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#sheriff nick goode
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911 What's your Emergency? (Nick Goode x Fem!reader)
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Synopsis: Nick sets his trap, although there are a few things he didn't account for.
Warnings: Slowish burn because I am impatient. Smut later, Dark!nick, abuse of power, mention of devil worship, typical cannon violence, mentions of blood.
A/N: I have fallen back into the beautiful dark hole that is this man. Also, I am a bit of a slut for red flag FICTIONAL men. I also have not edited this story so forgive me for some mistakes. I am a little rusty
Part One || Part Two
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Y/n couldn't get Nick out of her mind. It was becoming extremely distracting. She was having trouble at the moment focusing on the papers on her desk at him, threading her fingers through her hair, attempting to figure out how the hell she was going to finish her work. Grumbling Y/n gets up wandering though her apartment to the kitchen, the sizeable german shepherd who had been sleeping on the couch perked up when the wine bottle clinked against her glass.
"Sorry, bubba, this isn't for you" The teacher calls, a soft grunt is all she gets in response. The woman turns back to the glass and takes a large gulp. Releasing a sigh her eyes fall shut for just a moment, that moment however was abruptly ended by the sound of scratching on the door.
Y/n's eyes open assuming it was her pup needing to go for a walk. That was until her eyes landed on the dog who was currently staring off down the hall toward the door. The hair on the back of his neck jumping up, a low growl leaving his throat.
"Murphy...stop I am sure it-" A loud bang cuts her off and she jumps. The normally docile companion starts to bark aggressively rushing down the hall causing Y/n to panic worried for his safety and starts running after him only to be met with a large man holding a knife standing silently in her doorway.
It feels like time slows for a moment, her mind registering that there was in fact an intruder, this wasn't nothing and that man was going to hurt her dog. So of course, y/n does the only rational thing that came to mind. Grabbing the closet thing which happened to be a decorative bowl and throw it at his head, hoping it disarmed him enough that she grabs Murphy's collar yanking him away to the bedroom. Locking the door and frantically dialed 911.
"911 what's your emergency?" A male voice fills her ears as she hides in the closet.
"Someone just broke into my house!" Y/n frantically whispers "H-he has a knife oh my god I can hear him coming"
"What is your address," The dispatcher asks quickly trying to act fast.
"782 Pembrooke Ave, Sunnyvale" She whimpers and lets out a small squeak when the man starts banging on her door.
"I'm Sorry did you say...Sunnyvale?" The dispatcher sounded confused like he didn't believe what he was hearing.
"Yes, asshole Sunnyvale! Please Hurry he's trying to get into my room" The teacher was starting to experience a panic attack her chest heaving with the effort.
"Ma'am making prank calls is against the law are you aware of that fact?" The dispatcher says back in an annoyed tone.
"What...what the hell are you talking about of course I know that! There is a man with a KNIFE and...OH GOD" she screams when the door is busted down and Murphy starts growling and barking again as the closet is ripped open and someone grabs her ankle. A scream erupts from her lips as her assailant yanks her from the hiding spot.
It dawned on the woman that there was no one coming to help. Attempting to fight back the best she could noticing the man was wearing a white mask that looked cracked on the side. There was something familiar about the man but she couldn't put her finger on it, just as the man was about to lower the knife a gunshot rang through her apartment. Suddenly her face was covered in a warm liquid the man fell to the ground.
It took a moment for the woman to understand what had transpired her body shaking when two arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her into a warm body. Sobs wracked through her body once it all sets in that this stranger was going to kill her and someone stopped it.
Looking up through her wet lashes she finds her savior to be none other than Sherif Nick Goode, utterly unsure about her feelings all she knew was that his cologne brought a sense of comfort and safety his warm voice reaching her ears.
"It's alright...you're safe now, I've got you...he won't hurt you" Nick coos at the shaking woman in his arms smirking a bit at how perfectly this was turning out to be.
"I-I didnt think you would come, t-the person on the phone...they...they said I was going to get charged" The young teacher cries harder and hides her face against his neck, Murphy was still growling more pointedly at Nick. The sound was aggravating the Sheriff but he had to take it one step at a time.
"There is no need to worry not, I have you, no one is very going to hurt you again. I'll protect you" He sounded so sure, it sent a warm feeling through her body. "Come on we will get you out of here"
Nick pulls her up into his arms as a few more members of his squad arrive. He pushes past them out to his own cruiser gently laying Y/n into the back seat her dog following and staring at Nick suspiciously before curling at her feet.
"Sir...I can't believe something like this happened here...in Sunnyvale. Should we arm the community?" A deputy asks and Nick shakes his head.
"No that won't be an issue. This was an isolated event. I'll take care of the victim and her statement you go deal with this mess" He gestures before starting up his car.
Nick takes a deep breath and glances through his rearview mirror taking in the frightened young teacher. She looked so small and dainty in her position curled against the window. It was wrong of him to be so aroused by her current state but it couldn't be helped. He was on his way to making her his and this was a perfect first step. Making her be dependent on him after saving her life.
Perhaps this was going to be easier than originally expected.
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muscle-gay-ghost · 2 years
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I'm still upset that Solomon Goode and Sheriff Goode with the pretty eyes and pretty hair and pretty face and pretty everything had turned out to be the actual witch of the story.
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whether you come as a lover or an executioner, i am ready to receive you 🩸 nick & ziggy | the carnivorous lamb by agustín gómez arcos
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meduseld · 2 years
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Did Nick ever think he be able to get over Ziggy and move on?
This is such an interesting ask because I first read it as would Nick ever be able and almost kneejerk just replied "No" and posted but then I read the actual words.
And it's far more interesting, because you're asking whether Nick himself ever believed it, which is a different thing all together. Nick is a strange mix of aware and in denial of his circumstances and his role in them. He is right that to some degree he's helpless in the face of the Pact as he was born indentured to Satan, but he also had more agency and decision making in there than he wishes to acknowledge. He wants to, in a way, have his cake and eat it too, as he resents his position but wants all the wealth and privelege that comes with it.
So while he was aware his attachment to Ziggy was intense, I do think at first he thought it was something he could handle/deal with. But the thing is, the more he tried to keep it that way, the more the fixation deepened and became entrenched and she went from Drema Girl to Only Girl In The World to Nick. Because as he grew and grew more isolated with the Pact and his secret her as a potential partner become more and more of a focus point for his mind. She didn't leave, she didn't die, she was still fierce and resilient despite it all.
And at some point he realized just how in deep with no ladder out of the pool he was. Like a Sim. So yeah, he is kind of aware she's it for him, and that cognizance, even if it's not fully present in his mind, is the reason for him reaching out after the Mall Massacre bc it's the "perfect" time in the sense that the magic is strongest and its a reconnection opportunity and it is what he wishes whether or not he deliberately named Ryan for that outcome or not.
Aw Nicky. You smad man child you.
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nah cause Fear Street did a full 180° from “resident himbo white boy saves the day” to “fuck em white boy, LEZ GO LESBIANNNNN WHOOOOOOOOo”
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itsheartbeat13 · 2 years
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Something I don’t think enough people recognize when it comes to making shows more diverse, there is so much going on behind the scene that you literally can’t “just add them.” 
Alex Hirsch had to wait until the end of Gravity Falls to show that Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland were in love so that way the show didn’t get prematurely cancelled. And even still, that was censored in other countries. 
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The Owl House has a bisexual afro Latina protagonist that falls in love with a white lesbian. They kiss several times on screen and say “my awesome girlfriend.” It also has Disney’s first nonbinary character (Raine Whispers), their bisexual love interest (Eda Clawthorne), and an aro/ace woman (Lilith Clawthorne). However, because like five people said that TOH wasn’t the “Disney brand” the show is prematurely cancelled. So even with everything that TOH did, it only won battle but lost the war. 
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The art crew for Encanto had to fight to make Luisa buff. And when they were finally able to make her buff, Disney didn’t make as much Luisa merchandise because they thought little girls would want Mirabel or Isabela’s since they’re more “feminine.” (I think the same thing happened with Namaari when RATLD came out but I’m not sure. So don’t quote me on that.)
*Also, Luisa out preformed. So that’s a win. 
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Bubblegum and Marceline couldn’t kiss until the series finale of Adventure Time because it would’ve been cancelled. So throughout the entire series, the crew always just had to imply undertones about their past. Since HBO produced Obsidian, they were able to kiss on screen.
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Korra and Asami’s relationship had to tempt down so that way Nick could continue airing the show and they weren’t allowed to kiss until the comics. 
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Turning Red got so much unwarranted criticism because not only did Mei’s mom say “pads” but she showed them on screen. (I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, if that made you uncomfortable, that’s a sign that we need to do this more and not less.)
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Some countries marked She Ra as 18+ because Catra and Adora kissed on screen. (Once again, I’m not sure if this completely true but Nate Stevenson had to fight to actually show them kissing on screen instead of a fade to white.)
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Steven Universe is the gayest show I’ve ever seen in my life which was both good and bad. It was good for obvious reasons. Example being that it was the first show that introduced to me nonbinary people in a way that wasn’t “haha, look, she uses they/them pronouns. She’s so funny and quirky.” 
And it’s bad because it put a target on it’s back. SU has been censored so much that it’s honestly a miracle that we got an ending. And in most of the countries that censored SU, they usually portray Ruby as a man. So I can’t imagine how bad the censors were when the wedding happened and Ruby wore a dress and Sapphire wore a suit. 
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Also, you have to remember the outdated idea that gay/trans topics are “too mature” for kids to handle (there’s an episode of Adam Ruins Everything that talks about this). So it’s easier for shows with an older audience (like Arcane) to have queer/trans rep.
Not to mention, if you ever go on Insider’s website to look at the queer/trans characters in cartoons [here], most of the characters are revealed to be queer only online and not in the actual show.
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All of this BS because God forbid that kids find out that other people exist. 
Representation is important but please, just be aware of the actually struggles that go on that you don’t see and be thankful that this is where we are now because even though it might seem like it at times remember that this is actual progress. We need to keep pushing studios to do more. I’m sure that there’s millions of untold stories that would be made if not for this prejudice. 
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Love or Obsession?
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pairing(s): young!yandere!nick goode x shadysider!reader, platonic!ziggy berman x reader.
summary: after seeing you with tommy, nick’s not sure what he feels for you is love or obsession. but one thing’s for sure, you’re his.
warnings: toxicity, gore, blood, murder(?), manipulation, obsession, yandere, tommy becomes possessed lol, possession, mentions of sacrificing, mature language.
i wasn’t sure if I should add a spoiler warning considering the three movies have been out for some time now so I didn’t add one. sorry! but enjoy. and don’t really worry it doesn’t go by the plot of the movies anyway(mostly).
You were a camper. And he was a counselor. Okay, you weren’t that young. Only two years younger than he was. You wouldn’t deny having a small attraction for Nick Goode, Sheriff Goode’s son and the king of Sunnyvale.
Though he didn’t have a huge ego like you had expected. In fact, he was down to earth and kind, and kind of introverted. You shared similar hobbies. But you were a shadysider and sunnyvalers didn’t particularly get along with Shadysiders.
It was an normal day, well, a normal Sunny day. You definitely liked nature, but was worn out from the hiking and activities.
“Worn out? Tommy teased. “Kind of yeah, you chuckle. He wasn’t that much older than you yet a counselor. You didn’t even plan on becoming one anyway.
Yeah, you liked helping out with children but wanted a better job and focus on studies at the same time. “Hey, it’s fine, he assured you.”some of these kids never run out of energy.”
“I know right? You chuckle. Neither of you noticed that Nick had been glaring daggers right into Tommy’s skull. He was pissed. More so jealous. That you were the one Tommy was interested in. Everyone knew that.
Including him. And he needed to do something about it. He felt something for you, that he knew for sure. But wasn’t sure on what. Love or Obsession? Could it be both.
It had been passed down from family to family. Sacrifices. Possessions. And it was Nick’s turn. He already had a name in mind. At that moment, he decided Tommy would be the perfect candidate for possession. And kill all. Then you wouldn’t be so interested in him now would you?
Shadyside wasn’t a shithole for no reason. And as everyone suspected, it was a curse. Placed by Solomon Goode all those years ago back in 1666.
You suddenly trip, but Tommy caught you before you fell. You laughed. "You're a life saver. I swear." He blushed. "It's no big deal, Y/n."
You smile. "Well, I mean, i think so. You're so sweet. You know, helping everyone." "That's what a counselor does... He smiles, before rushing over to help with the next activity.
You didn't know then, that would be the final time you would see Tommy before hell broke loose. You grew tired so eventually you fell asleep quite early. Normally, You were up and ready.
When suddenly, You hear screams. You leave your cabin quick. "Y/N! Ziggy yells. "Ziggy! What's happening? You exclaim. "The witch... she possessed Tommy... Ziggy said.
"No... You frown."Not him. Why him?" Ziggy replies,”I don’t know we just have to go! I don’t want you to die!”
“I won’t, just promise me you won’t, and you’ll live, You say, standing close by your best friend. “I promise, she replies.
You both ran for your lives. You always believed that witch shit even though you shouldn’t. Because last summer, you found something you shouldn’t.
Back then you were a skeptical of the Sarah Fier Legend. A curse on Shadyside, Really? You knew the town had bad luck but a curse was out of reach.
Then you found a ritual. someone who worshipped satan or whatever had a place to go for that. And look what you found. The names of each shadyside killer carved into rocks no human could’ve done with their bare hands.
And it seemed quite obvious that Sarah fier was behind it. After all, she wanted revenge. But that was before Tommy’s name had been put into it. Which explained why Nurse Lane attacked him.
You didn’t want to admit it but she should’ve. It would’ve prevented a huge massacre. But you adored tommy. Though oblivious to his obvious feelings for you.
You two ran for a while until you screamed,”Tommy!” He was right in front of you and was about to strike but turned his attention to Ziggy.
“No! You yell and as he was about to you move her out of the way, both of you unharmed. “Y/N, you could’ve died! I can’t lose you! She said.
“Look, we’re both okay? And it was odd, he didn’t even… try to kill me, You say. “I know, maybe his feelings for you were why, ziggy blurted.
“What? You say. “Oh, She said. "You didn’t know? It was so obvious he was in love with you.” “I thought he was into Cindy… You say. “No, she’s into Alice and everyone also knows that, Ziggy said.
"Whatever, we need to hide! He killed Jeremy, Jesse, Stacey and More kids! You yell, sobbing but tried not to. Ziggy nods. You grew up with her, if you lost her, you wouldn't know how to live.
You run with her, her hand in yours, you didn't want to let go. "Hey look! I found somewhere we could hide... Ziggy begins."Fuck, Cindy! Where is she?"
"Where did you see her last? You asked. "I-I don’t remember, we just should find her, Ziggy said. "Also, I locked Sheila in the bathroom." "Good one, You said. "But she could be killed. Plus, I heard something about Cindy and Alice going somewhere involving Sarah Fier."
"Okay, come on! Ziggy said, you run to the bathroom but now you were growing exhausted. "Sheila? You say. "Fucking Shadysider Bitch! Sheila replied. "Did you lock me in here?"
"Y/n didn't, I did... But come on, Ziggy entering the bathroom before Sheila began attacking her. You pulled her off of Ziggy. ”Calm down. there’s a killer and you have to leave or-“
“Of course it’s always a shadysider huh? Sheila said. "I mean, you’re the reason this shit is happening.” “Shut the fuck up, you don’t know what’s going on first of all, You say, laced with venom in your voice. "Second, I think we can all agree none of us want to die so-“
“Hello! Cindy said, and you could hear her voice. "Can anybody hear us?” Ziggy realized like you that it was Cindy and follows the voice. Only to see them under the bathroom.
“What are you guys doing there? You say. “Oh thank fucking god, Alice said. “It’s a long story but… can you help us out? Cindy said.
“Yeah of course, You reply. Ziggy come help me.” “No hesitation, Ziggy said, relief that her sister was okay. You help them up. Apparently Tommy was possessed first there. He killed Alice's stoner friend, Arnie.
"Wow, You said, hearing everything. "I mean, i knew of the whole ritual stuff. But-" "You knew he would be possessed? Ziggy asked. You shook your head."No, But i knew then this witch shit was real."
"Oh."
"In order to stop this, we need to reunite her hand with her body, Cindy said. You nodded. You noticed how she held onto Alice's hand. You hadn't seen Nick, Will, Joan or Kurt in a while. Which made you wonder if they were murdered too.
Nick was acting kind of lately, you didn't know why. But either way, you had to find out. "Well, where is her body? I don't think she had been buried anywhere near here, You point out.
"Y/n's right, Ziggy agreed. "Look, she is, Alice said, moving the book in front of you. You read and looked it over. "Holy shit she is, You exclaimed.
"Fuck, Ziggy said. "Which is why we could bury her hand with her body, we know where her hand is too, Cindy explained. You nodded. "Then what are we waiting for? We could end this curse now."
"Okay, Cindy said. "Come on." Sarah Fier's hand was in the front on fhe table. It soon made sense why she had been buried under the tree where she had been hung. But when you accidentally touched her skeletal hand, you saw everything. You wiped your bloody nose. "I saw the witch. She was pissed. So we we should hurry up."
You grabbed any weapons you could. Even if you didn't know if you could kill or hurt anybody. But before Alice could even kill, Tommy killed her. Cindy angrily lunged at him, and so did you.
Your eyes were filled with tears but you didn't let them fall. "Alice, don't die on us, You said softly. "Please." However, she took her last breath and became another victim. But everyone couldn't mourn for long.
Everyone heard someone singing. "Ruby Lane, You said. "Come on, we have to go." Cindy was naturally reluctant but agreed. Somehow, you got lost from Cindy and Ziggy, who you figured were digging.
As you walked, hoping you could find your way back, you bumped into Nick. "Nick! You're okay! You said, sighing of relief. "Y/N, where were you.. He said, his voice filled with concern. "I... think we could end this curse, You said."
"Y/n, come on, this witch stuff isn't real, he just went crazy, Nick said. "No, Nick, I saw her, She's pissed, I saw the fucking witch! You exclaim. Tommy, the sweet guy you knew, didn't just go crazy. Neither did Nurse Lane. She was right. Of course she had been.
"Hey, this will all be over, Nick assures you, suddenly hugging you, pulling you close while you cried on his shoulder, not seeing the smirk on his face.
Everything was going according to plan.
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tropes-and-tales · 6 months
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If You Weren't You, Part Two
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Day 1:  Hate sex (Benny Magalon x F!Reader)
(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 
CW:  Light angst, kinda; smut (PiV, unprotected); 18+ only.
Word Count:  5618
AN:  This is a sequel to this, and it was requested for Kinktober by @thesandbeneathmytoes!)
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The weekend passes uncomfortably for Benny Magalon.
He has the usual bullshit chores to catch up on.  He gets groceries, does his laundry.  He calls home, gets the updates on his family from his mom.  He goes through the pile of mail that accumulated on his table during the week.
Every idle moment, his mind drifts to you.  That moment with you, specifically.  The moment of insanity.
Nighttime is the worst.  He doesn’t fall asleep easily anyway, but Saturday night, Sunday night…it takes longer than usual to drift off.  He keeps replaying that moment.  In the darkness of his room, he swears he can exactly remember the weirdly tender way you touched him—your hand in his hair, the gentle way you kissed him. 
The way he made you laugh—really laugh—when he jokingly accused you of getting turned on by being mean to him.
The curiously hurt look on your face afterwards when he implied that fucking you was some bottom-of-the-barrel situation for him.  It was inexplicable, the hurt in your expression, because Benny hadn’t thought you were capable of feeling hurt.  You were too cool, too dispassionate…or so he thought.
Sunday night stretches out long and uncomfortable.  The minutes tick by slow, and he’s no closer to falling asleep.  In only a few hours he’ll have to get up, get dressed, and face you. 
“Goddammit,” he mutters in the darkness of his room, and he rolls over, punches his pillow into shape, and tries to push you out of his head.
-----
He doesn’t have to face you Monday morning.  Lobbin’ Bob is the one leading the morning debrief, and you are nowhere to be found. 
Benny finds out later that you are with the LAPD, plying your charm to get some case files they have on the suspect on a separate case.  Right now, though, he’s just relieved to not have to see you. 
He and Big Nick go outside after the debrief to head back to Major Crimes.  His boss looks awful—he hits those Friday parties hard and never seems to have enough time to recover.  Nick gestures to Benny to wait a moment, and he leans against his truck, slides a pack of smokes out of his coat pocket.  He lights a cigarette with a grumble, then tosses the pack and lighter to Benny.
They smoke together in silence for a beat.  God only knows what Big Nick is thinking. 
Benny?  He’s thinking he’s dodged a bullet, but that he’ll have to face you soon enough. 
Big Nick takes a deep drag of his cigarette.  “Sorry about Friday night,” he says.  “You drew the short straw.”
Benny flicks the ash off of his own cigarette.  “S’ fine.”
“You missed a good party.”  A beat.  “So how was she?  Lobbin’ Bob’s pet ice queen?”
He shrugs.  He refuses to tell his boss about that moment of madness in the backseat of your SUV, the weirdly tender moment that turned sour as soon as you both put your pants back on. 
“Same as always,” he replies.
Big Nick chuckles, shakes his head.  “You know, I’m all for women in law enforcement.  Equal rights and all that shit.  But I hate it when they get too high on themselves.  The way she marches around, acting like she’s better than everyone…there’s no room for ego in this game.”
Benny bites his tongue, doesn’t point out that Big Nick has the biggest ego of anyone.  How he insists on being the center of attention, the center of any moment.  The Sheriff’s department resident bad boy who get results at the cost of….well, everything.  At the cost of good procedures and policies, at the cost of his family, at the cost of his detectives’ personal lives…
“She needs taken down a notch or two,” Big Nick says.  “Think we should be the ones to do it.”
Benny has witnessed plenty of his boss’s pranks and mean-spirited jokes.  Big Nick plays rough.
He remembers the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair, the soft way you pulled him to you to kiss him.  The startling sound of your laughter.
“Nah, leave it,” he tells Big Nick, but he should know better—Nick does what Nick wants, and tough shit to anyone who doesn’t like it.
*****
You learned how to compartmentalize things when you were just a kid, and the knack for it serves you well in adulthood—in your personal life, but especially in your job.
When you make the terrible decision to fuck Detective Magalon, that decision straddles both your personal and professional life, which makes it harder to shove away in a box and forget it…but you’re a pro at sealing off unhappy moments, sliding them into some cobwebbed corner of your mind, so that’s exactly what you do.
You seal off that moment with Magalon, you push it away, you start to forget it.
Monday:  you spend the better part of the day with LAPD, sifting through evidence tangentially related to your case.
Tuesday:  you testify in an unrelated case, drive up to Sacramento and walk a judge and jury through your investigation from months ago.
Wednesday:  you return to the office and the case at hand.  The LAPD sent over all of their casework while you were in the state capitol, boxes of evidence, so you sigh and settle in for a day of combing through it all.  It’s a proverbial needle in a haystack, but you aren’t alone for long.
An hour into it, you’ve only just ordered the boxes and cracked open the first one.  There’s a knock at the door of your office, and Bob peeks his head in.
“Hey, the Sheriff’s Department sent over one of their detectives to help you sort through the evidence,” he said.  He shook his head, chuckled.  “I tried to tell O’Brien that we didn’t need any help, but he’s afraid of getting iced out.”
You roll your eyes and hope the gesture covers the way your stomach cramps and twists.  You know it’s going to be Magalon.  That shoved-away, boxed-up memory resurfaces—the gentle way he had cradled the top of your head in your SUV, the way he had smiled down at you…then how he had insulted you right after, and how hard that stung.
“It’s fine,” you lie to Bob.
“Good.”  He raps his fist against the doorjamb.  “He’s on his way up.  Play nice, but if you need me, just call.”
“Will do,” you reply, and you have only a handful of minutes to compose yourself:  to pull on a neutral face, to take some steadying breaths, and then Detective Magalon—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Stupid—is in your doorway with an inscrutable expression on his face.
*****
You’re quiet all day.  Through the morning, through lunch and into the afternoon—you say so little.  The sum total of your conversation is you asking him what he wants for lunch, then you calling out to an assistant to place the order.
You eat in silence.  You work in silence.  Benny goes outside to smoke a cigarette, and he finds his hands tremble to light it.  He lingers outside as long as he thinks he can, and he returns to your office slowly, drags his feet.
Your silence is unnerving.  It holds weight and takes up space, like a third entity in the room with the two of you.  Benny’s not used to women being so quiet when they’re pissed at him—and you must be pissed at him.  Women he’s done wrong, they usually yell at him, scream at him, come at him like wildcats.
You just sit there and page through wire-tap records, witness interviews, phone records.  You don’t avoid eye contact with him but you don’t stare him down.  You’re perfectly neutral, exactly down the middle of the line.
His weird guilt and unease shifts back to a more familiar feeling:  irritation.  Lobbin’ Bob’s goddamned pet ice princess.  Fussily perfect, completely boring.  You drink water all day to stay hydrated.  You brush and floss your teeth after lunch.  When you get a headache, you pull open a desk drawer—neatly organized—and shake out a single tablet of ibuprofen that you toss back with a practiced flick of the wrist.
You’re a goddamned robot, not even a real person, and Benny hates that you took up so much space in his head over the weekend.  He hates that he felt a burgeoning guilt over what he had said after your hookup; he hates that he felt nervous to see you again.  He hates that he lost a single moment of sleep over you.
The sun reaches its apex and starts its slide into the west.  The quiet murmur of office noise dies off on the other side of your door.  Benny’s concentration wanes too; the numbers on the phone logs he’s combing start to blur together.  His thoughts drift off to other things.  He starts to fiddle with his phone, restlessly scrolling through his email, his texts, the handful of bare-bones social media he has.
You glance up at him from your pile of paperwork when his phone chimes—a text from Big Nick—and Benny feels your eyes on him.  When he looks up from replying to Nick, he catches your studious look, your arched brow.
But you say nothing, so when you bend your head back to the task at hand, he goes ahead and breaks the onerous silence with a terse, “we gonna be much longer?”
“Big Nick got a line on some coke and hookers?”
There it is.  Finally.  He pushes a hard exhale through his nose and shakes his head.  “That wasn’t Big Nick.”  He doesn’t add more to the lie; he’s curious if you’ll think it’s a woman.  He’s curious if any glimmer of jealousy will cross your features.
He’s disappointed a beat later.  Instead of feeling jealous, you seem to see through his ruse but you play along.  Your lips twitch into a ghost of a smile. 
“Oh, a hot date, then?”  The smile widens, and you lift a hand towards your closed door.  “If you leave now, you won’t lose your deposit on her.”
Another huffed out breath, and his irritation rachets up a degree.  He hates your implications around him paying for women, but he hates even more how close to the mark you’ve hit.  He hasn’t paid for it, not in a long while…but there was a time when he had, back when he was freshly-divorced and smarting from it, licking his wounds at their big seedy parties each weekend. 
“Jealous?” he asks, and he hates how lame it sounds as a comeback, but he pairs it with a stony expression.
You nod, and a fake frown replaces your smile, a pouting moue that would be charming on anyone else but you. 
“I’m devastated,” you reply, dead-pan, but then you sigh and look back down at your paperwork.  “No, go ahead and go.”
He would leave if you’d leave, but you seem like you’re staying.  The sun is almost set now, and your office is darker, but you make no move to box up the remaining evidence.  You seem like you’re hunkering down until the job is done, and that needles at Benny even more.  You’ve always obliquely—and not so obliquely—implied that you are the better cop.  That he and the Major Crimes assholes are reckless tramplers of the law, and that you and Lobbin’ Bob are upstanding examples of law enforcement.
“You coming?” he asks.  He stands up but doesn’t move towards the door.
“No.”
“It’s late.”
You tilt your head but don’t look up at him.  “I’ve worked later than this.”
The implication, Benny hears, is that he’s never worked late before, and he bristles at your tone.  “There’s probably nothing here,” he replies, and he gestures at the boxes of evidence from the LAPD case.  “Leave it.”
You snort, and you finally lift your head.  You stare at him dead-on, no blinking.  “That’s excellent police work, Detective.  ‘There’s probably nothing here.’”  You repeat his words back to him in a startingly good impression of him, his lazy California accent and soft voice, and he bristles even more.
“This stuff was always a long shot,” he argues.
“Long shots pay off all the time.  Some cases are built on long shots.”
“So you’re gonna stay here and finish?”  He glanced over at the boxes you haven’t gotten to yet.  There’s three of them.  You’ll be here all night.  He feels that familiar sting of guilt, and then he feels pissed, like you’re manipulating him into staying longer, even though you’ve been beating him with your silence all day—
“Yup.  I am.”
“Well, I’m leaving.”  He takes a step towards your door but goes no further because that fucking guilt keeps him rooted in place.  The thought of you spending a lonely night with boxes of evidence, and he’s supposed to be your partner in this—
“C’mon, let’s just go,” he adds.  “We can hit it tomorrow fresh.”
“Tomorrow I have to hit something else,” you reply.  There’s tension in your voice, a tightness to your words.  You’re getting irritated with him now.  “And the next day there’s something else.  I have to get through this now or it won’t get done.”
“Shit, there’s nothing—”
“Christ, Magalon!”  You snap, sudden, and it makes him jolt where he stands.  You toss your pen aside and bring your fist down on your desktop like a hammer, and the display of anger makes him take a half step away from you.  You stand up, round around your desk, and you go to your door and yank it open.
“Go.”  You stand in the doorway and point out of it, and you actually fucking snap your fingers as you point, like he’s a recalcitrant dog caught chewing on the furniture.
“Jesus, calm down—”
The words slip out despite knowing that telling any woman to calm down always elicits the opposite reaction:  you actually stamp your foot on the floor, and it’d be cute as shit, how feisty you’re getting out of nowhere, but you’re you, and he’s been ready to leave for hours, exhausted by the boring work and the frustration to be paired with you again.
“Get out,” you tell him.  “I’ll finish it up myself.”
“I only—”
“I don’t need any excuses.  Seriously, Magalon.  Go home.  Go find O’Brien or your band of merry assholes.”
He should leave.  He wants to.  You’re back to being a bitch, a living cold front that leaves him chilled by your silence and your judgement.  He’s completely free to stalk away; he has no obligation to stay and suffer more.  Except…
…except you’ve been calling him by his name all day.  Calling him by his title.  Magalon.  Detective.  You’ve dropped the pretense of calling him the wrong name, the pretense of conflating him with his Major Crimes teammates—the message that they’re all the same, interchangeable, identical in their awfulness.
Does it mean you see him as himself now?  Did he lay you well enough to distinguish himself from the pack and earn that scant bit of respect—razor-thin, admittedly—that you use his last name now?
“Calm down,” he repeats, and this time it’s intentional.  He’s rewarded by more outrage:  you stamp your foot again (it is cute, he decides now, because you’re usually so collected).  You actually go so apoplectic that when you open your mouth to respond, nothing comes out.  You glare at him gape-mouthed, and nothing comes out, so he adds, “shit, you need laid again?  You already missing it after a few days?”
Your eyes go wider, and you huff out a breath so heavily that your nostrils flare at the effort.  “Shut up.”
It’s not a no.  Benny smirks at you, and your eyes narrow into slits at his expression.
“Just go,” you seethe, like you’re pushing the words out between your clenched jaw.  “Seriously, don’t leave whoever waiting.  Your date.  O’Brien.  Whoever.”
“I can spare you five minutes.”
You snort, roll your eyes.  “What’s that come to, four minutes of foreplay and a minute of action?”
This is cute too, he decides.  You talking shit about his game when you know better.  You acting like you don’t know how he is, like you don’t have the first-hand experience of him pretty effortlessly coaxing an orgasm from you—
“Aw, sweetheart.”  His smirk widens, and he reaches out to trace a fingertip down the curve of your face.  “You know that isn’t true.”
You swat away his hand and make a dismissive tsch sort of noise, but you don’t reply.  He lifts his hand again, traces his forefinger across the neckline of your blouse.  He doesn’t touch you, but he’s close, and when you go to swat him away again, he catches your hand in his.  Pulls you towards him, takes you off your balance until you sway closer to him.
“C’mon,” he says.  “Five minutes, then we leave, and hit those few boxes fresh in the morning.”
He sees that you’re tempted.  He sees the way your expression wavers, and he isn’t sure if you’re more tempted by him or the prospect of not spending the night in your office…but either way, he’s snaking his way around the wall you have up, and you’re wavering—
“C’mon.”  He drops his voice to a low rumble right by your ear, and he catches the way your breathing picks up, the rise and fall of your chest quickening.  “I know you’re already wet, sweetheart.  You’ve been mean to me all day.  You must be.”
It makes you laugh, and just like that night in your SUV, it startles him.  It’s such a rare sound, he guesses.  It’s throaty and low but loud, punched-out.  Just like before, he feels a thrill of pride to draw it out of you.  He bets it’s a rarer thing to make you laugh than to make you come, and he’s done both.
“I haven’t been mean to you at all,” you point out.  “I’ve barely talked.”
“Silent treatment can hurt.”
Another eye-roll.  “You complained the other day that I talk too much.  Now it’s not enough.”
A fair point:  he did snap at you that night, right before he kissed you.  He doesn’t want to rehash it at the moment.  His own arousal is awake, powering up, so he lifts his eyebrows at you and says, hopeful, “so?”
“So what?”
“Five minutes, then we go?”
“Fuck off.”  You move past him, out of the doorway and back into your office.  “You just want more ammo for your asshole buddies.  Tell ‘em all about hooking up with the ice princess or whatever.”
Benny shuts the door to your office, but he’s on the wrong side of it.  He takes the few steps to follow you and says, “I didn’t tell them.”
Another one of your bitter tsch sounds.  “Because it’s embarrassing.  Yeah, I know.  You already—”
“It isn’t their business.”  He cuts you off, and if he’s been teasing you before, he’s deadly serious now.  It isn’t their business.  Not Henderson, not Z, not Connors.  Certainly not Big Nick.  He chafes under their closeness sometimes, hates that they work and party together so much that it feels like he has no privacy.  But this thing—a one-time hook-up that maybe is burgeoning into more—belongs to the two of you.  You and Benny.  No one else.  He tells you so, in far fewer words.
You don’t believe him.  You finally turn and watch him, and the expression in your eyes is pure wariness.  Underneath it, though, he swears he sees a glint of something else, something not easily defined—
“Come on,” he says.  He sounds whiny but he doesn’t care.  “You keep scrapping with me, and we could already be fucking.”
It makes you smile.  It blossoms across your face like you can’t help it, and in the moment Benny just thinks got you, sweetheart, but afterwards he’ll think about how your smile, rare as it is, holds no artifice, not a single ounce of guile.  He’ll think, later on, how your smile transforms your entire face from one of a brittle sort of prettiness to something extraordinarily beautiful.
“Fine,” you answer him, and if you weren’t you, it’d be adorable how you act like you’re put out, like you’re doing him a favor.  “Lock the door then, Magalon.”
-----
The interlude in your SUV wasn’t romantic by any stretch, but you try to make this moment even less so.  At least that first time, it started with him kissing you, you kissing him back.  Now, you’re all business, and he stares for a beat as he watches you kick off your shoes, as you start to unbutton your pants.
“Damn, slow down,” he says.
“You have five minutes.”  You push your pants down, give a little shimmy to get them over your hips, over your ass.  You get them off but you shake them out and hang them over your chair, fussy as ever.
Benny closes the gap between you, and he manages to reach down and still your hands before you can get your panties off.  He clasps them and draws them up, presses them to his chest. 
“Slow down,” he repeats.  He says it softer, almost a whisper, and it makes you lift your gaze to find him.
The corner of your mouth quirks into a near-smile.  “Well, now you have four—”
He doesn’t let you finish.  He bends his head and cuts off your smart-ass mouth with a kiss, steals the words from you.  Your lips are just as soft as that night, and when he groans at the feel of them, he feels them curve into a smile.  A beat later, he feels the sharp line of your teeth nipping at him, not very hard, and then the tip of your tongue tracing along his lower lip.
Benny releases your hands.  He wraps one around the back of your neck to hold you to him.  He places the other on your waist, and he pushes his fingers under the hem of your shirt to revel in the feel of your skin—soft, and so warm that you feel almost feverish.
You?  You don’t romance it beyond kissing him, but you’re eager.  He can feel it shimmering off of you like heat on pavement on a summer’s day.  Your hands reach down on him; one fumbles at his belt and the button and fly of his jeans while the other cups him through the denim.  He inhales sharply at your touch, even through the layers of clothing.  He breaks the kiss a moment later when you snake your hand under his jeans and his boxers—the sudden feeling of your warm palm on his cock, coaxing him from half-hard to fully erect.
“Eager.  Knew you missed me,” he gloats.  He tries to catch your eye but you avoid him, shake your head.
“Shut up,” you mumble, and it’s defensive, and it could lead to you stopping this whole encounter and putting that wall up around you again, so he leaves it be and kisses you again.
Benny wonders what it would be like to take his time with you.  This is paltry; it’s a meager mouthful, barely enough to sate any appetite.  When he hoists you onto the edge of your desk and pushes into you—you’re already wet, just as he had guessed, so you must get turned on by scrapping with him—it feels just as amazing as before.  Your pussy is molten, velvety, gripping him like a fist until he grits his teeth so he doesn’t embarrass himself and come too soon…
…yet he wonders how much better it would be to take his time.  To have the luxury of time and space and privacy, to strip you completely naked and see what you really look like.  He’d love to edge you, he thinks.  He’d love to see you stretched out on a bed, back arching away from the mattress as he pushes you to the precipice of your orgasm only to deny you at the last moment.  He’d love to strip away every bit of ego you have, every bit of smugness that sets you higher than him in your own opinion.  He’d love to frustrate you completely in bed, would love to see your eyes leaking tears, that mean mouth of yours begging him so sweetly…
…because even like this, once he gets his cock in you, you turn so nice.  It gentles you, rounds off the sharp bits and edges of you.  Your face goes soft with wonder.  Your eyes go soft when you meet his gaze.  As he fucks you—sharp thrusts, steady pace—you tilt your face up to him, and you look so unlike yourself that he kisses you again.  You sigh into it, hold him tighter where your arms are wrapped around his shoulders to help hold yourself steady at the awkward angle.
Neither of you say much else.  He wraps an arm around your waist as he drives into you, and you mumble when you’re close but he already knows:  as inscrutable as you are, as placid as your face can be when you’re masking yourself around him, your body is an open book.  He feels like he’s tuned in perfectly to whatever wavelength you’re operating on.  He hears the way your breathing picks up, feels how your kisses get sloppier as you sink into the sensation of your approaching orgasm.  He feels how your cunt grips him tighter, how your arousal coats him and makes it easier to bottom out in you.
He tells you he’s close too, and that’s about the sum of your conversation for the rest of the night:  you come a beat later, with a keening whine that sets him off and gives him barely enough time to pull out before he’s painting your belly with his cum. 
You’re both quiet afterwards.  He resists the urge to kiss your forehead before he parts from you.  You might be resisting a similar urge, because you pat him awkwardly on his shoulder in a “way to go, sport” sort of way.  But neither of you say much as you clean up, dress, reassemble yourselves.  You’re both silent as you leave together, likely remembering how quickly shit turned mean the last time you fucked.
“Hit the rest of the evidence tomorrow morning?” he asks, and you meet his gaze and then nod. 
You turn towards where your SUV is parked, but you turn back a beat later, tell him to drive safely. 
*****
The case progresses slowly. 
You and Benny continue…well, whatever it is, you continue it.
It gives you whiplash.  The mean sniping with each other, the insults and barbs you trade.  He still follows the ice princess routine, the prissy, bland, clean-living routine.  He makes wild assumptions about your life—accuses you of loving beige, of being boring, of decorating your home in “live, laugh, love” décor.  His speculations about your sex life—as it exists outside of your hookups with him, that is—make you sound repressed and tedious.  You fuck white-collar men, he claims.  With the lights off.  Missionary.  Through a hole in the sheet.
All of that contrasted against how he’s kinda, sorta nice when you hook up.  He kisses you nicely, helps you clean up afterwards.  You tend to fuck in inconvenient places that test your flexibility, and Magalon is nice about it, considerate to take as much of the discomfort as he can rather than let you twist or strain to make it work.
Tall, Dark, and Stupid.  He is capable of being nice, you guess.  Who would have thought?
Only capable of it, though.  It’s not an innate character trait, you assume.  He’s still a mean asshole, snarky, and sometimes his words hit their target dead on and other times they only glance off of you.  You’re never sure when they’re going to hurt and when they’re going to make you laugh.
Once, you hook up in your office again, quiet because it’s the lunch hour and there’s twenty fellow FBI agents on the other side of your locked office door.  Magalon makes a crude joke afterwards about how you need to take a day off to meet up with your waxer, and your anger at the double standard—this dude who rolls around Los Angeles in a flannel with scruffy facial hair, judging you—washes through you immediately.  You open your mouth to argue because his judgement still stings, still makes you feel small and unworthy, but you catch him holding back a smile.  His stupid dimple gives him away, and he reaches down and smacks your ass lightly before he goes to leave.
“Save that feistiness for next time,” he tells you, and he drops you a wink, and you hate that he knows you will hold onto his comment, that you will likely visit your salon before you see him again.  You hate that he’ll see the results and smirk knowingly. 
You hate that he’ll know he is capable of getting to you.
Another time, he hurries you along.  It’s early evening, and he’s watched the clock all afternoon.  It’s distracting and keeps your orgasm frustratingly out of reach, like you can brush your fingertips against it but not get a firm grip.  You do what you always do, then:  you gasp beside his ear, you bear down.  You fake it.
You think he probably knows, because he peers at you through narrowed eyes right before he comes, and you hate that he’s savvy enough about your body to know the difference between the real thing and faking.
“Got somewhere to be,” he tells you as you clean up.  You hear the rustle of his jeans, the clink of his belt buckle. 
“Well, don’t let me hold you up.”
“Got a date,” he adds, and you catch the sidelong glance he gives you.  No dimples though.  You wonder if it’s true or if he’s riling you up.
“Lucky girl.”  You perch on the edge of your desk and pull your shoes back on.
“You sound jealous.”
“I’m not.”  You aren’t.  You’re relieved to find the thought of Magalon going on a date with someone else doesn’t spark any emotion at all.  You’ve done a lot of dumb things lately—chiefly the detective standing in your office, zipping up his pants—but at least catching feelings for said detective isn’t one of them.
“You sure?”  He peers at you again, and his face is back to its usual stoic stoniness.  Not a hint of smile, and you can’t read whatever is going on behind his dark eyes.
“Be sure to hold the door open for her,” you advise him.  “Women love basic politeness.”
“If you’re jealous…”
“I’m not.  Go.  Have fun.”  You shoo him away.  You sit down at your desk, not wanting to leave with him and go through this jealous-or-not-jealous routine in the parking lot too.  You see him out of the corner of your eye while he lingers in your doorway, and then he’s gone.
You don’t catch the faint hurt, the disappointment on his face when he leaves, like he was hoping you’d be jealous of the thought of him out with another woman, wining and dining her properly instead of just hate-fucking her. 
And he, of course, isn’t there later to see when the jealousy finally does hit you.  It’s just a small feeling; there’s no wild tears or tight chest.  You’re already home and walking your dog when it hits.  You imagine him out with a nameless woman, and you fill in all the features based on where you find yourself lacking:  this nameless woman has smaller, perkier tits, a better ass, a perfectly landscaped pussy.  She oozes warmth and openness.  No one has ever accused her of being an ice princess.  She has a complete, happy family:  parents who are still married and still very much in love, an older sister, a younger brother.  By the time you’re done walking the dog, you have written an entire history for this nameless woman, and the sting of jealousy needles deeper.
“It’s just fucking,” you remind yourself in bed that night, chiding yourself for getting so worked up over nothing.  “It’s just hate sex.”
Still, maybe this is the moment you need to end it.  It’s just a bad idea all around.  Magalon says he’s never told his buddies, but you can’t be sure and you certainly don’t trust him.  Hooking up isn’t against the rules, per se, but you’d hate the judgment that would spring up around the office.  It also distracts you when your attention should be elsewhere; the thought of prior hook-ups, the promise of more.  And now that you know he’s seeing other people outside of this thing you have, you’d have to make him wear a condom anyway.  No sense in putting yourself at risk.
“Easier to just end it,” you mumble as you roll over, tuck your hands under your pillow and try to make yourself comfortable.
Yes, that’s what you’ll do.  You’ll just end it.  Cold-turkey.  No need to make a scene about it.  The next time he reaches for you, you’ll just gently and firmly decline.  You’re not really the sort of woman to go for hate-fucking anyway, so breaking off your thing with Magalon is just you getting back to who you really are. 
A temporary break from sanity, but now you’re returning to who you are.
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mordredisacoolname · 23 days
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FEAR STREET HEADCANONS - DATING THE OPPOSITE "SIDER"
MALE READER
Characters: Tommy, Alice, young Ziggy, Cindy, Kate, young Nick, simon
CW: couple of curse words
(didn't include Deena and Sam cause I'm pretty sure they're lesbians)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Young Ziggy Berman
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-she hates your ass
-she thinks you're posh and annoying
-one day you walk in on her preparing a prank for someone from Sunnyvale
-but you don't tell anyone
-she next day when the prank takes action she sees you trying to to laugh, you make I contact and just burst out laughing
-you came up to her after to tell her how her prank was genius
-"I don't know what you're talking about" she smirks
-"right, of course, but if you happen to see does know what I'm talking about tell her I know a couple of tricks she might like" you say and walk away
-two days later you hear someone knocking at your door at night
-surprise surprise, it's Ziggy
-"I may or may not be doing something for tomorrow" Ziggy walks away for you to follow her
-and you do.
-that night a lot of things changed for you both
Cindy Berman
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-you don't care about this kind of things
-you already been dating for a couple of months
-you don't care what others say, you love that girl
-one day you Ziggy gets in trouble, and Cindy being Cindy tries to argue with her
-so Ziggy spits out how Cindy only started dating you to "fit in" with the Sunnyvales
-you stand there in shock looking disappointed at Cindy
-before she has the chance to speak to you, you walk away
-a few days later you have to work together
-"so, was everything just a lie? Did you just use me?"
-"no! I mean, at first yes, but.."
-"I can't believe it" you were hurt
-"please 'name', just hear me out! I did start dating you because I wanted to fit in, be like everyone else, but I cought feeling for you, I...I love you!"
-it takes time for you to trust her again
-but you come back together eventually
Kate Schmidt
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-you have a kind of friendly rivealry relationship
-every game you meet up and jokingly insult each other
-it just becomes a habit, and you start wandering when you're gonna see her again
-one night you ask her for a quick chat
-away from everyone
-you can't wait anymore, so you just tell her how you feel
-her smile disappears, and she just leaves you standing there
-you think about this all of the game
-how you fucked up, and how you lost Kate
-after the game you feel so devastated
-but Kate runs up to you and drags you to the same spot you took her before
-she kisses you, smiling
-and than she just leaves
-it makes your night
Young nick good
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-he always ignores you
-every time you speak at a game or council he looks at you with raised eyebrows, looks away, and continues to talk
-you actually think he's one of the least annoying Sunnyvales
-but you don't like the way he ignores you
-one day you get in trouble with Joan and her boyfriend
-he breaks it up and leads you away
-"what do you want" you're so annoyed, he probably wants something from you
-"what? Nothing, I just saved you from being thrown out of the camp"
-"and am I supposed to believe a Sunnyvale council just saved a shadyside guy he hates just because of kindness?"
-"wha- I don't hate you"
-"sure thing" you storm out
-the next few days you do everything to avoid him, not wanting to face whatever be has for you
-but it doesn't last for long
-you and Ziggy decides to prank some loser Sunnyvale
-but the thing is someone saw you
-"it was that scumbag, 'name', I saw him yesterday"
-you were fucked, now you're definitely gonna get thrown out
-"no, he was with me the whole night, helped me clean the cafeteria" nick came forward
-of course they believed him, he was the sheriff's son
-so you got of with just detention
-you were cleaning the stable when you saw nick coming up to you
-"I didn't as-"
-"I don't hate you, I hate that I like you" his eyes stared at you intensely
-you couldn't believe your ears
-you just stood there dumbfounded
-"but..I realized" he continued "he doesn't have to know"
-and than he kissed you
Simon kalivoda
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-literally doesn't give two fucks about who you are and who knows what and who thinks what
-her likes you? You like him? That's all you need
-you always meet after school hanging out
-youre not afraid of going into the shadyside part, but you're worried when Simon goes to visit you
-anyway, that boy lives pda
-so if it was a secret you're dating (for your sake) it won't be one for long
Tommy slater
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-he actually doesn't care
-at first he was a little wary yes, but after he got to know you he absolutely doesn't care what side you are
-but he's still unsure about being public
-so you date in secret
-its fun at the beginning, but starts to annoy you later on
-your want to do couple stuff with him like others, not hide your love
-you talked to him a couple times about this
-no your fifth time you threaten to leave him
-because you're really tired of this constant hiding
-always looking over your shoulder so no one sees you
-so after a few days apart he randomly walk up to you and kisses you on the cheek
-after that day he asks you if it was ok, he's not sure you like pda
-defenda you to everyone how talks shot about you
Alice
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-youre kinda enemies at first
-always bickering and insulting each other
-at some point it becomes kinda fun
-its just your thing now
-your end up spending more time together
-not your choice obviously
-you both realize the other is not so bad as you thought
-so you start hanging out out of choice
-you two get very close
-smoking pot together
-talking about random shit
-one night she just kisses you
-youre unseparatable after that
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navybrat817 · 1 year
Text
Put on a Show
Pairing: Nick Fowler x Female Reader, surprise guest Summary: Nick doesn't like to share, but he'll let you put on a show. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), possessive behavior, slight dirty talk, voyeurism, exhibitionism, Nick Fowler (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Third day of my Naughty & Nice Nonsense belongs to Nick Fowler and a surprise guest of @rookthorne's choosing! Inspired by this ask here and as a thank you for the beautiful banner (and being awesome in general). ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banner and moodboard by yours truly. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
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One thing Nick prided himself on was how well he could read you. Part of his job was to pick up on subtle cues and tells from the people around him. It was only natural that he would use his skills to figure out your likes and dislikes when the two of you started dating. If he didn’t know what you enjoyed, how was he supposed to take care of you?
When it came to what you wanted in the bedroom, he sometimes enjoyed outright asking.
Like tonight.
“Need me to fuck your pretty pussy, sweetheart?”
As fun as it was to whisper dirty words in your ear, he preferred looking into your eyes when he asked what you wanted him to do to you. Watching your dilated pupils peek through your lashes as you pressed your thighs together let him know how badly you wanted him. Which is why he wouldn’t settle for you giving him a single nod.
No, he needed to hear it.
“Use your words. You need me to fuck you?”
“Yes,” you whispered.
“With my tongue or cock?”
Your breath caught in your throat, the same way it did earlier in the day when he wore your favorite leather jacket. He owned a couple and considered buying more since he knew how much they turned you on. You liked how he looked in his suits and sweaters, too, but something about the leather excited you. He paid special attention to anything that got a reaction out of you.
“Nick,” you whispered when he nudged your thighs apart with his hand.
“Don’t ‘Nick’ me,” he said, biting back a groan when his fingers found his prize, getting them nice and wet. "Hardly touch you and you're drenched. You know exactly who you belong to, don't you?"
Your back bowed when he shoved two fingers in without warning, but your hips moved to take them in deeper. He didn't care if you ruined the couch. He wanted you to be a writhing mess by the time he finished with you.
“There you go. You can take it,” he smirked, grabbing your chin with his other hand when you tried to turn your head away. “Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
"C'mon, Fowler. Lemme see her."
Nick huffed as he spared Lee a glance. The sheriff smirked back as he palmed himself through his slacks. The man helped him out of a bind when he was still a rookie agent and they ended up forming a partnership of sorts. He was a man who didn't mind getting his hands dirty. He respected that.
"You're seeing plenty, Bodecker," Nick said as he pumped his fingers.
"But she wanted this," Lee said, unbuckling his belt.
"I know she did. I set this up, remember?"
The observant man Nick was, he quickly picked up on the attraction between you and Lee when you met. The sheriff put on the Southern charm for you and you smiled almost bashfully under his gaze. It didn't upset him the way he thought it would, but he did slip his leather jacket over your shoulders to remind his friend who you belonged to. He was never good at sharing.
But knew deep down his partner wouldn't make a move on his girl and you wouldn't leave him for another man.
It didn't stop him from asking you about it later when you were riding him.
"That's it, sweetheart. Fuck yourself on my cock," he smirked, gripping your hips to stop you. "Unless you'd rather be riding the sheriff."
"What?!" you gasped as he tightened his hold on you.
"You like him. Tell me why."
He was still hard inside you when you hesitantly admitted that you thought the sheriff was good looking. You explained that you admired Lee's confidence and respected his position of power. You enjoyed seeing him in his uniform, especially when he put his leather jacket on.
You really did like that look.
But the most attractive feature to you was that Lee reminded you of Nick. The sheriff was a bit heavier than Nick was and didn't have the same scruff he did, but he agreed that they bore a resemblance to each other. They were also men who lived their lives in the gray.
It made sense why you liked him.
"He wants you," he told you.
You squirmed in his lap and shook your head. "Doesn't matter. You said you'd never share me."
"Do you want me to share you?" he asked, watching you carefully.
The few times he caught you lying, you pursed your lips before you spoke. It was your tell. He never pointed it out to you.
It gave him a sense of control.
"No, I don't," you answered, framing his face. "I'm yours and I'm happy with that."
You didn't purse your lips.
"Then why is your cunt clamping down on my cock?"
"Because I want him to watch," you said without hesitation, beginning to ride him again when his grip loosened enough. "Wouldn't you like that? Showing him I'm yours?"
The way his cock throbbed inside you, he loved the idea. It was a bit of a power move. A way to show Lee you were his and make you happy at the same time.
He made the call the moment you passed out.
Lee's only stipulation was that he got to drink Nick's best scotch while he watched.
"I wanna see more," Lee smirked, bringing Nick back to be present. "You didn't answer his question, darlin'. Almost like you wanna be punished."
"He's right, sweetheart," he said as his lips ghosted over yours. “Tell me how you need me to fuck you or I won’t fuck you at all."
"No, please," you whined.
“I’ll cuff you and make you watch as I stroke my cock. I won’t touch you even if you beg," he threatened, nipping at your bottom lip hard enough to make you whimper. "I’ll finish on your weeping pussy and smack it for denying me an answer to a simple question.”
"Not exactly the show I want, but I'd love to see her in my cuffs," Lee said, taking himself out of his pants. "Tick tock, darlin'. Time's a wastin'."
"Cock," you moaned, clenching around Nick's fingers. "Want your cock, please."
"That's my girl. Desperate for my cock," he whispered, taking his fingers out to open your legs more. He'd give you what you needed, like always. "You wanted to look at her. So look."
Lee's teeth tugged over his lip as he stared at your glistening cunt, pumping himself at a slow pace. "Shit, darlin'. Pretty pussy's desperate to be stuffed fulla cock, ain't it?"
"My cock is the only one she'll get," Nick reminded him, that possessive streak starting to show as he released himself.
"Sure she can't give me a lil' kiss?"
"No kiss," he snarled, making the other man chuckle before he leaned back to give you room.
You blew Lee a kiss before you began to straddle Nick, your legs shaking as you faced away from him. It was overwhelming to be at the center of their attention. It was what you wanted.
You'd thank him later.
"Give him something to remember you, sweetheart," Nick ordered as you took in every inch of him.
"You heard him," Lee said, brushing his thumb along the tip of his cock. "Gimme a show."
That's exactly what you did.
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Could be fun to visit them again. 😏 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Nick Fowler Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
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mico-evelyn2 · 19 days
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WHY YOU SHOULD BE A YOTES FAN! (or at least like them) (Pt 1)
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Social Media admin: the yotes social media admin has lost their mind and honestly i think they're on crack
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2. Our jerseys look fly as fuck a.k.a when we lose we lose in style 😎
[⚫Home, ⚪Away, 🟣Alt]
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3. Clayton Keller (sean avery's opp): No. 9 is the yotes superstar. He's the unofficial-official captain and his hockey is so fun to watch (also he's a pretty white boy with dimples, you🫵will love him, you have no 🙅‍♀️ say in this) (btw i'm never getting over that second picture)
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4. Travis Dermott is an amazing person🤩. The NHL banned the use of pride tape and Travis Dermott gave the league a massive middle finger (he is literally my hero) (his interview where he spoke out against the NHL) (Via The Athletic)↴
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5. the future: Listen i understand we might not be in Arizona in the next 2 years but idc. I'm here to talk about our draft picks. they currently have 34 picks in the next 3 drafts with 20 of them being in the 1st 3 rounds (this is fucking insane and I cannot wait for the future)
5.5) 2022 round 1 draft: This photo isn't relevant but it is to me because I love how short Maveric Lamourex (6'7ft, 2.01m) and Conor Geekie (6'3ft, 1.93m) make Logan Cooley (5'10ft, 1.78m) look
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6. like every team you need someone who looks like their mascot and arizona is no exception. Allow me to introduce No. 29 Barrett Hayton and Howeler the Coyotes
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7. No. 39, Connor Ingram my precious goalie🫶. He is important to me because he's open about his struggles with OCD & past addiction. And also he's a good goalie (that saves the yotes ass a lot of times) read more here
8. @/did_the_coyotes_lose on Insta or @/didtheyoteslose (twitter) is small community of yotes fans :) and also sometime the main title card is posted by the arizona account
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(usually they lose two games after and go on a horrendous losing streak. When will the yotes admin learnt that posting did_the_coyotes_lose is a curse)
9. MIKE SMITH GOALIE GOAL!! HE SCORES WITH JUST 11 SECONDS TO GO! It got in the net with 0.1 seconds remaining on the clock. Needless to say, best goal in yotes history.
10. Father a.k.a Nick Bjugstad (No. 17) and his wife Jackie have a foundation called Goals For Kids, "Provides youth from all backgrounds with the skills to be successful" <- paraphrasing what their website says
11. Travis Boyd (No. 72) he is literally just a family man. That is kinda his whole thing, it's sweet.
12. Michael Carcone (No.53) knows how to serve on and off the ice because his grandfather owned a bar and a pizza joined (but genuinely i need to know if MC53 can serve drinks, it would be great if he can)
13. Logan Cooley my goat 🐐 all you really need to know about him is that he's just a little guy and is good at hockey
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14. speaking of little guys clayton keller & logan cooley are both the second shortest (michael carcone is the shortest) but i would like to bring your attention to this photo, it's beautiful 🥹
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15. barrett hayton & clayton keller are in love (bromance) (to add more BH29 profile picture on insta is a picture of them)
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16. Lawson Crouse (No. 67, Alt captain) his nickname is "the sheriff" because of his style of play (not important but he's ginger and i felt the need to mention this because they're a very rare breed)
17. Dylan Guenther - another little guy (he's 6'2💀) - scored THE game winning goal for Canada at world juniors in the gold medal game against czechia (it was a beautiful moment)
18. Barrrett Hayton serves cunt on and off ice (i mean look at this goofy ass hat, only someone with confidence can pull this off)
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19. Harvard graduate Alexander Kerfoot (No. 15, alt captain). He did a Q&A with The Athletic in 2019 and I think it say all you need to know
20. No. 63 Matias Maccelli, oh i love this man. He looks like a teddy bear and if you squeeze him for long enough he will squeak. And also he's good at hockey and is going to beat his season high points scored (49)
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21. Jack McBain (No. 22) if i'm being honest idk much about him and i couldn't find out much. But something i know is that his insta is private and i respect that🫡
22. No. 38 Liam O'Brien or Big Tuna. He's an enforcer with the most penalty minutes in the league (133) (he's a ginger, a very rare breed) also he's going to be a girl dad 🔜
23. One Step Coyotes is a program that allows adults with special needs to play hockey (@/onestepcoyotes on insta)
24. The short leash line was a line with Keller - Schmaltz - Garland in the 2020-21 season. It was nicknamed this by rick tocchet and it has got to be my favourite line name
25. this video is actually everything to me 🥹
Lawson Crouse saying, "You go baby go ahead." changed my brain chemistry.
And the Cooley repeating to himself, "don't fall, don't fall, don't fall..." 😭😭😭😭
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Would you ever continue your Nick Goode fiction? It's so good I'd love to read more ❤
Hi!!! Thank you for your question!
Yes I have plans to continue with my love Nick but I’m coming up to exams currently so I’ve been all over the place but I do have the next part started and hopefully will have it out soon ❤️❤️❤️
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lxstfathier · 6 months
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Hiding
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Kinktober day 8 - deepthroat
Nick Goode x Reader
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Nick loves to feel you mouth on his cock, licking and sucking all the way from the base to the tip, savoring every single inch of his throbbing length.
But he goes absolutely crazy when you manage to take him entirely inside your mouth, down your throat, gagging and drooling all over him.
And he doesn’t care about having you just like that on any place that he wants, not even while he’s working at the police station, hiding you under the desk, pushing your head down to make you choke on his thick cock.
No one ever suspects a thing. Who would know that Nick Goode, the great sheriff and the town’s hero, has his pretty girlfriend sucking him off while he talks with all the officers under his command?.
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indistinctmumblings · 2 years
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FEAR STREET ► nick goode + that pose™ ↳ for @everlarkeologist ♡
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meduseld · 2 years
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okay but now i want to know what it was like when they announced the plans for the mall? did nick ever avoid the tree since ziggy died right there? im sure he couldnt always avoid that spot tho, but letting ziggy get murdered there was literally his biggest failure. ziggy on the other hand probably didn't set foot in there till 94.
I think the general reception of the development was very warm, because it was Nick's idea thus magically boosted. I think the Goodes always owned the land (with the tunnels and og Solomon farmhouse being there etc) and it was leased to Nightwing (which added to why Nick wanted the Camp to Die, he wanted that land back and not crawling w kids). He gave it some time and though the mall era was the perfect development plan to use for the land and add in his special tunnel entrances to and from it (presumably through Devil Magic).
So Sunnyvalers were like "a mall! Oh yeah! Capitalism babyyy" while Shadysiders were more leery since families of the victims and such were around but not like they could do much about it and we know it mostly employeed Shadysiders serving Sunnyvalers. I think Ziggy really was V upset, but couldn't do much. I am sure, like you say, she never ever went there on principle until the events of 94.
I think Nick has very mixed feelings about the spot and the tree itself. I think he can't get rid of it, either bc it's important symbolically to the Pact and him sentimentally, or because Sarah's spirit has enough influence on it to keep it there (or else why would it be preserved within the mall? Beyond bc the plot requires it). Either way, it has powerful magic on it and Nick can sense it. (Well I think people do kinda feel a vibe but Nick is a literal satanic witch, he knows what's there and sees it clearly). The memories are very complicated to him, and it is, to him, imutably tied to Ziggy herself. I don't know that he thinks of it as a failure per se, since he might think of it more as there place he *resurrected* her. Anyway he does go to that mall, as Sheriff and as himself, Sunnyvaler that he is, and I think he always catches himself staring at it. He def gives it that good old googly gecko eyed look at the start of 94 post gunshots, and in fact might have chosen the mall for the massacre because of it.
If the point was reconnecting with Ziggy through it, which seems to be the case, or even if not, she was on the brain enough for him to decide to restart their connection at the source: the hanging tree and place of power she was tied to literally and figuratively.
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sailor-aviator · 4 months
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Tom and Jake's Relationship
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Story: The Dagger Posse Universe
Word Count: 2k (oops)
TW: Mentions of death, Mentions of illness, Mentions of pandemic, Mentions of funerals, Mentions of burials, References to prostitution, Mentions of hanging, Starvation. Think that's it.
A/N: Been sitting on this one for a while. I wanted to show the kind of relationship that Jake and Ice have, and I sure hope I was able to give you even the slightest glimpse into how much they care about one another. Please enjoy!
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The epidemic that swept the small town of Maverick was as quick as it was devastating. It slaughtered several of the different townsfolk, and left several with no family left. Tom had been there to comfort Pete "Maverick" Mitchell and a small Bradley Bradshaw when Nick and Carole had been lowered into the cold, dark earth of the desert. Bradley had been so young, and he had clung to Maverick's leg, hiding his face away. Tom wasn't sure if it was to keep from seeing his parents like that or to keep his parents from seeing him like that.
They had been good, kind people. Goose was well liked by most and Carole was well liked by all. Both always having smiles for whoever had the fortune of encountering them. And they had been fighters, holding out until they couldn't find the strength to draw another breath.
Tom had been walking aimlessly down the streets of Maverick after their funeral, searching for what, he didn't know at the time. The day had been cold and eerily calm, like the desert mourned with the sheriff too. The image of young Bradley clinging to Maverick's leg as he tried so hard to keep a brave face replayed in his head. The only time he cracked was when the men began to lower the coffins into the graves below, and the boy had shed a single tear and let out a solitary sob.
Tom's heart broke for the son of his friends, but he knew that Penny and Mav would take good care of him. Still, it wasn't easy to lose your parents, especially at such a young age.
He rounded a corner near the edge of town, stopping short at the solitary figure that sat huddled on the foot of the stairs leading up to the back of the butcher's shop. Mossy, green eyes popped up to look at him, and Tom was taken aback by how gaunt the poor boy looked.
"Jake," he nodded, looking him over. There were dark circles under his eyes, skin pale and he definitely looked thinner than the last time the older man had seen him.
"Sheriff," the blond nodded back, voice barely audible as he slumped back in on himself. Tom felt a pang run through his heart at how tired he sounded. A boy of eight years shouldn't be sounding like that.
"What are you doing, Jake?"
"Sarah didn't make enough to feed us again," the boy whispered, eyes closed in defeat. "I always tell her that I found food somewhere else so she gets enough to eat without worryin' about me. Sometimes the butcher will give me scraps that I can cook."
"How long has this been going on?"
He shrugged. "Since Ma an' Da' died."
Tom's stomach lurched. A couple of weeks then. The sheriff knew he couldn't go on like this. He knew that Sarah was doing her best to provide for her and her brother, but there was only so much a girl of fourteen could do unless she chose to sell herself. Tom wasn't going to let that happen. He owed it to their parents to take care of the two.
"Come with me, Jake," he murmured, causing the boy to look up at him in confusion.
"What?" He frowned, stumbling to a stand. "Why?"
"We're going to go see Penny about a meal."
"I can't afford that, Mr. Ice," Jake exclaimed, despair in his eyes. Tom shook his head, placing a gentle hand on his shoulders to guide him back into town.
"Don't you worry about that. I'll get you sorted out."
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And Tom had seen to it that Jake ate regularly, cooking him meals and sending him home with leftovers as often as he could. He had even taught him to hunt, and the boy was a halfway decent shot when he wanted to be.
Soon, Jake was old enough to work, and Tom made sure the boy was being paid fair wages, working odd jobs to earn enough to support him and his sister.
"You're not workin' too hard, are you, Jake?" He asked the young man one day. Jake had looked at him with a tired smile, rubbing at his eyes as he answered.
"No, Tom," he sighed. "I'm not working too hard. Just earning my living."
Tom had hummed, but made sure to slip a couple of extra dollars into the boy's pouch when he wasn't looking. Winter was coming up, and he knew Jake was in need of a new pair of boots. It had been too long since he bought the last pair, and it would do him no good to run around without proper footwear. Now that he thought about it, it wouldn't hurt to give him a couple more dollars for new clothes, so into the pouch it went.
Tom couldn't help the smile that grew on his face at the sight of Jake in his new trousers and boots two weeks later.
"What are you grinnin' about?" Jake had asked him, brow furrowed in curiosity. Tom just shook his head and chuckled.
"Don't you mind now."
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Tom knew that Jake's heart was in the right place, but he could have done without the extra grey hairs.
"Bradley's problems are his own," he had groused to the blond. "You shouldn't go gettin' into trouble for someone who's fighting their own demons, son."
"Bradley is my friend, Ice," Jake had sighed, sipping on his beer at the bar. "I'm not leaving a friend to walk through hell alone."
Tom felt a twinge of pride. Jake had grown into a fine young man. Loyal, strong, kind, and clever. All things a man should be, Tom supposed, but Jake's loyalty was a double edged sword at best.
"I'm not going to be able to bail you out of these predicaments for forever, you know," he had grumbled, sipping on his own beer. Jake huffed out a laugh, patting the older man on the shoulder.
"I don't expect you to," he grinned, shooting him a wink. "One day I'll have enough money where I won't need to do this anymore. Maybe I'll even build you a fancy new house while I'm at it."
"Every single one of these grey hairs is because of you, you know," Tom scowled, shoving the younger man lightly.
"I think they make you look distinguished."
"Smartass."
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Now this was something Tom hadn't expected. Of course, he knew that Jake had his fair share of flings with the women in town, but he had never seen the boy so transfixed before. And it appeared the young lady had taken an interest back in him, though the more he observed the two, the more he wasn't sure she knew the extent of her feelings.
"You just don't know when to quit, do you son?" He had remarked to Jake one day after the young lady had left him standing in the middle of the street. Jake squared his shoulders back, and despite his grin, Tom saw a look of quiet determination in his green eyes.
"I'm going to marry that girl one day, Tom," he had declared.
"Pretty sure she has to like you first."
"I'll get her to like me," the blond shot back. And for a moment, Tom was taken aback. In Jake's eyes was a mixture of two things the older man wasn't sure he had ever seen before: nervousness and longing.
"Give it time," Tom cautioned, squeezing Jake's shoulder. "A girl like that needs to be earned, not won."
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It was now or never. Tom had convinced the marshal to go and get a drink to ease some of his tension, and now was the only chance he would get to free Jake. Tom was never going to let the boy hang, he couldn't let it happen. He knew there would be grave consequences for himself for letting Jake go free, but he wasn't about to let him down. While Bradley had always had Maverick, Jake had always had Tom. Tom wouldn't let the only son he had ever known leave this world by the end of a rope.
He stopped as the front door creaked open to reveal you, a bedraggled wreck as you stared at him. Now this was a surprise. Tom was sure that you wouldn't show up, after all it was late and you were a lady if nothing else.
“You shouldn’t be here, darlin’,” he drawled, placing his feet on the floor. “This ain’t no place for a lady such as yourself.”
“Where is he?” You asked him, stepping into the room and quickly closing the door behind you. Tom heard Jake call out, and as you moved towards the back room, he stopped you.
“Are you sure you’re ready to see him like this?” He asked you quietly, lips pressing into a thin line as he continued to study you. You stared at him with fire in your eyes, a fire that had Tom's mind blazing in curiosity. What a tough little thing you were.
“Please,” you murmured, your eyes never wavering. “Please let me see him.”
Tom stared at you for a moment longer before glancing at the door. Any chance of getting Jake out now was gone the second you stepped foot through the door. He would have to come up with another plan, but for now, the least he could do is let the two of you see each other.
“You have five minutes, Scout.”
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Tom was still thinking about the way your eyes had sparkled as you saw the wanted poster for Isaac Cassidy. He could practically see the cogs in your head turning as you played the part of the damsel in distress for Beau, but Tom could see now that you were no fool. No, you were more than capable, and he supposed that you had come up with a plan of your own.
"That girl of yours sure is something," he had mused to Jake, watching the blue light of the morning filter into the jail.
"You have no idea," the young man croaked back. "I love her, Tom."
"I know."
"I don't want her to see my hang."
Tom paused at that. He had already come up with a contingency plan, but a feeling inside of him told him that you were hard at work making preparations for your own handiwork.
"Somehow," Tom drawled, "I don't think she will."
There was a moment of silence between the two of them.
"I'm sorry, Tom."
"What the hell are you sorry for?" Tom rolled his eyes, earning a sigh.
"I'm sorry for how things ended up. You always warned me to stay out of trouble, and now here we are."
"Yeah, well," Tom sniffed, pushing out of his chair and heading for the door. He had to speak with Maverick before time was up. "Maybe you'll listen to me once you get out of here."
And with that, he walked through the door.
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Tom watched as Jake led you down the road, the crowd crowing eagerly behind him. He had to hand it to you, you were a cunning, ruthless lady. Not many people could have pulled off what you did, and Tom could count you as one of the few people in this world that left him impressed.
He supposed that Jake would try to stay out of trouble moving forward, but trouble had always had a knack for finding Jake if nothing else. Tom let out a sigh as he watched the young man place a gentle kiss to your forehead, squeezing you tightly as you continued to walk towards your home.
"You comin'?" Bradley asked him, an impassive look on his face. Tom nodded, turning to start making his way through the crowd. He wasn't one to take delight in death, but he was certainly one to make sure that no harm came to the people he cared about. Isaac Cassidy would die today in place of Jake Seresin. Tom would rest easy knowing that the boy he raised would stay safe for another day.
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