#but Nick a year out and itching to Do Something and put into a situation

[beliscary]

[nick sayre voice] that's why you should come with me to corvere. put off that fear of the future

[strniohoeee]

reader is down bad for matt, like she blushes, giggles, goes mute whenever he's around and he kinda enjoys it and one day he finally asks her to go an a date and it ends super fluffy

She’s Got It Bad

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N was out of her mind in love with Matt, but she was shy. Which left her in awkward silent situations until one day Matt puts his foot down! 🌷

Warnings⚠️: None?? Writing kind of sucks also sorry if there’s grammatical errors I never proof read till two days later after I post lolll😭

Song for imagine: This Is How It Feels- D4vd, Laufey

So this is how it feels

To fall in love with you

To always think of you

To always dreams of you

You know when you’re reading or watching a romance book or movie, and one of those super cheesy slow mo scenes happen? Where an 80s love song is queued and the two love interests stare at each other while their hair oh so dainty blows in the wind? And you’re curling your toes as your heart beats for the next scene to happen? Just thinking “I need more! Give me more!” And then it goes back to reality and they end up walking right past one another….

And it wraps you into this hour and a half or 230 page book/movie about the girl wanting the guy….but the guy not really wanting her or simply seeing her as a sister or painfully shoving her in the friend zone? And you’re itching for more. Tired of this back and forth of who will get one another first?

And if you said yes to any of those questions then you are sure looking at my life right now…stuck painfully stuck in the friend zone. Mainly because I put myself there. Let's face it, I'm deeply afraid of rejection. Why ruin something that is virtually perfect.

I had it bad for Matt and I’m not so sure he felt the same way, but I’d never in a million years ever jump at that. I’d rather rip my ears off and tape them to the concrete and then run them over consistently for an hour… okay a bit graphic and a bit over the top but you get the point. He’s off limits and I’ve got it bad for him…

Most of our interactions consisted of short conversations, me blushing like an idiot and even sometimes going silent..offering a nod here and there. It’s even gotten to the point of having to leave the hangout because I was so nervous around him. I mean what if I said something that he found cringey? What if I embarrassed myself which I tend to do a lot might I add? Or even worse…what if he didn’t find me funny?

All these terrible instances bounced off my brain like a bullet ricocheting off of metal walls. As I sat chewing my lip, suddenly my thoughts were interrupted

“Helloooooo” I heard loudly from the other end of the phone call

Blinking out of my trance I soon realized I had been on the phone.

“I’m sorry Nick I got side tracked” I replied gripping the phone again

“Yeah I can tell you went rogue for like 3 minutes there, did you even hear what I asked you?” He asked laughing

“Uhhh yeah and I think you should go with the yellow shirt” I replied praying I wasn’t so far off from what he was talking about

“That was like 10 minutes ago, I asked are you coming or what?” He said huffing

“I’m sorry? Coming? Where?” I asked again as I furrowed my eyebrows

“This is why I don’t call you, you have the attention span of a fly” he said laughing which caused me to laugh

“I’m sorryyyy I was thinking about something” I replied to him

“Aren’t you always… I was asking if you were coming over tonight for movie night?” He said shuffling around

“Ohhh duhh of course I never miss Saturday nights with you” I said getting up to pack my overnight back

“Even though Matt and Chris are joining us this time?” He asked

This is where I hadn’t been listening previously and I almost choked on my saliva trying to form a proper answer.

“Uh.. *ahem* yes of course they can join us” I replied trying to seem chill

“Wow sooo nonchalant about that” he stated sarcastically

“Oh will you shut up” I replied stuffing my duffle bag

Nick opened his mouth to speak but on the other end it sounded like someone walked in his room

“Matt get the fuck out I’m on the phone” Nick said which made me laugh a bit

“Who are you talking to?” I heard Matt ask his brother

“Your girlfriend now fuck off” he said almost hissing at Matt

“NICK STOP” I squeaked over the phone

“I don’t have a girlfriend you sicko” Matt stated sounding annoyed…. I looked up at my imaginary camera (hmm how do I take that response) I thought.

Shaking that feeling off I returned to the call

“Okayyy bye nickkkk see you in a bit” I replied rushing him off the phone

Hanging up the call I sighed deeply… if I wasn’t already nervous to possibly run into Matt then oh boy was I in for a treat

Usually, Saturday nights were for Nick and I and I rarely ever ran into Matt or Chris. Usually it was Chris and him and I had a cool bond. We’d stop to hug and chat for a bit before Chris left to go out. And if I ever ran into Matt it was him leaving with Chris which prompted me to wave slightly and avoid all hugs. Rambling on about Nick needing me for something upstairs each time and not even giving them the chance to respond.

I usually shut my eyes and shook my head when I turned away from them and even muttered a few unkind words about myself to myself….

But tonight…tonight Matt was joining us which meant I couldn’t be awkward around him or else Nick would for sure point it out.

I had gotten to their house with dinner for all of us which we landed on chilis…. Good thing I was 21 I needed a to go drink…preferably strong!

Sitting in their living room as we all began to eat, Nick scrolled through Max as we sat on the floor with our food on the coffee table.

“We should watch Silver Linings Playbook I heard it was good” I said looking over at the tv as Nick had just passed the movie

“I’m down” Chris said shrugging his shoulders

Nick and I usually watched action movies where we’d see a bunch of sweaty hot men fighting bad guys. And most of those movies we’d just yell out if we’d smash the guys or not. I don’t know that Matt and Chris would want to take part in that so a rom-com was for the win!

Max was playing a few ads before the movie and as I was sipping my margarita in a styrofoam to go cup (how niche) Matt had called my name

Looking over at him I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Do you like rom-coms?” He asked me

I felt my ears getting hot and my face too….good thing I’m drinking and I can just blame it on the alcohol.

“I do, I love them actually” I replied nodding at him

“I love them too” he said smiling at me as he ate a fry

“Nice” I said nodding my head and looking over at the tv…why the fuck were their ads still playing? Squinting I turned back around to face him

“Uhh what’s your favorite?” I asked him clearing my throat

“I’d have to say 10 things I hate about you” he replied wiping his hands

“SHUT UP! Me too” I replied getting really excited and loud (blaming it on the alcohol once again)

“No way” he replied laughing

“No! like I swear! I have all the romance movies I’ve ever seen ranked in my notes app and 10 things I hate about you is number one, look see” I replied rambling as I opened up my app and showed him

His brows raised…an impressed look might I add

“Wow Y/N didn’t know you were such a hopeless romantic” he said winning at me

This made my heart flutter and my voice disappear? Sinking into my skin I nodded at him before turning to watch the tv

Throughout the whole movie I kept catching Matt looking at me but he’d look away quickly. This made my skin crawl in a good way though

The movie finished and I found myself emotional. I mean it wasn’t a sad movie but rather beautiful. Nick and Chris had gone to lay on the couch at some point in the movie.

So to no surprise Matt and I turned to find them fast asleep. Shaking our heads we cleaned up the living room and headed to the kitchen to place everything in the trash.

The hallway light illuminating the kitchen as I washed my hands

“I almost feel like Silver Linings Playbook is my number one rom-com” Matt and I both stated at the same time

Laughing I shut the water off and turned towards him

“I guess we really are similar” I said to him as I crossed my arms over my chest

“I suppose so, but I wouldn’t know you’re always running away from me” he said quietly

“Am not!” I replied standing up straight

“You’re always running away from me as fast as possible, you don’t hate me do you” he stated as he wiped down the table

“No” I replied watching his every move

“Then why do you run away? Do I stink?” He asked laughing

“No! You just happen to catch me when I’m busy” I say lying through my teeth

“Right…I suppose so, I do know how to get you at the right time though” he stated throwing the paper out

“Do you?” I asked cocking an eyebrow

“Yeah…when I take you on a date and have all your attention so we can really get to know each other”he says

“Well we’re friends so I do know you” I reply rolling my eyes

“No…know me on a different level that’s not…friends” he says smiling at me sweetly

“Not friends?” Was all I could mutter

“Just say yes to the date you loser” he replied shaking his head

“Yes..sorry yes I will go on a date with you” I replied shaking my head and giggling

“You’ve ever seen Notting Hill?” He suddenly asks me

“I actually haven’t” I stated

“Want to watch it?” He asked me

“But Chris and Nick are sleeping” I replied pointing over my shoulder

“You miss queues don’t you?” He asked cocking an eyebrow

“They don’t call me a ditz for nothing” I replied jokingly

He looked at me with adoration in his eyes for a moment before opening his mouth

“I mean with me…just me” he replied with soft eyes

“Oh....yeah” I replied breathlessly as I shook my head…am I that fucking stupid? I thought to myself

We shut off the tv and the hallway light. Matt led me to his room as I followed behind. It felt so foreign being in a room with a new undertone to it….more than friends

“You can sit closer I won’t bite” he says as he looks over at me

“Right, sorry” I say sitting closer to Matt against the headboard

The air felt awkward as we watched the movie, but Matt slid his arm over my shoulder and pulled me in

“I’m not a stranger” he replied as he snuggled me closer against him

Smiling against him I melted into his touch as we fell asleep to a romance movie. I guess being shy does work out in the end and I’ve always had it bad for Matt but after today? You’re for sure thinking

She’s got it bad!

The End

I wasn’t sure how to end this…it’s so HARD TO END A STORY WTFFFF. Anywho we’re almost at 2,600 followers🥹🥹. Yall I could cry this means so much to me I remember when I had hit 100 followers and I never thought I’d make it this far. I’m so eternally grateful for you all😩🖤🖤. I know I don’t update three times a day everyday like I used to, but I’m so glad yall are sticking around till this day when I post once to twice a week every two weeks. I don’t deserve you, thank yall so much🥹💕💕💕. Stay tuned for more work baes

-J💅🏽

[headstrongblake]

@thewholecrew: kassy & nick || all american universe.

meticulously, nick watched kassy shift to take the clippers in her hand, ruining the work she had just done. a few hours ago, the life nick had crafted here for himself in the city had been perfectly intact. he'd been on his way to the christmas octavia insisted on having with her friends every year. kassy had been chattering about her snowman design on her fingernails, how long it had taken her to choose this design. it was downright mundane, and now...nick shuddered, eyes closing briefly while he listened to the sound of the clippers. the night had taken a devastatingly bloody turn that unintentionally brought kassy into his darkness. a place he never wished her to be.

his eyes opened as kassy finished her nails, sipping on the water he retrieved before reassuring him that he wouldn't need to disclose more than he wished. "boy, you got a lot more faith in that girl than i do," nick scoffed softly with a shake of his head, wondering when octavia's ever been known to drop something. maybe kass was right about only needing to offer minuscule details to any of them, but he was far more hesitant due to his experience with her best friend. dark hues softened, however, noticing how badly kassy felt about hurting octavia by not showing tonight, which allowed him to drop the topic entirely. after all, she was in this mess because of him.

his shoulders rounded forward with a bit of defeat as nick leaned his elbow against his leg. "you're a better person than most," nick told her genuinely, his brows furrowing together as kassy reached for him, gently taking his hand as she looked up at him. still, he doesn't understand why she isn't terrified of him. why she hasn't demanded someone get her home, and far away from him by now, but he holds tightly to how softly she looks at him. she still reaches for him when she should be running in the other direction because he might've saved her tonight. might've helped her. but he still came from the one monster she was scared of. still was crafted by him. he doesn't understand her, but he doesn't pull away either. instead, he slowly nodded. "yeah...guess so, we're in agreement," he finally voiced, "we were gonna drag grants ass to the party, got held up instead..." he nodded once more, repeating her as he gently gave kassy's hand a squeeze before he let go.

"i got it, don't worry, i was gonna call grant here in a minute, check on him..." he murmured as he stood from the couch. once the shock faded enough to snap him into himself, nick's been itching for an update from grant. to know where he'd taken his father. where the grave would be and if...if anything would be left of him. even though he trusted grant to handle this situation, nick hated that he put either of them in this position. now was the time to get his head back in the game. to cover all their asses because he'd let his monster out. "i've got a few things to do downstairs, could also find us that drink," nick offered lightheartedly with a smirk that appeared more like a grimace than anything. nick extended his hand toward kassy, "you want me to call o? cause i will...you don't gotta lie to her tonight, you've done enough kass," he offered sincerely. he could be the bad guy if she wanted.

@headstrongblake: kassy & nick. / verse: all american.

     a small smile graced her features when she saw him reach out and take a sip of her water but she said nothing, instead kept her focus on wrapping, if not hiding, the evidence of what happened. he started off by nodding which kassy too as a hopefully good sign before she saw the way he tensed, how his shirt tightened across his chest and her dark gaze flickered up from her work to his face. she was sure this wasn’t what he wanted to hear and as she finished his hands, bringing her own back to her lap, she watched him quietly as he fished out the clippers for her.

     for a moment she had forgotten about those and her eyes brightened a little, reaching for them when finally he spoke. kassy was about to ask why when he continued, mentioning that both rev and octavia knew about his father. lining up the clipper on one side of her first nail she snipped it then did the same to the other side, cutting the head of the snowman on her nail off. while it was sad to destroy the work she’d had put into her nails, she already felt a bit better. she also felt relief to hear nick agreeing with her suggestion, a small trace of a smile on her lips at his playful title for octavia.

     with all the nails now clipped, the poor snowman heads discarded, kassy reached for her water to take a sip before she turned towards nick. "you don’t even have to tell them that, nick,” she reassured with a shrug, “with what we do tell them, aside from octavia being upset,” she winced, the thought of upsetting her best friend not something fun to think about, she continued, “i’m sure they’d much rather know we’re okay than the details to what happened… it’s what i’d want to know anyways,” she shrugged. perhaps she was thinking too much of how she would react to hearing such a situation but, she trusted that if she asked octavia not to press she wouldn’t.

     she reached for one of his hands, looking up at him with a soft and reassuring gaze, “i won’t say a word about it. and you don’t have to either,” she promised with a nod. “so… we’re in agreement? we were going to try and bring grant to the party when something happened…? we.. should probably fill him in at some point too then…” she murmured before looking over at her phone on the coffee table with a sigh. she would have to break the news to octavia and she hoped it wouldn’t completely devastate her.

[kookies2000]

Just because that one "Tiger and the Dragon" fact brought me back to my Tigress x Po shipping heart from my childhood!!!! I will now gush and give every detail as to why I shipped it and still do!!!

Ever since the first film, Po obviously has a crush on her. The first sign was when he was locked out of the Dragon Warrior Ceremony in the first film. After a good while of trying to get in, he gives up and sits down while everyone enjoys the ceremony. But the very second Shifus announces Tigress, Po becomes even more determined to get in. It's a clear fan boy crush but I'll be darned if this isn't one of the cutest things ever. It's even cuter after Tigress breaks two plates in the air and Po gawks at her skills. The creator's even nicknamed the piece of rock he tried to take after Tigress broke it the "Love chunk." You don't give a nickname like that just for no reason!!!!!

The second film is self-explanatory. Don't need to say a single thing but I will anyways. They work well together as a duo in battle. And it's just cute to see Tigress throw Po around and Po is just enjoying it. The concern Tigress has for Po throughout the film in general. You can't see her showing that level of affection with anyone else. It's obvious from everyone's reactions that she doesn't hug others at all. And I don't have to mention this but I will. The fact Tigress took a canon shot for Po. I know she's the leader and would take a shot for anyone but this is storytelling!!! Everything is put there for a reason. And this scene was put there to deepen their relationship. And I have to make this reference. The titanic scene. 🤣🤣🤣 Oh come on!!! How are we supposed to describe that scene? Anyone who has seen it 100% thought it or said "Come back, Jack...... Come back, Jack Black!" The only difference is that the one that was on the floating wood was "dying" while the one in the ocean was the one that got saved. Oh my goodness, I still remember watching that scene for the first time. I cried so much.

The 2nd one felt like they were building something between them and then they dropped it in the 3rd one. Or some say. The third film didn't have much but that doesn't mean they just dropped the relationship. Throughout the film, you can just feel it. There's something about the way they interact with each other. They are comfortably close to each other both physically and emotionally. You can't see that for Tigress with her other friends. Mei Mei! I love her character, she has the confidence that I always desire to have. ❤ But I do say she added more to Po and Tigress's relationship. A little background, I read this years ago so my memory is fuzzy. Mei Mei and Po were supposed to be engaged through an arranged marriage from birth. Mei Mei was on board with the marriage while Po was uncomfortable about it. They dropped the side story though but you can still tell it's there in the background. It's a matter of a "show don't tell" situation. So yeah, Mei Mei pretty much flirts with Po throughout the film up until Tigress shows up. And just the way Mei Mei says "Who's she?" itches my brain. It just feels like she recognized a close bond between them right away. After the battle, Mei Mei decides to flirt with someone else. It feels like they are building a romance between Tigress and Po but they're building it slowly in the background so it doesn't get in the way of the story. I guess we just have to pick up on the clues ourselves.

But I love that. A romance doesn't need to blossom in front of our eyes and be smacked in the middle for everyone to see. And this may be my asexual and demi-romantic side speaking but, I would LOVE to see a romance that starts as a deep friendship. There aren't many animated films that do that. The one that comes to mind is Nick x Judy from Zootopia. It starts as a deep friendship where the two have a clear platonic love for each other. But it can turn into a very healthy romance. I just adore those relationships. Establishing a deep respect and connection first for a year or so before developing a romance.

But I do want to say this. The only way I can see these two being in a romantic relationship is if they keep the romance in the background as they have been in the past three films. Just to make it feel natural. And we're gonna need a moment where we see Tigress's past and Po helping her through it the same way she helped him in the 2nd film. And please, a moment where Tigress is vulnerable like Po was in the 2nd film. I feel like they already set her on that track in 3rd film. They had her bond with a baby panda. Softening her up and making her look more vulnerable without making it cheesy. I like that. Softening through a child rather than softening through romance. It feels natural. And I have seen a few people worry about a "Hero saving the princess" trope. I'm kinda in between? I think? The thing is, I can see a situation like that happening but done in the same way in the 2nd film. When Po goes to rescue Tigress and the others from Shen. Or when Tigress takes the canon for Po. A situation where one rescues the other but in a way that isn't dramatic and it results in the two working together. Teamwork thing!!!

Welp! Other than that, I have poured my shipping heart empty........ I think. 🤣 I'll be back if I need to do another shipping gush. But I should clarify that I don't mind what happens in the next films. It won't be the end of the world if they don't become canon and it won't be the end of the world if they do. Platonic or romantic, it works either way and I just want more moments with them!!!

[0nerd-at-heart0]

How We Got Here

not my gif

A/N: still working on other stories, but had a dream about this so I had to write it.

Steve Rogers x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warning: fluff and angst

You had an itch, a problem per se. You needed everyone to like you.  So you tried really hard. To smile, be happy, be likable. 

You never faced a problem of someone not liking you, at least not until recently. Not until you met the one and only Steve Rogers. Or how you liked to call him Mr. Perfect. Perfect in the way he smiles. Perfect in the way he cares. Perfect in the way he is America's golden boy. You two could have been friends. Maybe if the situation was different. 

You joined the avengers not so long ago. With your training as an agent and your bad-ass powers of mind-control. You were the best candidate to join the elite superheroes.  Besides all that you had a talent. A talent with technology. 

Your obsession began when you accidentally broke your dad’s computer at the age of 12. You were so determined to put it back together before he could find out. In doing so you used some spare parts from your also broken Nintendo console and upgraded his computer.  You were considered a prodigy from that point.

A plan was set for you. You were going to become a computer engineer. With the support of your parents, you continue your studies all through college. And a month before graduation Hydra found you. 

They wanted you and they werent going to stop until they had you. Your parents so valiantly fought them. But at the end, they lost the battle and you, well you lost your parents. 

Hydra had a hold of you. They experiment on you like crazy. You were going to be their new super weapon. As much as they tried to turn you. You wouldnt let them, you would be their rag doll to use and abuse. You weren’t about to let your parents die in vain for you to become a monster. 

What felt like centuries of being locked up were actually a month. A month when Nick Fury came bursting in and saved you.  After a much needed shower and sleep, Fury and you had a chat. 

You didnt know how to repay him for what he had done for you, you should have chosen better words than that. Because sooner or later he was asking to train you, use your powers for good. How could you say no to the man who saved you?

Two years of training, Fury took you to meet the Avenger. You arent going to lie, you fangirled hard over them. They were all so welcoming. Even Steve. 

Fury made it your new assignment to learn from them, which meant you were going to  be staying in the compound.  

It was a lot to get used to. You mostly stayed by Wanda’s side. Occasionally you and Peter would train together. Tony was more of a mentor. And Nat loved playing around with your powers. But Steve and you had never had a chance to interact other than the welcoming party.

You really wanted to be friends with him. There was so much you wanted to say but always bite your tongue when he’s around. A friendship could blossom or better yet could have. 

The possibility of a relationship flew out the window when he overheard a conversation you had with Tony one early morning. You wanted to give the compound a technical upgrade. Including everyone suits and equipment. Tony was intrigued, not because he never thought of that because he has, but because of how bold you were. 

You had so much faith in your skills and Tony respected that. He agreed to let you mess around with some of the equipment for starters. You were smiling, you were excited like a child who had too much candy and was on a sugar high. But that sugar high came crashing down as soon as Steve made his appearance.

How could you forget the conversation. The way he yelled. 

“Excuse you! You can't just come in here and demand for change. Our dynamic works, it has worked for a while. I dont know who you think you are but you dont get to mess with our equipment and you certainly dont get to mess with MY team”

His voice rang throughout the whole compound and the image of his nostrils flaring as he yelled haunted you for weeks. 

It still haunts you. You hate being yelled at. Tony told you to ignore him,  that he is too “perfect” for his own good, but even all perfect people have their flaws and his way technology. Hence the name Mr. Perfect. 

Tony and the rest of the gang kept encouraging your journey well all except Steve. Your fighting got better and you were proud to say you were finally in control of your power. 

It was their pleasure to finally declare you one of them. As you all party Steve stood there scowling. Not even Bucky could wipe that scowl off his face as he had a mouth full of cherries. 

You weren’t going to let him get the better of you. If he wanted to be snarky you would be snarky. If he wanted to be cold you would be cold. 

That became your new routine. He pushed you, you pushed back harder. From bumps in the hallways to calling him Mr. Perfect every time you can. 

The team thought you guys would get over this, that over time you two would learn to get along.  But you were always at each other's throats. Missions become harder and harder when there’s a constant argument. 

You werent like this. You knew that but that man was just too infuriating to do nothing about it. 

Currently you were on a way back from a mission with Nat. You two were sent to stop a shipment of guns from being delivered. As smoothly as it was going, Steve was on the comms just nagging how it should have been him and Nat out there. You turned off your comms, knowing the earful you are going the get when you arrive back.

As you walked into the kitchen, there was Steve nursing a glass of what seemed to be bourbon and tapping his foot. You knew what was going to happen. 

Nat made a B-line for her room, not wanting to hear the argument that's about to go down.

You stood in the middle of the room thinking of all the comebacks you can. Ready to fire at any moment. Steve stood up from his seat and made his way towards you. His jaw was set and his fists were clenched. 

He stalked over you and you suddenly felt small.  His stare was burning through you, you have never seen him like this. You looked down at your feet but Steve stopped that movement and he grabbed your chin with his hand forcefully to make you look at him. 

With your chin in his hand he had a full view of your face. As he looked at you, his demeanor changed. The tension in his body was gone, the look on his face soften and the force in his hand was replaced with a gentle touch. 

“ Who?”, he asked.

You were confused, “ who what?”

“ The bruise under your eye, who did that”, he asked, a little more annoyed this time.

He noticed the bruise? It's so small it doesnt even hurt, you forgot it even happened.

“ Oh, that bruise. The mob boss Sergio showed up. It surprised us and in our state of surprise he sucker punched me in the face and got away. But dont worry we got control of the shipment, we will get him eventually”, you stammer out.

He lets go of your face and takes out his phone. He turns around,  “ Tony, yes it's me. Apparently Sergio, the mob boss got away. I need all focus on him, can you do that? Okay thanks!”

“ What was that”, you surprisingly ask. 

His focus goes back to you, “ No one hurts my team and gets away with it”

He turns around to walk away. But stops in his tracks when he hears you murmur, “ You hurt me everyday with your words''

He goes back towards you. “ My words are never meant to hurt you, Y/N,”

“ But they have, since the moment we met.  I let it happen but then I had enough and started to talk back. If one thing I learned from my parents is to always fight back”, you quietly stated. Looking down at your feet shifting weight from one foot to another.

All that energy to fight back was gone. You needed answers. 

He grabbed your face, cradling it between his two hands. This time there was no force but it was a touch so soft, so warming, so welcoming.

“ No words can describe how sorry I am. I let my emotion get the better of me.  You joined the team and you were everything I am not. The person I am is thanks to a serum. But you, you have it all. You have the strength, the smarts and the beauty”, he sincerely apologizes.

“ Beauty?” you question looking into his eyes. Using his eyes are filled with what looks like hate, but right now they are filled with something more, could it be love?

“ I dont deserve this but if you allow me”, he asks, leaning closer. 

You know what he is asking and you too want it.  The ball is in your court.  You move your body closer to him and he takes that as an indication to smash his lips onto yours.

The kiss starts off rough, like you are in need of each other. But it becomes softer and more passionate. An apology in itself. Both of you cant and wont pull away. You were deprived of each other for so long. 

Now you knew, Steve Rogers did like you. Maybe a little more than you would ever imagine.

[collecting-stories]

Mai Tai - ep. 02 - Rafe Cameron

Summary: Some heavy flirting and a day out with Wheezie.

A/N: The rewrite for chapter two.

Holiday in the Sun Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The Nassau house was arguably bigger than Tanney Hill. Enough bedrooms that you got your own and so did Sarah and Wheezie. Rafe and Topper were stuck in a room together though you saw Sarah’s boyfriend put his suitcase in her room as you dragged your suitcase into yours. It was at the end of the hall, a sliding door that you couldn’t quite figure out how to lock, and enough white that you weren’t sure if Rose thought she was in an institution or a vacation home. It was nice either way and the bed was definitely comfortable as you dropped your things and flopped back on it, legs hanging over the side as you stared up at the ceiling.

“Kinda miss that tomboy look you used to rock.”  

You sat up in bed, Rafe leaning against the open door frame, grinning at you. “Sorry to disappoint,” you replied, “it was more a cover-up than a style and I finally grew into myself in case you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed.” He said, “Oh, and Rose said dinner’s ready.”

Dinner was awkward and quiet, the leftover tension from the plane ride unresolved as you all sat around the table. Rose and your mother spent the entire meal plotting out the week, what they would do, where they would go. It was all arbitrary stuff that you didn’t care about. None of the Cameron kids seemed to care either as they stayed relatively quiet throughout the meal. Sarah would whisper back and forth with Topper but Rafe and Wheezie kept quiet, the latter texting in her lap. Ward spent the meal talking business with your stepdad and you pushed your food around your plate, counting the minutes until dinner was over and you were allowed to go into your room.

Your friends had already texted you about their own first night in Ptown and you’d promised to facetime them after dinner, something you were itching to do. Though, Rafe was making dinner slightly more bearable. Rose had said something particularly annoying and Rafe had rolled his eyes, only to realize that you were looking at him. After that it felt like every time you looked up he was staring at you, the attention making you slightly flushed.  

-

“Hey,” you greeted, leaning forward so you could see passed the refrigerator as Rafe came into the kitchen. You were sitting up on the counter, the large sliding window open behind you as you ate straight out of a pint of ice cream. “Can’t sleep?”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair, messy from sleep and notably a little long. “You?” He asked, opening the refrigerator and obscuring you from view for a moment.  

“Something like that.” You replied, stretching your legs out casually though you were actually double-checking that you didn’t have any forgotten hairs or unsightly nicks. You knew it was stupid but you couldn’t help yourself, four years had only made him more gorgeous than he’d been at 15 and you were enjoying the attention he’d already given you. At least the sleep shorts and sports bra could work in your favor. “You want some?” You offered the pint of ice cream, your spoon stuck in the middle.  

“What kind?” He asked as he took the spoon and dug in.

“Coffee.” You replied, “I snuck it in.”

“You snuck it in?” He took a bite and you watched the spoon slip back out between his lips as he swallowed the ice cream.  

“My mom’s got me on a diet, I’m only allowed like four hours of eating a day and definitely not ice cream.” You admitted, “gotta get rid of the baby fat.” As you said it you pinched the inside of your thigh to prove your point and he laughed. You looked cute enough for midnight but you weren’t above self-deprecating jokes.  

“Well your secret is safe with me.” He replied, grabbing the beer he had taken from the refrigerator, “As long as you don’t tell anyone I was drinking.”

“Where are you on your 12 steps?” You teased, waving your hand for him to pass you the beer.  

“Step 1,” Rafe replied, “fuck my life.”

You laughed, nearly spitting the beer that you’d just sipped. As you went to reply you both heard footsteps coming toward the kitchen. You slipped off the counter, almost bumping into him because he was so close. You grabbed his hand as the hall light flipped on, abandoning your ice cream to the counter as you dragged Rafe out onto the porch with you. “Sorry, I’ll be done for if my mom finds me.” You admitted, pressing your back against the wall just passed the door, out of sight.  

“Trust me, I’m in the same boat.” Rafe answered, standing close to you, watching the door. You were trapped between him and the wall and you were convinced that you would be tripping over your words if the light was actually hitting him and he wasn’t completely shadowed.  

“It’s Rose.” He finally said, able to see enough into the kitchen that he recognized his stepmom’s blonde hair.

“What’s she doing?”

“You’re gonna have to buy new ice cream.” He whispered, looking down at you and grinning.  

“No,” you whined, leaning your head back against the wall. “Damn.”

“Here, eases the pain,” he teased, passing his beer to you.

Rose left the kitchen with your ice cream and Rafe backed away from you, giving the all-clear as headed back inside. You followed after him, topping off the rest of his beer and dropping it in the bin beneath the sink.  

“You want your own this time?” He asked, pulling out two more.  

“Yes please, if I can’t eat all my calories, I’ll drink them.” You joked, watching as he popped the lid off with the edge of the counter. “That’s a neat party trick.”

“Glad your impressed.”  

“Was that the goal?” You asked, taking your beer from him.

He only smiled, trying to look as innocent as possible as he shrugged his shoulders at you. “Come on-”

“Where are we going?” You asked, cutting him off. He walked out of the kitchen and you followed after him, down the hall in the dark.

“You don’t want anyone to catch you right?” He asked, stopping at a door near the end of the hall. The entire house was on one level, windows everywhere in the main rooms to make it feel like it was outside and inside at the same time.  

“Right,” you replied skeptically. Your room was up ahead but he stopped before that.

He pushed the door open and you realized it was his bedroom, the same one you’d seen Topper moving his suitcase out of earlier in the day. “Hotel Cameron,” he joked as you walked in passed him.

“I thought the whole house was hotel Cameron.”  

“You’re mistaken.” Rafe replied.

“Well, what does Hotel Cameron have to offer then?” You asked, walking further into the room and taking a seat on the end of the chaise near the window, “besides beer?”

“A great view.”  

“Kinda dark out.” You said, glancing over your shoulder, out the window.

“Wrong view.”

You laughed even though anyone else saying it would’ve instantly made you cringe and Rafe smiled at his joke, this insanely dorky grin on his face as if he wasn’t nearly as confident as he acted. He shut the door and came further into the room having waited until he was sure that you were comfortable.

“Okay, so view, beer...anything else?” You asked.

“Great company...and possibly breakfast in bed.” He offered.  

“Are you cooking the breakfast?”  

“Definitely not.” He laughed, taking a seat on his bed, stretching out on top of the comforter.

“I was just checking, I wasn’t sure how many compliments you were gonna pay yourself before we got through this.” You teased.  

“Only a few more.”  

“Well I’m already here so I might as well stay.” You replied, you moved further up to sit with your back to the window, relaxed against the armrest as you watched Rafe lounging in bed.  

“So, your boyfriend bummed you skipped out on vacation?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend...” you said, trying to decide what he was getting at, “were you listening to my facetime earlier?”

“I may’ve overheard.”

“Overheard?” You laughed, ��can’t believe you were creeping on me.”  

“I wasn’t ‘creeping’ on you.”  

You hummed, biting back a smile, “well I’m single so-” you shrugged.

“Good to know.”

-

Even though he’d offered breakfast in bed, and you could imagine how incredible that whole situation would be, you snuck out before the sun was up, heading back to your bedroom. You managed to find a pen and paper in the drawer of the desk in his room, leaving him a note that promised a raincheck on breakfast before slipping out.

When you woke up the second time it was in your own bed, in your room, and you were disoriented for a second as you tried to remember the night before. Everyone else, Rafe excluded, seemed to already be awake when you made it out to the kitchen. Sarah and Topper were sitting at the island eating while Wheezie was engaged in a pretty heated argument with Ward.  

“What’s the matter with them?” You asked, spooning some fruit into a bowl and sitting down next to Topper.  

“Wheezie wants to go to some aquarium at the resort,” Topper replied, “Sarah and I are going to the beach and Rose is going shopping.”

“It’s the aquarium in Atlantis,” Sarah said.  

“Oh well,” the door to the outside opened and Wheezie came in, red faced as Ward walked in after her, “I’m free to go to the aquarium.”

“Seriously?” Wheezie asked, suddenly perking up.

“Yeah, I’d actually love to go to the aquarium.” You’d rather that then lounging on the beach all day. Besides, you were pretty sure if you spent any more time around Rafe you would rush into something without giving it the thought it deserved.  

“Alright, aquarium it is.” Ward agreed, “but next time you throw a tantrum like that you’ll stay here, understood?”  

“Understood.” Wheezie repeated, biting down on her lower lip. Even though you could tell she was excited for the aquarium the obvious fear of disapproval from Ward won out.  

“Thanks,” Sarah whispered, leaning passed Topper to grab a piece of toast, “I just don’t wanna get stuck babysitting.”

You wanted to say that spending time with a thirteen year old didn’t amount to babysitting by any degree but you only nodded and said, “no worries.”

“What are we talking about?” Rafe asked, announcing his presence in the kitchen. He placed a hand on the back of you're chair and leaned over you to grab a piece of pineapple off your plate.  

“Hey!” You twisted around to look up at him, gaze trailing up a bare stomach and chest to meet his eyes. This was going to be a long week, “you can get your own breakfast.”

“Do you wanna go to the aquarium with us?” Wheezie asked, sitting down on the other side of the island.

“Who’s us?” He asked, still hovering over you.  

“Sarah and I are hitting the beach,” Topper replied, excluding them from Wheezie’s trip to the aquarium.

“I told Wheezie I’d go to the aquarium with her.” You said, smacking his hand when he tried to get another piece of pineapple. “Stop it.”  

His hands fell to your shoulders, gently squeezing before he let go, walking around the counter and grabbing some of the food that had been laid out for breakfast. You tried not to watch him as he moved. “Sorry, I was only trying to cash in on my raincheck.”  

“What are you talking about?” Sarah asked, looking between you and her brother.

“Nothing,” you coughed, glaring at Rafe, who only smiled. You didn’t miss the look he shared with Topper, one the suggested Sarah’s boyfriend knew exactly what Rafe was talking about.

“So,” Wheezie piped up, “do you wanna go with us?”

“Yeah alright,” Rafe agreed. He’d promised that he wouldn’t ditch her this vacation anyway and he intended to keep at least that promise. You were making it easier on him too, he could spend more time with you and hang out with Wheezie at the same time.  

-

The marine habitat in Atlantis was arguably the largest aquarium you’d ever been to and Wheezie was thoroughly enjoying stopping in front of every display, spitting out facts about different animals. “My teacher says I’m on track to becoming a marine biologist someday.” She mentioned as you walked through a deep sea fish exhibit.  

She was like a kid in a candy store from the moment you arrived, face to the glass. You lagged a little behind her, reading the cue cards that told you all the same facts that Wheezie already knew, taking in the sight of the aquarium and enjoying behind a spectator to her and Rafe.  

“Hey,” Rafe called, looking over at you as Wheezie stopped to strike up a conversation with one of the workers there. “Stop texting your boyfriend and pay attention.”

“Stop!” You laughed when he grabbed at your phone. You tried to pull it away but failed as Rafe took the phone out of your hands, holding it above his head. “God, you’re like the tallest person ever.” You grumbled, trying to reach but failing when he extended his arm all the way. “Rafe, give me my phone back.”

“We’re supposed to be on vacation, no phones.” He joked, trying to sound like your mom when she caught you texting at dinner the night before.

“Give me. My phone. Back.” You said, punctuating your words. He dropped it into your hands. “God, I forgot you were this annoying.”

“Annoying?” He turned to look at Wheezie, staring into a display, “hey Wheez, am I annoying?”

“Right now or general?”

“Unbelievable.” Rafe muttered though he smiled at the end.  

The tour resumed, your phone tucked securely into your back pocket as you walked through the aquarium with Wheezie and Rafe. She stopped again at the shark tank, looking in at the two sharks they had swimming around the indoor/outdoor habitat. Just like before, she zeroed in on the nearest worker and approached them, asking a million questions as she discussed the sharks with them.  

You stood there staring at the shark swimming through the habitat, feeling both like the conversation from earlier was over and like you wanted to continue you it. “I don’t have a boyfriend, by the way.” You blurted out, internally cursing your inability to ever let things go. “Which you knew because I told you. And besides, I wouldn’t have gone back to your room if I had a boyfriend.”

“Nothing happened.” Rafe replied, smirk working it’s way onto his face, “did you want something to happen?”  

“That’s not what I meant.” You huffed, crossing your arms under you chest and looking away from him.  

“I mean, there is a vacancy-”

“Shut up!” You knocked your hip against his.  

“Hey, I’m just laying it all out there. I mean, we’re only here for a week, might as well skip the small talk.” He shrugged.

“So I’ll...sleep with you?”

“You suggested it, not me.” He replied.  

“That’s not what I meant.” You insisted though you had definitely been thinking about it since the car ride to the Nassau house. Wheezie called the two of you over, finished looking at the sharks and ready to move on. “Besides, I’m not as tragically hideous as I was at thirteen but I’m also not as gullible.”  

“You were not tragically hideous.” Rafe laughed, following you as the two of you caught up with Wheezie.

“It was a pretty rough year, I had a golf ball sized bruise from a skateboarding accident.” You replied, “and that was just temporary...the rest of it was...”

“You were cute.”

“What?” You couldn’t hide the disbelief, even if you wanted to.  

“I thought you were cute.” Rafe repeated. “I’d use some different adjectives now but...you definitely weren’t hideous.” He said, walking ahead of you to meet up with Wheezie and leaving you standing there shocked.  

-

Taglist:  @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming  @chasefreakinstokes@millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox@belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla@vindictive-hearts @poguestyleskye @ssprayberrythings @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh@gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot@stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon@alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @mirjanak @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes@wowitswondergurl @celestialmaybank @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects @balletandyuzu @oh-annaa@aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn@pcterparxer @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys@lemur46 @haute-shawn @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower@vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette @smiithys @dontjinx-it@outerbanksbro @mysticsthinking @heavenlymama  @rudy-pankow-needs-an-oscar@babymatilda @raekenliar @prejudic3 @drewsephsmiles @starrystarkey93 @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @sunwardsss @28cnn @mysterious-adventurer @butgilinsky

[ma-lark-ey]

Lark headcanons to piggyback off my Grant headcanons B) I don’t have as many for Lark which is weird considering I took his name. 

- He’s the younger twin 

- mans SUCKS in a fight, he thinks he doesn’t 

- He’s that one kind in your grade who no one really talks to or is friends with, but no one dislikes. 

- always keeps stimtoys on him, always always always

- severely ADHD

- deffo has panic attacks (like his dad B) ) 

- He can’t handle much weight on top of him from the trauma of the pyramid. 

- He has some pretty noticeable scars on his arm, neck and legs from the incident, when people ask he quickly changes the subject. 

- He owns a chinchilla! her name is Snail. Sparrow has one named Slug! 

- He likes to write!! He writes a lot of short stories, and will churn out stories of Sparrow’s characters. 

- to go with that, Sparrow will draw scenes from the stories he writes. They’re a little duo. 

- They want to make comics when they’re older. Lark being the writer and Sparrow being the artist.

- Lark is really good at calming people down and mellowing out bad situations, it’s a skill he had to learn from how often Grant and Nick would have panic attacks after Faerun, and he wanted to help them. 

- He likes stirring the pot in politics classes. 

- he has a LOT of pent up anxiety, but doesn’t admit it. 

- If he’s not with Sparrow, he’s probably hiding out at a skatepark or a junkyard. 

- He’s trans masc because fUCK you. Self projection.

- He expresses his affection through gifts!! He likes making all his cool friends gifts to give them 

- He’s super socially awkward and doesn’t have many friends, even though he’s super charismatic. 

- If he can’t do comics as an adult, he wants to be a special ed teacher. 

- Lark will never admit it, but he is EXACTLY like his dad. 

- Lark and his partner (Finch, obviously. If you don’t know who Finch is.... Boy do I have a piece of fandom to introduce you to) adopt a kid at like, early thirties. You would never think Lark would make a nice parent, but he’s a more strict version fo Henry. Takes good care of his little guy. 

- The kid’s name is Dove 

- Lark’s comfort food are those shitty muffins you get in little tiny packs of four and ate as a kid instead of a real breakfast. 

- His favorite drink is... Whatever the fuck you put in front of him. 

- One time when he was little he brought Henry a glass of water that was left outside for days ( you know the kind I’m talking about ) and told him to drink it. Henry couldn’t say no. 

- Lark thinks a lot about what would’ve happened if he took over Oakvale after Faerun. He wonders how different life would’ve been. 

- He doesn’t get along super well with Autumn, but he makes a point to keep in contact with her. 

- Some nights, he’ll have a really bad panic attack and dissociate for a long time. Whenever he calms back down, he’s always protectively held in his dad’s lap in the living room floor with some kids cartoon on the TV, and usually Henry is mumbling to him about something. 

- Lark used to only drink with plastic straws (he likes to chew on them and his hands shake too much for him to use a glass), but he started using rubber straws in eighth grade cause he liked the taste of rubber more. 

- on that, his hands are always shaking like a mother fucker. The only thing he’s found that steadies his hands is cross-stitch. 

- He listens to folk punk (oh no) 

- If you get in the car with Lark, Hayloft by Mother Motehr WILL play, and he WILL go absolutely FERAL 

- He plays the drums!! 

- Whenever he gets drained in social situations, he’ll crouch. He’ll just *crouches down* and sit there. He’ll keep interacting with you normally and whatnot, but he likes being close to ground. 

- He sleeps to the side of his bed instead of in the middle so in case Sparrow has a nightmare and wants to climb in next to him he can :(( 

- Lark listens to Welcome to Nightvale and The Penumbra Podcast

- His favorite color is green! 

- His favorite video game is Forager

- Lark LOVES My Hero Academia, also watches a lot of short underground anime. He rarely gets into the big names, but MHA grabbed him by the throat and said “You’re gonna have the duality of relating to Izuku AND Katsuki, deal with it” and he said “Yes, Mr. ADHD and Depression, sir!” 

- Lark listens Its Okay (To Punch Nazis) - Cheap Perfume on repeat because it scratches a good brain itch, also yeah, he’d clock a nazi without flinching. 

- He has a playlist on Spotify titled “feral baby man” and it’s just a bunch of songs he legally has to scream along with

- Similarly, he’s that one friend with way too many Spotify playlists and all of them have hyper specific purposes. 

- A collection of them are Stimmy Stimmy, Oh No Emotions, UWU Vibey Shit, Whoever Put Crack In These Songs, Thank You For Your Service, HOIST UP THE THIIIIIING, and more. 

- He says a bunch of Australian and Irish slang and NO ONE knows where he got it from. (His favorite thing is to drop a new one and watch the confusion. The best one yet is Grant’s reaction to ridgey-didge of just “Literally what the fUCK did you just say??????”) 

- He likes sewing 

- Surprisingly, he likes soft music as much as he does really attention grabbing stuff. One of his favorite bands is Sleeping At Last

- He likes to have jam sessions with Nick :(( 

- He has a little sister! She was bro when he was around thirteen, and her name is Piper 

- he’s the bEST big brother. Okay? He sits with his little sister in his lap in his highschool years as he does Homework and teaches her about math and English to help him study it better. 

- He also reads her bedtime stories

- HE KEEPS HIS HAIR REALLY LONG CAUSE HE LIKES TO BRAID IT WHEN HE GETS ANSY AND DOESN’T HAVE ANY STIM TOYS ON HIM SEND TWEET. 

This is all I have to give you on Lark at the moment. 

[talesmaniac89]

The Man in Apartment 43 - Part 18

Series Masterpost (Complete)

Summary: Dean x Reader - Neighbours AU - Dean and the reader live next door to each other and can’t stand each other. Will things change once circumstances bring this bartender and businessman duo closer together?

Triggers: Stalker, spying, cameras, violations of privacy, leering, talk of kidnapping and hostage situations, one man’s twisted view of religion (not meant to be taken as commentary against religion in any way, it’s just that the stalker has a strange obsession with it).

Y/N = Your name | Y/E/C = Your eye colour | Y/H/C = Your Hair Colour | Y/N/N = Your Nick Name

Start Here | Last Part | Next Part

Four Miles Away: He had just left the florist when his phone pinged with a notification. Making him balance the large bouquet in one hand as his other, shaking with withdrawal, fished for the burner in his pocket. The security notification alert on his phone made his brow furrow as he hastily swiped at the keypad to unlock it and check the cameras set up to record the stage he had painstakingly prepared for her.

The app was a last-minute addition to his little love nest. Just a way to watch her, his pretty little wife in her pretty little cage, if he’d ever have to leave their home to get supplies. Yet, he hadn’t thought it would ping now. Not when he’d yet to carry her beautiful body over the threshold and place her gently down on the sheets of their marital bed.

His bloodshot eyes darkened as he eyed the scene unfolding on the small screen. A scene so unlike what he’d ever wanted to see on the carefully planned stage he’d set up for her. It was supposed to be sensual. It was meant to be a record of their time together; a video of them becoming a family. Yet, instead it was becoming a damned police drama.

Uniformed officers were rifling through their home. Messing up the carefully laid out flowers and pulling at the pictures lining the walls of their one year together. He hadn’t counted on this… The police should be working on the side of good, yet they were helping that kidnapper – that monster.

Clearly the devil had them in his back pocket.

No matter… He would still get his wife. They would just have to find another place to call home. Maybe somewhere further away… Somewhere out in the woods; where they could be closer to God and nature.

Even if the police had found the home he had made for them, his plans wouldn’t change. How they had found it was something he could dwell on once she was safe and sound in his arms and his lips were tracing the delicate curve of her neck.

Yet, as he made his way towards his car, flowers carefully cradled against his chest, he watched as the cameras went dark with angry eyes before quickly turning off the phone and throwing it in a trashcan lining the busy street. Just in case they had some way of finding him through the unregistered phone.

The thought of the police rifling through his stuff made him sick to his stomach. He was itching with the pure need to rush to her. To rescue her before that damned kidnapper tightened his security around her further with more agents of evil. But he couldn’t rush. God was on his side and patience was a virtue.

He had to be patient.

He would get his wife. It had taken 11 days for the devil’s henchmen to find him. They weren’t moving fast enough to put a wedge in his plans. Even if they had everything in his apartment, the details were under lock and key or password protected. He would rescue his destined bride and be on his way out of Kansas in another 12 hours.

And there was nothing the devil, nor the police, could do to stop him.

--- 

Reader: A baby’s room. A fucking crib.

Even an hour after speaking to Sam, the thought of the final piece of information the young lawyer had been able to share still made you sick to your stomach. Brian had been planning for a family. With you playing the unwilling role of mother to his spawn.

Yet, even as the thought of cribs and baby clothes rested like a heavy rock in your stomach and kept the lake house stuck in a suffocating pressurized silence, you wouldn’t let yourself crumble past your initial sob. Whatever that son of a bitch had planned for you, it wouldn’t happen. You wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not anymore.

But, he was still out there somewhere.

You’d wanted to scream, or cry, in frustration when Sam first doused your hopeful flames with the news that Brian wasn’t in that hellish nightmare of an apartment. But, once the call was over, and silence settles once more in the lake house, only your sickened anger was left behind. If Brian wasn’t in the apartment, he could be anywhere.

Was he going after Gabe or Char? Or was he tracking down more of Dean’s family members? Was he digging up more information to add to the torment he’d been piling onto your neighbour turned superhero’s shoulders? For his sake, he’d better stay away from the people you cared about, including the people in Dean’s life. If he did anything at all to hurt any of them…

You’d kill him.

Of course, that little part of you that still wanted to believe in happily-ever-after’s hoped Sam and the police were right. That he was just out on some twisted errand that, for once, didn’t involve those dear to you… It was the middle of the day after all. Even if he was a fucking monster, he could still be out there somewhere, under the Kansas sun. Or, more fittingly, lurking in the shadows like the vermin he was.

Either way, no matter what that bastard was up to, once he came back to that hellhole of an apartment the police would be there to greet him. And he would be back. When Sam had said Brian had left everything, he’d meant it.

Shortly after Sam’s call, the police had called with an itemized list to check if anything in the nightmarish apartment belonged to you. The clerk on the other end had barely given you time to breathe as she read through the items they’d bagged and tagged. Each item had threatened to crumble what little was left of your sanity. Especially when delivered with the typewriter, clipped tone of professionalism from the woman on the other end.

Past your journals and some sets of lingerie, including a negligée you’d bought once only to bury it deep in your closet, that monster had also gotten his hands on some of your most precious items. Three of your favourite t-shirts were found along with some of your lounge shorts. And one of the few photo albums you owned had been buried among the countless albums with photos Brian had taken of you. Another piece of your past he’d effectively destroyed.

He’d even stolen some of your jewellery, all your favourite pieces, and some of your books. Again… It was all your favourites; bent at the spine and marked with all your notes so they were clearly yours and not just new purchases to match the ones on your bookshelves.

Every. Single. Item… Were all the things you’d littered apartment 42 with in hopes to make it feel like a home when you first moved in. And now they were all in police custody after Brian had decided to forcefully steal another part of you.

The list had made it clear once more how long Brian had been watching you. The things he’d brought, or at least the items that mattered, past the sickening fact that he’d been digging in your underwear drawer, were all the things you loved. The things that would come to mind if someone told you to pick just one bag of items to bring with you on an adventure.

It was like he’d already moved part of you into that sick hellish apartment.

And he’d left it all there. Which meant he was planning to go back, and most likely soon, since he had left flowers too, according to the clerk across the line. More of the same that had been left for you in apartment 42. Those had been your favourite at one point too… Though the thought of them, and the faint ghost of their sweet scent, now only made the bile rise in your throat as you fought the urge to be sick.

Yet another thing you loved, ruined by Brian.

By the time the woman on the other side of the call had gotten halfway through the list, you’d wanted her to stop. But she’d been unrelenting, and somehow her cool and professional tone had made every new bulleted item shift until it felt like an actual bullet was tearing through the white noise in your head and lodging even more shrapnel in your chest together with the pieces of your already shattered heart and mind.

The list had seemed endless, yet the call couldn’t have been more than four minutes max. Though her final blow as she revealed a little more of the ongoing case echoed in your jumbled mess of a brain even close to an hour after the phone call. Her clipped voice cutting deep with words she was most likely not supposed to actually share with you, if the way her cool tone slipped with a gasp once she realised her mistake was anything to go by.

“And the final item on the list, the computer, has been sent to Ms. Bradbury…”

The computer had been sent to Charlie and the person assigned to watch over her; Jody Mills. Completely bypassing all the normal checks in favour of having someone from the Cyber Crime Unit handle it. And, though the clerk on the other end of the line had managed to stop herself before explaining why, you knew why…

Time was of the essence. The police wanted to make sure they had more than enough to hold him on when they caught him. When, not if. You had to believe that. Brian had nowhere left to hide, and the police would find him. Especially if Char was on the case.

If she looked at his files; she’d find out everything he had planned. And, hell, any other possible hiding spots too. Even though the thought of your innocent best friend looking at Brian’s computer sickened you enough to dim some of the anger searing through you and piling on new bouts of guilt.

To help you, Charlie had to go through yet another piece of that madman’s sick and twisted brain. Who knew what she’d find there? Were there more pictures of you? Of her with you? Your heart ached from the thought of your best friend having to rifle through that trash. But you knew you couldn’t stop her.

Charlie would do anything to help you, just as you would for her. And she’d already gotten the cops one lead. Your geeky best friend had outperformed the whole fucking police force. Of course they’d rely on her when she offered up her help willingly.

With Charlie on the case, Brian would be caught. Either by returning home, or through Charlie tracing his movements.

That, paired with the fact that Brian had clearly planned to go back to the apartment, was enough to keep the fire in your gut going even through the fear for your friend’s innocence and the new layers of guilt trying to suffocate the angry flames. Hell, maybe it was foolish or selfish… But, you couldn’t help but feel hopeful. Some small part of you was already picturing those beady eyes behind bars as sticky fingers were kept away from you by steel and concrete.

Brian would be caught, and hopefully soon.

Until then you were left just… Waiting. Fighting the uncomfortable buzz in your body as your nerves turned to ash from the steady anger rolling off you in waves. Though, having Dean nearby helped. More than any tendrils of hope or lights at the end of endless tunnels. He was bright, he was real, and he was right there; keeping your head above water even though he didn’t have to.

The hand that had been clutching his phone to hide the terrifying constant rumble had let it fall back against the wood of the table once Brian’s text had slowed to a crawl before stopping completely. That same cage that had kept the angry, painful buzz of the phone at bay was now busy painting circles on your bare arm as he kept you wrapped up and safe. Soothing the worst of the fire searing through your dry sobs and evaporating the useless tears you’d wept over the last 11-day-long nightmare.

Charlie was on the case… Brian would be caught. And, by the end of this nightmare, you’d be fine. After all… The man from apartment 43; your very own superhero next door was, as usual, right beside you.

--- 

Two Miles Away: The banged-up Volvo moved frustratingly slow, and he still had a lot to do before night fell…

Even though the half-day he’d had seemed like a lot of time, everything was moving at an achingly sluggish pace without alcohol in his system to blur the lines. That, and he hadn’t realised how hard it would be to find the perfect gift for his (Y/N).

After all, what did you give to your destined bride after saving her from the devil? Well, he was already giving her the life he knew she was fated for; as his property. But past that and the flowers, he needed that one little extra thing to present her with; to bind her to him.

Still, he was nearly ready.

The flowers were resting securely in the backseat, already looking slightly wilted from the Kansas heat trapped between metal and pleather. He’d made sure his camera was fully charged, with extra memory cards and batteries all nestled in the camera bag that was riding shot gun with him; balanced on top of the occult book holding the secret to killing the devil. He’d already memorized the simple passage, but his mind wasn’t what it once was. And, without alcohol to jog his memory, he felt safer bringing it into battle.

And best of all, after what felt like endless searching, he had finally found his gift to her. One that had cost him more than he’d wanted to spend, considering they would be starting a family, but it was worth it. She would be worth it, if it meant it made her his. Like a brand or a chain; binding her to him for eternity on earth and in the heaven God would reward him with for following his orders.

It was perfect, just like she was, and he knew she would love it. He could already picture how her eyes would water with grateful tears and she’d finally smile at him.

Once she accepted his gifts, accepted him as her husband and protector, that smile would belong to only him. Lifting a shaky hand off the steering wheel he let it brush against the army surplus jacket he’d picked up for the war against that monster from hell. Patting over its many pockets to find where the small gift was nestled safely, heavy with fate and God’s will.

He was nearly ready.

Now he only missed one little thing, and he’d be able to turn his car towards where the devil was hiding his wife. At least… He was almost sure she’d be there. There were of course some minor uncertainties; a small chance he was wrong, and she wasn’t there at all. But… He’d looked everywhere else. She wasn’t with her friends, or even her co-workers…

Nor were any of the devil’s right-hand men and women hiding her. Castiel, Bobby, Sam... All of the demons surrounding her and trying to stop God’s plan were too cowardly to try and hide his bride in plain sight like that…

Even the devil, Dean Winchester’s, former victim was clean. Clearly she herself had become a demon after spending five years being brainwashed by that vile monster. That much he could tell just by his short interaction with her, where she’d shut the door in his face, as well as the people she surrounded herself with. But, she wasn’t hiding her former lover nor his newest victim. After all, even if she was evil, the devil had left her once he’d destroyed her life; after pretending for five years that he loved her.

A fate he’d make sure his (Y/N) wouldn’t have to suffer. He would save her before Dean Winchester, the devil incarnate, could turn her like he had his former victim turned “girlfriend”.

He just needed one more thing. Once he had it all; then all he had to do was wait. He’d need just a little bit more patience; and that slice of heaven that was her skin and sweet perfume would be his to indulge in forever. Just like God had promised him it would be.

Casting a blurry eyed look at the highway signs, he exhaled with a shake as a billboard came into view, offering up part of his salvation. Just a few more hours, just a few more miles, and she’d be his.

---

Dean: There was still no news from Sam and the police. At least not past the fucking barrage the police had piled onto her as they asked her to cut through all their damn bureaucratic red tape with the shards of her broken heart and the jagged edges of her destroyed, once-peaceful life.

The grating voice of the clerk on the other end of the line had nearly made Dean scream into the phone; not words, just something loud and feral. Just noise, anything, just to block out the sound of blow after blow being delivered as she dispassionately named the pieced of (Y/N)’s life that that fucking stalker had destroyed.

Dean wanted to believe no news was good news… Or at least not worse news. But he knew there was only one straight fact to take from the dragging radio silence; Brian wasn’t back yet.

Though he couldn’t help but cling to that yet. After all, Sammy had said he’d left everything behind, including several of (Y/N)’s items. That, paired with the crib in the other room, clearly signalled that the run-down little apartment was where he’d been planning to bring (Y/N) back to…

Fuck, even just the thought of that crib had Dean clenching his jaw to keep from dry heaving. He wanted to focus on the hope, on the possibility of this fucking nightmare being over soon. Yet, even just remembering Sam’s hesitant mention of baby clothes, blue paint and cribs sent him barrelling back into nausea and dark ‘what ifs’ that had him tightening his arm around her shoulder, just to make sure she was still there next to him. Smelling of sunshine, sugar and a possible future something.

What if he hadn’t made it in time that night? What if she’d walked across that dark parking lot alone only for that bastard to grab for her and bring her to his sick, disgusting love nest? Would he have gotten to her? Hell, would the police even have been able to find him if he had? After all, the only reason they found the address to that damned apartment was because of the constant barrage of emails to Dean’s business account and Charlie’s hacking skills.

Dean couldn’t stop the disgusted shiver that travelled up his spine and echoed like the ghost of a migraine in the back of his skull. Brian had been planning to start a family with (Y/N). And though he didn’t want to think about it, the fucking sickening images didn’t seem willing to listen to him as they flashed in his mind like a damned torrent. Images of (Y/E/C) eyes dull and lifeless, resigned to a life he didn’t wish on his worst enemy. Of ‘family’ pictures joining the many photos that damned stalker had already taken of her without her knowledge. Of children….

No, he couldn’t let himself linger on it. He had to stay strong, for her.

She was safe; all of those sickening what ifs would never happen. Dean had been there that night, and he’d been by her side nearly the whole time since. Hell, considering how even a minute away from her side had his breath catching in his throat and his heart hammering out of his chest, he didn’t think he could function without knowing she was one hundred percent safe.

(Y/N) was there, with him. Her (Y/E/C) eyes were burning with an angry searing fire and her hand was warm in his. She wasn’t in that sick cage, her eyes weren’t dull or empty. She was fighting, and she was safe. And there was no fucking way he’d ever let that monster touch even a hair on her head.

Even if he had to turn himself into a literal shield, he would keep her safe. He’d bring that beautiful smile from lazy days spent on the balcony of apartment 42 back. And if Brian tried to stop him… Hell, Dean didn’t know if he could stop himself from killing him.

---

Another hour had passed in tense, slightly hopeful silence as the sun moved lazily across the Kansas sky. Her body had started to relax against his, as her smaller fingers played with his. They didn’t speak much, past murmured reassurances and words of comfort and hope that seemed more likely now than they had since the whole fucking mess started.

But they didn’t need to speak. After their talk, the walls they’d both carefully cultivated over years of protecting their hearts seemed to have been knocked down. Or at least the cracks in the foundation was letting something seep through. Just little rays, small heartbeats, that functioned like Morse code. Making words superfluous as they gave Dean just a little glimpse of the woman under the angry punk music and midday brunches.

She was back. The violent shivers that had been near constant outside of their little escapes to the clearing that had quickly become theirs were a thing of the past. Replaced with strength and hope. And, as his phone buzzed against the wood of the living room table, Dean caught yet another glimpse of that strong woman that radiated this breath-taking newfound strength.

Just hour earlier, the buzz of the phone had been as violent as a gunshot, yet, now it only seemed to add fuel to the fire in her eyes. Her body straightening automatically as she watched Dean reach for the phone.

He fumbled with it a little, cursing his shaky, impatient hands as he held his breath in a silent prayer for good news. Would it be the police? Sammy? Did they have that fucking bastard behind bars? Swiping open his phone screen without even looking at it, Dean’s shaky hand blurred the icons on the screen just enough to cost him another second as he tried to make his fucking finger tap the messaging app.

Yet, as he finally managed to unlock the app, his breath stayed lodged in his throat as he furrowed his brow at the new message thread on his screen. It wasn’t a number he had saved. Which meant both the officer overseeing the case and Sam was out. This message was from someone else.

Hesitating for a second, Dean let his finger hover over the number, unsure if he wanted to open the pandora’s box that could be hiding behind the innocent numbers. Could it be Brian? Even as he held onto the phone two other messages were arriving in quick succession. That was Brian’s MO; a torrent of fucking texts in quick succession.

He’d been quiet for the last few hours, but that could have just been a ploy. Another way to shift her world further into imbalance, by giving her a semblance of peace and quiet before flooding her life in shadows and filth again. Had he just gotten himself another number to keep torturing her?

Sucking in a sharp breath, Dean let the fiery heat from her arm where she leaned against his urge him on. No matter what was hiding behind that number, they’d get through it. He would keep her safe. No matter what was hiding on the other side.

Tapping on the number with a little more force than necessary, Dean finally let his tense shoulders drop as he read over the three short messages. Not Brian. He’d completely forgotten that he’d asked Sammy to give his number to Charlie and Gabriel until that moment.

983-XXX-XXX Hey, your brother gave me your number and told me I could reach Y/N through you. Can I call?

983-XXX-XXX Oh, shit… It’s Charlie by the way. I forgot to say that. I’m sorry, I’m just kind of frazzled.

983-XXX-XXX Is frazzled a word? Nevermind… Forget me, forget that. Can I call you?

Next to him, Dean could hear the small exhaled ghost of a laugh leave the girl from apartment 42 as she read the words together with him. He’d only had the pleasure of meeting the fiery redhead that (Y/N) called her best friend once. But that, paired with endless balcony lunches, and stories shared in the forest clearing, made it very easy for Dean to read the words in her slightly higher pitched voice filled with untapped reserves of nervous energy.

As he allowed himself a small smile, Dean didn’t waste time responding to the message. After all, if Charlie was contacting (Y/N) directly, it had to be important. She had that bastard’s computer. And, fuck, whatever she’d found had to be either a new clue or real bad news if she was reaching out to him and her instead of Sam or the police.

Moving his thumb from where it was hovering over the reply window, he tapped the number itself instead. Throwing a small glance towards (Y/N) as he let his finger hover over the call option. It was her best friend, but he still couldn’t stop himself from just checking with her first. To make sure she was bracing herself for whatever new revelations waited on the other side of that phone call, good or bad.

Wetting dry lips, Dean opened his mouth only to shut it wordlessly a few times. Trying, and failing, to find the words he wanted that could convey everything he wanted to say. So instead he settled on the softest way of wording the direct questions, his thumb still shaking above the call button.

“Should I call her? Are you alright?” He asked, voice cracking slightly from underuse as he ended the nearly whispered words by clearing his throat.

“Yeah… I mean yes, please call her. It’ll be nice hearing her voice again, no matter how fucked up that sounds considering she’s probably not calling to schedule a lunch date,”(Y/N)’s words were followed by a humourless laugh as she tore her eyes off the phone to meet with his. A million little what ifs and possible reasons for the call floating behind (Y/E/C) eyes and mixing with the liquid fire in those deep pools.

“Do you… Do you want to talk to her in private?” Dean knew he was stalling as he hesitated; moving his thumb away from the call button and instead holding the piece of plastic out to her like a peace offering.

Though the question was a valid one. The red head was her best friend. Dean barely even knew her. Yet, this time (Y/N) didn’t take the phone. Choosing instead to keep her fingers curled around his free hand and the other one holding onto the soft fabric of the couch. Steeling herself for whatever Charlie had found on the computer.

“No, it’s fine. You can put her on speaker. Whatever Char has found, it involves the both of us,” She said instead with a small shake of her head underlining the words as her hand squeezed his in a mix of reassurance and trepidation.

“Alright… As long as you’re sure,”

“I am Dean… I mean, I already brought you into this fucked up mess. You deserve answers just as much as I do,” (Y/N)’s voice was shaking, nearly breaking, over the words. Some of that former guilt that he’d been so happy to see her let go of rising to the surface to lace her words in toxic self-hatred and shame.

The mix of her shaking voice and words that sounded like shackles and chains was enough to make Dean’s hand fall a little, the phone still clutched tight in it as he shifted on the couch to face her. Turning his focus off of the piece of plastic and back to the beautiful, fragile woman next to him. This time the words came easy, fuelled by the pure sincerity that coloured every single syllable.

“Hey… I want to be here. Ok? No one’s forcing me,” He said, catching and holding her eyes with his when she tried to make her head fall in undeserved shame.

“I know, I just…” Her voice was barely a whispered sigh, mumbled more than spoken as she refocused her attention on her fingers on his skin; painting little circular patterns over his knuckles.

“I want to be here with you (Y/N), there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here,” Hell, before he spoke the words, Dean hadn’t realised how true they really were. There was nowhere else he’d rather be. Sure, it was a fucking living nightmare, but she was there, and that meant he needed to be there too.

Tugging on their interwoven fingers, Dean managed to catch a flash of those (Y/E/C) eyes for long enough to give her a careful smile. One that thawed some of the ice-cold dread on her own features as she wet those beautiful plump lips that Dean once more found himself aching to taste, like a man addicted. Though he knew it wasn’t the right time, not when that monster was still out there. So instead he satiated himself with the sweet honey of her voice as she finally seemed to believe him.

“Thank you,” Her voice was still just a whisper, but the tension and guilt had drained from it, leaving just her; just his fierce but fragile girl next door.

“I’ll call her then… Alright?” Dean checked again, though no longer as hesitant as he threw her another quick small smile. Happy when she returned it with one of her own, a little stronger, yet still nowhere near as radiant as he knew they could be when they knocked the wind out of him and left him reeling with his pulse through the roof.

“Yeah, thanks Dean… Really,”

Dean let the thumb of his free hand paint small circles against the back of her hand as he raised the phone back up and quickly pressed the call option; switching the phone to speaker just as the first ring permeated the air around them.

---

“(Y/N)? You there?” Charlie answered on the second ring, clearly waiting by her phone for their answer. Which made Dean feel slightly guilty for letting the seconds drag on as he hesitated over the call option. By the flustered shake to her voice across the line, he already knew whatever news she had wouldn’t be good news.

She sounded breathless, scared, as her breathing cracked through the speaker and every word ended in a shake. Whatever she’d found, it had to be bad. And Dean found himself automatically regretting making the call in the first place.

“I’m here Char… Dean too. We have you on speaker,” (Y/N) spoke up before Dean could tap out of whatever new nightmares were about to be forced down their throats. Hell, even if he could have stopped it all, he wouldn’t. No matter how much he wished to remain clueless of what was hiding on that sick fuck’s computer, if it could help them find him, then he’d swallow down the bile and anger, and listen. After all, Charlie was the one who was really faced with it; and if she could be strong in the face of it, then they had to be as well.

“Ok… Good. I mean, not good. There’s nothing good about this… This bastard. But. you both need to hear this,” Charlie sighed into the phone, sounding slightly far away as her words were accompanied with the clacking of fast fingers on keys. Clearly she had them on speaker as well and was still digging through whatever files and pictures Brian had on (Y/N). Hell, that monster probably had files on all of them by now. Considering how much he’d learned about Dean.

“What’s up Charlie? Did you find a new clue?” (Y/N) pressed after a few moments of silence with only the sound of fingers on keys filling the tense quiet of the lake house. Her hand squeezing his as she rolled her shoulders in hoped of alleviating some of the tension in them while she waited for a reply.

“Yes… No… I mean I did manage to access his computer. His password was… Easy to guess,” Charlie’s words were scattered and mixed up. The same hesitant tinge to them that Dean recognized from Sammy was just as audible in her voice as her fingers clearly paused over the key, making the heavy silence even heavier now that there was no background noise to drown out the pressure of static, vacuous dead air.

His password…

Dean wasn’t a computer expert. Hell, Sammy had always been better at that than him, though he himself was decent enough. Yet, Charlie didn’t need to spell it out. The way her voice dipped in disgust could only mean one thing. Whatever his password was, it was tied to the woman next to him. Maybe her name, or her birthdate. Just another little reminder of his obsession.

“I’m sorry Charlie…” Next to him (Y/N) was folding in on herself, making herself smaller as her voice shook in barely veiled guilt from hearing the disgust in her best friends voice.

Shit, Dean had been so focused on what pain and torment Brian could affect next that he hadn’t realised how much the sound of her best friend’s voice could make the chains and shackles return. Pushing her back down into that darkness just when she’d found her strength.

Yet, before he could even fully catch her eyes with his, to silently lift the burdens back off of her shoulders, the woman on the other end of the line pushed them away with a few high pitched, yet domineering words.

“Don’t you dare apologise! I want to help you (Y/N). Even if it means digging through his filth,” Charlie huffed, her fingers resuming their steady clack on the keyboard, though with what sounded like a little more added force on each push of a key. Taking out her frustrations, which clearly mirrored Dean’s, on the blameless keyboard.

Dean could see (Y/N) didn’t fully buy into her best friends words. Mulling them over with (Y/E/C) eyes darkening as she opened and closed her trembling lips soundlessly as she searched for other words to vocalize her regret and guilt. So, before she found them, Dean spoke up. Preferring to move forward before the woman from apartment 42 could try and reclaim all the heavy burdens that had been unjustly placed there by a fucking monster.

“Did you find anything?” He cringed slightly at the volume of his rushed words, unconsciously raising his voice a little just to make sure he spoke up over whatever extra blame (Y/N) tried to assign herself. The added power making her jump a little in her seat before she fell back against the cushions and leaned back against his arm with a small wry smile; clearly catching on to his very obvious attempt to stop her from apologizing any more than she already had.

“Hi Dean. And yeah, I found a lot. His other computer was mainly scrubbed before he left it behind, but it seems like he transferred it all to a cloud server first,” Charlie’s voice was back to its same breathless shaking, but it sounded lighter. Happy in the fact that her best friend hadn’t blamed herself even more.

“I didn’t even have to go looking, it’s all on his dash. It’s just a mess of picture files and folders. And…” The tech genius on the other line was rambling, nearly hyperventilating, as she barely stopped to breathe between the words. Only allowing herself small gasps as papers and the heavy click of fingers on keys filled the space between her words.

“It’s… It’s not good guys. Fuck, excuse my language, but it’s not good. I feel dirty just touching his computer. Even though it’s a good brand. Latest model, easy to work with, good CPU…” She seemed ready to list off the whole model number, and capabilities of the machine as she stopped for a barely-there gasp of air. Yet, before she could, (Y/N) spoke up, a small wry smile on her lips from what Dean guessed was quite normal behaviour from the redhead.

“Char…” The woman next to him chuckled with a shake of her head that teased a small smile out of Dean, though it barely even showed through the way his jaw stayed clenched in trepidation; waiting for the next bomb to drop. And he fucking knew it would drop. The fear and disgust in Charlie’s voice was growing again, increasing in small increments with every new syllable.

“I’m sorry. I’m rambling aren’t I? Yeah… It’s just… I don’t know how to say it,” Across the line, the techy genius finally allowed herself a proper breath of air as she sighed into the phone. Her voice fading into a weak whisper by the end of her admission as she hesitated over pulling that trigger, just like Dean had done, time and time again whenever he had to deliver bad news (Y/N)’s way.

“Just breathe, take it one step at a time,” (Y/N)’c voice still held the ghost of laugh as she spoke up. The way the clearly familiar phrase rolled out effortlessly hinted that they were words she’d had to say to her slightly hyperactive friend more than once.

“Easier said than done. Everything is just a mess. He had no system at all. Which is surprising. I thought madmen were supposed to have systems. I just want to delete everything,” The shudder in Charlie’s voice was audible as she spoke up again, but her words were no longer as frantic, and her breath had evened out as she followed her best friend’s prompting.

“He has pictures. There’s so many pictures. And that’s just what’s on the machine itself, I’m seeing traces of earlier logins to the cloud storage he probably used to transfer the files. I’m trying to crack it now. Maybe if I could find out more...” The redhead’s words faded out to be replaced with more hurried typing as (Y/N) shifted next to him, the guilt clearly still weighing heavy on her by the way she was clutching his hand to keep from falling apart.

“Are you alright Char? You don’t have to… I mean the police could look through it,” (Y/N) waited a beat before speaking up. But when Charlie stayed quiet on the other end of the line, she offered up a lifeline Dean himself considered reaching out with. Hell, that fiery redhead was stronger than he was. He doubted he would have been able to look through whatever was hiding on that hard drive without sending the machine flying against the nearest wall.

Yet, by the sheer force of Charlie’s next words, it was clear she wouldn’t accept any lifeline offered up to her. No matter how much she clearly hated having to dig through Brian’s sick mind.

“No! No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting… There’s a lot of pictures of you and me on here (Y/N), and files… He’s got a file on everyone. Just a messy folder with notepad entries, pictures and whatever else he’s managed to dig up on them. He has one with my name too, haven’t opened that one yet. I don’t think I can… I mean it’s my name. Not Charlie, but my actual name. I don’t even know how he found that,”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry Charlie…” (Y/N)’s gasp was followed by another apology seeped in unwarranted guilt as she squeezed Dean’s hand a little harder. Without even thinking, he tugged on their interwoven hands pulling her even closer before untangling his fingers from her to wrap his arm around her shoulder instead. He couldn’t do much, but even if it was useless, he wanted to lift the burdens off her shoulders. To cradle her close and protect that weak little flame of strength and anger that had started burning in her eyes.

“I can handle it (Y/N). If it’s to put this sick bastard behind bars, then I can handle anything… Just… Don’t tell the cops about the name ok? I have to delete it. Oh! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be rambling. I know I shouldn’t. You’re already dealing with so much and…”

“Don’t say that Char. You’re my best friend and I’d kill him rather than let him hurt you,”

Just as quickly as the fire dimmed in her eyes, it was back with a vengeance at even the thought of her friend hurting. Her small shoulders tensed under his arm as she let her trembling fingers dig into the couch cushion. Not to keep herself from drowning, no… By the waves of protective anger rolling off of her, Dean knew she was holding herself back. Just barely stopping herself from raging at an unfair world and finding that damned bastard to hurt him instead. Just like Dean himself had been barely restraining himself for the better part of 11 days.

“I know (Y/N/N), I’ve seen your right hook, you’d take him in a fight, no questions asked. But I called for a reason, and yet here I am wasting precious minutes unloading on you,” Across the line Charlie sighed as the frantic typing died down and was replaced with the scrape of a chair against wood. The redhead’s voice becoming clearer as she took the phone off speaker, presumably to pace the floor if the still frantic pitch to her voice was anything to go by.

“It’s fine Charlie…” (Y/N) kept her voice low and soothing, the honey smooth delivery calming even the wild storm in Dean’s chest as he held her closer and let his lips rest against the crown of her (Y/H/C) hair. Finding comfort in the fact that she was safe in his arms, paired with the sweet sugar that was her voice, for once free of fear or panic. Even though he knew it was most likely just an act to help calm her frightened friend.

“No it’s not… I mean time is of the essence. At least I think it is. The police… The cops already know, but I still need to make sure you know too. Even if the boys in blue told me not to tell you since they think they’ve got it all under control,” Charlie’s words were lower, the hesitation back as Dean’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach, leaving him nauseous as he held onto (Y/N)’s small body.

If the police didn’t want them to know, but Charlie still reached out… It had to be something big, and whatever it was, he wasn’t sure he was ready. Not with how unease and fear surged through his body with just the mention of new developments. Still, as he felt more than heard the woman from 42 take a sharp breath next to him, he gritted his teeth and finally spoke up. Taking over the conversation, just to let her breathe a bit as her whole body tensed in preparation for whatever fucked up news Charlie was about to share.

“What did you find?” He hated how shaky and breathless his own voice sounded, but he pushed through it. Clenching his jaw as he felt her shift in her seat until her cheek was once more pushed against his chest and she hid some of her own worst fears in his heartbeat.

What new bomb did Brian have prepared for her next? It could be anything.

Did he have video as well as the endless number of pictures? Had he tracked down her family members, even if they were away from their home? Hell, was there a third fucking apartment out there somewhere? Though the frantic redhead had said a lot, she hadn’t said nearly enough. Nothing that gave Dean any way to brace himself for the bad news he knew was coming, or any way to shield the strong, yet fragile woman in his arms.

“I started with the folders on you Dean, since (Y/N)’s was… It was just too big. And…” Charlie’s voice was picking up speed and volume again as Dean shook his head uselessly at the phone, as if the tech genius on the other end could somehow see them through the piece of plastic.

Yet, this time he didn’t let her rant, nor leave it up to (Y/N) to calm her down. Fuelled by the fact that the news, whatever it was, had clearly been found in his folder and an overwhelming need to just… Get answers. Before the endless possible answers supplied by his overactive mind swallowed him whole.

“Please Charlie. If it’s urgent…” Dean’s words were clipped at the end from how his jaw constricted around them. His mind was screaming at him to push more, hell, to demand an answer if that’s what it took. But the combination of the frightened woman across the line and the fragile strength cradled in his arms kept him in control as he urged on the redhead as gently as he could.

“In your folder Dean, there’s an address. I think it’s…. There’s an address and a screenshot of a map named ‘RoadTrip.jpeg’,” Charlie’s words jumbled at the end as she rushed through them. And though he had a budding feeling of dread in his stomach, Dean wouldn’t let himself act on it. Not until he was sure it meant what he thought it meant. Even as (Y/N) stopped breathing in his arms, suffocating a voiceless scream against the now once again tearstained cotton of his t-shirt.

“What do you mean Charlie?” He pushed, though in his mind he was already planning his next steps, as he knew what that damned map and address had to mean. Even if he had no fucking clue how that fucking monster got his hands on it.

“I mean… I’m not sure, but I think he knows where you are… And there’s a chance he’s headed there right now,” As Charlie proved his hunch right, Dean barely heard her through the rumble of anger that was loud in his ears from the blood rushing to his head.

Brian knew where they were.

Start Here | Last Part | Next Part

Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler  @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @starsandmidnightblue @screechingartisancashbailiff @punof-agun 

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @winchest09 @hobby27  @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sea040561 @donnaintx @alwaysdreamingforthebest  @thatmotleygirl @chocolateheart @superfanficnatural @flamencodiva @starryeyeseunbyul @waywardbeanie @supernaturalenchanted @ellewritesfix05 @emoryhemsworth @malfoysqueen14 @gladiosamicitias

The Man in Apartment 43 Tags: @campingmonkey @talia-ciufo @monkeymcpoopoo @deans-baby-momma @kalesrebellion @sarahpunkinator @smokinserious @cookiechipdough @winchestergirl82 @babykalika2001 @bagpussjocken @faded-blue @thefridgeismybestie @pinknerdpanda @strangersstranger @zombiecupcake29 @that-one-gay-girl​ @the-lost-wanderer-of-the-night @ceisbill​@justaparttimeauthor​ @t1his-is-my-life-story​ @elliloumom​

[ilkkawhat]

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Nick Stokes & Cassie McBride, Nick Stokes & Sara Sidle Characters: Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, Cassie McBride Word Count: 3,059 Additional Tags: Angst, Episode: s06e05 Gum Drops, Rescue, Father-Daughter Relationship, Adoption, Possible new fic series??? who knows it's 2021 anything can happen Summary: A brief dive into Nick's feelings surrounding Cassie's rescue, and what may have happened to her afterwards.

read on ao3

“Let me out.” 

He couldn’t say the words at the time. Could only choke out a literal cry for help, though there were plenty of words that his brain was firing—and missing—but those three words in particular were just some of the few pleading thoughts he had while he was still enclosed in a glass coffin—one that was ready to collapse at any given second—why didn’t they see that? Why did they all stand on top of it? Why didn’t they open it immediately just to give him some air, just brush the damn ants off, no extinguisher needed.

He didn’t understand why it took so long to get him out. 

To rescue him. 

Maybe it’s cause that’s not what they do. They never really get to, always showing up when the rescue fails.

Or when it never arrives in the first place.

So they don’t really know how to rescue someone. Scramble around because they’re used to placing evidence markers and taking pictures, and unless it’s raining there’s really no rush because well, what’s the need?

And it hadn’t been known to him at the time that they were indeed aware the fan was going to die, that he was going to run out of air—he could only hope the desperation in his screams would tell them that, the ignored cry for help as they all left the hole, left him. 

Did they just assume because the unearthed the coffin that he would suddenly be able to breathe even with the condensing, scratched kept closed? Figure, “we still have another hour or so until the air runs out entirely , maybe even more since he’s not actively breathing.”

He didn’t understand their odd sort of...patience with the situation. Even Grissom took the time to calm him down before the lid was opened. 

His patience, however, in this rescue mission he’s taken upon himself despite Sara’s warnings, her doubt that it may not have a happy ending; is completely gone.

He’s not had any sleep since they started the case. Granted, he’s not had much sleep at all in the past five months but his senses are as sharp as ever, his eyes hyper focused looking for anything that doesn’t belong in the lake’s waters or forested banks. 

Like the body of a little girl.

Or more gum drops.

He almost thinks he sees a trail of them floating in the disturbed water as they pass through, beacons of lights waving over—though he feels like he’s doing a better job than the supposed actual patrolman operating the boat. He’s waving his flashlight all around him, while theirs seems to remain still. 

Then again, he’s the one acting like he’s going to “rescue a person, not recover a body.”

Yes, he knows that’s not usually the case.

He remembers being on the other end of that ray of light searching for a lost soul, remembers how close he was to losing his life, hanging by a last thread that was about to snap—how that light was really a rescue in itself in the darkness that entrapped him. His only light had been shot out to keep himself alive, only a dim green glow to remind him where he was. 

Sara’s words continue to echo, their conversation playing on a loop as that small part of his brain tries to convince him not to get his hopes too high.

But luckily, he proves himself wrong.

“Stop the boat,” Nick commands, his light shining on another fragile thread, one he hopes is not already broken.

“Stop the boat,” he repeats as he throws off his hat to get full view, tossing it aside and nervously gripping the flashlight in his hand. His heart hasn’t raced this fast since it nearly burst in the box.

“Let me out,” he echoes, but it’s not a broken plea. It’s a determined one. He’s not even going to wait for the boat to stop, his legs are itching to run to the pair he sees sticking out between the branches. A pair of shoes small enough for a ten year old girl.

“Let me out,” he says again but he doesn’t wait for any sort of response, nor was he asking for one. If anything, it was for himself. The permission to take the plunge as he jumps out of the boat, not even caring if the water is still deep. He runs as fast as he can through the water and as he approaches his heart soars before it shatters when his light shines onto what he immediately assumes is a corpse. 

There’s a slice on her neck, the classic slit of the throat that would kill anybody within seconds.

Her skin is pale, far too pale to still be alive though sure, it’s cold enough that his own skin is paling too, even more than that, it’s shaking. Is she shaking as his fingers press against her skin, or is it just him?

There’s still a pulse. It’s weak, it’s fading, but it’s there. Or is it the pulse that’s beating out of his own fingers?

There’s still rope around her wrists. Why would she leave it on?

There’s still a piece of gum in her hand, the final breadcrumb that she wasn’t able to put down because this is her resting place. Her premature grave.

But there’s still life in her yet, because like Nick, she’s a survivor. 

And she’s being rescued. 

“Hang on, baby,” he whispers as his soaked hand strokes her dry, matted hair. “I got you. You’re going to be okay.”

He hears the patrol call for the paramedics. They attempt to move her but Nick advises against it. 

At least, not immediately. 

And this is the part he hates the most, that he hated the most when he was the victim. 

Click. Flash. 

The picture of the living dead girl, another for the red room of his own photography of death and violence that haunts his dreams.

He mentally places it next to the picture of himself that he accidentally saw in Grissom’s office one day. 

A morbid sense of hope washes over him; if he was rescued from a horrific crime and has been able to go back to his job—back to his life, there’s hope for Cassie, too. 

Right?

The paramedics were not too far behind, and he had almost hoped that the flash from the camera may have shocked Cassie back to a full state of being. Crying and in deliriously tremendous shock, maybe, like he was when he was rescued; but in the same way as a baby cries when its born, it would be a comforting sign of life while this, right here is just...tragic? Hopeless? Despair? 

He doesn’t know what he really expected, as this rescue is less triumphant than he thought it would be after everything that led to this moment. It feels more...depressing, like they’re still somehow too late. Perhaps it’s due to how he seems to be the only one driven enough, how there was almost a suffocating amount of people crowding his scene. 

Cassie, on the other hand, has nobody.

Nobody but him.

He rides back with her, holding that same hand still clutching her last candied beacon of hope and he can’t tell if it’s still water dripping off of his face, or if tears are streaming as he remembers how his hand was held, how his family—both blood and found—were there for him. How they comforted him. Soothed him. Reassured him that this would never happen again. 

Kept telling him that he wasn’t actually dead.

He texts Sara and Greg, tells them he got her. Being the lead on the case, he instructs them on what to do yet somehow, he feels like he’s lost that role having abandoned them for his own selfish savior complex. 

They still do what he asks anyway.

When they get to the hospital, he’s turned away, because he’s not family. He’s shaking but not just from the cold of his wet clothes slapping against his skin, but from the anger as he lashes out, telling them she doesn’t have any, not anymore, and she needs someone. They express their “sympathy” but the best they agree to is calling him when she’s out of surgery.

He makes more calls, wondering who can be there for her, is there any family left? 

There’s not. 

Sara brings him a new change of clothes. Fresh pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie that he packed for the nights. He’s glad she chose that, as he hunches over in the waiting room. 

“She’s got nobody, Sar,” he sniffles, rubbing his hands together. Even the fourth cup of coffee still hasn’t warmed him up. “Who’s...Who’s gonna take care of this little girl?”

“You know what’s going to happen,” Sara sighs. “She’ll end up in the system.”

“Is it...is it bad?” he dares to ask, knowing he’s crossing a line, he doesn’t meet her eyes when he asks it. Just stares into the swirling black sea between his hands.

“Is what bad?” she puts a hand on his back, sliding up and down beneath the hood. 

“The...the adoption system. Just bein’...passed around like that. Thrown into an already established family, not sure if you’re gonna…”

“Fit in?”

Nick nods.

“It’s...it’s not easy. Doesn’t always happen right away, and when it does, it can...it can be a gamble. You know that well enough from the things we see.”

“Yeah,” he nods into his chest. 

They sit in silence for few more minutes.

“You don’t hafta be here, ya know,” he shrugs. “G’s already halfway back to Vegas.”

“I know.”

“A-And Grissom’s flight probably landed, he might have more cases to assign.”

“I’m not the only CSI he’s got,” Sara smirks. 

“Gonna be a while till she gets outta surgery, so they tell me at least.”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

“Nah,” he pulls a face. “I just...I hope you’re not doing this cause…”

“Go on, say it. Cause I feel guilty?”

“That’s...not...but sort of…” he mumbles.

“I don’t feel...guilty. It feels good to have found her alive. I didn’t want her to be dead, Nick.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“And I don’t want you to...to be so hurt every time something like this...happens. You’ve changed, Nick and I can’t...I don’t know if it’s necessarily for the better.”

He finally meets her eyes. His face pale, wet and weary. Dark circles under his eyes that he typically conceals with a light coating of makeup, cause he knows people will just worry. His hair’s dried now, sticking up in all directions. 

Anybody would think, and the patrons of the hospital most certainly do at this point, and even Sara seems to think that he’s nothing more than a broken mess.

He’s not. 

“I think it is,” he tells her in a surge of confidence in his voice.

He expects her to be mad.

Instead, she smiles at him with pride. 

“Well...seems like you might be right. I know this case kind of...got under our skins a bit but...I think you did a good job,” Sara tells him, and with a final press to his shoulder to keep him grounded and humble, she walks away, knowing before he even tells her what he’s about to do as she passes by a father walking with a small girl through the entrance to the hospital.

That’s when his mind is made up and he makes more calls, talks to more people including the child services agent assigned to Cassie’s case. He finishes paperwork for the case file, and for an application. He knows it’s going to take time to get approved, just as its going to take time for Cassie to recover enough for him to even...ask her if that’s something she would...want. 

And that’s when the doubts sink in, what if she doesn’t want that? Doesn’t want him? She doesn’t even know him, all he is to her is the guy that found her. And he would understand better than anybody else the mistrust in strangers. And even if he’s a member of law enforcement, a public servant, somebody you’re supposed to be able to trust, what if he would just...mess it all up? Would it even work with his schedule? Unless he started taking more time off, he supposes. Less voluntary overtime—though Ecklie’s trying to cut down on that anyway. 

The fears don’t settle, even with all the votes of confidence he receives from nearly everybody who accounts for him as a person worthy of being a father. 

But more than that, he’s afraid of being a replacement to her, instead of what he really hopes to be; a connection. 

And when he gets the card that she hand-draws for him, that fear goes away.

He doesn’t get to see her right away after the surgery, but the minute visiting hours open up again, he walks to the room with a case file in hand. He does his best to keep himself together, but shows the cracks as he can’t hide his empathy for her pain, though he doesn’t allow himself to fully cry and make her feel even worse. 

Instead, he does what he’s always done best, and listens to her. Holds her arm and keeps her grounded, too, and she gets more and more confident as she continues to talk—though some parts are harder than others. 

“You’re doing great, sweetheart, go on,” he encourages her with a smile. 

They take breaks for her to rest her vocal chords. When her voice goes out, she uses the notepad and he waits patiently, letting her lead their conversation.

She’s just as smart as Nick expected, asking her own questions and discussing the pictures of evidence in the folder. While he’s never quite been a teacher, she’s the best student he’s ever had.

When the story is done, she loses composure and he sits on the edge of the bed, hugging her as her fists ball the sweatshirt stained with tears. 

“You are so brave, Cassie. You are the bravest little girl I’ve ever met,” he comforts her, silent tears streaming down his own face and falling into the same dry, matted hair as they did before. 

She doesn’t say much after that, but when she calms down enough and visiting time comes to an end, she asks one final question that he knew was coming, yet was still unprepared for.

She can’t even say the words. Writes it on another page in the notebook.

“What’s going to happen to me now?” 

He still doesn’t know if he was the right person to answer this question, if this was something that her counselor should answer but he’s both too excited and too anxious to keep waiting.

“Well, honey, you’re...you’ll be going with Ms. Nancy, you met her, she’s going to take you to a place that’s...that’s like a hotel, u-until you can find a new family…” He doesn’t feel confident in his explanation, winces in expecting her to lash out, “I don’t want a new family!” which is exactly what he reads on her face as the crayon rolls from her hand.

“And I...sort of threw my name into the hat, that you could come stay with me, but only if you wanta—”

“I’d like that,” she nods, and smiles.

“Really?”

She nods again more fervently.

“I wanted to keep it a surprise,” a voice startles Nick, the aforementioned counselor he had been consulting with enters the room with a wide smile on her face. “Before you came by, I had a moment with Cassie and discussed it. There’s still some hurdles of paperwork to go through, but by the time she’s out of the hospital, she can go to her new home. With you.”

“That’s...That’s wonderful,” he cries, quickly wiping his tears but they don’t stop coming, especially not when Cassie reaches for his wrist and pulls him back to the bed, reaching out in the same way he reached out to his own surrogate father when he was brought back from the brink of despair. 

That’s what he wanted to happen, at least.

“What’s going to happen to me now?” 

It’s the same question he asked himself when he woke up in the hospital in the restrained trance, tied up in tubes and wires, fearful that he would never return to his life as it was before—and in a way, he never would. There’s pieces of Nick that are still buried, just as there are pieces of Cassie dropped along the trail of gum.

“I don’t know,” he tearfully admits. His application was still in process. The child services counselor, while holding respect for him did seem to kind of...judge him for being so desperate about this. Suspicious, even. He knows everybody would attest to his character but knows that he’s still bogged down with a lot of baggage, no matter how well he’s doing on his journey through this life.

He’s uncertain of the future, both his and Cassie’s, but one thing he is certain of—

“No matter what happens,” he holds her arm again, uses his other hand to brush the hair out of her face, cup her cheek. “Where you go, who you end up with, I will always be there for you, okay? You can call me anytime you need—”

He digs out his own card, not hand drawn and just adorned with his job title and phone number, and knows it’s not much to offer to someone who’s just lost everything, but knows the weight of what he does offer, in two words that he once vowed to his own savior.

“I promise.”

Cassie may not understand all of what’s going on between the shock and her inexperienced age, but she does seem to understand what a promise is, and what a promise means. 

She puts her hand on top of Nick’s, and even though she’s said it before in writing, she says it again out loud with the biggest show of strength he’s seen in any survivor, not even in himself.

“Thank you.”

[spongebob-connoisseur]

i think people need to realize that hillenburg meant he didn’t see spin offs happening anytime soon during the time of that quote while hillenburg knew of kamp koral i have this itching feeling that he appointed waller to help out with spin offs because he knew no matter what nick would still try to milk out the series after his death and wanted to appoint someone he trusted while this could be false as we don’t know the whole story and i say it’s too soon to say the spin off will be bad or good or just mixed we need to be respectful of the cast and crew as they could still love this even if may not turn out great i just wish nick would stop killing off or not greenlighting potentially good shows

the future of spongebob is really filled with uncertainty i can see it lasting for many more years or just being announced to end next year

spongebob like you said in a previous post is not the same as it started and i agree, i love all the seasons in spongebob even the middle era seasons, they are flawed, but a guilty pleasure for me as i grew up with them as a kid, but idk the newest season just doesn’t hit the same anymore? i know i grew up but i still liked 9 to 11 but 12 just seems eh to me now? but that’s my opinion

i know am a sourpuss in this situation compared to the other spongebob fans being more optimistic, but if people are generally happy and excited about the current state of the series good for them enjoying something 😄 i am in no postition to judge others what they like

I wanted to reply to this sooner but couldn't get to it. Sorry this is so late!!!

But I really agree with you. I get tired running into videos and posts on literally every social media platform about kamp koral. The constant spread of misinformation and even if you have the facts to say "hey that's not true" it's like talking to a brick wall. They all think it's fake. I was pretty skeptical and against kamp koral initially but things change ya kno?

Tbh I do agree that it sounds like Hillenburg put Waller in charge of the show so when Nick has any future plans with the show, he'd be able to steer it into the right direction at least. If Hillenburg trusts him with the series then I can't really complain about if he'd really approve of it or not. I'm not sure about it and I feel a little weird about talking about what Hillenburg would have wanted and wouldn't have wanted.

It feels like a weird line about someone's personal thoughts and opinions and there's no proper way to verify hence why I'm tired about talking about Kamp koral and spin offs and whatever. It feels a little too personal. And I don't know a thing about him. None of us do. We never met him. He's his own person separate from his creation and so are the people who work on spongebob.

But we should be respectful of the people who work on the show since they're just trying to get by.

Don't worry! I get what you mean. A lot of people like the middle era. There are good episodes and I feel like it got judged waaay too harshly. Even though I'm not much of a fan of it. There's a lot of gems and people really liked to over hate it for nothing. Nostalgia is one hell of a drug.

And I get what you mean by the new episodes. Its a fairly common criticism about it and even I can admit it's can be a little extreme at times. I don't think you're a sourpuss for feeling that way! Everyone has a different opinion and yours is valid and I appreciate hearing it. What matters is being respectful and you are very respectful and nice! I enjoyed reading this and sorry I replied so late!

[peter-pan-on-neverland]

A Little Game

Request: Can you write an imagine for spin the bottle with Felix please 😭❤ the headcanon was so perfect I died🥵😍😍😍 But Felix is more like the violent ruthless second in command so everyone is S H O C K E D when you two actually kiss. (And maybe the other lost girls, if there are any, are even scared of Felix) He doesn't talk much but later approaches you and maybe some smut happens????🤷‍♀️❤❤❤

Pairings: Felix x reader

Warnings: smut ;) 

The night was like any other, lost boys cheered and danced wildly around the roaring flames of the camp fire, the heat of it so strong I could feel it tickle my face. Shouts of happiness and cheers of joy filled my ear as I sat silently on a cold log, watching the boys have their fun while I was at a distance. I was never one for dancing, I would always freeze up or grow embarrassed, worrying about weather I was doing it wrong or if the boys would all start laughing at me.

The sharp sound of a whistle cut through the air, causing everyone to come to a halt.

"Boys." The mischievous, familiar voice of the leader spoke up, "how about we play a game?"

All the boys growled in excitement, cheering and hollering at the thought.

"Truth or dare!"

"Capture the flag!"

“Seven minutes in Haven!”

“Hide and Seek!”

They all started to bombard the brown haired boy with suggestions, desperately trying to come up with a good game to play.

Silently, the tall, dark figure which loomed close to the king turned on his heels, bending down and fishing a shiny object out of the lush green bushes. He rolled it around in his large hand for a while, his jaggard scar seeming to pop of his face like inspiring words from a page in the glow of the fire, lighting up all of his sharp features like Christmas. The elf-like boy turned to him with a dark grin plastered on his face, taking what appeared to be a rum bottle out of the second in commands hand.

"How about spin the bottle," He suggested as the boys eagerly nodded in agreement, "what do you say lost girl? Will you be joining us?"

Without letting a word slip past my lips, I absentmindedly nodded whilst the boys sat in a circle, I got up to join without realizing what I had just gotten myself into. 

Not even a second had slipped by before the leader of the rowdy group of lost boys wrapped his fingers around the empty bottle of rum, itching to spin it and find out who it would land on. We all lent in closer, our curious eyes watching the shiny object spin around and around before gradually slowing to a halt, the neck pointing directly at Nick.

Everyone could see the colour visibly drain from the poor lost boys face as he eyed everyone around him, deciding who in his eyes would be the best person to kiss in this situation. That’s when those big, brown eyes scanned over me, his orbs drinking every inch of me up, making the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach grown more and more intense with each passing second. I felt the need to hide my already covered body from his eyes grasp, clutching my cloak in my hands and dragging it over my body even tighter as if it were a barrier, stopping him from having a peak. 

“Nick,” Pan clapped his hands, desperately wanting to see how this plays out, “Look’s like you’re up first.”

The lost boy reluctantly took hold of the bottle, flicking his wrist before it spun out of control on the floor in front of us, I could feel his hungry eyes on me. The boys had never tried anything with me before, they were more like protective brothers than they were boyfriend material, but they had also never seen a girl in years. 

However, there was one person that intrigued me, the mysterious second in command, he never had much to say, always hiding in Pan’s shadow. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what this boy was really like, who he really was. It was as if Pan had trapped him in a bottle, never giving him enough time or space to do his own thing outside of his orders and chores other than fight, and trust me he was good at it. He had made a reputation for himself, and not a good one, he was known to be calm most of the time but when provoked all hell would break lose, and God help whoever pisssed him off. 

As my mind wondered, so did my eyes. Peering over at the ruthless teenager, I found him already looking in my direction, flashing me a menacing smirk before his icy eyes were once again glued to the moving bottle. Shivers ran up and down my spine at his action, did I do something to upset him?

“David!” A British voice sounded, snapping me out of my thoughts, “Looks like you’re up.”

The boys started to grow more and more excited, shouting and hollering as the two drew nearer to each other before their lips finally touched for a split second. They both recoiled back in disgust, Nick vigorously wiping lips as David continuously spat on the floor. 

“Now, who wants to go next?” Pan asked, everyone was silent not wanting to kiss one of their so called brothers.

“I’ll go.” A deep voice sounded from a short distance.

Heads sharply turned to the source of the voice, mouths dropped open and eyes popped out when they saw none other than the second in command reaching for the bottle. The only sound which flooded the island was that of the rum bottle spinning on its side and the silent shock of every living creature that walked upon this lands soil, even Pan, his best friend was at a loss for words.

Everyone’s eyes were still glued to the blonde giant as he watched the bottle spin round and round, his stormy blue eyes were fixated on it, as if it put him under some kind of spell. No one dared to even breath as the bottle began to come to a stop, eager to see who it would land on, but at the same time praying to whatever God there was out there that it wouldn’t land on them.  

Before I even realized what was happening, all eyes were on me. The curious look was evident on my face as the lost boys eyes darted from me to the bottle, I felt my blood run cold as my eyes glided towards the second in command.

I knew, deep down I knew Felix would never kiss me, I always had this feeling that he despised me which only made me want to find out more about him. But alas, the jumped up to his feet, stalking closer and closer towards me, I peered into those ice like orbs before he pulled me in. Our lips were introduced to each other as his hand snaked around my waist, it felt like some kind of invisible force was making my fingers tangle themselves in his hair, but I knew I had secretly been hoping for this. 

It’s funny, I didn’t expect it to be like this, his lips were warm and soft, welcoming my own with open arms. At first it was strange but after a couple seconds I felt safe for some reason, like I wanted to be there, 

He pulled away, I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to pull him back in for another one, but I couldn’t, instead I could feel every ounce of blood in my body rush to my cheeks.

The entire camp was engulfed in silence, no one knowing what to say next as their eyes were glued on the two of us.

“Hey guys!” A drunken Nibs stumbled out of the bushes, carrying a crate full to the brim with bottle and bottles of rum, “Look what I found!”

I let out an audible sigh as all the attention suddenly shifted from me to Nibs, my cheeks were still red from blushing as I felt Felix’s hot breath travel down the nape of my neck, sending shivers to run up and down my spine.

Without thinking, I shot up out of my seat, needing a distraction from what had just happened. I zoomed towards the crate, telling myself that in this moment it was all I needed. I chugged and chugged and chugged, letting to cool liquid pour down my throat, the burn didn’t bother me, I needed a way to cool down and fast.

One by one the lost boys all followed my actions, picking up a bottle for themselves and drinking the night away, liveliness flooded the island once again as laughter filled the air and the boys began to dance around the fire. Sooner or later I found myself sat in a small circle of friends, laughing and drinking, just having a good time, when a certain boy invaded my thoughts. 

I would love to tell myself that I quickly forgot about the kiss, but the truth is I couldn’t get it out of my head. The way his lips drew in closer to meet my own caused the blush on my face to intensify, and the way he held me close made me feel -

I need to stop, what am I even thinking? This is Felix we’re on about here, the guy who is supposed to be one of my brothers, but he made me feel so... No.

“I think that’s enough for one night boys,” I spoke, slowly raising to me feet, “I’m off, night.”

A choir of voices followed after me, all sending me off with good residence and wishing me a good nights sleep.

My feet began to plant themselves in the ground, waving goodnight as I absentmindedly walked forwards and.....BAM! Just my luck.

“Sorry I wasn’t-” I started to splutter out an apology as fast as I could.

“It’s okay.” A husky voice replied, causing my blood to run hot with embarrassment, I shot up as if I were standing to attention.

“I-I’m just gonna go to sleep,” I said, practically running away from the situation I was currently in, “Night!”

When I arrived at my tent, I flopped down onto my bed, wanting nothing more then blissful sleep to take over my body, but a lass, it didn’t. I lay there in thought for what felt like an eternity when it actual fact it had been nothing more than a few mere minutes. The clock slowly ticked by as I tried my hardest to push all my thoughts aside, desperately wanting the blonde boy to leave my thoughts but I just couldn’t seem to help myself. 

I thought of his smile, his hair, his scar, his laugh, the way his eyes always seemed to light up with joy whenever Pan announced we would be having cake for dessert, the way the called my name in order to capture my attention.

Y/n.

Y/n.

“Y/n.” A deep voice called, my ears instantly perked up, I know who that voice belonged to.

Shock over took my body and before I knew it my tiny frame had rolled off the bed, was that really him? Or was that all in my head?

“Um... are you awake?” He sounded again, concern and slight disappointment coated his words.

“Just a second!” I spoke, hoping that the tall, blonde boy wouldn’t leave, I shot up, fiddling with my hair for what felt like an eternity, wanting to look presentable for him. 

I dashed towards the fabric door of my tiny house, pulling it aside to find Felix standing there. His dark cloak hung on his shoulders and wooden club was slung carelessly over his shoulders.

 “Hey.” I said, my voice coming out as nothing more than a weak whisper, “What’s up?”

“Um..” He began, his eyes darting everywhere but refusing to meet my own.

This is new, I had never seen the mighty second in command nervous before.

“Well.... I wanted to...” He awkwardly chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, he couldn’t get any words out. Before I knew it I was being pulled towards him by my collar, his fingers tightly gripping the fabric of my cloak before his lips smashed into mine once again.

I seemed to lose myself in him, wanting nothing more than to be right here with him, in this very moment. He pushed me back, walking inside my tent before guiding my small body down. My back hit the soft, welcoming covers as he crawled on top of me, my hands found themselves in his hair, just where they had longed to be all night.

He placed his knee in between my leg, genitally rubbing the area which needed some kind of friction the most. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't stop a small whimper sounding from my lips. I could feel him smirking as he deepened the kiss, leaning into me more and more as if he were trying to trap me, making sure I would be there with him for as long as I could.

His rough hands snaked all over my body, exploring, finding out the places I liked to be touched the most. In one swift movement my cloak was torn off my body in power hungry lust, leaving me completely exposed in front of him.

I could feel his ice cold eyes roll over my exposed skin, causing goose-bump to form all over my arms and legs.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” He said, his voice coming out as a mere whisper, “Yo’re beautiful.”

Light pink dust coated my cheeks as the words left his lips, there no way he could really think that, I must be sweaty from all of the training I had to do that day and I hadn’t had enough time to wash some of the dirt off my face. Yet the second in command couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off me, drinking up the sight of my body as if he were addicted.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He spoke before attaching his lips to my neck leaving a trail of sweet, slopping kisses all the way down to my collarbone.

Tiny pants and gasps slipped passed my rosy lips as the sucked and bit down on all the right places, ”Felix.”

As soon as his name was moaned into the night sky, something inside him snapped, as if the beast which lurked inside had just been let out of it’s cage.

He sat up, slipping off whatever clothes he had left on, leaving little to nothing to the imagination. He wasn’t lanky, which I expected him to be, toned muscles clung to his arms and back, I had to fight the urge to physically drool over him.

It was as if I were in a trance, completely captivated by his body, I didn’t even realize his hands reaching out towards me before his long fingers were suddenly wrapped around my neck. It was a slightly uncomfortable feeling, but not one I was apposed to.

It made me feel as though I was completely and utterly dominated by him, I felt like I should do everything he told me, I wanted to do everything he told me.

His hard cock pressed against my leg and I could feel the smirk on my face grow as I teased him, stroking his length. I could see it in his face that if I carried on any more sweet grunts of ecstasy would come tumbling out of his mouth, the though of that only made my temptation intensify.

Felix bit his lip, letting out sighs of happiness as he threw his head back, incoherent whispered sounded from his mouth.

“Fuck.” The second in command whispered, grabbing my shoulder and quickly flipping me over so that I lay on top of him. His eager hands flew to my hair, slightly pushing me further and further down his body.

I smiled happily as I sank down to the place I wanted to be the most, taking his long member into my hand, I licked a long stripe all the way up from the base to the tip before taking as much of him as I could in my mouth. Sucking and swirling my tongue around the tip until my name frequently fell from his lips.

“Y/n,” That and the prominent sound of slurping was the only thing that filled the air.

I took his cock in between my teeth, slowly, but carefully pulling my head back as I peered into his cold, blue eyes.

When I was done I crawled back up, catching his lips on mine once more, like we had done so many times this night. I straddled him, grinding my wet pussy on his hard member before positioning him at my entrance.

A loud moan escaped my lips as I lowered myself onto him, it took no effort for him to fill me up completely.

Slowly, my hips started to grind as deep moans filled the room, his fingernails dug into the flesh on my thighs, only making me wetter. Once I had adjusted to up, I began to bounce up and down as I threw my head back in pleasure, his lips found themselves playing with my nipples, sucking and biting as I moaned into the night sky.

“Um, Felix.” Was the only thing I could say at this moment in time, no other words came to mind, only him.

My thrust grew sloppy and legs grew weak, I was tired but I couldn’t bring myself to stop, not when I was so close to tipping over the edge.

“Getting tired?” He breathy asked with a smirk on his lips.

My blushing face nodded in response, “I’m so close.” I moaned.

Without warning the second in command grabbed my arms, forcing me to stop. He positioned himself at my entrance, dipping his tip in and out of me before going in all the way hitting all the right places.

“Felix, Felix, Felix.” I said, wanting him, needing him, practically begging for my release.

It wasn’t long before all my juices were coating him, which triggered his own undoing. I could feel his seed slowly drip out of my as I lay down beside him.

Neither of us said anything for a while, just sitting in comfortable silence before I started to drift off into blissful sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yo, I know I said I would post every satarday (and I will!) shits been kinda wack😂, I did promise you guys an explanation and you will get one either today or tomorrow, I promise! ❤

I know its monday, don't worry I'm already writing more so you'll still get a story on Satarday! 🙃

This us also one of my longest stories!! I'm so proud! 🥰

I love you all and I'm so sorry!! 💚💗💓💞💕💘💝❣💔💖

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept  *Tommy Shelby*

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Fic warnings: Prostitution, violence, swearing, pretty much everything to do with Peaky Blinders

      The youngest girl, Bessie, a petite redhead was the first with the news. She came scampering into the shared room where the girls would freshen up between clients. Late, as usual, she had a wild look in her eyes.

           “Tha’s Thomas Shelby in the lobby.” She gasped out and clutched at her coat. Stray snowflakes melted in her fiery hair. “He’s back.”

           The rest of the girls were stirred up into a frenzy at the news.

           “Again?”

           “He’s already had me ‘fore, might be comin’ back for me.”

           “Fuckin’ pays well don’t he?”

           Bea, the eldest and most experienced out of the bunch blew out a drag of smoke. “’Course he does. The Shelbys own Birmingham and that means they’re fuckin’ dangerous.’ She glared at the hopeful eyed girls. “None of you should be makin’ ties with that lot. Best to stay unseen.”

           “Still, he’ll be wantin’ a fuck.” Teresa shrugged and eyed herself in the mirror as she applied lipstick. "I ain't gonna turn him or his money down."

           “Don’t you worry,” Bea turned to the young woman on her left. “He doesn’t pick blonde girls.”

           Leah chewed on her lower lip and glanced at the vanity mirror next to her. Indeed, she had honey-colored hair, which usually did her well in her line of business.

           Leah was twenty-five, a prime age for a London prostitute. Not too green but not worn out either. She found herself prostituting after a long drawn out mess of increasingly worse luck. Since 1918, she had been stuck in a downward spiral.

           It could always be worse, that’s what she reminded herself every time she woke up. She wasn’t starving on the streets but she did feel like a piece of her died every single time she closed her eyes.

           “Leah?” Billy stuck his head into the room. He was a good man, a hotel employee who was paid extra to introduce clients to the girls. The madam handled the rest of the transactions. But it was a classier transaction up front. The hotel provided a luxurious setting for the wealthy clientele who sought out the harem of girls. Women who were touted as much more than those of seedy whorehouses, although that’s where they all originated. The illusion that the ten women were hand-picked goddesses, submissive in nature (unless a man preferred the roles reversed).

           Respectful. Discreet. Beautiful. Expensive.

           For Leah, the titillating façade wore off fast. She was still a whore. Men faked their love and affection or they didn’t even bother. Despite the money, Leah always felt used. Yet she blamed herself. The naïve daughter of a chemist. Now just a whore.

           “Mr. Shelby’s requested someone new,” Billy informed her.

           The other girls went quiet for a moment. Teresa looked irked. “She’s the only one he hasn’t fucked yet?”

           Billy, a quiet man, who looked out for the girls well being, nodded in confirmation.

           “He doesn’t like blondes.” Bea retorted protectively. “He hardly even looked at Rose. Send Teresa out.”

           Leah’s face went ashen. The Shelbys were not people she wanted to be involved with.

           “He insisted.”

           She swallowed and stood. “S’okay, Bea.” She faked a smile and touched the older woman’s arm. “How’d I look?”

           “Perfect.” Bea nodded but looked visibly worried.

           The other girls watched as Leah stood, tightening the ties around her peach-colored dressing gown. She followed Billy down the hall to one of the nicer suites.

           “He’s inside.”

           She nodded. “Thank you, Billy.” Her voice was quiet as she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. Nerves rattled her bones. The Shelby name was not one to be taken lightly. Leah remembered hearing about them when she worked in a brothel a couple of years back.

           Crazy gypsy bastards.

           Fucking animals.

           Bloodthirsty.

           Harsh words that she’d never heard when describing an entire family. But perhaps they weren’t wrong because the Shelbys only became more and more powerful. They were a force to be reckoned with, especially if you resided in Britain’s underworld. Leah did and had for some time. But she had her limits.

           “Right, f’ya got heels on, you can take ‘em off.” Tommy was standing by the window, his back to Leah. A half-finished cigarette clenched between his lips. A thin haze of smoke already hung over the room.

           Swallowing, Leah reached down to remove the heels from her feet. She was so focused on the straps she didn’t notice he’d turned around. When she set the shoes aside, she straightened up and came face-to-face with the most dangerous man in Birmingham.

           His eyes were like the coldest winter, much worse than the blustery December evening outside the hotel. He was thin, average height, and sculpted with sharp edges. Everything from his dark hair to his clean-shaven face was pristine. His three-piece-suit wasn’t an uncommon sight for clients but he just seemed more refined. It masked his deeds but intimidation remained.

           He was beautiful there was no denying that. But he had several, if not dozens, of ghosts haunting him. Hanging over his shoulder. Never letting him forget. His hardened stare was hypnotizing but fear-inducing all the while.

           “You’re blonde.” His voice was quiet, deep, like thunder in the far distance.

           Leah didn’t know how to respond. She only nodded. “Yes, Mr. Shelby.”

           He stared at her for a moment. It was nearly unbearable being under the scrutiny of the calculating man. He drew the cigarette from his mouth and parted his lips slightly to release thin wisps of smoke. “Right,” It appeared he’d made up his mind. He shrugged his coat off and tossed it to the side. He averted his gaze from her and began removing the small bits and trappings of a wealthy man. Cufflinks, arm garter, pocket-watch, and finally his glasses.

           Leah was frozen in her spot. Typically, she was outgoing when it came to clients. The more special she made them feel, the more they would pay. But Tommy’s presence was terrifying.

           His eyes flicked up to her in slight annoyance when she didn’t move a muscle. He cleared his throat and made a curt gesture towards the bed, prompting her to move.

           As if a spell had been lifted, Leah began to untie the dressing gown and let it slip off her shoulders to the floor. The reaction she got confirmed what Tommy was there for. A good prostitute could get a sense of why the man was there. Despite his cold manner, he was easy to read. He hardly even glanced up when she cast her robe to the side and walked to the bed clad in lingerie. His indifference said a lot. Tommy was there to deal with an itch, perhaps to further drown out some sorrows. What he was grieving was unknown.

           He put out his cigarette and removed his waistcoat and shirt, still avoiding looking at the woman he was paying for.

           Leah reclined back against the plush pillows. Her eyes kept catching glances of him as he undressed. She knew she needed to keep her head down, not attract any attention from him. But he had such a presence it was hard to look away.

           Tommy handled the situation like anything else in his life. It was a business transaction, nothing more. He moved with such grace and certainty. His thin frame was a far cry from the brutal gangster that people labeled him as. But Leah could see the muscles flexing in his arms and chest when he got on top of her.

           “You’re a quiet one, eh?” He broke the silence again. One hand braced himself against the bed, the other slipped between them. His long fingers grazed down her stomach, catching the bits of lace of her lingerie.

           Leah looked up at him, studying his face once he was closer. He certainly looked years younger without his glasses, but there was exhaustion to his features. It seemed like he’d gone days without more than a few hours of sleep. A small nick of a scar marked his cheek. His eyes were, even more, alarming the closer he was. But his touch was surprisingly gentle at the onset.

           “Do you like having conversations with girls like me?” Leah asked quietly, wondering if she should speak more to him. She’d been a little too busy taking in his form.

           He shook his head and a hint of amusement crossed his eyes. “Try to have some decency, don’t I? M’not a monster.”

           She was quick to correct herself. “'Course not, Mr. Shelby.”

           “Call me Tommy.”

           Something struck Leah like a brick to the head. Tommy. Tommy Shelby. She could see the name written in her husband’s handwriting.

           Tommy Shelby, and his brothers, they act as though death is an old friend of theirs. None of them are scared to go to hell. Nice blokes but there’s something about them.

           Leah’s sudden realization was cut short when she felt Tommy’s finger brush over her sex. Startled out of her thoughts, she let out a hitched moan and let her eyes slide closed. He was no stranger to a woman’s body that was clear just after half a second of him touching her. It wasn’t often she was really turned on by a client. Most were inexperienced, too worried about their own pleasure, or downright awful at pleasure.

           But not Tommy Shelby. He had her breathless before he even entered her. When he did, Leah had to ground herself before she became too intoxicated off him. Her arms looped around his neck, her fingers clutching for purchase in his hair.

           He grunted softly when she knotted her fingers in his dark locks. His head dipped down as his hips snapped forward. He moved with ferocity, chasing something beyond release. There was something he needed but it was something a whore could give him. Yet he pressed on.

           Leah was unraveling at the seam. His vigor was pushing away the thoughts that had clouded her brain before. He brought her somewhere she’d long missed. An electric and primal connection.

           “Tommy…” She breathed out.

           And when he opened his eyes, Tommy felt the spark too. He didn’t see Grace, despite Leah’s blonde hair and vague likeness. There was something about the woman beneath him that rendered him breathless and devoid of all other thoughts. His grief. His anxiety. His anger. It was numbed. He could only feel her body and the warmth of her figure.

           Overwhelmed with the sensation, his thrusts stuttered and he stared at her. Disbelief and lust made his pupils blow, thinning out the icy blue.

           Leah let her hand slip to his cheek. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something but had lost all ability of speech. To solve the problem, he ducked down and kissed her. He pressed so hard into it that her lips were certain to bruise.

           Seldom did she allow a client to kiss her. And if she did, it was for more money or to maybe make a young eighteen-year-old feel special on his birthday. But Tommy wiped her brain, made her forget who she truly was, and made her long for the days she had a man to kiss her. Grateful and drunk on the feeling, she kissed him back.

           Nothing at that moment could pull them apart. Tommy only released her lips to hear her as she climaxed. Hearing her gasp out his name pushed him over the edge.

           He groaned and let the feeling wash over him like a deadly cocktail of drugs and alcohol. He felt alive but cured of all the aches and pain held in his bones. He shuddered out a breath and the ringing in his ears faded. Awareness of the room returned.

           Leah was clinging to him, still riding the waves of a release she had yet to find in years. Tommy let her hold onto him until her arms relaxed and her body unlocked.

           Her hazel eyes met his face but both were too stunned to speak. Finally, Tommy sat up and reached for a cigarette. He offered one to Leah who took one out of courtesy.

           They sat in silence for a moment. Smoke rising to the ceiling. Neither expected to find such a strong emotion in that room. It was scary for both of them and they didn’t know what to make of it.

           “Should I leave you?” Leah finally spoke.

           He swallowed hard and shook his head. “No. Not yet.” He replied quietly. There was a danger lurking. The danger of blindly falling for lust. Doing anything to fill the hole where his heart used to be. But he wasn’t about to release the feeling quite yet. He had a meeting in two hours. He was going to make use of that time. Fuck it, he’d be late.

           Tommy flicked his cigarette into the ashtray on the nightstand. He reached over and Leah let him take hers as well. Replacing the cigarette with his hand. His slender fingers lacing in with hers as he kissed her deeply. His eyes closed and he welcomed the feeling. Taking the drug and following the high blindly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy had her for hours. Leah returned to the room in quite a state. Her hair was undone and tangled. Her lipstick was smudged to hell and Tommy had ripped her lingerie in the passion.

           When she returned, the girls all stared at her like she’d been gone for weeks. Bea stood and hurried over to her. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” She asked in a hushed voice.

           Still in a daze, Leah shook her head. “No.” She sat down and started to freshen up. Her movements were slow and delayed. She was still too caught up in the overwhelming sensations. Three hours was not enough, she craved more.

           “Leah?” Bea sat next to her.

           “Hm?”

           “I asked if you were okay.” The older woman looked concerned. “You seem…off.”

           “I’m fine, Bea.” Leah smiled. “Perfectly fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           That night, Tommy and Leah coped with the chance interaction. Leah returned to her rented room early in the morning and knelt by her bed. Beneath, in an old shoebox, she kept her husband’s letters. His shirt and those letters were the only things she had left of him. Losing him to the war sparked her downward spiral. She lost her best friend and the love of her life.

           It was always difficult to read his letters. She intentionally tried to put it from her mind. When she read his words and saw his name signed, she was reminded of what she once had.

           She thumbed through the parchment and finally found one of the several mentions of the Shelbys.

           Tommy Shelby, he and his family live in Birmingham. If anything were to happen to me, I think they would be able to take care of you. They’re rough around the edges but they care for their own. I’m just afraid of leaving you alone.

           Leah sat on the hardwood floor for a long while. She held the paper tightly. Her husband had known Tommy. The man she had just slept with. Overrun with guilt and confusion, the young woman curled up on the floor. She held the letter close to her chest and let herself cry. What kind of person was she? When had the world become too much to bear? Would she ever find the happiness she once had?

~~~~~~~~~

           Tommy stood in the foyer long past midnight. Drunk on gin and then whiskey, he’d stumbled out of his office. Arrow House was silent in the dead of night. The large rooms offered no comfort.

           Moonlight filtered in through the large windows and settled on the portrait of himself, Grace, and Charlie.

           “Fuck…” He cursed under his breath as he singed the tips of his fingers on his cigarette. He dropped it and clumsily stubbed it out with his heel into the carpet.

           His eyes looked up to Grace’s painted face. His heart wrenched and he found himself back where he’d begun that morning. Hindsight told him he was a fool for thinking something with a whore would be real. The only real thing he had was gone. He didn’t have her anymore and he never would again.

           Tommy’s face scrunched up, the pain still seeping in despite the copious amounts of alcohol. He’d have to poison himself with gin to be fully numb. It was times like that night when he wondered if he should embrace the devil.

           “Daddy?”

           Probably the only reason he ignored the demons telling him to give up, called out to him.

           Tommy raised his head and saw Charlie on the stairs landing. He clutched a teddy, concern on his small face. “Charlie, s’late.” He walked up the steps to his son.

           “Bad dreams.” The little boy pouted and reached up.

           “Alright, dad’s gotcha.” Tommy picked him up and did his best to walk a straight line back to Charlie’s bedroom. “Everything’s okay, yeah?” He tucked Charlie back into bed but the boy wouldn’t let go of him.

           “Daddy, stay.” He begged.

           Tommy sighed but gave in. “Okay.” He lay down next to his son, letting him cuddle close. “Dad’s not going anywhere. M’right here. You can go back to sleep, eh?” He murmured.

           Charlie obliged and soon fell asleep in the crook of his father’s arm. But Tommy stayed awake, staring up at the ceiling. A hollow feeling settled into him. It wasn’t unfamiliar but it wasn’t exactly welcome either. He tried to fill it with anything he possibly could. So he decided to go back to her. If Leah could fill that space even for a few hours, he’d have it. An addict through and through, Tommy just wanted to feel something other than hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         Friday night and men were filtering in and out of the hotel. Leah was not herself and everyone around her could tell. She was inattentive, too caught up in her own thoughts to fully interact with the world.

           “Leah? Mr. Shelby’s requested your presence.” Billy’s voice pulled her out of the haze.        

           She didn’t even acknowledge the hushed whispers of the other girls as she stood up and walked out of the room. It was like a siren’s song was luring her down the hallway, back to the room, back to Tommy’s embrace.

           He was standing near the window again. This time his eyes were on her as she entered. He crossed the room quickly with his long strides and immediately enveloped her in a searing kiss. He pressed her against the door and hooked his arms under her thighs to scoop her up.

           Everything fell to pieces. The worry and confusing guilt shattered against the floor. He didn’t offer her time to ruminate. There was no space to hold such feelings. There was no space between them. Leah locked her ankles against his back and moaned against his lips when he tugged on her lip with his teeth.

           Tommy didn’t hold back. He fucked her like the world was about to end. The itch for filling that space was unbearable. But she gave him solace. Her breathy whimpers and gasps spurred him on. Her fingernails left marks that he hoped would remain. He wanted it to last, the feeling that she elicited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Leah watched the end of his cigarette burn. She was in quite a compromising position. Limbs intertwined under the hotel sheets, she rested against his chest, her fingers idly tracing the tattoo on his chest. He was holding her. It was dangerous and they both knew it.

           Swallowing the silence in her throat, Leah spoke. “I think you knew my husband.”

           Tommy lowered his cigarette, tapping the ash off in the ashtray beside him. “Is that so?” A hint of trepidation filled him. Had he killed her husband? Was she still married and he was fucking her? Both were very plausible scenarios.

           “He was a tunneler in the war.” She spoke steadily. She never spoke about her husband in the hotel. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she actually spoke to someone else about him. She was lonely, had been for years. There was no time for friends outside of the hotel and she had no family. So she had no one to talk to.

           Relief passed over Tommy. So he wasn’t crossing anyone. “In France?”

           She nodded, her hair brushing over his bare skin. “Jonah Ward. He wrote about you, at least I think it was you. Could be someone with the same name.”

           Tommy couldn’t stop the sudden reverse back into time. Emerging from the tunnel hauling the man out into the open air.

           “Tommy!” Jonah gasped out. His eyes blinked rapidly in the sunlight. “Tom…”

           “Right here. You’ll be all right. Arthur!”

           The man touched his face. Blood covered his palm. “Fucking finally got me…” He choked out a laugh. “Those tunnels. Thought I’d be done in by a German when I came here.”

           Tommy lifted the man’s shirt to find the source of the bleeding. A sickeningly large wound covered his chest. He tried to apply pressure but there didn’t seem to be any hope left for the poor man.

           “Tom, y’need to take care of my girl. My Leah. Back home…London.” Jonah grimaced and threw his head back against the muddy ground.

           “You’re going to be okay.” Tommy’s hands shook. It wasn’t the first man he saw die and it wouldn’t be the last. But he was still fairly new to watching someone die.

           “Promise me. Promise me you’ll look after her when you get back home.”

           “I-”

           “She don’t got anyone. No family. Please, Tommy.” A few tears slipped down the man’s bloodied face. “I can’t leave her alone.”

           “Y-yeah, I’ll take care of her.”

           “She’s beautiful…blonde hair. Looks like an angel.” Jonah opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. His eyes glazed over. “Oh…fucking hell…there she is now.” His voice weakened.

           Tommy glanced up at the sky but there was nothing there. It was only the hallucination of a dying man.

           “Lee…you’ve come to bring me home? I’ve missed you, love.” Jonah smiled before he coughed up blood and forced one more inhale. He twitched twice before going limp.

           Cold realization flooded over Tommy. He’d promised. He said he would take care of the woman that was curled up next to him. Was this taking care of her? Paying her for sex? He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

           “Tommy?” Leah furrowed her eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

           He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah.” He dropped his cigarette in the ashtray and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I knew him. I knew Jonah.”

           Leah propped herself up, looking at him with renewed interest. “You did?” Maybe there was something more left of her husband. Memories from another person. Details she didn’t know.

           Tommy scratched absent-mindedly at his cheek. “I was there. I was there when he passed.”

           Leah’s chest deflated and her eyes stung with the obligatory tears she had when she thought of her husband. “W-was he in pain?” Her lower lip quivered.

           “Think he was in shock, he went peacefully.” He would lie to the widow as long as it meant shielding her from the painful truth. She didn’t need to know the gruesome details of the explosion that caused her husband’s demise.

           “Did he say anything?” A tear slipped from her brown eyes and landed on Tommy’s shoulder.

           “He spoke of you. He clearly loved you.”

           She couldn’t help but quietly cry at the news. “He was such a good man. I w-was so heartbroken.”

           Tommy bit the inside of his cheek. He felt the same grief she did. They’d both lost someone they loved so deeply it hurt. “I’m sorry…”

           “No, you don’t have to apologize.” Leah wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get emotional.” She was well aware of how mourning her late husband was a major turn off.

           But Tommy didn’t mind one bit. “I lost my wife last year.” He said quietly.

           “Oh, Tommy, I’m sorry.” She swallowed and bit her lip. “I didn’t know. M’fraid I don’t much about you.” She admitted.

           He nodded slightly and inhaled shakily. “Most people don’t. S’pose you’ve heard rumors.”

           “I didn’t want to make assumptions about you.”

           Those who didn’t make assumptions about the Shelbys would soon learn it was a mistake. It was better to be overly cautious of fire; a fool tested their luck with it.

           Tommy absent-mindedly lifted the cigarette to his lips but paused. His blue-eyes stared across the room in a daze. “I think I owe you an apology, Leah.” He cleared his throat and discarded the rest of his cigarette. Smoke still curled around him as he met her eyes.

           “For what?” She sat up next to him, letting the sheets pool around her waist. There was no point covering up for a man who tore into her only moments earlier.

           But for Tommy, seeing her bare beside him only drove home the guilt. “When your husband was dying, he asked if I would take care of you.” He wearily ran a hand over his face. “And I promised I would. There’s no excuse for breaking my promise. But now I can offer you a job or-”

           Leah went stiff and subtly pulled away from him. “Oh, Tommy, I appreciate it. But that isn’t your responsibility.” She chewed on her lip and averted her eyes. “My Jonah took care of me but he’s gone now. Don’t think I’ll ever remarry so my well-being is my responsibility, not anyone else’s.”          

           Tommy could see the sadness in her light brown eyes. “But I promised.” He insisted. “I have the means and I can give you a better-”

           Leah turned and placed her feet on the floor. “Tommy, please.” She shook her head and turned her back to him. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

           “This can’t be what you want from life.” He insisted and reached out to touch her shoulder. But he hesitated and withdrew.

           She stood and gathered her things, wrapping herself back up in the robe. “Have a good night, Mr. Shelby.” Her voice was detached and quiet. Her dignity trailed behind her. A whore who refused aid from the king of Birmingham. Jonah only wanted the best for her, but Leah would never be in debt to someone. She was raised to pay her dues and hold her own. So she did. Tommy Shelby wouldn’t carry her through life.

           “Leah,” Tommy called after her but she left and shut the door behind her. Retreating into her grief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

           Jonah Ward was a good man. Raised by a jeweler, he was educated and respectful. His father’s shop was right across from the Robinsons’ chemist shop. That’s where he met Leah Robinson. The teenagers fell hard for each other and were married when they turned eighteen. He was her best friend and never thought she would ever be apart from him.

           Then the world fell into war in and he was ripped from her arms. In 1916, Leah received a letter that told her the news. An explosion had permanently taken him. Heartache consumed her and the world seemed to darken. Leah could only guess what Jonah would say if he knew what she did to survive. After her first client, Leah got physically ill and cried. She begged Jonah for forgiveness and sentenced herself to a life of hurt.

           Tommy Shelby couldn’t pardon her for her sins. No one could.

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[chaandknight]

Professor, please | Roger Taylor | Part 1

Summary: Apparently fucking on campus is off limits, until it isn’t. 4k words

A/N: Healthy relationships are my jam, cheating is gross. Roger in glasses is super super hot, I had no choice but to write it. Also safe sex is good sex, wrap it before you tap it (Unless you’re going for a baby of course!!). Already planned a part 2, possibly 3 if it gets out of hand. The biggest thank you to my marvel pal, @frcddiesmercury​ for being my beta and inspiration for this fic. Tag list is here (add yourselves). Stay tuned for part 2!

Tags: Smut, blink and you’ll miss it fluff, tiniest bit of angst because I’m a whore for angst, +18 content. 

“You realise you're actually meant to be observing my first year classes and not staring at me the whole time?” Roger said, tidying up his papers. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, echoing in the empty lecture theatre. You picked up your bag and notebook, getting out of your seat and making your way down the lecture theatre to where he stood.

“I know, but staring at you is much more fun” you teased, shoving your notebook into your bag. He laughed at that, picking up his lecture notes and keys.

“And is being dressed like that also fun?” he asked, brow raised. To be fair, this was different from your usual university attire. You had decided to wear a short skirt and tight blouse on purpose today. Judging by the way his eyes went up and down your body it was clearly the right choice. You just gave him a shrug, picking up the textbook he had forgotten on the table. He lead you out of the theatre, turning off the lights and locking the door. You took that time to admire him from up close.

The suit he wore to lectures was always well fitted and tailor made. It fit his body like a glove, highlighting the lean muscle underneath. His hair, always pushed back in an attempt to make it seem professional. In another life he could have been a rock star. No, in another universe he was a rock star. He'd be a singer you decided. Or maybe a drummer. You could never make your mind up.

“Don't you have a class now?” He asked, giving you a slightly annoyed look when you followed him to to his office.

“I do,” you started, waiting for his disapproving face before you could continue. “But, it's not mandatory. Besides I've changed some things in my thesis. I need you to look over it again. ”

He let out a huff, opening the door to his office, holding it open for you. Always the gentleman, you stepped through, smiling gratefully. His office was one you had familiarized yourself with, the long antique sofa sitting against the window, his heavy desk - always covered in papers, the bookshelves behind him, carrying more nick nacks than actual books. It was an almost homely atmosphere you felt. Maybe it was just because you spent so much time in here with him. You didn’t hesitate in making yourself at home, dumping your bag on a chair and shrugging off your jacket.

“You have a supervisor already. You know I could get my ass handed to me if someone finds out I'm showing favoritism?” you rolled your eyes. He was always on about that. Apparently if he read over your notes it was favouritism. You weren't even in any of his classes.

“What about asking me to observe your classes and give feedback? Doesn't that count as favouritism as well, professor?” You almost purred, mocking his voice.

“That's different,” he argued weakly, sitting on his chair. You shrugged, digging through your bag and pulling out the folder with all your notes. You walked around his table, standing right next to his chair and dropping the heavy folder on the desk. That caught him by surprise, you held back a smile. Leaning down so you were level with him. You liked getting all up in his personal space, seeing his blue eyes up close and watching him meet your gaze.

“It's not, and you know it. Besides, who else am I supposed to ask if not you?” he let out a sigh, opening the folder. You grinned in triumph, placing a hand on the back of his chair and leaning over his shoulder. It made it seem like you were reading over his shoulder, watching him make notes on your work. Really it was just to watch him. He put on his glasses to read and you bit your lip. Your mouth was moving before you could stop it,

“You look hot with glasses”. You should be ashamed for saying something like that, but honestly you weren't. He turned his head the slightest bit, looking over at you, tilting his head just so watching you from over his glasses.  

“That’s cause’ you’re staring, love” he commented, placing your papers down on his desk and turning his body to fully face you. You couldn't help but smile at him, deciding to fuck it all and sit on his lap. He didn’t seem surprised in the slightest, he had long given up on telling you to stop this whole arrangement you had. His arms went around your waist, holding you in place.

“Is that a bad thing?” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck. He bit his lip, trying not to let his eyes stray down your neck and to your cleavage. The eye contact was electrifying, the two of you watching each other. Your skin prickled under his gaze, your mind reminding you of just how good he’d make you feel. Your heart rate quickened, your fingers itching to reach out and stroke his face but you resisted. A million words passed between you two in those three or four seconds.

You let your hands slide down his shoulders to his chest, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. You both knew it was dangerous to do this on campus, but it had been going on for so long neither of you cared anymore. There was a certain thrill in getting caught that made you both hot and heavy. He was watching you carefully, captivated by your facial expressions. You gently undid the first button of his shirt, placing a palm against the exposed skin. Your head tilted up to look at him. He reached out, taking your hair out of the confines of the hair clip you had put on this morning.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this here sweetheart” he murmured, almost as if trying to convince himself. You ignored him, leaning forward and brushing your lips against his. He let out the slightest gasp. Your eyes closed and you just wanted to feel him, with your hands and your lips. You weren’t sure who closed the gap between you two, but it honestly didn’t matter. His lips were against yours and every rational thought flew out the window. The kiss was desperate, the two of you wasting no time in trying to dominate the other. He nipped at your bottom lip causing you to tug at his hair. He was so forceful, almost brushing your lips. You could feel your back brush his table as he pushed you closer and closer to it. He pulled away, ever so slightly. Taking your bottom lip in his teeth before letting go again,

“Get on the table, love” he said, breathless. You simply nodded, getting off his lap. You reached back, pushing things from his table blindly. He grabbed your wrist,

“Watch it” he chided, reaching forward. He grabbed the photoframe you were just about to push to the floor and placed it on the shelves behind him. It was a wedding photo, one you knew quite well. It sat on his desk all the time. You laughed, sitting on the table and crossing your legs.

“Mrs Taylor wouldn’t mind you moving that, would she?” you asked, grinning at him. He let out a small laugh, walking towards you. He parted your legs, fitting himself perfectly between them. You wrapped your legs around him as he reached out, gripping your waist.

“No, I don’t think she would” he mused, looking down at you. He leaned down and pressed kisses to your jaw. You pushed down the small tingle of thrill that when up your spine as he spoke. He nipped your skin, drawing you from your thoughts and eliciting a moan from you. Your ran your hands up his chest, undoing the first two buttons on his shirt. His hands were quick to find their way underneath your skirt, tracing your folds through your underwear. You rocked your hips against his hand. He grinned, pulling you into another kiss. His fingers brushed against your core, applying pressure ever so slightly when you least expected it. You tightened your legs around his waist, trying to get him to hurry things along. His fingers pushed your underwear to the side, fingers tracing along your bare folds. You couldn’t help but groan, letting a shiver pass through your body. Your head rested on his shoulder as his fingers brushed against your clit before pulling away again. You were getting impatient now. You huffed, rocking your hips against his fingers.

He tutted, stepping away, taking his hand away with him. You let out a soft whine, reaching out for him.

“Rog -” you were cut off by knocking on his door. You were temporarily frozen from the prospect of getting caught like this. Roger, however always had faster reactions than you did. He had already pulled you off the desk, and was trying to coax you underneath his desk. You gave him a look, one that said; “seriously?”. He just shrugged, batting his hands to get you to move quicker. You huffed, crawling underneath his desk. This situation was less than ideal. You were already wet from his fingers alone, constantly teasing you. Whoever was behind his door had better be fast or else you’d have to finish yourself off underneath his desk.

“Professor Taylor! I’m so sorry I just had some questions about your lecture today? Is it okay if I come in?” you had to hold back a groan. It was Claire, a first year you had made friends with. She was sweet, but she talked too much and would often go on and on with her questions - especially during lectures. You resisted the urge to slam your head back against the table.

“Claire, of course.” you heard Rogers voice. You rolled your eyes at his professional tone. He wasted no time in slipping on his professor persona. Sometimes it was endearing, how he’d do anything to help his students. But sometimes a small, selfish part of you you wished he’d just tell them to figure it out themselves. You tried to be as silent as possible, shuffling about on the floor to get more comfortable. This would definitely take some time. You turned their conversation out, it would be too mind numbing to actually pay attention. You decided to instead count the floorboards. When you were done with that you tried to count how many books he actually had. After about 133 books your ears picked up your name.

“Aren't those her things professor?” Claire asked. You wanted to smash your head against the back of the table. In your rush the two of you had forgotten your bag and jacket which lay on one of his chairs.

“They are….” Rogers voice trailed off. You rolled your eyes. Despite being an esteemed professor he was so dumb sometimes.

“Did you want me to take them to her sir? I'm seeing her after my class” no she wasn't.

“Yes, yes of course. She's very forgetful” he said in a lame attempt to cover for you. God. Couldn't the man ever think on his feet? Put him in front of 500 first years and he would dazzle them. Now, in front of a first year in his own office, with you underneath his desk he couldn't come up with a simple for decent excuse for you. Claire would have a field day with this. She was a talker and you could just picture the wild rumours flying across campus. Then Claire thanked him and left, signalled by the door being shut and locked by Roger. You huffed, getting up from underneath the desk and dusting yourself off.

“Would it kill you to vacuum down there?” you grumbled, checking your skirt for any loose bits of fluff. He let out a small “hmm” as he stood near the door, his hand waving in the air. No doubt, making sure Claire was gone. “Why even bother? She’s smart enough to piece it together.” he turned around, watching you carefully.

“That’s the problem, love. She’s smart enough to piece some of it together.” he walked up to you, placing his hands on your waist. Your arms went out, wrapping around his neck. He tilted his head to kiss you slowly, pulling your hips against his own. “But not all of it” he whispered as pulled away. From this position the light shone through the windows, lighting up his face, the light just hitting his eyes and making them even more brighter if it were possible. You had your breath stolen from you, he was just so beautiful. You ran your hands down his chest, not able to hold yourself back any longer

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it” you said off handedly, pressing kisses to his jaw. Honestly speaking, you didn’t care that Claire knew part of the story. You didn’t care that she’d go around telling everyone and their uncle, all you cared about was the man standing in front of you. You unbuttoned his shirt slowly, taking your time with it. Your fingers brushing against every inch of his skin you exposed. He watching you, eyes taking in the way your fingers so carefully undid the buttons of his shirt. How you marvelled at his body. It made him realise just how far gone he was with you.

The two of you had been like this for so long, but it never felt any different. You were mad about him, and he was much the same about you. You had no doubt that in a different life you two would of found each other as well. You were a whole person, but there was something about Roger that just made you feel more. More alive, more happy, more loved. Roger had been with you during the hardest times of your life and you felt your heart swell, unable to believe that you were actually here with the man you loved more than anything. You smiled up at him, linking your hands behind his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. He was quick to respond, pushing back at you with the same amount of adoration. You couldn’t help but groan into his mouth. His hands were on your waist, running up and down your sides making you shiver. He’d push up your shirt ever so slightly, tracing your bare skin with his fingertips before pulling them away again.

The two of you stepped back, until you were standing in front of the sofa that sat below his window sill. He pulled away, shrugging off his coat and shirt. You bit your lip, shamelessly taking in his exposed chest. You were snapped out of your thoughts by his hand on your collar, trying (and failing) to undo the buttons. He’d fumble at this stage, too caught up in own want to actually function properly. You pushed his hands away, laughing quietly and undoing the buttons on your own blouse, taking it off and placing it on the arm of the chair. He scoffed,

“You think that’s better? It’s going to get ruined anyway” he mumbled, pressing kisses to your jaw and down to your neck. His hands were on your chest, palming you through your bra. You let out a silent thank you prayer to whatever possessed you this morning to put on a black lace bralette today. Clearly Roger appreciated it too. “This the one I bought you?” he asked, running his fingers along the delicate lace just below your breasts. You grinned, surprised that he actually remembered.

“You’ve bought me several Roger,” you teased, running your hands over his chest. You thumbed over his nipples just so, making him gasp quietly. He was always sensitive there. You let out a small laugh, about to thumb over them against before he gripped your wrists. He placed your hands on his shoulders, pressing his lips to yours once again. You happily obliged kissing back as he pulled you closer, pressing your bodies together. He was quick to grip your thighs, lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around him, clinging onto him. He laughed against your lips, bending down and laying you on the sofa. You kept your legs firmly wrapped against his waist, not willing to part with him. You kissed him so hard you were sure his lips were bruised by now.

His hands were underneath your skirt, tracing you through your panties. You pushed your hips up into his hand, wanting more. You were already wet enough from before, now he was just teasing. He pulled away, lips trailing down your jaw and to your neck. He nipped at your skin, making you breathe out his name. You felt his lips form into a smile. His fingers pushed your panties to the side, brushing against your slick folds. Your nails digging into the skin of his arms. He sucked at the skin of your neck as his fingers stroked your clit, making your hips jerk.

“Roger...please…” you gasped out. Your hands found their way to his belt, fumbling to with the buckle before undoing it. You needed him and you needed him now. His fingers stopped teasing, instead finding their way to your thighs. He spread your legs, running his hands over the smooth skin of your legs. You tugged at his pants, quickly undoing the zipper and shoving the material down along with his boxers. You were desperate, running your hands over his chest and down to his increasingly growing length.

Roger let out a soft moan as your hands made contact with him, gently stroking him. He buried his face into your neck, trying to stop himself from completely losing from just your hands. He gripped your wrist, stopping your hand.

“No, no..” he kissed you again, grinding his hips up against yours. You groaned against his lips, hips pushing against him to match his pace. Your skirt was a mess, some place between being undone and hiked up to your waist. You honestly did not care. He reached down between your bodies, lining himself up. He teased your slick folds with his tip, making you shiver when it brushed against your clit.

“Wanna cum when I’m inside you” he breathed, lips still against yours. You gasped his name as he pushed inside you, guided by your wetness and his own pre-cum. He let out a small groan, pushing into until he bottomed out. You both stilled, the only sound between you two being heavy breathing. Your eyes were closed, arms wrapped around him and just taking him in. It had been a while since the two of had sex, and you had almost forgotten what it felt like to have him inside of you. He was much the same, one arm resting against the back of the sofa to support himself. He wanted to move straight away, to fuck you into the sofa. Wanted to hear you call out his name over and over again. At the same time he wanted to take it slow, wanted to feel every inch of you as he teased you, wanted to hear your soft whimpers and feel you cling to him and beg him to let you cum. But right now he couldn't figure out anything, too busy enjoying the simple feeling of just being inside you.

You rolled your hips the slightest bit, wanting him to move. He took your cue, using the sofa as support he grinded against you. You both groaned out before realising where you were. He pulled his hips back, almost pulling out of you and pausing. You opened your mouth to whine his name, to tell him to hurry the fuck up. But his lips were over yours, kissing you roughly as he slammed back into making you cry out into his mouth. He gripped your hips tightly, pushing into you over and over. You were grateful for his mouth against yours, you would not be able to stay quiet for long with the way he was fucking you.

He fucked you with such need, pushing into you over and over again. If you weren’t clinging onto him for dear life you’re sure he would him pushed you straight through the sofa. You were sucking and nipping at his lips needed more of him.You wanted nothing more than to reach your climax. He was gripping your hips so tight there was no doubt in your mind that they would bruise the next morning. His thrusts angled just so, making you gasp against his lips. All you could to was hold onto him, dig your nails into his shoulders and hope that you wouldn’t float away. You could feel his pace faltering, his climax quickly approaching. You pulled away from his needy kisses, letting out a breathy moan. He busied himself with your neck, hand reaching between your bodies to stroke your clit.  You cried out his name. The two of you not bothering with keeping quiet any longer.

He held you through your orgasm, kissing your neck. His hips never slowing. You could sworn you had died and been brought back to life by him, your climax making its way through your body. The only thing escaping your lips was in name, you were convinced that was the only word you knew in that moment. He called out your name as he came as well, squeezing your hips. You gasped at the feeling, having not felt him cum inside you for so long. His head was resting against your shoulder, the two of you panting. Trying to come back down from your highs. You traced random shapes on his back, just wanting to keep touching him in some way. He was the first to move, lifting his head up to kiss you again. The kiss was slow and lazy. The two of you were almost in a haze, just enjoying each others bodies. He grinned as he pulled away from you, sliding off your body and down onto the floor. He spread your legs and you tried shuffling away, too worn out for another round

“Roger…” you warned as he kissed your inner thigh.

“Just wanna see the mess I made baby girl” he drawled, running his hands over your thighs. You shivered when his fingers brushed against your core, still sensitive from before. Your hand went straight to his hair, tugging it hard. He pushed a finger into you easily, making you breath out his name.

“Keep this inside you darling.” he pressed one last kiss to your thigh pulling his finger out of you and rearranging your panties. “Keep my mess between those pretty legs of yours” he breathed, getting up to grab his shirt. Leaving you to recover from his words.

“I’ll see you at home then, love?” he asked, buttoning up his shirt. He acted as if wasn’t fucking you into the sofa a couple of minutes ago. You took a breath, adjusting your skirt and sitting up. You weren’t up to standing just yet. “You think this time might be it?” his voice was soft, full of emotion. It had been months since the two of had been trying. You were close to giving up, convinced that a baby simply just wasn’t in your future. You shrugged, not bothering to give him an answer. It was too much to think about now.

“It’s your turn to cook dinner” you reminded, trying to defer the conversation. He huffed, picking up his coat from the floor.

“We can talk about it, you know.” he comforted, kneeling down in front of you. You shook your head, doing your best not to look at him. He gently took your hands in his, kissing the ring on your left hand. You let out a sigh, looking over at the man in front of you.

“No personal talk on campus, remember?” You waved his hands away, smoothing out your skirt. He scoffed,

“Yeah, so fucking doesn’t count?”

“I mean, we could always just stop” you replied nonchalantly, reaching for your shirt.

“That is definitely not what I meant.”

[chpenn]

Biter

Hi! I wrote a story today. I don’t think the triggers are too bad but I figured I’d warn people. Hopefully I’ll post more stories~

TRIGGER WARNING: mental illness mention, self harm, horror

Biter

I hope I titled this right, because that's what I am: a nail biter. Apologies if this grosses anyone out, but welcome to coping with mental illness, sometimes. Like many other anxious teens, I started nibbling on my fingernails in high school to combat the horrible worry that someone might in fact notice me, and thereafter point out every flaw I never even knew I had. Fortunately for my mental health, no one who noticed me did that, but I had my nail biting in case they did. Occasionally, I'd nick my cuticles off, but at this point, nothing too drastic.

The odd bits started in my mid 20s. One cold Thursday morning, which I remember because I had that day off from some garbage retail job I kept, I noticed the first one. Nothing too odd, but I didn't know you could get bubbles on your hands. At first, I wondered if that was how warts were formed, but the internet quickly disproved that. Further online research showed that it could be some kind of condition, but seemed pretty harmless. Needless to say, I popped the little sucker. Clear fluid came out, and the wound healed over by the next day. Again, nothing too drastic.

At some point during my 30th year, I got my first bubble in probably eight months. This was different. It started as an itch on my finger, another symptom of that condition from earlier on. I figured scratching would relieve it, so I went to town. Unfortunately, the itch persisted. I scratched harder; it started driving me crazy. Mind you, this was about five minutes later, which certainly outlasted any regular itch I've ever had. Unable to withstand the sensation, I clawed. Hard. Skin started to tear, almost as if I had uncovered a particularly hard to get at blister. That same clear fluid came out, but this time, it arrived with a slight red tint.

This continued for some time. I never truly bled, and other parts of my life kept me worried about other things, so I dealt with this new addition to my life. Every few months, you're going to get an itchy blister. Not the worst.

However, earlier this very year, as we all know, COVID-19 hit. While I've miraculously stayed clear of any of that nonsense, the situation has... evolved. The blisters started bleeding a few months ago. I think I saw a vein once. It's been a bit difficult to find a doctor who'll see me, considering they're a bit busy with, oh, I don't know, a pandemic? Fine, fine, this probably isn't too bad.

Then, we get to last week. My arm starts feeling a bit strange, which is normal considering, again, garbage retail job where I lift things and put them in places. Feels like a nerve is wriggling around in there. Do I know what that feels like? No, of course not. But, I don't have much else to go on. The internet only vaguely suggests some kind of carpal tunnel thing, but no. This can't be that. It doesn't hurt, it's just... moving. Now, I'm worried. The next morning, a small nub appears on my wrist. It doesn't itch, but if this isn't the biggest one yet, I'll eat my shoe. I wear gloves a lot at work, so at least I can keep it hidden until I can get a doctor's appointment.

Now, most normal people would head directly to the ER, do not pass go, pay up $200. Considering the previous bits of my story, are you that surprised to learn I wanted to wait a few days until it got better? Probably not, I hope. Anyways, the bubble got bigger, until a whole line went down my wrist. It turned firmer, which, as I'm typing this, probably should have been my hint to absolutely scoot to a hospital. But, I no longer have that option, I don't believe. Not because COVID has taken over, but because today, the bubble burst. It didn't itch or really even hurt when it popped. The usual clear liquid dripped over my hand, but I looked down at what happened, knowing that I did not scratch this one open.

Another finger had burst out of my hand.

It wriggled of its own volition, yet I could feel everything. It seemed perfectly human, save for a claw on the end. Well, I shouldn't say claw. It was a fingernail, alright, but one that had been grown for a very specific purpose. A purpose that became entirely too clear, five minutes later, when the confused wriggling stopped, and that nail plunged directly into the back of my hand.

I screamed, naturally. That was about an hour ago. My partner was out visiting friends, and I doubt anyone else in the building cares too much. We scream at the cats sometimes. No big deal. But no, this scream was real. After I calmed down, it stabbed again. I tried to hold it back with my other arm, but what could I do? Hold it forever? I let go, figuring maybe that was a spasm, but it got me again. Harder, this time. I have a very prominent vein on the back of my hand that is now spurting out quite a bit of life. Hey, one might say, now is the time to sprint towards the nearest doctor! Instead, I panicked. I went to the kitchen, held the protrusion on the counter, and grabbed a knife. It struggled, but I was too busy panicking and making bad decisions to notice. One deep breath later, and I did what I had to do.

Now, I was back to my normal ten fingers.

But, oh, the pain. The pain that still throbs in my hand. At least it's over, and I can make something up at the doctor, right? I'm still not going, though. I'm sitting here, gripping the knife. I'm crying, and typing this up with every finger that isn't holding the knife because I want everyone to know it's not some ridiculous bubble syndrome. All of the nerves in my body are tingling right now. Naturally, I can see my hands as I type this. One is bleeding heavily. The other has a bubble growing faster than ever before.

THANX 4 READ! I tried posting on nosleep but it got removed cause i mentioned mental illness in the beginning i guess oh well

[timelordthirteen]

Killing Time 17/?

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: Weaver and Belle's frustration with the case and their feelings reaches a tipping point.

Notes: Okay, two things. 1. Please don't hate me. 2. I'm sorry this took so fucking long to get done. Work has been...special, and my health has been shitty. The next chapter is already 50% done so hopefully it won't be long before I can post more.

Warnings: Please see AO3 for complete warnings and tags.

[AO3]  Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

The days had become routine.

They worked in Belle’s office during the day, struggling to piece together the identity and history of a woman who seemed not to exist, and to find who killed her and buried her in a vacant lot. The latter they were certain they already knew, though it was hard to tie either Branson brother to Eloise Gardener in spite of the gut feeling everyone had and the fact that Nick had all but lead them to the body. They had reached out to every agency they could think of, and spent a dusty afternoon at the county records office. It was frustrating to know a connection was there, but not be able to prove it.

All that, combined with their current living situation, had put Weaver on a tenuous edge. Belle was sleeping better, and had only had one short lived nightmare. She seemed to be moving past what happened, though she had not gone back to her apartment for longer than it took to collect more clothes or personal items. Weaver’s apartment was full of them now. Her suitcase was a near permanent fixture in the bedroom, and several of her suits were hanging in the closet.

Every day for the last two weeks, they worked together and went home together. Together, except not; not in the way he wanted them to be. A couple of nights he slept on the sofa, but most of the time he lay next to her, in the bed that used to be theirs, torn between wanting to be there for her in whatever way she needed and wanting to demand answers as to where he stood.

Weaver sighed as he pulled open the door to the apartment, the rolling of the metal loud in the corridor. He wanted to sink into the sofa with a glass of scotch and zone out to whatever was on TV, alone with his thoughts. But there was Belle, following him inside, and while he was more than happy to have her there, he couldn’t think about things with her so close.

“Hungry?” she asked as he slid the door closed and flipped the lock. “There’s leftover fried rice, and some chicken from last night.”

“Whatever’s fine,” he muttered, dropping his leather jacket over the back of a bar stool.

She shrugged and went around the island on her way to the fridge, pulling it open to peek inside. “You can have first pick, I don’t care.”

“Just...whatever you want, okay?” He huffed and ran a hand through his hair. Space and time was what he needed, but it was in short supply. “I’m gonna shower.”

Belle frowned at his back as he cut across the living room and then shut the bathroom door hard. She startled a bit at the sound, almost dropping the takeout container as she pulled it out of the fridge. Catching it with her other hand, she sighed and set it on the counter, pausing to lean over it. Something was wrong with Weaver, but she didn’t know what.

They’d both expressed a feeling of irritation at not being able to progress the case, or solve the riddle of the identity of Ms. Gardener. She’d vented it earlier in the afternoon rather childishly, flinging a dry erase marker in his direction after he made a snide remark, but that was hardly the kind of thing that would make him upset enough to want to be away from her.

She popped the container in the microwave, and blew out a breath. The sound of the water running in the shower mixed with the hum of her dinner reheating, and she zoned out for a minute, startling again when the beep sounded out. She shook her head and pulled the container out carefully, blowing across the top before she set it down. Normally she loved leftover fried rice, especially the good stuff from Chen’s, but her appetite was nil now that she’d started over analyzing Weaver’s mood. With a sigh, she slid onto one of the bar stools and poke at the rice with a fork halfheartedly.

Weaver rubbed the towel over his hair, avoiding giving his reflection more than a passing glance in the mirror. He’d started to feel so much older in the last couple of years, his hair far more gray than brown now, and the lines around his eyes less from laughter and more from the weight of everything.

The shower had been as hot as he could stand, but he didn’t feel any better. He did feel resolved to confront the situation with Belle, however, but he wasn’t sure when or how. Not talking, not addressing his concerns and feelings had done him no favors in their marriage, and it had caused nothing but turmoil in the last few weeks. His neck was stiff from all the tension he was holding in his body, from every time he forced himself away from her in an effort to remain suitably distant.

Dropping the towel in the hamper, he nearly walked out into the apartment stark naked, before catching himself and retrieving it to wrap around his waist. Belle was sitting at the counter when he came out of the bathroom, and he paused for a long moment to watch her idly picking at her food. Her shoulders were slumped, her head was propped on her hand, and her whole body seemed so...defeated.

Closing his eyes, he resisted the urge to cross the space and start rubbing at her shoulders, her neck, to offer her whatever comfort he could because it pained him to see her like this. Instead, he hurried into the bedroom and put on fresh clothes.

Belle turned around as Weaver came out of the bedroom, and gave him a small smile. He was wearing a soft black t-shirt and his favorite jeans, the ones he couldn’t wear to work anymore, or really anywhere outside of the apartment. The cuffs were frayed, a seem pulled across the left knee, and a hole in one of the back pockets. He looked so comfortable, and she bit her lip as she looked away, sliding off the bar stool to dispose of what was left of her dinner.

He moved around the other end of the island and pulled open the door to the fridge with a loud exhale.

“Hey,” she said tentatively. “Feeling better?”

Weaver sighed and removed a small tupperware of deli meat from the fridge, setting on the counter to the side. He kept his back to Belle as she proceeded to ask him if he was hungry, if she could help. She was rambling, a usually endearing trait that happened when she was nervous, but he was already on edge and in danger of snapping at her.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, fumbling in the drawer for a butter knife.

“Hey.” She came around to stand near him, one hand on her hip. “Would you at least look at me?”

He huffed and turned around, his eyebrows lifted in annoyance.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’ve been weird since we left the office.”

He swallowed and ran a hand through his damp hair, reluctant to have this conversation now, despite its necessity in the long run. “I’m not - I’m...” He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Ian...” He could hear the irritation in her voice, and his jaw clenched. “Talk to me. Is it the case? Is it Rogers?”

It was all happening against his will and his better judgement. “No, it’s not - just - just leave it alone.”

Belle bit her lip and stepped closer. “Is it - is it me?”

He shook his head and moved away as she reached for him. “You have to decide,” he managed, his throat suddenly tight. “You have to decide what you want, Belle.”

She blinked and frowned at him, feeling like she’d missed a whole other part of the conversation. “What?”

“I can’t keep doing this.” He sighed as her fingertips brushed his arm, fighting the urge to take her hand. “Not - not every night. Not after everything.”

She pulled back her hand, confusion giving way to surprise, tinged with anger. “So, two weeks ago I could stay here as long as I liked, and now you want me to go?”

Weaver turned, and she drew away from him, her arms folding over her middle. “No - no that’s not - that’s not what I’m saying.”

He sighed and leaned back against the counter. His thoughts were too jumbled to come out properly, and seeing the way her face fell pulled at emotions that were too raw. He didn’t want her to go, ever, but he needed answers, even if that made her leave in the end. Maybe it was better if she did.

“Belle,” he continued, “I - I would hold you every night. For the rest of my life if you’d let me. But not like this, not when I don’t know how you feel, or where we stand.”

She let out a humorless laugh and looked away, her eyes settling on the clock on the oven for a moment. It was strange to have her words repeated back to her, especially after so much time. It had been in a moment almost exactly like this, a quiet, rainless night after weeks of uncertainty.

“I think I said that to you once,” she said softly. “About two years and eight months ago.”

Weaver rolled his eyes. Somehow he’d know it would go this way. It always did. “Oh, here we go,” he lamented. “Yeah, turn it around on me.”

Belle whirled on him. “I am not turning it around on you! You weren’t there!”

His eyes went wide. “What? You were the one who left. One last shag and then you packed your things!”

Her mouth flattened as she glared at him. “I asked you not to go that night. I - I needed you!”

He blew out a breath and put some distance between them, moving to the far side of the island. “There was a bloody body at pier five! What the hell was I supposed to do?”

Belle’s eyelids closed for a moment, and she shook her head. His bitter mood was making her angry, and she could feel a sharp pain in her chest as old wounds reopened themselves. Her face felt hot and her skin itched. She swore she could feel something on the inside of her leg, and she feared that if she looked down she’d see blood again, trickling down her leg, puddling menacingly on the floor.

“Last I checked,” she snapped, “James Rogers, was not only a decorated detective, but also a grown ass adult who can probably handle yet another dead body washing up on a pier!”

“I was on call!”

Her teeth clenched as she stalked towards him. “You. Weren’t. There!”

Her palm swatted at his arm on the last word, hitting him hard. He hissed in pain and stepped away from her, but she didn’t care. The trousers she’d worn to work, her underwear, her blouse, all felt sticky and wet to her, stained red in her memory. She blinked and her eyes stung as tears spilled over her cheeks.

“I lost our baby!” She screamed. “And you weren’t there!”

He couldn’t do this. She was angrier than he’d ever seen, her eyes wild and her face flushed, hair sticking to her face where it was wet. His body physically hurt, head to toe, as he forced himself to back away and not reach for her like he wanted to. He wished he could hold her and make it all go away, take back all the bad decisions and wrong choices, but they would probably have ended up here anyway. He turned and snatched his jacket off the back of the bar stool, flipping it around as he moved, and shoving his arms in the sleeves.

Belle swiped her hands over her face and followed him as he moved towards the door. “What are you doing?”

He paused and looked back at her, his voice resigned. “Leaving.”

She scoffed, her arm rising and falling, letting her palm slap against her thigh. “Right, of course you are. Running away when shit gets hard.”

Weaver’s mouth opened, ready with a biting retort, but then he sagged and pressed his lips together. “Yeah, whatever.”

He stopped, facing away from her, and she made herself stay put, resisting the desire to fling something at him. This was how it had gone before. She pushed, he pulled, and when things got bad he shut down and ran.

She crossed her arms, watching as he picked up his wallet and keys from the table by the door. “Just like your father after all. Things get tough, and you cut corners, you bend the rules, and you run away!”

He turned slowly, his face twisted in a mix of pain and rage like she’d never seen, not even when he hauled off and punched Nick Branson in the face. His eyes were bright, shining and dark, and she immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, as he yanked the door to the apartment open.

“Fuck...” she breathed, scrambling to close the distance between them. “Ian, no, please! I'm sorry I didn't mean that.”

Weaver stopped, his gaze turning dark as he flashed his teeth at her. “Oh, I think you did.”

The harsh slam of the door echoed off the high ceilings, and Belle startled. She stumbled back, her hand going out to catch herself and finding the back of the sofa. A gasping sob slipped out from between her fingers as she pressed her hand to her lips, her body shaking. The last few minutes had been like a terrible nightmare, one she’d had often after their divorce, but somehow the reality of it was so much worse. A strange cry escaped her as she made her way around the couch, all but collapsing onto it, her head in her hands and her palms wet with tears.

[ilkkawhat]

Rating: Teen Characters: Nick Stokes Word Count: 1,570 Summary: What if Nick had ended up in the sensory deprivation tank on that campus? Notes: An AU to the events of 11x16, Turn On, Tune In, Drop Dead. Also happens to fit with the Whumptober prompt #24, You're Not Making Any Sense

shoutout to deltajackdalton who gave this a read for me!

read on ao3 or read below:

Flickering bulbs flitter light in and out of the campus hallway. He thinks nothing of it, the initial unease of the atmospheric crime scene had long since faded. He had gotten over the cluttered nature of the neglected hallway, the overgrown nature of the scientist’s laboratory that really reminded him of Grissom’s office, with the almost hoarding of materials that lined every inch of the walls, shelves curving in an almost collapse from the weight of all that’s stored on it.

He had gotten over the 333 on the door that he tentatively walked through, without a second thought of his guardian angel’s warning to him. He shoves the coincidence into the furthest recess of his mind, where he keeps all of the other discomforts he collects from the disturbing, horrific crime scenes, putting off the time for existential dread and crises for later, when he’s not working...when he’s supposed to be sleeping.

Besides, he’s been in the room before.

But not alone.

Though he has a sneaking suspicion backed by the fact that he had heard a clattering noise that drew him here in the first place, that really, he’s not alone.

He connects his gun and flashlight at his wrists, walking slowly and taking in every detail he can, searching the shadows for signs of movement and finds himself tossing aside the plastic flaps of the draw curtain to find the decorated tank in the center of the room, no longer occupied by any corpses, but still half filled with water.

He shines his light in, half expecting to find another corpse, but instead the void is solitary, luring his head in for a few seconds before he hears a noise behind him--

Mid-spin, something knocks into his arm brandishing his gun, it clatters to the floor--he quickly raises his other, his grip on the flashlight readjusting to brandish it as a weapon--but then his neck is chopped and he falls back, not to the floor, but slamming into tensely contained water--

“No!” he shouts, his fingers keeping grasp on the flashlight as he tries to kick his feet onto the lid that seals him into the complete darkness of the tank. He pounds his fists on the wall--or it the ceiling?--as he flails his body in the water, no longer still in his panicking presence.

The flashlight’s beam bounces around him, further disorienting him--he can’t tell if he shuts it off, or just simply shuts his eyes to rid himself of the sight of just how small the space is, how his legs don’t quite fit--he’s bent at the knees, his elbows keep bumping against the walls--a sharp slap to his angled nerves only serves to deepen his hysteria as this situation is far too similar to one he endured nearly six years ago--

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!” he demands in what he feels, is an embarrassing scream.

There’s a sliding, grinding sheathing of metal across the outside of the box--it reminds him of the door closing and locking on a prison cell--teardrops mix with the water that he’s indirectly splashing onto his own face--his gulps for air are short and strangled, the only noise that echoes through the sudden silence of his new tomb, besides the scraping of his splitting nails against the metal.

He tries to reign himself in, quiet himself--perhaps his assailant will think he died, open up the lid, and he can escape--

Moments pass. Minutes. Hours? The only sound he can hear is his own.

He slows his breathing, intensifies its weight but the air is thick. Too thick. He has no support this time around, messy calculations with changing numbers as he tries to account for the air he’s already wasted, for just how much water is in the tank, for the dimensions of this depriving container that is robbing him of more than just air, it seems to be robbing him of life.

His body agrees--though internally he’s still on an everlasting fire that the water can’t extinguish, physically he feels his muscles relax. Limp, almost, as his hands slide down and plop into the water. His feet continue to press against the lid, but the strain on his leg muscles falters, his knees wobble in a weak twitch as the wet fabric of his clothes settles into a cold slap against his pruning skin.

He closes his eyes, longing for the whir of the fan and finding himself daring to miss the green glow in opposition to the harsh white of the flickering, waterlogged flashlight.

Even the beads of water that slide down his face remind him of the ants crawling on his skin. He wishes for the itching burn instead of this freezing numbness.

Wishes so hard, that when he opens his eyes and pulls up his flashlight, he finds that the scratched metal surrounding him morphs into a wallpaper of packed dirt, dark veins connecting the malleable material slammed against the walls around him.

A large circle expands between his feet, a spotlight that flickers on--though really, it’s just him fumbling with his flashlight that he accidentally aims at his face--he pulls his feet together to cover it, the light disappears.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he begins to cry.

There’s no tape recorder to tell him what he did to deserve this (his job,) nor to leave his final words (that he won’t really get to say, his final breath will surely be a final anguished scream.)

There’s no glowstick to replenish the dim light; the flashlight is losing its life just as he’s losing his, though he does find a certain comfort in the darkness, unable to see the fine details such as his own terrified reflection in front of him. Instead, his vision fills with his favorite colors, bright and vibrant and providing him with nostalgia for the overly colorful tones of his childhood, before the spectrum was tainted with greys and darker variants splotching over his innocence. He tries to envision the outer coloring of his prison, the swirling pastel chalk to mask the horror of darkness inside.

There’s no gun to end it all instantly, instead he’s forced to just...float. Wait for it. Wait for the final ounce of air that will enter his body, for the final exchange of oxygen for his production of carbon dioxide only to be left hanging by a thread that snaps away from existence as he knows it.

And though he knows it’s coming, he’ll never know when.

He’s worked this job long enough to know that life is too short, death is a certainty, and it doesn’t discriminate between those who deserve it, and those that do. If things ever seem too good, they most definitely are.

Just like the night at the restaurant.

The tears begin again, and through the choking sounds of his own sobs, he swears for a second...that he hears a knocking.

“H-hello? I’m in here!” he cries out with hope, and is surprised at the response.

“Hang on, buddy, we got you! We got you!” a muffled yell, a distinctly familiar voice.

He puts his hands to the ceiling, pounding, as if that would speed up the process of building this link to the past, an opportunity to hear a ghost’s voice, perhaps even converse with him--

“Get me out, pl-please!”

“It’s okay, shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” the voice soothes him.

“Wa-wa-r-rick--” he gasps sharply, as being told that “it’s okay” seems to send his body through a whole new wave of panic, searching for the state of being in such a way. To be filled with the air that is being painstakingly drawn out of his body. Filled with blood untainted and unthinned, flowing under healthy skin that isn’t shriveling like a raisin. Filled with energy to think, to feel, to move. Filled with a satisfied appetite that keeps his body from growling at him, berating him for not only its dehydration but its starvation as well.

Filled with love, which is what each word that speaks to him is lined with trace in--if he had a sample brought to the lab for analysis, the results would be one hundred percent friendship. Companionship. Confirmation that in this world that always seems to knock him down, going so far as to lock and bury him away so deep that no soul could find him, that he’s not alone.

“I got you, Nicky, I always got you…”

He presses his hands flat, drops of pressurized blood dripping onto his face but he keeps his darkness-adjusted eyes focused above, waiting for his angel to rescue him--

The lid at his feet is opened.

He’s pulled out, screaming.

They try to be gentle, limiting their touches as he flounders on the ground.

He’s overstimulated.

And slightly embarrassed, but mostly upset.

Deprived of all senses, of course his mind defaulted to the box. Anybody who knew what he had gone through could see that plain as day--which is why nobody says anything beyond asking, “are you okay?”

They know he’s not.

But worse than that, he was deprived of an opportunity. One final conversation with his departed best friend.

“Throw me back in,” he rasps out in a weak plea to his caretaker, before he falls into a boundless void of sleep.