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slut4evanpeters · 2 months ago

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At Least We got Eachother

warren lipka x reader

warnings: nothing really, robbery, slight angst, mention of alcohol

word count: 8.3k

notes: guys im so sorry i finnished it so suddenly😭 i got called into work:( lmk if you want a part two on the aftermath! and and im sorry for ooc waren and how i didnt make the heist exactly like how it is in the movie!

The night air felt thick and heavy, pressing down on your shoulders as you stood in front of the bar’s worn wooden door. You could hear the muffled bass of music inside, the occasional bursts of laughter filtering through. This was the kind of place that could easily be overlooked in the daylight—faded signage, chipped paint, windows clouded from years of cigarette smoke. But by night, it came alive with people looking to escape.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for tonight. Something. Someone. Anything to fill the nagging void in your chest that had been growing for weeks. You hadn’t meant to come here alone. It just happened. Your friends bailed, of course, but something had drawn you here anyway, pulled you in like gravity. Or fate. You weren’t sure.

Pushing the door open, you stepped into the warmth of the bar, the smell of stale beer and cheap whiskey greeting you like an old friend. The crowd was a mix of locals and university kids blowing off steam after a week of classes. Some danced, others sat in groups, but your eyes were drawn immediately to the guy at the far end of the room.

Warren Lipka.

You’d heard about him. Who hadn’t? He was one of those people everyone talked about but no one really knew. Wild rumors circulated like wildfire stories about his outbursts, his reckless bravado, his larger than life personality that seemed to suck everyone into his orbit. You had never gotten close enough to confirm them for yourself.

Tonight was different.

He stood near the pool table, watching the game with a beer dangling loosely from his fingers. Even across the crowded room, you could feel his presence, a tension in the air, the kind that made you hyper-aware of every breath, every pulse in your body.

You knew you should look away, maybe grab a drink and sit at the bar, but you didn’t. Something about him held your gaze. It wasn’t just his looks, though you couldn’t ignore those. The dark eyes that seemed to flicker with mischief, the sharp jawline that could have been carved from stone, the disheveled burnette hair that made him look like he had just rolled out of bed and somehow managed to make it look intentional. No, it was more than that.

It was the sense of danger.

There was something magnetic about him, like a storm building on the horizon. You could feel it in your gut. This was someone who could wreck your life, tear everything apart, and leave you wanting more. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t look away.

Suddenly, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes met yours. His lips quirked up into a slow, dangerous smirk. The kind that made your skin prickle with heat.

Shit.

You looked away, quickly grabbing the nearest drink from the bar. The momentary connection with him had sent your heart racing, a surge of adrenaline kicking in like a warning. This was a bad idea. Warren Lipka was bad news. You had heard the rumours. He was trouble. And yet, part of you felt drawn to it, to him.

A few minutes later, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. He was walking toward you, slow and deliberate. You took a sip of your drink, pretending not to notice, but the heat of his gaze was impossible to ignore. By the time he reached you, your pulse was thudding in your ears.

“Not from around here, are you?” he asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel under tires.

You glanced up at him, struggling to keep your voice steady. “And you can tell that just by looking?”

Warren chuckled, the sound dark and amused. “Maybe. Or maybe I just notice things most people don’t.”

He leaned against the bar next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, but not so close that it felt invasive. It was intentional, like everything else about him. You could tell he was the type who thrived on control, on pushing buttons to see how people reacted.

“So, what brings you here?” he asked, taking a long pull from his beer. “You don’t seem like the type who comes here often.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to give him anything personal. But there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made you want to play along, if only for a little while.

“Maybe I like trying new things,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m just looking for a good time.”

His eyes flashed with something dark and intense, and for a brief moment, you could see right through the façade. The charm, the cockiness, the swagger. Beneath it all, there was something raw, almost desperate. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced with that smirk again.

“A good time, huh?” He set his beer down on the bar, his gaze never leaving yours. “I think I can help with that.”

You felt a thrill run through you, the words hanging between you like an unspoken promise. This was dangerous. You knew it. But maybe danger was exactly what you were looking for tonight.

Without another word, Warren turned, nodding for you to follow. Against your better judgment, you found yourself moving after him, weaving through the crowd as he led you toward the back of the bar, where the noise faded into the background and the dim lighting cast long shadows on the worn wooden floor.

He stopped in a quiet corner, leaning against the wall, his eyes still locked on yours. “So,” he said, his voice low, “what do you really want?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his question pressing down on you. You didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know what to say. Because the truth was, you didn’t really know. You just wanted something different. Something real.

“I’m not sure.” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just watched you with that intense gaze. Then, he pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his hand brushing yours as he leaned in.

“You will be.” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

And in that moment, you knew this was a path you couldn’t turn back from. Whatever happened next, you were in it now.

The energy between you and Warren shifted the moment he leaned in, the air between you electric. Every part of you screamed to walk away, to put some distance between yourself and this guy who was clearly trouble, but your body wouldn’t listen. You found yourself stepping closer, drawn in by that storm in his eyes, the darkness behind his smirk.

“I’m not someone you should be messing around with.” he said quietly, almost like a warning. His hand was still just barely brushing against yours, but it was enough to set your nerves alight.

“I think I’ll take my chances.” you replied, surprising yourself with the boldness in your voice.

Warren’s eyes sparked with amusement. “I like that.”

Before you could respond, a voice from across the room called out his name. You both turned to see two guys standing by the pool table, one of them raising a beer in your direction. You recognized one of them. Spencer Reinhard. He was quiet, kept to himself in class, not the kind of guy who usually hung out with someone like Warren. But there he was, eyes flickering between the two of you with a knowing look.

Warren sighed, like he was already bored of the interruption. “Guess I’ll have to catch up with you later.”

The words hung in the air between you, carrying a promise that made your pulse quicken.

You barely had time to react before he was gone, weaving his way back to the pool table like nothing had happened. The cool air of the bar rushed back in to replace the heat of his presence, and you stood there, trying to steady yourself, your heart still racing.

The next few days were a blur. You couldn’t get him out of your head. Warren Lipka. His name alone seemed to carry a weight now, a gravitational pull that kept tugging at the edges of your mind. You told yourself it was ridiculous, that one brief interaction with a guy like him shouldn’t affect you like this. But it did.

A week later, you were sitting in the campus library, a pile of books spread out before you, trying to focus on the paper you were supposed to be writing. It wasn’t working. Your eyes kept drifting toward the window, where the late afternoon sun was casting long shadows across the quiet streets outside. You wondered if you’d see him again.

As if on cue, your phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Miss me yet?

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at the screen for a moment, unsure whether to respond. Before you could overthink it, your fingers typed back.

Depends. Who’s asking?

Seconds later, another text came through.

Look outside.

Your head snapped up. Sure enough, there he was, leaning against a black SUV parked across the street, his phone in his hand and that damn smirk on his face.

You grabbed your stuff, hastily shoving your notebook into your bag as you made your way toward the door. Your heart raced with each step, your pulse thundering in your ears. What were you doing? You barely knew this guy, and yet here you were, leaving your work behind for him.

Warren watched you cross the street, eyes dark and full of mischief. When you reached him, he raised an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

“I had to make sure you weren’t some random creep.” you shot back, though the teasing edge in your voice didn’t hide the fact that your nerves were on high alert.

“I’m not random.” he replied smoothly. “But I am a creep. Is that gonna be a problem?”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Guess I’ll find out.”

He pushed off the car and gestured for you to follow. “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

You didn’t ask what. You didn’t want to know—not yet. You weren’t sure if you were ready for answers. You just wanted to feel that rush again, the one that came when you were near him.

The SUV sped down the backroads on the outskirts of town, the windows down and the wind whipping through your hair. The sun was setting, casting everything in a golden glow that made the whole world feel surreal, like you were in some kind of dream. You glanced at Warren, who had one hand on the wheel and the other draped lazily over his lap. He looked like he was in his element, the kind of guy who thrived in moments like this—where the rules didn’t apply and nothing was certain.

“So.” you said, breaking the silence. “Where are we going?”

Warren’s lips curled into that familiar smirk, but he didn’t look over. “Someplace quiet.”

That answer wasn’t exactly reassuring, but the adrenaline coursing through you made it hard to care.

You watched the trees blur by, the road stretching out ahead of you, and realized you had no idea where you were anymore. The town had long since disappeared behind you, swallowed by the sprawling hills and endless fields that surrounded the city. Your stomach flipped as you considered the reality of it—you were alone, in the middle of nowhere, with a guy you barely knew.

But it didn’t feel dangerous. At least, not in the way it should have.

Finally, Warren pulled the car off the road, onto a dirt path that wound its way into a clearing. He parked, killed the engine, and got out. You followed him without question, though your curiosity was growing by the second.

He led you toward a small, rundown building nestled in the trees. It looked abandoned, like it hadn’t seen life in years.

“What is this place?” you asked, glancing around.

“Used to be an old hideout for hunters,” Warren explained, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Now it’s just… quiet.”

You stepped inside, your eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the broken windows. Dust coated the surfaces, and the faint scent of earth and wood hung in the air. It was eerie, but there was something strangely peaceful about it, too.

Warren watched you closely, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes I come here to think. To get away from everything.”

You turned to him, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. “And what are you trying to get away from?”

His eyes flickered, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he moved closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush your hair behind your ear. The touch was soft, almost tender, but there was an edge to it—a tension that made your heart race.

“I don’t think you want to know.” he murmured.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as he closed the distance between you, his body heat radiating against yours. There was a dangerous intensity in his gaze, something wild and uncontained, and you could feel yourself being pulled into it, like a moth to a flame.

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.

Warren’s eyes darkened, his hand sliding down your neck, fingers curling against your skin. “You don’t.”

Before you could say anything else, his lips crashed against yours, and all the pent-up tension between you exploded in a surge of heat. His kiss was fierce, almost desperate, like he was trying to lose himself in you, to escape whatever demons were clawing at him from the inside.

You responded without thinking, your hands gripping his shirt as he backed you up against the wall, the rough wood pressing into your spine. His body pressed against yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away. It was just him and you, lost in the chaos of each other.

The days blurred together after that night in the abandoned hideout. You couldn’t stop thinking about Warren. The way he made you feel so alive, the way his touch ignited something wild in you. But it wasn’t just the physical connection that kept you up at night. There was something deeper, something raw and untamed in him that you hadn’t seen in anyone else before. And, despite the warning bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t stay away.

Warren didn’t text you for a few days after that. You figured that was just how he was. Coming and going like the wind, never staying in one place long enough to be tied down. But the pull he had over you was undeniable. It wasn’t just attraction; it was something darker, something that made you crave the chaos he brought with him.

Then, one evening, you got the text.

Meet me at Spencer’s. Tonight. 9 p.m. We’re planning something big.

No details. No context. Just enough to make your stomach flip with a mixture of excitement and dread. You knew something was coming, something that would change everything. And you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly Warren meant by big.

By the time you reached Spencer Reinhard’s house that night, the air was thick with tension. The quiet suburban street was lit only by a few street lamps, casting long shadows across the driveway. Warren’s SUV was parked out front, along with a beat-up old sedan you didn’t recognize.

As you approached the front door, your heart pounded in your chest. You didn’t know what to expect, but you could feel that things were about to take a turn, a dangerous one.

When you stepped inside, the atmosphere was different. The laid-back, college kid vibe that usually surrounded Warren and his friends was gone. In its place was something heavier, more intense.

Spencer was sitting at the dining table, staring down at a blueprint of some kind, his face pale but determined. Two other guys, Eric Borsuk and Chas Allen, you guessed, were sitting across from him, deep in conversation. Warren leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching the scene unfold like a hawk.

The moment his eyes landed on you, that familiar smirk appeared. But this time, there was something more behind it. A challenge. A question.

“You made it.” he said, pushing off the counter and walking toward you. His voice was low, rough, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah.” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt. “What’s this all about?”

He glanced back at the guys before leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “We’re planning a heist.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “A… what?”

Warren pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “A heist. The Transylvania University Library. They’ve got some rare books, millions of dollars worth. And we’re gonna take them.”

Your heart raced, a mix of fear and excitement surging through you. This was insane. Completely, utterly insane. But as Warren held your gaze, you could see that he wasn’t joking. He was serious. Dead serious.

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Warren’s expression darkened. “Why not? People like us don’t get chances like this. We either go big or we’re stuck in this shithole forever.”

You felt the weight of his words, the raw desperation behind them. This wasn’t just about money or some thrill-seeking stunt. This was about proving something—to himself, to the world. He was chasing something bigger, something that went beyond the surface. And you could feel yourself being pulled into it, into him.

Spencer cleared his throat, drawing both of your attention back to the table. “We’re finalizing the plan. If you’re in, you need to know what’s at stake.”

You swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation settling over you like a heavy blanket. This wasn’t a game anymore. This was real.

Warren led you over to the table, where Spencer laid out the blueprints. They showed the layout of the library, detailed with guard schedules, security camera locations, and escape routes. The guys had been planning this for weeks, maybe months, and you could see how meticulously every detail had been considered.

“The librarian is our biggest obstacle,” Spencer explained, his voice calm and measured. “We have to neutralize her without anyone getting hurt.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of it. This wasn’t some harmless prank. People could get hurt. Lives could be ruined. And yet, the adrenaline coursing through your veins made it hard to walk away.

“Are you in?” Warren asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. He was watching you closely, his eyes dark and intense, waiting for your answer.

You hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. Every rational part of you screamed to say no, to walk away from this madness before it was too late. But then you looked at Warren—really looked at him. Beneath the bravado, beneath the smirk, there was something raw, something vulnerable. He wasn’t just pulling you into this heist. He was pulling you into him, into his world.

And you couldn’t walk away.

“I’m in.” you said, the words slipping out before you could second guess yourself.

Warren’s smirk widened, his eyes flickering with something dangerous and triumphant. “Good.”

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of planning and preparation. You found yourself deeper and deeper in Warren’s world, surrounded by the intensity of the heist. The guys worked relentlessly, mapping out every possible scenario, every potential flaw. The more you saw of their plan, the more you realized just how serious they were. This wasn’t some fantasy. This was happening.

And through it all, the tension between you and Warren continued to build, like a storm gathering on the horizon. Every glance, every touch felt loaded with meaning. It was like you were teetering on the edge of something, and neither of you knew where it would lead.

One night, as you sat in Warren’s SUV after a long day of planning, the tension finally snapped.

The two of you had spent the day running through details, scouting the library from a distance, and discussing escape routes. Now, parked in a dark, empty lot, the reality of what you were doing loomed over you both.

“I don’t know if we’re gonna make it out of this.” Warren said, his voice quieter than usual. His hands rested on the steering wheel, fingers tapping restlessly.

You turned to look at him, the vulnerability in his voice catching you off guard. Warren was always so sure of himself, so in control. Seeing this side of him, this uncertainty, made your chest tighten.

“We will.” you said, reaching over to place your hand on his arm. “We’ve got this.”

Warren looked over at you, his eyes searching yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The air between you felt thick, heavy with unspoken words, unexpressed emotions.

And then, without warning, Warren leaned across the center console and kissed you.

It wasn’t like the kiss in the hideout. This was slower, softer, but no less intense. His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the weight of everything else disappeared. It was just you and him, tangled together in the dark.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “I don’t want to lose you.” he whispered, the words so quiet you almost missed them.

“You won’t,” you whispered back, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

But even as you said it, you knew that nothing was certain. Not with this. Not with him.

The night before the heist, the tension was unbearable. The plan was finalized, everyone knew their role, but the weight of what was about to happen hung heavy in the air. The others had gone home to get what little sleep they could, but you found yourself staying behind, lingering in the empty house where you’d all been planning for weeks. Warren hadn’t left either. You weren’t surprised.

He was sitting on the floor in the corner of the living room, back against the wall, eyes closed, a beer bottle hanging loosely from his hand. His mask lay beside him, half-forgotten in the dim light of the single lamp that illuminated the room. You watched him for a moment, your heart racing for reasons you didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t just the heist that had your nerves on edge. It was him. It was always him.

Without saying a word, you crossed the room and sat down next to him, your knees brushing his. Warren opened his eyes and glanced at you, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You should be home.” he said, his voice low, rough with exhaustion. “Resting up for tomorrow.”

“So should you.” you countered, leaning your head back against the wall. “But here we are.”

Warren chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling, his expression unreadable. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Knowing everything’s gonna change after tomorrow.”

The way he said it made your stomach twist. You could hear the weight in his voice, the uncertainty. He was always so sure of himself, so unflinching in the face of danger. But now, with the reality of the heist staring him in the face, he seemed… human. Vulnerable.

“Are you scared?” you asked quietly.

Warren didn’t answer right away. He took a sip of his beer, his jaw clenched as if he were trying to hold something back. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know. I guess I’m scared of losing it all.”

You turned to look at him, the words catching you off guard. You’d never seen him like this before, so raw, so open. It was a side of him he didn’t let anyone see, and the fact that he was showing it to you made your heart ache.

“Warren…” you started, but he cut you off.

“I don’t do things halfway,” he said, his voice gaining strength. “This heist, it’s all or nothing. We either win big, or we crash and burn. And I can handle that. But…”

He trailed off, his eyes flicking to you for just a moment before looking away again. The unspoken words hung between you, heavy and full of meaning. You understood what he wasn’t saying. It wasn’t just the heist he was afraid of losing. It was you.

Without thinking, you reached out and took his hand, your fingers lacing through his. Warren tensed for a second, but then he relaxed, his grip tightening around yours. The warmth of his hand against yours sent a spark of electricity through you, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the heist, the danger, the uncertainty. It was just the two of you, sitting together in the dim light, holding on to each other like you were the only thing keeping each other grounded.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

Warren finally looked at you, his eyes dark and intense. There was something in them, something vulnerable and fierce all at once, and it made your heart skip a beat. Without a word, he reached up and cupped your face with his free hand, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. The touch was so tender, so unlike the Warren you knew, that it made your breath catch in your throat.

And then, slowly, he leaned in.

This kiss wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t fierce or rushed or driven by adrenaline. It was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second of it. His lips were soft against yours, his hand warm against your cheek, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had disappeared. There was no heist, no danger, no uncertainty, just him, and you, and the fire that burned between you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily, your hearts pounding in unison. Warren’s hand slid down from your cheek to rest on the back of your neck, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, his voice raw, vulnerable in a way you’d never heard before.

“You won’t,” you whispered back, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if you could somehow hold him closer.

Warren let out a shaky breath, his hand tightening around yours. “After tomorrow… everything changes.”

“Maybe,” you said softly, leaning in to kiss him again, your lips brushing against his. “But not this.”

He kissed you back, more urgently this time, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer. You could feel the intensity of his emotions in every touch, every kiss—like he was trying to memorize the feel of you, to hold on to this moment before everything came crashing down. And you kissed him back just as fiercely, your heart pounding in your chest, knowing that this might be the last time you had before the storm hit.

The morning of the heist came quickly, too quickly. As the sun rose over the quiet town, a cold knot of fear settled in your stomach. You’d spent most of the night with Warren, your bodies tangled together in a mix of passion and desperation, as if you were both trying to cling to each other before the inevitable chaos. Now, as you stood in front of the mirror, pulling on the dark clothes that had been carefully selected for this moment, the reality of what you were about to do hit you like a freight train.

This wasn’t a game anymore. This wasn’t some fantasy. It was real, and it was happening now.

You met the others outside the library as planned, the early morning air cold and still. Warren was already there, his mask pulled up over his face, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. He was calm, too calm, but you knew him well enough by now to see the tension coiled tightly beneath the surface.

Spencer was visibly nervous, his hands shaking as he checked and rechecked the gear in the back of the van. Chas and Eric exchanged uneasy glances, their usual bravado gone. Everyone felt it—the weight of what you were about to do.

Warren’s hand brushed against yours as he passed, the brief touch sending a surge of electricity through you. You looked over at him, your eyes meeting for a split second, and in that moment, everything else faded away. You didn’t need words. You knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling.

This was it. The point of no return.

The plan was simple in theory. You’d all practiced it a hundred times. But as you moved through the steps, sneaking into the library, avoiding the security cameras, making your way to the rare books lay. It all felt surreal, like you were watching it happen from outside your own body.

Spencer was the first to falter. His hands shook as he tried to unlock the door to the rare books room, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Spence,” Warren hissed, his voice low and urgent. “Focus.”

But Spencer couldn’t focus. The pressure was too much, the fear too overwhelming. You could see it in his eyes—the doubt, the panic. And for a moment, you wondered if he was going to bolt, to abandon the plan entirely.

But then Warren stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “You can do this,” he whispered, his voice steady, commanding. “We’ve come too far. Don’t back out now.”

Something in Warren’s voice seemed to snap Spencer out of his spiral. His hands stopped shaking, and after a few tense seconds, the lock clicked open. The door swung inward, revealing the dimly lit room where the rare books were housed.

Your heart pounded as you stepped inside, the others close behind you. This was it—the moment of truth.

Here’s the continuation, focusing on the intense drama of the heist as everything begins to spiral out of control.

The heavy door to the rare books creaked open, revealing shelves lined with ancient texts, priceless volumes that could change your lives forever. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows, making the room feel more like a tomb than a treasure trove. The thick air smelled of aged paper and polished wood, the weight of history pressing down on all of you.

Your heart raced, pounding in your ears so loudly that you could barely hear the others as they moved behind you. Warren was at your side, his focus sharp, movements steady. He reached out and gently squeezed your hand, grounding you in the chaos of what was happening. There was a brief flash of that same connection between you, a reminder of the night before, but now it was overshadowed by the reality of what you were doing.

Spencer, shaking but determined, moved toward the glass case at the center of the room, where the most valuable books were stored. The plan was simple—break the glass, grab the books, and get out. But as you watched him struggle to keep his nerves in check, you felt the cold edge of doubt creeping into your thoughts.

Warren’s voice cut through the tense silence. “Spence, now.”

Spencer swallowed hard, nodded, and lifted the heavy crowbar he had been clutching. You could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, the fear in his eyes. For a split second, you wondered if he was going to lose it, if he’d freeze. But then he brought the crowbar down on the glass with a loud crack.

The sound echoed in the small room, shattering the silence and sending a jolt of adrenaline through your veins. The glass splintered, falling away in jagged shards, revealing the treasures inside.

Warren was on it in a second, quick and efficient. He carefully reached into the case and began pulling out the books—these rare, priceless pieces of history that would be your ticket to millions. His hands moved with a precision that matched the intensity in his eyes. You knew he had been waiting for this moment, building up to it for months, if not years. And now, it was finally happening.

But just as Warren grabbed the last book, the loud, jarring sound of an alarm pierced the air.

Everyone froze.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You had planned this meticulously. Spencer had studied the security system inside and out. The alarm shouldn’t have gone off. But there it was, blaring, filling the room with its high-pitched wail and sending a wave of panic through all of you.

“Fuck!” Warren cursed, shoving the book into the bag he had slung over his shoulder. His eyes were wild now, the calm facade cracking under the pressure.

Spencer looked like he was about to be sick, his face pale and drenched in sweat. “I don’t understand… I disabled the system!”

“There’s no time.” Warren snapped, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the exit. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

Your legs felt like they were moving through water as you followed him, the adrenaline surging through you like a tidal wave. Every step felt heavier than the last, the reality of the situation crashing down around you. The plan was falling apart. You weren’t ready for this.

Behind you, Chas and Eric scrambled to follow, their faces pale with fear. “We need to split up!” Chas yelled, his voice barely audible over the blaring alarm. “We’ll cover more ground!”

Warren hesitated, his hand still gripping yours tightly, his mind racing through options. He looked at you for a split second, and you could see the struggle in his eyes. He wasn’t going to leave you, but he also knew that staying together might get you all caught.

“Go!” you said, pushing him toward the others. “I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point!”

“No way.” Warren said firmly, his jaw clenched. “I’m not leaving you.”

Before you could argue, Spencer’s voice broke through. “We need to move! They’re going to be here any second!”

Warren cursed again under his breath, but finally, he let go of your hand. “Be careful.” he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“I will” you promised, but even as you said it, the fear clawed at the edges of your mind.

You broke off from the others, slipping down a narrow hallway toward the side exit, your footsteps barely audible over the shrieking alarm. Your heart pounded in your chest as you moved quickly, your mind racing. The heist was already going wrong, and you knew it was only a matter of time before the police arrived.

When you reached the side door, your fingers fumbled with the handle, slick with sweat. You were trying to steady your breathing, trying to keep your focus, but the panic was creeping in, making it harder to think clearly. Finally, the door clicked open, and you slipped outside into the cold night air.

The parking lot was eerily quiet compared to the chaos inside the library. The distant wail of sirens echoed in the distance, getting closer by the second. You knew you didn’t have much time, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Not yet.

You looked around, scanning the area for any sign of the others. Where were they? They should have been right behind you. The plan was to split up and meet at the van parked a few blocks away, but something didn’t feel right.

And then you saw him.

Warren was sprinting across the lot, his face hidden behind the mask, his movements fast and purposeful. He was heading straight for you, the intensity in his eyes visible even from a distance. But just as he reached you, the screech of tires filled the air, and a police car came skidding around the corner, its lights flashing in the darkness.

“Shit!” Warren grabbed your arm, pulling you behind a nearby dumpster as the police car barreled toward the entrance of the library.

“We need to move,” he whispered urgently, his breath hot against your ear. “Now.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you nodded, the adrenaline making your legs feel like they were about to give out. But you couldn’t afford to stop, not now. Together, you and Warren darted across the lot, sticking to the shadows as you made your way toward the back alley where the getaway van was supposed to be waiting.

But as you rounded the corner, you froze.

The van was gone.

“Where the fuck are they?” Warren muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the empty alley with growing frustration. The others had been in charge of the van, but now there was no sign of them. Your stomach dropped as you realized how bad this was.

The sirens grew louder, and you could see more police cars pulling into the lot, their lights flashing like warning signs. The clock was ticking, and the window for escape was closing fast.

“They ditched us.” you whispered, the cold truth settling in.

Warren’s jaw clenched, his expression hardening. “No. We’ll figure it out.”

But you both knew the reality of the situation. Without the van, your chances of getting out clean were slim to none.

Warren grabbed your hand, pulling you down the alley as fast as your legs would carry you. The streets were eerily empty at this hour, and you could hear the distant sound of radios crackling, police coordinating their search.

“We can still make it.” Warren said, more to himself than to you. “There’s another way out.”

You followed him through the maze of backstreets, your pulse pounding in your ears. You didn’t know where you were going, and you weren’t sure if Warren did either, but at this point, all you could do was trust him.

The sounds of sirens grew fainter as you put more distance between yourselves and the library. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your legs burning from the effort of running. Warren kept a firm grip on your hand, pulling you along even when you stumbled, refusing to let you fall behind.

Finally, after what felt like hours of running, Warren led you into a quiet, dark side street. There was no sign of the police, no sign of anyone. For the first time since the alarm had gone off, you allowed yourself to breathe.

Warren stopped, leaning against the wall of a building, his chest heaving with exhaustion. You collapsed beside him, your legs trembling from the adrenaline and fear. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of what had just happened hanging heavily in the air.

“We did it,” you whispered, more to convince yourself than anything.

Warren let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Barely.”

He turned to look at you, his eyes still dark with intensity, but there was something else there too—relief. Relief that you had made it, that you were still together. Without thinking, you reached out and cupped his face in your hands, pulling him toward you.

The kiss was desperate, hungry, like you were trying to reassure each other that you were still alive, still here. Warren’s hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the world around you disappeared.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathing heavily, Warren rested his forehead against yours. “We’re not out of this yet.” he whispered, his voice low and rough.

You nodded, your fingers still gripping the fabric of his jacket. “I know.”

But in that moment, it didn’t matter. You had each other, and for now, that was enough.

You and Warren sat in silence, pressed against the cold brick wall of the alley, both of you breathing heavily as the weight of what had just happened sank in. The distant wail of sirens had finally faded, leaving behind an eerie quiet that felt more oppressive than comforting.

Warren’s grip on your hand loosened, and you slowly released him, your heart still racing. The adrenaline that had kept you moving, kept you alive, was starting to drain away, leaving behind an uncomfortable heaviness in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was fear, exhaustion, or something else entirely.

“We have to keep moving,” Warren finally said, his voice rough, but steady. He was trying to stay calm, trying to hold it together, but you could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Everything hadn’t gone according to plan, and now you were both left to pick up the pieces.

You nodded, though your legs felt like lead. The weight of the night was catching up with you fast. “Where do we go?”

Warren rubbed a hand over his face, glancing around the darkened street. He looked exhausted, worn down by the panic and chaos that had unfolded back at the library. His shoulders sagged under the weight of everything that had gone wrong.

“We find the others.” he muttered, but there was doubt in his voice.

The truth was sinking in. Chas, Eric, Spencer, they’d left without you. Maybe they’d panicked, maybe they’d thought you’d been caught, or maybe they’d just decided to save their own skins. Whatever the reason, they were gone, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

For the first time that night, Warren’s mask slipped completely, and you saw the raw frustration, the anger bubbling beneath the surface. His jaw clenched as he stood up, pacing in front of you. His hands balled into fists, and for a moment, you thought he might punch the nearest wall.

“They were supposed to wait,” he growled, his voice low, barely controlled. “They ditched us.”

You stood up, too, feeling the ache in your legs from all the running. Your body was trembling, a mix of fear, adrenaline, and the realization that everything had fallen apart.

“They were scared,” you said quietly, trying to rationalize it, even though it hurt. “We all were.”

“They were cowards,” Warren shot back, the anger flaring in his voice. “We trusted them. I trusted them.” His hand went to his pocket, where the stolen books were still tucked away, the only physical proof of the heist that had gone horribly wrong.

You stepped closer to him, gently placing a hand on his arm. “But we made it out. We’re still here. Together.”

His eyes met yours, the anger in them softening as he looked at you. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, his breath coming out in ragged bursts. And then, finally, he exhaled, the tension draining from his body as he slumped back against the wall. “Yeah… together.”

You both stood there in the alley, the cold air biting at your skin, and for the first time since everything went wrong, you allowed yourself to think about what came next. The heist was over, but the consequences were only beginning.

You and Warren had managed to find a place to hide, a dingy motel on the outskirts of town where no one would think to look for you. The room was small and smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were safe, for now.

Warren sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, the weight of the night finally catching up with him. The stolen books were laid out on the table, still intact, but they felt like a hollow victory. The plan had fallen apart, and you weren’t even sure if the others had made it out safely.

You sat down next to him, not saying anything, just feeling the exhaustion in every fiber of your being. The adrenaline had long since worn off, leaving behind a bone-deep fatigue that was impossible to shake. Your mind kept replaying the events of the night, the moment the alarm went off, the sound of the glass breaking, the van that never came. Every time you closed your eyes, you could still hear the sirens.

“What now?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Warren didn’t answer right away. He was staring at the floor, his jaw clenched tight. You could tell he was trying to hold himself together, but there was a crack in his armor, a vulnerability that you hadn’t seen in him before.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough. “We get out of town. We lay low until things cool off.”

“And the books?”

Warren’s eyes flicked toward the pile of stolen volumes on the table, but there was no satisfaction in his gaze. “They’re still worth a lot. We can still sell them… eventually.”

Eventually. That was the keyword. You both knew it would be risky to try and move the books now, with the police already on high alert. They’d be looking for whoever had stolen them, and selling them too soon could get you caught.

You leaned back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. Your body ached, but it wasn’t just physical. The emotional toll of the heist was sinking in, and you felt like you were unraveling. The fear, the panic, the betrayal from the others. It all weighed heavily on you.

Warren must have sensed it because he reached over, his hand brushing against yours. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in this. Despite everything, you still had each other.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft and full of regret.

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Warren replied, his gaze dropping to the floor again. “I thought I had everything figured out, but I didn’t. And now… now you’re stuck in the middle of this mess.”

You turned to him, your heart aching at the pain in his voice. “I made my own choice, Warren. I wanted to be here. With you.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes dark and full of emotions he couldn’t put into words. There was guilt there, mixed with something deeper, something you hadn’t expected to see.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible.

“You won’t,” you whispered, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world outside that motel room felt distant, almost unreal, as if the chaos of the night had been nothing more than a bad dream. The only thing that felt real was Waren. His warmth, the steadiness of his breath, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

Without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him, slow and tender. This kiss wasn’t like the ones before, fueled by adrenaline and desperation. This was different, softer, more intimate, like a quiet promise in the aftermath of the storm.

Warren’s hands slid up to your waist, pulling you closer, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The fear, the uncertainty, the heist, it all disappeared, leaving just the two of you in the dimly lit room, holding on to each other like you were the only thing that mattered.

When you finally pulled away, Warren rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“You’re wrong.” you whispered back, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “We deserve each other.”

Sleep didn’t come easily. Every sound outside the motel, every passing car, every distant voice, made your heart race, the paranoia of getting caught gnawing at you. Warren had drifted into a restless sleep beside you, his arm draped over your waist, but even in sleep, he looked troubled. You knew the weight of everything was crushing him, just as it was crushing you.

You turned to face him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft rhythm of his breathing. Despite everything that had happened, despite the chaos and the danger, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you belonged here, with him. It wasn’t just the adrenaline or the thrill of the heist that had drawn you to him—it was something deeper, something you couldn’t put into words.

But as you lay there in the dark, the cold reality of your situation settled in. The heist had failed in more ways than one. Even if you had escaped, even if you had the books, the danger was far from over. The police would be looking for you. The others had vanished, and you had no way of knowing if they’d been caught, or if they’d turn on you to save themselves.

You glanced at the stolen books on the table, their spines gleaming in the faint light of the motel lamp. They were supposed to be your ticket to freedom, your way out. But now, they felt more like a curse.

As you lay there, Warren stirred beside you, his hand tightening around your waist as if he sensed your unease. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at you, his expression soft but filled with the same weight of everything that had happened.

“We’ll be okay,” he whispered, though you could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

You didn’t answer right away, because you weren’t sure if he was right. But as you lay there, wrapped in his arms, you knew that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

And for now, that was enough.

tags!- @marchsfreakshow

#evan peters #evan peters x reader #evan peters angst #warren lipka imagine #warren lipka x reader #warren lipka angst #warren lipka x you #no guys you dont understand i need him #can i get high with him like

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