of Those Guys hangouts that easily.

               Clyde laid his head on the wood grain of the coffee shop table. “My roommate.”

               “Shame.” Craig blew on the steam billowing off his mug. “My roommate is the coolest person in the world.”

               “I don’t m-mmm-mind my roommate either,” Jimmy added. “What’s the issue with yu-yours?”

               “The worst first impression in the world,” Clyde groaned, wallowing in misery. “And he’s never there so now the only thing he thinks of me is that I think about gay sex.”

               “So, he’s p-pretty much got it.”

               Craig snorted into his tea and even Token howled with laughter through the speaker, Jimmy beaming with pride. Clyde huffed, and Jimmy reached out to poke his cheek.

               “Hey, it’s n-n-not a big deal. Do you really wanna be bent on the op-o-opinn-opinion of someone whose name is Kenneth? Th-that’s a nerd name, Clyde.”

               That was it. The gamechanger. Clyde’s head snapped up. “You’re right! That is a nerd name!” Finally, it felt like things were starting to come together again, when Clyde’s face fell. “Oh no. I already gave him a nickname.” There went that sacred sliver of hope.

               “I thought you didn’t talk to him,” Token pointed out.

               Clyde leaned onto his hand. “I said he’s never there. We’ve talked and stuff.”

               “H-how cool was the nickname, th-though?”

               “I just shortened it to Kenny! I thought, hey, I don’t wanna be saying this long fancy name all the time!”

               “You gave him a nickname!” a new voice yelped, causing three of the four boys to jolt. “Oh god, you’re in it now, Clyde!” Tweek hovered above the table, a full coffee pot in one hand, a navy-blue teapot in the other. Despite the shouting and nervous energy radiating off of him, not a drop of liquid found its way onto the table or anyone’s clothes. After years, Tweek was bound to become an expert on handling drinks simultaneous to freaking out.

               On the screen, Token bowed his head solemnly. “The Tweek has spoken. You can’t come back from this.” Craig nodded as Tweek refilled the cups around the table.

               “C-come on, guys!" Jimmy tried, ever an optimist. “Clyde may have st-st-started out on his dumber foot—”

               “I’m gonna let you continue since you’re defending me.”

               “—b-but he can ssstill pull through!” Jimmy reached out to grab Clyde’s round cheeks. “Who could say no to this ch-charming face!”

               “Gah!”

               “Anyone with sense.”

               “Literally everyone I can think of.”

               “Hm.” Jimmy pulled his hands back and poured more sugar into his mug. “I’ve worked with w-worse audiences.”

               “So, you still have faith in me?” Clyde looked to his friend, brown eyes large and vulnerable. He was a drowning voyager, fighting for his life in the open sea, and Jimmy, his good friend Jimmy, was right there with a lifeboat.

               Jimmy averted his eyes and loudly sipped his coffee. Fake-Clyde was left to die in the cold water.

               The next time Clyde truly interacted with his roommate, it was just past two in the morning on a Saturday. The unlocking of the door roused him from a light sleep, in which he was doing a great job at crumpling his textbook pages. Clyde quickly shut the book and looked over to the other boy, expecting to find him drunk or maybe high. What Clyde did not expect was to see Kenny sporting an apron and black slacks, a to-go cup and battered paper in one hand. A scarf wrapped around his face, effectively blocking out wind, as well as Clyde from getting a look at his face.

When Kenny noticed that Clyde was awake, he lit up and quickly closed the distance, shutting the door with his hip. “Hey man, check this out.” Clyde was barely awake, mind still muddled from sleep, but his brain worked hard enough to understand the colorful paper Kenny sat in front of him. “Are you going?”

Clyde rubbed his eye, works still sticking to form. “Sure, I love a good party. Didn’t think you were a party guy.”

Kenny laughed, muffled. “That hurts, man. Why not?”

Clyde yawned, leaning back down to his homework. His words slurred with sleep. “You gotta name like Kenneth. Dassa nerd name.”

He vaguely registered the creak of the bunk as Kenny climbed up. “Hey, you gave me a nickname all on your own. That’s admitting that I’m cooler than my birth name.” The flop of fabric against mattress. “Go to that party with me, I’ll show you how cool I can be.”

Clyde mumbled into his book. “Bet.” If Kenny was still talking, he didn’t tune in, too busy getting drool all over his homework.

                 The closer time got to the awaited party, the more Clyde started hearing about it around campus. It became a hot topic in the halls and overtook class whisperings; what people were gonna wear, who they were going with, how crazy it was bound to be. Clyde was feeling like hot stuff for having already known about it (even if he needed the sight of the flyer to remind him), and all the buzz only made him more excited. This would mark his first real, off-the-chain college party. Quite possibly more important than first steps, if you asked him.

               Clyde’s pile of homework sat untouched on his bunk. Not today; there were more important things, like the crisp varsity jacket laying on the chair and money on the desk for a dinner of tacos before. He was working on the knots of his sneakers when the door banged open.

               “I’m just saying, laser eyes would just be a hazard to itself.” A boy with black hair followed Kenny into the room, still wrapped up in conversation. Clyde may have known next to nothing about the topic, but it sounded like a good one.

               Kenny swung around to face Clyde. “Hey, dude, this is Stan. He’s gonna be going with us since his one true super best friend left him for a fancy school.”

               “And there was no way I was going with Cartman.” Stan’s eyes were intense, practically radiating revulsion toward the Cartman fellow.

               “And there was no way he was going with Cartman,” Kenny agreed, nodding. While he set to work on his parka zippers, Clyde grinned over at the newcomer.

               “The more the merrier, man!”

               “I’m also bringing alcohol,” Stan mentioned, holding up the twelve pack he carried.

               Clyde glanced at the label and humbly dropped to a knee. “The good stuff! You’re a savior, Stan-the-man.”

               “Don’t bother,” Kenny’s muffle advised, “his heart already belongs to a faraway prince.” Clyde turned to respond, but was shocked by lack of the raggedy orange parka. Instead, Kenny was decked out in a marginally better-looking hoodie and a skirt over leggings. That was a surprise, but Clyde couldn’t say it didn’t look great on Kenny. Unfortunately, a surgeon’s mask successfully continued to hide his face, and Clyde couldn’t help from groaning.

               “Am I ever gonna see your face?”

               Kenny strode over and patted Clyde’s back. “I’m too cute; it’s for the good of humanity that I contain it.”

               “He gets sick easy,” Stan supplied from Kenny’s other side. Kenny punched him in the arm, and he glared back. “Dinner, first, right?”

               “Yeah!” Clyde punched a fist in the air. “Ya boy wants tacos!”

                 It was beautiful. So beautiful.

               Music thumped and blared out of the house, alight with strobes and the glowing cherries of cigarettes. People spilled out onto the street, most with drinks in hand. The only ones that looked like they weren’t having a good time were sitting against the side of the house, puffing on cigarette smoke. Clyde thought they looked just a bit menacing in all black with dark stares, but Kenny strode right up and held out a fist to the lone girl.

               “’Ey, Henri!” She huffed and bumped the offered fist. “Glad you could make it!”

               “Whatever.” She took another drag. “We’re just at this conformist party to prove a point that all this is still meaningless and doesn’t drive off the darkness.”

               Clyde grimaced. Geez, these guys hit heavy. Kenny just looked infinitely brighter next to them, with his vibrant orange hoodie and blond hair.

               To Clyde’s surprise, Kenny was agreeing with her. “I hear that,” he said, muffled, “but there’s nothing wrong with postponing inevitable darkness a while. Save me a smoke later?”

               If Clyde wasn’t mistaken, he just saw the girl’s black lips twitch upwards. “I won’t wait around.”

               Clyde looked at Stan for some clarification, mouth agape. Stan shrugged. “Goth kids, that’s Henrietta.” He pointed out the girl. “They’re a bunch of downers, but I’m pretty sure Kenny’s immune to everything the world’s got.”

               Kenny rejoined their trio and led the way in. If the excitement and energy were evident outside, it was even better in the house. Pounding bass, crowded halls, laughter and dancing and so many attractive people. Clyde was sure he’d died and gone to heaven. This was where he was meant to be, and Kenny’s side pushing up against him in the crowd just made it better.

               After a few drinks, the group lost Stan, but neither was too worried. “He’ll be passed out drunk somewhere,” Kenny claimed, and Clyde was too busy being distracted by the lure of beer pong.

               An hour in, Clyde had taken back every worry he ever had about his roommate. Kenny was lively and wild, contrary to the stick-in-the-mud nerd assumption. He couldn’t believe he ever thought he had to be concerned about interacting with his roommate; it was as easy as breathing. The two were hovering to the side of a dim room, taking a quick breather and clinking their red solo cups, when a girl caught Clyde’s eye.

               A goddess in red! The sun burned in jealously of the shine of her golden locks!

               Really, he recognized her from his English class, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still pretty.

“Go talk to her.” Kenny’s breath was hot on his neck in the crowded room, and it sent chills despite the heat.

               Clyde did not blush. He instead focused on making his way through the throngs of partygoers, dodging cups of unknown drinks and young adults grinding on each other. Finally, he stumbled through past a pair of girls, reaching his destination.

               “Hey, Clyde,” the girl drawled, pushing back a curl. Her lipstick gleamed blood-red.

               Clyde ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to make it look less frizzy and sweaty. “Hey, Bebe!” he half-yelled over the noise. “Having fun?”

               Bebe swirled her drink, smirking. “Yeah, but maybe not as much fun as you’ve been having with your friend over there.”

               Clyde turned his head to see where she was gesturing. Kenny was bathed in a faint blue light, forming a type of halo around windswept blond hair, making him look ethereal amidst the other party-goers. At some point in the night, his hoodie got unzipped, showing off a tank top that complimented his figure in comparison to all those baggy jackets. Kenny was talking with Stan again, who was looking pretty worse for wear. Well, less talking with, more talking to while supporting most of his weight. Kenny was saying something and nodding in Clyde’s direction.

               When they locked eyes, Kenny’s blue ones glittered. He winked. The simple action made something flutter in Clyde’s stomach. Maybe it was the alcohol.

               He turned back to Bebe. “He’s my roommate.”

               Clyde watched Bebe crane her neck to look at Kenny again, maybe noting how cheap his clothes looked. One of the girls that Clyde had pushed past leaned heavily on her friend, voice choked with the heavy emotion characteristic of drunk girls. “Oh my god, they were roommates!”

                 Clyde groaned, slamming his head down onto his jumble of papers.

               “Chemistry?” Kenny guessed, huddled with his own books on the top bunk.

               “Spanish,” Clyde corrected. “There’s so many words!” To rub salt into his struggle, Craig just had to be fluent. Not only did that make Clyde feel worse about his own inability, Craig was preoccupied with his physics project and had turned off all notifications. Help from the local genius was inaccessible. “You wouldn’t happen to be taking it, would you?”

               “Nah, I tested out.”

               Clyde swung around. “You know Spanish? Please help me!”

               Kenny peered down. “Not Spanish, I tested out of language with Mandarin.”

               That sent Clyde for a loop. “Mandarin?” Was that even one of the languages someone could take here? Not to mention the difficulty; English script was hard enough for Clyde to read without getting jumbled; he couldn’t wrap his head around understanding the strokes of Mandarin.

               Kenny flipped a page in his notebook. “I used to work at this local Chinese restaurant. I picked a lot up from the owner.” It was said completely nonchalant, as if he wasn’t talking about casually learning a second language.

               “Dude! Just like that?” The Spanish worksheets lay forgotten. Who would’ve guessed his roommate was so interesting? Maybe Clyde just wanted to avoid his homework, but learning more could totally be a valid excuse here.

               “Mhm.” Aside from the affirmation, Kenny was quiet on his bunk.

               “Could you say something in Mandarin?” Clyde prompted hopefully.

               Kenny thought for just a moment. “Tā mā de.”

               Clyde looked on, starry eyed. “So cool! What’s it mean?”

               Kenny scribbled some notes, but paused to glance back at his roommate. His eyes crunched in the way that meant he was smiling, and Clyde’s heart buzzed. “Fuck.”

               Clyde dissolved into laughter, and was quickly followed by Kenny. “I think I will start peppering that into my conversations starting today.” He picked up his abandoned pencil and flipped a Spanish worksheet over. “How do you say it again?”

                 Football practice may not rank as high as triple decker nachos on Clyde’s list of favorite things, but it was up there. The satisfying strain of muscle and delight of messing with his teammates outweighed the yelling of the coaches and the aches the next day by far. It was a time he actually enjoyed, that actually made sense instead of heavy bookwork, so of course the universe wouldn’t let him have it. Ten minutes in, the sky opened up, pouring rain so hard one couldn’t see past their own hand.

               Clyde trudged back to his dorm hall, squinting to see through the sheets of water crashing down. He wiped his soppy bangs from his face, but it did no good. His clothes were drenched and heavy, coupled with the weight of his sports bag of equipment. At least the dorm hall wasn’t too much farther. It was benevolent in its way of offering shelter from the storm, but cruel and unforgiving in its broken elevator sign.

               Clyde was resigned to heaving himself up the stairs, bag hitting every step behind him. A hot shower sounded so good right now. Or maybe lasagna. Or watching bad television in his soft and warm pajamas, snuggled up in blankets. Yeah, his night just got booked.

               He dug in his pocket for his room key, dreaming about the dollar store garlic bread he could cook up. His hand closed on nothing. Clyde switched to his other pocket, then his back pockets, jacket, and bag, growing more desperate with each pocket. Of course.

               Clyde let his weight drop, falling to the ground. Tears welled up in his eyes. He was tired, he was cold, he just wanted to go home! To top it off, Kenny had been talking about meeting up with his friend Eric, and the fact that the two might get arrested and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning.

               Fantastic.

               Clyde tried to ring out his clothes and leaned against the door. Maybe Kenny would get back early. He would love to see that scraggly hair and patched up jacket right now. Until then, well, no point in trying to get anything done.

                 Clyde was jolted out of his half-slumber by the door opening behind him, pushing his back. He looked over his shoulder to see an almost startled Kenny gazing down at him. Clyde quickly lept to his feet. “I thought you were still out.”

               Kenny opened the door further to let his roommate in. “Things went south,” he explained, but didn’t elaborate.

               Clyde pulled his heavy sports bag into the room. “Did you get rained out too?” Most of the water that clung to him had been left in the hall, but his clothes were still damp enough to be uncomfortable.

               Kenny threw himself back into the desk chair, which spun with his weight. “I got shot.”

               Clyde turned with a start, but Kenny looked fine. Clean clothes, smooth movements, a stunning lack of blood. He laughed. “That bad, huh?”

               Kenny’s eyes looked sunken and tired. Clyde quickly decided it didn’t suit him.

               “I’m gonna order a pizza. Proven to heal even the most gruesome wounds! What do you want on it?” He was too tired to make lasagna anyway.

               Kenny leaned back in his chair. “Everything in the store. I’m starving!”

               Clyde dug his phone out and dialed the nearest pizza delivery. His garlic bread was gonna knock Ken’s socks off.

               Nothing screamed procrastination quite like watching dumb shows. Clyde pulled his blanket closer and perused his Netflix options. It would be a good night for a comedy, relieve some stress of classes. The lamps were already turned off, the blue light of the laptop the main source of light in the room. The savory smell of noodles wafted in, and Clyde drooled. Oh yeah, it was all coming together.

               He turned to see his roommate heralding two cups of noodles. Faded pajama pants hung loose around Kenny’s thin frame, and a splash of broth had stained his shirt, which proudly proclaimed that he was the Denver spelling bee champion of 2005. The lighting made it just too difficult to get a good look at the bottom half of his face. Damn. Kenny set the two steaming cups of ramen on the table and crashed down onto the couch.

               “Spelling bee champion?” Clyde finally picked a series to play, and his attention was grabbed by the old tee, the colorful lettering standing out.

               Kenny picked up his noodles. “I stole it from Kyle,” he explained, twirling his chopsticks.

               They settled in, slurping on seasoned noodles and continuing the series started last week. It had plenty of action, but more importantly, it had comedy. There was something special about laughing with Kenny. He had a great laugh.

               Clyde shifted to lean against his friend’s arm. He was expecting maybe a sly comment or for Kenny to gently shove him off; he certainly was not expecting Kenny to take a sharp breath and stiffen. Clyde scrambled to move. “Fuck! Are you okay, dude?”

               Kenny rubbed his arm with his other hand, and Clyde barely hesitated to push up the sleeve and examine. Aside from a few scattered freckles, the skin there was smooth. “Just phantom pain,” Kenny explained. “I hurt it yesterday and I guess I’m still feeling it. Don’t worry about it.”

               Clyde could almost relate, but his sports injuries always left a mark a day later. “What’d you do?”

               Kenny looked like he was considering some options. “Nothing much,” he decided. Clyde frowned, brows furrowed, but Kenny’s face was bright when he looked back. “Don’t worry about it, happens all the time.” He readjusted and leaned back against Clyde. “I always bounce back.”

               With Kenny pressed against him, hot ramen on the table, and the next episode of their comedy beginning to play, Clyde wasn’t about to argue or probe for more information. He was content to just grab his cup of noodles and move closer to his friend’s side.

               “You’re a weirdo, Kenny.” Clyde clapped a hand on his shoulder. “But I’m gonna miss you.”

               Kenny’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “I’m gonna miss you too, you big dummy.”

               Ah shit. Tears started leaking out of Clyde’s doe eyes and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He pulled Kenny into a hug. The shoulder of Kenny’s jacket was getting wet but Clyde didn’t notice. “I mean, you’re just so strange, man! I’ve never known anyone like you. My friend thinks you’re a demon.”

               “Is it the one that’s always hyped up on coffee?”

               “How’d you know?”

               “Lucky guess.” After a few more minutes, Kenny managed to extract himself and put his hands in his pockets. “You’ll see me next year.”

               No, that was way too long. Clyde pulled his phone from his pocket. “We could text over the summer! Maybe meet up?”

               Kenny’s blue eyes lost their shine. “I don’t have a phone. I’m gonna be staying with my brother a few towns over. Sorry, dude.”

               Clyde’s face fell, and he quickly wiped his eyes. “Alright. That’s cool. No worries, man.”

               “Don’t miss me too much!” Kenny put a hand on Clyde’s shoulder as a goodbye, but it was the wrong move, as it sent the other into another death-grip hug. It might be a while.

                 Summer felt like a trade of Kenny for Tweek and Token back in person, and it was seriously messing with Clyde’s emotions. He loved his friends, and seeing Craig happier was always a treat, but without Kenny, things felt duller. It might’ve been easier to mope and forget those bright eyes for a while if relationships weren’t such a hot topic of conversation.

               “Pretty fffunny that you w-worried all that much and all you did was fall in love with him.”

               Clyde floundered. “I did not fall in love with him!”

               Tweek pulled on his hair. “Gah! What if he infects you with alien spawn now that he’s gained your trust!”

               Token poked at his gelato. “I thought the theory was that he’s a demon?”

               Tweek set back to his espresso ice cream. “I’ve been workshopping it.”

               “Don’t make him show you the PowerPoint,” Craig added. “It’s full of spelling errors and he won’t let me fix it.”

               “You guys are the nerdiest couple I’ve ever seen,” Clyde said, annoyance temporarily forgotten over the pair, “and it’s so cute.” Craig flipped him off.

               “S-soon they will be b-b-balanced out by the unt-untamable party couple,” Jimmy snickered.

               “We’re not dating! I don’t even know if he likes boys,” Clyde defended. All the other parties present gave Clyde a long look. “What?”

               “Dude,” Token began. “Kenny likes boys.”

               “And girls. And an-anything that gives consent.”

               “WHAT?” Clyde dropped his ice cream. “How have you guys noticed and I haven’t? Token doesn’t even go to our school!”

               “Clyde,” Craig deadpanned. “He has a pride flag on his jacket.”

               “It was in the—ah! It was in the picture you showed us!”

               The boys all watched as Clyde tore out his phone and scrolled through his pictures until he reached the desired one. Sure enough, once he was looking, the pink, yellow, and blue patch was obvious. “Oh no,” Clyde whispered, horrified, “I’m an idiot.” He looked up just in time to see Tweek smack a hand against Craig, who had an amused look on his features. “But that doesn’t mean I like him!”

               “One thing at a time, buddy.”

               Clyde ripped open his dorm room door, excitement bringing him close to bursting. An agonizingly long summer, three long Kenny-less months. At last, on the other side of that door would be a gross old backpack and an orange parka and everything would fall back into place.

               “H-hey, Clyde!”

               Clyde stood in the doorway, staring blankly. Jimmy was on the bottom bunk, pulling notebooks out of his backpack. His smile was bright and wonderful as always, but that moment marked the only time it made Clyde feel worse.

               “Oh. Hey, Jim.”

               “You didn’t c-c-check anyone else’s room n-number,” Jimmy noted, unfazed.

               “Nope,” Clyde sighed. If you asked him a year ago, rooming with Jimmy would’ve been the dream, but now? He couldn’t imagine staying with anyone but Kenny McCormick.

               “N-no worries.” Jimmy grabbed his crutches, which were propped up against the wall. A confident smile played at his lips. “I know a v-vi-a visit with Cr-Craig will turn that f-frown upside down.”

Clyde didn’t believe it; Craig could be a sourpuss, and his general attitude was not likely to fix Clyde’s mood. Nevertheless, he was still a reliable friend. “CRAAAIIIG,” Clyde groaned, stepping into the dorm, hand over face. He didn’t bother trying to contain his distress. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Craig at his worst, anyway.

               “Nice to see you too, Clyde.”

               Hold up.

               Clyde uncovered an eye to see a mop of blond and a horrendously vibrant orange hoodie. “Kenny!” There was no hesitation in flinging his whole weight at the other, who nearly toppled over. He wrapped his arms tight, and Kenny shifted uncomfortably.

               “Might need some air here.”

               Clyde loosened his arms marginally, but pressed his face into the jacket. “I’m never letting go.”

               “Alright, but I don’t know the last time I washed this hoodie.”

               “Same goes for my shirt, man.”

               Jimmy and Craig each took a step away from the pair. Craig kept taking steps, out the door and down the hall.

               “Should I be worried?” Kenny asked into Clyde’s hair.

               “Nah, he’s gonna go do my laundry.”

               “How did you ever survive before you met him?”

               How did I ever survive without you, Clyde thought. Kenny was the sun, bright and wonderful, even if he didn’t know exactly how it functioned. If he could spend the rest of eternity here with Kenny, reckless, hardworking, witty Kenny, he would be happy. From where he was tucked, Clyde could easily peer over Kenny’s shoulder and get a good view of Jimmy. He was smirking at Clyde knowingly, the kind of look his friends always gave when it was proven that they were right.

               Oh.

               Dammit.

               The group chat chimed a dozen messages, mostly words of encouragement. Clyde puffed his chest and began striding over to his target. The device continued to chime, and it only served to boost his esteem. He positioned himself against a wall, propping himself up against it.

               When Kenny finally reached his point at the sidewalk, Clyde brushed his hair back and tried for an award-winning smile. “Hey, Ken, top or bottom?”

               Kenny was still sporting his work uniform, with the addition of his heavy parka. He looked at Clyde, and his blue eyes were heavy and tired. “We don’t bunk together anymore, Clyde.”

               Clyde only grinned back.

               Kenny’s eyes widened. “Oh fuck.”

               Clyde flashed a finger gun. “You and me, 7:00, sushi shop downtown?”

               Kenny made an “okay” sign with his hand. “Hell yeah! Wanna see if Jimmy and Craig are willing to switch roommates?”

               “They’ll do it, they’re great wingmen.” Clyde took Kenny’s hand in his own, confident.

               Who needed classes or sports or parties or graduation? Hands down, Clyde would say the best thing about college was his super cool, not nerdy, Mandarin-speaking, psych major, idiot roommate. All that other stuff was just extra, pushing him closer to where he needed to be.

               Maybe a class on mysterious boyfriend investigation would be beneficial, though.

[venactricisfics]

Malibu Desert

A perfect evening cut short

Mayans Based Story Adult Content 

Chapter Four

“Why are you here?” I stop locking my eyes with the large man holding a large gun to the base of Bishop’s head. He easily could have been a linebacker in a former life. “Why are you following me, Donovan?”

“Boss told me to find you,” he said, “bring you home. Found you here with this ‘spic. Boss would not like it.”  

“I don’t like seeing you pressing a gun to my friend’s head,”  I try to keep my voice soft.  My eyes moving from Bishop to Donovan. The larger man was dense and I didn’t want to spook him, “Will you please lower the gun?” He nods dropping the gun to his side and pushes Bishop forward. I release the breath I’d been holding. “Tell Warren I don’t live there anymore.  Tell him to leave me the fuck alone.” 

I see the questions in Bishop’s face. “Warren is my ex-husband. Donovan is one of his men. Long story. We’ll definitely have a talk about it soon. I promise.”  I take a couple steps closer and Donovan lifts the gun to my face.  

“Boss said to bring you home,” he says. 

“I can’t go back there,” my words pleading, “you know what he’ll do to me.” 

“Boss said that you made your bed and now you gotta lie in it,” Donovan stated plainly. I could tell he couldn’t be reasoned with but I had to keep his attention on me. Bishop’s piece was in his kutte. And his kutte was next to the bed.

“You could tell me you didn’t find me, he would never know,” my heart races as I wait for the other shoe to drop. “Please, Donovan.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Nova…” before he could finish a loud boom echoed from behind me. My ears ringing and I feel the splatter of Donovan’s blood on my face. I drop to my knees as Donavan tumbles back, like the giant that fell from the beanstalk he lay lifeless his eyes cold and fixed on the ceiling.  Bullet hole dead center in his forehead. 

“Hank, need you up here,” Bishop’s voice spoke into his phone behind me. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe until I felt his hand on the small of my back. It was calming. “Breathe, querida, just breathe.” 

“Pants,” I mutter as he helps me to my feet leading me to the couch just past the dead man laying on the white rug.  I look up my skin paler than normal, “You need pants if Hank is coming.” 

“Right,” he slid his legs in his jeans seconds before the knock at the door. 

“She ok?” Hank’s voice was an echo through the fog in my head. 

“Shock, I think,” Bishop responded. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” I breathe trying to bring myself down. “He came for me. I never thought he’d find me.”  The door opens and closes and I hear Angel, EZ, Coco, and Gilly talking. I can’t quite make out their words. 

“Yo, Malibu,” Angel’s voice far too energetic for cleanup duty. 

“I’m fine,” the fog begins to clear, I look up at Bishop, “Angel needs twenty dollars.” I stand to pace the floor.  

“What are you talking about?” he asks. 

“Angel needs twenty dollars. We need to get rid of Donovan’s body. And get the fuck outta here.  He’s coming.” Bishop stops me, placing his hands on my shoulders, holding still, “You’re not making any sense.” 

“Here, sweetheart,” Hank hands me a glass of water and a couple of pills, “take these. No one’s coming, not tonight.” Bishop settles me back on the couch and I start to fade. 

“No hurry on that twenty," Angel says. I could hear him grunting as he lifts something heavy and I start to fade.