#they’re so in love i will slam my head against a tree

[soup-scope]

But you know I'd stand on the corner

Embarrassed with a picket sign

If it meant I would see you

When I die

gavin and freelancer

avior and starlight

sam and darlin

[mykneeshurt]

Hello! I was wondering what you think 141 & Alejandro, König & Rudy’s reactions be if their partner tried to get out of bed after a very spicy night & ended up falling/couldn’t walk?😳 Also yes I’m over 18😂

Of course!! My first ever head cannon! Apologies about Gaz and Rudy I don’t really read any fics on them, hence why they’d so short 🙈 I hope they’re ok! Hehe - I’ve tried to keep this Gender Neutral, if something needs changing tell me so I can fix it! ❤️

Price 🥃

He would be loving and attentive. Price would run you a warm bath, and as you soaked your aching body in the hot water he’d make you a strong cup of tea. 2 sugars.

You struggled walking to the bath, your knees wobbling, your thighs aching, small bruises littered you skin. He’d watch you as you walked to the bathroom, your hips swaying back and forth hypnotising him.

Price would then join you in the bath, he’d sit behind you, caressing your shoulders. Peppering your skin with light healing kisses. He’d check in on you, constantly. ‘You alright love?’ … ‘god, you took me so well’

He’d lean you back against his chest, kissing your forehead, whispering praises to you. He’d slowly work his way down to your aching core, massaging your inner thighs.

‘You feel so tense love. Let me help.’

Price would hand you your tea, letting you sip it slowly, savouring the taste as he caressed your chest. He’d plan the day for you, to take your mind off the ache, the pleasurable pain. Walk the dog in the country side, find a quiet tree he could kiss you against, before returning home where he could cook for you. Worship you.

Before starting all over again.

Ghost 💀

Riley would tease you, degrade you slightly, ‘couldn’t take my cock huh?’ … ‘pathetic.’ You knew he didn’t mean it, you got off of degradation from him.

He’d make small gestures to show he cares, breakfast in bed. A back massage. Firm slow kisses on your swollen lips from the night before. Caressing and squeezing your neck, something to distract you from the pleasurable pain you felt.

If you got out of bed your knees would be weak and wobbly, earning you your new pet name ���Bambi.’ He’d throw you over his shoulder and slam you back on the bed. ‘Stay.’

He’d work you up, again. Making you want him despite the pain you felt from him fucking you the night before. You’d beg, plead and whimper for him take you again. You’d drag your nails along his bare muscular back, pleading for him to take you again.

He’d bruise your skin, holding himself back from fucking you again. He wanted you. Needed you. But he knew you needed to rest, heal, so he could have his way with you once more.

‘Careful love, sure you could take me again?’

Soap 🧼

Wee John, oh he would worry, worry he’d hurt you, but be low key proud at how well you took him. Deep, fast, hard.

‘You were so good for me hen.’ … ‘fuck you felt so good, so tight.’

He wouldn’t let you leave the bed, he’d keep you tucked into him as he cradled your face. Checking in on you constantly. Needing reassurance he didn’t hurt you too much, despite seeing you waddle to the toilet. Now that made him chuckle.

He’d whisper bad jokes to you to ease the burn you felt, he’d make you laugh to distract you. ‘Why did the beach blush? - because the sea-weed.’

He’d explore your body with his fingers, teasing you as he made his way to your aching centre. ‘Fuck off Johnny, it’s so sore.’ He’d secretly smirk to himself feeling somewhat proud, he did tell you he’d ruin you. And yet you didn’t believe him, till now.

Gaz 🇬🇧

Gaz would worship the ground you walked on for the entire day. All the chores? Done. All the cooking? He’s cooking what ever you want. Bath? Consider it run with essential oils, a glass of wine ready and your favourite candles.

‘You alright babe?’ He’d ask as you hiss when standing up. You’d kiss him sweetly, reassuring his lil head that you’re fine.

Losing your balance because your knees are so weak would cause him to giggle endlessly. ‘Fuck are you giggling at’ you’d snap throwing a pillow at him, grinning. ‘Never thought I’d see you so weak in the knees for me’ he winked.

Rudy ❤️

Rudy. What a sweetheart. He’d make you the finest hot chocolate, made from cocoa beans he brought from Mexico. The thickest whipped cream as well as mini marshmallows. Of course.

He’d put your favourite film on and you’d snuggle up on the sofa all day. ‘Eres tan hermosa’ he’d whisper to you as you buried your head in his chest. - you’re so beautiful

Stroking your head he’d check in on you ‘estas bien?’ - you ok?

As you’d lay there he’d be thinking about the positions he had you in the night before. Bent over the bed, at his mercy. He’d slowly become hard thinking about it. Your moans echoing in his memory.

Feeling unable to hold himself anymore he’d guide your lips to his as he devoured you in a moment of intense passion.

Alejandro 🌹

Alejandro would be on you again as soon as you opened your eyes. Pulling you into his embrace, intertwining your limbs together once more.

‘Te necesito mi amor’ he’d whisper into your neck ‘eres como una droga para mi.’ His sultry voice washed over you as his hands massage your skin.

He’d pepper you with kisses, with praise at how well you took him last night. How much he needed to feel you again. To feel you become a liquid beneath his as your moans injected themselves into his veins.

Wiggling out of his grasp you’d try and go to the toilet, but your knees were weak, muscles sore and tense. Losing your balance he’d be by your side within seconds. ‘Mi amor, let me help you.’

Pulling you in he’d place a lingering kiss on your lips before carrying you bridal style to wherever you needed to go.

König ✨

Definition of ‘lady in the streets a freak in the sheets.’ Wee man struggles with his anxiety in social situations but not when it’s just the two of you.

This man is obsessed with you, hence why you cannot walk this morning. You tried getting up to go to toilet but you knees gave out. You collapsed in a pile on the floor in a fit of laughter.

The mountain of a man peered over the side of the bed at you ‘mein Schatz’ he murmurs, smirking. Adoration in his eyes. He offers you his arm to help you up, before rolling you into him.

His huge arms keeping you trapped against his chest. You giggle against him, your ass bounces slightly against his cock. ‘Careful Liebling’ he growls into your ear.

He places a possessive kiss to your temple muttering words of love and praise in German to you.

He takes you to the shower, over his broad bulky shoulders and puts you gently into the tub. Leaving you to shower he quickly gets dressed and faces his demons to go to the local shop. On his return he presents you with a small bunch of flowers and your favourite hot drink.

You’re thrilled and surprised ‘König?! Are you ok? Did you manage?’ You chirp, a huge smile on your face. Pride swelling within your chest.

He found it difficult but he’d do anything for you, anything to see your face light up for him.

[petrapalerno]

Submitting to the Alien Barbarian: #1

Signing up for an alien breeding program should be scary, considering the aliens are ruthless barbarians. On the upside, they won’t hesitate to give it to you as rough as you like it. 

Submitting to the Alien Barbarian is part of a smutty novella collection, Petra Palerno’s Filthy Shorts, that features otherworldly love interests. 

In this installment, you’ll find: alien romance, size difference, double dongs, submission, bratting, breeding, will it fit, rough play and pregnancy.

TW/CW: rough consensual sex, primal play, knotting, breeding, aliens, dominance/submission, blood play, spanking, pregnancy, fisting, overstimulation, anal play, gagging, violence, birthing, science fiction medical procedures and murder.

PREORDER NOW!

The heat radiating from the crowd, along with the smell of sex, hits me in the face as the door clicks open and the pilot bot dumps me unceremoniously into the dirt.

My heart thuds in my chest, but it’s not the excitement I thought I would feel.

I’m scared shitless.

But this is what I wanted, this is what I signed up for. 

“Mates needed for Volkroth spawning season. All expenses paid for biologically compatible species.” 

You wanted someone to be rough with you, to be a fucking barbarian with you.

Maybe it was too much to expect an orientation before being dropped off at the spawning pits. I figured after the extensive medical testing to ensure biological capability, they’d ease me in.

I was so wrong.

Besides the chorus of fucking masses that surround me, there’s the guttural noises of males as they slam their fists into each other’s bodies.

Something I didn’t realize from the holo communication is that the aliens are fucking huge. They tower over me as one purple brute rips the other male off a yellow alien female, who arguably looks like she’s having a great time. She even laughs as the male turns and clocks the attacking alien on the jaw.

His bones snap, sounding like a lightning-struck tree, as he crumples to the ground. I’m not sure if the breaking noise was his jaw or his neck—but I don’t think anyone cares.

They’re barbaric! They kill soldiers deemed too weak to fight. How could you want to mate a Volkroth? My roommate’s disgusted face flashes in my mind as I wonder if the alien on the ground is dead or not. 

“If you’re too weak to fight, you’re too weak to carry on the bloodline,” the victor yells.

The last male standing drips with the perspiration of sex, his body slick and shining. Unlike the one I saw on the holo comm, he’s completely nude.

More importantly, the big beast has two massive cocks resting on one heavy set of balls. They twist around each other, almost looking like they’re prehensile. I must gasp, because I draw his attention.

I scramble to stand when the alien’s eyes fall on me. His thick black hair, falling free of his topknot, spills over the four horns. There are two on either side of his head that curl proudly away from his face. 

“A human?” He almost laughs as he says it. “I’d have thought your kind too soft, too exotic to be in the spawning pits with the rest of us.”

His voice is deadly smooth as he approaches me, a predator stalking his prey.

I freeze, even though my brain is screaming to flee, that I shouldn’t let this monster near me.

But there’s a broken part of my judgement that wants him to grab me by the neck and fuck me into the dirt. So I stay still, stuck between two desires, my heart in my throat.

I crane my head up to look at him. He moves one very deliberate step closer. He’s so close now I can feel his breath on my face.

His eyes darken, and he licks his lips.

“You should run.” His voice is almost a whisper as it leaves his mouth.

The logical part of my mind wins, and I bolt. But I don’t have time to worry about where I’m running to. His huge hand shoots around my midsection, pulling me back against his body.

His enormous cocks strain against my ass, the thin fabric of my jumpsuit doing nothing to protect me from the heat of his body. He brings his free hand up to my neck and squeezes rough fingers against the column of my throat. It sends sparks down to my weeping pussy and I squirm in his hold.

“I want you full and dripping with my seed, and only mine, human,” he breathes into my ear.

I bite back a moan. 

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You want a beast to breed you, to make you submit?”

“Yes,” I manage to eek out. The first words I’ve spoken on this planet are to agree to be some space barbarian’s plaything.

His hand rips the neckline of my jumpsuit, exposing my breast to the planet’s humid air. My nipples pebble instantly as he drags his rough hand over the sensitive flesh.

The hand on my neck weaves into my hair, grabbing my ponytail and yanking my head further back until my cheek rests against his. His stubble rubs my cheek raw.

“How do you want it?” he asks.

“Rough,” I groan as his fingers pinch my nipple. I arch my back, searching for some friction as my hips lift. I want him to fuck me.

Suddenly, there’s a flash of pain and I yelp as his hand comes down hard, sharply smacking my tit.

“Can you handle rough, with all this softness?” His palms smoothes over the agitated skin of my red breast, the stinging melting into something blurred with an intense pleasure.

“Only one way to find out,” I say, with some shocking boldness. “Fuck me.”

His breath catches at my change in tone.

This is what I wanted. My body sings with joy. I want him to use me; I want him to fucking breed me.

I look back at the alien, and his brows knit. A look of resolution crosses his face.

“I won’t share you,” he says before throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

[eupheme]

Hi, yes, hello, if possible I would love if you could play around with the idea of reader potentially being a runaway mutant which Logan and Wade are actively trying to pursue. I had an idea for someone who can break down their molecular structure and turn into mist. Enemies to lovers. Potentially a juicy fight where those two are varying levels stumped and aggravated because how tf do you fight against fog??

hi hi friend! 💖 this is such a cool idea for a character - I have a little mid/post-fight drabble for you below! thanks so much for sending this in, I hope you like it!

mist by a mile | 250 words

logan howlett x gn!reader x wade wilson

“Fuck!” Wade yelps - fingers closing around nothing, as his shoulder slams hard against the tree, “This is like trying to catch goddamn water.”

“Mist.” Logan grunts. Eyes still fixed on where you disappeared - your molecules rearranging just as Wade had trapped you.

His partner’s eyes roll, as he braces against the tree, “Yeah, super appreciate you pointing that out.”

“No, fuckface. They turn into mist, “ He sighs, You said water.”

“God, what an ending,” Wade hums, “You know, I almost got kicked out of book club for saying the movie was better? Talk about bleak.”

They’re wasting time. Logan’s nostrils flare, trying to catch your scent.

A week has passed since they were ordered to track you down. Chasing you through the small city, and then deep into the forest. So many near catches, as you slipped right through their fingers.

It was maddening, the way you escaped each time. The way you had worked your way into their minds, taking up space.

“Can you focus?” He snaps, “It’s like you didn’t even read the goddamn brief.”

“Did you?” Wade’s hands brace on his hips, as he shivers, “Garamond makes my dick feel weird.”

Logan’s head shakes, but it’s just the move he needs - catching the sweet, unmistakable aroma that follows in the wake of your disappearance. Taunting him - winding through the trees, towards an outcropping of rock.

“Come on,” His head tilts, “Can’t keep it up for too long.”

He knows he’ll track you down.

There’s more than one reason they’d like to get their hands on you, after all.

thank again for sending this in! 💖

[phfenomena]

❝i’ve been in love with her for ages.❞ || jack champion x f!reader

requested - nope! self indulgent!

a/n - he’s so cute :3 him and the 1975 is just *chefs kiss* i also got very carried away sorry!!

warnings - drinking, marijuana consumption, romcom ass storyline, jacks lowkey an idiot but it’s okay she’s also an idiot, swearing, mentions of egging homes, also mentions of blowing a car up, let me know if i missed any!!

THE HOUSE was lively and loud with chatter, music, and the stomps of the party guests walking upstairs. her hands were filled a large red solo cup full of foul smelling liquor and a joint in her opposite hand. she took a swig of her drink and grimaced as it was going down, burning. she passed the blunt to her left and stood up.

jack was standing off in the opposite corner of the living room with his hometown friends, answering the never-ending questions about acting and how much money he makes. his reply trailed off and his eyes caught her. the only one who didn’t welcome him home last week, and the reason he’s been moping around.

their eyes locked as she was walking towards the hallway, towards him. his heart beat picks up and he takes a drink to feel more confident. she walks right by him, maintaining the staring contest until she was out of sight. he embarrassingly looked down at his shoes and pretended that he was fascinated with the view of his dirty converse.

she closed the bathroom door and leaned her back against it, slamming her head back. her veins feel as if they’re pumping molten lava into her heart, everything burns, including her cheeks. she gazes at her flustered and flushed reflection, wondering why she couldn’t just talk to him without feeling as if she’ll randomly combust.

unbeknownst to them, but they had the same night routine. stare at their bedroom ceiling and think of each other, waves of regret and sadness flowing through them. connecting them by an invisible string. jack wishes it could go back to how it was before he left to pursue acting, how it was when they were kids, how it was when you talked to him. well, why couldn’t it be? he quickly pulled a hoodie on and slipped out of the back door, heading for the house next to his and picking up the small pieces of gravel in the garden.

she swears she hallucinated it, the sound of the rocks battering against her window. hallucinated pulling her curtain back and her worst fears becoming a reality. her bedroom lamp is on, he can see her when she looks down at him. he stares up and mouths the word ‘lake’. she should’ve shook her head no, she should’ve closed the curtain and went to bed, but she nodded and got dressed.

the night air felt fresh against their skin as they walked the short trail throughout the trees behind their houses to the lake, their lake. they haven’t been since he left, and she still hasn’t spoken a word to him. their steps synchronized and he kept glancing up at her, only for a fleeting second.

as the pair of the teenagers sat on the dock, all they could hear was the crickets song and the melody of wind against tree branches. “why won’t you talk to me?” it almost sounds like a whisper, like it should blend in with the wind. she lifted her head up and starting fiddling with her nails. “i don’t want to welcome you back into my life just for you to leave again, jack. it sounds stupid, but you left. and you stopped texting and calling.” he had a solemn expression and his eyebrows were furrowed. “i’m sorry, i was really busy and i didn’t have any time. i didn’t mean to ignore you.” she nods softly and scoffs.

the sun had rose long ago and was now in its zenith, she was still in bed. she wasn’t sleeping or trying to, she just hadn’t gotten up all day. if she looked out her window she’d see jack and his family in their backyard, circled around the grill and laughing. she hates his perfect laugh, his perfect face, but most of all she hates his voice. the way it carried throughout the air and everyone recognized it. but she’s grown to despise it throughout his absence.

‘please just come with us. idk if jack will even be there.’ she stared at the text for what felt like hours. she decided her anger towards him couldn’t ruin her last summer before she went to college, she could have fun and still hate him.

the beach was already littered with cans of varying liquids and the bonfires were at their peak. she was waiting in the parking lot for her friends to meet her there but they insisted she came down to them. she was scanning the sea of bodies, trying to find a familiar face. the second she’d approached the group a drink was shoved into her hand and the music was turned up, which was already deafening.

he sat on the shore with a few friends, drinking. away from the crowd so he could breathe. then he heard her laugh. the sound he’d grown to miss so ardently, but it wasn’t even directed towards him. his mind starts racing at the thought of a random guy making her laugh that loud. she was probably drunk and stumbling on the sand. he stood up, ignoring how light headed he was, and walked towards the sound of her.

she leaned into the boys embrace, his name was ‘tanner’ or ‘tyler, she couldn’t remember. tanner-tyler almost felt like jack if she focused on it enough, but her mind was already fuzzy. her head was thrown back laughing at another funny story from their younger years. the closed her eyes and listened to the group, feeling very tired and not wanting to engage in the party anymore.

his eyes laid on the unholy sight of her with a guy who wasn’t him. his hand all over her, a smile plastered across her face. he approaches the group and accepts all hugs and greetings thrown his way, but his eyes didn’t leave the girl sitting on the sand. he took a seat in a break of the circle of teens, right across from the scene that would possibly haunt his dreams tonight, and forever.

her eyes opened after hearing his name and hearing his voice piping into the stories and adding small details the rest forgot about. her half-lid gaze was flickering between the hands on her waist and thigh and the beautiful boy across from her. she felt as if she’d might throw up, no, she actually had to throw up. she stood up quickly, throwing the hands off of her and mumbled out ‘feel sick’ and beelined for the bushes by the parking lot. jack watched the scene unfold and began following her, calling her name and asking her to slow down.

she dropped to her knees and starting coughing into the sand, he approached quickly and pulled her hair behind her head and starting rubbing small circles in the middle of her back. she couldn’t even be mad at him, not when he was being so gentle while she was throwing up her guts.

she rolled over and sat down on the sand, wiping her mouth. he was squatted in front of her, waiting for something to happen, anything to happen. “thank you.” she managed to croak out through her hoarse throat. he nodded and hummed. “can i take you home? i think you need to go to bed, drank too much.” she nodded and tried standing herself, ultimately depending on jack pulling her up and walking her to his car. gently placing her in the front seat and buckling her seat belt. “i’ll be right back, i just need to tell them i’m taking you home.”

the surprised and confused expressions amongst the group as jack explained where they’re going. the boy who was wrapped around her like an invasive species of vine piped in. “why don’t i take her home? she was all over me, i could’ve gotten real lucky.” his friends pipe in telling him to shut up and hurling insults towards him. “she doesn’t wanna go home with you. trust me.” a small smile on his lips as he walks back to his car.

as he started the car and handed his phone to her to pick a song, her knees were pulled up to her chest and she was staring out of the windshield. “m’ sorry for making you leave. i can take myself home.” he laughs and it surprises her, her eyes moving to him. “absolutely not, you’re too drunk to even know if the light is green.” she smiled in his direction. watching him as he puts an arm behind her seat while reversing out of his parking spot. she hadn’t looked at him much lately, just throughout instagram posts and whatever tiktok edit decided to show up on her home page.

the car ride was filled with music and a tension that felt as if it was absorbing all the oxygen in the vehicle. the car came to a small stop in between of their houses. they just stared at each other. “i know we just got here but i’m really hungry.” she says with a small smile and he laughed, but she didn’t seem to hate it.

the drive through at the taco bell was wrapped around the restaurant. “are we willing to wait half an hour for tacos?” she nodded and went into detail about what she’d do for a taco. they were laughing, together. he remembered the first day he got his drivers liscense and they went out for taco bell, and ate at the top of the hill that overlooks the city. he almost didn’t hear the crackling of the work out speaker through his daydream of memories.

“i can’t believe you remember my order, that’s so funny” it’s sweet, but she couldn’t say that. he laughed as he began turning into the road for the hill. he prayed she wouldn’t notice until they got there, but the way she got quiet and stared at him, she knew. she had focused her gaze on the passing trees and houses. as he turned off the car and pushed his seat back to begin eating, she looked at the city lights. “i haven’t been back here since you…” she trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence that hurts her own feelings.

“i really missed you, it’s so hard looking at our hometown and going by our spots but i’m not with you. the guys had to pull me out of bed tonight so i’d go to the bonfire. i really am sorry for being an absolute asshole and not talking to you.” his voice was shaky but his eyes were gentle and almost looked inviting. “the reason i was so mad that you were leaving is because i had the biggest crush on you since middle school, and we had this great summer and then you just left. i mean, i’m glad you’re back, don’t get me wrong. it was just really hard.” it was the residual alcohol talking now, no filter on her thoughts that reel against her own borders.

“…do you still?” his expression almost looked like he was begging. “do i still, what?” “have the biggest schoolgirl crush on me?” she fought her laugh at his wording but went silent. “i’m sorry, was that the wrong thing to say? i was just joking-” “can you shut up for one second and let me think about what to say?” he went silent and slightly widened his eyes at her outburst. “sorry, that was kinda mean.”

they sat in the suffocating silence for a few more seconds before she opened her mouth to speak. “even if i say yes, at the end of the day you’re still leaving. i’m starting college in new york and you’ll go back to california. but…” she bit her cheek, debating if she should keep talking. “but i do. that’s why i was avoiding you, i thought it would go away after you left but it didn’t.” she turns her head to him and he looks confused at her drawn out answer. she laughed and puts her hand on top of his. “i still have a super schoolgirl crush on you.” he smiled, she leaned closer in and he had to roll himself to pull back. “maybe we should do this another time, when you’re not drunk.”

“dude, i don’t know how i keep fucking up with her! it’s like everything i do is wrong and now she’s pissed at me again right when i just got to her to talk to me.” jack laid on his bedroom floor with his friend sitting on his bed, above him. “she tried to kiss you and you said no, man. you rejected her! she’s obviously gonna be pissed at you.” “she was drunk, she wouldn’t have even remembered it and i’d be the idiot all over again.”

“yeah! i was like ‘i still like you’ and he looked at me with those stupid eyes and when i tried to kiss him he literally said no. who the hell asks if you like them and then rejects you?” she paced the length of her bedroom with her best-friends sitting on her bed watching her vent. “i was so fucking nice to him when he didn’t deserve it and he does this to me. we should egg his house and blow up his car.” her two friends look at each other and begin to try calming her down.

their bedrooms faced each other, but she’d closed her curtains. her friend had opened them while trying to explain how badly she wanted to not egg his house and blow up his car. he was sitting on his bed with his friend, seemingly talking about something important as he was motioning with his hands a lot. the two boys looked towards the movement they saw and they both freeze.

“okay, fine. but i swear to god if one of the boys invited jack, i am going to dump a milkshake on his head and beat his ass.” she’d been convinced to go out for dinner with their friends.

the young group was laughing and eating their meals, the diner was fairly busy so she wasn’t focused on the people moving around her. until she saw him, and he sat in the empty chair next to her. she pressed her lips together and looked at her best-friends with the fury of one thousand hells. they smiled sheepishly and pretended to be very interested in the story being told. he muttered a small ‘hi’ and she ignored him. until he pushed his chair closer to hers and his thigh was touching hers.

he called after her in the parking lot, she tried to ignore it and get into her car before he could catch up but he grabbed her arm, instantly letting go when he got her attention. “please, just hear me out.” his voice was low and fought the urge to hit him. she sighed and turned to face him. “you have one minute before i walk away.” he scrambled for his words and stuttered out a “you were drunk and i didn’t want to kiss you, well, no! i did want to kiss you but when you were sober and i didn’t even think you’d remember enough to even remember but clearly you did so, um, i’m really sorry. every time i get close to you i just go fuck it up.” her eyes widened at his rushed words and panicked behavior.

“did you drive here?” was all she said. he shook his head no “no, i rode with chad.” she motioned towards her car and started opening her door. looking back at him standing there. “get in the goddamn car!” he quickly ran to the passenger door and climbed in.

“so, does this mean you forgive me?” “it means you’re on parole and if you fuck up again i’m gonna egg your house and blow up your car.” he nods and smiles at her as they pulled up in front of their houses. “i’ve been in love with you for ages, and i can’t seem to get it right. let me take you out tomorrow, and if you didn’t like it, you never have to see me again.” she smiled and turned in her seat. “i could never not want to see you, jack.”

he turned towards her and looked down to avert her gaze. “it’s kind of my turn to confess and spill my guts, but i think i already have.” he lifts his head up and slightly leans in, testing the waters. he’s almost expecting a punch to the face, but instead his lips are met with hers. he feels as if god himself had bestowed a piece of heaven right in front of him, and he wondered what he did to deserve something this good.

[circle-with-me]

sunshine in my eyes

pairing: nicholas ruffilo x reader

tags/cw: domestic nicky, lots of fluff, very mild nsfw conversation, swimming

word count: 1k

tag list: @malice-ov-mercy @baddestomens @sitkowski @somebodyels3 @broken0mens @tearfallpixie @cookiesupplier @meekahy @lacktoesandtoddlerants @sammyjoeee @collective-heartbreak @agravemisstake @catharsis-in-darkness @to-be-written @collapsedglasshouses @itsafullmoon @lma1986

author’s note: after i posted my cute beachy Will blurb yesterday it got my wheels turning. i’ve been wanting to write something fluffy for my beloved @deathblacksmoke so i thought why not continue the summer trend? also, the cringe is intentional bc they’re cute and in love thx 🫶🏻

The lawn mower roars outside while you get a large glass of ice ready. You look outside the kitchen window and see Nick hard at work in the yard. Sighing, you grab the pitcher of lemonade from the counter and pour some in the glass. He had been working outside all day in the heat while all of your chores were inside and air conditioned. You figured the least you could do was bring him something cold to drink.

It wasn’t all for nothing, at least. This is the first summer in your new house. You had brazenly planned a get together with the guys and a few others later that evening. Both of you wanted to make sure the house looked perfect for your guests.

You fill your own glass and push your way onto the back porch, carefully sitting them on the table. Yelling at Nick, you realize it’s useless as the mower is far too loud. You wave your arms around and finally he looks up. He gives you a confused smile and turns off the machine.

“What is this?!” He yells, waving his arms around in a mocking manner. You roll your eyes at him as he laughs.

“Come get your lemonade, jerk!” You yell back playfully.

Nick accepts the drink with a smile and a kiss on your cheek. He doesn’t need to say much about the taste—the smacking of his lips and soft mmm’s as he drinks serve as a positive review. It’s impossible to say no to him when he asks for another glass… not that you would ever say no to him in the first place.

“How much more do you have left, Nicky?”

He sits his drink down, scanning the yard and considering your question. If you said you thought the boy you met seven years ago in a cramped venue in Richmond would be sitting on a porch with you now gauging how much yard work he had left, you would definitely be lying. Domestic bliss wasn’t even on your radar then, but now, you can’t imagine life without it.

“I’m almost done with the back. I just have to do some shaping around those trees over there,” He says, pointing. “I gotta make sure I didn’t miss anything in the front. I should be good after that.”

“God, you’re so hot when you talk about yard work.” You tease, fanning yourself. Nick whips his head to face you, smirking.

“You think so?”

“Mmhmm… It gets me all hot and bothered.” You lean across the table, touching his arm and winking.

“What are you going to do about it?” Nick responds teasingly.

“Probably go take a cold shower. All by myself.” You dramatically drag out the last few words and stand up to head for the patio door. The chair screeches behind you as Nick scrambles out of it to catch up to you. He grabs you by the arm and turns you around, pushing you against the door. All attempts at being serious are gone now as you can’t stop giggling at him.

Nick pins your arms above your head, planting quick pecks all over your face. His face is slimy and covered in sweat. You try to squirm away from him but he holds you tight—committed to making you miserable. He whispers filthy comments in your ears as his hands roam and you quickly realize you’re losing control of the situation. You manage to sneak out of his grasp, opening the door behind you and slamming it shut.

“Don’t you dare take a shower without me!” He groans.

“Sounds like you better hurry up and finish that yard work then.” You giggle.

The party goes off without a hitch. The guys took it upon themselves to handle the grill so you didn’t have to. You sat and listened to them argue over whose technique was best for what seemed like an eternity before you announced your famous jalapeño poppers were ready. They all swarmed the table, picking the plate clean and thanking you in their individual ways. Nick stayed at the grill mouthing a silent thank you. You winked at him and brought him a special plate you had saved just for him.

Later on, everyone decides to go swimming once their stomachs have settled. You lose count of how many times Noah throws you in the pool, but you get your revenge in a heated game of chicken and a devastating pool noodle attack. Looking around to share in your victory, you catch Nick laid out on a pool chair. His head is lulled against the top of the chair. He’s chuckling at all of the chaos—the arm lazily draped across his bare stomach jumping as his soft belly shakes. The happiness radiating from him makes your heart flutter.

He’s alone though, and you can’t have that.

Nick keeps his eyes on you as you step out of the water and pad over to him. You grab the towel placed over the other chair and dry off with it. When you’re done he coaxes you into his lap and you happily oblige, curling into his arms with your head on his chest.

“You okay, Nicky?”

All he does is hum in response and the vibration you feel through his chest is bliss. His entire body is warm from laying in the sun and he wraps the towel around you tighter, kissing the top of your head.

“Then what are you doing over here all by yourself?”

You feel him take a deep breath but it’s not from anxiety or discontent. His heart beats next to your ear calmly. You know there’s nothing to worry about.

“When we first met,” He starts, dragging his hand up and down your arm. “Did you ever think we’d have all of this?” He waves his arm and you look around. You see a backyard you’ve both worked so hard for full of friends that you would trust with your life. Memories of younger versions of the people you love so much creep into your mind. It’s all a little overwhelming how far you’ve all come.

Seven years. Seven summers. This one might just be your favorite of them all.

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

I will love you (I really love you)

My second fic for @painlandweek has been posted. You can read it below or here on AO3!

Prompt: love confessions

Word Count: approx. 5K

Rating: T

Warnings: none

Summary: Five times Charles tries to tell Edwin that he's in love with him and one time he succeeds.

***

Before

It might be the shock of being tossed nearly ten meters that does it. It might be that the mysterious statue they’re investigating is located in about as scenic a place as you can find: deep in the forest in the middle of nowhere, right next to a little lagoon with a waterfall. Or it might be those lexicographic spectacles that Edwin takes every opportunity to wear.

“Are you quite alright, Charles?” Edwin calls. 

Charles lies flat on his back, staring up at the blue sky filtering in through the trees and taking account of all his various limbs. “Yeah, I’m aces. Never better.”

“Excellent. I think we can assume this final rune is a protection sigil of some sort. It seems to prevent anyone from touching the statue.”

“Yeah, think I gathered that, mate.” Charles pushes himself up on his elbows to find that Edwin is still kneeling at the base of the statue, examining it as closely as he can without touching it, his spectacles slipping down his nose. Charles always thinks that the lexicographic spectacles look like something a somewhat dorky James Bond would wear. They make Edwin’s green eyes look enormous.

Edwin looks up at him and smiles, looking as pleased as he always does when he’s cracked open the latest clue. “I think I know what’s been troubling our client.”

It might be the shock. It might be the lagoon. It might be the way Edwin’s eyes look framed by those spectacles or the satisfied smile he’s wearing.

Whatever it is, it feels like a hundred protection sigils slamming into him when Charles realizes that he’s head over tits in love with Edwin Payne.

***

“Niko,” Charles says the next day, sitting at Niko and Crystal’s kitchen table. Edwin is back at the office, working on their latest report for the Night Nurse. She made the mistake of calling their last report “half-assed” so Edwin is exacting his revenge by reporting every detail of their latest case, down to the interesting beetle they found crawling on the enchanted statue. He’ll be hours yet. “You’re good at this romance stuff, aren’t you?”

Niko puts down her mug of tea and smiles knowingly. “The only kind of anime I watch more than detective stories are romances.”

“Right,” Charles says. “Because I think I might be a bit rubbish at romance.”

Leaning against the counter, Crystal makes a sound that’s a bit too noncommittal. He could tell her that she’s also pretty rubbish at romance, which is why they decided months ago that they really should stick with being friends, but he’s on a mission that doesn’t involve arguing with Crystal today.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Niko says loyally. “Why do you think you’re rubbish?”

“Because it took me over three decades to figure out I’m in love with Edwin.”

He expects this to be a momentous announcement. His world seems like it’s been turned entirely upside down in the hours since he realized. Except, neither Niko nor Crystal look particularly shocked. Crystal lets out a long, exasperated breath while Niko beams at him.

“I’ve been waiting for this.” Niko claps her hands together.

“Waiting for this?” Bemused, Charles looks between Niko and Crystal.

“Nope.” Crystal shakes her head. “I am not getting involved in this.”

He bristles. “What? You don’t approve?”

That earns him an eye roll that he probably deserves. “No, but it feels super weird to talk about two of my best friends hooking up, especially when I used to make out with one of them on a regular basis.”

“We’re not just going to hook up. I love him.”

Niko makes a noise like he just made some kind of romantic speech at the end of a movie, complete with swelling music.

“Still not getting involved,” Crystal says.

Before Charles can protest, Niko reaches across the table and grabs his hand. “Tell us everything.”

So he tells them all about his realization at the statue. He thinks it makes for an anticlimactic story, but Niko seems delighted.

“And what did he say when you told him?” she asks.

“Er.” Charles scrubs a hand through his hair.

Crystal arches an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t told him yet.”

“Wasn’t the right time. We were on a case and you know how Edwin gets about distractions.”

She mutters something to herself. He can’t hear the words, but he guesses they aren’t complimentary.

“Oi, thought you weren’t getting involved.” He glares at her.

“I don’t need to be involved to judge you.”

Niko interrupts his retort. “You’re going to tell him, right?”

“Of course I am,” Charles says, like the thought doesn’t terrify him a little. “Just need to find the right time, yeah?”

Niko nods seriously. “He did tell you he loved you on the steps out of Hell. That’s pretty dramatic. I guess it will be hard to top that.”

“He told you that?” Charles is appalled. “Both of you?”

“Of course he told us,” Crystal deadpans. “He and Niko spent half the flight from Seattle to London dissecting the whole thing.”

Ah. Charles had spent most of that flight hanging out on the wing of the plane. There were some perks to being dead. “Well, I’m not going to go back to Hell just so I can tell Edwin I love him, so I’ll figure something else out.”

“Skywriting,” Niko says. “No, find him a really old book and write something romantic inside. Or maybe a series of love letters, each with a clue to find the next one. Edwin would love that. Oooh, or you could find a fairy ring and—”

Charles holds out a hand to stop her. “Mate, hate to break it to you, but I’d rather go back to Hell than deal with fairies.”

“Or you could just tell him,” Crystal says. “You’re practically an old married couple anyway. May as well make it official.”

“That’s why it needs to be super romantic.” Niko looks a bit starry-eyed. “You guys have been building up to this for, like, forever.”

“Right,” Charles says slowly. “Romantic. I can do romantic.”

***

1

The very spot where Charles first realized that he was madly in love with Edwin Payne seems the natural place to  confess his feelings. Luckily, they have reason to revisit the statue by the lagoon, so Edwin can break the enchantment that’s been plaguing their client. It’s not often their cases bring them somewhere with a waterfall; Charles knows he should take advantage of the romantic scenery while he can.

He stands by and watches Edwin work, admiring the way his graceful hands move as he carves a circle of runes around the statue. He’s always liked watching Edwin work, but it’s only now that he’s letting himself notice the fluid motion of his fingers and the way his mouth purses in concentration.

“Charles?”

Charles blinks. “Yeah, mate?”

He’s been so busy watching the hand holding the chalk that he totally missed that Edwin’s other hand is outstretched, clearly expecting Charles to deposit whatever he needs into his hand without any fuss, as Charles has been doing for years. Instead, Charles blinks at the outstretched hand, mind strangely blank. Edwin has a tiny freckle on the inside of his wrist, just peeking out from under the glove. Has it always been there?

“The Dictionary of Ancient Runes, Volume 18, if you please, Charles?” Edwin asks in the tone he uses when he’s trying very hard not to snap.

“Sure thing.” Charles fishes in his infinite backpack and produces the thick, navy blue volume, handing it over. 

Edwin examines one of the pages for a moment, then carefully draws the last few runes before snapping the book shut and straightening up. “There. Now we wait a quarter of an hour or so and if this doesn’t work, onto Plan B.”

“Right.” This is the part Charles has been waiting for. He throws a casual arm around Edwin’s shoulders, steering him to face the lagoon. “Pretty view, isn’t it?”

“The kind of view that makes me glad I don’t have corporeal flesh, or I’d be getting eaten alive by mosquitoes,” Edwin says dryly.

That’s what Charles adores about Edwin, his romantic spirit. He realizes he’s bouncing nervously on his toes and forces himself to still. “Remember Hell?” he blurts out, then winces. That wasn’t how he planned on starting this, by reminding Edwin of terror and pain. Fuck, he had a whole speech planned. He even rehearsed it with Niko.

Edwin turns to face him. One of his eyebrows has crept so high up on his forehead that Charles half-expects it to take flight. “I think I recall something of the sort.”

There’s nothing to do but plow on, hoping to salvage this. “What we talked about…”

“We talked about many things in Hell.” Abruptly, Edwin turns back to the lagoon.

Charles is starting to panic a little. He seems to be messing this up and he's not completely sure how. “Listen, Edwin—” He registers movement out of the corner of his eye and has already shoved Edwin out of the way when a stone arm swings right through the place where his friend was just standing. When he turns, he finds the statue standing next to its pedestal, its serene smile suddenly seeming much more menacing.

“Time for Plan B, Charles!” Edwin shouts, but Charles is already drawing his cricket bat.

By the time they’re done, the lagoon is filled with chunks of broken statue and the view doesn’t seem quite so romantic anymore.

***

2

It’s only natural that after the Case of the Statue with the Shit Bloody Timing, they have a series of tough cases, one of which involves ritual sacrifice, which always makes Edwin extra twitchy. Crystal also has a crisis with her parents, leaving her unavailable. After over three decades without a psychic, Edwin and Charles have gotten so used to having her around in the past months that her absence throws them off their game. Plus, something has put the Night Nurse in a foul mood—Niko is convinced that she’s pining for Jenny, but Charles has his doubts—so she’s riding their asses harder than usual.

All in all, it’s not a great time for Charles to be distracted, but he can’t help it. When he looks at Edwin, he can feel all the things he’s not saying like a physical weight on his tongue. He half-expects them to all come bursting out like the girl in The Exorcist and the split pea soup. It’s hard to focus on murder and magical mayhem, when Edwin Payne is existing in the same space as him, with his kissable mouth and his perfect hair that Charles desperately wants to see mussed up. And his high-waisted pants, which Charles has become more than a little obsessed with. Did Edwin always have a great ass? He feels like he should have noticed that earlier.

Still, Charles has time to work on his next plan. Since none of their cases take them to anywhere remotely scenic—unless you count the posh house where they end up fighting a vampire—he has to come up with something new. His chance finally presents itself on a quiet, rainy night where Crystal and Niko are off having a girl’s night with some friends from school and the Night Nurse is probably somewhere making kittens cry.

“Got you something, mate,” Charles says in as casual a tone as he can manage.

“Oh?” Edwin looks up from the thick, leather-bound tome about flesh-eating fungi he’s reading. “My birthday isn’t for months, Charles.”

“This is just because.” Feeling a little shy, Charles hands over the wrapped parcel. “Hope you like it.”

Still looking puzzled, Edwin unwraps the gift. When the paper falls away, revealing the book inside, he lets out a little gasp and looks up at Charles with wide eyes. “Where did you find this?”

“Had to do some digging, but I found it at some weird little bookshop across town.” Getting the bookseller to agree to sell it to him had been a challenge—the man had acted like Charles was about to carve out his firstborn’s still-beating heart—but Charles knows how to use his smile to his advantage.

“This has been out of print for nearly a century.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Years ago, Edwin lamented to Charles that he’d been greatly enjoying a detective serial in the last months of his life, only to return from Hell to find that not a single copy of the story seemed to remain and no one even seemed to remember its existence. Edwin never learned how it ended and it’s been bothering him for decades.

“Thank you, Charles.” Edwin’s voice is choked. “This is… very thoughtful.”

“Hope it has a happy ending, mate.”

Edwin smiles at him, eyes a little too bright. “Truly, I just want to know if my guess about who the killer is was right.”

“Sure it was. You’re a pretty crack detective.”

Edwin laughs and ducks his head. Squaring his shoulders, Charles takes a step closer. “Edwin, I…”

There’s a pop and the Night Nurse appears in the center of the office, holding a thick stack of papers and scowling at them. “Would anyone like to explain to me why the report on the Molly Mickelson case contains seven thousand words about the origins of the word ‘ectoplasm?’”

***

3

Their caseload continues to be jam packed and every time Charles tries to find a chance to tell Edwin he loves him, someone always seems to interrupt, whether it’s a client, the Night Nurse, Crystal, Niko, Jenny, the ghost postman, or even the bloody Cat King swinging by London to “just say hi.” Charles is about to put wards up on the office so no one can barge in for an hour or two, but he knows Edwin will decry that as bad for business.

Instead, he remembers Niko’s suggestion of a series of love letters. He doesn’t know if he has multiple love letters in him—he’s good with words, but not necessarily with putting them in writing—but he thinks he can manage at least one decent one. So while Edwin is spending an evening with Niko, Charles takes advantage of the empty office to try and put everything he feels into writing.

He spends hours pouring his heart out onto a sheet of paper, discarding countless drafts as not being good enough. He tells Edwin that he’s everything to him, that he feels so bloody lucky to get to spend the rest of eternity with him, that he’s pretty sure the tranquil eternity the Night Nurse is always nattering on about is right here, solving cases with his best mate for the rest of his existence. He tells him he loves him in every way he knows how until he’s filled up two whole sheets of paper with everything he’s feeling.

Just as he’s slipped the letter into an envelope and left it on the desk for Edwin to find, the door comes flying open and Niko comes racing in, Edwin at her heels. Charles knows the minute he sees their wide-eyed, terrified expressions that something is terribly wrong.

“Hellhound!” Edwin gasps out.

“What?” Charles grabs his cricket bat from where it’s leaning against the wall. “I thought you went to the movies. How the hell did you run into a—”

But there’s no time to find out the details, because then a flaming hound with burning red eyes and razor sharp teeth bursts into the office, its attention focused on Edwin, and there’s too much screaming and fire to have a proper conversation. When they finally send the beastie back to Hell where it belongs, half the office is burnt to a crisp and the other half is in disarray, but all three of them are unharmed.

Charles stares at the desk, which sports a giant scorch mark right down the middle. Most of the papers on it were burnt to ash. All that’s left of his letter to Edwin is a single corner. He picks it up and pockets it before Edwin can see, even though there’s nothing obviously romantic about the bit that’s left.

“It’s alright,” Edwin says, following Charles’s gaze. “Nothing I was working on was of great value. And I’ve been thinking we need a larger desk anyway, now that we have more members of the agency.”

Charles nods jerkily, feeling like the scrap of paper in his pocket is an iron weight. “Aces. No harm done, then.”

***

4

Of course, the hellhound isn’t the end. It turns out that the last demon that owned Edwin’s soul—whatever being controlled that hideous doll-headed spider—has sold his soul to another demon and this new bloke wants to collect. The Night Nurse is doing everything she can on the bureaucratic side to sort things out, but in the meantime, Charles and Edwin have to dodge a line of bounty hunters and other beasts sent to drag Edwin back to Hell.

But Charles keeps Edwin safe, like he’s been keeping him safe for over three decades, until something is able to get past his defenses.

“Just a little farther.” Charles holds Edwin tighter against him, like he can physically block him from the pain of the iron shackles that are still locked around his wrists. There wasn’t time to pick the locks; they just had to run. “Sorry, mate.”

“It’s quite alright, Charles. I’ve had worse.” But Edwin is shivering, back in the nightclothes he died in, a sure sign that he’s deeply shaken. They’re lucky that the bounty hunter who caught him didn’t bring him straight back to Hell, that he wanted to play with his food first. Charles doesn’t feel very lucky right now.

He turns them down a narrow street, trying to keep their movements erratic. He doesn’t know if the bounty hunter knows where their office is and he doesn’t want to lead him to it.

“Talk to me, please,” Edwin says weakly.

“About what?” Charles checks behind them, but doesn’t see any figures following them.

“About anything. Distract me.”

Charles glances down at the iron cuffs around Edwin’s wrists, which are smoking slightly. His hands are shaking. Charles knows that Edwin has had worse injuries than an iron burn, but knowing that he’s suffering because Charles wasn’t quick enough to protect him lodges something sour in his throat.

“Do you remember that case with the poltergeist in the hotel a few years back?” Charles asks.

“Of course.” Edwin’s grimace starts to look more like a smile. “You do love a chance to go undercover.”

“Hey, it was the poshest hotel I’d ever been in. Had to take advantage, didn’t I?” Donning their disguises and going undercover as a married couple had been Edwin’s idea, but Charles had thrown himself into it with gusto. In retrospect, he wonders if he was already in love with Edwin, with the way he took every opportunity to hold his friend’s hand and call him “love.”

“Yes, well.” Edwin ducks his head. “The poltergeist has moved on to her afterlife, so it was a job well done.”

“We should go back sometime,” Charles says. “As us, I mean. No disguises this time.”

Edwin gives him a strange look. “And why would we do that?”

“Because it was a nice hotel, mate. Good to get out of the city once in a while, yeah?”

“I suppose so.” There’s a faint flush on Edwin’s cheeks and Charles wonders if he’s remembering pretending to canoodle in the lobby or holding hands as they walked through the gardens. He wonders if Edwin was in love with him back then, or if he didn’t realize until Port Townsend. Charles hasn’t asked.

“Here.” Charles stops behind a dumpster. “Let me get these things off you, then we can find a mirror, yeah?”

Edwin nods and Charles retrieves his lockpicking kit before he starts to work on the iron cuffs. As the cuffs fall to the ground, he looks up and finds Edwin watching him, cheeks still flushed. An overflowing dumpster in a seedy alleyway is hardly the kind of romantic place Charles has been imagining to have this conversation, but he could have lost Edwin tonight. If Edwin had gone back to Hell never knowing how loved he is, Charles never would have forgiven himself.

He rubs his thumbs over the iron burns on Edwin’s wrists. “That was one of my favorite cases we’ve ever worked.”

“Yes, Charles, it was a lovely hotel, even if we could not enjoy the complimentary chocolates.”

“No, mate.” Charles entwines his fingers with Edwin’s, squeezing gently. “Because I got to spend that weekend with you.”

Edwin’s brow furrows adorably. “We’ve spent thirty-five years in one another’s company, Charles.”

“Not like that. Edwin, I—”

With a screech of metal, the dumpster goes sliding across the alleyway, slamming into the wall, and Charles spins around to greet the demonic bounty hunter with his cricket bat.

***

5

It turns out that Charles doesn’t much like being the damsel in distress.

Being taken captive by the bounty hunter is one thing. Being held hostage so Edwin will turn himself over is another. The worst part isn’t even the iron shackles or listening to the demon blather on about earning some respect in Hell. The worst part is knowing that Edwin is going to turn himself over, because Charles would do the same without hesitation if their positions were reversed.

What Charles does enjoy more than he ever thought he would is Edwin striding towards him with a sword in hand, splattered in blood that isn’t his, while the bounty hunter’s headless corpse lies on the ground behind them. Edwin’s fighting form is still shit and there’s no way he would have stood a chance if he hadn’t had the element of surprise—the bounty hunter was clearly expecting the trembling virgin sacrifice and not the competent detective with decades of experience—but  Charles isn’t about to tell him that. Not yet, at least.

“That was brills, mate.” Charles can tell that he’s wearing a dopey grin, but he can’t stop himself. Edwin looks like a fairytale knight, if fairytale knights wore slightly crooked bow ties and tweed jackets.

With a disgusted noise, Edwin picks at the front of his jacket. “Thank you, Charles, but I will be leaving that to you in the future. Being the brains involves significantly less… viscera.”

“Oh, no, you’re not getting out of this. Now that I know you know how to use a sword—” Charles breaks off, frowning. “Wait, where did you get that? I thought it was in my bag.”

“It was.” Edwin bends to clumsily pick the locks on Edwin’s shackles. “I had a bit of a chat with your bag of tricks. It seems to be somewhat sentient, because when I told it that if it ripped off my arm, you might be lost forever, it gave me the sword without fuss.”

Charles’s grin widens. “See, mate? Told you that you could figure it out with a little practice.”

Edwin rolls his eyes up at the ceiling. “I got lucky. I’ll leave the magical voids to you in the future.”

“Don’t do that.” Hands freed, Charles reaches up to cup Edwin’s face in his hands. “You’re bloody brilliant, Edwin. You just saved my neck. I was going to go out of my mind if I had to keep listening to that twat blathering on.”

“Truly, I have saved you from a dreadful fate.” For an instant, Charles thinks that Edwin’s gaze drifts down to his lips before snapping back up to meet his eyes. He wonders if he should lean up to kiss Edwin, or if he should wait until Edwin isn’t covered in blood.

“Edwin,” Charles breathes. “I just need you to know, I—”

“Edwin? Charles?” The door bursts open and Crystal and Niko come racing in. Charles sees them register the bounty hunter’s body on the ground, then Charles and Edwin standing together, unharmed. Niko smiles with relief, but Crystal just looks pissed.

“How did you get in here?” Edwin demands. “I locked the door behind me.”

“Yeah, you did, and you are so lucky you’re already dead, or I would kill you.” Crystal’s words are belied by the fact that she crosses the room to pull Edwin into a hug. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that it was far too dangerous for the two of you to be involved in a confrontation with a demon. As I explained at length.”

“And as I explained at length—”

While they bicker, Niko pulls Charles to his feet. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am.” Charles pulls her into a hug with one arm, then scoops both Edwin and Crystal up with the other arm. Both make noises like angry cats, but come willingly, allowing themselves to be manhandled into a group hug. Charles rests his head against Edwin’s shoulder, Niko and Crystal tucked between them, and closes his eyes. Right now, he can’t even be upset about the interruption.

***

+1

“So that’s that, then,” Charles says later, safely back in their office, their iron burns healed, Niko and Crystal seen back to their flat, and the Night Nurse off doing whatever she does in her spare time.

“It appears to be.” Edwin is busy organizing their new desk. “If the Night Nurse has gotten things with Hell sorted out, I can’t imagine we’ll have to deal with any more bounty hunters. Why take a bounty with no reward?”

Charles makes a skeptical noise. The Night Nurse and Edwin both seem satisfied with the demon’s word that he won’t make any more plays for Edwin, but Charles will be keeping an eye out for the foreseeable future. He’ll be damned if he lets another denizen of Hell lay hands on his best mate. Bad enough that it’s happened twice in a year under his watch.

Edwin must know what he’s thinking, because he looks up with a small smile. “I’m fine, Charles.”

“Nearly weren’t.”

“But you saved me.”

“And then you saved me.”

“Someone had to do it,” Edwin says softly and Charles can’t speak for a moment, overwhelmed by a swell of warmth.

Edwin turns away, face flushing. “Anyway, job officially jobbed, as you say. I think we should give it a day before taking on any more clients. I don’t know about you, but I could use some rest.”

“You want to take a break?” Charles raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t take any iron to the head, did you?”

He can’t see Edwin’s face, but can feel his eye roll from across the room. “I simply have some reading to catch up on.” He picks up the book Charles gave him last week up off the desk.

The warm feeling in Charles’s chest grows. “Still need to find out if you were right about the killer?”

“I can say with almost total certainty that I’m entirely right about the killer.” Edwin settles down on the couch with the book, thumbing it open.

Charles plops down on the other end of the couch. “Read to me out loud?”

Edwin looks up, surprised. “From the beginning?”

“Only if you want to.” Charles doesn’t give a damn about the story; he just likes listening to Edwin reading out loud, goofy voices and all.

“I’d be happy to.” Edwin flips back to the beginning and begins to read.

Letting Edwin’s familiar voice wash over him, Charles closes his eyes and leans back into the couch, letting his knee bump comfortably into Edwin’s thigh. He hardly listens to the words, just enjoys the moment. Their office is quiet and peaceful around them, the only sound besides Edwin’s voice the light tap of raindrops against the windowsill. Edwin is safe and they’re home.

Opening his eyes, he watches Edwin, who sits in his shirtsleeves, lips curled into a little smile as he reads out a particularly silly line of dialogue. He glances over to see Charles’s reaction and Charles grins at him, feeling so in love with him that he thinks he might burst with it.

There’s no scenic view or trail of love letters. There’s no great, dramatic moment. There’s just Charles, Edwin, and the home they’ve built together over the past thirty-plus years.

Something in his expression causes Edwin’s voice to falter, a tiny furrow forming between his eyes. “Not enjoying it?”

“No, it’s aces,” Charles says softly. “I just love you.”

Edwin huffs out a tiny breath and turns back to the book. “I love you too.”

“No, I really love you.” And in case he doesn’t get it, Charles adds, “I’m in love with you, mate.”

Edwin blinks once, then twice, getting the look on his face that he does when he's working on a particularly difficult puzzle. For a moment, Charles wonders if maybe he missed his chance. Maybe Edwin fell out of love with him months ago and all this waiting for the perfect time has been for nothing. Maybe the perfect time was months ago on the staircase out of Hell. Maybe the perfect time was over thirty years ago and he just didn't see it until it was too late.

And then Edwin turns to him, putting the book aside, a slow, almost shy smile spreading across his face. "I love you too," he says again, his voice wavering a little with emotion, and Charles knows with complete certainty that in his many, many years of existence, no moment has been as perfect as this.

***

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider leaving kudos or comments on AO3.

[sophrosynesworld]

Black and Blues (Pt. 3)

Part One:

My feet slam against the trail, each step pounding out a futile rhythm against the crushing silence. The rocks crunch beneath my sneakers, a temporary distraction from the storm inside my head.

But my mind won't quiet.

“You don’t need to quit. You love your job.”

“Katsuki, I have to.”

Was it my fault? I replay every conversation in my head, dissecting every word, searching for signs I missed—clues that could have warned me, things I could have done differently. But there’s nothing, just endless questions with no answers. My lungs burn as I push harder, vision blurring with the tears I refuse to let fall. I could run his business, I could do the interviews, but on this side of the glass, everything feels impossible.

Helpless. That’s what I am.

We know the risks—we train for this, every single day, to make sure those mistakes don’t happen. But it’s been over 24 hours, and we still don’t even know his last steps. Katsuki was always the strong one. He was supposed to be the one fighting for me. We knew what we were getting into; we understood the dangers

Mina opened her home to me without hesitation, convinced it was the safest place for me to be. But she’s taken on so much—organizing meal trains, managing a steady stream of heroes who come and go, each one more exhausted and defeated than the last. They all tell me how sorry they are, how they’re doing everything they can.

But Mina’s house, my second home, full of laughter and late-night drunken conversations, feels emptier than it ever has. Every casserole dish and dessert left on her counter is a reminder of someone’s love, but it all feels hollow. Their words are kind, but registers as white noise. “He’s strong,” they say, “He’ll get through this.” But it only twists the knife deeper. They don’t understand—none of them do.

Nighttime is the worst. When the apartment goes quiet and everyone is gone, the weight of his absence suffocates me. I curl up in bed, clutching his hoodie, burying my face in the fabric that still smells like him—smoke and sugar, Katsuki—and I cry until my body feels empty. Every shadow in the room reminds me of him, and I want to scream until my throat bleeds. But I can’t. I can’t even turn on the lights.

Izuku tried to protect me, to shield me from the worst of it, but I saw it anyway. He looked… gone. The fire in his eyes snuffed out. I didn’t recognize him. The Katsuki I know would have fought, would have torn the room apart with his bare hands, but this version of him—he didn’t even flinch when they hit him.

He didn’t scream.

“Why’d you stop?” Kirishima’s voice breaks through the noise in my head, and I turn to see him jogging up behind me, his face tight with concern. He’s trying to be strong for me, but I see the cracks.

“oh, sorry,” I say, my voice trembling. I pick at my nails, my head bowed, staring at the ground. “I just… got lost.”

“In what?” His question hangs in the air, and I can’t bring myself to answer. I don’t have the words. I don’t even know how to start explaining the mess inside me.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Eijiro,” I finally whisper, my voice barely audible, strangled by the tears I’ve held back for too long. “I don’t know how to help him.”

He steps closer, reaching out, but I recoil, the fury boiling over. I whirl around and slam my fist into the nearest tree, the bark digging into my skin, but I don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the pain that’s eating me alive. “I’m tired of the lies, of people treating me like I’m going to break. I need to know the truth.”

Kirishima flinches, his eyes brimming with a sadness that makes my chest ache. “I’m sorry. I wish I had answers. I wish I could do more.”

“Then why don’t you tell me anything?” I shout, tears streaming down my face. “You’re all in those rooms, making decisions. You know where he is, what they’re doing to him, and no one tells me a damn thing. I’m his wife, Eijiro. I have a right to know.”

I pace back and forth, every breath a struggle, every word a plea. “I can’t keep pretending. I’m losing him, and I can’t even fight for him. I saw the video. I saw what they did. He didn’t even look like himself anymore. They hit him, and he just… took it. Katsuki never just takes it.”

Kirishima’s gaze meets mine, and I can see the pain mirrored in his eyes, tears threatening to spill. “You really think I’d let them keep my best friend if I knew where he was?” His voice cracks, thick with emotion.

“I’d tear this city apart to get him back if I could. We’re doing everything we can, but we don't know anything. They’ve benched all of us, not just you.” He pauses, his voice dropping to a broken whisper. “I’m still a hero, but right now, I feel just as powerless as you. You’re not the only one drowning in this, soldier.”

I shake my head, my voice breaking into a sob. “I'm sorry."

Kirishima closes the distance, pulling me into his arms, and I let myself crumble. “I just want him back,” I whisper, my voice lost against his shoulder. “I just want my husband back.”

We stand there, holding onto each other as the world continues to spin without him, every second feeling like a lifetime of heartbreak.

Part Four:

[g4sstationdr-gs]

Blood Splattered Teardrops

ghostface!sam x reader. reader is afab. warnings; knife.

Chapter one

Sitting in the back of Sam’s car in the school parking lot before the bell rings is like a daily tradition. Sam is smoking a cigarette and you’re working on whatever missing assignment you have this time. You groan and drop the notebook down in frustration and Sam’s head turns to you. “What?” He asks as he inhales the smoke. His rings shine in the early morning light as his fingers hold the bud. “This makes no sense at all. It’s like Mr. Matter has some vendetta against me and wants me to fail.” You wine dramatically and put your face in your hands.

Sam chuckles and throws the cigarette on the ground then scoots closer to you. You hear the paper crumple slightly as he picks up your notebook. You peak your eyes through your fingers and you see his cocky grin as he looks at you. You can’t help but smile and bring your foot up to gently kick as his chest. “Stop it.” You say with the slight giggle. He grabs your ankle and pushes it away from him. “Stop what?” He says and tilts his head. “You’re teasing me!” You say and bring your other leg up. He grabs them both and tugs you towards him. You laugh loudly as your drug across the floor of the trunk. “I am not, stop being dramatic.” He smirks down at you.

You look up at him and you see the expression on his face change and he looks up. Josh walks up to the car and looks at you. “Hey, Y/N. Are you coming to the party Saturday night?” He says as he leans against the car. You wiggle your feet out of Sam’s grasp and push yourself up so you’re sitting again. “Oh- yeah! it’s a costume party, right? I have the perfect one.” You say with a cheerful smile.

Josh’s eyes look you up and down and he smirks slightly. Sam’s hands curl into fists and he glares at Josh. “Cool. I bet you’ll look real nice. C’mon, I’ll walk you to class.” He says and he reaches his hand out to help you up.

You take his hand and let him pull you up. You turn around and grab your stuff and smile at Sam. “Bye Sam!” You say and start to walk off, expecting Josh to follow you. Josh gives Sam a cocky smirk and Sam smiles back mockingly. Josh then starts to follow you. Sam watches and as soon as you’re out of sight he pushes himself up and slams the hood of the trunk down.

The next time he sees you it’s at lunch. You’re sitting and talking to your friends like you usually are and Sam sits against the tree next to your table. He picks up on the middle of your conversation. “I dunno. I really like horror movies. Sure, they’re stupid and unrealistic but they have some strategy to them. Plus, if a masked man broke into my house and tried to kill me I’d probably fall in love with him.”

You say the last sentence jokingly and you and your friend’s laugh. It’s like right then and there, Sam gets the best, but worst, idea of his life. He wants you to like him so bad, that’d he’d become another person just so you will.

That night, you’re home alone and preparing to watch a movie. You’re wearing some shorts and a long t-shirt. You walk into the kitchen put popcorn in the microwave, then start to put the timer on when you hear the landline ring. You figure it might be your parents so you can’t ignore it. You walk over to it and pick it up, holding it to your ear. “Hello?” You say and you’re met with silence for a moment before a voice speaks up. “Yeah, who is this?” The person says. You pick it up as a males voice, and he sounds sort of young.

You’re slightly confused because he dialed you, but it could’ve been an accident “Um… well who are you trying to reach?” You say and you lean against the wall. You pick at your nails and wait for the person to respond. “I don’t know.” He says, almost in a charming tone.

“It sounds like you have the wrong number. It’s okay, it happens. Have a nice night.” You say and hang up the phone. You hum and make your way back into the kitchen when you hear the phone ring again. You pause your movement and turn back towards the hallway. “What the hell?” You mumble to yourself and walk back to the phone.

“Hello?” You say in an impatient tone. You lean back up against the wall and look at the clock. “Hold on, I wanna talk to you.” You recognize the guys voice. You sigh softly. “Okay, about what?” You reply and you twirl the phone wire around your fingers.

He chuckles. “Well, you sound kind of hot. And i feel bad for disturbing you so I wanted to talk a little bit. What are you doing?” He asks and you scoff. “There’s nine hundred numbers you could call, and you choose me?” You ask and you roll your eyes. You’re starting to get angsty because you don’t want to talk to some random stranger for too long.

You push yourself off the wall and untangle the string “If you really want to know, I’m getting ready to watch a movie. Can I go do that or are you going to hold me up all night?” You say and you start to tap your foot. You hear him chuckle again and it sounds like he shuffles his position. “Why so hostile sweetheart? I’m just trying to be nice.” He says teasingly.

You sigh again and look back at the clock. “Sorry, it’s just late and this is sort of strange.” You look out the kitchen window. “What’s your name?” You ask and you watch as the wind blows the leaves outside. “Why don’t you tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.” He says.

You have to hold back a groan because he’s starting to frustrate you and this conversation is clearly going nowhere. “Yeah, I don’t think so. Sorry but I really want to get to my movie, try calling someone else.” You say and you hang up the phone. You huff and turn on your heel when the phone rings again. You turn back around quickly and grab the phone angrily.

Before you get the chance to say anything, his voice comes though the speaker. “Someone looks angry. those shorts look so good on you.” He says darkly. You feel your heart stop and your whole body tingle. “What? Is this some sort of sick joke? Who are you?” Your voice is shaky as you speak. “You really wanna know who I am? Why don’t I come inside?” He says and you whip your head around.

“What? Are you scared?” He says with a hint of a smirk behind his voice. “You think I’m gonna break in there and hurt you?” Your hands are shaky and your vision is blurry as you look around you quickly. “What if I’m already inside?” He whispers into the phone and you gasp as you hear a door slam open.

You scream and move out of the way as someone in a ghost mask and dark cloak lunges at you. You run into the kitchen to grab a knife when you realize they’re missing. You continue to look for anything around you when you hear his voice from behind you. “Looking for something?” He says holds up a knife of his own. Your eyes widen in fear and you feel like you’re frozen in place.

He takes a step towards you and you turn and run towards the front door. You try to open it but realize the chain lock is in place and you’ll never get it open in time. The man tries to grab you but you dodge and then kick his legs so he falls down. You start to run up the stairs when his hand wraps around your ankle and you’re pulled down to him. You wiggle out of his grasp and take the stairs two at a time. You make it to your room and you slam the door shut. You open push your dresser in front of the door so he can’t get in.

Your chest feels like it’s on fire from how hard you’re breathing. You grab your cellphone from the bed and start to dial Sam’s number. He’s the only person you can think of in the moment. You don’t know if you’re going to die or not. He’d be able to get to your house quickly, but maybe not quick enough. Your fingers shake as you type in his number but you keep making errors.

You scream again as the man slams against the door and your dresser start to move. He’s going to get inside. You grab your desk chair and hold it out, preparing to use it as he slams against the door one more time and the dresser crashes to the floor. He opens the door and he steps inside. Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest as he walks closer to you. He stops just a few feet from you and tilts his head.

You take deep breaths and it’s almost like you’re looking death in the eyes. “who are you?” you breathe out shakily and point the chair at him. He raises his hands in surrender. The knife he’s holding is illuminated by your bedside lap. He brings the tip of it to the leg of the chair and runs it across it. You trace the blade with your eyes and he take it as an opportunity to grab one of the other legs of the chair and pull it out of your hands.

You gasp as he grabs you and pulls you to him. He presses the dull part of the blade to your cheek you suck in a breath and squeeze your eyes shut. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. He drags the knife down your face until it leaves it. You turn your head to look the other way and you feel the knife back on your face as he uses it to turn you towards him again.

You open your eyes and look at the eye holes of the mask. You reach your hand up to pull the mask off when he grabs your wrist in a tight grip. You hiss slightly and he loosens his grip ever so slightly. You try bring your other hand up to surprise him but he snatches that one too. He holds your arms above your head and pushes you against the wall.

He runs the knife down your body, starting from your neck and ending at your stomach. You’re surprised when it gives you butterflies. You blame it on the adrenaline. You expect this to be the part where he stabs you but he just drops the knife and kicks it away.

Your eyes follow as it slides under the bed. You bring your gaze back to him. “You’re not gonna hurt me?” you ask confused and fearfully. He shakes his head no and leans slightly closer to you. “No. i could though. is that what you want?” He says and this time it’s his fingers that run over your face. You shake your head.

He chuckles. “i won’t hurt you. yet” He says and you can hear the smirk his voice. He places one of his hands on your waist, still holding your hands above you. “you know, i wasn’t lying when i said these shorts looked good on you. who are you wearing them for anyways?” he runs his hand over your thigh. “you got a boyfriend?”

You shake your head again. “what? you too scared to talk now?” He says and shakes his head mockingly. “you had so much to say earlier. what changed?” His fingers are still trailing over your thigh.

“i hope you know i called someone. and he’ll be here any minute.“ you say. you’re lying. you never hit the call button. He knows you’re lying. “aw.. is that supposed to scare me, sweetheart?” He says and he presses himself into you. He brings his face to your ear. “i’m not scared. you’re the one that should be scared.” He whispers.

You shiver and close your eyes. “please just leave me alone.” You whisper back. He pulls his face away and stares at you. He drops your hands and backs away from you. He reaches to the floor and picks up the knife. Your eyes widen as you realize you might’ve made him mad.

He steps back to you and he places the on your bottom lip. “i’ll leave now. but i’ll never leave you alone.” He says and he drags knife over your lip before stuffing it in his pocket. “Have fun princess.” He whispers as he walks out of your room.

As soon as you don’t hear him anymore you lunge for your phone and call the cops. You’re still very shaky and can barely get what you need to out. You just spit out your address and say that someone broke in before you hang up and call Sam.

“c’mon Sam. please pick up.” you say anxiously. You keep your eyes on the door incase he comes back. You hear the call connect and Sam’s tired voice come through the line. “Yeah?” He says and it sounds like he just woke up.

“Sam! Please, i’m so scared. Someone broke in and he had a knife and he held it up to me but he didn’t hurt me but he said he’d be back and-“ you’re talking so quickly Sam can barely keep up.

“Hold on, slow down. What? someone broke in? are you okay?” You can hear shuffling from the other end of the line, like he’s getting up.

You nod, even though you know he can’t see you. “i’m fine. but i’m still a little shaken up.” You bring your knees up to your chest.

You hear as Sam curses. “i’ll be there soon. don’t move. Grab something to protect yourself, and wait for the cops to get there. i’m on my way.” He says and he hangs up. “preferably not a fucking chair.” he mumbles and he throws the mask into the bushes so he can grab it later.

You lean against the bed and wait for Sam and the police arrive, thinking about the masked man and wondering if he really will be back.

[noxturnalnymph]

Believer

Dave York x F!Partner(FBI), Chubby Dave York vs Tractor Beam (2.3k)

Summary: Submission for Beef’s October Fic Prompt Challenge - Dave York Made Me Believe:

Someone must be a non-believer (reader or Dave)

The following wording: Dave was not one who liked to be influenced to do anything, let alone that.

The X-files must be mentioned or referenced at least once.

Warnings: spooky pacific northwest vibes, all-around silliness, no sex, references to tall blue vibrating aliens (iykyk) A/N: Thank you to @strang3lov3 for green-lighting this premise and for editing away all my many mistakes. I love you @beefrobeefcal. I told you I would only write about aliens of the Ice-Planet-variety and I think this fits the bill. Happy Halloween!

Dave’s partner simultaneously snaps shut her flip phone and guns the engine, causing the car to lurch forward and the Big Mac he’s holding to slam against his chest. Special sauce dribbles down his tie as Dave shoots her a deadly side-eye.

“That was the division director we met on Tuesday,” she offers by way of explanation, typing in an address in the GPS as she drives, oblivious to the burger collision she’s just caused. “He gave us this location he wants us to check out,”

“Is there a lead on the shipping container theft?” Dave mumbles with his mouth full, as he smushes a napkin to his tie, smearing the greasy sauce further into the fabric. 

“No, it has nothing to do with that, but we’re the only critical incident response unit in the area so he wants us to make contact right away.”

She finishes speaking and then immediately turns her music - an Alanis Morissette CD she’d shoved into the deck - up as loud as she can. Dave has only been working with this agent for a week and even though she came highly recommended, he finds her to be quite irritating. He tries to dab more sauce away from his tie as he finishes his fast food dinner, opting instead to remove the tie completely by the time the car comes to a halt behind a sole forest service cruiser on a long, foggy stretch of road.

“We’re here,” his partner says, grabbing his milkshake and taking it with her out of the vehicle.

“We’re-, where the fuck are we?” Dave says to an empty car as she closes the door and starts walking towards the woods.

Dave exits the vehicle and trudges into the tree-line where he saw his partner disappear, his footsteps crunching on dried pine needles and the crisp air of the approaching evening creeping down his open collar. He wishes he had worn his suit jacket today but since he’s put on a few pounds it doesn't fit him very well anymore, so he left it at the hotel.

He emerges in an eerily still clearing to find his partner standing alongside a forest ranger who appears to be speaking with two hunched figures, huddled under thick blankets. She swivels her head, eyebrows climbing up her forehead as she spots him, and heads towards him with bounding steps. As she approaches Dave grabs the milkshake container out of her hands only to find it empty.

“That was mine,” he grumbles.

“You can afford to share,” she snarks, motioning towards his distended belly. “This is really interesting; see those two girls over there?” she points to the only two people besides government employees in the small field. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Dave mutters sarcastically.

“They’re claiming they were abducted by aliens,” she exclaims.

“Aliens?” Dave repeats.

“Isn’t that awesome?”

“What the-, like little green men, aliens?” Dave huffs, incredulous that they’d be pulled away from a major port theft investigation to be sent to the middle-of-nowhere north of Seattle for this insanity; a couple of local kooks claiming they were probed by space men. 

“Hopefully big blue aliens,” she replies excitedly.

Before he can ask what she means she is practically skipping back towards the small group, and Dave doesn’t have it in him to join. He knows she’s experienced enough to handle this kind of call - a complete waste of his time - and so instead he shuffles around the clearing. He takes a small flashlight out of his pocket to fight against the encroaching darkness settling as the sun dips behind the evergreen treeline.

Flashing his light on the ground he notices the tall grass is still wet from the morning dew, as if the sun didn’t get a chance to touch this little clearing in the woods today. He walks around the edges of it, noting how odd it is that there seems to be a perfectly oval patch of trees missing among these thick woods. As he rounds the circle he approaches the group and can see now that the huddled figures are two women, both pale and shaking. 

He makes eye-contact with the forest ranger - an older gentleman with a graying mustache - each of them giving the other a subtle nod as he passes by. He watches as his partner writes on the small spiral-bound bound notebook she keeps in her blazer pocket. He can’t say she’s not a good agent, she’s been very knowledgeable and thorough so far, but she’s just so-. Dave loses his train of thought as he tunes into the conversation.

“I’m not sure,” the young woman with glasses whispers. Dave spots floral tattoos cascading across her chest before she draws the blanket closer together. “Colette would have had a better view of them since I was face down on the table the whole time.”

His partner - eyes down and still writing notes - turns to the other woman, whose long, dark hair is unbound by the blanket she is bundled in and is gently blowing in the breeze.

“So, how would you describe them? Were they tall, maybe over seven feet? Would you describe their coloring as a shade of blue or steely gray? Did you notice any horns on their heads? Or fangs?”

“Well- Ummm,” the woman stammers.

Dave puts his hands on his hips and gives his partner a look that he hopes communicates the ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ thoughts screaming inside his head. 

Before he can give voice to any of his thoughts he notices the long-haired woman has stopped speaking and is staring at him, slack-jawed. His partner looks back over her shoulder and sees his pissed-off look, mouthing ‘what?’ and then beckoning him forward. He shook his head. Dave was not one who liked to be influenced to do anything, let alone that. He would absolutely not be participating in this charade. His partner turns back to the conversation and since she got no response from the second woman - Colette, apparently - she turns back to the tattooed woman.

“Did you hear them speaking any kind of words you could understand?” his partner questions.

“Actually, yes, but I don’t think you’re gonna believe me,” she answers. 

“What did they say? Maybe you heard a kind of humming or a vibrating resonance too?”

Dave rolls his eyes and sees the second woman still staring at him, her eyes glazed over. He feels like he’s being punk’d, that this trip out to the damp, darkening woods is someone’s idea of a poorly-executed practical joke. Annoyed that his time is being wasted when he could be back at the hotel with his feet up and his pants unbuttoned, he turns away from the group and continues inspecting the area. He shines his flashlight back and forth as he walks, seeing nothing but his shoes getting more muddy with each step.

Suddenly, his light catches on a small, shining piece of silver. Bending over with a huff, he picks it up, turning it over in his hands. It’s a cylindrical shape the size of two of his fingers with a rounded end, like an oversized rivet. He doesn’t think aliens would use such primitive technology and tosses it into the air, chuckling to himself as he catches it and tucks it into his pocket.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a small light flashing inside the forest that continues beyond the small clearing. He turns to say something to his partner but she’s busy talking and he’s a bit creeped out by the fact that the long-haired woman is still staring at him with heavily lidded eyes, mouth still slightly ajar. He ducks into the dark provided by the heavy tree cover and heads towards the strange blinking.

He continues walking, the light farther away than he initially thought. He has to heft himself over a large fallen tree trunk that spans left and right as far as his eyes can see and then hop a small creek that runs through the low point he’s come across. On the other side of the running water he sees the blinking light, larger now that he’s up close. The only problem is that it’s about 10 feet up in a tree, making it almost impossible for him to see exactly what it is. 

He can’t hear his partner talking this deep in the woods and any leftover sunlight from the opening in the forest behind no longer reaches him. He’s thinking how glad he is to have his flashlight with him as he draws the beam of it up the trunk of the tree to the flashing device. He halts any movement, sucking in a breath when the trembling light reaches it and his eyes grow wide at what he sees. 

The device is being held in tiny hands between two small, yellow, cylindrical-shaped beings wearing what look to be denim overalls, who stare at him with large eyes blinking behind silver-rimmed goggles. One is about two feet tall with one eye and the other is over a foot taller with two eyes and a stalk of hair that sticks straight up. 

They are all frozen in place, staring at each other until he hears a sound behind him, like tiny feet shuffling on dried pine needles. He slowly turns to look back and sees an even smaller two-eyed being holding something out in his hands towards Dave.

“Bah-nah-na?” it asks, in a high-pitched nasally voice.

Dave doesn’t have time to think about how much whoever put him up to this must be laughing, he only thinks about getting the fuck out of there, and he immediately turns and starts running away. He doesn’t scream when both legs go ankle-deep in the cold creek or when he catches a foot under a root, twisting his leg at an unnatural angle. He does, however, let out a loud grunt when he slams his overweight body into the forgotten fallen tree trunk, prostrating himself against the ground, knocking all the wind out of his lungs.

He begins to mutter curses but freezes again when a bright light beams down on him from above, illuminating a blinding circle around him. No fucking way, he thinks. Then he feels it, a force drawing him upwards towards the light. It lifts his arms first, then his legs, his head leaves the ground and he begins to reach out, belly still touching the forest floor, clawing at the ground in a desperate attempt to find something to grab onto.

Twigs and leaves crunch beneath his hands, his futile attempt to clutch onto something failing as his heavy middle is lifted several inches off the ground. He puts his arms and legs beneath him and then - on all fours - scrambles out of the beam of light. It seems to take a moment for the light to find him again, he watches as it zig-zags around the ground, before finally locking onto him several feet away. 

He hasn’t been able to get very far and he’s panting, winded at the physical effort, when the force begins to draw him up again. This time he does cry out, he screams for his partner only for the sound of his voice to be sucked above him, like screaming into the raging wind. He is lifted fully off the ground now, several feet up, and he’s still shouting and pawing wildly at the air.

He hears a metalling ‘clunk’ sound and hears several items drop onto the ground beneath him. Before he can wonder what they are he sees them float past his face, more rivets like the one in his pocket. The light dims for a moment as the force lessens slightly, dropping him halfway back to the ground. When it resumes its upward pull on him it appears to struggle, moving even slower than before. He hears several more clunking noises and then the light goes out completely, the invisible force dropping him back down to the ground.

He lets out another groan as he hits the hard ground once again but this time he doesn’t waste any time, jumping to his feet as quickly as possible and heaving himself forwards. He bursts back into the clearing - now completely dark - and two flashlights point at his red, damp face.

“York, what the hell?” he hears his partner’s voice from behind one of the flashlights.

He heads towards the voice as she moves the flashlight along his body, most likely seeing the evidence of his time scrambling in the dirt and his mad dash through the dark woods. He feels the bones in one of his feet throbbing and knows there are scratches all over his face from branches he ran into during his escape.

“I-, there-, it-, they-”, with each word he manages to get out he stops to take three gulping breaths.

“York, relax, you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack, big guy,” she says, as the ranger offers him a canteen of water, which he gladly accepts and begins to swallow down.

“I- I saw them,” Dave finally sputters, the canteen rattling in his trembling hands.

“Who?” she asks, brows knitted together.

“Them,” Dave whispers, eyes wide as he looks upwards at the sky.

“Very funny, York, ha ha,” she says, dripping with sarcasm.

“No, I-”

“I know this isn’t your thing but don’t worry, there’s two other agents who just showed up and they’re gonna take this case off our hands.”

“What? Who?” he says, eyes scanning the treeline in the dark - for people or creatures unknown.

“I dunno, some hot guy and a pretty little redhead. Let’s get back to the car, we can stop at Dairy Queen on the way back to the hotel and get you another milkshake.”

[underthenightskydreamsneverdie]

A Snack by the Lake, Part 3

Summary: Sebastian and MC have a nice ending to their picnic 

Pairings: Sebastian and f!MC 

Warnings: 18+, public sex, unprotected sex

Word count: 684

A/N: Huge thanks to @pugsnotdrugs92 for inspiring this entire thing. It was a joy to write and a greater joy to share.  Part one and two ICYMI

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“Fuck, Princess if I had known this is what you had in mind when you suggested this picnic, I wouldn’t have told Ominis ab - oh fuck.” His words were cut off as she sunk down on him, her walls squeezing him the whole way down before she relaxed in his lap.

“You told him? You better hope he doesn’t come looking for us.” 

“If he does, I'm not stopping.” He had already begun slowly thrusting into her, the soft flesh of her ass just barely lifting from his body. Pressing on his legs she propped herself up, giving him room to thrust harder, faster, his hands gripping hard at her waist, holding her up. 

Sebastian kept up his quickened pace, dipping his head to rest on her shoulder, groaning against the skin of her neck, running his tongue along the shell of her ear. Her loud moans, her nails digging into his thighs, and the heavenly view of his cock disappearing into her were quickly pushing him closer to the precipice of his orgasm.

Lost in the pleasure Sebastian was giving her, her mind barely registered the sight of a blonde form making its way to them, the green of his robes shining in the sun, followed by a small group of figures distinguishable only by the peeks of the other houses' colors as their robes blew in the slight breeze. 

“Fuck, Sebastian, they’ve found us.” 

He froze for a few seconds, his head lifting off her neck, looking in the same direction as her. 

“Sebastian, keep going. They’re far enough away, I know you’re close, baby, I need you to cum inside me.”

It didn’t take much, the idea of being caught by them and her pleading sending him over the edge in less than a minute. His teeth clenched in an attempt to muffle his deep guttural groans as he spilled his load inside her, his hips never ceasing their movement. 

Sebastian didn’t bother to look over to see how close their friends were now, the pace of his thrust increasing. He knew they were getting very close, but so was she, her uncontrollable moans getting louder by the second.

“Listen to you, Princess, moaning so beautifully for me. You don’t even care if they catch us, do you? Come on baby, be my good little slut, cum on my cock in front of all our friends.” 

It was a demand that she happily obeyed, his name slipping from her lips as he slammed himself into her. Whimpering as her orgasm began, her eyes rolling back, Sebastian quickly threw his hand over her mouth, knowing the whole fucking castle would hear her screams if he didn’t. 

He fucked her through wave after wave, cooing in her ear as he did. “Good girl, such a good slut for me.” As she fell back against him in a boneless heap he spoke again.

“I know you’re tired but they’re getting too close, Princess. If I don’t pull out of you now I won’t get the chance, and then I really will have to fuck you again, right in front of them. You’re not ready for that are you, love? Me neither. No one else gets to know what a good girl you are for me.” He lifted her up, slipping out of her, setting her down in the grass between his legs, using the pleats of her skirt to cover his lap as he hastily tucked himself back into his pants. Around the tree, their friends settled down in the grass, absorbed in their conversations. Sebastian leaned forward, curling his body over MCs, wrapping her in his arms, pressing soft kisses to her face. 

“I love you, Princess.” 

She felt a breeze across her legs and realized she hadn’t had time to fix her panties before their friends had arrived, feeling Sebastians seed dripping out of her, pooling in the grass underneath her as he whispered to her. Blushing hard, adjusting her skirt to cover herself a little more, she whispered back. 

“I love you too, Sebby. I’m glad we had this picnic today.” 

[cigarcloud]

The Sun Hardly Touches Me

Word Count: 1200 Ao3 Link Summary: “That man is a menace to the future of humanity!” Sengoku’s voice rang out over the loud crush of battle. Crocodile smirked to himself as he pushed his way through the bodies. He had to agree, that little brat was a menace. His body melted into sand as he was hit with stray bullets. The grains slid over each other seamlessly to reform him. “He grew up with Ace! They’re like brothers!” Crocodile was only half listening as the Fleet Admiral rambled, his target was growing closer with each second. “As for his bloodline, he’s the son of Dragon the Revolutionary!”

The world stopped in its tracks. Author's Note: Poem at the beginning is an excerpt from Lamium by Louise Glück

This is how you live when you have a cold heart. As I do: in shadows, trailing over cool rock, under the great maple trees.

The sun hardly touches me.

-

Another husk hit the ground with a thud, another Marine who thought he could survive Sir Crocodile. It was a mistake many others had made. It was always their last.

“That man is a menace to the future of humanity!” Sengoku’s voice rang out over the loud crush of battle. Crocodile smirked to himself as he pushed his way through the bodies. He had to agree, that little brat was a menace. His body melted into sand as he was hit with stray bullets. The grains slid over each other seamlessly to reform him. “He grew up with Ace! They’re like brothers!” Crocodile was only half listening as the Fleet Admiral rambled, his target was growing closer with each second. “As for his bloodline, he’s the son of Dragon the Revolutionary!”

The world stopped in its tracks.

No.

“Can’t believe I let you kick the shit out me for so long, brat. No one else would get away with that, you know.” But there was no malice in his voice.

NO.

“Look at you, so handsome! Somebody gave you good genes, huh?” Arms wrapped around his back, a chin landed on his shoulder. Crocodile snorted.

“Hope you’re not referring to yourself, uggo.” Dragon laughed, peppering Crocodile with kisses, ignoring the performative disgust that followed.

“Never, Wani.”

NO!

It couldn’t be the truth. Crocodile raged on, reckless in his pursuit of Whitebeard. He could barely respond, barely think when that annoying pink bird intervened in his fight. In his head all he could hear was a mad chorus of denial, slamming against the walls of his skull.

“What did we do for the heavens to send down the sun itself?” Crocodile rolled his eyes at Dragon’s attempted poetic ramblings. “Well, at the very least you certainly didn’t get your joyful nature from your mother.”

He shouldn’t care, he had buried that loss long ago. He had given his sunshine to Dragon, and he had never let affection or love rule him since. It shouldn’t matter now, but denial could only get him so far. Deep down, a vicious instinct had already reared it’s ugly head, all gnashing teeth and throat rending screams. Crocodile was made servant to its calls.

My baby, my baby, my baby!

When the blades were ready to land on Fire Fist’s neck, he succumbed. His son had been through enough. He wouldn’t let anything else happen to him. The executioners were dead long before their bodies hit the ground beneath the scaffold.

“Crocodile!” Sengoku’s dismay was written all over his face, sounded in the sharp intonation of his voice. Crocodile couldn’t bring himself to care much. He rolled his eyes, and gave some vague excuse of not wanting Sengoku to win. A truth perhaps, but not the truth. The navy certainly didn’t need to know that Monkey D. Luffy’s bloodline was criminal on two fronts.

Doflamingo also took offense, although Crocodile knew he didn’t care if the Government had their way or not.

“Oh come on, Croc!” He heard as his head fell off of his shoulders. “You rejected me and now you’re joining Whitebeard? I’m jealous!” Crocodile scoffed once he had a mouth to do it with, his head rebuilt.

“I’m not joining anyone.” Not anyone he wanted Doflamingo to focus on, at least.

The battle raged on, his son at the center of it all. Enemy after enemy piled on, seeking to be the one who took out the Revolutionary’s son. But for as many adversaries he attracted, he lured in allies just as effectively. It was a trait Crocodile found irritating, when he had fought the kid. He had arrived in Alabasta, Princess already in tow and wrecked years of planning like it was nothing. In the wake of this revelation, he couldn’t be surprised. How could he complain of being burned when he had stood in the path of the sun?

“Mr. One!” He barked out, turning to his right hand man. “Keep an eye on Straw Hat.” An order he was thankful he gave, when only a few minutes later Mihawk raised his blade to Luffy. Daz blocked his path, but only for a moment. Thankfully a moment was all Crocodile needed to catch up with his son. He shielded Luffy from Mihawk’s second swing, his hook and Yoru screeching as they collided.

He wanted to pull Luffy away, to take him and run. He knew how foolish it would be though. The kid’s enemies and allies alike would target him, and Luffy himself would be fighting. So he swallowed his bile and watched as the battle raged on, as Luffy lost everything. As Crocodile failed to protect his baby, again.

His heart clenched as he heard his son’s wails. His baby screamed in agony, and if Sengoku’s announcement hadn’t clued him in he thought that cry would.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. I’ve got you.” Crocodile looked down at the little bundle, barely bigger than his hands. He watched in fascination as the wails died down and his baby smiled up at him. His face wasn’t one known for its calming effect, but the baby didn’t seem aware of that.

Luffy would find no comfort in him now, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting him out safe, alive. He could atone later, he could hand his son the world on a platter, but only if he made it out alive. A scream tore itself from Crocodile’s throat, his cool demeanor shattered as Akainu punched through Jinbe and into his son. He hurled himself forward, knowing nothing but the war drums of blood pounding in his ears.

He blocked Akainu’s second attack, and turned to his son. He was lost to his shock, completely unconscious. His body was limp in Jinbe’s arms. All Crocodile wanted to do was take him and cradle his baby like he hadn’t in seventeen years. Instead he whipped his hand out towards them, throwing a sandstorm with it.

“Sables!” He cried out, turning towards their retreating allies. “Somebody catch them and put them on the ship!” He turned towards Jinbe then, locking eyes with the fellow ex-Warlord. “If you want to protect something, do it right! Don’t let them have my son!” Crocodile’s eyes widened at the same time as Jinbe’s, realizing what he’d said. What he let slip in the heat of his rage. He whipped his head towards Akainu, but thank whatever Gods were watching the Admiral was dealing with several other allies. No one else had heard.

Luffy and Jinbe eventually made it to the Submarine of another new pirate. The Surgeon of Death. Not the most comforting name, but Crocodile would have to accept it. He saw Luffy’s injuries. They needed treatment right away, there was no time to find anyone else.

Once the submarine disappeared, it was time to leave. Crocodile shifted through the battlefield, locating Daz and making his escape. There was a lot of work to be done, if he wanted to gift the world to the sun.

[lauronk]

happy birthday to my friend @stillboldlygoing. this once - and only this once - will i participate in your wish fulfillment of fixing my fic there's nothing surgery can do.

so i give you this tumblr exclusive ficlet, just a dream

word count: ~3.4k tags: ellie pov, joel & ellie, nightmares, 'it was all a dream' trope, blood, minor injury, no beta we die like david

“But no matter what, no matter all the time you have spent hating me, I love you, Ellie. Okay? No matter what, I would always have loved you. And I have never, not for a goddamn second, regretted my choice.”

Ellie’s eyes flutter open, Joel’s words still ringing in her ears. Her eyes are crusted with the remnants of her tears, cheeks still damp, and as she sucks in a shallow breath, Ellie realizes she is still crying.

She might never stop, at this point. She doesn’t see how she can, not with Joel gone, not with what feels like her entire life upended. What the fuck is she supposed to do, with his words and the echo of that gunshot reverberating non-stop in her head? That image of him walking off into the trees is forever seared into her mind.

Another ragged sob slips out of her lips, and Ellie pushes herself upright on her bed, chest heaving –

She freezes, hands gripping the edge of her mattress. Her bed. She didn’t – she fell asleep on the floor after getting back, she fell asleep there and she stayed there. She stayed there, on the cold ground, still in her jeans and flannel and boots, and yet…

And yet she’s in her bed, in her pajamas, boots shucked off messily by the door like she always does. The door’s still locked, and Ellie whips her head around to check her window, to look at the curtains she knows she closed, and yet they’re wide fucking open. Joel’s house is framed behind them, trees swaying ever so slightly and Ellie –

Ellie bolts.

Doesn’t bother with her shoes, just twists the lock and yanks the door open, doesn’t shut it behind her. Runs full tilt across the yard without slowing, even when she steps on a rock or a twig or something that has her swearing and her right foot radiating pain, but she doesn’t stop until she’s up the steps to his porch and outside his door. It’s fucking locked - who locks their goddamn doors in a place as safe as Jackson? - and Ellie jiggles the knob fruitlessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She gives up trying to turn the handle in favor of banging on the door with her palm, not stopping even when it starts to sting, when the pain is ricocheting up her arm, not caring that she probably can be heard from around the front of the house, that the sun is barely up, that her foot is hurting something awful, just keeps slamming her hand into the door until she hears a noise from behind it and the handle turns and the door swings open and –

Joel is standing there in front of her. Joel, whose expression morphs rapidly from annoyance to surprise to trepidation to worry. Joel, with his graying hair and increasingly wrinkled face, faded shirt and bare feet, and Ellie can’t help the noise that slips from her and has his eyes going wide.

“Ellie, what –?”

But her hands are scrabbling for his arm, his right arm, rotating it until she can see his forearm, the skin unmarked and unblemished and un-fucking-bitten.

Her oh my god comes out wet and garbled, and she slumps forward until her forehead meets his chest. Joel staggers - steadies - and wraps an arm around her shoulder as she twines her fingers into the sides of his shirt and sobs her relief out against him.

“You’re alright,” she hears faintly above her, his hand rubbing a slow path up and down her spine. “‘S alright.”

They stand there together until Ellie’s sobs subside and she leans back, peering up at him as if she can’t quite believe he’s here. And she can’t, not really - the dream was so vivid, so life-like, she can still smell the dirt, can still hear the echo of the gunshot, can still feel the tightness of Tommy’s arms around her, pulling her away from him permanently.

Joel’s staring back at her almost the same way, uncertainty and confusion and hope all warring visibly across his face. He cups her cheeks, thumbs brushing away stray tears as they still fall, and his brows tug together.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” He asks softly.

“I –” Ellie’s throat closes, head turning enough to catch sight of his bite-free arm again. “I had a nightmare last night, I guess. But it was one of those nightmares that feels so real, everything about it was so clear, I can still remember every little detail of it, I –” She shifts her weight, a hiss escaping when her right foot flares with pain. “Jesus fuck,” she breathes, looking down.

“What –” Joel follows her gaze down, his hands tensing on her face. “You’re bleedin’.”

Sure enough, there’s a small pool of blood on his back deck, her foot throbbing and tacky with it when she lifts it to examine the damage. It’s a deep gash, right through the middle of her foot, and a glance backwards shows a few bloody footprints across the deck.

“Yeah,” Ellie replies quietly, looking back at him, “I think I stepped on something in the yard when I was coming over here.”

Joel shifts to the side of her, hooking an arm under her shoulders. “C’mon, inside.” He nudges her forward, supporting her weight as she hops awkwardly on one foot.

“No, I can take care of it,” Ellie protests weakly, even as she lets herself be led over to the couch. “I don’t wanna get blood on your floor or anything.” Joel props her foot up on the coffee table before disappearing into the kitchen and reemerging with his first aid kit, a dented white case that had been in the house when he’d moved in.

“Yeah, well, you showed up here freaked the hell out and bleedin’, so humor me for a minute and let me fix you up, alright?”

Ellie sinks a little deeper into the couch, watching as he cracks it open and pulls out a wipe and some gauze. She doesn’t know how there’s even anything left in it at this point, after years of bandaging up her cuts and scrapes, not to mention his own. “Alright.”

She leaves him to work in silence for a moment, eyes skating over the room around them curiously. Not really anything has changed since the last time she was here other than a couple more wood carvings, maybe some new books. The clock on the mantel ticks loudly in the silence, right next to the drawing of him she’d made. She can still see his face, gone all soft and pleased in the way she only ever saw from him rarely, staring down at the drawing with his hand over his mouth. Eyes glassy as he’d immediately gone to get a frame for it.

The drawing he’d done of her in turn had been taken out of its frame and shoved in the middle of one of her books. She hadn’t been able to make herself get rid of it anymore than she could stand to look at it.

“So…” Joel draws the word out, glancing up at her briefly before returning his attention to her foot. It stings as he carefully wipes it clean, a towel resting under her heel and slowly darkening with blood. “You gonna tell me about this nightmare of yours?”

Ellie starts to pull her leg back immediately, but Joel’s too quick - his hand clamps around her ankle to keep it in place like he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” she says sullenly, crossing her arms over her chest and feeling for a moment like the fourteen-year-old she had been when they met.

Joel hesitates, hand squeezing her ankle and then releasing it in favor of pressing a bandage to the sole of her foot. He keeps pressure there for a long moment, shifting her foot to rest on top of his thigh to hold it better. “You don’t gotta tell me about it if you really don’t want to,” he says eventually, eyes still on her foot. “I just know it had to have been pretty bad if it had you runnin’ to me all panicked like that.” His voice fades into something a little more forlorn, like he recognizes how out of the ordinary it is now for a tear-stained Ellie to be showing up on his doorstep. For Ellie to be on his doorstep at all, after a year and a half of careful avoidance.

Ellie tilts her head back to rest on the back of the couch, eyes on the discolored ceiling. It’s easier than looking at Joel and seeing all the layers of him as she’d known him overlapping. The utter asshole of a man she’d first met that had flung her into a wall and pointed a gun in her face; the softer version he’d become after their argument in this very house, teaching her about football and how to shoot; his face as he’d admitted to lying to her, to ruining any hope of a cure; the face from her dream as he’d prepared to go off into the woods and die; and the man now carefully bandaging her foot with his head hung. There were too many versions of him that pulled too many of her heartstrings and had her feeling entirely too many different ways.

But her eyes slip shut and the vision of him walking towards the trees with a trembling arm and two patrolmen swims behind her eyelids, and the words fall out.

“You died.”

Joel’s hand stills on her foot, the gauze half-wrapped around. He doesn’t say anything, and it’s like all the air has been sucked from the room.

“You died,” Ellie repeats quietly, swiping a stray tear from her cheek. “You got bitten out on a patrol, and me and Tommy had to go say goodbye to you, and then I watched you walk off to go kill yourself.”

His hands resume their ministrations, but even without looking at him Ellie can feel them trembling. Fuck, she’s already said this much, so she might as well keep going.

“Tommy came to get me,” she whispers, eyes still shut, “and told me you got bit. And so I went out with him to see you before you – before.” Her throat goes tight, and Ellie forces herself to sit up and look at him again. Even feeling him securing the ends of the bandage isn’t enough - she needs a visual reminder that he’s still here, that it was all just her brain’s idea of a horrendous joke.

Joel finishes bandaging her foot but makes no move to stand or to return her leg to the coffee table. One of his hands stays wrapped loosely around her ankle, his gaze on the ground between his bare feet. He’s still in his pajamas, Ellie realizes for the first time. She must have been banging on the door hard enough to wake him - there’s not even the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen.

“Was there more to it?” Joel asks when she doesn’t continue, and Ellie swallows.

“Yeah, it –” she blows out a breath, fingers knotting together in her lap. “We got there and you’d…you’d gotten bit on your arm. Same place as me.” Joel’s right arm twitches slightly, his eyes finally lifting to meet hers. “And…we –” Ellie clears her throat. “We said goodbye.”

“What did we say?” Joel asks quietly, a note of fear in his voice like he doesn’t really want to know the answer.

“Well,” Ellie takes a deep breath, resituates herself a little but doesn’t pull her foot from Joel’s thigh, “I got really pissed at you. Told you it was all your fault because of…because you –”

“Because of what I did at the hospital,” he fills in for her. There’s no recrimination in his voice, no guilt or anger, just understanding. He’s holding her gaze steadily, encouraging her to keep going, something sad lurking in the depths of his eyes that Ellie doesn’t want to try to name.

So she keeps going, spills out all of it - all the things they’d said, the puns, the way she still hadn’t been able to let go of her anger but the way his death had all but destroyed her from the inside out. By the time she stops talking, her throat is dry and her cheeks are damp again. So are Joel’s, his hand still cradling her ankle.

Silence envelops them, the air in the room leaden and heavy with a grief that still feels too real, too raw and present. Ellie still can’t believe how clear the whole dream was - how clear it still was in her mind even now - and she still half expects to blink and be alone in his house. Blink, and he’ll be gone, out in an unmarked grave beyond Jackson’s walls, and she’ll be here with only grief and resentment and fading memories of his laugh to keep her company.

But Joel remains solid in front of her, tangible, his calloused hand still keeping her tethered.

“D’you want some tea?” He finally asks, looking up at her a little uncertainly. “I’ve got some things I’d like to say about your nightmare, but I think maybe we might need some kinda fortification for that.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

Joel steadies her as she stands, hands hovering nearby as she limps to the dining room and settles into the chair by the window. It doesn’t hurt quite as bad to walk with the cushion of the bandaging, but she knows she’s gonna have to let Tommy know and probably get herself taken off patrol for a couple weeks.

Ellie sits there, watching as Joel busies himself at the stovetop, pulling down an extra mug to go with his owl mug, digging out a tin of tea that she’s pretty sure she left here after she moved out, pacing back and forth until the kettle whistles and he can pour both of their drinks.

Joel brings both mugs over to the table and sets them down, turning back to dig a small jar of honey out of one of the cabinets and carry it back along with a spoon.

Clearly, he still remembers how she likes her tea.

The smell of his coffee permeates her nostrils as she stirs in the spoonful of honey, and for once she doesn’t recoil from it. She’ll never admit it to him, but the smell had grown on her over the years. Not the taste - never the taste - but the scent of coffee was something Ellie came to associate with Joel, and with safety. Coffee and sawdust and whatever oil it was he used on his wood carvings. She’d forced herself to stop seeking out the smell of it when she’d cut Joel out.

This morning though, Ellie just lets herself take a deep breath and inhale it as Joel settles himself across from her.

“‘M sorry you had that nightmare,” he begins slowly, staring into the depth of his coffee mug like it’ll have all the answers. “And I’m glad that you came here and I could help you out.”

“Like old times,” Ellie can’t help but say, thinking back on bandaged blisters and cut hands, and Joel gives her a brief, wry smile.

“And I don’t expect anything to change, even with how scared and upset you were.” Joel takes a sip of his coffee, setting the owl mug back down with a thunk. “‘Specially once I tell you that I agree with everything the me in your nightmare said.” His voice wavers a bit, but his gaze is steady as it joins with hers. “I don’t regret what I did. I’ll never regret it.”

Ellie’s jaw clenches, but she doesn’t interrupt. This was what her mind had been trying to tell her with that dream, right? Hearing Joel out, letting him say his piece and deciding where to go from there, before it was too late to do anything.

When she stays quiet, Joel’s shoulders lose a little bit of their tension, dropping from around his ears. “I know that’s probably not what you wanna hear. But after I lied to you about what happened at the hospital - what I did,” he clarifies when Ellie’s fingers twitch on her mug, “I told myself that if I ever got the chance to talk to you again I’d be completely upfront about it. So I’ll tell you, I’d do it again. Anything to save your life, kiddo.”

Ellie sits, sips her tea, lets the silence envelop them once more. What he’s saying is nothing new to her - she’s always known he didn’t regret it, wouldn’t change his mind, would kill anyone he deemed a threat to her without a second thought. And it still pisses her the hell off, the way that he’d taken a crucial choice from her, ruined the one thing she was supposed to be good for. It still makes her want to toss her tea in his face and storm out.

But even as she thinks it, she hears the Joel from her dream murmuring I gotta go, baby and sees him vanishing into the woods. Feels the gaping wound left by his death, filled only with her anger and resentment, and Ellie knows - she doesn’t want that. This world they live in now…anything could happen. He could get bit; she could get shot. At his age, he could have a heart attack or a stroke or just fucking die.

And Ellie doesn’t think she’d be able to live with herself if he died thinking she hated him.

“I’m still mad,” she says slowly, and Joel nods, not really looking at her. “I might always be mad. I don’t know how to forgive what you did.”

“Yeah,” Joel says sadly. He rotates his mug between his hands, thumb running over the lip of it almost absently. “Yeah, I know.” He says it like he is already expecting a return to the way things had been, to distant and polite greetings, to separate lives.

“I think I’d like to try though,” Ellie manages, her voice barely a whisper. “Like I think…” The table in front of her blurs slightly and she blinks away the fresh round of tears to look up at Joel. He’s watching her with guarded hope on his face, his own eyes glassy. “I think that if something happened to you, like in my dream, and things were the way they were, I think I’d regret it the rest of my life.”

Joel swallows, hands white-knuckling his owl mug. “I’d like that,” he tells her hoarsely. “I’d really…I’d really like that.”

“Okay,” Ellie says, letting out a breath and feeling like a hundred pound weight has lifted from her chest. “Okay, good, that’s…good.”

They finish their drinks in a quiet that feels less tense and weighted than anything else that’s been between them…all the way back to that ridge overlooking Jackson, if Ellie really thinks about it. Him lying to her there had been the biggest crack in their relationship, made wider and wider by every time he doubled down on it.

But now it felt like maybe it could be fixed, like things between them could start to shift back to how they had been on the road.

Ellie washes their mugs in the sink despite Joel protesting that she oughta stay off her foot. He hovers - nice to know nothing has changed - one hand perpetually outstretched like she’s about to suddenly topple over. He escorts her to the door too, asking only once if she’s sure she’s alright to walk across the yard to her place. He doesn’t ask her to stay - they both know that would be too much, too soon - but he watches from the porch as she hobbles carefully down to her home. She gives the offending rock a wide berth, eyeing the sharp point of it - smeared with her blood - with distaste.

Joel’s still on the porch when Ellie gets to her door and glances back. He gives her a wave and starts to step away like he’s gonna head inside.

“Hey,” Ellie calls impulsively, and Joel pauses. “Wanna watch a movie tonight?”

Even from across the yard, she can see the way his face lights up.

“Yeah,” he’s grinning from ear to ear, “yeah, kiddo, I’d love to.”

love you rocky, hopefully you're having a delightful birthday 💗

[64yrsold]

you know where the city is

a bit different today! we're doing write anything that you want to week with @imightgetbetter <3 today's theme is early matty, so i decided to write about hearing "the city" on the radio for the first time :-) hope you all enjoy! - love, 64

I watched his hands jump over each other on the steering wheel, driving us around another winding curve. It was almost a spectacle, watching the light expose his bare arms, travel up his black t-shirt and crawl up his neck, then disappear before it could illuminate his mouth. Then he’d be covered in darkness again, until we reached the next street lamp.

“You can drop me home, if you’d like,” I offered, turning down the radio so he could hear me.

“Come on, stop it,” he frowned, glancing over to me, “We can stay out as long as you want.”

“I think my parents-“

“They’re fine,” he interrupted, reaching a hand to squeeze my knee, “They like me, don’t they?”

“Maybe not after tonight,” I quipped, rolling the window down. The air here always felt like a childhood memory, like after-school walks and first kisses. I liked the way it blew against his curls, frizzing the ends. He pushed a few strands behind his ear.

“I’ll get you home soon,” he sighed, hand firmly planted against my thigh, “Just wanted to show you one thing.”

"Oh, are you surprising me?" my voice wavered with excitement. He nodded, bottom lip wet as he smiled.

"I was out driving with the guys-"

"I don't want to know," I said quickly, earning a boyish giggle.

"No, it was very innocent, babe. I'm behaving, I promise," he stated, but his grin said otherwise. He looked at me from the corner of his eye, finding me unconvinced, "Whatever, I'll just show you."

"You boys need to focus on the band," I scolded, fingers tracing his cuticles.

He scoffed, "You know how committed I am."

"Mhm," I hummed, "You're very good, you know."

"I know," he half-joked. His palm opened around the steering wheel as he turned a corner. Trees were thick on either side of the road, the pavement transitioning to gravel.

"Where the fuck are we going," I whined, "Is this where you finally murder me in the woods?"

"Yeah, I've got the axe in the back," he nodded, slapping my thigh playfully. The radio was cutting out, fizzling with static as we drove further into the wooded area. I changed the station, trying to find one that was intelligible. We approached a clearing, and I switched the station once more, hand frozen when I heard a familiar punctuated bass drum. He slammed on the brakes. I lurched forward, hand against the dash.

"Is this..." I paused, staring at him with parted lips. He threw the car in park, tangling his hands in his hair.

"Holy shit," he whispered, stars in his eyes, "Holy shit!"

"What the fuck!" I yelled, grabbing him by the shoulders.

"What the fuck!" he returned, jaw hanging open. I could see the tears rimming his waterline, and he quickly covered his face with his hands. "I sent this song to every fucking station I know, but nobody got back to me, I-" He interrupted himself with a guttural scream. I screamed back at him, the car reverberating with his voice on the radio.

He dropped his hands to my neck, searching my face wildly. My face was aching from my splitting grin, my pulse crawling up my ears.

"This is it," I mumbled, tears stinging behind my eyes, "This is really it."

"I can't fucking believe it," he cried, grabbing my jaw and pulling my mouth to his. He laughed against my lips, emotions swirling between us. He kissed every unspoken word into my mouth, and I could taste the excitement like pennies on my tongue. He pulled back to scream the chorus, and I joined him, chanting the words wholeheartedly. I dropped my head on his shoulder, finding a sky of milky stars mirroring the faint lights of the city below.

"Don't forget me when you're all rich and famous," I whispered, wrapping my fingers around his.

"Couldn't if I tried, love," he smiled, "How could I ever forget this?"

[streakyglasses]

Girl, I feel like every one of those injury dialogue prompts has already been written by you 😂 but I’ll throw #23 at you!

“You dumbass. Don’t do that. Ever again.”

I picture Street doing something idiotically heroic and Chris is maaad when she shows up to pick him up from the hospital. Obviously all out of love, but he will probably always be the Street she met five years prior.

Hello love!!

In one way or another, probably 🤣 BUT I’m nothing if not a h/c lover. This was a lot of fun, so thank you! (Will be posted on ao3/ffn later tn!)

prompt from @promptsbytaurie “injury” prompts!

also features Tan & Street friendship! minor description of a car accident, and hospitalization. set post S5, but before street goes to Long Beach full time. & mentions of Chris’s mom 🌝

feel free to send any other you’d like my way! 🩵

Patrol day. 

Never an easy day, but considering their usual level of disaster, Street normally doesn’t mind a few hours of pulling cats out of trees and building community connections. He’s paired with Tan, and left sulking in the passenger seat after losing the coin toss. 

“Just try not to lose your radio this time around.” Street smirks, earning a smack on the arm. 

“It was six years ago. But hey! Maybe you can teach me something you picked up during all your extra patrol time.”

“Oh,” he plays wounded, “below the belt.” 

“Whatever, Man,” Tan smiles back and turns over the engine. “West Side, here we come.” 

They’re almost to their first neighborhood, the sun shining and the streets blessedly quiet, when a blue sedan runs a stop sign and cuts them off. Sharing a look, Tan hits the lights and sirens, but it does nothing to stop the driver or their swerving. 

“There’s too much traffic to cut them off here. We can grab ‘em at the next light.” Street says. Tan agrees, spending up to keep track of the vehicle as Street takes down all the info he can see about the car. 

But the vehicle swerves right instead of stopping. 

“Fuck,” Tan murmurs. 

“Fuck!” Street’s eyes widen and then darken at the playground at the end of the street. 

Children and their caretakers laughing and playing. Too many bright colors to count and endless strollers and benches filled with people in imminent danger with nowhere to go. His blood boils, eyes darting away from the mulch and plastic just long enough to see a college kid getting off his motorcycle. 

“Stop the car!” He shouts, and he’d wince if it were any other situation. Tan slams on the brakes without question as Street jumps out before the wheels even stop turning.

“Hey!” He waves at the college kid, not bothering to flash his badge. “LAPD; I need your bike.”

It’s not a question. He’s already jamming the helmet on his head and snatching the keys despite the protest.

The bike revs to life right away. Smoke blows from the exhaust and Street makes light work darting onto the sidewalk to catch up to the car. White knuckling the clutch, he demands the wheels turn faster. He can barely hear it over the engine, but a quick glance shows him parents and babysitters starting to look towards the road, concerned, and he breaks left before he can think anything better.

He thinks he also hears Tan screaming his name, but pain overtakes him too soon to make heads or tails of it. 

Cells explode as the car rams into the motorcycle and sends him flying. They die as his body slides against the road like a ragdoll before coming to a lifeless halt. But the car doesn’t hit him a second time, and in the haze of agony and tears he hears doors slam and boots on the ground and something like jangling metal. It’s enough to make the fire burning him up worth it. 

“Street!” A voice calls, followed by a hand on his shoulder. Gently, they lift the visor of the helmet to see cloudy eyes and wide pupils, but a self-satisfied smirk that Tan wants nothing more than to knock off his face. 

“What the hell were you thinking?! You could’ve been killed. Jesus, can you even move? Do not try to!” 

“Tan,” he coughs harshly, the slight jolt of his body pushing more gravel into his raw back. It’s the first time he’s taken notice of how there’s nothing between his skin and the blacktop, and how he can’t move his shoulder at all lest an excruciating wave white-out his vision. Still, he tries. “Tan, he would’ve killed them. ‘M gonna—gonna be fine.” 

Tan nods, frantically searching for anything he can do to ease some of Street’s pain but coming up short apart from yelling at the crowd to stay clear for the oncoming ambulance. He can already hear the sirens, and he debates if the paramedics will be able to revive Street if he kills him first. Street’s raspy voice brings him back, fingers curling for something to hold onto, so Tan fills the gaps with his own hand. 

“P—promise me some—something,” Street groans in pain, struggling out a high-pitched breath as Tan promises. 

“What?” 

“Don’t t—tell Chris.” 

With that, the ambulance arrives, as do Hondo and Luca, and Tan wonders if the doctors at the hospital will be able to save him from whatever Chris might do if someone doesn’t call her.  —————————————————————-

She storms into the hospital waiting room like a hurricane and beelines for the group of men she could strangle, she’s so angry. Her heart hasn’t stopped racing since Tan called her. Told her they were already at the hospital and they had been for an hour. That Street was in an accident. 

“What do you mean an accident?” She demanded through grit teeth, throwing her backpack into her truck and turning the key. That’s as far as she got before her world stopped. 

“He commandeered a motorcycle to stop a drunk driver.”

Air shot from her lungs as every cell seized, no function flowing through her. Tan kept talking, her brain luckily able to catch “conscious” and “alive” and “Shaw Memorial,” but her hands ended the call without another word as tears flooded her eyes and panic struck her like a timpani drum. 

The memories came before she could stop them. 

“Christina Alonso? I’m Officer Andrews. I need you to come with me.”

“All dead.” 

“Drunk, probably.”

“Who the hell knows; they’re probably scraping up the highway hamburger now. I feel worse for that guy.” 

“We’re so sorry for your loss.” 

The world comes into focus again the second she hears Luca’s voice, but she doesn’t care to hear whatever he has to say, cutting him off. 

“What the hell happened? When did they last update you—where is Street?” 

And, well, there goes any semblance of remaining calm. The team looks amongst themselves against her sharp eyes. In the end, Tan speaks. 

“He stopped a drunk driver. The last we heard is that they needed to get a CT to assess for internal bleeding, and they started to give him painkillers the second they got his medical history and knew it was safe. I’m sorry, Chris.” 

Part of her wants to bite back that he should be sorry. That six years ago, they all made an unspoken pact to keep Street safe, and she always kept up her end of the deal. But then reality rushes back to her, and she falls heavy into an uncomfortable gray chair as everything except for terror drains from her body. 

Slow tears roll down her cheeks of their own volition. Someone sits on either side of her offering reassurances and soft, soothing hands on her back. None of it matters. They fade away as her mind replays every second of her and Street knowing each other from the moment they met to kissing goodbye that morning. 

“I can’t lose him.” She whispers, raw. Deacon pulls her in, she only knows from the cool metal of his cross necklace pressing lightly into her forehead, but it’s a comforting sensation. 

“You won’t,” he promises with a kiss to her head. “You won’t.” 

They offer to get her snacks and water as the clock ticks by, but she stays like a statue against Deacon’s shoulder until a new voice glides over all the other chatter in the cavernous room and her head. 

“For Jim Street?” 

Chris shoots up like a rocket, abandoning her backpack and the group she left it with. She rubs her arms and feels the knot in her stomach tighten to an unbearable pressure. 

“Yeah—yes.” She chokes out. “How is he?” 

The doctor smiles, but she won’t, can’t let herself believe anything until she sees him with her own eyes.

Still, the relief hits immediately when she hears it.

“Office Street will be okay.”

Her eyes widen, and the doctor continues, beginning to walk in the direction of his room.

“His left shoulder was dislocated, but we set it. He also has severe road rash on his back and left arm, and bruising on his ribs. All things considered, he’s extremely lucky. Whatever kind of helmet he was wearing protected his head extremely well. We’re going to keep him for a day or two to monitor pain and make sure no infection develops in the skin. A few weeks of rest and a few of rehab, and he should be back to one hundred percent.” 

“Great,” Chris says, coughing at her dry throat. “That’s great news. Can I see him?” 

“Of course. He should be awake, although he may be groggy. Visiting hours end at nine.” 

The doctor leaves her with a smile, and Chris turns to see the team a few steps behind her but obviously giving her privacy to go in first. She doesn’t wait another second. 

Street is sitting in a hospital bed, propped up against pillows. His gown is folded down to his waist, chest and arms exposed and covered in thick white bandages. There’s a plastic bag in the corner with what remains of his uniform, and a low, constant beeping from his heart monitor. A small tube under his nose helps get him oxygen; she sees how each deep breath makes him wince. 

He looks up at the sound of her footsteps. When he sees her, he smiles. 

Smiles. All dimples and stars in his eyes. All the anger that left her before comes back with a vengeance. She has the wherewithal to keep her voice down, but it’s no less intense.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” She bites, ripping a chair across the floor to sit right next to the bed, her knees hitting the plastic edge. 

“Tan didn’t keep his promise,” he mumbles. Confusion flickers across her face, but she’s not stopping the train now. Not until he tells her what was possibly worth leaving her for. 

“Do you have any idea—you could have been killed! There is absolutely no reason to do something so, so fucking stupid.”

The tears come again, washing over her too fast and too heavy to stop. They thicken her voice and she takes his right hand in a vice grip, clamoring to feel the life in his veins. 

“What happened to rule number one, huh? Never being in a hurry to die?! I thought we were past the impulsive recklessness. Did you even consider—“

“It was kids, Chris.” Street interrupts her, but he squeezes her hand back with every ounce of strength he can muster. “We had to move fast, and that was the only option I saw. I’m sorry I scared you. I love you.”

There it is. The endearing, self-sacrificial, infuriating Jim Street that she fell in love with. It’s funny, layers and layers below how utterly terrifying it is, how easily he calms her down. Puts everything into a perspective that makes her believe he really will be okay, even if it takes time. That his recklessness was only ever for the greater good. Her gaze drops to her knees in shame and exhaustion and every other too-strong emotion that’s coursing through her.

It makes her hate even more that she isn’t there to protect him anymore. 

“You dumbass.” She whispers. One last failing attempt to get the last word. “Don’t do that. Ever again.” 

He pulses her hand to bring her back to him. He’s still smiling. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, even though they know, if he felt it necessary, he would. He will. He adds for good measure, “It’s Tan’s turn anyway.” 

“Okay,” Chris accepts. Her body starts to relax enough to give him a small smile, and she carefully leans over him to brush a hand through his hair and kiss him. It pains her not to hug him, but she refuses to let him push himself. Sitting back in the chair, his hand still in both of hers, she kisses his bruised knuckles. Her lips are soft against his skin, breath warm when she speaks. 

“Are you okay? Is—is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?” 

“Just you.” 

“Yeah, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” 

“Mm, I’m good with that.” 

They fall into a silence that only gives Chris’s mind the opportunity to run wild with all the horrific what-ifs that have been playing since she answered the phone. Taking notice of her thousand yard stare and the increasing tremor in her hand, he says her name, wincing when she starts. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, giving her a look he knows she can’t lie to. Her head shake answers before her mouth, the words hard to find. 

“No. I was so scared. When Tan called me…” Sighing, she looks him up and down and gives into him. “This all reminded me of my mom. We can talk about it later, when you’re feeling better. But I will be, now that I know you will be.”

“We will be.” He swears, and she believes him. 

Brown eyes lock onto green until everything that needs to be understood has been, and then steals another kiss. He smiles and she sees the exhaustion mounting in his eyes. Swallowing, she sets his hand back on the bed and traces a tender hand down his good arm. 

“I know you need rest. Let me get the team so they can see you’re alright. I’m staying until they kick me out.”

Nodding, Street yawns, heart fluttering when he watches her walk. Right before she opens it, she turns back to him, a questioning look on her face. 

“What did you make Tan promise?”

He gets that bemused smirk she never likes, usually because it means antics, but his stomach flips at the reaction he knows he’s going to incur. He gets it out in one go. 

“Not to call you.” 

It fills her with an entirely new rage, and she can’t help but roll her eyes. 

“Unbelievable.” She mutters, opening the door for the team to enter and resuming her position in the chair, taking his hand. “We’re talking about that, too, the second you’re better.” 

“Looking forward to it.” He smirks, words starting to slur as the team piles in. “Talking. Not talking. Two weeks with you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she placates, but gets a soft smile of her own. “Me, too.” 

[skylarmoon71]

Castiel (Supernatural/Grimm) - Short Story - Chapter 2

“So you’re saying she’s from another universe and over there these ‘Wesen’ are like the monsters we hunt here but they’re inside of people.” 

You nod at Dean's analysis. 

“I know it sounds crazy but everything Castiel told you is true. I can’t believe she actually blasted us into another universe. When I get a hold of Diana I’m gonna kill her.” 

Dean grins. “It’s still sort of crazy the way you stood against Crowley.” 

“It’s like he couldn’t touch you.” Sam adds.

“It’s probably because my mom is a witch.” 

“Seriously!” You nod at Dean. 

“Wait, I thought Grimms hunted these Wesen. If your dad is a Grimm then how did he end up shagging a witch?” 

“Hexenbiest, by the way, thank you for that mental image. That’s exactly what I want in my head.” 

“Sorry.” Dean just shrugs.

You just let out another exasperated sigh. 

“My parents were in a complicated situation, but they love each other and that’s all that matters. Right now my family tree isn’t the biggest issue. My sister is missing. She should have ended up here with me but she’s not. If we’re in some different universe then I need to start looking for her. Even Diana is going to have some difficulty navigating through here. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.” 

Sam nods. 

“Alright, maybe if you tell us exactly what spell she casted we can figure out what it did or where she is. What were you trying to do?” 

It’s a logical question, but going back over the entire conversation with your sister earlier that day, you feel a bit embarrassed. 

“Diana, I’m exhausted, what are you doing?” 

You’re laying on the couch in the trailer. The training had gone on a lot longer than you anticipated. You were still wearing some of your gear. Diana was hunched over a book missing something. 

“I told you I’m tired of you fighting me on this. You won’t listen to logic so I’ll just have to show you.” 

You groan. 

“Are you really going on about this whole love thing again? I told you I’m fine. Stop messing around. Dad told you to stop playing with those spells. Mom too. I’m not getting in trouble again. I’m too old to be getting scolded by my parents. I’ve got to be at the precinct bright and early tomorrow anyway so I don’t have time to run through some cleanse at Rosalee’s like the last time.” 

Diana laughs awkwardly. 

“That was a minor miscalculation, but this time I’ve perfected it.”

“Perfected what?” 

You finally lift your head just in time to see her drop something into the bowl. A fire sparks up and you gasp, but she just smiles. 

“D-Diana stop!!” 

“Too late, hold on!!”

Her excited yell was the last thing you remember before the room went white.

Lifting your gaze, you chance a look over at Castiel who already seems to be staring in your direction. He’s all the way across the room, standing awkwardly at attention. You shouldn’t feel a thing, but whenever you look at him it just..

“Hey, earth to Supergirl.” 

Dean’s snarky remark pulls your attention back. 

“The spell doesn’t matter, we just need to find her. We should start with any reports of weird occurrences in the area. If I landed here she can’t be far behind. I’m gonna grab something to eat.” You stand before they can speak, grabbing the change on the dresser. 

“Hey, that’s mine!!” Dean calls.

The door slams shut and Sam holds back a smile. 

“She’s like a version of you Dean. Even the machete.” 

“Shut up Sammy!” 

Castiel’s eyes are trained on the door. 

“She’s hiding something.” 

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. What I want to know is how did her dad bang a witch.” 

“Really Dean, that’s your big question?” 

“It’s a pretty big one.” 

At this point they shouldn’t expect any different. 

Castiel is still standing a bit protectively at the door. 

“We shouldn’t let her wander off on her own.” 

“Relax, demons can’t touch her, honestly I’d feel sorry for any sad sap that tried anything.” Dean assures. 

“Still, she should not be alone.” 

Castiel’s words had Dean squinting. 

“What’s with you, you're acting like a guard dog.” 

Castiel shifted in place avoiding eye contact and slowly a smile began to form on Dean’s face. 

“No way, you like her don’t you Cas.” 

He didn’t respond, but they both saw the way his cheeks flushed at the insinuation. 

“If you want I can give you some tips lover boy.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows and Castiel disappeared. 

“Stop messing with him.” Sam scolds. 

“Come on, it’s cute, he’s got a crush.” 

Sam had a feeling Dean was only getting started.