My favorite part about a concert isn’t the band. It’s not finally seeing them and knowing they’re real. It’s not finally getting to hear my favorite song live. It’s not the crowd or the atmosphere.
It’s the kick drum in my chest. When that kick drum hits, you feel it in your chest. Your heart beats with it. When that kick drum hits, you became a part of the music. You are no longer just a fan. It’s no longer just blaring through your speakers or headphones. It’s finally a part of you, and I think that’s incredible.
That’s why I love concerts.
I think in a sense, you always love someone, I don’t believe that any amount of distance, silence or time can break the bond between two hearts. I believe that once you find love with someone, that stays with you - forever. But the hard truth of that is, forever is infinite and that means they can treasure your love and kiss your lips until their very last breath, or.. the version we’re most familiar with, they can rip your heart right out of your chest and kick it to the curb without even giving your eyes a second look. And that my darling, is the harsh reality of love, it’s infinite. Whether you want it to be or not, it never goes away once you find it.
She hated for him to see her broken, raw and trembling and overwhelmed with inner demons, but part of her had been grateful for the one time she had let him. In her own apartment, during an unexpected panic attack a couple of weeks ago, he had touched the shaking bone of her shoulder, murmured comforting words, relatable words.
I know, Kate, I know. I have them too.
She hadn’t necessarily believed that, couldn’t picture Rick Castle enduring the torturous episode of a panic attack, but he hadn’t been lying to her.
The return of Jerry Tyson had rattled him, she knew that, and ever since the heartbreak she had caused him throughout the summer, their partnership had been a bit more tentative. Her shooting, those words she isn’t supposed to remember, still looming over them, she knew that too. Castle was under a lot of stress, probably dealing with a good dose of emotional turmoil, but that knowledge hadn’t prepared her for his mother to call her in quiet distress, worried over her son and unsure of what else to do.
“This has happened before, once not long after the divorce with Meredith, when he was under so much pressure,” Martha had babbled, her voice a contradiction of calm and factual, frantic and fearful. “And I know he doesn’t like for anyone to see him like this. But I could hear him when I went to let him know I was leaving and he just sounded so - so grief stricken, and I just can’t not-”
“I’m on my way,” Kate had promised his mother, already changing directions, turning away from the entrance of the subway that would take her home and towards the sidewalk instead, hailing a cab that would get her to his loft quicker. “Just ten minutes, I’ll be there.”
“I’ll leave the door unlocked for you, darling.”
Martha had stuck true to her word and after impatiently riding the elevator to the top floor of his building, Kate is able to stride inside the loft, take the path to his office without a second thought. Her fingers pause over the handle to his bedroom door, though, apprehension flaring in her stomach. She’s never been inside his bedroom and it isn’t her right to just barge in.
“I’ll be out in just a moment, Mother,” he calls out when she knocks, and he’s a skilled actor, talented in the roles he plays for those he doesn’t allow inside, but she can still hear the slight quiver in his voice.
“Not your mom, Castle,” she calls back, hearing nothing but silence on the other side of the door for a split second before his footsteps rush towards her.
The door swings open and despite the smile he musters for her, she can see the cracks in his exterior.
“Beckett, to what do I owe the pleasure of an unexpected visit?” he quips. “And how did you get in here?”
“Your mom let me in while she was on her way out.” Technically, it was true. “I thought after everything with this case and 3XK… I thought you could use some company.”
His eyes ripple with surprised delight, gentle appreciation, and she wishes she would have thought to come to him sooner, to care enough to check on him without his mother having to inform her of his current state.
“I - that’d be great. Have you eaten?”
“No,” she admits, biting her bottom lip when Castle steps out of his office, his hand rising to glance the small of her back before it quickly falls away. She misses the warmth of his palm without even having the chance to experience it. “Have you?”
“I was just about to,” he lies, the grin stretched across his lips charming but strained, enough for her to see through.
She doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t try to bring up what she knows is bothering him, but she does stick close to his side in the kitchen, helping him heat up leftover pasta that smells divine despite its time in the fridge. She sits beside him on the couch while they eat, engages in the comfortable small talk, the silence that falls between bites yet never becomes awkward. Not with him.
“How’re you holding up?” Kate finally asks after he’s set his bowl down on the coffee table in front of them, taken the last sip of the red wine he had poured in matching glasses for them. She still nurses hers between her palms.
Castle tilts his head at her in feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Rick,” she murmurs, watching him physically deflate, sighing out in defeat as his shoulders slump, his lips falling into a frown and his eyes going dull, and she stretches forward to deposit her wine glass on the table beside his.
“I’m okay,” he states with a shrug. “Not even sure why it bothers me so much. Ryan is the one who went through hell during this case.”
“What Tyson did to you both was equally traumatizing-“
“Trauma?” Castle scoffs, shaking his head at her. “I didn’t - there’s no trauma, Kate. I’m fine. I just - I guess this case had me afraid that Tyson would step up his game, come after us, people I care about.”
“We never would have let him come after Martha or Alexis,” she swears to him, hoping the knowledge that he had an entire precinct ready to protect his family if need be would provide him with comfort, but she watches his lips purse instead.
Kate shifts on the sofa to face him, her brow creasing with confusion. “Me?”
Castle scrapes a hand through his hair and averts his eyes, looks as if he’s about to rise, take a page from her book and make a run for it, so she drapes her hand atop his knee, effectively stays him.
“I can’t protect you,” he gets out without meeting her eyes. “Couldn’t protect you. I wouldn’t have been able to stop Tyson if he had-“
“Castle, stop,” she breathes, her fingers clenching hard over the bone of his knee.
“And I know you don’t need my protection, but I can’t - God, I can’t lose you again, Beckett,” he confesses, his head in his hands and his body curling in on itself, protecting himself. From her. “Not like that.”
“You’re not,” Kate chokes out, the terrible grief clogging her throat, knotting in her chest beneath the bullet scar that consumes her sternum, consumes everything.
She’s close enough to drop her forehead to the rounded bone of his shoulder, the scent of his aftershave drifting up to greet her, embrace her, and she inhales a deep breath of it, of him, and swallows down her own anguish, focuses on Castle’s.
His spine is stiff, his entire frame rigid beneath the foreign proximity she offers, and Kate reaches for one of the hands fisted in his hair. He lets her have it without resistance, his head turning towards her to watch as she cradles his fingers in her palm, strokes her thumb along his knuckles.
“You’re not,” she repeats, feeling the intensity of his gaze resting on her, searing through her. “I’m still here, Castle,” she whispers, drawing his palm to her chest, up to her heart.
The harsh intake of his breath shudders through them both, but he allows her to keep his hand flat against her sternum, her heart galloping to meet his palm, crashing against the cage of her ribs to feel the warmth of his skin seeping through her shirt.
She couldn’t return his confessions of love, not yet, not with words, but she could offer him this - reassurance in whatever form he needed. She could let him hold onto her heart before she gave it over completely.
“Kate,” he whispers back, but she doesn’t answer, her forehead still sealed to his shoulder, a new favorite place of rest, one where she’s content to remain.
And that’s what they do for a long while - remain. His hand cradled to her chest, her forehead to his shoulder, and his body beginning to lean into hers as time passes.
“Don’t go,” Castle sighs out, his hand going slack beneath hers, and she controls the descent of his fist to her side before she attempts to rise from the sofa. “Beckett-“
“Shh, let’s get you to bed, Castle,” she murmurs, squeezing his bicep before she stands, tugs him up with her. “I’ll stay a little while longer.”
That earns a surprised quirk of an eyebrow despite his drowsy state, the exhaustion from the panic attack that had caused his mother to dial her number, from the pasta and the wine that has even her eyes feeling heavy, from the thought of losing her - all of it overtaking.
He shuffles towards his bedroom with her at his side, his warmth like a magnet she fails to stray from, her body easing onto the edge of his bed even as he plops down. Her mind is in turmoil, red flags and alarm bells plaguing every inch of her skull, but her heart beats hard and fervent behind the walls that bind it, keep it from the man lying next to her on the bed.
“You really don’t have to stay,” he mumbles around a yawn, offering her a reassuring smile, the one he often uses to comfort her, calm her, and they may still be waiting, but that doesn’t mean she can’t stick around, take care of him a little longer, whether he needs her or not. God knows he would do the same for her without hesitation.
“Just for a few minutes,” she replies, easing down onto her side, facing him, and holding her breath as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Kate,” he murmurs, his fingers traveling to stroke up and down her spine, eliciting shivers and streaks of heat all at once, sending her eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you.”
They peel open at that.
“Always,” she returns, watching the blue of his eyes burn so brightly in the darkness of his bedroom before his lashes fall shut to hide the need she recognizes coming to life.
She falls asleep mere moments after she watches his eyes close for a final time, after she trains the rise and fall of her chest to the steady rhythm of his breathing beside her.
The next time Kate wakes, it’s late in the night and her eyes are thick with sleep, her chest heavy with the weight atop the frame of her ribs, the press of his cheek to her sternum, his ear at her heart. It should hurt, her muddled brain muses, the pressure atop her gunshot wound, but the seal of his cheek to her sternum does the opposite.
He anchors her.
It should terrify her too, but she blinks through the grit of her slumber to catch a glimpse of his face, slack and at peace, innocent and untouched by the grief she had passed onto him. She’ll dislodge him before morning, probably be out of his loft before he even awakens, but for now, Kate combs her fingers through his hair, sighs quietly when he tightens the arm around her waist and nuzzles gently, his nose grazing her collarbone.
This is what she’s working so hard for, trying to be better for, what they’re both waiting for. But for tonight, she erases her shooting from her mind, dispels thoughts of Jerry Tyson and the ache in Castle’s eyes when he’d said he couldn’t protect her, and gives him the beat of her heart, the drum of reassurance beneath his ear. For tonight, she allows them both a much needed rest.
A/N: I figured we’d all need some Peter cuddles considering what’s been going on. I just want to say that we can make it through this. My inbox is always open.
You didn’t know what to do. You were afraid of what was going to happen. To Peter, to the rest of the Avengers, to yourself. Shaking, you went over to Peter’s apartment. He answered the door when you knocked, worry crossing his face when he saw how afraid you looked.
“Peter,” you choked out.
You just stepped forward, wrapping your arms around Peter and burying your head in his chest. He kicked the door closed, pulling you close to him.
“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, running a comforting hand up and down your back.
“I don’t know. I can’t see what’s going to happen,” you pushed your head deeper into his shoulder. “I’m scared.”
Peter nodded. “I know. I am too. But we’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.”
You took a shuddering breath. “Are you sure?”
Peter walked you slowly over to the couch, keeping you in a tight hug the whole time.
“Relax, you’re safe,” he murmured. “You’re safe here. Don’t worry.”
Note: Slow burn fanfiction. Sorry guys. I know some people hate those. The first few chapters will be before the zombies. Yes the reader knew Negan before everything went down. There is a pretty big age gap between him and the reader so be warned. (She is of age though of course. No pedophilia.)
Word Count: 1063
Warning: mentions of nudity and sexual situations.*no actual sex just mentions of it*
His chest rose and fell heavily as he laid sprawled on the bed naked. The only thing covering him, aside from the young twenty year old, was the thick coating of sweat he’d worked up with her. His fingers slid dully through her soft damp honey hair. Past their heavy panting he could hear the motel sign outside buzzing and the ice chest kicking on to maintain its temperature. With the endorphin’s slowly subsiding, the reality of his life crept back into his conscious and gnawed at his guilt. He was here fucking his best friends daughter while Lucille was in the hospital fighting for her life. It was wrong and he knew it… There was no excuse. Not a good one at least.
also mad props to @cassianperalta for redirecting my crappy ending to the glorious one that made this fic possible
Amy emerges nearly an hour later, the opened doors releasing a roar of laughter echoed in her own luminous grin. Jake feels his heart leap up into his chest at the sight, kicking into double time when her grin only broadens as her soft gaze lands on his face.
The doors slide closed behind her and then she’s trotting toward him, looking exhausted, but so deeply pleased, and for a second he forgets about the nerves and the excitement and just reaches for her hand across the bar. “Sounds like it’s going really well in there.” He says as she takes his hand and slides into her stool.
“I think it is,” she says, squeezing his fingers. “Enough for champagne, for sure.”
And just like that, he’s drowning in excitable nerves again. He studies her face only a moment longer before nodding, grinning, lifting her hand to kiss her knuckles before slipping his fingers from hers. “This is a new kind of champagne,” he tells her when his back is turned.
“Really?” She asks, oblivious to the fact that a pretty diamond ring sits at the bottom of the glass in his left hand as he lifts it and its’ partner up to sit on the bartop from where she sits. “What’s different about it?”
“Well, it’s French, for one,” he says, popping the cork from the bottle and pouring the contents quickly before the foam can spill out on the floor. “Also, Holt swears by it.”
“Holt swears by it?” She repeats, and her interest is definitely piqued. “You should’ve led with that, idiot.”
“Hey,” he snaps in mock indignation, carefully covering the ring at the bottom of the glass with his fingers before turning back toward her. She’s cackling, and he’s pretty sure if he could see all of her, her legs would be swinging beneath the bar. “Not everyone is obsessed with Holt.”
She responds, he knows she does, but her words are lost in the garble in his ears as he carefully sets the flute down on the bar and slides it toward her. She lifts it without looking, still talking, and tilts it back -
“Amy!” He shouts, and she splutters, nearly dropping the glass in the process. The ring falls from her mouth and lands on the bar, bouncing erratically along the surface, nearly falling over the edge until Jake claps a cupped hand down over it. He sighs in relief and then they both freeze.
“Jake?” She asks quietly. The tips of her ears are bright red, probably matching his own face currently engulfed in heat. “Is that - what I think it is?”
He coughs awkwardly, before retracting his hand to reveal the ring. Amy gasps sharply, hand darting halfway toward it before freezing and then retracting again. “It - it was supposed to be romantic,” he laments softly, never tearing his gaze from the ring.
“Oh, my God.”
“Sorry, I didn’t really think that through - I thought, y’know, it’d be - like, funny, or - or romantic -”
“Oh, my God, you were gonna propose. You were gonna ask me to marry you and I choked on the ring.”
“Wait, no, you didn’t ruin it!” He snatches the ring and then hurries away, toward the side entrance to the bar. She watches him approach, face completely unreadable, and when he finally reaches her side she spins in the stool to face him. “Amy,” he says, ring pinched between his index finger and thumb in his right hand and her right hand clutched in his left. “I - I didn’t think of anything to say, because I thought I would be a lot more smooth than I actually am -” She scoffs, expression clearly stating only one of us almost choked on the ring, and he pauses long enough to flash her a grin. “It’s not important. What is important is that - you, you…you make me happier than I ever thought I could be. Happier than I ever thought I deserved. And…and if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way.” He squeezes her fingers as he lifts the ring, carefully documenting the way her left hand rises to cover her broad, unsteady grin. “Ames, will…will you marry me?”
“Yes. Yes, of course - of course I’ll marry you, you big idiot.” He grins and dives forward, kissing her so hard their teeth clack together, but neither one of them seem to mind. He pulls away to slide the ring over her third finger but she pulls her hand back - “wrong hand” she murmurs - and then the ring is on her finger and she’s off the barstool and in his arms and the whole entire world is applauding.
Okay, so maybe it’s just the audience in the brewery applauding some actors he doesn’t care about - but it doesn’t matter. “I love you,” he tells her in a low murmur when she pulls back for a moment.
“I love you, too. So much.” She whispers, pushing up to her tip-toes to kiss the end of his nose before tucking her face into the crook of his neck.
He hugs her closer, grinning in spite of himself, and thanks his lucky starts for whatever cosmic force it was that drew him to her all those months ago on that Tuesday night in Shaw’s.
“Woah, she’s a feisty one.” Your punched landed square on his jaw. The force of your hit made he skid back a few feet. You looked at your hand in horror. His jaw had a slight gash on it. You stepped back to look at him. His hair was stark blonde while his eyes were the color of the sun.
His face held no emotion.You shivered as he began walking towards you. Every inch of your being was telling you to run but you stood your ground. You felt his hand on your head. Was he petting you?
“She has big balls. Could be a strong slayer someday.” the blonde man spoke seemingly to the boy behind him before you grabbed his wrist and and kicked his chest as hard as you could. The marble beneath him cracked as he landed on the ground. You put your foot to his neck and began slowly crushing his windpipe. You turned to the black haired boy and gave him a smile.
“Answer my questions or he won’t be breathing.”
You didn’t notice that the rumbling of the cycle stopped as Tae pulled into the circle drive of the Church.
“Whatca thinking about?” Tae looked back at you looking slightly concerned about your silence.
“How I decked your ass when we first meet.” You hopped of his bike and turned to look at him cocking your head in a teasing matter.
“You literally choked me with your bare feet and that was three years ago. You’ve become more manageable since then.”You scoffed as he lightly pushed past you snickering as he opened the large doors of the Church. Your boots clicked loudly in the eerily quiet hallway. You pulled a silver dagger from your belt and cautiously walked down the corridor. The hallway opened into a large open space. There was a large couch and 2 chairs around a glass coffee table. The seats where filled though but with familiar and new faces.
You know, I really do like the Chase and Darling relationship. Not as romantic, though to each their own. In a heteronormative society, I think it’s important to show that men and women don’t have to be attracted to each other and that they can form different types of relationships other than romantic, especially ones built on mutual respect for a skill.
I love how, after this moment, Chase bows to Darling as an obvious sign of respect for her skill and she extends the same courtesy. I also like that you can see how delightfully surprised Chase is to find that Darling is a girl.
I hope we get to see their relationship in future webisodes or specials (or even BTS where we only hear Darling talk about him), and in the direction it seems to be heading.
Imagine Nick and Judy coming across a small predator baby on a case (can be whatever you want). And it really only likes being soothed and handled by Nick and Judy, because they are smaller mammals like it and it’s baby instincts are scared of the larger mammals of the ZPD. So like they care for it.
Now imagine Nick walking around everywhere with a baby in a carrier strapped to his chest, just going about like it’s another day.
i redesigned Bonnie again, a major one, since my taste over his previous design has changed and due to my change in my artstyle (tbh i cringed(?) when i saw his old ds with my crappy old style xDDD)
ok now for his description; he now has much more ‘wild’ personality (much like his mate- Foxy) and less shy (yep that’s rly great change xDD) and in case you don’t realise(?), the heart shaped logo in the bg is actually his tattoo on his left chest, which you can see it a bit if you squinted at his chest lmao
i actually feel very satisfied with this dude and- his real name… TBC lol sorry
Reblogs are appreciated an d make sure to not annoy him by staring hard at his chest/ kicked xDDDD
sure is popular (❤ω❤) –
I’m going to use the IRL Dazai’s kids names ( he had 3 girls and a boy )because
it’s a lot easier giving the kids names when writing a scenario. I’m too lazy
to look up the actual age differences so I’m just choosing at random. [PS] This
is pretty long since I got more than one Daddy!Dazai request~
Request: Oscar sings to your stomach when you’re pregnant
You are sweating and sore. Despite the cranked up AC and your sundress, you feel as though you are burning up. You are laying on the sofa, your hand resting on your stomach. The film playing in the background was the least of your worries when standing next to contractions.