#you've been living rent free in my goddamn head for almost a year and a half now what the fuck!!!!

[tradingjack]

happy quick bday doodle for these two dweebs

[blackbirdsonthemountain]

"I don't care who the hell she thinks she is, Francis. It's my name on the companies, the houses...the cars. The bar. The goddamn ranch and the oil fields are mine. You wanted a younger model and a fresh start and you got it. I..I just wanted a life..with you but I wasn't ever enough so here we are. I've moved on you've obviously moved on."

The sudden realization hit Frank Flannery like a Mack truck that he was indeed almost penniless all thanks to what? He desire for something new? He had loved Colleen at one point, then the anger took over. He could blame a million things on why he had treated her like he had during their ten years together. Col had been nothing but good to him, faithful and true right up to the dissolution hearing. He, on the other hand had literally fucked the sectary and was now paying for it, or rather, living paycheck to paycheck thanks to it. Falling head over heels in love with the feisty redheaded grey eyed woman that was due to be celebrating her 21st birthday in a matter of days had Frank sweating bullets. Lot rent was due, MaryKay wasn't feeling well - he had a sneaking suspicion as to why; he was praying that the milk from this week's pick up from the Eagle Eye Dairy was enough.

"Tell ya what, Frank. I've got a little investment property, it's a trailer park over on the back road to Hoyt's Hill."

Over and around the turn he could almost see the place she was talking about. They used to park up on one of side roads higher up and look down at the open lot.

"Over on Blackbird Mountain."

"Yep. You'd be doing park and lot maintenance but you could live their rent free with your family."

Frank Flannery was many things to many people but to Colleen he had been a menace. Yet she still helped him.

"You..really?"

"Yes. You need help and I'm in a position to offer it. You were a sonofabitch to me, She fucked me over to get to you...ya'll's kid is the innocent one in all this...and I'm not completely heartless.

'Flight 745 to Port St. Lucie now boarding.'

Colleen had always wanted to travel but in their time together Frank had never been much of a worldly explorer. He smiled at the fact that Col was following her heart.

"Where ya headed, Irish?"

"Off to the Cowtown rodeo to snag me a cowboy. Have a weekend of fun over at the hunt and riding club and get stoned and drunk off my ass."

Choking down a snort failed and Frank laughed. MaryKay stirred in the living on the ratty blue couch half covered with an afghan her mother had gifted them. An empty trash bag lined humongous pastel pink bowl lay on the coffee table next to a pack of open saltines and a can of Mr. Spritz Lemon Lime soda. He was nearly forty with a twenty one year old wife most likely about to bless the world with a being of their own creation and his dark haired green eyed wild woman of an ex was headed to parts unknown to let her considerably long hair down. He couldn't blame her.

"Be safe out there, Colleen."

"Will do...oh and I wouldn't worry about that check from Eagle Eye Dairy...it's padded nicely."

"How did you know about that?"

He could almost hear a smile in her voice as she dropped the third bombshell of his day.

"I know the owner, she mentioned seeing MaryKay at Doctor Nash's practice a week or two ago and she thought maybe you guys could use it. After all Eagle Eye's promise is all about looking out for the locals."

Her grandfather's nickname had been Eagle Eye. He, along with Harvey Starling and Col's aunt Eileen stepped in when her mother, Minnie had worked self almost into an early grave to make a life for the two of them after Jimmy Murphy had met a bad end one night.

"I don't deserve..."

"I know you don't deserve Jack shit from me but it's how I am, ok? Tell her to lay on her left side if she feels really horribly nauseous and sometimes humming helps."

Just like that Colleen was gone and the ear splitting voice from the Standing Rock airport told him the time in Japan and Guam and then told him to hang up.

'You never deserved a woman like her as a wife and you sure as fuck don't deserve to have her as a friend. That woman says jump you say how high, ma'am.'

His stern inner voice, which come to think of it sounded a hell of a lot like his younger brother Jackie; the one that Col had really truly loved, barked at him. For once in his life Frank Flannery obeyed advice from beyond the grave.

[colleenmurphy]

"I don't care who the hell she thinks she is, Francis. It's my name on the companies, the houses...the cars. The bar. The goddamn ranch and the oil fields are mine. You wanted a younger model and a fresh start and you got it. I..I just wanted a life..with you but I wasn't ever enough so here we are. I've moved on you've obviously moved on."

The sudden realization hit Frank Flannery like a Mack truck that he was indeed almost penniless all thanks to what? He desire for something new? He had loved Colleen at one point, then the anger took over. He could blame a million things on why he had treated her like he had during their ten years together. Col had been nothing but good to him, faithful and true right up to the dissolution hearing. He, on the other hand had literally fucked the sectary and was now paying for it, or rather, living paycheck to paycheck thanks to it. Falling head over heels in love with the feisty redheaded grey eyed woman that was due to be celebrating her 21st birthday in a matter of days had Frank sweating bullets. Lot rent was due, MaryKay wasn't feeling well - he had a sneaking suspicion as to why; he was praying that the milk from this week's pick up from the Eagle Eye Dairy was enough.

"Tell ya what, Frank. I've got a little investment property, it's a trailer park over on the back road to Hoyt's Hill."

Over and around the turn he could almost see the place she was talking about. They used to park up on one of side roads higher up and look down at the open lot.

"Over on Blackbird Mountain."

"Yep. You'd be doing park and lot maintenance but you could live their rent free with your family."

Frank Flannery was many things to many people but to Colleen he had been a menace. Yet she still helped him.

"You..really?"

"Yes. You need help and I'm in a position to offer it. You were a sonofabitch to me, She fucked me over to get to you...ya'll's kid is the innocent one in all this...and I'm not completely heartless.

'Flight 745 to Port St. Lucie now boarding.'

Colleen had always wanted to travel but in their time together Frank had never been much of a worldly explorer. He smiled at the fact that Col was following her heart.

"Where ya headed, Irish?"

"Off to the Cowtown rodeo to snag me a cowboy. Have a weekend of fun over at the hunt and riding club and get stoned and drunk off my ass."

Choking down a snort failed and Frank laughed. MaryKay stirred in the living on the ratty blue couch half covered with an afghan her mother had gifted them. An empty trash bag lined humongous pastel pink bowl lay on the coffee table next to a pack of open saltines and a can of Mr. Spritz Lemon Lime soda. He was nearly forty with a twenty one year old wife most likely about to bless the world with a being of their own creation and his dark haired green eyed wild woman of an ex was headed to parts unknown to let her considerably long hair down. He couldn't blame her.

"Be safe out there, Colleen."

"Will do...oh and I wouldn't worry about that check from Eagle Eye Dairy...it's padded nicely."

"How did you know about that?"

He could almost hear a smile in her voice as she dropped the third bombshell of his day.

"I know the owner, she mentioned seeing MaryKay at Doctor Nash's practice a week or two ago and she thought maybe you guys could use it. After all Eagle Eye's promise is all about looking out for the locals."

Her grandfather's nickname had been Eagle Eye. He, along with Harvey Starling and Col's aunt Eileen stepped in when her mother, Minnie had worked self almost into an early grave to make a life for the two of them after Jimmy Murphy had met a bad end one night.

"I don't deserve..."

"I know you don't deserve Jack shit from me but it's how I am, ok? Tell her to lay on her left side if she feels really horribly nauseous and sometimes humming helps."

Just like that Colleen was gone and the ear splitting voice from the Standing Rock airport told him the time in Japan and Guam and then told him to hang up.

'You never deserved a woman like her as a wife and you sure as fuck don't deserve to have her as a friend. That woman says jump you say how high, ma'am.'

His stern inner voice, which come to think of it sounded a hell of a lot like his younger brother Jackie; the one that Col had really truly loved, barked at him. For once in his life Frank Flannery obeyed advice from beyond the grave.

[welllpthisishappening]

Hello there, I see you're back on blue-line drabbles! I love them, I am obsessed with this universe. I don't know if I ever came back to say hi after I read all your big fics, but somehow I liked each even better than the last! I don't know how that's possible! But anyway, I think one of the best signs of a good writer/good story is when you're not ready to leave the world once you've finished, and Blue Line is one of the few fanfics I've read where even well after I've finished it, (cont)

(cont) I want to keep living in it and I end up writing my own fic of it in my head (strange, I know). Anyway, for whatever reason, I got really invested in Roland and Lizzie's relationship. Like, how did they end up dating after knowing each other for literally Lizzie's entire life? How did the adults react? Do you have any Lizzie/Roland stories up your sleeve? They would not go unread :)

————

Hello, yes, listen, this ask has lived rent free™ in my head since I first got it and I cannot properly convey how absolutely, goddamn wonderful it is. I am a broken record of outdated references , but it continues and will always amaze me that people are not only interested in Blue Line (more than three years!!! after I originally started posting) but are also interested in other characters in the story who are, for all intents and purposes, original characters at this point. Like the overall size my heart becomes when reading something like that could potentially cause a serious medical condition.

But, like, in a nice way.

So thank you, thank you, thank you. It genuinely warms the cockles of my entire soul. And, like, if you wanna share those fic ideas of the fic, you’ll never hear me say no. Just like I will never turn down the opportunity to write more stuff. Which is what’s under the cut. This stuff includes:

Roland and Lizzie’s first kiss, what I hope is some legitimate banter, more kissing, obvious flirting, and Roland being something of a sap.

Also, uh, it’s entirely possible that I have also already written: Roland and Lizzie’s first “I love you,” their wedding and some other stuff where their kid is involved. Seriously, guys, I am always down to write other relationships in this ‘verse.

————

It was, she figured, something almost passably close to, sort of resembling, definitely inching somewhere nearer to—

Assured. 

Unavoidable. 

Inexorable

Inevitable. 

That was a bad word. That last word. The third one was pretty impressive, honestly. Vocabulary, wise. She’d have to remember that one later. The last one, though. Made teeth Lizzie wasn’t even aware she possessed ache as she ground them together, a pronounced tension in her jaw that was likely affecting her shoulders as well. That word. An awful word. Boasted less-than-positive connotations, letters practically dripping with lack of self-control and overtly aggressive infatuation, but if the world expected her not to be a little in love with Roland Locksley by the time she turned fourteen and noticed that slight indentation in his right cheek every time he smiled, well, then the world had another thing coming. 

Dimple, that was the appropriate description. Another word. More words. Too many words. All of them bouncing off the slope of her skull and scratching at the back of her brain, nearly distracting her from what should have been the very pleasant buzz lingering beneath whatever biological thing made up her top and bottom lips. 

Which were parted in an emotion very similar to overwhelming surprise. 

That was stupid. 

The whole thing was stupid. God, maybe she was stupid. No, that wasn’t true. She’d made Dean’s List last semester. Stupid was—

A stupid word, really. Despite the blush rising in her cheeks and the wide eyes practically boring into her soul, bated breath that didn’t make any noise because that was what bated entailed, and no one else glanced in their direction. Not once. No one else noticed. 

That the whole world had flipped upside down.

Or right-side-up, maybe. Depending on how the next five minutes or so went. 

Because the last two minutes and twelve seconds, give or take, had seen Roland Locksley tilt his head and let his eyes flutter closed before his mouth found hers for the very first time — at midnight for God’s sake. On New Year’s Eve. Or New Year’s Day, she supposed. His parents were standing on the other side of the room.

Suggesting that Lizzie had ever been just a little in love with Roland was a rather monumental lie. 

As far as those things went. 

“So, uh—” she started, only to find blood in her mouth. From her teeth. Wayward and unpredictable, as they were. Biting down on the side of her tongue and Lizzie hated going to the dentist. Doing irreparable damage to her teeth on what was now legitimately New Year’s Day, in the middle of an annual party, was not on her schedule. 

Metaphorical as it might have been. 

She liked schedules. Had plans. Focus, even. People always said that about her — how focused she was, liked to throw around the word drive with startling regularity, as if they were amazed she wasn’t simply willing to rest on her laurels or the pair of last names she proudly toted around with her. As if Lizzie expected doors to swing open on a glance. 

Rather than consistently preparing herself to knock them down. 

She liked the challenge of it all. Appreciated the way disbelief always spiked something in her blood, and that was likely equal parts genetic predisposition and a product of her childhood, but right now, Lizzie was simply prepared to fight for the schedule she’d never allowed herself to mention to anyone else before and it wasn’t like they weren’t friends. 

Talked outside the group chat, even. 

That meant something. Definitely meant something. Had to mean something. Her lips felt like they’d been doused in liquid nitrogen. 

She didn’t know all the scientific properties of liquid nitrogen, but it always made that rather impressive cloud of steam-type stuff on cooking shows. So, it seemed very likely that it did something similar to cause whatever was happening in the region directly surrounding her mouth. Buzzing and tingling, and whatnot. 

When had Roland last blinked? Lizzie couldn’t remember. That would have been impressive in any other situation. Right now, it was sort, kind of, totally— Pissing her off. 

Color dotted his cheeks, no sign of the goddamn dimple because he wasn’t smiling, presumably couldn’t do that when it was clear he was so intent on pulling his lips into his mouth, and that felt a little insulting. Her tongue had just been in that mouth. 

Lizzie was fairly confident in the abilities of her tongue, so she wasn’t all that pleased to be replaced by a pair of lips that could have been doing much better work against the side of her neck. 

“If you sit here right now and tell me that you are,” Lizzie lifted a finger, “one, sorry,” another finger, “two, anything even remotely resembling regretful,” another finger, wiggling close enough to Roland’s nose to make him just a bit cross-eyed, “or, three, too old for me, I will throw my heel at that bruise I know exists on the back of your left calf.”

His lips twitched. 

He really had impossible eyelashes. Seemingly made so he could glance up from underneath them, to meet Lizzie’s steely expression with what she refused to believe could be cautious hope. Passable optimism, maybe. She’d have to look up what liquid nitrogen did, later. 

“I’m standing.” “I hate you.”

“You wanna go in order, or how do you want to work this?” “Where else are you bruised?” Roland laughed softly, a shift of his shoulders and tiny burst of air between barely parted lips. Feeling that tiny burst meant they were standing very close to each other. How they were standing remained another mystery. 

One of those great ones, Lizzie figured. The kind referenced when people talked about the sweeping potential of life and love and— Ah, fuck. 

“Please don’t threaten to attack me anywhere else,” he muttered, before quickly adding, “you gotta know this was not my end game, Liza.” Narrowing her eyes did nothing to temper the…tempest. Swirling in her gut. Threatening the back of her throat. Eating away at vocal cords and vocal boxes and the structural integrity of her entire goddamn larynx. Possibly her tongue, too, just to be especially efficient. 

“Really? Might’a been mine, actually.”

She’d always liked his eyes. 

How they could widen, and it wasn’t like...a normal brown. Nothing about the way he looked was ever dull. Drifted toward regularly excited, and the sparkles were probably a figment of her over-active teenage imagination, but Lizzie liked to think sometimes the sparkle came from her. Because of her, even. When she’d call because he always wanted to hear about her latest lecture and he’d call because sometimes Western swings were exhausting and loneliness-inducing and—

She knew. 

He knew. 

They knew each other.   

Grand scheme, the sparkle-prone eyes still weren’t particularly close to the dimple. On the list of things Lizzie liked. What left butterflies fluttering in her stomach and her heart hammering against her chest. Sparkle was probably a solid fourth. Behind the precise way his curls fell toward his eyebrows when he didn’t have time to get his hair cut. Which rarely happened during the season. Right now, it was happening right now. Well-defined strands that Lizzie knew felt even smoother than she’d ever theorized between her fingers, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with that information. 

Obsess over it, probably. 

For at least the next week, or so. 

Still. Eyes. Eyelashes. Too long and too bright, and that was the wrong description order and she was starting to teeter. On the edge of a rather dramatic free-fall. Into feelings and possibility, and this was way too dramatic. For both of them. 

“Don’t do that,” she mumbled, a scrunch of her nose that apparently demanded his thumb. Brushing against the bridge, and there wasn’t any caution there. No obvious fear or concern. For the way it left Lizzie’s lungs pinched, and there must have been a limit. 

To everything her internal organs could cope with in a limited span of time. 

“What was the last one on the list?” She swallowed. “Too old.” “Yuh-huh.” “Pretty flimsy as far as excuses go. You realize I’m not asking you to marry me right now, right?” He choked. On what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Only that it made her stomach heave and her teeth dig into her lower lip, and that was— “Because I know I said, end game,” Lizzie continued, giving in to the need to fill empty space with the sound of her own voice, “but that sounds like several pop culture references all at once, and you know how much I—”

“Hate to come across as disingenuous.” “Mattie’s the pop culture reference machine, anyway.” “Please don’t talk about Matt when I keep thinking about how much I want to kiss you again.” Her eyes, that time. Widened. Bugged. Did something unnatural. “Yeah?” “You’re kidding me, right?” “You’re not an old man.” Rolling his eyes, Roland’s tongue dragged across the front of his teeth. To torture her, apparently. “I was in college when you were a freshman in high school.” “Yuh-huh.” “Liza.” “Nah, nah,” Lizzie shook her head. Crossed her arms. Tried to stand up to her full height, but even the heels didn’t do much to add to the overall intimidation factor. Roland was doing an awful job of fighting off his smile. “Pulling out ancient nicknames is not—” “—It’s not a nickname; it’s literally letters in your name.” “Nick,” she leaned forward, “name. All personal-like.”

Making mistakes was not something she enjoyed very much. It was that Jones competitive streak. Plus, the Vankald stubborn streak. Created a monster of determination, who knew what she wanted, and feeling Roland’s fingers graze her cheek as a strand of hair hung limply in the minimal space between them was the result of Lizzie’s mistaken movement. 

Even as much as she might have wanted it. 

Goosebumps prickled her arms. Stole whatever oxygen she’d managed to get in the last forty-six seconds, or so. Her eyes fluttered. Head tilted. Towards the touch and the warmth, and for someone who spent so much time on the ice, he really was impossibly warm. 

“This is your fault.”

He didn’t move his fingers. Cupped her cheek, instead. “You were doing that eyebrow thing.” “Expand on that for me.” “Lifting ‘em. Happens sometimes. When you’re listening intently. Like you’re a little amazed by new information. They’re these stupid little arches on your face. Drives me nuts.” “The compliment was in there somewhere, I’m sure of it.” “I am so much older than you, Liza.” “Shouldn’t’a played out a bunch of teenage daydreams at once, then.” She was legitimately worried about the state of his tongue. Barely biting back her laugh, Lizzie let her eyes lift. To find Roland gaping at her, drooped shoulders and puppy-dog eyes. And that goddamn dimple. “C’mon, this isn’t...do you think I haven’t made out with people before?” “Wouldn’t classify what we just did as a makeout.” “No?” His eyes darkened. Shivering was probably not a good move, right? Right. Definitely. She wasn’t shivering. It was just...January. And inside. With dozens of people around them. “I would not, no,” Roland said, and the drop in overall volume was some sort of trick. Or, something. 

“How many people do you think you’ve made out with? Ballpark it for me.” “No.” “Is the issue a lack of appropriate numbers to tally that mark, or—” She bit her tongue, again. At the flash of amused frustration sweeping his face and polluting the molecules of whatever air was hovering between them. Permeating was a better word. Lizzie really needed to work on all of that. Words. Being slightly less jealous of potential make outs that didn’t have anything to do with her and definitely happened because there had to be other people out there in the world who simply could not cope with the existence of that dimple. 

“How many people have you made out with, then?” “Scores,” Lizzie snarled, only to get immediately scoffed at. “I’m really, incredibly popular.” “Oh, I’ve got no doubt.” “Boatloads of guys. Lining up to,” she pointed an imperious finger at her mouth, “make out with this.” “Your well-defined chin?” “I’m going to take my shoe off.” “Draw attention with a move like that.” Whatever fight she had didn’t immediately die. It just, sort of, fell. At her feet, threatening all the bones there and there were too many. All of them far too fragile. For whatever metaphor she was running with at the moment. “And we’re not trying to do that, huh? Draw attention.” “Shouldn’t you be out sowing wild oats?” “Really know how to charm a girl,” she grumbled, and that got her a smile. No scoff. Not even the hint of a smile. The whiplash was hurting her neck. “Trust me, the oats have appropriately sowed. If I was ever particularly inclined to farm work.” “I’m starting to be vaguely embarrassed by all of this.” “Good.” Wasn’t quite a scoff. Was more like a half-hearted laugh, and a tinge of desire and that was better than the other emotions, but the decreasing level of Roland’s eyebrows gave her pause. “What about the status of your oats?”

“Well sowed, rookie season,” Roland said. 

“You’re going to change the name on your jersey.” “Not sure that particular fact has a lot to do with anything else. Seven years, Liza.” “I’m perfectly capable of doing math, you know I took that stats class once.” “Because I double checked everything you turned in.” “Makes you slightly less of an idiot than the vibe you're giving off right now.” “A freeway or compliments.” Pulling in a deep inhale through her nose, Lizzie didn’t miss the way Roland’s gaze fell. To the neckline of her dress, lingering on the jut of her collarbones for a few seconds longer than a strictly platonic friendship should allow, and they were friends. Still. She knew that as well as she knew that he believed she thought he was simply being clever with nicknames. 

And not making vaguely incorrect My Fair Lady references. 

Because he’d always been a little annoyed that Eliza had gone back to Henry Higgins. Instead of Freddie.

It was really impossible not to be a little in love with him at all times. 

“You’re really going to hyphenate?” Roland nodded. “Think of all the new jerseys they’ll sell.” “By the box-load, and Gina’s gonna buy the entire stock. She’s—that’s really nice, you know.” “Just a fact. Little late, but—” He shrugged. Lizzie’s smile threatened to split her face. In that same nice way, she’d been talking about. Her lips were still buzzing. She might have been buzzing. With adrenaline. Happiness. The near-desperate desire to find some type of closet and get her fingers back in Roland’s questionably long hair. 

“Of naming conventions.” She couldn’t begin to guess what the record was for shoulder shifts in an emotionally charged conversation between two people who were simultaneously ignoring the point of the conversation, but Lizzie also knew her eyebrows had been halfway up her face as he’d detailed the reasons for making his jersey say Mills-Locksley. From here on out. 

Maybe that was the top of the list, actually. 

He was a good guy. 

Had always been a good guy. The best guy, really. 

Falling into that chasm wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Lizzie expected it to be. 

“Why’d you do it?” Roland’s lips disappeared. His tongue moved, again. She was staring at the area around his tongue. So, like, his mouth. Directly at his mouth. “Because, I uh—have wanted to?” “Oh, don’t phrase that like a question.” “Wanted to,” he repeated, a statement of fact with a certain amount of conviction. Enough to make Lizzie’s pulse sputter. “Which is kind of freaking me out.” “Come back with more compliments.” “Your dress nearly made me fall over.” “Better, actually,” she laughed. 

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Made sense at the time.” “Be more specific.” “Kissing you,” Roland said, enough emphasis that he leaned forward half an inch as well. It was a miracle their noses didn’t collide. Not the most impressive miracle, but—counted. “If I tell you that you might be my best friend does that make the lamest professional hockey player alive?” “Yes, absolutely.” “Matt might challenge you to a duel if he hears me talking like this, you know.” “God, Locksley, didn’t we just talk about the Mattie rules? Also, that made it sound like Mattie wants to kiss you too, so...”

He chuckled. Fingers still tugging on the back of his hair, like he was trying to ground himself in the pull and the self-inflicted tension, Roland looked up. Back at her. And Lizzie didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Held her position and prepared herself to defend the schedule she’d only ever allowed herself to hope for in the silence of that one corner in her brain. 

Filled, as it was, with memories. Of conversations that didn’t have anything to do with hockey. Others that did. Arguing over blue line placement in the brownstone and college rankings. Of movies watched on two different laptops in different corners of the country, bad jokes, and consistent updates, that deep-rooted understanding that came from a life full of expectations and the exact opposite. No overt pressure, but the need to prove yourself anyway, if only because of the name on the back of the jersey, and Lizzie was going to have to buy a new jersey. 

“You like me? Yes, or no?” Roland smiled. Wide and honest, the kind that ensured the dimple was on prominent display. “Yes.” “I am a grown adult? Yes, or no?” Crinkles appeared around his eyes. From the smile. 

“Yes.” “Meaning I get to make my own choices. Romantically, or otherwise. Yes, or no?” “Obviously.” “Wasn’t one of the options.” “Yes,” Roland corrected, fingers trailing over the bend of her elbow. Lizzie hadn’t uncrossed her arms. Or remembered when she’d crossed them in the first place. 

“Ok, good. Same page, then.” “Liza.” “Locksley.” Lifting her eyebrows wasn’t a challenge, per se. Was closer to instinct, really. Specifics didn’t matter, honestly. She did that thing with her eyebrows, and he did that thing with his mouth, the same one she was staring at and hoping would move closer to her, and then—

Well, it did. 

Hands found Lizzie’s hips, pulling her forward sharply enough that she let out a soft grunt. From the feel of hips bumping against hers, and she honestly wasn’t sure who hissed in their next inhale, only that it did something to the flutter-like state of her pulse and the erratic nature of her heart, and it was slow and fast and good and great and not a single person noticed. 

Miracles were arriving en masse, apparently. 

Pushing her fingers into Roland’s hair got Lizzie another hum of approval, the first brush of his tongue making her lips part and her head fall to the side, but then his hand was wrapped around the back of her neck, and she could not be expected to pay attention to anything except the semi-consistent swipe of his thumb against her skin. It left more goosebumps. Caused another chuckle, the kind that rumbled through her and resonated around her, a tiny bubble of that same cautious optimism from before. 

Like a spark. 

Fanning flames and threatening to burn everything because if this didn’t work, then Lizzie wasn’t sure what would, and that was scary and overwhelming and terrifying was a synonym, but she really was working with very limited word-based resources when Roland’s thumb kept moving. Tracing her. Committing the feel to memory, and she wasn’t sure when they’d established the rocking pattern they were moving in, but something deep in the center of her trusted it. 

Someone who regularly strapped knives to his feet and raced around at top speed knew how to stay balanced. And she was a stubborn idiot. Who got what she wanted. 

“Is part of liking me because I told you I didn’t think it was embarrassing that you still got a little emotional about Miracle on 34th Street?” Laughter pushed past her lips. Took root in the pit of her stomach and the spaces between her ribs. Laced through her heart. In the kind of way that cemented itself. Right in the middle of Lizzie. Right in the middle of this. Them. 

There was a them, now. 

“Was definitely a factor, yeah,” Roland said, not bothering to pull away. “You, uh—you snuck up on me a little, Liza.” “Peak romance.” “Want me to talk about your dress some more?” She shook her head. “Unnecessary. And you didn’t.” “That might be part of the problem.” “Nursing old crushes, you mean?” Her hair hit her cheek. And his hand. He couldn’t seem to let go of her. “Nah, this wasn’t like...there was no torch, not really. I—I wasn’t hanging posters of you on my wall if that’s the picture you’ve painted for yourself.” “Kinda disappointing, admittedly.” “Pick a lane, babe.” No sparkle, that time. Just flash and want and the very thin line Lizzie’s lips had become. “Be more specific,” Roland repeated softly. “You’re not standing on a pedestal. Just you, Rol, as is.” He waited. That was fair. There should have been more. Should have been a detailed list of all the reasons the grown-up version of her liked so many parts of the grown-up version of him, but that all felt a little extraneous when she was still thinking about closet-type possibilities and that stubborn streak was a mile wide, anyway. 

Roland nodded once. “Good.”

Both of them jumped. At the pop of another champagne bottle and Lizzie never understood how Regina managed to order so much champagne every year, but she felt a bit like she was floating on the bubbles, and they didn’t decide. Explicitly. To keep the whole thing—

Secret. 

Another bad word. With bad connotations and shadows that clung to the definition, but this was them and only them and, for right now, that was enough. And if no one noticed the way Roland’s hand drifted over the small of Lizzie’s back during David’s speech, then that was a miracle she was willing to accept. 

[londonfog-chan]

Abbacchi x Reader: Sudoh Buck AU

The coffee shop Abbacchio THIRST everyone keeps losing their collective shit over on AO3 and admittedly the chapter where I decided I was one thirsty ass bitch. All characters aged up.

...

"Ok, fucking Darth Vader over here, whoever has their headset on turn it the fuck off! Sounds like you're doing something gross!"

Darth Vader is an understatement. Whenever someone leaves their headset on and does any task, your ears are assaulted with what sounds like some mouth breather huffing directly into your ear canal.

Not even two shifts into Passione and you're already showing your coworkers that you have the capacity to look innocent, but have the mouth of a sailor. In a fitting turn of events you've been put on customer support, free to fuck off wherever you wish and cuss all you want on the headset. No one at your store appreciates your humor, in fact any time you make a joke they conveniently pretend they don't hear you or they grimace until the situation becomes awkward and you have to shut your mouth before you make an even bigger ass of yourself. Here at this location, the boys eat it up with a spoon. They can't get enough of your jokes, encouraging you whenever they force a headset on your head the minute you clock in. Even the new girl Trish, a pretty thing with dyed pink hair and a smile that goes for miles, joins in on the never ending train of dirty jokes, profanities, and general riff raff that makes Bruno bitch at everyone involved like a single mother.

But at the moment, the breathing most certainly does not belong to Bruno. Usually he's the one who always casually reminds people when they leave their headsets on.

"Mista!" you growl, "Turn it off or breathe less!"

"It's not me." he insists, the beep of the warming oven being cut off as he mutes himself.

"Narancia, I love you but I don't need to hear what it's like for you to get laid!"

"Negative babe~... I'm on drive bar." Narancia replies.

"Trish?"

"Not me hunty." she answers, and the sound of the wind in her headset confirms this.

"Fugo, I swear to fuck-..."

"It's me. Fugo doesn't have a headset."

Immediately you press on the sprayer head a little too hard and the back splash soaks the entire front of your apron and your uniform shirt. The voice you're greeted with on the headset is totally foreign, and unmistakably sexy. A low hum, almost like Bruno's baritone, and much like the rest of the crew you've come to love it's colored with the slightest hue of an accent that makes your knees start to knock together. Admittedly you're bad with voices and just as worse with names. You can't put a face to this voice no matter how hard you try, and it's no wonder considering that out of all the stores in the district, Passione has more employees than any of them, including H. Green and S. Platinum locations which are always overstaffed because of the sheer amount of business compared to the meager crowds you get at Ogre Street.

But... With that voice... if you were a customer you'd fucking live at that drive thru just to hear him read back your order to you.

"Woah..." you're nearly moaning the words "I'm wet in more ways than one, who the fuck is this?"

"It's Leone." he replies, voice low and sultry, "Sorry about that, I was eating a bagel."

Leone... who the fuck is Leone? Surely he has to be one of the other baristas whose names you never bothered to learn... doesn't really matter to you when you have constant attention of the store's man candy. But suddenly this is a whole new person with the sexiest voice you've ever heard giving you attention like everyone else. For very obvious reasons, this piques your interest.

"I don't recognize your voice." you said, putting down the whisk you were rinsing. "What's your last name?"

"Abbacchio." he responds. "We haven't met face to face yet, but I've seen you before. You're the beanie from Ogre Street right? It's nice to finally talk to you. I think you're really pretty."

... Oh sweet baby Jesus why aren't you taking the wheel yet!?

"Aww, and aren't you just a sweetheart?" you murmur, leaning over the sink as your voice drops to a near whisper. "Wait... Aren't you the one with the pretty handwriting in the book?"

His chuckle makes you honest to god swoon, and even Bruno peeks his head in to check on you when you make that kind of a noise.

"Yes, that's me." he confirms. "And you're the one with the great customer service. I haven't gotten a chance to talk to you, but I've been listening for a while. I really like your attitude. You're much more fun than your coworkers."

“Really?" you ask, taking up more dirty dishes, "Big shocker there, I'm surprised no one at this store is drooling over Ogre Street's heartthrob one miss Kimmy."

"Meh. I think the consensus is that you're the favorite barista out of everyone from your store if we're being honest."

That's Narancia, and even Abbacchio agrees with the rest of the crew. They all start complimenting you, how you never ask stupid questions, you try to help out any way you can. They honestly can't go two minutes without berating the other coworkers. It's all things you'd normally do to try and be helpful, but you're not sure exactly why it's so endearing to all of them. You're just another barista? It's never mattered to anyone this much before. Especially when you always come home in tears at your other location. It must be that you're not used to receiving compliments in such abundance.

"Agreed." reaffirms Abbacchio. "You're really agreeable, and I like your jokes. Your laugh is really sexy."

"Well aren't you a flatterer." you smile, putting the dishes to soak in the sani solution before throwing them for another go in the dish washer. "But I like having my ego stroked. Tell me more about how I'm wonderful, Abbacchio."

You can tell he's about to reply, until you hear the mournful "ding" from the drive thru sensors indicate that someone wants to order. You hear him tell you "hold that thought" before he turns his charms the customer.

"Hello there..." he purrs into the headset, "Welcome to Sudoh Buck, what can I get started for you today?"

The customer murmurs an "oh wow" before she remembers why she came here in the first place.

"Um yes hi can I please get a..."

It doesn't take much for you to zone out and return to your task. As soon as you finish up this set of dishes, you'll be able to take your last ten before you go home for the day. Customer Support is one of those coveted positions because you have little to no interactions with customers at a busy store. Bruno sets you to work with a task list, you work to the limit on the timer on your apron. Whenever it goes off, you have to drop what you're doing and come back to front to brew coffee. If anyone needs anything, like if Mista runs out of warming bags or Narancia needs more cups or milk, all they have to do is press the button on the headset and set you forth to do their bidding. Admittedly, you don't find yourself going straight home anymore. Even your brother, stoic and nonchalant, makes comments about it whenever you come home an hour or two later than the time you're supposed to. Mom, well, she's a worrier, and thinks you're getting up to no good shenanigans. But let's be real, when you live in the house you live in any trysts with potential suitors goes out the window. Your brother is in college and his schedule is unpredictable, and your mom is a homemaker.

The minute Abbacchio tells the flustered woman to pull up to the window, he returns to shower you with compliments over the headset, calling you the prettiest thing he's ever seen to put on an apron, how cute your angry face looks when you're totally focused on bar, even busting out some cutesy nicknames that make you squirm as you try to finish up your dishes. Strangely enough, everyone else is silent on the headset, letting you and Abbacchio get acquainted with one another to your heart's content, the lull in the conversation only happening when a customer pulls up. Eventually, like all good things, the compliments come to an end and the conversation turns to other topics.

"So you said you live with your mom?" Abbacchio asks after taking an order of five different fraps. You can hear Narancia cussing softly as he has to make each individual drink.

"Yeah, my mom and my big brother." you affirm. "It's the most I can afford in this town. Everything's so goddamn expensive, I couldn't even afford to make the first and last month's rent on the cheapest place in town, and my brother can't move in with me yet since he's doing school full time. But enough about me, what about you?"

"Mm? What about me?" he asks, flirt evident in his voice.

"Which country do I have to thank for that blessed ass accent you have?"

"That's Italy." he laughs. "I've been with the company for over six years, I started out at the reserve roastery in Milan and came here when Buccellati offered me a job. I came on a work visa, and now you can't get rid of me. I'm one of your shift supervisors."

"Well, temp supervisor anyway." you respond rather sadly. "It's too bad this store hadn't been opened before I got hired. Otherwise I would have loved to start here."

"I still think you should transfer." interjects Trish. "No one likes Ogre Street anyways."

"I... I'd have to think about it."

"What's there to think about anyway?" Abbacchio asks, and you stop scrubbing the chocolate pump for a minute. "If you transfer here, I'd get to talk to you every single day. Tips are shit but you can move up if you'd like."

"And the best part is if you transfer here, we can see your huge ass every time you bend over." Mista chimes in.

"MISTA! WE ARE AT WORK!" Bruno sounds exasperated over the headset.

"Oh yeah, my bad boss. I mean to say we can see your venti ass every time you bend over."

Everyone loses their shit for a minute to laugh as Bruno begins to berate the very bad and naughty warming man off headset. Before he mutes, you can hear him threaten disciplinary action, and you can't stop howling in the back. Nearly falling over just thinking about it.

"So how about it cuteness?" Abbacchio asks, and his voice is so warm and inviting you can't help but smile. "Think it's worth us stealing you away to stay here?"

"Yeah... I dunno. Like I said, I'd have to think about it. Besides, I think working here would just give my mommy an excuse to show up more often..."

A shrill sound assaults your ears, the timer, and you sigh.

"Now the age old question..." you wonder aloud, "What the fuck did I brew last?"

"I know we've been selling a lot of medium and dark." Abbacchio replies. "And it's already ten thirty, just cut the blonde and do full batches. Narancia can do pour overs."

"Ah yes," you can hear the mischief in Narancia's voice. "My special americano pour overs."

"You know Narancia, one of these days corporate is gonna walk in and see all the shit you do and your ass is going to get canned." you respond, laughing as you wash your hands in the employee sink before going back out to front.

"Fuck it." he laughs. "It won't bother me none, Buccellati can take care of me with all that Mama Daddy money he's got."

"Oh hey, cara mia, when you come up to front, come to drive. I've got something for you."

That was Abbacchio, and for a hot minute you're almost nervous, like a first date, at the prospect of seeing him face to face.

"Oh yeah? And what would that be?"

"Well," you hear the rustle of the bag, "It's cat shaped, and really cute, like a certain barista I know..."

"OOOOOOOOH DADDY!" you squeal. "You've just made me the happiest girl on earth!"

He's found your weakness. The quickest way for any man to get to your heart is to dangle some motherfucking food in your face, no lie. Even your brother has commented on more than one occasion that if anyone wanted to take you all they had to do was dangle a fucking cupcake in your face and you were toast. And it doesn't help that you called your mom squealing about the cute little kitty shaped cake pops they had out for the season.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Come and get this and we can meet in person."

Ever the one to be lured in with the prospect of free food, you run your ass to the front, nearly bowling over Mista as you skid to a halt at the nook where the drive thru window is located. To your ever lasting shock, you come face to face with the last person you'd ever expect to be flirting with you so boldly.

"Holy shit..." you breathe. "Abbacchio?"

It's the dude who gang faced you the first day you came in, and ironically the one who got fed up with your friend's bar time. Silver hair pulled into a pony tail, glistening purple lips, snatched makeup that's too perfect for a barista... All put together in a black apron. His glare never leaves his face, but maybe... Just maybe, he's like your brother and just has a very bad case of resting bitch face. Because you get a little hopeful when he sees you and his lipstick mouth smiles, beckoning you over with a warming bag in his hand. When Abbacchio reaches in, he pulls out the very treat you've been craving all day since you've seen it. This is the best part of the job. Sometimes some customers forget they get food and never come back, and it just sits there for hours until someone has to throw it away, or they'll change their mind last minute about the food, or worse yet someone on warming (Mista) will fuck up an order and get the wrong sandwich. If it's a sandwich, nine times out of ten you have to toss it, but if it's a sweet treat it's usually fair game for anyone to enjoy since it will just go in the trash. You love to have the mistake foods, sometimes you'll take them to your brother at the college, or more often than not you'll take them home to share with your mother. She loves sweets, and working for a coffee chain she normally can't afford to frequent is such a rare treat that you love to spoil her.

"Oh my god!" you coo, "Is that a kitty cat cake poop just for me??"

"Just for you." he chuckles. "Why do you call it that anyway?"

"I dunno. For some reason the feral part of my brain activates whenever I see words and I just like to play around with them and mutter weird things to myself. I tried telling it to my SM at Ogre Street and he told me I better not call it that, otherwise I might slip and call it a cock pop or something."

He can't help the smile that spreads over his face, and he suddenly gets a very naughty glint in his eye as he twirls the cake pop in your direction.

"So?" he asks. "You made such a big to do about being friendly on the headset. Be a good girl and take a bite of the treat I worked so hard to get for you. Come on, take a big nom nom out of this cock pop~."

You hope and pray that by some stroke of bad luck that no one you know outside of work just heard that. Not one to be shown up when it comes to flirting, you don't miss a beat as you step forward. With a look in your face that would make your mother faint if she knew how filthy you were being, you waste no time in licking a stripe slowly up the cake pop before taking a fat ass bite out of the head. Abbacchio's grin could split his entire face in half, and even more so when you use your teeth to pull the pop stick out of his hand.

"Hey... hunty, question?" it's Trish interrupting the positively predatory stares you and Abbacchio are giving each other. She's been listening in this whole time.

"Yes Trisha my love?" you respond, not taking your eyes off Abbacchio.

"Just one question... Can you eat pussy like that?"

A cacophony of screams and your screech of "NASTY WOMAN" makes Trish lose her shit outside, and Bruno swears up and down from the back office that he's going to write up the next person who says something filthy over headset during his shifts.

[jamesbuckfastbarnes]

Sober pt.2

It's finally here my dudes! After months of neglect, several sleepless nights of trying to come up with an idea and eventually bringing in @penny4yourthot in to assist, we happily bring you Sober pt.2! - Red_w00dy xoxo

P.s if you haven't read the first part of Sober, the link for it is below :)

*******************

“You. Stupid. Junkie. Piece. Of. Shit. Get the fuck out of here before I put a fucking bullet in your skull. And if I hear that you, or any of your little friends, ever sell junk to my baby sister again, I will personally hunt you down and murder you using nothing but a pair of tweezers and a razorblade. You understand me, Charlie?”

I opened my eyes and blinked a few times to focus properly, only to see Happy kicking the living shit out of Charlie as Herman kneeled over the drug dealer, their faces just a few inches apart from each other. A weak groan escaped my lips and I rolled over on the floor of Charlie's apartment, causing Happy and Herman to stop what they were doing to rush over to me. I knew I was in trouble with them, no amount of heroin could make me forget that, but in that moment they appeared to feel nothing but worry and concern for my well-being. I gave them a weak smile, stretching my arm out from where it had been tucked into my side. Happy seemed to think I was trying to hold his hand, and grasped my own in his large one until I pulled it away, only to reach past him once more to try and grab the needle resting on the coffee table behind him. Herman shook his head and moved the needle further away, tears pricking at my eyes and threatening to spill over as I desperately tried to move in order to retrieve it. My body was aching from the come down I was experiencing from my previous high, and I was in no fit state to move from my spot on the floor. Herman sighed and carded his fingers through my tangled blonde locks, crouching down so that his dark blue eyes met mine and he flashed me one of his megawatt smiles. I had no idea what he was so happy about, he was the sole reason I couldn't be happy myself right now.

“You're lucky Juice could trace Charlie's phone and find his address, Ana. You ever do that to me again and I will personally kick your ass up and down the street, just like Mom always threatened to do when she caught me smoking as a kid,” Herman whispered, still smiling despite the fact he was threatening me. I blinked at him in response, having no clue how to reply.

“I just needed one more hit. Just a little one to help me sleep. I figured you would understand, you had the whole insomnia thing when you were coming off crystal,” I slurred, my stomach churning violently as I leaned forwards and Hap managed to put a bucket under my chin before I proceeded to throw up the contents of my stomach.

“One more hit, just one more fucking hit! That's what you've been saying for the past two years, Anastazja, and it never is. You always need another one, and it always ends up with me and Hap finding you smacked out of your head on the floor of some drug dealers house, begging us not to yell at you. It's not fucking good enough. I'm sick and tired of constantly worrying about you, girl! I've got my own shit to deal with without having to constantly chase around after you as well!”

“Then don't bother,” I mumbled quietly, both Happy and Herman struggling to hear me due to the fact my voice was slurred and barely audible. I gathered all my strength to push myself into a sitting position, looking up at the older men through hooded eyes. “I never asked you to do any of this shit. If you're gonna complain, don't fucking bother, just leave me to get on with my own life.”

“And have to bury you next to Mom years before I'm supposed to? Fat chance of that, Ana. You're gonna come with me and Hap, sort yourself out and get off this shit once and for all. And if that means having someone watch you constantly, no connection to the outside world and not even a nickel to your name then so be it. We're going to make you go cold turkey whether you like it or not,” Herman glared, pulling me roughly to my feet before dragging me out of the small, messy apartment with Hap close behind us, glaring at Charlie as we left.

The car ride back to Charming was spent with Herman lecturing me. I toned it out as I was nodding in and out of sleep, still coming down from my previous high. When I heard the car stop I opened my eyes and looked around, not recognizing where we were. “Where the hell are we?” I questioned with a tired voice.

“This is Chibs place, he volunteered the first shift of watching you because he felt bad that you got away under his watch. He has a spare bedroom that’s empty and this way we can keep you away from all the partying at the clubhouse” Herman stated.

Happy opened the door and helped me out of the tow truck. He kept his arm around me as he guided me to the front door of Chibs house. Chibs opened the door and Happy guided me in. Once I felt the cold air in the house, I instantly starting shaking. They must have noticed because they walked me to the couch, putting a thick blanket around me once I sat down and got myself comfortable. ”Thanks,” I muttered.

“Chibs, are you all good here? Clay needs me and Hap back at the clubhouse!” Herman called out to the older Scot.

“Aye, we’ll be fine here, lad,” Chibs responded as he walked out of the room. “Your sister’s no going anywhere fer noo. The door is staying locked and,” Chibs came back to where I sat, a stern expression on his weathered face and his hand outstretched in front of him. “Give me your phone as well while I think aboot it.”

“I’m a grown ass women, you're not taking my damn phone.”

“Last time I left ye wi’ yer phone ye called yer drug dealer and these two found ye almost dead, passed out in his goddamn house. No more fighting, I’m no in the mood for it, just give me the damn phone” he argued. His eyebrows were knitted together in frustration and the more I looked at him, the more I realised. Chibs wasn't mad, he was just tired of having people argue with him constantly. So I gave in.

“Fine, but what if need something?” I asked as I disgruntledly handed over my cell phone.

“Chibs will be with you all day” Happy ruffled my hair affectionately, throwing his arm around my small shoulders to give me a light hug before ambling off in the direction of the front door.

“And we'll be here to check on you tonight, as well, Ana Banana,” Herman finished as he kissed the top of my head, clapped Chibs on the shoulder in what I assumed was a thankful gesture and swaggered out of the small, two bedroomed house in pursuit of his best friend.

Chibs disappeared once again, only to come back with a bottle of Gatorade, some Tylenol and a bucket. He handed me the pills along with the open bottle and I took them with one sip.

“Ye need to drink more lass,” he sighed as he handed the Gatorade back to me. “Dehydration isn't going to help you when yer coming off smack of all things.”

“I don’t want to get sick” I said through chattering teeth as the shakes got worse. He looked at me and lifted up the bucket with a smile, causing a weak chuckle to escape from deep inside my chest.

“That’s what this is fer,” he grinned. I took a small sip of the blue liquid, watching as Chibs got up from the couch and made his way to the front door to lock it. It might have been the drugs left over in the system, or the fact the withdrawals were kicking in big time, but for whatever reason, I couldn't stop staring as he shifted both deadbolts and the generic lock that came with the door.

“You have three locks on your front door?” I smirked as he sat back down, the older man nodding in response with a small shrug of his shoulders as I giggled quietly. “So do you have a stalker or what? I think I should know what I'm getting into here.”

“I wish a stalker were my only worries, hen. Nah, just some people from my past life showed up here in Charming a while back. They’re gone fer noo tho,” He muttered as he reached for the tv remote and turned the large television screen on, instantly turning the volume down to barely audible as if he could sense the small pounding in the back of head that was steadily getting worse with every passing minute.

We sat in silence for a while, the shaking turned into sweating which caused me to become even more cold. Chibs got me another blanket and wrapped me up and then held his arms around me in attempt to warm me up and stabilize my body from all the shakes. I have to admit is was nice to have someone here to help me through this. There had been too many times that, on the rare chance I decided to come off heroin, that I was alone and cold. There was more than one occasion that Herman and Hap had founded me curled behind a dumpster somewhere in Tacoma, using a cardboard box and newspaper to keep myself warm, because I had spent all my rent money on junk again.

“Th-thanks for d-doing this” I shivered, nestling further into Chibs’ side in an attempt to soak up some of the Glaswegian’s warmth. “I-I really a-appreciate it.”

“Aye, lass, dinnae worry about it. We're all family in the club, we look oot fer our own” he said softly as he brushed some hair out of my face, his eyes flitting to a picture of a considerably younger version of himself, along with a tiny bundle of blankets and a beautiful, dark haired woman, before looking back at me with a smile. “We'll always keep an eye oot for ye, Anastazja. Even if ye do steal people's favourite Celtics shirts.”

We sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, neither of us feeling the need to say anything, until I felt my stomach start to lurch and I started to gag. Chibs was quick with the bucket he had brought into the room earlier, placing it in my lap just in time for me to throw up what little contents left inside my stomach. He held my hair out of my face in a makeshift ponytail as I continued to vomit, a worried smile taking up residence on his lips as he used his free hand to keep the bucket steady.

“God, I feel much better now,” I croaked quietly once I was sure I was done, leaving Chibs to take the bucket away and pass me the Gatorade so I could rid the taste of vomit out of my mouth. “If you ever meet anyone that doesn't hate throwing up, they are freaks of nature and deserve to be thrown into an asylum.”

After a deep laugh that echoed around the living room, Chibs took the bucket away, only to return a couple minutes later with it all cleaned out.

“You didn’t have to do that I could have taken care of it” I mumbled softly, burying myself further into the mass of blankets that surrounded my thin body.

“Believe me when I say it's absolutely no problem at all, wee hen,” he smiled back as he dropped down next to me, returning his arm to where it had previously been resting around my shoulders.

I managed to muster up a weak smile as I rested against his chest once more, listening to his heartbeat thumb periodically and feel his fingers move to play with the ends of my dirty blonde hair. The shakes had started to subside at this point and, with the soothing sound of his heart pumping away next to my ear and the way he combed the tips of his fingers through my hair, I slowly drifted off to sleep, unable to think of anything but how sweet Chibs was, and how grateful I felt that he was so willing to take care of me after what I did. Clearly some people were just better than others - Chibs and I were the perfect example of that.