#i shouldn’t get to heinous in these tags right now… help!!

[satorisoup]

save me 2024 jva kuroo… please save me…

[loganwritesprobably]

Day 3 - Abandoned

A fluff piece featuring @undeadeurydice's OC Oak

Tags/Warnings: Gwen/Oak, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, meet cute, first kiss, Shanks as a paternal figure, getting together Word Count: 1557

Gwen’s life had not been easy, for someone so young. At just nineteen years old she was alone in the world, with nobody she could rely on, no friends or family to call her own. It was difficult, but it was the life she was resigned to leading. She’d told herself that she would keep living, no matter what happened, because inside her she held the dreams of her brother, his desire for her to be happy one day, and she couldn’t let him down. She had survived.

Oak was a victim, a man who’d suffered. He had experienced hardship at the hands of the government, seen their darkest soldiers willing to do the most heinous of things. Imprisoned, starved and beaten, Oak spent years stuck as a beast, forgetting who he used to be. He had survived. 

They met entirely by chance, on a random day, on a random island. An otherwise entirely unassuming day, that shouldn’t have meant anything. It came to mean something quite important to them both, very quickly.

The weather was mild, the town was quiet, and Gwen had been on her way to pick up some food. This island was the newest of many, and finally she’d started working as a doctor. She had enough control of what she was able to do that now she could charge for her services, and make a profit. Enough to eat every week, and that was new for her. People didn’t look at her in fear, they saw past her reputation and her bounty set by the marines, they saw the good she was able to do for them and the person she was outside of what the government called her.

It’d been a few weeks since she’d landed on the island, and so by now she’d come to know most of the residents. So, when a tall man stood in the grocery store, staring at the options as if he wasn’t entirely sure what an apple was, she knew he was new here. “I’ve found that strawberries are better at this time of year.” Gwen said in lieu of greeting, offering a tub of them to the man, who tore his gaze from the apples to the strawberries in her hand, then up at Gwen with a small head tilt, as if he were a puppy. “Strawberries.” He mumbled, blinking owlishly, before he nodded mostly to himself. “They’re sweet.” Gwen told him, without judgement for his apparent confusion at everything around him. The man nodded again, more sure of himself, and took the container from Gwen with a shaky smile. “Sweet.” He mumbled to himself, looking down at the red berries. “My name is Gwen. I can help you, if you’d like? With your food, that is.” She offered, holding her hand out for him to shake with a warm smile and a soft giggle. “Gwen. Pretty.” He observed, ignoring her hand entirely, staring intensely into Gwen’s eyes instead.  “Oh! Thank you. What’s your name, sir?” Gwen quickly asked, surprised by his compliment and flushing a light pink. “Oak.” He said simply, and she nodded. He didn’t need to say more than that. “A handsome name, for a handsome man.” She grabbed a few fruits that she needed herself, putting them in the basket she’d grabbed from by the door. Oak was stunned for a moment, then grabbed a basket as well, following her example.

“So, tell me what you think you need, and I’ll help.”

It turned out Oak had been sent to get a few things by the pirate crew he was living with, with them attempting to help him with learning as he struggled quite a lot. Gwen allowed him to try to find each item, directing him to the general section if he needed, then the right shelf, and then would identify the item if he truly couldn’t work it out. She told him about the items as they grabbed them, explaining the things that she needed for herself as well, a little extra lesson for free.

Once they were both done, and had paid, she allowed Oak to lead her to the ship he hailed from to meet the crew he regarded as his family. His paternal figure? None other than Red Haired Shanks. What the fuck. 

Surprisingly, he was lovely. He and the rest of the crew welcomed in Gwen with open arms, glad their newest member had made a friend. They were excited to the point of throwing a small party, and Gwen spent the evening drinking with them. A bonus of her enhanced healing was that she physically couldn’t become drunk, unless wearing seastone, so she could drink the night away without any concerns over her behaviour, blacking out or forgetting anything.

In fact, Gwen was sure she’d never forget that night, since it was the night she was welcomed into her life partner’s family, long before she knew that was what they’d be.

The Red Hair Pirates remained docked on that island for a week or so after that initial meeting, Gwen was sure it was because of her budding relationship with Oak. That was exactly what it was really. She’d started talking to him out of her desire to help people, to guide those who need a gentle hand, but he was so affectionate, and kind to her. She wasn’t used to it, and frankly it left her with deep seated feelings for him that she hadn’t expected.

Shanks, apparently, had expected.

On the final day the pirates were due to be docked, Gwen had once again found herself in Oak’s company. She was drawn to him, he made her feel safe like she never had before. They wandered down the main street, shoulder to shoulder, talking about anything we could think of, and everything that crossed their minds. Shanks had told them the crew was going to the only restaurant in town for their final night there, and so the two were just wasting time until then.

When they arrived and the crew was nowhere to be found, Gwen had some suspicions, and then the hostess confirmed them by revealing that the reservation was for just two people. That man. He was a pest, but Gwen wasn’t opposed to his meddling, in fact she quite appreciated. She was hesitant to engage in a relationship with Oak, after all he was still adjusting to being a person again, but if Shanks thought he was ready, she felt significantly less guilty.

Oak didn’t seem to understand what was happening, but enjoyed the night all the same. They ate and talked about small and big things - they never seemed to run out of things to talk about. They got dessert too, all on Shanks’ dime, and then decided to go for a sunset walk together along the beach, basking in their final evening together.

“You know, I’ve always felt like I’d be alone. That I’d never make any.. Meaningful connections in my life.” Gwen confessed softly, toes digging into the still warm sand as they walked side by side, the waves lapping against the grains, an added atmosphere to their time. “You have me.” Oak replied, and Gwen knew what he meant. She definitely had a meaningful connection with him. “I do. Until tomorrow, when you leave.” “No. You always have me.” Oak retorted, stopping suddenly, which Gwen only processed once she was a few paces away from him. “Oak, you’re leaving tomorrow morning. I live here. I have a home, and patients.” “Then let me stay.” “What?”

“I.. I was lost for so long. So confused. I don’t feel like that with you. I love Shanks, he gave me my life back, but.. The wolf likes you. The wolf.. Wants you, wants to keep you, have you close so we can keep you safe.” As much as being a zoan affected Gwen and Oak so differently, she understood what he meant in his bones - to find someone that both you and your inner animal approved of, well it was tricky. She also imagined that his instincts were far closer to the surface given all that he’d been through. “I understand. But you love Shanks, he’s practically your dad. You’ve only known me for a week.” There was no world in which someone could want Gwen so badly, and she couldn’t bare the thought of believing that he could want her, only for him to change his mind and be stuck here because of her. “Everyone else abandoned us. I don’t want to abandon you.”

There was a beat of silence in which Gwen’s heart shattered and then rebuilt itself instantaneously. He saw her, saw what she’d been through, and he didn’t want to do that to her again. She didn’t want to do it to Oak either.

“Okay.” She agreed softly. “Okay?” He asked, surprised she’d agreed when it seemed like she’d been against it just moments before. “Yeah. Stay.” It was only natural that a moment later his lips were on hers, his arms around her lifting her up into the air to keep her close. Gwen yelped against his lips, wrapping her arms and legs around him to keep herself stable, then lost herself in his warmth, in their feelings for each other.

She could be happy here, like this, with him.

Tag List: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable

If you'd like to tip me, Kofi

[in-ky]

Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster  and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

[fandom-monium]

For the Holidays

Summary: In which Spencer does not want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

WC: 2.1k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), Morgan trying to be a good big bro (and wingman)

Spencer Reid does not hate Christmas.

“Reid, come on⎼”

“No.”

“Just listen to me.”

“I did, and it’s a stupid idea.”

No, really. Because hating Christmas would imply he didn’t care. Which he does.

Like when Garcia never fails to drag him into decorating the bullpen every year. Obnoxious Christmas music plays in the background as they bomb Hotch’s office, and it’s worth the smile on his face when he walks in the next morning.

It would mean hating Rossi and his extravagant dinner parties. And yeah, he always hosts but these are just as special if not more so. His mansion is decked in fairy lights and streamers, the food are traditional holiday recipes, and the whole place seems a little less massive.

And he doesn’t hate his breaks. He nearly spits out his coffee when Morgan grumbles about how he almost tripped and fell over from the ice. He has to scramble away as the older man bats at him.

Or when Prentiss drops off holiday-themed pastries? Mhm, just thinking of the ribbon-tied box makes him salivate.

Hating the Christmas card is completely out of the question. Henry and Michael make them every year for the entire team, and JJ makes an effort to shake them out carefully for. It has a boyish charm Spencer never had at their age, a mess of glitter and construction paper. He displays it on his desk anyway.

And you. It would mean hating all the various hot chocolate beverages you’ve made since December started.

Apparently, it’s serious business⎼the art of hot chocolate making. You’ve leaned against his desk, hands waving about as you try to articulate to him the relevance, going over anything and everything you can remember of its history and significance. Of course, he knows all of this already, but he likes you too much to stop you. He almost releases a loving sigh. Instead, he settles for nodding and grinning at you, and he doesn’t really get it but he loves it: the hot chocolate, your pensive expression as you await his critique, even though by now he’s sure you know he has no other comments except ‘delicious’.

He loves it all. He loves you⎼all of you guys. Obviously.

So, no. He does not hate Christmas.

But that doesn’t mean he loves it either.

Which is why, when Morgan leans against his desk, he greets him as normal, a smile forming on his lips as he sets his book down. There is no danger here, except Morgan’s guns. And the heinous green and red envelope between his fingers⎼

Where the hell did he get that.

Spencer’s blood froze. His collection of trauma was nothing compared to this.

Now here he is, packing away his things so he can go home to his warm, cozy apartment and order takeout like he does every year. He's not one for change. No need to break tradition.

But Morgan is acting like a child. Wait, no, even children are better behaved than this. Children at least give up faster.

“I’m telling you, it’s a good idea.”

“As a certified genius, I can say with all honesty, it is not.”

“I promise you it’ll be fine,” Morgan reassures him, voice soothing. The letter, colorful and bright and an eye sore, mocks Spencer. He wishes his reflexes were faster, so he can snatch the abhorrent cluster of sparkles and poorly printed holiday cartoons. And shred it.

Maybe if he glares hard enough, it’ll burst into flames.

“Morgan, my class hated me. The whole school hated me,” Spencer shoves another book into his satchel. It's harder than he means to, and he sends a silent apology to Stephen King; he usually handles his books with care. But not right now. Now, he's tired and exasperated and he just wants to curl up on his couch with The Doctor. "I'm sure I won't be missed."

"But you’re the life of the party!"

Spencer looks up.

Morgan winces, "Yeah, even I wouldn't believe me.” Spencer snorts, continuing to stuff his belongings into his satchel. Morgan’s relentless however. “But you deserve to show them up. You’ve got degrees⎼plural⎼and you're a hotshot FBI agent.”

“Are you not aware of the tragedy that is my high school social experience?”

“Oh, I'm very aware, and thank you for being vulnerable with me. But it's because I care that I’m telling you.”

Morgan’s hand falls heavy on his shoulder, making Spencer pause. He meets his gaze, the man’s expression solemn.

“You deserve to rub it in their faces until the only thing they can smell is your success.”

Morgan grins when that draws out a laugh from him.

Spencer huffs, “Shouldn't we be the bigger person here by not going?”

The older man grimaces, retracting his hand as if the idea offends him. “Fuck that. Be a show off! They deserve to be knocked down a peg after what they did to you in high school.”

Spencer bites his lip. Yes, he’s accomplished, and yeah, as Morgan said, he’s a ‘hot shot FBI agent’. But the memories surge in like a broken dam, cruel laughter and harsh words crashing into him as if he’s twelve years old again. He’s an adult now, so he doesn’t topple over from the impact like before, but the pain is a phantom limb, old and familiar, and leaves a pit in his stomach.

He was a child prodigy then. How would going back as he is now be any different?

Morgan's heart clenches when an unspoken pain flits across Spencer’s face, glossing over his eyes. He can't imagine how deep the emotional scars go, but he knows Spencer needs some form of closure from his past. So when he found the invite, he knew they had to seize the chance. If he wants to continue to move forward, Spencer has to learn to let go. And right now, this is his first class ticket. It’s why he’s pushing this so hard.

This is for Spencer.

But the doctor shakes his head, a strained smile tugging his lips. “Morgan, I had no friends. Even if I go, what am I supposed to do once I arrive? It'd be awkward enough as is.”

“True,” The older man contemplates, a light bulb going off as he snaps his fingers. “You know what you should do? Ask (Your Name) to go with you.”

“(Your Name)?” Spencer jolts, fumbling to catch his phone. Despite being a man of science, his eyes dart around, like you’re a demon summoned at the mention of your name. “Wha-what? Why?”

“They could act as your buffer. And you did say you wanted to be closer with them. This is the perfect opportunity,” Morgan shrugs. Like his suggestion is common sense, logical. Maybe it is.

But this is you they’re talking about. You would never. You’re too cool for a silly high school reunion.

At least, that’s what he’s convinced himself as Spencer’s face pinches. He catches his lip with his teeth. “Morgan, I appreciate the… thought, but I could never ask (Your Name).”

“Ask me what?”

… Oh no. You are a demon.

Spencer whirls around in time to see the glass door shut behind you. You stand there in all your poise and beauty, the fluorescent lights softening your expression. You're bundled up in a matching coat and scarf, the knitted beanie snug on your crown and clashing with your outfit (Garcia told you it’s not your Christmas present, but you’ve worn it everyday since). There’s sprinkles of snow all over you.

You’re not a demon, Spencer decides, even as you brush a clump off your shoulder, nose scrunched in annoyance. More like a snow angel.

You tilt your head curiously when Spencer doesn’t answer immediately. There’s a knowing look on his face as Morgan, realizing the poor guy probably won’t respond any time soon, steps up.

“(Your Name), I thought you went home already.”

You cross the bullpen. “I was. Garcia walked me down and I got to the courtyard. Then I realized she had me so distracted that I left my phone charger,” You rummage around your desk and without looking up, you reiterate, “So ask me what?”

Spencer blinks. “What?”

“You had something to ask me, right?”

Right. That. He runs his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “Actually, I don’t⎼oof.”

Morgan jabs his side, “Yes, there is something Reid needs to ask you.” He sends him a meaningful look.

“Shoot.” You nod to them before rifling through your desk drawers. Nope, not there. You card through files and office supplies, oblivious to the conversation Spencer and Morgan have with their eyes, shooting looks and mouthing at each other.

You bend over your desk as Morgan gestures, Ask them!

Spencer shakes his head vigorously, No!

Do it, or I'll do it for you, he mouths.

Spencer squints at him. You wouldn't.

Morgan smirks and Spencer's heart drops to his stomach. Before he can run, shout for help, literally anything, the man slings a buff arm around his shoulders, forcing Spencer to slightly bend down to his level, hugging him to his side.

He's trapped. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Fuck.

“Reid is going to his high school reunion,” Morgan starts, biting back a grin when the nerd squirms against him. Both men boys watch, one excited and the other petrified as you disappear behind your desk.

“That’s nice.”

"Yeah. But all his classmates are older than him and married…“

“Uh-huh…” You scan the dark floors, half-listening as Spencer frowns at the unnecessary detail. He never told Morgan such a thing. He didn’t even know, so how would Morgan-?

“So, can you guys pretend to be a couple or something?”

Thud.

“What!?”

Luckily, neither of you notice the other’s surprise as Spencer chokes on air at the same time you let out a pained hiss.

Morgan lets him pull away, withholding a snicker. “You good, (Your Name)?”

“I’m okay!” Your head pops up from under your desk as you rub the top of your head. You blink owlishly. “I’m sorry, did you just ask me to pretend to be your partner?”

“Yes! But Reid’s partner,�� Morgan emphasizes, slapping the doctor’s back hard enough he nudges forward.

You stand and Spencer straightens up, trying not to fidget as your gaze burns into his. You’ve known each other for quite some time now, and while Spencer likes to think he knows you pretty well, it bothers him when your expression becomes unreadable. He knows it shouldn't but it does. He’s a profiler, yet your thoughts are completely obscured by a mask. It only makes him more nervous than he already is.

His skin feels hot when your eyes trail over him, and he prays his scarf is enough to cover the flush spreading from his neck.

He's about to disintegrate when you finally answer.

"Okay."

His brow shoots up and his heart flips. You move away from your desk as he sputters, "Really? Are⎼are you sure? I don’t want to put you out of your way.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. Why?” You step closer, and he can’t breathe, not without it hitting your face. You stare him down the bridge of your nose, eyes narrowed. “You doubting my skills, Dr. Reid?”

“What? No, of course not!”

You raise an eyebrow expectantly. “Then it’s settled? We’ll pretend to be a couple for your reunion thing?"

A beat of silence. Spencer realizes you're waiting for his confirmation. But panic rises like bile in his throat and he hesitates.

Maybe he should back out now, retract the entire conversation and take the embarrassment like a man. Tell you he was never planning to attend the stupid reunion because his classmates were (and probably still are) assholes. Honesty is key to any relationship after all.

Especially between coworkers. Ahem.

A flicker of movement and Spencer glances over your shoulder. Morgan nods frantically at him, teeth flashing as he grins wider than before. He gives him two thumbs up.

Maybe, for once, he should pull a Morgan and just vibe it.

Yeah. Yeah!

Swallowing, he nods to you, giving you his signature white-person smile because he's sure if he speaks he might blurt out something completely inappropriate. Like statistics on workplace relationships (they’re great reading material, okay).

Your lips quirk up. "Cool. Text me the details when you get the chance.”

You brush past him before he manages a reply, your footsteps fading. Morgan waggles his eyebrows at Spencer. Spencer blankly stares after you.

“What just happened?”

“You just got a date to your reunion. A fake date, mind you, but you’re welcome nonetheless,” Morgan smirks at him. “So, you got a plan, Pretty Boy?”

His face falls, and the hearts in his eyes⎼shit, had they always been there?⎼chip slightly.

He does not have a plan.

Deleted scene:

“Did you do it?”

“It went all according to plan, Mama.”

AN: I fucked myself over and wrote 7k+ and still counting. Now it’s an unplanned holiday mini series. This kind of stems from Bonding as this uses Mysterious!Reader. Also, I seem to be into pining (fuck established relationships, suffer in silenceee). Whatever holiday you celebrate, I hope you still enjoy this one shot!! 

One of the biggest disappointments of CM: Spencer doesn’t confront his high school bullies. I read several fics of him doing so, but a lot of them have the bullies be just as much of an asshole as they were to him in the past, but he deserves more closure. 

This will be my take on it. It’ll be a lot of pining but I hope to focus on the his hardships in a less angsty, dramatic way.

Hope you enjoy it!! There will be at least 3 parts?

Also, spread the usage of the term ‘partner’, which can be used for same-sex and opposite-sex relationships.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

May I have a scenario/imagine, whichever makes more sense, of Trey, Rook, and Crewel trying to tame some sort of wild, magical invasive species of Poison Ivy that has taken over the greenhouse?

Crewel gives me perpetually disappointed wine aunt father vibes. This piece also lowkey turned out to be Trey x Rook, but you didn’t read that from me.

This imagine’s longer than my usual 1k word self-imposed limit, since it goes out to a friend of mine that’s been supporting me through final projects and exams. I’m not sure if they’d want me tagging them so publicly, but they know who they are.

Imagine this...

To Professor Crewel’s chagrin, members of the Science Club had never had strong academic intent. In actuality, the club was a thinly veiled excuse to bake cakes (just to find the perfect ratio of leaveners and sweeteners!) and to stalk watch students in their natural habitats (nothing wrong with an impromptu observational study, right?). Instead of test tubes and beakers, the lab benches were littered with cake pans and photographs of unsuspecting Savanaclaw students.

“I do wish you two would take this club more seriously,” Crewel would often gripe, fingers massaging his temples. “Science is not a play thing, it is a powerful tool with which we can use to redefine and reshape the world around us.”

Such were the woes of an instructor--but today, he had no time to lament.

Crewel’s jaw tightened as he gazed upon a sprawling mess--the shattered glass panes of the Botanical Garden, with massive stalks of ivy reaching for the skies. Casualties lined the ground--plants and flowers drained dry of their life, all withered and decayed. The ivy writhed in glee.

(He shouldn’t have been surprised that the headmaster summoned him and the Science Club to resolve the issue instead of hiring a real exterminator.)

“How unseemly,” Crewel noted, clicking his tongue. “Running amok and ruining so many of the specimens we’ve carefully cultivated... This shall not go unpunished.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Clover.”

“Yes.” Trey stepped forward, his magical pen ready.

“Hunt.”

“Oui.” Rook followed suit, smoothly drawing forth his own pen.

“The time has come to prove your mettle,” Crewel announced, rapping his pointer against his palm. His onyx eyes seethed with a quiet, controlled rage. “Show this overgrown weed what the Science Club is truly capable of.”

At his command, the boys nodded and tore off toward the Botanical Garden.

Crewel held his ground. The corners of his mouth curled into a condescending smirk as he addressed the poison ivy. “Come here.”

An arm of ivy flew at him, so fast that it was but a blur.

An alive, but livid, blur.

“Heel!”

A column of fire erupted from Crewel’s pointer. His attack slammed against the plant, settings its leaves awash in embers. The rogue plant let out a sky-splitting roar.

The battle had just begun.

Trey ducked under an arc of burning ivy and threw open the door to the Botanical Garden. Tucking his limbs in, he barreled through right as more ivy snaked in to seal off the entrance once more.

He could feel the heat upon his back, the earth quaking under his feet, and Rook close behind him--yet he willed himself to keep his eyes glued ahead, even as he launched across the threshold and into a terrifying new realm.

The inside of the greenhouse now glistened with ivy--covering the glass panes, slowly strangling what few plants remained. The Botanical Garden had always been warm before, but it was unusually so today. Sweltering, and almost so humid that the floors and walls seem to eerily pulsate with life.

“Keep your wits about you, and don’t look back, boys,” Crewel had instructed them. “Just get in there, and cut it off at its source--at the heart.”

Trey’s eyes darted this way and that. Green, green, green. It all looked the same to him. Where in the world was the point of origin?

“Got any ideas?!” He glanced over his shoulder at his partner--and his protective goggles nearly went askew.

Rook had dropped to one knee, pressing a gloved hand against the floor--now a carpet of vines. “Hoooh! What a fascinating specimen!” he marveled. “Such destructive power, and yet it also sports this emerald sheen... Très manifique!”

“H-Hey... No offense, but I don’t think now’s the time to stop and sniff the roses. Or, well. I guess it would be ivy in this case.”

“Non, non! There is always time for beauty--even in dire situations!” Rook insisted, his hands continuing to grope around. His eyes suddenly creased, and his smile turned sly. “Ah, te voilà.”

“Even if you say that, that’s not going to help us fix this...!!”

“Calm yourself, Chevalier des Roses,” Rook advised with an airy laugh. He cupped a hand to his ear and beamed. “Listen closely! Surely even your own heart beckons you to still your worries.”

“Heart?” Trey straightened, adamant as he folded his arms. “Sorry, but I just don’t believe in stuff like that. Come on, Rook. We need to focus--Crewel-sensei’s trusting us with this task.”

He cast a concerned glance at the doorway, ensnared in vines. They’d have to blast their way through later--but if they stayed in this space for too long, they, too, would soon be drained of all their life force. “We can’t just mess around!”

“Ah--but you must put your faith in me as well, Chevalier des Roses!” Rook insisted, pointing to the patch of floor that he had been not-too-subtly groping earlier. “I implore you to lend me your strength!”

“You want me to attack the gr--?!” Trey froze mid-sentence. He had become vaguely aware of a gentle sensation creeping around his ankles.

In an instant, he was yanked into the air, dangling upside down like a useless rag doll. Blood rushed to his head, and his surroundings spun.

“Chevalier des Roses!!”

“I’m fine!! I-I’m fine!” Trey called--though he clearly wasn’t. “I can just--” He waved his magical pen, the air growing tense as a small ball of fire collected at his command.

“Non!” Rook warned, startling his classmate. “There is nothing to cushion your descent, mon amie! You will surely break a leg--and certainly not in the theatrical sense!”

He’s right. Trey’s fire extinguished itself, replaced by a chill crawling down his spine.

“A little help then?!”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You would give me your trust?”

“Not exactly like I have any other choice.” Trey would shrug, but it was a rather difficult motion to pull off while suspended midair--and far more troublesome, his veins ran cold. It was a sure sign of the ivy sapping his energy.

“Have no fear! Today, it shall be my turn to be the chevalier.” The hunter grinned from ear to ear, magical pen in hand.

“Please, Rook! Any day now--before I become plant food!” Trey’s voice was hoarse--from exasperation, or from the magical ivy, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“Just for today, I shall be your Chevalier D’amour.”

And with a confident wink, Rook plunged the ivy-covered floor into a sea of flames.

The accursed plant wailed as it shriveled to ash upon a backdrop of billowing smoke. Embers flickered and danced in the afternoon, the Botanical Garden set ablaze. Crewel took a step back, grimacing at the growing fire.

A figure emerged from the greenhouse, carrying another. The professor squinted into the smoke, pinpointing the familiar outline of his Science Club members--Rook, cradling a pale-looking Trey in his strong arms.

��Puppies.” Crewel pinched his temples.

“C’est chose faite--it is now done.” The brim of Rook’s hat eclipsed his eyes, making the typically cheery hunter appear dark to match his tone. Then he lifted his head, basking in the sunshine, and that somber moment was over. “All is well and good again, as it should be!”

“I... I thought I was going to die,” Trey groaned. “... And Rook, I appreciate you catching my fall, but you didn’t need to carry me out like you’re an action hero in a movie or something.”

“Are you able to still stand after an attack from that heinous plant?”

“Yeah. Just put me down.”

“Oui.”

Trey stood on shaky legs--and instinctively leaned on Rook’s shoulder.

“Well, boys. You’ve exterminated the ivy--as well as just about every other plant in the Botanical Garden. How exactly do you intend to atone for this?!” Crewel snapped, whipping his pointer at his students. “I believe my instructions were quite clear--destroy only the heart of the ivy.”

“The fault lies with me, Monsieur,” Rook declared, dipping into a bow. “We dallied for longer than was necessary, and in a moment of panic, I unleashed my magic.”

“Always one with a flair for the dramatic. Unfortunately, that will not serve you well in detention, Hunt.”

“Wait. Crewel-sensei, that’s not the whole story,” Trey interrupted. “Rook got me out of a pinch--and he deserves credit for that. He’s also the one that found out where the ivy’s heart was--buried in the floor itself. I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

The professor’s lips pursed into a straight line. “Clover, are you confessing to your own negligence?”

“I am.” He nodded firmly. “I’m the one that deserves the detention.”

“Trey-kun is not responsible!” Rook protested. “He is the one that attempted to set us on the right path. I refused to heed his advice, which led to events escalating.”

“I didn’t listen to Rook when he tried to tell me about what I needed to do.”

“I should have phrased it more concisely.”

“You--”

“Trey-kun--”

“Enough. It is clear to me that both of you contributed to this chaos.” Crewel sighed. “... Hunt, take Clover to the infirmary. I will put out the fire myself.

“... Are you letting us go?”

“Of course not. Once you’ve recovered, Clover... you boys will be restoring plants in the Botanical Garden for the remainder of the semester as punishment.”

“Ahhh, I should’ve known. Riddle’s not gonna like this at all.”

“Chin up, Chevalier des Roses! At the very least, we shall have each other’s company!” Rook laughs, smacking Trey on the back and sending his peer nearly doubling over.

Crewel sighed once more--he was disappointed, but not surprised.

His Science Club puppies still had a long way to go.

[sweatersarecomfyy]

I Have Wings - Part 1/6

Series Summary: During Bucky’s time as the Winter Soldier he wasn’t alone. A girl with wings was also the subject of super-soldier testing, unfortunately she never gets to tell Bucky how he feels during their time together. When they meet years later, she remembers him but he doesn’t remember her. Does she tell him what she remembers, or will that affect their growing feelings for each other?

A/N: Hi people of the interweb. This is a very good series, it’s full of fluff and angst, but it has a fluffy ending. I hope you enjoy it. If you would like to see the future chapters, please follow my blog or the tag #i have wings. This series has 6 parts, I will be posting one part every day until it is over.

Word Count: 1.5K

I have wings.

I don’t know if I was born with them, I don’t know if they somehow through a random process of events attached themselves to me, I don’t know how I have them, I just know that I am stuck with them. Brown’s, yellows, and different creams are splattered across the feathers in a mosaic of color that should belong to some bird, but they are on my back, reaching out to touch the walls.

I can fly, I remember that, but I can’t remember anything before this cell, and I don’t know if I’m supposed to. I shouldn’t be here. It’s damp. Not good for my feathers. I can barely spread them all the way out. I’m cold, whoever put me here did not give me very many clothes, and the dilapidated mattress in the corner does not have any blankets. Even if I could somehow spread my wings in this room, my feet are shackled, I wouldn’t make it very far off the ground.

The men come rattling in here everyday, speaking some other language, or is it my language and I have just forgotten it? Glimpses of my past life come in snippets, but there is nothing concrete enough in there. I hope I didn’t so something bad, I hope that I was a kind person and I am not in this prison because I committed some heinous crime. There is no window or clock in here, so I do not know how much time has passed, but I felt that something different would happen today.

Three men came into my cell, opening it loudly. Two of the men were holding the third, who I noticed had a metal arm inorganically attached to his shoulder. They shoved him in and then came up to me. I backed away into the corner. The last time one of them had come at me, well, it was obvious that I wasn’t human to him considering what he had done.

I tried to push him away but he pulled me up by one of my wings and gestured to the metal armed man, speaking in a different language. He brought out a small knife, and cut me across the shoulder.

I screamed out, and struggled to get away but I wasn’t strong enough. The cut on my arm healed over immediately, leaving a fresh pink scar.

He pushed me back down onto the bed, I landed awkwardly on my wing, spoke a couple last words to the third man, and then left, locking the cell door behind them.

The man just stood there, I glanced up at him, and then pushed myself into the corner again, my chains clattering on the hard floor.

He said something I didn’t understand, but it seemed to be directed at me. I looked up at him, and he must have noticed my confused look, because the next thing he said I understood.

“Do you speak English?” He asked.

I looked up at him surprised, “I guess so.”

He sat down on the corner of the mattress.

It was silent for a moment, I did not know what to do with this strange visitor, “What were they saying to you?”

He let out a short breath, “They said I could do whatever I want to you, because you would heal right back up.”

I sucked in a breath and instinctively puffed the feathers on my wings, “That’s not normal, to heal like that?” I said, almost whispering. Feeling the scar on my shoulder.

He shook his head. He sat there for what was probably a lot shorter than it felt. My anxiety rose with each moment, wondering what was going to happen next. What was his purpose here.

He shifted and my feathers puffed out even further even though I was trying to make myself as small as possible in the corner. I felt my breath coming out in small huffs, and unintentional tears in the corners of my eyes.

He looked at me, his face unreadable, but there was a slight line that could have been his eyebrows furrowing.

“What are you going to do to me?” My voice was shakier than I wanted it to be, but knowing what this place was capable of, and that with each day their torments only grew worse, I wanted to know what was coming.

He chuckled, but it was an unhappy sound, “Nothin’, I’ve been, how should I say, misbehaving lately and some of the guys seem to think I need a punching bag, or something, and that will help me behave.”

This did nothing to calm my nerves, and he could see that, but he didn’t say anything and stared back down at his hands.

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?” He asked after an eternity.

I felt my face grow warm, and circled my wings around me, “I am wearing clothes. This is what they gave me.”

He nodded. He was one to talk. He wasn’t even wearing a shirt.

“Why do you have wings?” He asked.

“Why do you have a metal arm?” I countered.

“I don’t remember,” His brow furrowed deeper this time.

“I don’t either.”

He looked up at me, his eyes wide. He opened his mouth like he was going to speak, closed it, and then asked, “Have you been to the chair?”

“They big metal one?”

He nodded.

“Yeah,” I nodded back, “That’s the first thing I remember.”

He seemed to be getting more nervous as the minutes went on. I could see sweat glistening on his brow and he kept wringing his hands, getting gradually more intense.

“I don’t think, I d-don’t think I’m supposed to talk about it,” He glanced around the room nervously.

I was worried that he was going to lash out, and despite my curiosity of my fate, which seemed to be heading where he was now, I didn’t ask, “It’s ok. You don’t have to tell me.”

He was shuddering.

I made a movement forward and he flinched, just like I had when he moved earlier. He wasn’t used to kindness either.

He looked me up and down, and something changed in his countenance, “You’re shivering.”

I had been, the whole time, and try as I might I couldn’t stop it, “You aren’t cold?”

He shrugged his shoulders and continued to stare at me. I pulled my wings tighter around me, it didn’t do much. My feathers had gotten messy with their lack of regular care, which I presumed I would have done before.  His gaze made me nervous, but not as nervous as when he crawled towards me on the mattress and knelt in front of me.

I held my breath, “What…?”

“I can hold you,” He muttered.

“Um…” I glanced at him nervously.

“So you don’t get as cold.”

I nodded.

He pushed some of the chains out of the way, and I edged towards him. He was awkward, unsure of what to do but he eventually wrapped his arms around me and pulled me flush with his chest, which was weird. Our legs kind of naturally tangled together. I covered our bodies with my free wing.

“Thank you,” I whispered. His body ran considerably warmer than mine, and my shivering had abated somewhat.

His body relaxed at the sound of my voice, “It’s good to know that I am still capable of it.”

“Of what?”

“Kindness,” He said simply.

[spacesuitsforemergency]

Oops!...I Did It Again

Word Count: 1.8k

Requested by @must-be-ryan: Oneshot idea (maybe?): Music Meister learning he has a kid in their early teens who just discovered their powers and followed in his footsteps

A/N: I tweaked it slightly so that he already knew his daughter. And btw her powers are so that she can speak and people will do as she says. Singing too, but just talking will do the trick. Also I’m literally the dumbest person on earth, I kept misspelling ‘sandwich’. I wrote this while listening to the High School Musical soundtracks

Music Meister Tagging: @silverdecepticon93

“Dad!” You shout in panic. “Help me!”

You watch as your dad comes barreling down the grand staircase of the mansion (which he had used his powers to “buy”), nearly slipping on the marble floors. It was way more hilarious because he was still in his pajamas, and had shaving cream on half his face.

He looks around the foyer, expecting to see danger, but everything looks normal. The only thing that tipped him off was his daughter standing in the front doorway, and the mail man was passed out on the porch.

“What happened?” He asked, joining you in the doorway and peering down at the dude.

“I don’t know! The guy told me to have a nice day, I said ‘drop dead’ and he just fell!” You gesture down to the man you potentially just killed.

“First of all, when someone says ‘have a nice day’, the proper response is ‘you too’.” Your dad corrects. “Second of all, is he actually dead?”

“I don’t know! Why do you think I yelled for help?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

Dennis reaches down and finds the mail mans pulse, sighing in relief when there is indeed one.

“He’s not dead...” he stands back up. “How did you do that?”

“What part of ‘I don’t know’ do you not understand?” You cross your arms, frustrated because you’re freaking out and he’s not helping so far.

“Is that sass, Missy?” He puts a hand on his hip.

“Dad! You’re not helping!”

“Okay, okay!” He nods, racking his brain for ideas. Then it hits him. “Oh my god, my darling! You must have developed your powers!”

“What? I thought you said I was too old to get them anymore?” You ask as he wraps you in a bear hug, picking you up and twirling.

“Well I guess that was one of the rare moments I was wrong!” He cheers joyfully as he sets you down. “Okay, tell me to do something.”

“Uh...make me a sandwich?” You shrug.

Nothing happens.

“Try to add a little...emotion. Show me some urgency!” He snaps his fingers. “Give me some pizzazz!”

“Make me a sandwich!” You yell at him, making sure to pour out your frustration.

He suddenly looses emotion in his face, and at first you’re kind of freaked out. Then he robotically moves to the kitchen, opening the fridge and cupboards as he gathers sandwich ingredients. You watch with your jaw dropped as he actually makes you a sandwich, and he blinks as soon as it’s finished. He looks around in confusion, staring at the sandwich in his hands.

“Why am I making a sandwich?” He asked after a minute.

“Holy shit! I did it!” You shout in glee.

“I have taught you better manners than that, but holy shit indeed!” He mirrors your excitement as he runs back over to you. “My baby girl is all grown up!”

“Now, what do we do about the mail man?” You point to him.

“Hm. I’ll take care of this. You go eat, you need some energy for the day we’re going to have!” He grins.

“What are we doing?” You ask.

“My dear, darling daughter, we are celebrating!” He sang. “I’ve been waiting for this day for 15 years! You are getting proper attire for villainy, and we are planning your first heist tonight!”

“Aw! Dad!” You groan in disgust when he kissed you on top of the head, his shaving cream getting in your hair. “Thanks a lot! Now I have to wash my hair again!”

•

“So what color scheme are we going for?” Your dad asks.

“I am not wearing your hideous green and purple.” You mumble as you stare at the stuff he already picked out in resentment. You were currently in some department store, picking out your new villain fit with your dad.

The past couple hours were almost torture, your dad just wouldn’t stop fawning over you. He was so excited and proud though, you couldn’t even get angry at the guy. He was thrilled to begin passing the torch down to you, and both of you were eager to get started.

“Um, I think you mean the gorgeous combination of lime and violet?” He scoffs, clearly offended. “It is one of the only things me and my dear friend Edward can agree on.”

“Well you and your dear friend Edward are wrong.” You shake your head.

“Y/N, it is not rocket science. Just pick something. We still need to give you a name.” He shoved the rack of clothing at you.

“Oh, I picked that out when I was 9.” You say, finally actually looking through the clothes, despite already knowing you wouldn’t like any of it.

Even after your father gave you the news that you would most likely not develop powers since you had passed the age he had received them, you still wanted them. You wanted to become just like your dad, he was your idol. You of course would never tell him that, his ego was way too big already.

“You...you did?” His voice cracks, a smile making its way to his face as he tears up.

“Are we really getting sappy right now?” You sigh.

“No!” He quickly wiped his tears. “No, of course not. What is it, dear? Tell me.”

“Siren. Hypnotic powers through voice? What do you think?” You grin.

“It’s fitting, dramatic, mysterious, threatening. I love it!” He hugs you for about the millionth time today. “Honey you have no idea how happy I am to hear that!”

“Hear what?” You wheeze from the tight hug.

“To hear that you picked out a name! To hear that you’ve wanted this for so long!” He finally let’s go to let you breathe properly. “Now, Siren, have you choosen your attire?”

“Yeah yeah. I hate it though.” You say sarcastically, pretending to be disgusted by the color combo.

You stuff the clothes into your bag, both of you getting ready to slip past the workers. You hear someone clear your throat behind you, and see Karen the Manager. The worst villain of all.

“I’m calling security. Don’t think I didn’t see that.” She sniped at you, sneering at the both of you before saying into her com; “We got a couple of lowlifes trying to smuggle some merchandise.”

“Lowlifes, Karen?” You glare at her. “You can just drop dead, lady!”

Then she falls to the ground.

“Oops, I did it again.” You wince.

“Lesson Number 1, you have got to stop saying that to people.” Your father shakes his head at you. “Not to worry! But we should get out of here before-“

“Hey! Stop right there!” A mall security guard shouts from the entrance of the store.

“Dad, what do we do?” You ask, panicked at this point.

“This is perfect practice! Siren, if you will.” He gestures to the guards coming for the both of you.

“What?!” Your eyes widen.

“Go on!” He nudges you, like a mother bird kicking its hatchling out of the nest. “Lesson Number 2, come up with it on the spot!”

“Stop!” You shout at the guards, and they freeze. “Okay uh...let us go. This never happened.”

“This never happened.” The 3 men nod, still frozen.

You and your dad creep past them, then book it out of the department store. You race down the hallways of the mall, shoving people out of your way. More mall cops pursue you as you dash towards the doors.

“Get the car! I’m right behind you!” Your dad pushes you through the doors.

“But I can’t drive!” You protest as he tosses you the keys.

“Lesson Number 3, go with the flow, my dear!” He grins before turning to deal with the guards.

You reluctantly rush to the car, not really sure how to even start it. You quickly figure it out, then drive to the entrance. Your dad sprints out a moment later, practically falling into the car.

“Step on it!” He screeches as police cars pull up from behind you.

You speed forward, barreling down the road. Your dad grabs the wheel to help guide you, while also looking back every so often to watch the police cars in pursuit.

“This is a lot of trouble for the ugliest outfit ever!” You yell in alarm as you nearly rear end someone, but your dad quickly swerves.

“It’s for the drama, darling!” Your dad beams, turning the radio on. “Plus the publicity!”

“Ew, this song is awful.” You scrunch your nose when he doesn’t change the station.

“I’m a little busy at the moment!” He yells, taking out his music staff and shooting music beams at the police from the sunroof.

You finally lose the cops after awhile, your dad plopping back into the passenger seat. When you make it to your house you stumble out of the car, shaking from the adrenaline rush.

“I’d say that went pretty well for your first crime.” He says after a few moments of silence.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” You groan.

“Wasn’t that such a thrill?” He ignores you, strutting up to the door. “How do you feel?”

You respond by throwing up in the well trimmed bushes, Dennis cringing as his daughters’ retches. He inches towards you, awkwardly rubbing your back in a weak attempt to comfort you. When you finish he guides you inside and to the table, quickly grabbing you a glass of water.

“You’re okay right?” He asks, concerned. “I didn’t freak you out, did I? I’m a horrible father, I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. I’ve scarred you for life! I am a disgrace! An imbecile! Wretched! Diabolical! Heinous! Wick-!”

“Chillax, drama queen.” You giggle. “The only thing I’m scarred with is the fear of driving ever again.”

“So...you’re okay?” He asks timidly.

“Of course, that was awesome!” You grin. “Did you see me beat Karen? And the cops? And when I almost hit that one guy crossing the road but I didn’t? I just committed my first felony!”

“Hell yeah, you did!” He cheered, giving you the most over the top high five ever. “So I didn’t give my baby any emotional trauma?”

“No, dude! That was so cool! I’m so ready for the next heist!” You give him your best evil grin.

“Thank god, because I already got these custom made.” He pulls a case out of his pocket, opening it to reveal a pair of visors identical to his.

You smile up at him, and this time you initiated the hug. You thank him and kiss him on the cheek, before taking the visor and putting it on. You look in the reflection of the wall length window, then turn to your dad, who has a proud smile on his face.

“How do I look?” You ask.

“You look all grown up...” Dennis sniffles, tearing up once again.

“Dad!”

“I’m sorry! I promise I’ll stop crying one of these days!”

[meetthetank]

Cruciamen Chapter 4: Salt Statues

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Other Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata), Emil (NieR: Automata), Kainé (Nier) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, genre typical violence, On the Run, Monster of the Week, 9S is a half demon, 2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures, Fantasy Biology, A2 is Nonbinary Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104214/chapters/64353769

A2 comes to the realization that they hate sand. It’s gritty, nasty, it gets into their clothes every time the wind blows. The sun reflects off the dunes and into their eyes without fail, constantly blinding them. Most heinous of all the sand’s sins is the fact that it’s practically boiling in the midday sun and burning the bottom of their feet. For a brief moment, they consider wearing shoes of some kind. Instead they resolve to bitch at Kaine for sending them out here, looking for salt of all things, as part of their repayment.

The witch’s ability to mend A2’s injuries was far more than they had expected. Within a couple of days the wound left by Hegel’s energy blast had been reduced from a searing pain to a dull throb. All the bruises, cuts, and cracked bones they hadn’t known about were patched together with skilled, but brittle hands. When she wasn’t flying at A2 with two wicked swords, Kaine seemed like an unassuming old woman. Her hands shook when pouring tea; she couldn’t stand up for very long without complaining about her back. She would look out of the windows of her hut wistfully from time to time, her sunken purple eyes betraying an age beyond what her body could present.

That, and Kaine had all the ornery fury of an elder from back home. If “respect your elders” hadn’t been drilled into their being from the day they were born, A2 would have told the old witch to shove it. But A2 can’t in good conscience refuse someone far older than them, and someone who is giving them food, shelter, and medicine.

So they trudge through the scorching desert looking for ancient brickwork jutting out of the dunes. Kaine described these structures as easily spotted from a distance, the only splash of color for miles, but A2 has yet to see anything other than sand and sand.

Movement on a dune in the distance catches their attention. They instinctively reach for their sword’s hilt and crouch low to the ground. The heat of the sand burns their face and hands, but they grit their teeth and bear the pain to get the drop on whatever demon or predator could be lurking about in such an inhospitable place. They peek over the dune inch by inch, not wanting to make any sudden movements. Without any camouflage like foliage or rocks, their pinkish hair would attract the creature’s attention if they move too fast.

As their eyes adjust to the sunlight they can make out more than one humanoid figure, but just as their heart sinks they see at least three or four smaller ones stumbling through the sand to keep up with the rest of the group. Humans, a group of ten by their count, with what looks like everything they own strapped to their backs. Even the children carry heavy loads that make their legs buckle with each step. A woman catches one of the kids as they stumble down the dune and gives him a loving pat on the head before taking his hand in hers.

A2 debates on doing what they normally do when coming across rival vagrants, doing what earned them a bad reputation along their erratic path. It’s the kids in rags that gives them pause. Those children can’t be more than ten years old and they’re forced to suffer conditions like these.

So A2 lets them continue on. They have their own issues to deal with anyway.

With a frustrated sigh, A2 takes to the desert skies. They already did a sweep from the air before, but there isn’t any harm in trying again. Kaine won’t let them back into the hut if they don’t come back with her salt, after all.

Sure enough, the ruins they’re looking for were sitting right under their nose the whole time. Red brickwork like Kaine described juts out of the sand. It would be impossible to miss, that is, if A2 wasn’t stupid. They can’t believe they looked over the white spire of some kind of cathedral as many times as they did.

A2 lands on the ground next to the spire and the building it sits on, kicking up a cloud of sand with the beating of their wings. They screw their eyes shut and shake their head back and forth as they transform back to their human form to try and get the sand out of their eyes. When that doesn’t work they furiously rub their eyes with the back of their hand, and then their thumbs. That seems to do the trick, but they hiss when their eyes are still itchy. They huff quietly, resolving to blink the remaining particles away.

The ruins around them are unlike anything they’ve ever seen. Great walls of identical bricks emerge from the sand like the spines of a great beast submerged in the dunes. Spikes of rusted, corroded metals mark the remains of buildings that had their bricks striped away by sand and time. Whatever used to live here had a unique way of building. They were able to keep their buildings standing long after their people either died out or left the city to rot—though those people must not have been that amazing if they had all died anyway.

A2 rubs their face as they look around for… actually they don’t really know what they’re looking for. They’re supposed to be looking for salt, but where in this place would that be? All of the buildings that still have all four walls are filled with sand, or totally empty where parts are above ground. If they were going to have to dig for salt deposits, Kaine could have given them a damn shovel or something.

In the center of a cluster of ruins, a strange shape sticks out of the sand. It looks like a small pillar of marble, but that shouldn’t be possible considering how soft the rock is. The desert would have swallowed it long ago, but it stands in defiance of time or nature. A2 strides over to the little piece of marble to get a better look at it. As they close in, they see five appendages sticking out of the top. It looks like a hand reaching out for the sun, or cupping it in its hand. Maybe this was a statue of some kind?

They reach out and grab the statue’s hand, its sharp, crystalline edges digging into their palm. With a small tug the hand snaps of the arm. A2 staggers back, gasping and almost dropping the statue’s hand.

“What in the…”

A2 stares at the hand, at the desperate way its fingers curl into claws, at the subtle musculature in its palm and wrist, at the ripples on its fingertips…

“Th-... This is… “

With a dry gulp, they turn the hand over to look at where it broke off. Just as they dread, there’s bone, muscle, veins and tendons. The same thing is inside the remaining arm. A clean, but geometric break across the crystal faultlines, with minute anatomical detail rendered in salt. A2 even sees the marrow running through the center of the two arm bones. Their hands shake, barely able to place the piece of salt into the roughspun bag Kaine had loaned them.

They dig through the sand, uncovering more and more of the statue. The arm connects to a shoulder, the shoulder to a neck, and the neck to a twisted screaming face. Whoever this used to be was now a moment in time, frozen in the throes of pain and terror. The realization of what was happening is clear on the poor soul’s face as they reach for the heavens for help that will never come.

A2 takes a piece of the statue’s arm and its head, stuffing them both unceremoniously into the sack.

The contents of A2’s bag are emptied out onto the wooden table as Kaine looks on with little interest.

“What the hell is this?” they ask with venom lingering behind their words.

“Salt,” Kaine responds as she picks up and examines the hand A2 brought back.

“I know it’s salt,” A2 snaps. “Why is it shaped like a person?”

“Because it used to be one.”

A2 knew the answer when they found the statue at first, but hearing Kaine say it with the same indifference that she’d use when identifying an herb unnerves them to the point of silence.

“Wh… How?! What the hell did you send me to dig up?!”

Kaine sighs, her shoulders sagging as she shuffles over to a cabinet and produces a small wooden hammer and a glass jar before sitting at the table across from A2. She picks up the salt hand and eyes it with disinterest before setting it down in front of her.

“... They’re leftovers from an event that nearly destroyed the world. The Great Dying.”

“What?!”

“A sickness tore through the ancient civilizations that existed thousands of years ago. It turned the people who were infected by it into salt piece by piece until their whole body was nothing but a white statue.”

“That… “ A2 can only stare at Kaine with their mouth agape. It is the one thing that they actually remember from their history education. They guess only the stories of great atrocities and mass death could capture the attention of the rambunctious cub that only wanted to play with wooden swords.

“Those salt deposits out in the desert are what's left of that disaster,” Kaine says,

“What the fuck could you possibly want with salt made from people?” There’s no malice in A2’s voice, just simple curiosity and confusion.

She shrugs. “It’s good quality salt.”

With the force A2 saw the day they met her, Kaine slams the hammer into the table, shattering the hand into dozens of shards. Again and again she crushes the salt down into a powder, then brushes it into the jar.

A2 grimaces, “Yeah, but… It’s… people.”

Again, Kaine shrugs. “It sells well. People around these parts have always used things like this. I remember there was a town that mummified corpses in honey, then sold the honey as a cure for all kinds of diseases.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. I’m fucking serious,” Kaine says with a barking laugh, “You’d be amazed what people think will cure shit like limp dick and cholera. I’m old, I’ve seen some shit.”

A2 laughs along with her, albeit with a twinge of hesitation. They’ve eaten a lot of things, but they’ve always steered clear of consuming human flesh. But this isn’t flesh anymore, it’s salt. And the human has been dead for thousands of years. So…

A2 stops thinking about it too much.

“So, you sell this stuff?” they ask, twisting a salinified chunk in their fingers.

“Yeah, but some of it I keep for other shit. Some potions and salves have to use this stuff specifically. Regular salt doesn’t cut it. That and it makes some damn fine cured meats.”

“You shouldn’t talk about the dead like that… “ Emil says, setting his long overcoat on a hook.

A2 doesn’t think they’ll ever get used to seeing his body covered head to toe in bandages like that, but at least this time they don’t gawk at him like a fish gasping for air.

Kaine scoffs, “What are they gonna do, salt me to death?”

“You should know better than to speak ill of the dead. It’s bad luck!” Emil huffs, putting his hands on his hip bones.

“Well I guess that explains my whole life then,” She mutters bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Silence passes between the three as what A2 brought back seems to fill the air with dread. Minutes tick by before Emil finally speaks.

“The Great Dying was horrible,” he says, his head hanging low. “One day everything was fine, but the next… It was like the whole world came crashing down in an instant. People tried to leave cities and towns to escape it but… You can’t outrun something like that.”

“You’re talking about it as if you were there,” A2 mutters.

He holds A2’s gaze with sad, lilac eyes. “People looked for something to blame. They hunted demons, dragons… each other. The Theocracy and their religion gained a lot of followers desperate for some sort of salvation or comfort.”

“That’s enough, Emil.” Kaine grunts and gathers up the chunks of salt. “What’s done is done. We can’t be burdened by the past our whole damn lives.”

A2’s chest tightens at those words, as if they were directed at them. Their eyes drift to their sword leaning against the wall and the black feather dangling from its hilt.

He’d be ashamed of them.

[xlady-saya]

I want this touch to be familiar [Ch. 3]

Relationships: andrew/neil, side aaron/katelyn

Summary: Deep down, Andrew knew he would always reach this crossroads, a time where the thought became too strong to ignore.

Going all the way with Neil. It’s not something he can continue to avoid thinking about. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil’s hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he’s forced to acknowledge how much he’s allowed.

Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.

But that’s not all there is to it, and the desire to make a decision finally makes itself known.

Tags: first time fic, p*rn with feelings, relationship study, fluff and communication, multichapter

Read on ao3!

They do in fact, kick Kevin out.

To say it's extremely satisfying is an understatement, and Andrew doesn't try to deny himself the feeling. In this case, it's deserved, and a long time coming.

Kevin's not happy about it, especially since they offer him no further explanation. They've never asked for privacy so explicitly; Andrew never realized it before, how they’re used to accommodating everyone else, used to waiting until Kevin and the Foxes aren’t around to have their time to themselves.

Rushed, heated, timed.

This had been different. This time Andrew let himself be greedy. Nicky at least reads the mood well enough to make himself scarce. Andrew doesn’t care about the teasing; he’s adamant about his reasons, the need to carve out time to navigate this new experience. Not only that...but something possessive and antsy fuels him in the moment. This is just for him and Neil.

He won't risk a walk in and a hasty cover up.

All Andrew has to do is drop Thea's name and threaten to do Neil in the locker room for Kevin to finally get the damn hint and fuck off.

Dealing with Kevin is familiar territory, even post their deal. It's nicer, letting him fend for himself while not cutting the relationship loose entirely, but Andrew's concept of friendship is one he's still exploring and definitely not something he needs to think about right now.

Right now...right now is not familiar territory.

He walks back to the bedroom as Kevin mutters about having to leave, out of Andrew's mind before he's even out of sight.

He's distracted, so focused, lost.

There are glimpses of the familiarity he craves though, remembered through his own fingertips and his memory. The promise of soft lips and scars that follow the curve of a runner's body, hips pressed down and warmth. Neil.

Neil, who is ready and fresh from an extra long shower.

As soon as he crosses into the bedroom, the presence is electric, Andrew almost thinks the static will shoot from his fingertips. He doesn't know how Neil ever survived on the run, how he ever blended in. His everything is loud. Before the slam of the front door even echoes through the dorm room, Andrew's eyes are on him. It would almost be amusing, seeing the little jump of Neil's shoulders at the intensity, if he wasn't so taken by the mere sight of him.

Of course he finds his gaze already returned by the striker, all fire and an almost beckoning quality.

Nicky would probably call the look 'fuck me eyes,' and for once Andrew is inclined to agree.

He intends to.

A shiver runs down his spine at the thought; he watches Neil bite his bottom lip, plush beneath his teeth, and Andrew licks his own from the muscle memory. He’s chased after those lips so many times…He wants to bite down, to claim them, as if he has to. Neil only ever looks at him, and the fantasy already begins to cloud Andrew's mind.

He’s it for Neil, Andrew’s brain tells him then, stroking the flame. His first. Andrew pushes that thought away, too optimistic, too ideal, and fiercely territorial. The thought he’ll have Neil forever…it’s too much to bring into the equation.

Especially when Neil won't stop rubbing his fucking thighs together.

The striker squirms in place on the bed, not subtle in the slightest as he checks Andrew out from head to toe. Neil lingers on the line of Andrew’s shoulders, swallowing a second after. Andrew revises; nothing about Neil is subtle these days, so he shouldn’t be this surprised.  That smart, short-tempered mouth and looks which attract the whole crowd at Eden's.

And yet, Neil never gave a damn about anyone else.

Right then, the reminder cracks the walls around him.

Because they both think about this. They both want. Neil doesn't try to hide from him.

Nerves, excitement, and all the things Andrew cannot express are reflected back at him with how Neil leans back without thinking about it, stretching out.

When Andrew huffs the ghost of a laugh, his walls beginning to crumble, Neil's eyes brighten in interest.

This is ridiculous. It's so ridiculous, because Neil should be the farthest thing from sexy right then. He's in his armbands and one of Andrew's old ratty shirts, the one he's told Neil time and time again to throw away but to no avail. The loose threads and dulled color bring Andrew back to a time where Neil only wore old, thrifted clothes. Too big around the shoulders, neckline distorted, but Neil clings to it for comfort, not necessity. Not because he has nothing else or has to conserve his money.

'It's yours,' had been Neil's only explanation.

And can Andrew talk, with the chain around his neck?

Neil's wearing those heinous cargo shorts Matt bought him, with only one sock on his foot. The fool would dress like this everyday, with no sense of matching or cohesiveness, if Andrew didn't pick his damn outfits.

There's nothing like what's in the movies; nice suits, tailored clothes, lingerie...

It's the farthest thing from a fantasy. But this Neil, in all his mundanity, is nothing short of a wet dream to Andrew. The other end of a leash. The striker must notice the change, the darkening of Andrew's eyes, and the small whimper goes straight to Andrew's cock.

Oh yes, the only problem with Neil's clothes is the fact they're still on.

As he slams the door to the bedroom shut, it finally hits Andrew what they're about to try. Of course, they've talked about it, planned it, he's known for days. Regardless, the air around him feels like glass, making it hard to move but easy to break if he tries. This tension...it's terrible and exhilarating all at once.

Neil knows just how to push him to get him moving; he stops squirming long enough to spread his legs, leaving the perfect slot for Andrew to fit, and that's when the glass shatters.

There's a lot in his head as he stalks towards Neil, throwing off his jacket in the process. Roland's advice exchanged over texts, his own research, and countless conversations. And yet above it all is just Neil, Neil, Neil.

Andrew doesn't have time to linger on how he doesn't even hesitate to pull off his shirt, to be so exposed in front of someone without a second thought. His armbands stay; he’s not quite sure he can handle that along with what they’re about to do. Neil's sharp intake of breath at the sight of his abs, his biceps, is enough to override any of that.

Neil surges up to meet him.

Andrew's hands fly to Neil's shoulders as their lips meet, like a punch of desperation. Neil, as always pushes back against Andrew, as if to challenge him. Andrew is almost positive he does it on purpose, just so Andrew will show his strength. He pushes Neil back down onto the bed, and Neil’s excited gasp proves him right. The urge to corral all the limitless energy buzzing beneath Neil's skin is so strong Andrew doesn’t know what to do about it. He wants to expend it all, make Neil boneless and sated.

He growls and nips Neil's bottom lip, boxing him in without pressing down. Where to start? He wants to do it all.

'Don't rush into it,' Roland's voice says, and Andrew fights the urge to kick it to the curb, to force it away with such viciousness it astounds him. He doesn't want to think about anything else, just this, just Neil moaning yes for things Andrew hasn't asked yet. He just wants to have.

Neil's groan is way too filthy for just a kiss and is not helping to make his self-control any easier. Andrew coaxes Neil's tongue out slowly in response, bringing their pace down if only slightly. Slow, patient. He knows the bartender was right, he can't rush this. He needs Neil to be relaxed, feeling good...

Andrew’s brain starts to fill with all the reminders, the advice.

His brain unhelpfully states that he should be feeling that way too, should be turned on, but rigidness begins to creep into his veins anyways. No, no. He can’t fixate on that. He forces it to the back of his mind, but he knows his body language betrays him. He keeps Neil's hands pinned to the mattress with one of his own, unable to handle the touch, and he holds the strikers jaw with the other. He forgot how this feels, the need to keep Neil restrained. It's been so long...

He licks into Neil's mouth to distract him, teasingly, like he's mapping it out. He can't deny it feels so warm, burning, the whine he rips from Neil's throat for his actions. The sloppiest of kisses, just because he can, just because it makes Neil's hips twitch.

Yes, get worked up for me.

This is what needs to happen, but...

Next. Next, next--

The rustle of the condoms he laid out on the bed calls his attention, so does the new bottle next to them. Research...foreplay, slow, steady, now?

He gets lost in the kiss, but his actions lose their sense of purpose. Stalling. He pins Neil's tongue down, tries to draw out those delicious sounds so they drown out his erratic heartbeat, his thoughts.

"Andrew..."

The sound of Neil's voice is muffled, like it's underwater. Oh, this is definitely unfamiliar. Neil’s voice has never failed to be a lighthouse in the stormy bay.

He's not hard, he realizes. Andrew's not hard. Even with Neil nearly rutting against him, taken apart by just a kiss...he's...

The arousal surges only to be snuffed out by his own distraction each time, his own fixation on how he needs this to go down. Minimal damage.

But if it doesn't feel good...

It should, because it's Neil. With Neil, it's never supposed to be about a checklist.

It's just--

Andrew freezes when Neil's hands tremble beneath his, a weak, almost questioning attempt to pull free. He pulls back, staring down at Neil's eyes, already clouded and drowsy with how Andrew makes him feel.

Andrew pauses a moment, considering before he lets Neil free. Neil’s slow about it, sliding his hands out from under Andrew’s, feeling the calloused skin like it’s all he wants. Andrew lets him look his fill. The trust is no longer the issue.

And god, Neil is so damn nosy about everything. In how he tracks Andrew's face, searching again and finding...something. Neil turns his head into his shoulder, suppressing a grin.

Andrew nearly scowls. What are you smiling about?

If he's being honest, trying to get into Neil's head is one of the biggest challenges there is in his life, and it's self-created. He need only ask to receive, but Neil also doesn’t leave him waiting.

Neil's hands move purposefully, where Andrew can see and track them. They still just above Andrew's shoulders, and with a whispered ‘yes’ from Andrew’s lips, they slide down, rubbing tantalizing circles along his muscles.

He jolts from it, and Neil’s smile brightens.

Andrew’s one giant knot of tension; he hadn't even realized it, but then Neil starts undoing the chords. Andrew allows himself a slow exhale, and Neil swipes his tongue over the column of his throat. Andrew's cock twitches in interest for the first time, and Neil’s lips curve against his skin.

Someone with a penchant for starting fights should not have this calming effect.

One of Neil's hands comes to tangle in the silver chain around Andrew's neck, pulling him closer. Tease, a menace even.

Andrew is completely entranced.

Neil nips the underside of his chin before pulling back, not breaking eye contact as he hooks two fingers into his own waistband. Andrew's breathing stops, and Neil strips off his shorts and underwear in one alluring movement. Neil's not a master at seduction, he simply knows what gets under Andrew's skin.

Those damn legs.

“Hm?” Neil hums as his knee lightly brushes against Andrew's groin, pausing to apply pressure, and oh...Neil should not be so good at this.

It leaves Andrew feeling a little conflicted; where did Neil learn this?

Once, while wiping Andrew's cum from the corner of his lips, Neil had simply said 'My mind might not be the fastest learner, but the rest of me is.'

This whole thing applies. If Neil senses Andrew's nerves, he seldom comments on it, but he never hesitates to start trying to help.

'Help' even when it's him being a shit.

"Come here." Neil's words are not a soft encouragement, nor are they a command. It's like it's a fact, a prophecy, like there isn't another direction Andrew can possibly go. Andrew glares at him, thinks about defying him just because, but the rigidness from before is almost gone. There's a tightness in his abdomen, a heat. Arousal, not wariness.

Also, Neil is very naked from the waist down, and very willing.

So Andrew lets himself be led back up, standing at the side of the bed while Neil gets comfortable, situating his face right in front of Andrew's fly. He tries not to let his interest show too much, but he guesses he fails when Neil smirks up at him. With practiced movements, Neil makes sure Andrew gives him a ‘yes’ before hastily undoing his belt and pants, the hunger in his eyes nearly too much. He pulls Andrew's half-hard cock out, shoving his pants down enough to bite at the V of Andrew's hips.

Andrew grunts at the feeling of Neil's breath against him, the striker’s hand wrapping firmly around his cock and spitting on it to slick it up. Andrew's hand finds Neil's hair automatically, like he's used to doing when Neil goes to suck him off. Neil loves the encouragement, writhes from it.

When Neil hands him the bottle of lube, Andrew gets it.

The position, the request...

Andrew yanks at the underside of Neil's knee, spreading his legs and bringing him closer, the perfect angle for--

"Neil," Andrew warns as Neil starts to stroke him slow, paying way too close attention to how his cock begins to swell. Andrew's voice fills with the strain to keep down a groan.

Fast learner. Right.

With a hum, Neil guides Andrew's hand, the one holding the bottle, in between his thighs. The implication is clear, and Neil’s skin is still warm and flushed from when he probably cleaned himself.

Andrew digs his hand into Neil’s hair at the thought.

"We're sharing, remember?" Neil says, almost innocently, like he's not asking Andrew to finger him open for the first time while he drools all over his dick. Andrew won't mistake this for something else, he knows it's nothing short of consideration for him.

Andrew wants to snap that Neil doesn't need to do this, doesn't need to try and distract Andrew from the whirlwind in his head. He doesn't need help, to get him out of his weird fog so he can actually get it up--

Neil swipes his tongue over the head of Andrew's cock and his breathing stutters, cutting off all thought for a blissful second.

"I want to do this how we always do it," Neil says then, eyes dangerous as he watches precum bead on the tip, evidence of Andrew's desire. There’s a seriousness locked underneath his tone. "I want you to feel good."

How we always do it...

He isn’t wrong; there's an edge to Neil's statement, a reinforcement. This is still us. No expectations, no pressure, only...

Andrew sets the bottle down so he can squeeze the flesh of Neil's thigh, soaking in the gasp he gets for it. He tugs Neil's head up to kiss him, deep and promising, before letting him get back to what he's good at. Using his mouth.

Andrew swallows, forcing down the unnecessary noise. He rids himself of the unessentials, the countless hours of research and text conversations with Roland, clinging to what he needs and not what overwhelms. He brings himself back to the basics therapy taught him. Breathing, grounding himself.

That's all he can do. He of all people, should've known there's no exact formula for this.

It's still us.

Us.

And that...that is one of four truths. Another deep breath, and Andrew embraces their first attempt.

"Tell me if it hurts," Andrew says, demands as he massages Neil's knee, watching his cock leak all over the bed. His hand glides up, grazing Neil's balls and teasing the sensitive skin.

Neil nods, so needy, and flicks his tongue out again over Andrew's shaft. Neil always does this, and it's so annoying because Andrew can't help but be so smug about it. Neil will stroke Andrew's cock leisurely for a few seconds, watching it grow until it's heavy and thick in his hand.

Trembling, Andrew uncaps the bottle and smears some lube on his fingers, letting some drip onto Neil's inner thighs just because. "Junkie."

Neil doesn't apologize for making him wait. "I like watching," he says, almost hazy. "I like knowing I can get you this excited."

Andrew has Neil lift his leg, positioning him so he can rub his fingers over Neil's entrance. There's a moment where Neil tenses from the feeling, but then he's relaxed again, focused on Andrew.

He never stopped to think Neil attending to Andrew's needs would also help to relax him.

"I hate you," Andrew says, so resigned, and Neil's smile is smug as can be.

He gives a squeeze to the base of Andrew's cock, pressing the head to his cheek. "I think this means you like me."

Andrew burns the image into his head.

"There are better uses for your mouth," Andrew snaps, but Neil is already swallowing him whole, hollowing out his cheeks so his cock can sit heavy and warm in his mouth. Neil's eyes flutter shut, freezing in place for an agonizing second, and Andrew guesses he's not the only one who savors these things. He feels Neil swallow around him, and petulantly holds in his moan. Neil’s eyes flutter open to glare playfully before he’s moving, steady and easy, in retaliation. The feeling is enough to pull grunts out of Andrew, and he feels his stomach jump from the slide of Neil’s mouth, but not enough to make him come too fast.

Neil's hand rests against Andrew's stomach, feeling every twitch.

Andrew tugs Neil's shirt up as far as he can, the scars grounding him. He needs something else to focus on, not to get out of his own head this time, but just to stop himself from thrusting into Neil's mouth.

The idiot is already prone to making himself choke from his own enthusiasm, he doesn't need Andrew helping.

With that in mind, Andrew digs deep for the gentlest touch he can manage, and presses his finger into Neil. It's not something he's ever been good at, softness; he's a rock. Firm, rough, but something to keep Neil safe. His hands are deadly and harsh, but for this...

He tries.

His finger pushes inside slowly, thumb pressed against the underside of Neil's balls to give him some relief. He feels Neil jolt from the foreignness, but he doesn't push away. No grimace, no fear. Andrew wonders what it feels like...

A dark part of him whispers that he should know, but rationale sets in. No, he wouldn't. Not this, not something wanted and craved. Neil gasps with Andrew's cock still in his mouth, hand shaky where he strokes what his mouth can't reach. And Andrew...Andrew didn't think about this part.

Andrew isn't prepared, could've never been prepared for how warm Neil is. He sighs as he pushes in and out slowly, the slick sounds barely audible over the sounds from Neil's throat. Neil's messy when it comes to these things, and his fist is wet where it pumps Andrew. That, together with the loud swallows, is deafening.

And of course, Neil is so impatient. Andrew takes his sweet time for them both, since at this point he has to squeeze the base of his cock to keep from getting too close to the edge. The thought of his cock replacing his finger, squeezed so tight...

Neil's hips start to roll back, not familiar or sure of the touch, but more comfortable with it. And hellbent on provoking Andrew further, even if involuntarily.

He pushes Neil's damp bangs away from his hair, a silent warning to slow it down, and thankfully the striker does. He takes his mouth away, but keeps his hand stroking agonizingly slow. Andrew tears his gaze away from the line of spit connected to Neil’s mouth.

Can’t lose focus, but Neil’s always made that hard.

Andrew takes another deep breath before he pushes in another finger, and the pattern repeats. He waits for Neil's hips to start chasing the sensation, and then he stretches him, letting him feel the ghost of the real thing. He watches Neil's brow furrow, little whimpers starting to leave his mouth, unsure. They increase in volume as his hips thrust back a little more eagerly, legs trembling, choked gasps a little too close to Andrew’s name. The confusion in his eyes blends so brilliantly with the arousal.

For a moment, Andrew wonders if Neil is uncomfortable, but then the puzzle pieces line up. It doesn't take Andrew long to realize what it is. Neil feels good, likes this, and that it hasn't quite sunk in for him that he does.

Oh Neil, a fast learner huh?

Something primal stirs in Andrew's chest at knowing Neil loves being fingered open, legs spread and thighs sticky. This just means Andrew can take him apart this way now, can learn how to do it best so Neil’s eyes roll back. They won't always need to go all the way, he can do this simply because Neil will come completely undone from it. Fingering Neil against a wall, stretching him until he comes...

He maybe jumps ahead too fast. Andrew adds another digit quickly, roughly, and Neil yelps. The sound quickly dissolves into a whine and a shiver, and Andrew freezes.

As if he can't believe the feeling, Neil presses his hand against his own abdomen, feeling it jump.

"O-Oh," Neil hiccups, and Andrew refuses to move. He hates it, but despite his consideration for Neil, his mind is fogged because...

Shit, Neil feels so tight.

"Okay?" Andrew asks, and when did his voice get so low? It's throaty, drenched in barely held restraint, and Neil shivers from it.

"Y-yeah," Neil says with a nod and a ghost of a laugh. Stupid, so stupid-- "It's different but..."

Neil blinks, lost, staring at some faraway place Andrew can't reach.

Neil cannot leave him hanging like this right now. Not when Andrew is two seconds away from putting an end to it.

"Neil."

The harshness makes the striker groan, hiding his face in a rare show of embarrassment. "I'm okay. Just...your fingers...fuck Andrew, you're going to be inside me."

Andrew leans down and kisses him hard; he just needs it, needs to communicate some of the tumultuousness going on inside of him. It never gets easier, having his feelings mirrored so easily. How the hell does Neil know how he feels without realizing?

His fantasies, his desires…

Shared.

Neil, never knowing when he shut up, whispers into the kiss. "It feels so good..."

The excitement shows; Neil's legs try to lift where Andrew is keeping them apart. Briefly, he imagines smearing his come over Neil's thighs, since the striker tends to rub them together when he's excited, like he's trying to do now.

Andrew gives Neil something then, his noises, the groans he normally keeps back, if only to make Neil keen. He always did like making Andrew lose control.

"Feel good?" Andrew says, almost mocking, and decides to finally pull something else from the necessary information he kept at the front of his mind.

He hooks his fingers inside Neil, searching for the angle until--

"Holy fuck," Neil yells, with no regard for anyone who might be through the walls. That's alright; the mouthiness was never a turn off. Neil gives a full body spasm, shock and disbelief at war on his face. His jaw hangs open, and Neil brings his hand up to press the back of it to his mouth.

So reactive.

Andrew nearly smirks as he leans in; well, that wasn't so hard to find.

"Feel that?" He asks, watching Neil fist the sheets with his other hand.

The striker swallows, panting hard. "W-what--"

"Now, now," Andrew sighs, not covering up his amusement very well. "Pay attention this time."

He presses his fingers into the spot again, and Neil's back arches beautifully. Runners...Andrew guesses they're not so bad.

"Fuck--fuck yes," Neil cries out, chest heaving. It almost compels him to do it again, but with Neil so on edge, this will end before they can even try to go further. The desperation in Neil's eyes, the satisfaction, is enough to soothe some of the anxiety in the pit of Andrew's stomach.

"Do it again," Neil demands, nearly pleads, trying to roll his hips to do it himself.

It takes all of Andrew’s self-control to not obey, which is terrifying. No one tells Andrew what to do, he hates to give in, but with Neil like this it's like a siren song.

Yet, he manages. "No."

He squeezes the base of his cock again, still leaking from Neil's earlier attention.

If I watch you react like that I'll come.

As if realizing the same thing, Neil petulantly leans forward to tongue at Andrew's cock, and Andrew pulls him back by the hair.

Neil, the idiot, pushes against the hold teasingly, riling them both up.

“Antsy,” Andrew scoffs, as if part of him doesn’t burn because of it.

Andrew uses the distraction to scissor his fingers one last time inside Neil, careful to avoid his prostate. Neil winces at the stretch and Andrew waits, lets Neil adjust, and between the sounds of their heaving breaths he allows himself to give some more.

"So warm," he sighs, actually sighs, and Neil’s answering groan is too debauched, his cock twitching from the praise. Andrew files that away for later.

He’s been filing a lot of things away for later, good things.

"Yeah?" Neil challenges, because it's what he does. "Then c'mon."

And right now...a 'no' would be a lie. Andrew pulls his fingers out, and joins Neil on the bed with shaky limbs, grabbing Neil's hips to turn him over so his ass is in the air.

It's the first time Neil resists him. The striker fights the manhandling, keeping his eyes on Andrew's face. "Andrew, I want--"

"Neil--"

"But--"

"It'll hurt less this way," Andrew says, with hardly any room for argument. It would make it easier, that's what Roland said, and Andrew made sure not to lose that in the minefield of information he took in. "It'll be more comfortable for you."

Neil stares at him for a good long minute, as if that'll do anything. He's familiar enough with Andrew's tones to know there's not really room for argument here. Andrew's about to say they don't have to if Neil doesn't want to, but then Neil sighs.

"Okay," he says, nodding. "I want to see your face next time though."

The promise of next time is too much to think about right then, made worse by Neil's next request. "Kiss me?"

Like of all things, that's too much to ask. Like Andrew doesn't seal everything between them with a kiss and a firm touch. Andrew leans forward, surprisingly slow, and catches Neil's lips softly. Steadying, deep, while he grabs a handful of Neil’s ass.

Neil shivers when he pulls away, turning around and pressing his head into the mattress. He's a sight, one Andrew will never let anyone else see. Before he was comfortable enough to be this open with Neil, Andrew would never let himself admire, labeling the urge as a waste of time. Now, Andrew runs his hand over the slope of Neil's ass, thumbing the ghosts of scars and faded burns. All he sees is strong legs, and Neil's leaking cock hanging between them.

All for Andrew, only for Andrew.

With shaking fingertips Andrew coats himself in a little too much lube before lining himself up, pressing his forehead against Neil's spine.

This is it, now, next, this moment--

The dark cloud, the one which sits in the back of his head, kept mostly at bay this whole time, creeps forward...

Andrew doesn't sense it, can't think. His mind is a vault locked beneath an ocean, and he never knows how far the tide will come up to trap him further.

"I'm going to push in," he breathes into Neil's skin, as if Neil can't feel the head of his cock rubbing against his entrance, promising. Then, in a moment of remarkable rawness, Andrew doesn’t hold back what he’s thinking. "I'm going to feel all of you."

It should feel like a release, cathartic. Andrew should’ve known to pause right then, because it doesn’t. It sounds an awful lot like he's trying to convince one of them. Neil moans, doesn’t sense it, and spreads his legs further.

Andrew can't see his face but--

His vision sways, and he realizes he didn't get a verbal yes, nevermind that he doesn't always need them anymore.

He leans back, he can see the body in front of him, the headboard. He pushes the tip of his cock inside, and the heat is overwhelming, squeezing him so hard he winces.

So tight, it can't possibly feel good for Neil, it's like he's forcing his way inside and--

He sees hands fly up to scrape at the headboard, and imagines they're held there, unable to move, unable to break away, to get free.

He can't hear Neil's voice, can't see his face, can't tell.

Andrew's entire body goes rigid, and the choked noise which escapes him disgusts him beyond all belief. He moves away like he's been struck, violent and cornered on the other side of the bed.

No. No, no, no.

Neil moves into action surprisingly fast, but doesn't try to follow Andrew. He knows better. As soon as Andrew sees the ring of blue, he feels slightly better, but still far too exposed. Neil yanks the nearest blanket over Andrew, covering him before pulling down his shirt and wrapping the sheet around his waist.

Andrew wonders if that's a good thing for his mind right then. He needs to see. He searches Neil for injuries, bores his gaze into him until he finds evidence of pain or distrust. He needs to look closer, to make sure, but if he touches Neil he'll make it worse.

He’ll make all this worse.

Yet, there’s nothing on Neil but the marks of the past, not all of them bad. Andrew eyes where the faded hickies meet crisscrossing scars. He keeps staring, navigating from afar, and finds nothing of what he's expecting. There's only concern in Neil's gaze, and an adamance which keeps Andrew focused on the present.

Neil’s feet dig into the bed, keeping himself in check even though Andrew knows he’d rather be looking Andrew over too.

"Andrew," Neil says, a little loud, because he knows if Andrew is somewhere other than the present he often needs to be jolted back to reality. "Andrew it's me."

But well, Neil would be wrong.

That's the problem. It's you.

It was Neil, underneath him, it was Neil who filled the role of someone so vulnerable.

Andrew takes a slow gulp of air, and he doesn't try to soften his words. There's no way to, right then.

"I know," Andrew says, unbelievably loud in the space. Cold. And oh, he does not like this at all. The slow realization, the understanding of what happened.

Neil's chest is still heaving, and Andrew's mind begins to clear. Neil looks the farthest from scared, he was feeling good, the haze in his eyes very much there. Craving, waiting for Andrew to give him something he ultimately could not.

And isn't that rich?

Andrew, despite knowing there would most likely be setbacks, who should've seen this coming, doesn't know what to do with this. Disappointment is an old emotion he has not felt in so long, ugly and worse than any good or anxious feeling he's begun to experience more.

It's full body, and makes him want to rip his hair out. They’d been so close.

He's aware he has nothing to feel guilty for, or upset by. Calling this a mess-up is not accurate, and it would be idiotic to do so. And yet, he...

Neil’s breathing stutters when Andrew looks away from him, like he misses it already.

Andrew does too, and he’s got no fight in him left to pick that apart. He just gives in and slides his gaze back to his boyfriend, the word coming easy to him for once.

Neil opens his mouth then closes it, thinking better of it. The coldness in Andrew's eyes is directed inward, wholly at himself. But Neil sees it all, the anger and frustration, and knows it's not time for this discussion. Even when it's clear he's in the dark, doesn't know what caused it, can't get past the wall blocking Andrew's mind, he knows when a boundary needs to be enforced.

They'll talk, soon, but Andrew can't now.

He hates that he can't, that's it's not his fault he can't.

Robbed of control, always.

He fists his hands in the blankets, stretching the fabric, as if he can mimic the feeling anyways. Neil's back hits the headboard softly, letting the quiet settle between them and makes no move to break it. Those bright blue eyes drift between Andrew and the bathroom door, as if debating on leaving, giving Andrew space. There’s not an ounce of disappointment on Neil’s face.

And shit, the itch to leave is rampant. He knows Neil wouldn't mind, but Andrew does. He doesn't want to leave Neil like this, not after something so intense for them both, so new, but he needs to be alone in his own head. That's out of his control too.

But some things have changed, some things he still has the strength to challenge.

He turns towards the wall, where he can focus on the cracks and faded wallpaper instead of Neil's warm body and concern, and lies down rigidly. This isn't tension Neil will be able to rid him of, but it's okay. Andrew doesn't expect him to.

Instead, he puts his back to Neil, a small acquiescence, a show of trust. Andrew never sleeps with his face to the wall.

Andrew hopes Neil takes the gesture as 'stay, be here.'

Andrew will only be able to do this if Neil brackets him off, closed to the world.

There's a long pause of debate while Neil tenses, and Andrew closes his eyes. He’s exhausted suddenly. He wouldn't be offended if Neil left, he tells himself, but his pulse spikes in relief when he feels the mattress shift with Neil's weight as he lies down, leaving space between them.

Traitorous heart.

And through all the slog in his head, Andrew can't help but think the gaze on the back of his neck is the closest thing to comfort.

--

Later that night, Andrew breathes in smoke on the rooftop. He comes here more for tradition now than anything; the fear of falling is still there, but he doesn't need it to jumpstart his emotions like he used to.

There are easier ways to do it now, and he hears a foolproof method open the door behind him. Andrew doesn't flinch when Neil walks up, his head mostly cleared of its earlier fog, leaving behind annoyance and frustration.

He didn't give permission for those to remain either, but here they are. He knows it's mostly resolved, if he can call it that, because the sight of Neil makes his chest feel warm instead of worried.

It’s also unsettling, but not something he's actively trying to be rid of. Warmth, comfort. He’s too tired to lash out. Andrew quirks a brow as Neil stands there, messing with the edge of his sleeves.

Andrew's jacket.

It's then Andrew realizes the one he's wearing must be Neil's, grabbed without a second thought after it was his turn to shower. Routine; Andrew can’t remember the last time he wore his own jacket, except for when Neil asked him to.

So it would smell like him again.

With a sigh, Andrew flicks his cigarette off the side of the building, not watching it fall to its demise. Neil is much more interesting.

The striker takes a hesitant step forward, a silent question, and Andrew can’t stand him.

"Come here," Andrew mimics, a callback to earlier, and the relief on Neil's face is almost annoying. The grin which breaks out on his face is a wave, threatening to drown Andrew as Neil plops down at his side. He leaves a bit of distance, just in case, but Andrew closes it until Neil is flush against him.

It has an instantaneous result; the rest of the tension in both their bodies floods out, and Andrew thinks with some bemusement if Neil were a cat, he'd be purring.

This is familiar, but Andrew has no place for regret in regards to the new things that happened earlier. He thinks it through slowly again, for the tenth time that day, carving around the ugliness. He'd felt good, before it happened. Exhilarating, on fire. Neil, coming apart beneath him. Those are not things he'd ever take back. Neil bites his lip, and Andrew really wishes he'd stop, since it's starting to trigger a Pavlovian response. "We...don't have to talk about it," Neil says, unsure of himself.

Again, he's mistaken.

"Yes we do," Andrew mutters, because it's not what he'd like to do per say, but...

They're sharing, he figures this is kind of part of it. Talking about these things is a little easier, if not akin to pulling teeth. It was like that before too...but now, it's like he's finally being allowed anesthesia.

Neil sighs, like he knew it all along, and nods with a sheepish smile. He keeps shifting too much, torn between wanting to soak up all of Andrew's warmth and see his face at the same time.

"What happened?" Neil asks, never one to beat around the bush once the direction is clear.

Andrew's finger drums on his knee, wishing he hadn't thrown out his cigarette. How to say it...he doesn't have the patience or care to tailor it. "Seeing you like that, for a moment I thought I was hurting you."

That's the basics of it, he thinks. The memories had blurred together, conjuring up the past instead of forcing Andrew back into it. Neil in his place, hands on a headboard, trying to get away...

Neil hums beside him, considering it. Andrew notes how he doesn't refute the reason, doesn't try to remind Andrew that he specifically told the blond to not worry about hurting him. Things are seldom so simple, and the war torn canvas of Andrew's mind can't always be wiped clean with a single statement.

"Because of the position?" Neil asks a beat later, tilting his head, and Andrew suppresses his anger. So much for that position being best, of course it would come back to bite him.

"I couldn't see your face, couldn't tell," Andrew agrees without actually doing so. "I just saw your hands scrape the bed frame."

It had been enough. Nothing more to it.

Neil nods, breathing deep. Like he’s soaking up Andrew’s presence. Once, Andrew snapped at him to stop, like if he did it too much Andrew would wither into nothing. Now, it just offers infuriating stability.

"I would've told you as soon as something was off," Neil states, and it's reassurance, not exasperation or something condescending. In fact, Neil almost looks guilty. "I should've kn--"

Andrew's head whips to face him, tone harsh, so Neil doesn't finish the thought. "No, you couldn't have known. I didn't even know. Stop it."

It's not your fault.

Trial and error, they know the position doesn't work now, at least not at the moment. That's all there is to it, no point in lingering.

Andrew feels it so strongly it threatens to break him in two. If Neil doesn't get that idea out of his head, Andrew might just kill him for real.

Neil's protests die, which is a feat only Andrew has mastered. Making Neil shut up is not straightforward. The striker kicks his legs out in front of him, tapping the edges of his shoes together.

It's not cute.

"Mm," Neil hums, nodding. "We'll just have to try again then, if you want to..."

The smile fades for a moment, and Neil's shoulders tense, fearing he's jumped the gun too soon. Neil has such an idiotic way of putting things, blunt and now without the lies, it makes relief battle with frustration inside Andrew. Of course Neil would worry about this, that Andrew wouldn't want him.

After all that, as if it's even possible for Andrew to not want Neil.

"Don't ask stupid questions," he grits out predictably, overcome with the gravity of this, of how talking to Neil can feel like a warm mug of hot chocolate on a bad night.

Neil's smirk is small, not as powerful as usual, but still there enough to set Andrew on edge. "You want me then?"

Andrew can't do this. If he had the energy to roll his eyes, he would.

He leans back, staring up at the starless sky, a black void. He imagines the lights of Eden's flashing while the heavy bass bounces off the walls. "Every inch of you."

In a random act of therapy application, he brings the past up on purpose, if only to see the way Neil's eyes widen.

There, maybe that'll shut you up.

It's wishful thinking.

"Andrew..." Neil whispers, following him to the dusty floor. Neil's eyes are brighter in the dark, Andrew thinks; it's like they glow.

It pulls the last of his thoughts out of him.

"I don't know how many times I'll get it wrong," Andrew says, surprising even himself. Already, the words feel like vomit, leaving a bad aftertaste. It was a bad way to phrase it, even he knows, but he has to make Neil aware.

This could happen again.

He remembers Neil's excitement, the yearning, the abrupt cutoff of all of it.

Neil is entirely unfazed by the gloom, swatting away the veil over Andrew's mind.

Literally. Neil brings his hand up in front of Andrew’s face, waving.

Andrew really can’t do this.

"And?" Neil asks, blinking stupidly. He looks almost...amused. "Andrew there's no three strikes policy, we can try as many times as we need to."

Do not use sports references when it comes to our sex life.

Andrew shoves him, and the tightness in his chest fades away with the normalcy of it all. Neil doesn't mind, doesn't care. Andrew should've seen that coming too. "Was that a vague baseball reference? From you?"

Neil grimaces, offended. The scars under his eyes scrunch up, and Andrew digs his thumb into one.

"Shut up," Neil grumbles, burying his forehead in Andrew's shoulder.

"I'll tell Kevin you betrayed him."

Neil snorts. "I don't think he'll appreciate the context."

No, he most certainly would not. Like Andrew cares.

He scoffs, but soaks in the feeling of their usual banter, of the weight of the day bleeding out from them both.

And then Neil, in all his devastation, has to hit Andrew one more time.

"There's no getting it wrong," the striker says a moment later, head popping back up so his chin is resting on Andrew. His hair is a goddamn mess. "It always feels good, when we lose control."

Andrew doesn't refute the always for that statement.

His breathing catches, his fingers tangling in the mess of Neil's hair, and kisses him.

He lets his mind flood with the better images, of fingering Neil open, Neil's mouth on him, the moans, the touch...

"Next time," he breathes against Neil's cheek, letting his lips feel the roughness of his scars.

Neil nods, chasing Andrew's lips like he's insatiable. He is. Andrew slows him with a hand to the chest, licking into Neil's mouth teasingly. "Did it feel good?"

He wants to hear it again, he needs to know, to reinforce it.

Neil laughs into the kiss. "It felt incredible, fuck...your hands Andrew," he breathes, letting his own be guided up to Andrew's hair. With the permission clear, he tugs on the loose hairs of Andrew's nape, massaging.

And there's no rush in this, they won't be taking it any further, but they don't need to.

Yes, yes, it all must be one big dream, this life he lives with Neil. But instead of pushing it away before it can end, Andrew has decided to indulge as long as he can.

"Tell me," he says into the skin of Neil's neck, doing what he didn't have the time to before. Marking, savoring.

Neil laughs breathily, and has the audacity to point at the next spot on his neck, tapping it in a silent request for Andrew to plant one on him.

Fine then.

"It's like you're so confident," Neil rambles, unashamed as always. Andrew rolls them over so he's on top of Neil, not for the security, but just because he knows Neil likes to feel cocooned, safe. He gets to work on the spot, swirling his tongue against it. "Like taking me apart is your only goal. I was thinking if that felt so good...how would your cock feel--"

Andrew bites down hard, and Neil yelps.

Well, someone walking by definitely heard that.

Neil is right though; it is Andrew's only goal, ripping sounds out of Neil's throat and bringing him to his knees. He likes when Neil thrashes, wants more, pleads without words.

"I'd slide right in," Andrew states, like one of his facts, a promise. It makes his own head spin. He knows he would, when he can, it'll be..."When I do fuck you, I'm going to make sure it's all you can think about."

That way, they'll be in the same boat.

The smile Neil gives him is mischievous and way too proud. "Already there," he gloats, rubbing at the sore spot on his neck. He looks far too pleased about the growing bruise. "What about you?"

Andrew's about to go for the other side of Neil's neck when the question halts him. He lifts his head back up, gaze questioning.

Neil's eyes get impossibly brighter. "What felt good Andrew?"

And in an instant, Andrew understands. Neil's eyes are lidded, staring up at him expectantly. There can be no dwelling on what went wrong, only what went right.

Neil invites him to write over the past.

Andrew leans down, closes his eyes, and his forehead meets Neil's. He hopes no one ever sees them like this, it's all Andrew's, all of it.

"You took me so easy," Andrew says, and Neil tenses on instinct, as if remembering it too. Oh yes, Andrew intends to explore that, thoroughly. "You were so damn loud."

Neil doesn't point out how he's usually loud, and therefore Andrew is confessing to having a thing for his voice. They can both infer enough to see through it.

So instead, Neil leans up to slot their lips together firmly, the promise of 'next time' searing the deal into place. "Bet you I can be louder."

And Neil, with all his infuriating seduction, is a challenge Andrew can never back down from.

[darlingpetao3]

The Man From S.T.A.R. (Labs) (Harry Wells x Reader)

Rating: T

Summary: During an undercover mission at a masquerade, you and Harry must extract information from a major criminal. But never would you have expected that you and your partner would grow closer from the operation.

Tag List: @blogforhoes

~

You’re not sure why Harry gets to change into his party outfit in the S.T.A.R. Labs van while you’re left to change into yours in your car. There is not enough room in here to maneuver around.

There’s a voice in your ear - your comms.

“There’s an alley just around the corner, (Y/N),” Caitlin informs you. “When you’re ready, we’ll kick Harry out to join you.” Something in her tone tells you that she’s enjoying this situation. A little too much, possibly. Everyone on Team Flash seems to think that you and Harry are perfect for each other when really all you do bicker and there’s always this weird tension between you that always goes unmentioned.

So, of course the Team would take any opportunity to send you out on a mission - a critical undercover mission - with the resident grump, Harry Wells. Normally, they wouldn't send him out in the field with something like this, but it’s not like you call the shots here. And he did offer to go with you in the first place.

He better not mess this up.

On the way to the alley next to the building, you fasten the lace and jewelled black mask around your face with its ribbon. Tonight, you’re attending a masquerade, and though you’ll be undercover and it’ll make it easier to walk around virtually unknown, it will also prove a little more challenging to locate your target — one of Central City’s underground weapon smugglers, if not the wickedest.

Luckily, all you have to do is gather intel on the guy, which is where your special metahuman ability comes into play…

You hear a series of mumblings under his breath before he even rounds the corner. What he’s saying is unclear, but you gather Harry is not happy about being paired with you tonight either. But soon enough, the man in question comes to stand directly in front of you, almost as if he’s been nailed to the concrete under his feet.

“(Y/L/N)?”

You see in the orange alleyway light that he’s wearing an all-black three-piece suit with a matching black mask clinging to his face. Harry looks like he’s never looked before, and frankly, you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Harry,” you greet him, impressed, “you look so different.”

“And you,” he gestures to your black off-the-shoulder bodycon dress with a heart-shaped neckline. “You look… very different.”

After a brief awkward and silent pause of semi-secretly admiring one another, there’s a sound in your ear of a throat clearing.

“Are you two gonna get a move on or what?” Cisco ushers you from the confines of the van. “Chop, chop! We got a kingpin to spy on!”

You place a hand to your comms, “Yeah, yeah, we’re going.” At first, you and Harry walk together, side by side, towards the gala’s entrance, but by the time you reach the doors, you think it would probably be best to take his arm.

You are supposed to be each other’s dates, after all.

“What are you doing?” Harry whispers to you.

“I’m taking your arm, what does it look like?” you respond. “We should probably at least appear as if we like each other.”

The older man simply makes a grunt. Typical.

The pair of you casually make your way inside and walk around the room alert for the man you’ve been briefed about. Eventually, Harry nudges your shoulder with his.

“Kingpin at your seven.”

Pretending to admire the hanging chandeliers above the crowd, you turn almost a full one-eighty. That’s when you spot him.

The kingpin is considerably tall, possibly taller than Harry, but it’s still unclear from this standpoint. Slicked back hair, a near-constant frown hidden behind his own mask, and a thick gold ring with a unique insignia on his finger - it’s him alright.

“Here, take my waist,” you instruct your partner.

“What? Why?”

“Because we’re going to dance, genius.”

You place Harry’s hand on your waist for him and take his other hand and begin to dance to the orchestra playing a waltz. There’s something about the beautiful music and Harry’s tall, poised, and well-dressed frame that momentarily makes you forget the entire reason you’re here. And when you do remember, you wish you could forget that and just enjoy the dance with him.

“Am I not supposed to lead?” Harry asks you with the tiniest hint of a smirk.

“Yes, but you’re not leading me in the right direction.” For good measure, you motion your head towards the kingpin standing at the edge of the dancefloor talking with who you assume are his associates.

In a series of breathtakingly graceful spins, Harry dances you nearer to the target. The closer you get, the easier it is to pick up on the conversation. Your ears work almost like that of a radio trying to find the right frequency, but it never takes this long for it to kick in full force.

“There’s something wrong,” you whisper to Harry.

“In what way?”

“My powers. They’re not working. It’s choppy.” You subtly press a finger to your comms again. “Caitlin? Cisco? Barry?” you try, only to receive static in return. “Nothing. I think something is jamming my abilities and the transmission signal. We need to get closer to him.”

And like the genius Harry is, he purposefully lets go of you in a twirl-gone-awry, causing you to “accidentally” knock into the scariest man in Central City.

“Oh, I am so sorry, Sir,” you apologize to the man, and feel like you should already be presented with an Academy Award. “My date is a bit too clumsy for his own good. Not much of a dancer.”

The kingpin, who was first startled, now looks pleasantly surprised at having you be the one to bump into him.

“I am the one who is sorry, Miss,” he replies with a creepy, crooked smile. “You shouldn’t have to be subjected to such terrible dancing on your date’s part.”

As you give an ego-boosting chuckle, Harry moves to your side.

“Evening,” he greets the kingpin.

“Good evening, Sir,” the man replies but turns his attention back to you. “Would you care for a proper dance, Miss? You might find I’m a step up from your partner, here.”

You suddenly feel like you’re sweating bullets. “It would be my pleasure.” Taking his hand is like taking a grenade. When will it go off? You must be careful. Harry’s eyes betray him as you walk past him - utter concern clearly visible. You try to wordlessly alert him to hit up the men the kingpin was talking to for information. It is uncertain whether he picked up on your expression, though.

The kingpin holds you, ready to dance, but you inwardly cringe at his touch, though never letting it show. A true professional in the field.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” you start and proceed to give him a fake name.

“Albert,” is all he says in reply.

“And what is it you do for work, Albert?”

He studies you hard with that dangerous gaze. You half wonder if you’ve just dug your own grave. This man could potentially have this ballroom surrounded. One look from him and Albert could have you pay dearly for a question like that. Maybe even pay by means of a bullet.

“I like to keep my endeavours private, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, you can trust me,” you attempt at sounding entirely innocent and not as if you’re digging for answers.

Albert stops the dance and leans in close.

“I. Don’t. Trust. Anyone.”

Just when you anticipate dying a painful death of being strangled, a familiar voice speaks up. “Excuse me.”

Harry stands at your side, his face entirely threatening towards the kingpin. He dares act this way in front of your target? Then again, thinking about the hints Harry has dropped every once and awhile with the Team, this may not be the first time the Earth-2 man has come face to face with other dangerous people and live to tell the tale.

“I’m stealing my date back,” he states. While part of your heart flutters at his suaveness, your brain shouts at him for interrupting your information extraction.

“What are you doing?” you ask after Albert briskly stalks away. “I almost had what we needed.”

“It doesn’t matter now. I bonded with the associates. I got what we needed,” Harry explains and begins a slow dance with you. “And I had to get you out of that.”

“The whole dancing with a mobster situation?”

“Yeah. I’d hate to subject you to dance with such a heinous person.”

Your palm runs up the back of his suit jacket, and cling to him, feeling now how scared you were moments ago. “I like you much better, anyway.”

Harry raises a questioning eyebrow.

“As a dance partner, I mean.”

“Mm, right. I like you too,” he says. “Also as a dance partner.”

Your laugh comes out as a scoff, and you look away. And maybe it’s your imagination, but could his hold on your waist have grown firmer?

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Is the mission over now? We have all we need, right?” You count exactly four seconds before he answers you.

“Yeah, it’s over. Shall we go then? Get the news to the Team?”

You nod, despite not necessarily wanting this dance to end with Harry. His hands drop from you, but offers his arm instead. You can see it now - the moment you exit the building, everything will go back to the way it was before. You and Harry will go back to your tension-filled bickering and you’ll go back to your stolen glances without acting upon anything.

Unless…

By the time you two reach the exit, you’ve gathered enough nerve to do something you’ve thought about doing for some time now. You stop, causing Harry to halt as well and pull him back behind a large manicured shrub. Before he can even pose the question forming on his tongue, you step on your toes to kiss him. What takes you even more by surprise is that he very readily kisses you back, turning the whole thing quickly into a hot and very welcome opened-mouthed make out.

Never would you have expected Harry Wells’ tongue to be in your mouth tonight, and yet, reality is a funny thing. You can’t help but make a pleased sound at feeling his lips on yours. He answers with a low sound from the back of his throat.

“Achoo!”

You break the kiss slowly, and frown. Harry replicates your expression. Neither of you had sneezed…

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.”

“Sorry, guys. Did we ruin… anything?”

Team Flash is back in your ear, clear as day, and leave you wondering how much they’ve heard. When had the transmission returned? Harry must hear them in his comms too because his face is slowly turning pink.

“How much did you hear?” you ask the van crew suspiciously.

“Hardly anything.” Cisco speaks, “No, I mean nothing.”

“We just tuned in,” Barry adds. “Hi, hello!”

“What’s the scoop? About the kingpin. Not you two. Obviously,” Caitlin rambles. You roll your eyes, and pull the device from your ear. Harry copies your actions, and kisses you once more.

And this time, it’s private.

~

Requested by @emilyfandoms: On a case, they have to go undercover. Usually, they wouldn't send Harry out but they thought it would be best for the reader and Harry to become closer since the tension is super noticeable between them. (Also the reader is a meta and mainly because they both like one another so the team tryna set them up. Maybe a little age gap up to you :> ). Well, So they dress up all nice and get ready for a masquerade type of party. They end up dancing and getting really close finally admitting their feelings for one another. Maybe a hot make out?

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

When You Least Expect It, Part Eleven

Jensen x Musician!Reader; Briana Buckmaster, Rob Benedict; Gen & Jared Padalecki (mentioned)

Masterlist - Contains Chapter Links & Wardrobe Collages

A/N: This is a slow burn fic that I have been working on for a while. Its a story I wrote for myself and just wanted to share with everyone. Yes, the “Dee” in the story is who you think, but there is no intended hate on her or their actual marriage. It is a work of fiction, that is all. Part eleven is from the Both POV. There is also a playlist to go along with the series.

A/N Pt. 2: This is a BIG chapter, guys. In length and in the story. This is probably a smidge past the halfway point and as such will serve as a little intermission while I pause to work on a few other things and get my challenge started. So, grab some snacks, get comfy and dive in!

A/N Pt. 3: Below is the link to the playlist. A song used in this chapter, “You’re The One That I Want” <--(youtube link here) is a cover by Alex & Sierra, and if you listen to it where it is within the fic, you’ll have a clearer vision of how it's being performed. 

Spotify Playlist: Songs in this chapter - “ You’re The One That I Want ”

I tell her all the time, but I’m beyond grateful for all the help @closetspngirl has given me with this whole thing and specifically this chapter. Check out the wardrobe she put together for the party! She’s the absolute bee's knees! 

Chapter Summary: The fall out from the break-in, followed by a tense argument with Jensen, causes Y/N to reach her breaking point. She finally comes to terms with what she wants and tries to find a way to convey this to Jensen.

Chapter Warnings: Language, arguing, angst, smut

WC: 14K **with lyrics. Lyrics NOT written by me in bold, italic.

*Banner created by me; pics & gifs found online.

Tags are open if you want on, or wanna hop off.

“I’m gonna be sick…” Y/N said as she tiptoed through the living room, trying to avoid the mess of broken glass and couch remnants strewn across the floor. She tried to wrap her head around what had transpired, but she could only stand there, blinking absently at what she was seeing.

The couch had been slashed and shredded, pieces of stuffing and swatches of cloth were everywhere. The glass from the coffee table had been broken into a thousand pieces, by what she had no idea. Red wine stained the floor throughout the room and looked as if it was even sprayed on the walls.

“Jesus,” Jensen whispered to himself as he approached the place where the glass balcony doors used to be. “Who the hell wanted to get in here so damn bad that they’d throw a brick through the fucking glass?”

“Sir, if you could just stay on this side of the room, we’re still collecting evidence,” one of the officers called out from the entryway. “You shouldn’t even be here yet.”

Jensen stepped back and took Y/N gently by the shoulders, trying to comfort her the best he could.

“Excuse me,” a new voice chimed in from behind, “you’re the homeowners?”

Jensen and Y/N turned around and was greeted by an older man in his mid-sixties, in a worn dark blue suit. “Yeah, she lives here,” Jensen answered for her and shook the man’s hand.

“I’m Detective Perkins, sorry to have to meet under these circumstances,” he said to Jensen, then looked to Y/N. “I’m sure this is quite upsetting, but if you could think of anyone who may want to scare you--”

“Why would you ask if someone was trying to scare her?” Jensen asked sharply. “It's a burglary, right?”

“Well, no. I don’t think so. Upon inspection of the premises, it appears all electronics and valuables are accounted for. Of course, we will need you to look through everything to see if something’s missing, but a preliminary walk through and assessment of the damage seems more like a scare tactic than an actual break-in.”

“The whole place is like this?” Y/N asked, her voice small and lost in the room.

“Yes, ma’am. I can take you upstairs if you want. If you’d like to gather some items--”

“Yes, please,” she said and exhaled shakily.

“Y/N, I can go up if you want. Why don’t you--”

“No, I have to go. But, please come with me,” she whispered in a broken, defeated tone.

“Of course, I wouldn’t let you go alone.” Jensen took her hand in his and squeezed it, then looked at the detective. “After you.”

When they reached the second floor, Detective Perkins opened her bedroom door. Y/N walked through first and was immediately hit by the strong fragrance of perfume; her own perfume, but far too concentrated. As she walked further into the room, she noticed the closet door was open, and the few clothes that were left hanging up in there were cut into pieces and tossed around the room. The comforter of the bed was wet with what she could only assume was the remnants of her favorite fragrance.

“What the fuck?” She heard Jensen say, and slowly turned around to look where he was looking.

Written across the mirror of her dresser, in dark red lipstick, was the word WHORE. Her throat went dry, and she could feel her body go cold. She now understood why the detective said what he did. This was meant to scare her, right out of Austin and back to New Jersey; back to Nate.

“This has to be Nathan,” she said and took a few steps closer, but stopped, afraid to actually be within reach of the heinous violation.

“Who’s Nathan? He got a last name?” Perkins asked abruptly.

“Fowler,” she said in a near whisper. “Nathan Fowler.”

Detective Perkins took out his little notebook and scribbled down the name before tucking it away and turning to Jensen. “Where were the two of you tonight?”

“All due respect, detective, can the questions wait until tomorrow? I would really like to get what we need and get her out of here.”

“I understand that, but the sooner we can--”

“That’s not mine,” Y/N said, not even hearing the conversation happening beside her. “That… that lipstick…” she pointed at the mirror.

“Ma’am?” Perkins asked.

“The lipstick used to write on the mirror,” she said again and this time took the few extra steps towards it but didn’t dare touch it. “If it was Nathan, he brought that in himself, because it's not mine. I would never wear that color.”

“But I know someone who would wear it,” Jensen mumbled and took a closer look himself. He sighed deeply and bit the inside of his lip to try and help contain some of the rage that had been building.

Y/N noticed the change in his demeanor when his body became more rigid. “What?”

“Dee,” Jensen said through gritted teeth. “I’d know that color anywhere.”

Y/N saw his hands clenching and felt the sudden need to get out of the house. The whole place felt ugly and violated. That, more than the damage that had been done, bothered her most of all.

“Jay, let’s just go. Let them figure out who it was. You don’t know…”

“My gut says it is.”

“No offense, Mr. Ackles, but we can’t arrest someone on your gut,” Perkins replied with an air of condensation. “Why don’t you gather what you need, check to see if there’s any jewelry missing or other valuables. Tomorrow, come on down to the station and you can answer some questions for me, alright?”

Y/N just nodded. Her eyes went back to the mirror and as she saw her reflection through the lipstick crusted words, she knew that regardless if it was Dee or Nathan, they weren’t going away.

“What I need?” she mumbled in a defeated whisper. “I don’t know what to take, I don’t really need anything much I guess,” she said quietly and motioned towards the suitcase that was still packed from various bouts of traveling. “I can just take that. But I’d like to go to the loft and get a few things.”

“Well, that may be a problem,” Perkins groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Come on, I’ll show ya.”

The loft was the worst of all the rooms; it had been completely trashed. Papers were torn and thrown around the room. Like the downstairs, the couch had been slashed, stuffing pulled and sprinkled around like soft puffs of snow. Mixed into the fabric batting were small, gray chunks of plastic. It took her a minute, but Y/N finally realized what she was seeing.

“That’s my laptop,” she said pointing to the fragments. “Motherfucker smashed my laptop, too.”

Now she really did feel sick. Y/N wavered on her feet for a moment but Jensen was there to steady her.

“All our work…” she breathed, a swell of nausea rooting in her gut. She shook her head slowly, then was hit by an ironic bout of laughter. “Boy is Robbie gonna give me a big ‘I told you so’.”

Jensen looked at her curiously. “Uh, why?”

“The cloud. He’s a lunatic about uploading everything to the cloud. So the important stuff is saved, but… All these papers will have to be reprinted. We have to--”

“That can wait,” Jensen interjected gently. “It’s not important right now, okay? Just grab whatever you came up here for, and let’s get out of the way so they can do what they need to.”

She walked further into the room and saw the broken picture frame peeking out from under a piece of the laptop’s keyboard. The frame had been destroyed, but the picture of her father was thankfully still intact. She carefully slid it from the broken glass and folded it before putting it in her back pocket.

Y/N continued to scan the room, then began to panic when she couldn’t find her guitar. She had left it against the wall earlier that morning but it wasn’t there now. Y/N walked towards the drum kit at the far end of the room and saw how someone beat on it relentlessly with something, and that’s when she knew…

“No…” she whispered, and despite being asked not to touch anything, she began to sift through the wreckage of the room. “No, no, no…” she just kept saying over and over as the white puffs of batting were floating through the air around her.

Jensen was by her side and trying to pull her up from doing so, but it was too late. Beneath the mess of debris, was the remnants of her guitar. Slowly she bent down and found the wooden neck of her old Gibson. She cradled it for a minute and ran her fingers along the fractured frets and curled strings. An ache began to grow in her chest, and Y/N sat back on the floor with a thud, not caring about what was beneath her. The splintered piece of guitar fell into her lap when she put her head in her hands, then began to cry. Her shoulders shook silently as the magnitude of what she’d just lost sunk in. Jensen sat beside her with his arms around her shoulders, letting her lean into his chest and just cry as he rocked her gently in an effort to give her comfort. He closed his eyes and rested his lips to her hair, kissing her head and desperately wishing he could somehow make this all better.

Detective Perkins allowed them a few minutes before he cleared his throat to try and get Jensen’s attention.

“Mr. Ackles…”

“Yeah,” he said, partially turning towards Perkins, and seeing the uniformed officers waiting to search the room. “One minute.”

Jensen turned back to Y/N and brushed away the hair that had obscured her face. “Hey, sweetheart…” he tone was gentle and soft. “...we have to go. They need to get in here, so they can figure out--”

“Nate. It had to be,” she said flatly, but when she looked up at him, her eyes were anything but. They were wet and vibrating with disgust, anger, and sadness. Jensen had never seen her this way, and the look she wore broke his heart and as he used the pad of his thumb to gently wipe away the tears that rested on her cheeks.

“We need to let them prove that, then. They can’t do that when we’re in the way.”

Jensen started to stand, and Y/N followed his lead without hesitation. “Anything besides the suitcase?” he asked. “What about Mama’s things?”

Y/N shook her head. “She’s staying at the Marriott. I told her to stay here, but she didn’t want to in case we wanted the place to ourselves.” Y/N snorted a laugh and smiled apologetically, despite still trembling from the emotion she just expelled.

Jensen shook his head with slight exasperation. “Well, bless her heart, she really is something.” He waited for Y/N to retrieve the piece of the guitar from the floor before he put his arm around her shoulder, turning her towards the door and away from the heartbreaking scene.

“Ma’am, you really can’t take that with you, its evidence,” one of the officers said and motioned towards the piece of the guitar in her hand.

Y/N froze and looked at the broken instrument in her hand. She took a moment to let her eyes glaze over it because she knew that leaving it here meant she would never see it again. A touch of Jensen’s hand on the upper part of her arm gave her the strength to set it down and lean it gently against the wall.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the officer said quietly when he saw the weight of sadness in her eyes.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Jensen said and lead her from the house.

Jensen lifted her suitcase into the back of his truck and climbed into the driver’s side. Y/N was already buckled in, her fingers absently toying with the pendant he bought her. They sat in silence for a moment just absorbing everything that had happened in the span of the last hour.

“My dad bought me that guitar,” she said once he was settled in the truck. “Found it in a pawn shop near the house when I was twelve. It was old and out of tune, but I loved it and nursed it back to health. Now it’s…” she trailed off with a delicate sigh, and shrugged one shoulder up enough to brush the fresh tears off her cheek. “Where am I gonna go, Jay?” she asked, her voice small and broken. “I can’t… I don’t wanna be here, even if it's clean--”

“You stay with me. End of story,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Jensen…”

“Don’t Jensen, me. You’re staying at my place and that’s that.” He was forceful but still gentle in his tone.

“And how’s that gonna work? You’re in Vancouver now. I’m just going to live at your place?”

“Y/N,” he started, “Let’s just start with tonight, okay? Let’s go back to my house, call Bri and Mama. Tell them what happened. Tomorrow we’ll go see Perkins and figure out things from there.”

“Okay,” she said, then looked out the window. The lights from the cop cars were still disturbing the otherwise peaceful neighborhood, and it brought on a different wave of sadness. She felt the sting of tears at her eyes again but didn’t bother wiping them away.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked softly as he started the ignition.

“I just hate that this is how I’ll remember this place now. I hate that my memories of it turned so ugly.”

“You really liked this place, huh?”

Y/N nodded. “It was home. I never expected it to really feel like mine, you know? It was just a place to live when I first came here. But, I don’t know… somewhere along the line, it became home.”

She looked away from the window and back at Jensen. Seeing him there made her feel a little better, but it wasn’t enough to shake the sense of being violated. Just like the morning, he took her to the airport, she slid across the seat and tucked herself into the crook of his arm. Y/N closed her eyes and from deep within his chest, she could hear Jensen’s heart beating, slow and rhythmic, helping her find some semblance of peace in an otherwise chaotic night. 

Y/N woke up and couldn’t remember where she was. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and felt like she was hungover, yet never had a drop of alcohol the night before. She slowly blinked and stretched her arms over her head and tried to remember where she was. The scent of Jensen was so strong around her, but when she sat up from the bed, he was nowhere to be seen, bringing on a bout of disappointment. Y/N looked around and tried to recall exactly how she got there, and when she saw her suitcase was there by the bathroom door, the rush of memories become clearer in her mind.

Jensen had brought her back to his house the night before, where they sat on his couch quietly for the longest time. She didn’t want to talk. He could sense that in her so he just let her rest against him, eventually turning on the television but not really watching anything. Y/N just stared blankly at the screen while he stroked her hair and made the occasional comment about what they were watching.

When she was finally tired enough to sleep, he insisted she take his bed. Y/N remembered crawling onto the King-sized mattress slowly, and letting herself sink into the pillows with heavy eyes. She felt Jensen lay beside her then drape his arm across her side, pulling her close, then holding her that way until she was asleep.

Y/N sat up all the way and enjoyed the quiet moment being in Jensen’s personal space. Even though he didn’t get to spend much time there, pieces of him were strewn about the room and for her, it was calming. She drew her legs up into her chest and wrapped her arms around them, then rested her chin on her knee. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly through puckered lips, while she kept telling herself, everything would be fine. She needed to be calm, she needed to feel in control, but most of all, she needed to shower. Though she doubted that would make her feel clean. This kind of grime couldn’t be washed away with soap and water.  

Eventually, she made herself get up, and open her suitcase to find something suitable to wear for the day. Y/N went into the bathroom that was right off the bedroom and saw the pile of fluffy towels he’d left for her.

Y/N shook her head and chuckled softly. “This guy. He’s too much.”

As she stood under the nearly scalding hot water, her mind drifted to the scene at her house. It was just a mess. No one had been hurt, and anything that had been broken was easily replaceable. Well, almost. She felt the sting of tears again and fought them back. Instead, she tried to focus on Jensen.

He wasn’t even supposed to be in town yesterday, she thought as she rinsed the shampoo from her hair and let the water cascade down her back. She felt lucky to have him, though there were still plenty of moments in any given day where she was still baffled about how she did have him in the first place.

Out of the shower, and dressed for the day, Y/N just finished running the brush through her hair when there was a soft knock at the door.

“Come in,” she called and waited for the door to open.

“Mornin’ Trix,” Jensen smiled softly, the crinkles deepening around his eyes. “Sleep alright?”

“Morning,” she said and placed the brush back in her suitcase. “Not bad I guess. Where did you sleep? You weren’t here when I woke up.”

“I, uh… I went downstairs and slept on the couch for a little while.”

“Why? You could have stayed, it’s your bed after all.”

“It’s fine,” he said, waving her off. “You hungry? I could make you some breakfast.”  

Y/N shook her head, and moved towards him, closing the gap between them. “I’m good for now. Maybe after the police station. I need to be there soon, right?”

“Yeah.” Jensen seemed nervous. His muscles were noticeably tense and it wasn’t like him to be in the room with her for more than a minute without reaching out for her, or touching her in some kind of way. She knew his signs and could see he wanted to say something, but either didn’t have the nerve, or was being cautious in starting the conversation.

“Something on your mind?” she asked and grabbed his crossed arms to pull him closer. He unfurled them and embraced her, as hers went and around his waist.

“There is, but it can wait until after. I wanted to make sure you were alright after everything last night.”

“I’m as good as I’m going to be for the moment. So, talk to me, what’s up?”

Jensen kissed her forehead and broke apart from her embrace. “I have to go back to Vancouver tonight. I’m sorry that I can’t stay--”

“It’s fine, Jay. Mama is in town for a couple more days. I can stay with her at the Marriott--”

“No. Hell no. You stay here,” he said pointedly. “You can stay here for as long as you want to.”

“I can’t do that,” she said and ran her fingers through her hair. “I can’t live with you, Jensen.”

“No, I mean, I’m barely here. When I go back tonight, I won’t be back until the morning of Jared’s party and that’s next week. Bri offered to come stay here with you, too.”

“You talked to Briana about it before me?”

“She called this morning while you were still sleeping. She asked where you were going to go.”

Y/N’s head was spinning and she didn’t want to talk about this at the moment. “I don’t know, okay? Can I just go to the police station and see what they say?”

“Yeah, but, I want you to know you can stay here. It would make me feel a hell of a lot better knowing you were here and safe than in a hotel somewhere.”

Y/N sighed and when she saw how deep the concern ran on his face, she felt this was a battle that just wasn’t worth fighting. “Just till Jared’s party. Then I will figure something else out.”

“WE will figure it out,” Jensen smiled.

“No… I will. I need to handle this on my own. Find a new place of my own. I can’t have you swoop in and fix it.”

“I just want to help you. You realize you don’t have to do it alone, right? I’m here, Y/N. For you… for whatever you need.”

“And I appreciate that,” she said. “But I need to be independent, I won’t ever put myself in a position where I am reliant on another person, again. Not when it comes to something this big.”

Jensen just stared at her, fighting the urge to turn the conversation a way it didn’t need to go. He could understand where she was coming from and didn’t want to belittle her need for self-reliance.

“Ok,” he agreed and decided he wouldn’t press the issue. “Whatever you wanna do. But, you’ll stay through the week, at least?”

“Yes, ‘til then. At least.”

“Ok good. Thank you. Oh, you know… after the weekend of Jare’s party, we leave for comic con. You should come.”

Y/N was in the middle of adjusting her layers of clothes and stopped mid-motion. “To San Diego?”

“Yeah, why not?”

She snorted a laugh and shook her head. “No thanks, I’m good.”

Jensen scrunched his face, slightly offended by her response. “No thanks? Why not?”

“There is so much to do, Jay. I can’t just up and go to San Diego. There are at least three separate meetings planned with the high school kids to work on the sets for the theater. Not to mention dealing with the carnage of the office.” She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes at the notion of the paperwork catch up she would have to do now. Everything had been organized in the office, and while it was backed up digitally, she needed to scour through everything with a fine-toothed comb.

“You can work from there. It will be fun! Come on, I promise--”

“No!” she snapped. “I… I don’t--I can’t go to San Diego, Jensen. Why are you pushing this so much?”

Jensen’s mouth pulled taught and he folded his arms again, while his tongue ran nervously across his bottom lip. “Because I don’t like the idea of you being here alone.”

“But, you literally just said--”

“Yeah, and Briana will be here, so you won’t be alone.”

Y/N sighed and rolled her eyes. “So now I can’t be alone? What the hell? Jay, this is crazy... why are you being pushy?”

“Crazy? You wanna talk crazy? Last night some lunatic threw a brick through your back door then proceeded to SLASH things all over the place. Slash! Y/N, with a fucking knife! What the hell would have happened if you were home? Hm? What the HELL would they have done to you?”

“The thought crossed my mind and its scary as hell to think about. But I wasn’t there, and I’m fine. I can’t live my life scared… not again,” she said as calmly as she could, but inside she felt anything but calm. Her mind flashed to how she lived after getting out of the hospital from when Nathan hit her. Y/N promised herself she would never live that way again.

“They could have hurt you... Raped you! Killed you! I don’t know! Then what would I have done?!” He had never raised his voice with her before and only did so now because he was scared. It was written through every line on his face, in every vein that pulsated with his blood. His jaw was clenched and his fists were methodically opening and closing as he tried to release some of the tension he felt.

Y/N was speechless. The fire in Jensen’s expression was new to her, and it caused her breath to catch in her chest.

“If you think for one damn second, that I’m going to risk the life of the woman I love just because you need to prove how independent you are--”

Y/N’s stomach dropped. “What the fuck did you just say?” she asked cautiously, the words nearly sticking in her throat.

Jensen was confused at first, unsure of what part she was referring too. But then his shoulders fell at the realization of what he said. He didn’t regret it, because it was true; he was in love with her. But this wasn’t how he wanted to say it, and by the expression she wore, he could see it wasn’t what she was hoping for, either. There was no going back now though, regardless of whether she wanted to hear it, or not.

“I said,” he took a couple steps closer to her. “I won’t risk your life, the woman I am in love with just so you can be stubborn and independent.”

Y/N took a step back from him, dazed by his admission. Suddenly she couldn’t look at him. A burning bout of rage erupted from her gut.

“Why would you say that, now? So, I would fall into your arms and do what you wanted?”

“What? No! I meant what I said, Y/N. I do, I love you! I certainly didn’t mean to just blurt it out, but I would never use it to manipulate you! You should know me better than that.”

“Honestly, I don’t know what I am thinking. My head is so turned around with everything that’s happened, Jensen. From meeting you to crisscrossing the country, to Nathan, to the break in, to… fucking… Dee and her God damned phone calls. I am exhausted! Mentally, physically, just exhausted! So, I’m sorry, if I misinterpreted your grand declaration, but fuck you very much for doing that right now!”

Y/N immediately regretted the harshness of her reaction. But it wasn’t something someone could take back so easily. The way Jensen’s expression fell broke her heart because the last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt him. She just wanted room to breathe, clear her head and try to comprehend the events of the last twenty-four hours.

The room grew completely silent as they stood there staring at each other. It was less than a minute, but that minute felt like forty years. Y/N closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, knowing this needed to be addressed, but she just couldn’t right then.

“Look, I need to clear my head and get some air. I’m going to head to the police station and get that over with. Can we talk when I get back?”

“Yeah, sure. Take the truck. Keys are on the kitchen counter,” he said quietly, his eyes staring straight ahead, unable to look at her as she walked past him.

“Thanks,” she rasped and headed towards the door to the room. She hesitated before walking through, wondering if she should stay and try to fix things. But with the way her head was buzzing and the anxiety churning in her gut, she thought it better to follow her instincts and just give them a bit of space. She wasn’t running away, just calling a timeout.

“I’ll call you and let you know what they say,” she said with a small sigh, hoping it would ease some of the tension she’d just caused.

“Good, thanks.” Jensen still didn’t turn around. He stood in the middle of the quiet room trying to wrap his head around what just happened. When he heard the front door close from below, and the familiar sound of his truck’s engine in the driveway, he finally turned and headed downstairs.

 Twenty minutes after Y/N left, Jensen was half lounging on his couch, one leg stretched out across the cushions, one hanging over the edge. His arm was covering his face with his eyes closed. He wasn’t sleeping but trying to rest his mind and hush the self-destructive line of thought that was giving him a headache. The soft knock at the door made him slowly stir from the couch. It stopped and started more than once by the time he got there to open.

“Alright, Jesus…” he grumbled and pulled the door open.

Briana’s smiling face greeted him along with a very bright sun. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” she sang and pushed her way in while holding a tray of disposable coffee cups, and a bag full of donuts. “I come bearing gifts. Where’s Y/N?”

Jensen closed the door behind her and helped to relieve her of the tray of coffee. He carried them into the kitchen with Briana following close behind.

“Uh, she left for the police station about a half hour ago,” he said, pulling a cup with his name on the side out and drinking it greedily. He sighed with relief as the heat of the coffee warmed his throat. “Thanks for the caffeine.”

“My pleasure,” Bri smiled, then immediately furrowed her brow. “Why are you here and not with her at the police station?”

Jensen snorted a laugh and tilted his head to the side slightly. “Long story.”

“I got time, coffee and donuts, Ackles. Spill it.”

Trying to ignore her, Jensen picked up the bag of donuts and peered inside. He could feel Briana’s eyes on him and realized there was no way she was going to stop asking. He rolled the bag back up and tossed it back to the counter.

“I had planned to go with her, but she wanted to go alone,” he sighed. It was the truth, sort of.

“Mhm, and?”

“And… what?”

“You could have insisted you go. This can’t be easy for her.”

“I pushed her enough this morning. I wasn’t going to do it again.”

“Pushed her how? What the hell happened?”

Jensen leaned back against the counter and took a drink from his cup. “We were talking about where she could go now. She doesn’t want to go back to the townhouse, and I don’t blame her. So I told her to stay here, what we talked about.”

“Right, makes sense. She didn’t go for it?”

“Not at first, but eventually she agreed to at least stay for the week, til I’m back again.”

“Alright, so what’s the problem then?”

“I tried to get her to go to San Diego. She doesn’t want to--”

“And you tried to push her to go?”

“Yeah. But… I got pissed, scared, is more like it. I can’t help but think about what could have happened to her, Bri. What if she had been home when that happened? I cannot get that out of my head. I could have lost her.”

“Did you tell her that?” Bri asked quietly.

Jensen nodded. “That and then some.”

“Explain, please.”

“In the midst of trying to make a point I blurted out that I was in love with her,” he said with a wince and watched Briana’s expression transform into a mix of surprise, excitement, and panic.

“Oh… Jensen… how--how did that go over? I thought you weren’t going to tell her yet!”

“Wasn’t on purpose, Bri. Trust me. And it did NOT go over well.”

“That’s why she went alone,” Bri mumbled in understanding. “That makes more sense now. What did she say?”

Jensen gave her a look that said, ‘please don’t make me answer that’, to which Bri understood perfectly and relented.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said and walked around the kitchen to give him a hug.

Jensen didn’t realize how much he needed one. He returned his friend’s hug, suddenly very glad she was there and forcing him to talk about it. When they pulled back from the embrace, Bri immediately balled up her fist and punched him in the arm.

“Ow! What the fuck, Bri!? What was that for?”

“For telling her you loved her in an argument, ya dumbass,” she snorted and shook her head. “You don’t do that! Especially not the first time you’re gonna tell a girl you love her!”

“I told you it wasn’t on purpose! You didn’t have to hit me, damn.”

“Well next time you need to stop and think before you speak. That girl has gotta be spiraling right now. She was already overwhelmed with work, it’s why me and Mama are even here. She needed help. Then, the break-in and now this. She’s on overload, Jensen.”

“Why didn’t she tell me she was that overwhelmed? I’ve told her--”

“Right, and she’s just as stubborn as you are! You were in Vancouver. She wasn’t going to interrupt your schedule there for help with traveling, paperwork, and setlists... backdrops, social media… you name it, she’s doing it. My point is, she was already on the edge of having a little breakdown, and maybe what you said just pushed her over.”

“That’s the last thing I wanted,” he said. “Why is it whenever you feel like things are good, something comes along and just kicks you right in the balls?”

“That’s life, my friend,” Bri mused. “I guess you can only thing you can really control is how you respond.” She shrugged and looked at him with a tilt of her head. “So, how you gonna respond to this one?”

Jensen gave her a deadpan stare and shook his head. “Do I look like I know what the hell I’m doing?”

Bri laughed. “Do any of us?” She pushed off the counter and stood directly in front of him, taking him by the upper parts of his arms, and forcing him to look into her eyes. “Please, do not let whatever she said to you this morning, derail the amazing potential you two have. You, my friend, have a girl that is head over heels crazy for you. She’s scared as hell that she’s going to lose herself in loving you.”

Bri let his arms go and gave him a warning look. “Now, I just violated best friend code to tell you that, as it came from a confidential conversation during a night of girl talk.” She wagged her finger in his face. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Jensen laughed and held up his pinky. “Pinky promise.”

“Atta boy,” Bri giggled and winked at him then hooked her pinky with his. “Look, I need to run, I promised Y/N I would take this morning’s appointment over at the community college with the theater director. But, you call me or have her call me, okay? I want to know what happened at the station and with this...” she made a swirling motion with her finger in his general direction.

Jensen chuckled. “I will. Thanks, Bri,” he said and hugged her again.

She left a quick peck on his cheek. “Love ya, buddy. Hang in there, okay? Things will be fine. I know it.” Bri grabbed her coffee from the counter and headed towards the front door. With one last wave, she was out the door and off to her appointment.

It was late afternoon by the time Y/N got back to Jensen’s. She found him in the bedroom, re-packing his suitcase for the trip back to Vancouver. He didn’t sense her at first, so she watched him neatly roll up his clothes and place them into the open luggage. By the look of his slumped shoulders and slow, methodical movements of folding and packing, it looked like he was going through the motions, but she could tell that he was doing so reluctantly.

She felt terrible about how they had left things that morning and thought about nothing else, aside from the break-in; and that had only been when she was sitting and discussing it with Detective Perkins earlier. Jensen had been nothing but good in her life, but his timing of feelings was just something she wasn’t ready for right then. Somehow she needed to tell him that she just wanted to, for now, pretend it didn’t happen and keep going on the path they had previously chosen.

“Hey,” she said and took a tentative step into the room. “Need some help?”

Jensen turned around, slightly startled by her entrance, but she felt a little relieved when he smiled upon he saw her.

“I’m just about done, but thanks,” he said and placed the last item in before flipping the lid closed, but not zipping it. “How’d it go?”

“Alright, I guess. They don’t know anything yet. Perkins mostly asked about Nathan. I imagine you’ll be getting a call soon. He mentioned wanting to talk to you, too.”

“Because I brought up Dee?”

Y/N nodded and took a few steps closer to him. “I told him you were leaving for work later tonight, but he said he would call soon.”

It was Jensen’s turn to nod. He drew a deep breath, ready to try and clear the air of awkwardness between them. But Y/N beat him to it.

“Jay, I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I know you wouldn’t actually say--you know--to purposely manipulate me. I’m sorry I even thought about it for a second.”

“It’s okay. And, I’m sorry for pushing you. I don’t have the right to tell you what to do.” He wanted to say more, but he could sense she just wanted to let it go for now. After what happened that morning, he was learning more about her boundaries and wouldn’t continue to test them.

“Can we just, rewind, start over for today? I know you have to leave tonight and I don’t want you to go with things weird between us.”

“Me either,” he said and reached out to take her hand. “Are you hungry? Did you eat?”

Y/N shook her head. “Haven’t had much of an appetite today. Did you?”

“Not yet. But, I did order a pizza earlier. Figured you’d be hungry when you got back.”

“And you got me a pizza?” she asked wistfully, looking up at him with wide, dreamy eyes. “You get me. You really get me.”

Jensen chuckled softly and pulled her in with ease. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, as she rested her head against his chest and hugged him around the waist.

“We ok?” he whispered into her hair.

“Yeah, Jay. We’re good.” Y/N felt his body sigh with relief, as she looked up at him. She stood up a little straighter and kissed his lips gently.

 The rest of the evening had been quiet. Y/N recanted her conversation with Detective Perkins, they discussed some festival business and just kept the conversation light and kept clear of anything regarding that morning. Hours later, after consuming the pizza and a half of a Netflix movie, Y/N had fallen asleep, with her head on his shoulder. Jensen dozed off a few times himself until around midnight when his phone vibrated alerting him that it was time to leave. Outside there would be a car waiting to bring him to the airport, and now, more than ever, he wished he didn’t have to go.

Jensen watched her sleeping for a moment and decided not to wake her. He got up cautiously, doing his best not to disturb her. When he was standing, he gently guided her to a more comfortable position on the couch and covered her with the blanket that rested along the back. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and scribbled a note for her. He folded it in half and left it on the coffee table where she could easily see it before he left.

Once he was sure she was still in a deep sleep, he knelt beside the couch and lightly brushed her hair from her face.

Jensen leaned forward and left a soft kiss on her temple. “I know you don’t wanna hear it right now Trix, but I do love you,” he whispered.

She didn’t stir. Jensen took one more long look at her, and tried to remember every little detail; the soft sound of her snoring, the way her hair spilled across the throw pillow, how the soft glow from the TV highlighted the contours of her face and neck. The corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile, and even though things weren’t perfect he knew that it didn’t matter because he loved her. For now, that was enough for him. His phone vibrated again, this time a text from the car service letting him now they were waiting out front. He glanced her way one last time and left the house quietly for the airport.

   A week later, and Y/N was already tired of Austin’s summer. The temperatures were reaching triple digits and the humidity could give Jersey’s mid-year season a run for its money. Bri had come to stay with her at Jensen’s house for a few days after he left, which was blessedly cool and equipped with a small swimming pool out back. Unfortunately, they spent most of the time running around Austin, going from one location to the next and dealing with coming and going in and out of the heat. The only thing that kept them going was knowing how much of an impact that what they were doing was going to make on the festival, and by extension, for the city itself.  It was exhausting, but between that and spending time with Mama while she was there, it was helping to keep her brain occupied and not think about the break-in.

The day before Jared’s party, Briana left to go meet some family who was visiting in Dallas. Promising she would be back in time for Jared’s party, Y/N said goodbye from the porch of Jensen’s house and watched her go. It wasn’t until she went back inside, closed and locked the door did she realize that she was alone again. At first, she tried to ignore the feeling that was tingling beneath her outward exterior. It was a barely there sensation, but enough to make her take notice.

She picked up the phone to call Jensen more than a few times, but after their argument about her being alone, the last thing she wanted to do was admit he was right.

Maybe going to San Diego isn’t the worst idea in the world… she thought as she mulled around the kitchen, trying to decide what she wanted to do. She didn’t want to eat, or watch TV; for the first time that week, she had no desire to go for a swim. If she was being honest with herself, she just wanted to be where Jensen was.

They hadn’t talked much that week. A call or text a day was all there had been time for. She tried not to think it was due to the way things had been their last day together. Jensen had left her a sweet note, and though she was sad he didn’t wake her, she understood why he didn’t. Now, he was due home by the next day for the party, and Y/N found herself just counting the hours.

Sleep found her eventually when she retreated to the guest room she’d been staying in and laid down with one of the books she found in the living room. Her slumber was broken and filled with dreams, but it helped the time pass as the moon set and sun rose on another bright, humid day. She had woken later than she wanted but took the time to throw on her slippers and go down to the kitchen to make coffee. Once it was done, she took it back upstairs with her, sipping it slowly as she went about getting her clothes ready for the day and preparing to take a quick shower.

Y/N had just stepped out of the shower and went back into the guest room to dress when she heard a soft knock at the door. It started to open as she spun around in surprise, and pulled her towel close against her.

“Hey, Y/N are you--” Jensen’s face came through the door. The instant he saw her in just a towel he froze.

The air in the room suddenly felt thick, making it hard to breathe. Jensen and Y/N locked eyes every so briefly before his gaze continued down the length of her body. Seeing her like that--skin still wet and glistening, and MORE of her than he’d seen before--especially after not seeing her for a week--left him reeling. Jensen felt more than just a twitch of arousal beneath his shorts, then quickly looked away, and apologized profusely.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize… I’ll go--let you change…” he stuttered and moved nervously out of the room, leaving Y/N to laugh.

“Just give me a minute,” she called out and tried to calm the rush of heat that flourished in her cheeks. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her heart racing from the momentary encounter. She figured it was just because he took her by surprise, but deep down she knew it was all because of how he looked at her. Somehow, she got herself together, got dressed and met him downstairs a few minutes later.

Y/N found Jensen in the kitchen, leaning on the island counter with his elbows, scrolling through his phone. When he saw her, he stood up straighter, a dream-like expression on his face, and a smile that brought out the crinkles around his eyes.

“I, uh, I’m sorry about that… I just… I figured you’d heard me come in, and…”

“It’s fine. No big deal,” she said, her heart still beating faster than normal. “What time do we have to leave?”

“Uh, now, actually. Just got a text from Bri, she’s running late and will meet everyone at the dock.”

“Dock?”

“Yeah, apparently Gen is having this luau in a private cove. She thought it would be fun to rent a big ole boat for everyone to get there.”

“Oh… and how are we getting back? Also boat?”

“No,” he chuckled, “she hired a car service or rentals, I don’t know… either way, there are cars there to take people from the cove to wherever they wanted to go. This way they can leave whenever they want.”

“Seems like she thought of everything,” Y/N said and moved further into the kitchen before leaving a canvas tote bag on the stool. “I grabbed a change of clothes, just in case.”

“Good thinking. I should too. Let me do that and we’ll go.”

She watched him run upstairs, taking them two by two and expelled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Things had been fine between them, and even after the unexpected encounter upstairs, something still felt off. Not terribly… but for the first time since, forever, he didn’t try to touch her in any way. She tried not to worry about it, but not all of her old self-destructive habits were gone. In the time between him going up and then coming back downstairs, she had herself convinced that he had finally lost interest.

“Ready?” he asked, slinging a Jansport over his shoulder.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, then grabbed her bag, forcing a smile and praying he didn’t see the fear on her face.

 As they pulled up to the dock, Y/N could immediately pick out their group ready to board when she spotted Jared towering over the lot of them. Jensen grabbed their bags from the bed of the truck and handed Y/N hers as they walked down the sidewalk towards the group. Once all the hugs and greetings were dispensed, everyone boarded and found a place to settle in for the two-hour ride to the cove.

The moment Robbie saw Y/N, he pounced on her. “My girl! You’re here and that makes me very happy. Missed you! Also, we really, really need to chat. Today might not be good, but what are your plans tomorrow?”

“If today goes as I imagine it will, my plans will be to nurse the hangover I assume I’ll have. Why? What’s up?”

Robbie pulled her down into the galley and away from the crowd. “What do you mean, what’s up? Um, you got your house broken into and the loft was destroyed. WE have too--”

“It's done, Robbie. I recovered everything from the cloud, got it reprinted, refiled and safely stored in Jensen’s office. Crisis averted.”

Rob’s face went from panic to pleasantly surprised in a matter of a second. “Well damn, girl. I guess, then, the only other thing we need to talk about is your music and which of it you want to sing on stage with us. I wrap in Vancouver soon, and I want to get the guys back down here so we can start working on a couple of those songs you got.”

Y/N’s heart sank; not because of what Rob said, but because it just reminded her, again, that she no longer had her guitar.

“Yeah, we’ll talk soon, Rob. Let’s get through today and we’ll chat. Cool?”

“Perfect,” he replied with an affirmative nod. He paused and took a closer look at her expression and could see the heavy emotion behind her faux smile. He sighed, and put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a friendly squeeze. “I’m so sorry about what happened to the townhouse. When Jensen told me, I--I just couldn’t--I mean, who…” he trailed off in a huff. “I just don’t get it.”

“Me either. But, cops are working on it,” she shrugged and then cleared her throat. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not think about it tonight.”

“Of course, I’m sorry, I should’ve--”

“Robert,” she snorted a laugh and shook her head, “it’s fine. Let’s go join the others, okay? I need to find Bri.”

Rob escorted Y/N back out onto the deck where the others were sitting around on the cushioned seats that lined the perimeter of the yacht. Gen and Jared were sitting with Jason and one of Gen’s friends, a few others were scattered around as well, while Jensen and Bri were sitting close to each other near the stern. They looked as if they were having an intense conversation, and Y/N felt unsure about approaching them. She didn’t want to intrude on whatever they were talking about, so once Robbie took his leave and went to join Gen and Jared, Y/N quietly slipped back down into the galley.

A burst of laughter came from the deck, drawing her attention towards the small steps that lead out. Bri was approaching her, a large, giddy grin drawing her full lips to stretch from ear to ear.

“Whatcha doin��� hiding in here, honey? Thought I saw you were heading over to join us.”

“Yeah, I was,” she started, then suddenly felt stupid for turning away from them. “I just figured I would use the bathroom real quick, then come out.”

Bri called her out on her blatant lie with one stern raise of her brow. “Really?” she asked, flatly.

From out on the deck, the sounds of a guitar could be heard playing, no doubt it was Robbie and Jensen messing around.

“I don’t know exactly what’s up with you, I mean, besides being freaked about the break-in and overloaded with work. But, if it’s what I think it is--”

“What do you think it is?” Y/N asked, cutting off her thought.

“I know what he said to you, Y/N. I came by that day after you left and we talked.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We just spent the week together!” Y/N huffed, mildly embarrassed that Briana knew and also a little annoyed that she wasn’t the one to tell her.

“Because you weren’t ready to talk about it or you would have brought it up. But as this little excursion goes on, I can see that you around him now, is weird. Look,” Bri took her arm and pulled her further into the room and away from the music. “He loves you. You need to tell him how you feel, or…”

“Or, what? He said he was okay with slow, he said--”

“Stop. Y/N, listen to me. Jensen would wait a million years for you to be ready. I’m sayin’ for YOUR sake… just tell the boy you love him already or you’re gonna drive yourself insane.”

Y/N swallowed Bri’s words down, right along with the lump in her throat. Once again, her friend hit the nail on the head. She needed to just shed the last of that force field that she was holding onto, and tell Jensen how she felt.

 Nearly two hours later, the yacht was positioning itself to dock at the cove. Waiting on the long wooden pier that jettisoned out from the sandy beach were four people, all decked out in leis, grass skirts, and Hawaiian shirts. Jared threw the lines for the boat as the captain parked her perfectly flush with the dock.

Y/N stayed seated as the others started to disembark. Robbie’s guitar was laying next to her, and knowing he wouldn’t mind, she picked it up and started to pick at the string. Without thinking about it, she was struck by that same tune she had been over the winter.

‘You’re the one that I want… oo oo oo, honey…’

The reverb from the guitar faded as she let her fingers fall from the strings and let her mind take her back to that morning on the beach. She had just met him, and even though he was still a stranger, sort of mysterious, he was still somehow, familiar. That song intruded on her thoughts then, too. He was, after all, the one that she wanted; deep down she knew that after he jumped into a cold ocean just to get her to say yes. She just needed to figure out a way to tell him so he knew that she really meant it. Y/N felt like she owed him that considering how his admission caused her to react.

“Y/N… hey!” Jensen called out. “You with us?”

She snapped back to reality and saw him standing in front of her; his hand outstretched to help her up.

“Yeah, sorry, got lost for a minute,” she took his hand and rose from the seat, still holding Robbie’s guitar.

“You can leave your bag on the boat, it will be here all night,” he said and then he looked at her curiously. She realized he saw that she wasn’t completely herself, but didn’t ask her about it. He didn’t have too, because he felt it too. Though they had been okay, that thing still hung over them, and both of them desperately wanted it to rectify it.

But how?

“Oh, great. Okay,” she smiled and with her hand still in his, followed him to disembark.

Genevieve Padalecki went all out for her husband’s birthday. Y/N wandered around in awe of everything she had arranged. The entire party was set up on a small, private cove about the size of a football field. There were several tiki bars across the area, a bonfire pit, volleyball net, a roped off swimming area, barrels scattered throughout the cove; some of which were filled with water guns, water balloons and some filled with ice and bottles of beer, water and soda.

“Nice, huh?” Jensen asked as he came up behind her. He placed his hand on the small of her back, and she jumped slightly at his touch. “Whoa! You alright? Did I scare you?”

“No,” she breathed and could feel her heart start pounding again. “Maybe. A little. It's fine, I was just distracted. And yeah, what Gen did here… holy shit.”

“You want a drink? Hungry?”

“No, I’m good. I think I might go swim. Wanna come?” she asked, hoping maybe that if they could go out in the water together, maybe she could say… something to make things more like they were before.”

Without warning, a splash of water hit Jensen’s back as Jared launched a water balloon at him. Y/N laughed as Jensen’s face went from shock, then fell into revenge mode as he slowly turned and glared his best friend with narrow, accusing eyes.

“Sorry, Trix. Gonna take a rain check. I got some business to attend to first,” he muttered before taking off through the sand after Jared.

She watched him chase Jared through the cove, as they threw water balloons at each other, and riled up half of the other partygoers to do the same. Realizing she was still carrying Robbie’s guitar, Y/N ventured over towards the area designated for the food and found a safe place for it.

“You gonna play something for us tonight?” Robbie asked and approaching her with a full plate of food, then motioning towards the guitar with his chin.

Y/N shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think so. I didn’t mean to bring it off the boat, it just sorta--”

“Followed you?”

“Yeah, kinda. Since I lost mine…”

“You feel lost. That I get.”

She nodded. “You should play something though, you know I get all tingly when you do,” she teased, trying to steer the conversation away from a place she didn’t want it to go.

“We’ll see.... maybe if you play, I’ll play.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Alright, Robbie. Maybe. Come find me after a swim and a few drinks. I may be more pliable then.” She patted him on the shoulder and made her way towards the water.

“Don’t think I won’t, Y/N! I’m not above that!” he called after her, before taking a bite of the food on his plate and walking towards one of the long tables.

 The view of the sunset from the cove was the best they could have hoped for. The colors were painted across the clouds in hues of pinks and purples, with a splash of orange for contrast. The moon, just about at full, already hung low in the east, waiting its turn to rise and join the celebration. After an afternoon of swimming, games, drinking, and laughs, Jared’s friends all migrated towards the newly lit bonfire while they waited for the unveiling of the pig from the pig roast.

The air was beginning to develop a chill, but Y/N just assumed it was because she was still in a wet bathing suit without her pull over or dry shorts. She snuck back to the boat and quickly changed into her extra clothes, and relished in how it instantly warmed her skin. In no time at all, she was back out on the beach of the cove and headed to rejoin everyone around the bonfire.

Everyone was already sat, forming a tight circle around the pit of flames. She looked for Jensen and saw him sitting snugly between Bri and Jared, talking and laughing. Directly across from him, she saw Robbie sitting there, with the last open space beside him. Somehow, she knew that was not by chance.

“This seat is taken?” she asked as she stepped over the makeshift log seat and then sat beside Robbie.

“Saved it just for you, buttercup,” he winked. “Have fun today?”

“I did,” she smiled, and then looked across the flames at Jensen.

He saw her, too. The corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk as gave her a little wave. She returned it in a similar fashion. She hadn’t seen much of him throughout the day, and knew it was only because he was enjoying the day off with his group of friends, and not because of any lingering awkwardness between them; she hoped.

“Did you have enough from the tiki bar that I could maybe convince you to sing something?” he wiggled his eyebrows excitedly, making her laugh.

“You first, Robert.”

“That wasn’t a no,” he chuckled, “so, I’m happy.”

The chatter around fire came to a lull as the sound of Robbie’s guitar replaced it. He was just strumming, but everyone knew that it wouldn’t just be that for long.

“Whatcha wanna hear?” he leaned over and asked Y/N while continuing to strum.

“Surprise me.”

Robbie found a rhythm he was happy with and slipped into the melody for The Rest. He played and sang, and encouraged some of the others to jump in on the song with him. Y/N was swaying along and enjoying the music, but every so often would look up and catch Jensen’s eye. She felt a million miles away from him, and as she watched him singing along with Robbie and the others, all she wanted to do was be near him.

Her mind began to drift as Robbie continued to play. Y/N thought about the night of their date, and how it was to be there with him, under the stars and sitting so close. She loved how delicately he kissed her, then showed up the next day just to take her to the airport.

‘You’re in love with him… just stop fighting it,’ she thought, chastising herself. ‘Sometimes you gotta just take the leap and--”

The claps and whistles of applause pulled her back and she followed suit. When she turned to look at Rob, he was watching her expectantly, holding out the guitar.

“Your turn,” he smiled impishly. “Deals a deal.”

“Yeesss! Y/N, it’s your turn!” Bri called out from over the flames. Following her, more encouragement from the party goers, including Jared and Gen, were egging her on. She gazed around the circle, suddenly nervous and unsure if she would be able to make her fingers work to do it.

When her gaze reached Jensen, she realized he was the only one not making any noise or gestures. He simply sat, leaning his forearms against his thighs, his hands clasped around a beer, hanging between his knees and his sights set firmly on Y/N. His mouth was relaxed and soft, his lips slightly parted as he watched her. His green eyes were narrowed intently on her as she cradled the guitar against her chest, before getting it in the proper position.

Y/N’s throat was suddenly very dry. Without asking, she reached down and pulled a swig from Robbie’s beer and apologized in a silent expression. He gave her a quick wink and nudged her with his elbow.

Now she leaned into him. “Whatcha wanna hear?” she asked.

“Sing something that means something to you,” he replied quietly, then casually let his line of sight linger towards Jensen before leaning back and settling in for her song.

Y/N’s fingers found the frets and pressed down on the strings. With her other hand, she began to strum and after a few chords, she cast her gaze down to the guitar and began singing softly, the rest of the group quieting down as the slower melody started to play. She thought about what the song meant to her, what it had been to her, and how she can use it now, to try and speak to Jensen.

“I got chills They’re multiplying And I’m losing control ‘Cause the power you’re supplying...”

‘It’s electrifying...’ Jensen sang softly, almost in a whisper but loud enough for Y/N to hear him.

Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice, her gaze instantly finding, and holding his across the fire. She paused for a moment to take a breath, her hand hovering closely over the strings. A twitch of the corner of Jensen’s mouth was all she needed to keep playing after having missed the next few beats in the song.

The song continued, but more as a conversation between them than a tune being played for the entertainment of the crowd.

“You better shape up ‘Cause I need a man And my heart is set on you

You better shape up You better understand To my heart I must be true”

‘Nothing left for me to do…’ Jensen sang with her. She continued on, as if everything in the song was what she had been wanting to say. But much like her old man, Y/N wasn’t great with verbalizing what she wanted, or how she felt. So, once again, she turned to music to do it for her.

When Y/N got to the chorus, he sang with her, softly, matching the tone and cadence of the melody.

“I better shape up, ‘cause you need a man…” Jensen took over for her, singing louder than he had been up to this point, making the next couple of verses everything he needed to say, and what she needed to hear.

“Yes I’m sure down deep inside…”

The last line of the verse and both of them looked at each other. They had been watching one another throughout the entirety of the song, but with this one line, it was saying everything they were both feeling but too scared to admit. The feelings that those lyrics left her with wasn’t just the rush of love she had for him, but the certainty with which she felt them. Whatever fear had been holding her back was gone and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Jensen was the only one she would ever really want.

They went through the chorus two more times, the intensity and strength of her playing and their singing growing, before it faded out.

“Oh yes indeed,” Y/N sang the last line, knowing exactly where she stood now.

There was a beat where it got very quiet, but Bri and Robbie changed that quickly with their rousing applause and cat-call whistles. Y/N smiled humbly and nodded her head slightly before handing the guitar back to Rob. She gave Bri a rueful glance over the flames before letting her eyes drift back to Jensen, who was suddenly gone from the bonfire.

Jensen needed a minute to compose himself. From the moment he heard what song she was singing, he felt his chest tighten and his heart beat faster. That dream he had the night he met her felt prophetic now and it left him reeling. He didn’t plan on singing, but he couldn’t help it. He felt like she was speaking to him and then as it continued on, he couldn’t refrain from speaking back. When it ended, he felt so affected by the whole thing and had a build up of emotion that had been coming for a while despite his need to try and repress it.

He was on his way back to the bonfire now that he had calmed a bit when he found her off on her own. Y/N was standing near the edge of trees where the cove and the paths converged. Off in the distance, the party was in full swing; the music and noise of which faded a bit where he found her, and he was grateful for that. It was getting dark, and out here on the fringes of the party, the only light he could really see her by was that of the moon.

“Hey Trix, you alright?” he asked softly.

Y/N turned and saw him emerge from one of the wide paths. She looked up at him, and he could tell she was smiling; but it was that soft, thoughtful one she would get when she had been lost in something.

“Yeah,” she said and approached him. “I was just looking for you.”

“Here I am,” he smirked, but she didn’t smile in return. She looked slightly nervous as she fidgeted with her hands.

“Jensen… I…” she stuttered, and then stopped to draw in a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, I have been the biggest idiot.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not--”

“I am. Now, hush and let me talk. You and I, I don’t know how or why it works, but it does. I’ve been so afraid to admit how well it works, and because of that, I’ve been… I don’t even know. Scared seems ridiculous, but I guess, scared.”

She was rambling now, and as Jensen watched her pace back and forth trying to find the words she desperately grasped for, he couldn’t help but be slightly amused. He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to fall more in love as she stumbled over her words.

“You have to understand that I, trusting you--I didn’t know if I could, I mean, not that you gave me a reason not to--and then with the break-in, and all the other stuff--”

“Y/N,” he said, trying to get her attention, but she either didn’t hear him or ignored him.

“Then, that just happened, and I look up, and you’re gone, I thought for sure--”

“Y/N!” Jensen laughed, finally taking her by the shoulders and standing her square in front of him. “Stand still. Take a breath. Just say what you want to say.”

She looked up at him, and drew in a calming breath, exhaling through pursed lips. Jensen’s heart began to beat faster when he saw how her eyes were locked onto his, wistful, and dreamy. Y/N took Jensen’s hands from her shoulders, then interlaced her fingers into his and held them in front of her. She was quiet, and her eyes were fixed on the tangled knot their hands had become. She brought it to her mouth and kissed the back of his hand softly. Jensen’s stomach fluttered when he felt her lips on his skin.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, through a dry rough voice.

She released his hands slowly, gingerly placed her palms on his cheeks and guided her mouth onto his. He inhaled sharply before he kissed her back, surprised that she took the initiative. It started slow, but not hesitant; they savored each other for a few minutes with the soft, wanting, open mouth type of kiss that only two people in love could really appreciate. Jensen wanted more, needed more of her, but before he could, she retracted but stayed close, ghosting her nose over his; the sensation of which stirred the same feeling as seeing her just out of the shower did.

“Take me home, Hollywood.”

Jensen’s head snapped up, and he saw the sincerity in her eyes, pleading with him to take her away.

“You sure?”

She nodded and took his hand again. Y/N didn’t need to say anything, Jensen understood completely; she had said everything she needed to while they sang to each other around the bonfire. No one would miss them, and as much as he loved Jared, he wanted and had waited for Y/N for a long time. Jared would understand why he left.

Jensen kissed her again, and when she returned it with fervor, he knew it was time to go. He took her hand and playfully pulled her down the path that led away from the party. When they emerged onto the parking lot, the valets were already in place ready to assist him.

“I need a car, please,” Jensen asked with a polite smile, then turned slightly looking back at Y/N who was nearly attached to his side. “And quickly… if you could.”

Within minutes, the attendant had one of the rentals ready to go and Jensen was opening the passenger door for Y/N. Jensen backed out of the lot and headed towards the exit. It wouldn’t take long to get back to his place, but part of him just wanted to find the nearest motel. Deciding home was better, Jensen pointed the car in that direction and cruised down the main drag. With very few cars out at that time of night, they had the road to themselves.

A string of traffic lights sat between them and the house. The atmosphere of the car was tense, both Jensen and Y/N could feel the growing impatience between them. When they hit the first red light, Jensen threw the car in park and leaned over to her. His hand quickly tangled up in the hair at the back of her neck and pulled her needily towards him.

His mouth greeted hers, open and hungry, and for sixty seconds the light sat red, he devoured as much of her as he could. When it turned green, they regretfully parted until the next red light. He couldn’t get enough, no matter how many times he stopped to kiss her on the ride home. By the time he was pulling into the driveway, her lips were red and swollen from his relentless assault, but she immediately moved over to kiss him again once he turned off the ignition.

They parted long enough to make it to the stoop. The front door fell open as Jensen and Y/N stumbled in, their mouths locked together the second the key turned the knob. Jensen made sure it was closed and reset the deadbolt. As he did, she stepped back from him, the moonlight coming through the skylights in the foyer highlighting her skin as she slowly pulled her shirt up and over her head and let it fall to the floor.

Jensen stood motionless, unable to move towards her. Her (y/c) eyes locked onto his, and he felt himself tremble as she took her time unbuttoning the jean shorts, allowing them to join her gray pull over on the rug. Left in only her lacy bra and underwear, she moved towards him. He ran his fingers up the length of her arm, then raised both his arms in the air, as she pulled his thin cotton thermal top off over his head.

“Whoa, wait,” he gasped, pulling away from her and leaving a breath of space. “Are you sure? I mean, really sure?”

“Yes…. I am more than sure,” she purred and bit her lower lip as she ran a finger at the waist of his shorts.

She kissed him again, both of their breathing short and labored huffs through noses as their mouths occupied the other. He stopped it again before she could free him of more of his clothes, pressing his forehead against hers trying to catch his breath.

“Last time…”

“That was a long time ago, Jay,” she pleaded and went in to kiss him again.

“I don’t want to lose you. It's okay if you wanna stop and wait—”

“You won’t. I’m not going anywhere, except upstairs… with you. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Jensen bit his lower lip, using every ounce of his will power to not tear her bra off there in the foyer. “We can stop, Y/N. I don’t wanna push you.”

“No, you’re not. I told you to take me home. I want you, Jay. I want you to take me upstairs and do unspeakable things to me. I’m so fucking tired of being cautious with you. It's just… I was so damn reckless for so long, that when you came along…” she hesitated to continue, afraid to derail what was happening.

“Say it… when I came along, what?” he rasped, and nipped at her lips, which she kissed back immediately before he pulled back again. “Tell me.”

“I needed to be cautious with you because the stakes were so high. I knew from that first night on the beach that if I wasn’t careful, I would fall right into you. Hopelessly so. So I played it safe until I knew for sure that I wouldn’t lose. I’m sure now. I put everything on snake eyes, baby,” she chuckled and pressed her nails into the nape of his neck, drawing his body as physically close to her as she possibly could.

Jensen let her. They were nearly fused together now, her lips trailing soft, wanting kisses across his neck up to his ear. He shuddered when she kissed him there and felt his legs go weaker when her delicate breath fell against his ear.

“What’s the payout?” he whispered, unable to get his voice louder than that while under the spell of her touch.

Y/N pressed her lips to his earlobe and took it in her mouth, grazing her teeth along it as she whispered, “Everything.”

Jensen exhaled heavily, he knew that her phrasing was in good fun, but he also knew how vast the weight of her words were. Trusting wasn’t easy for her, and falling in love, after what she had been through, near impossible. Yet, here they were, together with nothing standing between them but their own insecurities. Pushing all of those aside, Jensen took her hand tightly into his, and lead her towards the stairs.

 He pushed open the bedroom door and motioned for her to go first. She was barely a few steps in before she turned and found him in the barely illuminated room. He leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp.

“No, leave it off,” she breathed. He could hear the trembling in her voice, but slowly shook his head.

“No,” he rasped and took her chin between his fingers. “I want to see you.”

Jensen bent down and kissed her neck before reaching behind her and unclasping her bra, letting it slide from her body to the floor. A small whimper escaped her lips as his hands ran lightly over the swell of her breasts, then down her stomach, coming to land at the hem of her panties.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers trembling as he breached the edge of the lace. He looked back at her, and when he saw the want in her eyes, he knew it was really happening. Jensen’s tongue ran over his bottom lip before he bent down and kissed her again. She reached for his shorts, and this time made quick work of getting them off.

Jensen walked her back towards the bed, never breaking his gaze from hers. She collided with the mattress and fell onto it, causing her to giggle. Y/N climbed backward onto the bed, propping herself up on her elbows and watching him with a lustful need. Hovering over her, he kissed her breasts softly, then ran his tongue lightly over her nipples. The lightest graze of his teeth against the rigid nub caused an involuntary shiver to race down her flesh. She felt him grin against her, which only encouraged her to rake her fingers through his hair.  

His mouth continued to work her over, eventually trailing down to her underwear. This time when he toyed with the hem, it was to pull them down, slowly and holding her gaze as he did so. When they were tossed aside, he looked to her one last time to be certain she wanted this. As if reading his thoughts, she smiled and bit her lower lip seductively, nodding with the slightest motion, and watching him with eyes begging him to touch her.

Jensen kissed the inside of her thigh as he let his hand brush against the hood of her sex. Y/N gasped, sucking air through her teeth and exhaling heavily at the sensation. Leaving his hand there, he continued moving back up her body and as his fingers slipped into her folds, his mouth found her neck and left a trail of biting, needy kisses up towards her ear.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, then found her mouth and kissed her again. “I have wanted you from the minute I saw you.”

The way he rasped in her ear, and the more his fingers traced the lines and ridges of her sex, teasing her clit, caused her to writhe beneath him.

“Please,” she mewed, running her hands across his back trying to pull him closer to her.

“Please what?” he asked with a heavy breath before plunging back to her neck and pushing his fingers down towards her entrance, now taunting her there.

Her hands ran down to the edge of his boxers and desperately tried to push them down. The more he touched her, the more she needed to feel him inside her, and the months of waiting and making excuses to wait had grown old. She wanted him. Now.

Y/N opened her eyes and caught his gaze. Her eyes were narrowed and full of lust, her lips still swollen and quivering. “I need you, now…”

The way she spoke to, or rather commanded him, Jensen couldn’t wait either. What she said, the way she said it, it flipped a switch in him and he needed to end the teasing. He quickly stood from the bed and pushed the boxers off himself. Before climbing back beside her, he stopped and ran his tongue up through her slit, causing her to gasp and her hands to claw at the comforter. Her reaction made his cock twitch against her leg. She sat up on her elbows and took him in, finally seeing all of him for the first time.

Jensen climbed on top of her and positioned himself between her thighs. Y/N’s head was spinning and as Jensen’s lips fell to her again, she felt his dick slide between her legs as the tip brushed against her clit. Slowly, he slipped up inside her, just a little at first, but enough to raise a growl from the deepest parts of his chest.

“Jesus,” she whispered into his neck and began to feel drunk just on the sensation and scent of his skin. The further he moved up inside her, she arched her back into him, exposing more of her neck to his mouth. Jensen took full advantage and as he gave one last, slow push, filling her completely, he bit down on her neck as she breathed his name. “Fuuuuck.. Jay…”

His hips were swaying with a tempered, methodical movement, but with each pass, Y/N dug her nails in deeper to his back. The sensation of him inside her was euphoric, coupled with the way he was continuing to kiss her neck, and the feeling of his warm breath on her skin, she briefly wondered if it was possible to faint from really good sex; but this wasn’t just good sex, and she knew it. This was intimate and meaningful; that’s what made it feel so incredibly different.

Jensen lifted his head and kissed her jawline, finding her mouth again as his hips began to move faster. She drew her legs up and around his waist, giving him a better angle to slide into. His mouth fell slightly open, his eyes squeezing shut as he got lost in the moment. Jensen’s breaths became shorter, more labored, the faster he moved. The friction against Y/N’s clit and the speed at which he moved pushed her nearly to the edge. Her hands shot out to the comforter again, trying to hold on as he became nearly relentless.

He grabbed her wrists with his hands, moving them up and pinning them down above her head.

“Fuck… fu---” he couldn’t keep it together much longer.

“God, Jay… I’m…” Y/N whined sharply, and just as her climax hit, Jensen took her breast in his mouth and swirled his tongue around the nipple. He could feel her flutter around him as his cock swelled and neared his own orgasm.

He didn’t want it to end, so he slowed down just as her legs released from the grip they had on him and fell back to the bed in exhausted relief. Jensen chuckled softly, still swaying his hips into her, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold it off; the mere sight of her post-climax was enough to bring his on. He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her lips gently. They held each other’s gaze for a moment before she ran her fingernails up along the back of his neck, her nerve endings still on fire from the release she just experienced.

“I love you,” she whispered, then pressed her lips to the ridge of his collarbone.

That one, soft kiss was what finally pushed him over the edge. Jensen felt his climax come in a head rush like he’d never had before. He clung to her for dear life; his head buried in the crook of her neck, his body trembling with contentment as he spilled inside her, and lavished her neck and shoulders with longing, and loving kisses.

When he was spent, he went to roll off her, but she held him there.

“Don’t, I like how you feel against me,” she purred and continued running her fingertips up and down his arms lightly.

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me now,” Jensen teased.

He did finally move off of her and stood from the bed. He reached a hand down, and helped her up, but didn’t let go of her once she was. Running his fingers through her hair, he studied her closely before kissing her once more. Releasing her just for a moment, Jensen pulled back the covers of the bed and motioned with his expression for her to get in.

She was bewitching in the way she smiled at him as she pulled him down on the bed. Jensen was on his back as Y/N hovered over him and he tucked the hair behind her ear.

“I love you, Trix,” he said in a broken whisper, so incredibly enamored with the woman who gazed down at him. Jensen thought his life couldn’t get much better than it was right then and there.

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[timelordthirteen]

Killing Time 10/?

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Explicit

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

Chapter Summary: Flashback: Weaver and Belle make a major discovery in the case.

Notes: So I hope this clears up some of the confusion with the plot of this story. This is majorly late and unbeta'd and barely read over. I'm so sorry for this being a total hot mess and probably riddled with typos. For the Writer's Month prompt#20: weird.

Warnings: Please see AO3 for complete warnings and tags. No additional warnings for this chapter.

[AO3]  Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

9 weeks and 3 days ago...

Belle sighed heavily and sat back in her chair, tossing her pen on the table.

Four days ago she’d fucked her ex-husband on the sofa just behind her. She expected it to cause some fracture in their working relationship, for him to come in the next day or even show up at her apartment to start some huge argument, but things went on as if it never even happened. That unnerved her more than the shouting would have.

At least three different times, she’d almost brought it up, but chickened out at the last second. Things had been too good between them these last few weeks. It was - nice. They’d become some kind of friends again, a bit like it was after they first met, when it was sarcastic, flirty remarks after testimony, or over drinks at Roni’s, and she could admit to herself that she was loathing messing any of that up. Except of course it had escalated from there, just as it had when they finally started dating. One dinner and she let him push her up against the door to her apartment and kiss her senseless, and a minute later she was dragging him into her apartment.

That first time they didn’t even make it to her bed, and she was left with an amusing pattern of lines on her back from the exposed brick wall of her living room. He stayed the night, and by morning she ached like she’d done back to back yoga classes at the gym. She had never had a lover that attentive, who found every button she had and pushed them over and over, or who seemed to like everything she did; hard and rough one time, and soft and intimate the next. Sex was the one thing they never got wrong.

She shouldn’t have let things go that far with Ian, but for a moment while they were dancing it felt like old times, like none of the shit between them had happened, like there wasn’t a murder board behind them and autopsy reports on the table. It was always so damn good with him, and the case overwhelmed her so much that she needed something to push all of it away. Except when it was over everything came rushing back.

A tingling shiver crept over her, and she abruptly pushed back from the table and stood up, silently chastising herself for getting lost in such thoughts. Again. She rubbed at her tired eyes and wiggled her feet back into her shoes before moving across the room to the whiteboard.

The board was completely covered now with photos, reports, and scribbled notes in marker, all comprising a full timeline of some of the most heinous murders she’d ever seen. Her eyes scanned the top where they had taped pictures of the victims, then sectioned off the board between each of them to group the case elements together. Their names were burned into her brain, their smiling faces - faces that would never smile again - permanent fixtures when she closed her eyes.

She sighed again and the office door opened.

“Well, that was a bloody waste of time.”

Belle turned and watched as Weaver strode quickly across the room, dropping the folder he’d taken with him and his notebook on the table.

“What was?” she asked, almost grateful that they could talk about the case and pull her mind away from other things.

“Trying to find Eloise Gardner,” he said, giving her a flat smile. “As near as I can tell, she doesn’t fucking exist.”

Belle made a face. “What?”

He huffed and sat on the edge of the table. “Her last known address is an empty lot that up until a year ago was a community garden. She doesn’t have a driver’s license in this state. She hasn’t paid taxes, apparently ever. I can’t find a Social Security Number, state ID, W-2, forwarding address, employer, or any official piece of paper to prove she existed.”

Belle sank onto the sofa and dropped her head to her hands as she breathed. She looked up at Weaver feeling more tired and drained than she had in days. “So why did Branson say she could prove he was innocent?”

Weaver shrugged. “No clue. Though he did murder five people, so I’m not sure he’s making the best life choices.”

She snorted at that and shook her head. “Did you have any luck with any of the others?”

He turned and picked up the notebook, opening it and flipping passed a few pages. “I found Mr. Porter, the garbage man, at work, but Mrs. Emery was not at her apartment, and no one had seen her in days.”

Belle blinked. “You’re joking…”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

Her head dropped again in defeat. “So, our eye witness to the disposal of the last victim, just up and disappeared? Fucking great.”

Weaver started to smile. “Not exactly.” She lifted her head slowly, eyebrows raised. “I tracked down the building manager, and he said she moved out. I went to the post office and they have a forwarding address of a nursing home. I went there and found out she’d had a stroke. Her daughter…” He paused and flipped another page in his notebook. “Laura, arrived from Cambridge last week and has been helping to get her settled in.”

“Cambridge...Massachusetts?”

His lips twitched. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed and then she made a face. “England?”

“Her daughter teaches at the university,” he said, crossing to the sofa and sitting down beside Belle.

“Nice…” she muttered. “So, is she still with it enough to testify?”

“Seems so from talking to her.” He flipped his notebook closed. “She repeated everything the same as in her official statement. The doctor I spoke to said she should be fine now that she’s on medication, and that he’ll provide whatever documentation of her mental faculties is needed.

Belle flopped back against the sofa and slumped. “Thank god.”

“So,” he said, smiling. “That was the last six hours of my life. How was yours?”

“Lousy.” Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling and then she pushed herself up, crossing to the table to pick up a few photos. “I got copies of the crime scene photos we were missing from Crenshaw and Hughes, the last two. Nothing all that enlightening or helpful, though.”

She flipped through them as she walked back towards the sofa. “It’s all mostly background stuff that got left out, like the cars that were in the area, some random plant material, uh, shoe prints from Branson’s boots, and this which I thought you would ”

Weaver’s eyebrows lifted both at her tone and the smirking look she had on her face. She held out one photo and he leaned forward, holding the edge of it between his fingers as he looked at it. After a long moment, he groaned.

“Shit.”

Belle let out a snorting laugh. “Exactly.”

He shook his head as she set the rest of the pictures down on the coffee table. “Some crime scene tech actually took a picture of dog shit.”

She shrugged. “I guess they were being thorough?”

“Thoroughly fucking stupid, maybe,” he said absently, and she laughed.

She turned to grab something else, and as she pivoted on her right foot, her toes pulled back inside her shoe. A curse slipped out and she stumbled, the cramping pain contorting her foot and making it impossible to walk.

“Are you okay?” Weaver asked, sitting forward on the sofa. “What’s wrong?”

She bent and took off her shoe, grabbing at her toes to try to relieve the tension. “It’s just a cramp. I think I’ve been pacing this office too much today.” She wobbled as she tried to walk wearing only one shoe and pressing the toes of her cramped foot against the floor. “Fuck.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come here.”

Her look was dubious, but she hobbled over to the sofa and dropped down with a hiss. He reached for her leg, pulling it up and tipping her back on the couch. She let out a pained noise, as she struggled to point her toes and make the cramp stop.

“Relax,” he said softly, wrapping his warm hand over her toes.

Slowly, he worked her foot until the muscles stopped contracting, and she leaned back, resting her head on the arm of the sofa as she let him pull her foot completely into his lap. Under previous circumstances, this would have been more than welcome, and a possible prelude to other activities as his hand naturally crept higher and higher on her legs. Anytime she had to be in court all day, pacing and walking around, her feet would rebel and start cramping painfully by the end of the day. She blamed it on all the damage she’d done to them in dance and ballet in her younger days, followed by too many years of shoving them into heels constructed by masochists who thought all women had dainty, narrow feet that never went over a size seven.

After a few minutes, she was biting back moans as he worked his thumb against her arch, stroking the muscle up and down before making a sweep over the ball of her foot. Part of her wanted to let him do this for the next hour to both of her feet, followed immediately by her shoulders and neck. But a greater part of her knew she needed to stop things before they went to far. While those two factions warred within her, she rolled her head to the side and stared at the miscellaneous photographs.

A shoe print stared back at her from the top of the pile, the ones found at the last scene when Branson had been arrested, and she frowned. Something was poking at the back of her brain, something that was unsettled and curious at the same time. Abruptly, she yanked her foot away from Weaver, and pushed up.

Weaver let out a light grunt as Belle shoved against him. “What is it?”

“Hold on,” she said, scrambling to sit up. "Something's...weird."

She picked up the photo of Branson’s boot print, and stared at it for a few seconds, noting the size and the markers that had been placed around it. Then she set it to the side and shuffled through the rest of the photos.

Weaver frowned at her and then picked up the photo she’d set down. “What are you looking for?”

“The other print.” She was getting frustrated and wondering if she’d imagined it, when he reached out and snatched up the picture she’d been looking for.

“This one?” he asked, holding it out.

She grabbed both photos from him, and laid them on the table. Her eyes darted back and forth between them, as her eyes widened. She wasn’t crazy, but this case sure was. “Look.”

She pointed at the pictures, and he looked back and forth between them. There was nothing jumping out at him, but it had been a long day of driving around and making calls.

“Okay?”

Belle huffed and pointed at the marker on the first photo. “See the measurement on the one from his arrest?” Weaver nodded. “And now the one from the second crime scene.”

His head tilted slightly, and then it hit him. “They’re different.”

“Yeah,” she said, starting to smile. “Branson’s boot was a size eleven. But the first one is a ten.”

He shook his head. “They can’t both be his shoe can they?”

She shrugged. “They aren’t marked as elimination prints from any of the officers or techs. What’s his shoe size from his booking?”

Weaver got up and crossed to the table, sorting through the stacks of folders until he found the report of vital statistics from Nick Branson’s booking at the station. He scanned the page, his eyes going wide as he turned around.

“He’s an eleven.”

Belle stood up, her body practically vibrating with new energy. “There’s no way someone is going to wear a different size boot like that. A half size maybe, but not a whole size.”

He nodded and took a breath. “You know what that might mean then, right?”

She swallowed hard, her excitement waning in light of the new reality of the case. “We have two killers.”

[girlbattled]

hola m’angels , i’m min ! twenty-two ( aka gettin old ) , from the gmt timezone ( aka will be awake when everyone’s sleeping ) , and i use she/her mainly but i don’t mind anythin else . if anyone happens to wanna go wild with me over anime, robert pattinson / zoe kravitz as batcat, or riot games dropping way too much shit on us on the 10th anniversary pls hop into my ims or give me a little ping over on discord at 𝖓𝖔𝖊𝖑 𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓#0252 .

* drum roll pls * i present to you sloane janeway !

underneath the cut is a little bit about my baby gorl. her bio, fun facts, some wanted stuff, etc etc. if you fancy plotting w her it’d be super cool if you liked this or if u came to me, either in my ims or discord ! i’m super down for anything & loan is a total mess so pls throw stuff at me . ♡ ♡ ♡

trigger warnings     :     abuse,  physical  abuse,  neglect,  destructive  behaviours,  alcohol,  drugs,  sex,  overdose.  if  i’ve  missed  any,  please  forgive  me  and  let  me  know.

the new york janeway’s, you’re sure you’ve heard of them before. cyrus janeway, a stockbroker with far too little time on his hands, flanked by estrella janeway, his personal assistant turned life partner. they gave birth not longer after the wedding of the century to their eldest son, their pride and joy, cole janeway. he was to be the golden child, the heir to the estate... that was, until sloane came along.

from birth, sloane was a vicious departure from her family. she was unplanned, unexpected, perhaps unwanted was a stretch but it certainly wouldn’t have been far off the mark. her birth nearly destroyed the reputation the janeway’s had so carefully cultivated for themselves, nobody could quite believe cyrus and estrella would be so stupid, but along she came regardless. a spanner in the cogs.

for the first few years, sloane didn’t feel the difference between herself and cole. whilst he kept his distance, which she had always assumed was because she was five years younger and a girl, she never believed there to be bad blood. she was dressed up in countless fancy dresses, her golden locks repeatedly brushed and subjected to numerous chemical treatments, and even her skin somewhat speckled with makeup even as a toddler. estrella always seemed like she was trying to make up for something. it didn’t take long for sloane to notice.

she began acting out at the age of six, when she realised acting the pretty and perfect princess did not get her what she wanted. when she was quiet, she was ignored, but when she was loud? at least the help scurried to her, at least her nanny cradled her in her arms, at least cole’s personal butler gave her a look full of love rather than scorn. it wasn’t long before she was hanging out in the kitchen rather than the dining hall, the quarters rather than her own room.

as she grew older, however, her acts grew. countless times her mother woke to find her dressing room trashed, her father’s hunting trophies ripped to shreds, her brother’s endless awards from school all in the garbage. they tried to discipline her, cyrus even hit sloane a few times, but all it did was make her angry. instilled a fire within her. when they locked her doors, she climbed out of the window. when they barred her windows, she broke the door into splinters. when they replaced the door, she ripped up the floorboards. sloane was a loose cannon. and things were only about to get worse.

for the most part, she’d kept her nuisances to the confines of her “home”, only wishing to get back at her parents for neglecting her for so long. only one night, when she was fourteen years old and had finished her latest act of malcontent, it was cole who chose to deal with her. he, as a nineteen year old male who’d grown a considerable amount of bulk as star of his college football team, proceeded to beat the shit out of her. 

turns out, the brother she thought had simply never been on her wavelength had never been on the same planet as her at all. he despised sloane. despised everything she was and stood for, and made sure she knew as she was spitting up blood on their pristine carpets. 

the next day, sloane strolled into school. no makeup. joint hanging from her lips. typical upper class attire replaced with torn jeans and a shirt far too inappropriate. when people asked her what had happened, she had simply replied, ‘ you should see the other guy. ’ and birthed a new persona.

sloane’s way of coping with what her brother had done to her, and what her family had allowed him to do, was to fall deep into the cesspits of teenagedom. drugs, sex, alcohol – she’d done it all by the age of eighteen. yet somehow, the part of sloane before, the part that was simply a bratty child with a short fuse, was gone. now she was a danger. she held a wicked grin and too many scrapes to count. she knew no bounds, understood no loyalties, screamed at the top of her lungs as if she were attending the world’s wildest rager. on top of it all, sloane was the maximum party girl. nobody cared what she was going home to, because all they cared about was where she’d be at 1am on a friday night. she became the family wild child. photos of her strewn over the papers. consistent beatings and beratings from the men in her family did nothing to drown out the buzz she received from the attention she’d craved her entire life. sloane was finally getting everything she ever wanted, why did it matter where it was coming from?

as a final resort, her family shipped her off to hollingsworth. here, away from the prying eyes and judgemental glares of the horrid new yorkers, sloane somewhat thrived. forced into economics by her shithead father, but enjoying every test she aced and spat in his face, she fell quickly into gamma rho alpha and, by the time she had finished her freshman year, she was well in line to be vice president. she was still a wreck, still doing anything she could for the attention and limelight she craved, still bouncing off the walls in an attempt to get her desired adrenaline rush, but what little responsibility she’d been given allowed her to finally form connections. friends, best friends, but anything more than that? things like love, compassion, altruism? she wasn’t even sure what those were.

♡     personality.

uncritical. if there’s anything sloane is, it’s uncritical. she’s never held judgement against anyone in her life, and would never hold judgement against anyone who came to her to admit a heinous or strange deed. she’s heard all sorts, from strange sexscapades to near deaths, and to each of them she often has the same reaction – a loud chortle, followed by disbelief and a desire to know way too many details.

venturesome. to try and stop the blonde from heading out on an adventure is a task mortals would find impossible. a true ‘yes girl’, sloane has never been one to say no to anything, and to never back out of something she said yes to, no matter how bizarre or dangerous the situation might become. she’s always first into the fray, first in line of all the girls to beat the burglar up with a hair straightener, first in line into the abandoned building, first to jump off the roof into the pool.

allegiant. whilst sloane’s loyalty is almost as rare as unicorn blood, it’s possible to receive it, and when you do it’s something you’ll never lose. she sticks by those who have managed to put up with her, unable to let them go even when they do her dirty. 

graceless. a. clumsy. bitch. if you’re expecting sloane’s etiquette lessons to have stuck with her, you’re very wrong. the girl trips over her own feet more times than she can count in a day, always has at least something broken, fractured, or sprained, and has certainly won the award in gamma rho alpha for ‘most freak accidents in a single day’.

chaotic. everything about sloane is a nightmare come to life. she drags people down, deep into the depths of places they never thought they’d be, wishes for them to destroy their lives like she’s destroyed hers. to say she loves to see the world burn would be an understatement. she loves starting and watching drama, getting into fights, smashing up homes and belongings, getting into relationships she shouldn’t be in. trying to stop is nigh impossible, the chaos is almost an addiction, and she’s not ready to give it up.

needy. despite it all, she’s still the same girl who was never loved. not truly, not by anyone, and perhaps somewhere deep down she still craves that. she’ll leave you on read for days but god forbid you do the same to her. she’ll have a one night stand and dip right after but never lets her flings leave her life without something to remember her by. she drunk calls the exes she let get away, tells them she loves them and calls them a pussy in the same sentence. no matter how much she tries, she can’t hide the part of her she thinks is ugliest at all, her desire for others.

♡     fun facts.

an avid skateboarder, she picked it up in an attempt to ruin the family image even further when she was fifteen but it stuck in a surprising way. she now tends to ride it over campus, and has broken at least three in her time here.

massive stoner. whilst sloane openly dabbles in most drugs, weed’s the one that’s stuck with her, and it’s the only thing that slows her down. she’s a much nicer person when she smokes and she tends to have a preference for indica over sativa.

fucking bosses her major. economics, despite all its complexities, is something sloane is just naturally adept at. she takes a picture of every grade she gets with her middle finger in front of it, posts it on facebook and tags her father. he blocked her over a year ago.

besides that tho she’s stupid af. a lot of people think she puts it on bc of her grades and bc . . . she does everything for kicks, but no, she’s just kinda ditzy. a lot of people also think she’s just a straight up cheater and hasn’t gotten her grades herself.

nicknames are loan or jane, jane’s reserved for those she’s closest to tho!

♡     wanteds.

fellow  sorority  sisters     0/?     ⟶     self-explanatory! positive, negative, etc etc etc. i wanna plot w all her gals so bad lmao. besties, literal sisters, clothes sharers, secret smokers, party gals, enemies, girls who’ve slept w each other’s exes, all of it bABY.

economics  pal     0/1     ⟶     i’m thinking this person goes to sloane for help with everything and sloane pretty much does all their work for them. she doesn’t care bc it’s easy, and the other person blesses her and thanks her all the time. it’s a quiet agreement, so whilst it’s no secret bc sloane hates keeping them, it’s def hush hush. this person is one of the few who actually believes sloane’s as smart as they say. can also be a business student or smthn with similar classes!

super  soft  bestie     0/1     ⟶     ok so this is male only for a dumb reason i’m rly sorry. i had this plot before where my old muse sloane’s based off had a really sweet, selfless soft pal who was a dude, but they’d never slept together, she’d never even flirted somehow, and he was the one person in sloane’s life who always had her best interests at heart, and she defended him tooth and nail against anybody. the most unlikely duo ever and i want it back. she knew he never wanted anything else from her and that’s why it was so easy for her to attach, but bc this other person deals well with affection and is very reassuring, she never feels needy around them.

people  she  skates  with     0/2     ⟶     people she met down the skatepark or at a typical hangout before meeting them at hollingsworth. when she’s with them she’s pretty chill, though they’ve def been responsible for saving her ass and driving her to the ER a few times.

people  she  smokes  with     1/3     ⟶     oh shit whaddup stoner gang? lmao sorry anyway, yeah, again self-explanatory but! a lil more interesting because sloane’s very different when she’s stoned. she’s calmer, talks slower, and lets people get a word in and doesn’t try and get everyone involved w her hare brained schemes. these people probably actually enjoy her company! how wild?

new  yorkers     0/?     ⟶     sloane’s underwear has been plastered on the front page of most nyc tabloids and she’s the daughter of two massives in the industry, new york natives will know her somewhat. they can use that against her, they can empathize, or we can concoct some real dramatic shit. people who helped her fuck someone up, and now theyre keeping it quiet? someone she slept with who’s come to hollingsworth with their girlfriend/boyfriend? an addict she started on pills? yikes, lots of opportunity tho.

exes     0/2     ⟶     whew boy. we all know by now sloane’s a hot mess, right gang? so let’s see some people she’s messed up in the past. tOTALLY open to more exes and the more crazy the plot u bring me, the better. i lov angst just like anyone else does.

the  one  she  didn’t  ruin     1/1     ⟶     the one person in her life sloane walked away from without destroying, aka, the one she let get away because she realised she was going to harm someone she severely card about. she would’ve ended things with this person rather than pushing their buttons, would’ve been faithful and honest in their relationship, but dipped bc she’d let herself get involved too fast, too soon. definitely a name she’s forbidden her friends from bringing up.

lifeline     1/1     ⟶     let’s be real for a second about drug use, you can do it responsibly, but when you don’t, you can get in some serious fucking trouble. this person has always been there to stop sloane from od’ing. she only does hard drugs at ragers, so her risk is a bit lower than expected, but when she does them she does them. she’s a serious risk, and for some reason this gentle soul has taken it upon themselves to get her stomach pumped, take her home, clean her up, and give her a warm bed to stay in. they don’t speak much away from these nights where she has this vulnerability (she’s definitely mumbled things about her past to them), but that could very well change.

[theabandonedones]

Things I like to know about RP partners!!

( NOTE: This got long due to being a multi, so I added a cut ) 

FILL IN:

i like to be called: kerri / any name-related nicknames you come up with

my favorite color is: purple

gender: nonbinary / genderfluid (they/them pronouns)

one thing you should know about me: i’m super slow with replies, and get stressed/anxious easily these days! if i take a while responding (to threads / ims / disc.ord messages / anything) it’s not you!! my head’s just being a bastard, give it like 3-5 business days and we should settle down again! 

one thing you should know about my muse(s)

        HUMANS:

cynthia cares and loves so much. she works as a sex worker because she wants to, not because she has to, and she doesn’t take kindly to implications of the latter. stormy may seem shut off, but he really wants friends and affection, he just doesn’t know how to show it. shay is not to be underestimated. her trauma makes her seem small, but given the right push, she can flourish and become so much more. 

daniel is timid, but he has so much heart and passion for his crafts, all he wants to do is prove himself. noir is cynical, but beneath that is a woman craving stability that she never had - she’s simply scared of losing it if she manages to gain it, so she pulls away. quinn doesn’t trust easy, but when she trusts, she trusts fully and doesn’t let go. 

adelaide is snarky to cover her confusion, she feels like a woman out of time all the time, never feels quite at home. that scares her, but only because she can’t understand. 

michael is so full of regret and self doubt that he never quite manages to figure out who he is - he needs a push to do so, or his fixation on his father will never fade.

jessie is terrified of being left behind, in work or in the world, and will work himself to the bone to insure that he’s always up to par. dusty tumbles and falls into everything they do - they don’t want to be stopped or saved, just helped back up. they refuse to be seen as a damsel in distress. 

ashton will make himself ill trying to insure he is always seen - don’t let him think he’s invisible, or he’ll never stop thinking he’s failed. 

kassi doesn’t know how to love without being afraid, so when she does you have to look for it. she may seem cynical and sarcastic, but there’s more to her than that. 

lyla doesn’t think she needs anything, and won’t hesitate to state such. she isn’t someone to underestimate, even if she may come off as a ‘good girl’. 

Q doesn’t regret his family’s career path (drug dealing), though he understands why people criticize. he doesn’t want trouble. lux avoids trouble when he can, but he isn’t scared of it - just violence. he believes in every aspect of fate and karma that may exist. maxx’s happy demeanor is a lie, and it’s only once you crack the outer shell that you’ll know him in actuality. despite being ‘punk’, he’s full of expectations that one may assume he denies. akira doesn’t care for expectations, however due to judgment will keep many things to himself. it isn’t personal and he isn’t hiding things, he just isn’t experienced in opening up. you’ll find things out as they become relevant. 

rider hides behind a mask of indifference, but is terrified of rejection. damian doesn’t see anything his brother does as wrong, despite his brother doing plenty wrong. he loves his brother more than himself, due to jasper being the largest source of stability in his life. jasper is blind to his brother’s struggles, but not out of malice, simply out of stretching himself too thin, and being a little foolish. alexander struggles with a lot of self deprecation, and will be the first to set his issues aside. you shouldn’t let him. 

kamry believes they can entirely go it alone: they can not, but they’ll take offence if they’re told that. they had to for so long, that they don’t know how to accept that fact any longer, despite having support now. noah is still terrified, even if he tries to front being accepting of himself. his upbringing will always haunt him. 

        INHUMANS / PARANORMALS: 

koli knows he was built to serve and still has that primary drive, which causes him to get confused when people insist he not. 

cain is anxious and small for a demon, but that doesn’t mean he won’t kill you. remember he is still a demon, and is not at all a good person. he never will be. izabel cerba is heinous and won’t hesitate to destroy everything you love for a laugh if you cross her. this does not mean she is heartless. she can be appealed to, especially when it comes to those she loves. 

emmett has no idea what he’s doing, and is terrible at communicating with humans, but he’s so full of love, and cares so much. 

ariel is so scared of everything, but his loyalty is entirely true: if he decides he cares about you, you’ll never get rid of him. ethan is reckless, but he does care about his life. however, he cares about your life (anyone’s) more than outting his powers, and won’t hesitate to do something that may out him as a mutant. 

kai is full of love, he cares about humans and humanity, and believes that if he was led to help someone it’s his destiny, and he won’t hesitate to push his help upon them. carson seems like a total teddy bear, but he killed hundreds as a human - never underestimate him, he isn’t a push over. gabriel knows he is going to hell, that vampires have no place in heaven, but he will never let that stand between himself and his religion, no matter what one might say. 

clarissa will stop at nothing to be the best, but only because she thinks she needs to prove herself. she doesn’t feel she, as a woman, has a place in the world otherwise. brinley is exhausted most of the time, but his apathetic demeanor doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. he’s protective of any under his wing, and will gladly ‘go to bat’. 

first language: english

second language: none

HIGHLIGHT:

age range: under 13 | 14-17 | 18-22 | 23-25 | 26-29 | 30+ | 70+

am i okay with nsfw?: yes | no | sometimes | but not for this muse

my favorite/most common thing to rp is: angst | fluff | smut | comedy | crack | action | other

oc friendly?: yes | no | depends

rp blog: does contain some ooc posts | doesn’t contain ooc posts

TAGGED BY: stolen from @dulcettc TAGGING: anyone interested! & thank you for treading this far!

[rickiewrites]

Creepie Love (CreeperxNergalJr)

Just wanted to try taking a crack at a crossover fanfiction

Deep down in the molten center of the Earth’s core loud wails filled the air along with heavy sobbing, “how could this happen? My boy, my baby boy!” “Dad...Dad!” the wailing was cut short by the sound of a suitcase slamming, “can you please stop with the dramatics?” “Now Jr, go easy on your father. He’s still grieving” his mother commented as his father cried into her shoulder clinging to her as he sobbed. “You know how attached he’s been to you since you were just a little egg.” With a long groan, he pulled off his glasses rubbing his temples in frustration at his father’s hysterics. It wasn’t enough to be the son of a demonic creature from the center the Earth, he had to have a clingy father too. “I haven’t been an egg since winter camp when I hatched and ‘borrowed’ this body, which was about eighteen years ago” he explained putting his glasses back on before packing another bag. “Oh right! It’s been so long I suppose we all just accepted this as being your natural form, whatever happened to the b-” “Mom, don’t think about it too much, this is my body now okay? We should just leave it at that.” She nodded not wanting to think her own son might have ever been capable of heinous acts against anyone despite who his father might be. “Anyway, this is a huge change for your father. You’re leaving town to go to college after all! Why must you go so far away from home, anyway? Your cousin Billy got into Endsville U with Mandy and Irwin.” He surveyed the room for any items he may have missed after his parents barged in. “Billy only got in because Grim tricked the board into accepting his application so they can all stick together. And that is exactly what I want to get away from now that I’m an adult.” “I don’t want to constantly be caught up in the crazy bullshit adventures of Billy and Mandy. Monsters overrunning the town, Grim’s scythe always being stolen, and the fact they’re a magnet for every supernatural nutcase in existence," he glanced at his father “no offense dad,". Nergal sniffled wiping his nose on his sleeve “none taken, son”, Jr smiled patting his shoulder “I just want to spend my college years in peace and be, ya know, normal.” Meanwhile at the Dweezewold Mansion in Middlington ants marched in a neat little line carrying clothing from a bedroom closet all the way to an old trunk at the foot of a bed. “Thanks for the help guys, I really appreciate it,” said Creepie Creecher bringing a framed family photo to the trunk carefully placing it inside “I’m almost packed.” On her bed, her mother wiped away tears as her father stood close by for comfort “oh my little girl, even after watching thousands of little ones grow up and leave the nest over the years it hasn’t gotten any easier to see my babies go”. Creepie came to her mother’s side sitting on the bed “leaving is hard for me too mom, but I need to go out and see the world on my own. Really figure out my place among humans and where I fit in as an adult, I made some good friends as a kid and I want to make even more as an adult.” “But no matter how far apart we are you guys are my family and I will always love you, nothing can change that” she reassured her before getting up to close the trunk once it was filled. “I’m all set! Time to get on the road” she got into an old purple pick up truck looking out the window at her family who all waved goodbye to her from the porch. With a deep breath to calm her nerves, she gave one last goodbye before starting up the truck and heading down the road. Down at sunny Pendragon U freshmen were coming in for move-in day the parking lot jam-packed with cars and upperclassmen directing traffic to prevent any incidents from over-eager students. Near a secluded back part of the school, the ground opened up to reveal bright red flames and small demons trying to crawl up onto to Earth before being dragged back in by black tentacles. In a swift movement, Jr hoisted himself up by his tentacles once the demons were pulled back down “ugh I hate when vermin tag along” he muttered lowering to the ground closing his hand into a fist to make the crater close. “Easy as traveling underground is, I should look into a bike or something since I doubt people would be cool with me opening up the gates of hell just to grab a burger” he blew out a small flame on his shoulder before grabbing his bag and to check in. While crossing the parking lot to his dorm he absent-mindedly walked out in front of a truck that screeched to stop to keep from running her over. He looked up at the driver to see a young woman with multicolored hair holding a hand to her chest panting shaken from the event. When she finally regained her composure she stuck her head out the window “are you crazy? Be more careful dude you almost became roadkill!” He held his hands up laughing nervously “sorry!” he yelled before running off to the check-in line once cars behind her started honking at her to move. She sighed quickly going to a parking spot “great job Creepie, here for a few seconds and you almost run a guy over” she groaned resting her head against the steering wheel “what am I doing here?” Jr looked back from his spot in line at the parking lot “I just got here and I almost got killed because I wasn’t paying attention, get it together Jr” he muttered to himself hitting the top of his head “be normal!” Soon all the chaos finally ended when parents said their last goodbyes and everyone received their room assignments to get settled in for the night. Jr moved his way out of a crowded elevator onto his dorm room floor to be greeted by a bubbly brown-haired girl in a unicorn t-shirt “hello there!” she yelled happily. “My name is Chris-Alice, I’m the RA for this floor. Since you are the last to move in you must be Nergal Jr, Welcome to Pendragon University!” she pulled a party popper raining confetti down on him before handing him a small welcome basket. Before he had time to react she grabbed his hand leading him down the hall “you’re really lucky ya know? This floor is for lottery students who won their own single rooms for the whole year! Even though you may room alone that doesn't mean you shouldn't go out and make tons of new friends!” “But, why is a woman my RA? Did I get put on the wrong floor?” he asked pulling his hand away from her looking up and down the hall. She gave a small giggle “what time period do you think we live in? This floor has single rooms and we foster the idea that if men and women can share apartment complexes with no problem, then sharing a floor should be easy as pumpkin pie!” She stopped in front of a door with a note pinned to it with name placing a large handbook, and a room key on top of the welcome basket. “Here we go! Room 66-” “Of course my dorm number is 66-” “9! Room 669 for Nergal Jr.” “Wait, what?” “You have everything you need in the welcome basket and the handbook covers all the rules and guidelines for this building. Remember to have everything you brought moved in by six so you can come down for the welcome party we are holding on the lawn for all freshman at seven.” Feeling she did her job she handed him a small card with her contact information for any further questions he may have later before heading off to greet other arrivals. Once she left Nergal went inside to get settled “I may have rigged the draw in my favor, but it’s best for everyone I room alone.” With a long sigh, he flopped down on the bed staring up at the ceiling allowing the reality of his situation to fully sink in. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t the side character getting dragged into someone else's’ mad little world, he was living his own life.       Heyyyy Creepie!” Chris-Alice popped her head into a dorm room across the hall with an opened door “how are you enjoying your first day as a college girl?” Creepie was still unpacking her trunk placing books on her bookshelf “I almost ran some guy over with my truck in the parking lock, so...not too bad?” She stepped away from the shelf gesturing that her friend was welcomed to come inside “vehicular manslaughter is not a great way to start your college years” Chris-Alice commented placing a gift basket on her shelf. She took Creepie’s hand leading her over to the basket showing off all the items she out inside for her. “I am so happy you’re on my floor! I made sure to make a special welcome for both guys and gals!” “Special baskets?” “Yep! Like for yours, we have a yummy scented candle, some cafe coupons, a special college Bearington who is super huggable, and….” She pulled out a large black and yellow spray can causing Creepie to step back when she noticed the label. “A special value size can of daddy’s extra strength bug spray!” Creepie smiled pushing the can away with a single finger putting on a thankful smile “gee...thanks so much, Chris-Alice.” She smiled setting the can down “there’s a lawn party for all freshmen tonight to welcome everyone, you should come.” Before Creepie could refuse the offer Chris-Alice handed her an invitation wearing her down with her cheery smile causing her to take the invite with a sigh. “See ya tonight” she chimed before heading out Creepie waved with a small smile cursing peer pressure under her breath. Later on that night, everyone gathered on the lawn decorated in string lights the music almost drowned out by the student's conversations. “What am I doing here?” Creepie muttered to herself moving through the crowd, parties were never her scene and she didn’t see that changing anytime soon. When she noticed Chris-Alice serving mocktails, she saw her opportunity to get out here fast, all she needed to do was have a short conversation with her to show that she came and then she could bail. While moving through the crowd she bumped into something big and hard that gave a small grunt when she ran into it. She looked up to see an oversized muscle head in a red beanie and a black muscle shirt turn around to look at her. “Hey, I thought I was turning around to handsome dweeb his ass” he grinned looking her up and down, “but it seems I found something better.” “Sorry, I was just trying to get to my friend over by the drinks.” He stepped in her way when she tried to move past him “c' mon sweetheart, what’s your hurry?” “I just told you that I was going to see a friend.” “Your friend ain’t going anywhere, why don’t you and I get to know each other? Ya know I kinda got a thing for goth chicks.” “That’s amazing, but I am not the least bit interested in you.” When she tried to walk away again he grabbed her arm “what’s with the attitude? You bumped into me remember?” She growled trying to pull her arm from his grasp while he laughed at her attempts to get free “I like feisty girls.” “Spreg!” another man’s voice caught both their attention. When they turned to look she saw him, a pale guy with bright green eyes behind dark-framed glasses and black hair dressed in all black besides the blood red scarf around his neck. He stepped forward towards them smiling, “Hey...you’re that guy who I almos-” she stopped when she noticed the hand grasping her was trembling. “Still picking on people smaller than you? Tsk, tsk, I was sure you had already learned by now that you can’t do whatever you please just because you're bigger than someone else.”  He placed his hand on top of the arm that held her giving Sperg a smile “if you like, I can always give you a refresher course.” Spreg pulled his arm away snorting trying to regain his composure and play off the genuine fear he felt from that thinly veiled threat “I don’t got time for you losers, anyway.” Creepie rubbed her wrist staring at the man who chased Spreg off “tch, fucking football scholarships…” he muttered watching Spreg disappear into the crowd. Once Spreg was gone he turned to her with real smile “Sorry about that, are you okay?”  She nodded “thanks for the help, didn’t I almost run you over earlier today?” she asked. He looked up for a moment in thought snapping his finger when he finally remembered her “oh yeah, I’m sorry about that” he replied with a nervous laugh. He held his hand out “my name is Nergal Jr thanks for not flattening me earlier, a little too soon for a trip down to hell.” She giggled taking his hand shaking it “Creepie Creecher, thank you for rolling out of the way in time.” He took a step back when the finished shaking hands sticking his in his pocket “well, I better leave you to your fun” when he turned away from her she watched him take a few steps before stopping him. “Just a sec, you don’t have to be anywhere do you?” she smiled when he shook his head. “Then, how about we try out the drinks here? My friend is helping run the party, and it’s the least I can do after almost killing and being saved by you.” He turned around smiling following her as she gestured over to the refreshment table.

[aloofcoolkid]

Recent Changes and My Thoughts

Yo what up, it's ya boi, back after years of inactivity and lurking just in time to watch the end of an age as the very definition of what this site is or what is considered "acceptable self-expression" is about to be forever altered, and I'd argue for the worse. I get it, child pornography is a serious issue and an absolutely horrid thing that shouldn't be tolerated anywhere, and it's pretty hard to curate, especially on a site like this. But in the name of fairness and preserving individual freedom and liberty and expression, I think that the only correct thing to do is continue to fight that fight and only punish wrongdoers, not an overkill mass ban on anything that could be potentially harmful, regardless of whether or not it is, removing the burden of curation from the staff at the expense of all of the innocents who've done nothing wrong. I can't help but think of all of the NSFW artists who got as far as they did simply by harmlessly exploring their fascination with sex acts and depicting them that will now be completely shut down and erased. All of the blogs that have gone inactive will have their work erased with no backup or archive available. I can't help but think of all of the sex workers who will have their livelihoods affected by this change. I can't help but think of all of the completely innocent people who have their posts automatically and incorrectly and unjustly censored because of the overkill censorship devices being trained to ban first and fine-tune later. I can't help but think of all of the people that we've ALREADY seen affected by the pre-staging for this change, with informational and helpful and even safety-centric content and even entire tags such as surgery tags for trans folks getting incorrectly getting hit by the filter. I'm absolutely mortified by the precedent that this change sets, that the burden of proof should be on the individual to fight and struggle to prove that their post is innocent rather than it needing to be proved their post is in violation before being censored. Even worse, the precedent that sex acts and adult content are utterly vile and shouldn't be allowed, without taking into account that sex can also be a tender and intimate and healthy thing that is completely natural and has nothing wrong about it, or that exploring it can be entirely innocent, or that it can be a genuine expression of love, not just a lewd and vile topic. It sets a precedent that sex is to be painted in a negative light, rather than a positive one. It sets the precedent that even in cases of people drawing sex acts as a form of self-expression or exploring the topic, or people demonstrating sex acts for safety purposes, or people showing sex acts in a healthy way, that it's not okay. Given that before this whole issue with the app store and sudden pressure by Apple, Tumblr was okay with making adult content 18+ and leaving it at that, punishing unacceptable content on a case by case basis, I'd argue it sets the precedent that eventually, if wrongdoers cause you enough struggle, it's perfectly acceptable to sacrifice your ideals and the liberties of the innocents to ease your own personal burden of fighting them and their heinous actions, which is essentially giving them a massive victory in my eyes, if easing your personal burdens is as pyrrhic a victory as that. And last but certainly not least, by Tumblr changing as radically as this as soon as Apple applied the pressure by removing the app from the app store, this change sets the precedent that it's perfectly acceptable to compromise yourself and change and bow to the will of those stronger than you simply because of their might alone, no matter what you're sacrificing. Tumblr says that they've been thinking about these changes and removing adult content for a long time, but let's be realistic, that's just corporate-speak to save face. No corporation would readily outright admit they're doing something because they feel forced to. The fact that they've been content to keep adult content restricted behind 18+ filters while fighting child porn and the like, as well as the fact that they felt the need to address child pornography in their statement and that this change comes right on the heels of their removal from the app store is all the proof I and I believe anyone should need to see that they're simply lampshading and trying to preserve their image. If simply being removed from the iOS app store, even though their site can still be accessed on Android, computer, and even iPhones that still have the app installed (such as I am doing presently), is all it takes for them to compromise their ideals and sacrifice our ability to express ourselves, explore topics and share information as we please without being harmful, make certain non-harmful professions completely unviable, forcibly define our perception of a completely healthy and natural subject, place the burden of struggle on us, and even go so far as to demonstrate that powerful people can get what they want by bullying other people and applying pressure and that standing up for yourself and the people that trust you and place their faith in you isn't worth it, then I don't believe Tumblr is a platform that deserves the patronage of anyone. Out of respect for oneself, the other members of the community, and a basic set of values and beliefs such as the freedom to act in whatever way one sees fit provided it isn't harmful, I don't believe Tumblr nor the staff that manage it deserve our patronage or support. I do sympathize with their plight. I know it must be difficult to go up against a foe as large as Apple and to ensure that only wrongdoers are punished on such a large scale, but I don't believe compromising yourself and caving to pressure and refusing to fight for what's right is the correct response. To that end, as a form of protest, I can only think of two viable options. One would be to preserve and archive as much of the content that's to be removed as possible, to upload as much content that could get potentially flagged as possible, whether fairly or unfairly flagged, and contest every single claim to drain their resources, and to reupload flagged content but altered and transformed to circumvent the algorithm. The other, which I'm personally going to exercise and would strongly urge everyone else to as well, would be to completely abandon this site. I know, I should probably suggest an alternative place, but with the wide variety of reasons people use Tumblr I don't think one site would fit all. But by abandoning the site due to these changes, it would send a message that this kind of behavior isn't acceptable. If they're so concerned about potentially losing users from their removal from the iOS app store that they'd radically change their site, it shows that maintaining a large userbase is important to them. Let's demonstrate that losing a potential amount of userbase growth and accessibility isn't worth spitting all over the existing and loyal userbase they already have that has placed their trust and faith in them to represent their interests and protect and fight for the community that has formed along with basic fundamental ideals and decency. So with that being said, I don't really have much more to say. I suppose I'll take my leave now. I hope to see things change for the better, but if not, I hope to see you all again somewhere else. Somewhere better. Farewell.