#I love old XXX ads

[astonmartinii]

lonely hearts club | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x musician!reader

y/n y/ln is known for her sad music, with most using her music to get through break ups. however, this valentines is much wilder than they could imagine. (i used phoebe bridgers' music cause she's my sad queen supreme)

pitchfork

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 177,045 others

tagged: yourusername

pitchfork: y/n y/ln's sophmore album punisher is exactly what you expect from the heartbreak queen, haunting vocals and crushing lyrics all wrapped up in impeccable production.

view all 12,335

yourusername omg thank you pitchfork :)))))

user445 ALBUM OF THE YEAR ALREADY

user23 i love it so much but someone make this girl happy please

f1fan22 LANDO?? what are you doing here

f1fan67 he's just like us for real

taylorswift on repeat

yourusername i'm dead i love you so much

landonorris

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 401,885 others

landonorris: what if i told you i feel like i know you but we never met

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danielricciardo is little lando in his emo phase?

landonorris is daniel in his old man phase?

danielricciardo touche

user404 omg lando using a y/n y/ln lyric???

user56 he's a sad girl like the rest of us

yourusername cute

yourusername added to their story

[caption: man this car does go fast]

landonorris added to their story

[caption: maybe i'm not just only good at driving]

mclaren

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 620,776 others

tagged: yourusername

mclaren some grab some extra tissues in the garage we've got special guest y/n y/ln!

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user33 omg slay mother

landonorris who would've guessed ???

danielricciardo oh so that's why lando's been so happy this weekend

user45 oh god the thread was right

landonorris added to their story

[caption: hope i did this right]

yourusername

liked by landonorris, taylorswift and 1,089,886 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername i may be in love but fear not the sad music will continue - happy valentines day loser

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landonorris i love you dork

yourusername you can listen to happy music again now

user445 I KNEW IT

danielricciardo congrats you two!! lando are you finished being emo now?

landonorris fuck off i'm in love

a/n: a lil one for valentines - happy galentines to you all xxx

#f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 imagine #lando norris instagram edit #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #lando norris insta au

[little-diable]

Pen Pals - Tommy Shelby (smut)

Boy, do I adore working on fics with @zablife – thank you for adding your beautiful touch to this fic and for writing Tommy's letters. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tommy and the reader have been pen pals as teenagers, though ripped apart by the war. Now, as she is trapped in an abusive marriage, she finds Tommy's old letters again, and she can't help but wonder if he had made it home from war, and if so, could if he could be the helping hand she's desperate for?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, mentions an abusive husband and a gun, a very happy ending

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (5k words)

header by @deathofpeaceofmind

(Y/n) could still remember the call she had found in the paper as she had been a young teen, asking children and teenagers from the United Kingdom to send in their addresses, to find pen pals they could practise writing with. She had been filled with excitement, and even though her father had told her to not follow the call, undoubtedly worrying about the mail they’d receive, she still had run all the way to her post station to send off a letter, asking them to pair her up with a pen pal. 

It had taken weeks for the first letter to arrive, addressed to (y/n) in a slightly wonky handwriting, introducing himself as Tommy Shelby. Back then she hadn’t even dared to guess the kind of friendship that would form between her and Tommy, the young boy from Small Heath, a city she has never been to before. 

Ever since Tommy had written that very first letter, (y/n) had started to share her deepest secrets with the boy, confiding in the one she’d eventually fall for, without ever meeting him. But life hadn’t been kind to the two, ripping them apart before they could have even tried to grasp the chance to meet, before she or he could board a train to finally cross the endless hours laying between their homes. 

War had been cruel, to both their families, killing innocent lives before they could evolve into the people they were destined to be. (Y/n)’s heart had ached in her chest when Tommy’s very last letter had found its way to her, saying goodbye to the woman that had been by his side for the past years, at least on paper, one with the ink soaking through the expensive paper they’d steal from their family members close by. 

She had collected every letter he had written, stored away in a box she hadn’t opened in years, long forgotten like the words she had once known by heart. Within the first few months of the war people would talk about for decades to come, she had found it too painful to think of Tommy, wondering if he was still alive, breathing in the smell of gunpowder, of dirt and blood. The mere thought of said vile mixture had brought tears to her eyes, clutching the fabric of her blankets when she was laying awake late at night. 

The years had passed and with those years the memories of his letters had faded, allowing her heart to make peace with the ghost of old times she had run from. It was almost ironic how she had found the wooden box again, trying to hide the gun she had bought from a man down the street, needing to find something she could use to protect herself against the man she had married, one with the alcohol he’d pour down his throat, with the money he made from gambling, and the anger he’d unleash upon her in moments he’d call ‘moments of weakness’. 

Her hands had trembled as she had grasped the first box she could find hidden in the back of her closet, freezing she felt the all too familiar wood beneath her fingertips. Tears had welled up in her eyes, fingers stroking along the outlines of the box before she slowly opened it. The gun had been long forgotten, placed on the ground next to her kneeling frame as she started reading the letters, mind racing, just like her heart.

With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) reached for the last letter she had received from him. She could still feel the pain his words had unleashed upon her, forcing the young woman to accept that he may never write to her again, buried with those that left their homes with hopeful hearts and strong minds, set on winning the war. 

“Dearest Y/n,

 I am writing to thank you for your last letter and the photograph you enclosed. It will surely bring me comfort when I am far from home. I must admit that I have been thinking of you often as I prepare to leave, knowing we will not be corresponding as frequently or perhaps at all. I never realised how much my happiness depended on you and the words we exchanged over the years. I know now that you’re the only girl who has ever mattered. 

Take care of yourself whilst I’m away. I will do my best to return if only to see your lovely smile in person one day after this war has ended. 

Yours, Tommy”

While her heart screamed at her, cursing (y/n) for forgetting about the man she had once planned to marry, crossing the country to make her way to him, her mind started questioning if there was even just a slight chance of Tommy being still alive. Perhaps it had been her own moment of weakness, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from searching for a piece of paper and some ink, starting scribbling down words she could barely read with the tears blurring her vision. 

“Dear Tommy, 

God, it’s been years, hasn’t it? And yet I can still remember the endless hours I’ve spent pressed against the window of my parent’s living room, waiting for your letters to arrive. How oblivious I’ve been, too naive to understand that life would rip you from me. For years I’ve tried to make my peace with the thought of you amongst other fallen soldiers, but it seems as if the pain has never quite subsided. 

Sometimes I catch myself dreaming of the life we could have shared, the house we would have lived in and the children we could have had. An easy life that now seems more far away than ever before. Perhaps it’s foolish of me to rip open the wound that hasn’t properly healed, but just the slightest chance of you still being alive seems a price worth paying. 

The naive child living inside of me is hoping for your reply, anxiously awaiting the darkening truth to be revealed. But if you’re receiving this, know that I’ve never stopped loving you.

Yours, (y/n)”

For a moment she had debated telling him about the situation she found herself trapped in, the loveless marriage she was a hostage of, but she didn’t have the heart to do so, scared that somebody besides Tommy would read the letter. And so she folded the paper, staring at it for a few moments before she rose from the floor of her walk-in closet, praying to whoever was listening, that the old address of his would still be the right one. 

…

Weeks have passed since (y/n) had sent off the letter, using the address she still knew by heart, a shot in the dark that would probably never be returned to the light. It had been foolish of her to write the letter, forcing her further down memory lane, a path she couldn’t retreat from, stuck in the emotions her younger self had carried deep inside of herself, loving a man she hadn’t ever touched before, a man she hadn’t ever spoken to before, only knowing his handwriting and the thoughts plaguing him. 

And while (y/n) had spent most of her past days trapped in her thoughts, her husband had found his way back home, drunk off his mind, smelling of places women like her wouldn’t be allowed to enter. Fear simmered deep inside of her, mixed with the slightest bit of hope, praying to God that Tommy would reply, or at least somebody who knew of Tommy Shelby. 

It was early in the morning by the time her doorbell went off, forcing (y/n) out of bed with trembling limbs, arms slung around her waist to try and shield herself from the cold of the morning. Slowly she moved towards the door, opening it just enough for her to take in the body on the other side of the door, “Morning, (y/n), here I thought this may be of importance to you.” 

A letter was pushed into her outstretched hand by the postman, sharing a slight smile before she murmured a “Thank you, Frank”, watching him move away. Her heart picked up its pace, eyes staring down onto the address of hers that had been written by a handwriting she didn't recognise. Slowly but surely the daunting realisation began to settle in, this hadn’t been written by Tommy. Times may have changed, but if there was one thing she was certain of it was Tommy’s handwriting. Was this what she had been fearing? Was he no longer human but bones and rotten flesh? 

Tears welled up in her eyes, making it harder for her to see as (y/n) found her way back to her empty bed. She stared at the envelope for a few moments, trembling hand wiping away the falling tears. It felt worse than she had imagined, a pain so biting, she felt bile rise in her throat. A pain that was guided by her anger, anger addressed at those greedy men that have ripped millions of people from their families, greedy men whose decisions have forced Tommy to part from their evolving bond. 

A deep breath was exhaled as (y/n) opened the envelope, careful not to destroy the parts that had the address of the sender written on them, an unfamiliar street she hadn’t heard of before. Her trembling fingers unfolded the letter, freezing as she read the first few words. 

“Dear Miss Y/L/N, 

I apologise for any delay in correspondence as my secretary is unfamiliar with this address. 

Of course, I remember you and the years of our acquaintance before the war. As you say, much has changed with time. I’ve a business in Birmingham, Shelby Company Limited, as well as several race horses which occupy my time. I cannot give quite so accurate an account of my time in between as you have done. My memories of the war and the subsequent years are not pleasant ones. However, I confess I keep your photograph by my desk as a reminder of simpler times when the world was a better place. 

It is my hope that you have found happiness in your life. I am told it is a choice one must make for themselves though I still seem to be deciding. Perhaps I should flip a coin as I would have done in the old days? 

Sincerely, Thomas Shelby”

He was alive. Tommy Shelby was alive. A sob wrecked through her, followed by another. (Y/n) pressed the letter against her chest, holding it tight as if she was hugging Tommy. A man that had changed like the tide rolling in, a man who had left behind his happiness on a warfield, a man who no longer addressed her by her first name. Changes (y/n) didn’t care about, rising to her feet in a frenzy, this was her chance. A way out. 

(Y/n) didn’t worry about the chances of Tommy pushing her away, didn’t even think twice about the what if’s, the chances of him not wanting to meet her. She had been desperate to find a place where she could hide away from her husband, and if Small Heath – the city she had been supposed to move to years ago – was her calling, she’d follow it blindly. 

Clothes were thrown into her old suitcase, not caring what she was packing, too focused on the racing of her heart, the blood thumping through her veins like alcohol. A blind happiness that drowned out the sound of her bedroom door being pushed open, exposing her stumbling husband. 

“What the hell are you doing?” (Y/n) froze, eyes squeezed shut for a moment before she slowly turned towards him. He was drunk off his face, could barely balance himself, God’s timing seemed to be perfect, he’d pass out soon, giving her a chance to blend in with the dark morning. “I asked you a question, woman.” 

“I,” (y/n) stumbled over her words, fisting the fabric of her thin dress as she was wrecking her brain for a lie to distract him with. “My mam’s sick, I need to visit her for a few days, you know how she is, I can’t leave her alone.” 

He stared at her for a few moments, either too drunk to notice the tremble of her voice, or too distracted by the tiredness clinging to him. With a nod thrown her way, he found his way to their shared bed, no longer paying attention to her movements. Relief flushed through her, guiding her through the next moments, closing her suitcase, and with one last glance thrown at her husband, (y/n) pulled her ring off her finger, placing it down on the small reading table placed next to their door. 

The morning was cold, a sensation her busy mind paid no worries to, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. Slowly her doubts began to resurface, doubts that distracted her from the dark path to the train station, hoping that she wouldn’t have to wait long for the next train she could take, leaving this very life behind. 

Her eyes found the dark ones of the ticket seller, smiling at the grim looking man, “I need a ticket to Birmingham, please.” 

…

As a teen (y/n) had imagined the very first time she’d make it to Birmingham, to Small Heath. Back then she had been filled with excitement, a giddy feeling that had left her insides churning, wondering how it may feel to hug Tommy, wondering about the places he’d show her. Naive dreams that had evaporated into a cloud of anxiety, a cloud she was now trapped in. 

It had taken her hours to find her way to the streets of Small Heath, but even though the day had turned into evening, (y/n) felt no tiredness clinging to her fleshcage, no exhaustion she was slowed down by. No, by now her confidence had passed, turning into worries that ate her from inside out. Would he even want to speak to her? Would he accept her, or force her to turn away?

With every further step (y/n) took, clinging to the address she had found on the back of his letter, the worries began to grow. A part of her screamed at (y/n) to turn around and leave, to forget about this trip and to tell her husband that her mother didn’t need her help. But her curiosity forced her to keep on moving, till she came to halt in front of the house the address had guided her to. 

Trembling fingers were balled into fists, knocking on the heavy door with a deep breath exhaled. There was no turning back, no way out of this mess. She counted the seconds fading by, wondering who’d open the door. (Y/n) knocked again after a few moments, taking a step back as the sinking realisation began to broaden in her system. Only as she turned away from the door, shoulders slumped, legs suddenly feeling heavier than before, the door was ripped open. 

“What do you want?” A man had opened the door, presumably younger than she was, and yet his eyes carried something that made (y/n) wonder what cruelties he had been forced to see. 

“I’m looking for Tommy Shelby.” (Y/n)’s words were quiet, nothing more than a whisper, and yet he seemed to pick up on them perfectly fine.

“Why? What do you want from him?” Her eyes flickered down to the letter she was holding, wondering how to explain to the man that Tommy Shelby was the lifeline she was clinging to, needing to be pulled from the soaring waves before she’d drown. 

“I’m an old friend of his.” While (y/n) was looking for more words to speak, trying to find a way to beg the man to guide her to him, he kept studying her, gaze focusing on the letter she was holding. It took him a few moments to reply, taking in her tired features before he stepped out into the evening, taking her suitcase from (y/n) before she could speak up.

“He’s down at the Garrison, I’ll bring you to him, ‘m John.” 

…

“I can’t do this.” (Y/n) froze as they arrived at the Garrison, eyes set ahead on the entrance. Should she really do this? Was this the right decision? She didn’t even know what Tommy looked like, hadn’t ever received a picture of the man she had once planned to marry. 

“What’s wrong? Thought you’re an old friend of Tommy’s?” John alighted another cigarette, curious eyes not wandering from her features. On the way to the Garrison they had exchanged a few words, getting to know one another, even though he hadn’t asked any questions about her relationship with Tommy, not one question had been wasted on the man’s name. 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” (Y/n)’s eyes found John’s, sending him a sad smile that was frozen on her lips as his hand found the back of her shoulder, giving her a slight push forward. 

“Don’t you worry, ‘m sure he’ll be happy to see a pretty face like yours.” Before she could even try to inhale another breath, (y/n) was pushed into the pub, taking in the smell of alcohol and cigarettes that lingered in the air. Her heart was pounding, not able to pay attention to the greetings thrown John’s way, wondering if Tommy was any of these men. Would her heart recognise him before her mind would? 

“Look at that, John, did you finally find a woman interested in you?” A man with a prominent moustache spoke up, arm finding its way around John’s shoulder, pulling the man against his chest. Too many curious eyes were focused on (y/n)’s frame, making her feel rather uncomfortable. But while she tried to find comfort in her coat, hiding away from their gazes, John shook his head, murmuring something about Tommy to them. 

“A friend of Tommy’s, eh? Alright, come, let’s bring you to him.” The older man took her by her wrist, a gentle touch (y/n) couldn’t focus on, realising that she was truly about to meet the man she had once known better than her friends and family members. No words threatened to leave her, lips pressed together as the man guided her through the pub, coming to halt in front of two smoking men. 

Piercing blue eyes found hers, and something inside of her clicked. She tensed, unable to inhale any air her aching lungs were desperate for. Time seemed to stand still, earth had stopped rotating, no longer guiding her through the passing by seconds. 

“You’ve got a visitor, Tommy, says she’s an old friend of yours.” It truly was him. The man with piercing blue eyes that reflected no emotions, a stoic glance that could freeze hell. The other man sitting in front of Tommy rose from his seat, nodding at him before he blended in with the other men, making room for (y/n). 

Silence engulfed the three of them, seconds Tommy used to take in her frame. Did he recognise her? She had changed over the years, looked nothing like the girl in the picture Tommy had apparently kept close, but if he felt the same pull she was currently feeling, he must know it’s her, guided by the heart that had been broken one too many times. 

“Leave us alone, Arthur.” The man squeezed her wrist before he parted from them, sending Tommy one last curious glance. Tommy reached for a cigarette, alighting it before he pointed his hand towards the empty chair. Her trembling limbs forced her to sit down, unable to speak up with her dry mouth. “Flipped a coin, you know, wasn’t sure what it was trying to tell me, but I guess I finally have my answer.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology bled from her lips, eyes not daring to move from Tommy, taking in the handsome face she’d never be able to forget again. “I’m sorry for just turning up like that, but I needed to take my chance, even though I’m a few years too late.” 

“Does your husband know you’re here, (y/n)?” She froze, wondering how he knew of the man she had left behind, even though she wasn’t even wearing her ring. 

“He’s no longer my husband, at least I no longer want to call him that. You know, I thought you were dead, no further letters have found their way to me, my mother told me to move on, to marry before I get too old. But ever since your last letter I’ve felt everything but happiness.” Tears welled up in her eyes, she fumbled with her fingers, feeling pathetic and yet overly relieved to finally be in Tommy’s presence. 

“Small Heath is no place of happiness, and it’s certainly not safe for a woman like you.” (Y/n)’s throat began to tighten up, unable to bite down the anger simmering inside of her, not understanding what he meant by his words. 

“I’m safer here than I’ll ever be around my husband.” It took Tommy a few moments to reply, finally realising why she was fleeing from her home. He stubbed out his cigarette, rose from his seat and stretched his hand out for (y/n) to take. Shudders ran down her spine, feeling his skin pressing against hers for the first time, an unfamiliar sensation Tommy also seemed to be distracted by for just a fraction of a moment. 

“Let’s get you home then.”

…

“Drink?” (Y/n) could only nod her head, taking in Tommy’s office, the books her fingers ached to touch, the paintings her eyes couldn’t stop admiring. She felt awfully at peace, finally calm enough to exhale the built up pressure. 

“I have to admit, I didn’t imagine that being at your place for the first time would play out like this.” Her chuckles left him smiling, staring down into his drink before Tommy took a sip, leaning against his desk. 

“How did you imagine it?” Her eyes found his, hand tightening its grip on her glass as she took a step closer towards him, just close enough that she could easily touch him, if the alcohol would give her the confidence to do so.

“I don’t know, I guess young (y/n) didn’t worry about anything but finally being with you. God, I was ready to leave everything behind for you, and if I’m honest, I think this is one of the few things that has never changed over the past years.” His hand found her side, pulling (y/n) against his chest before she could begin to understand what Tommy was doing. He was holding her close, chin placed on top of her head, arms slung around her middle. Both deeply exhaled as if all weight had finally been lifted off their shoulders, no longer carrying the pain the past years had unleashed upon them. 

(Y/n) lifted her head off his chest, eyes finding Tommy’s, wordlessly communicating the love that has never subsided, forever etched into her racing heart. His eyes flickered down to her lips, making her awfully aware of their closeness, a thought drowned out by the feeling of his lips meeting hers for the first time. For a moment both froze, minds unable to realise that they were finally kissing. 

He tasted of alcohol and cigarettes, a taste she’d forever remember, a taste she’d take to grave, cherishing every part of Tommy, even on her deathbed. He was the darkness she’d walk through, rising with the shadows he had once sent to hell, calling him home once his time was running out. 

Her gasps urged Tommy on to add more pressure to his touch, hand finding her chin to keep (y/n) in place. The kiss was unexpectedly sweet and soft, not rushed by the endless years they’ve spent wondering about this very moment. (Y/n)’s hands found the hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging on his roots in a desperate need to deepen the kiss.

“You have to be sure about this.” Tommy murmured the words against her lips, eyes even more piercing than before, finally giving away the whirlwind of emotions he was stuck in. His fingertips danced along her sides, gently caressing her skin through the thin fabric of the dress she was wearing, sticking to her limbs since this very morning. 

“I’m more sure about this than about anything else, are you?” Her whispers left him chuckling, forehead pressed against hers to release a deep breath.

“I’ve waited for this moment for years, of course I’m sure about this, about you.” Another kiss was shared between them before Tommy interlaced their fingers, pulling (y/n) towards his bedroom. The giddy feeling she hadn’t felt for years began to fill her, an emotion so familiar and yet so new, making her blood grow warmer, filling every inch of her body.

They came to halt in front of his bed, eyes not daring to break contact as he pushed the straps of her dress down her arms, falling to the ground to expose her naked chest. He took his time admiring her, eyes wandering up and down her frame, not able to break down the small smile widening on his lips. Impatient as one can be, (y/n) pulled him closer, hands working on the buttons of his vest, finding its way to the ground with his shirt soon following. 

“I want to take my time with you, love you properly like I should have done years ago.” His raspy words left her trembling, only able to nod her head. Slowly she sat down on the mattress, crawling up the bed with Tommy following her every move, lips finding back together as he towered over her. He kissed his way down her throat, sucking on her skin, leaving marks he’d renew with every rising of the sun. Cold hands explored her chest, tugging on her hardening nipples, wanting to coax every sinful sound from her swollen lips. 

“Don’t ever stop touching me, Tommy, promise me.” Her whispers filled the room, words caught in her throat as his mouth replaced his fingers. (Y/n) arched her chest further against him, high on the feeling, not once had she been touched like this before, not used to being treated like a woman that deserved to feel pleasure. 

“I promise, even if it may be the only promise I’ll ever keep.” Tommy’s mouth moved further down her body, hands tugging on her panties, exposing every inch of her body to his wandering eyes. He cupped her heat, felt her arousal dripping from her tightness, body begging for his touch, needing to feel his hands on every part of her. Her moans rumbled through her, guided by her pleasure, the unfamiliar desire she had to adjust to. 

His mouth found her bundle of nerves, a touch that left her gasping in surprise. Not once had her husband wasted his time on pleasuring her, not once had he used his mouth on her, a sensation so intimate, (y/n) was grateful that she got to share her first time experiencing it with Tommy. His eyes found hers every now and then, as if he was checking in to see how she was feeling, if she was enjoying the way he was touching her. And great heavens, she was. 

“Feels so good, fuck, never been touched like this.” Her confession left Tommy smirking in pride, grateful that he was the one to push her into the soaring waves of her orgasm. Two of his fingers teased her entrance, giving her a moment to stop him should she feel uncomfortable, but (y/n) didn’t dare speak up, too caught in the web of pleasure he had spun. He fucked her slow at first, fingers moving in a steady pace, before he began to build up the pressure, curling them against her swollen spot. 

Her moans grew louder, walls clenching around him, not able to stop herself from giving in, calling out his name as her first orgasm of the night flushed through her system. Tommy gave her a few moments to cling to the feeling before he pulled away from her, watching her panting frame while he undressed, exposing his naked body to hers. He was gorgeous, a perfect man made for her only, a man she’d never willingly part from again. 

Tommy interlaced his fingers with (y/n)’s, staring down on her as he pushed into her, a movement that coaxed a heavy moan out of the both lovers, needing to adjust before he could start fucking her. It felt like their bodies were made for one another, one with the love they’ve shared for a decade, the love so intense it had never managed to fully let go of them. 

(Y/n) searched his lips, drowning out the sounds that left her, swallowed by the kiss that left both panting. Her eyes fluttered close and for a moment (y/n) felt like her teen self, remembering all those nights she had spent wondering how being with Tommy would feel like, how he’d touch and love her, but nothing would ever manage to describe what she was truly feeling in this very moment.

A moment filled with love and adoration, a moment so perfect no human mind would ever fully grasp it.

His fingers found their way back to her pulsing bundle, pushing her further into the darkness he had her trapped in, wanting to see the pleasure tugging on her features once again. (Y/n) choked on his name, eyes squeezed shut as her second orgasm rocked through her, robbing her of any strength lingering in her system. 

Tommy kept moving, chasing his own high as his eyes watched his cock disappear inside her tightness, coated in her arousal. The sight left his cock twitching, about to release himself on her walls. He managed to pull out just before his orgasm would rock through him, jerking himself for a few moments before he painted her thighs white, letting go with a deep moan.

Both were panting, bodies searching one another, not fully realising that the past moments have truly just happened. They still had their fingers interlaced, not daring to let go just yet, not even as Tommy reached for a tissue to clean her skin, not even as he alighted a cigarette to fill the quiet bedroom with blue smoke. 

“There were times where I thought I may have found love again, and yet it had never been the same love you’ve managed to make me feel with your letters. I’m not a good man, (y/n), I’ve done things worse than you’ll ever be able to imagine, but I’m selfish, I won’t let you leave again, not when I finally have you to myself.” She rose from her position, body fully turned towards Tommy, and with her lips kissing his once again, (y/n) murmured a soft “I won’t leave you, not now, not ever”.

#Tommy Shelby smut #Tommy Shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine

[thefrontofmymind]

Make A Wish (matty healy x fem!reader)

You've been keeping your relationship with Matty secret from your friends. You have a good feeling it'll go the distance.

a/n: me writing??? who'd have thought?? anyway, i was in the mood for something sweet so i whipped this up, enjoy xxx

WC: 790

You always loved the song and dance around your birthday. The fact that you planned this exact party over a month ago, yet still got to act surprised when you came home to a gathering of all your closest friends with plenty of food and drink tickled you. In fact, it didn’t even faze you that Adam texted you just before you left work to ask if you could pick up your cake from the little bakery you loved near your office–even with a ‘pretty, pretty please’ added.

Over dinner, you looked over all the faces of the people who loved you enough to come tonight; old uni friends, a few close coworkers, and Matty and the band. 

Matty.

You two acted like friends in front of everyone else, but behind closed doors that was far from the truth. Lingering hands and soft touches, hot breathes and skin sheened with sweat, murmurs of forever and then even after that. You were enjoying the bliss of it, before it could disrupt anything with the group as a whole. Just the two of you.

You caught his eye every so often while you were in separate conversations–just the smallest smirk has he noticed you looking at him instead of devoting your full attention to one of Charli’s stories from an underrage rave she went to with her parents way back when. He could make you giddy like a teenage schoolgirl, and you loved every second of it.

You knew what was next after dinner plates were cleared and George quickly switched off the light above your dining table scattered with half-empty glasses and the odd vape. Cake time. 

Matty and Charli were slowly scooting out of your small kitchen–Matty holding the cake and Charli shielding the lit candles from the air with a lighter in hand.

You smiled, watching everyone sing the Happy Birthday song, giggling a little when it got to the point to sing your name and just about everybody came up with a different nickname of yours to say instead. The song ended with a cheer–and not soon enough, the melted wax off the pink candles was dripping closer and closer to the surface of the icing.

“Alright, make a wish!” Matty said as you got ready to blow out the candles.

You thought for a moment.

~~~

Sun was streaming through the cream linen curtains, just enough to wake you from your deep, sunken-into-the-bed, slumber. You let out an involuntary groan as you stretched the tightness from your shoulders.

You could hear footsteps coming down the hallway; not just soft, deliberate steps on the wooden floor, but also a set of small, quick patters coming closer and closer.

“Shh, okay?” You heard a whisper. “We have to be quiet in case Mummy’s still asleep.”

“Okay…” You heard an even softer voice reply.

The bedroom door creaked open. You closed your eyes apart from a tiny sliver. You could see two figures through your lashes–the man you’d grown to love after years of close friendship, and a tiny outline of a toddler with Matty’s same wild, curly hair, a little girl who you could barely keep up with most days.

“Okay, gently shake her,” Matty instructed.

You felt a cold, little hand on your shoulder. “Mummy…wake up! It’s your birthday!” She whispered, only a mere four inches from your face. It took everything in you not to laugh.

You slowly opened your eyes, and with a groggy voice said, “good morning, sweetie.”

“Happy birthday!” She exclaimed–a little too loud for how early it was in the morning, but you understood she was just excited. “We made you breakfast!”

You turned your attention to the plate and mug that Matty was holding; tea just how you like it and avocado toast with enough salt to soak up the sea.

“Thank you, my loves!” You said, gently taking the mug and plate from Matty, placing the cuppa on your nightstand and the plate in your lap on top of your duvet.

“Someone was a big help with mashing the avocado, huh?” Matty asked your daughter.

She nodded shyly, you were glad she didn’t inherit her father’s ego, even when it came to mashing avocado.

The three of you got cosy in yours and Matty’s king-sized bed, and Matty put Mulan on the TV against the far wall–it was your favourite Disney film when you were young and it was quickly becoming your daughter’s as well.

You never thought you could be this happy. This content. You got all you’d ever dreamed of and more, and you got to do it all with the person you loved the most in this world.

~~~

You smiled, blew out your candles, and hoped for the best.

#matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy blurb #matty healy drabble

[hollybell51]

can you post newt x female reader smut? i had a look at your wattpad and noticed that you already had some but it's in the old style (i'm assuming it's your old style) and i really like how you write now (the stuff you post on here). obv only if you're comfortable with it, btw i love your work!

First of all, I'm glad you like my stuff! Secondly, I sure can! I've got some brand new things I cooked up a while back, and I would be delighted to share the love xxx

Just like that

Series masterlist, masterpost

Newt x fem!Reader

Maze Runner (2009 novel - James Dashner, 2014 film - Wes Ball)

Word count: 2318

Summary: shameless Newt smut. Enjoy.  

Content: smut. Porn with like the tiniest hint of a plot. Friends with benefits type beat. Making out, blowjobs, hickeys, light praise kink (kind of), light dirty talk, masturbation (kind of), hair pulling (reader is the puller), cowgirl position (sort of??? Idk??), al fresco lol 

Notes: I’m so sorry I have no idea how to tag this stuff. Literally what’s in “content” is in it, there might be stuff that I forgot so I apologise but it’s basically just what you’d expect from smut (I’m pretty basic)

You were kissing Newt. Or maybe Newt was kissing you, since he’d started the whole thing when he had put down the now empty cup of hot tea the two of you had been sharing, sheltered behind the partially rotted corpse of a massive tree, and taken your chin between his strong fingers, turned you to face him, then very deliberately pressed his lips against your own. You’d just smiled and let him, giving as good as you got. He still tasted like the drink, the sweetness of the honey you’d insisted on adding coating his mouth. And so it was that you came to be locked in a soft embrace now, with your movements lazy and relaxed as you took your sweet time exploring each other. 

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence; you liked Newt and he liked you, and both knew it. It was nice to have a sort of outlet every now and then, someone who you didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than yourself around, and who didn’t pretend around you. And that’s what Newt was, and what he had been for some time, ever since a few months ago when the two of you had found yourself drunkenly making out behind the homestead while the other Gladers enjoyed a bonfire. 

Now, Newt’s hand had found its way to your breast, tracing circles over the material of your shirt and making your skin prickle. You traced a line along his jaw, your finger trailing down his neck to rest on his shoulder. You shifted yourself slightly, angling your body further towards him to ease the suggestion of a stiffness threatening to grow in your neck if you kept up your current position much longer. Newt’s mouth was still soft on yours, his tongue stroking your own lazily, but something about him was saying that he wanted more – or would soon. 

“Do you want me to suck you off?” you asked, breaking the kiss. The two of you had decided a while back that being open and up front was the way to go – “candid,” Newt had stated solemnly, and you’d agreed. 

He seemed to consider for a moment, then glanced around to check for anyone in the immediate vicinity. The fallen tree trunk you were sitting against wasn’t all that deep into the deadheads, and while it was huge and had served as an excellent shelter numerous times before, it never hurt to be careful. It wasn’t that either of you were ashamed of your standing with the other – your “situationship” you jokingly called it – it was just that it would be awkward to get caught. 

Now, Newt smiled at you and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, placing another gentle kiss on your lips. 

You returned the smile, slipping your hand under the waistband of his pants, massaging his cock gently. You felt him grow hard, and when you were satisfied, you deftly unzipped his pants. You smiled again, spitting into your palm and resuming your light ministrations. 

Newt raised his eyebrows, clearing his throat. “Love, that’s wonderful, but quit teasing.” 

“Magic word?” you grinned. 

Your friend sighed, rolling his eyes. “Please,” he huffed. 

You nodded, licking your lips before gently kissing the tip of his dick and lowering your mouth over the head. Newt gave a tiny moan – well, something between a sigh and a moan – and moved his hand to your hair, his fingers tracing patterns gently over your scalp. You really liked giving blowjobs to Newt; he was always so gentle and considerate, and it never even felt like you were “giving” him anything. Sure, his dick was in your mouth, but it was more like something you were doing with him, something nice and fun and extremely gratifying. Especially when he talked to you, which he was doing now. 

“That’s it love,” he murmured as you swirled your tongue around him, your hands working what wasn’t already in your mouth. “God, you’re good at this.” 

The praise lit a warm glow inside you, and you sank your head lower. Newt’s breath caught in his throat as you hollowed your cheeks, the tip of his dick now almost touching the back of your throat with every bob of your head, your hand still taking care of the base. It was as slow and laid back as your kisses had been just minutes before, and you loved every second. 

You continued like that, basking in Newt’s grunts of “yes” and “fuck” and the occasional “God, (Y/N)” before his fingers slid from your hair to under your chin, prompting you to stop. You released him with a wet sort of “pop” sound, licking your lips delicately while still holding his throbbing cock in one hand. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright as he looked at you. Your own face was warm, matching the not entirely unpleasant heat you’d felt building between your legs. 

“Take your pants off and come here.” He patted his lap, kicking his own pants further down his legs. 

You grinned. “Is that an order or an invitation?” 

“An invitation, since you never do anything I order.” 

“It’s cause you never say please,” you deadpanned as you shuffled out of your pants, discarding them and your underwear to one side. You swung a leg over Newt’s hips, straddling him, and placed your hands either side of his face. “How’s this?” 

“Yeah, not bad,” he nodded, his own hands easing your shirt upwards. You let him, lifting your arms obediently as he slipped the piece of fabric over your head and sent it the way of your pants. He kissed along the line of your bra, then, watching your face carefully, reached around and undid the clasp. He caressed your breasts softly, sweetly, and slowly. That really did seem to be the theme of the day. 

“Hey,” you said after a moment when he made no move to take his own shirt off, your hand coming to rest over his. “How come I’m naked and you’re not?” 

He shrugged, twisting his hand to entwine his fingers with yours. 

“Hardly seems fair,” you breathed, sliding your hips over his. 

Newt’s breath caught in his throat once more, and he rolled his eyes at you. “If you insist.” 

“I certainly do.” You pushed his shirt up, pulling it deftly over his head and tossing it to the side before laying your palms against his warm skin. You knew there were things Newt liked more than his own body, but you’d never really understood why. Sure, he was skinnier than some of the other boys, and his leg was a continuous chip on his shoulder, but you thought he was hotter than anyone you could name off the top of your head and you made sure he was aware of the fact. 

In fact, the first time he’d expressed anything resembling insecurity, you’d been watching him get dressed after a night well spent, idly pondering how perfectly formed he was, how smooth and seamless every movement was even with the addition of his limp. You’d been so caught up in watching the dance of his lithe muscles under his skin that you hadn’t even noticed the apprehensive look on his face as he turned away from you. 

“Can you… not watch me?” he’d asked hesitantly as he pulled on his shirt. 

“Huh?” you’d frowned, sitting up. 

“You were staring, can you not do it?” 

“Oh.” You’d felt your face colour and had looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry.” 

“‘Sfine,” he’d said. 

You’d asked why, hesitantly and as politely as you could. You just couldn’t work out why this boy, who was totally comfortable making you plead his name as your thighs squeezed around his shoulders and your fingers pulled his hair enough to make him moan (which was how you’d found out he liked his hair being pulled, but that was a story for another time), couldn’t deal with you watching him get dressed. 

He’d shrugged, then turned around and spoken directly to the wall beside your head. “I don’t really like how I look.” 

You were baffled to say the least, and had very nearly burst out laughing. “But you’re so…” you’d said instead, stumbling for the right words. “You’re so hot,” you’d blurted at last. 

Newt had shrugged again, bending to lace up his boots. “Maybe to you.” 

After that, you’d taken every opportunity – ones that weren’t too obvious, of course – to subtly express just how attractive you thought he was. From outright whispers of “fuck, you’re hot” mid tryst to casually proclaiming him gorgeous in the middle of a conversation, you really did take any chance that presented itself. And now was no different. 

“Damn,” you smiled, bending to place a kiss on his collar bone. “You’re fucking sexy, you know that?” 

“Look who’s talking,” he scoffed, but you caught the tiny upward twitch of his mouth. He brought your hand to his face, gently kissing your knuckles. You let a sigh escape you, rocking your hips over his once more. He was hot against you and the sun, now beginning to sink below the walls, caught in his hair, lighting it up in gold like some kind of halo. You’d hardly have been surprised if he sprouted wings right then and there. 

“Quit teasing, (Y/N),” he half laughed, half growled. Then added “please” almost as an afterthought. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” you smiled, the hand that wasn’t being held by him sliding down over his chest, his stomach, finally coming to rest on his dick once more. You carefully lined him up, and at his nod, sank gently onto his length. 

You didn’t move right away, shifting your hands to the log either side of Newt’s head to steady yourself as you let yourself adjust. You rocked experimentally, earning a soft sigh and whispered “yes” from the boy under you. 

“Just like that,” he murmured as you moved again. Another thing about Newt that you’d learnt was that he liked when you rode him like this, liked guiding your hips over his while showering you with kisses – and the odd hickey. He was doing it now, his hands gentle yet firm where they slid over the skin of your thighs and hips and waist, his mouth warm and silken where it roamed your chest and neck. 

“Fuck, Newt,” you breathed, letting your fingers tangle in his hair. You didn’t pull it as such, just hinted at it. Still, Newt’s breath hissed between his teeth and he looked up at you from a particularly dark hickey at the curve where your neck met your shoulder, his eyes dark. You gave his hair the gentlest tug, tipping his head back and kissing his lips, his jaw, and down his throat. 

Newt’s eyes were closed now, his breath shallow as you ran one hand down over his front, fingers skimming the subtle planes of muscle as a leaf skims the surface of a puddle. You kissed him again, slowly, your mouths melding perfectly together. 

“Touch yourself,” he murmured against your lips. “I want you to cum.” 

“I wanna make you cum,” you replied. It was true, you loved nothing more than watching Newt unravel because of you and only you, even if it was both of you doing the work. 

He shrugged. “And I want you to get yourself off riding my dick, I want to watch you.” 

“Ok.” You kissed him again, then slid the hand that wasn’t still tangled his hair down your own body to the heat between your legs. You bit your lip as your fingertips grazed your clit, stifling a moan. 

“Don’t keep quiet,” Newt urged. “I wanna hear you too.” 

God, this boy, you thought as you let yourself whisper a curse. Did he have any idea what he was doing to you? He probably did, actually, you reflected as your fingers rubbed tiny circles over your clit. You leant forwards to get a better angle, your chest brushing against Newt’s and your face inches from his own. He was watching you, his attention fixed only on you. You felt yourself twitch and your muscles began to tense as you found the perfect spot, the moans you let escape growing in frequency and volume. 

“Move me,” you choked as you felt yourself teetering on the brink of your climax, every fibre of your being pulled taught. 

Newt nodded, rocking your hips over his as your fingers continued their motion and you hung, suspended for a second before everything came crashing in on you. 

“Fuck, Newt, oh my god,” you groaned as the orgasm flooded over you. You were dimly aware of him moaning your name and realised that your hand had tightened in his hair and that he was still moving you. “Keep going,” you sighed, cupping his face with one hand while the other continued to card through his hair, pulling occasionally. 

“Mm, (Y/N) oh–” he broke off and you gave the handful of hair you had a firm pull, now taking over your own movements as he released inside you, bliss flooding his face. 

You continued to slide your hips over his until your legs had ceased to shake and a little of the haziness had gone from Newt’s face, settling comfortably onto his lap. Wordlessly, you placed a soft kiss on his forehead, brushing the hair from his face and tracing patterns over his cheeks and neck, all the way down to his chest. He smiled at you, bending to sooth the dark marks he’d left on your skin with kisses of his own, holding you close against him. 

“I love this,” he said at last. 

You tilted your head to the side, nonplussed. “Having sex with me?” 

He considered, nodded, then, “being with you.” 

“I love being with you too,” you whispered as you kissed him again. 

#Maze Runner #the maze runner #newt maze runner #tmr #tmr fanfiction #tmr fic #newt #newt x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #self insert fanfiction #maze runner fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader #smut #maze runner smut

[ndoandou]

Ikevamp bois playing modern games part 2

Vincent

Vincent is way into.. gartic phone

Qnd perhaps skribble.io

Like way into it

He would sit down 12 hours in front of the computer and guess what HES BEEN PLAYING GARTIC PHONE AND SKRIBBLE.IO IN A LOBBY OF RANDOMS

12 HRS IN HES STILL NOT DONE WITH BOTH GAMES

Hed obv speedrun a drawing in a short period of time and manage to make it look *chefs kiss*

Imagine if skribble.io had a vc feature tho

No no, like imagine if people were actually toxic in this goofy ahh game

They would yell down vincent down the mic telling him to go play with photoshop

Randoms are salty that vincent can draw and portray even the most ridicilous prompts which results him with the highest score always

Not to mention hes really good at guessing even the shittiest drawimgs from other ppl

"Broer how- that persons drawing looks ridicilous, even arthur's dog could draw that"

"Don't be mean theo! I could guess the drawing from the emotional connection i felt from it"

Jean

Jean has a shitty brick nokia phone

And he really loves playing snake II

No im serious

Well i suppose momte doesnt trust him with any other phones than that

the last time he was given a smartphone he downloaded some hack and slash game

took the word slash literally and then proceeded to cut the phone into two

comte was too stunned to speak

momte didn’t want his kids to miss out on gadgets but he cant have jean destroying his smartphone

BINGO! a nokia 3310 it is! 

jean didnt know how to react at first, but he found it easier to navigate and thats when he found out baout snake II

found it a bit pointless at first but despite saying that, he doesnt realize that thats the only thing he does besids fencing

snake II is his pre workout

the only thing he will be doing before his fencing practice

before meals

and before bed

‘‘jean are you sure you haven’t had enough of snake II..?’‘ comte asked causiously as he never know how his son Jean would react

jean looked at comte and stayed silent for a hot minute

‘‘no’‘

Napoleon

OK FLASH BACK TO MY E BOY NAPOLEON FANART FROM 2021

its official

He plays league of legends

Napoleon is deffo a jungle/top main

Jungle preferabbly

Bros actually cracked coz hed turn any non meta champs into an absolute beast

I see him being especially good with pantheon jungle

Hed play league with jean tbh

And jean would be a dedicated top

But i dont see jean being the best player..

No, like imagine napoleon defending jean from "top troll" and getting spammed "?" On his lane

Napo would literally go to that persons lane just to steal their minion last hits

If hes feeling extra hed even use pantheons ult to yeet over to that player to ks all the minions on that person's lane 😭

"Jgl troll gg"

Ok napo is actually not toxic and is rly nice to play with

Hed even supp for you if ur learning a new champ

Hes only toxic to people who are toxic to his buddies

Comte

Ill be honest

Comte looks like someone who would download all games from every ad pop up he gets

And im talking about anything gacha related

He does not care whether the game is explicit or not as long as he can collect pretty characters

Is he interested in the gameplay??? Probably not.

"For what reason did you spend $$$$$$ on xxx game???" Leonardo asked as he scrolled through comte's in game billings, cocking an eyebrow

"Hm? Well i simply wanted to collect all of these lovely looking characters."

"Without leveling up your characters?"

"Non"

"Do you understand how to play this game?"

Comte only looked at him with his unwavering smile

"honestly this is the most ridicilous spending ive witness from you, heh" Leo snorted

"Much appreciated, but i dont recal asking for any input, old friend" comte retorted

Leo looked at him and sighed

"Honestly at this point i shouldn't be surprised"

.

.

This took me forever to upload because i coulndn't figure what type of game comte would play then one day i was like AHAAAAA

Also i didn't proof read as always so pls dont chop my head off :"))

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp jean #ikevamp comte #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen series #cybird #ikevamp headcanons

[kindestofkings]

a mastermind [1]

ryan mcmahon x reader

faceclaim:phoebe bridgers

authors note: k so this is kinda an all over the place fic but I had a lot of fun making it so ENJOY! @orangeinecstasy a fellow ryan appreciator, thanks for the brainstorming 🫡

2020

yourusername

liked by rass75 and others

yourusername oi have you listened to NOACF yet?? theres something special in tracks 8,9,10 and 17 or should I say someone 👀

view all other comments

1975fan1 wow can't believe the 1975 broke their own no collabs rule for matty's girl of the week

yourusername you seeing this ratty? Im your girl of the week 😍😍 trumanblack wait JUST one week?? yourusername yeah so short! better cheat on me quick xxx 1975adam I just dont get you two...

rass75 celebration pints?

yourusername like you need any excuse hahah

trumanblack they're ALL special tracks thank you very much.

1975_fanbase the tumblr gays just overloaded thanks!

trumanblack anything for the cause 👍👍👍

ynfan1 really not a 1975 fan but jesus christ 2005 is so amazing, I just bought the album!

bedfordanes75 studio time was sick can we please do it again

yourusername I do need a producer for my next album...

ryanmcmahon_15 just added to their story!

replies:

elijahhewson haha man you good? bobbyskeetz new day same crush inhalerfan1 omg you being a yn is everything!

2022

the1975

liked by yourusername and others

the1975 I'm in love with you. out now.

view all other comments

rass75 🖤🖤

yourusername its good to be back boys

pollymoney so right I am in love with yourusername

yourusername stop im blushin so hard rn heheh

trumanblack loser

yourusername lover* trumanblack eh alright then

ynhealytruther ahhh I missed you guys so much, such a hot couple

1975fan1 since when have they confirmed they're dating??

ynhealytruther

liked by ynfan2 and others

ynhealytruther this is confirmation right?? they HAVE to be dating

view all other comments

ynfan1 ah I really hope not he's kinda old for her no?

1975fan2 yeah tbf it is like 10 years or something...

1975fan1 I hope so they are the definition of bi panic

1975fan2 ew hope not shes kinda ugly

ynhealytruther absolutely no yn slander excepted here! move on with your hate

yourusername

liked by ryanmcmahon_15 and others

yourusername someone just said stop writing songs about sad things and blowjobs. best joke I've ever heard!

view all other comments

trumanblack over my dead boy

yourusername pleaseeee dont tempt me with a good time 😍

1975fan1 are you guys dating?? just confirm it already

1975fan2 class music video!!

ynfan1 please date someone else, hes too old for you!!

bobbyskeetz just added to their story!

man's (celeb) crush is in a relationship (we think) so he's turning to the drink 😔

replies:

inhalerfan1 its yourusername isn't. cause same joshjenkinson_ cause there was defo a chance before hand!

ynfanclub

liked by ynhealytruther and others

ynfanclub guys I'm at yourusernames's secret session ah! look this is her face when people asked if she was dating matty. adorble!!! and THEN HE CAME OUT AND THEY SANG JESUS CHRIST 2005

view all other comments

ynhealytruther oh what a day !!!

ynhealytruther my literal parents

ynfan1 hes literal so old ewww

trumanblack

liked by yourusername and others

trumanblack just friends.

view limited comments

yourusername dw guys he checked my id AND sang robbers beforehand !!

rass75 have you two ever been serious about anything in your lives? yourusername what do you mean I'm taking this job of being matthew healy's controversially young alleged girlfriend VERY SERIOUSLY 😤 trumanblack serious is my middle name mate 😍🔥🤠😎 rass75 why did I even ask....

yourusername

liked by ryanmcmahon_15 and others

yourusername Ireland I am in you. and loving you as per usual! my (second) favourite Irish artist asked me to stop by at his home gig 😢 so so honoured andrew <3

view all other comments

ynfan1 I cant believe this, I'M GOING TO HIS SHOW TOMORROW NIGHT!!!

lucydacus parents.

ynfan2 you said it.

inhalerfan1 bestie for research purposes I need to know who's your fav??

yourusername hmmm research purposes you say .... 🤔 inhalerfan1 ahhh hi omgomgomgomg hello

bobbyskeetz huh @ryanmcmahon_15 see this?

yourusername just added to their story!

replies:

inhalerfan1 OH FUCK YES I KNEW IT I KNEW IT!! inhalerfan1 thank you for answering my question &lt;3 elijahhewson honoured! are you here long? we've a drummer who's a big fan of yours, we could all link up for drinks ? ↳ hi! sounds so fun, I'm here till saturday actually so i've got time! presuming you guys know the best spot for a pint 👀 ↳ elijahhewson sir mcmahon knows the place!

joshjenkinson_ just added to their story!

replies:

ryanmcmahon_15 im never coming down from this. and I'll never stop talking about it

elijahhewson still havent recovered from the incredibly girlish scream he let out hahah

bobbyskeetz a king, ill never question him again

yourusername

liked by trumanblack and others

yourusername psa: offically go ON THE RECORD that I am not dating anyone of these wonderful human beings that are my friends. although they are very beautiful and even hotter, we're all just a homies that are a lil bit fruity 💅

view all other comments

trumanblack wait what?? I thought we were married? what am I telling the kids ???

yourusername tell em their mother is in her hot girl era and their dad's a LOSER

bedfordanes75 you are such a mystery, how does your brain work 🤔

ynhealytruther nooooooo NO say sike rn RIGHT NOW

1975fan1 yay! theres still a chance 😎

inhalerfan1 oh this is really feeding my delusions hehehe

yourusername just added to their story!

y'all are gonna be so proud I'm off to go SOCIALISE with NEW people ahh 🔥🔥

replies:

trumanblack ooh is this the drinks with bono's sons band? ↳ yourusername you betcha, trading in the nepo baby in my life for a newer model xx rass75 I cannot believe you manifested this. go get that celeb crush ↳ yourusername welll if you insist ! ynfan1 you are soooooo me coded hahahha

AHH how we doing?? Go read part two please 🫶🏼

part 2

#ryan mcmahon fanfic #ryan mcmahon x reader #ryan mcmahon imagine #ryan mcmahon #inhaler oneshots #inhaler imagine #inhaler dublin #inhaler fanfic

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

Masterlist

nav | playlist | main masterlist | pin board

summary: This is the sequel to New Kid, taking place in 1992, six years after you and Eddie graduate from Hawkins High. You’re the vocalist and songwriter for Death Dance Approximately, a punk band of femmes taking the scene by storm. Eddie and Corroded Coffin have blown up in the last few years, and are pretty much a household name. In the Spring, you’re given news of who you’re touring with this year: your ex boyfriend’s band. You haven’t seen Eddie since 1989, and seeing him in this environment has stirred up a lot of old feelings.

warnings/tags: rockstar!gn!afab!reader x rockstar!eddie munson, ANGST, adult themes (drugs, sex, and rock and roll baby) 18+ minors dni, smut will be tagged in each chapter. estranged lovers, mutual pining, mutual heartbreak. this work is in progress

disclaimer: you don’t need to have read NK to understand this one, but it would mean the world if you did! i do not give permission for my work to be posted on other sites. Please inform me if you see my writing posted anywhere besides my own blog (unless otherwise stated.) Reblog to support the author!

this fic is very lgbt coded in many aspects, reader is gender non conforming, has dated both men & women. i ask you be respectful of my choices, it’s fine to read even if you yourself aren’t lgbt, but don’t give my shit for making a character gay/gnc etc, just don’t read it if it’s not for you. thank you!🫶

taglist: keeping the taglist for NK, please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed! @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @lilpotatobean2 @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc

Prologue

Chapter I: Everybody Get Together

Chapter II: Like A Lover, Not A Dancer

Chapter III: Bleed the Freak

Chapter IV: All The Love Gone Bad

Chapter V: Why Are You So Far Away?

Chapter VI: You’ll Take My Soul Away

Chapter VII: Soft But Estranged

Chapter VIII: It’s Enough To Startle Us

Chapter IX: In The Morning You’ll Be Gone

Chapter X: It’s All Hate And Money

Chapter XI: Consider This The Slip

Chapter XII: I’ll Call You Beautiful, If I Call At All

Chapter XIII: Home Again

Chapter XIV: Away to Nowhere Plains

Chapter XV: Oh, Sweet Oblivion

Chapter XVI: You’ll Cry But You’ll Never Fall

Chapter XVII: Something In The Way

Chapter XVIII: I Gave My Life Away

Chapter XIX: Time Marches On

Chapter XX: A Fine Line Between Hope and Despair

Chapter XXI: Baby, What Did You Expect?

Chapter XXII: Blood Sugar Sex Magik OUT NOW

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things 4 #strangerthingscentral #fan fic #chapter fic #angst #smut #fluff #pining #mutual pining #estranged lovers #strangers to lovers to strangers to lovers #get on the taglist! #steve harrington #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #original characters #corroded coffin #90s au #au where eddie lives #au where vecna loses #willow writes sins

[bluestar22x]

Sweet Annie

The Rockford Files - Sweet Annie

Summary: Your first case with Tim Rockford vaults you into a race against time to find a little girl.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader (He's 47, she's 45)

Rating: 18+ Series

Word Count: 13,300 (rounded)

Warnings: Mentions of blood and trauma (both kinds). Mentions of domestic abuse. Sexual assault of a minor mentioned/hinted at (the perpetrator is truly a monster). The R word is used. Horror elements.

Author's Note: This is my biggest fanfic project in a long time (and it's for a mobile game ad character - ha). Talk about a labor of love. This is like a crime show crossed with Ghost Whisperer, sort of (the reader doesn't talk to spirits, they "talk" to her). I loved CSI growing up and throwing ghosts into my crime fic is perfect for spooky season. Starting this short series off dark. I am truly sorry, hopefully the Tim content makes up for it. Expect this to be updated monthly. The chapters are going to be LONG cause they go case by case. (Longer than I expected - I posted this two weeks later than planned!).

xxx

September 18, 1995 (Monday)

Portland, Oregon

It was the beginning of the night shift at the Portland Police Department when Chief Robert Bronson, a man whose appearance distinctively reminded you of Uncle Phil from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air finished guiding you around the large building, having focused on the divisions you would need to be most familiar with.

Your last stop was the most important one of all - the section you'd been assigned to - the homicide division. It was where you, as a consultant, would put your gift, or curse (your definition of it depended on the day) to good use once more.

Strolling through the glass swinging doors into the massive division you wanted to snort at the on-the-nose atmosphere. Despite it being eight o'clock at night most of the secretaries and detectives on the main floor were using minimum lighting, sticking to desk lamps as they flipped through files and tapped away on keyboards. Most of the men were dressed in dark suits and ties, while the women were in equally drab dresses (the secretaries) or blazers (the one woman in the entire room who was a detective).

The place smelled old too. It smelled of musty, aged paper and cigarette smoke and - you could swear - ink.

It was as if you'd stepped into a time portal and had traveled back to the setting of a classic 1950s noir film. So, yeah, it was damn fitting, even if the decade was wrong.

Chief Bronson introduced you to some of the secretaries and detectives as you walked through, and when he explained to them why you'd been hired you were met with a mix of warm greetings and skepticism. Nothing you hadn't expected. This wasn't your first rodeo. You'd dealt with all kinds at the last police department you'd worked at. You had thick skin. Or at least you thought so.

You only hoped your partner in the division would be like your previous one. He had been a sweet (now retired) old man with more hair on his head than any man his age had the right to have. He had been accepting of you immediately, an oddity in his community, and had looked out for you like you were one of his own children.

You missed him already. Wondered why the hell you had accepted a job way out in Oregon that would make it impossible for you to visit him regularly. You silently reminded yourself it was because of "budget cuts" and having no other good offers.

Chief Bronson didn't give you time to mope about it, already making his way into one of the private offices for the big timers, the detectives who'd climbed the ladder through successes and had rightfully earned their own spaces.

You quietly slipped in behind him, your eyes scanning the dimly lit room.

It was a decently sized office, maybe twenty by thirty feet. To the right there wasn't much but a printer and a small computer desk. To the left there were filing cabinets lining the walls and evidence boxes neatly stacked against them, all behind a large oak desk with a golden nameplate that read Tim Rockford. The only other items on the desk were more files, a rectangular shaped lamp, and a plain white mug filled with pens and pencils.

In the center of the room was the man himself. He was straddling a turned around metal chair, back towards you, focused on the cork board in front of him. It was covered with newspaper clippings, jotted down notes, and old photos of evidence. To the untrained eye it would be considered unorganized, but the pinned red yarn crisscrossing the board suggested otherwise. Everything was connected and probably easy to piece together.

The board wasn't what your eyes lingered on though. It was Tim himself. You couldn't see his face, but from behind him you could see that he was dressed it a suit like all the other detectives, though he had discarded his jacket on the chair at his main desk. He had on shoulder holsters over his crisp white shirt, and the combination seemed to highlight how broad his shoulders were. He was thick, a far cry from the frail looking man you’d previously worked with.

Chief Bronson pulled him out of his contemplations with a greeting, sending him to his feet, and he spun in his spot to face you both.

Your heart skipped a beat. You'd been afraid to admit to yourself that Tim looked good from behind, but it was impossible to deny face forward. He was around your age, in his late forties, but you wouldn't have guessed it if not for the gray scattered in his patchy beard and hair, and the crinkles around his eyes. His thick brown hair was an unruly kind of curly but trimmed down short enough that it appeared to be nicely tousled instead. His nose that curved strongly contradicted the softness in his coffee-colored eyes, just like how the scowl he wore contradicted his plump lips.

He was undeniably handsome, and undeniably annoyed.

"This department has never respected me," he declared in a gravelly voice, sighing deeply, a hand shooting to one of his hips as he spoke, eyes scrutinizing you.

"We all know you're a very capable man, Rockford," Chief Bronson assured him. "Your record for closing cases is stellar. Best in the city. But this partnership can't hurt."

Tim grunted. "Yes it can. It can hurt the department. It can diminish the department's resources for nothing. For God's sake Bronson, psychics are frauds." He pointed an index finger at him. "You should know better at your age."

"She gets results," Chief Bronson informed him, a firmness injected into his words. He sounded like an unmovable man, one certain in his decision, probably because he was. "With you both working together this division would stand out nationally. She's helped departments cut down investigation times in half in many cases."

"I don't need a partner," Tim ground out.

"Need? No. Still getting one though."

Tim shook his head at Chief Bronson, eyes disbelieving. You gritted your teeth. His reaction was nothing new, and you had always tried to have thick skin, but it still rubbed you the wrong way sometimes when people refused to give you a chance to prove yourself.

You were also rather irritated about being talked about like you weren't even in the room. Men.

"It's already been decided," Chief Bronson said in a that's final tone. "I don't want to hear anything more about it unless you have a legitimate reason to file a complaint against her. So suck it up and properly introduce yourself, Rockford."

Tim grumbled but outstretched his right hand and you begrudgingly grasped it in yours, giving him a solid handshake. He seemed to like that at least, his head bobbing in a slight approving nod.

"Tim Rockford."

You stated your name back to him and he gave you another nod.

"Where are you from?" he inquired as Chief Bronson slinked out of the room.

"Georgia," you answered shortly.

"Please don't tell me Savannah," he pleaded with a groan.

You bit back a laugh, huffing instead, wanting to make it abundantly clear you weren't liking the idea of this partnership any more than him after his dispute with Chief Bronson. "Atlanta, actually."

"That's a small relief, at least," Tim said, "No need to be cliche."

"I'm sorry," you hissed, feeling quite the opposite, "But isn't being a cynic a cliche too?"

He muttered something under his breath and you decided it was not worth knowing what. Whatever it was, it wasn't positive and was definitely pointed at you.

"Look," you said sharply. "You don't have to like me. You don't have to trust me. But whether we like it or not, we're working together for the foreseeable future, so let's just behave like professionals, huh?"

He bit down on his lower lip and you had to force your eyes to meet his to ignore the...stimulating visual. You were really hating that he was easy on the eyes. His attitude didn't match it.

But maybe for that reason, it was for the best. At least if you didn't get along it would be easier for you to ignore his stupid chocolate colored puppy eyes and his big hands that had made your mind wander into the gutter upon your first glance of them.

At least HR wouldn't have any issues with the two of you, as long as you didn't give into the temptation to smack him in his strong jaw.

Functioning as a team would mean having to beat that yearning back with a stick. You hoped reasoning might make things more tolerable for you both.

"I don't like frauds either," you told him. "They make trouble for me, and yes, there are a lot of them out there. But I'm not one of them, Rockford. Let me prove that to you. Give me a chance to get some results."

Tim huffed at your request but conceded. "Not like I have a choice. Just don't get in my way, alright? And keep out of trouble. Do what I say when it matters. You're a consultant, not a detective. No need of you putting yourself in the line of fire."

You nodded stiffly. "I won't get in your way if you don't get in mine."

"Deal."

There was a knock on the door and you both turned to it. Chief Bronson had returned.

"What is it?" Tim asked, sounding like he already knew the answer.

"Murder at the Mirage Hotel," Chief Bronson replied, glancing between you both. "You're up. The rest of the team's already there."

He left the room again and Tim strolled over to his desk chair, throwing his suit jacket on.

"Follow me," he ordered without looking at you as he shrugged on a tan trench coat as well. He strolled out of the room without another word and you had to take twice the steps he did to keep up with him.

He led you to his unmarked car in the back parking lot and you climbed into the passenger seat, put on the seat belt, and tapped your fingers on the windowsill as he started the vehicle up and drove out onto the main road.

You were always apprehensive on the way to a crime scene. A part of you afraid of what new nightmares you'd get from what you'd see, hear, or worst, smell on arrival. It wasn't just the dead body or bodies. It was the spirits too, the souls that lingered after the violent acts. It wasn't completely their fault, they were often confused, or angry, or both, and didn't know what to do with their overwhelming emotions, but it didn't change the fact that they often startled you and creeped you out. Your ability to sense them, to understand them, was why you had this job, why you did this job, but it was far from a dream. You did it because you felt like you had to put your abilities to good use, needed to. You couldn't ignore them. It would be wrong to, right? But they certainly didn't make it easy.

It was a fifteen minute drive to the Mirage Hotel, and the quietest drive you'd ever experienced. Tim hadn't spoken one word to you and he didn't have the radio on. You'd have turned it on yourself, but you didn't want to overstep. This was Tim's car for all intents and purposes, and though you two hadn’t hit it off on the right foot that didn't mean you were going to chance making the situation worst just for some background noise.

When Tim pulled up into the front parking lot your first thought was that the Mirage Hotel was not the most typical spot for a murder. It wasn't an expensive hotel, no fancy windows and yard, just red brick and a patch of grass, but the place as far as you could tell was well maintained and was probably mid-tier among all the hotels available in Portland. You were used to violent deaths happening in one-star motels.

You pulled yourself out of the car before Tim could but let him lead the way through the front door, flashing your consultant badge at a beat cop guarding the first floor hallway when Tim showed him his detective one.

The officer nodded approvingly at you both and stepped aside. "Room seven."

Even before you reached the door, you could smell it. The unmistakable intense wet iron scent of blood, so strong that your stomach flip flopped when you inhaled a little too deeply.

You weren't surprised when you ducked under the yellow crime tape draped across the doorway and found yourself staring at a blood bath.

You were pretty sure there wasn't a single piece of furniture in the small, one bed room didn't have splatters of blood on it. The TV, the nightstand, the bed, the chair, the corner table, even the damn lamp shade had flecks of red on them.

The beige carpeted floor was the worst off, a pool of blood at the foot of the bed, where her body sat, propped up, with her back to the bed. It would've looked like she was just casually resting there if not for her blood bathed band t-shirt and light blue jeans, her extremely pale skin, and the biggest giveaway, her wide open but blank pale green eyes.

She must've been pretty in life. Early thirties, fiery curly red hair that reached the middle of her back, and perfect curves that even twenty year old you would've been jealous of.

In death she was just...eerie. Even after two decades of consulting you still found yourself fighting against the temptation to shut the eyes of the victims.

Instead of giving into it you donned rubber gloves offered to you by lab personnel who were already scoping out the room for evidence and squatted near the body alongside Tim, who'd also received a pair of gloves.

Another man, late thirties, thin blond hair, wiry build, was already there, kneeling beside her, carefully examining her neck under a flashlight.

"What do we know, Joe?" Tim prompted.

The man sighed. "This is Rebecca Flynn. Thirty-three years old. From Seattle, Washington. We got that from her driver's license. Beat cops already interviewed the front desk staff. The guy who booked her said she used a different name to get the room. Shirley Wilson. Paid cash. Looked jittery, like she was high on something, or just nervous."

He gestured at her blood-soaked abdomen. "I'm betting on nervous, but we'll need to run tox at the lab to see if she has anything in her system to be sure."

"Stabbed?" Tim questioned.

Joe gave him a nod. "Multiple times. This shirt is shredded. I won't be able to count how many until she's out on the table."

"Time of death?"

"An hour ago, maybe. She hasn't gone into rigor mortis yet."

You attention drifted from their conversation as you felt a draft of cold air that made you shiver, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. It felt like someone was watching you, breathing on you from behind, and you stood, whipped around quickly to look for someone.

As expected, no one was right behind you. No one visible at least.

When you turned back to them, Tim was frowning up at you, like he was concerned. "You alright?"

You forcibly composed yourself without a deep breath. "I'm fine," you chewed out, refusing to explain why you'd jumped up suddenly.

Tim didn't ask. He continued his discussion with Joe, who you presumed was the medical examiner, otherwise unfazed by your strange behavior.

You felt an unexplainable pull towards the head of the bed and carefully moved around the men and Rebecca’s body to join a twenty something year old woman, who looked a little like an adult version of Wednesday from The Addams Family, in lifting the bedsheets, searching for evidence.

You introduced yourself, pointing to your badge which was hanging around your neck, and when she shook your hand she smiled more softly than you'd expected. "Katie."

"Mind if I look for evidence with you?" you inquired politely.

"Sure," she said, "Just remember the protocols and let me know when you find something."

You promised to do so and got to work, flipping the sheets over carefully, eyes trailing every inch inside and out. All you could see at first was more specks of blood, but something was telling you to keep searching. Insisting. It was like a voice at the back of your head, but it wasn't yours. That realization always made you tingle a bit, was always unnerving.

You pushed on until your gloved hands found a lump in the bed sheets. Cautiously lifting them up off the bump, you were relieved to discover that it was a stuffed animal making it. An aged, stained thing with tan fur and a missing ear. It looked like a dog, but what kind it was supposed to be you had no idea.

The relief was quickly replaced with dread when you touched the toy and a vivid image of a little girl, maybe ten years old, with Rebecca's hair and chin flooded your mind. She was giggling, being tickled playfully by whoever was out of view. You could only see their hands. They were a little less pale, but you recognized them as Rebecca's.

You sucked in a deep breath when the memory (what you assumed it to be) left you. "She was here with her daughter."

Tim, Joe, and Katie all stared at you, confused, and you pointed to the stuffed dog.

"No one saw her with a kid," Joe informed you.

"Maybe she sneaked her in," you suggested, knowing you were shown that memory for a reason.

"Why would she do that?" Katie frowned.

"Someone was very likely after her," you said, "Probably was her killer. She might have had reason to believe that letting anyone see her daughter would give that person a greater chance at finding them."

"How would she have got her by the front desk?" Katie asked, perplexed.

"We'd have to see the lobby security tape," you replied, shrugging. "It could have been a few different things. She might have even had her climb into a suitcase and stay there just long enough to get checked in and into the room."

Everyone stared at you like you had grown another head and you raised your hands in defense. "I didn't say that's what I would do. But desperate people do desperate things, you all know that."

They nodded their acknowledgment. Tim grunted. "How do you even know she had a kid with her, let alone a daughter?"

You pointed at the stuffed dog again. Duh.

"It could be Rebecca's," Katie suggested, chewing on her bottom lip. You could see the hopeless denial in her eyes. She didn't want Rebecca to have had a daughter with her because it meant she had likely seen her mother get murdered, and that she was missing.

You shook your head. You had been at this too long to think you could be wrong. The dead never lied or gave you unnecessary info. You knew Rebecca was still here, you knew what she was trying to tell you. There was no doubt.

But you had to prove it to everyone else.

You glanced around. "Where's her suitcase?"

"She has two," Katie told you. "Under the bed. We haven't gotten around to opening them yet."

You ducked down and tugged them both out into view. They were both black rolling cases, one large, one medium sized. You unzipped the medium one, going off a hunch.

It was filled with a child's clothes. Tiny jeans, underwear, and shirts that would likely fit the little girl you'd seen. There were a lot of pink items.

"Holy shit," Joe hissed, dismayed. "She was here with a little girl. Fuck. That means -."

"We're looking at a missing persons case here as well," Tim finished for him grimly. He headed for the hallway. "I'll call it in."

"How'd you know?" Joe quizzed, staring at you with his mouth agape. "How could you have guessed that?"

"I didn't," you answered, hesitating before continuing, "I'm a psychic."

"No way," he choked, eyes wide. "No offense, but Bronson actually hired you?"

"He did," you confirmed.

"So a little ghost whispered it to you?" Joe was smiling at you, amused by the idea of it.

You narrowed your eyes at him before sighing. You should be used to this.

"Doesn't matter where I get my info, as long as I get results," you said flatly.

"We would've figured it out when we saw the contents of the bag either way," Joe told you.

"But we wouldn't have thought to check it so quickly," Katie stated in your defense, surprising you. You met her eyes gratefully and the corners of her mouth lifted. "We don't normally check bags until we get it to the lab. That would've made at least another hour where the missing persons unit wouldn't have known a kid is missing, probably kidnapped."

Hopefully not dead, you thought, chest constricting. You knew if Rebecca's daughter had been taken by the killer, if she had witnessed the murder, they would have nothing good planned for the little girl. "Every second counts."

"Yes,” Katie agreed.

Everyone had resumed their work by the time Tim ambled back into the room a bit later. "Follow me, partner. Front desk has the camera tape up and ready for us to look at."

"Missing persons going to look for the girl?" you inquired as you left the crime scene with him, tugging off your gloves and using the trash bin by the door to dispose of them.  

"As soon as they know who exactly they’re looking for," he replied with a sigh. "They're looking up info on Rebecca, confirm she has a daughter, and find out what she looks like. Then they can start the search and get info out to the public so they can help."

"I can tell them what she looks like," you told him. "She's ten. She's got red hair like Rebecca, and she's small, even for her age. I think I could give a good enough description to get them started."

He gave you a funny look. "How do you know what she looks like?"

"Part of my gifts -" you used air quotes, "- is that I can see the memories of the dead. Sometimes. Only when they want me to. Only when they're nearby."

"You're saying Rebecca showed you?" Tim huffed like it was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard.

"I saw her playing her daughter," you stated plainly, patiently. "It was inside a house. Probably theirs. Probably a recent memory. Spirits have a harder time digging up the old ones."

"Uh huh." Tim didn't sound convinced.

You shrugged. "Don't ask if you don't want the answer."

He grunted, giving you a curt nod after. "I'll try to remember that next time."

When you reached the front desk, you found a woman in her late thirties, dressed in a suit similar to yours, waiting there expectantly, expression anxious.

"Detective Rockford," Tim introduced himself. He gestured to you slightly as you leaned on the counter before her and he stated your last name. "She's a consultant for my division. We were told you have the footage of the victim checking in here at the desk?"

"And more," she claimed, waving you both behind the desk to watch her computer screen with her.

"I wasn't the one who signed her in, but Terry, my coworker who did, let me know around what time it was."

"Where's Terry right now?" Tim quizzed.

"In the break room if you have more questions," she answered, pausing, "He's the one who found her, if you didn't know. There was a noise complaint so he went to knock on the door and when he got nothing, no reaction, he used the master key to get inside..."

"Poor guy's in shock," you concluded. You'd have been yourself if you hadn't known what you were walking into.

She nodded. "I'm Vanessa, by the way." She glanced between you and Tim.

"Pretty name," he said offhandedly, nodding at the screen. "Let's see the video."

Vanessa pursed her lips and silently did as ordered to, clicking the play button on screen with her mouse.

An older balding man had been standing where Vanessa was, greeting a person who was walking through the front doors in a baggy dark green sweatshirt and blue jeans. There was no sound, of course, and the image was blurry, but it was clear enough for you to see that the person was female and that she had loose red hair spilling out of her hoodie. She was dragging the large suitcase from her room behind her as she approached him. The time on camera read 4:42.

You, Tim, and Vanessa all observed quietly as she booked a room for the night, often turning her head to the door as she did so, like she half expected someone to charge in and stir up trouble.

Because she did. Rightfully.

After she got her key Rebecca swiftly made her way towards the hall and out of sight of the camera.

"Not worth much," Tim hummed after she ambled off screen, "But it does confirm what Terry said about her looking wary."

"There's more," Vanessa said quickly, fast forwarding the video. "I decided to watch the video for a while after and fifteen minutes later she goes back outside and comes in with another suitcase."

She clicks play when the time on screen passes 4:57 and sure enough, there was Rebecca, leaving the hotel, and at 5:03 entering again, with the smaller suitcase this time. You noticed her looking over her shoulder just as she was about to step out of view and into the hallway again and spotted a smaller figure dressed in Barbie pink darting into frame, speedily racing past her.

The action made the figure's features difficult to discern, but a flash of scarlet told you all you needed to know.

"Terry didn't see her come back in the second time," Vanessa informed them. "He had gone out back for a moment to get a drink and Cassidy, the other person working up front with him at the time, was eating supper."

"She picked the perfect time to sneak her daughter in," you surmised.

"She got lucky," Tim figured, his expression turning grim, "For the last time."

"Did you check the footage around the time of Rebecca's death?" you asked Vanessa. "It was just over an hour ago."

She shook her head. "Give me a moment."

Again she sped up the video and you stared at the screen as Terry returned to the desk, as a young lady who was most likely Cassidy did, and as the lobby became busy with guests starting to mill in for the night.

It was difficult to know exactly when Rebecca's killer had entered the building. Several faces were hidden from the camera or were too blurry to make out at this speed. The video analysts would have to figure that out later.

The time on camera approached eight-thirty and Vanessa slowed the video down to half speed so each person walking into and out of the building could easily be spotted.

You hopped in spot and pointed at a familiar figure on the screen at 8:37. "There!" Vanessa paused the screen.

It was the little girl, dressed in a baby blue shirt, a much taller, green hooded figure beside her, tugging her towards the front entrance.

They must have taken Rebecca's sweatshirt to hide their face and had the kid change her shirt before rushing out with her.

You remembered all the blood in the hotel room. If she had been close by, if she’d witnessed her mother's murder as you had assumed, she'd have gotten blood on the pink shirt she'd been wearing earlier. The image that popped into your head made you shudder. Your eyes focused in on the large hand grasping the little girl's wrist tightly, unseen by Vanessa, who was distracted by a guest talking to her at the desk, and your heart sank.

From the corner of your eye you saw Tim pull his bulky government issued phone out of one of his deep coat pockets and dial a number without a word to you.

"Everyone on deck," he said firmly when someone picked up his call. "A girl's been kidnapped."

x

By the time you and Tim finished interviewing people at the hotel and returned to the homicide division everyone was in a frenzy, busied with work that had sprouted from the case, and someone had already found and contacted Rebecca's sister, who was on her way from Seattle to confirm her body's identity.

Before Rebecca’s sister had hung up with the detective who'd called her, she’d given him her niece's name.

Annie.

Her name was Annie.

Knowing her name somehow added to the urgency you felt to help the division find the girl. Tim seemed to share the sentiment.

It wasn't long before you both were holed up in his office to have a meeting with the lead detective of the missing persons unit, James Weston, an extremely muscular man who towered over you both.

Weston seemed kind, but was all business, and he knew what he wanted. His team was in charge of finding Annie, but you and Tim could assist whenever extra hands were needed.

You kicked the trash bin by the door after he left out of pure frustration. The ding reverberated through the room. "We should be playing a bigger part in finding her."

Tim, who was standing by his desk, shook his head and placed a hand on his hip. "No, we shouldn't. It's Weston's job to find people; we solve murders. His people will find her, and hopefully Rebecca's killer will be right there with her. Then they'll hand the bastard over to us."

You palmed your face and sighed. It wasn't like you didn't understand how the system worked; it was just that you didn't like it. "I know. I just don't know how I'm going to focus on solving Rebecca's murder when I know her daughter is still out there in the hands of her murderer. Priorities."

"Gotta trust the system, Psy."

You lifted your head up to blink at Tim, confused, unsure what the nickname stood for.

"Short for psychic," he explained, giving you a grin that seemed uncharacteristic to you, though you'd only known him a few hours. Maybe it was in character for him to think he was being clever.

You groaned and headed for the door. Just want you needed. A silly work name for him to add to his toolbox. "We going to check in on the Forensics team or what?"

"Right behind you," he replied, serious again.

You stalked out of the room without looking back.

x

A lot happened that night at the department, and you and Tim were pretty much in the center of it all. You went to the Forensics division as planned, but they didn't have much for you yet, having only just begun to test the evidence and examine the photos taken on site. The only new information you got was from Joe, who'd counted eighteen stab wounds from a kitchen knife on Rebecca’s body and had concluded that the one in her neck was most likely the cause of her death.

There was blood and hair samples from the room to compare to the most likely source - Rebecca, and to compare to the national database just in case she’d pulled hair or clawed blood out of her killer, but that was going to take days or weeks to be processed. DNA testing was not a quick task.

After your visit to Forensics, you and Tim returned to his office to find a reporter waiting by the door. She was there to get details on the murder side of the case, already having visited Weston for the kidnapping part of it. You sat down at the computer desk during the interview, noting how patient and formal, even warm, Tim was in answering the reporter's questions. He was used to those types of interviews, and that night the press were their greatest allies.

Less than an hour later the case was on the eleven o'clock news with a vague description of where Rebecca was murdered (good hotel managers always made sure crime reporters never mentioned their hotels directly by name), followed by the blurry video image of Annie being dragged out of the building and several interviews. The fifteen minute interview with Tim was cut down to one for TV, getting to the core of it. Weston's was before that and his screen time was slightly longer. They were followed by Rebecca's sister, standing in front of the police precinct teary-eyed, begging civilians to help them find Annie and the reporter telling people how they could do just that - by calling the Portland police if they saw a red haired girl with a tall, hooded stranger. They also showed a picture of her. Annie was definitely the little girl who had been in your vision. The picture even seemed to have been taken in the same room you had seen.

After the story ran, you and Tim joined Weston in his office for an update.

"The interview with Rebecca's sister was enlightening," Weston declared. "We've got a good idea of who we need to be looking out for."

He pinned a photo of a large framed man with a square jaw and haunting gray eyes that stood out against his dark facial hair on his cork board and tapped it with his left index finger. You and Tim both stepped closer, eyes studying his every feature.

"This is Rebecca's ex-boyfriend, Neil McKingley," Weston began, sounding winded already (if homicide had been busy, missing persons had been frenzied). "Neil's thirty-six, lives in Medford, works as a garbage man. No criminal record, but Rebecca did have a restraining order against him as of last month. Her sister, Rory, informed me that he'd been abusive to her during their five year relationship, mainly emotionally, but towards the end, the last couple weeks, he'd started slapping her whenever she stood her ground against him. That had been the final straw for her, when she realized he was only going to get worst. Rory also told me Rebecca had expressed concern to them a few days ago that he was possibly stalking her. She felt like someone was watching her whenever she left the house. She had announced to Rory yesterday that she and Annie were going to go stay with her at her home in Seattle for the next couple weeks, to get away, in hopes that it was just paranoia."

"It's not paranoia if you're right to be concerned," Tim stated, folding his arms and nodding at Neil's image. "Is he Annie's father?"

"No," Weston answered. "And apparently, judging by what her aunt told me, he barely even tolerated her. He was always trying to pull Rebecca's attention from her to him, always trying to send her to a camp of some kind. This past summer was horse camp."

"So he's our lead suspect," you concluded. "But if he can't stand Annie, why would he kidnap her? Why not kill her right away?"

"There's no good reason I can come up with," Weston told you, his lips drawing tight. "And by that I mean whatever he's planning for her, it's likely not good."

You figured that much. You never liked thinking about it, but the reality was there weren't many different possibilities to what plans a guy like Neil would have for kidnapping a little girl like Annie, who he didn't care about. Either he'd dump her, hurt her, kill her, or all of the above, not in that order.

He'd do it soon too. The ticking clock in your brain, the one that was always present at the back of your mind while you were on an active case grew painfully loud.

The first forty-eight to seventy-two hours after a crime is committed is critical. It's the ideal time period for gathering evidence and interviewing witnesses. It's also the most vital time period in missing person cases. After seventy-two hours the chances of finding a missing or kidnapped person alive was basically zero. Hell, finding the body after that long got a whole lot slimmer too.

Every hour that slipped by cut Annie's chances astronomically. Everyone in the room, the fucking whole building, knew it too.

You silently begged whichever higher power that was paying attention, if any were, that the news announcement would lead to some intel and fast.

Sudden rapping on the wooden door nearly made you jump out of your skin.

"Boss," said an unfamiliar man standing in the doorway, breathless, "Gas station employee in Eugene just called in that they saw the little girl from the news in the back of a 1987 white Dodge Aries that stopped to gas up. The driver fit the description of Neil, to boot. Troopers already out on patrol are keeping an eye out for him on the highway."

You gaped at him. Maybe there was a god.

"The fool's headed home," Weston hypothesized. "Make sure someone's waiting for him in case he makes it there."

"I think someone is already there, but I'll check to confirm," the man told him, turning on his heels to charge off.

Weston glanced at you and Tim. "Sorry to barge off, but duty calls. When I return, it'll be with Neil in handcuffs and a little girl on her way to get checked out at a hospital."

You and Tim both nodded and watched him bolt out of the room.

"Back to the office until he does," Tim decided. It was an order. You wanted to argue, but you had no better plan, so you swallowed your pride and followed him back.

x

You had been at the Portland Police Department for less than one shift when Weston proved to you that he could keep promises. Mostly. When he returned to the building four hours later, it was with Neil in tow. A state trooper had spotted his car on the road outside Grants Pass and pulled him over after a lengthy chase that had their cars reaching speeds over one hundred miles per hour. The trooper had gladly arrested him and passed him over to Weston when he showed up on site, and in another four hours Neil was in the missing person's interrogation room.

Weston's promise wasn't complete though. Neil had been the only person in his car.

"Where is she!" Weston demanded, smacking the metal table right in front of Neil, who was handcuffed to it, seated in a metal folding chair across from him and Tim. You were watching the three of them through a one way window, so the sound of skin on metal was muffled to you, but in the room it reverberated enough to make Neil flinch.

The man recovered fast though, a smirk forming on his ghostly pale face.

He's sadistic, you concluded wordlessly. Big surprise. The sight of it still made your skin crawl. You'd have thought after decades of laying your eyes on the worst of the worst, hearing them speak what should be unspeakable, you'd be immune to a creepy smile, but you definitely weren't.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

You rolled your eyes, having heard that line more than one way too many times. It didn't even make sense to ask. They did want to know.

"We're not messing around here Neil," Tim said sternly, keeping his expression trained, unreadable. "Oregon hasn't had an execution in over a decade, but it is currently legal, and we can aim for it when prosecuting you."

Neil chuckled. "Oh, scary. Or it would be, if the alternative wasn't life in prison."

"What will it take to get you to reveal Annie's location?" Weston inquired impatiently.

"Nothing you can give me," Neil answered, "I know I'm not getting out of here."

"Already given up?" Tim huffed. "Is that why you turned down a lawyer?"

"Can't trust anyone but yourself," Neil declared. He made it sound like his trust had been broken recently and not the other way around.

"What would be the harm, if you know you're going to jail either way?" Weston asked.

"This way I stay my own boss. No one nagging my ear off."

Tim hummed. "Like control, huh?"

"There's only two main states in life," Neil told him in a matter-of-fact manner. "Being in control or being controlled. So, yes."

"What did Rebecca escaping you fall under?" Weston questioned smartly.

Neil snorted. "She may have ran for a short time, but fear is control in itself."

"Where did Annie fit?" Tim asked.

"Annie controlled Rebecca," Neil replied with a hint of bitterness, jealously even. "Took most of her time and attention. Contradicted what I wanted her to do. Annie was mouthy even for a brat. She was the only reason Rebecca ran. We would've been fine if not for her."

Boy, is he delirious, you thought.

Weston frowned. "You keep saying was."

Neil curled his lips upward, his expression bright. "Caught that, huh?"

"What did you do to her," Tim ground out, the first sign he'd shown that their suspect, who had confessed in every way except spelling it out, was making him boil.

"I used her for the only thing she was good for and left her to fade away," Neil stated simply as he shrugged, like it was normal, like it was right.

Your stomach twisted. Used her. He fucking used her. The smirk that upturned his face left you without question as to what he meant by that.

What do you call someone so inhumane they murdered an innocent woman in front of her child, kidnapped said child, and continued to further traumatize her then leave her to die? The only correct answer in your book was Monster.

Both Tim and Weston appeared more than ready to give Neil a beat down, fists and jaws clenched, eyes dark with fury. They'd read between the lines and drawn the same conclusion as you. It wasn't like it had been in fine print, after all.

"Was she alive when you left her?" Weston pressed on with a hiss.

"Maybe. No idea."

It was clear Neil did actually have an idea, but wasn't willing to let them have the truth. You understood then what he had been doing all along. He was playing a game, or at least thoroughly enjoying riling up Tim and Weston. He was toying with them like their limbs were hanging from strings. In his eyes, he was in control here.

"We're not going to get anywhere with him," Tim bit out after a few long, tense moments passed, eyes darting to Weston. "You can stay here, but I'm going to get out there and help with the search."

Weston nodded at him and without another word Tim stormed out of the room. You slipped out of the observation room and chased him down the hall.

"I'm coming with," you told him.

"It's past seven," he reminded you, stopping in the middle of the walkway to face you. "Go home. Get some sleep. No use both of us working overtime."

You tilted your chin up stubbornly, knowing that wasn't the only reason he'd suggested you leave. "I'm not going home until you do."

He sighed heavily, deeply annoyed by your insistence, but too tired to argue further. "Fine." He turned to continue making his way towards an exit.

"What are we doing?" you inquired.

"Gonna head out to the highway," Tim said. "Hope we can spot where he might have dumped her."

It sounded like a fool's errand, trying to find Annie that way, but you didn't say so. You had a feeling he already knew the odds, but like you he just needed to do something. With nothing else important left to do for the homicide case until the Forensics results started coming in, or until you both collapsed from lack of sleep, driving around looking for Annie could be that something.

It was better than nothing.

x

Though it was morning, a surprise rainstorm had darkened the city to the point that it might have as well still been night. The weather matched the state of your mood, and the longer you sat in the passenger seat of Tim's patrol car as he drove along the main road, the deeper your worry for Annie got, and the more it ate at you.

If she wasn't dead, she was likely out there in the pounding rain, drenched and freezing, especially with these autumn temperatures.

If she was still live, time was running out for her fast.

Tim drove slightly slower than the speed limit, along the same roads Neil had taken, eyes scanning the sides. You knew he was searching for signs of a vehicle having driven off the road or some path that might catch a killer's eye as the perfect body dumping spot. You knew because you were looking for the same thing, but with no hints as to where he’d brought Annie, you might as well have been looking for a needle in a haystack.

You and Tim were nearly three hours into the ride to Grants Pass when you found yourself nodding off to the hum of the wheels on the asphalt. You had no control over it after having been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight at that point.

Your heavy eyelids fell for what you thought would be the last time for a while when you felt your world shift from underneath you and you gasped as you found yourself standing in an overgrown grass field, in the middle of a path made of slightly patted down foliage that ran through it. It simulated a corn maze in your mind, the grass almost tall enough to blind you to your surroundings, but not quite. Angling your head just right you could see a highway a few yards away, a multitude of trucks and cars zooming by. It was a dreary day, near noon as best as you could tell. You realized that this was now.

You sucked in a deep breath and when you breathed out it looked like a cloud was slipping out of your mouth. The same eerie feeling of being watched that you’d had in the hotel room the night before overtook you and you spun around.

Rebecca was standing a few yards away from you on the makeshift path. She would have pulled off the role of a serene goddess if not for the determined look in her eyes and her blood-soaked clothes. Your heart thudded in your chest. It was as if someone had given her CPR and she'd just stood up and walked away from the room she'd been murdered in, wandered into this field.

She's here, you heard loud and clear in your head, the voice not your own. This path. Forest. To the forest. Stop. NOW!

You startled awake, crying out, "Stop!"

Tim flinched at your scream and had to adjust the steering wheel, having jerked it when you'd stirred.

"What the hell, Psy!" he growled. "Nearly gave me a damn heart attack."

"Pull over!" you shouted at him as the field blurred by over his left shoulder. "Now!"

He stomped on the breaks, grumbling as he rolled the car into a stop on the right shoulder of the highway.

"What's your problem lady?" he demanded, staring over at you like you'd gone mad. You supposed it was a fair reaction to what had just gone down.

You pointed over your left shoulder with your thumb. "That field we just passed. That's where he took her. He took her there, took her through it, left her in the forest beyond it."

Tim blinked at you in surprise. "How do you know that?"

You threw him an exasperated look. "Again, don't ask questions you're not going to like the answers to. Just trust me. She's out there. Call the search and rescue unit."

"We can't just call the sniffer dog out on a hunch," Tim told you.

You snorted. "Isn't that the point of sending out the dog? If we were sure of where she was, we wouldn't need him."

He ticked his jaw and you read between the lines. It wasn't that they couldn't call for the dog, it was that he didn't want to do it on your word.

"Fucking trust me, Rockford," you hissed. "Trust my results as the department trusts yours. Just this once. And if I'm wrong, I'll walk. You won't have to see me again. Deal?"

He gave you a stiff nod and lifted the radio's handheld speaker to his lips, pressing the button to talk. It was already set up to contact someone under Weston who was also out on the road. The young sounding man promised to let Weston know they needed the bloodhound and where and told Tim to hang out by the location until then.

"Are we really going to just sit here until they show up?" you asked Tim once he returned the speaker to its holder. "That'll be hours. She doesn't have that time to waste."

“You’re the one who wanted the dog.”

“The dog could be back-up.”

"You really think she's still alive after spending half the night and all morning out there in the rain with God only knows what injuries?" Tim questioned, lips pursed.

You stared into his dark, solemn eyes. "I know it."

He tilted his head at you and fell into action, pulling his key out of the ignition and pocketing it before pushing himself out of the vehicle with a groan. You slipped out of the passenger side and met him at the trunk. He opened it to reveal a mess of tools of the trade and emergency supplies.

"Grab the compass and blanket and put on your back up shoes," he ordered you. "I'll grab the walkie and the pack of hiking supplies. I assume Rebecca the friendly ghost didn't tell you how far away into the woods Annie is...?"

"No, she did not," you confirmed, reaching for the folded navy blue blanket tucked away in a back corner. "But I can't imagine they'd have gotten far. Surely Annie was fighting him?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Tim said, shrugging. "It depends if he tried selling some promise to her or if he made it clear what his intentions were. I have a feeling Neil is the type to only reveal his truths when there's no hope left."

You chewed your upper lip, again picturing the girl from the memory you'd seen the night before. So bright and smiley. You realized that version of Annie was a ghost. If she survived, if you found her in time, you knew she'd never be the same. You could only hope that she'd find the strength to cope with her nightmares. That she'd find meaning in her life to keep going. You clung to that hope as you and Tim trekked out into the field, towards the dense, damp forest lining the back of it.

x

The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time you and Tim stepped under the canopy of the gorgeously autumn colored Oregon woods, but you'd been out in the pouring rain in a thin dark purple fleece long enough to already be half soaked and chilled. You had to clench your teeth together to keep yourself from chattering them, afraid Tim would hear and send you back to the car. You had to see this through.

At least the wind is almost dead, you mused. Small blessings.

Tim was dressed far better than you, in his long, tan trench coat and wearing heavy black boots that were surely keeping the water off his socks a hell of a lot better than your sneakers were (they were the only backups you'd brought and were better than your dress shoes at least).

There was no point in time you weren't crunching dead leaves under your feet or tripping on hidden roots, but you managed to keep up with Tim as he traversed the game trail through the dense forest much more quietly than you, like he had hiked every day of his life.

As time passed you noted he had a subtle limp, a hitch in his stride, when climbing or sliding down hills. Probably a bad knee. With the rain and his age, you weren't surprised. You were feeling achy yourself, an old ankle injury having flared up after the first twenty minutes of the trek.

"Rebecca tell you anything since we've been out on the trail?" Tim finally inquired, breaking a long silence between you, both absorbed in your own thoughts. You'd been walking for just over thirty minutes.

"No," you answered more sharply than you intended. You really hated hiking in wet weather. You were sure you looked like a drowned rat and you felt just as miserable. "She's a tickle at the back of my mind right now. Nothing else."

"Ah, so she admits it's all in her head," he said, not bothering to glance back at you.

You were going to bite off Tim's head for the comment, at the smug smile he was probably sporting, but then it registered that his tone was teasing. It startled you. First the Psy nickname, then the joke about you imagining your gift (curse). Maybe Tim Rockford really did have a sense of humor. It wasn't a good one, but it was something, you guessed. If you could ever get along, be comfortable around each other, you imagined it was something you could work with.

You chose to ignore him instead, taking a moment to stand still and study the surrounding forest. It was just trees and logs and moss and rocks. Dirt and muddy puddles. The faint whistle of a far-off woodpecker.

Something was silently calling your attention to the east though. You could see nothing that would've tipped you off, any traces of footprints washed away in the early morning heavy rainfall, but you had the urge to head in that direction, off the beaten path, anyway. You were being called out to like a ship’s crewmate in the clutch of a siren's devastatingly divine song.

You couldn't ignore it. You knew better than to do that.

You were almost out of sight of the path before Tim noticed you had wandered off. You heard him shout after you, concern in his voice. "Psy, where are you going?"

"This way," you yelled back. "She has to be this way."

Tim took one last glance at the trail ahead then hesitantly followed you, nearly jogging to catch up. By the time he did, you'd stepped out into a small opening in the forest, littered with a thick layer of gold and orange leaves.

Curled up in the fetal position and completely bare, her scattered clothes buried out of sight, the body of a pale little girl with fierce red shoulder length hair laid nearly perfectly in the center, as still as the air.

You felt your stomach drop. Were you too late?

Tim made his way pass you to approach her carefully. "Annie?" he called out tentatively, placing one foot slowly in front of the other, like he was afraid to startle her.

There was no reaction from her, and the silence locked your heart in a fist-like squeeze.

At Annie's side, Tim squatted to press two fingers to the side of her curled neck, checking for a pulse. When his stiff form relaxed slightly, his broad shoulders dropping, you heaved a sigh of relief.

She had a pulse.

Your deduction unstuck you from your spot and you rushed forward to cover Annie's tiny form with the blanket from the trunk, mentally crossing your fingers that the part that had been folded in the middle wasn't damp like the edges were.

Tim reached for the walkie talkie he'd attached to his backpack and talked into it. You knelt by Annie's head and studied her mostly hidden face as he did so, only vaguely aware of him telling whoever was on the other end that Annie was alive and that they needed an ambulance at their car's location on the highway.

You wanted to reach out to her, but something stopped you. The guilt of not being able to find her sooner.

"We need to get her to the road," Tim told you. "The paramedics are going to meet us there. I'll carry her. You guide us back with the compass."

You nodded at him, eyes still fixed on Annie's face.

Nearly out of your peripheral vision, you saw Tim reach for Annie's right wrist, grasping it gently, pulling it up to examine it.

"It's a miracle she didn't completely bleed out," he muttered. You followed his eyes to the slit on her wrist, dried blood caked on her arm. When your eyes found her left wrist, it was in the same state.

"That's what he meant by having left her to fade away," you realized.

Tim dropped her arm and tucked the blanket underneath her, making sure she was wrapped up like a burrito, her arms free, but no skin left exposed below her shoulders or above her ankles otherwise. As he did so, she began to stir, eyes still shut, too weak to open them, but aware enough to know someone was jostling her around.

She whimpered sharply and began to softly sob, tears leaking out of the edges of her eyes. Your heart wrenched at her pitiful noises, knowing immediately why she was panicking, what she thought was going to happen to her...again. Your hand automatically shot out to caress one of her cheeks, to wipe the tears away, to soothe her.

"Hey, hey," you whispered softly. "It's alright, Annie. We're from the police department. We're here to help you. Trust us, okay? You can trust us. You're safe now."

Tears continued to leak out, and she was shivering uncontrollably, but the girl quieted. You nodded to Tim to continue, and he met your eyes, his worried, before pressing forward.

"Gotta pick you up to get you out of here Annie," he warned her as his eyes scanned the side of her face, voice as low as yours had been. "Gonna lift you on three. One, two..."

On three he scooped her up into his arms, more gingerly than you'd have thought possible for a man of his size, standing slowly up with a wince.

A small hand managed to reach up to curl around his trench coat's collar, like Annie was trying to cling to him, but she made no other moves and her breaths soon evened out again. You and Tim had lost her to sleep once more.

Tim didn't dare run with Annie in his arms, but he still moved fast, strides long, and you had to nearly jog to keep up with him on the way back to the car. The compass was mostly forgotten, Tim only asking you once where north was, to confirm he hadn't gone off course and veered west instead.

When you popped out of the woods, you could see an ambulance parked on the edge of the road, across from and parallel to Tim's patrol car and two other unmarked cars with a few detectives from missing persons inside them. The two paramedics waiting already had a gurney out, ready to go, and Tim lowered Annie down onto it like she was a porcelain doll. He explained the shape you’d found her in to the paramedics as they loaded her up into the truck. He didn't notice you'd hopped in and planted yourself down on one of the border seats until one of the paramedics was about ready to slam the back door shut. He stopped the door mid-way.

"What are you doing?" he asked, confused. "Someone with the missing persons unit will interview her when she wakes. You don't need to go with her."

"I'm not leaving her until the doctors say she'll be okay," you explained. You knew you wouldn't sleep a wink otherwise and hearing it on the news would be too long of a wait. Besides, she knew your voice, and you wanted to be there to reassure her on the way to the hospital if necessary. Being turned over into so many different hands in her state had to be disorientating, at least you could make the ride a little easier on her if she woke back up.

Tim looked like he wanted to argue with you over your decision to ride along, with the way his jaw was jutting out, but he never got the words out, for some reason deciding against it. Instead, he gave you a curt nod and let the paramedic finish shutting the doors.

You slipped a hand over one of Annie's delicate ones as the engine roared to life, giving her thin, icy cold fingers a light squeeze, and watched as the paramedic out back got to work examining her, monitoring her, getting an IV in her, and pushing pain meds until the nearest hospital came into view.

x

As soon as you entered the emergency room with Annie you were forced to part from the unconscious child, ushered towards the waiting room by a nurse.

You could've left, you weren't a relative to Annie and most first responders, most detectives, had a rule about getting invested in patients and/or victims, but you didn't. You'd never learned to move on after seeing children harmed by the criminals you helped catch. You needed to know their fate every time.

So you sat there, watching the muted television in the room for nearly three hours. When it was clear the nurses weren't going to come out and give you an update, you went back in, headed for the nurses' station.

You cornered the petite blonde who'd kicked you out. "Anything you can tell me about Annie Flynn?"

"Are you family?" the nurse inquired patiently.

"I'm a consultant for the police department," you told her honestly, flashing your badge at her. "I'm the one who found her. I know it's not exactly protocol to tell me, but I'm not going to be able to sleep restfully if I don't know how she's doing, so please."

The nurse hesitated, but eventually gave in, sighing deeply. "Physically she's okay. She's been given antibiotics and pain medication and has been gaining strength since she got a blood transfusion. She doesn't have any injuries that won't heal. Mostly bruises and minor cuts, except for the cuts on her wrists, of course. But those should heal fine too, even if they probably will leave scars. Emotionally however," she paused, rubbing her cheek, "Emotionally we have no idea, of course. We can't even be sure of everything that happened to her because she's in a sort of mental shock right now and isn’t speaking to anyone, but the doctor who examined her used a rape kit on her. They're pretty sure what the results from it will be, as I'm sure you are, but it'll take a couple days for them to come in."

"Has anyone come in yet to see her?" you asked.

She nodded. "Her aunt is with her upstairs as we speak."

"Where?" You gave her a pleading look.

She chewed on her lower lip, trying to figure out how much trouble she'd be in if she told you. "Room 201."

"Thanks," you said gratefully, immediately rushing off for the nearest stairway.

You climbed to the second floor and did your best to look casual as you approached the room.

When you reached the door the sound of a woman's assuring voice stopped you from entering. You quietly peered into the room to see a woman slightly younger than Rebecca had been, who shared the same hair as she had, seated on the edge of the only bed in the space, a hand on Annie's sheet covered knees. Annie was laying on her back, eyes wide, tears streaming down her face.

"I can't begin to imagine everything you've been through," Rory told her softly. "But I am here for you, and I'm going to find you a therapist who will listen to you as well, okay? You won't have to deal with what happened on your own, sweetie. You'll come stay with me and we'll get through this together, alright?"

Annie nodded vigorously, her newfound energy as obvious as her anguish, and she sat up to throw her arms around her aunt's neck, to bury her head in her chest.

You backed off, making sure they didn't notice you. You'd seen enough, seen too much in fact, feeling like you had invaded their privacy by eavesdropping on them even if it had been brief.

You had your answers. Annie was awake and on the road to recovery. It would be far from easy for her, emotionally, but she had a supportive aunt to take care of her. It was more than many young victims of crime ever got.

You could live with that. You had to.

You were turning back to the stairway when a chill ran up your spine. Instinct had you whipping around and your head shooting up, searching for what had caused the sensation. Rather who.

Rebecca.

She was at the end of the hall, by the bay window overlooking the parking lot below. It wasn't a glamorous sight, but with the sun finally peeking out of the clouds just in time to start setting, there was still a hint of beauty to it.

Rebecca's spirit was still in the white dress, but it was no longer bloody, and the symbolism wasn't lost on you. Her killer was caught; her daughter would be safe. She didn't move, she didn't smile, but the gentleness in her eyes made up for it; allowed you to figure out why she was here.

She was silently thanking you, in what was probably the only way she was capable of in the in between.

You gave her a nod of acknowledgement, blinked, and she was no longer there. Peacefulness filled the atmosphere and the weird mental itch at the back of your brain was gone.

Rebecca had moved on.

x

You called for a taxi as soon as you were back on the first floor of the hospital and waited by the main entrance for the driver to pick you up. It was a long, expensive drive, since you needed him to get you from Roseburg back to Portland, but Tim had already left the city so you'd had no other choice (he'd called while you were in the waiting room and you'd refused to leave without answers). At least you were able to nap for about an hour, head leaning on the back side window, until a pothole jostled you and you banged your head painfully against it.

It was nearly nine o'clock at night when you arrived at the department, headed back to the homicide division in hopes of catching Tim before he headed home, wanting to get an update on the murder investigation side of things.

One of the secretaries on the main floor, Helen, who was close in age to you and Tim but dressed like she was seventy, stopped you from trying the closed door to his office. "It's locked."

"So Rockford's already headed home?" you guessed.

She shook her head, the corners of her mouth tugging downward. "More likely than not he's at Liquid Alchemy. It's a bar on the next street over. A lot of the detectives go there to drink on weekends. Sometimes us secretaries join them."

"It's a Tuesday," you pointed out.

"So it is," she said, "But that wouldn't stop him after solving a case."

"He likes his celebratory drinks?" you quizzed. "Do you think he'd let me join him, or would the presence of the psychic ruin it for him?"

She chuckled a little. "Been giving you a hard time?"

"To say the least," you replied with a huff.

"Well, don't take it too personally," Helen told you, sitting back down in her seat and sipping coffee from a paper cup. "Tim's just a proven facts kind of guy. Unknowns bug him, a lot. And a psychic once said something to him he didn't like."

“What was that?" you asked, interest peaking. The tone of her voice had suggested the mentioned something was big.

She glanced around, like she was afraid to be caught for what she told you next. "It's a long story, but Tim had a little sister. Had being the key word. When he was nine and she was four, she disappeared. They'd been playing hide and go seek out in the backyard, and during one of the rounds where he was the seeker he couldn't find her anywhere. The yard was bordered by trees. Her parents thought maybe she'd run off or got lost in them, so they searched the woods for hours by themselves. They called the police at nightfall and the missing persons unit used a bloodhound to try to track her. The dog got a trail, but it led to a dirt logging road not far from their house and a set of tire tracks. The police concluded that she'd been kidnapped."

"That's awful," you said sadly, your heart going out to your partner and his parents. "I'm going to take a wild guess that he blamed himself."

Helen nodded.

"Did they find her body?" you inquired, remembering the past tense she'd used earlier.

She shook her head dramatically. "It's what drove Tim to be a detective. At first, when he was fresh from the academy he thought he could investigate her disappearance himself and solve it, but it's remained a cold case. There was never enough evidence to follow."

"No wonder he couldn't leave the search for Annie to Weston and his unit," you realized. "This case hit close to home."

Helen nodded in confirmation. "It's also, in part, why he's drinking on a Tuesday."

You pursed your lips. "So, what's a psychic got to do with it?"

"When Tim was at a carnival with friends three years later, a psychic that traveled with them approached him, unsolicited, and told him his sister was with him," she explained, "Like, actually with him, following him around wherever he went, just like she tended to do when she was still alive."

"He didn't like what it meant," you figured. Who would want confirmation that their family member was dead from a stranger like that? Still without a body to bury? Who would want to know that they weren't at rest?

"Wasn't just that," she told you. "He asked the psychic to describe what his sister looked like, and she got a detail wrong."

"She was a fake."

"Yes."

"How'd she know as much as she did?" you asked, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. You hated hearing stories about fakes. After all, every fake out there tarnished your reputation just a little bit more by existing.

"Newspapers, small town talk," Helen suggested. "He grew up in Hood River."

You'd never heard of the place but assumed that it was another town in Oregon.

"Surely you know how fakes are," she continued. "Some of them are very good at what they do. They dig up all the info they need to convince people, or try to at least."

"Guess I should stay away, then." You sighed. "He's been calling me Psy."

"Hey, well, that's something," Helen said, grinning ear to ear. "He doesn't give pet names to people he hates. There might be hope for you yet."

You laughed. "What if I don't want that?"

"Have you seen the guy?" she whispered, leaning towards you. "Eye candy."

You snorted even as a part of you silently agreed. It definitely was not the most logical part of your brain.

It wasn't just his appearance that had you agreeing though. You had a feeling you'd have the vivid image of Tim carrying Annie out of the woods like she weighed nothing stuck in your head for a long time.

"Thanks for telling me about his sister and the fake psychic," you said soberly, yawning after. "Guess I should head home."

"Stop by the bar first," Helen insisted. "He gave you a nickname. I think you'll be surprised at how receptive he may be of your company."

You arched your brows. "You trying to set us up?"

"God no," she barked out, winking at you. "Then I wouldn't have a chance at him."

You smiled. It seemed you'd made a friend during your very first case. Not bad.

You said goodnight to Helen and nearly bumped into Bronson on your way off the floor.

"How was your first shift?" he asked you, pulling back the coffee cup he was holding to protect it from the hazard that was you.

"Terrible case," you told him, "And Tim's still lukewarm to me at best, but it's been suggested I might be wearing his walls down."

Bronson dipped his head at you. "Good. He needs that." He checked his watch. "It's getting late. Rockford already finished the necessary paperwork for the day before he left and you've proven yourself plenty today. Get out of here. Get some rest. I don't want to see you back here for another twenty-two hours."

You raised your hands in surrender. "No arguments there."

You didn't mention that you were going to stop by the bar first.

x

Liquid Alchemy was no upscale bar, but it wasn't a dump either. The outside was plain white, with a black sign. Its name was in white, and painted alongside the alchemy symbol of silver, which was shaped a lot like a crescent moon. The inside was neat and smoke free, unlike most bars you'd been to, and there was a platform where live bands could play. That night there was only a DJ though, since it was a slow weekday, only a dozen people there when the bar probably could hold a hundred.

You spotted Tim as soon as you entered the building, seated on a black stool at the eight person bar in the center of the main room, his back turned to you. He was still in his work clothes, like you, but he'd tossed the suit coat on the counter beside him. Seeing his shoulder holsters again and the way his white shirt strained over his upper back immediately reminded you of your first meeting just over a day ago.

Had it really only been a day?

You approached Tim on his right. "This seat taken?" you inquired lightly.

It was a joke; you knew all the stools besides his were empty. It was a well-received joke though, Tim snorting quietly at you. He lifted the glass of liquor in his right hand (Bourbon?) to his lips and waited until you seated yourself to speak. "How'd you find me?"

"Helen said all the detectives come here."

"Pretty much."

The bartender approached you and you ordered a whiskey sour.

"Don't know how you can mix alcohol with a sour taste," Tim commented, grimacing.

You shrugged. "What can I say? I've always preferred sour to sweet."

"How's the girl?" Tim asked eventually, after the bartender had handed you your drink.

"Awake and with her aunt," you answered with a sigh. "Not talking right now, but who can blame her? I just hope she can live with some kind of normalcy eventually. At least her aunt seems really nice."

You took a sip of your drink and made a face. Just cause you liked sour things, didn't mean you had no reaction to them.

"You see Rebecca anymore?" he asked you, and your eyes shot up to his, shocked by the question. It took you a moment to recover, long enough for him to swallow a mouthful of his drink.

"After Annie woke up and reunited with her aunt she moved on," you informed him.

He frowned at you. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. Poof. Gone."

"She was able to rest after everything that happened?"

You wondered where Tim was going with this, why he was asking so many questions. "Spirits aren't quite human anymore and they tend to stick around for one purpose. Rebecca's was making sure Annie would live, and she does. Annie's trauma wasn't a part of the equation, and she had no power to do anything about it anyway."

"This a guess?"

"A logical conclusion," you corrected him. "I surmised it from my forty-five years of being able to see and sense them."

"Your whole life?"

You nodded. "Ever since I could remember, I'd get chills when there were no drafts, whispers in my mind when I wasn't thinking, nightmares about real people I'd never seen before."

"That had to be scary as a child," Tim reckoned.

"It was." You smirked at him. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you're starting to believe me, Rockford."

He downed what was left of his drink. "I believe that you believe it's real. I have no solid proof of otherwise."

You rolled your eyes before throwing back a quarter of your drink in one go. "You never will. Spirits aren't tangible, and not everyone has my heightened senses."

"The results are all that matter," Tim decided, waving at the bartender, "And you get results, fast. You were great out there. Annie probably would have died without you stopping me in front of that field and leaving the trail to look for her. I don't know how you did it, but I don't care anymore."

You could work with that, you thought. As long as you both got along, respected each other, you could handle a partner not fully accepting of your abilities.

"I was thinking," he began slowly after ordering another glass of Bourbon.

"Oh?" You blinked innocently at him, leaning on the bar with an elbow and cupping the underneath of the hinge of your jaw.

"I know, shocker," Tim grumbled, guessing correctly what you'd been tempted to say.

You beamed up at him. He could be a pain when he was grumpy, slightly condescending when he didn’t like something, but he was also fun to tease.

"Anyway..." he trailed off, "I was hoping tomorrow night you'd help me with the cold case while we're waiting on the lab results for Rebecca's case."

"The one on the cork board?" you guessed.

"That's the one," he replied with a nod. "It's from 1985. A nineteen year old was found in his house, an apparent suicide, having taken one pill too many, but he had strangulation marks around his neck, like someone held him in a choke hold for a while. Could use his spirit to help me figure out what went down."

"It doesn't work on command," you warned him, "And on cold cases I usually don't see much. Most of the time the spirits are no longer around after the first week, otherwise they risk becoming a poltergeist."

"I don't necessarily need your spiritual talent," Tim said, pursing his lips. "Even just having another brain to pick would help." He took a sip of his new drink. "What do you say?"

You curled your lips up at him.

"Sounds like a plan."

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#The Rockford Files Series #Merge Mansion Fanfic #X Reader #Tim Rockford Fanfic (Mine)

[pseudowho]

You have rendered me completely useless today. I am sat at my desk with a brain full of Kento instead of the work I am being paid for!! I hope you’re proud (I know you are 😏)

I'm so proud. Is it me reblogging all of my old stuff? 😌💕

I loved The Chase and actually, now that it has a bold new header, it's having a burst of life.

Sorry not sorry to have devastated you in such a horny way.

You'll be pleased to know I've added my other new header reblogs to a queue for later, so no more fuckery from me...for now.

-- Haitch xxx

#pseudowho #pseudowho answers you

[assortedseaglass]

Come Back To Me - Chapter Three

Billy Washington x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: 18+ Language, Sex (don’t get excited), Hate Speech, Trigger Point (TV) Spoilers. For those who haven’t seen Trigger Point, this series contains depictions of racism and violence, specifically related to terrorism.

Author’s Note: We’re with Billy for most of this one, I wanted to get into his mindset ahead of the next chapters. There will be racist language used in this chapter. I don’t condone racism in any form – that which appears here is based on the characters depicted in Trigger Point and their actions.

Word Count: 2.2K

Billy’s phone vibrated on the bed and he roughly shoved it to the floor. Above him, Becky moaned. She had one hand at her breast, gently teasing her sensitive nipple, the other braced on the bed behind her as she rocked herself slowly on Billy’s hard length. He reached out to touch her.

“No,” she murmured, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the bed. Satisfied that he wouldn’t move, Becky sat back on his hips and continued using his arousal.

“Please,” he whispered up at her, watching as she threw her head back in pleasure. “Please, Becky.” She looked at him, annoyance flashing across her delicate features. She huffed, grabbed his hands and placed them on her thighs. Billy gripped hard on the soft flesh there as she quickened her pace above him. How desperately he wanted to be touched in return. Their relationship hadn’t been good for a long time, but at least there had been the sex. Now, on the rare occasion Becky actually wanted to fuck him, he lay there like a toy as she used him for her pleasure. And he let her. He felt pathetic. God, what Ida would say if she knew. Fuck. Don’t think about Ida. Not now.

A guttural moan left Becky, and she brought a hand to stroke her clit. “Let me,” pleaded Billy. She shook her head and bounced wildly above him. A familiar tension built in his groin and he shuts his eyes. He could feel Becky’s orgasm around his cock and he came, pitifully.

As soon as it was over, Becky hopped off him and went to the bathroom. Grabbing his phone from the floor, he saw two missed calls and a text from his mum.

We’ll swing by and pick you up at 1230. Make sure your shirt’s ironed xxx

Becky was already dressing when he looked up. “Mum and dad are coming by at 12:30. Want me to make lunch before you go?” He would have appreciated some care and attention himself.

“No, it’s ok, Mum’s doing sandwiches.” She untucked her hair from her collar and made for the door. “I’m off. Have a good time!”

“It’s a funeral.” He watched her pause for a moment. She’d forgotten and Billy got a sick sense of satisfaction at catching her off guard.

“Well, I hope it goes ok.” And with that, she left.

Billy’s phoned buzzed again. “Jesus, mum,” he muttered, but when he looked down Ida’s number flashed on the screen.

Still want me to pick you up later? x

Please. I’ll drop you a message. Don’t really wanna hang around too long x

No worries. It’ll still be shit today, take care of yourselves x

*

“You look smart, love,” Val said, greeting her son with a kiss.

“I’m taking this jacket off a soon as the service is over. Bloody boiling.” Jeff added. June had trickled imperceptibly into July, and the heat was overwhelming. The streets of London were remarkably quiet as they drove to the church. Billy knew that everyone was inside, avoiding the midday sun, but he liked to think it was out of respect for Nut. How could anyone be happy on a day like today?

They hadn’t been at the church long when Lana arrived. Billy watched as she greeted Has, John and some of the other old guard before making her way over to them.

“Here she is. Alright, me duck?” Jeff said.

“Alright, dad?” she said, hugging her parents before getting to her brother. “You look smart, Billy.”

He bit his tongue. He wasn’t going to lose his temper. Not today. Has approached the family, and Lana handed her bag over to their mother. Silently, they filed into the church and sat a few rows behind Nut’s family. He looked down at the order of service.

Mass for the life of Sergeant Joel Nutkins

When Lana, Has, John and the others came in bearing Nut’s coffin, Billy wondered if one day he’d be doing this for Lana.  

*

At the pub, John was leading the drinking party at the bar. Billy watched them, wondering which group he’d feel least uncomfortable with; the army blokes or his family. The latter were sitting in silence, watching him.

“You working”? Lana asked, knowing full well the answer.

“Is he bollocks,” said Jeff before Billy had the chance to reply. He gave his father a swift look before turning back to Lana.

“It’s just tough at the minute,” he said quietly, wishing his dad would piss off.

“Oh right?” Lana replied condescendingly. He looked at her a moment, before turning to his mother. If there was anyone in that room that’d help him out, it was her.

“Drinks, anyone? Mum?”

“Don’t be such a mardy git.” Jeff spoke over him.

“Dad, just leave it, alright!?” Billy snapped, leaving the table to get another drink.

“Just in time, Billy. Shots!” John passed a shot glass his way and took his phone out his pocket. As he raised it for a selfie with Billy and Has, Billy saw his parents leave the pub. Thank. God. Downing the shot from John, Billy reached for another. This is more like it. He passed one to Lana, who in turn introduced him to a quiet army bloke with a kind face called Karl. Another hour passed, and Billy was beginning to feel the warmth of the alcohol.

“It’s just so tough, it’s so tough.” Billy told Karl. The man seemed genuinely interested in what Billy had to say, not patronising him like everyone else in his life. “I’ve applied for twenty different jobs and not had a single interview. A ball ache, I tell ya.” He raised his pint for a swig.

“Mate, it took me years to get my business up and running.” Karl replied. “You’ve just gotta stick at it.”

“What do you do now, Karl?” Lana’s words were slightly slurred as she leant against the bar. Billy smirked.

“I’m a mechanic, fix up old motorbikes. Tapped into the old midlife crisis market.” The three of them chuckled together, before one of Nut’s old army friends that Billy didn’t recognise stuck his finger in his face.

“Bobby, innit? Is it Bobby?”

“Bobby? It’s Billy!” John’s voice had raised considerably, alongside his alcohol consumption.

“Billy. Mini Washington,” The man gestured vaguely to him.

“Shut up.” Lana said warningly.

“Nah, listen mate. Wash has been telling us all about you. How many times was it you tried getting in the army?” He sniggered.

“Don’t laugh at him” Has cut in.

A flush of red covered Billy’s face but he stood his ground. Looking between the men he said, “It was a couple of times.”

“Couple of times, yeah. Don’t you worry about it mate. All right? Not for everyone, is it, eh?” The man guffawed. Stunned, Billy looked to Lana. She was seething rage.

“Why would you do that?” Lana said to the man.

“What?”

“What’s your problem?” Lana pushed herself off the bar.

“What?” The man was growing cockier by the second.

“What’s your problem? Why would you do it?”

Billy felt like a kicked dog. No matter how hard he tried, nothing he ever did was good enough. Two hours ago, his family were chastising him for not having a job, and now Lana was telling her mates about his failures when he had the bravery to try, and trying to defend him when it backfired on her. Has passed Billy a cigarette and he made his way to the back door of the pub, head bowed in embarrassment.

“Bobby! Come back.” The man called after him.

“Nice one, dickhead.” Lana shouted. She hurried after her brother. “Billy. Billy…”

“Don’t need you looking out for me, Lana.”

“Hey, I’m not looking out for you, knobbo.” Lana grabbed her brother’s shoulder.

“Knobbo? How much have you even had?” He scoffed, rolling a cigarette between his fingers.

“Well, not enough to sit and listen to five hours of shit army jokes. Come on, you don’t need to prove anything to them lot.”

Billy tuts, making him think of Ida. He really should text her. “I know.”

“Come have a drink, come on. Don’t be mardy.” She raises her eyebrows as he scowls and follows her back to the bar.

*

Sofia put her head round Ida’s bedroom door. “I thought you were picking Billy up from the wake?”

“So did I.” Ida looked at the time on her phone. 11pm. “I’ve called him a million times,” she said raising her phone to her ear once again.

Hi, it’s Billy. I’m not around so leave us a message and I’ll get back to you. Cheers.

“Bloody hell,” Ida grabbed her car keys from the side and rolled off the bed.

“Drive safe!” Sofia half laughed.

The roads on the outskirts of London were quiet at this time of night. When Ida arrived at The Red Lion, she parked on the curb and dipped into the pub. Her heart sank. The wake was clearly over, with only a few mourners remaining. She looked in a few of the booths then made her way to the bar, recognising no-one. A shorter man was putting on his jacket. He was wearing all black.

“Excuse me?” Ida said tentatively to the man.

“Yes, love?” He turned around and she saw that, thankfully, he wasn’t drunk.

“I’m sorry to ask, but were you at Joel Nutkins’ funeral today? It’s just, I was meant to pick up a friend from the wake but I haven’t heard from him.”

“I was yeah. Who’s your friend?”

“Billy. Billy Washington.”

The man smiled. “He’s alright. Lana hit the deck, and Billy left with a few of the other guys about half an hour ago. They like a drink, those Washingtons!” The pair of them made their way to the door. “What’s your name? If I happen to see him on the way home, I’ll tell him you came looking.”

“Ida. And you?”

“Has,”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Has.”

He smiled sadly and patted her hand. “Cheers, love.”

“You want a lift home?”

“Nah, you’re alright. Could use a walk.”

She watched him leave and took out her phone.

There better be a bloody good reason why you haven’t replied to me.

*

Billy staggered down the road, John slouching heavily against him. He was mumbling incoherently and all Billy could make out was that he wanted a kebab. And so, here they were, stumbling towards a greasy takeaway.

John suddenly stopped walking and fell silent.

“You alright? John?” John was staring to the opposite side of the road, and Billy followed his gaze. John was staring at a shop, the sign above which said Halal Butcher. John scoffed. Billy lost his balance a little, and John wobbled forwards. John was utterly smashed, but nor was Billy sober.

“Eighteen people,” John slurred. “That’s how many people were killed at Westhaven. And Nut was one of them.” He turned back to Billy, his eyes glassy and out of focus. Billy stayed silent. He’d always been somewhat wary of John. “They were speaking Arabic. Didn’t put that on the news, did they?”

John wandered haphazardly towards Billy and prodded a finger to his chest. “Did I hear you say you’d applied for twenty jobs, and got none of them?” Billy nodded.

“Well, you know why, don’t you? That lot,” John spat, pointing aggressively at the butchers. “Came over here and nicked our jobs AND KILLED OUR MATES!”

As John screamed, Billy saw flashes of Nut’s face smiling up at him from the order of service. He saw all the horrific images of Lana he had conjured up when she was out on a call. He heard the words of his parents, Lana and Becky belittling him. Every failure he’d ever brought upon himself was coursing through him with white hot rage, and when John charged towards the shop, Billy followed.

Note: For those outside the UK, “mardy” is a term from the north that means sulky. Again, I do not in any way support the behaviour of John of Billy in this chapter – this is a scene in Trigger Point that is only mentioned but is an important plot point, so for the purposes of this story I included it.

This was a hard one to write. I normally love doing dialogue, but the stuff at the pub was taken directly from the show. It’s hard to write around what’s already there! Next chapter will have a lot of Billy and Ida together.

Tags: @jessssica1234 @anditsmywholeheart @bookwyrmsblog

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #billy washington #billy washington x oc #trigger point #aemond x reader #ewan nation

[juneviews]

Questions 4 and 8 from the drama ask post

thanks for participating 🫶

4. most ridiculous plot

honestly... this is thai dramas we're talking about so the answers are endless 😆

but the ones that have stayed with me are pat getting shot in bad buddy, like for me that's the moment I mentally checked out of the show bc it felt so random & added practically nothing to the story while being utterly silly to its core 🤭

also khai in theory of love getting in a motorcycle accident but still getting up while he's covered in blood & pushing his bike back to university to "pick third up" will NEVER cease to be the funniest moment I have ever witnessed on my screen, like... I genuinely laugh about it to myself at least once a week, it's a masterpiece of ridiculousness 😆

8. a drama that sounded terrible in its synopsis but somewhat worked out

to be honest, the opposite of a show sounding great but ending up disappointing is much easier for me imo, but I tried to find something by looking at my mdl lol!

I think house of stars might be the best candidate for this question considering that the plot did not seem "terrible" but the execution seemed to be before I watched it. in the end, this show was no masterpiece but it had a lot more interesting moments than I thought, especially towards the end!

I'd say hidden love also looked utterly terrible but actually had a lot of soul despite its low budget production! my secret love & destiny seeker also surprised me by not being boring & mediocre but actually quite enjoyable!

lastly for a gmmtv show, I definitely expected good old days to be a boring straight drama with nothing deep or innovative to it, and instead it was some of the most touching romantic stories ever & I really loved it!!!

xxx

participate in the ask game :)

#answers #theory of love #bad buddy #destiny seeker #hidden love the series #good old days #my secret love #ask game #house of stars #so sorry I fell asleep & forgot about this ask game lol

[little-diable]

Drunken Longings and Sober Actions - Prof!Tommy Shelby (smut)

God, how I adore writing with @zablife – thank you for joining me, my love! This imagine is shamelessly inspired by some new Cillian pictures that give off the prof!Tommy vibe. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader takes on the position of Professor Shelby's assistant, the man who is also the advisor of her PhD thesis. How long can the two endure to be around one another before they finally give into their longing?

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), professor x assistant/student, unaddressed age gap

Pairing: Modern!Prof!Tommy Shelby x fem!assistant!reader (5.3k words)

picture credit to Document Journal

“Dear (y/n),  I’m happy to let you know that the topic of your PhD thesis has been accepted by the dean! I’d say we’ll fixate a few meetings over the upcoming semester for you to update me on the status of your thesis and to go over any questions you may have. Since your thesis has been accepted, you’re also allowed to help out with my courses from now on, for that I’d like you to come by my office on Friday, so we can go over the details before you officially start next Monday. We can combine the meeting on Friday with some coffee, if you want.  I’m very proud of you, (y/n). You’ll be an exceptional asset to our faculty, I’m very lucky to have you as my assistant.  Best, Tommy”

A gasp left (y/n) as she read the email with dilated pupils, with her teeth buried in her lower lip, and her heart racing in her chest. She had been waiting for this moment for months, praying to whoever was listening, begging them that her thesis would be accepted. Deep down she had always known that she’d get the position as Professor Shelby’s assistant, and yet she had doubted herself, not daring to believe in the path laying ahead of her.

(Y/n) could still remember the first time she had asked the professor if he’d take on the role as her supervisor, the one to guide her through ups and downs, the one to help her with her questions, the one to pick her up whenever she doubted herself and her research abilities. Professor Shelby – or Tommy as he told her to call him – had been in her life since her first semester, he had instantly caught her attention, perhaps it had been the piercing blue eyes of his that reminded her of a melting glacier basking in the heat of the July sun, perhaps it had been his cold, mysterious demeanour that had called her closer like an ancient whisper only she could understand. Whatever it had been, it had lured (y/n) closer, trapped by his spell, and now, after all these years, she finally got to work alongside the smart professor she adored, the handsome professor she crushed on. 

Her hands were shaking as she started replying to the email, thanking the professor one too many times, taking on the invite, and adding that she’d take care of the coffee. (Y/n) had spent many hours in Professor Shelby’s office, finding comfort in the room that appeared darker than all other offices, stacked with books, old and new ones, with pictures and drawings of people and places (y/n) didn’t recognise. And even though it had taken the two a while to adjust to one another – even though he had always taken his time to answer her every question, the professor had kept his distance, only slowly had the surface began to crack, finally letting her in – she now loved spending time in his office, finding shelter with him close. 

(Y/n)’s mind started racing, painting one picture more vivid than the one before, producing stories she’d dream of for nights to come. She couldn’t help but wonder how it must feel to have the professor close, how he’d touch her, how he’d hold her. Heat rose to her face, clinging to her like a warm blanket tossed over her trembling upper body. Carefully wrapped around her, like he’d carefully tug her closer, protectively, lovingly. 

……

“Please, come in!” Professor Shelby’s voice echoed through the morning, making a smile tug on (y/n)’s lips as she stepped into the office. She carried two cups of coffee, closing the door with her foot before she met him halfway, pushing the professor the coffee into his outstretched hand. “Morning (y/n), thank you for the coffee.”

“Of course, it’s the least I could do. I’m very excited.” His chuckles filled the room, echoing off the books he cherished like nothing compared, a sound so distinct, (y/n) was sure she’d always recognise it. The professor thumped through his notes, not picking up on the way her gaze flickered between the steam of his coffee rising like soldiers preparing for battle and the piercing eyes she wanted to watch explore her naked body. 

“There we go, I printed out this semester’s schedule for you. If it’s alright with you, you’ll join my Monday, Thursday, and Friday classes. For the first few weeks you can help me with preparations and the homework we will have to grade, and then you can slowly take over and teach a few classes on your own.” Her smile kept growing, clearly projecting the excitement she felt, grateful for this very opportunity. She took the sheet from his stretched out hand, reading through the lines over and over again, wondering if this was just a dream she was caught in. 

“Thank you so much, you know how much I appreciate this.” Tommy studied her for a few seconds before he cleared his throat, taking yet another sip of the coffee. There was an undeniable tension lingering in the room, growing between them like the heat of the summer would grow with every rising of the sun, adding to the crackling atmosphere. This very tension had nothing uncomfortable to it though, something (y/n) was all too used to, wondering if this was something only she could feel. 

“Of course, we both know how much me and my students will profit from your knowledge. I’m very happy to be your advisor, (y/n), I hope you know that.” Once again (y/n) could feel heat flushing through her system, still not used to his praises the other students weren’t fortunate enough to experience. Back when she and Tommy had met, (y/n) had been jealous of those that had gained his attention, forcing her to do even better on her homework and his tests, hoping, perhaps even praying, that he’d finally notice her. And now, all these years later, (y/n) still struggled to accept that their relationship had changed this much, like the tide rolling back in, bringing news from unknown territories. 

“Is there anything I can help you with? Any presentations I should put together? I know how much you hate doing these.” Both couldn’t help but chuckle at her lighthearted teasing, reminded of all these times (y/n) had helped him with his powerpoint presentations, taking over before his annoyance could take over like a tsunami wave swallowing whatever was standing in its way. 

“You know what, I’d actually really appreciate it if you could take over the presentations this semester, it seems like my students enjoy your designs more than mine anyways.” His grin kept growing as he listened to her chuckles, hearts beating in sync, even though they were sitting too far apart to pick up on the beat of one another’s strong muscle keeping them alive. 

……

“We are so proud of you!” (Y/n)’s chuckles blended in with those of her two friends, smiling at them as they touched glasses, drowning yet another sip of their beverages. The music of the crowded bar rang in their ears, distracting them whenever a song they knew by heart started playing. “So, tell us, will you finally fuck him this semester?” 

The first week of joining Tommy’s course was just about to start, and deep down (y/n) knew they’d continue their days filled with teasing glances, with loving conversations, and encouraging phrases. An almost unfamiliar kind of pride had filled his eyes as (y/n) had first asked him if he’d be her advisor, and now, as they finally got to work together, this very kind of pride was still filling his pupils. 

Their bodies searched one another’s closeness like magnets, like the stretched out hand Leander would have needed before he drowned. There was an undeniable attraction between the two, something awfully frowned upon, hence why neither (y/n) nor Tommy dared to address whatever was buzzing between them. 

“God, I wish.” (Y/n)’s friends couldn’t help but cheer, once again taking another sip before (y/n) kept speaking. “He’s just so, I can’t even describe it, perfect? I’m so sure that he’s perfect for me, but I can’t, he’s my advisor and boss after all.” 

The three of them were all too tipsy by now, no longer able to reflect on any advice their sober minds would produce. (Y/n)’s eyes started wandering through the bar, recognising a few familiar faces, students and professors that would find this bar close to their university. Her breath hitched in her chest as her eyes found a pair of piercing blue ones, momentarily leaving her frozen. 

Tommy was surrounded by some colleagues, barely listening to the stories they shared as he held eye contact with (y/n). Her friends followed her gaze, silently chuckling as they recognised the man (y/n) had been crushing on for years on end. Before either one could stop themselves, (y/n) and Tommy started moving, meeting halfway. 

“Do you want to join me outside?” His soft voice left her heart racing, wordlessly nodding her head as she followed him, engulfed by the balmy breeze, stroking up and down their goosebump covered forearms. “You should have told me that you’d end up here tonight.”

She watched him alight his cigarette, taking a deep inhale before he exhaled the blue smoke reminding her of the way the ancient city of Troy had burned, flames climbing higher and higher. (Y/n) had to blink a few times to rip herself out of her trance, fully entranced by the handsome man, by the way his hair fell into his features, by the way his body seemed to invite her in, not stepping away from her. 

“I didn’t want to intrude on your time with them, you seemed very excited about seeing them again this morning.” He nodded his head, staring at her with something she couldn’t pinpoint. There was an unfamiliar kind of distance growing between them, blue eyes rather icy, no longer filled with the pride she now longed for. Her heart kept hammering in her chest as her mind begged her to keep quiet, hoping that no embarrassing words would come upon her alcohol tinted lips. 

“I see, it’s probably not the best idea to be seen outside of work after all, not like this.” Her eyes couldn’t help but flicker to his lips as he spoke, silently wondering how it must feel to have them pressing against hers, to taste the beer he had sipped on, the cigarette he had just finished smoking. Fuck, if she’d be any more drunk, (y/n) would probably close the gap between them, not caring that all other people could watch them share a kiss. The sound of Tommy clearing his throat ripped (y/n) out of her trance, slowly catching up with the cold words he spoke, pushing her away from him before she could take another breath. 

Before either one of them could speak another word, the sound of Tommy’s ringing phone popped the bubble they were engulfed by, forcing them to step away from one another. (Y/n) cleared her throat before she looked at him one last time, body suddenly filled with an uncomfortable wave of sadness, of confusion, stepping back into the bar in a desperate need for some more alcohol. 

…

“Dear Tommy,  It was lovely seeing you tonight. I’m really looking forward to working with you this semester and I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your support.  I think our meeting Friday was productive and things seemed to be going well until I ran into you down at the pub. I’m a bit of a worrier and I over think things a lot so forgive me for asking, but have I done something? You seemed cross with me when I spoke with you earlier and it’s all I can think about now. I have to know before we begin working together, otherwise I don’t know if I’ll be able to concentrate properly.”

(Y/n) watched the cursor blink beneath her thumb, inhaling deeply as she thought about Tommy’s blue eyes darken as he stared at her earlier. He hadn’t held the same warmth or congeniality as he did in his office. This look was withering, as though she’d offended him, but (y/n) couldn’t think of what she might have done to warrant it. 

Her head was pounding and her mouth felt dry as she slid her phone onto the table and went in search of water. As she stood at the sink, reaching for a glass, she heard her friend Sylvie giggle. “What’s this, Y/n?” she asked mischievously. 

(Y/n) spun around to find Sylvie holding her phone, reading the email she’d left open. Abandoning her water, (y/n) attempted to grab for her phone, but missed as her friend held it over her head. “Give it to me! That’s important, Sylvie. He’s my thesis advisor.” 

“Yea, I remember. I was there two hours ago when you were drooling all over yourself! You want to fuck him, after all!” She chuckled with a wicked grin. (Y/n) gulped, realising she might not have been as graceful as she’d hoped. In fact, Sylvie made it sound as though she’d made a fool of yourself. God, had she? (Y/n) didn’t have time to ponder her behaviour further as the clacking of her phone brought her out of her head and back to reality. 

To her horror, (y/n) realised Sylvie was adding her own text to the email. “What are you doing?” (y/n) mumbled, furrowing her brow in suspicion.

“Giving you a shot with hot professor,” Sylvie replied, biting her lip as she typed out another line quickly before rushing into the lounge and diving onto the couch with a squeal of delight. 

“No, no, no!” (Y/n) shrieked, barreling toward her friend for the phone. Sylvie had dropped it onto the table as she swung her legs over the side of the sofa, humming to herself. (Y/n) couldn’t help but gasp as she heard the swooshing noise notifying that the email had been sent. With wobbly legs and tingling fingertips, (y/n) reached for what awaited her on the bright screen. 

At the bottom of her somewhat emotional, yet still professional work email, Sylvie had added three lines.

“You should take me to dinner to apologise. And wear the trousers from tonight that kept me staring at your arse. You looked really fit! Xx”

 “Thanks, Sylvie. Thanks a lot,” (y/n) deadpanned, sucking your teeth. 

“You’re welcome, babe!” Sylvie smiled back at her contentedly, though her eyelids were closed and she was half asleep already. How was I going to explain this? (Y/n)  wondered.

……

With her eyes focused on her phone, (y/n) kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She was wrapped in her most comfortable jacket, finding shelter with the fabric that had engulfed her too many times to count, hugging her close. Her heart was pounding, counting the seconds, wondering when he’d turn up.

Even though she had somehow survived their first Monday class together, Tommy hadn’t said anything to her. Well, besides the occasional small talk. She had woken that morning to the sound of an email finding its way to her, Tommy’s reply to the words her drunken self had typed with trembling fingers, paired with the words of her friend. 

“Dear Y/n, I must say I was surprised to receive your email after our chance encounter this weekend. I had no idea you felt uncomfortable in any way when we parted. As we will be working closely in the coming months, I will confide that my Aunt Polly has been unwell. If I seemed off, it was only because I’d taken a concerning call from her moments earlier. However, I assure you that your thesis has my full attention and I am committed to a good working relationship between us.  If you would join me this Tuesday for dinner at the Italian bistro around the corner from campus, I’d be interested to hear your feedback about the first day of class. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble providing thoughts if your wardrobe tips are any indication. By the way, thank you for the enthusiasm over my style. It’s good to know I still have some. Best, Tommy"

She had been torn between embarrassment, confusion, and a small fracture of pride. Yesterday, after leaving the class, he had told her that he’d await her in front of the bistro at 7 pm. And now, as she was waiting for him, a few minutes too early, (y/n) couldn’t help but give into the anticipation flooding through her, would they finally address whatever was happening between them? 

“Evening, (y/n).” Tommy’s raspy voice snapped her out of her thoughts, eyes flickering up to meet his. With a slight smile tugging on his lips, he held the door to the bistro open for her, catching the way her eyes seemed to recognise the all too familiar pair of trousers her friend had mentioned in the email. “After you.”

Slowly she stepped into the place she had last visited months ago, unable to stop her gasp from rolling off her tongue as he placed his hand on the small of her back. Tommy guided her to an empty corner, wordlessly helping her out of her coat before he sat down vis-a-vis her. 

With an almost too straight posture, (y/n) and Tommy looked through the menu, caught in the silence that had nothing uncomfortable to it, yet it was so thick it felt like neither of them could speak up. Only after the waiter had taken their order did they finally give in, eyes finding one another. 

“I have to say, I was quite surprised about your email. But I am truly sorry if I hurt you in any way, that wasn’t my intention.” He kept his voice low, without any emotions dripping from it as if he was scared that she could see straight through the barrier he had built around himself. 

“That’s alright, I probably shouldn’t have emailed you in my state.” No longer could she hold eye contact with him, gaze focused on her fingers. 

“You had every right to. It’s true, if we keep working with one another we have to properly communicate.” A sigh left the man, eyes flickering down to her fingers, watching (y/n) fumble with them for a few moments before he started talking once again, giving into the words he shouldn’t speak. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I act differently around you, and I hope I don’t make you feel uncomfortable with saying this, but our relationship has nothing professional to it. I can’t hide whatever it is you’re making me feel.” 

……

“Here, let me help you.” Tommy reached for her jacket, helping (y/n) out of the warm fabric before he guided her through his house, towards his kitchen. The two were engulfed by an unfamiliar kind of silence, clinging to their bodies as if it was scared that the two would part ways before they could finally give in. Minutes ago they had left the bistro, and even though their dinner did have an almost carefree touch to it, they were back to chasing their distance just now. 

“Tea?” (Y/n) could only nod her head as she watched Tommy move around his kitchen, eyes focused on his task at hand, not looking at her once. Fuck, she hated this, the awkward tension so thick one could cut it with a knife, ripping the two out of this very state they seemed to be trapped in. (Y/n) couldn’t remember a day where they had acted like this, like strangers being forced to spend time with one another, not knowing how to speak up, how to get to know one another. 

“Tommy,” the word rolled off her tongue before she could stop herself, moving closer in a desperate need to minimise the distance between them like ships sailing an ocean so big their chances of crossing paths were slim to none. “What am I doing here? What is this?”

He stared at her, jaw muscles twitching as he clenched his teeth together, pondering over his words, unsure how to break out of this state. Tommy wasn’t quite sure why he had invited her to his place, not yet wanting to let her go though struggling to give into the shift of the air around them. A huff left (y/n) at his silence, turning from him to step out of this room, out of this house, but Tommy didn’t let her get far, hand clamped down on her wrist. 

(Y/n) felt herself being spun around, chest colliding with his, and before she could even try to protest, Tommy had closed the distance between them, finally kissing her. It took her a few seconds to snap into motion, hand finding his clean shaven cheek, allowing herself to deepen the kiss. Their tongues met, slow at first, allowing themselves to adjust to this new sensation, to the fire simmering inside of them, unable to hold back. 

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do that for longer than I should admit.” His raspy words left her chuckling, no longer caught in the web of unspoken confessions, of an awkward tension, rather breaking through the invisible barrier. She kissed him again, and again, squealing in surprise as her professor pushed her onto his kitchen island, lingering between her thighs. 

A gasp left (y/n) as Tommy’s lips found their way down her throat, sucking on the spot where her neck met her throat, making sure to leave marks at any given chance. The moment had something so forbidden to it, and yet they were taken by the thrill of it, begging them to keep on touching, to give into their longing. 

“Can I?” His whispers left her smiling, nodding her head to allow Tommy to pull her dress over her head, exposing her underwear to his dilated pupils. Not once had a man looked at her like this, with so much love, with so much desire filling his eyes, an unfamiliar gaze she’d probably never get used to. It seemed to be an unspoken fact between them that Tommy would take care of her like no other human being ever could, made for her, for her body, the flesh cage that had called out to his, claiming one another before any confessions could be spoken.

Skilled fingers undid her bra, exposing her goosebump covered chest to his wandering eyes and to his eager lips. He kept switching between her breasts, kissing and touching the skin he had longed to touch for years. Fuck, he had once promised himself that he’d never cross this very line, but now all promises were lost like the ships that had sunken to the bottom of an ancient ocean no living being remembered. Lost like all the souls Tommy kept researching, finding comfort in the thought of retelling stories of those that had shaped this very world into the world they knew now. 

His warm lips kept kissing their way down her body, down her flesh to the outlines of her panties, toying with the fabric for a few seconds before his piercing eyes flickered up to meet hers, once again asking for her permission. 

“Touch me, please.” It was simple, really, and yet the moment was by far more complex than either one would like to admit. There was no going back once he touched her there, there was no letting go of whatever they were about to create, perpetuating their love on their bodies and souls. Tommy hesitated for just a fraction of a second before he shuffled her panties down her legs, eyes focused on her heat, on the arousal glistening on her skin. 

The cold surface of the kitchen island pressed itself against her skin, grounding (y/n) before she could get lost in Tommy’s touch, in the careful movements of his wandering fingers, exploring her body all too curious. Her thighs were trembling, fighting against the urge to press them together, to get rid of the ache between them, reminding (y/n) of all these times she had touched herself to the thought of her professor. 

“I’ve been thinking of this moment way too many times, and now, as I have you before me, I know that my mind could never imagine a sight like you, so beautiful.” Her heart swelled in her chest, once again taken up by the unexpected praises leaving Tommy. (Y/n) reached for his hand, wordlessly squeezing it before he brought it up to his lips, kissing her skin. For a few seconds they kept holding eye contact before he let go of her hand, mouth meeting her cunt. 

She arched her back, letting go of the moan wanting to claw through her, hand coming down flat on the kitchen island she was laying on. Curses left (y/n) as his tongue brushed through her slit, moaning at the taste of her arousal, already addicted within the first few seconds. Her heart was pounding, racing faster than ever before, making (y/n) wonder if she’d pass out any moment now. 

(Y/n)’s body tried to push her even closer to him, breath hitching in her chest as his warm thumb found her clit, matching the rhythm of his movements to the speed he used with his tongue. Tommy had turned her into a moaning mess within a few seconds, holding a different kind of power over her body, a power so strong (y/n) feared she may never be strong enough to ever let him go again. 

Without a warning, Tommy pushed his tongue into her tightness, unable to bite down his smirk widening on his lips as (y/n) called out his name, hands balled into fists, leaving crescent shapes on the skin of her palms. (Y/n)’s eyes were squeezed shut, lips buried in her teeth – a pathetic attempt to stop herself from giving in just yet, not wanting to break the moment she had been longing for for way too long. 

Tommy could tell that she was close, upping the speed of his movements, of the way he circled her pulsing bundle of nerves, of the way he kept using his tongue. Deep down he had tied himself to her the very first day he had met her, set on (y/n) quietly, secretly, hoping that nobody could see through the cold facade he had built to protect himself. She had been Ariadne’s thread, luring Tommy out of his hiding with the sweet smile of hers, with the glistening eyes that seemed to follow him around. 

“Oh fuck, I’m so close, don’t stop, please.” He grinned against her skin as he pushed her over the edge, allowing her to let go, to cum on his tongue and fingers. (Y/n) was trembling, body taken up by the powerful orgasm he pushed through her system, kidnapping her soul to bind her to him, without needing to ask for her permission. 

Her eyes snapped open the second he let go of her, body struggling to breathe through the intense sensation still clinging to her. For a few seconds neither Tommy nor (y/n) dared to speak up, studying one another to figure out where to go from here, but with her hand finding the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, their bodies seemed to snap into motion once again. 

“I’d take you to my bed and fuck you there, but I can’t go any longer without burying myself inside of you, sweetheart.” His raspy voice left her choking, wordlessly staring up at him, watching her professor shuffle out of his dress shirt, trousers soon following. Her eyes followed the movements of his hand, taking in the sight of his hard cock pressing against the fabric of his boxers. “I’ll be right back.”

Her hand shot out to stop him, murmuring a soft “I’m on the pill”, needing to feel his skin pressing against hers. With his teeth buried in his lower lip, the professor stepped out of his boxers, hand pumping his cock, using her arousal to coat himself. The heat in the room kept rising, buzzing through their veins like poison made to kill them, hoping to find shelter in a comforting death like Romeo and Juliet, tied together for eternity. 

“You look so pretty, spread out for me, I’ll need to fuck you on every surface I can find.” His teasing left (y/n) gasping, fingernails clawed into his veiny forearms, keeping him close as he brushed the tip of his cock through her folds. With their eyes connected, Tommy pushed into her, unable to bite down the groan ripping through him. 

Neither Tommy nor (y/n) would ever be able to let go of this moment, longing, aching for it on lonely nights, needing to reach out to one another. He moved slowly, relishing in her closeness, needing to soak up every second he was fortunate enough to experience. Their eyes didn’t dare stray from one another, watching the different expressions tugging on their features, clearly communicating their every need, their every want. A desire they were finally giving into. 

One of his hands clung to her thigh, keeping the leg she had wrapped around his waist close, leaving marks he’d kiss when morning rolls upon them. The way she mewled his name forced him to pick up his pace, hips snapping against hers, burying himself deeper inside of her with every passing moment. 

“Fuck, you feel so good, don’t ever stop touching me.” (Y/n) choked on her words, eyes rolling back into her head, trapped in the darkness he emanated, a personification of all things forbidden, and yet so bittersweet (y/n) knew she’d never be able to let go of him again. Whatever may come upon them, they’d stick to one another, fuelled by the desire keeping them chained together.

Tommy pulled her even closer, allowing his cock to nudge against her sweet spot with every thrust, once again pushing her closer to the edge she had been pushed over moments ago. He murmured soft praises, pushing waves of heat through her, heart swelling once again as he spoke the words that would ring through her head for weeks to come. 

“Doing so well, sweetheart, I got you, it’s okay.” His thumb found her swollen clit once again, rubbing it a few times before (y/n) came on his cock, walls clamping down on him. It took Tommy some more thrusts before he followed her down the edge, painting her walls white as a heavy groan left him. 

Both kept clinging to one another, holding on for dear life without daring to speak up, scared that reality would catch up with them, forcing them to adapt to this very new change. His eyes studied her calm features, trying to read the fucked out gaze swimming in her pupils. Slowly he pulled out of her, lips meeting hers for a sweet kiss. 

“How about a shower?” Both weren’t ready to address what was laying ahead of them just yet, not ready to talk about whatever they’d have to change, if they’d had to change something at all. And yet both found comfort in the thought of doing this together, with their hearts intertwined and their souls wordlessly communicating.

#Tommy Shelby smut #professor fic #Tommy Shelby imagine #modern Tommy Shelby

[writtenonreceipts]

I saw this on Twitter and I can't stop imagining it, so I thought I'd send it to you 💕💕 In case you feel some inspiration you could do a one-shot (Imagine rhysand calls the emissary from some territory to his office to fix some things but the emissary got interested in him and thinks uhu let's be alone now, then she goes into the office and sees the huge painting of rhysand's wife staring at her)

i hope you like this? idk how i feel about it...

find my masterlist here

warnings: none

.*.*.*.*.*.

Picture Perfect

The portrait appeared from nowhere.

One day the wall behind his desk was bare wood paneling that had been imported from Autumn over a hundred years ago and the next Rhys entered his office to find his wife staring down at him. 

The artwork was exquisite of course.  Everything Feyre did was remarkable.  For the past decade or so, she’d been using her art in an exploratory way.  From the therapy session with the citizens of Velaris to traveling to the different Courts to capture their own unique people and landscapes—Feyre had been growing her talent.  And he loved her for it.

Still, he had not been expecting to walk straight into his office that morning to find her baring down at him.  Even through the paint Rhys could see the amusement Feyre had added to her eyes, the small tilt of her mouth in a smirk and the golden hues of her hair.  She’d never liked doing self-portraits, even with all of his inquiries for one.  Either he’d annoyed her enough in the last few years or she was trying something new.

It didn’t quite matter to him when this was the result. Seeing his mate in her element and enjoying her art made it all worth it.

Rhys was seated in his office going over paperwork relating to new trade routes that they were trying to establish with the human lands. Vassa had long settled into her role as Queen and given her reputation as the Firebird combined with Jurian’s propensity for...violence...the mortals easily accepted them.

Rhys wished Feyre were still in Velaris, but Elain had recently had her first baby so Feyre and Nyx in tow went to Day Court to coo over the new addition. Nyx was mostly eager to try and win all his cousins over to the cause of xxx.

The new routes would require a stop through Spring which Rhys wasn't eager about. The new emissary, while eager, could be a bit over bearing in her work. Ever since Lucien’s true parentage had been revealed the former Vanserra was called back to Day where he was busy learning from his father in courtly duties.

"My Lord?" Ceriddwen appeared at the door to Rhysand’s office. The wraith shadowy black hair was pulled back into a long braid, her simple dress practically dissolving into shadow.

"Yes? WHT happened?" He looked up from the current map he was trying to make sense of.

Cerridwen pauses as though contemplating what to say. "Well, the Spring Court emissary is here. Emissary Nadia Verone."

Rhys tried and failed to hide his feelings about that. Again. Would this emissary never be satisfied?

Cerridwen smirked at his response. "If I may high lord? You are as your mate would say, simply irresistible. "

Snorting Rhys stood from his chair and adjusted his jacket.

"Hilarious," Rhys murmured. "Fine. Is she in the Foyer?"

Cerridwen nodded.

"Thank you," he said. The wraith immediately vanished.

Rhys ran a hand through his hair and then tugged on the bond. All he got was a shot of ten-year-old Nyx laying in the floor next to a rather chubby baby with a head of fiercely red curls. It was followed up by a wistful sigh from his mate.

Darling, he sent to her.

I forgot how cute babies are, she sent back to him.

Yes, they're adorable, we can make another when you get back. Darling, he tried to draw her attention back to the question he had now but was interrupted by a very specific tug on the bond that had him pausing in the hall to collect himself.

Menace.

Feyre only chuckled through the bond in response. He should not have been surprised.

He made it to the foyer where waited the spring court emissary. Nadia Verone was a lesser fae who had grown up in spring court. She was willows with long limbs and a thin face. Her dark brown hair matched her near obsidian eyes. Rhys had had a few dealings with her father, a decently ranking fae of the court. One would assume that Appointing Nadia to the emissary position had been a smart choice. However, he problem was that she was rather young. And she was rather...flirtatious. he had seen her on occasion at various at feasts or events bustling around with her friends tittering on the gossip ring.

Perhaps it was simply an approach as being an emissary or perhaps it was simply who she was. But Rhys had long decided that the females gaze lingered too long on him and she always found herself around him when Feyre wasn't around.

"Emissary, " Rhys greeted, "how can I help."

"High Lord, " Nadia responded. She gave a seeing bow and smiled a bit like a cat on the hint. "Thank you for seeing me."

"What is the problem?" He asked. Better to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"Lord Tamlin needs and update on the trade routes," Nadia said, she tucked her arms behind her back in an innocent sort of way.

Rhys found himself doubting the need for the update. Tamlin and he avoided one another as much as possible, even though emissary contacts. Rhys said he would have the signed forms delivered by the end of the week. He still had five days.

"Really?" Rhys mused, he kept his aloof mask of high lord in place, betraying nothing.

Nadia nodded absently as she twirled a lock of hair around a finger. She'd not come dressed in usual emissary garb: no simple tunic and pants, rather she'd chosen to wear a dress of a gossamer fabric. It was something far more akin to what Elain had worn in her time in Night.

"Yes, he's been undertaken a bit more in rebuilding the human lands and the timeliness has moves up." Nadia smiled innocently and Rhys new she was lying.

If such a big change happened Tamlin would write him or force Lucien to pick up one more act as spring emissary. He wouldn't have a youngling deliver the news. And not like this.

"I can show you the trade routes he'd like to use.”  Nadia was already moving past Rhys to head back towards his office.

“Perhaps,” Rhys tried to direct the emissary back towards him, but she didn’t listen.

Fine then.  

Rhys stuffed his hands in his pockets and trailed after her.  He didn’t quite know what she was getting at--it really wasn’t like Tamlin to play games like this by sending one of his emissaries to flirt their way through a Court.  And the Night Court had maintained a certain reputation between the High Lord and Lady.

“Emissary Verone,” Rhys called as he walked behind her. “I’m sure if High Lord Tamlin was this concerned over the trade routes, he would have sent word over at our last meeting.”

Nadia paused just outside of the office door, hands clasped politely behind her back. “Oh, but he just sent word to me.  Very new and everything given how things are developing with the mortal Queen.  Her first child just turned five and she’s been making changes in her laws of succession and security for their kingdom.  She can be...hard to work with.”

Only to those who didn’t know her.

Rhys merely raised a brow and opened his office door. “Vassa is a capable leader.  She’s worked tirelessly for her people, and ours.”

“Oh, of course,” Nadia agreed as she brushed a bit too close Rhys.  One of her hands passed absently along his chest, the touch a bit too familiar.

He really wanted Feyre here.

“I meant nothing by it,” Nadia continued as she entered the office. “She certainly doesn’t have the experience or capabilities as some--”

Nadia’s voice cut off abruptly as something caught her attention.

Rhys moved around the side of his desk and was about to take a seat when he noticed Nadia’s distraction.  He glanced over his shoulder where the emissary was looking.  Feyre’s portrait stared meaningfully down.

“Isn’t it lovely,” Rhys said dryly. “My mate painted it, of course.  I’m always in awe of her capabilities.”

Nadia said nothing as she stared at the portrait and slowly shifted to one side and then the other.  Rhys had to cover a smile, knowing full well the effect that Feyre’s eyes could have on someone.  Especially with the force and power that had been painted in them.

“Emissary?” Rhys asked.  He pointed to the notes and papers on his desk. 

To her credit, Nadia leaped from her seat with plenty of grace.  Her skin was flushed as she turned to the door, her eyes down cast.

“No, sir, High Lord,” she said quickly, “it should be fine.  Everything is in order, I think.  I should leave.  Duties in Winter.”

The emissary practically ran from the room.  She didn’t even acknowledge when she’d be returning.

Rhys sat in his chair for a minute before reaching for the bottle of scotch tucked beneath the table.  He didn’t bother finding a glass before he turned to that portrait.

You planned this somehow, didn’t you? he sent down the bond, knowing with certainty Feyre had been listening in.

A low chuckle was his only response.

.*.*.*.*.*.

tagist:

@aelinchocolatelover  // @sexy-dumpster-fire // @bamchickawowow // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @courtofjurdan // @sassys-world // @sleeping-and-books // @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @firestarsandseneschals // @emikadreams // @rapunzel1523 // @booksofthemoon // @highladysith // @fangirlprincess09 // @rowaelinismyotp // @vanzetanze // @cassianscool // @stardelia // @my-fan-side // @sjmships // @tillyrubes10 // @rhysandswhore  //  @story-scribbler  // @post-it-notes33 // @live-the-fangirl-life // @strangevil321 // @pastasiren // @lemonade-coolattas @foreverfallingforthestars // @feysand-loml // @realbookloverproblems // @ghostlyrose2 // @swankii-art-teacher // @foughtconquered // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @captain-swan-is-endgame  // @mystic-bibliophile // @cretaceous-therapod // @thenightgodess-feyrearcheron //  @thisloveseternal // @gracie-rosee // @magnifique1807 // @liars-lmao // @goddess-aelin // @thegloweringcastle // @tangledinsparkles // @the-lonelybarricade // @millsarcherfeykat // @sideralwriting // @nerdperson524 // @the-fae-are-taking-over // @sushisempai // @jenibearx3 //  @the-introverted-bibliophile //  @starfall-spirit //

#feysand #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #fic #fanfic #acotar fic #canon #post canon #harry potter fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

[jake-g-lockley]

Good morning sorry if I bother you you can Marc Spector x fm!reader

Reader is depressed because I think the past ( reader is old avengers and widow ) and Marc she’s love so much and tell casual words

Sometimes Cliché is Okay (Marc Spector x fem!reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

Trigger Warnings: Violence, depressive episodes, PTSD, trauma, self destruction. 

Ye ye ik thats Santi but Santi is basically mercenary Marc in my head atm and I love Oscar’s face in this xxx

Whoohoo another one. I’ve seen a similar one somewhere (if any of y’all find it please let me know). I hope you’re okay with me adding PTSD into the mix. Sorry about the lack of dialog lol. Anyway, keep the requests coming in &lt;3

Parings: Marc Spector x fem!reader

Word Count: 900 words

A/N: How do I write these at top speed? I’m bored and I like it when people give me lil ideas :))) Also, much of the diagnostic criteria for depression and PTSD in this story are taken directly from the DSM-5 but again, it is not accurate to a single individual. 

If you or anyone you know is suffering from mental health issues, please seek professional help. I just wanted to let you know that you are loved no matter what &lt;3

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Have you ever felt like you were sinking into quicksand as the rest of the world is speeding past you? That's the only way you could describe the anguish that you were facing at the moment. 

At a young age, you had your livelihood stripped away from you and it was hard to get out of the cycle of torture when you had no one to protect you. You were thrown around, like an object, like an apparatus to an experiment, a tool to something bigger. 

The assassinations felt grousome at first but eventually it made you numb. Your judgment was clouded by the instructions you were given and at one point you did everything blindly. The things that they taught made you forget about yourself, about other people and it desensitized you and made you almost robotic. 

After you dropped the entitlement of being a Widow, you were recruited to join the Avengers and you thought you found your purpose and you started to heal. Knowing that you were purposely saving lives with the skills that you possesed instead of destroying them gave you a sense of hope that you knew you might be able to get by. 

However, the blip changed everything.

Everything you knew, everything you loved, was gone. 

You witnessed the fall of Wakanda. You were there when you heard Wanda’s grueling and gut wrenching scream as Thanos tore the mind stone from Vision. You remember the snap that echoes deep inside your mind each time you try to close your eyes. 

Nothing could drag you out of the misery post-blip. Those five years were the most fatiguing years you have ever had. The world was dipped into a whirlwind of chaos, millions of mourners, and every single one of them blamed the Avengers. 

Afterall, are heroes really heroes if they can't protect the ones who could not defend themselves?

One day you lost it.

Steve Rogers found you curled up in the corner of your room in the Avenger’s compound. You were screaming, hysterically trying to get rid of the painful memories in your head. You had fought every single person who came into your room that horrible day and you trusted no one, the paranoia evident in your self-destructive ways. 

Rogers, on the other hand, that man was made of steel. He patiently waited till you got tired and calmly made sure that you got the help that you needed. 

You had to go for therapy for 3 months before you could come to terms with yourself without causing anymore self destruction. You denied your diagnosis for so long, as you tried to push away the issues you were having, hoping it wouldn’t catch up with you. You thought that your mind was stronger than the parasite that was consuming you. You eventually accepted that you were suffering from PTSD and had crippling depression. 

It took months of healing after that, but bouts of depression would occasionally come around every now and then. You again had started to isolate yourself, until the day you met Marc Spector. 

You didn’t know he was a vigilante / superhero at first, but you had your usual suspicions. He was the only one that made you feel like you were someone again. It was almost like he brought out the human in you again. But most importantly, he made you feel loved. 

Every single thing he did would increase your love for him by tenfold. The way he would lose his contact lens in the sink too many times for his liking, the way he hummed while he cooked and the way he would drive you up the wall with his tickling. 

He, of course, had his own problems, but he was a problem solver too. He had ingenious ways to combat the issues that he and you were facing. He didn’t treat you as if you were fragile, but when you broke, he was there to pick up the little pieces and put you back together. 

Both of you have sleeping issues and would spend nights laying awake, staring at the ceiling until Marc would drag you to your feet and the both of you would dance in the silence, to your own rhythm in each other's arms. Sometimes, he would turn on some music and you would laugh at his silly moves as he shimmied around the apartment you shared.

When you felt horrible and couldn’t get out of bed, he would do everything in his power to make you feel comfortable. You learned to not argue but comply with his doings even when at times your guilt would consume you. He would bathe you, clothe you and feed you, making sure that you were well hydrated. 

Sometimes, when you were ill, he would stay up for hours by your side, as you fell in and out of consciousness, changing the wet towels on your forehead or feeding you medicine. 

When the night terrors struck, he would hold you for hours until you stopped shaking, soothing you with whispers of beautiful words of endearment as you sobbed into his nightshirt. 

Slowly, you felt yourself getting much better, your trust in humanity slowly easing its way back into your world. You stopped ditching your therapy sessions and made sure you took your medication. He had a devotion for you and you also had a devotion to him and that pushed you to get better. 

As cliché as it sounds, he was your knight in shining armor. But sometimes, the only thing that could save you from eternal pain is a cliché.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Reblogs are appreciated <3 love you all so so much *muah*

#moon knight #marc spector x reader #moon knight fluff #mental heath awareness #marvel moon knight #the avengers #mcu imagine #moon knight imagine #request #requests open

[tenebraevesper]

Five Nights at Freddy's: Salvaged, Night 23: Not The End

''Ah, the lovely, sweet destructions! The grand exit of innocent ones! Come on, come a little closer, I will make sure that you are gone forever! So here comes the payback hour. Do I fight back or hide away and cower? Alas, the Springtrap is merely nothing. I will get out and then we'll see who's laughing!''

– Not The End by Sayonara Maxwell ft. µthunder (Five Nights at Freddy's 3)

xXxXxXx

What happened was merely nothing.

He opened his eyes, observing the room he was trapped inside. The room was cold and dark, the air damp and musty. It has been long since anyone entered it and even longer since it had been closed. There were puddles on the floor and water stains on the walls. Cobwebs were spread in the corners of the room like a bizarre Halloween decoration. Two old and broken arcade machines were standing against the wall, a thick layer of dust having formed on them.

It was worth it, Henry. Everything I did, it came down to this.

An old costume, or rather, an animatronic suit resembling a bunny, was leaned against the wall, his head slumped down. The fur of the suit had turned green, a far cry from its original golden colour, after years of neglect. Tears on the suit exposed the animatronic endoskeleton inside it, as well as a pink, flesh-like substance that coiled around the endoskeleton, having merged with it. Half of his left ear was missing, exposing the wires.

I will show you…

His eyes glowed as he tried to stand up. He felt quite clumsy, having to rely on leaning against the wall in order to keep himself steady. He would eventually get used to his new body. Unlike the children, he'd be able to control it without having to depend on the animatronic's AI.

This is not the end of me.

xXx

Springtrap stared at the building in front of him, lost in his thoughts. He felt Sam tugging his arm and glanced at her. She pointed towards the building.

''Freddy Fazbear's Pizza – that was your idea?''

Springtrap shrugged.

''It's close enough and it's relatively safe… which is a quite ironic thing to say,'' he replied. ''Besides, I thought you'd be happy to visit it.''

''I am,'' Sam said. ''The only thing I'm worried about is whether someone will see us going inside.''

''I doubt that,'' Springtrap said.

He and Sam then walked over to the building, getting inside through the back entrance. Sam took out the flashlight from her bag, figuring that they shouldn't turn the lights on. Instead, once they entered the main room, she placed the flashlight on one of the tables so the whole room would be illuminated. It was a bit unnerving, as a part of the room was hidden in the shadows, but Sam felt quite safe, especially since Springtrap was with her. Besides, no one but them was here.

''Looks like the place got updated,'' Springtrap said, pointing at a corner. Sam noticed a counter with shelves behind it.

''I guess it's some kind of prize corner,'' she said, walking towards it and looking over the counter. There were a few smaller boxes, probably containing some of the merchandise, along with one huge box right in the middle of the prize corner. ''I wonder what this is for.''

Springtrap joined her, noticing the bigger box as well. It was white, with red stripes forming a cross on it. He looked above, noticing thin metal plates lied out like a cross right above the bigger box. Something felt strange about it. He frowned.

''Which animatronics are they planning to bring back?'' he muttered, already aware for whom this box was. Sam glanced at Springtrap, then looked back at the box, realizing that it was actually a gift box and knowing that there was only one animatronic she knew about that would reside in it.

''The Puppet?'' she said.

''It seems so,'' Springtrap replied, looking at the metal plates. ''I guess those are for the strings, so the Puppet would move, get the prize and giving to whoever won it.''

''Unlike before, it won't be able to go everywhere,'' Sam added. ''I wonder if they made more changes.''

''It doesn't seem so, but it won't hurt if we check. I'm actually curious what they came up for this location,'' Springtrap replied. Sam nodded, with the two separating. She went to check the back room, while Springtrap went towards the hidden room.

He felt a little strange, knowing that this Freddy's location wasn't the same as the ones he had been before at, but there were enough similarities to trigger some memories, with one of them being the gift box. The Puppet was actually Henry's idea, and was one of the first animatronics they had created, right behind the likes of Fredbear and Spring Bonnie. Henry designed it as a security animatronic, with the Puppet keeping an eye on the person who was wearing a green bracelet. He proposed to extend this feature to the other animatronics, as he planned to give that bracelet to Charlie. While William was impressed by Henry's idea, he actually thought that the Puppet was quite creepy, even before it became haunted. Rest assured, Charlie made good use of the Puppet later on.

Springtrap entered the hidden room, which didn't experience any change. It looked the same as they left it, although he figured that, once the restaurant was opened, it would probably be used.

Are they going to make springlock animatronics?

After all, those hidden rooms were specifically made for employees who were using the springlock suits. However, he knew that he could use the rooms in a more creative manner. After all, would anyone assume that the blood stains on the floor came from a murdered child rather than from an injured employee?

They wouldn't know.

Springtrap suddenly felt chills, as if the temperature dropped. He exited the room and closed the door, going back to the main area. Sam wasn't there, so he checked the back room next to the stage, which was empty, and then went towards the employee area. He soon found her at the security guard's office, realizing that she was inside when he saw that the camera in the hallway was on.

''Sam, may I come inside?'' he called out.

''Sorry, but the rules dictate that I cannot let any animatronic inside until 6 AM.''

''Sam, it's not even 12 AM. The game hadn't even started.'' The door opened, with Sam looking at Springtrap, grinning.

''Yeah, you're right,'' she replied. ''So, have you found anything?''

''No, you?''

Sam shook her head. ''There isn't anything new, but I hope that there will be something soon. I really hope Freddy's will open this summer. It would be awesome to see this place open once again.''

''You really think so?'' Springtrap asked, with Sam nodding. ''Honestly, I am not so sure about this, considering what would happen every time Freddy's, or a location related to Freddy's, opens.''

''Maybe, but currently, Ricky's is the source of problems,'' Sam pointed out.

''True,'' Springtrap said, frowning. ''Hopefully, there aren't any other missing people cases.''

''Wait a sec,'' Sam said, taking out her smartphone and checking the local news. She shook her head. ''Aside from Bella's case, there's nothing.''

''I doubt he'd be searching for new victims unless something triggers him,'' Springtrap said. Sam fell silent, biting her lip.

''What should we do about Connor?'' she asked. ''I don't want more people to become his victims.''

''I'm not sure,'' Springtrap replied. ''However, I'd like to know what kind of animatronics he's building and why. They looked like the Freddy and his friends, but had a different design and purpose.''

''We won't know what he plans to do with them until he finishes them,'' Sam muttered, her arms crossed. She sighed. ''I guess that the only thing we can do is to wait.''

She then walked back to the main area, looking rather crestfallen. Springtrap observed her as she left, feeling downhearted. He brought her here to cheer her up, but pretty much failed at it. He figured that he should do at least something to comfort her.

However, just as he started to walk over to her, sudden static appeared in front of his eyes. He tried to shake it off, and it did vanish, but he noticed something moving at the end of the hallway.

''Sam?'' he called out, going towards where he saw the shadow. ''Sam?''

There was no response. He frowned, knowing that he had to keep calm. If he was hallucinating again, he had to make sure that he stays lucid instead of giving in, as he'd lose himself.

''Sam!''

He wasn't sure whether Sam could hear him, but he hoped that he could at least warn her that something was wrong. As he entered the main area, he noticed that no one was there. He leaned against the wall, figuring it would be better if he stayed at one place.

''What is it now?'' he muttered, his eyes glowing purple.

''You said that we should follow you…''

Springtrap looked around, searching for the person who was talking to him. He knew that it was the entity, or rather, the child who had talked him and caused him to hallucinate before.

''I know,'' Springtrap replied. ''I regret what I did.''

''It's too late to apologize!'' the kid hissed, then continued in a more pleasant tone. ''Maybe you could follow us.''

Springtrap stared in horror as small shadow-like figures formed in front of him. First, there were two, then another one, then two more. They were all children, but unlike what he had seen before. They were shadows, with only features that were visible being their red glowing eyes and white stripes on their cheeks.

''FoLlOw Us!''The children whispered in a commanding tone, their voices ethereal.

''No…'' Springtrap whispered, shaking as the shadow children reached for him. He was afraid of what would happen if they touched him. His response only aggravated them, and he could hear a mix of screams of anger and cries of agony. He could hear their whispers of desire for revenge. He closed his eyes, refusing to look at them.

Please, stop!

''What are you doing?!''

He opened his eyes, only to see Sam staring at him, looking horrified. Springtrap noticed the shadow children turning towards her, realizing that Sam could actually see them.

But, this is a hallucination,… isn't it?

Sam stepped back at first when she saw the shadow children staring at her, looking hesitant, but then frowned and walked over to them, her fists clenched.

''Get away from him!'' she yelled at them, despite looking quite unnerved about the children's presence. However, instead of stopping, she continued walking towards them. Suddenly, there was a sound of wind blowing and the shadow children vanished, flickering out of existence like a candle's flame. Sam and Springtrap exchanged glances, completely freaked out. ''What the hell was that? Are you okay?''

''I just wanted to ask you the same thing. You saw them too, didn't you?'' Springtrap replied, appreciating her concern. Sam nodded.

''That was one of those hallucinations you tend to experience, right?'' she asked.

''It seems so, but I didn't expect you to see the same,'' Springtrap replied. ''No offense, but, I am glad that you did see them.''

''It's fine. I'd also would want to someone to be with me if I had to deal with this,'' Sam said.

Springtrap nodded, looking back at the room, feeling tense, despite the fact that everything seemed to be normal. He sighed, having a feeling that this hallucination wasn't over yet. He sat down, with Sam sitting right next to him, looking worried. He glanced at her. ''Do you want to leave?''

''No… Not yet,'' Sam muttered, taking a deep breath in order to calm down. She just now realized that her heart was still racing and she felt as if the image of the shadow children was burned into her mind. ''Those children… were they real?''

''I don't think so,'' Springtrap replied. ''It was just a hallucination, but I don't understand how it was possible for you too see it.''

''Will, maybe those hallucinations aren't really hallucinations,'' Sam said, with Springtrap giving her a questioning look. ''What I wanted to say is that they might not be a product of your mind, but actually real. However, they were only visible to you.''

''At least until this point,'' Springtrap added, then frowned as he thought back to his other hallucinations. ''Some of those hallucinations were memories, but some I couldn't explain, like the fact that I basically held a full conversation with Henry, or at least a person I believed to be Henry.''

''Maybe it was really him,'' Sam said. Springtrap shrugged, not really knowing what to believe anymore. Sam gave him a concerned look. ''Will?''

''I'm-'' Just as he wanted to assure Sam that he'd be fine, he noticed her expression. He sighed. ''I don't know. This is getting a little overwhelming.''

''Considering that you just suffered from another terrifying hallucination, I'd be surprised if you didn't feel like this,'' Sam said. ''Not to mention, there's also the mental breakdown you went through today.''

''I feel like I could've handled it better,'' Springtrap said, a little frustrated. ''I shouldn't be experiencing those mental breakdowns.''

''William, in my opinion, you're handling it much better than you think. Don't be so hard on yourself,'' Sam said in a comforting tone. ''Besides, the kind of emotional and mental scarring you had experienced won't go away so easily. Rest assured, you have my support, so if there's anything troubling you, you can tell me and we can talk about it.''

''Honestly, I don't know what I did to deserve you,'' Springtrap said.

''You don't deserve her at all!''

Both Springtrap and Sam instantly jumped on their feet the moment they heard the kid talking to them.

''This is not up to you to decide!'' Sam replied, stepping forward.

''Why shouldn't it be? We have every right to do what we want, now that we are free,'' the kid replied.

''Only because you are free doesn't mean you can abuse your freedom,'' Sam replied.

''We are not abusing it! We are doing what's right!'' the kid yelled at her. ''Why don't you understand?!''

''I understand, but I don't approve of your methods,'' Sam told them.

''No, you don't understand!'' the kid insisted, then added in a dark tone. ''I guess I need to make you understand.''

''What?'' Sam frowned.

''You need to know what you got yourself into.''

Sam turned to Springtrap, who suddenly clutched his head, crouching. He looked like he was in agony. She was standing, frozen on the spot, wanting to help him, but also knowing that it wouldn't be a smart move to approach him like this.

''Springtrap?'' She slowly stepped back, feeling that, whatever that entity had done, had affected Springtrap severely. ''William?''

Suddenly, the flashlight on the table flickered and turned off. The temperature dropped, with Sam feeling cold. She shivered, taking another step back while still keeping an eye on Springtrap. She could see his eyes flaring purple, a clear sign that something was wrong. She felt unnerved, even afraid for a moment. What's going on?

Suddenly, there were steps. Sam could hear heavy steps, as if someone was approaching her, but she couldn't see who it was. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw tall shadows walking around, taking a more material shape, just like the shadow children. However, these were not children… or were they?

Sam's eyes widened as one of the shadows she saw took the shape of Freddy Fazbear, although this one was completely black, with only his red eyes being visible. Freddy stood in the middle of the room, slowly turning his head towards her, tilting his head. Sam gasped, stepping back. Freddy didn't attack her, but instead went towards the hidden room. She flinched when she suddenly heard screeching and banging, as well as the sound of metal smashing, as if someone attacked the animatronic. Then, everything went quiet. Sam looked around, only to see the shadows with the appearances of Bonnie, Chica and Foxy following Freddy. Each of them met the same fate.

Sam knew well that the entity probably wanted to show her the animatronics demise, when William lured them into the back room and dismantled them. Still, she didn't understand why this was shown to her. Would she see the spirits of the children chasing William into the Springtrap suit as well?

''William…''

Suddenly realizing that something was wrong, Sam turned to where Springtrap was, only to realize that the had vanished.

''William?'' Sam called out, albeit reluctantly. Not only was her friend gone, but the last time she saw him, he was in a quite bad state. She feared that he would lose himself again and that he might lash out at her again, which was something he was afraid of, even more than she was. She knew that, if he hurt her even accidentally, it would shatter whatever confidence he managed to build up, and she didn't want to lose him again.

''William?'' she called out, this time a little louder. She knew she had to find him as soon as possible, but at the same time, she was aware that she was in danger due to how unpredictable Springtrap could be. She knew that she should get out of this place, but she couldn't leave Springtrap alone. Where is he?

She froze when someone suddenly grabbed her from the back, as if hugging her. Sam felt something cold being pressed against her chest, noticing the kitchen knife, with the sharp blade facing upwards, ready to slice her neck. Sam didn't dare to move. She clenched her fists, waiting for Springtrap's next move.

''I am glad that you came here,'' Springtrap said in a disturbingly pleased tone. ''I was getting a little lonely.''

''What do you mean?'' Sam asked, feeling tense. She tried not to look down at the knife.

''You could stay with me and the others,'' Springtrap whispered. ''We could be one big happy family.''

Sam took a deep breath, trying to figure out her next move. She realized that she should resign herself to her fate.

''Okay, then. If you feel so lonely, I'll be fine with being a part of your family,'' she said. She felt the grip on her shoulder weakening and noticed the blade lowering. She then grabbed his wrist, the hand that was holding the knife. Surprised?

''Sam…''

The knife fell down, with Springtrap stepping back, letting her go. Sam turned around, noticing Springtrap on his knees, clutching his head. He looked like he was quite in pain, as if he was being torn inside. Sam crouched, looking at him, worried about what was going on with him.

''Please, wake up,'' she pleaded. Springtrap's eyes were flaring purple, although there was also a hint of red in it. However, the red hue faded, with the purple glow in his eyes dimming. He gave her a confused and horrified look.

''What happened?'' he asked. He was stunned when Sam suddenly hugged him. He hugged her back, not understanding her reaction. However, he then noticed the knife lying on the floor. His eyes widened in terror, with him wondering what had happened. ''Sam…''

''It's fine,'' Sam replied, sounding rather relieved, which confused him. ''You didn't hurt me or anything like that. Just, please calm down.''

Springtrap didn't understand the situation, but wondered whether he even wanted to know what had happened. Something told him that Sam was downplaying the situation, but he was afraid of what she would tell him. He tried to calm down first, as he knew that panicking wouldn't help his case.

''Do you even know how you got hold of that knife?'' Sam asked, with Springtrap glancing back at the knife. He shook his head.

''No, I don't. All I know is that I was remembering something… and in the next moment, I'm here,'' he explained.

''What was that memory about?'' Sam asked.

''That…'' Springtrap lowered his head as he thought about it. Sam wondered why he was so hesitant to talk about it. ''It was what I did to them…''

Sam felt chills going down her spine and she suddenly had the urge to get away from Springtrap, but quickly shook it off. However, her reaction didn't go unnoticed. Springtrap felt sick, getting up and stepping away from her, as he knew that Sam wouldn't do the same because she didn't want to hurt his feelings. He felt heartbroken when he saw how hurt Sam was, realizing that stepping away from her was a bad decision.

''Sam, I'm sorry…'' He was surprised to see Sam shake her head, stepping towards him.

''I just want to know what exactly happened,'' she said. ''I don't mean the Missing Children Incident, as you had already told me about it, but what you had experienced just now. You said that you were remembering something, but you were unaware of your surroundings, right?''

''Yes,'' Springtrap said in a quiet tone.

''I think that what happened was that you were living out a memory,'' Sam said, with Springtrap looking disturbed. ''You essentially lost any sense of reality for a few moments.''

''What did I do?'' Springtrap asked.

''You wanted to make me a part of your family,'' Sam said, glancing at the knife on the floor. She saw the look of horror on Springtrap's expression. ''I agreed.''

''Why would you agree to something like that?'' Springtrap asked her.

''I figured that you wouldn't hurt me even if you did threaten me,'' Sam admitted.

''You trust me too much,'' Springtrap muttered, with Sam shrugging, a half-smile forming on her expression. He sighed. ''Honestly, it was both a memory and reality. I saw shadow-like figures whom I assumed to be people. One of those figures, which looked like a small child, led me to you, and I just knew you were… well, you were supposed to be my next victim. However, after your response, I realized that I simply couldn't do it.''

''So, you remember our conversation?'' Sam asked, with Springtrap nodding quietly. ''To be honest, I'm glad that you do.''

''Okay…'' Springtrap nodded, still a little shook.

''Hey.'' He looked up, seeing Sam smiling. ''Everything is fine. Don't worry, I don't hate you for this.''

''I know,'' Springtrap said, sighing. ''After all, you told me that it's quite hard for you to hate me.''

''Even after he had almost hurt you?''

Sam frowned, turning towards where she heard the voice.

''No one has asked for your opinion,'' she said, with Springtrap noting the irritation in her tone.

''Maybe, but you got scared. You saw what happens when you decide to be his friend.''

Sam took a deep breath, with Springtrap having a bad feeling about this. However, he wasn't afraid that she would lash out at him, but at the kid.

''So, you were responsible for this?'' she asked calmly.

''I was just showing you the truth,'' the entity replied. ''We won't be forgotten. We will make him pay.''

''Really?'' Springtrap shivered when he heard Sam's cold tone. He didn't remember her ever speaking like this, at least not to him. ''So, do you really think I would approve this, supposedly being his next victim?''

''Yeah, you should!''

''No!'' Despite the fact that she didn't yell at him, Springtrap took a step away from Sam. In his opinion, Sam could be just as scary as Emma if she wanted. ''Rest assured, your antics are not earning you any sympathy from me, so if you don't want me to start hate you, knock it off already! Leave William and me alone!''

There was brief moment of silence, with Sam noticing that the temperature dropped again. However, her stern expression didn't change.

''You!'' Springtrap flinched, realizing that the entity was talking to him. ''Stop messing with her mind! She doesn't deserve this!''

Springtrap glanced at Sam, looking completely confused. She gave him a sympathetic look.

''I won't let you get away with this.''

After this ominous warning, Sam could feel the temperature slowly returning back to normal. She glanced at the floor and noticed that the knife was gone. Figuring that the kid had left, she sighed in relief.

''Okay, this was…'' Springtrap muttered. ''I don't know what to say.''

''Sometimes it's best to not say anything,'' Sam said, glancing at him. ''Besides, silence can never be misquoted.''

Springtrap snorted, with Sam grinning. However, the expression of amusement faded and Springtrap looked troubled, with Sam feeling worried about him.

''You know, they're right about it…'' Springtrap noticed that Sam wanted to protest and shook his head. ''I'd be lying if I said that I didn't deserve the torture.'' He then gave her a mischievous look. ''Also, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy seeing you lash out at them.''

''Hey, they had it coming. I mean, it's not like we asked to deal with this mess. We just wanted to enjoy a calm night,'' Sam said, then frowned. ''Not to mention, there's still Ricky's.''

''True,'' Springtrap muttered, noticing the tired look on Sam's expression. He wished that there was a way to not let her have to deal with this.

xXx

''So, that's it…'' Connor stared at the articles he read on his phone. He was a little disappointed that there were no details about the murders at Freddy's or about the killer. Hell, there was nothing about the animatronics either, except for one coming from around the time the '93 location had closed, describing the mucus and blood coming out of the animatronics.

However, he didn't really have time to think much about it as he focused on Ricky and the Misfits, who were roaming around the restaurant. He was sitting in the main area, observing them. So far, they would follow his orders, even more specific ones, like lifting an object. However, while he was satisfied with the result, he knew that the program was still in development. He had a better use for it than just letting the animatronics follow his orders.

Still, that didn't prevent him from having some fun, as he had sent Max behind the bar to get him a soda as he was reading the articles. It was quite simple, as the cat animatronic would take the bottle of soda that Connor had already placed there and bring it back to him. Currently, he was taking a sip of the soda, thinking about his next step.

He noticed Ricky coming towards him, despite the fact that he had ordered him to go to the arcades.

''Ricky, stop!'' he said in a stern tone. The animatronic stopped for a brief moment, twitching, but then resumed. ''I said, stop!''

This time, the animatronic didn't stop. Connor jumped on his feet and quickly went towards the room behind the stage, observing Ricky as the wolf animatronic went after him. Something was wrong.

''Dahlia, go to the kitchen,'' he said, watching the swan animatronic turn towards the stage. She was twitching, but remained on her spot. ''Damn it!''

Connor realized that the program was flawed. It seemed that the animatronics had glitched out, refusing to follow the code he put into. He groaned, knowing that it would take some time to perfect it. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat down, wondering what he should do next.

''Those animatronics are impressive, aren't they?''

''I guess they are.''

''Say, have you heard about Freddy's?''

''Thank you for letting me know, Bran,'' Connor muttered as he remembered the conversation with his old partner. Until then, he never knew what happened at the restaurant, although he did hear some of the more twisted rumors. He was grateful that his friend told him about it, even if the former wasn't aware of what was going through Connor's mind at that time. ''It was quite insightful.''

xXx

Sam had her head leaned against the table, her eyes closed. Springtrap figured that she was quite tired and wondered whether he should let her get a few minutes of rest, or just wake her up now and convince her to go home. He decided to leave her be, at least for now.

He went towards the employee area, taking a brief look at each room, roaming aimlessly through the restaurant. He didn't know what he was searching for, but he just wanted to take another look at the place. However, his mind kept coming back to the hidden room.

I was an idiot.

Sometimes, he just felt that a different person made the choices for him, especially now that he was looking back on what he had done before his final death. He could still hear the echo of his own mad laughter as he stood up, facing the spirits of the children. Only a second later, there was a snap, with metal pieces and wires piercing his skin, cutting through his organs and leaving him in a pool of blood. Springtrap sighed, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall as he tried to gather his thoughts.

This is going to haunt me forever, but I brought it on myself, didn't I? I wanted this to happen.

His opened his eyes, his eyes glowing in a soft purple as he remembered everything that he was told, everything that he had done. He knew that, even though he seemed to have changed in a way from his old self, he was still the same man as he was before his death. He still refused to back down, to give up and finally accept his fate. However, there was one key difference, something that had torn him inside for quite a while.

Springtrap peeked into the main area, noticing that Sam was still asleep. He walked over to her crouching next to her. She looked quite peaceful, despite the stressful events. Sometimes, he was amazed by her resolution to stand her ground and speak her mind, all because she wanted a friend she could trust and because of her desire to help him, regardless of what people told her. The glow in Springtrap's eyes grew stronger.

There is a reason why I keep coming back, and now I have a reason to stay.

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#Five Nights at Freddy's: The Untold Story (Masterlist)

#Five Nights at Freddy's: The Untold Story #Five Nights at Freddy's: Salvaged #william afton #springtrap #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf ghost children

[callmearcturus]

Spooky Jake Autumn is coming

So I have decided to make a list of fics I think will help people get into the Mood of the season. I'm already seeing some exciting stuff, and I am here to hype the shit out of this.

THESE ARE IN NO ORDER, just the order I remember them in!

Bacchanalian Hangovers, by @thedoublepp

Jake English, dizzy and downtrodden, follows a god into the wildwood.

My dear pal Paya wrote this one and its Jake getting caught up with a god of gold and revelry, and is drenched in the same vibes of Paya's art. Excellent.

the "adoring, adorned" series, by someone who now prefers to be anonymous

this is an OLD CLASSIC that is heavy with dark, treacle-sweet emotions and physicality. it's not explicitly spooky, but to me i9t's a very good touchstone for just what you can do with bodies and deified emotions.

the weary and the wild, by @mimsiical

"I wanted the ideal animal to hunt," explained the general. "So I said, 'What are the attributes of an ideal quarry?' And the answer was, of course, 'It must have courage, cunning, and, above all, it must be able to reason."' "But no animal can reason," objected Rainsford. "My dear fellow," said the general, "there is one that can." OR: Dirk hides. Jake seeks.

The one in which Jake and Dirk do a roleplay scene in which Jake hunts Dirk across the island. The effect of the close POV use in this story is EXTREMELY effective, and gave me secondhand adrenaline rush.

everybody on your knees and testify, by MULTIPLE PEOPLE (including me, full disclosure)

[Divinity Studies: XXX Core] (69 units across multiple courses) The course sequence examines the impact and influence of dormant sex deities on modern day college life, with emphasis on the rise and growth of divine worship. It will also cover individual arousal responses as well as the increase in group orgiastic interactions. Assignments include group projects, workshops, and individual study. [Restricted to students with no gag reflexes.]

The one where Jake is the god of sex and Dirk accidentally wakes him up due to being that good at giving head. A lot of weird magic stuff and everyone having a blast adding in more kinks. Lighthearted and weird.

green eyes, spread thighs, by saccharomyces_cerevisibae

Dirk goes home with a hot demon and things get… interesting pretty fast.

lmao i love this one. it's so much fun. Jake is a demon with some cool-ass hypno eyes and he's going to get some use out of the pretty thing he picked up at the bar.

cambion, by treeprince

It's your final year of college. Again. But at least this time you're doing something you love. It's also killing you slowly and eating all your time. You need to unwind. Good thing your friends look out for you. Or, "suck one (1) dick, gain a boyfriend slash roommate that wastes your money on overpriced exotic food ingredients and your bandwidth on Netflix while you're away."

another fun one and one I have on good authority will be finished for Spooky Jake Autumn /fingers crossed. Jake as an incubus is always a ton of fun.

Take a Gulp and Take A Breath, by Stormbourne

Dirk Strider, bodyguard of the heiress to the marine empire, desperately needs help from a sea witch.

I LOVE THE ATMOSPHERE OF THIS ONE. It's a good lengthy one shot but I woulda read 70k of this AU.

Not A Hunter's Moon, shamepillow

“The full moon is tomorrow,” you tell him. His eyes widen slightly, and then watch you with a new kind of intensity. “A strong moon, so I gather. That is when I will kill you.” (Dirk finds a werewolf dying in the snow, and like the arrogant Hunter he is, he takes him back to his hideout and nurses him back to health, intent on killing him as the next full moon rises. But this moon is different. It's not a moon for hunting, as Dirk soon finds out.)

LISTEN TO ME. I do not like werewolves. And even I enjoyed this one. The Bloodborne vibes are strong and v good.

and of course, this list would be incomplete without:

BONES OF BLACK MARROW, by oxfordroulette

Dirk summons a demon for the exclusive purpose of 'cathartic boning.' He gets what he wants.

The one. The only. I feel like a lot of us quietly were trying to figure out how to do Spooky Jake, and then BOBM showed up and turned the world upside down. This is THE fic. Erotic horror, poetry, ergodic nonsense, and through all the interface plays and coding tricks, some honest to fucking god true and deep pathos like an arrow through the heart. If you somehow don't know BOBM, rectify that. Also consider reading it for Halloween, tbh.

(also I was told I should put my own pump your veins with gushing gold on this list but one, that seems gauche, and two, I think we float before the sea at dusk is MUCH more spooky. do with that as you will.)

#spooky jake autumn #i think bc this post has in line links it won't show up in main tags #weh #jake english #dirkjake #whomstve