#another dissertation yet again

[active-mind-15]

Okay wow, I was meaning to come back to this post since I saw it and now I've submitted my last assignment for the week and I have time so HERE WE GO!

Akashi/Mibuchi, platonically or romantically, is CRIMINALLY underrated and under-discussed and I don't know why. Like you said, it is literally the only queer ship where it is canon that one person likes the other, but there's so much more to their dynamic that I feel like I need to talk about before I explode.

First up, let's talk about the nickname "Sei-chan". There are so many layers to this nickname. In both the manga and the anime, Akashi is portrayed as this final boss character, very godlike and untouchable. So, for someone like Mibuchi to call him something as cute as "Sei-chan" seems insane.

Akashi had a couple nicknames in Teiko like "Akashicchi" and "Aka-chin" (brought to you by Kise and Murasakibara, respectively), but 1) those were nicknames given out to all the miracles + Kuroko and Momoi, so Akashi wasn't a special case. 2) both nicknames used his family name, Akashi. There is still a level of formality that both of them keep by doing that. 3) both of those nicknames were given to Akashi before he switched personalities.

Fast-forward to high school, Akashi has long switched to his other personality which is known to be colder and more tyrannical. And yet, despite all of that, Mibuchi met Akashi for the first time and was basically like "Yeah, that looks like a Sei-chan to me." Mibuchi sped-ran through all the levels of formality and went straight to closeness by using Akashi's given name, Seijuro. Mind you, Midorima, the miracle Akashi has gone on record saying he gets along with the most, calls him "Akashi". Even Momoi, a.k.a. the queen of giving the cutest nicknames to all the miracles, simply addresses Akashi as "Akashi-kun". None of Akashi's friends had ever used his given name until Mibuchi came along. And, honestly, Mibuchi is kind of iconic for that.

And, for someone as high and mighty as Akashi seemed to be, you'd think that he wouldn't stand for such a cutesy nickname. But Akashi has zero problem with it. He is supremely unbothered by the fact that this person who he just met is not only calling him by his given name but tacking on the -chan suffix, something Mibuchi doesn't do for anyone else on the team but Akashi. Say it with me now: SPECIAL 👏🏿 TREATMENT 👏🏿.

Moving past my unnecessarily long rant about Akashi's nickname, if you pay attention during the anime/manga, you'll notice that Mibuchi is the one who accompanies Akashi to most places. For example, Mibuchi and Akashi work out together.

And (even though this is a special episode that is full of 4th wall breaks) Mibuchi accompanied Akashi to Maji Burger in the 3rd KNB fan disc. Keep in mind that both Mibuchi and Akashi go to school in Kyoto, which means Mibuchi braved a 4 or 5-hour round trip just to see Akashi meet up with and chat with his friends from Teiko.

Speaking of that fan disc, the part that barely anyone talks about but is so integral to MibuAka potentially being a ship that has a two-way attraction, this part where they're discussing Valentine's Day chocolates and Mibuchi straight-up asks Akashi if he would accept chocolates if he made them.

And what does Akashi say in response to this???

"Yes, of course. I'm looking forward to it." HELLOOOOOOOOOO

And Akashi is not stupid or oblivious. In the Replace Plus chapters, he tells Nijimura that he already knew about Momoi liking Kuroko, and it's Midorima who is shown to be the oblivious one out of all the miracles.

And you can argue that of course he knew because Momoi was being obvious about it with her behavior, but I would argue that Mibuchi is also not very subtle either. Calling Akashi (and only Akashi) by a pet name, accompanying Akashi to all these places even when he doesn't have to, and on top of that, wanting to make Akashi Valentine's Day chocolates after hearing that Momoi also wanted to make Kuroko Valentine's Day chocolates? Yeahhhhh Mibuchi you're not fooling anyone with that, I'm sawry.

Akashi is incredibly observant and it's a running joke in the anime/manga that he practically reads other people's minds because he seems to always know what other people are thinking. There's just no way he's not aware of the optics of a boy giving another boy homemade chocolates on Valentine's Day. Let's not be silly here! Akashi knows exactly what Mibuchi is doing with that gesture and he's perfectly okay with it and even encourages Mibuchi to do it!

And even if Akashi is somehow not romantically attracted to Mibuchi, it doesn't change the fact that Akashi is still very much Mibuchi's baby. Case in point:

I don't even think I need to explain this photo. Look at how excited Mibuchi is to make sweets for Akashi, although poor Akashi is probably sitting there wondering how on earth he's supposed to eat all of this. (As a side note, I will never get over how adorable Akashi's face is in this photo. His owlish expression is so precious and makes him look like a middle-schooler again. 🥺)

Also in the Zero Step video, remember when Rakuzan went to a photo booth to take pics together? Notice how Mibuchi is the only one actually touching Akashi. If you watch the clip in full, Akashi even leans into Mibuchi a little. Mibuchi deffo has some sort of privileges that the rest of the team doesn't. The only person who ever got close to Akashi like that is Nijimura, but I'll explore the NijiAka dynamic another time.

But yeah, you can see Mibuchi likes going out of his way for Akashi, taking care of him, fussing over him, and worrying about him in general. Like in the KNB drama CD season 3 vol 9 and also in the Replace Plus novels, when Mibuchi thinks that the other two Uncrowned Kings are bothering Akashi too much, he'll scold them for doing so. It's giving "Don't worry your pretty little head over it, I'll handle it".

*looks at notes* okay, I think I've said enough, so I'll just wrap up this post with some final words. I really love the Akashi/Mibuchi dynamic. Even if it ends up being one-sided attraction/infatuation, their interactions with each other are still super wholesome. Honestly, I would have liked to see more of that in the anime/manga because with all the responsibilities Akashi has to shoulder, it's good he can have someone to lean on when it gets too much. Mibuchi kinda functions like Nijimura in that sense (before he made Akashi captain, that is). But at the same time, it's also different. There's this nurturing side of Mibuchi, and Akashi just brings it out of him. And the reason why Akashi doesn't push him away is because, deep down, he needs someone like Mibuchi in his life.

So many people saw Akashi as unapproachable, and yet, Mibuchi didn't care about all that. To him, Sei-chan is Sei-chan and nothing will change that. But yeah, I have said all I can, so imma just leave it there.

It's crazy that Akashi/Mibuchi is so unpopular in the KnB fandom because it's the only queer ship where it's canon that one likes the other. Maybe it's because those who only watched the anime don't know about it ?

[quetzalpapalotl]

So like love rivals, okay. You know the type, hyperfeminine alpha bitch that cares too much about her appearance (unlike the protag who is beautiful but doesn't care about it or doesn't care too much and is just feminine enough because god forbid we have an actually gnc woman as protagonist). My problem is that I watched Lizzie McGuire at a tender, very impressionable age and my favorite episodes where the ones that dealt with Lizzie and Kate's estranged friendship and gave the later some depth (they should kiss btw) it wasn't perfect but I was like 5 and it was something.

I do love a vain character, so this is an archetype I gravitate towards. And like I don't actually expect them to get rehabilitated every time, there are awful women who weaponize their femininity irl, it's a whole thing. But by god, the misogyny and double standards that usually surround these characters are uh, bad, really bad.

I watched Sugar Apple Fairy Tale (don't, its handling of slavery is not good), and naturally, my favorite character was Bridget bc she was far more interesting than anyone else. Like yeah, coercing Challe into being her slave is horrible, but there was something about the resentment she felt at her own gender-derived powerlessness and how she misdirected it at another woman because she gets to have what she doesn't and it isn't fair, and how she consoles herself by exerting power over the only person she can have power. You could really do something interesting with that and talk about systemic issues but instead she just kept being portrayed as spoiled and naive with barely any judgment passed on the people that put her into this situation. She's still portrayed with sympathy, but her potential is entirely wasted. And I cannot stress enough that as bad as her actions are, when the men around her take Challe away from her they still hold him hostage so Anne will be forced to help them. They do not see Challe as any more of a person than Brigett does and yet the narrative portrays them in a far better light.

In my perception manganime is more willing to throw this type of character as bone than in anglo media, which kinda make sense given than making friends with rivals in general shows up in all kinds of genres. Even so, it just doesn't feel like enough. Not to say that stuff that does right by this kind of character doesn't exist and I definitely need to check out more but you have to sit through so much

Which leads me to my point, which is that I would expect the villianess genre to be the perfect ground to explore this kind of character and the misogyny attached to it but it just... doesn't do that. Even when it'sa yuri. We get some stuff about how the villianess is misunderstood but that's kind of it??? And he worst ones just cast Someone Else (usually the original game protag) as The Bitch whixj is like... okay, there's no subversion here. You just wrote a typical romance plot. Like maybe it's because it's too focused on an hyperspecific character archetype that doesn't actually exist so it has nothing to build on, but aaaaah. There has to be one that does what I want, there has to.

Anyway, I'm only rambling and don't really have a point except that Princess Tutu is the best anime ever made and why am I looking for more stuff when Princess Tutu already exists.

[peacenfly]

millie looks her age she literally looks like a woman in her 20s. put the porn mags down

[shinybulbasaur]

ONE MORE PARAGRAPH AND THEN IM FREEEEEEEEEEE (kinda)

[waitineedaname]

the fun thing about getting into an academic niche is that when you're doing research, the same names start popping up like recurring characters

[ghostiesnightmare]

The Subject

Pairing: Michael Myers x Female Reader Summary: As a graduate student writing your dissertation on the enigma of Michael Meyers, you try to prove his acts of violence fulfill a dark, psychological need- a crude substitute for intimacy. When Myers resurfaces, your academic obsession drives you dangerously close to the darkness you have been researching. The deeper you delve, the clearer it becomes that you aren't just studying the monster; you're caught in his gaze. TW: DARK content, extreme gore, descriptions of a dead body, mutilation, murder, weapon play, copious amounts of blood, alcohol, foul language, stalking, non-con, nudity, violence, intense paranoia and fear, power imbalance, degradation, unprotected sex, restraints, rough sex, abuse, blood as lube, creampies, and more Word Count: 12,657 MDNI-NSFW A/N: This is incredibly dark, please read the TW's before continuing.

-----

Every child grows up hearing the story about the Boogeyman. What many consider to be an old-wives tale that serves to trick young children into obeying their parents, the reality of the situation can be much more sinister. Terrified at the prospect of being stolen out of their beds in the middle of the night, they learn to obey their parents, set the table, and have good manners. Haddonfield, however, is plagued by its very own boogeyman, those knowing the story refusing to even mention his name out of fear of summoning him and invoking his wrath. Michael Myers; a force that many can only describe as the essence of pure evil. 

Still at large, Myers’ kill count only continues to soar after his untimely escape from the Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, leaving countless detectives baffled at his ability to evade law enforcement. The nature of his crimes, although gruesome, begs an unanswered question to his motives: Why? Was Michael Myers a forgotten member of society that snapped under the pressure of household stressors? Was he simply “born evil”? Or is there a deeper rooted cause for his bloodlust for violence? The seemingly intimate nature of the unspeakable crimes seem to point to a forgotten theory: What if Michael Myers was a sexual deviant, the thrill of the hunt better than any orgasm intercourse could provide? 

You paused, leaning back from your desk riddled with papers, empty coffee cups, and almost illegible notes. Rubbing your eyes, a frustrated sigh huffed from your lips as you scanned the words again, the bold text of your introduction glaring back at you.

Something about that final sentence– it wasn’t right, not compelling enough to capture the intensity of your theory. Leaning forward, you deleted the sentence, fingers tapping away at the keyboard as you typed: 

The undeniably intense nature of these crimes are marked with a chilling, hands-on approach, raising a disturbing possibility: for Michael Myers, the thrill of the kill transcends primal violence, serving as a perverse substitute for human connection.

Brows furrowed, you gnawed on your bottom lip. It was better– but not quite there. Grabbing a red pen, you glanced at your to-do list, the bullet points feeling a mile long as you jotted down: Fix Introduction– final sentence? Groaning slightly, you looked upwards, the words:  Dissertation Defense: one month! staring back at you from a neon post-it note taped to the corner of your clunky macintosh computer.

Your chest tightened, anxiety spiking at the almost unending list of corrections, evidence gathering, and typing required in the next few weeks. Your pen clattered against the desk as stretched, joints popping from the pressure, a tired yawn escaping. You needed coffee– desperately.

Eyes shifting through the introduction for one last measure, you highlighted the final sentence as yet another reminder to tweak your work. Before you could finish, however, your swirling thoughts were crudely interrupted at the jolt of your door swinging open, accompanied by your roommate’s dramatic entrance.

Kimberly waltzed into the small bedroom, permed curls bouncing as she balanced a concerning amount of Chinese takeout containers. “Jesus, you need to open a window in here– it smells like a library.” She cringed, ruffling her nose as she hurriedly dumped the takeout containers on your floor.

You rolled your eyes at her theatrics, pushing away from the desk before plopping onto the shaggy carpet, unpacking the haul. “Says you, beaver lady, every time you come back from the lab you reek of pond water.” You teased, and she huffed.

“That’s so not true! And stop calling me that, once you read my totally rad argument, you’ll never look at them the same!” She defended, offended at your jab, sitting in front of you and grabbing a box of lo mein from the takeout pile.

You grinned at her antics, perfectly manicured hands struggling with the wooden chopsticks as she shoveled the noodles into her mouth. “Okay, okay fine– just stop calling me Hitchcock and I’ll call it even.” You joked, stomach growling as you grabbed your own pair of chopsticks, rummaging through the pile for your kung pao chicken.

Kimberly was not only your roommate, but best friend from highschool, with both of you deciding to apply to colleges together during your senior year. Now, almost six years later, you were joined at the hip while you worked towards your Masters Degrees.

Your mouth watered as the comforting taste of chicken and tangly vegetables invaded your senses, stomach growling as you devoured your meal. Kimberly shifted, lo mein sauce dripping down her chin.

“So… how’s the paper? I swear if I write anymore my brain will literally explode.” She pouted, glancing at the whirlwind of papers dotting almost every surface of your room. You shrugged, choking down another bite, chopsticks still gripped in your hands. 

“It’s going well… I just feel like it's missing something. There hasn’t been a killing pinpointed to him in months, and I’m getting tired of reading over the same reports and crime scene photos–” “Ew, I’m eating. No gore, please.” Kimberly shuddered, and a tired chuckle escaped you at her squeamish nature.

She paused, chewing on her bottom lip before speaking again, the friendly atmosphere in the room hardening. “Do you… think he will be back?” She muttered, and your smile fell. Pondering, you set the container onto the carpet, wiping your hands on your bell bottomed jeans.

“Probably,” You voiced finally, “–why? Are you scared a big bad killer will come after you?” You mused, shoving her arm playfully, causing a startled squeak to escape from her. “Uh, duh. I don’t know how you aren’t terrified of Mr. Boogeyman.” She retorted, nose scrunching at the prospect of the masked psychopath. 

“With my research, I’m sure he doesn’t want to be within 100 feet of me, scared I'll finally prove my theory.” You joked, falling backwards onto the floor and staring at the ceiling, food abandoned. “Ugh, I’m pooped. I feel like I could sleep for years.” You complained, joints stiff and mind heavy.

Kimberly slammed her plastic tupperware onto the floor, the noise jolting your gaze towards her as she stared at you with newfound conviction. “No can do, missy, we have to go out!” You groaned, pushing yourself upwards by your elbows.

The last possible thing that you needed was to be pressed up against other students at a dive bar drinking your night away, much rather preferring a hot cup of tea and a good night’s sleep. “I can’t, I have to wait for a call from the police station to get more files-” Kimberly let out an exasperated sigh at your statement, silencing you.

“C’mon… Halloween is a few days away and Fowl Play is hosting their annual costume party. I swear if you stay in this room any longer you’ll fade away. Mr. Slasher can wait.” Kimberly persisted, standing abruptly and turning to rummage through your closet, throwing random articles of clothing onto your bed as she searched for a costume.

You began to protest, but she cut you off. “I’ll buy your drinks,” She mused, voice full of mischief as she pulled a lace bra from the pile of clothing, holding it up to her chest and striking a lewd pose, causing a smile to break out on your face. “It’s late anyways, the detectives can call you in the morning… please?” She begged, those brown doe eyes pouting as she bargained with you. A defeated sigh escaped you, and you shuffled upwards, padding over to her and snatching your bra from her grasp. 

“Two drinks,” You stated, fighting off another yawn, and she squealed in delight. “You’re the best, you know that? I promise it will be fun. Now go figure out a costume! We leave in ten minutes.”

Kimberly called over her shoulder, rushing to the door and heading to her room, the whirlwind of movement just as chaotic as when she arrived. The door slammed shut, and you grimaced, dropping the bra back onto the bed. Glancing back to your desk, you sighed, rubbing your temples.

Just a few hours, and then you would be back to work. What could possibly go wrong?

__

“What on earth are you dressed up as?” Kimberly questioned, voice barely audible over the thumping synth at Fowl Play. Tugging the thin strap up your shoulder, you glanced down at the now-ruined satin dress clinging to your skin. Pulling your costume together took sheer willpower and luck, finding a half used canister of fake blood from one of your Sociology projects hidden away in the kitchen cabinets.

“I’m Carrie White, duh.” You mimicked her iconic catchphrase, gesturing to the plastic crown on top of your head. She rolled her eyes, shoving a Tequila Sunrise into your hand. “Always so morbid, you creep.” She teased, tattered sleeve brushing against you as she showcased her zombified cheerleader costume. 

Fowl Play was the place to be in Haddonfield, usually packed to the brim with college students throwing down shots under the illumination of neon lights after a long school day. Today was no different, a colorful glow cascading through the crowd decked out in ripped jeans, leg warmers, and hair teased to the ceiling.

Only a few days before Halloween, the theme did the holiday justice, with faux spider webs dripping from the ceiling, swaying under the breeze of the fog machine. The room was covered in a hazy atmosphere, blue lights making the plastic skeletons hanging from the rafters glow an eerie green. You eagerly sip on your drink, trying to block out the stench of sweat, cigarettes, and hairspray coating the room.

Kimberly sways her hips to the beat, head rocking as she downs her drink, grimacing at the strong taste of alcohol. “Ohmygod, I love this song!” An excited shriek escapes her, the sound of the Bee Gees’ Night Fever tearing through the speakers. Tugging you further onto the dancefloor, you squeeze past an intoxicated Frankenstein, who glowers at Kimberly’s antics.

Unphased, she pulls you across the floor, and you laugh at her easy going nature. Suckling on your straw, you quickly set your empty glass on the bar as you passed by, catching the eye of the bartender apologetically as you were dragged along. Finally reaching a suitable dancing place, Kimberly stopped, spinning you around as she settled into a groove, feet kicking and hands shaking.

Stomach warm from the alcohol, you threw your head back, surrendering to the music. The dance floor was littered with costume-clad classmates, all swaying to the beat in various stages of intoxication. Glancing at a cardboard cutout of Nosferatu, you shook to the beat, eyes darting over the crowd. 

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you needed the distraction.

You couldn’t remember the last time you went off campus for anything not school related, and you relished in the feeling of the stress washing away with every shake of your wrists. A vampire and mermaid tried to do the robot, causing Kimberly to burst into laughter, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and you gripped her hands, spinning her.

The music cut out suddenly, causing the crowd to groan in annoyance. The DJ, perched behind a booth lined with cassette tapes and records, huffs into the microphone at the rude reaction. Kimberly grips your hands in excitement, realizing the votes on the costume contest were in. 

“Alright, alright, I know you all have been waiting for this moment. The winner of this year’s annual Spooktacular Showoff is, drumroll please–” The sound of rumbling thundered around the room in anticipation, people stomping their feet while waiting for the news. You braced in anticipation, excitement coursing through your veins.

“ –Carrie White! Get on up here, you cool cat!” Your jaw dropped in shock, ears ringing as Kimberly screamed in excitement, practically shaking you like a ragdoll and dragging you to the DJ booth. Applause roared through the crowd, spare a few disheartened grumbles of disappointment. The DJ presents you with a purple wristband, the words Free Drinks sharpied onto the paper material.

You paled, embarrassed under the spotlight, hands clammy as you gripped your prize. The DJ turned to the crowd, microphone hissing as he spoke again. “Better luck next year, everyone! Now, who’s ready to boogie?” Shoving another cassette tape into the player, the speakers thrilled to life once more, and you were left to escort Kimberly to the bar, pushing through the sea of bodies in your way. 

Kimberly leaned on the chipped wood of the high top counter, batting her eyes at the bartender before proudly pointing to your wristband. “Two Alabama Slammers please, extra strong.” She shouted over the music, and you grimaced at the high pitch. Kimberly quickly grabbed the glasses, winking at the bartender before turning to you.

“See, fun right?! Now we have to stay, it’s not every night you get free booze!” She mused, gulping down her drink, other hand gripping onto yours as well. You sighed, chuckling at her inebriated state. “How about some shots? It’s time to party!” She squealed, chugging the rest of her beverage before sipping on yours, not that you were complaining.

You cringed internally, quickly realizing you were responsible for her actions for the rest of the evening. It was going to be a long night…

__

After what seemed like hours of music and infinite drinks, you finally were able to pull a now very intoxicated Kimberly out of the bar, narrowly avoiding her elbow as you peeled her away from her sloppy makeout session with a football player. The cold air bit into your skin as you stepped outside, goosebumps spreading across your arms.

Slipping an arm around Kimberly to steady her swaying form, you shuffled down the sidewalk, eyes scanning for a cab. Behind you, the bass from the bar thumped faintly, your drunken counterpart bobbing her head to the beat, hiccuping mid-step.  “Pshhh… that was– sooo much fun.” She slurred, breath reeking of vodka. You cringed at the smell, silently cursing yourself for not cutting her off sooner.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” You muttered, trying to ignore her whining protests to go back to the bar. Sweat dotted your hairline as you pulled Kimberly along, the damp fabric of your dress sticking uncomfortably to your back. You were in desperate need of a hot shower and a good night’s sleep after a night like this, and you groaned at the thought of the mountain of work you had waiting for you upon your arrival.

Kimberly stumbled, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, almost pulling you down with her. You steadied her, bracing against her dead weight as she babbled about the Halloween decorations lining the street. Glancing around your surroundings, you silently admired the quaint houses dotting the sidewalks, pumpkins and foliage adorning their porches.

“Heyyy look, it… it’s mister boogeyman….” She spewed out, grip tightening on your arm suddenly. Her words made your stomach drop. Following her gaze, you froze, Kimberly nearly bumping into you as your feet locked into place. A towering figure stood ahead on the sidewalk, clad in the unmistakable mechanic suit and white mask you had seen countless times during your studies. Your heart seized in your chest, details from case files and crime scene photos flashing through your mind, apprehension winding in your gut.

It’s just a prank, you reasoned with yourself, knowing the streets were full of replicas of the killer during the Halloween season. But as you stepped closer, unease churned in your gut. The figure stood perfectly still, like a statue, the faint flow of jack o’lanterns casting eerie shadows across his masked form. Kimberly laughed, sticking out her tongue at the male before you could stop her. “N-nice costume, creep.” She called, pointing at him.

Your nails dug into her wrist as you quickened your pace, keeping your gaze forward, though you couldn’t help but spare him a glance as you passed by.The void of the eye holes in the mask burned into you, your mouth instantly drying at the sight. “Sorry…” You squeaked out over your shoulder, hating the tremble in your voice. He didn’t move, but you could feel his gaze, heavy and chilling as you continued walking.

The headlights of a taxi cab crested over the hill, and you stopped abruptly, frantically waving your hand. Relief washed over you as the car squeaked to a halt in front of you. Throwing open the car door, you  practically shoved Kimberly in, ignoring her drunken protests before climbing in behind her. The taxi driver glanced out the window, brows furrowing at the Michael Myers impersonator on the sidewalk.

“He with you?” You whipped your head around.

The masked man stood in the same spot as before, watching. Shaking your head quickly, you turned back to the driver. “No. Just drive, please.” He grumbled at your command, putting the car into gear and tearing away from the sidewalk. 

Your gaze creeped to the back window, leaning against the glass as you watched the masked man fade into the distance behind you. Only when he disappeared from view did you relax, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Kimberly slouched against the seat, tracing her knee with her fingertips, mumbling to herself.

You could practically feel the disappointment wafting off of the taxi driver, but you didn’t care, wanting to get back to the safety of your room as soon as possible. The rest of the taxi ride went smoothly, the outline of your apartment building entering your vision after a short time. 

Leaving the taxi driver a generous tip, you dragged Kimberly from the car bed and led her towards the building. Balancing Kimberly against you, you fumbled with your keys, pushing the door open and maneuvering her carefully up the flight of stairs, trying to avoid any safety hazards as you went. Hauling Kimberly into your shared apartment, you quickly dumped her onto her bed before rushing to grab her a glass of water.

By the time you returned, beverage in hand, a passed out Kimberly met your gaze, snores filling the room. Begrudgingly, you set the glass on her nightstand, pulling a blanket over her costume clad body before turning away, shutting the door behind you. 

As the door shut, exhaustion hit you like a wave. Kicking off your shoes, you head to your room, skin itching for a hot shower. Ripping the tiara from your hair, your fingers scratched your scalp, a satisfied groan escaping you as you massaged your skin.

Picking up a sleep shirt and a pair of shorts, you shoved the pile of clothes Kimberly left on your bed onto the floor, mentally noting to pick up your room in the morning. You turned, arms full of clothing as you headed towards the hallway for the bathroom.

The phone rang, the shrill landline tearing through the silence, and your blood ran cold. 

Snatching up the phone, you pressed it to your ear. Who calls this late at night?  “Hello?” You grumbled, irritation seeping into your tone at the delay of your pursuit of a hot shower. “Detective Langley speaking.” A gruff voice answered. A rustle of papers sounded out through the telephone, noise grainy against your ear. “... Is this miss (l/n)?” Your pulse quickened.

“This is she.” “I know you’ve been working with Detective Harmon for months now,” Langley said abruptly, voice sharp with urgency and something else you couldn’t quite place. “If you were anyone else I wouldn’t be calling, but–” He paused, seemingly debating whether to continue. “... I have something better than case files for you. Can you be ready in ten minutes? I’ll have a cruiser parked at campus.” Another pause, this one more heavy.

“We think… He struck again.”

Blood pounded in your ears, shower forgotten as the words echoed in your mind. Excitement coursed through your veins as you dropped your pajamas onto the counter. “I’ll be ready in eight.”

__

Hair still damp from what was probably the fastest shower of your life, you shoved your keys into your bag, beelining towards the patrol car parked at the curb. Fumbling with the passenger door, you glanced at the officer inside, who you could only imagine was Detective Langley.

The older man sat in his seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel, dark eyes meeting your own. You clambered into the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt before shutting the door. Detective Langley shifted the car into gear, pulling away from the curb and moving towards an unknown destination. He glanced at you expectantly, and you quickly pulled out your small voice recorder from the bag, items shuffling around as you pressed the record button.

“Log seventy eight. Thursday, October 29th, 1980. Time is–” You glanced at the dashboard for the time. “–Eleven forty-five.” Setting the device in your lap, you waited for the officer to speak, mind swirling with possibilities. 

Adrenaline began to pump through your veins, heartbeat quickening as you were possibly being escorted to a live crime scene. After pestering detectives for months, attending multiple press conferences and participating in many ride-alongs, this could be your big break for new evidence. You would be experiencing everything first hand, the prospect sending your head spiraling.

Officer Langley shuffled uncomfortably at being recorded, pausing slightly before speaking. “Victim is a 19 year old babysitter. Distress call came in at eleven fifteen from the victim’s employers who arrived back from dinner to a silent house. The child she was caring for was unharmed, but–” He faltered, eyes flickering to your own before finishing “... but the victim was found dead on scene.” Your heart dropped at that, the reality of the situation quickly setting into place.

Someone was murdered, and you were going on scene.

“Suspect is still at large, with many indicators pointing towards Myers. Same MO, same timeline.” Langley finished, clearing his voice suddenly. You took that as your queue and pressed the pause button on your recorder, staring at him expectantly. “Look kid, this is nothing like the crime scene photos or briefs you’ve seen. This is an active crime scene, and there’s a few rules you have to follow.” Your spine straightens, and you wait for instruction.

Langley sighs, eyes steely as he cruised down the road. “You are a civilian, remember that. No touching, no pestering, and god no puking. You watch, take notes, and maybe ask some questions.” Your heart flutters, eyes trained forward as the telltale red and blue peeked over the horizon, illuminating the dashboard. “Thank you, Detective.” You whisper, nerves leaving you giddy as the car slowed, crime scene tape blocking the street. “Don’t mention it, kid. I’m doing this as a favor.” He said gruffly, and you didn’t question further. 

Police cars lined the street, officers swarming the house as a terrified family stood in the front lawn. A press van idled against the curb, a newscaster speaking to the camera with the house in the background, trying to flag down an officer for questioning. You swallowed thickly, watching the chaos unfold in front of you.

Detective Langley parks the car, and you jolt out of the seat, grabbing your notebook and pen. Popping the trunk, the detective quickly pulled a blue vest over his chest, grabbing a bag before circling the car to the passenger side. An identical vest was shoved into your hands, and you quickly slipped it on.

Detective Langley moved towards the lawn, pulling the crime scene tape upwards and allowing you to slip underneath. As you stepped forward, a hand quickly grabbed your shoulder, halting you in place. “Remember, no touching. And for the love of god, no recording.” You nodded, hands gripping the notebook tighter. 

The air felt heavy, tainted with the prospect of death. You meekly followed the detective in front of you, trying to ignore the puzzled looks of other officers brushing past you. Reaching the front porch, the flash of a camera within the house illuminated through the windows. A rush of officers moved through the front door, and Detective Langley pushed forward, stepping into the house. You ducked in behind him.

Immediately, the bag dropped to the floor, and he pulled the zipper open. Realization hit you like a wave, you were suiting up. Mimicking his movements, you quickly pulled booties onto your feet, covering your shoes. Slipping a plastic poncho over your head, the fabric crinkled as it settled around your knees. Detective Langley paused, fishing something out of the bag before handing it to you. A ponytail.

You quickly bunched your hair on top of your head, not wanting to interfere with the investigation. Pulling on a pair of sterile gloves, you straightened, covered head to toe in anti-evidence attractant. Detective Langley moved forwards, and you silently trudged after him, dwarfed in the billowy poncho and booties. As you walked, a foul odor hit your nose, causing your face to scrunch ever so slightly, brows furrowing at the smell.

The smell was metallic, mixed with an earthy scent that made your stomach flip. The scent of death, you thought, pushing past another officer before entering the living room of the house, trying to steel yourself as you braved onwards. Another flash blinded you momentarily, and you blinked.

The temperature dropped with every step you took, as if you were walking into a grave, goosebumps settling across your skin. Something horrible happened in the room ahead of you, and you glanced at the wall of the living room, stomach dropping at the bloodied handprint streaking against the yellow wallpaper. 

Stepping into the kitchen, you froze, blood turning to ice. A few mere feet in front of you, was a body. The first thing you noticed were her eyes, open so wide with only one expression, the sight making you falter: terror. Her face was frozen in a moment of raw fear, mouth gaped open, eyes staring back into you, unmoving, unyielding. Her blue sundress was covered in blood, the crimson pooled around her and soaking into the tile below.

Skin deathly pale, covered in gashes, no doubt from a knife. You grimaced, glancing at her stomach, naval cavity torn open so feverishly you could see the yellow of her ribs, organs poking out of her, intestines spilling onto the floor. And the smell, a mix of blood and raw flesh so putrid the singular drink curdled within your stomach. You paled, head reeling as you gaped at the body, fingers gripping your notebook so tightly your knuckles turned white. 

Officers moved around the body, unphased by the gruesome sight as they tried to collect evidence. You stood frozen in place, ears ringing as you imagined her final moments. A terrible struggle. A desperate attempt to escape. A knife raised in the air. A blood curdling scream. Then, silence. You squeezed your eyes shut, the imaginary scream rattling you to your bones.

The black and white photographs of the crime scenes you were used to were nothing compared to the live scene, the nature of it all leaving you feeling light headed. Detective Langley approached the body, and you weakly followed him, swallowing thickly. Crouching over the body, he glanced at you trying to avoid the pool of blood creeping towards your bootied feet. 

“See this?” He gestured, finger extended above the body, tracing the laceration on her stomach. The closeness of her body was worse, you could practically feel the terror radiating off of her, final moments ingrained permanently into the house. You trailed his movements, trying to ignore the view of the ruptured liver engorged on the tile floor. “One laceration to open her up, then short, quick stabbings. That’s why her organs look like mush.” Langley muttered, and you grimaced at the crude words.

“A rage killing…” You said, mind flickering to the countless pictures you had seen in the past, frozen in time. The detective nodded, standing once more. “What do you think, kid? Your theory still make sense?” You faltered at his words, staring back at the mutilated body in front of you. Pausing, you exhaled sharply, pushing yourself into research mode. 

Flipping through the pages of your notebook, your gaze met the detectives once more, emotion seeping from you as you got to work. “The MO is identical; babysitter around Halloween found in the wrong place, wrong time. Her wounds are strikingly similar to–” You flipped through another page, wracking your brain for other victims.

“–Bob Simms, who also had severe lacerations to his abdomen. This however… seems more personal. See the ligature mark around her left wrist?” You gestured to her arm, confidence quickly invading your senses, the buzz of gore falling from your mind. “He tied her up, and she escaped. He likes the chase, but when his victims defy him, he reacts poorly, losing control.” You paused, before muttering, “– Like an enraged lover.” Detective Langley pondered your explanation, nodding.

“I’m surprised. You know more than I expected.” Another blinding flash of the camera, and you glanced down at your notes, quickly flipping to a blank page to sketch the basic layout of the body, marking points of interest.

“What’s the civilian doing here?” An officer grumbled out, and Langley shot him a deathly glare.

“She’s with me, working to crack the case. What are you doing?” He bit out, and the younger officer paled, stammering out an apology before moving back to investigate. Turning back to you, Detective Langley huffed. “Take some time to jot down some notes, I have some paperwork to fill out. Good work, kid.” Brushing past you, Langley disappeared into the sea of officers, leaving you alone.

Thoughts whirled through your mind, and you stared at the body once more, lips pursing at the sight. The more you stared, the more confident you became in your theory, the hands-on approach towards the violent killing meaning only one thing:

Michael Myers was a predator.

A sexually deprived, anger driven force of nature that sought pleasure within his obsession for violence. The one thing he craved to invoke being the last thing his victims ever feel: terror.

Your mind clicked, and you scribbled the sentence down in your notebook, writing: introduction? before circling the passage. Tucking the notebook under your arm, you quickly slipped out of the suffocating house, desperate for fresh air. Stepping into the night, you peeled the poncho over your head, discarding it in a marked bin on the lawn.

Stripping the protective layers from your body, your breaths greedily drank in the fresh air, savoring the scent of pine and freshly mowed grass. Around you, the crime scene continued to bustle with life– flashing lights, murmured voices, the crunch of boots on gravel. Your gaze drifted past the chaos, drawn to the dark treeline sprouted behind the house. Dense shadows swallowed the foliage, faint outlines of pine branches drifting in the chill October breeze. 

A shuffle in the distance caught your attention. You squinted, zeroing in on the movement. Settled in between two bushes, something shifted– a figure, still as stone, blending in against the trees. Your breath caught in your throat, panic gripping you as you gaped forward. Another patrol car rumbled down the street, the headlights cutting across the line of trees as it curved around the bend.

For a split second, the light caught something. A flash of white.

Your mind flickered back to the bar, to the masked man who stood motionless on the sidewalk. Horror churned in your gut, the realization slamming into you full force. It wasn’t a costume. It was real, it was him. Michael Myers; waiting, watching. 

The sound of gurney wheels squeaked against the gravel, tearing your eyes from the scene. The body bag, black and heavy, was escorted by two officers to the waiting van, enticing you. It was only a second, your gaze shifting before moving back to the treeline, where the figure had been.

Your chest tightened as you stared at the bushes, the bushes empty. You scanned the treeline, eyes straining for any movement. He’s gone. Pulse quickening, you glanced down at your notebook, tucked in your grasp. Had you imagined it, the tension from the grizzly scene making you see things?

The flash of white, the outline of his silhouette against the treeline— it felt so real. 

Detective Langley reappeared at your side, the sudden presence startling you. The older male chuckled at your jumpy state. “Crime scene jitters?” He mused, gruff voice teasing. You hesitated at the question, debating telling him of your discovery, but the words died on your tongue. “Yeah… I guess so.” You muttered, eyes still trained on the treeline. He patted your shoulder reassuringly, calling over another officer.

“Get her back to campus,” He ordered before turning back to you. “When the pictures are developed, I’ll send them your way. If you have any more ideas or theories, give me a call.” Digging into his pocket, he produced a card, his number written on it. You thanked him, taking the small piece of paper and tucking it into your notebook. Another officer led you to the cruiser you arrived in, and you shakily slid into the passenger seat, dumping your notebook into your bag.

The ride back to campus felt like a blur, the events of the past few hours burned into your skull. Exhaustion weighed down on you in a vice-like grip, but sleep never came, leaving you tossing and turning, mind going a million miles a minute.

Each time you closed your eyes, the image of terror on the butchered girl’s face stared back at you, sending bile rising in your throat. You stared at the ceiling, imagining the treeline. The rush of lights, the flash of movement. The white of his mask, watching silently.

You wondered if you would ever sleep again.

__

You tried to convince yourself that it was just stress, but something felt off. Your body ached from long nights of restless sleep, terrorized by vivid nightmares that jolted you awake, drenched in sweat and goosebumps covering every inch of skin. Images of the crime scene burned into your brain, the hollow eyes staring back at you in the woods.

Your room was a chaotic mess, papers, notebooks, maps, photos, and almost illegible handwriting covering every surface. The few days after the crime scene had sent you down a rabbit hole, with you spending every waking moment hunched over your desk, typing away at your computer screen. Each bump in the night, each shadow cast along the wall somehow traced back to him. Your masked killer invaded your life, even outside of your research. Walking back from the library one night, the streetlights cast unnatural shadows against the sidewalk, shifting under your gaze. The quiet was deafening, broken only by the patter of your footsteps in the late hour. But it was always there– the subtle noise of shuffling behind you, always watching. Always waiting. You had whirled around, scanning the darkness, seeing nothing.

Yet the feeling was always there, the sensation of being followed coating you like a second skin, creeping into your bones and sending your brain spiraling. You had picked up speed, terror gripping your chest, only relieving slightly when you reached your apartment, locking the door behind you. But as you turned to shut the curtains, your stomach dropped. Under the faint glow of the streetlight in your peripheral vision, a figure stood there, the white mask catching in the light.

But as soon as you shifted your gaze to the movement fully, it was gone. 

The days began to blur together as you poured over your work, trying to settle the feeling of constant dread in your stomach. But no matter how fast you typed away at your dissertation, no matter how long you engrossed yourself into your research, the feeling remained.

Even Kimberly began to notice the shift in your behavior, cautiously leaving food at the foot of your door, begging you to relax, to take a break. But the dissertation had you in its hold, demanding you continue onwards, pushing you to the brink. As the deadline to your dissertation approached, so did the inexplicable things that began to haunt you.

Your door would slightly be open when you returned from class, ajar and leaving a crack of light into your room when you were certain you had locked it. Your papers would be shifted, unorganized chaos jolted as evidence would be stacked differently than when you had left it.

Pieces of information would be underlined or circled, even though you were sure you hadn’t touched them. It was always worse at night, faint creaks and heavy breathing seeming to come from outside your window, even from the second floor. As time passed, though, things began happening that you couldn’t chalk up to paranoia, something real.

You had been stewing in your room, shuffling through papers and editing your final draft of your dissertation when the phone rang. The shrill sound had startled you so badly you almost dropped your coffee mug, the liquid dangerously close to spilling from your mug. Thinking it was Detective Langley asking for progress, you had picked the phone off the receiver quickly, pressing it to your ear.

“Hello?” But there was no answer, heavy silence on the other line. You almost ended the call, confused, when you heard it. The breathing, rough and oppressive, was very same that you could practically feel pressing down your back during sleepless nights. “Who… Who is this?” Your voice had trembled, fingers gripping the phone like a lifeline as you strained for an answer. 

The line went dead.

You slammed the phone on the receiver so hard the plastic had cracked, blind panic tearing through your chest. Kimberly’s words rang through your head from that fateful night, taunting you. I don’t know how you aren’t terrified of Mr. Boogeyman. But now, you knew. He was like a shape in the dark, a creature of the night feeding off your fear, growing bolder as your paranoia began to take hold.

And that was the most terrifying part of all. 

 The murders hadn’t stopped, either. Almost nightly, Detective Langley would summon you at ungodly hours, desperate for your input on another case. The bodies began to pile up, a mountain of evidence continuously being added to your work as your point was all but proven. The scenes became all the more violent, crimes of something you could only describe as passion rattled you to your bones, each victim becoming more mutilated, more disfigured.

The last crime scene had finally broken you, vomit spewing from you as you ran from the house, stomach twisting at the decapitated body of another unfortunate babysitter. Haddonfield was put under curfew, children were shuttled home in groups, and parents refused to let their teenage daughter babysit for others. But nothing could stop the carnage. You were spiraling, and fast. Tension began to build within you at your heightened stress, lack of sleep, and the deadline hanging over you like a death sentence. 

The apartment door slammed shut behind Kimberly, rattling against the cheap metal frame so loudly you jumped. Lifting your head from the kitchenette table, you glared, bloodshot eyes worn from pouring over your notes. Kimberly dumped her book bag onto the floor at your feet, smushing a stack of papers that you gingerly grabbed off the floorboards.

“Jesus girl, you need to calm down. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Kimberly groaned, shrugging off her jacket before reaching into a cabinet, grabbing a mug and a handle of vodka before making herself a drink. You glanced behind you, staring out the window into the pitch black. “I saw him again,” you bit out, voice tight with nerves. “–He was right there, outside the window. Just standing there.” Kimberly rolled her eyes, a sharp laugh escaping her, although it sounded forced.

“Him? You mean Mr. Boogeyman? You have got to be kidding me.” She took a gulp of her drink, grimacing at the bitter taste before turning to you. “You’ve been obsessing over him for weeks, certain he’s ‘after you’”, she said, airquoting her words snarkily before adding, “–You’re just paranoid.”

You grit your teeth at her words.

“I’m not paranoid.” You snapped, practically snarling at her. “I know what I saw. He was there.” Kimberly sighed, worry settling into her frame as she smiled pitifully at you, as if you were insane. It made your blood boil. “Look, I get that you’re super into this whole true crime thing and want a shot at being Miss Detective, but you’re letting it get to you. I mean, really?”

She scoffed, throwing up her hands. “You think some infamous killer is stalking you because you want to prove that he’s a pervert? Do you hear how crazy that sounds?”You swear you see red. “I’m not crazy.” You seethe, stomach churning at the word.

Crazy– she thought you were crazy.

Kimberly sighed, brushing her hair out of her face before speaking, chewing at the bottom of her lip. “I’m sorry. It’s just– I’m worried about you. If it’s bothering you that much we can call campus security. Do you want some tea or something?” Her voice wobbled, and you rolled your eyes. Security wouldn’t stop him, if anything it would only make him more angry. You ignored her, turning your attention back to your work, going through highlighted passages and making changes.

The sound of glass shattering had your gaze shooting to Kimberly, whose mug was in pieces on the tile. “Damn it!” She cursed, dropping to her knees. You stood, rushing over to the paper towels before kneeling across from her. You padded at the liquid silently, tension thick between the two of you as you cleaned her mess. Kimberly slowly picked up the pieces of the mug, and you finally noticed her shaking hands. 

__

The ear-splitting sound of your alarm clock jolted you from an uneasy night’s sleep. Groaning, you tore yourself away from the bundle of sheets, blindly slapping your hand down on the clock, silencing the noise. You yawned, rubbing your tired eyes as you stared at the clock. The glowing red numbers read 6:00AM. Your breathing hitched, nerves crackling in the air of your bedroom. Today was dissertation day. You sat frozen in your bed, anxiety weighing you down against the sheets.

Months of research, sleepless nights, crime scene tours, and the questioning of your sanity have led to this moment. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or terrified, but you were too tired to care. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stretched, trying to shake the exhaustion that clung to your skin. Things will finally settle down after today.

They had to. 

Creaking open your door slowly, you peeked into the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted to your nostrils as you stepped into the shared space, however Kimberly’s usually boisterous presence was absent. You glanced at the counter, an array of empty bottles of liquor staring back at you, and you sighed. You hesitated outside her closed bedroom door, deciding against waking her to apologize for your behavior.

It looked like she had a long night. Opting to not start another fight, you grabbed a mug, pouring the liquid gold that you considered to be your lifeline into the cup, warmth seeping into your hands. You sank into a chair, pulling out your prepared stack of notecards, flipping through them absentmindedly as you drank. 

After what felt like the longest hot shower of your life, you steeled yourself to your fate and began preparing for the day. The dissertation defense was scheduled at 11:00, and by 10:00 you were dressed in business professional– pressed shirt chafing against the material of your blazer. Fiddling with the tailored sleeve, you checked your appearance in the mirror for what seemed like the hundredth time, smoothing out your slacks nervously.

The overall look screamed professionalism and sophistication, though you spent at least 15 minutes deciding between heels or loafers. Sighing, you chose the heels, slipping them onto your feet for the extra mile. Running a hand through your hair, you grabbed your notecards, speech recorder, and a printed copy of your dissertation, taking one last look in the mirror.

“You can do this.” You breathed out, forcing a confident smile.

The walk to the campus building was brisk, heightened by the bundle of nerves churning in your stomach. Shivering against the October breeze, you pulled your blazer closer to your body, braving onwards. Passing students chatted happily, their carefree nature buzzing in the air as you brushed past, running possible scenarios through your head.

Muttering to yourself, you tried to pinpoint your key phrases as you walked, the telltale brick of the graduate student conservatory cresting the horizon. Pushing through the heavy wooden door, the smell of old books and cigarette smoke filled your nostrils, and you took a deep breath inwards. Approaching the small conference room, you tried to shake the nervous tremble in your voice, professionalism quickly overtaking your form.

Glancing into the conference room, a board of five suit clad figures discussed your work, each having meticulously read your dissertation in the previous days. Doctor Strigler, the head of the Sociology and Human Behavior department, relaxed in his swivel chair, waving you inside. Swallowing thickly, you entered the room, settling behind the oak podium and flipping through your notecards.

“Good morning, miss (l/n). Take a moment to prepare yourself, and then we can begin. After a standard presentation of your findings, you will be cross examined, followed by a final Q+A, and then you are free to wait outside until the decision is made.” Doctor Strigler smiled fondly, adjusting his spectacles. You nodded, palms sweaty as you pulled out your printed dissertation. Clearing your throat, you settled, pushing your nerves away before starting.

“Good morning gentlemen, it is my honor to present my findings on what we consider to be one of the most prolific, yet mysterious serial killers in our great state of Illinois–” Your voice trembled ever so slightly.

“–Michael Myers.”

For the next two hours, the room was a blur of academic rigor and prowess. You presented your findings on the masked killer with practiced confidence, taking the committee through multiple recorded pieces of evidence, showing crime scene photos, and more. Occasionally, questions interrupted your presentation, some easy while others required you to contemplate before responding.

During the cross examination period, you defended your points passionately, citing your mile-long list of sources and evidence. As you talked, the nerves melted away, replaced with a calculated sense of confidence that highlighted your almost obsessive nature towards your theory. After what felt like centuries, the committee called time, thanking you for your presentation and excusing themselves to deliberate.

You paced the hallway, wracking your brain for any mistakes you may have made in the heat of the moment, wringing your hands nervously. 

The door to the conference room swung open, Doctor Strigler stepping into the hallway to wave you down. You halted your movements, almost skidding across the floor. This was it– the moment that decided your fate. You swear your heart was going to beat out of your chest, and you had the sudden urge to retch. The anticipation hung over you like a death sentence, and you steeled yourself, squaring your shoulders before approaching the older male.

Smiling warmly, he extended his hand towards you.“Congratulations, Doctor (l/n).” Tears instantly welled in your eyes, your body feeling a thousand times lighter, the unforeseen weight lifted from your shoulders. Your cheeks hurt from how wide you were smiling, and you quickly grabbed the Doctor’s hand, shaking it enthusiastically.

Stammering out your appreciation, you rushed back into the conference room, thanking each of the committee members and picking up your extensive collection of files scattered along the desk. Practically sprinting out of the room, you fought the urge to skip out of the building, arms full of paperwork, feedback, and your research materials.

The walk home felt surreal– the sun shining brighter, the birds chirping joyfully, and the breeze carrying a newfound lightness with it. You thought of all the ways you would celebrate with Kimberly after a sincere apology, bracing yourself to the possibility of spending the night at Fowl Play again. The thought alone made you smile, your pace increasing as you hurried home to break the good news.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were giddy with excitement, the afternoon beginning to fade into the evening with the October chill setting in. Practically bouncing up the stairs in the apartment building, you rushed into your bedroom, dumping the stack of papers onto your desk.

Kicking your heels off, you shrugged off your blazer, hanging it in the closet before heading back into the kitchen. “Kim-bear, I’m home! Come on out, there’s something I’m dying to tell you!” You half expected Kimberly to pounce on you at your words, squealing and shaking you like a ragdoll. Instead, silence was your only response, lingering heavily in the air. 

Opening the overhead cupboards, you grabbed two wine flutes, the reality of your accomplishment sinking in. “I did it…” You whispered, setting them down carefully on the counter before turning to the fridge. The bottle of white wine glared back at you, unopened– you and Kimberly using it as a milestone market, not opening the bottle until one of you passed your respective dissertations. Digging through the cupboards for the wine opener, you called over your shoulder. 

“Kimberly, you’ve been in there all day.” The telltale pop of the cork echoed around the kitchen, but still, there was no response from your roommate. Your frown deepened as you poured the sauvignon blanc into the glasses. “Look, I know I’ve been an ass recently,” you admitted, tone softening as you glanced at her closed door. “–But I did it, so we’re celebrating whether you like it or not!” 

Nothing.

Setting down the bottle with a hollow thunk, you grabbed the glasses, padding over to her room. Although closed, the crack under the door flooded with light, signaling she was home. Irritation prickled at your skin, but the longer you waited, the more it was outweighed by unease. “Kim-bear?” You called again, knocking against the door, wine sloshing in the glass. You pressed your ear against the wood, straining for any noise.

No footsteps, no sound of her hushed voice, even the telltale noise of music playing non-stop on her vinyl player was absent. Just silence. Your palms grew clammy, glasses balanced in one hand as your fingers hesitantly brushed against the cool metal of the doorknob.

“Kimberly.” You urged, panic beginning to set in, voice barely above a whisper. You gritted your teeth, worried you’ll run into a very hungover roommate who was not in the mood to chat. “I’m coming in…” You warned, twisting the doorknob and pushing into the room.

The sight inside stopped you mid stride.

The bedroom was a mess– mirror smashed against the carpet, shards of glass covering almost every inch of the floor. Papers, photos, and cassette tapes were strewn across the room, desk chair overturned, legs shattered into splinters. And there, draped against her bed, was Kimberly.

At least, what was left of her.

Blood stained feathers coated her skin, pillows torn to shreds at her side. Shirt cut clean open, a nasty gash sliced through her midriff, ribs protruding from the open cavity of her chest. Her organs were on full display, liver ruptured and pressing against the gnarled entrails of her intestines. There was so much blood– pooling from the open carcass, staining the sheets in a deep scarlet, covering every surface within its reach. And the smell, the metallic scent of blood mixing with her open cavity in a way that made your stomach flip.

The wine glasses slipped from your fingers, shattering against the floorboards. Your stomach lurched at the gruesome sight, throat choking on a scream that refused to come. You dry heaved, bile rising to your throat as you suffocated on air, blind panic tearing through your skin. The world tilted around you, spinning as your knees wobbled, the sight of her glassy eyes staring straight into your soul. A gargled sob finally tore through your throat, and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your cries, the horror of the scene sinking into you.

Blood dripped from the edge of her bed, winding down her limp leg before dripping onto the wooden floorboards in sickening plops. Your breathing hitched, suffocating you under the weight of realization. Her wounds were fresh– gaping, raw, and impossibly brutal. Her last breaths were probably moments before you walked in the door, a flash of horror sending white hot fear stabbing through your chest.

You had just missed the act, meaning her killer was still here. 

A faint clatter came from behind you, the sound subtle– like the scrape of metal against wood. Your heart seized within your chest, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up. The all too familiar feeling of being watched settled over you like a wet blanket, heavy and suffocating. You turned slowly, worried about any sudden movement resulting in your certain demise.

Your gaze landed on the bathroom across the apartment, the doorway an ominous void of inky black. Your brain screamed at you to look away, to run, but you were frozen in place, legs bolted to the floor. The darkness seemed to shift, alive and writhing, a figure emerging from what you could only describe as hell.

First, the pale mask appeared– eerily blank, followed by the navy of the mechanic suit, fabric soaked with so much blood it looked black. His broad shoulders shook with the same ragged breaths that kept you awake so many nights before. He tilted his head just slightly, examining you. The light caught the knife clenched in his fist– your roommate’s blood still dripping from the blade, and your knees wobbled.

You leaned against the doorway, bare foot crunching on shards of broken glass, needles of pain slicing up your leg. But you couldn’t move– no matter how much you screamed at your legs to run, your body betrayed you as it remained rooted to the floor. The only thing you could do was stare– gaping at the legend you had spent the better part of a year dissecting, eyes tracing the inhumane shape of a man who had spent a lifetime dismantling lives.

Michael Myers had finally come for you, the devil paying his due. 

Your brain wracked with silent begs of mercy, but all that escaped your lips were broken sobs. You knew nothing could save you now, any pleads of salvation useless against him. And as much as the terror short circuited your brain, you couldn’t deny the curiosity pooling within your stomach. The specimen you had been obsessively studying for what felt like a century stood just feet away, the probability of your theory practically proving itself as an image of Kimberly’s disfigured corpse flashed through your mind.

He took another harrowing step forward, and the inquisitiveness bolting you in place shattered, replaced by the primal urge to escape. Legs faltering, you propelled yourself forward, sprinting towards the door leading into the hallway. Pain shot up your legs as the glass embedded deeper within the flesh of your feet, but you refused to stop. Practically launching around the kitchen counter, you stumbled over your discarded heels, almost crashing into the wall. Breaths coming out in frantic puffs, your hand stretched towards the door, your only saving grace. Your voice finally returned, a scream so raw with emotion it rattled your ears. “HEL-”

A hand too large to be human clamped down around your mouth, yanking you backwards by your jaw.

Immediately, you dead weighted– pressing downwards as you clawed forwards, fingers desperately trying to reach for the door. Wailing screams pressed against the meaty palm, the noises almost completely silenced as you tried to wrench yourself from his grasp. Flailing your limbs, you struggled like your life depended on it, clamping your jaw down so hard into the palm of his hand that you drew blood.

Michael huffed, pulling you backwards with such force you lost your footing, bloodied soles of your feet slipping against the wood. Your back hit the hard expanse of his chest, blood– Kimberly’s blood– instantly soaking through your thin blouse and pressing into your skin. The blade of the knife was pushed against your throat, and you grimaced at the cool metal biting into your skin, the sharp edge slightly drawing blood. 

The mantra you confidently spouted all those weeks ago echoed in your head, chiding: He likes the chase, but when his victims defy him, he reacts poorly, losing control.

You stilled at that, heart in your throat– life in the hands of your own personal boogeyman. Those horrid breaths wafted from his mask, fanning over the top of your head, ruffling your hair. He smelled like death– rather, he was death, dragging you into the depths of hell. Your research told you he liked fear, practically basking in it– but was it more than that? Was the gratification in the initial scare itself, or the control he asserted over his victims?

You squeezed your eyes shut, cursing your brain– constantly analyzing, dissecting. Your heels dug into the floorboards as he stepped backwards, head craning into his chest to try and alleviate the sting of the blade against your neck. He maneuvered you with ease, pulling you towards your bedroom. 

A small part of you flushed, stomach dropping– your room.

Your research papers were still scattered across the desk, the walls coated in notes– like an obsessive stalker, about to be unveiled by the subject of your research. Every detail of his history, every violent act, every conspiracy documented with extensive detail. You mentally cringed in his hold, wanting nothing more than to curl into yourself from the embarrassment, the irony of it all.

Michael kicked your door, the wood splintering beneath his boots as he pulled you into the room. The pressure of the knife against your neck alleviated, the deadly weapon clattering against your desk, splattering droplets of blood across your printed dissertation. Hand still holding your mouth under his bruising grip, he pushed you into the desk.

Sparks flew across your vision– the world spinning as your skull cracked against the wood, disorientation rattling your brain. Your right temple felt like it was burning, a warm gush of blood dripping down your eyebrow, filling your eye with stinging pain. You moaned weakly, blinking as your dazed vision began to clear once more.

Vision settling, a crude sketch of the mask in the bushes that fateful night stared back at you, taunting you. You wanted to die– not from his knife, but from the mortifying realization that your work was on full display. Your hands were forced behind you, tearing you from the self-deprecating spiral, a hand pressing them against your back, holding you flat against the desk. Your hip bones dug into the edge painfully, breasts uncomfortably squashed beneath your weight as you wriggled against the hard surface. 

You protested immediately, desperate noises sounding too lewd for comfort pressing against his palm. His hand released your jaw, teeth audibly clattering together as you begged, “Please, don’t look–” frantically before something was shoved into your mouth. You choked slightly, the taste of worn clothing coating your tongue. He gagged you– you realized, aching jaw throbbing.

The research you had worked tirelessly on shifted beneath you, and your eyes shot upwards to the collection of polaroids, crime scene photos, and police sketches of the very man holding you down. Your room looked like an obsessive shrine, theories connected with red twine pinned along the entire expanse of drywall.

You swallowed thickly, humiliation churning in your gut like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar. You weren’t his typical MO, but your research must have hit a nerve from the masked killer. He was going to kill you– you had delved too far within the rabbit hole, and now you would pay for it with your life.

You squeezed your eyes shut, heart hammering within your chest as an eerie sense of acceptance washed over you. 

You half expected him to rip your heart from your chest, feasting on your flesh before he fled the scene, but you knew he would use that god forsaken knife. You knew him too well, the months of research proving just exactly how he would kill you– slowly, intimately.

The smallest voice inside of you revelled in the fact that you were right, aware all along just how deep he had fallen from grace. You braced yourself, expecting the blade to tear through you– instead, a torn paper was slammed down onto the table next to your head. You jolted from the sudden movement, quickly reading the crumpled paper.

Your eyes widened, breath faltering as you writhed against his grip, twisting your wrists so vigorously that you were certain your skin was rubbing raw. The scribbled line you had written for your final introduction glared back at you, a cruel reversal of your own research being used against you:

Michael Myers was a predator.

You weren’t just terrified– you were transfixed, the idea of him actually reading through your notes… was it a sign of acknowledgement? The hand that wasn’t pinning you to the desk brushed your hip, and your breathing hitched, silencing your analyzing thoughts. Cheek scraping along the wood of the desk, you met your captor’s gaze– peering into the void.

Fingers curled around the waistband of your slacks as he stared back at you, challenging you. The blood drained from your face as your slacks were tugged roughly down, catching at your knees. Goosebumps erupted along the exposed flesh, bare ass hanging off the edge of the desk– a harrowing realization tearing through you.

You weren’t just an unlucky researcher who got too close to the sun, you were prey– and the boogeyman finally came to collect. The rough pads of his fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh, kneading the skin so curtly your stomach somersaulted.

You should want to scream– to run, to pound your fists into his chest and claw at his skin– but all you could do was watch his exploratory movements. He was studying you, just as you had done towards him for the better part of a year, curiosity stilling you against his touch. This was so wrong– you were supposed to be dead by now, blood pouring from your skin as life drained from your eyes– not sprawled half naked over your own research.

Your thighs clenched as the scratchy material of the jumpsuit brushed against your skin, hips meeting his. Gaping at that devilish mask, you refused to avert your eyes– even as your panties were ripped away from your body you stood firm, entranced. Was he experimenting with you before ending your life, or was he finally, finally cracking under the pressure from the lack of intimacy? The beast of a man behind you jerked forward slightly, hips grinding against the fat of your ass– but you were too focused on your inner ramblings to care. 

A ragged huff escaped the male hovering over you, breath fanning your back as realization slammed into you. He wasn’t doing this for him– he was doing this for you, giving you the concrete evidence you were missing in your theory.

The thought made your head spin, warmth pooling in your stomach– Michael had read your research, combed over the countless theories with meticulous detail, and now he knew the perfect way to make you pay for your pitiful investigation. The knife haphazardly draped against the dissertation was lifted, and a pang of fear stabbed into your chest.

Was this it? Were you going to be found half naked and covered in bloody handprints over your own research? You tried to track the weapon with your eyes, but Michael quickly ducked out of view behind you– leaving you in the dark. 

A cool sensation fluttered over your left asscheek as a finger brushed over the skin, wet and slimy. You cringed at the feeling, trying to arch away from the mysterious liquid as it— your eyes widened— dripped down to your lower thigh. The finger trailed lower, through the crevice of your ass and coating your inner folds, smearing your skin with the liquid.

The telltale scent of iron invaded your nostrils as the thick fluid clung to your skin, sticking to your folds. Your stomach fluttered in betrayal at the action, the finger lazily dipping into your folds to smear more– your stomach tightened– blood onto your pussy. He was using your best friend’s blood to prepare you, to ruin you.

The thought made your lip quiver, your own juices mixing into a concoction of dizzying sin and lust. The air was thick with tension, a sense of anticipation and shame quickly washing over you. The object of your obsessions was teasing you, somewhere inside making the darker parts of your mind swoon. 

Michael’s finger pushed inside of you, testing the waters. You shivered at the feeling, clamping your jaw shut so as to not expose your thoughts. The finger curled within you, and with it, your stomach flipped. Michael grunted, seemingly pleased with the warmth coming from your folds, and quickly withdrew his finger. The rustling of fabric tore you from the daze, and you strained your head above the desk– barely able to make out the monster of a man unbuttoning his mechanics suit in your peripheral.

Your breath hitched. This couldn’t be happening– it was all just a fucked up dream you were having, the obsessive nature of the killer finally manifesting itself in the darkest of ways.

Yet the warm press of bare hips against the fat of your ass was very much real, the outline of his cock nestled dangerously close to your blood tinted folds. You screwed your eyes shut, fuck you were not prepped enough for this– mentally or physically you couldnt decipher. A deep huff sounded out behind you, Michael’s patience wearing thin, and his cockhead caught against your folds as he pushed forwards– coating himself in your juices. 

You whimpered as his free hand gripped your hip, blunt nails digging into your flesh while he steeled himself, inexperience radiating off of him as he finally aligned himself to your core. You tried to relax, a shuddered breath escaping you at the prospect that this was going to hurt, and badly. Your captive hands curled into fists, digging into your palms as your bit into your inner cheek for comfort. And without so much as a warning, Michael sunk inside of you.

A choked gasp spilled from your lips at the stretch, feeling as if you were being torn in two by the almost inhumane size. Tears welled in your eyes, teeth gritting against each other as Michael stuttered forward— inch by inch. Helplessly, you clenched around him, body screaming for relief, but your silent pleas went unanswered.

Cockhead dragging against your gummy walls, his tip dug mercilessly into your cervix, causing a flash of white-hot pain to erupt within you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, drawing blood, and you sucked on the metallic taste for comfort. God, you felt like you were dying– stabbing pain encompassing your lower half as you tried to arch away from the onslaught. 

Michael shuddered, hips stilling once he was fully submerged in your warmth. Tears streamed down your cheeks onto the wooden desk as relief washed over you, the burn of it all settling in the pit of your stomach. You were so full, stuffed to the brim to the point where the pressure was unbearable. Any solace of comfort was ripped away as he moved, pulling out quickly before slamming his back into you.

Black spots shot across your vision– a broken moan tearing from your throat as your cheek dug into the wood. The hand gripping your wrists tightened, your fingers tingling from the lack of blood flow as Michael settled into a deep, grueling pace. It was too much– too rough, the force of his thrusts causing the wood of the desk to clatter against the wall.

Papers crumpled beneath your weight as you were forcibly rocked to the movement, wood splintering into your cheek as you chafed against it. Your body barred down, staccato pants spilling from your mouth as you laid there and took him. If this had been anyone else, you would have been embarrassed at the way you could barely breathe, but with every sharp thrust you fell further from sanity.

He was ruining you, seemingly pushing so far you could feel it in your throat. Michael bottomed out suddenly, and you swore you saw stars, body spasming as he kissed your cervix. Any shame that you had been gripping onto seemed to vanish into thin air with every thrust, your hips pressing so hard against the wood you were sure there would be bruises.

Fuck it felt like you were being dragged into hell itself, the devil reincarnated destroying you for all others.

Sweat clung to your hairline, the room burning as Michael fucked into you like a man gone mad. Involuntary grunts, gasps, and moans bounced off the room, raw with emotion– and you finally realized they were coming from you. It was so wrong, so lewd to be tainted by the very person you had obsessed over, but it felt too good for you to care. The underside of his cock brushed against that oh so sensitive spot so sinfully your toes curled.

You were consumed with it– taboo and all, stomach tightening as Michael’s hips rocked into you.

Brows furrowing, you abandoned any semblance of control or consciousness, chasing the high that sprouted in your stomach. You felt like you were going to break, stomach fluttering at the sting of his sheer size. You were practically milking him, clenching down so hard you swore you could have heard him hiss from behind you. The hand that was gripping onto your hip like a lifeline tangled within your hair, yanking you upwards.

You gasped, pain needling your scalp as you arched to meet his demands. Refusing to let up, Michael continued his merciless pace, using your hair as an anchor against his thrusts. The cool material of his mask brushed against your shoulder, causing another gargled moan to seep from you at the action. You were a mess– button down clinging to your sweaty skin as you subconsciously angled your hips to accommodate the shift in position. 

The outline of his cock was much more evident now, scraping against your walls so brutally your heart caught within your throat. Your body tensed, praying– begging to find release. Practically teetering on the edge, you wrenched your head from his grasp, turning to meet his gaze.

You just wanted to see him, the monster you had spent countless nights studying.

The hazy light of the bedroom caught his mask; the devil staring back at you. A sea of blue met yours, pupils so dilated they looked black. Those eyes– not the animalistic thrusts, not the churning of your insides– but those eyes threw you over the edge.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, body spasming as you came around his cock. Michael’s hips stuttered against your at the sudden shift, a deep groan invading your senses as you fell from grace. Your eyes rolled to the back, head hanging weakly as you gasped for air. Electricity jolted through you like a live wire, and you shuddered, fluttering around him. Michael huffed, composure quickly falling away as you clung to him like a lifeline, his own orgasm fast approaching. 

He shoved you forwards once more, pressing you so hard into the desk you felt as if you were going to melt into the woods. He pushed forward– once, twice before finally, finally he finished. Hot, thick ropes of cum coated your insides, and you subconsciously fluttered at the feeling. Michael stilled, hips flush against the fat of your ass, cock throbbing as you both struggled to come down from the high.

You sank into the wood, exhaustion weighing you down, head still spinning from your orgasm. Michael slowly withdrew from your sputtering form, the void quickly overtaking you as he tucked himself back into his jumpsuit. The ache of his cock quickly overtook you, and you winced, fear beginning to settle into your stomach.

Michael had gotten what he had wanted– now what?

You squirmed against the hand still pinning you to the desk, babbling utter nonsense in the hopes it would spare your life. The knife that rested just inches from your face was lifted, and your eyes screwed shut, waiting for the final blow. 

But it never came.

The hold on your wrists eased up, and you quickly fell backwards, knees weak and legs trembling. You quickly whipped your head around, trying to shield yourself from any attacks, but you were met with nothing. Your room was empty, door wide open as your personal boogeyman seemed to flee into the night. The knife was nowhere in sight, seemingly vanishing into the air. Your frantic gaze scanned your room for anything out of place, any secret hiding places he could have gone to, but everything was the same as you had left it this morning.

Your knees gave out at that, and you crumpled onto the shaggy carpet. Tears of relief, fear, shame– and something else you couldn’t quite place dripped down your face. You were alive, somehow spared. The events of the day quickly came crashing down: your dissertation, Michael, and– your eyes flicked to the open door once more– Kimberly. You pushed yourself upwards once more, knuckles gripping the desk as you rose to your feet. Wobbling slightly, a blank patch on your desk caught your attention, stopping you in your tracks. 

Your printed dissertation– it was gone.

Your breathing hitched, stomach knotting at the sight. Somehow, you already knew where it had disappeared to. Lip quivering, you stumbled into the kitchen, mind still reeling. The sensation of him lingered, thick and heavy, the evidence of what he had done to you– with you still dripping down your thighs. You cringed at the feeling. Kimberly’s door remained open, and you sucked a breath through your teeth, refusing to look.

Hands fumbling for the receiver, you quickly punched in Detective Langley’s number, gripping the kitchen counter so hard your knuckles turned white. The line rang, and you shifted your gaze to the window. The sun had nearly vanished beneath the horizon, painting the sky in a crimson hue that made your skin prickle.

It was the same red that was smeared on your skin, the same red that pooled beneath Kimberly’s lifeless body– the color of blood. 

The dial tone droned in your ear, and for a moment, everything blurred, the phone shaking in your hand as the horrifying truth gnawed at your stomach. You had spent months dissecting the mind of a killer, and he had finally come for you.

And yet, you were alive– untouched yet violated, unscathed yet completely undone. The phone continued to ring, and a thought flickered in your mind, wrapping around your heart like a vice. You had never been the observer, you had always been the subject. 

And worst of all– he knew it too.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

texting Stan and Ford headcanons

smut version

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Stan Pines

✧ Stan is the kinda guy who thinks emojis are a scam, but somehow, he figured out how to use the "thumbs up" and "money bag" emoji. so, expect a lot of those in your chats.

✧ his text tone is rough, a little misspelled, typed like he's yelling even when he isn’t. Half of his texts are in all caps, and he absolutely does not care about grammar. but he gets the point across, always.

✧ you’re getting messages at 3 am about some ‘brilliant’ scheme to make a quick buck. he’ll send, “LISTEN, doll, what if we made... GIANT… glitter-filled eggs for easter? Tourists'll go NUTS." you reply, half-asleep, with “Stan, ily but go to bed." and all you get back is a “🤬 YOU GOTTA THINK BIGGER!”

✧ Stan sends those weird chain messages he swears are from some “hotshot businessman” that’ll make you rich in a week. and when you don’t respond immediately, you get a: “Fine, Miss Doubtful, see you when I’m rolling in gold.”

✧ there are whole days where he just floods your phone with random, blurry photos of some new Mystery Shack "artifact" he found. It’s usually junk he picked up at a garage sale, like a “haunted” ashtray or some knock-off painting that’s “probably ancient.”

✧ If he’s feeling sappy (and tipsy): you might get a rare “thinking bout you, sweet thing” at 2 am. but if you try to call him on it the next day, he’ll just be like “Didn’t say that. You’re makin’ stuff up.”

✧ when he’s really riled up about something, though? then his messages are just. . . a stream of caps-lock curses, mixed with misspelled attempts to describe whatever nonsense he just got himself into. you just sit back and let him rant; he’ll cool off eventually.

✧ and the voice messages are something else. they sound like he’s talking through a fan half the time. one minute, he’s rambling about how tourists are “the dumbest suckers on the planet” and the next, he’s ranting about how “bigfoot definitely broke into the shack last night!"

types of messages Stan texts: 

"So… whatcha wearin’? 😏"

“Hey doll, I just found a penny on the ground! Maybe today’s my lucky day… hint hint ;)"

"I’d say somethin’ romantic, but I think my brain just shorted out. You’re a little too cute for a guy like me."

"Just tried that new café downtown. Ordered coffee… tastes like they filtered it through someone’s laundry. You’d hate it. Wanna come mock it with me?"

"Not gonna lie, I miss that face of yours. So what’re we doin’ about it, huh?"

“Again missin’ that cute little smile of yours… maybe you could send me a pic to remind me?”

"Wanna help me scam the tourists today? I’ll split the loot with ya… maybe ;)”

"You wouldn’t believe what I caught Ford muttering in his sleep. Man’s like a walking encyclopedia, even when he’s unconscious."

“Got any plans later? Thought maybe we could… y’know… not have plans together."

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Ford Pines 

✧ hehehehe he’s like an old-school emailer who’s just now getting the hang of messaging apps. texts in complete sentences, full punctuation, like he’s drafting a dissertation.

✧ He sends you whole paragraphs at random hours, talking about some discovery he’s made, like he’s reporting directly to NASA. you’re like, “Ford, it's just a weird-looking squirrel." and he's already typing another essay about its "possible interdimensional origins."

✧ once in a while, he’ll send you a message that says, “Are you awake?” at, like 3 am followed by a string of thoughtful yet completely bonkers hypotheses. you find it cute, though, his mind never stops, not even for a second.

✧ If he’s feeling bold, you might even get a “hypothetical” confession out of him: “Hypothetically, if one were to develop... strong emotional attachment to a certain person... how would one proceed?" You tease him about it the next day, and he gets flustered, “It was purely scientific curiosity."

✧ Ford isn’t big on emojis, but he likes the brain and alien ones, using them poetically. he’ll sign off texts with a single brain emoji, like it’s his version of a little goodbye wave.

✧ on really rare occasions, he’ll send a voice message. they’re always way too long, and it’s usually him whispering so he doesn’t wake Stan up. he goes on about cosmic rays or “gravity anomalies,” his voice dropping lower when he gets excited. you live for those moments

✧ and if he ever texts you a “good night,” you just know he’s been up thinking about it for hours, trying to figure out if it’s “appropriate.”

types of messages Ford texts: 

“It’s been approximately 3 hours, 12 minutes, and 23 seconds since our last conversation… not that I’m counting or anything. Just… miss you."

sends a meme about science nerds “Us. But mostly me.”

“My hands ache from writing… though perhaps if it were writing about you, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you think about me too, or am I the only one utterly ruined by this… whatever this is?”

“I’ve been thinking about that book you lent me... 🤔 It’s honestly so much more interesting than I expected, thank you for recommending it."

"I don’t know how to work this... But I managed to send a meme! It’s not the worst thing I’ve done, I suppose? 

“I did it. I fixed the telescope. Finally. Now we can actually look at the stars like we’ve talked about. :)"

"I hope you’re feeling okay today. I noticed you seemed a little stressed the other day. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. :) It’s important."

"If I could rearrange the periodic table, I’d put U and I together. :( Sorry, nerdy joke... :’D)”

ps - I CANT THEYRE SO CUTE BOTH I WANT TO SMASH THEM AGAINST THE WALL

lmao if someone wants, i can write some spicy types of chatting with them :)))

[authorddreamz]

More Than Words Left Between Us... Part 2! Coming Soon 🤞🏾💨🧚🏾

Listen....I'm on a very strict journey to discipline myself as a writer. So, I'm going to drop this on Friday June 20th, 2025 8 PM CST

The grand opening of Club Juke proves to be too much for Annie. Seeing Smoke interact with other women so soon after reuniting with her sets off emotions she's far too fragile to process.

Smoke, riding a high from his reunion with his love, misses all the signals that their paradise is slowly going from a peninsula to a sinking island.

Preview:

Annie forced a smile to her face as Pearline, a locally known singer, pranced in her direction.

"Can you believe it!" Pearline crooned, cat eyes pulled tight as she grabbed Annie's hand. "I've heard so much buzz about this place opening and it's finally happening."

Annie's eyes shifted from Pearline to Smoke as he stood not too far off, in a close conversation with Stack. "Yeah, umm. It's great. I-haven't heard a thing about it though." Annie allowed the vulnerability to slip into her tone.

Pearline stood straighter, frowning. "You ain't know your man and his twin were opening a club?"

Once again, Annie felt like an outsider in Smoke's world. "Nope." Her lips popped as she returned her eyes to Pearline. "No biggie though."

Pearline's shoulders bounced. "Well, you're here and I saw you two walk in arm and arm. Don't let these hoes shake you. That man loves you down." Before Annie could say more, Pearline walked away.

A task. One presenting itself to be impossible. Each time a woman approached him, seductive eyes and intimate gestures, Annie's pulse quickened. Jealously danced in her gut, unapologetic twist and turns as she struggled to keep the rage from her expression. These emotions although new, were perpetual, undeniably draconian.

How does he do this so effortlessly?

Smoke's ability to unravel her both emotionally and physically deserves a prolific dissertation. Someone...anyone would sit through it, take notes and somehow use it to heal the world or set it on fire. She'd die peacefully as a sacrifice, not wanting anything else.

Rudely, her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of yet another woman approaching Smoke. Annie's eyes took in the deep plunge in her dress, coupled with a slit that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Manicured fingers curled around his wrist before she leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek. She wasn't the first woman to kiss him tonight and Annie knew she wouldn't be the last.

She couldn't stomach it.

"Fuck this." She grabbed her purse from the table, snapping it close before she started towards the door. The moment she began to move, she knew he was following her, yet she didn't stop in her stride to the exit.

Smoke cut in front of her, gently grabbing her arm before turning her to him. Intense eyes hit her as smoke from his cigar lingered between them like words unspoken. His gaze was centered on her as she shifted her weight in her stance. He stepped closer to her, invading her personal space like it was his to do with as he pleased. His hands moved from her arm to her waist, a gesture of intimacy that didn't hit her the way it usually did.

"Another hour or so before we can go." Smoke stepped closer to her, pulling her into a quick kiss as Annie struggled with returning his passion. Smoke instantly frowned. "Talk to me."

"I was gonnna call a Lyft. I'm a little tired."

He nodded. "Aight. Let me grab my shit and we can go."

"No." Annie grabbed him before he could move. "You should stay with Stack, you know he functions better with you in close proximity."

Smoke's brows touched. "You wanna leave alone?"

"It's a short ride..."

"You going to check on ol' boy?" His brow lifted, eyes hard and focused. Such a contradiction to the loud and loose club goers surrounding them. Loose tension moved between them, silently brewing as their eyes had a standoff.

"No." Annie answered finally. "I'm going home."

"To him?" Smoke refused to allow her to leave without real answers.

"No." Annie groaned. "I'm actually just sick of seeing bitches in your face. I need a break."

Smoke's jaw clenched. "I just had my face between you legs for eight hours, Annie. I plan to put your pussy right back in my face when we leave here." Smoke looked around, confused by her words. "I've been licking my lips so much they're chapped because I can still taste you on my tongue. Your juices still linger in my beard and I ain't doing shit to get rid of them because that's where they belong." He stepped into her, forcing her against the wall. "What bitches are you referring to, my love?"

.....

Friday, I swear! On momma grave! - Stack Moore 🥰

[g0thc0re420]

Soulmates AU! Growing Pains: Leonard McCoy x Reader

Word Count: 17, 923

CW: age gap! slow burn, cursing, smut (choking), mentions death of parent. Dr. kink.

Synopsis: Maybe this was what you needed. A change of scenery, hopefully a reassignment to some other foreign planet where you could collect more samples. You rubbed the inside of your wrist. Another heartbreak, so far, the worst one of your Starfleet days. Taking a peek just to reassure yourself the mark was still there, still not yet able to make out the half image fully, you dropped your head and sighed. Maybe you were late. You had been in Starfleet practically from birth. Your mom was one of the best captains in recent Starfleet history, or depending on who you asked, she had already found her place amongst the greats, and in some instances even giving Admiral Pike a run for his money. You only hoped you could live up to what she had always imagined for you. You quickly pulled down your sleeve and stood, soulmate be damned, the stars waited for no one.

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

You traveled through the ranks of Starfleet quickly, as to be expected, and currently stood in front of Admiral Pike's office. You had no idea what this meeting could be about. You were on shore leave from your current assignment and you were hoping to be able to sleep in sometime this next week. You quickly shook those thoughts from your head as you raised your hand to gingerly knock on the door. Stifling your nerves, still feeling like you had been sent to the principal's office. 

“Come in,” called from the other side of the door and you took a breath to steady yourself. Entering the office you were taken aback to see a head of jet black hair already sitting in front of the Admiral. Waiting for his gesture before sitting, the two of you are too close for the formalities of Starfleet at this moment.

“I understand you’re on shore leave at the moment so we’ll make this quick. The USS Enterprise is getting ready to leave on a 7 year voyage, and Commander Spock has apparently waited until this very moment to choose his right hand, man.” You must have looked extremely confused considering the subtle taken aback look on Spock’s face. 

“I’ve kept quite an eye on you since you joined the Academy.” Spock finally spoke, and you allowed yourself to turn and look at him. “You hold a doctorate in botanical sciences and you wrote your dissertation on how we could take Hippomane mancinella and from removing one gene make a non-poisonous twin that could be used to restore coastal plains.” Spock paused for a second, glancing at Admiral Pike before continuing. “You are also my best friend, and I care very deeply for you. I hope you know that I have chosen you because you are the most logical choice for the job.”

You could feel a flush of heat spread rapidly across your face, slightly bowing your head towards him, “Thank you Commander Spock.” The slight twitch in the corner of his mouth was all you needed. 

“You also made Lt. Commander this year, you’re 24, certainly one of the youngest we’ve had in the current history of Starfleet,” Admiral Pike spoke again.

You looked back at him and cleared your throat, sitting up straighter in your chain, “Youngest to make Lt. Commander in the last 25 years,” a weight sat heavy on your chest as the sentence left your mouth. The real reason for your hesitation. 

“(Y/N) do you even realize how proud she would be of you? Even if you never joined Starfleet? You have her brains and her heart, and based on what I’ve heard from Spock here you’ve gotten one over on him more than once during sparring exercises.” 

“How long do I have to pack?” 

Three days later, you were before Spock once again. This time in an office of your own and quickly falling into a comfortable silence with the vulcan by your side. Both of your heads buried in your PADDS as you both had to finalize a few remaining documents and double check all incoming reports. You were tasked with helping Spock give out the assignments to everyone who stepped foot on the Enterprise. You painted a smile on your face and made sure everyone was where they were supposed to go. Noticing that your line was dwindling down you looked around for Spock, wanting to double check nothing else remained on your part before the USS Enterprise took off on her adventure. 

“(Y/N)?” A voice behind you half screamed your name and as you spun around your sights quickly fell on Uhura. You double checked that no one needed your assistance before sprinting over to her and enveloping her in a hug. “I thought you were away!”

“Admiral Pike called me back. I’ve been reassigned.” 

Her eyes widened as she stepped away from you in shock, “No way!” You frantically nodded as she let out an overjoyed squeal while dancing in place, “Thank god I'll at least have you for the next 7 years.”

After making a lap around the ship to make sure there were no stragglers you met Spock again, this time quickly falling in stride beside him and heading to the bridge. Quickly you were introduced to several faces you had never seen, before your eyes fell onto the man sitting in the Captain’s chair. 

A soft smirk fell on his face as he stepped toward you and pulled you into a hug, “Welcome aboard (Y/N). It’s good to have you home.” 

You pulled away from him, suddenly conscious of how many people were watching the interaction. “Thank you Captain. It’s good to be here.” Moving back to stand behind Spock you stifled the feeling of embarrassment that crept up within you. What would everyone think? He was your boss. 

Pulling out your PADD you read through a couple new reports that had started filing in while waiting for James to finish his speech and by the end of his rambling when Spock looked at his PADD all he needed to do was skim the documents and provide a signature. As he went to comment on the way you gave clear and concise instructions in response to any remaining questions in the correspondence he noticed you were already gone and there was no trace of you on the bridge.

Moments later Spock found you, already diving head deep into the research you couldn’t wait to explore. Prepping the built in greenhouse for any future plants that could cause significant problems.

“I see we are quick to begin our work,” Spock mused, hands behind his back as he stepped into what was now a barren tin can. 

“Yes!” You quickly stood from the container you were mixing starter soil in, “If we get to our next destination alive I want to be prepared,” You took a small step closer to Spock, lowering your voice hoping that no one else would hear. “I apologize for leaving the bridge so abruptly earlier. When Captain Kirk hugged me it made me extremely uncomfortable.”

“I understand the sentiment as I also do not fare well to public displays of affection.” Spock gave you that vulcan half smile again before walking over to where you previously were and picking up a pair of gloves.

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

6 months in and Leonard was pissed. You had been a thorn in his side for 34 days now. For the last month he had tried hunting you down, but he didn’t even know where to start looking. Why did the enterprise even need a botanist? It was just one more patient that tested the remaining patience he had left. “Dammit Jim you promised me I would have (Y/N)’s physical exam done by the end of the week!” 

“I was just calling about that, if you want that done you’re going to have to make a house call.”

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because I might have not told them anything about being late for any sort of physical just to mess with you.”

Leonard sighed before bringing both hands up to his temples. 6 months in and he could already confirm he was going to die of a stroke. Jim was going to speed up that process tenfold if he continued with antics like this. There was some sort of virus going around the ship right now, he didn’t need to be making calls to random personal quarters. 

“When I get my hands on you.”

“Thank me later, Bones.” Leonard could hear the devious smile Jim held on his face through the comm and couldn’t help but instinctually roll his eyes as he was then told the two locations he could find you. Checking the time he was certain he would be able to find you at your quarters. He entered the turbolift and in his anger almost ran into Spock.

“Doctor.” Spock gave a subtle nod of acknowledgement.

“Commander.” The air was stiff around them. McCoy, not too sure why he didn’t like the Vulcan, maybe it was the coldness. He was so still in everything down to his breathing. Almost the complete opposite of the way a human reacts.

A lightbulb went off when he suddenly remembered that Spock was a science officer, the blue shirt had been in front of him multiple times this week and Leonard hadn’t made the connection until this very awkward moment.

“Commander Spock, one of the science officers, is late for their physical exam. I tried recruiting the Captain for his help in informing them, but apparently he’s just been playing games with me the entire time. Would you happen to know where I could find Lt. Commander (Y/L/N)?”

He didn’t miss the way the Vulcan’s eyebrows raised as he lifted his head from whatever he was reading on his PADD. Looking maybe a little too close, Leonard could see an almost quizzical look appear on Spock's face. “That is very unlike (Y/N). Some days I fear they may run a tighter schedule than me.” Spock only half spoke the latter sentence aloud, mostly musing to himself. Spock looked at the floor level the confused doctor chose and almost felt pity. Has Leonard McCoy really not met you yet? The thought was somewhat incredulous to Spock. You had to be the clumsiest human he had ever met. Sober you was almost as bad as an inebriated Jim. 

“You’re not going to find them in their personal quarters. I would start at the research library, if you don’t find (Y/N) there, go to the greenhouse.” The turbolift opened and Spock gracefully stepped out, “I wish you the best of luck Dr. McCoy.”

After getting somewhat lost from the library, Leonard finally found the greenhouse. He stopped at the door, not knowing what sort of protocol to follow, so he rapped on the door with the back of his knuckles. There was a moment of silence before he heard you call out.

“Come in,” The first thing Leonard saw when he stepped in was a giant computer system running a constant stream of intel from the plants you had collected on surface missions already. From soil hydrations, pH of the soil, humidity in different areas of the greenhouse. He looked around before seeing a pair of blue pants to his left and there you were, almost completely bent over. He didn’t even notice the trough like planter you were currently digging to the bottom of, all he could focus on was the way those blue pants clung to your body. From the roundness of your ass, his eyes trailed down to your thighs, further down to where your pants just ever so slightly flared at your calves.

“Need some help there Darlin’?

Your head quickly popped out of the planter, the blush you were currently experiencing, exacerbated the redness of regaining blood flow to your head again. Leonard felt his heart skip, his eyes grazed over you before he cleared his throat, “Are you Lt. Commander (Y/L/N)?”

“Yes I am, may I ask-”

“Leonard McCoy, CMO.” he stated gruffly before you could even finish your question, trying to push down the reaction he felt when he made eye contact with you. He didn’t need to feel anything for anyone right now. He had a job to do dammit and that job didn’t involve any sort of personal relationships.

“Oh.” You briefly looked down at your feet, the solid exterior slightly putting you off after the semi-sweet first impression he had going for him. “Well, if the CMO had to come all the way down to the greenhouse for me then it must be important. How can I be of service?” You moved closer to him, away from all the plants, and suddenly he could smell the florals on you. 

Oh god. Leonard definitely didn’t want to answer that last question. The images of you bent over that ungodly sized planter was almost enough to do him in. He didn’t know what was going on with him. “You’re late for your 6 month physical, and typically I wouldn’t hunt down a patient over something like this but you’re over a month late and you’re the last one.”

“A month?” You had to keep yourself from screeching, “I am so sorry. I can be up there first thing tomorrow morning? What time would you like me to be at med bay?”

Leonard scoffed, “Are you serious?”

“Very much so. Why would you think that I wasn’t being serious?” You looked up at him, before sitting at your desk and pulling up your schedule. “I’m assuming that 0600 is probably too early,” and Leonard couldn’t agree more, he would need to be wide awake when dealing with you. “I’ll be having my lunch around 1300 tomorrow, does that time work with you Doctor?”

Leonard felt a hitch in his breathing at the use of his title. Breathing has never been this hard for him, even when he thought he was head over heels for Jocelyn, “T-that works just fine with me, and I promise not to take up your entire lunch.”

“I’ll hold you to that Doc.” you winked at him and he watched as you added the appointment into your daily schedule. Leonard cleared his throat once again and quickly turned, leaving you back in the serene peace of the greenhouse. Realizing the time you started packing up your things, making your rounds through the nursery and checking all the levels one more time just to be safe.

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

Leonard had a hard time sleeping. You had a 3 minute conversation and yet you were now consuming his dreams. He kept getting pieces of what he saw last night flooding his mind as he had down time in med bay.

Checking your pulse he couldn’t ignore the feeling of your heartbeat increasing ever so slightly. “You sure you’re feeling okay Darlin.?” He couldn’t help but notice the blush that spread across your skin, covering your cheeks and nose. 

His fingers still resting on your carotid, you looked up at him from the examination bed you were currently sitting on, your eyes wide and playful, “I’m not too sure Dr. McCoy, that’s why I came to see you.”

“Is that right?” Leonard mused as he held eye contact with you, his hand slowly moving to grasp your neck, his thumb gently brushing against your lower lip-

“Bones!” Leonard was snapped out of relishing his dreams by Jim, yelling his name and flapping around his arms like he was on fire. Truth be told he didn’t even see his best friend walk in.

“Jim, what is so important that you had to come and bother me during the middle of the day?”

Jim softly slumped in the chair in front of his friend, feigning hurt at the abrupt shutdown of his antics. “So, did you make that house call?” Jim couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face. Being close to the both of you only made it easier for Jim to plan the beginning of this masterpiece.

Leonard hummed to himself, mulling over the question his friend had asked, “I did, in fact the Lt. Commander agreed to come in for their physical exam later today.” Leonard released almost a half smile as he thought of seeing you again.

“That's all?” Jim had stared at the man before him bewildered. “Bones! I was trying to set you up together! You’d be perfect for each other, and you never know, (Y/N) could be your-”

Leonard could already see where Jim was going with this and he didn’t need another lecture on his love life from Jim, “You know I’ve given up on that, besides…”

“Besides?” Jim waved his hand in the air, trying to coax the last of the sentence out of him.

“She’s only 24, Jim,” he lowered his voice, “What would everyone think of me? They’d never let me speak at the Academy again!”

“Bones, she’s a grown woman who can make her own decisions. Even if nothing happens between the two of you, you could still use another friend. I mean when I’m all you got,” Jim gestured up and down his and shook his head. “It must be rough for you.”

“Thank you for that Jim. Now please, leave my office.” Leonard started on the paperwork he had waiting for him, not even really minding if Jim stayed, as long as he dropped the subject of you.

“Yeah, it probably is time for me to be somewhere else. I’m serious Bones, Maybe just try and get to know (Y/N) outside of the med bay. I think you’d be in for a pleasant surprise.”

Leonard couldn’t help but roll his eyes, ignoring the pit in his stomach as the scenes of you unburied themselves in his mind.

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

As much as you tried to focus on the report in front of you, you couldn’t help but think of the gruff doctor who visited you last night. The goosebumps that covered your body whenever he maintained eye contact with you made you want to jump him. A shiver rolled down your back as you were reminded of the southern drawl that hung in the air after he called you that damned nickname. Darlin’. Sighing you ran a hand down your face, trying anything to pull your thoughts away from the doctor who made a special late night trip just for you. 

“(Y/N) is everything okay?” Spock was now in front of your desk.

You let a tired smile hang on your lips and you rolled your eyes as the vulcan was still trying to decipher what human emotion you were feeling, “Just feeling a little worn down with the pace I’ve been holding the past couple months. I should probably try to slow down sooner than later.”

“Did Dr. McCoy find you last night?” Spock was now staring intently as you almost choked on the sip of coffee you were trying to enjoy. 

“I didn’t even know I missed the physical exam, how did you?” You stared back with the same intensity as your vulcan friend, before he finally caved.

“He almost ran over me getting on the turbolift looking for you. Apparently Captain Kirk was supposed to inform you it was due and Dr. McCoy suggested the captain had been avoiding telling you just get one over on our Chief Medical Officer.”

“Sounds like something James would do,” you ended the conversation and Spock was almost at the door before you spoke up again, “Commander Spock, I was hoping to take a few personal days at the end of this week. I can make sure everything is set and running on its own, but it’s…” you hesitated, not wanting to say the words out loud. It was crazy to you, still being affected by a day like this. To everyone else but you, two days from now would just be a regular work day. You cleared your throat, wanting to try to make it through the sentence without unleashing too many human emotions on the vulcan you held near and dear. Forgetting that if anyone understood what you were feeling, it would be Spock. “It’s her birthday.”

“I understand Lt. Commander. I also have times where the pain seems all too fresh. Your personal days are granted,  just send them to me in a formal request so we have the documentation.” You nodded your head in agreement, double checking the time, you were surprised just how fast it passed, and if you hurried, you could bring a coffee for the doctor.

Walking into med bay you held the hot coffee in your hand and smiled at the nurse who greeted you, you recognized her as Nurse Chapel, she did the exams for your transfer to the USS Enterprise. “I have an appointment with Dr. McCoy.” 

She smiled at you from the sign in desk and handed you a PADD to start filling out some general information on. “I am sure glad to see you Lt. Commander, Dr. McCoy has been going a little bit overboard trying to make sure everyone’s physicals are up to date. You’re the last one left.”

“Well hopefully once this is over Dr. McCoy can finally find something to help him relax.” You smiled at her as you handed the PADD back, she led you to a quiet exam room and assured you that the doctor would be in to see you in just a few minutes. You could feel the slight downward pull at the corners of your mouth as you glanced at the cup in your hand. “Please let Dr. McCoy know not to keep me waiting too long, unless he enjoys cold coffee.” Nurse Chapel laughed before patting your hand and walking out of the room.

You didn’t like med bay, hospitals, or anything that had to do with patching people up and hoping you’re fixing them. The white sterile room bringing up feelings of uneasiness. You looked around, setting the coffee down next to the PADD that was already in the room and taking a seat on the exam room bed. Sitting on the edge with your legs dangling you watched the clock on the wall tick. 

After two minutes of staring at the clock on the wall your comm went off. “Lt. Commander (Y/L/N)?”

You knew what it was, you had been eating lunch with Spock every day for the last 6 months. “I’m still in med bay, my appointment was until 1300 so I’m here just a little bit early. I promise as soon as i’m done here-”

Your voice faded out as Leonard walked into the room. “I’ll let you know when I am done in med bay Commander Spock.” Your eyes locked with Leonard as he stood in the doorway to the exam room, politely waiting for you to finish your conversation. Once he had your full attention you looked back at him giving a sheepish smile as he walked into the room. “I made you a coffee. It’s a flat white.” You gave a soft sigh as you revel in your thoughts for a moment. 

Leonard took in a breath when he saw the perfect white dot sitting in the caramel colored foam. “Flat whites are my favorite,” he turned to you as he took the first sip of his coffee. You were sure you were still in a dream when you saw the corners of Leonard's eyes scrunch, followed by a deep hum in his chest. Your eyes flicked down to his torso, admiring how the blue shirt clung to his broad shoulders. Following the lines of his body down you watched how his chest flexed as he turned to reach for the PADD behind him. 

“So, it says here you’re a month due for a physical exam. You’ve been on several away missions in the last 6 months, if you keep going at this pace you’re probably going to have to get a physical every 3 months.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, quickly apologizing once you saw the frown reappear on his face, “My apologies Doctor, it was just funny to me how I mentioned to Commander Spock that I needed to slow down. I’m not as spry as I was in my academy days.” 

Leonard couldn’t help but let out a deep laugh at your comment, “(Y/N) you’re 24, you’re still young and spry.”

“Dr. McCoy I was officially accepted into Starfleet Academy at 12, I have a PhD in botanical sciences and I’m the youngest person to achieve the rank of Lt. Commander in the last 25 years. I haven’t slowed down. I cut my month long shore leave down to 3 days to be transferred from the USS Scovil to the Enterprise. How many away missions have I been on?”

“43,”

“That’s 7 a month for the last 6 months. Honestly, Spock is surprised I didn’t end up down here sooner.”

“So am I, some of those away missions ended up hostile, how did you just dip under the radar?” Leonard was now taking the time to read through most of the reports on file for you. He didn’t even realize you had been on any of these, without any checkups in between.

“My mom was Captain (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N).” The prestige of her name floated through the room and you watched as Leonard took what brief information he had about you and put the pieces together, “I’ve been training in hand to hand combat since I could walk. I am perfectly capable of defending myself with every weapon on this ship. I’ve taken on Spock and won.”

Leonard was now standing in front of you, gently pressing his fingers to your neck, staring at the watch he still wore on his wrist, “What’s the deal with you guys anyway? Ya know the people on this ship don’t know how to keep anything to themselves, they like to whisper.”

“You should have heard what they were saying about Jim and I after he hugged me on the bridge in front of everyone,” you wanted to sigh at the feeling of his skin on yours, a tingling sensation seemed to linger wherever he touched you, “With Spock it’s different. We both have the same mark, like matching same sides, not opposite sides. One night I was studying for the Academy and prepping for my dissertation. I had a few and ended up laying on my balcony outside pondering the woes of life. It was the first time Spock told me I was his best friend, and I made a stupid joke about how we were halfmates. That was 5 years ago.” A fond giggle fell from your lips as Leonard removed his fingers. 

He pulled out his tricorder and started scanning you, “I know it’s weird for people to see a vulcan and a human so close, but that night Spock explained to me that finding someone with the same mark as you was almost as rare as finding your soulmate.”

A scoff fell out of the doctor’s mouth as he motioned for you to lay back, pulling out a hologram screen to run a full body scan, “You actually believe in all that bullshit?”

You could feel a blush creeping up your neck, you felt like you were on fire under his hazel gaze, “Yeah. My parents were, and from what I remember they were always so happy, my dad never remarried. He was her #1.  On and off the ship. I see the same thing in the way Spock and Uhura look at each other when the other isn’t looking. I hear the way Sulu talks about his husband. Besides,” you waved your hand in the air, needed to catch your breath as the doctor held your gaze, “They’re a soulmate, if I don’t find them in this lifetime, I’ll find them in the next.”

You wanted to disappear, watching the look on Leonard’s face morph ever so slightly into a different emotion as you explained yourself. You couldn’t help yourself from flickering your eyes down to his slightly parted lips. Never have you ever wanted to kiss someone as badly as you wanted to reach up and kiss Dr. McCoy right now.

“I guess I’ve never thought of it like that,” Leonard spoke his thoughts out loud while he looked at the reports that had generated in front of him. “I was married, she wasn’t my soulmate, but I loved her. Thought she loved me too. I think she did at one point, but from what I’ve heard, nothing’s the same after you meet “the one.”” Leonard placed air quotes and he turned to look at you, “You’re clear to go. Everything looks great.”

You sat up and Leonard offered a hand to help you down, “Thank you for the coffee, I’ve dreamt of having a coffee that good since we’ve been on this floating tin can.”

You couldn’t help but let a smile grace your features, “Thank you, it feels really great to be complimented on something that doesn’t revolve around my work  for the Federation.”

“Anytime Darlin’” Leonard let go of your hand to open the door, leading you back out to the med bay waiting area.

“I guess I’ll see you in 6 months,” you couldn’t help how your smile slightly faltered as you realized your time with Dr. McCoy was coming to an end.

“If you go on that away mission next week, then I expect to see you much sooner than that.” His eyes scanned your features, his hand still resting on the small of your back.

Thankfully the waiting room was empty and even though it was your second time meeting this man all you could think about was how intoxicating he was. His eyes seemed to drink you up, he smelled like whiskey and spice, like cinnamon and anise, and your back, it was still tingling from where his hand last rested. “Then I promise you will see me sooner than six months, Doctor.” Noticing how Leonard seemed like you hit the pause button after you used the title, it almost looked as if he was short-circuiting. 

You glanced at the time, noticing you only had half of your lunch hour left. Spock! You stepped away from Leonard and smoothed out your uniform. “Thank you for taking the time to see me today, and for informing me last night,” You gave him a soft smile, “Maybe I can bring you another coffee sometime.” 

Your nerves grew as you watched Leonard fold his arms over his chest before you saw a twinkle in his eye, “I think I would like that very much.”

“Great! Sounds like a date!” You called over your shoulder, you didn’t see the way Leonard flinched at the word ‘date, or the way he stared after you for a couple seconds longer than he should have.

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

4 months later and you now had a pretty solid routine going, you and Leonard were spending more time together, mostly due to you. Every Friday morning you would meet him in his office, coffee in hand and the two of you would sit and talk about work, while you approved reports from the following night. This was an easy transition for you, and on fridays you couldn’t meet, it almost felt like you were going through withdrawals until you saw him again.

This Friday was different. The previous night you ended up spiking a fever along with a few other symptoms like chills and nausea. Spock knew you didn’t like the med bay but he also trusted you enough to know he wouldn’t need to restrain and carry you up to med bay, unlike the Captain. So he sent you away and let you know to contact him in the morning about how you were feeling.

From the second you opened your eyes it felt like someone had laid a 50lb dumbbell on your skull. All lights and sound hurt, even the dim lights around the floor in your cabin had you digging around, looking for a pair of sunglasses. You reached for your comm, “Commander Spock, are you awake?”

“Lt Commander, you know you can call me Spock when we are off duty.” There was a brief moment of silence before he started speaking again, “(Y/N) why are you whispering?”

“I have a migraine, and while my fever is gone for now, the nausea hasn’t subsided at all. I’m calling out sick today.” You chuckled as you reminisced the last time you fell ill during the course of your friendship with Spock. It was the week before you graduated with your PhD, he didn’t believe it when you didn’t show up to class at the Academy. He came home, expecting you to be out, prematurely celebrating your success. Instead he found you quite literally on death’s door. Meningitis, you had ignored the symptoms for about a week, something that Spock continuously lectured you on during your multiple day stent in the ICU. 

“If it gets any worse, I promise I will have you come drag me to med bay if need be.” It took all you could not to wince while you tried to smile at Spock through your comm, hoping he could hear the smile in your voice and not worry too much.

“I look forward to your recovery (Y/N), I don’t know how long I can handle Jim by myself.” The vulcan let out a very human sigh, and you felt a twinge of guilt roll through you as Spock went silent on the other end. 

“I promise Spock, I’m not going to let a migraine and some small stomach bug take me out. I’m resilient.” You turned off your comm before pulling the sunglasses off and laying back down in your bed, already exhausted just from walking across the room. You slowly sank back into your sheets, pulling both a pillow over your eyes and your comforter past your head, trying to drown out any ray of light that could attempt to sneak in.

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

Leonard was becoming worried, you weren’t ever late for your friday coffee meetings. That’s what Leonard considered them. Meetings, you sat together, always drinking a new drink or new coffee from some of the friendlier planets in the solar system. Leonard was amazed when you told him about the multiple coffee plants you had in the greenhouse, hoping to one day be able to cultivate them. They were meetings, always revolving about what the other did the previous week or what new thing was currently bogging down your workload. Leonard was a gentleman, he wouldn’t consider the friday morning coffee ritual as a date, he had never formally asked you on a date, and at this point it was clear to him you didn’t seem very interested in taking this friendship any further than that. Just friends.

He debated walking back out into the waiting area to see if you were there. You didn’t even sign in on Fridays anymore, after the first couple weeks you would just walk into his office, coffee in hand, PADD tucked to your side. His thoughts were brought back to the conversation you had last week.

“Morning,” You greeted as you walked into his office, Leonard immediately noticed you looked off. Leonard didn’t know if he could tell because he was trained in recognizing the signs of when someone was sick or if he had just been around you enough to notice the subtle differences. You hair was thrown into a low bun, you seemed to be more slouched and you looked as if you were walking through mud. 

“Mornin’ Darlin’” Leonard echoed your sentiment back as you pulled one of the chairs from in front of his desk so you were sitting right beside him. A yawn pulled itself from you as you sat the mugs down on the desk. 

“It’s hot chocolate today,” you looked down at your hands, suddenly bashful at the thought of disappointing him with no coffee in sight, “I just don’t think I can handle the caffeine today, it’s practically the only thing I’ve consumed the past 4 days and I wanted something to make me feel better,” you were almost whispering at the end of your sentence. 

Leonard wrapped his arm around you as laid your head on his shoulder, finding solace in the crook of his neck. You were so still and quiet he could have convinced himself you had fallen asleep if it weren’t for the feeling of your eyelashes brushing the exposed skin of his neck every couple of seconds. He noticed how pale you looked, the dark circles forming under your eyes. 

He wanted to lecture you about taking care of yourself. You should know how much sleep you should be getting, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He knew it wasn’t what you needed. He was okay being your comfort at this moment, Lord knows you’ve done it plenty of times for him. Sneaking into his quarters after hours to listen to him rant after a particularly long day, He fell asleep on your lap once, he awoke to a note from you. It was an emergency, some ensign removed the wrong plant from the nursery and potentially exposed the entire staff in the greenroom to a noxious gas the plant emitted when it wasn’t mature enough to be transferred out of the nursery.

“Len,” You mumbled against his neck. He couldn’t help the way his heart swelled at the nickname. He hummed in response to you, “I grew the cocoa beans used to make that hot chocolate and if you don’t drink it I might actually cry from exhaustion. He couldn’t help the involuntary chuckle that bubbled out of him. He grabbed his mug as you sat up again, taking a sip, it was the best hot chocolate he had ever had the pleasure of drinking. He watched as you pulled out your PADD, checking the cameras in the greenhouse, before standing abruptly. 

“I have to go. I’m so sorry but if that ensign is about do what I think he’s doing then I could lose almost a year's worth of research!” You moved so fast you forgot all about the hot chocolate, leaving your favorite mug on his desk. 

Leonard still had the mug, he hadn’t been able to find an appropriate time to drop by your quarters to return it, but he also didn’t want to intrude on your work. You always made sure to come in before the med bay opened and unless you were getting back from an away mission, you didn’t hang around the med bay waiting for the chance of a quiet moment with Leonard. It was quite pleasant for him actually. Knowing that you could both go off and do your jobs, before reconnecting with each other gave him confidence in your relationship, friendship. He means friendship. 

Leonard wiped the tired from his eyes once again before stepping out of his office. Ready to take on the day, his light just slightly dulled this morning without his ball of sunshine bounding through the door before his work had to begin. Today was going to be a long day. He grimaced, his frown deepening and the lines on his forehead etching themselves a permanent figure of the day. 

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

It was finally lunch time, and Leonard had made up his mind hours before that he was going to use his lunchtime wisely and find you. His first stop was the green house, a couple of science officers were around as well as a handful of ensigns. He had walked the perimeter of the greenhouse, not finding you anywhere, not that he needed to look. Most of the time he just knew if you were somewhere. He was always able to find you. Even at the lavish holiday party the captain held for everyone Leonard was able to find you within minutes. He stayed by your side the whole night. He even danced with you a couple of times.

Lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice he caught the attention of Commander Spock until it was too late. “Dr. McCoy, is there anything I can help you with?” 

McCoy had a sinking feeling in his gut when he lifted his head up and saw Spock sitting at your desk, reading down a thorough check list to be completed by the end of the day. “I’m just looking for (Y/N). We usually do coffee in the morning on Fridays but they didn’t show up today. At all. Usually they’ve already contacted me and we would have rescheduled.” Leonard was still unsure how much he could trust the Vulcan so he wasn’t willing to go into further detail than that.

“(Y/N) has told me about the early morning rendezvous with you. They greatly appreciate them.” Spock straightened himself, separating the emotions from the conversation. “Lt. Commander (Y/L/N) is sick. I sent them to their quarters yesterday after they developed a fever. Today they told me their symptoms were a migraine and nausea. They are extremely prone to migraines, most days the Lt. Commander can just work through them,”

“(Y/N) is sick?” It’s not that Leonard didn’t believe the vulcan but he had even seen Spock sick during this last year on the ship, but you hadn’t even visited med bay once with even a case of the sniffles. Hell, because of Jim, even he had to be quarantined at least once in the last three months, “Any other symptoms I need to know about?”

“Not that I am aware of Dr. McCoy. However it seems the Lt. Commander’s migraines have become slightly more frequent in the last couple of months.”

Leonard took a mental note of what the vulcan was saying and his next mission was to get to your quarters. He had noticed last week you didn’t look like your usual self, now he was kicking himself for not pushing you to get checked out. He let his emotions for you get the better of him and he just focused on finding you. He was the CMO. He shouldn't be letting romantic emotions cloud his judgment when it comes to patient care.

Arriving at your door, Leonard gave a brief knock, waiting in the silence of the corridor to hear you call out, but there was no response, he tried his comm, “Lt. Commander (Y/L/N), Commander Spock informed me you were sick, I’m here to just make sure you’re doing okay.” No response, remembering the last time your comm went silent, a shudder ran through Leonard. 

Another away mission, Jim said he confirmed the planet was abandoned, the only forms of life the Enterprise found were plant and animal life. Of course that turned out to not be the case and soon everything went to shit. Leonard already had his hands full with red shirts needing stitched up when everything stopped. 

Jim and Sulu bust through the med bay doors, your limp body being held up by the two of them, “She was walking just a few seconds ago, but now she’s limp!” He watched Jim’s pleading eyes flickering around for anyone who was available to help. Spock was following behind and when it seemed like Jim and Sulu were about to lose their battle with supporting your dead weight, Spock stepped in and scooped you up. Cradling you in his arms like a child.

Leonard couldn’t do anything for the first 30 seconds, watching the way your body just hung there, no movement from you except the extremely quick and labored breathing you were exhibiting. He fully didn’t know what he was doing until he just left the red shirt sitting in front of him, having one of the nurses continue the stitches he was currently working on. When he finally reached you, it was hard to determine what blood was yours and what wasn’t.

Spock laid you on the closest open bed and Leonard began scanning you, with not only his tricorder but his eyes as well. He placed two fingers on your neck and closed his eyes, ignoring the tingling that started small in his fingertips and worked its way up his arm. Your pulse was strong and the sense of relief Leonard felt was strong enough to clear his head, though he still had to focus to not drop to his knees. 

Looking at the PADD with your scans, he had to have looked visibly confused, because both Spock and Jim had tried to peek over his shoulder to read your medical information on the device in his hand. “She has no external injuries, and I can’t find any internal bleeding. What happened out there?”

Jim spoke first, “It was an ambush, they were waiting to show themselves until we hit the ground. (Y/N) had already made a break for the treeline, she was looking for a specific plant. They came out of nowhere, and Scotty was trying to beam us all out but he couldn’t get a steady signal on (Y/N). They were engaged in battle, 3 on 1. It didn’t stop until she-” Jim suddenly stopped his account of what happened on the foreign planet, almost too afraid to finish his sentence. 

“We were finally able to get a steady signal and beamed them to the transporter, only after Lt, Commander (Y/L/N) had been thrown into a tree,” Spock finished for the Captain.

“I could have taken them if Scotty and Chekov hadn’t been yelling in my ear the entire time.” You slowly opened your eyes, bracing yourself for how bright the room surrounding you would be. “And it was 4 on 1 James.” There it was again, you were the only person who could get away with calling the Captain by his government name. 

The breath Leonard didn’t know he was holding released as he made his way to your side, “From what I heard, you kicked ass down there.” 

A sheepish smile was your response, he didn’t know why, but he needed to be close to you, he would have sat down on the bed and pulled you into his chest if he didn’t have his current audience. “You hit your head pretty hard (Y/N), and while it doesn’t look like a concussion I want to see you back here in 3 days just to make sure nothing else is going on.”

Leonard was pulled back into the present by your door opening, and there you were, gorgeous. Leonard couldn’t help the small smile he felt when he looked down at you. Noticing the way your messy locks fell around your face and the out of regulation pajamas you were wearing. The dark circles under your eyes more prominent now than they were last week.

“Len, what are you doing here?” You shielded your eyes from the brightness of the hallway. Wincing in pain when you tried looking up at him.

“Spock told me you were sick. I came to check on you.” A soft shrug from him and he didn’t miss how you seemed too tired to even roll your eyes at your boss for ratting you out to the CMO. You motioned at him with your hand before turning and walking back into your quarters. 

Leonard had never actually been inside your living space until now, and he couldn’t help but feel immediately at home. Photos hung on your walls, photos of you from medical school, at the academy, there was one that caught his eye immediately. You and Jim, while both younger than you are now, were instantly recognizable. Jim was holding you on his shoulders, you held your PhD in your hand. Your joy in the photo emanating into the real world. Then he saw it, your mark. 

Perfectly placed inside your wrist, he stepped closer, he could hear his blood swishing in his ears as he finally put two and two together. There it was, staring at him. He now had proof that his entire life you had been the one he was waiting for. An uneasy feeling sank over him. He just needed to push everything down. He was a doctor, he had a job to do, and he wouldn't let this discovery change anything.

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

You watched as Leonard looked around your small apartment, he was currently observing the photos on your walls. You were tired, you laid down on your couch and pulled a blanket up past your head. Your migraine now just a dull throb at the back of your skull. You could now hear Leonard shuffling around your kitchenette. When you finally pulled the blanket down you could see him standing in front of you.

There was a mug in one hand, and a tricorder in the other. “Leonard, I promise I’m fine. It’s just a migraine.”

Leonard scoffed before setting the mug down, “According to Commander Spock, your migraines have been more frequent lately, he also mentioned a fever and nausea.”

“Spock can’t keep his damn mouth shut can he?” You replied before moving into a sitting position and allowing the doctor to scan you. You hummed as his hand brushed across your wrist, immediately finding the spot to check your pulse.

“I was worried about you, ya know,” Leonard softly spoke. “When you didn’t show up this morning I knew something was wrong,” his sentence ended in a mumble of words. You couldn’t help but reach up and place a hand on his cheek. 

“I apologize for making you worry, Doctor.” This time, you could feel his jaw slightly clench and you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. 

“(Y/N),” you noticed he was closer now, hovering mere inches from your face. 

“Yes Leonard?” You could hear the catch in your breath as you spoke. His breath fanned across your face, the mintiness from brushing his teeth still lingering. The proximity of being so close had your heart going crazy and you couldn’t seem to think straight. As quickly as the moment started, he ended it. Pulling away and tucking his tricorder into his hip. 

“Well, everything seems fine, and nothing is broken.” He made his way to your door. “Drink the tea, and take it easy for the next couple of days,” and with that he opened the door and walked away.

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

You hadn’t seen Leonard for two weeks, even on your last away mission he had someone else do you exam. He wouldn’t even come out of his office while you were in med bay. The daily throb in your heart of the rejection didn’t stop your stride but it definitely slowed it. You were second guessing yourself and you couldn’t seem to focus unless you had someone else to hold you accountable. You slept more these days, not being able to stay late in the greenhouse for the fear that your mind would start to wander and then you had your heart breaking all over again.

Sitting in the mess hall with Spock at lunch you were approached by an ensign. A yellow shirt, and when you looked behind him, you could see Sulu intently watching the interaction unfolding in front of him. “Lt Commander (Y/L/N), I was hoping I could invite you to the party we’re having tonight.”

You smiled up at him, intending to find a way to gently let him down, when the unsuspecting doctor walked into the mess hall, and you couldn’t help but smirk, motioning him closer to you, you decided to just be honest, “Listen kid, I’m sure you’re great, but someone already has my heart.” You watched their face slightly falter, “However, they’re too stubborn to admit it, help me make him jealous and I think I can talk to the Captain about your incredible performance.” 

You weren’t expecting the quick nod of their head or the salute they sent your way from the table, keeping the smile on your face, you couldn’t help but laugh as Spock finally made eye contact with you. “I don’t see how you attending a party with a member from the flight crew could in any way make Dr. McCoy jealous.” 

You could hear the ensign talking to Sulu as Dr. McCoy passed their table, “She said yes!” The ensign looked back over at you and waved, you made sure an enthusiastic smile was planted on face as you waved back, pretending not to feel Leonard’s glare boring into you as you turned back to Spock, “Just like that Commander Spock.” The vulcan couldn’t help the sigh of disappointment. Why must the two of you make things so complicated?

       “Lt. Commander, wouldn’t it just be easier to tell Dr. McCoy, how you feel about him?” 

     You sighed, eyes bouncing around the room before landing down at the plate of replicated food in front of you, “I wish. He’s been avoiding me for 2 weeks now. Hell, the other day I helped another science officer to med bay and he wouldn’t even look at me,” you shrugged your shoulders before collecting your belongings, “I think maybe I should turn my affections elsewhere as Dr. McCoy has made it clear to me that he would no longer like a friendship with me, let alone a romantic relationship.” You turned on your heel, already done with the conversation and quite frankly done with the way your thoughts were constantly brought back to the man who wanted nothing to do with you.

     You didn’t even see Leonard approach your table at the end of your conversation with Spock, determined to outrun the wave of emotions you could feel rising up in your chest. 

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

    The party was great, it really was, but you felt so out of place. Parties weren’t usually your thing and the ensign who asked you to the party quickly forgot about you as soon as you defended Spock in the middle of a heated conversation. Sulu ended up having to coax you away from the group as the insults toward your best friend kept coming, and you quickly rolled up your sleeves. 

“Hey, you’re okay, anyone who really knows Spock knows that he’s actually a really great guy.” Sulu rubbed your arm as he led you to the bar. “Plus, it would be a little uncomfortable to end up in med bay right now.”

You scoffed and could help the incredulous look you gave him, “I wouldn’t have ended up anywhere but my cabin. The best part is none of them would have even known who I was until Captain Kirk inevitably got involved, and I also know that James would throw himself on top of a live grenade for me.”

Sulu couldn’t help but roll his eyes at you before handing you one of the drinks he ordered, “You and the captain are close too?” 

“Yeah, he’s like an older brother. My mom and his dad were close, so he was over all the time when we were younger, he’s the one who pushed me to apply for my doctorate degree and even filled out a couple of applications behind my back, and he protected me more than once from creeps when he would sneak me into the bar with him.” You downed another drink the drink and looked at the crowd opposite of where you currently were, “I could still take him,” 

“How many of those have you had tonight?” Sulu nodded at the empty glass in your hand.

You shrugged, setting the glass back down on the bar, “I lost count about 30 minutes ago.”

The comment earned you another laugh from the man beside you and suddenly your comm went off, “Lt. Commander! It’s great to see you here!” Your head suddenly turned into a swivel as you scanned the party, looking for the biggest pain in your ass you had ever met. Someone grabbed your shoulder from behind you and reflexively threw them over you to the ground, before placing a foot on their chest to keep them on the ground.

The laugh that followed had smoke coming out of your ears and suddenly you were a teenager again, “Chekov! Don’t do that!” You couldn’t help but stomp your foot on the ground, “I could have hurt you!”

“Did you just stomp your foot? Are you throwing a tantrum right now?” You helped Chekov off the ground and you noticed how he had been grinning the entire time.

“How am I supposed to get any peace on this ship when I have a gaggle of men I have to constantly keep from killing themselves?” You feigned anger and dramatically threw your hand back to your forehead. 

“Well, who else would keep us in check if we didn’t have you?” The puppy dog eyes from both Sulu and Chekov broke past your resolve and you pulled both of them into a hug. Kissing both of them on the top of the head before pulling away.

“Who’s gonna take care of you when I’m gone? I’m 25 now, in my prime, someone could wife me up right now and I’d be whisked away in a flurry of love and babies.” You watched the horror spread over their faces and you couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself.

Chekov quickly dropped to one knee and you couldn’t help the feeling of embarrassment that filled you, a pit in your stomach forming and even with the threatening look on your face, the ensign didn’t move off the ground, “Well, if you’re going to get married, I think we both,” he paused and nodded at Sulu who couldn’t help the comical smile on his face as he stared at the scene unfolding in front of him. “Would prefer if you did get married that you wouldn’t be whisked away from us.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the first real laugh you had experienced in weeks, and soon you were laughing so hard you had tears pricking at the back of your eyes, “You’re really taking marrying up to a whole new level,” you dropped into a squat, resting your body weight on your balls of your feet as you got within eye level of your friend, “You’re drunk Chekov, you wouldn’t remember this in the morning if you wanted too.” You gently pushed on him back by his forehead, as you expected Chekov, who was extremely drunk for this early in the night, fell backwards. What you didn’t expect was him flailing, grabbing you, and throwing you down the stairs from the bar after him. 

Everything that happened next was in fast forward as a group of people were on both of you, you could feel your face flush with embarrassment. As swiftly as the embarrassment settled, the overstimulation was sudden and you were going to freak out. There were too many people, people were trying to touch you, some trying to help you up, and everyone was speaking at once. You closed your eyes, you could feel an ache in your head, and something warm in your hair. You could hear James shuffling through the crowd, using his captain's voice to part the sea of swarming people. 

“(Y/N) are you okay?” You were lifted to your feet, wincing as he put pressure on your shoulder. James instantly repositioned the way he was supporting you. You quickly looked around and saw Chekov, he came bounding over to you as soon as you were up.

“Chekov, are you okay?” You reached up and started inspecting him, which earned you a laugh.

“I just tucked and rolled!” He spun in front of you as if to prove his point. 

“Yeah,” you suddenly noticed the pain in your shoulder was growing, “Wish I got a heads up,” you couldn’t help but laugh with the ensign and you rested most of your weight against your longest known friend. 

“(Y/N) you’re bleeding. From your head. We gotta go.” 

You looked up at him, trying to pull your best puppy dog eyes through the growing pain, “But James, it just got fun!”

“Remember when you said that after your commissioning?”

You groaned, you had been trying to forget about that night since it happened, you got drunk. Totally wasted with James at a surprise party he threw for you , cheering you on and even challenging you to go shot for shot. You fell off the second story balcony, thankfully into bushes, but nevertheless walked away with a concussion and a pretty nasty bruise that consumed most of your lower back. “Fine, let’s go.”

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

Jim regretfully walked you to med bay, he wondered if this is what he put Bones through everytime he got sick or injured, “What is going on with you tonight?”

“I really don’t want to go to med bay and I really really don’t want to see Leonard McCoy.” You automatically imitated the grumpy doctor, even furrowing your brows like he would.

“I thought you two were friends?” What had he missed, the last time Bones had talked about you, he thought the two of you had something, it was the most he had seen his friend smile in, well, the entire time he had known him.

You bellowed a dry, sarcastic laugh, “Yeah, me too.” You looked away from him, suddenly more interested in the floor than the conversation you were having, “I thought we could have been more,” you whispered under your breath. 

Jim stopped walking, turning your head so he could look you in the eyes, “(Y/N), Bon- Leonard is a complicated man. He doesn’t always know what’s best for him right away. Even when the best thing to happen to him is right in front of him.”

You shook your head, trying to break the look Jim was giving you, “No, it’s my fault. I thought he was going to kiss me. I read the signs all wrong, and now he hasn’t talked to me in 16 days, and now I’ve ruined a perfectly good friendship.” 

Jim wiped away a tear that started sliding down your cheek, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. You gently sobbed into his chest, trying to be quiet in the corridor with a few people still bustling around you. His heart breaking at seeing you this heartbroken. He had been there for other break ups, most of the time you rationalized it, even to him. 

‘It wasn’t meant to be’ was after Chandler, a snotty rich kid who tried desperately to buy his way into your pants. He tried using his dad’s rank to intimidate you, trying to use the power of someone else to make you do what he wanted. Even after you had broken things off, there were some nights you would still sleep on Jim’s couch, afraid to go back to your dorm. He wasn’t a problem for you much longer.

“She just wasn’t the one,” was after Savannah. Someone who you remained in contact with to this day. You were there when Savannah got her dream job, she thanked you in her speech when she graduated top of her class, and most importantly you were her daughter’s godmother. Every shore leave, every break from school, you made her and her family one of your top priorities. Jim had even seen you leave study groups or parties just to go spend time with her.

“My soulmate is still out there,” Was after Ashton. It had been a few years, Jim thought you guys were happy, but then came the inevitable. You stormed into his apartment, not even bothering to knock as there was nothing Jim was going to be doing that you hadn’t seen at least once already. He was married. You were humiliated, you didn’t go out unless you were going to school for weeks. Beating yourself up for not knowing. Jim had to remind you countless times that it wasn’t your fault, you had no idea of knowing that this man was married, hell Jim even did digging of his own after things got serious and he couldn’t find anything. 

He couldn’t help the look of pity he gave you as you pulled yourself out of his chest, wincing at the pain as he released you. “Whatever happened to the girl who could rationalize these things? Your other half is still out there,” he said softly.

More tears welled up in your eyes. You shook your head again, more violently this time, as if trying to shake the tears away. He couldn’t help but empathize with your sorrow. He would have put the pieces together himself if you had given him time, but you spoke again. “James, he is the one. And now he won’t even look at me.”

Jim’s eyes widened in disbelief. Never in the entire time of knowing you did he think you would ever say those words. It was supposed to be the two of you, lone wolves for the rest of your lives. “You really love him, don’t you?” he asked, pulling you into his side. You nodded, and he kept his arm around your ribcage for support, careful to avoid putting pressure on your shoulder. “And you should probably try to stop crying before we walk through that door.”

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

Walking into med bay, you couldn’t help but feel mortified at how you must look. You could feel the blood in your hair even more now, and you couldn’t even bear to lift the arm with the damaged shoulder. Not to mention how the makeup you wore for the night probably looked after you cried into James’s chest. You quickly glanced at him, stifling a laugh as you pointed at the mascara stain on the dress shirt he was currently wearing. 

“You think that’s funny?” You watched as he dramatically tried to wipe the makeup off his shirt. “Ya know, this better win me some brownie points.” 

You laughed harder at the comment, “Speaking of brownie points, I promised the ensign who asked me to the party that if he helped me make Leonard jealous I would put in a good for him with you.” You couldn’t help the dreamy smile that fell on your face just mentioning him, “Then he said Spock was an asshole and now I think we should just shoot him out into the void of space.”

“I forgot how mean you get when you drink.”

“Who else do we have tonight?” You didn’t want to turn around, the southern drawl in his voice was something you didn’t even notice how much you had missed until this very moment. You wanted to cower behind James, you wanted to run and hide. You wanted to beg James to turn around and patch you up in your quarters. Before you could speak, James did. 

“Well, I decided to throw a party and things got a little out of hand. The Lt. Commander was practically thrown down a flight of stairs. I think they have dislocated a shoulder and they’re bleeding. From the head.” 

You couldn’t stop yourself when you jabbed an elbow into his ribcage, pushing through the pain to let him know how you felt, “I’m fine, I just hurt a little bit.”

James poked you in the shoulder, using the littlest bit of pressure, causing you to rear back and stifle down a groan of pain, “You asshole!”

You didn’t miss the sigh or the eye roll from the handsome doctor in front of you, and now you were pissed. You were trying to have a good time tonight, and yet absolutely no one was able to take him off your mind, and now here you were, standing in front of him, looking like a complete mess, “Listen, you obviously don’t want me here, and quite frankly I don’t want to be here, so if you could just put my shoulder back in place so I can go away, that would be great.”  You sighed before turning away from them and finding the closest open bed, “Stop looking at me like that James, I can feel your eyes in the back of my head.” 

You couldn’t hop onto the bed without jostling everything that hurt, so you chose to plant yourself in one of the visitor chairs beside the bed. Your head resting back against the wall, closing your eyes and trying to prevent the tears trying to escape, the pain now moving toward the range of extreme and you finally touched your head. Pulling it away to inspect your fingers, there was the blood now sticky. You sighed, annoyed with the fact that showering after tonight was going to be hard.

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

Leonard pushed through the privacy curtain and for a couple of moments he just looked you over with his eyes. Jim had told him what happened. The thought of Chekov proposing, no matter how fake, seemed to enrage him. The thought of you with any man did that to him, not to mention the blatant flirting in the mess hall the other day. He wanted to track down the ensign who asked you to the party down, give him a piece of his mind. He wanted to let the ensign know that he shouldn’t be hitting on his woman.

But you weren’t his, were you? Jim let him know about the conversation in the hallway, how you cried after telling him how long it had been since he had been icing you out. Has it really been 16 days?  Jim told him he needed to fix it. Leonard wasn’t sure he could. How would he even go about letting you know that the only reason he was acting this way was so he didn’t break your heart. He was damaged, and had too much baggage for someone as sweet as you. He didn’t want to ruin you.

Looking at you now though, past the injuries of the night, Leonard realized that his way of trying not to cause you any harm was actually doing the most harm. Your eyes were closed, but still slightly puffy and tear streaks had etched their way onto your cheeks. The blood in your hair now drying and matting your hair together. From just looking at your current posture he wasn’t too concerned with any broken bones, but he suspected Jim was probably right about the dislocated shoulder. 

He cleared his throat to get your attention, watching closely as your eyes slightly opened. He didn’t miss the glimmer in your eye as you finally looked at him, and when you held his gaze Leonard let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. The need to be close to you reared its head again and it took all of his self control to not sprint the short distance to you. He sat on the med bay bed so he was closer to eye level. He didn’t really know what to say. 

“Hi,”

Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open at his opening line choice. “Hi? Are you fucking kidding me? Hi?” You threw your good hand in the air, wincing from the sudden change in posture, as you whisper screamed at him. The both of you knew there was an extremely high chance Jim was trying to eavesdrop on the two of you.

“What else am I supposed to say?” Leonard almost couldn’t believe himself, who says hi?

“Maybe, I’m an ass for not talking to you for 2 weeks but let me stitch up your head.”

“I am sn sss.” 

You huffed, sitting up straighter, “Or maybe, it looks like your shoulder is dislocated, let's get it back into place and get you out of here.”

“If that’s what you want me to do.” 

“Of course I want you to fix me! Why else would I drag myself down here?”

So you wanted to fight, Leonard could do that, “Oh, so you have to drag yourself down here?”

“Right now, yeah? I literally have no other choice!”

Leonard wanted to smirk, “So you only wanted me because you had no other choice?”

You gasped and looked at the ground, “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

Leonard stood, grabbing the PADD he had with him, “I’m not the one who said it.” 

“Yeah, and I’m not the one who made me fall in love with you.” Leonard froze, just barely able to hear you, you had dropped into a barely audible whisper. Leonard didn’t know if it was from fear of saying it outloud or hoping he wouldn’t hear it.

“Yeah, well what are you going to do about that?”

He watched as your head snapped up, and if looks could kill Leonard was sure his head would have exploded right then and there, “You’ve obviously already made your choice, so maybe just get me the hell out of here and transfer my care to someone else. That way you'll never have to see me again.”

He sighed, not really wanting to do this now, but it looks like he was going to have no other choice, “(Y/N)-”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear it, now please, just fix me enough so that I can go back to my quarters and shower, I need to get this blood out of my hair.”

“(Y/N)-”

“I’m serious-”

“If you would shut up you would know that I’m in love with you too!”

Leonard had never raised his voice at you before, and the look on your face made him regret it instantly. He crouched in front of you and cradled your face in his hands, “I am so head over heels for you Darlin’” He looked into your eyes, searching for anything other than the rage they currently held, “It scared me. That night in your room, when I saw the way you were looking at me, I knew. I never wanted anyone to look at me the way you did. I panicked. I ran and hid, hoping that if I just pushed everything down for long enough then-” He sighed again, his breath feeling like a cotton ball in his throat.

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

You were pissed. Angry at Leonard for ignoring you, angry that you were in med bay, angry that Leonard wouldn’t shut the fuck up. You were trying so hard to move past the feelings you had for him, but you always seemed to end up right back in front of him. 

“Why?” You couldn’t stop your mouth from moving, even though in this moment you desperately wanted him to shut up. You could hear how tired he was, making the southern accent more prominent, making your heart swell. 

“Well, I’m broken. Told Jim that Jocelyn took everything in the divorce. All I got is my bones.”

“So that’s where the nickname comes from? James tries so hard to call you Leonard to my face, like the nickname is a secret or something.” You could feel the way he looked at you, choosing to focus on the nickname instead of anything else he just told you. “Leonard, we can continue this conversation later, but my shoulder really hurts. Please help me.”

Leonard helped you onto the bed, and slightly straightened you up. “Um, I need to take your shirt off, I need to see-”

You couldn’t help but blush. You had thought this before, not in this context. Your fantasies usually revolved around his office, in the shower, maybe you thought about you and him in the greenhouse once or twice, but never like this, “I’m gonna need some help with that.”

Leonard slowly pulled your arm out of the sleeve, and you almost thought you could see him shaking, “Len, I’m not made of porcelain.” You could hear him release the breath he was holding, his thumb dancing over your wrist. Soon enough you were topless, you could see a bruise forming. Your shoulder felt so wrong. You almost couldn’t describe it. It felt taut like it was being pulled, but you felt like you had no control, you couldn’t shrug if you tried. 

“This is gonna hurt, according to these scans not only is your shoulder dislocated but you have a torn AC ligament.” He laid you down, placing your arm down over the edge of the bed, and quickly pulling your arm into a 90 degree angle, while rotating your arm. You felt the relief as you heard your shoulder pop back into place. Then the hypo, and if your shoulder still didn’t throb a little you would have hit Leonard.

“That’s gonna help with the pain and swelling, and this one,” He stabbed you again, “Is gonna help with that ligament, but you cannot lift anything heavier than 15 pounds until I clear you, and because this can still affect your range of motion, we’ll still have to keep a close eye on it. Usually for a dislocated shoulder we would recommend a sling, but we’re going to need movement if you want to be able to maintain your current quality of life.”

“Okay, and the treatment plan?” You sat up and gingerly pulled your shirt over your head.

“Well the fact you were able to do that is a good sign.” He took a step back from you, “Stand up and hold your arms directly out in front of you,” You did, your left arm not reaching quite as high as your right hand, “Now out to the side,” again, the left shoulder not quite as high. “Drop them to your sides and shrug,” You almost couldn’t. Trying with all of your might to move your left side up to your chin. The smallest inch of movement had you content. 

“4-6 weeks,” Leonard smashed the contentedness. “I know, it seems like a long time, but (Y/N) losing range of motion for your line of work would hinder you in more ways than one. Even with the medicine we have, we can only speed up the human body's healing time by so much. If it was any worse I would have said 8.” He took a step closer to you and took your hand in his. “Now stop pouting and let me check your head.”

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

It had been 3 days since the last time you had seen Leonard, the longest amount of time the two of you had gone since that night in med bay. You had even spent the night once or twice. However, this time you weren’t anxious about it. He didn’t consume your thoughts like before and for the first time in weeks, you finally felt like you were back in your groove. You were on the last 2 week stretch of desk duty, and not surprisingly you were spending most of the time following Spock around, or wandering around the greenhouse, trying to politely remind people that your way was the right way and you were actively writing the protocol for this.

However, right now you were moping. Looking like someone ate your candy and you couldn’t help it. Everyone who you could bother during the day was gone. A new planet, going where no man has gone before, or whatever the excuse was. You just knew you were bored and there was no one around to entertain you. You soon found yourself wandering to med bay, hoping that you could catch a moment alone with Leonard. You waved at the nurse sitting at the desk, before making your way to Leonard's office. You knocked on the door and when you didn’t hear a response you slowly opened the door.

Stepping into the office you glanced around, it was empty. You frowned even more, wanting to fold your arms over your chest and huff. You made your way back to the desk and faced the nurse. “Where’s Dr. McCoy?”

“The captain asked him to join the team going down the surface today.”

“Oh, okay. Can you let him know I stopped by? He wanted me to come down for a follow up.”

The young boy sitting behind the desk smiled at you and straightened his posture a little, “Yeah, can I get a name? Lt. Commander (Y/N). Thank you.” You smiled back before heading back out into the hallway. 

Back in the greenhouse you couldn’t stay focused, wanting to wander and more than enough times trying to sneak in and help with the rearranging currently going on. Every time someone caught you and every time they threatened to tell Spock. Eventually you conceded, holing yourself away in your office. You couldn’t help the way you stared off into literal space. Not being able to keep your mind busy with anything work related, you decided to give up. You pulled out your PADD and started drawing. Focus every bit of [ent up energy into the smallest details on the pages… 

Just wanting something to keep you busy. And you were now in a field, it looked like home. Yellow dandelions and honeysuckle sprouting up everywhere, you could feel the cool grass beneath your toes. The wind was warm and steady. The sky was cornflower blue and white wispy clouds were scattered throughout. You finally felt calm. You closed your eyes, trying to breathe in the moment. A hand grasped yours, you looked over and there he was. The man who completely consumed your dreams. You could see it. This is where you spent most of your time, the space you went to in duress. 

The image shifted, now you were in a house. Your mom’s home. It smelled exactly as you remembered. You heard the kettle on the stove and made your way to the kitchen, laughter floated through the air. The kitchen now in view, your mom was now at the counter, filling a group of mugs that sat on the counter. Behind you at the kitchen island, stood Leonard, chopping vegetables and bantering with your dad.

The image rippled behind you, changing the scenery and you were still on earth, but this was your home. The place you started and the place you would end. When you decided to move to Washington, James helped you. Packed only what you needed and took the road trip with you, only along for the memories. Your homestead spread before you. Your eyes automatically drifted to the chicken coop. Leonard was there, several of your hens grouped around his feet as he spread bird seed for them.

“I don’t think chickens would be that big of a fan of me,” You jumped as Leonard made himself known behind you. You slowly made your way to him, suddenly anxious about the interaction, “I heard you were looking for me?”

You almost forgot, you laughed to yourself before explaining, “Yeah, it wasn’t anything important. I was bored, and both James and Spock were gone! I can’t do anything with this damn arm and I needed stimulation. I didn’t know James stole you too!” You lightly hit him in the chest and scowled, “I thought we had a rule.”

The doctor suddenly looked bashful as he stared at your feet, “There was an exception to the rule,” From behind his back, he revealed a plant. It looked like a venus fly trap, but it was maroon. “ “It looks like dionaea muscipula, but I’ve never seen one this color. Or as large.” You gently cradled the propagate in your hands, breathing gently as you inspected it. “Usually 10cm is the largest they get. This one could be significantly bigger.” You finally looked up at him, tears slightly welling up in your eyes, “Thank you,” 

Suddenly you were surrounded by him. His hand on your face, his smell swirling around, and most importantly his lips on yours. They were soft, a complete contrast to the finger grazing over your cheek. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss as you leaned into him. He wrapped his free hand around your waist and pulled you against him. You were hyper aware of the feeling of his chest against yours, you swore your breathing was in sync. 

Leonard pulled away first, deciding that air was actually a vital part of his plan to have a future with you. He rested his forehead against yours, placing a chaste kiss to your nose, “Maybe I can get used to the chickens.”

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

Leonard practically dragged you out to the turbolift. Only giving you a split second to stop by the greenhouse to drop off your new favorite thing. Surprised you were able to make the short ride to his quarters without your hands all over each other. He held your hand the entire time and you couldn’t help but notice how opposite the two of you looked. Leonard with a determined look taking over his features, he was desperate to be alone with you and he couldn’t stop bouncing as you waited to arrive at the correct floor. You, on the other hand, looked completely love drunk. Still reeling from the kiss, just happy to be near him and along for the ride.

He pulled you down the hallway and you did everything you could to stay on your feet as you tripped after him. He turned back to look before picking you up, tossing you over his shoulder and he resumed his pace. You let a giggle fall out of you, hanging over his back, staring at the floor. He hummed in response, and you couldn’t help but shake your head, knowing he couldn’t see you, deciding to keep this to yourself. He stopped, arriving at his door, and soon you were in the darkness and privacy of his personal space. The room is familiar in the dim lighting from the late night visits that happened occasionally. He continued, moving to a space you had never seen before, his bedroom.

You couldn’t help the flurry you were feeling in your stomach, suddenly aware of everything around you. Taking in what the room looked like, you could definitely see Leonard in the space, it was nicely decorated. The sheets looked soft, a rich phthalo green with matching comforter. The night stands were simply decorated, with a single light on each, one of them holding a photo of he and James at the Academy. The rest of the room had small trinkets, and a couple of dirty clothes were sitting on a chair in the corner. What really caught your eye was the small purple succulent sitting on his dresser.

“You put him on your dresser?” You couldn’t help but ask, knowing he would know exactly what you were talking about. The succulent was your first surviving propagation of its kind. You had affectionately named him ‘Jim’.

“Yeah, I brought him home that very day. I’ve been following all your rules. Even had Scotty set me up special lights so the little could get the effects on sunlight.” He set you down on the bed and looked at you, before stepping forward and weaving his way between your legs, currently towering over you. You wanted to drool, you were sure this was heaven. He was kissing you again, this time deeper than before, his tongue already begging as you moved your lips against his. Ever so slightly you moved back onto the bed, slowly lying down as Leonard climbed on top of you. His hands slowly moved up your shirt and you couldn’t help but try and press your body against his hands. Trying to desperately communicate the need for his touch.

“Len,” you whispered and he looked at you. His eyes softened as he took in the sight of you, a hand coming up to cup your cheek, you couldn’t help but pull him into a hug, pulling him down until his entire body weight was on top of you. You couldn’t help the contented sigh that fell from your lips as you embraced this feeling. He felt like a weighted blanket on top of you, bringing a sense of peace with him as your breathing synced together,  “I missed you.”

“I missed you too Darlin’” Your hands grabbed the back hem of his shirt, gently tugging and trying to pull it up his body, Leonard picking up the hints. Moving off you, he finished the job you were working on, before you sat up, allowing him to pull your shirt off you. “You’re gorgeous,” again you wrapped up in a kiss, and it was everything you had been dreaming about since you met him. 

Soon enough, you were naked, your lower half dangling off the edge of the bed, Leonard stroking himself as he stared at you. You swore you could feel his eyes burning into your skin as he raked you over, looking as if he was trying to memorize every inch of your body, the adoration radiating off him made you want to cry. You couldn’t remember a time anyone had made you feel this way just from a look. You didn’t know why you were suddenly so emotional, but now you were worried you were ruining the moment. You saw Leonard’s face change as he moved toward you. 

“(Y/N)?” He scooped you up, sitting you on his lap, his thumb brushing away the one rogue tear that escaped, “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head and smiled, “Nothing, it was just the way you looked at me.” You turned around in his lap, straddling him. You slowly kissed your way around his jaw line, up to his ear before gently nibbling on his ear lobe. You kept your lips pressed to his skin as you whispered in his ear, “Now, where were we Doctor?”

You shivered as he gripped your thighs, you slowly hiked yourself up placing one hand on Leonard’s shoulder to keep yourself steady using the other to line yourselves up. You didn’t miss the way he bit down on his lip as soon as your hand wrapped around his cock. Slowly easing yourself down onto him, you slowly stretched down until your thighs were touching his, placing both arms on his shoulders as you gave a few small bounces just to adjust yourself. Adjusting your knees, you started rotating your hips while setting a steady pace as you started to spring up and down. Having to quickly adjust when Leonard dropped to his elbows, and you came with him. 

He now had the upper hand, using one arm to wrap around your waist, keeping you in place, using the other to hold your chin, maintaining eye contact as he set a brutal pace, his hips almost smashing into yours. The new angle had changed and suddenly you couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your lips, seeing a smirk appear on Leonard’s face. “You sound so pretty,” He swiped his thumb over your lips and instinctively you slightly parted your mouth, “Say my name darlin.’”

You couldn’t help the heat that burned your cheeks, deciding to try and get back at him for the compromising position he put you in, “Leona-” You didn’t get to finish his name before his hips stopped moving. His arm is still locking you in place. You wanted to pout at the sudden loss of movement but didn’t have enough time as you were on your back now. Legs resting around his hips, his free hand now gripping one of your hips, as he slowly leaned in closer.

He adjusted the way he was holding your chin, he now rested your chin in the dip between his thumb and index finger, with each holding onto your jaw and adjusting your head to look at him, “I don’t think you heard me, what’s my name?”

“Dr. McCoy,” You looked at him through lidded eyes, eyes closing at his grip on your jaw tightened for a split second, before his hand on your hip pulled you closer to him. Settling a tortuous pace as he thrust into you, hiking your hips higher up as you started thrusting up towards him, desperate for more. He slowed down for a split second, a hand coming to rest by your throat. His fingers instinctively fell on your carotid. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Your heart rate seems pretty elevated,” He softly widened his grip, his hand now resting at the base of your neck.

“I was hoping you could tell me Doctor,” Leonard leaned down close to you, his fingers already slowly inching to either side of your neck, “Are you okay with this.” 

You quickly nodded your head and wiggled your body, closer to his, “Yes Le-” You swallowed, avoiding eye contact with him, “Yes Dr, McCoy.”

He applied pressure to the sides of your throat, you tilted your head back, almost as if you were presenting your neck to him and you could have died hearing the low moans Leonard was placing in your ear. You hummed as your eyes drifted shut, and you could feel the coil that had been tightening was ready to snap. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you (Y/N),” He thrust to punctuate every word and there you went. You gasped and drug your nails down his back as your thighs tightened around his waist. Leonard released his grip from around your neck and pulled away from you, spilling all over your stomach. He was gone the next second, before returning with a warm wash rag, practically wiping you down from head to toe. You couldn’t help yourself when you settled down under the sheets, face buried in the pillows that smelt like him.

Leonard soon returned, climbing into the bed beside you and pulling you into his chest. Kissing the top of your head before speaking, “Are you okay? I know that got intense pretty fast,” His fingers were absentmindedly running through your hair.

You yawned, moving yourself closer so your ear was pressed up against his chest, his heartbeat thrumming in your ears. You nodded against his ribcage, “I’m fine. I’m great actually…and the ‘Doctor Thing’ is kinda hot.” You could feel his chest shake with a silent laugh and you yawned again.  Pulling the blanket up to your neck and quickly falling into the best sleep you had received in weeks.

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

Leonard instinctively grabbed for you when he rolled over half awake in bed. He received no reprieve from the empty sheets, they were still slightly warm, and now he was wide awake. Scanning the room with his eyes, he couldn’t see you anywhere. There was something new on the dresser and he slowly made his way over to it. It was a note from you, and he couldn’t help but notice how elegant your handwriting was as it scrawled across the page. ‘I needed coffee, and you have none. Come find me if you would like a cup.” 

Leonard almost seemed like he was on autopilot as he dressed and brushed his teeth, leaving his quarters with only his comm and a mission to see you again. He quickly arrived in front of your door, and knocked within the same breath, realizing how desperate he was to see you. Now you stood in front of him, in a white t-shirt. He swallowed thickly as he could see your nipples pressed against the fabric, noticing how the pajama pants you stole from him hung around your waist.

He noticed the way you were looking at him, eyes still slightly coated with tiredness as they scanned his face, he tried to remain as untroubled as possible, trying not to give any signs of doubt as he stared back at you. He had something important he needed to tell you. You slowly reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him back into your quarters with you. Leonard could smell the freshly ground coffee and finally took a glance around now that he was here again. Taking in more than just the photos on your walls. 

He watched as you made your way across the room from him, back toward the espresso machine that sat on your counter, “Now how did you manage to pull that off?”

You looked over your shoulder as you giggled, “Listen, when it comes to Starfleet, I’m not dumb. I know that I’m a nepo baby and I know that I could have everything the easy way. I could take advantage of everything and everyone would let me. James could too.” Leonard scoffed as you started swirling and lightly tapping your steamed milk, “I know that my last name carries a legacy that I won’t ever feel I have earned.” You started slowly pouring the milk into a steel Starfleet mug, “However, almost everyone else thinks that just carrying her name is enough to give me the world. Spock knew that, he challenged me all throughout my time in Starfleet, and yes the age gap was definitely weird for everyone at first, but he sees something in me, something I never will.” You looked up at him as you started tamping your espresso, “Admiral Pike knew that. It’s because he knows me. I’ve called that man Uncle Chris since I could talk. He knew a pay bump wasn’t going to get me to leave my station. Especially to come to the ship he was the first captain of. So he gave me Spock, and a brand new espresso machine.” 

Your fingers tapped on the edge of the counter as you bit your bottom lip. You grabbed your finished espresso shot, holding it up to the light and inspecting it. “I was a barista once, and I loved it, it gave me something that made me feel like me. The other people in the coffee shop didn’t know who I was, or if they did they didn’t care.” You were practically speaking into the counter as you delicately poured the shot over your milk. “My mom would have loved it. If there’s one thing my dad drilled into my head, it’s that I didn’t have to choose Starfleet.” You now held a bottle filled with a purple syrup. You steadied your hand as you etched a simple crosshatch pattern into the top of the foam.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said in med bay for a couple days now,” You quickly sanitized everything, exchanging steaming pitchers, mugs, and even the shot glass, “My mom, is the reason I do anything in this life.” He watched as you started your process over again. Moving at a slightly quicker pace this time, “She died when I saw 5. It’s been 20 years and yet her birthday still feels like my day of atonement.” Leonard noticed how you adjusted the amount of coffee in the puck and the amount of water, “My last relationship ended because he proposed, and then I found out he had a wife.” You couldn’t help but happily gasp as you finally watched the shots finish pulling. 

“Just because you were married the person you, at one point in time, loved,” You were now steadily pouring the milk into the espresso that laid in the bottom on the mug, the stream of milk coming from your steaming pitcher couldn’t have been thicker than a pencil, “It doesn’t mean that you’re broken, and if you are, then so am I. And so is James. And Spock as well. Every single person on this ship,” You handed him the mug, “Is broken in some way, and it doesn’t make them any less worthy of love.” 

You cradled your mug in your hands before sitting across from him, in a small armchair you managed to tastefully squeeze in the small living room provided to you, “I love Spock, and I love James,” you swiftly pulled your legs underneath you, “And I love you, Leonard. And you are worthy of love.”

You slowly took a sip from your mug, watching his reaction as you tried to keep a somewhat safe distance from him, it wasn’t every day you could pull that conversation out of thin air. You became somewhat concerned as Leonard stared at his coffee, after a couple more seconds he looked at you and you felt like you could breathe again.

“Do you remember the first time you ever came to med bay? The conversation we had?”

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

Leonard couldn’t help but stare at the perfect white dot as it floated perfectly in the middle of the carmel colored drink from the milk and espresso mixing together. He felt breathless. You remembered, this was the first time he had coffee made by you since he tried to run away. He swore he could feel his heart swell, looking at the act of love made right in front of his face. “And I love you, Leonard. And you are worthy of love.” He wanted to run. To move out of your eyesight, and if he could, out of your life.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t dare. You were here, why would he ever leave? He took in everything around him, trying to stifle his nervous system that was telling him to abort mission. He swore he could see flashing red lights in his vision. He finally looked at you and the room was alive and it was all because of you, you were the sunshine he so desperately craved. Like his own personal star.  “Do you remember the first time you ever came to med bay? The conversation we had?”

“I remember the big three,” you softly smiled at him, and he watched as you took another sip from your mug.

Leonard just needed a little bit more context, for his own peace, to make sure the both of you were on the same page, “The big three?”

 “We talked about how flat whites are your preferred drink of choice, we talked about ‘the deal’ with me and Spock, and we talked about how you didn’t believe in soulmates.” It almost seemed like you had a checklist to remember. Feeling quite pleased with himself that you seemed to be on the same page already. 

“I never believed in having a soulmate. Not just for me, but for everyone. I’ve always thought it was crazy to love someone based on a mark we’ve had since we were born.” Leonard finally took his first drink, appreciating the warm, velvety milk that soothed his groggy morning throat, “The idea that you can’t love someone just because you weren’t chosen for them was always ridiculous to me. I’ve always wanted to reject the idea that someone should love me just because of a damn sign from the universe I had no say in.”

His gaze seemed more intense now, hoping you would know the gravity of the words he was trying to muster the courage to say. He was in this for the long haul, for the rest of his life. “The night I came to check on you I saw it. In the photo of you and Jim.”

You smiled at him and Leonard took a shaky breath, “Your mark is the dendrites of a multipolar neuron,” He watched your face morph as you brought your wrist to your face, gently tracing the lines with your fingers. Leonard pulled his arm out of the black thermal he was wearing, and for the first time, he turned his arm, and just below the crease of his elbow, was the finishing piece of yours, “I got the terminals of the neuron,”

“They look like plant roots,” You mused from your spot on the chair, now leaning over the arm of the chair to get a closer look, “Everything clicked that night,” Leonard stood, moving in front of you and bringing your wrist to the inside of his elbow, watching as your bodies and the image connected, “I ran away that night because I was scared. The thought of you being mine was almost too much to handle, then I saw the way you looked at me. No one had ever looked at me like that.” He was now holding your hand, watching as a slight blush consumed your cheeks. “You still look at me like that. I love you (Y/N), and the only thing I ever want is to be yours.”

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

You wanted to cry, you had been naked in front of Leonard before but now you felt like you had been stripped bare, you needed a break in this conversation. You could feel the heaviness in the air, making it hard to breathe. “People will say things about you Leonard. It’s happened before.” 

“What? They’ll think I’m with you for the status?” Leonard puffed his chest playfully.

“No, that’s not what I’m worried about.” You straightened yourself up, now on your knees as you locked eye contact with Leonard, “You’re the CMO of the USS Enterprise, you don’t need my status. No, what I’m worried about is that you’re one of the youngest men I’ve dated, and that’s still a 9 year age difference.”

“Youngest? I told Jim they’d never let me speak at the Academy again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, pulling him in by the front of his shirt, “I’ll have you know I am a grown adult Dr. McCoy. With a fully formed prefrontal cortex. I think I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.” You were hovering in front of his lips when you saw a small smile make an appearance, a knock at the door pulled two two of you out of your reverie and you groaned. Pulling away from him and grumbling under your breath all the way to your door.

James was waiting, bouncing in place as he tried seeing into your room from his angle in the hallway. “Did Leonard give you his gift?” James bounced his eyebrows up and down at you. 

“If you’re talking about the potentially giant venus fly trap then, yes.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“So, it’s giant huh?” A smirk cracking his face as he watched yours morph.

“I mean…” you paused, not knowing if Leonard wanted to tell people, before shrugging your shoulders as you fully faced James, measuring the air with your pointer fingers.

“Are you serious? Tell me you’re joking?” You slightly jumped as Leonard placed his hand on your shoulder. 

“What are we joking about?” He yawned after he spoke and you knew it couldn’t have been any earlier than 0700. 

“James doesn’t believe you have a big dick.” You laughed as Leonard suddenly stood straighter and seemed to tense up, you turned toward him, pulling him down for a gentle kiss, “James didn’t believe that we actually told each other how we felt.”

“Thank god you did because my next plan was to strand the two of you in a desert at night.” 

“Goodbye James,” you briefly waved before closing the door and pulling Leonard into your bedroom.

[snail-day]

I should be writing my dissertation but....

Nanami is the kind to just speak of his plans for the future while he is fucking his darling,

to debate his favourite baby names aloud as he spreads her legs. To talk about the countryside house with a garden big enough for a vegetable plot and a little pond as his fingers draw out another orgasam over and over. That this current apartment is just temporary until you two finally have a child who needs all the extra room, planning out what colour lecreuset's will decorate the kitchen drawers and which kitchen aid appliances she will get the most use of as he rails into her.

Kissing her afterwards with a sigh as he fixes the gag muffling her swears and cries, he just needs to train more before she's perfect and domesticated

🪻

Sayyyyy less more anon

Tw: Overstimulation, Kidnapped reader, Mentions of breeding

This fits too well for both Nanami and Geto. Except their both delusional in their own way <3 silly guys.

Geto who whispers threats like he's reading his vows to you. Tells you what’ll happen if you run again, all while stroking your tear stricken cheek, slow and soft. “You think I’d ever let you leave?” he laughs against your lips, pressing into you, as his cock brushes against your cervix one more time. Ensuring you can still feel the sting from the thirty to fifty spankings you received earlier.

Nanami is something else entirely. (Wouldn't be my second or first choice to end up with)

Nanami fucks you like he’s securing your future together. Like every harsh, mean thrust is a nail in the home he's building for you in the country side. Spreads your legs wide, gaze narrowed onto the gag (wishes he could take it off without you biting him so harshly), and talks, so calmly, about the future he’s already decided on.

“You’ll need to stop this attitude once the first one comes,” he says, voice even as his cock presses cruelly into your cervix. “I’ll plant your favorite along the fence line. You'd like that wouldn't you?”

You sob something incoherent, but it doesn’t matter. He presses a hand over your belly, possessive. Not much reassuring. “You’ll love it there. Quiet. Isolated. Perfect for raising children. Perfect for keeping you safe.”

And when he makes you come - again, and again - he keeps going. His tone doesn't falter as he discusses baby names, house layouts, and how many drawers he’ll need for your favorite Le Creuset pieces. You’re crying, overstimulated, wrists bound and gag soaked through. But he just hums softly, kisses your temple. “You're so emotional these days. Must be the hormones.”

(And oh, of course he wants home births. In the master bedroom, sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains. He’ll hold your hand through the contractions, murmur encouragement between contractions, wipe sweat from your brow and tell you how beautiful you look. So brave. So obedient.)

Afterward, he wipes you down carefully. Fixes the gag, brushing a kiss to your forehead as if you weren’t begging for mercy just moments ago. “You’ll learn,” he promises softly. “You’re not quite ready yet. But you’re mine. And I’ll train you until you are.”

Nanami Kento is one patient bastard. He’s waited this long for you. He’ll wait a little longer for the version of you he’s cultivating, his quiet, pregnant housewife, docile and full of love and his children. Even if he has to break you apart to make it happen.

[turvi]

Could I request anything fluffy with Severus Snape x reader?

(Man, I love Alan Rickman… c:)

Y/n sighs as she looks at the snow falling outside. Her eyes fell on the stack of papers that were right in front of her. It took everything in her not to doze off on the desk. Just as she was about to take another paper out of the stack there was a knock on the door. She frowns yet she gets up to open the door as the person behind continuously knocks "Easy easy be right there".

She opens the door and instantly there is a smile on her lips "If it isn't my favourite man" Severus quirks his brow and clears his throat "I am here to... invite you to watch the snow fall"

Y/n smirks "You want to watch the snowfall? Since when?" Severus sighs and grumbles "Are you coming or not"?

She takes her coat off the coat hanger "I am coming don't get your knickers in a twist", she yelps as Severus pinches her waist "Don't talk to me like that woman". Y/n scoffs and pinches him back "Don't pinch me like that". His hand moved to pinch her again but she slapped his hand away "Stop it", her heart fluttered when she heard him chuckle, that one singular sound made her weak.

Severus held her hand and gently tugged her out of the castle. Y/n couldn't help but giggle at how eager Severus was to see the snowfall. As soon as they stepped out Severus' eyes fell on her watching the snow fall on her hair and nose.

Y/n was too focused on enjoying the snowfall to notice Severus getting down on one knee. He cleared his throat and she felt her heart rate increase. Is this really happening?

"Y/n L/n, you have become the light in my life, the reason why I want to wake up the next morning and even though when I first met you I could barely tolerate your existence, now I can't imagine living a life without you. And I know I have not made it easier for you to tolerate me yet you do...so would you please spend the rest of my life, because I do not know what I would do without you, my love"

A soft sob leaves Y/n's lips "Yes...yes". She hugs him tightly, sighing softly as she felt his arms around her waist.

"Why are you crying"? Y/n chuckled at Severus' question "these are happy tears my love. I can't wait to spend my life with you". A shiver ran down her spine when she felt his cold nose on her neck.

Their private moment was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Severus grumbled as he pulls away from the hug looking at the source of the sound. Dumbledore stood there with his arms behind his back. "I believe congratulations are in order."

Severus sneered at the Headmaster "what are you doing here"? Dumbledore chuckles lightly "You know Severus, I am everywhere and I was walking around and spotted you two I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."

"Stop being everywhere" Snape grumbled as his arm tightened around Y/n's waist. She placed her palm on his chest and speaks sternly "Severus"

Dumbledore's smile widens "this is great news we need a party-"

Before Dumbledore could even finish his sentence Severus waved his wand and vanished along with Y/n into thin air. The headmaster couldn't help but laugh before walking away towards the Hogwarts castle.

A/N: Sorry for the delay I just finished my dissertation. If you like this shit REBLOG AND COMMENT

[misseviehyde]

De-Mentor

Sarah couldn’t be prouder of her younger sister Annabelle. She was definitely following in her big sister’s footsteps and living up to the family expectations. Head of the student council, a committed feminist and a straight A student, she had cultivated a happy and positive lifestyle just like Sarah. Just like her big sister she was also a vegan and she was deeply into politics.

Annabelle would often tell Sarah that she was her inspiration.  As a staffer for a local left-wing political organisation, Sarah had graduated top of her class and was now a rising star. She was making a difference. Annabelle looked up to her sister and wanted to be just like her once she graduated. She already had plans to become an environmental activist and work in the charity sector, something their rich but radical parents fully supported.  She first needed to complete her journalism degree, but once that was done she was ready to do her part to help the world.

The only thing Annabelle worried about was that she was sometimes getting stuck in an echo-chamber.  That was why she had tracked down her older sisters high-school bully Melody and as part of her dissertation was now interviewing her. She wanted to understand why Melody had bullied her sister and also what drove an evil bitch like her.

Melody was gorgeous and pretty. Her parents were super rich and she had been athletically talented.  Why would someone who had everything be so cruel?  Annabelle thought there had to be some deep reason, something she could discover and write about. Perhaps Melody was unhappy with her own life, perhaps she had changed since school? Maybe she would even want to apologise to Sarah and make up for all the bad, evil things she had done or said.

Sarah had told Annabelle horror stories about the rich, bratty, cheerleader and her clique. How Melody had taunted, teased and manipulated the school. Everyone had been afraid of her.  Annabelle wasn’t sure what to expect once she began interviewing the bully, but she had to try.

***

“Regrets?  No I don’t have any regrets. I fucking LOVED bullying your pathetic sister and making her my little bitch. Highschool was such fun, I could do whatever the fuck I wanted, and no one could stop me. Mmmmmh, it still makes me wet just thinking about it.”

Annabelle was listening back to her recordings from todays interview. She could barely believe it as she listened to the evil poison dripping out of Melody’s bitchy mouth. She couldn’t believe how open and honest the other woman was being, but it made her feel physically sick to listen to.

And yet…

Melody’s voice was aptly melodic. Soft and seductive, full of wicked intonation and glee.  The recorder seemed to greedily suck it up.  Annabelle knew she would end up listening to it again just to hear that voice… that damn pretty voice.

“You should be glad you weren’t at school when I was. I would have bullied you too. I mean, you’re so fucking pathetic - you dress like Sarah, ape her mannerisms, you even sound like that dumb bitch. Aren’t you embarrassed that you basically are your sisters mini-me?  Wouldn’t you rather be your own person?”

In the recording, Annabelle stuttered some more questions, but Melody was only interested in talking about what she wanted to talk about.

“You know, you have a decent bone structure and you’re prettier than your sister. You could be hot if you wore more makeup - dressed a little sluttier. You should try it. You should try acting more like ME and seeing if you like it.  You should live a little, eat some red meat… be a bad girl. It wouldn’t hurt for you to be more of a bitch.”

Annabelle re-wound the recording and listened again… then again… then again.

There was something about Melody’s voice. The poision in those words was soooo fucking hot somehow. Just listening to another girl admit she enjoyed being an evil bitch, that she revelled in her bratty bullying nature made Annabelle think strange thoughts.

You should try acting like a bitch.  You should eat more red meat, you should dress like a slut.

Again and again Annabelle listened to the words. They made her body tingle and made her think things she had never thought before.  Was she just a boring clone of her sister? Was she just a pathetic copy of Sarah, too afraid to think independently and be herself?

You should try acting more like ME.  Eat more red meat…

Annabelle felt her mouth salivate suddenly at the thought of a juicy burger. She hadn’t eaten meat in six years, she had decided it was immoral to eat meat. Eat more red meat. Grabbing her keys and her purse from the counter she snuck out of the front door, Melody’s voice still echoing in her mind.

****

The queue in Five Guys wasn’t very long and Annabelle’s hands trembled as she lifted the hamburger to her salivating mouth. She’d watched them fry the thick patty, the meat sizzling and juices running and now she greedily bit down and moaned, actually making an orgasmic gasp of pleasure, as she tasted the meat.

Fuck… yes…

Mmmmmmmh, Annabelle chewed - a damn seeming to burst inside her and a wicked smile growing on her face as she took another delicious bite. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted. She was all that mattered. If she wanted meat, she’d have meat.  Not too much of course, she had to look after her figure… but even now she could feel the protein filling her up, causing her body to react.

Sarah was short, underdeveloped, anaemic… well Annabelle wasn’t going to fall into the same trap. She was a meat eater now and she loved it. Breaking the taboo, doing something she knew was wrong… evil in fact… just made her feel so fucking… yummy. 

Suddenly she felt guilt. What the fuck was wrong with her? One meeting with Melody and she ready to turn her back on five years of being a vegan. No… this was just a one off, she instantly regretted this and wouldn’t be doing it again.

But deep inside Annabelle knew she didn’t regret it. She was hungry now. Hungry for more.

*******

Annabelle sat on the bus, the recording of Melody’s perfect voice oozing evil into her ears. She’d missed her stop ages ago, now the bus was heading into town - but that was okay. Annabelle wanted to go shopping.

“The first step to being a bitch has always been to look the part. It’s important that you work out, eat healthy, tone up your body. Join a gym, make sure your ass is perfect. You need to show off your body and be proud of it. Clothing is next. You can never dress down, every outfit has to be carefully chosen. You have to look hot all the time. Makeup, nails, hair, full outfit - focus on getting those right and you’ll start to be seen as popular and hot. Personality wise you need to be fake friendly to other girls, but make it clear you’re the bitch… the boss. Bully them if you have to, pick on the weaker ones and make them yours - then bring down the leaders until you’re the dominant Alpha. That’s how I ruled school when your pathetic Mom attended.”

Annabelle’s eyes rolled back in her head as strange visions burned through her mind. Visions that made her feel very good indeed. Smiling, she looked back down at her phone and began to cancel all of her charity subscriptions.  Annabelle had plenty of money, she was a careful saver and she donated most of it to charity.  Now though she had a better use for the money. For herself.

Join a gym, make sure your ass is perfect… every outift has to be carefully chosen.

Annabelle’s mouth repeated Melody’s words without even realising it as she stepped off the bus and walked into the gym.

Make sure your ass is perfect…

***

Annabelle admired her new reflection in the mirror as Melody’s droning voice continued to blare out of the speakers behind her.  She’d thrown out most of her old clothes and adapted now to the short skirts, tight dresses, knee stockings and heavy makeup that she had come to prefer. She no longer looked innocent. She looked like a teasing bitch. 

She looked like Belle.

Annabelle had started to go by Belle a few days ago when she’d decided she needed a hotter name to go with her hotter look.  Her gym membership was starting to pay off - she’d really toned up already. Maybe the diet of meat and protein shakes was paying off too. Even her boobs looked slightly bigger.

She practically salivated as she regarded herself narcissistically in the mirror. “Fuck yes. I'm so much hotter than I used to be. I feel like I'm finally becoming my own person. I’m finally breaking free of my dumb sister.”

Belle's waste paper bin was piled full of books and jotters. She’d needed more room for her makeup and this dumb crap was just in the way. She'd torn down her greenpeace posters and torn her signed photo of Greta Thurnburg in half. She couldn't give a shit about that stuff anymore.

She was rearranging her life. Plastic bags lined the wall, ready to be ditched. They were full of the fugly outfits she used to wear. A lot of them were Sarah's hand-me-downs. Belle wouldn't be seen dead in something that dumb bitch used to wear.

Melody's voice droned on repeat, filling Belle with the delicious thoughts she'd come to enjoy so much. She had an audio file of Melody's greatest sayings. She loved listening to her.

Your sister was always such a fucking loser, but you seem different. Have you done something with your hair? You look fucking hot babe. Those clothes look really good on you too. You know, I'm kinda rich. How about I support you in getting a new wardrobe, a new look? Start dressing like a popular girl and things will happen. You do wanna be popular right? It's more important than being nice. Popularity is ALL that matters.

Belle applied more lip gloss and repeated her new mentors words. Yes… popularity was all that mattered. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen it until now. She couldn't believe she had spent so many years trying to be a Sarah, when she should have been a Melody.

But she was so far behind. She was eighteen and had never been popular before. All those years wasted. All that time she could have been positioning herself to be the hottest girl at school.

She had another session with Melody tomorrow. She couldn't wait. She wanted to learn more.

***

Belle should have felt nervous. But she was just excited. The fact that Jason already had a girlfriend just made this even hotter.

Melody had told her it would feel this way. Her desire to get fucked was both physical and mental. A hunger inside her she needed to fulfil.

She had cummed night after night, rubbing her tight pussy and squirting to the sound of Melody's voice - but she needed the real thing. To truly become Belle she needed to experience cock. She needed to get railed like a bitch.

“Annabelle… ohhh shit we shouldn't be doing this. I didn't know you were like this…”

Belle squeezed his cock, digging her sharp new acrylic fingernails in slightly and making him moan. “I told you… don't call me that. I'm Belle now… and we both know you don't want me to stop right?”

Belle was pumping Jason's big cock slowly up and down, her tiny hand somehow managing to wrap round the magnificent girth. His cock felt great in her hands. 

They had met at his house, everyone was out and Jason’s girlfriend Carlie was hanging out with her friends. 

Belle had chosen Jason because he was fit, sexually experienced, and the most popular boy at college.

“I want you to take my virginity Jason. I want you to fuck me.”

“You're a virgin? I… are you sure you want to do this? I mean we don't have to…”

“Mmmmmh. Does it look like I'm messing around here?” purred Belle as she sank to her knees and slid her hot wet mouth around his cock.

“Holy shit… I thought you were a good girl, a prude.”

Belle giggled. “Not anymore. I'm a dirty fucking slut now baby, and my tight virgin holes need pounding. I wanna learn everything about being a slut. Use my body and fuck my holes as deep as you like till I tell you to stop…”

Jason moaned as Belle resumed her sucking and he knew he was in for a great night…

***

At the dinner table, Sarah watched her sister in barely disguised horror. What the hell had happened to Annabelle?

The girl was eating meat. She had somehow convinced their parents to start eating meat again too, and now the three of them were sat eating juicy steaks whilst Sarah picked at her quinoa salad.

“Mmmmmh dont you fucking love how good this tastes Mom and Dad. You know - I thought vegans were meant to be thin, so it’s kind of mad that Sarah is so fucking fat even though she eats that plant based shit.”

Neither parent said anything, they just looked embarassed. What Sarah didn't know of course was that Belle had evidence their Dad was embezzling money from his company and their Mom was having an affair with the pastor. Their hypocrisy had given her total control of the house and Melody had taught Belle exactly how to leverage this to her advantage.

Sarah just couldn’t believe it. Her once smart, kind, feminist, vegan, sister was now a selfish, bratty bitch and a bully. She almost reminded Sarah of someone else, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

“Do you want some steak too Sarah?” giggled Belle as she deliberately tossed a piece onto her sisters plate and watched maliciously for a reaction.

Standing up Sarah pushed her chair under the table and glared at Belle. “What the hell has happened to you Annabelle? You're my sister but you're acting like a total bitch. Im not hungry right now, enjoy your meat.”

Storming off to Belle's laughter Sarah decided she had to act. Something had changed a few months ago to start Belle down this path, but what?

She let herself into her sisters room. It was unrecognisable. Designer clothes hung from racks, a sex toy lay discarded next to the bed… white stains on the bed sheet evidence of where Belle had orgasmed that morning. 

Makeup and perfume covered every available surface, lingerie was stuffed into drawers. How could she afford all this stuff?

Next to the bed was a pair of Bluetooth headphones. They were still connected to Belle's phone. Sarah slipped them on and pressed play.

You're a fucking bitch now Belle and it feels good. You exist now to bully girls like Sarah. You're my little mini-me and you love it. Keep cumming as you listen to my voice and imagine yourself become more evil and bratty. You don't care about anything but yourself anymore. You have become a perfect bitch.

Sarah ripped the headphones off with a gasp. That voice… that evil fucking voice. It was Melody. Her old bully Melody.

“So now you know the truth, sis” giggled a voice behind her and she spun to see Belle standing in the door. 

“Look at you. So fucking pathetic. I can't believe there was ever a time I wanted to be like you. Melody helped open my eyes and show me who I really am.”

Belle advanced into the room with a wicked grin. “Look at me Sarah. I'm so much better than you now. My pussy is tighter, my ass rounder, my boobs bigger. You're a fucking nobody. In a few months I'll have found a rich man to satisfy my needs… just like Melody did.”

“No Annabelle. She's brainwashed you. She always was persuasive, but somehow she's turned you into her puppet. You have to fight this, you have to resist. Can't you see what she is doing?”

Belle just giggled, “Get out of my room loser. I have Jason coming round and then I'm seeing Melody again. Nothing you can say can stop what I'm becoming. Nothing.”

Sarah walked out, tears in her eyes as Belle laughed again. 

Then she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She gasped at how evil and wanton she looked. She looked just like… just like Melody.

She's turned you into a puppet.

Belle gripped her temples. Had she just exchanged one role-model for another? Was she being played by Melody?

No one plays you. You're in control. You get to choose who you want to be.

“But this… this isn't who I wanted to be is it?”

The mirror seemed to shimmer and Bella saw herself as she used to be. Sweet, innocent, a little Sarah copy.

We can go back. Go back to how we were. 

Belle hesitated. 

She looked down at her sexy hands and ran them over her toned body. She remembered the taste of cock in her mouth, the feeling of getting fucked. She shivered as she recalled how good it felt to bully other people and get what she wanted.

No. There is no going back. I fucking LOVE being Belle. 

She laughed as she imagined Annabelle being destroyed, consumed and turned into her. She imagined innocent little Annabelle moaning in pleasure as Belle replaced her.  Yesss that’s right loser. You fucking love being me.  You fucking love being a bitch,

“Mmmmh, fuck Sarah AND fuck Melody. The only person who matters is me. I'm the only one who counts. I’m a fucking bitch and I want what Melody has. The power to make others do everything I want. I need that power and I’m going to get it.”

Laughing she opened her phone and messaged Jason.

She had a plan…

***

Belle moaned as Jason mounted her, his hands in her hair and his cock buried deep in her tight pussy.

“Yessss fuck me harder. Tell me how much better I am than everyone else. Tell me what a slut I am.”

Thwap thwap thwap. Sweat dripped down, Belle's sexy boob's bounced and wet smacks filled the air as Jason pounded Belle's incredible body.

She loved the feeling of him sliding in and out. She squeezed her fussy tight, feeling it grip his cock and make him moan. She threw her hips back so he could go even deeper.

In the last few weeks she’d gone from virgin to pornstar.

Jason didnt even bother to fuck his own girlfriend anymore. Life was brilliant. 

But something Sarah had said bothered Belle. That bit about being a puppet. Had Melody just turned her into an extension of her will? Was she still not really her own person?

“Fuck Belle. You're so much better than anyone else. I'd do anything for you. Anything.”

“Anything…?”

Belle's mind was full of ideas. She had a theory, she just needed to test it.

***

Slipping the headphones over Sarah's ears, Belle grinned as her sisters eyes flickered open. Jason was ready though.

He pinned Sarah down and stopped her from struggling as the specially edited tape Belle had made began to play. Melody's hypnotic voice flowed into Sarah's brain.

“You are worthless… pathetic… beta… loser… nothing… subservient… weak…”

Belle watched as her sister tried to fight, and then as her struggles began to slow and her eyes rolled up into her head, she tossed her the sex toy.

“I’m a dumb cunt that serves Belle. A dumb cunt that serves Belle. My little sister is better than me…”

As Sarah began to repeat the words Belle felt herself get wet. Soon there wouldn't be anything left of who Sarah had been. Melody's voice was the key and Sarah had hours of recordings.

She could make Melody pretty much say anything now…

***

Melody didn't remember much after drinking the juice that Belle had fetched for her. By the time she'd realised the little bitch had set her up it was too late.

Melody felt the gag in her mouth and the headphones jammed on her head. Her own voice was telling her things… things she couldn't resist.

She was telling herself that Belle was best. She was the Mistress that Melody needed to serve. Melody existed to serve Belle. She could no longer use her voice except to serve Belle. She could no longer use her voice against Belle. She was the puppet now and Belle was the Mistress. 

No… that wasn't right. Belle was the puppet Melody had created to torment and destroy her old victim Sarah. She wasn't the Mistress. Melody was. 

Only she wasn't. Melody's own voice was telling her that Belle was the Mistress now and Melody's voice was irresistible. She had worked hard to develop her natural powers and learn the mind conditioning techniques that allowed her to make others do what she wanted. She had loved the power.

In hindsight maybe it had been careless to let the girl take so many recordings. Now the power was hers.

No… not the girl.

Her Mistress…

Belle was the Mistress now and Melody was eager to serve her.

***

Belle cleared her throat and laughed with glee as whispered her corrupting words into her lovers ear. He groaned, his loyalty to his wife now totally destroyed as he fucked her deeper and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Yessss fuck me deeper Daddy… fuck me like a slut.”

She felt him respond, felt his mouth on her nipples… his thick powerful cock pistoning in and out of her responsive body.  She had cum on his cock twice already and could feel a third time approaching.

It was all so fucking intoxicating.

She had the power now and her voice was sexier and deeper. It had taken Melody very little time to teach her the techniques- she was a gifted student after all. 

And once she was sure she had fully mastered the power - that she could drip corruption into another person and shape them to her whims… her first victim had been Melody. She’d brainwashed her completely until her former mentors voice was entirely stripped of its power. Melody could no longer brainwash people.

Only Belle had that power now.

She could make people do whatever she wanted. Make boys suck dick, girls become bullies or losers… even change Sarah from her kind, loving sister into a cold hearted MAGA supporter - which she had done just for fun.

Her once socially liberal and kind sister was now a regressive cruel bitch just like Belle had wanted.  As for Jason - Belle had gotten bored of him at last. His reward for helping her had been to be programmed into a cocksucking sissy boy for her amusement whilst she began fucking his hunky Dad instead.

That was who was now deep inside her - his loyalty to his son and his wife replaced by an uncontrollable lust for Belle.

Perhaps one day she’d get bored of him too.  After all Belle was a bitch and she was the only one who mattered.

The student had become the teacher and no one was ever going to be better at it than Belle.

THE END

[astradyke]

Please write the dissertation on how phil deals with dan's self deprecation :)

hi! i am not certain what exactly you are referring to, but i will be using my best guess that you are referencing what i talked about in this post about a certain minute and a half from a certain video. if that's not what you meant, shoot me another ask! but assuming that's it, well, without further ado...

a deep dive into 19:57-21:26 of What Dan and Phil Text Each Other 2

What Dan and Phil Text Each Other 2 was released December 21st, 2021 on AmazingPhil's channel. this video was released around two and a half years into Dan's hiatus (two years from their joint hiatus). setting aside the several YouTube Originals including Dan as talent, the next upload released on his own channel would be Why I Quit YouTube, released May 2nd, 2022. the sole reason i mention this video is for the contextualization of what was occurring during What Dan and Phil Text Each Other 2-- this video was taken at some point after Dan had learned that his dream show, Dan Is Not Okay, was not going to be actualized, a reality that he described as traumatic.

i want to be explicitly clear that i am NOT intending to speculate on what was transpiring in private, nor am i romanticizing severe trauma. this is a frame by frame commentary post about publicly available content.

the outro to this video begins at 19:52, with a single frame that cuts at 19:57. At 19:57, Phil says: "Bunch has happened with you that we did not text about," to which Dan emphasizes, "That I can't talk about." Dan begins speaking on his own at this point, but you see Phil's face shift as he prods Dan to "talk a bit" about what is going on-- his eyebrows furrow, he's making direct eye contact with the camera, and he seems to be frowning. As Dan talks calmly yet vaguely about the circumstances we later learn about in Why I Quit YouTube, Phil's face shifts from the previously described expression to one where his cheeks puff up, his eyebrows still furrowed-- clearly annoyed. This shift happens as Dan is talking:

"Look, quite a few things, dreams of mine-"

"-got quite catastrophically torpedoed..."

Phil's face is like this for only a second before he relaxes it, though he still looks noticeably unhappy after. There is a jump-cut ~20:12, where Dan now has his hand resting against his face, while Phil emphatically expresses: "Like, Dan has been so close to almost giving you something, and then it's been taken away."

at this point, Dan carefully starts saying that several of these projects might happen in the future-- to which Phil looks a little defeated:

before looking irritated, even more-so than before, when Dan says: "... but I cannot to just wait for them or be gone in the meantime."

again, relaxes again after a few seconds, and only begins to look positive when Dan describes that "somehow, some way, in the new year, I will be back."

... okay, so why did i show you any of that? mainly because i think it is significant to contrast the way that Dan approaches this subject versus how Phil does. Dan is plagued with vestiges of bitter professionalism and a sort of sadness as he tries to allude to the nightmare of his last two years, which makes sense in the context of his indecision over how to respond to what happened. all that Dan has experienced has forced him to constrain his emotional responses, as he has spent two years walking along a very similar edge with his literal dreams at stake. Phil, meanwhile, has a subconscious reaction to what Dan is saying, and without intending to, expresses across his face the shifting emotions that Dan feels unable to show.

to me it mirrors something we see in the I TRY TO GIVE DAN A HAIRCUT!! video. In this video, Dan continuously expresses uncertainty about promoting his book, being repeatedly encouraged by Phil to talk about it-- only for Phil to insert a segment at the end of the video to promote it more fervently. Dan is forcibly holding back, versus Phil openly expresses what Dan feels he cannot do in that moment. when Dan is wading through complicated emotions in order to treat the subject of his recent trauma respectfully, Phil is pantomiming what Dan cannot say in that moment, what he is not safe to say: that he got completely fucked over. Phil is communicating what we would spend five months knowing nothing about, in a way that exposes nothing except the fact that he was by Dan's side, feeling a fraction of his pain, throughout it, and that Dan didn't deserve it. that Dan is not at fault for his own absence.

at 20:35, Phil perks up and expresses that "the world has missed your sarcasm," voicing not only his own excitement ("I'm braced") but also the audience's excitement to see Dan return to YouTube. Dan laughs, before asking: "have they, though?" here, Phil very earnestly says, "yeah!" he is slightly shrugging, eyebrows rising (i couldn't capture a good visual here, sorry). the conversation is quickly hijacked by Dan, who continues to say "maybe this has been good for the world"-- Phil makes an expression here that is convoluted to read, mixed with both irritation/skepticism but also losing a degree of seriousness-- and starts laughing to himself as Dan goes onto say, effectively, that maybe things are better without him there at all. this is a very noticeable part of a lot of Dan and Phil content: Dan makes a self-deprecatory remark, Phil responds very earnestly, and then Dan continues to take it in a joking direction, so Phil picks it up and jokes back.

this feels jarring, at first, because at the time that this video released, i remember being surprised at how dark Dan was being, in a place that was clearly meant to be laughed off but was not executed like his typical cynicism. Phil follows along with laughing about it, because they are professionals and moving along is a quick way to handle something that does not need to escalate to an intervention/argument, but Phil does not joke about this from the beginning-- he is very earnestly assuring, at first, before realizing that Dan is doubling down, and he backs off. and he actually does this a lot across their videos: following Dan's lead.

20:48 is when Phil starts the actual outro of the video. at 20:51, after thanking the audience for watching the video, he gestures at Dan and turns to say: "Thanks, Dan-" to which Dan cuts him off to say, "Thank you for tolerating my presence." Phil continues his earlier sentence, correcting Dan by saying, "for treating us with your presence."

this is done (1) immediately and (2) deliberately. there is no shift in Phil's facial expression, no muddling or joking about what he is saying. Dan, in this moment, is reverting and doubling down on the self-deprecation we started to hear just a moment ago, and Phil is responding to it not by cutting Dan off, or bantering about it, or scolding him, but by very clearly correcting it. Dan is asserting what he believes to be the truth-- this does not read like his regular cynical humor-- and Phil is, in turn, asserting his truth just as confidently: that Dan is, as he said at the very beginning of this video, "a gift" for the audience. That Dan is creating something beautiful, that it's not his fault what is happening to him, and that both the audience and Phil want him.

the outro continues on, and Phil does his promotional stuff, explicitly including Dan in pretty much everything he promotes. here's my best attempt at a screenshot where you can see how close the two of them moved together over the course of this video; this is Phil telling people to subscribe to Dan.

Dan then says, at the very end of the video, that "it has been... a year." Phil doesn't express much facially, but he does say a very clear, "yeah." as Dan goes on to close out the video. in the end cards, Dan's end card says: "DANIEL!" obvious excitement and endearment here.

... okay, that's cool Mare, but you started writing this two hours ago and i don't understand why i needed to read any of that?

this video holds a very different tone to the others in the series, which is possibly why it is not a favorite for many people. it is a funny video, undeniably, but it is very clear in hindsight that this was shot while Dan was in a relapse. which is why it is so meaningful and loud to me that Phil not only brought this series back unexpectedly, but also exhibits this 'pressing forward and pulling them both back' strategy. they laugh about texts, Phil does their joint promotions, and then Dan says something self-deprecatory-- Phil steps up to sincerely counter it, and then pulls them both back as the next jump cut happens. the two of them are in-step, here, matching each other: Dan and Phil alternate discussing Dan's solo work issues; Phil picks up when Dan is trying to make a joke and joins in on it; when Dan self deprecates, Phil takes the same exact sentence and changes a singular word without a visual second thought. they do this all together.

there are a lot of ways to navigate self-deprecation. notably, when arising from a serious internal crisis colored by depression, you can't reason them directly out of it-- it's an immutable truth, to them, something that the world has affirmed. when Dan says that the internet would be better without him, that his presence is merely to be tolerated, you can tell that in the moment of this video's filming he did genuinely believe this. Phil recognizes that any attempt he makes to combat this has to be subtle enough to look over, but clear enough that the audience registers it in their head. it has to be said like it is an obvious truth, because to Phil (and us) it is an obvious truth. and it has to be done in line with Dan, not cutting him off or speaking over him, but by giving him the agency to express how he feels, and informing him, gently, that Phil is in love with him even if Dan is struggling to love himself.

Phil wanted us all to know in this video that Dan was being mistreated, even before any of us knew what that actually meant. even as Dan dealt with the psychological repercussions of this on his own mentally, it reminds us that Phil was there the entire time, Phil saw it and he grieved, too, because if the hiatus showed us anything it is that Phil loves Dan's solo work and his creative mind more than pretty much anything, aside from Dan himself. he also tried to emphasize, at the beginning and the end and even in the foundations of the video, that Dan being there was a treat! not something to be taken for granted! that Dan was something special, something the world desired, and yes that may sound obvious given that we were all there eagerly waiting for joint content, but in the context that Dan was being used for billboards and specials and whatever the fuck just because he could, that he was conscripted into projects and then forgotten about, that his own dreams 'fell through the cracks'... yeah.

a major reason why the hiatus years are so fond in my heart is that they are a clear period of time where you can see Phil's relentless devotion to Dan. he does the most that he can to support him-- he brings him onto a fun joint video, he promotes his merch, he really promotes his book, he coaxes Dan to talk more about solo projects, and he emphasizes that he wants him there. and this is all why this video in particular is so meaningful to me. it's the two of them, unexpectedly for us, bringing back a series where they revel in their insane psychic connections with each other, and it's Phil saying over and over and over again-- this person is with me. i am by his side. i am proud of him, and i radically refuse to take him for granted. he can never go anywhere that i won't follow him.

and that, that is everything.

[musashi]

You said in one of your youtube videos I think that the aa anime had your favorite characterization and I was wondering if you'd like to elaborate on that a bit more? I haven't watched it yet kother than the bloopers video lol) and I'm just curious as to what it does differently than the games

it is true to the games in every regard, but it has extra time to add character flourish that the games cannot.

just some examples: maya moves around erratically in every space she's in, the foley work is amazing so you can hear her wooden sandals on the ground and the clink of her beads hitting themselves. she barrels through crime scenes, accidentally smacks phoenix all the time because she isn't paying attention to what she's doing, and just has room to be more 'maya-like' because she's in an animated space and not stuck in a VN with mostly-static screens.

phoenix's internal monologue is replaced by long, lingering shots of him silently studying evidence as he finds it. moments where he connects everything come as instant revelations and you are left on the edge of your seat waiting to hear what he will say, rather than having to piece it together yourself. his character is incredibly pronounced in the anime especially--the core tenet of him is 'faith' and this is shown wonderfully time and time again.

(see, the scene in episode 2 where maya says she doesn't want him defending her, so he bikes in the rain all day to the office of every single defense attorney in the county begging for their help. the flashback scene in episode 13 where larry is insisting that miles has abandoned them and is about to crush miles' keychain under his foot, and phoenix dives for it and lets larry smash his fingers instead.)

miles in game is described as being sad-looking and watery-eyed, always kind of holding pain in his body and expression. you get to see that in the anime, instead of just having it told to you, and it does an amazing job at softening his character and endearing him to you in an instant

the anime supplements tons to established relationships. i talked in that video about how i love what it does to the prosecutor family, it shows you miles as a teenage boy and surrounds him in imagery (flower language, the clothes he wears, wide shots of him stuck at a fork in the road) that tells you he does not know what to do or who to be. and it shows you how the von karmas take care of him, and how it is miles' choice to be a prosecutor.

in the anime, franziska never has her 'miles was like a little brother to me' line because the anime shows you instead of telling you.

the anime offers insight into manfred von karma's thoughts on miles, which are notably remorseful and kind. it offers flashbacks to a time when franziska was protective and loving toward miles, doing everything in her power to pull him out of his trauma-induced depression and help him process grief.

the AA anime loves using symbolic storytelling. flower language is a big one, light is another. light is constantly used to convey truth, enlightenment, joy. this shot where franziska is literally in miles shadow as her father begins the process of choosing him over her, but she smiles with her whole face because she finally got him to smile for the first time since they've met, is literally a fucking masterpiece to me. i could write my dissertation on this scene alone.

the anime shows us everything we do not get in the games, all the little things we wish we could be privy to. it shows us mia giving maya the best day she possibly can, before asking maya--with the full expectation that maya may say no--if she would be willing to head the fey clan.

the anime gives us the progression of miego's relationship, literally SHOWS them falling in love

the anime gives us the fucking hospital scene that everyone is insane about!

and, of course, the anime gives us the little tiny baby signal trio, all running around and playing pretend as their favourite toku heroes.

these keychains that larry wins the three of them are a thruline throughout the whole show. phoenix keeps his on his briefcase, exposed to the world just like his heart, its paint chipping from years of love.

miles keeps his hidden away, close to his chest, pristine after all those years. even as the demon prosecutor, he never gets rid of it. even when he chooses death, he takes the memory of his two best friends with him.

the ace attorney anime is a fucking masterpiece. it takes these pre-established characters and breathes new life into them without losing sight of their original intention. every choice it makes is beautiful, rich with depth and nuance and love. it is genuinely no wonder the fandom hates it so much, which how much it clashes with their often black-and-white views of these characters who were never intended to be that way.

obviously, as a new medium, it does have to make some changes to adapt properly. but i have decided i am no longer speaking any problems i have with those changes, because i am sick to bastard death of negativity on all sides of me and would rather just publicly profess my love to this anime forever.

watch the aa anime.

(hey, dipshits in my notes! read the above banner, and then read it again! read it a third time, for good measure! are you typing a tag that starts with 'the anime has it's problems, but--' or 'the anime did a lot of things wrong, but--'? consider: no one fucking asked! not everything in the world needs your opinion, person with severe main character syndrome who doesn't know how to shut the fuck up! stop using parroting other people's opinions as a personality replacement and log off this website. take up a hobby. don't reblog my post. ten thousand whip lashes.)

[keeksandgigz]

Chapter 2: Au coeur des ténèbres

Part 2 of Words are Futile Devices- A Steddie x Reader Call Me By Your Name AU

Summary: As some weird feelings come to light, you begin questioning your initial opinion of your two guests

cw: some suggestive content, reader's vivid smutty imagination. reader is a bit less of a cunt, brief description of insecurities (nothing too detailed), slut shaming if you squint, kissing, a lot of internal angst, overall a lot of words I'm sorry

word count: 3k

author's notes: I'm so sorry for the wait, but its here!!!

Heart of Darkness laid in your lap as you sat in your father’s study. Eddie typed away at his desk, while Steve looked at some old archeology dissertations from past students. You were often forced to sit in and listen to the guest’s nonsensical jumble of words and phrases in an attempt to sound smart. 

You had been scolded by your father twice for trying to interact with Eddie, who seemed laser- focused on the parchment in front of him, the metallic clicking of the keys of the typewriter in the faint background of the stuffy old study. Giovanna had come by twice with a pitcher full of apricot juice from the garden, which the two had gulped down without giving much thought. You saw the way the juice dribbled down Eddie’s chin, how he lifted his thumb to clean off the mess, then wiped his finger on his black cutoff shirt and proceeded to continue typing. His fingers flexed and tensed in between typing, thick and sturdy as he stretched and massaged the palm of his hand with his ringed fingers. 

Steve sat on the dark green couch, legs spread, his shorts riding up, up, up bunching at the crease between his thighs and his groin. One of his legs bounced as he reviewed case studies, artifact pictures, lip trapped in between his pearly teeth. 

There wasn’t a whisper of a breeze, or a draft, but you shivered nonetheless. The two could’ve been patronizing and condescending, but that didn’t take away from the fact that you saw the way their skin, not yet tan from the sunlight, rippled with sweat at each whisper of a movement in the stuffy study. Steve’s leg bounced as he studied the pictures projected on the walls, his already short shorts riding up with each jump of his leg, exposing more and more of his thigh, you blushed. 

This charged silence broke once Steve opened his mouth. He held up another glass full of apricot juice. 

“What’s apricot in Italian again?” he asked, wiping remnants of juice from his chin. 

“Albicocca” your father said, smiling. He went on a rant about the etymology of the word, which you really couldn’t care about. A fun little rehearsed bit he did every year, the students’ impressed faces beamed up the stuffy study. 

“If I can beg your pardon, what you said is slightly wrong” it was Eddie. Surprise tinged your face in hearing him speak up. In the two days that you’ve known him his vocabulary was littered with grateful praises and quiet musings, here it had a slight tinge of pride. 

“It’s uh— actually the Greek etymology for apricot comes from Latin. It’s praecoquum, then praecox, then precokia and then we get the Arab al- barquq— albicocca” he mused in a butchered italian, but all you could hear in his observations is just cock, cock, cock. He sounded nervous delivering his lecture, almost as if he was scared of getting kicked out for defying an authority of mind like your father.

Instead, he looked at him with an impressed smile, and Eddie blushed a bit. Steve delivered a friendly pat on the boy’s shoulder.

Not as lucky as many. 

Later that day, when Steve stole your friends for a volleyball game on your lawn, you watched his sweaty body, clad in a blue swimsuit, shoulders flexing and shining in the early afternoon sunlight jump up and duck down along with the worn ball that keeps jumping between both sides of the net. 

Eddie sat on the lawn, in the shade. His pearly complexion having acquired just the most undetectable sheen of red that threw the boy in a panicked frenzy earlier that morning. He was sorting through loose pages of what appears to be his manuscript. 

“Why aren’t you playing instead of staring at me?” his head perked up from the typed up pages, and you could feel yourself heat up. Not even the sun could hide the tinge of pink that colored your cheeks. 

“I could say the same thing about you” you stammered out, snippy and embarrassed. 

All he could do was chuckle as he motioned his papers towards the book you had ignored sitting in your lap. “I like that book. Heart of Darkness? One of the few books I actually liked when I was in English Lit in high school” he smiled. A smile that seemed genuine, much different than the courteous smiles he had reserved for your mom and dad. 

“And that was when the dinosaurs still roamed the Earth?” you curled your nose. 

A sardonic laugh escaped the boy. 

“Very funny. And how old are you again?” he scooted his butt closer to you, his loose papers now forgotten on the lawn. The proximity made you a bit nervous. 

“Twnety-one” you breathed out “I wouldn’t give you any less than fifty- six” you nudged his shoulder and he laughed. 

“Shouldn’t you be at some snooty college party right now? I dunno, traveling the world with some sorority sister?”

“And miss this gorgeous sight to behold?” your tone dripped of sarcasm as you pointed at Steve, mid jump into grabbing the ball.

Right as you said that Steve missed, ending up on the grass, a pained moan followed. Eddie isn’t given any time to answer you, stopping in his tracks and to run and pick up his friend to escort him where you were. You couldn’t care less about the physical ineptitude of your guest— if there wasn’t any blood or bones sticking out it wasn’t worth worrying. 

“Pass me some water, please?” asked Eddie.. You complied, rolling your eyes as he began kneading the injured boy’s shoulder. He hissed at the first swipes of the long- haired boy’s hands— big and firm. You let down a short swallow. 

“Steve you’re tight— you stressed?” Eddie asked, squeezing the juncture between the boy’s neck and shoulder. 

“I’m fine Ed” he smiled up at the boy, but instead of moving, Eddie dug his fingers deeper into the golden flesh of the honey- eyed boy. 

“Here, feel” he grabbed your hand and placed it on Steve’s warm shoulder— firm and freckled, still wet with sweat. “Isn’t he a bit tight?” Much to your shock you retreated your hand, but the feeling of the smoothness of his tan skin seemed to be encased in the fiber of the palm of your hand. 

“Yeah, I guess” you muttered, going back to Heart of Darkness. 

Dissatisfied with your curt and cold response, Eddie had your friend Chiara feel the back of the injured boy, whose fingers seemed to linger along Steve’s back for long, almost mapping every mole and mark to store in her mind for later. She was an artist, and an artist’s eye was never wrong. 

Steve smiled at the girl, and in return she giggled. Once she left you closed the book in your lap once again. 

“Careful, she’s gonna try to draw you naked” you teased Steve, whose eyes seemed to be glued on the way your friend scampered around the lawn. 

“Like I’m complaining” he retorted with a cheeky smile, and that made you feel weird. 

What did she have that you didn’t? Why didn’t he look at you like that?

You cursed the way you seemed to act too much like a grown up, the way you took yourself too seriously to even participate in a dumb volleyball game. 

Maybe you should’ve played. 

Taking your towel and your book with you, you made your way back into the house, almost stomping in protest, at the way the honey- eyed boy didn’t seem to spare you a cheeky smile or a wandering eye. Didn’t matter that they both seemed like two idiots who only cared about getting the experience from your father’s expertise, exploiting and squeezing the knowledge out of the overripe peach of his brain, which seemed to become less and less awake with every year that passed. 

You disliked the way that Steve seemed to want to make a pass at each and every one of your friends, and them letting him. With his rude and pushy American ways of wanting to make everything his, his property, his Don John-ish manners that made him expect something from everyone he came into contact with. 

You hated Eddie’s arrogance in his surveying and picking your brain, making the six year difference between you two seem like a chasm, with his snobbish knowledge of literally every book that sat on your bookcase. Fingers rubbing his stubbly, boyish chin as he examined each and every shelf, spine, title. He always seemed to have something to say with you, wanting to prove himself to the whole world, confirm that he wasn’t just some trailer trash who had finally made it out of the few acres of overpopulated land. You could not remotely fathom how those two were so close together, coming from such different backgrounds. 

However, as you tried to silently beg for Steve and Eddie’s attention, that was seemingly anywhere else but on you, like an old, neglected dog, you seemed to realize that, in some twisted sort of way, you wanted to fall victim to their charm. 

Like many of your friends did, much bolder, some older, and more confident than you had been, in the past years, not hesitating to pounce on your guests with hunger similar to a hyena. The hunger of a repressed teenage girl who had just reached adulthood, craving everything that came with it– even risque summer romances with men who had traveled around the sun for much longer than they had. Throwing their plump, glowing bodies on the dance floor around the sturdy necks of your father’s students. With every year that passed, you could not escape the vicious circle of your giggling friends, who competed over who would get to lure your guests into their greedy grasp first, and you’d all hear about it the morning after. 

You’d heard about gorgeous but incredibly incapable men, well- endowed, but short, much older and more experienced. There was something about their stories, the lightheartedness in their laughs, as if playing with these men’s hearts and minds had become a game, that made you feel like a different person. Coming home and contemplating on leaving the communicating bathroom door open, so that your guest could catch you sleeping on your stomach without any shorts on, or adjusting your swimsuit at the pool right as they passed by to read on the lawn. You never brought yourself to act upon these contemplations, too scared of what your father might have thought of you, and rather, delighting yourself in tormenting your guests as a way to cope with a feeling of inadequacy that seemed to swell with each year that passed.

Ever since Steve and Eddie had arrived– young, attractive, and most peculiar thing of all, there were two of them– your friends could not stop arguing about which boy would have fallen in the arms of your friends. Anna had gushed about seeing Steve’s dick through his tiny, blue swimming shorts earlier that day during a game of volleyball, escalating into a conversation that hours later could not seem to leave your mind, as you sat on one of the lawn chairs of the balcony. 

You had not entered your room, afraid your restlessness might have woken the two boys. Nursing a cigarette in between the intrusive thoughts of whether Anna was right. Had she already claimed her prize? A part of you stung at the thought that not even four days into their stay, your friends had already gotten their slimy hands on your guests. A different part had wanted it to be you to have received such attention from the honey- eyed boy. Would he have been attentive and careful? Or full of passion and bravado, much like how he’d presented himself to you since he’d arrived? 

“This seat taken?” Steve had startled you. The irony. 

You heard him let out a whiff of air, like a muted laugh “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He sat down on the wicker chair next to you, without waiting for your permission. He took in the still night air that had oftentimes brought you counsel, accompanied by the melody of the night cicadas. 

“Can’t sleep?” he mused, playing with the woven wicker on the arm of the chair. 

“Didn’t wanna wake you guys up” Your dry response was accompanied by a lazy drag off the half- finished cigarette. Steve reached an arm out in your direction, you took the hint. 

“I was downstairs finishing some work for your dad, the jet lag still keeps me up” you watched his lips wrap around the cigarettes, right where your mouth had been just seconds before. Your breath hitched at the realization as he let out the smoke from his mouth, slow and deliberate. 

“So, uh, you and Anna? I heard you guys had a thing going on” you passed him the ashtray on the small table next to you as he shook the ash off the cigarette and brought it back to his mouth. 

He shook his head, “She’s your friend?” he asked, sardonically, turning away from you to look into the distant trees. 

“Not really, rumors travel fast around here” you tried to keep your mouth shut, but something inside you just pushed you to intervene, to let him know that she was certainly not good for him. “And she also has a reputation,” you added, gulping. 

He put out the cigarette in the ashtray, fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose and sat back on the wicker seat “Is that so?” A smirk adorned his face, almost as if he didn’t believe a word you were saying. 

You nodded, heating up a bit at the way his legs spread and his shorts rode up his legs “She gets around” You avoided his gaze, looking at Giovanna downstairs in the garden, finishing up her last chores for the night. 

“Never stopped me before” he retorted, shrugging. The sour look on your face only made his sly smile slice his face further. 

“By the way your nose is curled up I’d say you’re jealous” he laughed, standing up. You heated up at the– very correct and very obvious– observation. 

“I am not” you retorted, maybe a little bit more upset than you should’ve been at his dig, standing up abruptly.

“What is it then?” he inched closer to you. You could smell the remnants of the cigarette on his breath. You felt your eyes widen and your throat close up “You’re envious of your friends getting more attention than you? Am I supposed to feel bad for you because you feel inferior to them? Maybe if you stopped being a bitch to everyone that crossed your path you’d get laid too” With each stinging sentence the boy got closer and closer to you, his chest almost touching yours, and with each dig you swelled up with anger. Why was he treating you like this all of a sudden? 

Deserved? Sure. You had been nothing but a raging cunt to him since his arrival, but his words seemed to intend to cut deeper than that. 

However, instead of hurting you, his words only revved you even further, wanting most of all, to shut up his nonsensical attack against you. 

You watched his heated expression as he stopped his ranting, leaning on the railing of your balcony. 

“Well? Nothing to say for yourself?” he muttered, his voice much lower than his previous scolding. You couldn’t say anything, inside you were fighting demons you had only heard of from your friends. You were panting as if you had run a marathon, but to him, you were just a child throwing a tantrum. 

He scoffed “Y’know what? Grow up” he laughed, before motioning to turn around. Something in your chest pulled you towards him. The need to become more like your friends, that had lied dormant as you had awaited to provocatively lure your guests into your room, had been nudged. 

As Steve walked away heatedly, closing the door to his room, you imagined grabbing his shoulder with strength you didn’t know you had and spin him around before crashing his lips onto his. 

Kissing him with a hunger that was only for you to satiate. Needing to feel yourself bloom out of a cage that you’d put yourself in because you took yourself too seriously. You imagined exploring his sturdy, tanned body. 

As you got ready for bed, peeking your face into your guests’ room, where Steve had fallen asleep without changing out of his clothes. You imagined slipping your hands under his billowy shirt, as his hands gripped your waist so tightly that his fingers could have left marks in their wake. Slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, feel the softness of the skin underneath, scratching it with his fingernails. 

You thought about intentionally upsetting him, just to have him that close to you again. You thought about his reaction to your tongue making its way into his mouth, licking and tasting his lips, his gums, his tongue. Wanting him to have access to you, to look at you. To peek his head into your room to find you asleep on your stomach, wanting him to see your scrunched up face as you transcribed your music, leaning against a tree as you read. Swimming with your friends, but only staring at you, at the way the water would drip off your body, at the way you would look while suntanning. 

A devious thought pervaded you as you imagined both of your guests fighting to have you. Fighting to look at you. Fighting for your attention. 

You laid in bed, drunk on the vivid images of your body undulating in between the two boys, heated and needy like you’d never been before.

Thank you for reading!! Feedback is much appreciated <3

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[hope-to-hell]

Red Sky (prelude to a storm). Agent Stone x Robotnik. Pining, pre-smut (is that a thing?) light angst, Agent Stone's masochistic tendencies. Agent Stone is approximately ten pounds of yearning in a five pound sack, doing his best to keep his thoughts in check. Ivo Robotnik is an asshole with an ego the size of Texas. Still, somehow, they are stumbling toward the first steps of something more than a professional relationship.

----------

So here’s the thing. You go where you’re told, when you’re told, and if this time you’re stuck minding this notoriously ill-tempered, sharp-tongued doctor, well, then you just pack your bags and go. It’s not like you can choose your assignments, in the same way that you can’t choose from what direction the sun will rise, or the speed of starlight, or the color of the blood that surges through your veins. It is what it is, and so you go along because one job is as good as another and anyway there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Liar. 

For him you’d compel the sun to rise in the west. You’d bring the stars to him in a jar, soaked in the red of your blood if he so willed it. Do you deny it? No, there’s no point. It is what it is. And even if you could change it, you wouldn’t. All of your cleverness, all your skill, is bound to him now. 

And this is the first meeting: you, a little younger and a little less sure of your place in the cosmos, wrapped up tight in a suit that doesn’t quite fit —that’ll come weeks later, when he says you’d look better in black and what do you know but the next time you see him next you’re sleek and tailored with your fingers bearing pinprick scabs from learning to work the needle but that’s neither here nor there— anyway, this is how the meeting goes: 

It’s good to meet you, Doctor. I’m— and you won’t get to finish your introduction, not with how he looks you up and down, sizing you up; your outstretched hand grows cold and lonely but you’ll hold out as long as it takes, even when the effort sets your arm a-tremble. Don’t be a flighty, frightened rabbit. Be your namesake. Be a stone. Seconds slip by and leave minutes in their wake before he twitches his mustache up in a lopsided expression— not quite a smile but maybe something close to satisfaction— and turns away. 

Robotnik has a tendency to neglect— well— everything except for whatever project has hold of his mind. In many ways it works in his favor; the man has earned his title several times over: dissertations of years past litter the floor of his office like so much confetti, but catch him in the right mood and he’ll talk endlessly about nanotech, robotics, renewable fuel, weapons of mass destruction— and all with the voice of a lover, all heat and flame that grips your balls tight and oh you can’t help all those filthy thoughts that crowd your mind when your focus slips.

(put yourself on your knees, you know what to do) 

Get yourself together; let fantasy wait for the cool dark night. Bring yourself back to the here and now. Strike yourself across the face, just as you would if he asked (and you would dearly love that, wouldn’t you; that masochistic streak isn’t hidden quite as well as you think). Feel the heat of your own handprint blooming across your cheek; he’s watching with the beady stare of a rooster that’s just spotted a grasshopper across the yard and he doesn’t lay a hand on you— never has, not even in a fit of temper (not yet, anyway, but when it does happen it’ll be all exhilaration tangled up with shame and a white-hot bolt of pure unfiltered need)— but he might as well have for the way your body responds. Again, he says, just to see what you’ll do. 

Later, when the hot pulsing ache has begun to fade from your cheeks, you’ll pass through a room lit by the glow of monitor screens; the Doctor is snoring wetly onto the keyboard even as the tips of his gloved fingers still twitch, chasing the calculations that permeate even his dreams. It seems that once again he’s pushed exhaustion away until it snuck up and bashed him over the head. If you’re quick and quiet, you can leave a cup of coffee on the desk for him. 

Robotnik tends to drink his coffee bitter-black like it’s a penance, sucking it down quickly. It’s just refueling, practicality without pleasure. But tonight you leave him a little something special: a latte made with espresso from your private stash, goats’ milk— biting and decadent and sour enough to make your toes curl all at once—, set on a warming plate directly in his eyeline. It’s a gamble, but so is everything else in this strange new life of yours. And who knows? Maybe he’ll like it. 

(Of course he does, although he never says a thing about it; the lattes just find their way onto his list of daily needs. Bring me my Oingo Boingo records. Thirty meters of gold wire. One of those drinking bird things.  And my latte.)

Don’t think of gloved thumbs pressing bruises into your wrists. No, don’t fiddle with your cuffs either; he’s bound to notice and even if you can picture it so clearly, he’s not about to grab you by the wrists and pin your hands above your head.  He’s not going to burn day-old stubble across your jaw so he can whisper low and deadly in your ear: give me your complete attention. I want your every molecule tuned to me and when I speak I expect it to vibrate down your nerves so that before you even parse the words you’re moving to do exactly. what. I. need. 

Yeah, maybe it’s a dream, but you know that next time he lays a hand on you, you’ll still be looking for that wicked spark, seeking meaning in actions that seem to be at best a game and at worst a thoughtless reflex. Keep watching, lovely. These things tend to turn up in the most surprising places, and for all his cleverness he is not all-knowing, least of all about himself.

Now, listen. He’s been called away to the ends of the earth– or to Bumfuck, Montana, at any rate, chasing strange energy signatures. He’ll work his magic and you’ll run interference. Enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, and relish the acid in the Doctor’s voice as he verbally eviscerates everyone in earshot. Watch his back as best you can, but just know that as soon as he slips away he’ll be needling at the locals and getting himself punched in the face. Oh, he's not going to like that one bit.

Agent Stone.

 (It’s not weakness if you want it.)

He grabs you by the teeth and pulls you close; he tastes of leather and machine oil and this time it’s not a dream. His fingers dance slow and firm over your tongue and if you were lost before, now you’ve burned the map and thrown away your compass. If you so chose, you could grab his wrist and turn his hand palm up; you know how to bite and tear and make him forevermore unfit for fine work: vein and tendon march in familiar patterns down his forearm. And he sees, doesn’t he, gaze dragging from your stretched and spit-slicked mouth to your eyes and catching there; 

(Like recognizes like)

the faintest huh. falls from his lips as the gears begin to turn. You’re aching around his fingers, jaw strained, drool beginning to shine over your lips, a hair's breadth away from moaning low and needy. Suddenly, he knows. This time when he says your name it’s not with anger but something else entirely.

Stone.

Hnngh? It could be yes Doctor, or maybe is this for real, but when he takes away his hand for an exploratory lick at the saliva shining wetly on his glove, the only word you can get out is a thick rough fuck. And now he’s moving, like he knows exactly how you’ll yield to him. Wait for his first step, the one that puts his thigh between yours: it’s lean, firm, bowstring-tense just like the rest of him; he moves through the world with ears pricked and eyes afire and he misses nothing 

(except for that one thing. You know. It’s what now and then drives you to stand behind his chair rather than beside him (you’d kneel there if he asked and why won’t he ask); it’s the thing that keeps you up at night, counting your own heartbeats when you think about what the man could do to you, feeling your pulse as it pounds below your jaw; you can force away the thoughts but you can’t prevent the gasping sticky need they leave in their wake)

His second step leaves you unbalanced, stumbling backwards to fetch up against the kitchen table. Revel in the ache building between your legs, cock thick and hard and oh, he feels it and he is wicked, palming you with that same slick wet glove, artless and harsh enough to hurt and it is so. fucking. good.

Down, he says, crows’ feet cutting deeper as he watches you fall. Land hard on the tabletop, fluid and boneless, wind knocked out of you with a single gut-punched unh. Try to breathe if you like– as if you could– but his mouth is on yours now and so even your breath belongs to him. I want, I want sings through your blood; if this is real then let it remain so and if this is a dream then may you never wake. And he breaks away to speak, biting sharply at your lips between words:

To think of all the fun I’ve missed.