#and for the version they DID do they still removed the smoke at the top of his head which looks so fucking weird what the fuck wildbrain

[nyaskitten]

Honestly starting to doubt we'll see the collars that much in the show given how little effort went into making them. They're SUPREMELY bland over-simplifications in-show compared to in the sets, barely any good fur detailing whatsoever. ALSO, the back is just mirrored from the front, that's not how the fuck collars work dude. I'm NEVER drawing them like that I don't care FUCK canon compliance!!!

[delusional-day-dreamer]

Last Friday Night - p.b

‣ paige bueckers x reader!

‣ nika's version of this fic

‣ wc: 1953; sorry this is so short and lowkey not that good?

‣‣ synopsis: you and paige have kept your relationship on the dl for a while now, but what happens when your inebriated selves slip up on kk’s live? pretend the ncaa's lift on cannabis for athletes happens before the start of the 23-24 season!

‣‣‣ a/n: guys i'm so sorry for the utter lack of content but I just got back from camp and i am ready to feed y'all, i got a lot of ideas cooking up and i'm really hoping i can post a lot more while i have the time. also for the multiple versions, i genuinley couldn't choose who to write this about, so i just did both!

8:42 am

To say that you and Paige were in trouble by the events of last night was a little bit of an understatement. Both of your phones were blowing up by your respective coaches, teammates, close friends, and all of your social media accounts.

As you scrolled through your tiktok, text messages, instagram tags, and just about everything else on your phone while laying next to Paige's sleeping figure in her bed, it only reaffirmed one thing in your head.

You and Paige majorly fucked up.

12:07 am; where it all went wrong

With your volleyball season and Paige's basketball season being in their respective peaks during this time of year, you had barely gotten a chance to spend time with your girlfriend alone. The two of you were either travelling for away games, at practice, in class, hanging out with your friends or teammates, or busy studying. Needless to say, you missed Paige. A lot.

Which, combined with the weed pen you were hitting periodically, loosened your inhibitions to a whole new level inside of Ted's fairly crowded bar.

It wasn't jam-packed, but there was a decent crowd of older college students for a Friday night in October, especially since Halloween was soon to be approaching in two weeks.

Normally, you and Paige weren’t big on PDA, at most you would hold hands or give small pecks around the team, considering the fact that the two of you kept your relationship very much on the down low, not so much a secret as very private. You never denied any allegations but basically never posted together on your own, unless the two of you ended up in the background of someone else’s pictures.

Social media had a lot of speculation, edits, rumors, etc, surrounding the two of you, as you had no connection to the team as a volleyball player yet still hung out with them regularly. But either way, you and Paige always just minded your own business and kept everything very hush hush. Except for tonight.

Paige was sort of sober, she had done two shots with some of the other girls while you mostly just smoked a few times, not wanting to get super high, but just enough to let the tingly sense of giggly euphoria wash over you.

Yet one thing you failed to consider when choosing weed over alcohol for tonight was the fact that it made you incredibly horny. That, combined with the fact that you and Paige hadn’t spent any time together in the last three weeks, let alone have sex, were the leading factors of tonight.

The rest of the basketball team was spread throughout the bar, some were at a table not far from the two of you, messing around on KK's live, while others were dancing, drinking, or mingling with their other friends.

Which left you and Paige alone, squished together in the corner of the bar top. You were leaning with your back against the wall, standing in between Paige's spread legs from her position facing you atop the stool. Her hands were holding onto your bare thighs, occasionally removing her left to take a small sip of her drink before dutifully returning to your legs.

"I'm just saying P, we could definitely sneak out without anyone noticing, everyone's too busy doing their own thing," you attempted to convince your stubborn girlfriend, sweetening the notion by rubbing your hands up and down her jean-clad thighs.

As D1 athletes, it was obvious that the two of you had toned and muscular bodies, but one of Paige's features you found most attractive were her muscular thighs she built from her time in the gym and on the court, especially the way they would wrap around your head while eating her out.

"We'll leave soon baby don't worry. Besides," Paige leaned into your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "I already promised I would make up the last three weeks to you tonight yeah? What's another hour ma?"

You bit your bottom lip as Paige pulled back, thudding your head on the wall behind you as your eyes trailed over the small smirk Paige held, now using her fingers to draw small circles on your thigh.

"Fuck, you're driving me crazy like this Paige," you reached your right hand over to the bar top, desperate to take another hit of your pen to ease the influx of horny thoughts running through your mind.

Before you could bring the vape up to your mouth, Paige grabbed your waist and pulled you into her, and despite her sitting position, you still only had a good two inches over her.

"You're not gonna share baby?" Her teasing eyes gleamed up at you as she licked her lips in anticipation.

You immediately knew what she meant by that, the two of you doing it all the time whenever you're smoking or vaping together (let's be frl, they're college students, it's NORMAL).

You smirked at her suggestion, leaning into her before taking a deep inhale of the weed, allowing as much of the smoke to enter your lungs as possible before using your left hand to grab Paige's jaw, pressing your open lips against hers to shotgun the smoke into her mouth.

You didn't even wait to finish exhaling all of the smoke and taking another breath before enveloping Paige's lips into yours hungrily, eagerily gripping her waist with the hand still holding the vape.

You kissed her passionately, deepening the kiss as you slipped your tongue into her mouth, the mixture of the rum and coke she was drinking earlier and the earthy taste of weed making your head spin.

You continued to make out for a few minutes, gently pulling away while tugging her bottom lip with your teeth, gazing down at her closed eyes and blissful expression.

"You finally ready to go home P?" You teased, licking your swollen lips at her finally needy expression.

"We're getting the fuck out of here, right now," she rushed out, flagging down the bartender to pay off her tab and the second she got her credit card in hand, interlocked her fingers with yours to drag you out of the bar.

Completely unbeknownst to the two of you, KK and her live had been at the table diagonal to you the whole time, and while her body covered the two of you behind her while sitting, the only shield you had quickly disappeared when she stood up, leaning over the table to steal some of Ice's food when it had been set down, completely exposing you to her two thousand viewers, who were no doubt screen-recording.

The camera clearly caught your lips against Paige's blowing smoke into her mouth before leaning in to kiss her, and despite the two of you being on screen for less than a minute, it was enough to cause an internet commotion.

KK's eyes scanned over the comments as she sat back down, blocking your frames as she shoved a few fries in her mouth. Her eyes widened at the sudden influx of comments about you and Paige, leaning in to figure out what was going on.

"I, what? There's no way y'all," she whispered to the table of Nika, Ice, Carol, and Jana. Aubrey leaned in from KK's right side, trying to figure out what had happened.

Covering the camera slightly, KK, and everyone else, turned around to witness you and Paige's little makeout session ending and the flirty whispers exchanged.

"Unfortunately tonight's live is gonna have to end here girly pops, and if you think you saw something, no you didn't!" KK exclaimed as she quickly turned off the live, the table erupting with laughter at the situation. The whole team had placed bets on how long it would take you and Paige to fumble, and half of them had just lost a hundred dollars at your shennagains.

The walk back to Paige's apartment was brief, filled with flirty touches and short pecks to tide the two of you over until you finally entered home, Paige immediately pushing you up against the front door, moving her lips down your neck and around your collarbones with gentle grazes of her teeth and soothing licks.

"P please, stop teasing," you breathed out, grasping Paige's hair tightly from her scalp with your hand, pulling her face up to yours to gaze down at her with a pleading expression.

"Aw, my poor baby," she cooed, mocking your horny desperation for her, but thankfully Paige wasn't that cruel.

She led you over to her bedroom, slamming her bedroom door behind her as she pulled your shirt over your head, unfastening the bra clipped behind your back all while reconnecting your lips as she laid you down onto the bed.

You moaned into her mouth as her long fingers bunched your skirt up by your waist, rubbing gentle circles on your clit through your panties.

Before you even had the chance to ask for more, she slid the fabric to the side, running her fingers through your slick before inserting two of her fingers, curling them up into you as you let go of her lips to throw your head back, moaning loudly at her ministrations.

"Oh my god Paige, right there baby, fuck," your leg wrapped around her waist tightly as you clenched around her fingers, bucking your hips up to match her movements. Your hands making their way around her neck and back, pressing her body firmly up against yours.

Normally you wouldn't be so close to finishing within a few minutes, but the weed from earlier created a delirious fog that clouded your brain and with the way Paige's fingers were both pressing into your g-spot and rubbing your clit, your orgasm was quickly approaching.

"Fuck I'm so close P, please just need a little more," you whimpered into her ear, moving your lips down to nip at the sweet spot under her ear.

Her other hand responded quickly to your begs, twisting and tugging firmly at your nipple as she mindlessly muttered every dirty thought that crossed her mind, knowing how deeply her praises affected you.

"Doing so good for me ma, always such a good girl. You gonna be my good girl and come for me? Just let go for me baby."

Her words were the final thing to push you over the edge, the tight coil in your stomach snapping as you immediately arched your back into Paige, an endless string of moans and curses falling from your mouth as you let your orgasm wash over you fully.

"God Paige, I don't think I can even feel my legs right now," you giggled in her embrace as she slowly eased her fingers out of you, sucking the remnants of your orgasm off them before wrapping them around your waist, laying you over her as she laid onto her back.

"Hm, fucked you that good huh?" She smirked, using her clean(ish) hand to brush the slightly sweaty strands of hair that had fallen in front of your flushed face.

"I don't know why you're getting so cocky Bueckers, haven't even had my turn with you yet," you teased, running your fingers over her stomach, tugging at the remaining fabric on her body.

"Thought you just said you can't even feel your legs?"

"Good thing I don't need them to fuck you then yeah? Don't you think my fingers and mouth will be enough for you P," you retorted, shuffling your body down the mattress so you could finally have your way with Paige.

9:13 am

Instagram

y/n l/n posted a story

[allthesemechanismsbutnocoping]

EXPEDITION POST, NOT OPEN RP

DO NOT INVOLVE YOUR CHARACTER

CW: mention of minor character death, smoking, arguing, depictions of (what can be considered) an unhealthy relationship.

Pairing: Jonny/Tim (background Jonny/Tim/Brian, but he's not there)

Tim and Jonny use masculine and feminine and neutral pronouns, but I only use masculine in this. Sorry.

The moon was full. It was quite the sight, really. It was beautiful, Tim would say. He stared up at it, Jonny with him, smoking a cigarette. It was late, Tim couldn't sleep. Jonny offered some company. They found a way to the roof of the fancy, posh building they moved into with Sinclair and Lyf. Getting to the roof was a bit of a pain in the ass, but they made due.

Laying there, Tim had his head in Jonny's lap, the two staring into the night sky, like they hadn't seen every bit of the sky beyond it.

"It's funny to think that, in a few short years, it'll be gone," Tim said after much too long, the silence around them was becoming heavy.

"Few short years by our standards, sure," Jonny spoke with a tenderness that was saved for the two people he loved and cherished most. His free hand played with Tim's hair, not even paying attention to the giant rock in the sky anymore. Why would he look up there when the most beautiful thing in this universe and any others was in his lap? "By then, everyone around us will be dead. Assuming Lyfrassir doesn't kill them first."

The gunman scoffed and plucked Jonny's cigarette from his hand. "Don't say that around them. Or Marius. He might chop your head clean off if you make them upset again," he said and took a drag from the tube. "I don't think they will, though. They'll get the hang of it. I'm sure of it."

With a snort, Jonny took the cigarette back and snuffed it on the roof, letting out a long, slightly over the top sigh. "It'd make one hell of a story, though. Maybe it'll be better than the Bifrost Incident. I can picture it now, the Bifrost Incident vol. 2, the Bifrost Takes Earth!" He laughed, expecting Tim to join in, but he didn't. "What?"

"You're an idiot," Tim said lightheartedly, laughing finally and tugging his lover down for a kiss. It wasn't a half bad idea. Hopefully, it wouldn't be brought to reality. The world was already doomed; it would be a shame if Lyf was the one to end it. They had such a big heart and they'd carry that for the rest of eternity.

Pulling back, Jonny grinned down at Tim. He looked at him with all the love in the world. Again, there was a softness that was only for two people. "I'm your idiot," he pointed out, sneaking another kiss before he looked back up at the moon. "Better enjoy this while you can."

Tim knew Jonny was right. He turned back to the moon, taking in all its beauty. Up close, in the tunnels, it was a horrid, evil place he never wanted to go back to. From afar, she was a masterpiece. "Maybe we can stick around for another two thousand years. Convince Bertie and Tim to go AWOL... at least a version of them can be happy together, right?"

Bertie.

The same felt like a white hot blade slicing open his chest. Like his heart was going to be removed all over again. Jonny gritted his teeth, trying his very best not to ruin the mood. "Yeah," he said shortly, dismissively. "We've got many more things to see, though. Many lives to ruin, many stories to tell."

The answer didn't satisfy Tim and Jonny knew it. They both knew how the other got when Bertie was brought up. He was someone that Jonny didn't like, and that was that. He died, and Tim joined the Mechanisms. Why did he have to bring him up again? His fingers continued to play in his hair, though it was obvious he was irritated.

"Jonny," Tim said, sitting up and turning to face him. "Are you really still sour about our past?"

Jonny rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not sour. I just don't understand why you have to bring him up. He's dead. He'll die again and again and again," he said, leaning back on his hands. "Can we just enjoy the fucking moon? Please?"

There was a flash of anger on Tim's face. They were both irritated. "He was the man I was going to marry, Jonny. I still do love him even if I'm plenty happy with you and Brian. I love you both more than anything else, and you know that. I'm with you, here and now. Forever, as far as we know. Why does it still bother you that he existed?!"

"Because it fucking does, okay?!" Jonny yelled, his anger getting the better of him. "Because it does, Tim! It feels like you wish you were with him! It feels like the life you have now isn't good enough for you and all this time has been for nothing!"

Their yelling echoed around them, possibly alerting the people that walked by down below, but neither of them cared much about that. If they knew what was good for them, they'd ignore it and keep walking. Best thing to do when Jonny and Tim got into it.

"You're a fucking idiot!" Tim yelled as he stood up, towering over Jonny. "You're a fucking moron if you believe that. No, this life wasn't what I expected when I joined the army! I also wasn't expecting to blow up the fucking moon and doom my Earth! I wasn't expecting to wake up with metal eyeballs! Things fucking happened and we're here now!"

That didn't tell Jonny he was happy, though. Maybe Jonny was in his own head. Maybe he was irrational. Maybe he should just shut up and leave. However, Jonny was never good at shutting up, was he? "The happiest day of my fucking life was when Bertie died and I'll gladly wait around to watch it happen again." With that, he turned and headed towards the door, leaving Tim with his words.

He needed a fucking drink.

[incarnateirony]

Got one someone requested on anon without sending on anon, so:

Hi, who was the biggest Destiel cockbloker? Singer, Leming, Pedowitz, some other TPTB in the shadows? All of them equally?

Greetings to you.

We had SEVERAL adversarial things in our way. My old "people keep asking my view of destiel" from like S12-13 or so goes into, for example, the Chad Kennedy incident, which was the first time the authors got their feet blown off. Fandom decided it was a great idea to torch a curious CW exec off the internet just because he didn't know what Destiel was, and he looked at his papers in like season 9 and hadn't been pitched LGBTQ marketing then half of S9-10 and the secret admirer scene and boyfriend fight and all of that, POOF!

So at this point, you already pissed off the old CW.

Then, you go to authors fighting back, pitching market demo, etc.

Pedowitz himself really had few real opinions of his own. Any praise or anything he conveyed to anyone was the company line. Pedowitz existed just to maintain CBS and WB's status quo, he was a meatpuppet.

WB had a top property that was old and maintained not just a stable us demographic but had its largest audience in Russia, where we were almost removed from air even on the No I Love You version of Goodbye Stranger, which later became the market testing stuff (and is Robbie's!)

So really, WB was the big boogeyman, and Berens turning the titanic as far as he did was really a feat accomplished only by these antics in the writing room and a lot of advanced planning and good faith groundwork I've talked about elsewhere, can't find the post by tumblr search at the moment but I got an ask once about the author room, the structure, the difference between Carver and Dabb, and the internal Forged Showrunners Notes Revolution.

Singer and Leming, if you asked them, didn't ~hate it. Well, at least Eugenie didn't. Even Buckner was supportive on some older era gay man level. Singer, however, was the one sworn into the show per the writing room post, basically his production house, and he signed on for two dudes and a car, not a gay angel romance, damnit.

But God Didn't Care. He'd stick up his tripod, demand how it would go, and wander the fuck off, and if they tried to change anything overhead he was in the way, or would dump a character in a bathtub if you argued. So since he didn't even do his job with the dailies why not just stickynote collectively past him with Showrunners Notes Dabb let Bobo write?

So WB had a 3 tier reporting structure back then that was hell to navigate up and make change in and it was Singer's footing anyway. Now, when Zaslav took over WB, along with talking to Jensen's mentor Roth who ADVISED him to make Chaos Machine to begin with, to cut costs he completely obliterated that 3 tier reporting structure and gave the power directly to creative executives.

This still would have been rough for us under Singer, but now? Now that's Jensen. Now that's Chaos Machine. Head of TV will still putz around tracking numbers, success, talking to new Nexstar, but Nexstar just wants numbers. It all comes down to numbers, and now Winchesters digitally is second only to Game of Thrones internationally, not even including the US because it's not there on Max for it. Yeah. We're the new Game of Thrones. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

[writemystic]

A Heartbreak Story (Taylor’s Version Lyrics)

Honey, when I'm above the trees, I see this for what it is…

Hush, I know they said the end is near but I'm still on my tallest tip-toes, spinning in my highest heels, love, shining just for you.

Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke.

Handcuffed to the spell I was under, for just one hour of sunshine.

I gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy. And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting in only your army, frontlines. Don't you ignore me, I'm the best thing at this party (you're losing me).

I wait by the door like I'm just a kid, use my best colors for your portrait, lay the table with the fancy shit… And watch you tolerate it.

I greet you with a battle hero's welcome, I take your indiscretions all in good fun.

Another summer taking cover, rolling thunder. He don't understand me…

If it’s all in my head, tell me now. Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow. I know my love should be celebrated but you tolerate it.

Tell me, when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk? When did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?

Talking down to me like I'd always be around.

Mister Steal-Your-Girl then make her cry, said I'm the love of your life about a million times.

You said I needed a bravе man then proceeded to play him until I believed it too… And it kills me.

And it was always on your terms. I waited on every careless word hoping they might turn sweet again like it was in the beginning.

Good girls, hopeful they'll be and long they will wait.

My friends tried but I wouldn't hear it, watched me daily disappearing for just one glimpse of his smile.

I said “I don't mind, it takes time”. I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed.

You say “I don't understand” and I say “I know you don't”. We thought a cure would come through in time, now I fear it won't.

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?

You didn't even hear me out. You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs). You didn't even see the signs.

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky. Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life, drawing hearts in the byline. Always taking up too much space or time.

You assume I’m fine, but what would you do if I… Break free and leave us in ruins? Take this dagger in me and remove it? Gain the weight of you then lose it? Believe me, I could do it.

And the air is thick with loss and indecision. I know my pain is such an imposition.

Every breath feels like rarest air when you're not sure if he wants to be there.

I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift, pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away. My spine split from carrying us up the hill, wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill. I stopped trying to make him laugh, stopped trying to drill the safe.

All this time I was wasting hoping you would come around, I've been giving out chances every time and all you do is let me down.

Distance, timing, breakdown, fighting. Silence. The train runs off its tracks. Kiss me, try to fix it. Could you just try to listen? Hang up, give up. And for the life of us we can't get back.

And I'm fading, thinking: Do something, babe, say something. Lose something, babe, risk something. Choose something, babe, I got nothing to believe unless you're choosing me. You're losing me.

This is the last time I'm asking you this, put my name at the top of your list. This is the last time I'm asking you why you break my heart in the blink of an eye.

Second, third, and hundredth chances, balancing on breaking branches. Those eyes add insult to injury.

But I got tired of waiting wondering if you were ever coming around, my faith in you was fading.

As I comb back through my memory, how you said you'd be here. You said you'd be here…

And right before your eyes, I'm aching.

Stop, you're losing me. I can't find a pulse, my heart won't start anymore.

What do you say when tears are streaming down your face in front of everyone you know? And what do you do when the one who means the most to you is the one who didn't show?

It turned into something bigger, somewhere in the haze got a sense I'd been betrayed.

Oh, I hate those voices telling me I’m not in love anymore. But they don’t give me choices and that’s what these tears are for.

But if you look a little closer, I said “Leave” but all I really want is you to stand outside my window throwing pebbles screaming “I'm in love with you!”

So babe, if you know everything, tell me why you couldn't see? That when I left I wanted you to chase after me.

But you held your pride like you should’ve held me.

Could've loved you all my life if you hadn't left me waiting in the cold.

And it took you five whole minutes to pack us up and leave me with it.

I think I've seen this film before and I didn't like the ending.

But people are people and sometimes it doesn't work out. Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fallout.

And I wouldn’t marry me either, a pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her.

I move through the world with a heart broken, my longing state unspoken.

You know I didn't want to have to haunt you, but what a ghostly scene. You wear the same jewels that I gave you as you bury me.

I call my mom, she said that it was for the best. Remind myself the morе I gave, you'd want me less.

I know I'm probably better off on my own than loving a man who didn't know what he had when he had it.

'Til we were dead and gone and buried. Check the pulse and come back swearing it’s the same after three months in the grave. And then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you, but all I felt was shame and you held my lifeless frame.

And I see the permanent damage you did to me. Never again, I just wish I could forget when it was magic.

I was dancing when the music stopped. And in the disbelief, I can't face reinvention. I haven’t met the new me yet.

Dancing phantoms on the terrace, are they second-hand embarrassed? That I can't get out of bed ‘cause something counterfeit's dead.

They say all's well that ends well, but I'm in a new hell every time you double-cross my mind.

Maybe I was naive, got lost in your eyes and never really had a chance. My mistake, I didn't know to be in love you had to fight to have the upper hand.

What a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair.

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost. The room is on fire, invisible smoke and all of my heroes died all alone.

I wish it wasn't four AM, standing in the mirror saying to myself “You know you had to do it”. I know the bravest thing I ever did was run.

Screaming: Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay? (I see right through me, I see right through me).

I was dancing when the music stopped. And in the disbelief, I can't face reinvention. I haven't met the new me yet.

It's been a long time and seeing the shape of your name still spells out pain. It wasn't right, the way it all went down, looks like you know that now.

And you call me up again just to break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest.

People like you always want back the love they pushed aside, but people like me are gone forever when you say goodbye.

And now you're asking me to listen 'cause it's worked each time before. And you can tell me that you're sorry, but I don't believe you, baby, like I did before.

Words, how little they mean when you're a little too late.

We might still be in love if you were a better man.

Let me remind you this was what you wanted. You were all I wanted, but not like this.

Your kiss, my cheek. I watched you leave. Your smile, my ghost. I fell to my knees.

So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep and I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe.

I never thought we'd have a last kiss, I never imagined we'd end like this.

I guess it's the price I pay for seven years in Heaven.

But I forgot that you sent me a clear message, taught me some hard lessons.

When your impressionist paintings of heaven turned out to be fakes? Well, you took me to hell too.

Baby love, I think I've been a little too kind. Didn't notice you walking all over my peace of mind in the shoes I gave you as a present.

Putting someone first only works when you’re in their top five.

After giving you the best I had, tell me what to give after that. All you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness… You haven't met the new me yet.

And I don't even want you back, I just want to know if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal. And I don't miss what we had, but could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived?

The idea you had of me, who was she? A never-needy, ever-lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you.

In public, showed me off, then sank in stoned oblivion

'Cause once your queen had come you'd treat her likе an also-ran.

I would've died for your sins instead I just died inside.

Six weeks of breathing' clean air, I still miss the smoke.

Were you making fun of me with some esoteric joke? Now I wanna sell my house and set fire to all my clothes.

You shit-talked me under the table, talking rings and talking cradles. I wish I could unrecall how we almost had it all.

And you say I abandoned the ship, but I was going down with it. My white knuckle dying grip holding tight to your quiet resentment.

So how much sad did you think I had in me? How much tragedy? Just how low did you think I'd go before I'd self implode? Before I'd have to go be free?

Is it a wonder I broke? Let's hear one morе joke then we could all just laugh until I cry.

Was any of it true? Gazing at me starry-eyed in your Jehovah's witness suit. Who the fuck was that guy?

Haunted by the look in my eyes that would've loved you for a lifetime.

I gave you my best and we both know you can't say that.

I'm just getting color back into my face and I'm just mad as hell 'cause I loved this place for so long.

Now that we're done and it's over, I bet you couldn't believe when you realized I'm harder to forget than I was to leave.

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same.

Oh, what a valiant roar, what a bland goodbye. The coward claimed he was a lion. I'm combing through the braids of lies, “I'll never leave”, nevermind.

You didn't measure up in any measurе of a man.

Stole my tortured heart, left all these broken parts, then told me I'm better off.

And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me.

But it's gonna be alright, I did my time.

I lived and I learned, and found out what it was to turn around and see that we were never really meant to be.

And time is taking its sweet time erasing you.

And by morning, gone was any trace of you. I think I am finally clean.

I'm gonna find someone someday who might actually treat me well. This is a big world, that was a small town there in my rearview mirror disappearing now. And it's too late for you and your white horse to catch me now.

And I've been spending the last eight months thinking all love ever does is break, and burn, and end… But on a Wednesday, in a café, I watched it begin again.

Long story short, I survived.

[eakdoeseurope]

Marseille, day 2, part 3

Bike tour time! So when I was researching Marseille (I did do a little research), I discovered that one of the main attractions is the Calanques. What is a calanque? Well, I've now apparently seen three of them, and I still don't know. I think it's like a mountain?

Or maybe it's the part that isn't the mountain, like a doughnut hole? Whatever, they're a natural wonder, and I love me a natural wonder. There's a hike that's accessible by bus, but I came across an e-bike tour of the calanques and I thought, "hey, I can ride a bike! I can totally do that! Easy peasy!"

(Narrator: "It was not, in fact, easy peasy.")

See, I thought the hard part would be figured out the electric motor part. But it was a pedal assist thing so the bike took care of that for me. No, the real problem is that the closest I'd ever been to mountain biking was going down the 46th Avenue hill by Oakland Lake near my house as a child. And that is not the same thing.

I'm not a good biker, as I discovered after about five minutes on the bike. The tour guide went up a steep embankment and then stopped on the plateau to wait for all of us to regroup. Everyone in front of me followed suit. I attempted to as well, but I misjudged the amount of momentum I would need, and came to a stop with only my front tire on the plateau. The bike started rolling back down the embankment, and it was too heavy for me to keep it in place (because of the motor), and l didn't have the presence of mind to hit the brakes, so I rolled back down the embankment with it and landed flat on my back with the bike on top of me.

My pride was more wounded than anything else, thankfully. And I was near the end of the pack so only a few people saw it happen. I do wish I could have seen it from a third-person perspective; I'm sure it looked hilarious.

Anyway, that was a harbinger of things to come. A fair portion of the trek was on gravel roads dotted with larger rocks, and many of the roads were also being used by cars and hikers. Oh, right, and we were going up and down mountains.

Going up was actually okay. I mean, it was hard work, even with the e-assist, but going down the mountains, I was 50% sure that at any moment my bike was going to skid out and I would slide off the road and fall down a literal mountain. I had my rear brake fully engaged for pretty much the entirety of the descents and I think I got tendonitis in my neck from how hard I was clenching my jaw the entire time.

In theory you're supposed to keep to the right so cars can pass you on the left, but when the right side of the road was the cliff side, I made the executive decision to stay to the left instead. And I am alive today thanks to that decision (I assume).

There was a group of guys in their early 20s in the tour group who were acting like the worst version of guys in their early 20s -- immediately removing their shirts, refusing to wear their helmets, taking smoke breaks, showboating by popping fucking wheelies. I couldn't have rolled my eyes harder. Who are you trying to impress, dude? The only hot girl on this tour is here with her boyfriend.

There was also a middle-aged man who did his own showboating, but that just involved going off the trail to show how he could do real mountain biking, not like us trail-riding plebs.

After one of our descents, we wound up at a little inlet beach, where the water was shockingly blue.

I took off my shoes and socks and waded in the water. It was a little cold, but nice.

Of course, then we had to head back up. You wouldn't think the trip up would be more enjoyable, but biking up a mountain is much less terrifying than biking down a mountain. I was actually surprised by how much quicker the trip up was than the trip down.

See that light patch of lighter turquoise water where the land goes in? That's the beach we were at. I biked that.

The tour guide offered to take a picture of me looking sweaty and exhausted in front of a beautiful vista, so here's that:

Then we just had to get back to the starting point, which involved more descending down gravel roads, and then some comparatively pleasant biking through the city. I returned the bike and treated myself to some "I lived, bitch" gelato (flavor: Kinder Bueno).

To get back to the center of Marseille, I decided to take a ferry rather than the subway; it would take longer, but be more scenic. There was some mild confusion while boarding because I assumed that I could use my 72-hour transit pass, which supposedly included buses, trams, subways, and ferries. But it did not include THIS ferry, so I guess it just included the ferry that goes across the Vieux Port? So I paid €5. Which is honestly pretty cheap for a 20-minute boat ride. The most annoying part was that there were two women sitting near the boarding point who for some reason found it hilarious that I thought my transit pass would work on the ferry. Truly, they were acting like I tried to swipe a MetroCard or something.

We did indeed have lovely views from the ferry, and the spray from the boat's wake was nice and refreshing.

We got a good view of the Cathedrale La Major as we approached the Vieux Port.

Then I limped back to my hotel and took a much-needed shower. The end.

[the-firebird69]

This is his design and he really likes it it's kind of a little bit cheesy and the skull looks kind of funny and what kind of stuck with it. You ding dong dang dick it was evolution of to do with it and he says nothing so he tried to make it so people can copy it at Harley. It's actually a stamp on the skills head too and it says something and he signed this one it's a real thing and we want him to go around signing them. So here's it's kind of mean but this motor is really loud it'll make you go deaf cuz of the pipes are straight pipes and they're legal they're just very loud they have a little muffler in them so he's interested in it and we can pay him in kind too and we'd like to pay him with well I guess Max would really want to try and take these so he wants to use and exchange it's going to be a lot of motorcycles says okay light cycles and we're going to do that and we do know what we're doing and American Eagle makes a version they're extremely fast and we told Trump before and he said good it's over 900 we have like a limiter. It's really him we should make the deal with it's Dan but it's really both of them cuz they both were designing it so really it's their first production chopper and they're repeating the pathway they say they did with Harley and it was inside and we know about it so we went ahead with it we're going to work up a deal and send the light cycles depending on sales and we haven't sold tons of them and Dan wants to get into it so we have all the gear and stuff that matches the movie but it's real gear the movie was just a leather and helmets and all sorts of stuff and we have the other bike he can ride around on we have a Sportster of course and he has no but it's okay and we have a helmet that's a cowboy hat it's not guilty approved though he says he doesn't want that one. So you can pay for public appearances and we don't own Marlboro yet we said we did, he can try and make a deal with them and they would probably say no but it's an opportunity for all the lifetime and say they don't want to burn up and smoke like they are. And really no pun intended but price that's bad they're thinking about it the giant spike in sales by the way and to get him with a marvel jackets and stuff for rodeo actually thinking about it cuz that's the cool looking jacket and it's a cool looking outfit and it is a bit much for them no they've done it before but they've never had someone else do it for like 30 years or exhausted we pull up with the whole shebang and drop it off and it's like five campers and their top of the line pushers and you've got like trailers and stuff that are fully loaded a food truck with everything in it you need to make whatever you want and each has a nice good real size fridge and everything it's really really intense and a motorcycles trailer and a couple of them and cars that you bring with you it's intense for a show probably do it in in Florida but not probably won't agree so you have to do it in a different state like California and they say yeah probably so we're going to get it together and put Harley-Davidson on the buses and stuff and it's removable the removal decal actually he said we can put one on there they can take off and on cuz they can own it it's no reason for us to only I'll send it and they can own it. And they're kind of sights cuz they're going to have this deal with Harley Davidson and it's not Mac I'm still going to attract Max and it's ugly they say and in Cali. And they have the original bike and it's well capped and this is going to be another very hot item it's about outlaws and renegades

Thor Freya

[fxshigurosbae]

THE FORBIDDEN MAN . . .

daddy can’t seem to not care for you.

⋆.ೃ࿔* toji fushiguro (40) x f!reader (19)

✶ mature content (minors do not interact) — pseudo!incest, corruption, daddy kink, dilf, age gap, pet names, praise, begging, manhandling, forbidden love, fingering, cheating, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, innocence play, dacryphilia, sound restraint, dumbification, size kink, creampie, squirting, discipline kink, mentions of masturbation, jealousy, unprotected sex, dirty talk, barebacking.

NOTE. these jjk writers made me realize i have a kink for step-dad toji fushiguro. is it weird? yes. do i care? no.

taglist | masterlist

yes, it is true he became part of your family for almost a year now. yes, you tried to make it seem like a normal relationship, but you knew it wasn’t. after all, how could anything related to toji fushiguro ever be considered ordinary or unremarkable? impossible. the gazes, the stares, the caressing on the top of your head ever so gently, night kisses on the cheek, holding hands in public when just the both of you, laying on his chest while in the couch when alone, his remarks on the falling strap of your tank top and the exaggerated ‘parental’ jealousy. those were no things a man who considered himself your daddy — in a literal way — would do.

toji had married your mother, who was around two years younger than him and still was quite a beauty, while you were several years younger, obviously — but you were just the more innocent, fresher, untrained version of her. you were only nineteen, in college already and doing so well in studying that daddy praised you every time he noticed you doing so. your mother worked a busy job, she wasn’t around very much. it assured and removed any of her worries with knowing the both of you got along so well, how preoccupied and caring her husband became towards her only daughter in such a short amount of time — little did she know he was way more affectionate than she truly thought, even you didn’t notice the intensity and meaning of his acts, of his true intentions, he was a man after all. if he had only met you before putting a ring on his current wife, it’d all be different. all of the regret that hits him whenever he’s at work smoking a cigarette, when laid in bed late at night and when he’s in the shower… if he only had met you before, you’d be his instead, but you didn’t know that precisely.

in the middle of the mother’s busy schedule, the sun had already set and still at work — and probably will be for the next few hours. you had time for yourselves to enjoy what you called a daddy and daughter night. wether it was to watch a movie, bake a batch of cookies, have him tutor you in a difficult matter from your class, hear you talk about college and the parties, and the boys — one topic he hated, one topic he got mad at you for no reason, so after that one day you decided to avoid it — or even cuddling, like he said that was a father-daughter thing — you believed it, since you did not know a father figure until him. this night, there was no plan yet.

“wanna watch a movie?” a suggestion arose from you, standing in front of the man, blocking his view of the tv that was turned on a random channel. his eyes flicked towards your own, with a sly smirk on his lips — where there had the scar you loved the most.

“sure, angel. whatever ya want.” toji always, without almost no exception, fulfilled every one of your wishes and desires. cheerfully and innocently, you grabbed the remote, putting down the glass of juice on the small table in front of the couch. moving yourself to sit next to him, more specifically quite exactly beside him — with your legs laying on top of his toned thighs, and his hand holding onto one of yours — as the man also kept an arm around your shoulders, assuring the difference of your sizes.

the movie was too dull for his tastes, only watching so to please you. what you did not know was how hard it was for him at that moment, you were unaware of how your legs brushed against his crotch, your exposed thighs covered by nothing but thin short shorts and wearing a cutesy tight white shirt. toji had never struggled this much, often being capable of disguising or staying calm — even playing a trick to get what he wants from you, playing dirty tricks and being unnoticed by you, who was often taken advantage of. he was on his limit, on the edge, he had to do something, and quickly. a simple squeeze on your skin, along with hips thrusting upwards only once, just to play off as a way of him adjusting his posture, and a lazy breathy grunt — with a hint of boredom — from him, was enough to cause a sudden curiosity and innocent worry on you. glancing at his face while in such a comfortable position, toji quickly noticed your nervousness, however pretended, like it was an act. afflict, you continued to watch the piece of film, overthinking just a tiny bit — a halfway roll of his eyes at the unsuccessful attempt of catching your attention fully. rubbing gently a spot close to the lower hem of the fabric of your shorts — sending shivers down your spine — finally enough to make something come out of your pouty lips.

“is it boring?” someone smart enough would definitely say you were playing dumb.

“nah, don’tcha worry ‘bout me.” a lower voice, deep down impatient. “come closer, y’re chilly.” lie, what a silly game he played, immediately pulling your body closer, basically seating you on one of his legs, toji’s arm wrapped around you in order to hold you still. gripping slightly on the inner of your closest thigh, courage was taking charge of the famine man. rubbing leisurely long lines across the one spot with his thumb, the cheeks of your face began to heat up unexpectedly.

“toji.” you impulsively called, not knowing what to say next.

“shh, pay attention to the movie, angel.” years of experience, he knew how to manipulate, how to control, how to play, how to seduce even the biggest bitch in the world and also the sweetest young girl too. the victim was you now, it had always been.

soft caressing on the side of your hips, the man’s lips found it’s way towards your vulnerable warm neck, softly pressing once and resting on the crook of it. your breathing immediately hitched and your disoriented legs carefully closed together, as the situation got way too confusing for you to understand how to deal with it. then, toji’s burning breath on your skin, your mouth slightly parted from wondering what to speak.

“wan’ you to keep a secret f’ me, can you do that, angel?” he was faster than you could form a single word.

“what do you mean?”

“jus’ answer, doll.” you gulped hard, shivering at the close intimacy of the moment, the constant breath and tightening of his grip. all there was to do was nod, your heart spoke louder than your mind. “m’sweet girl, knew I could count on ya.” his fingers were too broad and able to spread both your thighs somewhat apart, enough to have some space in order to lower your shorts to your ankles. you were resisting quite effortlessly, breathing loudly in false exasperation to at least defend later that you were trying to stay back. “keep watching the movie, don’t wanna ruin ya fun. jus’ don’tcha tell mommy, wouldn’t wan’her knowing ‘bout our daddy-daughter night.” biting onto your lower lip as toji left gentle pecks on your collarbones. attempting to keep your head directed to the images in front of the couch, but your eyes failed to stay completely open, especially after feeling his fingers brush against your upper-inner thighs — so close to where it burned — there was an immense urge to let out a moan, however it was suppressed by the own palm of your hand. he squeezed the skin, rubbing with a digit or two that same place, after leading the tip of his fingers to slide across your covered folds and nub — that was the peak of your restraint — barely finding the spot you longed for, he teased manipulatively to receive from you what he had in mind, just leading your body to keep grinding those hips, looking for friction.

“poor baby, let me help ya with that. can’t stop moving y’hips, my dirty girl.” pulling the fabric of your undies aside, exposing almost fully everything that was there to see. a wet spot beginning to form on his pants right where you sat on his thigh. what you did not expect was to have your burning be completely rejected, and then you perceived how both his hands snook under your shirt to grope your breasts, pulling it up to free them as well to his view. “did ya think I forgot about ‘em? gotta take good care of my princess.” your back pressed against the right side of his broad comforting chest, his chin by the side of your face, at a height where his lips almost touched your blushing ears. “skin’s so soft, y/n.” calling your name was a delicate subject, he’d always use nicknames instead. grazing with the tips of his digits, the erect nipples, a string of heat spreading all over your body.

“toji, is this okay?” pitiful to hear such a little voice come out of you, stop playing dumb.

“why ya calling my name out of a sudden, sweetheart? daddy jus’ making ya cozy, we’re watching the movie, ain’t that so?” purposefully drawing circles on your nipples over and over again after finishing the sentence. a whiny moan escaped your lips as an unconscious response.

“y-yes, daddy.” ashamed of yourself, legs shutting together but toji released one of your breasts and spread them apart once more.

“let’em open for me, okay?” they trembled in arousal as the man returned his hand to the sensitive nubs while you tried to keep your tone down. “why so quiet, angel? wanna hear yer pretty voice.” kisses on the side of your neck again, the tension building was more than enough to make you explode, to be on the verge of tears due to stimulation, on the verge of orgasming just by having your step-daddy play with your nipples. finally after engaging with the commentary by whining lowly, like a puppy, your shame was being slowly blown by the wind. toji, as the merciless man he is, began to play with your wet folds, scissoring them in a faint pace. “bet even this feels better than playing with yourself.” avoidant, you just ignored, the rejection of your clit was too overwhelming.

“toji, please.” begged, in vain.

“don’t know who’s that.”

“please, daddy, please.”

“what ya wan’, doll? use yer big girl words. don’t like me playing with ya little pussy? wanna do it yourself? like late at night in the bathroom? don’t ya think I can’t hear ya whining like the slutty princess you are?“

“don’t, don’t know what you’re talking about.” breathy gasping as toji finally made circled against your sensitive clit.

“y’er smarter than that, baby. come on, did only you fuck this pretty pussy or did any other boy do it for ya, huh?” a satiable moan came out of your mouth as the pace sped up, the wet sounds loudening. “i’d hate to know my princess got corrupted by those filthy boys. m’the only one who can do that.” your back arched, gripping onto his wrist as his girthy digits finally slid inside your heating pussy, devouring the two of them in a slightly painful yet pleasuring thrust — all while having some more attention paid to one of your nipples right from the start. “tell me, y/n, wanna know.”

“n’daddy, no one but you, daddy. promise, ‘m your girl.” whining with rolling eyes and a bite onto your lower lip as he fingered life out of you, with legs shaking and attempting to close but he did not let you.

“can tell, pussy so tight, g’nna stretch it right jus’ for me.” trembling moaning as toji found the spot — by experience it was easy for him to tell but there was full confirmation after having your whine echo around the room and last for solid few seconds. the spongy spot being hit by this fingers over and over again, legs failing to obey your mind. the man kissed your neck, exposed shoulders and kept playing with your nipple. the palm of his hand rubbing your clit occasionally so it was extra-stimulation in every possible way.

“daddy, g’nna cum, daddy.” curling his fingers with effort as your walls engulfed him in a hot embrace, hips lifting off his lap and keeping the pace still. he let you, toji allowed it to happen and it was enough to send you into oblivion — eyes closing and a flash of white light, your body jumped from the pleasure but he had pinned your quivering legs open as he fucked into your orgasm, making you squirt for the first time after all your last miserable tries, and a long whimpering humming moan that almost made you choke and gasp for air. god, how you wished to have done this a long time ago. with slicking fingers from your liquids, toji put them in his mouth and sucked them dry while you watched with heating body.

“ya a virgin, aren’tcha, y/n?” the whisper that sent shivers down your spine, he was not supposed to find out like this.

“what? what do you mean?”

“stop playing dumb, princess. can tell, you were so eager to cum, no slutty girl would act like that.” a smirk formed on his lips, the same one that you thought could kill and shatter you in pieces. “wan’ me to take care of that, little one?” the nickname made your heart skip a beat. fuck, how could you say no? that was all you ever wanted, you just never thought it would ever happen, so you nodded. “gon’ be real nice to you. promise, sweet girl.” embracing, he carried you to your bedroom in a leisure pace, not rushing — it had a purpose, to make you impatient, it worked — toji laid you down on the mattress, which was unusual for him to care so much about comfort when it came to sex — you were his precious doll, that was the reason why he changed so much.

“be gentle with me, please.” doe eyes, covering your breasts with your hands and legs laying to the side so gently, blushing arousal — how could he contain himself?

“ya not making it any better f’me like that, ya know. don’ tease me that much, or can’t be gentle with my angel.”

“sorry, daddy.” uou were a dirty whore in fact, no way you wanted to be treated all nice, you wanted to be treated like his fucking slut. toji watched you from a higher angle, there was even more evidence of how taller and wider he was than you — kind of intimidating, but exciting. the man leered and attacked your neck with kisses once more as leaving low moans, being above you. your sneaky hands held onto the hem of his pants, which drove him insane.

“can’t wait for daddy’s cock, huh? i’ll give it to ya, if ya so impatient.” taking it off, your shyness controlled you again and there he was, looking forward to break down your stupid dumb act. toji wore only his shirt and nothing more, noticing some pre-cum on his tip and how red his dick looked like. “wanna feel my doll’s pretty virgin pussy.” spreading your legs, dripping wet and pulsating cunt. pumping his shaft twice or thrice, toji then aligned himself with your entrance, supporting himself on the elbows by the side of your head and staring into your eyes. thrusting ever so calmly and careful — who would have thought — your mouth shaped like a small circle with a flinch of pain struck you, and he groaned at the sudden warmth.

“hm, hurts.” a whiny painful moan from you, having toji stop immediately.

“ya can take it, gonna be slow.” resuming his movements, you bit your lower lip and wrapped arms around his shoulders and legs around hips instinctively. his cock was bigger than what you could actually have, but he was dedicated in making it fit.

“daddy, hurts.” you repeated, whine and whine, throwing your head back but so fucking merciless at the thought that he was finally inside your walls and about to fuck the absolute shit out of your helpless self.

“wan’ ya to take daddy’s cock like the good girl you are.” whispering in your ear. “gotta make your pussy the perfect fit, ‘right? so we can play later, too.” received a hum back from you, finally going all the way in. toji pulled back and thrusted for the first time in a slight harsh but normal pace and it pained you, hugging him more and wrapping your already tight cunt around him. “fuck, angel, let me breath, you holding me so hard.” thrusting harsher, you whined louder.

“can’t daddy, t-too big.” pounding more, and more, until there was no intense pain left — an indescribable feeling began to overcome your senses — and now you moaned like earlier but needier. arching back, closed eyes, hugging and clenching. toji was overwhelmed by your delicious and arousing scent, your cuteness and seductiveness, the way you whined into his ears and called his name so lowly as his pace began speeding up and harshening.

“feels good, princess?”

“hm, so good! s-so good!” his ego just grew bigger, fucking your virgin cunt into lewdness, shaping it to perfection. groaning against your neck, a few drops of sweat forming against his forehead, his cock twitched and struggled to move back and forth from such squeezing of your gummy walls. as if things could not get better, the suddenness of finding such the most perfect spot was enough to send you over to the moon and provide an intensity of pleasure, toes curling, screaming moans as you came for the second or maybe even third time that night. after that, toji held onto your waist and gripped the skin there, making it easier to hold you still, in order to keep hitting that one spot he knew that from now on would get you addicted. your throat burned from whining, your back arched and legs trembled — it was too much for a virgin, but that was what you’d get for wanting toji fushiguro to fuck you.

“t’much, daddy.”

“wanted, now ya take it, doll.” sloppy pace, weak state, tears forming on the waterline as your whines overlapped each other, gasping for air and choking on it. toji had a warmth and closeness with you — even after saying that, he made you feel safe — his cock was no longer able to sustain much more, your squirt dripped down onto the sheets and proportionated wet sounds that mixed along with your skin slapping. his cock fitting all the way in, brushing the tip against your poor cervix. “y’re gonna take all m’cum inside, hear me?” that sensitive sensation forming on the belly again.

“yes, daddy, yes. give it t’me, give it, please!” stuttering a little in between moans, body jolting at each pound as immediately after, another orgasm took care of you. toji chuckled smugly, groaning for the last time before so suddenly shooting inside you, filling you to the brim, a white ring on the base of his cock as the man fucked his cum into you — shivering and crying from the immeasurable pleasure just now experienced. noticing the emptiness after taking it out, semen dripped out of your now destroyed cunt, along with a single drop of blood from your hymen breaking earlier. the view of your step-daddy’s lewd gaze over your fragile state, the heavy eyes and sweat was mesmerizing.

“pretty to see m’cum comin’ out of your pussy, angel… don’ tell ya mom I said that.”

yeah, she can never know her husband fucks his slutty step-daughter’s cunny every thursday and friday night, while she is out late working — maybe on mondays and tuesdays too, but she also doesn’t have to know that.

fxshigurosbae © please do not upload my content on any platform

🔖 [taglist] : @fueledbysano @reiners-milkbiddies

[runnning-outof-time]

Proud | Arthur Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x reader

Summary: Back in Small Heath, Arthur's struggling with his old habits that he's fought so hard to push away. Thankfully, he's got his wife alongside him, who lets him know that she's still proud of the man he is.

Warnings: langauge, drinking, mentions of drugs, mentions of violence (typical to series), mentions of character death/season 4 spoilers

Word Count: 2615

A/N: I really liked how this one turned out...I feel like this specific storyline with Arthur could have been explored a lot more in the show, especially with how his thought process went. Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in stories similar to this one!

———

Arthur never thought that he'd step foot in the old home on Watery Lane in Small Heath. He thought that once the family business had gone legal and made money that he could leave the dirty streets and smoke-filled air behind for a better life. But a bloody vendetta had dragged them back.

Arthur found himself on a path to a better life after he was released from prison; where he was just moments away from having his life ended by a hangman's noose. He returned to the home out in the country, the one that (Y/N) managed to purchase with the money that Tommy eventually gave to her from the Russian deal, and decided that he'd live a better life.

Of course, Ada had to bring the money to her because his wife had refused to go anywhere near the very man that put her husband in prison. But buying the house for her family was the top priority when she did get the lump sum of bill notes.

In the months after Arthur's return, he and (Y/N) managed to build a thriving vegetable garden and chicken coop, both of which he loved visiting daily with their three year old son, William. It was nice to feel connected with nature, and, in a way, it brought Arthur back to his stripped back roots.

He'd also stepped away from his vices. No longer did he need the crutch of cocaine or alcohol. He still smoked a cigar here or there, but he found now that he could willingly make the choice not to use and then live with that decision.

But now that he'd stepped back into the city where his 'old self' thrived, he was afraid that he would slip backwards. To add on top of that, his brother, John, had been murdered: the first death and the start of the vendetta.

Arthur was sitting in a chair with his head in his hands when he heard light footsteps behind him. He didn't move until he felt a hand as it was gently placed on his shoulder. This made him lift his head slightly from where it was resting against his palms.

"Hey," (Y/N) said softly as she looked down at her husband. "Are you ok?" Arthur didn't answer her verbally, but instead, shook his head ever so slightly. (Y/N) caught his response though. She then removed her hand from his shoulder and went to sit on the couch next to the chair he was occupying. They sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke up again: "Billy's down for a nap," she informed him, trying to think of something to talk about. She thought that doing so would maybe help Arthur to clear his mind.

"That's good," Arthur answered her, his voice raspy from the crying he'd been doing earlier. He hated that it showed, because he never wanted (Y/N) to see him cry. To see him break down. Especially since he was supposed to 've moved past that. He was a better version of himself now.

"Are you ok?" (Y/N) asked again, making it known to Arthur now that he wasn't going to be able to get away from the question so easily.

"I'm worried, (Y/N)," he sighed, deciding that it'd be easier to just come clean about what was on his mind rather than avoid it.

"About what?" she asked, her brows furrowing slightly. She had some ideas of what might be on his mind, but she wanted him to express them in his own words.

"Bein' back here. I..." he trailed off, the words getting caught in his throat and making him pause, "I was doin' good back home...not drinkin' or doin' snow, and now that I'm back here, I'm afraid that I'll slip backwards," he tried so hard to articulate his thoughts to her before ending his statement with a long sigh. I must sound so weak, he thought as he shook his head. They were back in Small Heath with the possibility of death lurking around every corner. He was supposed to be the protector of the family, but yet here he was; feeling lost and helpless.

(Y/N) frowned slightly when she heard what was eating at him. She hated that he thought this way. That just because he was back in this hell hole, he'd devolve back into his old self. This wasn't her thinking that his 'old self' was anything bad though. She still loved him back then, regardless of what he was into. Now though, he was an all around better person. He was thinking more clearly and making better decisions. What partner wouldn't want the person they're with to be the best version of themselves?

But she had to let him know that she was there for him. That she'd still be in his corner regardless of what happened...because she would. "You're going to be fine, Arthur," she reassured him, "just because we're back in Small Heath doesn't mean that you'll go back to your old ways. I have confidence that you won't..." she takes a pause, standing up and stepping closer to where he was sitting so that she could set her hand on his shoulder again. "You're a better man now, and you can do this."

Arthur turned slightly in the chair he was on so that his eyes could meet (Y/N)'s. He sent her a smile; the expression conveying what he wasn’t able to say with words.

"I'll be here for you, Arthur. We'll get through this together," she told him, squeezing his shoulder as she tried to hold back her tears. She hated seeing him like this, but she knew that he'd be able to persevere.

——

No more than four days later, Arthur trudged back into his office at one of the Shelby owned factories covered in red paint. He walked past the few workers that stayed back while the rest of the lines had gone on strike and gave no acknowledgement to their bewildered gazes. Of course, they didn't question why he was covered in paint. They knew better than to do so. Nobody in Small Heath ever questioned the Shelbys, no matter what they looked like, or appeared to be doing.

Once he was in his office, he glanced around the room, grumbling to himself when he found nothing that would allow him to wipe the red color off of his body. He settled with using his peaked cap to try and get as much of it off of his face as he could before he walked over to the chair behind the desk and slumped down into it.

He didn't think that he'd be killing two people and putting their bodies in the furnaces used at the factory today, but here he was. It should have been expected though. The Italians were closing in. They'd strike whenever they thought any member of the Shelby family was off their guard...just like they did with John. And Arthur's been off his guard since he came back to this god-forsaken city.

But he still knew what to do. Even though he was in a constant state of stress, he still knew when to turn everything off in order to focus on survival when doing so became important.

After sitting in the office chair for who knows how long, he found himself starting to shake involuntarily. He knew this feeling all too well. He was coming off of the adrenaline. It was during these times that he was at his weakest; when he would resort back to his old devices. Now, more than anything, he needed to be at home...with (Y/N). So he pulled himself off of the chair and began walking out of the office and factory with his home on Watery Lane being the destination.

—

The house was quiet when he returned, but Arthur was still buzzing. The overwhelming feeling was getting to be too much to bear. He needed something to get himself away from it at that moment, and (Y/N) wasn't home.

His eyes settled on the very thing he'd been trying to stay away from since he arrived back in Small Heath. The glass bottles half-filled with alcohol were sitting proudly on the mantle of the fireplace, practically calling for Arthur to come over and open them.

He held his breath for a moment, contemplating if he was really going to act on what his mind was telling him to do. He felt like he was spinning out, and he needed a release. A way out of his mind; a way to feel nothing, even if just for a few moments.

And after an internal self-deliberation that lasted a few minutes, Arthur was walking over to the mantle. His hands had minds of their own as he opened the bottle of whiskey and poured a generous amount into one of the glasses sitting on the tray. He tipped that back before pouring another and repeating the motions. It was after he slammed the glass down a third time that he decided to just take the now almost empty bottle to the chair with him. He sipped some more as he stared blankly into the flames of the fire, the thoughts of his earlier actions starting to dwindle as the amber-colored liquid made its way through his system.

Arthur sat in that same position for a good bit of time before the door to the house opened. He was so beside himself that he didn't even bother to look over and see who it was. He also didn't bother to move the now empty bottle of whiskey that was sitting on the table beside him.

(Y/N) furrowed her brows as her eyes became fixed on the body, which she knew to be Arthur's, slumped down in one of the armchairs. "Arthur?" she called out to him as she took a few steps towards him. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her. His eyelids looked heavy and his hair was disheveled. "Arthur, are you ok?" she asked with a slight bit of worry in her words as she closed the distance between them.

"I'm ok, but I...I slipped, (Y/N)," he somehow managed to make a coherent sentence, only stumbling over his words once.

"You slipped?" she was slightly confused by his choice of words, "slipped as in you fell, or..."

"Slipped as in I drank," he finished the sentence for her. "Two men came to the factory...they tried to kill me, but they weren't able to. I...I came home and you weren't here so I grabbed the whiskey and I...slipped," his sentence came out in fragments as he recounted the events that had occurred earlier in the day.

(Y/N)'s jaw dropped slightly as she heard what he had to say. She let out a sigh of relief at hearing the full story of what had brought him to this point. "I'm happy that you're ok, Arthur, and I'm sorry that I wasn't here when you came back. Lizzie needed some help at the shop sorting out...it doesn't matter what she needed help with, what matters is that you're ok," she stopped herself from giving out the full details behind the reason why she was away from the house. She looked over to him then, watching as he lifted his head slightly to look at her.

"I'm not...I'm not ok, though, (Y/N)..." he trailed off then, shaking his head slightly, "I slipped. I said I wouldn't touch the drink again, and now here I am...I'm barely makin' sense cuz I've just drank half a bottle of it," he muttered the second half of his sentence, disappointment for what he'd done seeping into his words.

(Y/N) held his gaze before a knowing expression formed on her face. "You're able to admit that you've slipped though, and that’s the hardest part," she tried to offer him some words of encouragement. She could already see that he was beating himself up over his decisions. This wasn't her place to add more fuel to the fire.

"You know what, Arthur...I'm so proud of you," she continued then, her words catching him off guard and making his eyes snap back up to hers, "I know it's hard to get past these rough days, but you're trying your damnedest to do so, and you're doing so well, baby. You’ve been super hard on yourself for many different reasons, but I still want you to know that I'm proud of you," she ended her heartfelt statement by looking him right in the eyes, showing him that she meant every word that she'd just uttered.

“You don’t need to say that, (Y/N),” Arthur shook his head, not wanting her to give him pity simply because of the state that she found him in.

“I’m not sayin’ it cuz I need to. I’m sayin’ it cuz I want to,” she clarified, putting emphasis on her word change, “and I want you to know how much I love you, and I want you to know how brave you are for goin’ out and showin’ your face after everything that’s happened these past few weeks. To go out there and still show yourself as a commanding figure within the community even though you’re broken and hurting inside is not easy to do. That takes a lot of courage, Arthur, and I’m so proud of you for doing it as effortlessly, and selflessly as you are,” she continued to shower him in love, knowing that that was what he needed most at the moment.

“I...” Arthur was able to get out before he choked on his words, a lump forming in the back of his throat as tears welled up in his eyes. “I don’t know what to say, love...” he trailed off again, laughing slightly through the tears that had rolled down his cheek, “I’m speechless.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile at him. “How ‘bout we go have a bath and then go to bed?” she suggested, “Billy’s at Polly’s. She wanted to have him for the night as a way to take her mind off of the stress of it all,” she continued, her hand falling onto his forearm then.

“I suppose that’s a good idea,” Arthur nodded his head after he took a few seconds to think her words over. (Y/N) simply smiled as she took hold of his hand so that she could help him up out of his seat.

Instead of going right for the steps once he was standing, she held him in her arms for a few moments. “I love you, Arthur,” she told him, her eyes hooked onto his.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he repeated the sentiment, moving in to press a kiss to her lips.

“I’m proud of you,” she repeated her words of praise as she pulled back from him slightly, “this moment does not define who you are right now, or who you will be in the future. Please remember that,,” she reminded him.

Arthur smiled against her lips as he heard her uplifting words. He couldn’t stop himself from pressing his lips to hers one more time before they both headed for the steps.

Getting through these next few days, or weeks, or months, or however long it was going to take to end the vendetta, would not be easy, but Arthur knew that he had someone in his corner. And that was enough for him.

———

Tagged: @alreadybroken-ts @magicalxdaydream @the-anxious-youth @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @evita-shelby @julkaamazing @lilyrachelcassidy

MASTERLIST

[fivelakesinwriting]

Private Party (Rafe Cameron)

Author's Notes: It's my birthday! This is my gift to YOU - Rafe smut. Enjoy, and let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you! xoxo

Warnings: Drinking, References to smoking, Fluff then SMUT (spanking, choking, unprotected sex - please be safe out there, your choice how! )

Requested? Nope! But all requested for OBX are open.

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

It was her birthday, and he wanted to do something nice for her. In typical Kook King fashion, he threw her a party. He wasn't one for nice dinners or strolls on the beach. It was all or nothing for Rafe Cameron.

Every quarter of Tannyhill seemed as though it was filled with someone. Drinks overflowed, and smoke reached the ceilings as they celebrated his girl.

Rafe stood in the kitchen, his girl under his left arm, as he held a drink in his left. He kept his eyes fixed on the liquid in her drink, ready to strike when he saw the clear bottom. He did have ulterior motives for filling his father's home with all their friends. He could practically feel the velvet box in his desk drawer upstairs burning a hole in the mahogany.

"Come upstairs with me." Rafe whispered in her ear as he saw her tip her cup to finish off the liquid inside.

"It's still early, baby." She laughed softly while she leaned her body into his.

"It's not that. I have a gift for you." Rafe laughed before he pressed a kiss to the side of her face. He placed his drink down on the counter beside him, then took her empty glass and placed it beside his.

Rafe removed his arm from around her shoulder, took her hand then led her through the crowd and up the stairs towards his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and locked the door, just to be safe.

"Sit down. Don't look at me like that." Rafe scoffed as he ran his hand through his hair before he walked towards his desk.

"You're being weird." She stated as she sat on the edge of his bed cautiously.

Rafe smiled to himself as he opened the door and pulled the box out from underneath old, unfinished college papers. He turned back towards her and took the few steps to sit with her on the bed.

"Happy birthday." Rafe smiled softly as he handed her the velvet box.

"Rafe..."

She opened the box to reveal a small, gold ring. A softer, more feminine version of the ring he wore on his index finger.

"Do you like it?" Rafe asked, his voice soft as he kept his hands in his lap.

"Rafe, I love it. Everyone will know I'm your girl. Thank you." Her smile beamed as she pulled the ring from the box and slipped it on her own index finger. The velvet box fell to the floor as she turned her body and tossed her arms around Rafe's neck.

"You're welcome." Rafe smiled as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up onto his lap. He took her left hand from around his neck and held her hand in his to place a soft kiss on her knuckles.

She pulled her hand from his to place it in his hair, her body curling upwards so she could press a kiss to his lips. Rafe smiled into the kiss as he placed his hands on her backside over her dress and kept her close to his body. His fingers crawled up her back to the zipper of her dress and slowly pulled it down the track.

"Still too early?" Rafe smirked as he began to pull the straps of her dress off her shoulders.

"Take my dress off, Cameron." She replied while she pressed eager kisses to his cheek, then his jawline.

"Stand up for me." Rafe stated firmly with a pat of her backside to prompt her to stand.

She pulled herself off of Rafe's lap and stood up on unsteady legs. Her dress fell from her body to a pool around her legs. Rafe smirked at the soft, pink lingerie beneath her dress and his hands itched to pull at it.

"Come here, gorgeous." Rafe muttered as he reached a hand out for her again, and pulled her back onto his lap.

Rafe wrapped his arms around her waist as he nestled her snugly on her lap. He pressed kiss after kiss to her collarbone while his hands ran down her bare back to pull at the waistband of her panties.

"Rafe." She shivered while his fingertips ghosted over the small of her back. She pulled at his hair as he body rolled into his for more friction, his clothes too much of a barrier between them.

"Are you going to be good for me?" Rafe smiled into her collarbone, his fingertips pulling at the clasp of her bra.

"I'm always good."

Rafe laughed loudly against her clavicle as he unhooked her bra, then slid if off her shoulders slowly.

"You're funny." Rafe smiled up at her as he balled up her bra and tossed it across his room.

"I am!" She whined with a tug of his shirt as she pressed her forehead to his.

"Mmm. Yeah, that's why I dole out all those spankings. Because you're good." Rafe grinned as his hands slid from her back to the swell of her backside.

"You love it." She replied with a firm tug of his hair and a soft bite of his bottom lip.

Rafe groaned as her teeth sunk into his lip, his hands gripping at her backside. He lifted her off his lap and tossed her to the top of his bed. He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor.

"Turn over." Rafe growled as he grabbed at her ankle and easily flipped his girlfriend to her stomach. He gawked at her backside in her barely there thong as he rubbed his hands together to whisk away any of the coolness on his fingertips.

"Rafe?" She asked quietly, a glance of worry tossed over her shoulder at him.

"Just admiring the view." Rafe grinned before he grabbed her hips to lift her backside into the air, her pretty face pressed into the sheets that were already a mess.

Rafe slapped an open palm to her backside, a wide smile on his face as she squealed out his name. He ran the palm of his hand gently over her skin where it began to flush, then paid similar attention to the other side. He smiled as she wiggled her backside with a soft whine, her hands pulling at the sheets.

"Gonna be good for me?" Rafe asked once more as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He grabbed at the strap of her thong and tugged, but didn't do her the service of pulling it off yet.

"Yes, Rafe. Please. I'll be so good. It's my birthday, baby." She whined as she rolled her hips back to his to entice him.

Rafe breathed out a laugh as he dropped his pants, hooked his thumb into the strap of her thong and pulled it to the side. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and for a brief second his dominance wavered when she reached a hand back to gently grasp his wrist.

"I love you, Rafe." She stated on a long exhale.

"I love you, too." Rafe replied as he leaned forward to press a kiss to the back of her neck as he lined himself up with her entrance. He slowly sunk himself inside of her, a heavy sigh of relief released from deep in his chest.

Rafe pulled his hips back then snapped them forward sending his girlfriend down on the mattress with a soft yelp. He grabbed at her hips to keep her tightly against him while he pressed kiss after kiss along her shoulder blades. Rafe's hips found a steady movement, his hands on her hips to keep her in place.

"More. Please, Rafe." She begged into the sheets, her hand still wrapped around his wrist.

"Turn over." Rafe panted as he knelt on the bed, a hand pushed through his hair while the other helped her turn over to her back. He rolled her to her back then dropped to his forearms above her, his forehead pressed to hers.

She pressed her thighs to his waist while her nails scratched down his back. Rafe smirked as he began his hip movements again, placing a kiss on her chin as her mouth dropped open. He brought his left hand over and gently placed it on her throat, pressing softly.

"Rafe!" Her body trembled beneath his as her orgasm began to approach, her fingertips pressing into the small of his back.

"Go ahead, Sweetie." Rafe smiled as he pressed a kiss to the side of her face. His breath caught in his throat as he felt her tighten around him as she came. He pulled his hands off of her and instead pressed them into the mattress as he finished inside of her with a few more wild thrusts.

Rafe dropped on top of her with a breath, his face buried in her neck. He ran his hands all over her body to feel her soft skin. The sheets cool underneath him.

"So, do you think for my birthday I can have a private party, too?" Rafe smiled into her neck before he began to place kisses along her skin.

Sequel for Rafe's birthday? Hmm..

Please let me know what you thought of this if you have a moment! Thank you! xoxo

Requests for OBX are open!

[kieraelieson]

No Rest for the Deathworlders

Logan had always loved the stars.

Still did, though his love had been dampened by the way in which he was currently seeing them.

He watched out the window, or rather, screen, but it was made to show the outside of the ship, and thinking of it as a window was oddly comforting. A bit of something close to home.

A lump grew in his throat at the thought of home, pressing against the collar. He forced himself back to a neutral, tugging the collar away from the front of his throat as far as it would go. A brief flicker of anger replaced the nostalgia. Anger at the collar, at his own inability to remove it, at the monsters that had forced it onto him, at his own complacency now that it was on.

He didn’t have it as bad as some other humans did, he was well aware. All the collar did was teleport him to the location of the person holding the remote. Granted, it was unpleasant and incredibly disorienting, but nothing like the near-torture he’d heard was the more common method of keeping humans captive.

The captain of the ship was smart in choosing Logan, as far as the welfare of the ship went.

“You’re invested in your own survival,” He’d said through the translators. “If the ship goes down, you’ll go with it. If you sabotage the ship and try to escape on a pod, I can get you back to me immediately, and you’ll meet the same fate as you intended for us. It’s in your best interests to cooperate and to bond with the crew.”

Well, Logan could agree that it was in his best interests to cooperate. But no one could make him get attached to anyone. And no one could stop him from making little problems.

Like ignoring the insistent, “Human, where are you? Human!” that was coming from his communicator.

The window dissolved in front of him, and Logan felt abruptly as if he were on the world’s worst rollercoaster for several seconds. It took him a minute to register the angry captain now in front of him. He was yelling something, but not through the communicator, so Logan couldn’t understand what. And he was far too dizzy and almost nauseous to pay attention even if it was understandable.

He shook his head slowly from side to side and up and down once, hoping to clear the vertigo somewhat.

“You must come when called!” The communicator translated. “Or at least answer!”

Logan stubbornly remained silent, the dizziness gradually clearing.

For an alien that looked more like a slime monster than anything with a real face, the captain still managed to look extremely displeased. Not that Logan cared.

“There are ------ trailing our ship,” the captain said, one of his words not translating properly. “We need to go faster or we’ll get boarded.”

Ok, maybe Logan did care.

“Humans are supposed to be good at making ships go faster, fix it.”

Logan frowned. “I’ve been here three days,” he said into the communicator. “I hardly know how anything in the ship works, much less how to improve any of its functions!”

“I’ve studied humans, I know better than that, fix it.” The captain said shortly.

Logan opened his mouth to protest, but the room around him dissolved, the horrible spinning sensation back. His legs gave out and he dropped onto the floor in a different place.

He swallowed hard, his stomach threatening to upend itself.

“And they call you deathworlders,” someone scoffed. “A transporter has you on your knees.”

Beyond his sick feelings, and the anger at being mocked, he caught onto that plural reference. Was there another human on the ship?

In addition, there were apparently multiple remotes to the teleporter around his throat, which ruined his plan of trying to steal or fight the captain for the one.

He slowly sat up, his head still spinning. He hoped that his body would eventually grow accustomed to the teleportation and the dizziness would stop being so awful.

There was a chittering sound beside him that the translator didn’t attempt to process. He turned to see an alien that would likely be very tall if it wasn’t on all fours. It was very thin, with long arms and legs, which ended in smooth nubs, without hands or feet. The front two, which Logan thought of as arms, though the alien probably would have a different name for them, seemed to be perforated along the last six inches. As Logan watched, one of them was extended towards him slowly, and something softer could be seen on the inside. It was able to be extruded through the holes, and was likely the way in which the alien could grasp things.

He backed away from the limb before it could touch him, and the alien also backed away a step, making a low woody sounding whistle, like air blown over a jug. It’s head looked rather moth-like, with antenna that curled and straightened, and large eyes.

The alien seemed sentient, though Logan was confused that the translator wasn’t picking up on its speech.

Until he saw a very familiar collar, only around their waist. They were also captive then. And possibly, though it disappointed his hopes of meeting another human, they were the other deathworlder, also affected poorly by the teleportation.

The strange attempted touch then, could have potentially been intended as comfort or aid.

“You’ve been sitting long enough, get this ship to move faster,” the other alien in the room grumbled.

Logan glared. “How am I even supposed to do that?” He snapped. “I don’t have training or experience, I don’t know what half this stuff is and I can’t read your labels!”

“You can either fix it now, or we can teleport you between here and the captain until you do.” The alien's tone was disgusting and wet, and Logan was glad he could focus on the robot sound of the translator as his stomach lurched again.

He could try.

If nothing else, he might learn some new things and be able to convince them that he really wasn’t able to just do things he’d never tried before.

The room was smaller than he would’ve expected, presuming he was in a kind of engine room. Around the edges of the room were a number of bins, holding substances ranging from powders to liquids.

In the center of the room was a glass tube that went from floor to ceiling, and seemed to be filled with a glowing crystal stalagmite. From the top of the tube dripped some kind of liquid, and at the bottom it flowed out in small pipes, glowing the same as the crystal and possibly converted into fuel.

He could assume that with all of the powders and liquids that there was a chemical reaction causing the substance to obtain the glowing quality and become fuel. But what that was, and how to know what was safe to change about it, he had no idea.

“Well?” The alien, whom he now assumed to be what served as the ship’s engineer, asked.

He was making so many assumptions, and still was barely anywhere. They could all be wrong.

“Explain to me how it works,” Logan said. “Then I’ll try to ‘fix’ it.”

The alien made an unpleasant sound that the translator interpreted as a sigh. “This is a ——-, the liquid is a mixture of ——, ——, ——-, and ——, but it could be made with any of the ——— family instead of the ———, or you could replace the ———- with ——— for better efficiency at different energy levels. We also have several forms of ———-, which ought to make more potent fuel for higher speeds, but every time we’ve tried the ———- smokes and explodes and there’s residue in the tubing for several rotations which puts us at a standstill.”

Logan grimaced. He had a very small idea of what was being said based on gestures, but he’d much prefer to have names and details. It seemed this was a very large and dangerous version of chemistry experiments, with no textbook, and his only advice coming from someone who hadn’t studied.

Well, there was the other ‘deathworlder’ in the room. He could only hope they knew something about any of this. Though the difficulty in communication might make that knowledge impossible to access.

He turned towards them anyway. “Can you understand me at all?”

They made another low whistling sound, followed by chittering. One arm waved, with… could he call them fingers? gesturing towards Logan.

He hoped desperately that he could consider that to be a yes.

“What would you do in—“

The engineer’s communicator interrupted him. “We thought we’d have a few more rotations but they’re closing in, has the human done anything yet?”

“No,” the engineer said. “It’s just staring at everything.”

“Well get it to hurry!”

The other ‘deathworlder’ made a long series of noises, pointing at one bin in particular and then at a place where it seemed the not-yet-fuel liquid was.

It was a foolish thing. A very foolish thing. But Logan took a scoop from the bin and dumped the powder into the liquid.

It bubbled and fizzed on contact, sending up thick clouds of a dark blue smoke.

An alarm blared.

The ship lurched, knocking them all to the ground.

And then the new ingredient actually hit the crystal, and there was a loud, high pitched ringing.

Logan covered his ears and shut his eyes, feeling like a weight was pressing him to the floor.

Everything was spinning, and loud, and then it was loud in a very different, but no less painful way.

“Protect me!” The captain shrieked.

There was a pained, screeching scream.

Logan was shoved, but he was barely aware of which direction, let alone what he was supposed to do about any of it.

Something grabbed onto his shoulders, and he flailed, hitting and kicking indiscriminately. Something burned on his side, and he kicked into something much more solid, sending a throbbing pain up his leg.

Everything was noise and pain and lights and movement and he didn’t understand any of it!

Logan struck out blindly at anything that came near him.

He thought he’d backed into a wall, but something must’ve been behind him, and it hit him hard over the head. He dropped to the floor, tears swimming in his eyes and blurring everything even further.

Everything dissolved around him and he was falling, spinning, dropping, tossed.

He was grateful more than anything when unconsciousness took him.

•^*^••

He woke slowly, feeling hazy and heavy. It was quiet, and not too bright, nothing was touching him. So he didn’t bother to open his eyes, just laying still.

He wasn’t dead at least.

Probably the pirates had attacked. Definitely he’d ruined the ship he’d been on.

The question was, was being with pirates any better than living on a ruined ship with aliens that considered him to be some kind of hyper-intelligent slave?

Or perhaps the question was, where was he now?

He forced his eyes open.

He was in a relatively large, empty room. The floor and walls seemed bare, though patched, not all of a single material.

He pushed himself up. There was a loud skittering noise away from him, and he yelped, flinging himself away clumsily.

He turned, and saw the other deathworlder, front legs shaking and making a rattling noise. He wasn’t sure if it was a fear response, a method of communication, or even some kind of threat display.

“It’s alright,” he said quietly, backing up a little farther.

The other alien didn’t try to come close again, so he figured it was mostly likely not interested in threatening him. There wasn’t an echo of his words in an alien language though, and he patted his shoulder to discover that the translator had been taken. His hand went to his throat, disappointed to find that they’d left the collar.

It was still there on the other alien also. They were both still prisoners then, wherever they were.

Looking around, it seemed that they were in an empty cargo space, rather than a proper holding cell, so there was a slightly greater possibility of escape.

There was that low whistling sound again. Logan was certain it was meant as a form of communication.

He tried whistling back, as low as he was capable of.

The alien chittered and shook its legs again, but Logan couldn’t tell even if it was a positive or negative reaction.

“I… don’t know how to talk with you,” he said, keeping his tone low and calm. He sat in a comfortable, loose position, hoping to get across the calm in his tone and posture. “But I’d like to try. I’m not sure what anything you’re doing means, and it’s possible you’re in the same situation. I’m hoping that you have more knowledge of humans than I do of your kind, and that you’ll be able to make better inferences than I’m currently capable of.”

The alien cocked its head to the side, watching him as he spoke. It took a tentative step forward on its spindly legs, and then propped itself on three, holding the fourth out to him.

Logan eyed the appendage. The softer inside substance was filling the holes, making it appear to have small bumps, rather than holes. He held out a hand to it, but didn’t try to touch.

The alien bumped the end of its leg into Logan’s palm.

That seemed… good? Perhaps this was a greeting similar to a handshake?

Logan very gently grasped the end of the appendage, the softer inside substance feeling cool to the touch, and almost like a stiff putty, whereas the harder outer shell felt very smooth and rigid, similar to metal, but light.

The alien retracted their arm, and then looked between their arm and his hand. The inner substance reformed, pressing out from several holes into a clear attempt at fingers. It seemed to be fully controlled by the alien, and moveable, albeit much more slowly than Logan could move his own fingers.

“That’s very impressive,” Logan said.

The alien chittered back at him.

Perhaps they could get somewhere through a kind of charades.

•^*^••

“I think that’s all we can carry,” Roman said, looking over the wreckage.

“We can hold more, we aren’t full yet,” Remus protested, still sad that some of the ship’s inhabitants had taken the escape pods. Aside from the power crystal, which was far too unstable to take, they were the best value on the little ship.

“The whole 3rd cargo bay is empty for the two deathworlders, we’re full.” Roman insisted.

“Oh. Forgot about them. Well, if we can hold ‘em, they might be enough to make it worth it.”

“If we can refill,” Roman grumbled. “I was expecting usable power from this ship.”

It had really been a not-very-great raid. They’d lost Aide, and Bill, and Rahgezis, and hadn’t even gotten much of anything good out of it.

And the deathworlders were far too grumpy to join the crew. If they’d had enough room they would’ve separated them, but he just took away the translators and hoped they weren’t already pack-bonded, and wouldn’t become so. Two single deathworlders were bad enough, two together? Their ship would be a wreck from the inside out.

They needed to give them a rotation or two to calm down, try and have a talk, and then drop them off at the nearest Embassy and get away before bad things happened.

Maybe the Embassy would even pay them for handing over deathworlders. Or maybe they’d arrest them for being pirates.

But without Rahgezis, Remus didn’t want to attempt anything on the black market with such a high demand as deathworlders.

And the teleportation bands should make it a little easier on them. They were super old, and no one in their right mind would use them, except as a practical joke, or a way of keeping enemies too off balance to attack. The ones on the two of them had been fused closed, rather than the usual buckle, so he felt more safe trying to hold the deathworlders than he would otherwise.

They’d only found one remote, but Inshes was already working on making a second.

“I’m going to see if the Scraascik is on any registries,” Roman said. “And I’ll check for the Human, but that’s less likely.”

Remus nodded. “I’ll handle getting us moving again. If they’re awake, maybe you could see about dropping some food into the cargo bay.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.” Roman sighed.

Remus set a claw on Roman’s back. Roman grumbled, leaning into Remus’s side, and then went off to do his research.

It’d been a hard day for both of them.

•^*^••

They’d managed to exchange names… sort of. The alien’s name was two notes, whistled lower than Logan was capable of, and likewise there was no way of the alien being able to pronounce the word Logan.

But the alien made a deep, almost resonant sound, that was as close as it seemed they could get to anything involving vocal cords. And that was their version of Logan.

Logan considered the two note sound, and came up with a slightly similar-sounding name. Virgil.

Neither of their names for each other were really very similar to their actual names, but they were able to understand each other, and that was what mattered.

As it turned out, Virgil was stronger than he was at pushing things, or hitting, but they couldn’t pull with any strength.

Logan was focusing his attention on the door, and had been so far unsuccessful in prying it open. It was solidly locked, and the lock seemed to only be on the other side of the door. Which likely meant that this room was detachable from the rest of the ship, in case of emergency or danger.

“Virgil.” Logan said, and Virgil turned to look at him from the patch on the wall they’d been inspecting.

Logan hit the door with his palm, his arm straight, in an imitation of the way he’d seen Virgil hit some of the patches, trying to break them. “Hit here.” He pointed at Virgil, and then at a spot where he suspected the lock was.

Virgil made a chittering sound and shambled over.

Logan again mimicked the strike, and then pointed at Virgil.

Virgil got into position. They were able to balance on three legs and rock their whole body weight forward to strike that small point their arm hit with all their strength and weight together.

They tried three times, but the door held firm.

Logan was impressed that they did not seem hurt by the attempt. Their exoskeleton must be very strong indeed. Which was possibly a part of why they were considered a deathworlder.

Logan wondered what their home planet was like.

The door suddenly opened, an alien clearly holding up one of the remotes to the teleporters.

Virgil backed away, turning and running to the other end of the room.

The alien spoke into a small microphone, which translated. “I brought food. Don’t come near me.”

The alien’s body looked almost bear-like, but with longer legs, clearly bipedal. They were only about half the size of a bear though. The fur also was shorter and sparser, and a very reddish kind of brown. The hands looked more useful than a bear’s paws as well. The head though was very unlike a bear’s. Logan didn’t know what to compare it to.

The alien was wearing clothes, which Logan had learned was entirely optional to most aliens, in bright reds and goldish yellows.

Perhaps this meant that this particular alien was more… Logan hesitated to say civilized. He scarcely knew anything about aliens, and could hardly make such judgements about them. Still, he believed he had a bit more chance reasoning with this one.

“Let us out of here,” he said, grateful that the translator picked it up and interpreted it.

“No.”

“We will leave you alone, we will not harm the ship. Let us go,” Logan said calmly but firmly.

The alien again said no, pushing in a tray of what could be food into the room with their foot, already starting to close the door.

“Wait!” Logan said, stepping forward.

The alien jumped, and pushed the button on the remote.

It didn’t seem to affect Logan, but instead Virgil was teleported close to the door. Virgil stumbled, falling against the wall and letting out what could only be described as a scream.

The alien who had delivered food looked even more scared now, and quickly shut the door. Logan pushed through his shock and alarm to try to open the door before it could be locked, but he was too late.

Virgil slumped to the ground, scream fading to a whistling wheeze.

As bad as the teleportation felt to him, Logan was scared that Virgil was being injured by it. Perhaps on the inside, where they were softer. Or perhaps it put too much strain on their rigid exoskeleton.

Was there anything he could do? He didn’t have any idea about what Virgil could need for medical care, and he didn’t want an attempt at comfort to be construed as an attack, especially while Virgil was vulnerable.

He knelt close to Virgil, a bit farther than an arm's length.

“Virgil?”

Virgil’s eyes opened, and from this close Logan could see the differentiation between pupil and iris. Virgil’s eyes were moving back and forth, like Logan had seen before in children who’d been spun in circles. He was likely still extremely disoriented then.

Virgil lifted one arm and waved it around slowly. It knocked into Logan’s shoulder lightly, and Virgil kept tapping it against his shoulders and head. Logan allowed it without complaint, guessing that it was grounding to Virgil, being able to verify that Logan was in one place and not moving, not spinning.

Virgil gradually steadied, taking their arm back.

Logan wished he had a way to ask ‘are you ok?’, but he didn’t. The best he had was, “Virgil?”

The whistle-clack he got in return seemed more positive than negative, though he had no way of accurately judging alien tones.

“Logan.”

Logan nodded, as it seemed the correct response.

Virgil pointed towards the nearly-forgotten tray, and Logan went to get it. Virgil struggled to their feet, looking something like a very large baby deer first trying to stand. If Logan had to guess, Virgil’s kind didn’t frequently sit or lie down.

The tray had a number of small round roll-like things that Logan was now accustomed to seeing. They were similar to banana bread in texture, but the taste was salty and rather bitter. When he’d asked, he’d been told that they were the standard in rations as they kept for a long time, and held an array of nutrients that was sufficient for the basic needs of a majority of species.

He suspected that he would require some greens or fruit if he continued eating these primarily, but he hadn’t seen any anywhere, only these.

Virgil stood over him and leaned down as much as they seemed easily capable of, which still left their head several feet above the ground. Logan was just wondering if they would need assistance to eat when a very long tongue, or perhaps proboscis, unrolled from their mouth and curled around one of the rolls, pulling it up into their mouth.

“What do you eat natively?” Logan wondered aloud. “And do you need water?”

There was a pitcher of water and two small cups. Logan poured one cup full and held it out to Virgil.

Virgil seemed to still be chewing, however, and incapable of drinking while doing so. Or perhaps they didn’t require water. Though, now that Logan was watching, he didn’t believe they were chewing at all. Certainly there was no jaw movement. They could be massaging the food with their tongue, and have particularly effective saliva perhaps.

Logan started eating a roll, setting Virgil’s cup down and filling the other for himself.

A minute later Virgil’s tongue unrolled again and drained the cup, seemingly effective as a massive straw.

“You really are fascinating,” Logan said softly. “Were we not in such a situation I would love to learn more about you.”

Virgil responded with a series of clicks and whistles.

“As it is though, we probably ought to attempt an escape. They haven’t tried to get anything from us, which makes me think they intend on trafficking us further. Most likely they don’t have the power to force us into work like the last ship did, so I think, despite the danger, that this will be our best chance. Of course, the danger is greater for you, the teleportation seems to hurt you much more than it does me.” Logan thought for a while. “I think our best bet would be to try forcing our way out the door the next time it opens. Perhaps one of us could knock the remote away. It is enlightening to know that the remote only works on one of us at a time.”

Logan sighed. “Of course we don’t know when or if they’ll enter again. It’s possible we’ll be held here until we reach wherever we’re going.”

Virgil made a low, soft whistle.

Logan laid on his back. “I can’t even properly ask you for your partnership. It’s infuriating to not be able to succeed at anything I attempt. There’s such a wealth of knowledge that is necessary, and I have no idea of any of it. Nor a way of learning, save through painful experience. I can’t become complacent, I have to effect change, but I never know when my efforts will be simply overturned.”

Virgil nudged his arm with their own.

Logan turned to look at them. Virgil chittered at him, bobbing up and down on their legs.

“What is it?”

“Logan.” Virgil said, still bobbing up and down.

Logan sat up. “I don’t understand.”

Virgil tapped his legs with their arm. “Logan.”

Logan stood up. “Is this what you want? Oh. If you don’t lay down to sleep, you must’ve been concerned when I did. I’ll have to sleep sometime though, and surely you’ve been exposed to aliens that lay down to sleep.”

But rather than relaxing, as Logan would assume Virgil would do if they were concerned, Virgil stepped closer, almost over Logan. Their antenna tilted towards him.

“Oh I see, this would be how you would confirm that I’m healthy, by feeling with your antenna, yes?” Logan remained still, unsurprised when there was a soft touch on his head.

But he was not at all expecting the sudden mental image of himself tackling the alien who’d delivered the food. It was so vivid it was as if he was already doing it, seeing the door open, tackling the alien, smashing the remote, and running forward to climb onto Virgil’s back as Virgil ran them both through the hallway.

Logan jerked back, falling on his butt. “What was that?! You have telepathy??”

Virgil made a movement that could be best described as a shrug.

Logan stood up again, reaching his hand out, battling his speed from excitement in an attempt not to scare Virgil. “Can we do it again?”

Virgil brushed his hand with their antenna, and the same scene flashed before his mind’s eye.

“Yes, yes I’ll do that! Can you understand my answer?”

Virgil made a whistle that Logan was almost certain was affirmative.

Logan paced back and forth excitedly, thinking out loud. “So you can communicate with me even if I can’t communicate with you well. And you very much want my partnership in escaping. We have a plan now. And a form of communication. Virgil, this is amazing!”

Virgil made an almost trilling noise.

•^*^••

“No, it hurt the Scraascik,” Roman said, already changing the ship’s course. “We can’t hold them safely, we have to get to the Embassy.”

“We didn’t even ask them to join us yet!” Remus protested.

“Would you join a strange crew after they hurt you?” Roman retorted, sending a message to the engine room to increase speed.

“Well what about the other one?”

“Remus. It won’t work.” Roman glared at him. “I don’t want to take chances with deathworlders.”

Remus sighed. “Fine. But let me try talking to them before we get there.”

Roman’s face went hard. “You have until we arrive,” he finally conceded.

Remus hurried down to the cargo bay.

He burst the door open, and it slammed shut behind him. Both deathworlders jolted, staring at him.

He then realized that he’d entirely forgotten the remote and the duplicate, and also that he was locked in a room with two deathworlders.

Well, there was a reason people joked he was addicted to adrenaline.

“Hello!” He said, waving. “I’m wondering if you’ll join my crew.”

The human moved first, standing up to a height decently taller than Remus was. And the Scraascik was even larger.

Perhaps he really was in serious danger.

“We just want to leave,” the human said, sounding rather threatening.

Probably telling them about the plan to hand them over to the Embassy then wasn’t a good idea until he was sure that he wasn’t in attack distance anymore. “You can, leave with us. Join our crew and you can adventure with us, raid ships, explore planets!”

“We want to leave alone,” the human said firmly.

“We? So… you bonded then? I guess that rumor is true, deathworlders all really do bond super fast.”

The human bared its teeth at him. “I will not be bonding to your crew based on your desires. I will not remain here, I want to leave. We want to leave.”

The Scraascik agreed in some of the most heavily accented Common Remus had ever heard. No wonder the translators hadn’t picked up any of his yelling when they’d boarded the ship. He’d probably need a translator to touch his antenna, but good luck getting a Scraascik to let anything touch their antenna.

“So you won’t even consider it?” Remus asked, not yet daunted.

“You’ve essentially kidnapped us, and both can and have hurt us! Why would I consider it?”

Yikes, the human sounded angry.

“Well we didn’t mean to hurt you, really, it’s not meant to be that bad. And we only kidnapped you from other kidnappers, and also I can’t hurt you cause I forgot the remote.”

The two deathworlders looked at each other, and Remus knew he really had gone and shoved his whole fist in his mouth. The human shifted position to a much more threatening crouch, as if it was going to pounce on him.

Remus held his arms out, claws at the ready. He might not have a hope of winning against deathworlders, but he could certainly make himself a pain of a target.

“I know I’m a pirate, but this was supposed to be just a talk,” Remus said, wondering if he’d be able to hit the communicator in time and if rescue was possible. Violent deathworlders in an enclosed space was not something he wanted his crew walking into, even for a rescue.

“It’s not much of a talk when we don’t have a say,” the human said, looking more and more threatening every second.

Iaoth , he wanted this human on his crew.

“Of course you have a say!” Remus said. “Name it, what position do you want, what pay, days off, I’ll give you whatever room in the ship you want as your quarters.”

“I fundamentally disagree with joining people that would knowingly traffic other people,” the human growled.

And then it leapt forward.

Remus yelped, swiping at the human and hitting the communicator with his other hand. “Roman!”

He was tackled to the ground, and the Scraascik pinned one arm while the human sat on his middle and held his other arm down.

“Remus?!” Roman’s voice came through the communicator.

“Let us go,” the human growled. “Once we’re out we’ll let them go.”

There was a tremor to the floor that Remus recognized. Roman must have been overloading the engine, they’d arrived and were docking.

“Is Remus ok?” Roman asked, sounding terrified.

“I’m fine, just a little stuck,” Remus said, trying to not sound scared so Roman wouldn’t get even more worried. “Laying under a deathworlder~ not quite as fun as I always imagined.”

Roman made a sound somewhere between a sob and laugh. “I’m coming to let you out. Don’t hurt him. Please.”

Remus was honestly a bit surprised that he was only pinned. The human was leaking blood from its shoulder and across its chest where Remus’s swipe had connected, but it hadn’t retaliated.

“Hurry,” the human said coldly.

The communicator turned off, and Remus had a strong suspicion Roman was calling the Embassy to have guards outside the ship when the cargo hold was opened.

“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Remus asked. “I know it won’t look like it from your end, but we don’t traffic, we take from ships we attack, but we’d either let them join us or take them to the authorities, we don’t just continue the traffic. And we could use people like you, you could help us take down so many more ships.”

The Scraascik leaned harder on his arm, and Remus grimaced.

“What would the authorities do?” The human asked.

“Uhhhh… well with the Scraascik, probably drop him back on his own planet, or with a Scraascik colony. Your planet though is still restricted, so they’d probably keep you until it’s opened.”

The human’s face contorted into something that did not look good for Remus.

“We’re on our way there, aren’t we?”

Remus wasn’t sure he dared lie, not when he was pinned to the ground with two very angry-seeming deathworlders over him. “Yeah.”

The human hit the communicator. “Listen.”

“I’m listening,” Roman said warily.

“Don’t open the cargo hold,” the human ordered. “You’re a pirate ship. You have smaller ships for scavenging, yes?”

“…yes.”

“Give us one.”

There was a long pause from Roman.

“Put food and fuel and translators in it,” the human said firmly. “We’re taking this one with us until we’re safely inside.”

This was probably wrecking Roman’s plans. There would be authorities involved and now no deathworlders to give them.

“Alright,” Roman said.

•^*^••

The door to the cargo hold was opened. Logan had the bear-alien in a tight hold, and Virgil was above them, looking like they were ready to strike out at anything that got within range.

They managed to walk along the halls until they reached the smaller ship. Logan had no idea how he was going to fly it, but it was the biggest chance by far that he’d had yet.

He shoved the bear alien away and slammed the door shut.

Virgil went immediately to the pilot’s seat, and Logan was amazed to see that there were places in the ceiling that fit their antenna. Soon there was a fast and loud humming, and the tiny ship lurched into motion.

•^*^••

Patton was being sent, since they didn’t really believe that there could be a Human and a Scraascik on the cobbled-together ship that had docked. So it was just him and Janus.

Janus wrapped his long tail around the back of Patton’s neck for balance as Patton walked back and forth, waiting for the ship to open its cargo bay.

It sure was taking a long time. They’d seemed so rushed when they called, but now they just wouldn’t open.

And then there was an engine powering up.

A teeny little scavenging ship took off from the bigger one, flying off. Patton scanned it, alarmed to see that there was indeed a Scraascik and a Human signature on board.

“Hey! Hey wait!”

He pulled out his radio, quickly setting it to the bigger ship’s frequency. “Let me in and go after them! We can’t let a Human go flying around unattended!”

“If they don’t let us in fast, go take the SC Meteor,” Janus said.

Patton wasn’t too surprised when the ship started undocking without answering him.

“We’ll get them!” He yelled, running for the Meteor.

[mrs-gucci]

Casting Couch {Charlie Barber x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! I was driving home from work the other day and this idea just suddenly took over my entire thought process. so, naturally, I went ahead and wrote it up :)

warnings (what you see here is what you’ll get!): smut. the enemy of my enemy is my ally (with benefits). p in v sex. protected sex. rough oral sex. cum- swallowing.

(possible) tw’s: semi-public sex.

word count: 3.2k

charlie’s taglist peeps! {charlie currently doesn’t have any taglist peeps} my general taglist peeps! @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​  @gildedstarlight​ @mrs-zimmerman @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee @pascalisfairyy​ @I-can’t-draw-faces @ahsoka1​ @babbushka​ @safarigirlsp​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from any of my taglists, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist)

Two Years Ago.

“Y/N...she fucking did it again.” Nicole says as she barges through the door of hers and Charlie’s shared brownstone. “She got the fucking TV gig.”

Charlie’s eyebrows furrow a bit before looking up at his wife with an empathetic expression, setting the notebook and pen he’d been using down on the coffee table.

“Bummer. I really thought you had it in the bag.” He says, elbows on his thighs as he leans forward a bit, folding his hands. “There will be other roles; I wouldn’t worry too much. You win some, you lose some; that’s how it goes in this industry. You’ve taken plenty of roles from her.”

She sighs, nodding. “Yeah, I know, but this one I was excited about. And I really thought I had it, too. It just stung a little extra, you know?”

Her husband nods, patting the seat next to him on the couch. “C’mere, sit with me. We’ll have a glass of wine.”

Nicole gives somewhat of a dreadful grimace, a clear sign she really wasn’t interested. Charlie’s been noticing this for the past few months, her disinterest in being with him as much as she usually was, but he figured it was just her being tired. She’s been doing a lot of odd jobs to make some ends meet lately, so it’s probably a result of that.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a twang of longing sadness in his voice.

She nods. “Yeah, I’m just gonna go lay down for a bit.”

Charlie just nods, picking back up his notebook and pen, continuing to review and add to his notes from the day. 

“Let me know if you need anything.” He calls after her. “I love you.”

She only offers him a small smile over her shoulder in return before emerging into their bedroom, closing the door immediately behind her. 

Present Day.

It feels strange, holding auditions for a female lead. He hasn’t had to do so in almost a decade;  just yet another reminder of how much of his life has changed just in the past year.

The divorce had been painful, stressful, and he was honestly more relieved than anything when it finally came to a close, despite it not really turning out the way he’d hoped for in terms of custody over Henry. 

Luckily, he’s dove deeper into his one true love, directing, as a way to cope with the loss of everything he’d worked so hard to build for himself; the marriage, the 'American dream’ family and home he wished he’d had growing up.

Now, after six months of weekly therapy appointments and keeping himself busy with work, he’s feeling more like the old Charlie he was back before everything went to shit. Actually, he’s feeling like an even better version of that Charlie, the best version of himself there’s been in a while, perhaps even before he met and married Nicole.

The first audition comes onstage and Charlie can’t decide what’s worse, her off-pitch singing or her monotonous speaking voice. 

God, this was going to be a long fucking day.

-

You’d heard through the grapevine that the famed Broadway director had moved here to LA, and that he’d divorced his witch of a wife, Nicole. 

Nicole Barber had been your biggest rival ever since you swiped that first movie role away from her. She hates you, and you don’t particularly like her, either, thus your rivalry began. And it was pretty heated, too; the two of you were always trying to one-up each other.

It really was a back-and-forth battle, her swiping roles from you, you returning the favor; it was a game, to put it simply. Although lately, you’ve been getting more roles than she has, not that you’re complaining, and there’s a part of you that hopes she quits the business for good.

Word got around that Charlie is heading his first LA Broadway production and what better way to hit Nicole close to home than to show up at her ex-husband’s auditions? Even better, what if you got the female lead in her ex-husband’s production? Oh god, that would be fantastic, not only for the rivalry but also for your career.

You’ve been looking to branch out into more theater roles, and this is as good an opportunity as to dip your toe in the theater world water. Plus, you’re not necessarily complaining about having the chance to look at and work with Charlie Barber every day...

So you prepared your piece of dialogue and a section of one of the choice songs, heading over to the theater fifteen minutes before your set audition time. Your knee bounces as you sit in the waiting area, eyes running over your script and lyrics sheet one final time, solidifying it all in your memory.

Your name is called a few minutes later and you head out onto the stage, handing over your headshot and qualifications resume. The agent hands over your profile to the handsome director, but he doesn’t even really look at it, already knowing exactly who you are. A small smirk grazes his lips as he flips to a new page of his notebook, clicking the top of his pen.

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Y/N.”

After you’re finished, Charlie scribbles one final thing in his notebook before looking up at you. His eyes trail over your figure for a moment, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Would you be comfortable coming back for a more intimate audition later this week? Maybe, Friday at four? I would like to get to know you better, see if you meet all of my... qualifications.”

The look in his eye tells you all you need to know about the true motivations behind his question. You nod, biting your lip.

“It’d be my absolute pleasure, Mr. Barber.” You purr.

He shifts in his seat suddenly and quickly crosses one leg over the other before opening up your folder, handing the top sheet to his assistant.

“Diane, go ahead and have Miss Y/N put down all of her contact information.” His gaze never leave you as he speaks to the timid-seeming young woman. “Make sure she gives her personal cell number.”

You pull a pen from your bag on the stage, clicking it open before Diane hands you the paper. As you write every means of contact you can think of, starting with your cell number, you playfully bite the end of the pen and tap it against your bottom lip, something that certainly keeps the already attentive director’s full attention.

“Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mr. Barber.” Your tone is innocent-sounding, but your gaze is anything but. It sends a chill down Charlie’s spine. “I promise I won’t disappoint.”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t.” A small tug at one corner of his lip accompanies his response. “See you soon, Miss Y/N.”

You offer him a nod.

“Looking forward to it.”

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

In preparation for your upcoming...meeting with Charlie, you take a quick trip to the nearest intimates store, picking up a pretty little lace bra and panty set. Your lingerie wardrobe is long overdue for a bit of sprucing up, anyway.

When the time comes, you slip the fresh lace garments on before putting on your planned outfit, a cute-but-subtly-sexy low cut romper. You put on a light face of makeup, purely for professionalism’s sake, then head out with a small bag which contains various personal items as well as your script and composition page.

He’s not in his backstage office when you arrive, but he comes in a couple minutes later, a strong stench of cigarette smoke trailing behind him as he walks by your chair.

“I apologize for the delay. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

You shake your head as he takes a seat behind the ratty oak desk, shifting a few small stacks of papers around on the heavily scratched surface.

“No, no I wasn’t waiting long.”

He nods, then folds his hands atop the desk, eyes flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, his eyes dart down to where your cleavage creeps out of your low-cut top.

“You’ve got the part.” Charlie says with a small smile. “You’re by far the best and most qualified audition we had yesterday, and I like the way you carry yourself. You’re exactly the type of person I like working with. Part’s yours if you want it.”

You’re overcome with joy, a wide smile spreading itself across your lips. “I’d love to be a part of this production, Mr. Barber. I’m really excited to get to work with you and the rest of the crew.”

“That’s great, I’m glad to hear it.” He nods, smile widening when as he processes your acceptance. His delighted expression falls after a few moments, replaced by one much more salacious.

“Now that we’ve gotten that part out of the way...I think you know why I called a meeting of such, uh, privacy.”

You smirk softly, shifting around in your seat slightly. “I believe I do.”

His feet plant on the ground as he pushes the rolling office chair out from under the desk, standing up and walking around the desk to tower over you. 

“Before anything happens, though, I want you to know that whether or not you do this with me will not affect my casting decision. Even if you decline, you still have the part.”

You nod before standing, quickly and swiftly, stepping forward to press yourself flush against him.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

Your hands rest on his chest, neck craning slightly to look up at him. “Just kiss me, will you?”

He laughs, massive hand moving to cradle the back of your head before he bends down and connects your lips in a passionate kiss. There’s nothing tender or gentle about this embrace, it’s all tongue and teeth, raw lust coursing between your two bodies.

“Couch.” His voice is soft but husky.

“Unzip me first?” You ask, turning around so he can unzip you. He does, then his hands slide down to your hips and pushes you towards the leather couch tucked in the corner of his office.

The material squeaks when you’re laid down on top of it, head resting comfortably on the cushy fabric accent pillow as he climbs on top of you. He presses his hips forward while he tucks his face into the crook of your neck and plants kisses on the skin there.

Your eyes widen as his impressive bulge rubs up against your inner thigh and you quickly wonder how in the world you’ll be able to take him. His crooked teeth scrape over the taut muscles in your neck while his hands pull the backs of your romper down over your shoulders.

His hands grab and grope your breasts beneath where they rest in your nice bra, one you wore just for him, and your back arches slightly up off the cushions with a soft sigh. 

A small smile crosses his expression, teeth sinking gently into your neck. “I like the little noises you make for me, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You smirk, running your hands through his hair. “Then I bet you’ll like my moans, too. If you think you can draw them out of me, that is.”

He laughs softly, sucking and licking at at the place his teeth have just abused. “Is that a challenge?”

“Well, it’s more like an invitation to prove yourself, but ‘challenge’ is also a good word for it.”

Charlie pulls away with a smirk, shaking his head as he sits back on his haunches and begins to unbuckle his belt.

“Brat.”

Once he’s undone his pants and pulled them down enough to expose himself to you, he leans down once more and pulls your romper the rest of the way off, leaving you completely bare, minus your undergarments. His eyes roam your figure for a moment before he dips a hand beneath the patch of black fabric nestled between your thighs.

Your breath hitches as his fingertips swipe over your erect clit, giving it a few little circles before yanking the panties off your hips and down your ankles, tossing them down alongside your previously-discarded romper.

His eyes widen in realization, cheeks flushing pink.

“Do you have any, um, protection?”

You smirk, nodding as you sit up and pat his chest. “Indeed, I do.”

He crawls off of you and you walk over to your purse, grabbing a condom from the mini-stash you keep in your wallet, the one you replenished just minutes before you left the house this afternoon. He takes it from you and pinches the tip, rolling it down his shaft. For a moment, you’re worried that it isn’t going to fit, but he rolls it on with little issue.

His hips press forward, then, entering you slowly but steadily with a soft grunt. You whine as your insides stretch out around him, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair.  “S-Shit.”

“You’re really fucking tight, jesus.” He growls between gritted teeth, jaw screwed shut as his hips begin to move. “I haven’t fffucked anyone in a while, Y/N, so I can’t guarantee that I’ll last very long.”

You nod, softly. “It’s alright, Charlie; it’s been a little while for muh--me, too.”

Your eyes flutter shut and your face begins to scrunch up with each time his fat cockhead brushes up against your cervix. His pace increases after a minute or so, a consistent slap-slap-slap noise now echoing off the drywall with each snap of his hips. 

“You’ve got a nice little pussy, you know that? Always knew you would be, too, knew you’d be a good little cccocksleeve.”

You moan shakily as he adjusts his position, towering over you and pinning your wrists above your head with one of his large hands. Your body begins to bounce, tits, thighs and tummy jiggling each time he thrusts in. 

He’s starting to sweat, a few dark hairs sticking to his dimly-glowing forehead, more and more accumulating there as his hair rocks back and forth in time with the rhythm of his hips.

“Touch yourself, now, rrrub your little clit.” His voice is getting shaky as he draws nearer to climax.

Nodding, your hand slides down between your joined bodies until your fingertips settle onto the small bundle of nerves. The hand that’s still weaved in Charlie’s locks clenches and he lets out a sudden deep growl, hips stuttering for a moment.

“Ooooh, Charlie.” You moan, hips lifting and gyrating against both his cock and your fingers.

“God, fffuck I love this cunt.” A vulgar squelching sound knits itself within the quilt of your salacious symphony. “Wrapped around my cock like a vice, gonna pull the fucking cum right out of it. Swear you get tighter each time I push back in...christ, I’m not gonna last.”

Your fingers circle your clit faster, setting a desperate pace, one that almost matches his quick and sloppy thrusts. You’re close now, too, and it doesn’t take much longer for your orgasm to hit.

You cream around him with a long moan and a string of various other noises, with a few profanities thrown in as well. The product of your release coats his shaft in a pearlescent sheen, dripping down his ball-sack soon enough. 

The sensations your climax creates around Charlie forces him to pull away almost immediately after, quickly yanking the condom off and onto his office floor, squeezing the base of his flaming red length. 

His hand seizes your jaw tightly, thumb pressing down on your tongue, prying your mouth open. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth and shove my cum down your throat, and you’re gonna take it all, isn’t that right?”

You’re nodding instantly, slacking your jaw to open even further in preparation for his upcoming intrusion. He smirks.

“Good. Now, on your knees.”

He sits down where you once laid, lazily pumping his throbbing length as you get into position between his spread legs. He pulls your hair up into a makeshift ponytail with his hand, then lines you up with his cock and eases your mouth down onto him.

“Thaaaaaat’s it, oh, gooooood girl.”

You start gagging about three quarters of the way down his shaft, but he still keeps pushing until you’ve got the whole thing in your mouth. Your jaw’s already getting sore as he begins thrusting upwards, fucking your mouth. 

Tears swell in your eyes and begin to spill down your cheeks the more he goes, mascara surely ruined and running down your face. The sight only arouses him further, a low groan rumbling through his puffed chest.

He’s trying so hard to keep himself together, to stave off his orgasm for as long as he can manage, but soon he finds it next to impossible to hold back. His bottom lip quivers ever so slightly as his length begins to twitch, balls drawing up.

“Fuck, I’m gonna--”

You taste and feel the salty ropes shooting down your throat before he can even finish his warning.

“Ah, fffuuuuck.” His head falls back against the couch cushions, hips bucking gently as each bit of release is spilled into your mouth. His grip on your head relaxes after he’s finished, cock softening while he catches his breath and re-grounds himself in reality.

Your chest heaves as full airflow returns to your lungs, knees and jaw aching a bit sore from their exertion. You grab your underwear from where they lay discarded on top of your romper, putting them back on before standing up on somewhat shaky legs. 

Charlie also redresses, standing and straightening himself out as you do the same. 

“Mind zipping me back up?” You ask, turning around again. 

He pulls the zipper up your back until it’s at the end of its tracks, then steps up behind you, placing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Thank you.”

A soft smile grazes your lips. “No ‘thanks’ needed; the sweet taste of revenge and spite is payment enough.”

He laughs quietly.

“Well, I’ll certainly be available, should you ever need a little replenishing of those feelings.”

“Mr. Barber, you wouldn’t be saying that because you’d like to see me naked again, now would you?” Your eyebrows raise and you look over your shoulder, a playful smile on your face.

He laughs again, blushing a bit. “Uh, yeah, sure, I'd like that a lot. But I’d also like to see you, um...not naked, fully clothed, maybe at a restaurant in the city for dinner sometime? I totally get it if you’re not interested, it’s not a big deal if you don’t want to...”

Holy shit, he’s asking you out on a date. Well, he’s trying to, at least.

You laugh, cheeks warming at his proposition.

“Sure thing. I just accepted this new job, though, so I’ll have to get back to you about my availability...”

Charlie smiles, shoving his hands down in his khaki pockets. “I’m sure your new boss would be more than willing to accommodate. He’s a pretty cool guy, or so I’ve heard. Handsome, too.”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like you have a reliable informant.” You turn around as you laugh softly, grabbing your bag off the chair before stepping up in front of him. Your lips plant a quick peck on his, hands resting on his broad chest. “See you soon.”

He nods, biting his lip to hold back his big, goofy smile.

“Can’t wait.”

[sweetest-honeybee]

Down to Dust

Chapter 3

Fic Summary: Grian will have to keep the dragon egg secure for the Watchers. But, they’re not the only ones who want it. On a completely unrelated note, Mumbo will have to deal with a version of himself thats only amplified by his No Killing mindset.

Chapter Summary: Grian has a talk with one of the highest ranking Watchers.

Word Count: 1365

TW: Slight degradation

Note: Aisling’s name is pronounced “Ash-ling”

Enjoy!

———————

The egg wasn’t back. Grian spent his next morning searching once more for it and decided that it was never returned the night before. While he concluded his search on the roof of his house, he cursed to himself. It was only made worse by the glowing brooch awaiting him in his house upstairs. That alone made anxiety prick at the back of his neck. He was being summoned and he needed the egg terribly.

Scar wasn’t around, neither was Mumbo. It raised some suspicion in his mind. He could spam their communicators but that wouldn't help him in the slightest. They’d only deny it further and he didn’t have time to do what he planned to do at their bases. He was needed and needed now. Watchers hardly liked to wait.

He made his way back into his base. Upstairs, the brooch was lying on his bed expectantly. The avian sighed and pulled at his hair. What if they didn’t need the egg yet, he thought. It was a possibility but how much worse would his rank get if he couldn’t present the Mistress with her egg. At this point, even he was surprised that she considered him anything remotely important to her plan.

Grian picked up the brooch. Might as well get it over with, he supposed. He pressed his thumb into the center’s amethyst and within seconds a lilac mist surrounded his feet and climbed higher until he could no longer see his surroundings. As the mist cleared, he was met with a dark room that seemed to stretch endlessly much like The Void. Unlike The Void, however, the ceiling was littered with stars. Under his feet, a large glowing Watcher’s symbol that illuminated his face under the black cloak that conjured over his small frame. On his chest, the brooch, and behind him the hem of the cloak extended for miles.

At the front of the room was a lady that towered over him by tens of blocks- although at least twenty of these were from her floating from the floor. She was elegant and beautiful, not a blemish, stray hair, or loss thread dared to imperfect her features. Although, a crystalline veil shielded the top half of her face. It extended into a sun-like crown atop her head. To further emphasize her power, she emitted a white, milky glow over the room.

It was her Mistress, Aisling.

“Aisling,” he greeted with a nod.

“Grian,” she did as well. “We have some things to discuss.”

Grian cringed internally then swallowed thickly. “Go on then.” He gestured a polite hand towards her.

“You do understand that I know what happens to the egg at all times, yes?” she quizzed. Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve lost it. Well, it’s been stolen, I should say.”

He sighed. “You do also understand that they don’t know anything about that egg. It seems much like any other egg to them.”

“It is your job to keep it from harm until we need it. If that means you inform them of its contents, then so be it,” she spoke sternly. Aisling raised her chin. “And if you’re not up for the task, then find someone who can take care of it if you’re so irresponsible.”

The builder was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth and yet nothing escaped his lips. The only thing that he eventually squeaked out was a small, “Yes ma’am.”

“Good. I trust that you will get the egg back then. We are not the only ones who want the dragon’s egg.”

“I know,” he muttered. “You’ve said that the last four times I was here. But here we are,” he gestured around himself. “I’ve got no clue as to who you’re even talking about.”

“You are not a Watcher,” she berated. “You do not deserve any kind of details after you devastated our last mission. We cannot close the portal to HelCraft because of you.”

Grian avoided her gaze, fiddling with his sleeves. “Then why am I getting dragged into this if I’m not a Watcher.”

“The dragon laying the egg was connected to your server’s End. You are not a Watcher anymore but it was the closest we could get until Xisuma invited another Watcher to his server or that he watched the egg himself.” Aisling huffed. “I have already tried contacting him, he will not do it.”

This made Grian’s face scrunch in confusion. “That’s…odd. He usually does those kind of things for you.”

“I know but it is what it is now. Trust me, I am not any happier about it than you are. But this is-”

“But this is a once in a several million year opportunity. Yes, I know.” He rolled his eyes.

She tightened her jaw. “Right then.”

The builder looked back up. “Just tell me where it is and I’ll bring it back,” he pleaded.

“It is not time for that yet. We will not require the egg for weeks, months even. It all depends on what Mistress Bain tells us. Until then, you have one task, an easy task, and that is to keep the egg safe.” This only received another eye roll. “Also, the egg is with Mumbo. He has kept it very safe.”

Grian couldn’t help but to chuckled at that despite the conversation. Aisling hardly seemed amused. “I had a feeling,” was all he said. “It was probably in a vault, wasn’t it.”

“It was,” she replied flatly. “There is nothing funny about it. Not unless you would like me to mock your lack of adequacy.” Her eyes narrowed. “I find it quite humorous.”

This brought the builder back to his previously timid state. “No, ma’am.”

“Good. We are done here then.” She turned and began to glide away. In seconds, she drifted away in a cloud of white smoke, still glowing as she had before.

This left Grian alone in the vast Void-like room. Once the dust cleared, each star slowly dimmed until he was left only with the Watcher’s symbol below him. He peered down at the brooch on his chest. It only left him more annoyed than anything, really. Not annoyed at the Hermits by any means, but annoyed at Aisling. Really, it was a simple task, all things considered. Even for someone who wasn’t a Watcher. Maybe if he could just keep it out of reach, express to Scar especially that the egg wasn’t to be played with in a way that would get him to stop permanently, then maybe all would end well.

But, Scar wasn’t the issue, not now. Grian somehow needed to find the egg in Mumbo’s possession which, like he mentioned before, was likely in some kind of vault. Well, “it was”, as Aisling said. That meant that he removed it. The builder groaned aloud in disdain.

“Of course,” he said. He waved his hand in a figure eight in front of himself, summoning the purple mist that transported him there before.

He was left with one ability left: the slowest form of teleportation anyone could have. He missed his Sight. If he were being honest with himself, he did misuse it more times than was certainly allowed. Sight and Conjuring. They were his most useful gifts from her Mistress. But, one thing led to another and eventually, after having only been a Watcher from mid-Season 6 to late-Season 7, they lost the ability to close the portal to HelsCraft.

It was humiliating.

Soon, the mist cleared and he was home. It was already late afternoon. Time goes by differently in the Mistress’s Conference Room, he remembered. The avian looked around. Nothing changed. He went downstairs. The egg was still not returned. Now he was annoyed with Mumbo, somewhat angry even. Although he was, he couldn’t really be mad, could he. It wasn’t like Mumbo knew and the Hermits liked to play little games here and there with no ill intentions as it was.

Still, he hoped that Mumbo would either give back the egg or he could spend the rest of his days searching the redstoner’s property until he did. Accusations alone wouldn’t ever get the egg back to him. Knowing Mumbo, he had to prove that his mustached friend had it in the first place and that Scar wasn’t the culprit.

If he were being honest with himself, it was likely as easy as just telling Mumbo that he was seen stealing the egg in the first place.

[hangovercurse]

Ice Cold Pool

Part v of the Without You series: Colson and Y/N try to return to normal, but they still don’t know what normal actually is.

Colson x Reader

Warnings: Cursing (as per usual), substance use, people not following social distancing guidelines.

A/N: Seriously guys, wear your masks, social distance, etc. I really wanna go to a concert sometime in the next 2 years.

Word Count: 2743

| i | ii | iii | iv | vi | 

masterlist

It had been 4 weeks since you and Colson had made the agreement to just be friends. Obviously, there were some hiccups in this plan. Most notably that hanging around Colson reminded you of all the reasons you loved him in the first place, and thus all the reasons you shouldn’t hang around him.

You were glad to be back to somewhat normal. You could hang around your friends without feeling too much tension, you could talk to Casie (who wanted to know everything that happened), and you could smoke again.

That last one you probably shouldn’t have been so happy about, but after a month without weed, you needed it.

Of course, not everything was back to normal. You and Colson weren’t technically… speaking. Yet.

You said simple things to each other, “excuse me,” “thank you,” and even the occasional “bless you” after a sneeze. But you had yet to have an actual conversation since that night. When hanging around the guys, you tried to be as normal as possible, interacting with Colson as little as possible. You didn’t want anyone else to think you felt awkward, because then they would feel awkward and it would be a whole awkward mess.

Tonight, you were hoping to ease some tension between you and Colson. Trippie was releasing the deluxe version of his new album and was having a “covid safe” album release party. All that meant was they would party outside rather than inside and only invite half the amount of people that they normally would.

Against your better judgement, Slim and Baze convinced you to go.

“There’s not even gonna be that many people there.”

“And Trippie would be so upset if you didn’t come.”

“If I go, will you two shut up?”

“Yes.” “Yes ma’am”

“Don’t call me ma’am ever again, Slim.”

So, you made a plan to talk to Colson at some point that night about something other than all of your problems with each other. If and only if the opportunity presented itself.

So, there you were in an oversized Misfits T-shirt that looked like a dress on you and shorts that no one could see, a beer in one hand, and a blunt in the other. You were sitting at the pool edge, your feet dangling in the water, as you talked to Iann Dior about cheese.

You may have been pretty tipsy, but he was worse.

“Cheddar cheese is the worst possible flavor of cheese.” Iann shook his head, laughing.

“Absolutely not. You can put cheddar in dishes, and they taste great. Cheddar makes things taste better. Brie cheese is the worst cheese. It’s literally fucking moldy.” You giggled, taking a swig of your drink.

“You’re both wrong. Feta cheese is the absolute worse and no one will convince me otherwise.” Colson chuckled, sitting next to you.

“There is nothing wrong with feta cheese, you two are just uncultured.” You laughed, the opportunity you needed apparently presenting itself. You took a quick glance at Colson, who was about to dip his feet in the water. “Colson your shoes are still on.”

He looked at you confused, and you realized just how high he was. “So?” he asked and Iann laughed.

“Dude, if you’re gonna put your feet in the water you gotta take your shoes off.”

Colson broke out laughing at Iann’s comment, his whole body shaking with joy. He slipped his shoes off once he finished and dangled his feet of the edge.

“So, you really think cheddar cheese is the best cheese?” He asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Noooo.” You whined, “I just don’t think it’s the worst kind of cheese. But obviously there are better cheeses.” You kicked your feet up, splashing Colson on accident.

He looked over at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. He reached his hand into the water, splashing water towards you. “Colson!” You squealed, laughing.

You returned the favor by flicking water at his shirt, at which point Iann left. “You get me wet and you die.” He said with a laugh.

Colson then cupped his hands together, bringing water up to your shirt and pouring it all over you, much to your dismay. Luckily, your shirt was black, but the water was still freezing. “Bro.” You pouted, looking over at Colson. He was smiling, but soon mimicked your pout.

“Aww, I’m sorry. Did the little princess get wet?” Your eyes went wide, and you slapped his chest. He grabbed your hand, pulling it up so you couldn’t hit him and accidentally pulling you closer to him. “I didn’t mean it like that!” He laughed, his hand intertwining with yours as he brought it back down.

“Colson…” You trailed off, warning him. He pouted, a sigh leaving his lips as he unlocked your fingers.

“Sorry, forgot I’m not supposed to do that.” You smiled a little, glad that things were slowly becoming normal. “I wanna go for a swim.” He changed the topic, standing up and pulling his shirt off.

“Colson it’s freezing. You’re gonna get sick.” You looked at him with wide eyes but a giggle falling from your mouth.

“Guess someone has to come in to keep me warm.” He shrugged, tugging his shorts down his legs so he was just in his boxers.

It was only at this point that you realized he was very drunk. A few moments later you felt the cold water splash your face as Colson jumped into the pool near you, coming up and running his hand through his hair.

He made his way back over to you, reaching for the beer that he left on the side of the pool. He half-stood in front of you, a needy smile on his face. “Get in the water with me Y/N.” He dragged out the last syllable of your name, causing you to roll your eyes.

“There is no way in hell I am getting in that water.” You chuckled, taking a hit of the joint in your hand.

Colson pouted, taking the blunt from you and smoking it himself. “I guess I could always just pull you in.” He grabbed your thighs and you moved backwards, fighting him.

“Colson, I don’t have a change of clothes, I’ll be cold.” You tried to squirm out of his grip, giggling.

“You can just wear my shirt or something. Someone will have something.” He shrugged, pulling you into the water.

“Colson!” You squealed before your entire body was encased in the cold liquid.

“Too late.” He said, a cheeky smile on his face. His arms wrapped around you as you turned to face the edge, ready to get out. “Noooo, you’re already in here.” He whined, dragging you towards his chest.

“Colson, it’s freezing. We need to get out.” You said, turning your head to face him.

“I don’t want to. This is the closest I’ve been to you in weeks. I just wanna enjoy this for a moment.” His head rested on top of your head, and you let yourself fall back into his chest.

You had to admit, you did miss his playfulness and his touch, and you really hadn’t been this close to him in a while. But you knew he wouldn’t be doing any of this if he wasn’t both drunk and stoned out of his mind.

You sighed, knowing you needed to end the moment, if not for your own sanity. “C’mon Col, we can’t do this. Let’s get out.”

He groaned. “We did this when we were friends before, how is this any different from that?”

You made your way to the edge of the pool. “It just is Colson.” You sighed, trying to mask the anger in your voice. You tried to pull yourself up to sit on the edge of the pool, but you couldn’t quite make it the first time. Colson, of course, took it upon himself to help you, grabbing your hips lightly to lift you up. He got out and sat next to you, both of you soaking wet.

He reached over and grabbed the shirt he was wearing earlier, passing it to you. “Here, so you don’t get sick.” He seemed to be sobering up, probably due to the cold water.

“Thanks.” Your voice was hushed, your cheeks burning with a blush that you couldn’t explain. It’s just a shirt, you told yourself. You stood up, preparing yourself to find somewhere private to change.

“Where are you going?” Colson asked, looking up at you.

“To change.” You said bluntly. “I can’t exactly strip in front of 40 people.”

Colson nodded, standing up next to you, pulling his shorts on. “Where are you going?” You asked him, a small smile on your face.

“Wherever you are.” He smiled and you rolled your eyes.

“Okay, I guess I can use you to clear my path inside.” You chuckled, starting to walk towards the crowd of people near the doors of the house. As you moved through the crowd you found yourself instinctively reaching back for Colson’s hand, not wanting to lose him as you moved through the crowd. He happily took the hint and moved closer to you, his free hand resting on your hip to help guide you to the doors, though you didn’t mind as much as you should have.

You made your way through the open glass door, suddenly very self-conscious about the clothes you were wearing and the fact that you were soaking wet. “Bathroom is this way.” Colson mumbled into your ear as the loud music blasted around you. The hand on your hip led you down a small hallway until you found the open bathroom.

You went in, turning to close the door when you saw Colson had followed you in. “I gotta change, Kells. You can’t be in here.”

“Woah woah woah.” He started, clearly offended, “You never call me Kells. That’s not allowed.” You giggled, rolling your eyes. “And I’ll just… look away.” He covered his eyes with his hands, moving his fingers to form a gap.

“Colson, seriously,” You laughed, “turn around.” He thankfully did as told, and you quickly removed the Misfits shirt you were previously wearing and replaced it with his long sleeve pink shirt. It wasn’t quite as long as the other one you were wearing, but it still went down to your upper thigh and the sleeves went far enough past your wrist for permanent sweater paws. Unfortunately, this meant you would have to keep your wet shorts on.

Upon realizing this, you let out a sigh of disappointment. “What?” Colson questioned, still facing the wall.

“You can look now.” He turned around. “It’s not as long as mine.” You pouted, stretching your arms out for him to see before flopping them back down to your sides.

Colson chuckled, “I really don’t see the problem, Y/N.”

You glared playfully, “I have to wear my wet fuckin shorts.” You whined, a pout on your lips.

“I meannn, you don’t have to.” Colson said, playfully. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! But I don’t know what to do to help you.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, looking off into the distance. “I’m not giving you my pants, Y/N.” Another dramatic sigh. “Okay fine we’ll just go to his laundry room and through them in the dryer, okay?”

“See, you do know what to do to help me.” You smiled, grabbing your wet shirt and pushing Colson out of the bathroom.

The laundry room in Trippie’s house was surprisingly small, given his house was a small mansion. You were able, however, to close the door and pull off your wet clothes. Colson threw your shirt in the dryer as well.

You hopped up onto the washer, your legs dangling off. “You don’t have to stay, Colson.” You told him, knowing he probably wanted to rejoin the party.

“I’m good. This is much more fun than whatever’s going on out there.”

You laughed, “waiting for my clothes to dry? Whatever, loser.”

He moved towards you, his stomach touching your knees. “I’ve missed this.” He said, softly. You met his eyes with your own. “Just us doing stupid shit. Being friends.”

“We’re still friends, Cols.” You smiled, tilting your head to the side.

He sighed, “Yeah but we haven’t really been friends since…” He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. “Not real friends, at least.”

You sighed, trying to decide what you wanted to say. “I’m sorry about that. I just needed a little bit of space and it never felt like the right time to… talk. Like if we started talking in a group everyone would just think it’s weird.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” his hand reached out to touch your waist. “If anything, I should be apologizing. It’s my fault we’re stuck in this weird limbo shit anyways. I was honestly afraid the guys would kill me if I talked to you.”

“Well, good thing it’s not up to the guys anymore.” Your voice got soft as you realize how close your faces had gotten. “And we can be normal friends again.” You added.

Colson looked down. “Yeah, normal friends.” He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice but failed miserably.

“Colson, we’re just friends, right?” You asked, trying to convince yourself more than him.

He nodded, “Yeah, we’re just friends.” He looked up and met your eyes, and you could see the emotions in his crystal blue eyes. “But I don’t know that I can just be friends.” His voice was soft, making your heart sink deeper.

His head was inches away from yours, his nose almost touching your own. He leaned his head to the side, his eyes traveling your face. His lips were millimeters from yours. “Tell me that you don’t want this, and I’ll walk out right now.”

“I…” You couldn’t form a sentence with his lips so close to your own. “We shouldn’t.” You whispered.

“That’s not what I asked.” He paused, touching his nose to yours lightly. When he spoke, you could feel his words on your lips. “Do you want me to kiss you right now?”

You couldn’t answer him for a few seconds. “I don- I don’t know Colson.” You breathed out, leaning your forehead against his.

Part of you was hoping he would take matters into his own hands and just kiss you, but the other part of you knew you would regret anything that happened right now.

He jerked his head away from you, a frown etched across his face. “When are you gonna make up your goddamn mind? I can never figure out where I’m at with you.” His voice raised slightly, making you jump. “One minute we’re not even talking and the next you’re holding my fucking hand at a party. You say we’re just friends and then don’t say no when I ask if you want me to kiss you. Like what the fuck is this?” He ranted, causing your grip on the edge of the washer to tighten.

“Colson, I told you. I need time to figure all of this out. It doesn’t just happen overnight.” You tried to keep your voice calm.

“It’s been weeks, Y/N. How long do you need?”

Confusion took over your features, and then anger. “Colson do you even realize what you did? Honestly, you’re fucking lucky I even wanted to be friends. You kind of screwed me up, really bad. So, excuse me for needing time to figure out if you’re worth it or not.” Your eyes fell to the floor, suddenly very self-conscious of all the things Colson had said to you 2 months ago.

Colson scoffed, backing away from you, “Well honestly it would be a lot easier if we weren’t friends.” His words were harsh, and you were reminded that he wouldn’t change, not really. “Y/N I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice became soft, but it was already too late.

You hopped off the machine, pushing past him and pulling your damp shirt and shorts out of the dryer. With your back facing him, you pulled your shorts on and then took his shirt off, replacing it with your own.

“Y/N I’m sorry I jus-“

“No, Colson. I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that my existence seems to be the bane of yours.” You shove his shirt into his chest. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” You walked out of the small room and through the house, determined to call a cab home.

[its-warm-in-here]

Playing Pretend

I’m sorry I didn't get this up sooner. I gutted the end but here’s the first part of the first chapter of a Heisenberg x reader fic that will probably go on too long. This is more of a prolog. No smut yet! Written with a female reader in mind, but I may have versions for both m and f when the final product goes up. Gonna start out kinda fluffy before we get darker. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

Summary: This summer trip to Romania was supposed to be momentous, life changing, and the bases for your master’s thesis. Too bad the villagers want you gone and this ‘Mother Miranda’ won't even see you. Luckily, you run into a greasy engineer who says he can help.

Or

Karl tries to take a day off from being ‘Lord Heisenberg’ with the cute stranger who wandered into the village. Things only spiral from there.

~2080 words

Miranda loved the yearly festivals. She always made a big show of the village, flowers and banners everywhere. The townsfolk would bring out their best clothing, even if their best was still black and brown. The dreary village would come alive with drinking, dancing and merry making. Even some of the neighboring villages would join in the festivities. The town would be near bustling, the local tavern would be full, laughter and song would echo from the church to the castle.

He hated it. All of it. Heisenberg avoided the celebrations, instead opting to stay holed up in his factory as much as possible. And it wasn't just because of the excess of people, while that didn't help. No, it was an insidious purpose for these gatherings. He exhaled a ring of cigar smoke.

First, boost morale through the village and reaffirm the people's faith in Mother Miranda. Second, and far more insidious, was to widen the flock, to expand her influence and bring in new blood for her experiments. The surrounding towns were just as small and removed from the rest of the world as Miranda's village. Made it easy to bring new blood under her wing. Youth would meet and marry, a drunk or four would go missing, and some of the visitors would become new members of Miranda's community. More meat for her Cadou grinder.

Heisenberg flicked the ash from his cigar and watched it float down before the wind caught it. The early morning view from the top of his factory wasn't bad. It was his own part of the world: no view of the village, the stench of the reservoir was nonexistent, and the most he could see of Castle Dimitrescu was a massive wall keeping their territory separated. Just him and his machines. He took another puff. As much as he planned to avoid today, Heisenberg knew that he would have to make at least some appearance. All the Lords did, even if it was just for a moment. Just another way to show her power; having all of her ‘children’ before the townsfolk. He grimaced at the thought. Târgul de Fete was set to start soon. At least that gave him the morning to get shit done. Heisenberg kicked a bit of metal scrap off the roof and it bounced off the scrap heap below with a ping! before landing in the dirt. He rolled his shoulder. Time to get to work.

---

"Well fuck you too!" You slammed the door behind you.  Why even bother going through the proper channels? No matter what, they turn you down, tell you to leave and treat you like an outcast. You spoke to towns folk, to village leaders, hell, you even wanted an audience with their 'Mother Miranda,' but she refused to even see you! You stormed along the path and the few people that had not made their way to the Târgul de Fete celebration steered clear of you, opting to give you a side eye and shuffle to their destination. All you wanted was to observe their festival, and maybe take a few pictures, but even that was negotiable. You had even offered to leave your camera behind with them for the day. Why hadn't you gone to Sweden with the rest of your class? No, instead you went to some culty, backwater town in Romania!

You kicked a rock, hard, sending it flying into the tall grass. "God Damnit!" This was supposed to have been your thesis! Supposed to be life changing! No, now you were just stuck, miles from any true civilization and being kicked out of some stupid, ramshackle heap, whose plants can't even grow right in a Romanian summer. Some of the plants were barely green, most appeared dry or yellowing. The flowers were either wilted and falling apart or hadn't even bloomed. You were no botanist, but you were certain that wasn't healthy.

You kicked another rock, it soared through the grass, but it struck something metal this time before landing with a thud. They didn't want you here, didn't want you at Târgul de Fete? Fine, but they didn't take your camera. Without thinking, you dug the old DSLR out of your bag and snapped a picture of the church.

And immediately deleted it.

You signed. Even if the villagers were a bunch of jackasses, this was their culture and they made it very clear that you were not welcome. Even if they had agreed to all this three months ago. And even if they had called you a bad omen, a poison and a danger to the whole village.  You weren't about to infringe. Crestfallen, you huffed your bag over your shoulder and began the trek back out of town. It was at least a four hour walk to your rental car and a good chunk of that walk was more of a hike. Not like there was much you could do other than leave after cussing out the town speakers and nearly slamming the door off its hinges.

The village had felt abandoned when you walked in, and now that everyone had headed off to a celebration, the village was positively desolate. No traditional brightly-colored dresses or intricate belts to be seen. And no wary or hostile glares from the inhabitants either. It was... quiet. Aside from the occasional crow, you might as well have been in a ghost town. It took you a bit to find the correct path out of the grave yard, but after spinning in circles for a good moment, you pushed past a red door and were back on your way. The village wasn't large, most of the paths were poorly maintained and the whole place was enveloped in a strange fish smell.

You bit the inside of your cheek. This was a good thing, really. Who would've wanted to stay in the ramshackle place for more than a few hours, let alone a few days? You groaned and kicked at the ground again. While not lacking in repellent attributes, the pagan worship of the place fascinated you.  They had their own religion but had incorporated traditional Romania holidays into their culture. Where else in Europe could you see that happen in real time? Of course, you could think of a couple of places, but you had picked here in the Carpathian mountains in particular! While you did have a second choice, you couldn't stop the self pity from setting in.

Ugh.

The village was relatively small and was quickly fading to forest, the castle that overlooked the town vanished behind you as you shuffled down a particularly steep part of the path. The trees here looked more normal, less sickly. While it was only marginally, you felt a bit better, a bit less mad. Stepping away from that place was a breath of fresh air.

Your boots skid a bit as you reach a flat spot. With a huff, you grip both backpack straps to center yourself.  If this couldn't be your thesis, that didn't mean you had to hate the walk. This was Romania afterall, when was the next time you were going to be here? The sky may be overcast, but it sort of added to the eerie charm of this place. You sidestepped your way down another steep incline, using one hand to grip overgrown branches for balance. The last step is a bit further, but you find your footing easily.

And the rock gave way under you, tilting forward with an abrupt grinding sound. A burst of panicked adrenaline rushed through as you struggled to stop. You pitch forward, stumbling over branches and underbrush, your eyes forcibly losing focus.

"The fuck?"

That wasn't your voice. You slammed full force into something, another body? And it gives under you. The other person takes the brunt of the fall, landing on their back with a distinct, "oof."

For a moment, you don't speak, too focused on catching the breath. Finally, your vision swims back and you find your voice, "Damnit... are you ok?"

The man under you goans, sitting half way up to look you over. His hair is grey, and a bit too long, but he couldn't be any older than forty, possibly younger. "Get off." Your eyes go wide and that panicked beat fills your chest. "Ya deaf? Off."

"Er, right," you scramble to your feet and, without thinking, extend a hand to the stranger, "Sorry about... that." You gestured vaguely to the path. "Lost my balance."

He lets out an exasperated huff, and knocks your hand away. For a moment, he doesn't acknowledge you, instead retrieving something from the grass behind him. He's wearing a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up with black leather gloves. You force yourself to look somewhere, anywhere else, nervously bouncing from foot to foot. When he turns back to you, he has a tattered, wide brim hat in place and is looking over a pair of broken sunglasses. One of the lenses was clearly shattered, but he hooked them over his shirt collar, his attention finally turning to you. "You're not from around here, huh?”

You couldn't help but snort, "What gave it away, the wind breaker? Don't worry, I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" He repeats.

You start moving back to the path. "Yup, your village speaker has made that very clear."

"They were clear? Not all back and forth on it?" He chuckles, "That's impressive, they must really not like you."

You stare at him, was this a friendly face? It was certainly a handsome face, even with scarring and stubble. But a trustworthy one? "You sure you're ok? Didn't scramble that brain when I ran into you? The rest of the town was pretty dead set on driving me out."

" 'Cause they're a bunch of morons, sweetheart," he insisted, "All part of Mother Miranda's big, idiot mob."

"Huh," you are walking ahead on the path, and he's not but a footfall behind you.

"But they don't matter."

"No?"

"What matters is, why didn't they want you here?"

You stop, turning to face this stranger. He was gruff, and more than a little rude, but in comparison to the townsfolk, he was downright friendly. Hell, you were surprised he was so forward with you.  "Masters thesis," you put plainly, hoping he'll leave it at that.

"On what?"

"Anthropology."

He leaned in close. He wasn't that much taller than you, but you couldn't help but move away from his imposing figure. From this distance, you could smell motor oil and some kind of smoke on his clothes. "That's it?" You scoff, the sooner you are back in your car the better. "I just mean, it's surprising they'd want you gone. You sure there's nothing else? Didn't kick over any goat statues?"

"Not that I noticed," you started back down the path. You'd wasted too much time talking to this weirdo anyway. Just based on his demeanor and dislike of the rest of the village, you wonder if you'd maybe tripped over the town pariah. He certainly wasn't dressed like anyone else from the village.

"I could get you back in."

You stopped, not fifteen feet from him. "You're assuming I want to go back in." And didn’t you? You just risk getting yelled at again. But if there was a chance to write your thesis...

“Well, if you're not interested,” he turned to leave. You grit your teeth, your nails digging deep into your backpack straps.

“Hold up!" It doesn't take much to catch up to him. "How exactly are we going to do this?"

"My word carries a certain amount of weight," he carried on, "Though,  the village doesn't meet on these matters till next week."

"But what good does that-"

He isn't listening, "For today, I know a place you can watch the town. Besides, you're an Archeologist, you probably want an interview, right?" Of course he gestures to himself with a sort of half bow.

You roll your eyes, but still follow, "Anthropologist." He gives you a blank look. "I'm studying Anthropology, not Archeology."

He doesn't seem to care, instead pulling a cigar and lighter from his pants pocket. "Got a name?"

"Oh, (y/n). You?"

The stranger is part way up on the path you had tripped down. "Karl," he had extended you a gloved hand. You look from him to his hand, before brushing past him, pulling yourself up next to him without the offered aid.

[cal-kestis]

If I Could Never Give You Peace

(Javier Peña x Female Reader)

Gif by @pedropcl​ [original gifset]

Summary: Two years after resigning from the DEA, Javi finds himself in Los Angeles, haunted by glares of gunshots and blood-stained hands. He’d succumbed to the idea that he’d never have peace — doesn’t deserve it after everything he did in Colombia. Then, she moves in next door and maybe, he thinks, things could be different. “I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.” Word Count: 4,357 A/N: A Reader-insert one-shot with a nameless female reader. No “Y/N” or "you," but the reader can be anyone. Inspired heavily by Taylor Swift’s “Peace.” How many TS references can you find? Lol. Tags: Fluff, Angst (with a happy ending), Mentions of death (but no one dies, I promise), Alcohol, Cigarettes

[Read on AO3]

The rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me... All these people think love’s for show, but I would die for you in secret... Would it be enough, if I could never give you peace? — Taylor Swift, Peace —

When Javier Peña handed in his DEA badge and gun two years ago, he knew he couldn’t stay in Texas. Not forever.

Texas held too many familiar faces, old friends calling him a hero when he felt like a villain. It held too many ties to an old version of himself he’d rather not remember… muddied images of him with a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise. No, he couldn’t stay. Not even for his father.

So, Javier Peña and the unwelcomed overcast of his nightmares found a one-bedroom apartment in sunny Los Angeles.

In time, he realized he needed the city: constant motion, endless traffic, and hoards of busy people who would never remember his face. He could blend in. He could be alone.

He could have a clean slate.

But each night, glares of gunshots flashed behind his eyelids and invisible bloodstains marred his calloused palms as if to remind him:

He could never have peace.

Then, she moved in next door.

The first time he saw her, he only caught a glimpse. She and her boyfriend, he assumed, held towering stacks of brown boxes in front of their faces — sweating as they lugged the dusty weight into the empty space.

For a moment, he considered offering some neighborly help but decided against it — When have you ever cared about being a good neighbor, Javi? — closing himself in his quiet apartment with a glass of whiskey.

The second time he saw her, she came knocking on his door the next night.

“Hi, neighbor,” she smiled brilliantly. And for a split second, he swore he felt something foreign flutter in his stomach, but dismissed it as the after-effects of spoiled dinner. “I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself.”

He could not take his eyes off her. His gaze stayed glued to a small bead of sweat trailing a slow path down from her hairline, where she’d pulled it back with a makeshift scarf-headband. The droplet slipped down her cheekbone, over a smudge of dust that had settled in from her moving boxes. It drifted down the curve of her jaw, dipping into the slope of her neck until finally hiding away below her tank top. And by some miracle, she only needed to repeat her name for him once before he came out of the trance.

“Sorry.” He gulped, removing the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Javier.”

He extended his hand and she met him halfway. Soft. So soft.

“Good to meet you, Javier.” She smiled again. Flutter. “I’m sure you’re busy. Just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, she swiftly turned on her heel to walk the few steps back to her door, bare feet strutting off, flaunting her daisy dukes, and — God help him, he’s a man and she’s beautiful — he stared.

The nail in the coffin?

When she opened her door and gave him one last smile over her shoulder, she winked.

No, he could never have peace.

—

After that, he hardly ever sees her.

Part of him feels relieved, unduly wary of the strange flutter he’d feel just thinking of her name. The other part, the traitorously curious part, dreams of catching another glimpse of her glistening skin or a quarter note of her honeyed voice. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he finds himself often wondering if her boyfriend gets to enjoy her sun rays and melodies. Lucky bastard.

He blames his roaming thoughts on the fact that it’s… been a while.

This is what you wanted, he’d remind himself when he’d wake to an empty bed — a stark contrast to his time in Colombia. This is the way things should be.

Just when he starts to believe those words, he finds her crumpled on the floor in front of her apartment — the contents of her purse strewn across the hardwood beside her, palms pressed firmly against her eyes. One tiny sniffle and a tremble of her shoulders, and he melts into a puddle beneath her muddy sneakers.

“Hey,” he whispers tentatively, voice raspy with cigarette smoke.

She jolts at the sound, immediately wiping her face with her sleeves and plastering on a saccharine smile.

“Javier,” she tries to say, but her voice breaks on the vowels. “Sorry, I was just— rough day. And to top it off, I think I left my keys inside. I tried Jerry but no luck.”

“Jerry’s a shit landlord,” he sighs, earning a nod from her. He takes out an old, faded receipt from his pocket and kneels in front of her, finding a pen amongst her spilled belongings. “Try this number. He’s usually fast. Can get you back in your apartment tonight.”

He hands her the scribbled receipt and she takes it with a real smile, albeit small. “Thank you, Javier.”

He nods, a tiny dimple forming in one tanned cheek, before getting up to unlock his apartment. The door clicks but he stands there for a moment longer, listening to her waning sniffles as she throws her things back into her bag. His eyes screw shut tightly, a silent war waging behind his forehead, his fingertips feebly trying to rub it away.

He sighs long and heavy when he realizes which part of him has won.

“Would you... like to come inside my place while you wait?” He mutters, mainly to the floorboards. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“Okay.” Her smile is warm like the sun, despite the cloud of tears still glazed over her eyes. “But you don’t strike me as a cream and sugar kind of guy.”

“No,” he admits with an amused smirk. “But I’ve got some old whiskey, older milk, and a phone you can use, toll-free.”

“Thanks, Javier,” she sniffles. “Coffee sounds nice. But hold the booze and tainted milk.”

And that’s how she ends up in his apartment, sitting at his small dining table, slowly sipping from his coffee mug, using his landline to call the locksmith.

Maybe it’s the caffeine or the three (stolen) pink packets of sugar she found in her purse (“It’s not stealing. Diners offer dozens of them in cute little boxes, I mean practically gift-wrapped, and I modestly accepted three.”), but coffee gets her talking the way alcohol coaxes even the darkest secrets from iron-barred lips. She just broke up with her boyfriend. Or he broke up with her — found some younger, hotter-than-her aspiring actress in Hollywood and left her in the dust of the boxes she’d just unpacked.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “You’ve been so nice. Really, Neighbor of the Year,” she laughs, but he thinks it sounds off. He wants to hear the real thing. “And here I am, taking up your space, drinking your coffee, and dumping all my problems on the table. Tell me if I’m talking too much, Javier. I tend to—”

“Javi,” he says, furrowing his brows as if mildly stunned by the two syllables he just spoke. She looks confused. “You can... call me Javi, for short. And I don’t mind listening.”

“Javi,” she tests the name on her tongue, smiles. His stomach flutters. “A good name for a good guy.”

The argument dies on his tongue the minute he thinks it, even though she’s horribly, terribly wrong.

Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.

If she knew...

“I should be out of your hair in 20 minutes anyway,” she says, breaking him out of his dark reverie. “Locksmith’s on his way.”

When she finally gets back into her own apartment, Javi jostles her doorknob, double-checks the lock, and knocks on wood for good measure.

“Find your keys?”

“Got ‘em!” She chirps, jingling her lost keys. “I’m gonna have to memorize that number.”

“I’m next door, too, if you ever need anything.”

“Me too. I can lend you some sugar for your sad-man, bitter coffee,” she jokes. “Thanks again, Javi.”

He sends her a tight-lipped smile and a short nod, a familiar weight settling in his chest as he turns back to his lonely apartment.

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” She asks, quiet and suddenly timid. “I’m no chef, but I’ve never made a spaghetti I couldn’t tolerate.”

He opens his mouth to refuse but she beats him to the punch. “It’s the least I can do after you helped me out. Please?”

And it’s the way she asks that gets him. The way “please” seems to fall from her lips like an unanswered prayer. He wonders, maybe she’s just as lonely as him.

So, he walks into her apartment, she smiles, and his stomach flips.

—

Months pass by with this new routine. He joins her for dinner at least once a week, if their schedules allow. If not at the local diner where she infamously loots sugar, it’s usually at her place. For one thing, although it’s usually pasta, she tends to have more appetizing (read: edible) groceries stocked up than him. But if he’s being honest, something about her apartment just feels more like… a home.

Framed smiles of her and her loved ones line the walls. With each visit, he finds himself studying a new one, imagining the story behind each snapshot. (He noticed after their first dinner, she’d thrown out the photos of her ex, replacing them with Polaroids of the city.) Piles of pillows stack up neatly on her couch, vibrant hues and patterns decorating the space. He adores the soft waves of music always floating around her space. She plays a different record each time, but somehow, each one compliments the sweet tones of her voice perfectly.

Her place feels brighter than his too, and he’s not sure if it’s the east-facing windows or if it’s just her.

Soon, he doesn’t need to decode the photos on the walls anymore. She tells him more than she’s told anyone before — about her hometown, her family, what she studied in college, her travels, her favorite books, her irrational fears, her dreams.

He tells her considerably less, especially when it comes to his time in Colombia.

For now, she doesn’t mind. She likes the way he watches her when she talks — brown eyes soft and warm, brows pinched together as he takes in each word, the ghost of a grin tugging at one corner of his lips when she gestures dramatically.

He realizes, one night after dinner, he comes home smiling now. And he thinks the nightmares have started dwindling, ever since that first dinner.

Maybe, he lets himself imagine. Things could be different.

—

He calls for you over and over, shouting until his throat burns and the echo of his frantic voice pounds in his ears.  

“Where are you?” He screams.  

The narrow hallway is dark, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. He crushes his body into the hard wall, arms sliding roughly against cold brick as he tries to keep himself concealed. The gun in his hand feels icy and impossibly heavy, and his arms tremble as they lift the weapon higher, rounding the corner.

“Llegas tarde, Peña,” a deep, gravelly voice sneers. “You’re too late.”

“Tómame!” Javier yells. “Tómame en su lugar.”

“You would die for her?” The voice chuckles. “Llegas tarde.”

The voice’s shadow moves, revealing a smaller shadow crumpled on the floor — lifeless.

“Javier! Javier!” A distant voice chants, accusing him. Boom! Blaming him. Boom!

“Javier!” Boom!

The pounding sound wakes him up with a jolt, and his sweat-slicked chest rapidly rises and falls as he reaches for the gun inside his bedside table.

Slowly, Javier creeps to the front door where the loud pounding started. But when he peers into the peephole, he only finds her — looking as tired and distressed as he feels. A wave of relief floods through his overheated body.

She’s wrapped up in a blanket, a worried look wrinkling her forehead.

He puts his gun down in a drawer and lets her in.

“What time is it?” He asks.

“Almost 4 in the morning.”

“What’s wrong?” He demands, suddenly worried about why she’d be waking him this early.

“You tell me,” she says, frown lines still etched by her eyes — mirroring his own tired marks. “I heard you yelling. I was worried, Javi.”

“It was...” he starts, squinting as the images flash in his mind again. “Just a dream.”

It only takes one glance into his eyes for her to reach out to him, pulling him in by his neck until he nuzzles into hers.

He breathes her in, holds her like he’s not sure she’s real, like she might be gone tomorrow. “It was just a dream,” he echoes, but he’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.

“It was just a dream,” she repeats after him.

She pulls him by his hand toward his couch, sitting down before patting the space beside her. And just this once, he allows himself to let his head rest in her lap, lets her drape her fuzzy blanket over him, lets her soft fingers draw slow circles in his hair, lets her lull him to sleep with mumbled whispers he can’t quite make out, and lets her ward off the lurking darkness like a nightlight.

He’s asleep before he can hear the quiet secret that spills from her lips.

“I hope this doesn’t scare you,” she whispers, her fingers still tracing shapes over his head. “But I care about you, Javi, a lot. I think I could fall in love with you someday...” She exhales, a quiet, shaky sound. “I think I’ve already started.”

She comes over to his apartment more frequently after that. Whether to bring him dinner or just sit on his couch in comfortable silence, she doesn’t like to leave him alone.

And maybe, she’d rather not be alone either.

—

He doesn’t remember how she convinced him, but here he is... sitting at a crowded bar drinking water, watching his tipsy neighbor bouncing alone on the small dance floor.

Every so often, some cocky drunk comes up to put his hands on her waist and tries to dance with her, but she plasters on a faux smile and shakes her head at them, muttering something while nodding in Javier’s direction. Each time, they sulk away and he chuckles.

Finally, she bounces over to him, tugging at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“Dance with me, Javi. Please,” she draws out the word, an octave higher than normal.

And despite himself, he follows her voice like a sailor enthralled by a siren’s song.

She puts her arms around his neck, swaying her body against his. And then she shouts over the music, “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

And the heart on his sleeve falls straight to the floor, clanging loudly in his ears like metal.

‘Friends’ is more than you deserve, he reminds himself.

But then she continues, resting her head against his chest, her index finger coming up to tap a tantalizingly slow beat over his collarbone. “Good friends,” she sighs, lifting her gaze until her chin digs into his heart, her lips just inches from his. “Really… good… friends.”

She’s kissing him before he can even process the feeling. And despite his better judgment, he lets her. She’s everything warm and soft and good, with just a hint of alcohol — and he’s what you get when you turn those words upside down, jumble the letters, and crumple the paper into a jagged ball. But he craves the way her curves somehow fit perfectly against his cold, shattered edges. And he knows he shouldn’t.

So, when he feels her tongue trace along the seam of his mouth, he gently pulls away, hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

“You’ve had too much to drink, cariño,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

“Okay,” she whispers, smiling with half-lidded eyes, drawing her finger across his mustache then below his ever-pouting lip.

She’s passed out in his car by the time they’re back home. When he unlocks her apartment door for her, she stays latched onto his arm as he turns to leave.

“Stay,” she whispers.

“I—”

“Please?” She asks, in that way he knows he can’t fight. “I don’t want to be alone.”

And just like that, the door closes behind him and he stays.

He finds her an oversized shirt to change into, helps her wipe the smudged mascara off her face, and holds her until the sun rises.

When she wakes, the space beside her is empty but warm and indented, the shape of his body lingering in the sheets. A full glass of water, ibuprofen, and the phantom taste of Javi’s lips are the only other traces of her really… good... friend.

—

He’s not avoiding her… per se. But it’s a long, lonely week later when he sees her again, on an uncharacteristically rainy Sunday outside their apartment building.

“I just got home,” she blurts after standing there dumbfounded for a good minute. She nods to the soaked brown paper bags in her arms. “Groceries. Uh, obviously. Were you...?”

“Forgot my umbrella,” he answers.

“Same,” she chuckles awkwardly, droplets hanging on her lashes and the ends of her hair, only partially covered by her hood. “Obviously.”

“Here, let me help you.” He takes the bags from her, keeping the door open with his foot as he waits for her to head inside.

“Thanks, Javi-er.”

He follows her upstairs silently, his wet, squeaking shoes punctuating each slow and heavy step.

“I can—”

“Let me just—”

They fumble and dance around each other in her doorway as he sets her bags in her apartment. And, as if to torture herself, she decides to stand under her door frame when he leaves to grab his umbrella, waiting the longest minute of her life for him with a forced smile.

He waves his umbrella at her after locking his door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

He nods and walks back down the stairs.

“Javier, wait.”

He pauses, his back still facing her, drenched shoes balanced on two different steps.

“Can we talk?” She hates the way her voice sounds when she asks, tinny and trembling. Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “About what happened... at the bar?”

He sighs, screwing his eyes shut tight and rubbing his forehead.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says, low and barely audible as the rain starts picking up outside. And he walks away.

She’s stunned still, watching as his figure shrinks with each step he takes away from her. He’s already out of the building by the time frustration fuels her feet to follow him into the rain.

“Like hell there’s nothing to talk about,” she yells over the downpour, hair quickly sticking flat to her face. “Javi, we kissed!”

“You were drunk,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear, still walking.

“I wasn’t drunk,” she argues to his back, remembering with perfect clarity exactly how his lips felt on hers. “Just a bit braver. Javi, stop! Look at me. Please.”

And like clockwork, he turns slowly but doesn’t move any closer.

So, she closes the distance to stand beside him under his umbrella, taking in his features without the obscurity of rain.

“What are you running from?” She wonders, reaching for his fidgeting hand. “I would never hurt you. I—”

The line between his brows looks deeper than usual, as if they’d been stuck in that pinched position for weeks. Shadows lay in rings beneath his eyes, accompanied by smaller lines that carry untold stories she hopes he’ll entrust her with someday. His mouth is parted just slightly, as if to say something he knows could change everything.

And it does.

“I have to go.”

Her hands are empty and wet when he leaves. And the rain buries his parting words into the pavement.

I don’t want to hurt you.

—

She doesn’t hear from him for two weeks. Doesn’t even catch a glimpse of him.

The rain sticks around longer than usual for Los Angeles, making her apartment feel cold and gloomy. But maybe, it’s just missing him as much as she is.

Then, while she’s folding her laundry one night, she hears his door rattle and practically bolts to her own. He’s there. Keys in hand, rolling luggage in the other, hair tousled like he’s been pulling at it with his fingers. He looks at her when she opens her door, just for a beat too long, before hiding away in his apartment.

She sighs, closing her door in defeat.

But just as she starts getting ready for bed, she hears two knocks at her door, heart beating rapidly as she slowly makes her way to open it.

“Hi, neighbor,” he greets her softly, and the sound of his voice after so long without it nearly brings her to tears.

“Where did you go?” She asks. But she really means, Why did you leave?

“Texas,” he says. “I... needed to see my dad.” But he really means, I was scared.

“Oh.”

“Can I...” he mutters. “Can I come in please?”

She hesitates for only a second before stepping aside and he looks around like he hasn’t seen the inside of her apartment hundreds of times already.

He stops near her bedroom, where a new picture hangs proudly: a goofy, blurry photo of him stashing three pink packets of sugar in his shirt pocket.

“It’s the only photo you’ve let me take of you,” she says quietly, standing next to him with a wistful smile on her face. “I miss our diner dates.” But she really means, I miss you.

He doesn’t respond, just silently walks to her couch and sits, fingers rubbing circles into his forehead.

Minutes roll by slowly as she watches him from the other side of the room, battling with some invisible hand covering his mouth, holding on until the end to keep the words locked up.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispers, so softly she almost doesn’t hear it. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of... back in Colombia. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell you. I think a part of me is still there, fighting some unwinnable war. Hell, even before Colombia, I—”

Muddied images of a beautiful woman, an abandoned altar, and a shattered promise flash in his mind.

“Fuck. I can’t shake it,” he says, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes, waving the invisible iron shackles on his wrists to show her. “Any of it. The nightmares...” He recalls her shadowy body and a dark, menacing voice. “They’ve followed me for years. I—” he looks at her, eyes darting across her face. “I could never give you peace.”

His head hangs low and a wayward curl brushes against his forehead. Despite how much space he takes up on her couch, he looks so small, defeated —  the weight of his past crushing him into this tiny, torn, crumpled-up piece of paper covered in red-inked, scratched-out sentences.

“Javi,” she whispers, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. So, she crosses the room and kneels in front of him, her palms reaching for his cheeks and lifting his gaze to hers. “Javi, who said anything about peace?”

The wrinkles deepen between his brows as he studies her, tries to understand what she means in the cloudy orbs of her eyes.

“The past is the past. We’ve all done things we can’t speak of. And sometimes at night, we live it all again. God knows I’m far from perfect. But I know you’re a good man, Javi. I see you,” she tells him, stroking the curves of his cheekbones with her thumbs.

“I’m not—”

“Do you trust me?” She interrupts his argument. He stares at her, blinks, before nodding once.

“Then trust what I’m saying. You’re not perfect. But you’re good.”

His eyes close as soon as she sees water beginning to pool behind his lashes.

“I’m not asking for peace. As long as I get to be with you, it would be enough.”

And then his lips are crashing into hers, pulling her into his lap until he’s covered in her. The sound he makes when they touch is devastatingly beautiful, like she’s a balm soothing his freshest wounds and healing his oldest scars. It feels like his entire body has exhaled — lungs deflated, bones liquified, mind released from a decades-old straitjacket. If not for gravity, he could float from the way his stomach is fluttering. His shoulders lower and he sighs as if he’d been holding his breath for his entire life until this moment.

He’s drowning in her, submerged to the top of his head. But he can finally breathe.

“I’m sorry I ran,” he whispers into her skin. “I’m sorry I left, cariño,” he kisses just below her ear. “My dad said I was the biggest asshole on the planet for leaving. I’m sorry, baby. So sorry,” he licks the seam of her lips.

“Mi alma, you have no idea,” he sighs when she parts her lips for him. “How much I love you.”

And she captures the words on her tongue, kissing him with a ferocity that says, Yes, I do.

“Want to know a secret?” She gasps when his lips trail down her neck. Her voice is barely a whisper, as feather-light as her fingertip skating across his shoulder.

He hums, a soft, lazy smile stretching his lips wide, so wide.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” she says, staring into his deep brown eyes. “That I’ll ever love anyone more than I love you, Javi.”

Her finger stops, retracted to shield herself after such a heavy confession. His eyes blink slowly, head lifting off the couch cushion.

He doesn’t say a word. He only stares at her, the softest smile on his face — his edges blurring into gentle curves in front of her very eyes.

“You’re it for me,” she finalizes.

And then they’re crashing into each other again and again and again.

End Notes: Look, it’s been almost 10 years since I sat in a Spanish class and watching Narcos only restored 3% of my limited vocabulary. Here’s what I got from Google Translate: “Llegas tarde.” = You’re too late. “Tómame!/ Tómame en su lugar.” = Take me!/ Take me instead. “Cariño” = Darling, honey “Mi alma” = My soul P.S. Please let me know if I missed any tags/triggers!