#<- this is all too say since Jack is gone Tricks has no idea how to act. He went through he depression and without Jack I think he starts to

[hyperionshipping]

Think the twins don't even care about Tricks because bandits dying is not all that concerning and I think people assumed "that little dog of Jack's" died with him.

I think Tricks only becomes a hassle sometime later on. But no one can seem to find him... Lilith keeps dealing with vandalization and her already small crew getting picked off ("It's like a professional is hitting us. I... I think I know who it is") and, I think, just because he can he fucks with streams/the towers. He's got so much hate in his body.

Oh, and Jack's shield. Now you see him, now you don't, and now a corrosive bullets lodged in the worst spot it could be. Killing you agonizingly slow! If he doesn't shoot again and... oh. He did already

[pathologicalreid]

hiii I love ur fics <3 I am OBSESSED with the prompt “can you come get me?” bc h/c makes me 💥💥💥 so I was thinking:

reader has been kidnapped by the latest unsub and the team is trying their hardest to find her but all the leads keep coming up empty until one day Spencer gets a call from her and the first thing she says is “can you come get me?” she sounds extremely upset and afraid so Spencer and Hotch leave to go find her. when they get there, she looks like she’s been through hell so they rush her to the hospital to be checked out, all the while they can’t seem to get any info out of her about what happened.

Spencer & reader could be platonic or romantic, whichever you like. (also I was thinking maybe hotchner!reader ? if that wouldn’t be too many things to ask for lol)

I love how you do angst and h/c, so keep up the good work and have a wonderful day <3

can you come get me? | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, hospitals, stitches, blood draws, catatonia, disassociation, brief mention of sa, ohio mentioned, general cm violence (let me know if i missed any) word count: 4.56k a/n: i have no idea how this got so long but i love the plot of it so much that i couldn't cut any of it! i'm such a slut for the "you came"/"you called" trope that i couldn't help myself! i wrote this with the idea that it would be in place of the m*eve storyline (which means our lord and savior blake is here)!! anyways anon i hope you enjoy this - i love you!

Any external sound was completely ignored as Spencer flipped through the same file for the eighteenth time that day. In his periphery, he saw JJ and Rossi nod at each other before Rossi split away, walking up the ramp to where Hotch’s office was.

It took him a moment to realize JJ had made herself comfortable by sitting on the edge of his desk. She had her jacket neatly folded in her arms as she eyed the file he had, grief filling her eyes as she registered what he was looking at. “What are you doing tonight?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as light as possible.

The question was entirely pointless, she knew exactly what he was doing tonight, but in an attempt to get her to leave him alone, Spencer humored her, “I’m working late tonight,” he answered simply.

JJ’s smile faltered ever so slightly before she shook her head, “You’ve been working late all week, what if you come over tonight? Will’s making dinner. Garcia’s coming after she finishes her system update,” the attempt to get him out of the office didn’t go over his head, but it wasn’t going to work. “Henry would love to see you – maybe you could teach him a new magic trick.”

Peeling his eyes off of the paperwork, he looked up at the blonde, “You know I can’t.” He felt so close to an answer, he couldn’t possibly leave.

“Look, Reid, I get it, but you’ve been working crazy hours for the past month. Maybe taking a night off would be good. You can start fresh in the morning,” she tried to coax him into leaving the case be.

It hadn’t been a full month; it had been twenty-seven days. Almost four full weeks since you were taken. It had been one week since Section Chief Cruz had told Hotch that the BAU needed to start taking new cases, as the trail to you had run cold.

Considering you were Hotch’s daughter, that discussion had gone rather poorly. Cruz had been able to give the team leeway. Both Spencer and Hotch had fully intended on taking advantage of that leeway, and the rest of the team helped when they had the capacity.

Turning back to your file, Spencer shook his head, “I’ll go if Hotch goes.” He knew there was no way Hotch would be leaving the office tonight, the only reason Hotch went home anymore was for Jack, and he was at a sleepover tonight.

JJ’s shoulders slumped in abject disappointment as her eyes followed Dave as he exited Hotch’s office, the slamming of the door enough to make the lingering BAU agents flinch. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, defeated.

Rossi wagged a finger at Spencer, “Go home at some point tonight, kid,” he instructed.

Waving a quick goodbye, Spencer resumed making notes in the margins of the papers that were making a permanent home on his desk. He looked up when Hotch exited his office, eyes following him as he brewed a pot of coffee in the kitchenette. The two of them acknowledged each other with a nod before continuing on with the hunt.

Both of them knew the odds, that you had been gone this long and there was a good chance that they’d never see you again. Despite that, Spencer would head up to Hotch’s office in about an hour, and the two of them would confer.

Eventually, the sun set, and a thunderstorm rolled in, the flashes of light coming in through the windows as he began to consider going for another cup of coffee.

Wiping a hand down his face, he inwardly groaned as his phone started to ring. Half expecting it to be JJ, he was surprised to find that it was an unknown caller. Clicking the answer button, he lifted the phone to his ear, “Hello, this is Dr. Reid.”

There was an eerie silence on the other end of the call, if he strained his ears, he could hear the pattering of rain. He tried to greet the other person again, but when there was no answer, he started to lower the phone to hang up.

“Can you come get me?” Your quiet voice came through the receiver, effectively knocking the wind out of Spencer’s lungs.

Fiddling with his belongings, Spencer gripped your file, “Where are you?” He asked urgently.

You sniffled, “I don’t know. A payphone off of twenty-eight.” If he strained his ears, he could listen to the rain. Spencer wondered if he could calculate how far away you were by the sound of the thunder where you were compared to where he was.

His chest ached at the exhaustion in your tone, imagining you had gotten approximately as much sleep as he had recently. That is to say, little to none. Pulling the phone slightly away from his face, he called out for Hotch, getting his attention and waving him over. “Y/N, can you see any mile markers or exit signs anywhere?” Spencer asked, bringing the phone back up to his ear.

“I can’t see much of anything,” you admitted. That made sense, your glasses had been recovered at your abduction scene. Spencer kept them in his bag with the rest of your belongings that had been released from evidence. “I feel lucky enough that I was able to find a pay phone,” you said, and for the first time, he noticed that you were whispering.

Glancing at the inside of his wrist, Spencer checked the time. JJ had mentioned something about Garcia staying in her office for a system update – what were the odds the tech analyst was still there? Stalking out of the bullpen, he made his way to her office, Hotch hot on his heels.

After knocking on the door, her voice rang out, “Enter, mere mortal.” Once she had recognized who it was, she greeted Spencer directly, “Ah, Dr. Reid, did you need a ride to JJ’s?”

“Can you locate a payphone based on the phone number?” He asked hurriedly, the longer you stood out there in the rain, the more danger you might be in.

A confused look was plastered on her face, but she turned back to her screens and started click-clacking away. “Most def, boy genius. Run me the digits,” she responded, pulling up some sort of database that Spencer didn’t recognize – probably for the best.

She typed the phone number just as quickly as he recited it, turning around and telling him that the pay phone in question was approximately thirty minutes away. You had only been thirty minutes away this entire time. “Send the coordinates to Hotch’s phone,” Spencer instructed, stepping toward the door. “Tell the rest of the team to come in,” he continued, “it’s Y/N.”

Each stage of grief flashed across Penelope’s face as she nodded assuredly, scrambling for her phone as she took care of notifications.

Impatiently, Hotch held the elevator door open as Spencer entered, keeping the phone up to his ear, “Stay on the phone,” he told you.

A desperate whimper came from your end of the call, “I don’t have any change. I found a few quarters on the ground, but I don’t have anything on me.”

“Stay on as long as you can, angel,” Spencer amended. “We’re on our way.”

The rain was worse than he had initially thought, but Mother Nature was no match for Aaron Hotchner. They were only about five minutes from the coordinates that Garcia had shared, and the phone call had dropped off before they were even on the main highway. The dropped call certainly didn’t help the rising tension in the SUV.

“Did she sound scared?” Hotch had asked for the nth time.

Not taking his eyes off of the map, Spencer nodded, “She sounded like she was stranded in the middle of the woods in Virginia, in a thunderstorm, and was using a pay phone as a lifeline.” His entire body was thrumming with nervous energy as they sped down the road, “but she’s alive.”

He didn’t miss the way Hotch’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. You being alive would have to be enough of a comfort to the both of them for now, but Spencer knew what your life meant to your father.

“There it is,” Spencer said, interrupting his thoughts with the recognition of a phone booth on the side of the road, in front of a seemingly abandoned gas station. In a moment of uncharacteristic recklessness, Spencer clambered out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop, an umbrella and jacket in tow.

Hesitantly, he approached the crumpled heap of limbs underneath the pay phone. It wasn’t a full booth, it had just enough coverage to prevent the payphone from short-circuiting. You had jammed yourself underneath it, trying to keep yourself as dry as possible.

Kneeling in front of you, he swept his sopping-wet hair from his face, “Y/N.” His voice was no more than a breath, he didn’t dare reach out to touch you — lest you not want to be touched. A strike of lightning lit your surroundings enough for him to note the bruise that had bloomed on your cheek.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched as your lips parted in recognition, “You came,” you whispered.

He nodded, “You called.” His heart soared as you shuffled yourself closer to him, allowing him to wrap the FBI-issued jacket around your rain-soaked frame. “Let’s get you out of this rain, alright?”

Standing up on shaky legs, Spencer helped you walk to the SUV where your dad was waiting, shining a flashlight to help guide you to the vehicle. Based on how heavily you were leaning on him, he could tell that your left leg was injured. Despite your injury, you stepped away from Spencer to hug your father.

For a moment, Spencer felt like he was intruding on a family moment, but he recalled all of the times he had been invited to join in Hotchner festivities these last few years and allowed his eyes to meet Hotch’s.

The two of them shared an understanding look as Hotch pulled away, “We should get you to a hospital,” he said, cupping your face with parental gentleness.

Spencer helped you into the SUV, unable to put any pressure on your leg, you depended on the handles to pull yourself up. As you maneuvered yourself, he tried to determine what your injuries were. His eyes scanned your body until he made his way back to your face, “Angel, keep your eyes open.” He felt as if he was asking a lot of you, but he didn’t know if you had taken a hit to the head. Falling asleep could do more damage. “Hey, Y/N?” He said, watching as your eyes fell shut and your head slumped forward. “Hotch,” Reid said urgently from the backseat.

Understanding perfectly, Hotch hit the lights on the SUV and turned on the siren. Flashes of red and blue signaled to other drivers that there was an emergency.

You were silent.

As soon as they had gotten you to the emergency room, your entire demeanor had changed. Spencer guessed that you had been in fight or flight when they had picked you up from the phone booth, and now that you were getting the help that you needed, all of the fight had vacated your being.

In the white fluorescence of the hospital, he could see how drained you looked. Once the doctors got their hands on you, you refused to let him or your dad near you.

Hotch was in the hallway, talking on the phone with your Aunt Jessica while he tried to arrange childcare for Jack so he could stay with you - the leader of your care team estimated you’d be in the hospital for at least a few days.

While you had been mobile when they came to get you, your energy had left along with your adrenaline, and eventually, the best course of action was to just let you sleep. That was how Spencer ended up sitting cross-legged in a stiff hospital chair, watching over you as you slept.

Respectful of your wishes, he kept a fair distance from you, but you’d be hard-pressed to convince him to let you out of his sight. There were tubes and wires going every which way from your body, oxygen, an IV, and electrodes monitored your life. Boiling you down to a collection of numbers that showed Spencer just how alive you were.

The doctors suspected you had bacterial pneumonia, but they were still waiting on the results of your chest X-ray to make a formal diagnosis. Your presumed leg injury had turned out to be a bruised hip bone – part of a sickening pattern that reflected that of someone who had been thrown down a flight of stairs.

A knock on the window to your hospital room caught his attention, causing him to turn his head and come face to face with Rossi and Blake. Opening the blinds so that he’d be able to keep an eye on you from the hallway, Spencer stood up and joined his colleagues in the corridor.

“What’s the report?” Rossi asked, nodding in the direction of your room, and placing his hands on his hips.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck before responding, “The doctor said that all things considered, she’s in good shape, but…” Shaking his head to wake himself up, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, “She’s sick and was beaten. Right now, she’s sleeping. We have no idea she was running in the woods, so it’s not surprising that she’s exhausted.”

He continued on to list other maladies that the doctors had provided, dehydration, malnutrition, one cut on your arm that needed to be stitched, and that was just scratching the surface. Dave nodded understandingly, “but the sooner we get to ask her questions, the better.”

Shrugging, Spencer looked over at your father, and then back to you, “When she wakes up on her own,” he murmured, watching as a nurse checked on your IV. He didn’t want to risk waking you up or asking too much too soon of you. “Can I ask you a quick question?” He lifted a finger inquisitively to the nurse who was walking out of your room, scribbling something on your chart.

The nurse hummed in response, raising her eyebrows as she waited for him to ask.

“Do you think the infection has anything to do with her silence? She might be hurting so she isn��t talking?” He asked, it wasn’t unheard of, when people were in a lot of pain, sometimes they coped with silence.

While the nurse might have an excellent bedside manner, the three profilers took note of the concern in her eyes. “The silence might have more to do with her psychological well-being than her physical well-being,” she responded, it was a healthcare way of trying to appease them. Really, they didn’t know much better than the members of the BAU did.

Blake’s eyebrows shot up in curiosity, “Could it be catatonia?”

“In order to diagnose catatonia, she’d need to display three of twelve symptoms. Those are stupor, catalepsy, waxy flexibility, mutism, negativism, posturing, mannerism, stereotypy, agitation, grimacing, echolalia, and echopraxia. So far, she really only meets one of twelve,” Spencer answered.

Shrugging, the nurse pointed at Spencer with her pen, “What he said.” She looked down at the chart before continuing, “Her care team leader called for a psych consult, but we won’t really know one way or the other until she wakes up.”

Nodding, Rossi nodded in acknowledgment, “What else could it be?”

Pursing her lips, the nurse tilted her head to the side, “Peritraumatic disassociation is another possibility, but again, we won’t know until she wakes up.”

The waiting game began. As luck would have it, an FBI agent being abducted created a lot of paperwork, so Hotch was holed up in a conference room while Rossi and Blake worked on the profile. JJ and Morgan stayed back at Quantico with Garcia to look back at what information Hotch and Spencer had been gathering over the past twenty-seven – now twenty-eight – days.

Spencer stayed with you, tucking your blanket around you when he watched goosebumps sprout along your arms. He paid close attention to everything that the doctors and nurses said about your condition, relaying everything to Hotch via text message. They ran a kit on you, and the only solace was that there was a chance that they could DNA match whoever did this to you.

He left that last part out of his message to your father.

As soon as you started waking up, Spencer had to leave the room, watching from the hallway as medical personnel flurried around your bed. At first, he had assumed your aversion to himself and your dad was an overall aversion to men, but you didn’t flinch when it came to the male doctor who was checking your vitals manually.

A nurse peeked out from the door, “Are you Dave?”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Spencer cocked his head back in confusion, “No? I’m not – why?” He asked, gaze flickering back into your room as you scrawled something on the piece of paper that a nurse had handed you.

“She said she’d talk to Dave,” the inquiring nurse shrugged, turning back into your room, and adjusting your pillow beneath your head.

Still confused, Spencer slipped his phone out of his pocket, nimbly typing a message to Rossi before returning the phone to its home in his slacks. Trying to respect your peace, Spencer remained in the hallway, leaning back against the wall as he heard the familiar sound of Italian leather boots turning the corner. “Are you sure she didn’t mean Aaron?”

Spencer shook his head, mirroring the older man’s confusion, “She physically wrote your name out. She’ll only speak to you,” he answered, trying to hide his own pain for the sake of ridding you of yours. If you wouldn’t talk to your father or himself, it made the most sense that you’d talk to Rossi. You’ve known him the entire time your father worked in the BAU.

Shrugging, Rossi walked into your room and approached you with the care of a man approaching a deer. He remained this way until he made it to your bed, and Spencer watched as he smoothed your hair away from your face affectionately.

You leaned into his touch, and Spencer didn’t miss the cue. When was the last time anyone had touched you with love in their heart?

He had kissed you goodbye before you went on your run, just thirty minutes before your location turned off and your usual Thursday route turned into a hunting ground. With what you did for work, you switched paths frequently, but someone had been watching you, or at least, that was the conclusion the team had drawn.

Watching as Rossi spoke with you, Spencer noticed one anomaly – you weren’t speaking to him. Instead, all of his questions were answered with blinks or scribbling on paper.

The two of you went until a nurse came in, telling the both of you that they needed to run a few more tests. Taking his leave, Rossi told you something that Reid couldn’t quite make out and rejoined him in the hallway.

“What did you say to her? Just now?” Spencer asked, his need for any sort of contact with you becoming so desperate that he’d now accept it secondhand.

Frowning, Rossi placed both of his hands on his hips, “I called her piccolina, I used to call her that all the time when she was just a little thing running around the old BAU bunker.” Taking a moment, Rossi pulled out his little notebook and read through it. “White male, late twenties to early thirties, sometimes gone for days on end citing ‘work,’ but she never figured out what he did for work.”

Spencer’s eyes burned at the realization that you had been working your own case while being victimized, he peered in through the window as a nurse drew your blood.

“She said he drove a dark American sedan, making it either blue or black,” Rossi continued to list off, eyes following Blake as she approached the two of you. “Y/N said the car was filthy like he had been living out of it when he couldn’t get to her in the woods. The car had an Ohio party plate on it with expired tags.”

Blake arched a brow at the new information, “Party plate?” She said quizzically, looking at Spencer for clarification.

Nodding, Spencer looked over at his friend, “That’s the colloquial name for restricted license places. They’re given to people who are convicted of DUIs, which is actually called an OVI in Ohio. In Ohio, they’re yellow with red print, and the only state to have something similar is Minnesota where they call them whiskey plates because they all start with the letter W.”

“Well, he’s confident. Maybe too confident, driving around with expired tags and a license plate that already puts a spotlight on him,” Blake said thoughtfully, adding to the profile in her mind. “We should get this information to Garcia, maybe look for people who recently relocated from Ohio with those plates,” she suggested to Rossi.

Rossi nodded, skillfully flipping the cover back over his notepad and gesturing for Blake to follow him to the conference room, effectively leading Spencer to his own devices. When the nurse left to bring the vials of blood to the lab, he returned to your room, taking his seat on the edge of the room – as far away as he could get while keeping his eyes on you.

He looked up to your bed, catching you staring at him. As soon as you knew you had been caught, you turned your head to the other side, averting your gaze toward the window.

Every thirty minutes or so, Spencer moved the chair approximately five inches closer to you, by four in the morning, he had closed half of the space between you. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. You had that crease between your eyebrows that told him you were thinking too hard, and he had to sit on his hands to stop himself from reaching out and touching it as if he could soothe all of your bad thoughts.

In the doorway, Rossi had appeared, garnering your attention as you propped yourself up on the flat hospital pillows. “We got him,” Rossi announced to the room, a reserved smile on his face.

Spencer watched as you visibly relaxed on the bed, your face softened as your eyebrows relaxed. Rossi explained some next steps, but he was only half listening, he could only focus on you.

Once Dave was gone, Spencer took a leap of faith and shuffled the chair to your bedside, “How are you feeling, angel?” He asked, taking up a muted tone.

You stared at him, blinking at him until, eventually, your face crumpled, and you leaned toward him.

Not missing a beat, Spencer stood up from his chair so that he could sit on the edge of your bed, meeting you in the middle, he gently wrapped his arms around you, rubbing small, soothing circles along your back with the flat of his hand.

In the past twenty-eight days, Spencer thought that being reunited with you could fix all of the hurt in his chest, but this, right here, was a different kind of pain. Tears sept through the fabric of his shirt just as soon as they fell from your eyes, and all of the hurt that he had felt before just morphed into a different kind of suffering.

His heart ached at the sight of you in this much pain, so much emotional turmoil that you had silenced yourself. What was he supposed to say in order to comfort you? ‘You’re okay,’ was wholly false, and ‘it’s alright’ felt like a cruel joke. You very clearly weren’t okay, and none of this was alright.

“I’m here,” he reassured you, his voice no more than a croak as he tried to swallow his own emotions. “I’m right here,” he repeated, continuing his ministrations on your back until you had cried yourself to sleep.

With your body in its weakened state, Spencer carefully adjusted you onto the bed, making sure none of your tubes or wires were kinked before settling back down in his chair and taking your hand in his.

Around the time the sun came up, your care team came through for morning rounds and woke you up to thoroughly inspect your status. Once they left you to your own devices – with the promise of food in half an hour – Spencer focused all of his attention on trying to coax you into speaking to him.

Tenderly, he dragged a finger across your forehead before continuing down the bridge of your nose, “I’d really like to hear your voice, sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, maintaining a subdued tone in the early hours of the morning.

He watched as you sighed, deflating all of the air in your lungs as you tipped your head to the side, interrupting his movements. “I asked him to do it,” you murmured, voice raspy from lack of use.

“To do what?” Spencer asked, heart beating a little faster at the sound of your voice. He watched how you nervously gripped a fistful of sheets and looked at him. Only you weren’t looking at him, it was more like you were looking through him.

You took a deep, shuddering breath before you answered, “To kill me.”

The confession weighed heavy on his shoulders, but it wasn’t regarding anything against you. It was in the realization that you had been in so much physical and emotional turmoil while in captivity that you had asked for your own death. That even for a moment, you sat in front of a killer and asked for him to end your life as an act of mercy.

Noting Spencer’s lack of response, you continued speaking, “That’s why he let me go. I begged him to just end it and that took away any appeal for him.”

Last night. You had pleaded on behalf of your own demise last night. Carefully considering his next words, Spencer met your eyes and replied, “That must’ve taken a lot of courage.”

You faltered for a moment, evidently not having expected those words from him, “What are you talking about?”

It made sense to him now, why you wouldn’t talk to him or your dad. He felt like such a fool. You had been ashamed because you felt like your abductor had diminished your worth by breaking you down. Spencer knew better, “You stood your ground. You faced your own death, and you chose that over further suffering. Dying isn’t an undignified act, no matter how it comes upon you,” he reminded you, smoothing your hair away from your face as he watched your lip quiver.

“Thank you for staying,” you croaked as emotion closed your throat.

Spencer hummed thoughtfully, swiping a rogue tear from your cheek, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

[emmedoesntdomath]

emme’s 92sies review

@sparkedblaze I stole your idea because I was bored xoxo so here's my 92sies thoughts, with occasional running historical commentary:

okay having max do the intro was genius, he's a perfect introduction

they're on the horace greeley statue that's cool (editor of the tribune) (left, came back, died) (yer a nerd, emme)

kloppmannnnnn my guy

we really ditched the cowboy bit in livesies huh

max: *smack*

mush is RIPPED

god I love skittery and his relationship with race so muchhhh

ooh christian did a little dance- kind of. he twirled once. love you babe.

I actually love the 92sies lyrics and I know that's an unpopular opinion, but they're so funny

christian bale was either high or drunk whilst filming this and that's a fact

morris is older. fight me (not you, @noxexistant, I love you. just blaze.) (IM KIDDING IM KIDDING)

race's jokes are funnier here just because max casella looks like he's having the time of his life saying them

"must be from brooklyn"

no way my guy just counted all those papers that quick

I love how jack just straight up mocks davey,., like bro that's not how you get a bf

PULITZER HAS A MAGNIFYING GLASS HE HAS A MAGNIFYING GLASS (at this point, pulitzer was nearly blind because of health issues. we love to see historically accurate choices)(or I do at least)

that is how headlines worked, actually. stealin from the competition, stealin again

GUESS WE BOTH GOT AN EDUCATION

yessssss 92sies les drink that beer

why does every fight scene look like it's from a cartoon

davey's such an asshole. I adore him.

medda I love you but literally every part of your casting and story in this movie is wrong and makes me mad

davey: -and our friend

jack: fucki- excuse you??? since when

sarah's so prettyyyyyyy and not interested in jack at all

this version of santa fe is like,.., sweeter. I'm pretty sure I've fallen asleep to it before

oop except for the dancing bit. forgot about that.

HELP WHY IS THERE A HORSE AIN'T NO WAY FRANCIS SULLIVAN KNOWS HOW TO RIDE A HORSE

Imao oscar imitating kid blink

are you outta your MIND- racetrack higgins, 1899

look at davey being the voice of reason and then immediately doing a 180 after making eye contact with his crush. proud of you bro

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT

boot's lil solo is the best and so cute oh my god

dentondentondentondenton

you're just gonna let your little brother walk into the world with a guy you met a week ago????

jackie boyyyyyyyyyy

dominic lucero has my entire heart. he does everything with a grin and enthusiasm I,,, *brb sobbing into my pillow*

..they are throwing hundreds of dollars in papers away like it's confetti

NOO CRUTCHYYYY

iS tHaT dAvE hEyA dAvE

cartoon fight.2

gabriel damon is like a literal child and he is doing the absolute most

THE CEILING FAN TRICK YES BUMLETS (I take it back, dominic is still doing the most) 

every word out of crutchy's mouth makes me want to hit a brick wall (affectionate) 

bro sarah's gay and thinks you're an idiot

ON THE GROUNDS OF BROOKLYN YOUR HONOR (-my favorite part of the entire movie)

I love that gabriel and max seem to be actually friends, despite their age difference. that was definitely the reason people started seeing sprace.

denton seemed to care about davey, at least a little bit, which is interesting to me, because he seems to only care about the other newsies a little bit. I feel like it’s a sees himself in him deal.

don't hide under carriages kids

they would not let him use a very expensive printing press as a bed. I refuse. I’m in denial about it. 

RALLY RALLY RALLY

spot conlon is an icon

do I have problems with medda? yes. do I think the swing is kind of cool? also yes. 

jack, you’re an idiot 

NO DAVEY LOOKS SO HURT STOP IT

the jokes weren’t funny I took the money my friends from home don’t know what to say

there’s no bill and darcyyyyyyyy. sad times. 

this version of once and for all is too slow and boring. sorry not sorry.

90s CGIIIIII FOR THE WIN

I feel like this version of the strike has gone on for like three minutes, not two weeks, but that’s fine

pulitzer and jack are both approximately two years old shouting SHUT UP at each other

look at all those kids (is this reality? meh. hundreds to thousands of kids did show, but that seems like overkill)

the goveaNAH

why are all of the jacobs crying??? they’ve known this guy for a month at most???

oooo carrying the banner’s backkkk (again, these lyrics are better, you shall bury me on this hill)

bro he came back and the first thing out of his mouth was davey come over here. gay.

oh hi denton

YES SPOT BE THE KING THAT YOU ARE RIDE THAT CARRIAGE

and then they got a happy ending. so cute. 

okay, okay, so. cinematically? the movie needs some help. it wasn’t very planned out, and it’s clearly a disney movie at some points. 6.5/10

historically? they did better than I remembered. certainly better than the stage production. my biggest issues lie with medda and probably jack himself. 7.5/10

musically? I like their carrying the banner, king of new york, and santa fe a lot. but most of these kids weren’t professionals, which does give the stage production a better quality. still, they worked with what they had. 7/10

overall? I adore this movie. I really do. I’m going to be honest, though, and say 7.5/10

okay I’m done now because it’s midnight. I’ll post this tomorrow. byeeeeee

[yandere--stuck]

Bad Blood - Yandere!Batman x Reader x Yandere!Joker

It wasn't just The Joker who had been watching you. And to a point, you were aware of that.

After all, that just came with the territory of being a minor celebrity within Gotham city. It wasn't often that those considered "famous" in Gotham didn't either have connections to the mafia or were locked up within Arkham or Blackgate. 

As a reporter, you were watched on the news, on the streets - occasionally approached by fans, at parties where you mingled with your peers or made connections. All rather normal, really.

But, there were times when you could just feel it in your bones. You were being watched.

Like in the dark of night, the moon following you on your walk home. Alone. When the light from street lamps bathed everything in orange. The streets empty, the occasional car zooming by. It was then that you had felt watched.

It was understandable, something innate in humans, to feel frightened of the dark and the paranoia of being alone. Our imaginations run wild, and we trick ourselves into thinking that there's something out there with us. Someone following our every move, hiding just out of sight. But, no matter how many times you swore you were being watched, nothing ever happened. No muggings, no stalkers, no threats. When you got back to your apartment, unlocking and then re-locking all six of the locks on your door, you were able to let out a sigh of relief - it was just your own paranoia getting the best of you. You weren't being followed. You could relax, knowing that it was all in your head.

But, it wasn't.

Your paranoia wasn't unfounded. The shiver of your spine at the feeling of being watched wasn't your mind tricking itself. But, of course, even when you'd turn around to try and spot someone, something, you hadn't been able to see him. He had hid in the shadows and crouched atop rooftops, keeping watch over you.

He had done so every night. The moment you left the studio, to when you started your walk, and then headed home. He even stuck around to peer through your window, making sure you were truly safe. It wasn't something any of the Robins or Oracle knew about - it wasn't something they had to know. Well… It's not like he exactly lied about what he was doing during the alotted time of your walk home. But, he also didnt want to admit it, either - not that he thought what he was doing was wrong, but… He just didn't want anyone to be worried. To get the wrong idea. And it rarely took time out of his nightly patrol, just fifteen minutes. It wasn't a big deal.

He was just protecting you. That was just his job. He was supposed to protect the people of Gotham. To protect you. He just had a… Fixation, that's all. And when Bruce gets fixated on something, it's like pulling teeth for him to keep away.

Bruce met you like he does with most reporters - at a charity event. He had seen your stories on the news a few times beforehand, and braced himself for the usual song and dance - Vicki Vale trying to score something on the record for something much juicier and personal than the cause he was donating to, or perhaps Jack Ryder trying to rile him up to get him to throw a fit for a story. He was pleasantly surprised, however, when you treated him like an actual person. Sure, it could be that you were off the clock - but really, when were reporters ever really off the clock?

Most people would bend over backwards to get themselves into Brice Wayne's good graces. But, you… You talked to him like he was no different than anyone else. Maybe a bit reserved, but you had only just met, after all. In spite of this, Bruce found himself able to relax, chatting with you about the party, about your days up to then, your different careers. Bruce felt like he could actually be himself. With you, he wasn't Batman, nor was he billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. He was just… Himself.

Him and you.

He decides to stick by your side most of the evening, you and him talking long into the night. About your lives, your worries, your hobbies, your interests. It had been so long since he talked about such personal things with someone, even Alfred. And you understand. You understand his worries of responsibility, the weight of the world among his shoulders, you understand the suffocation of isolation, you under his inability to move on from the trauma of his past, try as he might. You understand. Of course you do…

You acted as someone to vent to. A listening ear. You offered up advice, even if you might not have the right answers to his problem. Sure, you might not know the full extent of his stress, but it's the thought that counts. It's almost like this night was made for you and him. 

Something like, fate - that is, if Bruce had actually believed in something like that.

After that night, he found himself making a point to watch you on the news. The way you talked on the television is how you talked with him that night. Personable, comfortable, familiar. You might not be talking to him directly, but it warms his heart and staves off the icy chill of loneliness.

He went out of his way to find you during other important, publicized events. Most likely, you probably thought it was a coincidence that you kept finding yourself in his company. You most likely thought him as just an acquaintance, nothing more… But, oh, you meant so much to him.

And, oh, when you talked about Batman? Knowing that it was him you were talking about (even if you had no idea)... He'd be lying if it didn't make him a bit flustered. Your praises, the way you saw him as an inspiration, hoping after every mission that he was alright… And when you look into the camera and say to him, to Batman, through the screen, that you wish him a nice night and to be safe…?

God. He was smitten. And, really, that was his biggest mistake.

Feelings just made things complicated. He had learned that a long time ago. That everything he touched and loved was inevitably destroyed. It's why he works alone more often than not. He doesn't want someone getting hurt because of him ever again. Bruce has enemies, and Batman has even more. 

Even if he had tried to reach out to you as Bruce, as himself, who's to say you would have wanted to be with him? Why would someone like you want Bruce Wayne - someone who most of Gotham portrayed as an immature playboy who never got over the death of his parents. While the second part wasn't exactly wrong, the whole playboy thing was just a diversion. But, how in the hell was he supposed to explain that?

It was easier to just let you go. You'd be happier, and more importantly, safer without his presence in your life.

So, he satiated himself on watching you, protecting you from the shadows, and kept himself sane by rewatching footage of you he's stashed within your home and around your apartment building. If he adored you from afar, that wouldn't hurt anything, right?

… But now, he's wishing he had just taken the chance. He had been good, had left you alone.

And he watched as the helicopter you were in was shot down. Watched as the recording cut off. Heard as you screamed at the top of your lungs. He replayed what he had seen over and over in his mind, losing himself. Bruce had gone so tense in disbelief and grief and rage that by the time Alfred had brought him back to reality, his nails had dug into the armrest of his loveseat.

He had insisted to himself later that night that  investigating the scene of the crime wasn't fueled by personal connection or any feelings he may have. It was Batman's job. And if he ignores all the other bodies in favor of one that is presumed to be yours, it's just because he notices something different about it from the other's, that's all.

The body was decomposed far beyond that of the others, and had been exposed to the elements longer than the others. And to add onto that, the DNA sample Bruce had collected was matched with a body that had been gone missing from Gotham General.

Bruce's heart fluttered with hope and relief. You were alive, you had to be. But, just as quickly, realization crashed into him. If you were alive, it's only because Joker wanted you to be.

... What was he doing to you?

---

You stared down at the meal the Clown Prince of Crime had prepared for you - well, if you could call heating up a frozen dinner "preparing". It's not like you were exactly in a place to complain, though, considering the predicament you were stuck in.

Counting the time you had spent unconscious and Joker getting you situated and up to speed, it was most likely a few hours since the incident. You were feeling rather hungry… But, in spite of all of The Joker's lovey-dovey talk, you weren't quite sure if you could trust him to not serve you poisoned food. Even worse, however, was that you were still tied up - meaning the clown had to feed you, and you were even more unsure that he wouldn't kill you if you refused to eat.

In spite of the circumstances, and the dingy place you were trapped in, it wasn't exactly the worst. Hell, Joker had even lit up some candles for some mood lighting. Not exactly the worst "date", you had been on, sadly enough.

"Ready for some grub?" The Joker lurched into view, straightening his tie as he shot you a grin. "You must have worked up quite an appetite by now, considering all the excitement!"

You smiled in return, hoping it didn't look too strained as you nodded. You watched as he got his utensils ready, cutting up some of the food into smaller bites. You kept especially close attention on the hand holding a knife - though, it wasn't like you had any way to flee if he had decided to turn it on you.

The Joker stabbed at the food with a fork, setting down the knife, as he moved to raise your meal to your lips, while you attempted not to turn your head away. The fork approached closer and closer, and you tried to rid your mind of awful thoughts, like an eye being ripped out of its socket, implanted on the fork's tongues. But, then, The Joker suddenly stopped.

"Oh, silly me! I almost forgot," The Clown Prince set down the utensils, digging into the inside of his suit. With a flourish, he unveiled a bright, colorful, and clearly plastic flower, holding it out to you. "A present for you, m'dear! Go on, take a whiff."

You shook in your seat. Oh, God. You knew exactly where this was going. He had played you this whole time, like predators played with their food. He had made you think he had developed this obsession with you and managed to lull you into a false sense of security. And just when you were sure you were going to make it out of this situation alive, he planned to hit you with his trademark laughing gas and watch as you died.

You held back tears, shivering with fear and despair. And The Joker looked so happy, so encouraging. You were going to die. You had hit the end of the road.

You leaned forward, taking a breath through your nose-

And jumped, letting out a scream as the ceiling caved in, a dark figure crashing through. You whipped your head to face it- and winced as a small stream of water hit your cheek. Blinking once, twice, three times, you slowly turned to the clown and the trick flower in his hand.

Oh. So, it was just a regular trick flower. Not a deadly one. Okay. Okay, yeah. Sure. Great.

Groaning softly, your whole body went limp. You hung your head, shaking it slowly. Whatever. Whatever happened next, you didn't care. You were too exhausted.

"Aw, c'mon, Bats! Don'tcha know it's rude to upstage someone's act?" Joker asked. "Besides, you weren't invited to our little date night..."

...Batman?

From your periphery, you could see it. See him. 

Oh, thank God. Thank fucking God. You were saved! Batman was going to save you!

All the tiredness seemed to instantly fade as you were overwhelmed with adrenaline and relief. You were saved. You were saved. Batman was going to save you. Batman was going to protect you and make sure you were all right. You didn't have to worry or be scared anymore. Batman would do all of the worrying for you.

"You broke out of Arkham, killed innocent people, and kidnapped the sole survivor after almost killing them, as well," Batman seethed, his voice a growl. "You're going back to Arkham, and I'll be taking them with me, where they'll be safe."

"Hey! First off, the whole helicopter thing wasn't me, it was one of my boys. Well… To be fair, I had intended on killing them when we downed the thing, but eh, two birds with one stone, I suppose. I wouldn't even have been mad about it, if my darling reporter here hadn't almost been hurt in the crash," The Joker moved behind you, making you seize up as he grasped your shoulders, massaging them slightly. "And really, Bats, if this is some kind of jealousy thing, you could always just ask to share."

"You're insane." Batman spat.

"Babes, you really need to get some better material," The Clown tutted. "And I was being honest! I'm actually trying to communicate here," You were suddenly spun around, locking eyes with your hero. You shuddered as the Joker nuzzled you from behind, unable to stop your face from heating up. "What do you think, darling? How's about a three-way date with me and the big bad Bat?"

"I… I-I-" You stuttered, unable to get a coherent thought put as you burned with embarrassment.

Could anyone blame you for having a little  crush on Batman? You'd bet a good majority of Gothamites felt the same toward their dear Dark Knight. Hell, you'd even bet that some of the Rogues that the Caped Crusader went up against had feelings for him. It was pretty obvious the Joker did, at least.

And the Joker… He was a monster. A criminal. But, the time you've spent with him… Well, you could better understand how Dr. Quinnzel fell for the man. Despite your knowledge of the horrible crimes he committed, the way he treated you so kindly, it was hard to not get flustered, to not feel special. It was hard to ignore his humor, his affection for you, his pet names, his sweet gestures- no, no. This- this was ridiculous. You had to stop. You weren't thinking straight.

"Get your hands off of them!" The Bat spat.

"But I don't wanna!" Joker let out an exaggerated whine, before descending into giggles. Painted lips brushed against your neck. "Besides, I don't think they want me to…"

You felt hypersensitive, the brush of the Clown's lips drawing a whine from your throat.

Your eyes shot open wide as a pained scream ripped from Joker. You turned as best you could, watching the man stumble back, clutching his hand - a batarang sticking piercing through it, blood bubbling up from the wound and dripping to the floor.

The Joker hissed, bristling with rage. "Bats, why you-!"

In an instant, Batman shot put his batclaw, the claw digging into The Joker's suit, before retracting. The Joker stumbled as he rocketed forward, his face immediately colliding with Batman's fist. Before he could fall back, the Dark Knight caught him by the throat and squeezed. The Clown wheeled and coughed in shock at the closing of his windpipe and his desperation to breathe. The Bat slowly lifted another fist - and hit the other man so hard that even you winced. You watched as Joker fell onto his back with a low groan. The Batman stood above him, glowering and breathing heavily as he looked down on his nemesis.

"Batsy, babe… Ya know I love it when you play rough, but Jesus, warn a guy first, will ya?" The Joker laughed wearily, seemingly in a daze. 

Sneering, Batman grabbed his nemesis by his coat, tossing him aside onto his stomach. His foot came down to stomp onto his arm, making the other man whimper, and the Bat reached down to rip the batarang free from his hand, and in turn, ripping a scream from Joker's throat. Pulling out a pair of batcuffs, the Caped Crusader roughly restrained the man's arms, before lifting him to his feet.

"Careful with the merchandise…" The Joker grumbled.

With a second pair of cuffs, the Bat attached one of the cuffs to the Joker's ankle, the Clown laughing as he attempted to kick at the Bat to heed his progress, and then the other to a metal support pillar protruding from the floor.

And then, in the next instant, Batman was at your side, diligently working to free you from the shackles that bound you. As the restraints loosened, you took in a deep breath before letting out a shuddering sigh. You tried to stand, only for your legs to give out from under you - you had spent so long in that position that your legs had fallen asleep - but it was okay. Batman caught you. He caught you and he held you and pulled you into a hug. A gloved hand petted your hair soothingly.

"It's okay. You're safe, you're okay," The Bat rumbled. "I've got you."

This. This was what you loved most about The Batman. As much as he was revered for the fear he struck into the heart of evil, how he acted as a phantom in the night, fighting back against the criminals that roamed Gotham in the night… What you loved most was what came after. Your interviews with survivors of criminal attacks are what made you grow a fondness for the Dark Knight. How comforting they said he was. How he reassured them, made them feel safe. When he was there, they knew everything was okay. They knew they were safe. That everything was going to be okay.

Everything was going to be okay.

And you melted into his hold.

He continued to murmur reassurances as he began to massage your legs until the static feeling went away and you found the strength to stand - and even then, he let you lean against him as you walked out into the night together.

"You'll pay for this, Bats," The Joker spat, expression dark… Until he locked eyes with you, and his visage softened. "How about same time next week, love?"

Before you could think of responding, Batman pulled out of the building and far, far away from the madman within.

---

Bruce had to fight to keep his driving steady. His body was flooded with adrenaline and his heart rabitted a mile a minute. His entire being felt electric.

He had touched you, held you. And you held him back, reassured and calmed by him. It was everything he had dreamed of. You had leaned against for support and let him help you climb into the batmobile.

He had managed to track The Joker down to one of his usual hideouts that he and Harley stayed at - an old, abandoned amusement park that had been sold to him. Well, would have been sold to him, if he hadn't killed the owner of the property before they could seal the deal.

He kept sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye. You, resting your head against the window, eyes shut as you tried to get some rest after everything you had been through. You could rest for as long as you liked. He was here now. Bruce would keep you safe.

Bruce took his usual shortcut into the batcave, driving into a cave opening just outside the manor, and you lifted your head, startled by the sudden turn and shift in light behind your eyes.

"Batman, where are we?"

Home.

You gasped as restraints wrapped over your ligaments, tying you down to the seat.

Bruce knew this was wrong. But, after such a long career as the Batman, he had learned that he often had to do the wrong thing in order to get the right outcome. He really wished there was any other way… But, you had a target on your head now. You'd be safe with him. He'd keep you deep within the batcave and visit you often. 

You sputtered, eyes wide with shock and disbelief and… Betrayal. Bruce hated the thought of you looking at him like that. He leaned over, softly pressing a kiss to your forehead. He felt you shiver under his touch.

He'd get you settled and comfortable. He'd reveal his true self to you at some point, but that was for later. You had been through enough for one night.

"You're safe now." Bruce lied promised. "I've got you."

[welkinsky]

Congrats to 100 follower ✨💖 you really deserve it. You constantly put quality content out there 🥺

As for your celebration, what about the alphabet for Kakashi? 🥰

Kakashi X Reader | A-Z Headcanon

Masterlist

A-Z Headcanon

Warning: 18+ Content

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Once you two are done and tired, he's gonna take a moment and then turn over to you to smile and adore how flushed you look. He usually kisses your forehead and then pulls you into his chest. Once you two are all calmed down. "You want to hop in the shower baby?" Still running his one hand through your hair. If you say you want to rest a bit more, he gets up to get you water and towels, or if you say yes then expect a "Round 2?" joke on your way, which wasn't actually a joke.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of their partner’s)

Your thighs! Doesn't matter if you have thick thighs or not he likes to grab them while you're on top or you two are just chilling and he is running his hand through them and they slip certain places "by accident"

In a non-sexual way, it is your hair, for sure. He likes to bury his face in them because the scent of the fresh shampoo is relaxing to him. If you change your shampoo he'll notice it right away, expect a new bottle of the same shampoo on the shelf next to your new one the next day.

C = Cuddling

Cuddling with this man is a dream! He likes to be all over you with one leg over yours and your face buried in his chest. Even if you are being the small spoon, his one leg will be over you and your head resting on one of his arm and his other arm over your shoulder pulling you closer to his chest.

Whenever you two are on a nap date, his hand is always resting on you. He becomes restless when he can't find you but calms down after finding you on the other side of the bed. Then just keeps his palm on you rather than pulling you in and waking you up.

D = Dirty Secret

This one time, you two had an idea of taking some nudes together just for fun to see whose turns out to be the better one. You both set a rule to get rid of them after the winner was announced, which never happened since you two were so turned on in the process that you two ended up doing it. You forgot it but he still has your photo with him. Shut up, it helps him on long missions.

E = Experience 

He was not a virgin, but he wasn't much experienced either. If you want to know more about this scenario find it here.

In starting he kept things vanilla, he didn't want to freak you out. But you wanted more but that was the case with you too so this one time you stole his Itcha Itcha to read what type of stuff he was into. AND YOU ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT. You had to read it as fast as you can because he'd notice that it was missing.

And when you suggested something, it was a shock to him because he knows exactly how to do it but to ACTUALLY experience it and that too with YOU? The guy was in actual heaven that day.

F = Favourite Position 

It depends, he is a tease so he likes when you do all the work but just wait till he has your image of having one leg over his shoulder while he's pounding into you and you're all flustered, aaaaand the guy is pinning you down and going at it.

Or if he is IN THE MOOD he's gonna start with you on all fours and will end up having you burring your face in the pillow.

G = Goofy

Hehe he is the best type of goofy. He says the jokes with a straight face while everyone is on the floor dying. He only lets out a small laugh when you are laughing your "so-called ugly laugh" in front of others too.

But sometimes he starts laughing even before cracking the joke because it was that funny, "Oh boy, naah it's nothing" he says wiping a tear, off his one eye. You all will beg him but according to him "the moment is gone" lol he IS a tease.

H = Hair 

His hair is sooooo fluffy! And after how little he looks after them? It is almost a joke on you. You take care of your hair a lot but this guy probably washes it with body wash and still has such good quality. He always says that it is a good diet to trick you into healthy eating too. This guy never misses a chance to do that.

I = Intimacy 

Your emotional intimacy is something that is beyond this world. You both never knew that you were capable of feeling emotions so strongly.  You're hurt? He feels this burning feeling in his heart that he can't get rid of. He is having a nightmare? It breaks your heart that you cannot do anything about what he had to go through.

Not for once have you two felt any sort of negative emotions to one another but just love and CARE! You love your people but for the first time, you've felt that "care" not from the words but actions. 

For the first time, you two have felt that you don't have to do everything on your own, you can divide it and let your guard down for a moment because you know that other one will be there if something goes wrong.

J = Jack Off 

He does it normally when he is out on a mission or away from you for a while. One thought of you can turn him on in that case.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Ohohoho where should I even start? He LOVES to handcuff you because that just gives him more power over what he wants you to feel. Which is why he likes blindfold too.

As your relationship grows he likes the risk factor too so he likes to do it in a tricky place. But while making sure that your reputation doesn't get compromised at any cost.

L = Location (Favourite places to do they do)

Umm isn't it obvious? Anywhere? Literally. But he loves to bend you over the kitchen counter and take you then and there as he enters the house and finds you cooking or just having a drink or something.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He will do anything you ask for while doing it to make sure that he will be able to see that face of yours when you have just let go and you're too flustered to even care. It shows him that you are enjoying it.

Or if it is just you pleasing him and you look up to him with "puppy eyes" heh don't blame him for what is about to happen to you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

You risking your reputation for the "risk factor". See, everyone sees you highly in the village and he loves the respect that they give you. He WILL NEVER ruin it just because he is feeling it right now and won't let you do the same too.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

It may not seem like it but he LOVES to give it to you. Actually, if this time it is more of a sensual one then he always starts with eating you only. It is his way of showing that you're his priority.

He has long fingers so umm ya. You're overstimulated most of the time. As much as he loves seeing this, he holds your hand with one while the other one is pumping in and out of you as he plays with your clit with his tongue.

He loves to hold one hand with you even while he is eating you out. Wow.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He starts with "slow as death" ones and then once you're begging to him theeen he goes fast and deep. You ARE lucky to have him honestly :')

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

You don't even have to say anything? You are looking good before you two go out? You'll be doing it before leaving the house.

It's not his fault! You look too good, it's your fault.

And sometimes these quickies turn into something more and you two end up staying home.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Risk who? That's all I'm gonna say.

S = Stamina 

He can go for a lot of rounds. But if he is just back from the mission or has been busy all day and now he is tired. Please don't push him. Not because he is a "poor guy" or something, nooooo, this idiot will get horny and do it anyway. But regret in the morning because he didn't take enough rest.

T = Toy

He bought it only when you two started experimenting so you both have handcuffs (used for you only he doesn't like to be a sub that often), a blindfold, and a vibrator for sure. This fucker likes to edge you a lot.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Heh isn't it clear already? This guy is the definition of being unfair. As you start to get a little annoyed and turn to him and catch him smirking, all that "annoyance" turns into "lust" lol you simp! But can we really blame you?

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

If you are doing it somewhere out? He'll keep shut and even cover your mouth to avoid getting caught. But if he is at home, he will grunt a lot but will let out a loud moan once he reaches his high

W = Wild Card (Just a random headcanon because I cannot think of anything starting with W)

He cooks for you in the morning. That is the only time he can make sure that you have a good healthy meal since he is not there for lunch and you make the dinner.

If he is cooking in the morning then expect your lunch prepared for you too.  *and meal prep for dinner* bro he wants to make sure that you are taking care of yourself because you work too hard okay? Shut up and have your fruits and drink some water as you read this...... Go now, sip some water.

X = X-Ray

He has a lean physique but specifically, his arms are muscular and they are getting buffer after you mention that you like buffed arms. Hehe being slick, okayyyy.

Also, he has long slim fingers, umm good for you.

But you like to draw in his hands too sometimes. Just some little things. He smiles at them as he looks at them later.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He kind of has a strong sex drive. Most of the time if it is because of the fact that he is too excited to try new things on you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

He doesn't sleep until he knows that you are sound asleep. He likes to take in the scent of your hair and just run his fingers through your hair to calm you down a bit. Do it back too, please. He loves it a lot! If you stop and start doing something else, he'll bring back your hand to his hair and make you do it for as long as you don't fall asleep. In any case, he is sleeping once you're asleep.

____________________________

Shikamaru is my favorite character but ya’ll are making me change my lane with how many posts I’ve written for Kakashi XD

Thanks For Reading and for the ask!

If you liked it you can check out the masterlist too!

[spiderling-space]

This idea is inspired by @zozobegone ‘s this post 

Setting: Grim goes platonic yandere mode when he realizes MC is going to go back to their world

It is written from Grimm's perspective

Italics indicate thoughts

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

The Great Grimm

Warning: Unhealthy dependency and friendship

"Henchperson, give me those candies!" Grimm ordered (Y/N) after trying so many times to reach the top shelf.

"Aw, you couldn't reach yourself?" (Y/N) had seen Grimm jumping and trying to climb to take the candies. They didn't do anything but watch him fail for the last 10 minutes, they couldn't help themselves as he was being so cute. "What's the magic word?"

After grumbling a little, Grimm spoke coercively, "Please..."

"That's a good boy!" They patted him on the head before grabbing the candies and giving them to him. 

He started devouring them the moment he got his hand on the candies. He thanked them quickly before focusing entirely on his food. They were just so delicious, he couldn't resist it!

"Honestly Grimm, what will you do once I'm gone?" They sighed as they took a seat in the kitchen.

The words didn't register for Grimm at first. "Eh?" He stopped eating for a moment and looked at them. "What nonsense are you babbling about?"

"Hmm? Oh! Well, you know, it's been months and lots of progress have been done. Crowley finding a way for me to return home is right around the corner." They spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"That birdman doesn't do anything but whine and pin all the tasks on us."

"I convinced him to do the actual work and he made a progress on finding a way for me to go home." (Y/N) stood up, walking toward him and kneeling to his height. "I'll give you a secret, I haven't told anyone this." They gulped before smiling, "Crowley found the way for me to go back. We just need ingredients and get some tests done then I'll be able to go back. I haven't told others about it yet because I wanted to have something concrete but since you are like my second family, I wanted you to know first."

Huh, he thought.

Grimm continued eating, ignoring what (Y/N) had said who got up and left the kitchen after sharing their secret. At that moment, it didn't bug him at all since he thought they were joking.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

It didn't even pass a week that (Y/N) started to tell the others that they would be leaving soon and ask their help to get the ingredients and spend their last days together. Meanwhile, Grimm became more and more irritable as the days passed by.

Grimm didn't have a family nor a friend. When he opened his eyes to the world, he was in a back alley by just himself. He fended for himself and decided to become the greatest magician when he heard people talking about Night Raven Collage. He didn't have anyone who supported his dream nor he needed one. He would accomplish it on his own and show everyone how great he was. Of course, things didn't go as planned and he got thrown off the moment he revealed his true self at the entrance ceremony and was even threatened to get eaten. What's worse was that when he returned to NRC, showing the persistence of an NRC student, he was about to be thrown again. That would be the case if it weren't for (Y/N) sticking up for him. He wasn't a sentimental monster and he hated to be called cat by (Y/N) despite his catly activities as they called it. However, deep down he knew it was because of (Y/N) that he became a student in the NRC, getting one step closer to achieving his dream. Heck, he and (Y/N) were considered one student together.

It wasn't just (Y/N) creating him an opportunity that made him care about them, it was everything. They studied together; they slept on the same bed, shared meals and snacks, played games, did homework, complained about the school and students together. Not to mention, how much he enjoyed getting petted, belly rubbed and washed by them. They had each other when no one was around and always stood against overblot student together. In Grimm's eyes, they were an inseparable and astonishing duo; even a family he never had, not that he would say it out loud.

Maybe that was why he was miffed by everything that was going on... What would happen to me if (Y/N) were to go back? Become alone again? Get kicked out of NRC? Have no friends and family? No, that's not going to happen!

As the days passed, the attention he got from (Y/N) diminished gradually, came to a point that he only saw them in classes and when they got back. They were out with another person every day, not sparing enough time for the Great Grimm. 

How dare they, he thought while heatedly huffing and puffing on the couch.

Grimm dearly missed the old times when (Y/N) wasn't obsessed with going back. He didn't even receive enough petting last few days nor they studied together. His mind wandered to their time spent together when he noticed something. (Y/N) would leave everything behind regardless of how important it was when he got into serious trouble or got hurt. They would sweep in to save his neck. It just clicked at that moment. 

He would get into trouble or injured to get their attention on him. However, then the other minions would gather around them too and their attention would be divided. It was not something he wanted. An idea struck in his head after a few minutes of thinking. As expected out of the Great Grimm, it was a brilliant plan.

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"Oh my goodness, Grimm! What happened to your paw-paw?!" (Y/N) rushed to his side, kneeling and examining his paw.

Grimm grumbled acting as if he didn't want to tell them. "Nothing, Great Grimm is fine!"

"Don't be ridiculous! It looks broken!" The worry on (Y/N)'s face was gratifying since he got their attention back.

"Ask your best friends," He answered with faux melancholy, withdrawing his paw near his chest and turning back as if he would leave.

"What does that supposed to mean?" They asked, confussion evident on their face just like Grimm wanted.

"Azul tricked them into doing his work and asked them to collect all the feathers on the roof. Ace and Deuce took me with them then we got into a fight and I fell off the roof." He lowered his head for extra effect.

"And they didn't even take you to the infirmary?!" He managed to get them riled up.

"It was my fault th-"

"That's not an excuse! For fuck's sake! C'mon, we are going to the infirmary." (Y/N) wrapped their arms around Grimm and lifted him en route to the hospital wing.

"Hey (Y/N)! Do you -"

"I can't believe what you two did!"

"What we did?" Deuce mumbled, fearing their wrath.

"Don't talk to me for some time and at least take responsibility and apologize!" (Y/N) stormed off before Ace could finish his sentence. Both Ace and Deuce look perplexed as (Y/N) marched away. Grimm was looking at them over (Y/N)'s shoulder, taking in their puzzled looks and flashing a grin as (Y/N) walked away.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

For the next two weeks, Grimm continues with his plan.

"I swallowed a lot of soapy water." Grimm said as he was rubbing his belly, it genuinely hurt. Swallowing soapy water was more awful than hurting his paw.

"Azul! You promised to not do this and shame on you Jade, Floyd!"

3 more down, plenty to go...

"Leona, have you seen Grimm? He is way smaller than you! How couldn't you realize what your claws would do on Grimm?"

"Ruggie, Grimm got food poisoning because of you! You could have just stolen his food instead of replacing them with expired ones."

"Jack, I've never expected this from you. I'm very disappointed."

"What? What are you talking about?" Jack asked hastily but it fell on deaf ears as (Y/N) didn't even listen to him, grabbing Grimm and leaving them standing.

Woo hoo! My plan is working fantastically! 

"He could have died Kalim if it were higher!"

"Jamil, I thought you would stop making people poison taste. Grimm has been puking all day long because of you!"

Grimm grinned wickedly as he was once again carried by (Y/N).

Wait until I'm done with all of you! HAHA, You cannot defeat me!

Grimm was thinking of new original ways to distance (Y/N) from the rest of Heartslabyul, Pomefiore, Ignihyde and Diasomnia. The last one would be the hardest as he had a powerful competitor who also sought (Y/N)'s attention but it didn't matter, Grim would be the only one!

That was what he thought until Birdman came bearing the news...

"(Y/N)! Good news! All the tests we did on the mirror worked! You can go back now!"

Everything stopped right there and then. 

Grimm was so focused on getting (Y/N)'s affection and attention that he forgot about the tests they were doing on the mirror.

Now I am too late...

"My goodness! Thank you! I missed my home so much! I'll start saying my goodbyes!" (Y/N) spoke rapidly, they truly were happy to hear the news.

Happy to leave me all alone!

"No worries, they all gather around the magic mirror, waiting for you." Birdman informed, "Are you coming now?"

"Yes!" (Y/N) said before turning to him, taking him in arms and carrying him outside.

That is not how it was supposed to go...

As they were walking outside before leaving the Ramshackle perimeter, Grimm jumped on the ground.

"What's wrong?" (Y/N) stopped to ask.

"What's wrong?!" Grimm couldn't contain it anymore. everything was too much.

"(Y/N), do you need a moment to say goodbye to the dorm?" Birdman questioned, getting closer to where they were standing.

"Uhm... yes... I mean I spent months here so I should say goodbye to it. You can go, we will catch up in a moment."

With that Birdman walked away, leaving (Y/N) and Grimm alone.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about?" They asked idiotically. 

Are they too dumb to understand?

As Grimm was about to tell them what was on his mind, unfiltered, he felt a power within himself. A power that wanted to surge out of him and he let it since he had nothing to lose anymore.

"You will leave me all alone!"

"But you already knew that, Grimm. This place isn't my home and if I took you with me, you would be discovered and people would do experiments on you." Their voice was so soft as they tried to reason with him but none of them mattered.

"We are one student together, you can't leave until I graduate!" The power inside of him grew even more.

"Well, Crowley said he-"

"We fought the monsters together. We are a team, you called me your son!" He could feel that power getting closer

"I-" He wasn't going to let them speak anymore!

"So you see me as a family but you abandon me!" He felt the power leak outside and he didn't even care about it.

"GRIMM!" (Y/N) yelled, taking a few steps back. "I, I, I changed my mind, we will be together!"

"You want me to have no one again!" Grim screamed, not even noticing how his voice changed. "AAAAAHHH!"

Everything went black for a moment and the second he reopened his eyes, everything was different. He was no longer looking up to (Y/N); he now was looking down on them. They were so tiny.

"YOU CANNOT LEAVE!" Grimm screeched when he saw (Y/N) backing and running away. He jumped, landing right in front of them who fell on the ground from the shock and still trying to crawl away.

"G-Gr-Gr-Grim, i-i-it's me! We are friends, remember? I know you wouldn't hurt me because we are family, innit?"

"It is too late for everything but you are right. We are family..." Grimm said, his voice echoing, giving it more menacing feelings. 

Grimm was no longer waiting for (Y/N) to understand that they couldn't leave him. He had no intention of waiting anymore. He leaned towards them slowly, biting their clothing and lifting them.

It was always (Y/N) who carried Grimm around relentlessly now it was Grimm's turn. Once he was sure that they wouldn't fall, he took off, running away from the Ramshackle, leaving NRC behind.

[tobesobri]

When the Lights Go Out (Halloween fic; 8k)

𝖆/𝖓: first off, happy Halloween yall! This is my second favorite holiday and so I really wanted to get something up in celebration of it! I’ve talked a lot on here about having trouble with writing recently and so I do what I normally do with writer’s block and I just leave what I’m stuck on and go off to write something random, which is what this ended up being. So, my writing style is definitely different and maybe not great, but this is just for fun so I don’t care! I still hope you enjoy! There’s spookiness (not too much), enemies (frenemies) to lovers, pumpkin carving, smut, alcohol consumption, and giant skeletons 💀 (oh and Harry dressed as Tarzan 🥵)

my masterlist  🎃 my askbox

𝕸ost people’s Halloween traditions weren’t too complicated; usually involving cult-favorite scary movies—ranging from Halloweentown to Nightmare on Elm Street—handing out Snickers and Kit-Kats to tiny trick-or-treaters, or just getting wasted at a friend’s haunted house party down the street. Their friend group, on the other hand, opted for a pumpkin carving contest every year on Halloween at Jason Hallow’s house, and, yes, his favorite holiday is Halloween because of his last name. And so, a few years ago when they were all undergrads together, he began hosting the annual carving contest at his house, in which they all paired up and, at the end of the night, whichever pair’s pumpkin came out the best—as judged by Jason, the resident Jack O’ Lantern expert—won whatever candy was leftover. That and marathons of R-rated horror flicks as well as occasional breaks to go out in the neighborhood and scare some of the kids while dressed in terrifying monster masks and slightly drunk off their asses from too much Tennessee whiskey.

Jason’s house was, hands down, the place to be in their neighborhood. Everyone who came by always wanted to join in on their festivities, and one year, they’d been just drunk enough to let a few of-age neighbors join in. This year, though, it was different. The stakes were higher. They were competing not only for the candy, but also for the much envied twelve-foot tall skeleton Jason had found at Home Depot which currently sat in his front yard amongst his other outrageous decorations. The skeleton was definitely the most noteworthy and had been the center of plenty group photos from just about every one of his neighbors since he had brought it home and especially tonight. In fact, every time the doorbell rang and he greeted another group of kids in his gory doctor costume—because Jason was in med school after all—every one of them squealed about how much they liked his skeleton. And so it almost pained him to have to give it to one of his friends after tonight, but if he’s being honest, he has nowhere to store it—he’d purchased it completely on a whim—and next year they will compete for it all over again anyway.

Tonight is also different because Harry and Y/N are not getting along. They all knew this beforehand, but simply brushed it off until they realized it was much worse than anyone had imagined. They had a horrible friendship—if one could even call it that—ever since they’d met as freshmen pre-law students six years ago. Sometimes they got along, but mostly, they bickered non-stop at each other, which all their friends took as misguided flirting. They got along for about six months once, after a drunken hookup, until, of course, Y/N hooked up with someone else and set off the volcano that was their relationship all over again. It had been calm recently with both of them needing each other’s help through their vigorous law school studies. So, a truce had been made and they tolerated each other at best. Tonight, though, the monsters had truly been unleashed and neither one of them had stopped picking at each other since they’d arrived.

It began on the street, when Harry took the spot Y/N had wanted to park in. Then at the door, when he asked her how her midterms were going and she felt like stepping on his toes until she crushed them. Which was perfectly logical since his was barefoot and mostly naked in his stupid Tarzan costume he’d recycled about four times now since they’d all known each other. He only wore it when the weather was warm, as he claimed, but they all had a suspicion he wore it so that he could watch Y/N drooling over him all night.

She wasn’t innocent either, in his defense, at least not this year when she came dressed in a sexy Beetlejuice costume, something none of them ever thought was possible. But she made it happen. She wore a too-short black and white vertical striped t-shirt dress—which had rips in all the right places, particularly across her chest—and a pair of neon green boots that were Doc Marten knock-offs she had found online. Other than that, she had spray painted the front bits of her hair a grey-green color and did her makeup to match the theme, dark purple smokey eyes and a green color used as contour. It looked good, she looked good, not that Harry would ever say that out loud.

Jason’s entire living room and dining room floors were covered with plastic tarps. He’d set up the usual fold-away tables and chairs for everyone. It was an easy clean-up job that wouldn’t leave pumpkin guts smudged into his hardwood floors or, even worse, the beige carpet in his living room. And, as always, he had a line up of various pumpkins on his kitchen counter—and the necessary kit of carving tools—ready to go. They usually didn’t start until nine-thirty or ten, once everyone arrived and had a few drinks in them and they had all agreed on what movies to watch. This year was a marathon of The Conjuring franchise, because Jason had spent way too much money on a box set and he would not be wasting them. Nobody objected anyway because the movies held a sentimental value to all of them. Every year since the beginning when a new movie came out, they all managed to go see it together, and also cause a horrible ruckus in the theater. Although they’d almost been kicked out a couple times, it was still some of the best memories together they’d ever had.

There was also that one year, when Annabelle Creation came out and Y/N and Harry were getting along on account of the LSATs, that they’d secretly gone home together. And then, of course, pretended it never happened.

That had been the second time they slept together, the second time she’d woken in his bed, with Harry’s annoyingly toned arm wrapped all the way around her, and the last as well because Harry got into a serious relationship their first year of law school and that had been the end of things.

Well… not completely the end. At least not until tonight.

“Okay we’re getting started!” Jason announced over both the music and the television, which someone turned down before Jason continued. He stood, wobbling, on one of the foldable chairs, for no other reason than the bottle of vodka in his hand. He was teetering on the edge sobriety and really didn’t give a fuck if he fell off. “Y’all know the drill! Isa’s handing out the cards. No whining. No trading. Or you’ll be disqualified.”

The cards in question were riddles that they had to match up with the answer. Half of them got the riddle card, the other half an answer card and that would determine who their partner was.

Y/N both wanted Harry as her partner and detested the idea at the same time. She was all for it because, well, he was hot dressed in nothing but his small piece of brown loincloth fabric hanging loosely on his hips. But at the same time, she knew they wouldn’t win together and she really wanted that skeleton.

The riddles were all hand-made by Jason on his computer and then laminated in his girlfriend’s school’s teacher lounge however many years ago. They all knew every answer to every riddle by now, but it was still a much more fun way to pair up than picking names out of a hat.

Y/N read her riddle twice, having absolutely no recollection of the answer to it, however—which was probably due to the alcohol she’d consumed herself within the past hour. She wasn’t all to blame, though, Harry had a lot to do with it too. She was still mad at him, for what she wasn’t sure, but she also could not stop herself from stealing glances at him and the only way to stop feeling so many confusing things about Harry was to drown it all away.

She read her riddle one last time: The person who built it sold it. The person who bought it never used it. The person who used it never saw it. What is it?

Her brain felt like mush after the third read and she hoped someone would find her first and give her the answer. She peeked around at people’s cards as they all tried to find their pair, some of them meeting up immediately and getting the prime pick of the pumpkins. It had dwindled down to just a few of them and she finally waltzed herself up to Harry, grabbed his card from his hand without his permission and read it.

In bold, 16-point Helvetica font, it read: A coffin.

Of course.

She rolled her eyes, shoving his card against his stupid bare chest and groaning audibly. “Figures I’m stuck with you.”

When she finally looked up at him, though, she wasn’t all that upset about her odds as she pretended to be. Not with the way his face set into a devilish, wicked, up-to-no-good look that made her want to rip him from the room and rip his useless Tarzan costume off too while she was at it.

He had also been drinking, which was made even more clear when he opened his mouth. “You’ll always be stuck with me.” And then he leaned in a little bit, his smirk widening and his eyes darkening and the sweet smell of vodka on his tongue strengthening, “Forever.”

She hated the buzzing in her stomach he caused, and hated that she liked knowing they probably would, at the very least, know each other for the rest of their lives. It had already been six years since they met and she still hadn’t managed to shake him off. And now they were finishing up law school together and getting offers to work at the same firm together. There would be no escaping him, not that she really wanted to.

The only time she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him was when he had a girlfriend. She hated seeing him in her classes, in her study groups, her circles, at her internship. He was always there, though, rubbing it in her face as she had once done to him. Hers was just a dumb hookup, partially just to spite him, and his was… well he dated the girl for entire year before they broke up and he seemed genuinely heartbroken over it. It had been serious, and Y/N had been seriously miserable the entire time. Even more so when she found out they’d split up and she just about threw a party while Harry moped around campus. She couldn’t help it, though, she’d liked him ever since they met, but then they just sort of… didn’t get along all the time.

She knew he liked her too, at least a little bit, or he’d never have slept with her twice. How much he actually liked her though was still up for debate, and so she chose keeping their weird hate-love relationship over ruining all of it by admitting her feelings for him. Plus, she liked working with him and getting his help on exams and papers too much to ruin that as well.

Y/N grabbed the third to last pumpkin, an unopened carving kit, and led the way to two lonesome chairs. They sat closest to the door, and farthest from the dining room and Jason, in their own little corner where they had enough room to stretch out given that no else had laid any claim on the other side of their table yet.

“So,” Harry began once they were settled and Y/N began opening the kit of tools, “what are we making?”

Before giving him an answer, she laid out all the tools on the table in front of them, next to their poor misshapen pumpkin, and then reached down into the side of her boot and pulled out a black sharpie; she’d learned a couple years back to start brining one. It might have been cheating, sketching her design beforehand, but Jason never outlawed it.

“I’m making Jason’s favorite Tim Burton character and you’re in charge of the guts.” She dictated confidently, slapping the sawing tool and the large orange plastic spoon in front of him so he could get started right away.

He eyed the tools for a moment, then the pumpkin, and then finally her. “Absolutely not. I’m not doing all the shit work while you do the fun stuff.”

“Thought you’d be used to that.” She half-mumbled, but he still heard her over the rest of the noise in the house. And, frankly, she was right. When they had interned together last year, she always handed off the demeaning tasks to him, like getting the coffee or making copies, while she did the much more interesting parts of the job. What she didn’t know was that she didn’t make him do anything. He always did it so she didn’t have to.  

He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, arms that her eyes—which were completely out of her control at that point—glued to immediately. He’d been working out ever since the break up and finally filled out the Tarzan costume a lot better. He’d always had a nice body, she knew that, but now… now he made her dizzy.

“I’m not doing it. Least not all by myself.”

She gave up then, mostly because she lost her will to argue against the pout of his lips and the flexing of his biceps—which weren’t ridiculously big, but they were subtle and modest and very much bigger than they had been this time last year when he’d dressed up as a shirtless baseball player. Most all of Harry’s costumes involved some level of nakedness and not much sense, but she didn’t complain too loudly. And his arms were definitely bigger now than they had been the last time she was in his bed and he was over her.

“Fine.” She groaned, grabbing the mini saw tool and then standing to begin carving a hole at the top of their pumpkin, around the stem. She made it big enough for them to be able to stick their hands inside, and then once she was finished, pulled the stem piece off and set it aside for later, chopping off some loose bits of pumpkin shreds first.

Despite his earlier protests, he was the first to dig into the pumpkin, standing as well and going hands first into the thing where he pulled out fistfuls and dumped it into a pile on the table. They went back and forth digging out the insides of the pumpkin until finally, Harry grabbed the spoon and really went in. And she didn’t even bother offering to help, and instead stared, again, at his stupid biceps and especially at his hands, which were slick from the pumpkin juice. She shuddered remembering where his hands had once been, and then pulled herself together remembering how long ago it had been and how very little interest he’d shown in picking up where they’d left off pre-girlfriend.

Once the pumpkin was fully gutted, they both sat again, and cleaned their hands off on the paper towels Jason had set up on each table.

She was the first to begin the process, sketching out the design with her sharpie of Oogie Boogie from The Nightmare Before Christmas. She’d carved the character before, but still needed a reference picture on her phone to get all the details right. And Harry watched her the entire time, memorizing her face for the millionth time while she concentrated, and sometimes he stared at her hands, too, hands he also found himself reminiscing over, to the point of needing to cross his legs so it wasn’t made visibly clear what he was thinking about. He was starting to regret recycling the Tarzan costume.

While they all worked, Jason answered the door and handed out candy about once every five minutes. The best part of their tradition wasn’t the pumpkin carving itself, but rather, the atmosphere. They loved the feeling, the adrenaline rush of it all. How messy everything would eventually get, how loud they all were. The anguished shouting when someone messed something up. The sounds of Thriller playing in the background mixed with the loud jump scares from the horror movies played all night long. It was heaven to any lover of Halloween (and they all loved Halloween).

She’d let Harry start the carving of the design, informing him what parts were staying and what parts needed to be cut away, before she ventured into the kitchen to grab them both a drink. On her way back, she paused for a moment, just watching Harry work over in their corner. The sight of him almost made her want to finally admit how she felt. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if he rejected her, at least then she’d know.

But then Zoe plopped down into her empty chair next to Harry and crushed everything back down like an aluminum can being recycled. She tossed back about half of her Smirnoff after Zoe had scooted closer to Harry and grazed her fingertips across his arm—the one he wasn’t using the carve the pumpkin. And at first, he ignored it, but then he set down the tool, pushed his hair back with his clean wrist and offered Zoe one of his annoying little smirks that Y/N always thought he saved just for her. But now, seeing him use it to flirt with Zoe, she felt stupid and betrayed. And stupid again for feeling betrayed.

She had no claim to him. She just had her memories, as inconvenient as they were at times. But that was nothing and it’d been so long that he showed any interest in her, in anybody, that for her to be jealous now was just pure selfishness. As much as she hated Harry sometimes, she still wanted to see him happy again.

Y/N made her way back slowly, eying what others were doing, until finally joining Harry again just as Zoe went back to her own pumpkin.

She was quiet for a moment, sipping on her drink, watching him as he got back to carving, before cleaning her throat as she finally said something, “What did Zoe want?” And she tried not to sound anything other than curious, but the way Harry glanced at her, with a raised brow, she knew she needed to be so much more subtle.

He took the other cup from her that she hadn’t drunk from and replenished his blood alcohol level. “She just asked me what I was doing after this.”

Instead of opening her mouth and being obvious, she just set her drink down and grabbed both the carving tool and the pumpkin from Harry to take over. He’d already done way more work than she had, so it was about time they switched anyway.

He eyed her curiously still, even though he allowed her to continue where he left off as he leaned back in his chair and took a break, downing what was left in his cup as she worked.

“You’re not jealous are you?” He finally asked, after a few moments to let his brain marinate in the alcohol in order to brave that question in the first place.

“No.” It was sharp. A piercing rejection he felt dig its claws deep into his heart. He couldn’t tell if she was lying or not, but if not, it hurt. More than he was willing to admit, even to himself. He wanted her to be jealous. He always did. That was part of the reason he’d gotten a girlfriend. And of course she was also part of the reason they broke up, if not all of it.

He nodded, “So it wouldn’t bother you if I went home with Zoe?”

He noticed her brief hesitation, when her hand stopped moving and she took in a breath of air, but then she settled again. “Doesn’t bother me what you do, Harry.”

Again, he nodded, still watching her just to get a sense of her reactions. Of course he had no plans on going home with Zoe. He just wanted to know. Where they stood. How Y/N felt about him. Whether she thought about their nights together as often as he did. When they were studying together and she’d shift her hair behind her shoulder and he’d get a whiff of her shampoo and be taken right back to one of those nights, and the nights that came after that when he got lost in that scent on his pillows until it eventually dissipated and left him craving more.

He tried again. One last time. If he still didn’t get the response he was hoping for, then he’d give it up and leave her alone. So, he sat forward, crossing his arms on top of the table, close enough to her now that the buzzing in her stomach reappeared even though she never braved a single glance at him. He was close enough that the smell of his cologne overtook the odor from the pumpkin. Close enough that she felt his breath on the side of her face when he spoke.

“So, I’ve just been imagining the way you’ve been looking at me all night then?” His voice was just above a whisper, and soft, caressing her ears as the sound crept its way inside of her. As it seeped into all the places the alcohol had been, although Harry was always something way more potent than whiskey or tequila. He made her head spin, made her feel everything and nothing at the same time. Made her heart flutter so much at times it hurt.

His words sunk in and all her motions stopped as she froze in place. She stopped carving their pumpkin, stopped blinking, stopped breathing. Staring blankly at their half-finished design until he was wrung out from her system completely. That never really happened, though, because he was staring at her, watching her with those glinting, impatient eyes, waiting for an answer. There wasn’t even the familiar hint of a smirk or a bit of amusement on his face anymore, either, that might have calmed her nerves. Because at least if he seemed to just be messing with her, she could play that game with him, but this was different.

He leaned forward a bit, trying to get her to look at him, to say something, anything, really. He’d be satisfied enough with her lies at this point. But he also knew the absence of an answer alone was all he really needed. He didn’t feel like he was getting ahead of himself, seeing the way her body reacted to him, by assuming that she felt, at least somewhat, the same way he did about her. Because if she’d been the one to ask if she was imagining how he’d been staring at her all night, he wouldn’t deny it.

Just as she opened her mouth, just as she had gathered enough words to form a coherent sentence, the room went dark. Pitch black, actually. The lights all around them flickering off, the television going blank, the music cutting out. And once the startled gasps and dramatic, drunken yelling had subsided, they were left in a ringing silence, so completely opposite to what they had been moments ago that it was painful for their ears to adjust to.

“What the fuck?” They heard Jason’s voice in the darkness and then, finally, a bit of light as he turned his phone’s flashlight on.

“Did the power go out everywhere?” Someone else asked.

And while everyone panicked, all Harry cared and thought about was Y/N’s hand wrapped tightly around his own on his lap. He wasn’t exactly sure when she’d grabbed for him, but once he realized she was there, he didn’t really care too much about the lights anymore. What he did care about still, however, was whether she’d ever answer his question now. If he’d ever get to hear what she was about to say just before the darkness cut her off.

A few of them stumbled about, making plans to go outside and check on things while everyone else stayed inside and waited. The room went dark for a few more moments as Jason left, but then someone else turned their flashlight on, and shined them at the ceiling so that there was at least enough light so that they didn’t have to sit in complete darkness.

If it wasn’t Halloween, the power going out wouldn’t have bothered her so much. Outages happened happened all the time. But now, in the middle of the second Annabelle movie with all sorts of other spooky shit around them, she couldn’t help but be terrified and imagine the worst. Like… what if there was a killer on the loose who had cut their power. What if the killer was chopping up Jason and the others and then eventually heading inside to do the same to all of them?

“Hey,” Harry mumbled beside her, inching closer and rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, realizing she’d grown tense when her grip on him had tightened. “You alright?”

Hearing his voice again, she let out a breath of air and tried to relax. She watched way too many scary movies and this was most definitely not one of them. Just a power outage, possibly due to everyone being home and using lots of extra electricity on their lights and decorations. She had no reason to panic. Although it could be blamed on Harry as well, if he hadn’t made her an astronomical amount of nervous just before.

She nodded until she realized Harry couldn’t even see her very well. “I’m fine.” She finally affirmed, and, to his dismay, took her hand away from his.

They sat in their own silence for a while, listening to the quiet conversations around them, particularly to Zoe and Julie who were trying to look up any information they could even though their phones were slow from the lack of Wi-Fi and service.

After a little while, she found his hand again in the dark, and this time, she wasn’t afraid from the power going out, but rather what she was about to say. Because if there was ever an opportunity to spill your guts to Harry Styles, it was in a dark room where his grassy green eyes weren’t all over you, sucking every ounce of courage from your bones.

Her voice was in a whisper, and she finally looked at him, or rather in his direction. To the outlines of his face, of his nose and his cheekbones. Even though she couldn’t find the green, she knew he was there, waiting, listening.

“You haven’t been imagining anything.”

She couldn’t quite see it, but his eyebrows had hit the ceiling and before he could question her further, she continued.

“I was miserable when you were seeing Liv and so fucking happy when you broke up.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t let that stop her, “And then miserable again because you didn’t want me. And maybe you still don’t, but it would really bother me if you went home with someone else.”

The quiet almost ate her alive for the next few seconds when he said nothing and she didn’t have his features to go off of. But then, she felt him getting closer until, finally, his lips were at her ear.

“I’ve always wanted you.”  

The buzzing was back but this time it was debilitating. Especially when he faced her and cupped his free hand along her jaw. And especially when he tilted her head back slightly to meet his lips, which had pretty good aim given their predicament. She missed the way he felt, she realized, once he was kissing her. Once he had scooted closer and released his hand from her grip on his lap. Once he grabbed up the other side of her face and pulled her closer. And then her hand was left to fend for itself on his thigh, and she, almost unconsciously, drifted her touch closer and closer and closer…

He moaned softly into her mouth when she toyed with the flimsy piece of fabric tied around his waist with her fingertips. And finally, she pulled apart from him, catching her breath before whispering, “Do you think they’d notice if we left?”

He shook his head, “Don’t think I care if they did.”

And so they were off. Trying not to draw too much attention to themselves even though she slightly tripped over the leg of the chair and he tried not to giggle too loudly while helping her. His hand fell into hers again as he led the way out of the living room, down the hall and into Jason’s guest room, closing them both off from any light source completely, not that they really cared too much about seeing each other; they just wanted to feel each other again.

And as soon as Harry had closed the door behind her, that’s exactly what they did. As she wrapped her arms around his neck; as he felt his way around her waist, he kissed her like he hadn’t kissed anyone in years. Like he was a dry, cracking desert and she was a vast river flowing through him.

He took brave steps towards the bed blindly, backing her up further into the dark room and managing to not trip over anything when he finally made it to the bed. They’d both, on separate occasions, spent the night in Jason’s guest room before, which helped when maneuvering around in the dark. For instance, Harry knew that Jason kept his secret stash of condoms in the bedside drawer. Harry had no idea why, but he was thankful for it right now, when, after laying her back on the bed, Y/N had already begun undoing his costume—with such quickness, he was sure she’d studied how the thing was connected to his body so that she knew exactly how to get if off if need be—and, within the next few seconds, tossed the flimsy Tarzan loincloth out of sight.

Which left him in just the black thong he wore underneath. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have even bothered with it. But, when he had first gotten the costume and tried it on without anything, he imagined all the wardrobe slips and potential boners might not be in everyone’s best interests. So, he went out and bought the smallest pair of underwear he’d ever owned, tucked himself inside of them, and called it a day.

Those, too, were stripped from his body in a matter of seconds, or at least pushed down his thighs to where they no longer covered what they were intended to cover. But then she flipped them around, so that Harry was on his back this time, splayed across the bed and she was finally ridding him of the thong all together and not wasting any time getting her hands on him and he wondered, with how quick she was to get to this point, if she had been thinking about this all night. And if she had, then he would definitely have to whip out the Tarzan costume more often.

He seemed to sink into the mattress once he felt her mouth close on him, his eyes fluttering shut and his mouth hanging open involuntarily when he hit the back of her throat. He had no idea how he’d gone so long without her, or why either. Why had he been so stupid? Why did he let her think he didn’t want her? Why did he deprive the both of them of this? Of the way she felt circling her tongue around the tip of his cock, the way he knew she was looking at him even though he could physically not open his eyes or come down off his cloud long enough to tell her how good she felt. How much he missed it. How much he was probably in love with her, even if that might have been crossing some sort of line.

“Forgot how big you were,” she whispered, giggling almost shamefully after wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and giving him a break to actually breathe properly again.

“Think we both know that’s a lie.” He was out of breath already and he was right, although she wouldn’t feed his ego no matter what he said. Although she remembered his cock perfectly fine, she wasn’t exactly used to it. And maybe she had momentarily forgotten what he had hidden under his costume. It’d been two years since they slept together, and the first time it happened they’d been drunk.

She didn’t say anything else, just tried to hide the blush on her face—even though he couldn’t’ see it anyway—by taking a mouthful of him again. She didn’t let him come, though, of course, and he didn’t expect her to either. She never had before. She always led him get right to the edge, to where he was panting and writhing and digging his fingers into her hair, on the verge of screaming her name into the dark, and then she’d stop. Pull him from the back of her throat and leave him a sopping, moaning mess.

He’d somewhat recovered when she crawled on top of him and and sat on either side of his hips with her hands planted on his chest. And now that their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could see the curve of his lips as he smiled up at her and even the sinister little twist of his mouth just before he grabbed hold of the hem of her dress and ripped it off over her head, letting it fall onto the bed next to him. He wished they had just a little bit more light, but at the same time, it turned him on having to see with his hands instead. Having to reach up and cup her breasts in his palms and rely on his memories for a better visual than the one he currently had. And as she came down to kiss him again, there was one thing for sure he didn’t need any light or anything but his fingers to do.

He tossed her bra into the same vicinity as her dress and within seconds had his hands all over her again, and his tongue as well, wishing she was on her back so he could worship her in all the ways he desperately wanted to, but also aware that the power could flick on at any moment and he really didn’t have the time.

Not that she had asked, and maybe she just hadn’t thought of it yet, but he still, while continuing to make out with her, reached over, pulled the drawer open on the nightstand and reached inside to locate the box of condoms.

However, once he did, and he didn’t find what he was looking for, he sat up and pulled apart from her, twisting himself a bit in order to see inside the drawer. His other hand held onto her hips so she didn’t fall off of him as he searched the drawer. But, soon enough, he was laying back again, groaning as if he was in physical pain.

“There’s no condoms.” He muttered between his teeth and just that one little sentence ruined his entire night.

“It’s okay.” She assured, continuing to whisper just as he did so that no one would hear them through the thin walls. “I mean… we’re clean right? And I’m on birth control…”

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking up at her and trying to decide if it was a good idea or not. She was right, of course, but even so there was always a possibility. Even with condoms there was always that same possibility too. He knew one thing for certain. If he remembered correctly. There was absolutely no way in hell he’d be able to pull out, so that really wouldn’t even be an option either.

“If you don’t want to though, that’s fine.” She spoke again amongst his silence. It’s not like he would hate the potential consequences, and of course he would not hate feeling her without a stitch of anything in between them, he just needed to be reassured that’s what she wanted, truly.

“I do, just um… are you sure you’re okay with that?”

She nodded first and then, confidently, “Yes.” As she fell back into place over him, her lips came to his ear this time, “I want to feel you coming inside of me.”

His whole body shuddered, needing her more than he quite possibly ever had. And as she tucked her panties to the side and guided herself onto him, he would most definitely go outside and cut the lines himself if the power decided to come back on before they were finished.

“Forgot how wet you are…” He whispered, heart fluttering at the way she laughed while fucking him. He never forgot either, not quite. But feeling her again now, pooling around him, warm and snug, he again wondered why in the living hell he kept himself from her for so long. Sure, they didn’t like each other most of the time, but their first time together had been hot, drunk hate sex and ever since then he’d chased that feeling with other people, none of them ever quite adding up to her. He wondered if she thought the same. No one ever making her feel the way he did either. If, when she was with someone else, she thought of him instead.

He knew he wouldn’t last long the second she put her greedy hands on him, and so her being in control now was slightly dangerous. He wasn’t ready for it to be over, even if he was racing the clock, even if he could just take her home from here and do it all over again, properly. He didn’t want it to end as quickly as it started.

So, he flipped them back over, getting her on her back like he’d wanted to earlier. Slipping a pillow under her backside to get a better angle and letting her sink all the way through the mattress this time. He remained inside her the entire time, only making quick, shallow movements to avoid the sounds of their skin slapping against each other. But he gave up being careful about their noise level after she begged him to go faster, after he reached between them and rubbed his fingers over her clit to catch her up with him.

She tugged at his hair while he kissed her, breathlessly and without much of a second thought this time about how loud they were being. He assumed all their friends knew about them anyway, even if she chose to be ignorant to it. They all speculated about the secret hookups and the mindless flirting that was disguised as harmless bickering. So, he just stopped caring the closer and closer he got.

That was until he buried himself as far as he could inside of her, his hand wrapped around her throat the way he remembered her liking, and he felt the scream building beneath her skin, beneath his palm. Quickly, before her noises led to everyone barreling into the room to find out what was going on, he clasped his hand from her throat to her mouth instead. Holding tightly as she let it out, his eyes pouring into hers like a lake of shining emerald waters getting her to stay there in the room with him. So that she didn’t close her eyes and float away like he had before.

He titled her head to the side, kissed up her jaw to her ear. “Mm, I missed the way you sound.” He wanted to tell her how he thought about her pleads and her moans and her yells late at night when he was feeling particularly alone. When he wanted nothing but her, to either be inside of her, or to just have her there next to him. But all of that got caught in his throat, and instead, as he continued burying himself into her, he whispered like a growl in her ear, “Missed how well you take me.”

And although it made her moan, made her eyes cross and her fingernails scrape across his shoulder blades, he wanted to tell her that he missed how they fit together. How where he ended she began so seamlessly no one else could hardly compare. There had always been a seam with everyone else, with Liv, a visible divide between him and them, soldered together haphazardly. But with Y/N, it was smooth, flowing together as if they were the same person.

His hand slipped from her mouth as he began losing control, and soon she was the one having to cover the noises. Though, this time, she just simply pulled his lips to her own and felt all the vibrations escape from his throat against her skin, her teeth, her tongue. She breathed in nothing but the air from his lungs, and held onto his tightly as she began to unravel.

His moans quickened and quickened until she felt his release, warm and deep inside of her, just as her own gave way, until his body began to give out, until he was panting and no longer able to hold himself up over her. And so once they both descended from their cloud, once their wave had crashed onto the shore, he planted himself beside her, their chests in rhythm as they cough their breath.

And before either of them even managed to open their eyes or breathe steadily again, the surge of the power coming back on dimmed the haze. Their room was still dark, but light seeped under the door and the rest of their friends cheered from the other room as the music began again. And for a brief, stupid moment, Harry thought about fucking her again and letting her scream all she wanted, but that fantasy was cut short when he remembered their friends would soon realize they were missing.

“We should get back.” She mumbled. Although she made no sudden movements to get up. She even closed her eyes again, still off in another world.

And so Harry risked it, just for a few more moments, anyway, where he rolled closer to her and slid his hand up her jaw softly, pulling her attention toward him again as her eyes fluttered open, waiting.

“I was miserable when I was with Liv too. And we broke up because she knew I spent all my time thinking about someone else.” He swiped his thumb across her cheek, realizing for the first time that he’d probably royally fucked up all her makeup and then hoping she wouldn’t come to her senses and kill him for it.

“And who might that be?”

He smiled, sweetly this time unlike all his asshole smiles, and just as he glanced at her lips, ready to kiss her again, he was cut short.

“Yo, where are Harry and Y/N?” It was Jason, loud and clear and possibly headed their way to investigate his missing party guests who had snuck off together in the dark. Jason didn’t know that yet though, and as much as Harry would like none of their friends to find out, it wouldn’t exactly look great the two of them waltzing out of the guest room together. Harry’s curls in shambles, fresh scratches all across his back, and Y/N’s makeup smudged. There was simply no use in hiding what they’d been up to, it was written all over them.

Harry grabbed her clothes and handed them off while he went on a search for his own tiny pieces of costume. And just as they got decent again, there was a knock on the door.

“You guys in there? You better not be doing what I think you’re doing.” Jason warned and Harry and Y/n looked at each other for a moment before busting out laughing.

Harry got to the door first, throwing it open to a very surprised Jason, who then narrowed his eyes when he saw Y/N come up behind Harry.

“God, not in my guest room!” He whined as Harry pushed pass Jason, a looking Y/N following shortly behind, “Now I have to clean the sheets again! I just did them yesterday.”

“Sorry, mate!” Harry called over his shoulder, glancing down at Y/N quickly to give her one of his cocky little winks. And once they had reached the main room again, as he fell back into his chair, she realized just how many scratch marks she’d left on him, and wished he’d worn a costume with a shirt to cover it up.

She drowned out all the whistling and the comments about how everyone knew she and Harry were up to something, about the bets won and lost. All she heard was Harry’s voice in her ear, telling her how much he missed her and she wondered if it was real. If he really did miss her, or he just missed fucking her. If, when it was no longer October 31st, they’d just go back to normal. Like the horse-drawn carriage turning back into a lumpy, ugly pumpkin.

Harry noticed this, of course, because he’s a law student and notices everything, but just as he leaned in to ask if she was okay, she pulled away.

“I just, uh, need some air.” And then she was gone before he could do or say anything. She used through the front door, abandoning their poor pumpkin and headed toward her car. She’d left the keys and her purse inside, but it didn’t matter. She just leaned against the passenger door and gazed up at the stars, thankful for the clear night and warm weather.  

And, of course, he was beside her not too long afterwards. She’d heard his footsteps against the pavement, knew he’d probably follow her out anyway.

He cleared his throat, half watching the same stars she was and half glancing at her. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s um…” she faltered, her eyes falling to her feet. “Think I just had too much to drink.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I—” she cut him off before he got too far in the wrong direction.

“No, I mean…” she pushed off her car then and faced him, “Are we just going to go back to how we always are after tonight? Because I don’t know if I can do that. But I never know what you’re thinking, Harry. Do you even like me or do you just like sleeping with me sometimes and arguing with me all the rest of the time?”

He continued to watch her for a moment, almost waiting for her to tell him she was kidding. But when she just ran a nervous hand through her colored hair, he realized she wasn’t.

He waited for a group of kids all dressed in various Star Wars outfits to pass by them before he began. “I guess I thought I was clear, but obviously not enough… I don’t just want to sleep with you every couple of years and pretend we don’t like each other in between. I think we’ve already wasted enough time, don’t you?”

She nodded once his words sunk in.

“Can we go finish our pumpkin now? And win the stupid skeleton. So I can take both it and you home with me?”

Again, she nodded, but this time it was matched with a smile. “Who says I want to go home with you?”

He rolled his eyes and threw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close enough to kiss the top of her head as he steered them back toward the front door. “Guess it’ll just be me and the skeleton then.”

They both glanced over at the giant thing stuck in the middle of Jason’s front yard, still attracting every young person like it was a princess at Disneyland, and then she looked up at him again. “On second thought, I might like to see that.”

He shook his head, opening the front door for them, “M’sure you would.”

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

here is the second last part besties wahhh I'm so sad its coming to an end!! I'm also so sorry about this part, it'll break a few hearts :'( Love always, Steph xx

Part 11 | parte undicesima

warnings; heartbreak, swearing & angst - i'm sorry in advance. word count; 2185 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. final update; Wednesday 18/08 5pm AEST. tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

A few days had passed since the Villa match and Amelia had heard from Jack when he returned to Birmingham. He sent her a simple text to let her know he made it home. That’s it. The two went from previously not going more than 24 hours between FaceTimes or calls or memes to a simple made it home a few hours ago, thanks for a good time x.

No “speak soon”, no promise of a FaceTime , no double kiss at the end of the text that would have typically been there otherwise. If anything, she was more mad that he made her feel like a side piece; like one of his instagram girls that she knew he entertained throughout the week. Amelia knew that she, for lack of better terms, fucked up. She fucked up their friendship, and was praying to all of the Gods that would listen to help her not fuck things up with Ben, too. However, the fact that she didn’t go to church as often as she should have is probably the reason that Ben refused to make eye contact with the girl. It was either that or…he already knew.

“Benj, hey, wait up.” She called as he walked out to his car after a particularly long day at Cobham.

“Don’t call me Benj,” he coldly stated without turning around, continuing his stride.

“Okay fine, Chilly. Wait up will you!”

“Don’t call me Chilly either, that's reserved for friends.”

“Okay, if I can’t call you Benj, or Chilly, what can I call you?”

“The best mate of the guy you fucked multiple times on Saturday night” He spat out at her, as he finally turned around, ready to see the shocked look cast over Amelia’s face as she stood a couple feet away from him. He wasn’t expecting to see Mason at his car, just across the way or Jorgi at his, a few cars down. But they were there and it didn’t matter; they were going to find out sooner or later, anyway.

“He told you.”

“He told the group chat, Amelia. The fucking group chat! How does that make you feel? He’s already bragging about it. Your bed isn't even cold yet! It probably doesn’t bother you that much though - you’re just like him.”

“He fucked you when he knew exactly how I felt about you, having gone to him for advice as to how to apologise to you. I called him on Friday after I left your house and gushed to him like a bloody little girl because I was so happy you forgave me, and that we had kissed. And then, just like that, you let him weasel his way between your legs.”

“I know I should be taking this out on him, and I will don’t worry, but you knew what you were doing also. You knew exactly how I felt about you. I was ready to commit to you that night and you said you wanted to be friends, that you needed time to heal or whatever. So I hope you’re happy and are healing, because I take it all back.” With that, Ben turned around and got in his car, driving away from the girl who felt remorse worse than she ever has in her life.

Witnessing the whole exchange, Jorgi gave Mason a nod to say “go check on Ben, I’ll look after Amelia” and walked up to the girl from behind. Without scaring her, he firmly grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her to his chest where she let go of all of the emotions she had been keeping inside. With every stab of the knife that was Ben’s words, she felt herself becoming more vulnerable and exposed than ever before. She refused to let him see her cry. That wasn’t something she was willing to let anyone see; she didn’t realise all she had been holding together until she no longer had to, until she had the physical support of Jorgi holding her up in the middle of the training ground car park.

Ushering her to his car - she could collect her own another day - Jorgi  put her inside before any other first team members - or worse, staff members - could see the distraught girl and drove them both back to her place where he spent the rest of the evening comforting the girl and letting her know she wasn’t alone. He had even made a desperate call to Fede, asking for advice on how to cheer the girl up. Of course, her Italian ex-lover had been worried the moment his national teammate had told him that the girl was inconsolable and was just about ready to board a flight to her, but Jorgi had calmed him down too. Fede’s advice of coffee, warm pyjamas and clean sheets had done the trick of putting the girl to sleep for the night.

The next few days had come and gone, and the two heartbroken almost-lovers were back to the beginning - Ben ignoring Amelia and Amelia trying to get Ben in a room. But it wasn’t to be. Towards the end of the week, Amelia had received a phone call from Mr Mancini, formally inviting her back to the Italian National Team staff for the upcoming friendly matches and preparation for the 2022 World Cup. Without any hesitation, she accepted her role and began to prepare the necessary procedures that would need to be implemented or maintained during her time away with the Italian side.

Sharing the news with her fellow Italians, Jorgi and Emerson, she decided that she wanted to be the one to tell Ben. She wanted him to know, whether he cared or not, that she wasn’t running away from him and that she would see him soon.

“Chilwell, please stay behind after the session.” She decided it was best if she requested it in the company of the rest of the first team and also the staff members. She was being selfish but she didn’t want him to run away from her again.

He remained sat in his seat as the rest of the team and professional staff left for the evening. Arms crossed, slouched down, looking at everything else in the room but the girl who was nervously wringing her hands together.

“I’m leaving for international duties tomorrow morning.” With that sentence, he stopped tapping his left leg and looking at the cornice details. Instead, his attention was focused on her.

“But we don’t break up for internationals for another week.”

“I know, but Mancini has requested I come earlier to settle back into things over there.”

“It’s only an hour flight away, how difficult could it be?”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me go.”

Silence. Ben didn’t have an answer for her. Of course he didn’t want to see her around Cobham on the day-to-day basis they currently had to endure, but that doesn’t mean he wants her to go back to Italy. Even if it was only for a couple of weeks. Especially if it meant she was around Fede again.

“Well, much to your dismay I'll be back here in 3 weeks. And, Italy are playing England in the last friendly match of the break.”

With a slight nod of his head, Amelia presumed that their conversation was done with. She turned to gather her paperwork and heard the chairs behind her move, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. She sighed into her hands. How did she let this happen? She preached to Ben how much she didn’t want to be selfish with his heart, and that's exactly what she did. But hey, it takes two to tango. Deciding there was no time like the present, she dialed the contact that once made her smirk but instead only made her furious to look at.

“Amelia, hey, how are you? Sorry it’s been a hectic couple of weeks.”

“Cut the crap Jack, you never intended to keep this friendship after you got what you were after.”

“Excuse me? You wanted it just as bad as I did.”

“You’re right about that, I thought I wanted it. Now, though, all I feel is regret. You know Jack, I knew from the moment we met that you were just my type, the kind that only calls me late at night. I knew a guy like you, and he treated me more or less the same. I gave myself to him, over and over for the better part of 3 years, and it was only when I left that he decided I might have been worth it... worth him.”

“But not you, you couldn’t help but run to your group chat and brag about your latest conquest, about how you made me feel wanted, only to rip it all out from under me the next morning and every day since. Honestly Jack, I think it's time you grew up a little. For Ben to confide in you how he was feeling and for you to just have blatant disregard for your so-called best mate. I can’t believe you would stoop so low. I know I'm in the wrong here too, but you are his best mate for crying out loud! How could you do this to him?”

“I don’t even want to hear what you have to say, I just needed to get that off my chest. Lose my number Jack, find some other hopeless girl that you can lure in with your foolish words and sweet nothings because I’m done. I’m done with whatever this was to you.”

______________________________________________________________

“You’re probably not going to believe me, but you have no idea how happy I am to see you here,” I heard from behind me, spinning around on my heels to see the ever-charming, boyish grin I used to love with my whole heart. This time, it's a different kind of love - it's an unconditional love shared between two people that are glad to exist together in the same crazy world.

“Federico, amore mio.” (Federico, my love) I stood up from my place on the bench at the Technical Headquarters and Training Ground of the Italian Football Federation, bringing the taller, heavily tattooed man into my arms. A gentle rock from him, side to side, to let me know that he can feel the weight of my moral compass.

“Vieni, cammina con me” (come, walk with me) He looped our arms together, and we strolled around the perimeter of the pitch that I was using to visualise my plays for the upcoming games. By the time we made it to the first set of goals, Fede had had enough of letting me mull over my own thoughts.

“Tesoro, Jorgi called one night a couple weeks ago. As smart as he is, it turns out he is hopeless at calming down an emotional female. While I'm not proud of knowing exactly how to calm you down, being that it was more often than not my fault you were inconsolable in the first place, I had to get some information out of him as to who upset my favourite girl in all of England.”

So I launched into the story, telling him everything from Mykonos to that fateful night a few weeks ago. Fede being Fede, he wanted to know everything, but I stopped just short of letting him know how many times Jack took me to paradise (much to his dismay). By the time I had wrapped up, we must have walked the pitch at least 3 times in its entirety, before retiring to the centre circle where we sat on opposite sides of the half way line staring at each other.

“I’m sorry that I ruined you for any other man,” Fede spoke solemnly.

“Fede, no - it was my stupid mistake to sleep with Jack.”

“No, let me finish amore. I’m sorry that I made you love me so deeply, and convinced you that the way I treated you was the right way, that the way I was with you was what you expect in every man to come after me. This Jack, he sounds just like me about 5 years ago - before I met you. But Ben, he sounds like the man I am trying to better myself to be, to be the man that deserves the kind of love you have to give.”

“I want you to listen to me. You need to fight for Ben. From what I have heard from both yourself and Jorgi-”

“That boy cannot keep his mouth shut to save himself,” I muttered under my breath.

“Amelia, you have a heart that deserves to be loved. Open yourself up to Ben. Tell him how you feel. From experience, you are very hard to ignore when you’re so vulnerable. Be honest with him, apologise, make him feel wanted, not like a second choice. Let him know how much you care for him, and equally how much you want him to care for you. He will see your sincerity and realise just how truly irresistible you are.”

Part 12. | la parte finale

[angelfishofthelord]

look at me (i exist i exist i exist)

Sam and Dean finally find out how Cas lost his grace. set post 11x06

Cas has been different since his meeting with Metatron. The day he came back he barely spoke to Sam and Dean outside of reporting what had happened before he retreated to the library, muttering about researching God’s sister. Sam joined him shortly after, and the two flipped through book after book in companionable silence. Except for when Sam noticed how Cas was pointing at his throat every now and then; always two fingers, always pressed on the Adam’s apple.

“What’s wrong?” Sam finally asked while Cas was reading through the sixth volume of untranslated Scripture.

Cas stared back in confusion and then dropped his hand. “This page doesn’t-- I--I haven’t found anything yet,” he stammered before burying himself back in the book.

Yet Sam was sure he saw him reach up to his neck again. And again while he and Dean were in the kitchen, drying the dinner dishes. And again while passing him in the hallway. That time it sounded like he was saying something to himself, but “it’s still here,” were the only words Sam caught clearly.

This morning Sam notices it happen again. Cas is bringing the coffee pot over to their study station, and after he sets it down on the table he reaches up and touches his own throat lightly before lowering his hand and ambling back out towards the kitchen for the sugar. It’s research for breakfast today, and even Dean has joined them, situated across from the table with three rolls of parchment on sigil work. Sam kicks his brother under the table and, once he has his attention, nods in the angel’s direction. “Did you see that?”

Dean glances over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “Yeah. I noticed him doing it yesterday, too. And he was muttering something about ‘not gone’ or ‘not again’ or something? I thought he was talking to me and then when I asked him about it--”

“--he immediately changed the subject. Same here. Was he…was he doing that when he was under Rowena’s spell?”

“The mumbling? Kinda? Not the neck touching though.” Dean rolls his shoulders back and rubs his eyes sleepily. “Also I I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be looking for here, Sam. God’s sister is pretty much the universe’s best kept secret.”

“Well then look for the most powerful thing we have. I have no idea either--thanks, Cas,” Sam says as Cas sets down a jug of milk and a handful of sugar packets that are collected from half a dozen different fast food chains around the country.

Sam eyes Dean meaningfully and his brother mouths a silent protest before turning to the angel. “Hey, man, did something happen to your--” he points to his throat “…neck?”

“Did it?” Cas shoots a hand up, a flicker of panic in his eyes before quickly lowering his arm and putting it behind his back. “I don’t--I think we should start by finding powerful Enochian binding sigils,” he says, calmly, steadily, and then retreats to his favorite armchair in the corner. Dean shrugs as if to say well I tried.

But then later when Dean goes to stretch his cramping fingers by tinkering with Impala he passes by Cas’ room and pauses. He doesn’t mean to pry but the door is ajar and he can’t help his curiosity because he can hear a faint voice coming from inside. When he moves closer he sees that the angel is sitting ramrod straight on his bed, fingers tapping his throat like a rhythmic percussion.”‘It’s not real,” he hears Cas whisper. Panicked. Desperate. “It can’t happen again.”

His feet feel like a two-ton concrete weight cemented to the ground. “Cas? What’s going on?” Dean tries, really tries to keep the jack-hammering thump of his heart out of his voice but some of the frantic rhythm must bleed through because Cas immediately looks up and hurriedly flattens the pinched lines across his forehead.

“Dean,” he says soberly. “I think Sam would want a break from researching. Maybe I should make some tea.” He stands and walks past Dean who’s still rooted in place, too confused to even reply.

“We need to talk about Cas,” both brothers say to each other that night, looking over their shoulder to make sure Cas is really resting in his room like he said he would. It took several minutes of persuasion to even convince him to go and rest; when Dean first mentioned that Cas was looking “a little pasty” and “needed to make sure he was taking care of himself” the angel’s blunt response was “I don’t like closing my eyes.

“Well, Cas, we’ve got a long fight ahead of us, so we need everyone to get their beauty sleeps, not just Sammy.” Dean had paused, wiping the grease from his fingers on the wet rag. His eyes fell to Cas’ hands fiddling with the toolbox latch. It might have been a trick of light but it almost looked like there was a tremor in his fingers. “You’re not having any, uh, nightmares are you?”

The latch snapped shut loudly. “I’ll go rest now,” Cas said and disappeared out of the garage before Dean could ask anything further.

“It doesn't look like anything to do with Rowena’s spell,” Sam begins, leaning an elbow on the kitchen sink.

“Yeah, also he isn’t all red-eyed and going murder-y on us. So what do you think it could be?”

“I…don’t know.” Sam averts his brother’s gaze and starts stacking the dry dishes.

“Sam.” Dean has turned on his obnoxious elder-sibling tone. “Spit it out.”

He lifts his shoulders and then lets them drop back down. “Okay, don’t get annoyed by this, but it kinda looks like….do you remember years ago, how for a while, even after I stopped seeing Lucifer I would--uh--I’d press the, um, scar in my hand sometimes.”

keep reading on aO3

[wormstacheangel]

15x18 coda fic...?

I had an idea that bugged me so I wrote it. What if Dean just...threw himself at Cas while the Empty was taking him? Then this happened. (comfort/fluff/first kiss)

No.

Cas looked back at him. A smile so big and loving but heartbreaking all at once was still on his lips.  

No. No. No.

Dean watched it all from the ground where Cas had shoved him to protect him again because that’s what Cas does. He protects him. He saves him time after time. Everything he has done has been for...him. He always knew that Cas made it pretty clear but he could never accept it. It made no sense for an angel of the lord to sacrifice so much for him, for him specifically, but here he was doing it again. Sacrificing his life once again but it’s so much different this time. 

“No!” A shaky cry came out of him as he half lunged and crawled to take a hold of Cas’s legs that were already covered in black goo. 

Dean can feel the goo start to envelop him as well and while fear was completely eating at him, there was nothing in the damn universe that could make him let go. He held his breath as he pressed his face into Cas’s thigh and felt the goo crawling up his neck to finally swallow them. 

Then it was silent. 

Dean felt like he just woke up but he knew only a few seconds had passed. His grip was still tight on Cas’s legs but the goo was gone now. He let out the breath of air that was burning his lungs before he even dared to look up, the glare was so clearly burning into the top of his head.

“Dean?”

Dean still wasn’t thinking clearly as he hid his face into Cas’s thigh. Clinging to him as he kneeled at his feet because Cas was still with him. He could feel a sob trying to escape from his throat but he just buried his face deeper into Cas. Letting the tears fall but still, the goodbye was not processing with him. He was about to lose Cas again but he’s right here. He was still with him.

“Dean?”

Cas pulled his white-knuckled grip off of him as he kneeled down to look at him but Dean couldn’t stand the separation so he pulled Cas into a strong hug. One that must have surprised Cas as he made a gasping noise while Dean hid his face into the side of Cas’s face. Feeling the tickle of his hair on his lips and nose. Breathing in the scent of rain, Cas always carries and lets one of his hands buried themselves into his hair while the other wrapped around his shoulders to hold him close. He has him. 

Then he felt Cas’s shoulders shake. His arms remained at his side as his chin rested on Dean’s shoulder. He could just picture Cas’s face and it made him squeeze his eyes shut as he let out his own gasping sob. His hand grasping at Cas’s coat afraid to let go. Afraid he would really disappear again if his hold loosens because he has his own confession to say but everything was overwhelming him. 

“Cas,” Dean took a shaky breath against Cas’s skin before he rested his forehead on Cas’s shoulder. “Tell me again. Say it again. I need to know...I need to know it’s really you.”

Dean didn’t move as Cas’s hands finally touched him. He started making soft strokes down his spine, comforting and warm. Not at all desperate the way Dean was holding him. 

“Dean, Chuck has no hold on me. You know that. I’m real. My feelings are real. We… we are real.” His voice was still calm but he could hear softness in them still. The way he was still holding back cries.

“Then say it again.” Dean pushed back just enough to take Cas’s face in between his shaky hands. Their eyes meet for the first time since being here and Dean had to fight back another sob as he meets those watery blue eyes. With his thumbs, he wiped Cas’s tears away and desperately said, “Please. I need to hear you say it again.”

He smiled again as he started saying his name but Dean shook his head as he let his head hang between them. A shaky breath or laugh escaping him as his mind still fogged up, nothing making sense anymore.

“No, wait, shh!” He shook his head as if everything would clear up but he was still feeling a bit dizzy. Not ready to hear the words and finally accept them. “Shit, fuck, I’m not ready. Wait”

He heard Cas chuckle, felt the shaking in between his hands, before he said, “You’re so stupid.”

“Gee thanks, Cas, and here I thought you loved me.” The teasing came out so naturally that it shocked Dean when those words escaped his lips. 

Of course, Cas would not skip a beat as he said, “I do - love you I mean - but I also think you’re an idiot at times. Like right now for instance.” He pulled Dean’s hands off of him but held them tightly on his lap. Dean looked up to meet his glare. “Jumping into the grasp of The Empty? Really, Dean?”

“Cas, I-I can’t lose you again.” Dean shook his head as he looked back at him. Watching Cas strain to hold back his emotions as tears continued to flow. 

“Dean, it’s fine. I was at peace with my decision. If it meant saving you,” Cas looked down at their hands moving them just enough so the desperation wasn’t showing. Cas sat back on the black hollow floor and held one of Dean’s hands. Held it as if they were going to go for a nice walk instead of discussing his own sacrifice. “I’ll do anything.”

Dean sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder as their hands rested on Cas’s knee. “So what? I’m supposed to willingly let you go?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Cas rolls his eyes as he uses his free hand to wipe his face. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“Well, I do.”

“No.” Cas says firmly as he shakes his head. He made a move to let go of their hands but Dean only tightened his grip. Cas sighs as he looks down at their hands again before looking back at Dean. Softer but still an edge. “No, you need to leave.”

“He’s right you know.” Dean turns towards the familiar voice and sees Meg appear before them. Her smile wild and manic as she glared down at them. He instantly stood up to block Cas from her view. “No humans in my void.”

“I’m not leaving without, Cas.” He could feel Cas’s hand gripping at the back of his shirt, ready to yank him out of the way at the first sign of trouble. 

“Dean,” Cas started but Dean reached behind him to squeeze his wrist.

“Shut up.” Dean tells him before looking back at Meg or not Meg. “We’re kind of a package deal so you might as well throw us both back.”

She chuckles before she takes a shaky step towards them. “Humans aren’t supposed to be here. You shouldn’t be here. You’re being too noisy. Everything is too loud now!”

Dean pulled at Cas’s wrist to pull him in close. To just make sure he was there. “Then let us continue our conversation back at home and we’ll leave you alone.”

“No! Castiel and I had a deal.”

“Fine! Send me back alone but you’ll never get peace.” Dean threatened as he pulled Cas along with him when he took a step towards Meg. “You’re gonna deal with my stubborn ass poking at you again and again until I get him back. Cause trust me, sweetheart, I’m not someone who gives up easily. I killed Death already, twice, and you’re going to be next on my list.”

Meg just started to giggle, low and deep, before she started to full-on laugh. Throwing her head back before she looked back at them with her wild smile. She grabbed her head as she closed her eyes. “I just...I want to sleep! Let me sleep.”

“What if we promised not to bother you?” Cas stepped forward and away from Dean’s grasp. “We were all betrayed by Billie but what if we work together again. Help each other get what we want. You get your peace again and we-”

“You guys walk out of here?” Cas only nodded while Dean couldn’t stop himself from reaching for Cas, his hands grasping at his trench coat. She eyed them both. “I never want either of you or that...Jack, here again.”

“Got it. We can do that.” Dean says as he stands beside Cas. Looking over at him while Cas kept his eyes forward. Standing strong and confident while his face was a blank stare but Dean could see his mind running. “Cas?”

“We still need to defeat Chuck. I can’t promise I’ll make it out of that alive. I may be back here in a few hours or days after we return.” Cas doesn’t look at him as he talked but at Meg who was glaring back at him. “If you help us defeat him maybe we can all finally have peace.”

“How?”

“I summon you again.” 

Dean opened his mouth to argue but Cas shook his head at him, holding his hand out to stop him from talking but Dean instead took it. Intertwining their fingers together to let Cas know that if it’s a dumb suicidal plan again then he better be ready for him to follow him into the damn dark again. 

“I summon you when I am close to Chuck and you-”

“And I’ll bring him here.” Meg finished Cas’s sentence with a smirk. “Where he is powerless.”

“He has Amara in him so that would keep them both alive. Keep the balance.” Dean adds as Cas eyes finally turn to look at him with a smile on his lips as things start to fall in place. He squeezes his hand with a hopeful look because maybe, just maybe, they had a chance for some real happiness. 

“We got work to do then.” Cas tells Dean before turning back to Meg.

She looks back at them with a less strained and creepy smile before she says, “I’ll be waiting for your summon then? I’m still connected to you, Castiel, so I’ll hear you.”

Cas gave a solid nod while Dean didn’t like the sound of that at all. He was about to open his mouth to ask what that meant but then Meg waved her hand and they were in the dark again. 

Dean woke up face down back in the dungeon. He blinked awake as he sat up trying to get his head on straight when he sprang up to look for Cas, afraid he was left behind. That he was tricked and this was how he finds out that he actually lost Cas. He lost him before he could even-

“Oh.” Dean turns to find Cas passed out behind him. He was laying on his back with his tie draped across his face. He couldn’t help but chuckle wanting to add another picture to his collection but there were more important things to do, to say, right now. “Cas?”

He crawled over to him and moved his tie as he shook his shoulders to wake him. “Come on, sleeping beauty, time to get up.”

Cas groaned as his eyes tighten up before he opens them, squinting up at Dean with a confused haze. “Dean?”

“Yeah, buddy, come on.” Dean helped sit him but then he was pulled into an overwhelming hug. The relief that was running out of Cas was heavy as his grip was tight but for the first time, Cas turned his head to hide his face into Dean’s neck. “Cas?”

Cas shook his head and once again Dean felt the angel shake with silent cries. 

Dean held on to him as he tried to comfort him but his own tears were blinding him. Cas was here, alive and in his arms. He almost lost him again and just like every other time he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to go on. How was he supposed to care about saving a world that he wanted to escape from? Now, now everything was right again. Well, almost everything.

Dean pulled back just enough to look back at Cas’s red-rimmed eyes, the most he has ever seen the angel cry. 

“You’re a mess.” He reached over to wipe Cas’s face with his sleeve and that made Cas slowly smile before a choke of a laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, well you don’t look so hot either.” Cas copied him, Dean’s face being wiped clean by the rough fabric of the dirty old trench coat. His smile slow-growing before he was grinning, dazzling, and beautiful as his fingers then replaced the fabric. Then the smile became a pout again as he tried to fight back more tears. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I didn’t want to leave you but I saw no other way to save you.”

His fingers reached to caress Dean’s face with no hesitation. Dean cloaked Cas’s hands with his own before he asked again. “Tell me now.”

Cas rolled his eyes as he shared his you’re-such-an-idiot smile. “Dean, are you sure this time?”

“Yeah, Cas, say it again.”

Cas features all soften as he relaxed while he looked into his eyes. There was never fear in Cas’s eyes while he took a deep breath. He looked so happy so...in love.

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean let go of the breath he must have been holding as he read Cas’s lips. His voice echoing in his head, trying to compare both of the confessions but they both sounded so confident. This time though it wasn’t a goodbye. No, this was just the beginning for them. 

Dean let his forehead fall against Cas’s own, a move that surprised Cas as he froze under the touch. He felt too overwhelmed with it all but it’s true. His angel loved him, the words that always were unspoken between them were finally out in the open. That whole speech was Cas. It was how he truly felt about Dean and maybe he wasn’t as good with his words as Cas but he could at least say it.

“I love you, Cas.” Dean fought the lump in his throat. “I love you. You...you have me. You always had me.”

“Dean.” Cas gasped out still unmoving as all of this was new territory for them but it wasn’t weird. It wasn’t uncomfortable but just unsure. Still hesitant. As if they both couldn’t believe they finally crossed this dumb line they drew themselves. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Dean pulled back just enough that their noses touched but he wasn’t ready to be so far away from him just yet. “Are you?”

“Yes!” Cas said sounding half annoyed that Dean ever doubted him in the first place and half thrilled that he could finally say it. “It’s one of the few things I know for certain. I love you, Dean.”

“Cool. Can I…?” Dean wanted to ask but now he finally felt the embarrassment, the one that always crawled up his neck when they were found too close together. Lost in each other’s gaze and always drifting closer without words.

“Please do.”

Dean watched Cas's eyes drift closed and just when he got the confidence to lean in he heard his name being called out in the halls. Desperate and scared.

“Sam?” Cas turned towards the hall and heard Jack call back to him. “Jack!”

Dean let himself be pulled up by Cas before they were both almost tackled down by their kid. “You’re alive!”

“Barely,” Dean mumbled as Cas turned to narrow his eyes at him, telling him not to worry the kid so much. “We’re fine. How are you guys?”

Sam walked in then and they get the cliff notes of Sam and Jack’s missing person’s case. Then it was their turn to do the same, leaving out the whole them part out of it. Now they had to figure out how they can make Chuck bring all these people back before they shove his ass into the Empty. 

“Come on, we can check the town out.” Sam tells them and Jack follows right behind him. 

Cas was going to follow them right out the door but Dean then grabbed his arm to pull him back to him. Taking his face in his hands and before Cas could say anything, though his wide eyes made him believe that Cas wasn’t about to say anything to stop him, Dean leaned in to finally kiss him.

Letting himself melt against Cas as he has always wanted to. Moving his hands to wrap around his waist, under the coat and jacket, to hold him close to his chest. Wanting more as Cas carefully rested his hands on his shoulders as if not knowing what to do with them but he was so confident in the kiss as he moved his lips along with his own with the same eagerness.  

Then he pulled away too quickly as his hot breath tickled Dean’s lips. His bright eyes looking down at his lips then back at his eyes. “We have to go, Dean.”

“Okay,” Dean leaned down for a quick peek and he couldn’t stop his chuckle as Cas chased after his lips. “Let’s go save the world and then we can pick this up later. Deal?”

Cas nodded, flashing Dean a smile before he said, “Of course, Dean.”

“Guys! Come on!” 

Dean takes Cas’s hand squeezing it before they raced back down the hall to meet up with Sam. A last chapter in Chuck’s story starting but they knew they had the power to write their own ending because they are real. This is real. 

[cosmicbash]

Fuck it.

I got possessed by a Pelly ghost, or my heavy duty flu medication I'm on and somehow started and finished a Pelly smut prompt in like a half hour, so, to that anon who asked-

Here's some completely unedited, messy ass, probably nonsensical Pelly smut from my medicated ass. I hope you enjoy it 👏

This shit is like 2.5k what the FUCK

Colson and Pete liked to fool around.

Not just in the childish prank war or food fight type of way either. Alot of times their goofy little games quickly changed genres to something more adult. It was hard to avoid, what with the drugs, their chemistry, and the allure of something taboo that came with kissing your best friend.

It never got much farther than handjobs and side by side circle jerks though, and even those felt weird for the first dozen times. Colson didn't really think of himself as bi, or pan, or queer, or whatever the hell they were calling dudes who also jerked off dudes in between banging hot chick's nowadays. Mainly because he didn't jerk off dudes. Just one dude. Pete. He had some stupid exception made in his head for the younger comedian that seemed to cross every and any boundary he tried to set.

So yeah, they fool around. They kiss, they bite eachother, hump, stuff hands down one another's jeans just for laughs, sometimes they even cuddle, but not in an after sex kind of way, just a, move over your couch isn't big enough for me and it's pointless to watch a movie together in the guest room kind of way. It's weird, but not? Colson can't ever seem to put too much thought into whatever he and Pete have going on before he gets distracted or develops a headache.

They're just friends. He thinks.

But. Then again, that doesn't explain how they've ended up here in the comedians bed again. Pete's mouth warm and wet against his own. Kissing him in all the ways he feels like he kisses girls, stealing away his breath and sending a warm tickle down his body all the way to the tips of his toes. It's so different from the usual leading position he finds himself taking in every other hook up that Colson can't help but find himself carried away by it. He would probably be content to lay back and let Pete kiss and fondle him for hours if the brunette didn't always find some stupid joke he had to make and interrupt the mood.

So far tonight they're off to a good start though, maybe a bit too good of one with how his jeans are already down around his ankles and his cock is slick between Pete's tight fist. 

Colson can barely remember what stupid creepy unsolved case files episode they'd been watching on the TV before he jokingly asked Pete to distract him from his paranoid thoughts. Rarely did weed and suspicious murders weigh lightly on Colson's head. He'd spent a whole week after humoring one of Pete's marathons of the show utterly convinced his stylist was out to secretly kill him. People are just so unpredictable its scary.

Like Pete. His mouth might be up pressing against his one second, and down sucking and biting on his tatted nipple the next. It's jarring how random his best friends actions seem sometimes. Like, just when Colson thinks he has Pete's rhythm figured out the comedian senses it and decides to switch things up on him again.

Last week Pete had called Colson weird for curiously flicking his tongue over one of the other man's hard nubs. Outright laughing at his attempt for foreplay and spinning some joke about breastfeeding and asking Colson to call him mommy until the rapper had abandoned the idea altogether. 

Yet here the little hypocrite was, absolutely moaning into his chest while he did the same thing. Free hand stuffed down his own sweats where he's crowded himself between Colson's legs.

It shouldn't be hot, Colson wants to give the same incredulous laugh at his best friends actions and tease him just the same but his throat feels tight and his body electric at the attention. Like Pete knows some secret trick he hasn't yet deciphered that swaps the nerves in your tits and your dick around to drive you wild.

Instead he just moans. Head tipping back and lips parting for a "Fuck- Petey-" before he carts his fingers through soft short brown hair. Maybe it's just the combo of jacking off alongside it, or his pain kink coming back to bite him in the ass. He can't say, but Pete's teeth gnawing softly at his nipple makes his dick squirt just a little more precum with every jerk.

He feels like he might be close. Hips kicking up softly from the mattress when Pete's mouth travels in hungry kisses across his chest to suck at and nibble on the other. 

It's weird. Pushing invisible boundaries yet again but Colson doesn't want him to stop. 

He's hardly participating at all too, one arm thrown above his head to grab at the head board and help arch his back, while the other is still glued to the back of Pete's head like it has been since they first kissed. Usually their flings are two sided, fists racing in their jerks to make the other come first, not self indulgent like tonight where he's hardly touched Pete's dick at all outside of a few over the clothes gropes.

It's got that question nagging at the back of Colson's mind again. Why they're doing this? What he's getting out of opening himself up so vulnerably to his best friend's traveling hands and wandering mouth?

The invasive thoughts are so distracting for a moment that Colson doesn't even realize Pete's traveled souther until he has the electric shock of wet lips sealing around the tip of his dick. Eyes bursting open and heart racing because Pete's kissing him somewhere new. His best friend's fucking taking his dick into his hot warm mouth for the first time.

And holy fuck does he love it.

"F-fuck-" Colson feels like a teenager getting his first blowie again with how his hips instantly jerk up and his fingers tighten around hair. 

Fuck fuck fuck, Pete is swallowing his dick down too fast for him to watch. He knows the comedian has a big mouth but christ, it can't be that deep can it? There's no way Pete has sucked dick before and not told him, they share everything, and until this moment, he thought the disinterest in tasting dick was a big one of those things.

But apparently not, because the comedian is slurping obscenely and sucking all over the tip and length of his dick like a lollipop offered to a man starved. It's so attentive that Colson doesn't even mind the few moments where he cock clumsily slips out of the other's mouth and bumps against a scratchy cheek or blunt teeth. It's amazing.

Colson definitely knows he must be close now. His neck feels stuck in a permanent arch back, face burying itself in the croon of his arm while he moans and curses, and pleas for Pete to not stop.

Less than delicate fingers fondle his balls and spit slips down between his legs but Colson only loves it all more. He wants to fuck his best friends face. Stuff Pete's head down hard and bury his cock down the comedians throat to paint the next couple jokes that come out of his mouth white. He tries to push though and finds a strong resistance, Pete's immediate gag and flinch back easily overpowering his weak shove.

Then the hot mouth is gone. Ripping an embarrassing whimper from the rapper's lips before he can catch it. The quick thrust up of his hips and stretch of his toes to try and kick his way back up into Pete's mouth ignored.

Colson's just about to whine and curse, and bitch at Pete for being such a fucking stupid tease when that evil mouth descends yet again. This time skating down over the long vein stretching the length of his dick to go even lower. Tongue and teeth finding his balls to offer attention there instead. 

Now his curse is more breathy, and his hips arching up higher. Because holy fucking shit Pete is sucking and tugging on his balls like an expert, fist back around the base of his dick to pick up where it left off. 

"God, Pete- Pete-" Colson's own hand has abandoned soft hair to clumsily grab at his own thigh. Fingers slipping and struggling to find purchase on sweat slick skin so that he can help hike his legs up a little higher to get Pete going lower. Every inch of his sack begging for the same attention that's fluttering across it. It takes a few swift kicks to free his one foot from his jeans but when he does it only lets his legs spread open wider. Every part of him arching and opening itself up for Pete to see with no flash of the usual shame he feels from even stripping his pants off all the way around the comedian.

He just needs more. He's so so close and Pete's tasting him like someone starved.

His dick is leaking, precum streaming out in more consistent spurts and oversensitivity just starting to tingle at the tip with every twist of Pete's wrist. Colson knows he's going to come, his neck is twisted and his face pressed hard against the hard wood of the headboard from all of his stretching and kicking to guide Pete lower and it should hurt but he can barely feel any of those aches over the chills he gets when both of Pete's hands suddenly grab him by the thighs and yank him down a little. Uncharacteristically rough in their manhandling until Colson is blinking blearily up at the bland ceiling and trembling because his ass is leaving the bed. Pete's nose bumping against his balls and tongue swiping over his taint.

The noise that bursts from between his parted lips doesn't even sound human at this point. Something between a wheeze and a moan while the room spins and his best friends tongue abruptly drags flat over his asshole to top off the absurdity of the whole night.

Colson's fingers are still cutting sharp into the back of his thigh though, grip only tightening as his body moves on its own to pull his knee closer to his chest. The bump of Pete's fingers near his own tingly in every good way.

There's no backing out now, he's losing his mind in the rush of everything, all thought flying out the window to make room for a mantra of, fuck, please, please, Petey, please- until there's another lap tongue against his hole and a fist curling back around his neglected dick.

He only lasts another few jerks. Pete's mouth sucking and humming around the rim of his asshole while he paints his own chest. Tongue out in a long moan and eyes rolled back into his head until he sees stars. It's so good. Colson can feel he body rocking and twitching with every spurt of cum, and Pete's tongue isn't slowing either. Pressing and licking until it has wiggled its way inside his ass and the moans coming from his mouth wind their way down into whimpers from overstimulation. 

Colson's legs drop fast, snapping down from his grip like his fingers are a broke rubber band to catch on Pete's shoulder. Over the blood rushing in his ears he can hear Pete moaning, fuck, he can feel it against his skin. It's desperate, so much that eventually the comedian isn't even licking or tongueing him anymore, just mumbling and bumping his mouth between the rapper's cheeks in escalating fervor.

Colson's brain is still too busy rebooting for him to properly appreciate how fucking hot it sounds. He can hear the wet slap of Pete's dick too, skin clapping against skin with what he can only guess is lightning jerks of fist.

"Fuuuuck-" Pete's finally the one cursing, his whole body jerking up from where he's been burying his face between Colsons legs to scramble up onto his knees. Sweats shoved down around his thighs, dick all shiny and almost purple while he moans and jerks it off in front of him. The leg Colson had dropped down on Pete's shoulder half rising with him, caught before it can slip by the comedian extra hand to keep it high and his back arched before the man comes. Hot spurts burning Colson's skin everywhere it lands between them. Especially across his own balls and inner thighs, Pete not stopping until he's half stumbling forward to crush the blonde and cum is peppering thick drops against Colson's twitching hole too. His groan long and deep while he watches.

The visual alone is enough to make the rapper's spent dick twitch. Heart beat quickening and face burning hotter in embarrassment over how blissed out his best friends expression has become once their eyes finally meet.

Pete's going to kiss him. He can see it clear as day in those honey brown eyes and that wet pout of lips. 

He just narrowly avoids it with a fast slap of hand across the comedians mouth after Pete drops forward. His own knuckles bumping hard against his teeth with how close of call it is, and Pete's nose poking softly at his cheek.

"Fuck dude-" Colson still feels shaky as he speaks. Head twisting sideways away from Pete's repeated bump and weak smooch against his palm before he continues. "No way, fuck, man, your tongue was just in my ass-" Even saying the word out loud burns Colson's ears and makes his thighs tremble a little.  "Gross, gross, gross dude!"

"Mm, sowwy-" Pete's mouth is still pressing with its kisses, his words half mumbled and slurred by the flat press of Colson's hand that refuses to move.

"Fuck." The heat of the moment finally fading Colson can't help but find himself cursing again and again. "Fucking fuck-" a hysterical laugh is bubbling up his throat and with it a couple dozen more that burst free with a shake of his shoulders and a light shove at Pete's face so he can rub his hand over his face instead. "You fucking licked my ass-"

"I know-" Pete sounds downright apologetic where he buries his face against one sweaty tatted shoulder but Colson can only shake harder. More and more laughter coming until he's almost in tears repeating it yet again.

"You ate my fucking ass Pete!" It's so funny he almost can't breathe. Boundaries and embarrassment aside the reality of the situation finally settling in just has Colson cackling in disbelief. "Oh my god dude-"

"I- I got caught up in the moment-" Pete's face is redder than he's ever seen it when Colson peeks out from behind his hand, and if he could laugh harder he would. But he can't so instead he smiles. He smiles as wide and as big as he can until his cheeks hurt up at his ashamed best friend.

"And you called me a weirdo for licking your nipple dude?"

He is never letting Pete live this down. 

[karlnapity]

(tw: derealization, panic attack)

Fundy hasn’t been doing well for a long time. That much is obvious.

It’s rather common knowledge, really. Poor Fundy, poor kid who’s lost his dad, poor kid who hasn’t recovered since, all that.

Poor kid who was given a wide berth, and has since then lost his friends from lack of attention.

Niki will be the first to admit she’s neglected her friendship, and it eats her alive. She abandoned him, when he needed her, and he still needs her, but he still scares her, just a bit, still sets her on edge.

She can remember when he first told her about Ghostbur. He was near hysterical, still unchanged from the clothes destroyed by the explosion on the Sixteenth. He burst into her home, shaking, telling her with a frightening little laugh that he’d seen him, and she thought he’d lost it, for lack of a better term.

But she let him indulge in his fantasy, because he looked terrible, and she was worried about what he’d do if he knew it wasn’t real.

So she let him rant about the arguments he had with this “ghost,” let him talk in circles about it, offered meaningless insight here and there.

But there was only so much she could take. She couldn’t tell him, but she still couldn’t just listen to him talk all day long about a man she’d rather forget.

So yes, maybe she did abandon him.

She ran far, started her own path, her own journey. Forgot about Wilbur, forgot about L’Manburg, focused on Tommy, and Jack, and tried her very, very best to ignore the nagging voice in the back of her head that told her to check up on him.

And then she met Ghostbur, and everything came crashing down.

Was Fundy right all along? Because she couldn’t have gotten it wrong, he was out of it, he was worrying her, he was fucking crazy. Did Ghostbur being real change anything?

And she knew she needed to see him again. It had been long enough, she’d gotten it together, she’d gone through her own damn breakdown, and she had to see whether he was ok, too.

So here she stands, in front of his house. When she asked around, it seems it’s been radio silent, but she won’t be deterred. She's determined when she wants to be.

She knocks, hesitantly, but when there’s no response she grows impatient, bangs harder. Still nothing. Is he not home, or something?

After yet more silence, she tries the door. Unlocked. She pushes in.

It’s a mess. Everything is scattered, furniture knocked over and paper lying on every available surface. She can smell ink in the air, almost hovering over the room.

And in the middle of it all, in bed, lies Fundy. The covers lay over him haphazardly, and a blanket sits on the ground next to the bed.

She feels an awful lot like she’s intruding, as she watches him twist and turn in a seeming nightmare. She sighs, and goes to get a mug of water for him, submitting the fact she’ll have to wait for him to wake up.

He looks terrible, she thinks, as she peers at him out of the corner of her eye. He seems to have lost weight since she last saw him, and she can’t ignore the dark circles under his eyes. His fur seems unkempt, something she’s never seen before. He’s always taken pride in it before.

She looks around the house. The papers she sees have ‘diary’ scribbled across the top, and even if she’s concerned, she won’t invade his privacy like that. Instead, she simply leaves them alone, opting to instead tidy what she can.

She throws open a window, hoping to air out the fumes and brighten up the place. It feels oppressive.

He makes a noise in his sleep, and she turns to see him curled in a ball, ears pressed flat to his head. She sympathizes.

When he lets out a whimper, she considers, briefly, waking him, but remembers how she almost lost a hand the last time, and sighs, pulls a broom from a closet.

She accidentally knocks over a pile of paper, and quickly goes to right it. The writing isn’t legible, so she doesn’t worry about reading it, but the scribbling in the margins and the vicious crossing out sets her heart pattering anxiously.

This is worse than she had feared. Anxiety creeps up her spine, leaves her biting a nail, peeking at the bed.

And he starts awake.

He’s breathing heavy, the rasps and gasps the only noise in the house.

He lifts a clawed hand to his chest, trying to catch his breath. She doesn’t dare move as he puts his hands over his face, brushing fur out of his face. His breathing slows, after what feels like hours.

She clears her throat, gently, and he jumps. They catch eyes.

Guilt settles heavy in her chest. He looks half-dead, the crazed look in his eyes incomparable to what she worried about months ago.

“Hi,” she says carefully. He tenses as she leans the broom against a wall, and yet more as she pulls a chair up to his bed and settles. “How’s it going?”

His eyes flit desperately over her face, seemingly searching for something. Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it, and he instead shifts to sit straighter. “I’m ok. Just a dream.”

She nods. Trust is a two-way street, and it’s worth being a little vulnerable. “I used to have these nightmares where I’d have to lock myself up so I didn’t do anything. I get it.”

His face pinches, and she has a feeling he didn’t absorb any of what she said. He stands, practically sprints to the doorway, peers out. He lets out an audible sigh of relief, leans against the door as he closes it.

He fixes her in the eye. “Can you go now? I need to write stuff down.”

She can’t stop a frown from appearing. “I’m sorry?”

“Can you go now?” He repeats, slower, as if she hadn’t understood.

“I, uh. I wanted to talk to you. Catch up. It’s been a while.” She stands, watches him.

“Ok, well, I need you to go. I have shit to do,” he says, gathering a quill and a few sheets of paper. He scribbles something down.

“What are you writing?” She asks. He grits his teeth.

“It’s important. I can’t tell you.” His voice grows higher with desperation.

“Fundy,” she says, quietly, pleadingly.

He whirls to face her. He’s squeezing his quill in his hand, and ink is already coating his hands and arms. He drops it, raises his hands to his hand and lets out a keen. “Stop...”

Any doubts she had have been erased. He needs help.

She steps forward, envelops him in a careful hug. He clings to her, hands roaming over her back and shoulders as if he’s afraid she’ll disappear.

“Are you really here?” He whispers, and her heart hurts.

“Yes, yes,” she murmurs in response. They sink to the floor. Fundy hiccups.

He starts to laugh. It’s broken, angry, upset, devastated, but he laughs, and he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t stop, even when he starts to sob, even when he coats Niki’s shirt with tears, even when his voice is growing rough from overuse, even when she begs him, silently, to stop, to be quiet, because he does still scare her.

But eventually, he seems to give up. He lays limply in her arms, his breath still hitching from crying. She pets his fur, working out the small mats with her fingers.

“Please talk to me,” she begs for what seems to be the hundredth time.

“I have. These dreams.” His voice stops and starts, as if he’s not sure if he should say anything, but she nods, encouraging him to continue. “I saw Wilbur, and I saw me, and these stupid fucking books keep telling me I’m in danger, and they’re from me, and there’s this person trying to get me, and. And. I don’t think I’m real, anymore.”

She shushes him as he starts to cry again. She wishes they were fucking qualified for this.

What right did this world ever have to break them this much?

“You’re real,” she promises. “They’re just dreams, ok?”

He shakes his head, desperately. His voice is hysterical. “They’re not just dreams, Niki, you have no idea what they can do, what they’ve done, you don’t know. They’re so much more than that.”

She pulls back, takes his face in her hands. His fur is wet, stained from tears, and his eyes are crazed, and she can tell he isn’t completely there. She holds his snout gently, rubs circles with her thumbs, and his eyes close a bit in comfort.

“They’re just dreams, I promise.” She presses a kiss, gently, on his forehead. “They trick you like that.”

He shakes his head. “The desert-”

“Shh. Come on.” She pulls him to his feet, looping an arm around his shoulders. She guides him to the door, and they peer out together. “There’s no desert, ok?”

He nods, hesitantly. She grins, and they drags him out on a walk.

He looks pale in the sunlight, desaturated, somehow even more unhealthy. The weather is wonderful, but he’s still almost crouched, flinching at every noise. She tells herself it’s good for him.

They walk to her new base, and he protests every step of the way. He tells her he needs to write down the dreams, he tells her that someone is still coming for him, he tells her about Wilbur and a younger Fundy and books written by him, and she tries very, very hard to convince herself he’s ok, just upset.

Grieving is an easy excuse, but it’s the only excuse she’s got.

Once inside her base, HBomb greets them, and Niki shakes her head, just a little, when he turns to Fundy. HBomb purses his lip, a concerned look already on his face at simply the sight of their friend, but lets them pass.

She’s showing him around when it happens. He’s finally relaxing a bit, his claws no longer clenched, his ears no longer flat, when he makes a sort of gasp behind her.

She turns to see him with a hand to his head, stumbling for support against the wall.

He fixes her with the most terrified look she’s seen in her life, and her blood goes cold. He reaches for her, and she grasps him.

“It’s happening,” he hisses, and his legs give out. She follows him to the ground, holds him close.

“What is?” She asks, concern tinting her voice.

“He’s coming,” he murmurs, and passes out cold.

She reminds herself, steadfast, as she and HBomb help him to a bed, that it’s just a dream, even as he twists and turns and whimpers.

It’s just a dream.

[winterscaptain]

the pitch.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: this one is just a fun lil ajf fic! takes place in au!february 2016, during the spring soccer season

words: 1.3k warnings: soccer moms, light language

summary: aaron’s a known challenge for the moms on the soccer pitch. a newcomer finds out why. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Let’s go Jack! C’mon!” Aaron’s shout carries across the soccer pitch, and Jack delivers - scoring a goal for his second hat trick of the season. At twelve, he is by far the strongest player on the team, as well as the happiest. 

He flies to the sidelines for a moment and meets his dad for a high-five, sprinting back onto the pitch. 

Two moms watch the exchange on the opposite sideline, the younger of the two observing Aaron with particular interest. “Do you think he’s single?” She, unlike her new friend, doesn't know the Hotchners and has never met you.

As it happens, you’re home with Isaac, almost ready to leave for the end of the game. The games are always a little loud for Isaac, but you’ve learned he can tolerate (and sometimes actually enjoy) them for about twenty minutes at a time. Thus, you always started or ended the game without him, spending the rest of the time running errands or hanging out at home. 

While you’re not quite sure what his differences are, you know your little one has a unique relationship to the environment. Derek had the idea to put headphones on him when he was just over a year old, and they’ve been a lifesaver. You usually put them on him to dampen environmental noise, but the ability to play music comes in handy, too. 

Among the more seasoned soccer parents, you’re a bit of a legend. Stepmom to the Stars, and wife of the infamously handsome and competent Aaron Hotchner. You beautifully manage a soon-to-be teenager (who adores you), while carting around an almost-two-year-old (with sensory processing issues), while pregnant (with twins). 

It would be infuriating if it wasn’t so impressive.

The older woman snorts. “Far from it. In fact, he’s more in love with his wife than any man I’ve ever met. If I hadn’t seen him together, I would think he was full of shit, but they really are something else. They work at the Justice Department together.”

“First marriage?” She’s clearly determined. 

“Second. He’s a widower.” 

The younger woman tosses her hair over her shoulder, gathering it up into a ponytail. “I can work with that. It’s been a minute since I flirted with the Justice Department.”

She crosses the pitch, coming to rest by Aaron’s side. 

“So,” she starts, “which one’s yours?”

With a proud, if reserved, smile, Aaron picks Jack out of the players. He’s an easy find, almost a streak on the pitch as he runs across the field. “Jack’s there. He’s my oldest.” After answering her question, he directs all of his focus back to the game, pointedly bringing his left hand to scratch at something on his neck, his wedding ring glinting in the sunlight. 

“Oldest? So you have more kids?”

Absently, he replies, crossing his arms. “I do. Another son and two girls on the way.” He’s had her intentions on lock since he’s spotted her eyeing him across the way. His polite disinterest does nothing to deter her.

“So sweet!” Her voice just about gives him a cavity. “How old is your other son?”

She’s cute enough - a type he would have probably gone after in college - but young and singularly focused. He runs a quick mental profile (have to keep the skills sharp, you know) and sees a woman who married early, divorced soon after having one child - given the wedding band she wears on her right hand and the mother’s ring she wears on her left - and given her pursuit of him, likely something to prove to an older man in her life. 

Thankfully, he knows you’re on your way, ready to save him from this suburban hell. 

“He’ll be two next month.”

She smiles, flicking her ponytail back over her shoulder. “That’s such a sweet age. My daughter is just over a year old, now. My ex is bringing her by tonight, so I’ve got the house to myself all afternoon.” 

Got that profile locked down, didn’t he?

Still got it, Hotchner. 

The woman sighs like a house to herself is the greatest tragedy she’s ever encountered. 

His eyes wander to the parking lot, where you’re walking from the car with Isaac up on your hip, his little headphones already over his ears. You raise an arm to wave and Aaron’s face breaks out into a grin. 

He barely acknowledges the other woman as he says, “Excuse me,” and trots toward you. Jack’s been benched for the time being, recovering from his high-scoring first half. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You’re greeted with a quick, sweet kiss when Aaron reaches you, and you run a casual hand from his shoulder to his pec, tapping twice. “Hey, my love. How’s he doin’ out there today?”

“Hat trick, we’re up by five and he’s on the bench until next quarter.”

“Excellent.” She shifts Isaac on her hip, and Aaron reaches for him. Much to everyone’s surprise, Isaac reaches out for Aaron and allows his father to tuck him against his chest with one arm. You and Aaron exchange a little smile. 

Your belly has decidedly become an obstacle as the twins get closer to arriving. You’re nearly seven months in, and they’re just about killing you. You will, however, suffer a great many trials for one of Aaron’s back massages, though, carrying his daughters included. 

The three of you (or five, depending on who you count) walk back to the sideline of Jack’s game, your hand tucked into the crook of Aaron‘s elbow. 

“So,” you say. “How many this morning?”

He laughs, a sound that brings a wide smile to your face. “Just the one. I’m a known challenge and I guess she was feeling ambitious.”

“What, babe? Is twenty and unattached not doing it for you anymore?” Your tone is cheeky in the extreme as you rest your hand on your belly. 

You earn an eye roll. “I’ve done twenty and unattached. It got me far enough the second time, and I don’t think ‘third time’s the charm’ will apply to this situation very well.” 

“In fairness, you did twenty-nine and unattached last time, if my memory serves.” You keep your tone light - it’s all play. 

“Ah, yes. That’s right. I’m glad you’re here to keep me honest.” He kisses your temple and you lean into him. “I am an old man, after all. My memory’s going.”

You snort. “Not too far, I hope.” 

A smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and you know he’s thinking of last night. “Nope. Not too far, at all.” 

The running attempts for Aaron’s attention on the soccer field was weekly entertainment at this point. As annoying as it was at the start, he regularly reminds you that only one woman has his ring on her finger and gets to bear his children and receive all the finer things that come with those privileges.

You felt much better after that. 

He stoops to place Isaac in the folding chair he brought specifically for you and his younger son. Under no circumstances can Aaron himself sit still at one of Jack’s games - a habit from his coaching days.

When he straightens, he kisses you again. You can feel his smile against your lips and you’re sure he can feel yours. When you pull back, your eyes track to the side of the pitch. “We have an audience.”

He follows your gaze for just a moment before covering it with a cursory search for Jack, who’s right where he was before. “What’s so interesting about a man who loves his wife?”

You shrug. “I wouldn’t know. It’s not a novelty to me.”

The two soccer moms have reconvened, and the smugness has switched faces. 

“You’re kidding. They’re like a goddamn Hallmark card.”

“I told you.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pinkdiamond1016 @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @bauslut @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @simsiddy @jeor @synonymforlame @roses-and-grasses @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @garcia-reid-lovechild @cevanswhre@joanofarkansass @infinity1321 @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @spencerelds @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

[vs-redemption]

Hey! Well since today is halloween , can i request a Dabi,Twice,Toga or Tomura (your choice) where thier s/o wanted to watch a very gore/scary horror movie with them but never got scared?

From Cindy: Thanks for request anon! I bumped this one up to the top of the priority list so that I could get it out as close to Halloween as possible! I chose to write Toga instead of Shigaraki just because I’ve never written for her and wanted to give it a shot. If you still want one with Shiggy, don’t hesitate to send in another request!

Dabi, Twice, and Toga x Reader - Watching a scary movie together

Dabi

One of the things Dabi enjoyed most about dating you was that you had zero connections with the League of Villains and were completely uninvolved in his extracurricular criminal activities. Those things were still important to him, of course, but after spending most of his time burning unworthy allies alive in alleyways, unleashing nomus into cities full of innocent people, and plotting ways to bring about the destruction of the country’s corrupted society in general, it was nice to have someone he could go to and take a break from the violence and just relax with.

You had never judged him for his goals or the morally questionable ways he went about achieving them, but you yourself had never expressed even the tiniest desire to participate. You agreed with him about some of the injustices present in the whole hero/villain system, but from what Dabi could tell, there wasn’t a single vengeful or violent bone in your body. Because of this, it was pretty amusing to him when you came up to him on Halloween, asking him to watch a scary movie with you. He lets out a dry laugh, imagining that you had one of the PG classics in mind. Imagine his surprise when he plopped down on the couch next to you and saw you pull up the title of the most brutal and bloody slasher movie available on the TV.

“Hey, you sure you want to watch something like this?” Dabi had to believe you’d gone to that movie on accident. “How about something a little more family friendly?” He raises his eyebrows when you whirl around to face him with a cute scowl as if he’d offended you.

“It’s Halloween, Dabi.” You say it as if that was all the reason you needed to back your decision. You turn back to the TV and press the play button on the remote. Dabi shrugs his shoulders and makes himself comfortable as the opening credits begin to play. Once you figured out how bad the movie actually was, he was sure you’d turn it off and switch to a different one. His bewilderment grew in intensity as the characters got hacked to pieces one by one with not a sound or twitch from you. By the end of the movie he’d gone from total shock to strangely proud. Who knew the love of his life would have such an iron stomach?

Twice

Twice had been looking forward to Halloween ever since Shigaraki had informed the League of Villains that they’d all be free from doing any nefarious activities that day. It wasn’t that he cared much for the spooky holiday, but it was rare for him to get a day off from his villain duties. Naturally, his plan was to spend the entire day with you, his imagination conjuring up adorable images of carving pumpkins together and making popcorn balls to pass out to the neighborhood trick-or-treaters. Thankfully, he could wear a mask when answering the door so nobody would recognize him as a member of the League of Villains.

When the day of October 31st finally arrived, Twice showed up at your place with bags full of Halloween candy and a bunch of other random things he’d managed to swipe from a nearby grocery store. He had told you that he would do anything you wanted today, so he wanted to be prepared. Needless to say, he hadn’t been ready at all for you to announce that you’d rented the new horror film that had come out recently. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the rating and read the description.

“Isn’t this too scary?” He asks you, the concerned look on his face was obvious even with the mask he wore over his head.

“No, I don’t think so,” you shake your head while grabbing a blanket so that you could both snuggle up together. “It’s perfect to get us into the Halloween spirit.”

“I just don’t want you to get nightmares,” he says sweetly before his clashing personality spoke up, “You’re going to cry for your mommy!”

“I’ll be fine.” You reassure him with a kiss on the cheek before pulling him over to the couch. “There’s no way I can get scared as long as you hold my hand.” The sweet words made Twice feel a little better, but he still had some reservations. If watching a movie like this would make you happy though, he wouldn’t protest anymore.

Somehow, all his worries had backfired on him. The film you’d chosen was full of jump scares that seemed to catch him off guard no matter how much he tried to prepare for them. What made it worse was the little snicker you let out each and every time he gasped and clenched his hand tighter around yours.

“How come this movie isn’t affecting you at all?” he whispers during an especially tense scene where the music really exaggerated the suspense. “You crazy or something?” You let out a small laugh and lean closer into his side.

“One of us has to be the brave one,” you tease while patting him affectionately on the leg. He knows you’re joking but puts a hand dramatically over his heart to act wounded anyway. The smile his antics bring to your face cheers him up, and he knows he’d watch a million more scary movies as long as it meant spending time with you.

Toga

“Happy Halloween!” Toga attacks you with a hug as soon as you open the door to let her in. Your front room fills with the sound of your laughter as she peppers your face with kisses. She was always super affectionate, especially if you hadn’t see each other in a while. Her role in the League of Villains kept her pretty busy, so you both cherished these rare occasions that allowed you to spend time together.

“Happy Halloween,” you reply happily once she gives you a moment to catch your breath. “I can hardly believe we have the whole night to ourselves!”

“I know!” Toga skips into your kitchen, going right for the block of knives you kept on the counter. She pulls out the biggest one. “I have so many ideas! Do you think we could make a jack-o-lantern with Mr. Stainy’s face on it?” Even though carving out the details of the hero killer’s face seemed a little above either of your skill levels, gutting and butchering a pumpkin sounded right up Toga’s alley.

“We can certainly try,” you say, causing your girlfriend to smile happily and cuddle the knife she was holding to her chest. It had taken you a while to get used to her quirky behavior, but now it hardly registered in your mind when she did anything unconventional like that.

“Hey,” you call her attention after a second. “Before we carve pumpkins, I was thinking we could watch a movie.” You tell her the title and a manic grin spreads across her face. Before you can even blink, she’s standing right in front of you.

“I’ve heard of that movie,” she hums while tilting her head curiously. “Isn’t it really super bloody and gory?” You nod your head in confirmation while wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

“You like blood and gore,” you say knowingly. “That’s why I picked it.” Toga taps the flat end of the knife she was still holding against your shoulder as she thinks over your words.

“You’d really watch something like that for me?” she asks almost shyly. You nod your head again and she lets out a delightful sounding laugh.

“Okay!” She pulls out of your embrace so she can bounce excitedly on the balls of her feet. “But if you get sick, you can’t blame me!”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure her before running to grab pillows and blankets from your room to make the sofa more comfortable.

As the movie starts, Toga is both surprised and impressed when you keep your promise. The brutal action from the movie doesn’t appear to bother you at all. In fact, you seemed just as enthralled by it as she was. By the middle of the movie, both of you are cheering and rooting for the killer as he hunts down and slaughters each of his victims. When the ending credits begin to roll, you both agree that you’d have to arrange for more horror movie nights in the future.

[firefly-in-darkness]

Dream A Little Dream

Characters → Y/N & Dean Winchester.

Summary → Y/N has always daydreamed of Dean being more than a friend regardless of knowing she wasn’t his type. Is she going to be able to keep her feelings in check when they pretend to be a couple in their hunt for a witch?

Word Count → 2.9k

Warnings → 18+, a little bit of angst, low self-esteem, fluff. Sexy things. Happy ending.

Beta → @princessmisery666 & @daydream3r-xo // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → This is my Secret Santa fic for @spnsecretsantaficexchange & this story is being gifted to @waywardnerd67 who asked for a friends to lovers, only one bed & plus size reader fic - I hope you enjoy this lovely!

Masterlist

Dean Winchester: a man full of love for the world that didn’t appreciate him. He was a hunter, hero, and saviour. Not that he’d ever call himself anything like that, he was too modest. It was just the family business, saving people, hunting things. And Y/N was lucky, or not so lucky, to experience all of this with him. As his friend. 

Even if it pained Y/N to be near Dean; his charm, his sense of humour, his body, his warmth, all she wanted was to have him closer. Have them be skin to skin, holding onto another tightly in a lover’s embrace. All Y/N wanted was for him to hold her tight, to whisper that he loved her. But she realised, a long time ago, that Dean Winchester would never see her as anything other than a friend.

The sight of Dean flirting his way across the towns they visited, and the types of women he had fallen into bed with, made it clear that all they’d ever be was friends. He acted so candidly with these beautiful creatures and Y/N would never compare to them. Y/N didn’t look anything like the women he was interested in, she wasn’t his type in the slightest. Dean never looked at her with lust or directed that cheeky smirk her way.

Y/N had long ago settled for the relationship that they had, it had to be enough. She had to stop daydreaming about Dean and if there were more meaning to the way he pulled her into a shoulder hug after a successful hunt. The way he tended to the wounds across her body as if she was a delicate flower about to wilt at the feel of a heavy hand. Or how he’d kiss the top of her head as she drifted to sleep against his shoulder as he drove the Impala. 

Those were the most intimate moments, and it had her clutching to the idea of him being more than a fellow hunter and companion. Those sweet daydreams were enough to let all worries disappear and bring her hope. If only he dreamed a little dream of me.

In reality, Y/N would only be Dean’s friend, and that was final. She tucked away her feelings into the smallest part of her being, locked and hidden from everyone. Because, to have a small amount of love from Dean, even if platonic, was enough. 

Y/N had learnt to distract herself, to steer away from the daydreaming and getting lost in his beautiful eyes. She’d preoccupy herself with a game on her phone whenever Dean appeared looking dashing or when he’d stepped out of a steaming shower; his glistening torso and the loosely wrapped towel had been a long tormented situation until she learnt to avoid looking his way.

Coffee would be buzzing through her system so that she didn’t fall asleep unexpectedly against him and when injuries occurred, she began dealing with them on her own just to avoid his touch. It wasn’t so bad to do it by herself, she’d done it before. But, as much as Y/N tried to avoid Dean, it was inevitable that something would come to test her.

It came in the form of Dean’s idea of pretending to be a couple in a restaurant in the hope of catching the witch causing havoc in the small town in the middle of nowhere. Y/N told yourself over and over - ‘this isn’t real, we are just friends.’ But nothing prepared her for the moment she walked into the motel room. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind as they left Sam at the bunker and travelled across state lines for the next hunt. 

Y/N’s eyes blew wide at the sight before her. One bed. One fucking bed.

Dean was completely oblivious to the conflict that raged in Y/N’s head and went straight into the bathroom. At least it gave Y/N some privacy and a moment to breathe. But how could she when her mind swam with hundreds of thoughts all at once? It was like the gods were playing a cruel trick. How were they going to sleep in the same bed, together? And how could she possibly even sleep with him lying next to her? The running water of the shower did little to discourage the more intimate thoughts.

To quiet the voices in her head, she took a seat and looked through the little research that Dean had gathered. The distraction worked for a while, at least until he returned to the room in his loungewear and inspected the suit that Y/N had hung up neatly. She watched him with incredulous disbelief as he grabbed the remote for the television before he climbed onto the bed. 

Dean settled back on the mattress, flicked through the channels until he found something decent to watch and placed his arms at the back of his head. 

He turned his gaze to her, “are you going to just sit there or join me?”

Y/N frowned, “shouldn’t we ask for a different room and do some more research?”

Dean’s focus had already returned to the television, “this is the only room available. We haven’t got to do anything until this evening so just relax.”

Reasoning with herself that if Dean thought it was a problem then he’d say something, she took the spot beside him and lost herself in the drama unfolding on the small screen at the foot of the bed. It was the first time in a long time that she felt relaxed around the older Winchester, even if she was worried about sinking back into old habits.

The opaque garment bag was hooked to the back of the bathroom door, Y/N could see it in the corner of her eye as she readjusted the towel around her body and continued to finish her makeup in the small mirror. It felt like the dress was taunting her, it wasn’t something she’d usually wear, and it had made her feel self-conscious from the moment she pulled it out of the depths of the wardrobe back at the bunker.

The zip on the bag got stuck and almost caught the fabric of the navy dress inside but once it was out of the plastic cover, Y/N inspected it for any tears, but it all seemed to be okay. With the dress now on full display, she backed away and perched on the closed toilet seat. She was stepping into new territory and needed a moment to process it.

Y/N had worn the dress once before, about two years ago. She’d become stuck in her ways and used to the comfort of jeans or leggings paired with baggy tops. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the dress, it’s just that she knew that it would look and feel different compared to before.

What if it shows all my lumps and bumps? I’m going to look pathetic compared to Dean, will anyone believe that we are on a date? Doubt it.

A light knock on the door brought Y/N’s attention back to the reality of getting ready for their hunt and date. The towel was discarded to the floor and she pulled the dress over her head, hoping not to smudge her makeup.

Dean spoke, his voice muffled through the door panel, “we’ve got to go in ten minutes.”

“Just a minute,” Y/N replied and finished adjusting the thin straps and smoothed out the skirt of the mid-length dress.

With one final look in the mirror and a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door.

Y/N had never imagined this would be how the evening would go; sitting in a fine restaurant with Dean Winchester - he was the perfect date, even if it wasn’t a real one. She couldn’t help but wonder if this is what Dean was really like on a date. That Y/N might have caught a glimpse of what it would be like to get his attention.

After three glasses of wine and their delicious meal, the pair of them remained out of luck; there was no sign of the witch or potential victims. Dean paid for their dinner, even after Y/N’s protests to split the check.

The stroll back to the Impala was enough time for Y/N’s thoughts to turn negative. It was as if the second they walked out of the restaurant that reality came crashing down around her. It wasn’t a real date and it never would be because she was not Dean’s type. Y/N didn’t look like those women and she never would, no matter how she looked tonight. It’s not what Dean wanted.

Y/N sunk into the cold leather, it stung against her exposed skin; goosebumps rose across her flesh until the heavy material of Dean’s jack was draped over her. The action made Y/N flinch as she hadn’t realised how close Dean was until he was gone.

“Thank you,” was all she could muster, “and for tonight.”

He smiled softly, “you’re welcome.”

Dean pulled up outside the motel room but neither of them rushed to leave. Hope blossomed in Y/N’s heart, that just maybe Dean didn’t want this to end either. That thought bashed away all the negatives as he turned in his seat. His eyes roamed her face for a moment and a lopsided grin formed. His eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that Y/N adored.

His smile reminded her of the ones he’d given to many women over the years, but this one seemed different; there was a glint in his eyes that made Y/N question if those other smiles weren’t genuine. That this one was real.

“D’ya know it’s been over four years since we met.” He looked back out into the almost empty parking lot before Y/N could nod in response, “and guess what today is?”

Y/N looked at him in confusion, today was no different to any other day. Except, it would be forever etched in her heart as the day she almost went on a date with Dean Winchester and lived to tell the tale.

Dean continued to look out into the dark sky, the stars shining brightly above them, mixed in with the glow of the motel lights.

“It’s been a year since we took down that vampire nest in New Orleans,” Dean mentioned.

Vampires and New Orleans was a whirlwind hunt; one which left Y/N with severe injuries. Nothing was broken but the blow to her ribs had been enough for her to be winded and have heavy bruising for weeks. Y/N ended up on bed rest at the Bunker for at least a month before Sam and Dean allowed her to go on another hunt.

Dean sighed, his head rolling over to look at Y/N once more, “a year since I realised something.”

A shiver ran over her body from the way his voice dropped lower and could barely say more than a whisper as she got lost in his emerald gaze, “what was that?”

“That you mean a lot to me,” Dean responded, not a fleck of a waiver in his tone. 

In the dim light of the lamps, his hand nudged along the seat of Baby towards Y/N’s. At the sight of the intimate gesture, she slid her hand closer. Y/N’s body hummed with butterflies as his fingers laced over her own. This wasn’t a dream or a fantasy, this was real. 

Y/N glanced up to see Dean was already looking at her intently and that’s when she realised, she hadn’t said anything, “you mean a lot to me too Dean.”

A sigh fell from Dean’s plump lips before he leant forward and cupped her cheek with his other hand. Within a heartbeat, Dean’s face neared Y/N’s, eyes closing on instinct as she awaited his kiss.

Dean’s lips softly brushed against her own, a ghost of a kiss, then he pecked a little harder while his thumb caressed the apple of her cheek. Even though Y/N couldn’t believe this was happening, she wasn’t going to hold back any longer and as he pulled away, she gripped the back of his neck and pressed her mouth harder against him. 

Y/N poured every ounce of her feelings into it, shifting closer to him and running her hands through his short hair as his arm wrapped around her waist. A flicker of his tongue across her bottom lip and his hand stroking down her back sent a wave of pleasure to her aching core. 

A soft moan escaped Y/N’s mouth as he massaged the flesh of her ass, giving his tongue a chance to explore her further. The urgency of the kiss heightened as she shifted to straddle his lap but before she had a chance to move Dean pulled away, his hands settling on her biceps.

“I think we should slow down. Can we at least go inside?” Dean asked.

Her head fell back in laughter, and with a nod, Dean pulled Y/N out of the car and towards the motel room. As he fiddled with the lock, something dawned on her; why did he wait a year to tell her? The creaking of the door and the tug on his hand had her following behind.

“Now, where were we?” Dean pulled Y/N close to him, her hands resting against his broad chest.

“I think you were going to tell me why you waited so long to do anything?” She raised her brow at him and tapped his chest with her index finger.

Dean smirked and took a seat at the edge of the bed, patting his thigh for Y/N to join him. Y/N bit her lip and perched on Dean’s knee, arms wrapping around his neck while Dean held her close around the waist, one of his hands stroking her hip. The sensation was driving her wild, but she wanted to know why he hadn’t made a move before now.

“I did sweetheart,” Dean kept his focus on her eyes, “you responded to everything, I was going to do something about it once I knew for sure but then I noticed you had started hanging out with Sam or throwing yourself into research. I thought I’d read everything wrong and that’s when I thought that maybe you were pulling away.”

Y/N listened to every word, nodding for him to continue as her heart raced at his confession; all those moments were real. Not only had Dean been feeling the same way, but he’d also been daydreaming about her too.

“I honestly thought you felt the same way when you fell asleep next to me when we watched that show you like, erm-” Dean paused, his brow scrunching together.

Y/N could see the cogs ticking and chuckled because she knew exactly what he was talking about and wanted to see if he knew, give him the chance to win this moment.

“-Gossip Girl!” He grinned at his triumph, “yeah, you turned over and your hand grabbed mine. Well, it meant a lot.”

“And then you set this up?” Y/N asked with a slight smirk on her lips and a raised eyebrow.

Dean pulled back, his face blank at first, only for a blush to form across his freckled cheeks, “how did you know?”

Y/N’s hands tugged at his collar, loosening the tie, “well, for starters, you did the research.”

He rolled his eyes and then focused on Y/N once more as her fingers made light work of the buttons. Following her lead, he found the zipper at the back of the dress, tugging it down slowly. Excitement pooled in Y/N’s belly and her skin simmered with pleasure at his actions.

“Then, you didn’t want to snoop around the restaurant.” Y/N stood up, letting the dress drop to the ground. 

The confidence in her appearance grew tenfold as Dean’s eyes darkened at her matching lacy underwear and the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips. She stepped out of the dress and heels, dropping to her knees in front of Dean and unbuckled his belt.

“Not only that, but there are no other cars in the parking lot and a bright ‘vacancies’ sign outside.”

With her bottom lip brought between her teeth, she glanced up at Dean, “which means that you planned all of this.”

Y/N gripped the slacks at his hips and tugged them down, exposing the hard length that tented his boxers. She couldn’t help the way her mouth watered at the sight of him above her but before she could reach to pull down his boxers, Dean had gripped her arms and pulled her up to his level.

“Well done smarty-pants, now come here.”

Dean’s lips crashed to hers, a fever of pleasure and affection dripping from the kiss as they collapsed back onto the mattress. Their bodies tangled together, heat radiated from them both as they grasped at limbs and kissed without abandon.

That night, they started making up for the year that they had missed out on. The year that they’d both been too hesitant, lost in their daydreams instead of basking in the reality of their love.

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[bybdolan]

ANYTHING THEY WANT TO HEAR [based on cowboy like me by Taylor Swift and this edit] Word Count: 4225 ; Rating: T+ ; TW: slight mention of corruption of minors ; AO3 PLAYLIST

“I'm trying to save my money when it comes to small things like that, you know.” She pushes her sunglasses up. “This thing has an expiration date for me.” “What do you mean?” “I'm getting older, Jack. My beauty and my youth are my currency, and they won't be mine forever.” He looks at her for a very long time. “I don't think you'll ever not be beautiful,” he says after a while, and Isis knows he actually means it. His voice is almost plain when he's being honest, it's so different from his usual act.

read below the cut.

“May I have this dance?”

His voice is dark and low in all the right ways and for a moment Isis is almost lured into his sweet web, but then she remembers how he talked to the old lady with the sapphire ring earlier and she knows that he wants something from her she isn't willing to give him. So instead of answering, she lazily stretches her back like a cat in the sun and takes another sip of her champagne.

“Dancing is a dangerous game,” she replies after a while, and it's almost a bored sigh.

He laughs and exposes a perfect row of white teeth. “Cynical, aren't we?”

“Takes one to know one.”

Her eyes scan the crowd and she catches the eye of a man who is looking at her over the shoulder of the woman Isis assumes is his wife. Isis looks away. This is only her second day here. She has to give the men time to take her in first, let them see her exit the pool in her wet swimsuit and cross her long legs while waiting at the bar; so when they finally get to undress her, it feels like a relief, like unwrapping a gift you have been waiting for. It makes them feel special, to think that they of all people charmed her. Isis knows that men like that.

“You know that he's a married man?”

Isis smiles. “Hasn't stopped me before. It's their choice, not mine.”

She turns back to the man beside her. He's very handsome, all dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes. There's something rugged about him, as if he was a statue somebody had left unfinished, and Isis has the sudden urge to put her hand on his cheek and feel the roughness of his beard against her palm.

He reaches out his hand and Isis takes it. His long slender fingers wrap tightly around hers.

“Jack. Nice to meet you.”

“Isis.”

“Did your parents give you that name?”, he asks, and she laughs and shakes her head.

“No. I did.”

“What's your real name, then?” He lowers his voice and Isis has to smile because she knows what he is trying to do. There's a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes when she doesn't lean in to hear him better.

“It was a church name. A good church name for a good church girl.” She enjoys the sight of Jack's white-teethed grin for a quick second before she turns away.

“I'm sure that's what you are,” Jack says, his voice still low and dark, and it sends shivers down her spine. He's good. If she talks to him for too long, he might get her where he wants her, but Isis isn't willing to give him that satisfaction. So she puts her now empty champagne flute on a tray a waiter carries past, rolls her shoulders in a way she knows makes her shoulder blades look good, and gives him an apologetic smile that he will know is fake.

“Well, Jack, it was nice meeting you, but good girls like me shouldn't talk to young men for too long. It gives them ideas.”

Her high heels are softly clicking on the tennis court floor as she is walking away and she can tell that Jack is looking at the silky skin of her back, exposed by her sequined gown, and for once she actually feels good about it.

The gentle wind that blows across the town square tugs at Isis' napkin and her blouse, but she doesn't mind it because the breeze is making the heavy heat slightly more bearable. Jack is sitting across from her, Aviator sunglasses up in his dark curls, head thrown back as he enjoys the cool air.

“Had I known how awful this heat would be, I would have gone to England,” he groans, and Isis smiles.

“I personally prefer sunshine over constant rain, but that might just be me.”

“Of course you do.” He grins. “It allows you to wear the skimpy bathing suits you love so much.”

Isis rolls her eyes at him over the rim of her sunglasses, but she doesn't actually mean it. “If you don't like me doing that, you have done a very bad job at showing it.”

Jack chuckles and looks up into the blue sky again.

They have been spending some time together these past weeks. It's beneficial to both of them to be seen together occasionally, in situations that suggest they are romantically involved. When Isis goes out with an older man later in the day, his ego is soothed by the impression that somehow, Isis chose him over Jack, and it's the same with the ladies that Jack dines with. Isis is aware of the way they look at her. Most with jealousy, some with desire. Isis feels sorry for the latter.

Of course they sleep together sometimes, secretly, and Jack always sneaks out of Isis' room when they are done, leaving her alone in the big, cold bed. She enjoys the arrangement, it is nice to do something just for her own pleasure, without submitting to others' wishes or expecting monetary gain from it. As much as they publicly exploit their sympathy for one another, their friendship – though Isis wouldn't necessarily call it that – is genuine.

“Do you think that store over there is selling an English newspaper?” Jack asks and Isis follows his eyes to the small shop across the square. She shakes her head.

“I doubt it. But why don't you just wait until we get new ones at the hotel?”

Jack shrugs.

Every week or so, there is a fresh stack of newspapers on the receptionist's desk, and Jack is always the first to buy one. He spends the entire morning standing around somewhere, hair dishevelled, completely engulfed in whatever news he's reading, and Isis knows he actually cares about the articles because there is a spark in his eyes that isn't there when he is reading Albert Camus by the pool.

“Why does it interest you so much?” She cocks her head to the side and drinks her Espresso.

“Because I care about what's going on in the world,” he replies, “I actually wanted to be a journalist when I was younger.”

It surprises Isis. For some reason, she automatically assumed Jack was like her, with no aspirations besides getting the most out of what they were doing.

“Is that why you started doing this?” She makes a vague gesture with her hand. “To get money for college?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “I wouldn't sit here with you if that was the case.”

“Then what was the reason?” She doesn't know why it suddenly interests her so much.

“I didn't want to go to war.” There's a moment of silence. “All my friends got their drafting letters and none of their weird tricks to get out of it worked, so I figured the only way to not get shipped to Vietnam if my number was pulled was bribing the officers. And since I didn't have the money myself, I had to find somebody to pay for me.” He picks up his coffee cup, but instead of drinking he just stares at the dark liquid. “I borrowed a suit and snuck into the fanciest bar in town and somehow managed to get this widow – her name was Rebekah – wrapped around my finger. When my letter came, she gave the officer a thousand bucks to let me off the hook. I couldn't fuck her while being dead in the jungle, after all.”

The silence between them suddenly feels as heavy as the heat. Jack finally drinks his coffee, then his eyes go to Isis.

“What about you?” he asks. She looks away, gaze fixed on the child playing with a stray cat by the fountain in the middle of the square.

“I just wanted pretty dresses,” she says plainly. “My parents were very religious in an almost puritan way, my sisters and I weren't allowed to do anything that was deemed a distraction from our faith. I hated it. I wanted to be like the other girls in school. So whenever I could, I would take the bus into town and look at the dresses in the shop windows or flip through every fashion magazine I saw. And one day this guy came up to me in the streets and told me he'd buy me the dress I was looking at if I did a little favor for him.” Isis looks back at Jack, eyes all cold and icy through her tinted glasses. She puts her chin up, even after all those years. “I wore that dress like an armor. I felt like fucking Joan Of Arc. It was a fuck you to my parents and my church and my teachers and everybody else who thought they could control what I wanted in life.”

The wind blows her hair into her face. It sticks to her cheeks and her lipstick and Isis combs it back into place with her fingers angrily. It's an unusually rough motion for her.

“And then I just went with it, I guess. Always on the lookout for men who were willing to pay for my attention. It's so easy, you just look pretty and tell them anything they want to hear and that's it.”

Jack nods slowly, fingers toying with the white paper napkin tucked under his cup. “That's one of the reasons I didn't go to college with the money I made. I was scared of not being any good.”

Isis looks at him and her features soften. “That's a stupid reason for not trying.”

Jack gives her a crooked grin. “I guess.”

He looks at his hands and then at his wristwatch and makes a face. “Fuck, I've got to get going.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Her choice of words makes him laugh. “Yes. The blonde lady who always carries those expensive leather handbags, I'm sure you know her.”

Isis nods. “She looked at me this morning when I sat with you during breakfast and I'm surprised I didn't drop dead right then and there.”

Jack laughs again and runs his fingers through his hair. “She's the jealous type. I'm sure she'll be willing to do me a lot of favors if it only means I won't look at you for a few days.”

“You won't manage that.”

“Maybe.”

They both grin.

“If you are planning on ignoring me,” she says, “You should at least pay for my coffee.”

He shrugs. “I guess it would be the nice thing to do. But let it be known that I always pay for your food.”

“I'm trying to save my money when it comes to small things like that, you know.” She pushes her sunglasses up. “This thing has an expiration date for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm getting older, Jack. My beauty and my youth are my currency, and they won't be mine forever.”

He looks at her for a very long time. “I don't think you'll ever not be beautiful,” he says after a while, and Isis knows he actually means it. His voice is almost plain when he's being honest, it's so different from his usual act.

“A lot of people don't think like that.” She looks back at the child near the fountain. The stray cat is gone. She feels a tightness in her throat. “So it would be nice if you could pay for my coffee.” Her voice is a little shaky and she hates it.

Jack silently pulls his wallet from his pocket and puts a bill on the table.

“Thank you,” she says, without looking at him.

He stands up and nods his head as a good-bye.

Isis feels terribly embarrassed and uncomfortably close to him for reasons she can't quite explain, and when she watches him walk to the brown Chrysler he parked in one of the neatly marked spots on the other side of the town square, she has the urge to say something that will make him forget about how unusual this conversation was for them.

“You're really just in this for the fancy cars, aren't you?”

It's a stupid thing to say, now that she knows how untrue it is, but she hopes it's shallow enough to erase what they just shared and make them go back to the sly back-and-forth they've gotten so used to, always vague enough to be fun.

There is relief in his laugh that warmly bounces off the buildings and echoes over the piazza. He throws up his hands in an almost triumphant gesture.

“Damn right I am!"

And that's how Isis knows everything is fine between them. The smile eases its way onto her face without her noticing at first, but when she feels the warmth in her cheeks and in her gut, she bites her lip to make it stop.

Five weeks after his arrival in Italy, Jack gets sick. Isis blames it on a bad oyster, which makes him laugh because she says it in a way that allows no discussion and reminds him of his mother. There are flowers in his hotel room with Get Well Soon!-cards written in fancy ink, but it's Isis who goes to the pharmacy to buy him medicine using her broken Italian, it's Isis who comes to air out his room when he's too tired to leave the bed, and it's Isis who wipes the sweat off his forehead and reassuringly runs her fingers through his greasy hair.

She knows she has better things to do than sitting by his bed and conversing about the topics they only educated themselves about to appeal to the rich folk. The man she has slept with for the past two weeks has flown back to England (not without declaring his love for her in the form of a letter and a diamond necklace), and there are new visitors at the hotel who look at Isis the way she wants them to look at her, and she should be by the pool with her head thrown back and legs curved, or at the bar, touching their shoulders while laughing at the stories they tell. Instead, she is sitting on the cushioned chair in Jack's room with her legs comfortably stretched out, arguing about whether or not Andy Warhol is any good. Sometimes it scares her how much she enjoys his company. She'd rather spend the days with him than alone in her room, she doesn't remember the last time she felt like that about another person.

Her visits get rarer and shorter once Jack gets better and Isis finds a man that takes her to fancy restaurants and buys her flowy dresses in the shops in town, but she makes sure to see Jack at least every other day. One time, as she is about to leave, he tells her to wait and rummages through his bedside table until he pulls out the sapphire ring she had seen on the hand of the lady at the tennis court dance, all those weeks ago.

“For you,” he says, “As a thank you for your time and care.”

When Isis hesitates he cocks his head to the side. "I won't miss it. Blue is more of your color anyway."

Isis lets him slide the ring on her pointer finger and looks at how the blue stone catches the light.

“I'm surprised you actually scored that lady,” she says softly, “I would have bet she wasn't interested in you.”

It's not what she actually wanted to say and they both know it, but they let it slide, and Isis manages to hide how fast her heart is beating until she is alone in the hallway and presses her palm to her chest.

“Do you want me to light that cigarette for you, sweetheart?”

Isis nods and leans over so James can reach the tip of her cigarette with his lighter. She knows that her pose allows him a good look down her dress, and she can tell that he enjoys it.

“Thank you,” she says after her first exhale. The smoke drifts away over the town. The restaurant they are at has a nice view, but maybe she just thinks that because when she looks at the city, she doesn't have to look at James.

It's not that he is ugly – he still has a lot of thick brown hair and some of the bluest eyes Isis has ever seen – but she can't look at him without thinking about his wife, Elizabeth, who had left the hotel last week because she missed their children back home.

Usually, Isis doesn't care about the casualties of her actions, but guilt has slipped into her mind over the course of the past few days. When she told Jack about it, he just shrugged and said he doesn't care, he knows how these people would treat him if he wasn't staying at their hotel but working in his father's garage, and while Isis understands him, her skin is still the same color as theirs and so it’s not her anger to share. Besides, she doesn't feel bad for the men she lies to about her feelings, she feels bad for their wives.

She has never thought much about what it must feel like for them, to be betrayed by the ones they've sworn to dedicate their lives to, be hurt and discarded by the ones they love. Love had been a commodity to Isis, as long as she can remember, and it worries her that the term has started to feel more and more like the vague idea of ‘sacrifice’ she has read about in countless romance novels. It had always seemed so foreign to her, but she kind of understands it now.

“Is there something wrong?” asks James and Isis smiles sweetly and shakes her head. Her mind is trying to replicate how it had felt when Jack kissed her temple last week, when she asked him to stay after they had slept together. Of course he left anyway, but the tenderness of his goodbye kiss made Isis so happy that it frightened her.

“I'm just admiring the view.” She takes another drag of her cigarette and tilts her head in a way that shows off her long, pale neck.

James looks at her and grins. “So am I.”

It takes everything in Isis not to roll her eyes. Instead, she throws her head back with a laugh that bubbles like champagne, covers her mouth with her one hand and puts the other one on James'.

“Oh, stop it, Jac– James!”

The C is a full stop in her throat and she can tell by the look on James' face that he heard it. She intertwines her fingers with his and strokes his thumb to make him forget.

“I’m going back to San Francisco.”

“When?”

“In two days.”

“Why?”

Jack shrugs. “I’m bored of this place. These people. And the heat.”

Isis nods. She knows she would feel the same if it wasn’t for him, but it still feels like he punched her in the gut. She’s not reason enough to stay.

“I just felt like you should know,” he says when Isis doesn’t respond, and she nods again.

“Thank you for telling me.”

There is an uncomfortable silence. Isis doesn’t know what else to tell him, except for the truth: “I’m going to miss you, you know.”

“I’m going to miss you, too.” She can tell that this isn’t all that he wants to say, but he stays silent after finishing his sentence and she wants to grab him by the collar of his stupid yellow shirt and call him a fucking coward. But she doesn’t. Instead, she grabs her book from the table next to her and tells Jack that she has to get ready for dinner.

When he knocks on her door hours later and asks her why she wasn’t at the dining hall, she tells him a lie.

“Come to L.A. with me.” The words fall from her lips carelessly. She had a plan on how to ask him, but then the sunlight made his skin glow even more than usual and suddenly, her words were stronger than her self-control.

“What?” Jack turns around, the look in his eyes somewhere between bewildered surprise and a deep sadness Isis wasn't expecting.

“I'm serious,” she says, voice shaking, “Come to L.A. with me. Or I come to San Francisco with you. I don't care.” She presses her hands into the wall behind her back. “We can live together and sell the other apartment so you can pay for college and finally become a journalist, and I'm sure that I'd find something to do, too, and –”

“Isis,” he interrupts her, and his voice is so gentle that it breaks her heart, “I... Why?”

She shrugs and looks at the shiny tiles on the floor. “I like being around you. And I want you to like me, even though there's nothing in it for me. I've never felt that way about anybody before I met you. And I don't want it to go away.” Her back is pressed against the wall so tightly by now that she feels like the wallpaper is going to swallow her. She doesn't dare to look at Jack.

There is a long moment of silence. Jack looks at his suitcase and sighs. His left thumb is pressed into the palm of his right hand, as if to distract him from pain somewhere else in his body.

“Do you think we can do this?”

It's not a no. Isis feels like she could cry.

“Maybe. I don't know.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“But what if we fail?” He turns to her and his eyes are filled with worry. “We both haven't done anything besides this in our lives. Do you really think we can just stop?”

“That's a stupid reason for not trying.” She puts her chin up. “The fear of failure. I've told you that before.”

He exhales and his shoulders drop.

“My god, Jack, look at us. Have we ever failed before?”

“This is different.”

“But it's still us.” Her hands are numb by now from being trapped between her back and the wall, but she doesn't care. She feels the same way she felt as a young girl, standing in front of the storefront windows, so determined to get what she wanted.

Jack looks very lost in the middle of his room. It's the first time Isis notices how big it is. “I'm just scared of hurting you,” he says softly.

“The fact that you care is enough for me.”

There's a short moment where neither of them move, as if they were frozen in time. Jack looks past Isis through the window, out into the sky, then back at her. She holds his gaze. She wants this. She wants him. So much that it’s clawing at her from the inside. He should know that.

Finally, slowly, he closes the space between them, wraps his arms around her waist and puts his head on her shoulder. He pulls her away from the wall and Isis feels the blood rush back into her hands. She buries her fingers in his hair. Jack softly rocks her from side to side as if she was a child.

“You know, I've always wanted to go to L.A.,” he murmurs into her neck and his words are echoing in her bones, “The palm trees look very pretty.”

“They are,” she whispers, “They are.”

“I’ve forgotten how uncomfortable these seats are.”

Jack chuckles beside her. “You've been in Italy for too long.”

Isis sighs. “Yes.”

She feels her body vibrate as the plane starts to drive. It will take them to Rome, from there, they will go to Los Angeles. Her stomach starts to twitch, like it always does during takeoff, but there is more to her anxiety today. The rattling of the tires on the concrete and the roaring of the engines drown out her thoughts. She closes her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jack's voice is as soft as ever and yet she understands him just fine.

“I'm nervous,” she replies.

“Is it because of the plane?”

Isis opens her eyes and smiles at him. It's an unsure smile, flickering somewhere between excitement and fear. She can tell from the look in his eyes that he understands what she is trying to tell him.

He reaches for her hand and starts drawing small circles on her skin with his thumb. The plane lifts off and suddenly everything feels very still and quiet, despite the engines’ constant roar.

Jack's thumb rests on the sapphire ring on her pointer finger.

“I can't believe you're actually wearing it,” he murmurs, “Considering how it came into my possession.”

Isis puts her head on his shoulder. “It was the first gift you ever gave me. It's mine now. It doesn't matter how you got it.”

Jack laces their fingers together and kisses her forehead. Then he turns his head back to the window and they both watch as the plane breaks through the clouds, into the bright sky.