#if you ever read anything prior to threshold

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Moon

summary: three hours prior, Simon had told Maddie he'd loved her. That she hadn't needed to say it back. And he'd been sure that'd been fine...until that strange, hedonist ghost connection you'd told him you'd shared with Wally had returned with a vengeance, effecting not just you and Wally, but everyone within its radius.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. sex pollen basically. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

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OCTOBER MOON pt.10

"She's too young to understand," Nanna scolded, "It's ridiculous anyway, he's my husband. Family."

Ginny spoke next, vexed, and it was clearly an argument they'd had many times before. "You aren't connected to that piece of the Awen, Abigail. You don't have to uphold the same obligations as we do."

You sat quietly at the top of the stairs. Even at six-years-old, you understood you'd broken a cardinal rule. Not your family's. A bigger, more important one that affected a lot of people. You hadn't meant to. It'd been a mistake. It still confused you how not being rude had been a mistake, the lessons conflicting, but you swore to yourself you'd never do it again.

Glum, arms around your knees, you listened to Ginny snap at Nanna.

"If she invites him closer to our side of the veil, it could be havoc. It's mycelial. If you give one an inch, they all steal a mile."

Nanna scoffed. She sounded different. Unlike you'd ever heard her. Fiery and stubborn and rueful. "It isn't that serious, Virginia, for heaven's sake. It's John. He loves that girl; he wouldn't let anything happen to her. Or to us."

"Maybe not, but it doesn't matter!" Ginny's voice raised, tensed, "Stop talking about this as if you know anything about the mechanics. You don't. Divination isn't Sight. They are separate."

"Nothing is separate." Nanna hissed back.

You felt a presence behind you, but you didn't turn around. Instead, you buried your head in your knees and ignored him. Dead Grandpa John took a seat beside you. He didn't say anything, simply sat there with you as you listened to Nanna and Ginny fight. All because you'd thanked him for showing you where Aurora had hidden your favorite Barbie.

The argument escalated until a door slammed and a car engine started. Footsteps on the stairs. Dead Grandpa John made himself scarce, though not before patting your back.

Ginny appeared on the landing. She sighed heavily at the sight of you, all wet cheeks and red eyes, and opened her arms to you. You went, lower lip wobbling.

As she held you, she said, "There are some big rules you'll need to learn now, chicken." And it sounded so serious. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"It's okay," You murmured, "I'm sorry I talked to Grandpa."

It would be eleven years before you spoke to another ghost.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

As soon as you stepped over the barrier's threshold, you felt it. Goosebumps erupted over your skin, heat flushed below the surface. The air tasted sweet, the stars above were brighter, everything seemed so much better than it had been seconds ago.

Xavier called out from the truck when you stopped walking to adjust to the suddenness of that euphoria-adjacent sensation.

"You okay, kiddo?"

You nodded, assured him with a sure smile despite how rapidly your heart was beating. He studied you for a moment, eyebrows knitted, but let it be as soon as he spotted Wally strutting down the path from the school to the bus stop.

As soon as Wally had his hands on you, Xavier pulled back into the road and drove off.

"What the hell is going on?" You asked, his touch like a brand searing into your blood, making your cheeks flush and your knees weak. You tried to ignore it for the sake of the mission.

Talk to Simon about what he'd seen in the woods.

Wally swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing, and when did that become a turn-on?

"Everyone's at the fence," He said, his voice cracking on the last word, as if he was having trouble maintaining composure. His eyes were blown dark, lips parted slightly as he stared down at you like a four-course meal.

Not now, you told yourself. You had a mystery to solve.

Wally led you around the school to the fence where Simon waited with Maddie and the ghosts. Everyone seemed as fidgety as you felt, no one quite looking at each other, all flushed and perhaps even a little dazed.

Simon stepped forward, pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes before he spoke, "Should a random ghost be able to touch me?"

That sobered you. Temporarily. "What ghost?"

"Can they?" Simon insisted.

"No, a random ghost shouldn't be able to touch you. The only reason you can touch Maddie and Wally is because you share a bond with me."

"Right." Simon said, "That's what I thought." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, took a deep breath, and then revealed, "A random ghost knocked me on my ass when I was chasing—" He cut himself off abruptly, casting a sideways glance at Maddie with an expression of guilt.

"My mom..." Maddie finished for him.

Like everyone else, she looked like she was burning up, her flannel already tied around her waist. You examined the others. Charley was sitting on his jean jacket on the grass, his gaze fixed on a fifth-floor window. Rhonda was pacing, slow, but you could tell she was trying to work out some energy without being obvious.

Ajay's coveralls were bunched around his waist, his foot tapping a rapid rhythm on the ground as he chewed his lip.

What the hell was going on?

You shook your head and tried to regroup, asking Simon, "What did the ghost look like? You must know him."

"Or he knows you," Simon suggested, which, yeah, that was more than likely.

When Simon described a man in his early forties, bellbottoms and a neat mustache, you know immediately who it was.

"You saw Dead Grandpa John?" You gaped, already stepping forward to scale the fence—the gate a few meters away be damned—and start searching the woods.

Wally grabbed you around the waist, pinned you to his—hot, hard—body, and clamped his hands on your hips to hold you there.

"No, no way," Simon urged as he, too, made himself an obstacle and planted himself between you and the fence. "We have bigger things to worry about."

"Like my mom." Maddie murmured, huddling closer to Simon, her face crumpled in an expression of pure anguish.

"Or why we didn't feel warm and tingly when Janet crossed over," Charley added.

A sharp exhale, "What was that last part?" You needed to know.

"Dawn crossed over," Wally said, and, shit, his mouth was right by your ear, humid breath tickling the hairs on your neck. His fingers dug into your skin through your jeans.

You swallowed, forced yourself to focus. "Okay, one mystery at a time," you decided, "You chased Sandra into the woods?"

Simon nodded.

"And you saw my dead grandfather?"

Simon nodded again, "He said something about a spiderweb? I don't know." Then, exasperated, "I can't fucking think right now," as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

"I'm going inside," Rhonda announced, her features set, ready to argue, although she was already marching away.

"Wait!" Charley called after her, "What about—?"

"I don't care!" Rhonda answered from the door, "I can't do anything about outside ghosts or Maddie's psycho mom, anyway!" With that, she disappeared inside, the door snapping closed behind with finality.

Charley grimaced, giving everyone an apologetic look on Rhonda's behalf.

Having rallied himself, Simon was back on task, asking, "Did your Dead Grandpa John always talk in metaphors?"

It was your turn to dole out an apologetic look, "We aren't allowed to talk to ghosts, remember?"

Everyone stilled.

Ajay asked, "Even your own grandfather?"

"Yeah. Even my own grandfather," You sighed, "Not that I care anymore. I need to find him and ask him if the bitch who killed my brother stole his stuffed lion." You attempted to pull away from Wally, "So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to find him."

"No, you're not," Simon insisted, "His Riddles Three shit can wait, we need to figure out what to do about Sandra."

You saw red. Hadn't he heard you!? Didn't he care that Amelia had been in your house, had touched your brother's things? Had Aiden trapped at that fucking farmhouse where he was stuck in a loop, begging for friendship and company and—

Wally pulled you closer, banded his other arm around you, and held you. You wanted to shove him, kick him, snarl, scratch, lash out. But the longer he held you, the more his embrace soothed the impulse. Releasing a choked whimper, your body went limp in his arms.

"He said he couldn't say anything, anyway," Simon said softly, his tone bordering on regretful.

You felt Wally make some kind of motion before he asked, "Just...give us a second?" of Simon and the others.

They must've agreed since, the next thing you knew, Wally had maneuvered you up the slight incline and around the corner of the school building for privacy. Alone, he lifted you into his arms, turned and slid down the wall so he was sat on the ground with you straddling his lap. He tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed your head, temple, cheek, lips.

"Do you always call him 'Dead Grandpa John'?" He grinned when he pulled back to look at you.

Your snort bled into a chuckle, "We actually do, yeah."

"So you guys know you're not talking about Alive Grandpa John who exists, right?"

You shook your head, gazing at Wally with a weak but there smile. "Not even."

Wally laughed, light and fond, and nodded, "I bet he loves that."

"Hey, we're not allowed to talk to him, but he's more than welcome to talk to us. He could've said something." You challenged.

Pressed against him like this, now calm, you felt ashamed of your earlier aggressiveness. You peeked up at him, took in his carefree smile and soulful eyes, his pink cheeks, wet lips... He smelled good. Spicy beneath his natural musk. His hands stroked up and down your back, every pass igniting tingles under the skin.

"What's that look for, pretty girl?" Wally asked as he hooked a finger under your chin and guided your face up, thumb smudging across your bottom lip and then lingering at the corner of your mouth.

"I'm sorry," You murmured, "I just... Seeing Aiden tonight. Knowing he's...he's still there, stuck in a loop and so far away from home. God, it would kill my mom if she found out. And Amelia being in my house?" You choked, swallowed, tucked your face into his neck, and curled your fingers in his shirt, "Wally, I'm scared."

"Me too, baby," Wally cradled the back of your head, "And you wonder why I don't want you running into the dark, creepy woods at night?" He huffed, "Amelia could be anywhere right now."

"She could be anyone."

"Exactly," Wally's voice dropped, low and serious as he said, "If anything happened to you and I couldn't get to you... Baby, I'd lose it, I'd—"

You could tell he was spiraling, too many bad thoughts crowding his mind. So you did what you hoped would relieve his anxiety. You took his face in your hands and kissed him.

Slow. Deep. Meaningful as he held you, his big hands on your thighs, a little whimper from his throat, his bent legs falling open so you were forced to push forward and press your hips against his. Your weight rested fully in his lap, and you felt a twitch in his sweatpants, right where you'd been aching for him since arriving earlier.

"Wally..." You said like a secret under your breath. "We should..."

Should. Do...what?

It descended by rapid degrees. That thick, viscous haze you remembered had distorted your mind the first time Wally had kissed you. The world around you and him dimmed, faded, pushed back into the margins as you pressed into the cradle of his pelvis. A gratified sigh, lips connecting and letting out, over and over, soft kisses that turned blazing as it continued.

"Just a little longer, baby," Wally grabbed your ass and guided you against him, kissed you with rising hunger, "I missed you." He rocked his hips into yours from below, the evidence of his arousal stiff and hardening further in his sweatpants. "I've got all this...this energy in me since Dawn crossed over," he whined before he devoured your lips in another deep kiss. "I can't—please baby, I need to get it out of me."

You knew why. An energy shed. When ghosts crossed over—or ascended, rather—they sheared everything that held them to the earth. Bodies and the space those occupied; consciousness as human beings understood it; all barriers surrendered for their spirit to return to the cosmic nebula they'd dawned from.

Dawn's ascension had occurred in what essentially amounted to a sardine can where her earthly energy couldn't spread farther than the boundaries of the school.

Being in such close proximity must have made that euphoric and peaceful release that much more potent. Wally needed an outlet. And, having entered that bubble, you were rapidly succumbing to the same need.

You were hardly aware of your body moving on his, rubbing yourself against him through your layers and his.

"Please, baby," He repeated, "I want you so bad." One hand clenched your thigh while the other curled into your hair and angled your head, held it still so he could kiss you with mounting passion, "Please, just let me feel you. I need to feel you."

You whimpered, moaned, humped forward, and watched his face contort in pleasure as you ground against him. He matched your movements in that slow, sedate tempo, the anticipation and need swelling between you, around you, inside you.

"Wally," You whimpered as you felt his hand move from your thigh to the front of your jeans, expert fingers deftly undoing the button and dragging the zipper down.

"Don't stop, baby," Wally groaned, both hands sneaking into the back of your jeans, beneath your panties, to grab your ass skin-to-skin, "Fuck, it feels good."

He licked into your mouth, ravenous, hot, all teeth and tongue as he consumed every sweet, eager noise you made. His cock was thick and completely hard, the friction maddening even through the thin denim of your jeans. Desire lit up and ignited inside you with every touch, kiss, sound he delivered.

When he pulled back, his eyes were lustblown and heavy, "I wanna taste you, baby." His nails lightly dragged up your ass cheeks to your hips.

You nodded. Maybe. You weren't sure, everything deliciously muzzy, but you could think enough that you knew you wanted this.

Wally smiled, a lopsided, cocky thing that sent hot shivers through your nervous system. "Get on your hands and knees for me, pretty girl." A command more than a request in a voice like gravel.

Without hesitation, you did as he asked. Slithered out of his lap to position yourself with your ass in the air, legs spread, hips swaying as you wordlessly beckoned him to you. A fucking cat in heat, you'd never felt this kind of languid, cottoncandy desire before.

Vaguely, you wondered if this was what it felt like to get high. Acutely sensitive and remarkably unaware of anything beyond your little pocket of flesh and bone.

Your wayward thoughts were steered to Wally when his fingers slipped under the waist of your jeans to drag them down below the swell of your ass. You heard him moan, felt him press his clothed cock between your cheeks, and hump once, twice, before he shifted.

"Oh fuck!" You cried out, probably definitely too loud, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered, because Wally's tongue was sweeping through your folds from behind before he fucked it into you. His big hands squeezed your ass, face pressed between your ass cheeks, and he groaned in blissful satisfaction as if you were the best thing he'd ever tasted.

"So fucking sweet, baby," He said, and, glancing at him over your shoulder, you saw him lick his lips, his chin already glistening.

He winked at you, smug grin on his face, and then sank down to repeat the action. One finger dipped inside your pussy just to slick it up before it found your clit and rubbed in a firm circle. Your breath stuttered, brain turned to pudding, and, holy fuck, if he stopped you'd kill him.

Wally ate you out like he was going for gold, silver, bronze; every place, every medal, with gusto. And just when you were about to see God, "Gonna fuck you so hard, baby," Wally came up for air, shoved his sweatpants down, and drove into you in one fluid motion. Hard. The slap of skin on skin bouncing off the wall and ricocheting into the night. "F u u u c k."

You fell forward onto your elbows, cheek in the grass, body rocking from every beastial thrust. The noises his cock punched out of you were unlike any you'd heard yourself make, and what the hell was that? You didn't know you were capable of that pitch, that high note; so desperate and needy and completely fucking shameless in your lust for Wally as he pounded into you over and over, blunt cockhead beating your g-spot like a drum.

"Oh God, W-Wally!" You choked, gasped, whimpered in that order, forcing yourself onto your hands and slamming back just as good as you he gave you. So close, so fucking close, just a little more, God, please— "Oh fuck, Wally, don't stop!"

Grabbing you by your throat, Wally drew you upright, his cock still buried deep, and pressed your back to his front. His teeth found your neck; nipped, sucked, licked, his thumb pushed between your lips for you to suck. He moaned like rapture, pace faster, more feverish, as his other hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise.

He was swiftly losing control, you could feel it, his hips stuttering, but he didn't stop, "Gonna come for me, baby girl?" And, shit, oh, oh—two, three, four more hard, brutal thrusts, his fat cock beating the ecstasy into your bloodstream—you came with a force that left you reeling. Waves crashed, galaxies lived and died, and you nearly blacked out.

The instant you clenched around him, Wally roared, primal, from the depths of his chest, nails biting your hip painfully as he fucked his climax into you. His fingers twitched around your throat, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he panted a mantra of your name punctuated by long groans.

When he stilled, you and he collapsed forward into the grass. He caught himself before squishing you under his weight, his hand quickly adjusting from your throat to your stomach as he kept you against him and rolled to the side.

"Holy shit," He breathed, sweatpants still around his thighs, softening, wet cock cooling in the open air.

The feeling rose from your belly to your chest and then outward. It started with a giggle that grew into a laugh which Wally matched with his own. You flopped onto your back, turned your head to stare at him as you and he came down from the high.

"Energy sheds are fucking. awesome." You decided with a wide grin, taking a moment to tug your panties and jeans back into place.

"Is that what that was?" Wally asked as he, too, put himself to rights. He sat up first, gathered you into his arms, between his legs, and sat back against the wall. "An energy shed?"

You nodded, snuggled into him, and stamped a kiss to his collar, "It's a side-effect of ascending. Or crossing over." You explained, "You don't take everything with you when you ascend, and what stays behind is dispersed. Usually, it has a lot more room, but I guess, with the Something-Something's barrier in place, Dawn's energy couldn't thin out." You grinned up at him as he blinked down at you in amazement.

"Jesus, it felt like I popped a dozen mollies..." Wally's head fell back against the wall, mouth slightly parted, brow glistening with a sheen of sweat. "Is it always like that?"

"It's not supposed to be that intense. Like I said, the shed's usually spread a lot thinner. People within a certain radius would feel a sense of peace and pure happiness. Concentrated like it is here? I guess it's a helluva drug." You speculated.

Wally swooped down to kiss you, affectionate and slow, and when he pulled back, "I'm still horny," he chuckled, "How long does it last?"

"I have no idea," You said honestly, a big smile on your face as you planned to spend the night with your devilishly sexy ghost boyfriend. That was until you remembered where you were and why you were there in the first place. Reality crashed over you like a bucket of ice water, "Oh my God, they probably heard everything!"

Wally shifted to peek around the corner, "Uh... I don't think they did." He said, "No one's there..."

"Yeah, probably because they heard. everything." You bemoaned into your hands, cheeks flushed for the worst reason.

"Babe, I'm sure it's fine," Wally kissed your temple, then your cheek, then your cheek again and again, an onslaught of playful kisses that tickled a giggle from you. "C'mon, sweet girl," Wally hoisted you easily to your feet as he rose from the ground, hugged you close before he led you toward the side entrance, "Let's go find the others."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Simon stared ahead, mortified.

Or, really, he should've felt mortified, but he couldn't bring himself to.

Maddie was breathing heavily, her cheeks a gorgeous cherry red, eyes glazed, lips kiss-swollen. Her jeans and underwear still dangled off a leg hung over the teacher's desk. Simon's jeans, however, were securely on though open, his come streaked on the yellowed linoleum he'd knelt on while he'd eaten Maddie out.

Whatever the fuck that interlude of lustfucknow had been, it'd passed, and in the aftermath Simon wasn't sure what to do or say or think.

Eventually, "Wow," Maddie exhaled, tipping back to lay across the desk. "Simon..."

Simon grit his teeth, winced, eyes squeezed shut as he mentally prepared for Maddie to freak out and tell him never to talk to her again. "Yeah...?"

Instead, "When did you learn how to do that?" she surprised him.

Simon blushed crimson and whipped his head toward her. He was on the ground, back against the wall, tucked beneath the blackboard with his knees up, hand over opposite wrist. He studied her expression as she finally maneuvered off the desk on wobbly legs and began to dress herself.

"It's not like I had practice," He confessed, unsure if sharing was caring in this situation. He did anyway, "I just...listened."

To her sounds; the whimpers and sighs and perfect, songbird moans of ecstasy he'd seduced from her with his fingers and mouth. Fuck, that'd been everything Simon had ever wanted. He'd yearned for the chance to give Maddie that kind of pleasure for longer than he would admit. Only, now that he'd had it, he wasn't sure how to process it.

Once dressed, Maddie plopped down beside him, rested her head on his shoulder, and looped her arms through one of his as she spoke, "You are a very good listener."

He couldn't help it, Simon snorted and hung his head, smiled in relief, "Thanks, that means a lot." After a few moments of oddly comfortable silence, he asked, "Do we know what that was?" Too afraid to question whether or not there was a chance it would happen again.

"I bet she knows." Maddie said as she glanced up at Simon, "We should probably go find her and Wally."

Her head was still on his shoulder, the way she'd rested it angled her face exactly right for Simon to gently lean down and press his lips to hers. Soft. Hesitant. And then firmer, harder, his body turning, one arm snaking around Maddie's shoulders while the hand of the other cupped her jaw.

"We should really go..." She whispered, but she didn't move.

Simon agreed, "Yeah," and didn't release her, both coming together again in a slow, deep kiss.

A sharp knock on the door pulled them apart, Wally's voice calling through, "You guys have pants on or should we come back later?"

They heard you yelp and demand, "What do you mean do they have pants on!?" And then, clearly not having seen who Wally saw, "WHO doesn't have pants on!?"

Before Wally answered for them, Simon called back, "We're coming!" to which he heard Wally snicker and gloat, I bet you are.

Simon glowered at the door.

Maddie laughed, fuller and freer than he'd heard since she'd been kicked into the metaphysical world.

It was surreal. Incredible. A little terrifying.

Maddie stood first and held a hand out to him, yanking him to his feet when he took it. He did up his fly and smoothed his hair back before taking her hand. They stood, staring at each other, Maddie openly admiring Simon in a way that made his heart race and his skin prickle. Wow. He felt complete, whole, at the peak of happiness, and he never wanted it to end.

Hand in hand, he walked her to the classroom door. Simon was both giddy and grateful that she didn't tug away or demand he let go of her even after he opened the door and stepped into the hall to meet you and Wally—equally as disheveled, he noted. Grass stains on the knees of your jeans and his sweatpants; your hair sex-mussed and his smile far too satisfied to be from anything else.

Simon glanced back at Maddie who adjusted their position, led his hand to her waist, and curled into his side. Like a lover. She looked beautiful and pleasured and a little sugarglazed after three orgasms, and Simon couldn't help himself. He preened.

And then got down to business.

"Talk." Simon said, giving you a significant look.

Your response, "We're high on ascension," explained nothing, yet Simon understood. Because Maddie had told him about Dawn and had managed to explain enough about what she'd been experiencing right before Simon had picked her up and pinned her to the desk.

Everyone was floating on some sort of post-Dawn's-crossing-over buzz as if they'd collectively inhaled an aphrodisiac. Neat.

When he took stock of himself, he realized he still felt it. That liquid hot desire coursing through him, less intense but there. He could read the signs of that intoxication all over you and Wally. He'd seen it on Charley's face before Charley had muttered something about the Art room. And Ajay, who'd loped off to the theater.

Jesus, they'd been drugged.

"Are we gonna regret this later?" Simon had to ask, worrying his bottom lip, unable to peel his eyes from the floor.

You must've picked up on what he couldn't say since, addressing Maddie, you said, "It's not like drinking too much. I'd say it's more like an anti-depressant. The good feelings that are already inside you have space to grow and you can't ignore them." You continued to explain what ascension actually was and then added, "I mean, you don't feel like fucking me, do you?" Also directed to Maddie.

The silence that followed made Simon's head whip up and his jaw drop. Thankfully, Maddie seemed to simply be considering the question and doing an internal scan, because she eventually shook her head.

"As cute as I think you are, I'm not coded like that."

"Same, babes," followed by, "Whether or not you guys regret it will have to be a conversation you have," you shrugged as Wally crowded closer to you, clearly not having appreciated the idea of sharing you if Maddie had said yes.

If you'd even go for it, of course. Which planted quite the image in Simon's mind and, oh God, when would this stuff work itself out of his system, please and thank you?

"Where are the others?" You wondered, dragging Simon back down to earth.

He cleared his throat, blinking and shaking his head to drive away the cotton slog that kept creeping in. "Charley went to the Art room, Rhonda...who knows, and Ajay said something about the theater."

Everyone sobered when Simon mentioned Ajay; downcast eyes and tight expressions of regret. Mina's absence meant Ajay didn't have someone to share that pure, radiant delirium with. Or maybe he'd found her, Mina drawn out of hiding by lust.

"We should split up and find the others. We need to figure out what our next moves are."

"No offense," Simon began, casting Maddie a bashful look, "But I don't think I have it in me to come up with next moves right now. I'm still...kind of..."

"Horny?" Wally supplied, grinning like a goof.

Simon didn't say anything, but he didn't have to.

Your determination was admirable. "Alright, what if we split up, and Maddie and I go together?"

Together, "No!" Simon and Wally rejected the idea immediately.

You rolled your eyes, "Guys, my brother is trapped in an abandoned house, Maddie's mom might be responsible for why she's a ghost, Amelia knows where I live, fuck knows where Dave is and what he knows, and if I'm not back at Xavier's before midnight, Sheriff Baxter is going to raid every building in Split River. We need to focus."

"She says like she isn't fondling her dead boyfriend," Simon commented, brow raised and eyes fixed on where your hand was on Wally's ass.

"Oh, shut up, I can still prioritize." You defended, glowering at Simon even as your cheeks pinked adorably.

"She's right," Maddie said and gave Simon a pleading look that he couldn't argue with if he wanted to. "I need to find out what happened to me. And if..." She swallowed, "and if my mom is the one who hurt me. She was here that day. I don't remember everything, but she was drunk and we argued. It was really bad..." Trailing off, Maddie stared at her boots, body trembling slightly under Simon's hand.

He brought her closer, kissed her hair and wrapped his arms around her to encase her in a comforting embrace. "Alright, let's go get the others and come up with what we wanna do next." He deferred to you for first steps.

"You said Charley's in the Art room? You guys go get him. Wally and I will find Ajay, and then Rhonda. We'll meet back at the fence. Good?"

"Good." Wally, Maddie, and Simon echoed.

You beamed, "Good. And no delays!"

Simon studied you for a moment, mouth twisting into an amused smirk, "You're still fondling your dead boyfriend."

You repeated his words in a mocking cadence and simply dragged Wally down the hall, leaving Maddie and Simon to laugh at your and Wally's backs.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally was riding high on ascension, whistling a tune he hadn't heard in years (Everybody Wants to Rule the World, and he didn't care what Charley said, it was a hit), literally skipping and jiving down the hallway toward the library.

He serenaded you with the lyrics as he pulled you into a loose and silly Two Step; twirled you, lifted you, kissed you breathless because he couldn't imagine doing anything else ever again.

When you and he reached the book return bins, Dawn's former piece of the metaphysical school, the flicker of a flashlight caught Wally's attention.

Instantly, he scooped you up and placed you on top of the bins, made sure you were safe and hidden before he approached the mouth of the hallway. On that same wave of whimsy, Wally finger snapped like a Greaser in a musical toward Security Guard Al, belting the chorus right into the man's face as Al halted his trek around the corner.

Al stood for a moment, staring directly through Wally to the other end of the hall, and then, repelled by Wally's ghostly energy, went right on his way. Back toward the office where he'd fish another donut out of the box the secretary had left him and watch the second half of the movie he'd been playing before his start-of-shift rounds.

Wally grinned, pleased as punch, and returned to you, arms outstretched to pluck you from the top of the bins. He didn't put you down, though.

Rather, he had you wrap your legs around his waist so he could spin you around and then press you against the wall. You laughed, partly at his antics, but mostly from the tingly remnants of Dawn's undiluted ascension. You slipped out of Wally's hold, feet on the ground, back against the wall, and gazed up at him.

In return, Wally towered over you, one arm propped on the wall above your head, opposite hand lifting to trail his fingers down the slope of your jaw, thumbprint grazing your lips. God, he loved you so much he was crazed from it. He had to tell you. A million times would never express it enough, but he wanted you to hear it, feel it, feel him.

"I love you, baby." Wally murmured as he leaned in and brushed his lips across yours. A barely-there tease that he let linger for a moment before he pressed in, hard and wanting. He hoisted you into his arms again, one hand on the curve of your ass, his hardening cock humping against your pussy through your jeans and his sweatpants. "Fuck, baby, I can't—this stuff is insane," He groaned after he nipped your earlobe. "I need you again, baby, please. I can't think."

"Yeah," You breathed, grinding back against him, "Yeah, okay. We can be quick, right?"

Wrong.

But Wally didn't want to say anything that would deter you from being carried to the boy's locker room—just down the nearby stairs and to the right—and fucked against the tiles under a warm shower. It was a fantasy Wally suddenly had to play out. He'd die all over again if he didn't. And you didn't want him to die again, did you?

"Do you, baby?"

You laughed, "No, Wally, I don't want you to die again."

He grinned into the skin of your neck, sucking a bruise over your pulse point, "Good girl."

Wally needed you naked and soapy and on his cock five minutes ago.

The journey to the locker room was interrupted by various breaks to pin you to walls and ravish you with kisses and desperate touches, Wally's hands groping everywhere he could reach. When he finally got you into the locker room, his cock was throbbing, a stain of precum blossoming through the fabric of his sweatpants.

You and he stripped in a frenzy, playful and carefree. You threw your jeans at his head, he grabbed you around the waist when you tried to dodge him, both you and he laughing like there wasn't a death cult possibly kidnapping teenage girls.

Wally manhandled you into the showers, your knees hooked over his arms, his cock driving into you from below as he held you easily against the tiles. He could see it in you, that his strength turned you on.

"You like it when I have you like this, baby?" He whispered darkly in your ear, one, two, three powerful thrusts before you answered with a beautiful keen and your pussy gripped his cock tighter. "Fuck, that's it baby. You take me so good, don't you?"

"Y-yes," You mewled, a sound that went straight to Wally's cock. "God, Wally, harder, please, I need it harder..."

And, Jesus Christ, that made whatever remained of his control snap. He granted your wish, hips snapping in sharper strokes as he brought you down on his cock harder. He could do this all night. All day. Forever. He wanted this forever. He wanted you forever.

Forever, fuck, please, let me have her forever, Wally begged whatever higher power would listen, fucking into you with abandon, a slave to his lust. You began to tremble into his arms, crying out on every hard upstroke until he felt you squeeze around him. And then, God, yes, and then his own release hit him like a fucking train.

After, he sunk to his knees, adjusted his arms so he could hold you properly. Wally panted into your throat as warm water streamed over you and him, steam clouding the air, the perfect cocoon to escape in and pretend the world didn't exist. Just for another minute. Just one...

However, it was several minutes (an hour) later when anyone showed up to the fence. Maddie and Simon were more disheveled. Rhonda was brazenly wearing Bernie's top and nothing else. Charley's neck was a Jackson Pollock of love bites. And Ajay was doing his best not to look anyone in the eye.

Everyone collectively ignored the heap of nude band students.

You and Wally were the last to arrive.

Oops.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

In the woods just outside of town, Dave paced a trench in the loam, hands waving frantically as he ranted, "That manifesting little bitch!"

He looked awful. Unwashed. Unshaven. Bags under his eyes. His body was weak from hunger, and Amelia struggled to keep his mind quiet.

The plan was unraveling faster than she could keep up. All because of one. stupid. flaw: Had she known what that girl was, Amelia would've killed the day Amelia had assumed her father's body.

Placid, unmoved, leaned casually against the side of the Sheriff's cruiser, Sheriff Baxter watched Amelia carry Dave's body about, movements stiff and uncoordinated.

He allowed her to vent for a moment longer before, "I should've never allowed you to assume responsibility of the ritual." Dark and quiet and so sincere it made Amelia nervous. Raising his chin, the Sheriff leveled Amelia with a stern look, "You've fucked things up beyond repair, you dumb little girl."

That wasn't Amelia's fault. She'd been made the face of the Order decades ago, she'd earned the right to prove her leadership. To see things through in a way that abided with the new era that had been ushered in. Information and eyes everywhere. It was impossible to keep secrets nowadays and Amelia knew her plan would've been foolproof if it hadn't been for Madison Nears.

"It can still work," Amelia insisted, cowed, "I just need—"

"More time?" Sheriff Baxter scoffed, "You don't have it. Neither do I." He stepped into Amelia's space, voice menacing, "The ritual has been unchanged for centuries for a reason. A reason to turned your nose up to because of pride."

"It isn't pride, mother," Amelia spat, "It's survival. We can't risk another event like we used to. It's a different world. We'd be found out!"

The Sheriff huffed through his nose, eyes dangerous as he stared at Amelia, "We could've moved on. We didn't have to stay here." He paused to give Amelia a disgusted look, "I should've known you'd be too sentimental."

"This is the best place, you know this!" Amelia argued. "It could take longer than we'd ever have to find land as potent as this."

"We made it this way!" The Sheriff shouted as he stuck his arm out to grip Amelia around Dave's throat. His fingers dug into Dave's throat, strength inhumane and immovable.

Amelia whimpered, "I'm sorry, mother." She pawed at the Sheriff's hand, tried to suck in a breath, choked, begged with Dave's eyes to be released.

The Sheriff dropped his hand and took a step back, expression once again neutral.

"We don't have time for this, Amelia," He said. "Between the three other points, we have more than enough to perform the ritual. You need to find that vessel and return it before I decide to take yours and leave you in this life to rot."

Amelia made a kicked-out sound, "You wouldn't." But she knew Anabelle would. Anabelle wasn't prone to sentimentality or motherly love. She was ruthless. A trait that had seen her through to now.

There was a long silence wherein the Sheriff returned to lean against the cruiser. Pondering. Clearly angry.

At last, "You didn't tell me your little pet had stopped drinking the tea."

Amelia turned her face down and stared at the ground, her heart in her throat. No. She hadn't.

She stayed quiet. There was nothing to say for it.

"Sentimental." The Sheriff said like spitting acid, every syllable pronounced. "Look where that got you. Your student betrayed you. Your dog is losing control of his only charge." Eyes boring into Amelia's, "Get this under control, Amelia, or I take over, and I will not make room for mercy."

Amelia trembled in Dave's body, "Yes mother."

"Find your little bitch, Amelia." The Sheriff commanded, though, "I don't know how, given both your golems are now compromised." A bitter laugh, "How have I been so blind to your ignorance. Such a dull creature."

"I'm not stupid, mother," Amelia said with more force than she felt.

"I'll believe that when I see it."

The Sheriff shifted. Opened the driver's side door to the cruiser and slipped behind the wheel.

"Heed my warning, child. I can easily perform the ritual without you."

A boldfaced lie, but Amelia couldn't be sure her mother wouldn't find a way. Anabelle was powerful. Far older than Amelia. Far more practiced.

"And keep an eye on your pet. If she hasn't already woken up, it will only be a matter of time." Another significant look, "I think I'll bury you beside your late lover."

And that was all. The Sheriff started the engine and pulled out of the woods, onto the dirt road, leaving Amelia to suffer walking Dave's weakening body back to town.

💀___________________________

PART NINE - PART ELEVEN

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[muddyorbsblr]

bigger than the whole sky [rtc what if…?]

'relinquish the crown' masterlist See my full list of works here!

BE WARNED SPOILERS FOR THE LOKI SEASON 2 FINALE AHEAD

Summary: What if…you'd broken Frigga's memory spell without Loki? | Your search for your husband leads you to a peculiar void beyond the Nine Realms, to a place that vaguely resembles the Tree of Life that you'd only read about in historical texts.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: angst with no happy ending in sight; this is in the RTC universe so…themes of incest if you squint; Loki S2 finale spoilers; slight violence in the beginning [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: gonna repeat it again…Loki S2 finale spoilers ahead; no prior reading of RTC is required to suffer enjoy reading this story

"I will ask you one final time, you sadistic hedonist," you panted, taking a moment to lean on Stormbreaker while the eccentric tyrannical leader of Sakaar laid bleeding on the ground. One hand clutched his abdomen where you'd struck him, the other gingerly held his broken nose.

This wasn't something that you enjoyed doing, putting others through pain. But knowing Loki's history with this Grandmaster long before you two had met was easing your worry somehow that you were doing something reprehensible. There were pains that your beloved, even after all the time you'd known each other prior to your betrothal and marriage, were not quite ready to share with you.

His time in Sakaar was among those pains.

That knowledge alone was enough to get you to stop catching your breath, marching over to the Grandmaster and pinning him to the ground with the end of your battle axe's handle.

"Where is Loki?"

"Lady, I already told you back in the viewing box, I haven't seen your u--Agh!" You pressed Stormbreaker's handle harder against a tender spot on his shoulder, his body visibly showing signs of surrender before he started tapping on the floor. "Alright I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whined.

"Shall we try this again, then?" He did his best to nod his head, sighing heavily. "Where did you last see him?"

"I swear to you on my Champion's grave it's been millions of years for me here in Sakaar," he choked out, still audibly struggling to draw in his breath. "It was a time he didn't even know you yet. You probably hadn't even been born."

"So you truly bear no knowledge of my husband's whereabouts?"

"Your hus--I thought he was--"

"Mind your words, charlatan god." He let out another groan of pure agony as you pressed harder on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry! I--I really don't know where he is, Your Highness, I don't--"

"Then what use are you to me," you said darkly, another corner of your soul feeling ass if the lights had gone out. Another dead end.

You took a dagger out with your free hand, the Grandmaster's pleas of mercy sounding muffled as they fell on your dulled ears. Nothing he had to say could spare him now; to you, he was no longer a lead, a well lit path that could perhaps point you to where Loki had been all this time.

Now he was simply a shadow of your husband's past. Something so dark that he didn't even dare let you know about it.

Despair began to seep into your veins, a single question overtaking all other remotely coherent thought. Would you ever find him? Would you ever get to apologize? To tell him how you felt? How you'd always felt?

Before you could strike, a loud crack resounded throughout the Grandmaster's suite, coming from a glowing green portal that appeared in the center of the room.

"I would probably take that call, if I were you," the Grandmaster quipped, exhaling a large sigh of relief when you removed the weight of Stormbreaker off of him as you stepped toward the portal. Once the threshold had begun to close after you stepped through, he let out a final sentiment. "Please say hello to your husband for me when you find him."

That was more than enough for you to decide throwing your dagger into the small opening that remained, hitting the smug anachronistic bastard on his uninjured shoulder.

Then the portal finally closed, leaving you in a place you couldn't quite describe. All you knew was that it felt like a place you should never have been allowed access to. A place that should be beyond you. Beyond anyone.

Winding, glowing vines surrounded you, each of them looked and sounded as if they were teeming with a life of its own. If you listened carefully you could hear voices. Your voices. Infinite iterations of them. But one rang clearer than every other in the entire space.

"Did I do something that angered the Norns so fiercely that they condemned me to love a man I could never have?"

"I know what it feels like to kiss him. To touch him. To be desired by him. And it's ripping me apart to know that I will never know that again."

"The people will look at this union and see it for what it is. Sinful. Shameful!"

You tried to block the memories out of your mind, of you begging your grandmother Queen Frigga to lock your memories away. Of arguing with your grandfather Odin and with your father Thor because they were signing your life away to marry Loki. Of the harsh words you spat at them all behind closed doors.

Of the day the lock on your mind finally broke, after finding your journals prior to the spell being cast chronicling how you'd fallen for the god despite your better judgment. The head-splitting agony of your memories reconciling and finding their place back in your mind.

An agony suffered in your lonesome while Loki was away on assignment.

You scrambled desperately to think of anything else, to follow along the path of the vines and hear something other than your own mistakes being echoed back at you. These desperate attempts made you realize that the vines converged in a structure that eerily resembled an image that you'd only learned about in your youth.

"Yggdrasil?" you whispered in awe, your feet bringing you closer still until you found a parting just large enough for one to squeeze through.

Once you'd finally freed yourself from the winding vines, all air left your lungs at the sight that greeted you. A golden throne at the heart of the tree. All the vines anchored to the man -- or God, rather -- seated in it.

Loki.

"You've left quite a trail of bodies in your wake throughout this quest of yours, little Princess," he spoke, not moving even a fraction from where he sat.

He gave you a soft smile, tears beginning to form in his eyes as he stared at you. As if he couldn't believe you were here with him.

"It's been too long, my darling wife."

You'd rehearsed time and time again throughout your search for your husband what you would say to him once you'd been reunited. You would tell him how wrong you were for how you behaved throughout your betrothal, your marriage. And you would abandon every shred of your pride and beg for his forgiveness. You would tell him you loved him, that you'd always loved him.

And that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

Yet somehow you could form none of those words. Instead you finally felt your body succumb to the tiredness brought about by the centuries you'd spent searching and laying waste to every imaginable corner of the Nine Realms and beyond for even the slightest shred of a clue as to where he could have been.

Instead you sunk to your knees, the tears streaming down your face as you stumbled over your words. "I remember everything. I had to find you. Tell you that I'm--"

"I know you are, my love. I watched you on the day the spell broke, the day you finally remembered. I wanted so desperately to come home to you. To not let you have to endure that pain alone."

"Why didn't you?" you blurted out, staring at all the vines he held in his hands. "What are all these?"

"Timelines," he answered you simply, giving you a minuscule shrug of his shoulders. "In every single one, there is an iteration of you and me. Some circumstances may differ, minor details. But at the heart of each of them, we live a life together. We find each other, fall in love. In some we even start a family."

"A family," you repeated breathlessly. The knowledge that each vine -- each timeline -- that was anchored to him held a variation of you and him, of your story, began to eat away at you, flooding you with guilt.

How wretched did you have to be that in your timeline you'd rejected him? Foolishly pushed him away with every mistake you made until finally it took you centuries to find him again?

"What happened?" you finally spoke after what felt like hours. "How did you get--"

"That is quite the long and harrowing tale, darling. In truth, it was a cavalcade of miscalculations and bad judgment calls, failed attempts of trying to save all these lives until I realized that the result would always stay the same if the equation contained the same variables."

"And what was that result?"

"Annihiliation," he answered you simply, giving you a misty eyed look. "Every single strand of time that I hold safe now would have been obliterated on sight. I know it. I've seen it. I've seen you disintegrate before me too many times than I wish to count. The device that once held them stable could no longer scale for an infinite number of possibilities, and letting countless timelines die in the name of the survival of a few was…unacceptable. The only thing that could carry a burden that great was--"

"A god," you finished, the words fighting you their entire way out, nearly choking you on the weight of them. The question that you wished to raise crippled you with its answer's implications. For you and your timeline specifically. "What happens if you let go?"

"It dies. Slowly. Drifts away until it eventually turns to ash." He began to make a motion, as if to approach you, until ultimately he decided against it. "This was the only way. It remains the only way. I must stay, and keep them safe. Watch our lives play out in derivatives of what ifs."

The selfish question that danced at the tip of your tongue plagued you with even more guilt. But what about my timeline? What about our life together? "There has to be another way," you grumbled, stubbornly shaking your head as if you were once again a toddler, refusing to accept the world for being what it was rather than what you wished it would be. "I could stay with you. I could stay and we can find a way together."

Your heart splintered watching him shake his head at you. "My beautiful headstrong wife," he breathed out, his tone filled with both fondness and heartbreak. "I can't in my good conscience let you abandon your life just so you could stay here with me. That would be too selfish, even for me. What would you have here?"

"You! I would have you. All these centuries I've spent in a desperate scramble to find you and tell you that I lo--" You found yourself completely choking on the words now, never having to articulate them before. "That I love you. That I've always loved you and I want us to start our lives together. I refuse to accept that after all this time I have to let you go. You can't make me."

"Asgard needs you, its future Queen."

"And I need you!" Your voice finally broke, sobs that you'd fought inside starting to bubble up. "It isn't fair that you hold all these different tellings of our story in your hands, but your story, yours and mine, ends in us apart. That you spend your days here, watching our life play out somewhere and somewhen else, and you're alone. Please don't send me away, husband," you began to beg. "Don't make me leave you. Let me stay."

He let out a sharp exhale, a tear escaping his eye, rolling down his cheek. "I've longed for the day I would hear you call me that," he sighed, a rueful smile gracing the handsome features that you were bereft of for centuries. "Truly I didn't think I would ever see you again, Y/N. My Y/N. I never thought that I would have you before me, and I hear those words you would only say in dreams with my own ears. Thank you, my dear heart. You have given me a gift in this quest of yours, in having a final moment with the woman I love…" More tears rolled down his cheeks when his smile widened before finishing his sentiment. "And the woman that loves me."

Your sobs filled the endless space, your body collapsing onto the ground as your grief overtook you. The notion of grieving for the living never seemed sensical to you until now. Now that the man, the god, you loved was calling this the last time you would ever see each other.

And you knew in your heart that with the power he wielded now, he could make that your reality without even lifting a finger. He could push you out of this void and back into any timeline of his choosing just as easily as he pulled you out of Sakaar.

The feel of familiar large hands pulling you up to your feet startled you, only having the briefest moment to look at your husband before he pulled you into a crushing embrace. You didn't think twice before wrapping your arms around him, holding him as close as you could and sobbing into his shoulder before realizing…

If his hands were on you, then why were the vines still in place?

"Loki," you sobbed. "Husband, please. No illusions."

"I can't hold you," he said, choking back his own sobs now. "I couldn't watch you break like this and do nothing." The duplicate he cast to hold you disappeared from your hold in a flash of green. "I've done it before against all my better judgment, I refuse to do it again."

"Then don't." Against your own better judgment, you stomped your foot, like a bratty child being told you had to go home. Which was almost precisely what this was. "If this is where you are and where you will remain, then this is where I wish to stay. With the god that owns my heart. With my husband." You blinked rapidly to expel the tears that blurred your vision before uttering the words that splintered at your heart even more. "I was made to be yours. You said that."

"And I yours," he finished, averting his gaze, letting his own tears drop to the fabric of  his trousers. "In every timeline. We must take solace in knowing that among these infinite tales, one is ours. What could have been ours."

"What should be ours," you insisted. You made your way over to him, placing your hand on the side of his face. He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, the sight breaking your heart further. "Our story deserves its bliss-laden epilogue, too."

"Not at the cost of everyone else's. Deep down you know this to be true."

"That does not mean I accept it," you grumbled. "Let me stay."

"You know that I can't. I will not subject you to live out the rest of your days here. Without friends nor family, and only a husband that cannot even hold you as company."

"But at least you would have someone to hold you," you argued, throwing your arms around him and letting your tears flow once more. "I can't just leave you here all on your own. You can't make me." You knew that he damn right could.

"My love," he sighed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. "I wish for you to live a long, and fulfilled life. You've lost so much time in your search for me only for it to end like this. I can give you those centuries back, as a final gift. Reverse the clock, undo the toll it took on you. Let this be the final token of my affection. My fealty. My undying vow."

"Let me keep my memories," you pleaded, already feeling that this would truly be your final moments with him. You did not need to turn your gaze to know that the portal leading back to Asgard was there, waiting for you. Perhaps he would simply nudge you through with his mind, knowing that you would refuse to leave. "Let me keep my remnants of you if that is all that I can leave this place with."

He nodded once. "Very well, little Princess. When you walk through the portal only the physical years will be stripped away. Live well, and remember always that I love you. My heart will only ever belong to you. Until the end of time."

"I love you," you choked out through your tears. "Husband." Your heart ached at the sight of his tears, not bothering to fight back the urge to kiss them away. "I will miss you desperately and always. In every step that I must take in this life without you."

"You will always have me by your side," he swore. "When you feel a presence you cannot see, in gentle breezes within a still room. I will always be there."

You continued to wipe his tears away, the god constantly kissing at your palms. Seemingly refusing to let you go, too.

"May I kiss you?" you asked, barely audibly, your voice unable to even completely form the words. "One last time?"

He gave you a small nod, and you leaned in to press your lips to his, trying to pour out your years of lost time and the future that you were doomed to lose in just a few short moments into that single kiss. You could feel that when he kissed you back, he did so with both all the love he'd never been able to give you before, and the love that he would never be able to bestow in the future.

It was a kiss of finality. A kiss of goodbye. A bittersweet final page in the story of you and Loki.

I love you more than words can ever say, his voice echoed in your mind. Goodbye, my love. My fated. My darling wife.

When you pulled away he was gone. And you'd been returned to your shared chambers back in Asgard. As he promised, the physical toll the centuries-long search had taken on your body were gone. No more scars from miscalculated skirmishes. No more bruises from Sakaar.

No more physical reminders of what you'd endured trying to reunite with the love your life.

All that remained were the memories of those years, and your time in his domain beyond the Realms.

"Goodbye, my darling husband. My love. My Loki," you whispered into the quiet of your marital chambers, sinking to your knees once more and letting out a shriek of pure agony, the sobs swiftly returning and wracking your entire body as you lay pathetically on the floor.

"Y/N??"

The sound of your mother Lady Sif's voice provided little comfort, but it felt like a familiar balm. "Mother," you said weakly, unmoving from your spot on the ground even as she rushed to you, cradling you in her lap.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" She stroked your hair while your tears soaked her sleep dress. You felt her wave someone over, and moments later you felt your grandmother Queen Frigga's presence in the room with you.

"I lost. I lost and I know not what to do now," you managed to say through your tears.

"What did you lose, Daughter?"

You'd briefly considered explaining your journey, from breaking the spell, to your journey through the centuries, to Loki's domain beyond the reach of space and time. To relay what had become of your husband.

Ultimately the words were beyond you due to your grief.

"Everything," you answered her, holding on to her tight as if you were a child again. This would be the only semblance of comfort you would have. "I lost everything."

A/N: I had to after that finale had me processing and feeling the big sad all day, I promise I'm working on 2 other stories based on the finale that have kinda better endings.

Also I sobbed throughout writing this entire thing, just for the record.

Now here's the song to add to the vibe:

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

[danses-with-dogmeat]

F is for -- Fawkes

I'm so glad he won this poll, honestly. Writing for Fawkes just gives me life <3

Also, holy crap, I gasped when I drew this line for him from the dialogue prompts. It's perfect.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this bit of sweetness as much as I loved writing it! 😊

Literally was so excited for this one, that it was the first of the 2k celebration prompts that I started

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

--

Pair: Fawkes x F!Lone

Dialogue: “I never knew that I could feel this loved."

Word: Forever

Rating: SFW

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1k

Fawkes grinned as he ducked through the threshold of the front door, nodding approvingly at the smooth way the hinges yielded so easily as he closed the door behind him. 

So many improvements to make still, and yet… This dwelling is more of a home than any place I’ve found myself in prior. 

Or any Lone has lived in. 

That thought comforted him as he moved towards the kitchen, a mouthwatering smell drifting to his marred nose he rounded the corner. At the same time, gentle music sounded from the radio sitting on the counter, lulling him further into this sense of domestic bliss. He sighed as his eyes caught Lone’s form, as she floated from the fridge to the stove, and, not for the first time in the months since the Enclave were wiped out and Project Purity was finally completed, he found himself wondering if he were dreaming. 

After all they had gone through, the trials, the violence, the loss… He wondered if it would ever be possible for the pair to move on, for his Lone, his love… to be happy. As with most situations though, Lone defied all that Fawkes believed was possible. She went beyond his hopes and dreams for her, conquered everything the cruel wasteland threw at her, cared for him so wholly, even as he continued being unable to fathom such things, and now…here they were. 

Existing peacefully; cooking, gardening, reading, dancing, living, in a way the supermutant had never imagined anyone could, so close to the horrors permeating the Capital Wasteland. The way anyone could here, now. Maybe before the bombs and the vaults, the raiding and the wars, the existence of what he’s become, and what Lone has always, not overlooked, but embraced more gracefully than he, himself ever could. 

It was something that Fawkes had no words for.

The gratitude he felt. The affection he held for her was more sacred than anything else he could imagine in his long life, and yet still, it paled in comparison to her own, if she could love him, the way he was now. 

Lone was humming along to the tunes drifting through the air as Fawkes quietly approached from behind, her body jolting only slightly as he lightly placed his hands at her hips and laid a kiss to her head. 

“Anyone else would’ve hit you with their spoon if you snuck up on them like that.” She said with narrow eyes turned to him, and a chuckle rumbled through his chest. 

“That is why I risked it, you see. For even the wrath of your wooden spoon could not deter my show of affection for you.” Fawkes lowered his head in time for his eyes to catch the smile that spread her lips as he spoke. 

“That so, huh?” She continued stirring the vegetables in the pan before her, even as Fawkes nuzzled further into her soft hair. 

He just couldn’t help but be close to her. 

Ever since that fateful day at the Jefferson Memorial, when he’d nearly lost her, he relished Lone being beside him, within his reach. 

She giggled at the way his breath tickled her skin. 

“What’s all this for, love?” She turned around in his embrace, leaving the spoon in the pan as she faced him, and wrapping her own arms around his broader waist. “Really, it’s just dinner, you don't have to act like I'm making miracles in here…” 

Fawkes shook his head as he looked down at her, raising one hand to gently move a stray hair from her face. 

“Do you know the date, Lone?” 

Her brows furrowed at that as she looked blankly towards his chest, as though the answer could be found there. 

“Six months ago, today, we decided to move forward in our relationship.” 

“Only six months?” Her eyes widened, and he felt her body stiffen in his embrace. “It feels like it’s been so much longer than that… all that’s happened…” 

“I know.” He said softly, as he stroked his thumb over her cheek. 

“I’m sorry, I just… How could I have forgotten? Are you sure?” 

Lone looked worried now, and Fawkes felt a pang in his chest. 

“I am certain, yes, but… It’s as you said. So much has happened, so much that you’ve been through in such a short time. I would never blame you, I… I only realized myself when I was in the garden.” 

“Well, dammit. If I’d known, I would’ve planned something. Something to celebrate, you know?” 

“Being here with you now…” Fawkes tightened his embrace, folding her into his arms until she nearly vanished within his bulk, “It is celebration enough, my dear.” 

“I know, but…” She trailed off as she hugged him back, her face pressed firmly to his chest, arms wrapped about him so tightly, her fingers could almost reach each other behind him. “We’re together all the time, and as wonderful as that is, I don’t know… It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Lone.” Fawkes felt another ache in his chest as he pulled back, leaning down to look her earnestly in the eye as both hands released her waist in favor of caressing her face gently. “I assure you, it is more than enough. To be with you this way… I never knew I could feel this loved. I hardly knew what the word meant before you, and every day that I spend with you by my side quickly becomes my fondest memory.” 

Her hands moved to smooth over the backs of his as she grinned tearily, her cheeks squishing beneath the pressure of both their touches so endearingly, Fawkes couldn’t help but press forward to capture her sweet lips in a chaste kiss. 

Quickly, before he could properly pull away, her hands opted to bring his face closer to hers, before wrapping about the bulk of his shoulders, drawing him nearer as she prolonged the tender contact. 

Fawkes’s chest warmed now, at the feeling of her, and he knew that he was telling her the pure, and honest truth. 

This, right here. It was more than enough. 

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hey it's high-fructose-jay-syrup again. I sent the original question off anon because it's not something I'd feel particularly awkward about anyone connecting to me, but then sent the followup ask on anon because I figured the ask not having gone through had something to do with me sending it off anon lmao (which apparently it did, since you did get the anon ask)

anyhoo. wondering if you have any insight on the line between masochism and self harm? I am realizing that a lot of my prior exploration of that area of kink had more to do with a desire to Feel Something than pure enjoyment of pain (which often resulted in me continuing despite being unsure about my comforts) and I think most of it was not a good idea to be doing and may even have been somewhat traumatizing. so now I'm understandably pretty wary about exploring that field again (I mean I'm wary of sex in general thanks to Trauma TM but yk, someday when that's no longer the case), and wondering if you have any thoughts on how to tell the difference between something that involves pain but is completely safe and enjoyable, and something that is actively damaging and needs to stop, *especially* given the phenomenon of sub drop.

thanke! happy late birthday!

hi not-anon,

this is a very interesting question, and I'm afraid it's not one that I'll be able to offer a very solid answer on. the line between masochism and self-harm that you're seeking is a thin and wavering one, and exactly where it lands varies heavily depending on the individual. there's a pretty excellent book called Hurts So Good: The Science and Culture of Pain on Purpose that I thought of immediately while reading your question; in it, author Leigh Cowart examines their own experiences with ballet, eating disorders, and kink as well as people who partake in pain-seeking activities like eating record-setting amounts of painfully hot peppers, taking part in body-breaking ultramarathons, and flinging themselves into frigid waters on purpose. I think it's very notable that many of the people they talk to discuss former addictions that were much more actively detrimental to their quality of life than their current pain fix; sometimes it's not a matter of "I'm not hurting myself at all," but "hurting myself eating peppers will fuck me up a lot less than hurting myself with alcohol."

if you think about it there are dozens of activities that can simultaneously get a brain pumping dopamine and set off our pain receptions. pulling from just two of my own experiences, I love the pain of a needle when getting a new tattoo, and I love how wrecked my body feels after a couple hours of bouldering - and yes, both of those come with a drop afterwards! does that mean they qualify as self-harm? I don't think so, no, but I can also easily see how either could slip into that, if I were to start pushing my body regularly beyond the threshold of acceptable pain into something more than I can comfortable handle. the problem is that, as I said, that line isn't universal, and sometimes the only way to find out for sure is to push a little too far and see what happens.

it's also worth pointing out that, in terms of sexual masochism specifically, the idea of anything being "completely safe" is a discouraged by a lot of people within the community. this is a large part of RACK, or risk-aware consensual kink; substituting the "safe" in "safe, sane, and consensual" with an acknowledgement that sex involving acts of physical violence, no matter how well-negotiated, cannot ever be 100% perfectly risk free, and that this is a risk that participants must either be willing to accept or not engage with. to my thinking, at least, being risk-aware also means knowing the emotional harm that you would be making yourself vulnerable to by participating, and taking responsibility for that by not seeking out potentially harmful situations.

(safe, sane, and consensual has been reevaluated and contested in other ways in recent years; I wrote more about that and its history here for the curious.)

it seems clear that you're aware of which side of that line you've fallen on in the past, and I'm glad it's something you've been able to recognize and change your behavior around, as it sounds like avoiding SM situations entirely is great for you right now. I don't know if you're on a break from sex altogether, but if you are feeling wary about it, then it certainly couldn't hurt. it bears mentioning that even the most vanilla sex on earth can be (and often is) a form of self harm as much as kinky sex; as always, the thing that matters in the context and the experience of the individual involved.

in regards to any kind of sex, my advice is generally pretty blunt: if you're not sure whether or not something will fuck you up, don't do it. why would you take that risk? there are plenty of spaces in our lives where we have to put up with things that suck, but when it comes to your sex life that shit's completely customizable. skip the things that you're unsure about, focus on what you know works for you, whether that's vanilla sex, kinky sex, or no sex at all.

[hidinginawell]

Ouuuuugh ok as a kid who read way too much dramatic literature and loved my pre-bed dramatic scenarios imagine my disgust when I fainted for real

If u haven't, u can probably guess, but: it sucks!

1st Time Ever: had to fast for like a day straight and then have not even water for ~12 hours before a surgery. I like slowly slid down onto the floor bc i was like perched on the edge of a bed. My mom was like "can u stop 🙄" bc she thought i was just complaining lol. I woke up on the floor and I was so uncomfortably hot and wretched feeling. I actually cried bc it felt so awful and uncomfortable (I was pretty young)

Minor Ouch: Got blood drawn. Contrary to what you'd expect it wasn't bc I care about needles, blood, doctors, etc. I finished getting the blood drawn, got up, exchanged pleasantries, was walking out the door when I passed out. I hit my back on a metal, sharp-edged trash can on tbe way down and so had a cut on each rib lol. Avoided anything worse bc i apparently kept a death grip on the door handle so someone got to me before my head hit the floor

Major Ouch: Junior year of high school woke up feeling kind of ick so i went to go drink some water from the bathroom i shared with my brother. I passed out and banged my face off the counter before full-on falling onto the floor and hitting my head so hard on the hard tile. I woke up and i instantly knew something was wrong, I felt so much worse than my usual post faint grossness. I was in so much pain I couldnt even make a sound so I lay there for a while until I had the strength to bang my hand on the wall. My mom was like "wtf are u doing?" And when I didn't answer she came and found me on the floor. I chilled for about 2 weeks but the pain didn't go away so i went to the doctor and I had a bad concussion. Tbh do think that it minorly affected me on a long term level

Funny: literally an exact repeat of the prior, except I was in college and home on winter break. I learned my lesson so i like managed a controlled fall this time instead. But remember how i said this is a shared bathroom with my brother? So he woke up and was like "what are you doingggg 🙄😒" through the wall and i was like shut up im having a senseless home accident and he was like damn ok just do it quieter lol.

In summary fainting sucks and my family has a very high threshold for pain and medical stuff and the like (but mines the best 😍💅 💯)

Feel free to tell me more about it

[adamwatchesmovies]

Evil Eyes (2004)

With a description that reads “In the vein of Stephen King’s THE SHINING, a screenwriter’s work seems to come to life (and death) as those around him suffer a similar horrifying fate” and intro credits that mention The Asylum - a studio that specializes in mockbusters - you expect Evil Eyes to be less “in the vein” of The Shining and more of a blatant ripoff. It isn’t, which means the film earns itself some points for originality, but only the bare minimum. The special effects are dreadful and the only genuinely horrifying sights you see are the actors struggling to make this material work.

Jeff Stenn (Adam Baldwin) is a failing writer who gets an offer he can’t refuse from a mysterious film producer. George (Udo Kier) wants Jeff to write a horror film based on a real-life crime. Thirty-five years ago, in a nearby neighborhood, a film director killed his pregnant wife and in-laws with an ax. What’s more unusual is that the film he was working on was plagued with strange accidents on-set, accidents that seemed to reflect the director's frustrations towards the cast and crew. A strange incident, indeed. Strange too that as soon as Jeff begins working, his words seem to come true. Could it be a coincidence?

Of course not. You know it, and Jeff’s inability to recognize the obvious pattern means he’s a moron. You’ve seen this concept done time and time again, most often wrapped up within 30 minutes. This picture shows why. It takes FOREVER for Jeff to figure out what’s happening and when he does, he never even attempts to do what everyone else in the world would do, which is give himself a quick fortune and all sorts of other luxuries. Low-budget production or not, it doesn't take much money to write a character the audience will care about or be interested in.

To conduct research, Jeff convinces his wife, Tree (Jennifer Gates), to move from their home into the home where the real-life homicide took place. It’s supposed to be a derelict ramshackle abandonned for 35 years… but you can tell it’s just an apartment in the middle of being painted. They even left the pots and pans in the kitchen! That’s sort of unintentionally funny, as are the special effects. There isn’t a lot of gore but when a car crash proves significantly more fatal than it should, the head decapitation is so bad it might be the worst cinematic trick I’ve ever seen. Like every other Asylum film, however, Evil Eyes never crosses the threshold to become “so bad it’s good”. Instead, it’s just boring. As the film progresses, Jeff becomes increasingly unhinged. This is where the Shining resemblance comes in, as he goes all Jack Torrance on Tree. You'll have lost all interest by the time that happens.

Evil Eyes (terrible title by the way, it’s got nothing to do with anything) might not’ve been that dreadful if it had been competently assembled. Whenever we flashback to 35 years prior, it becomes so confusing you can’t tell if the scenes are set in the past, the present, or even the future (as is the case during the conclusion). Speaking of which, this is the only time writer Naomi Selfman shows the slightest bit of innovation. There's a twist that might’ve worked if you hadn’t spent the entirety of the first two acts thinking “There’s no way this movie is this basic, there’s got to be a shocking reveal coming up, which means…” Those thoughts mean you're thinking and if you're thinking, then you’re right. Congratulations. You’re smarter than this movie. That doesn’t mean much. As such, the most intelligent thing to do is stay away from Evil Eyes. (December 17, 2021)

[jennyhoyt]

first line tag

rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have fewer than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some people to take part.

I have 17 total published fics between ao3 and ffnet. Some of these are so old this is going to be humiliating :’)

Tagged by my son @thatiranianphantom

1. “Cassie tries to quietly start the car. She looks over at Jenny who she’s sure dozed off by now, her head slumped against the cold car window with her hood up to provide some sort of barrier against the temperature. The higher elevations in January were unforgiving, and this was one of the most miserable stakeouts they’d ever been on, and they’ve resorted to running the car for just a few minutes every half hour so as to not draw attention to themselves. Miserable.”

-Gunfighter

2. “It starts with an undercover mission.Or, it starts with Jenny getting rear-ended and Cassie having to take this one instead. “I was just told to take it easy,” Jenny follows Cassie to the back of the office, “I’m fine.” “Mhm,” Cassie nods, “I don’t believe you will.” Jenny purses her lips and nods. Maybe.”

-Envy Slays the Strong-Willed

3. ““Don’t be mad” Cassie starts when Jenny picks up the phone, she sounds overly serious. In fact so overly-serious that Jenny can’t help but laugh on the other end.“Okay,” she responds, trying to hide her laughter. Cassie sighs heavily again and Jenny can barely hide her response. She knows Cassie's tendency to seriously understate major things, and get very concerned about minor things, and deduces that this is a minor thing, “what is it?” Jenny asks lightly.“My dad set me up on a date,”

-Imperfect Solution

4. “Shaw understands grief at a fundamental level. She understand why it happens, and she even understands the necessity of it for others. People seem so bonded to each other, from what she has observed, and broken bonds need repair.”

-Into Light

5. “‘Damn kids and their stupid games’ Shaw thinks, her run in with college students leaving her feeling strangely violated and wishing she could have kicked all their asses right there in lobby.”

-Smash or Pass

6. “"If you could have one wish, son, what would it be?" Walternate's voice was cold. The question was not a conversation starter, nor a way to simply get to know his son. It was interrogation.”

-Threshold

7. “The words 'Walter' and 'babysitting' should really never be in the same sentence.”

-Come and Gone

8. “Olivia really couldn't figure out how she got suckered into an investigation a week and half before her due date.”

-There’s a Light in Your Eyes

9. “After their reunion it took all but about a second for every proactive instinct to come over him again, at full force. He had no control over it. He was her father, after all.Of course, more often than not, those instincts were triggered by danger, or impending death.”

-How Time Goes By

10. “Moo.”

-Bovine Mind

11. “"So you're telling me you didn't have birthday cake as a kid?" Peter inquired in half dismay, laughing."No, I never said that." Olivia laughed, "I just said I didn't like it… why are we even discussing this?"”

-Sugar Coated

12. “"So, this sucks." Tyler said, half sarcastically."Does it?" Candace questioned.”

-Now You Know

13. “The sun was just setting in the sky. One of the most beautiful days in a while that the two could remember. Jamie was inside, most likely watching television, and Riley was probably in her room,enjoying the last bouts of her day before it was time for bed. The two of them took great advantage of the peace, it couldn't have been more perfect.”

-Tea and Honey

14. “He rolled over onto his back, feeling the warm presence beside him. Her long brown hair lay across the pillow. She felt his eyes on her.”

-Our Name in the Sand

15. “Have you ever thought of a certain point of your life and wondered, 'How'd I get here, what got me here, and what happened in between?' Or do we even remember what happened in between? Sometimes it all comes together as one big event, and no matter how long it took, feels like it just began.”

-Every Wish Granted

16. “"Mommy, why can't you come tonight?" A small voice asked sadly."I have to work last minute, I am so so sorry, Anna boo. But I promise I will be there tomorrow, besides, your daddy and uncle Nathan are gonna be there for you tonight." Peyton comforted her daughter.”

-Her World

17. “Peyton stared out the fogged up window in the living room, the soft snow falling to the ground, creating just a blanket outside, and hearing nothing but peace. It didn't snow that often in Tree Hill, But when it did, it always amazed her. She never knew why it appealed to her so much, but she always thought it was the peace.”

-When Our Love Brought Peace

~*~* BONUS ROUND of my unpublished manuscripts ~*~*

18* “Jenny puts her phone down on the counter, eyes narrowed in confusion at a knock at her door. She’d just been texting Cassie a minute ago, so who was here?She internally kicks herself when she sees Denise at her door, she opens it to find the woman holding a thick folder, granted, one that she had asked her to bring by.” 

-title in progress lmao

19* “The tragedy of their lives wasn't where that initial draw came from. In their world, who wasn't haunted by loss and grief? That draw wasn't even there when he'd met her. At least at first. It developed first with a touch of guilt, intimidated by age. It was one sided though, because she would never let herself be intimidated by him. Or anyone, really. Her intimidation came from moments that would catch her off guard. Sometimes he would, bump against her accidentally and she would curse at herself for the feeling it stirred inside her.”

-Safehouse

I tag whoever has written anything ever and wants to do this. :) I just wanted to embarrass myself today I guess. 

[textfromthelookout]

just read ur entire essay about vegeta and like.. goddamn you just gave me a whole new perspective on that funky little man. i love the way it was written and organized

ALSO ALSO i read this bit and am begging u to expand on this concept it sounds so interesting /gen

Oh you would, would you. I am delighted to oblige.

So. Super Saiyan. A transformation available to Saiyans past certain power thresholds that, while more or less freely accessible after first awakening to it, needs a trigger to become accessible in the first place. Over the course of Z in its many adaptations, we see the first awakenings of Goku, Vegeta, Future Trunks, and Gohan onscreen. Goten, Trunks, and Future Gohan are also Super Saiyans, but we don’t know for sure how that came about. Goten and Trunks in particular are why I say that Super Saiyan (more specifically, the first time you access Super Saiyan) can be read as a trauma response, because there’s no real evidence this is the case on their parts. You can make an argument for them, but in general I choose to believe they’re exceptions to this take, so I won’t be discussing them.

Oh and as for Cabba, Caulifla, and Kale…… they’re literally from an alternate universe. Super Saiyan just has different rules there. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Getting back on track. Goku’s the obvious place to start, so let’s look at him first. In the entirety of Dragon Ball (that I’ve seen), not counting the comedic needle bit in that one episode of GT, Goku has only ever been seen crying three times. Once was his reunion with Grandpa Gohan in early Dragon Ball. Once was in the anime’s version of the Tournament of Power, after Roshi’s near-death incident.

Once was at the beginning of King Piccolo, when he finds Krillin dead. King Piccolo saga is a little infamous for the sudden tonal whiplash—yeah, Tien breaks Yamcha’s leg in the tournament just prior, but they make up about it and it’s not as dire as someone dying. What’s really striking to me about it is Goku’s reaction. He’s more upset than we’ve ever seen him. And he loses worse than we ever see him lose because of it. Sure, in the end everything is put right, but.

But, the thing about trauma is that it makes time go weird. Fast forward about ten years. It’s suddenly happening again. His best friend is dead. He couldn’t do anything to stop it. He doesn’t know that Porunga can revive people who have already died once. As far as Goku knows, Krillin’s gone for good this time. And he watched it happen and watched Freeza laugh about it.

And he reacts essentially the same way. Only this time, he’s orders of magnitude stronger than he was when he was 15, and he has the experience and the wherewithal to control himself somewhat better. Emphasis on somewhat, because it’s very clear that he’s worried about going completely off the deep end in the grips of this power. And he’s right to be! I’m willing to bet money that in Gohan’s whole life, Goku has never pulled the ‘I’m your father, don’t talk back to me’ card on him, and that’s one of the smallest ways this power changes him. When he’s fighting Freeza, he’s a lot more like Vegeta, down to the way he smirks. He’s condescending. He’s brutal. I’ve seen comments to the effect of ‘Freeza’s not fighting Goku anymore—now, Freeza’s fighting Kakarot’ and that’s truly what it feels like.

I could go on, but the particulars of the Namek fight aren’t the important part. The important part is that Goku recognizes how badly that whole thing fucked him up and stays on Yardrat for a year explicitly to get a handle on Super Saiyan before returning home. He knows that if he loses control like that again, there’s a very real possibility he’ll end up hurting someone he cares about, or worse, becoming someone he really doesn’t want to be. (Call it a reach, it definitely is one, but I like to believe Goku picked up Instant Transmission while he was there so he’ll never be too late or too far away to help ever again.)

Vegeta’s case is less… visible? So, much of this is going to be purely my extrapolation. If you take him at his word, Vegeta triggered Super Saiyan with the sheer amount of hatred he felt toward himself for his inadequacy and like. Hello. That’s already a giveaway. I don’t believe he’s outright lying, but I also believe he’s simplifying matters a little. Or a lot. Per My Last Long-Winded Essay, he only gets that far because he leaves Earth entirely for areas uninhabited, which is good for him in some respects and bad for him in others.

The sweet irony of it is that it was Vegeta’s own efforts that locked him out of Super Saiyan. He tried to brute-force his way into it singlemindedly, in the belief that he was simply not strong enough, but Super Saiyan’s trigger is raw, overwhelming emotion. It can be one very clear emotion, or several different ones mixed up, but it’s emotion. It doesn’t answer to logic by its very nature, and frankly, neither does trauma. So Vegeta’s removed all the distractions to his training, yes, but in doing so he’s also removed all the distractions from everything else. Without anybody else around, he doesn’t have anything to get himself out of his own head, so now he’s got a whole universe of space for two and a half decades’ worth of repressed shit to come raging out. Funny how the minute he lets himself feel actual emotions other than the ones he wants everyone to see, the transformation explicitly tied to and powered by emotion rears its head, huh.

Vegeta makes several really dumb decisions once he gets back on Earth, in sharp contrast to the way he handles himself on Namek before he’s face-to-face with Freeza. On Namek, he’s careful to fly under the radar whenever he can, which is why I love the fit he launches into when he realizes Gohan played him, because that’s his control slipping. He’s opportunistic and sneaky and it’s clear he’s doing his damnedest to get what he wants without having to fight people who can kill him. He doesn’t hear the Ginyu Force is coming and rush off to challenge them, he’s like ‘oh shit’ and immediately fucks off elsewhere. I can only make sense of the way he acts during the androids/Cell as a symptom of his need to prove himself.

And make no mistake—it is a need, not a want. The power’s meaningless without people to witness and acknowledge it, the same way the authority of royalty is. His chosen course of action, though, is sort of like painting over rotten wood, if that makes any sense. Letting himself get high off the power, pretending that everything went exactly the way it should have gone from the start, refusing to acknowledge all of his Issues more than passingly. Furthermore, his victory must be complete and unquestionable: that’s why he lets Cell take Android 18. He can’t just… not lose, he has to win. Anything less is anathema to him. You see, he hasn’t yet figured out that he can survive without it.

Okay sorry that got a little in the weeds but I hope you get what I was driving at there. Vegeta’s a mess and talking about him makes me Unstable. Let’s move on.

Of the main four Saiyans, I think Future Trunks’ awakening is the simplest to understand: his trigger is that moment of pure, crushing grief when he finds Gohan dead in the rain. And it’s no wonder. Aside from Gohan and his mother, who does Trunks even talk to in that timeline? We never see him with friends, not until Super. Trunks’ ‘You were everything to me’ in the dub version of the special might be only debatably canon but it’s hardly an exaggeration. Friend. Teacher. Comrade. Brother. Perhaps even a father figure, in some ways. Certainly the only other one of his kind—half-human, half-alien from a long-dead warrior race. There was literally nobody else in the world who could come close to understanding him to the degree that Gohan could have. Gohan dies and Trunks is effectively all alone, the terminarch of one species left to shoulder the fate of another.

It’s a staggering loss for anybody, let alone for a boy of 12 or 13.

Speaking of. Gohan. I think Gohan’s a strange case—not powered by grief or anger, but something different. In the moments before he unlocks Super Saiyan, he’s thinking ‘I have to do it’ before flashing abruptly to all the different times where he was ‘too weak or too scared’ to fight. I personally believe that it’s less determination or ‘the power coming in response to a need’, as Goku puts it, that tips him over the edge. Fear, I think—while not being the whole reason, there’s surely some self-directed anger or disappointment involved—is probably the biggest factor. That’s Gohan’s whole thing—he’s scared of fighting, and to some degree of his own power. If I laid out all the specific examples we’d be here for another thousand words, so I’ll just say that he’s been Through It. We all know this.

This sort of has a continuation in the iconic Super Saiyan 2 transformation against Cell. It’s all on him and it’s not until Cell actually kills someone in front of Gohan that it really twigs that it’s do or die for him. And as much as he’s angry at Cell, the realization that Cell means business, that he really will kill them all? It scares him. Fight or flight takes over. The only real difference is that he chooses fight. The change in how Gohan handles Cell is what really convinces me that emotionally he’s going through something similar to Goku and Vegeta—because it’s almost to the letter exactly what happens with Goku against Freeza. The cruelty, the condescension. I’d argue Gohan leans into the mean demeanor, subconsciously or not, to keep from feeling the fear. And it costs him. But the Gohan discussion is a whole other discussion.

As for Future Gohan, I’m putting a disclaimer here now that none of what I’m about to say is really provable—just really really interesting to think about.

Future Gohan’s life is maybe the worst-case scenario. Like the future timeline sucks specifically for Gohan because he doesn’t like to fight and he has to anyway because what other choice does he have? Let everyone on Earth die without at least trying? He couldn’t, not in good conscience. And it’s not like he’ll have a normal life so long as the androids are around anyway. So in the middle of grieving basically everybody he’s ever known and felt affection for (sans his mother and grandfather, it’s more implied that he’s estranged from them, or at least intentionally distancing himself from them to keep them out of harm’s way), he's also making himself channel anger he hates feeling so he has a shot of even surviving these killers that only exist because of something his father did at least ten years ago. This shouldn’t be his fight, and yet.

Here’s my personal theory. Gohan goes into that final fight with the androids fully intending to die. Not just expecting to, but hoping to. He knows that if he was only barely scraping through those fights with both arms, there’s no way in hell he’ll kill them both when he only has one. He’s not an idiot, but you know what he is? Exhausted. Twelve years of this, being the only resistance to this threat and failing each and every time. He knows what will unlock Super Saiyan for Trunks. He knows there’s someone to carry on the torch and lift the burden. And it’s cruel and selfish of him to put all of that on Trunks and throw himself to the wolves, but it was cruel that he had to carry that all by himself for so long.

He’s fucking tired.

Anyways. That’s my TEDtalk on Super Saiyan. If you read it all the way to the end you’re a real one. Thanks for this ask, you two!

[ihaveatheoryonthat]

Another massively incomplete piece, though I would argue that this one’s closer to being what it was supposed to be than the others thus far.

TW for dissociation and (minor) self harm. Nothing grisly; it’s on the order of slapping oneself.

---

Ingo was very expressive. It was a fact, and one that Emmet had gone to bat for more times than he cared to look back upon-- people just had a habit of fixating on a quirk of the lips instead of literally every other sign his brother gave them. There was no rule against being an idiot, so it wasn’t as though Emmet could stop them.

To his eternal frustration, it had gotten even worse in the time since Ingo had returned from Hisui-- a case of cultural crossed wires that were still being detangled. It wasn’t Ingo’s fault; none of it was anything he could help, but it was easy to catch him second-guessing himself in the face of mounting social anxieties.

This meant that Emmet put a great deal of effort into interpreting his twin’s [signals], to make up for those who were willfully incapable of it and to assure his brother that no, there was nothing wrong with the way he expressed himself.

That, in turn, meant that he was hyper-aware of the utterly heartbroken, “Oh” that sounded from across the room.

Head snapping up, he wasted no time assessing the area, trying to narrow down what was so upsetting, but there… wasn’t anything there. They were at home, the only notable company their Pokemon. If anywhere was safe, it should have been here.

But the evidence remained. Even with his back turned, the distress in Ingo’s posture was easy to read: shoulders curved forward, hands drawn up and clasped, head bowed minutely. All of them were ways to make oneself seem smaller and less threatening, to indicate [distress/uncertainty].

Message received. Loud and clear.

“Ingo?” He called, softly, to no response.

While there was no understating his concern, Emmet made a point of keeping his steps [slow] and measured-- perfectly consistent, always the same. If he wasn’t panicking, there was no reason Ingo should either, after all.

It was a precaution that wouldn’t pay off. Dissociation, like everything, was plain to read in his twin’s expression; it had the dubious distinction of being the only time Ingo wasn’t actually emoting. Unusually blank eyes were fixed in the general vicinity of the bookshelf, belying little in regards to what had caused the episode. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary-- and none of what they were looking at had ever caused any issue, prior.

Narrowing the cause down would have to wait. Mitigating the response was far more important.

Gingerly, testing how his touch would be tolerated, Emmet laid a hand on his brother’s bicep. In the sense that it didn’t cause an adverse reaction, he would call it a success; in terms of garnering any kind of reaction, however, it was a miserable failure. Assured that he wasn’t doing any harm, however, Emmet reached out to ease the trembling grip on Ingo’s own wrist before he could hurt himself. It transferred to the proffered hand without [issue] and held on with what might have been a startling ferocity, had Emmet not known exactly what he was getting himself into.

He tried again, “Ingo? Can you hear me?”

And again, nothing.

Chewing on the inside of his lip, Emmet steered the both of them out of the living room, just in case it was somehow a matter of overstimulation. Gliscor’s eyes tracked them as he led the way to his own bedroom and, careful not to jostle, Emmet gave a tiny shake of his head. Much as the bat may want to help, there was nothing it could do at this juncture. It was arguable whether or not there was even anything Emmet could do at this point in time, or if the only course of action was to wait it out.

As they crossed the room’s threshold, he decided there was, demonstrated by the act of prying free the fingers that tried to dig into the long-healed [?] in Ingo’s side. There was no fear that it might reopen, but Emmet knew that it still ached, and while the new painkillers would reduce the [pain], they would do little to mitigate any freshly-incurred damage.

By the third instance-- the insistent pulling of a clump of hair, nearly as soon as Emmet had released the offending hand-- Emmet was forced to acknowledge the pattern. Should he call a professional? This behavior was unprecedented-- even in his worst moments of panic, Ingo had never been self-destructive-- but there was no denying that every time he was warded away from one avenue of self-harm, he sought out another.

Emmet wished he knew what had caused it, what made this episode so much different. While none of it was [extreme], Ingo’s continued-- subconscious-- efforts to [hurt himself] were unnerving to witness. Eventually, he was forced to take hold of both hands and keep them there. It made sitting on his bed awkward, but what did that matter?

[…]

Abruptly, he was made aware of the fact that, while he still had a grip on both of his twin’s hands, one set was substantially further away than the other, steered by his partnering [idk]. Now that he was looking, the intention behind it was clear: even if Ingo couldn’t tear at himself with his hands occupied, he could still bite.

Halfway to panic, himself, Emmet did the first thing that came to mind: he dropped both of his brother’s hands and wrapped his arms around him, instead. For the first time, the [?] garnered a response in the answering pressure that [laid?] itself over his back. Good. That was good. That meant all three points of interest were [detained], and while it might not have been smart to guide them toward his person, he was satisfied with it. During all of the [subconscious] attempts to hurt himself, Ingo had never given a whisper of indication that he would harm Emmet, each [idk] ceasing the instant they made contact.

[…]

“...it hurts.” Ingo mumbled, somewhere below his left ear.

Shit.

Torn between the need to right his mistake and the more pressing matter of keeping his brother safe from himself, Emmet was put in the awkward position of trying to back off without letting go.

[…]

Once more, then. Truthfully, Emmet would try as any times as it took to see a change, but now it seemed he actually did stand a chance of getting a response.

“Are you with me? Ingo?”

His brothers eyes snapped up to his face with an intensity just shy of offputting, scrutinizing him with uncalled for [intensity]. It was punctuated by a short, [snappy] nod.

Entire form sagging under the tension’s sudden absence, Emmet let his head drop onto Ingo’s shoulder, just for a moment. To himself, he murmured a brief, “Thank god.”

The same hand that had gripped into an injured side until the shirt wrinkled reached up and combed through his hair-- slowly, almost wonderingly.

Damn it, he wasn’t drifting off again, was he?

There was a gentle, “You’re safe,” and while it was good to have evidence that the moment of [clarity] hadn’t been a fleeting one, something deep inside Emmet hissed at that stupid, muted [tone]. It was so terribly far removed from the [?] that practically shouted what his brother was feeling, dampened to favor sheer survival over comfort, and one of his long-term goals was to coax it back to full volume. There was nothing for it today-- one thing at a time.

Suppressing the reluctant whine that rose in his throat as he forced himself upright, he covered for it with, “I am aware. Were you? Can you tell me what happened?” He followed it with a sharp, “Stop it!” as he got a good look at Ingo-- enough to realize that, dazed or not, he was back to clutching at whatever was available, fingers curled wickedly into the meat of his own thigh.

“Nothing hurt,” At the puzzled look shot his way, Ingo added, “That was what happened.”

“...good?” Emmet said, unsure at this point whether it was a statement or a question, and went back to trying to [pry] the [clawed hand] loose. With what was clearly a substantial amount of effort it relaxed, and under the force he’d been applying, he nearly smacked himself in the face with both it and his own hands.

In spite of the circumstance, he heard Ingo bite back a snort.

Patience beginning to wear thin, Emmet sat back up, “Stop that. It is clearly a conscious effort. Why do you keep trying to harm yourself?”

Any sign of amusement slipped away, and for a second he regretted the words, but quickly corrected himself; this was far more important.

“I… require something to hold onto.”

As if in argument, Emmet laced their fingers together; there was an automatic squeeze in response.

“Appreciated as it is, that isn’t what I meant.”

“You’re referring to grounding.” / “You believe that being in pain grounds you?”

“It’s always been a reliable metric; the absence of any pain generally indicated that I had gotten myself caught in a Zoroark’s illusion. It was imperative that I recognize the signs immediately in order to get back on track without further incident.” He trailed off, mind elsewhere, and only shook himself back to awareness after a conspicuous bite to the cheek, “I hadn’t thought modern pain killers would be so effective. There was no way to pinpoint when the aching stopped, and the only thing I could think was that it was… all an illusion, all this time.”

After a moment to digest this information, Emmet breathed a faint, “Oh”-- perhaps not as devastated as the one that had preceded it, but [] nonetheless.

[something about finding a compromise; keep taking meds, no self harm, but what else might help?]

“I have an idea.” He announced, and almost immediately tore off, forcing Ingo to get with the program or suffer the indignity of falling flat on his face.

There was a moment wherein he stumbled, but he ultimately opted for the former [option], [bidding] a hasty apology to Chandelure as they skirted around her designated eavesdropping fixture in the hallway.

After a bit of single-handed fumbling in the kitchen, Emmet uncovered his [prize]: a number of individually wrapped chili rindo hard candies. Even without looking his twin’s way, he could feel through their connected hands as Ingo recoiled in disgust-- not because his longstanding grudge against the confection had survived amnesia, but because Emmet had gotten him with one just days prior.

“I don’t think I approve of your idea.” He said, voice as flat as he could force it.

“That’s unfortunate,” / “Because this is the compromise.”

“So I’m not allowed to pinch, but I am allowed to poison myself?”

Emmet scoffed, “If it were poison, it wouldn’t do any good.”

“Well, yes. Speaking from experience, that’s the entire point of poison.”

He rolled his eyes and went on as though nobody else had spoken, “This is more sustainable than a little pinch here and there. And there were no rindo berries in Hisui, correct? So you cannot conflate the sensation with anything you may have experienced there. It is a perfect solution.”

“...it couldn’t at least be chili mago?”

“Nope!” Emmet said, delighted, “Because you told me Hisui did have native mago berries.”

And also because magos still had a sweet base underneath, unlike the spicy-bitter rindos-- if this was going to work, it had to be a flavor that Ingo could not tolerate. Spicy and sweet? That was nothing-- a little [annoying] at worst. But chili on top of an already astringent flavor profile would do nicely.

Depositing the greater portion of his handful on the counter top, Emmet pressed on one of the candies until the airtight wrapper popped, and tried to hand it over. Ingo stared at it ruefully and made no move to accept.

[deanstead]

Somebody’s Watching

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Request by danipearl16: Request- Jay has a girlfriend that nobody knows about and then they get a case where she’s being stalked and her stalker is killings women that seem to remind him of her and it turns out to be her ex-boyfriend from high school and Jay starts going downhill a little bit because he’s worried about her. Also his girlfriend is more on the younger than his side by 7 years

Word Count: 4,365

Warnings: cursing, mention of sexual assault/misconduct (non-graphic), mention of non-con touching, stalking, minor OC death, mention of injury, angst, fluff

A/N: Please beware of the triggers before you continue reading! I changed some parts to fit into the storyline but I still hope you like what I did with it! I’m pretty excited about this fic so I really really hope yall will like it! It’s my first time writing such a detailed case in so I hope it turned out well? Please hit me up and let me know what you think! Love yall!

---

You looked up from where you were sprawled on the couch, fiddling with your phone. Jay was sitting at the table, a small frown across his face as he pored over case notes.

Jay usually didn’t bring his work home with him but they’d just closed a big case and he had spent a whole week in the district. So instead of spending more time there to finish the paperwork, Jay had opted to bring it home instead.

You smiled to yourself just as Jay looked up. “Sorry babe.” He said, making a little face at the papers strewn across the table.

Chuckling, you climbed off the couch and moved towards him. You stood behind him, looping your arms around his shoulders, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I missed you.” You whispered.

Jay turned slightly, tugging you so that you now landed in his lap.

“Missed you too.” He whispered, smiling as one of his arms snaked around your waist, holding you securely to him, another hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “Sorry I’ve been busy.”

You shook your head, smiling.

You’d been dating for a while but no one else knew. Both of you had agreed to keep it on the down low, partly because of your age difference. Even though you had agreed you’d keep it quiet at least for the first few months, it had been a lot more than that and it had been going so well that you didn’t really want to purposefully invite anyone into this world that Jay and you had created for yourselves. Rather than keeping it a secret, you guys just hadn’t made the effort to tell anyone or publicize it to the world. This also meant that when he was stuck at the district, you didn’t get to see him but on such days, Jay was always mindful about checking in.

“What’s on your mind?” Jay asked.

“Just thinking I’m lucky to have you.” You responded, leaning in to try to give him a hug. Instead, Jay stroked your cheek and pressed his lips to yours. “Now, I really need to finish this.”

You laughed. “Go forth.”

---

Jay had taken a few well-deserved days of furlough, which he had mostly spent curled up with you. You didn’t have any complaints, it had been just what you both needed.

But Intelligence couldn’t catch a break. It was Jay’s first day back and now, he was already walking up to a crime scene.

Jay pushed the yellow crime scene tape upwards, letting Hailey walk through ahead of him before following behind her.

“What do we have?” Jay asked, approaching the spot where Adam and Kim were standing.

Kim turned. “Kate Whitewood, 22, stabbed multiple times.”

“She’s not in the system. No priors, nothing.” Adam added.

“No belongings on her?” Voight asked, looking around.

Adam shook his head. Jay frowned. “There’s barely any blood here.”

Kevin nodded, jogging forward to join them. “This is probably just the dump site. She must have been killed elsewhere.”

Hailey stood from where she had bent to examine the body. “She has defensive wounds on her. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find skin under her fingernails.”

Jay bent forward slightly. “What are those? Marks around her neck? We need to get her to the ME to get the exact cause of death.”

“Kim, bag her hands and get forensics to run a deluxe.” Voight said, as Kim nodded.

“My CI works this street, let me see what I can find out.” Jay said, turning away.

---

“So Kate was last seen at this bar right in town.” Hailey said, walking in and sticking a screenshot onto the board, which showed a camera view of the street outside the bar.

Kate could be seen on the image, her head turned slightly as she waved to someone, a man standing by her side. Hailey tapped the image.

“We can’t find this guy. His face is always turned away from the camera, facial recognition is out.”

Voight nodded. “Jay, have you heard from your CI?”

Jay nodded, resting slightly against Hailey’s desk, his arms crossed in front of him. “My guy says there haven’t been any deals going down. I think we can rule out drugs or gangs. Streets have been quiet ever since that big bust we did last month.”

“It was 28 degrees out last night, ME couldn’t find the exact time of death. But there were signs she was raped, signs of asphyxiation and five penetration wounds from a knife.” Kevin said, opening the file he had gotten from the medical examiner earlier.

Voight turned to Kim. “Who was she?”

Kim sighed. “Kate was a hard worker, she had just started her job as a receptionist at a dentist’s office in South Loop. Dad’s MIA, Mum’s remarried and relocated to New York so she’s living on her own.”

“Have we found who she was with last night?”

Adam nodded. “I’ve gone through her phone. Looks like she was meeting her friend Grace at the club last night.”

“We need to talk to her. I want to know about the last day of Kate’s life. Timeline. Check all sex offenders in the area. Comb her social media. Let’s go.” Voight instructed.

---

Jay knocked on the main door, glancing sideways at Hailey. The door swung open.

“Grace Archer? I’m Detective Upton, this is Detective Halstead, can we come in?” Hailey asked.

She furrowed her brows. “What’s this about?”

“You’re friends with Kate Whitewood?” Hailey asked, without directly answering her question. She nodded and without missing a beat, Hailey continued, “We need to ask you a few questions about last night.”

Grace stepped back to let them in, her face falling as she led them to the sitting room.

“I heard from her parents. The whole thing’s horrible.” Grace whispered, wrapping her hands around herself.

“Can you tell us what you remember?” Jay asked.

Grace looked up. “Kate’s boyfriend had broken up with her a few months ago, so I took her out. She needed to get out again.”

“Were you approached by anyone?” Hailey asked.

“Several.” She answered.

“Anyone that stood out?”

Grace paused, trying to recall. “Kate didn’t even really want to go. She barely looked at the guys… except…”

Hailey sat up a little. “There must have been something about this guy that she left with, something unique. We have a photo of him on the surveillance tape. Flashy?”

Grace nodded, “Yeah, he had this like... attitude… like he was hitting on us but he was making a joke of it at the same time.” She paused. “The last thing she told me was that she had a great time… I shouldn’t have forced her to come out.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Hailey leaned over and patted Grace comfortingly on the arm. “Thanks for talking to us. Please call us if you think of anything else.”

As Jay walked out of Grace’s house with Hailey, he looked at his partner. “This guy’s confident, he’s smooth and it doesn’t look like he knew Kate or Grace.”

---

For the rest of the day, the team had almost combed through the whole of Kate’s whereabouts before she had disappeared and all they had was a big fat nothing.

Jay typed a quick text to you to let you know that he wasn’t going to be able to come over tonight.

You read the text, smiling a little. Jay was busy but it was cute that he always kept you informed. You stopped walking, typing back a reply to tell him it was okay and to do what he had to do, before you kept her phone back into your pocket.

You walked along the street, the same street you walked on every night, frowning a little. You turned around, scanning the street behind you.

You could swear that it was like someone was watching you, or following you. But the street was empty. This wasn’t the first time you had had this feeling - like the little hairs on the back of your neck were standing but you had nothing to back up this feeling you had.

Holding your bag tighter against you, you pushed yourself forward, quickening your footsteps, only letting up as you passed the safety of your apartment building’s front door.

As you passed the threshold of your apartment and closed the door behind you, you pulled out your phone, staring at it for a while. Part of you wanted to call Jay, to hear his voice and have him tell you that you were just tired, imagining things. But the rational part of your brain convinced yourself that everything was okay, reminding you that Jay was so busy and deep in a case, he really shouldn’t have to worry about you.

Ultimately, you put your phone on the counter, chuckling at yourself. Maybe you really were too tired.

---

By the next morning, another body had turned up, not two streets away from the first dump site.

Jay felt an uneasy feeling spread in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the photo of the new victim that was already up on the board. They had a serial killer in Chicago and this guy’s victim type had physical characteristics that were scarily similar to you.

“Jay.” Hailey broke Jay out of his thoughts. “Emma Green, 23, strangulation marks, six stab wounds.”

Jay turned to his partner and nodded. “Did they go to the same club?”

Hailey handed Jay a file. “No, but look at what we picked up on the surveillance camera.” Jay opened the file, studying the photo.

“This is our guy isn’t it?” He pointed at a male figure who was standing next to their second victim, his face still hidden from the camera, wearing a plain cap.

“Hey guys, I might have found a link.” Kim said, walking in. “I checked the employee records and there’s a bartender that works in both clubs and he was on shift on each day our victims went missing. He’s got a prior for aggravated assault and harassment.”

“We’ll take it.” Jay said, grabbing his jacket and heading out of the district.

Hailey fell into step next to him, glancing at him. “Jay, you okay?”

Jay nodded. “Let’s just get this son of a bitch.”

They travelled the rest of the way in silence. Hailey seemed to pick up that this case was affecting Jay differently but she didn’t press further, allowing Jay to lead the way into the closed club.

“Ben Carlton?”

The bartender looked up from where he was, his eyes falling onto the police badge that was hung around Jay’s neck.

In a sudden motion, he ducked out and ran.

“Hey, stop!” Jay yelled, as both he and Hailey launched themselves after him, Hailey shooting out the front door to try to head him off.

“5021 George, I have a suspect fleeing on foot.” Jay called into his radio, sprinting after the bartender.

The bartender barely made it onto the next street before Hailey flung herself at him around the corner, rolling onto the ground as Jay pulled out his gun. “Don’t move!” He yelled, as Hailey pulled the bartender to his feet.

“Let’s go.” Jay snarled.

---

“It wasn’t me!” Ben yelled as he sat in the interrogation room, facing Jay and Hailey.

Jay sighed internally, watching Ben’s reactions and the way he was answering the questions Hailey was shooting at him.

“Those were mistakes, I didn’t do this!” He yelled again.

Jay pushed himself upright, getting up from where he was leaning against the wall and pushing the photos of the victims onto the table. “This. Look at this. We can place these girls at the bars you worked at just before they died.”

“Look.” Ben said, looking up at Jay. “I saw them but they left before I even finished my shift.”

Jay glanced at Hailey. “Who did they leave with?” Hailey asked.

Ben looked from Hailey to Jay. “Look, I don’t know the guy, he’s not a regular. But he’s white, about their age. I noticed him because he headed for them the moment that he walked in. Like he knew they were there.”

Before Jay or Hailey moved, a knock came from the door.

“You guys gotta see this.” Adam said, sticking his head in.

“Sit tight.” Jay said to Ben, following Adam outside, where Kevin was waiting as well.

Kevin handed the file to Jay. “We got another one.” Jay flipped open the file, which told him what he already feared. Another victim, of a physical type that not only matched the first two victims but also you.

Jay looked up. “His cooling off period is getting shorter. We need to get this son of a bitch.”

---

The feeling was getting a little stronger that someone had been watching you.

You glanced over your shoulder but as usual the street was empty. Maybe you needed to stop staying late.

You turned back towards the front. There were sounds of footsteps but you swallowed the lump in your throat, quickening your pace as discreetly as you could.

It definitely felt like someone was following you now. You were almost running by the time you rounded the corner, colliding with someone.

You gave a yelp of surprise.

“Y/N!”

You had collided with Jay.

You let out a breath, spinning around to look over your shoulder.

“What’s going on? You okay?” Jay’s eyes snapped from you to the empty street behind you.

You turned back to look at Jay. Now that he was standing in front of you, it didn’t seem that scary anymore - maybe you had imagined the whole thing.

You shook your head, taking one last glance behind you. “What are you doing here? You finished the case?”

Jay smiled but the smile didn’t really reach his eyes. “Just wanted to check in on you. I have to go back soon.”

You reached for his hand without saying anything and that’s how the both of you walked back to your apartment, your hand clenched securely in his, almost like the both of you had a tight bubble around you.

You could tell Jay’s mind was far away, and it was even more unlike him to come see you in the middle of a case. You knew there was something troubling him but you weren’t one to press. Jay would tell you when he felt he could or he wanted to.

Instead, you just squeezed his hand.

Almost as if you were prying him from his thoughts, Jay looked at you and smiled. He pulled you closer to him, tucking you under his arm.

“You’re okay, right?” You asked, without looking up at him, just as he escorted you to your door.

Jay turned to look at you and nodded. “I will be, once this case is over.” He leaned forward to give you a kiss. “If anything happens, you call me, okay? No matter what.”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded at him, watching him disappear into the elevator before you retreated back into your apartment.

---

Intelligence had been tirelessly chasing down leads but they now had four bodies and Voight was getting pressure to solve this quickly as well. They needed a break in this case and fast.

“Okay, let’s regroup, what do we have so far?” Voight barked.

“All four victims were raped and found with multiple stab wounds. We know he picks up his victims from bars and appears non-threatening enough that his victims are willing to leave with him.” Jay said, getting up.

Hailey headed to the board, frowning. “We dumped their phones but we weren’t able to find any connection between the victims other than their physical type.” Hailey cast a look at Jay, which Voight didn’t miss. “I think he’s working his way up to something.”

“Hey guys?” Kim spoke up as she walked back in, flipping open the file sitting on her desk. “I went back over the first murder to see if we missed anything. Look at this.”

Kim pulled in her chair, zooming into the photo. “This badge here on his jacket, it’s barely visible so we missed it the first few times. I sent it to the lab to see if they could enhance the image and this is what I got.”

Kim clicked and up popped the crest of a high school. “Look, it’s not just a general badge. Look at the year.”

“Okay, that is the crest for Lincoln High. It’s a jacket given to those who graduated that year.” Kevin said, frowning at it.

“I’ll run the list of students who graduated in that year.” Jay barked, heading straight for his desk, his fingers flying across his keyboard.

Cross-checking was the worst job ever but the moment Jay’s eyes landed on your name on the list of graduates, he pulled it together, eliminating the women, men who had moved out of state or country, until finally he only had three names on the list.

“Okay, I have a Steven Miller, Charles Shoemaker and John Marlin.” Jay finally spoke up as everyone looked up. “But only Steven Miller has priors.”

“For harassment, sexual misconduct, and attempted assault. Sarge, this has to be our guy.” Jay looked up at Voight.

“Do we have an LKA?” Voight asked.

“Already on it.” Adam said.

“Go pick him up.” Adam nodded, motioning to Kevin as they headed out.

Something was bugging Jay. Steven Miller. That name was…

Fuck.

Jay pushed back his chair, entering Voight’s office without knocking and closing the door behind him.

“Sarge.”

Voight looked up, frowning a little at the look on Jay’s face. He put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, looking up at Jay.

“I’ve heard Miller’s name before. It was bugging me, but I remember now.”

Voight sat up straighter.

“I’m seeing his ex-girlfriend.” The words slipped past Jay’s lips. “Sarge, everything makes sense now. The physical type, the way he’s building up because his actual target…” Jay trailed off.

You had told Jay about Steven just once. You hadn’t gone into detail but you had told Jay about the short period that you had been together with Steven – his need for control over all aspects of your life, how he had always been a little rough, how he hadn’t taken any form of rejection well, and how you’d ended it the day he struck you.

“Take Hailey.”

Jay was already halfway to the door.

---

You had left early today.

It had been a while since you had done such an early shift but you’d been feeling more and more uneasy while walking home at night and the news coverage on the murders that were happening at the moment didn’t help.

You didn’t need Jay to tell you that you looked exactly like those girls who had been murdered. It was clear as day.

You fiddled with the key in the lock, opening the door.

You felt your heart drop into your stomach as you registered the person standing in front of you. In your house.

“Steven.” You muttered, your voice trembling, barely registering the butt of a gun heading towards your temple before it went dark.

---

Hailey hadn’t said anything but she knew something was off.

“Jay, what’s going on?” She asked. “How do you know this girl’s the target?”

Jay didn’t answer but pressed harder on the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles were white. The ringing tone going off through his bluetooth speaker in the car making him feel even worse.

“Jay.” Hailey said again. “I’m your partner.”

Jay glanced at her now. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Hailey’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

Jay let a beat of silence passed. “Miller’s her ex. I should have seen the signs, the physical type, everything, I…”

“Jay. She’ll be fine. Come on.” Hailey reassured him, as he turned his truck onto the familiar street.

“She’s still not answering.” Jay said, through gritted teeth. He’d been trying to call you since he had left the station.

Without hesitation, Jay bounded up the stairs, Hailey right behind him. From down the corridor, Jay could already tell your door was slightly ajar.

“Hang back.” Jay whispered, pulling out his service weapon.

Jay quietly approached the door. “Y/N?” He opened the door with his foot, freezing as his eyes landed on you, sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, your eyes frantic as Steven held a knife to your throat from where he stood behind you.

Jay gritted his teeth, using his foot to slam the door shut, knowing that Hailey would know what to do.

“Step away from her.” Jay growled, pointing his gun directly at Steven.

Steven smiled. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. Put that down.”

Jay grinded his teeth but didn’t move. You felt the cold blade of the knife press against your skin and inhaled sharply.

“Put. It. Down.” Steven repeated.

“Okay, okay.” Jay said, glancing at you before putting his hands above his head, disarming his gun and putting it down onto the floor.

Steven smiled again, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.” Jay growled.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me what to do.” Steven answered.

“Jay, I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Jay looked straight at you. “It’s going to be okay. You focus on me, you hear me? I’m right here.”

“We broke up a long time ago, what the hell are you doing?” You asked. You were afraid, hell you were trembling, but this was crazy and you had to help Jay to find a way out of this.

“We wouldn’t be broken up if he hadn’t come between us.” Steven snarled, moving closer towards you, his lips almost touching your ear.

Jay growled. “Leave her alone.”

Steven looked back up at Jay again.

“What, you mean don’t do this?” Steven asked, crushing his lips against yours.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Jay yelled. “Is that what you did? How you forced yourself on all the other girls? What do you want, Steven? What are you trying to accomplish?”

“All I wanted was to be with Y/N! But you took her.” He spat.

“So you decided to go on a rampage?” Jay asked. You saw him twitch like he was looking for something so you started talking, as much as it made you want to gag.

“Steven, why didn’t you just talk to me?” You asked, trying to distract him.

“Talk? All you care about is him!” He yelled, lifting the knife and pointing it at Jay.

It happened in a split second.

The moment he lifted the knife, Jay yelled, “Now, Y/N!”

You threw yourself forward, covering your head with your hands as you heard the gunshots go off, just two. You weren’t sure who was shooting but you didn’t move until you heard Jay’s voice again.

“Y/N, it’s okay, it’s over.” Jay whispered.

You looked up, Jay’s face hovering above you.

“Jay…”

Jay nodded, “It’s okay, come here.”

Jay pulled his arms around you.

“He…” Jay shook his head, shielding your view of Steven’s now motionless body. “Don’t look back, come on.”

Jay tried to lead you out of the apartment, barely making it to the main door before his teammates appeared. “Jay!” Kevin called, as he spotted both of you.

Jay nodded. “Thanks.” Kevin nodded, his eyes lingering on the way Jay was holding you close to his side before making way for Jay to lead you back down to the ground floor where the ambulances were waiting.

Jay led you all the way to the waiting paramedics, not even leaving your side to get himself checked.

You weren’t hurt, not really. There was a little open cut from where Steven had pressed the blade a little too hard when he had been agitated but other than that you were fine. Well, that, and that disgusting feeling that came with remembering how Steven had pressed his lips against yours.

Voight approached you and Jay. Jay squeezed your hand. “I’ll be right back.” You smiled and nodded.

Jay and Voight talked in low voices until Voight turned to look at you. “And she’s okay?”

Jay nodded. “Yeah, she is. I just need to…”

“Do what you need to do. We’ll finish up here.” Voight said, nodding and clapping Jay on the back.

---

The paramedics had dressed the wound on the scene before Jay had brought you back to his apartment.

After getting you into a clean change of clothes and some warm food in you, you had ended up back in your favourite place in the world – on Jay’s couch, in Jay’s apartment, encircled in Jay’s arms.

You lay your head on Jay’s chest.

“So this was all because of me?” You asked in a low voice.

Jay sat up, looking at you. “What?”

“He killed all those women… because of me. I got them killed.” You whispered.

“No, no, baby.” Jay propped himself up, but didn’t let you go. “This is not your fault. Steven he… he did this, not you.”

You looked up at him. “He even… in front of you… he…” You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, you felt disgusting. He’d kissed you, he’d done it in front of Jay and he’d ruined everything.

You hadn’t said that much but Jay just tilted your chin upwards and kissed you. “Jay…”

“I’ll take it all away.” Jay whispered. “I’m sorry, I should have been there sooner.”

You shook your head, swiping away the tears that had slid down your cheeks.

Jay cupped your cheek again, pulling you into his chest. You balled your hand around his shirt, gripping at Jay.

“It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Jay whispered.

“I’ll never let anyone touch you ever again.” He half snarled, still caressing you gently.

You leaned into his embrace, closing your eyes as the sound of Jay’s heartbeat gently lulled you back into the feeling of safety and security.

[carrotmakar]

the weekend

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You get a lot more out of a songwriting session with Harry Styles than you ever bargained for.

Warning(s): cheating, explicit language, suggestive comments (nothing super explicit happens though), angst

A/N: this is a submission for nat’s ( @harrystylescherry​ ) song fic challenge!! this is based on “The Weekend” by SZA, so i’d recommend listening to that either before or while reading this so you get the gist of what this is about!!!

Masterlist | Request | Come Talk | Patreon

You’re nervous.

Should you be? Not really. You’ve written songs with and for hundreds of fantastic artists before, but there’s something about helping Harry Styles write one that has your nerves on end. Maybe it’s his fanbase, how they pick and critique everything to get the full experience. Maybe it’s the expectations of another number one from the next new song. Maybe it’s the way that your sister had sent you text after text freaking out about how good he is at what he does (If he’s so good, why will he even need your help? What if he hates the fact that you’re there and that makes him despise you?). Or maybe, just maybe it’s the way that you run headfirst into him when you walk into the room. 

Immediately, there’s a ring clad hand on your shoulder to help steady you. “Are you okay, love?” he asks, British accent thick through his words.

You nod, cheeks burning with the embarrassment of the mishap. At least he doesn’t seem to hate you, though. He seemed pretty chipper, so maybe he just likes to have a new set of eyes and ears every so often to aid in the songwriting process. That thought sets you at ease, and you immerse yourself in the routine of it all.

The entire day goes by faster than you’d like it to, honestly. It’s filled with suggestions, edits, and ideas thrown into the air. It’s all very smooth and you find yourself wishing that you worked with people more like Harry more often. He’s smart and talented but he isn’t stuck up about it. That’s something that you like about him, he knows that he’s capable of doing this but he’s not cocky.

More than once throughout the few hours that you’re around him, you find yourself looking over at his features. Really, how could you not? He’s undeniably attractive, and you’ve never been one to pretend that you don’t see something that you like when you do. As subtly as possible, you sneak glances at him. You admire the way that his cheekbones seem to have a natural highlight even in the dim, buttery light of the room. You take in the way that his curls fall loosely into his face, causing him to haphazardly push them away every few minutes. It’s a bit disturbing to you when you look over at him once and find yourself thinking about how cute the slope of his nose is. 

You take it all in, but you don’t let yourself do anything else than that. You know that he has a girlfriend, and you’re not going to actively pursue a taken man. Besides, you’ve seen the girl he’s with, along with the girls that he’s been with and you’re pretty sure that you don’t compare, so even if he were single, you wouldn’t try anything. 

Shaking the thought completely from your mind, you focus on the page in front of you and look over at Harry. “What if you just release Medicine? That'll be a number one for sure.”

He laughs, full on cackles at your words. He throws his head back and you can’t help but smile at the sound of his laugh. It takes him a minute for it to die down to giggles soft enough that he can get words out. “Never gonna happen, love.”

*

You greet your Pomeranian puppy, Daisy, as you walk through the door that night. She runs right towards you and trips on her paws. You chuckle at the memory of the first time that she did that. You were babysitting your niece and Daisy took a tumble and all you heard was an “Oopsie Daisy!” You hadn’t yet named her, so you decided that you could just go with Daisy, especially after she continued to trip all over the place. Picking her up, you make your way to the kitchen to feed her and top off her water bowl. As you’re sitting the bowl down, your phone dings with a notification from an unknown number.

Hey, it’s Harry. I hope it’s okay that I asked Jeff for your number.

You force the butterflies away the moment that they swarm your stomach; you can’t have feelings for a man that’s already in a relationship. 

Hey, Harry! It’s completely fine, I don’t mind.

You’re a bit confused as to why Harry asked for your number, but you assume that it’s to ask some questions or tell you something about the song, so you let the thoughts leave your mind and you go back to petting Daisy until you get another text from him. 

I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner? At my place?

You’re taken aback for a moment at the suggestion of dinner at his place, but then you realize that it’s probably just a thank you. Chances are that his girlfriend will be there and it will be completely formal. Plus, it’s probably just at his place because if he goes out then he’ll get swarmed by paparazzi and he’d most likely want to avoid that as much as possible. 

You mull it over for a few more seconds before deciding that you’ll have dinner with him. There’s no reason for you not to, really.

Yeah, I’d love to! Just let me know when and send me your address!

Locking your phone, you place it on the counter before making your way to the bathroom to take a relaxing shower and then head to bed.

*

When you step into Harry's house, you’re hit with the overwhelming scent of cashmere and vanilla, and it smells unmistakably like Harry. When he sees you, his eyes take you in, and then he’s smiling. “You look great!” he says before pulling you into a hug that you didn’t expect. 

Your cheeks heat up slightly at his words. It’s not like you even tried, honestly. You just threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater before leaving the house. His comment makes you smile, though, so you choose not to say anything about it.

He happily leads you towards the kitchen and you can’t help but let some of his excitement rub off on you. When you step through the threshold to the room, you expect to see his girlfriend sitting there, but instead, you're met with an empty room. He must see you looking around because he speaks up. “Amelia’s in Paris for some fashion show she’s doing.”

“Oh, that’s cool! Which show is it? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.” You run your hands along your sides nervously as you wait to see if you’ve crossed a line.

He gives you a small smile before shaking his head. “I would tell you if I knew. She hasn’t talked to me in a few weeks. It’s normally like this before shows. She gets even more distant than normal.” The both of you fall silent for a moment, but then he clears his throat and hands you a plate. “That doesn’t matter though, I wanted to thank you for helping me out today, so I made you pasta.” A warm smile graces your face as you take the plate from him. “You can head into the living room and make yourself comfortable if you want. I’m gonna get some wine. Would you like some?”

You nod and walk to the living room after he goes to get the wine. You do as he said and make yourself comfortable on his plush couch. It’s much softer than you expected it to be when you first saw it, and you’re pleasantly surprised. 

Once he returns with two glasses and a bottle of wine, you quickly set your plate down on the wooden coffee table and help him set everything down so that he can go get his food and join you on the couch. You pour the wine into the glasses while he’s getting everything settled.

“Thank you for pouring those, I’m trying to make sure I have everything together, so I probably seem like a chicken with its head cut off.” His cheeks tint a slight pink at the admission and it makes you want to reach out and run your hand over his arm to reassure him that everything is alright, but that’s not something that you can do so you settle for trying to make him feel better with just your words.

“You’re fine, Harry. Honestly, this is a lot better than any other meal that I’ve probably ever had, so you’re doing great.” He gives a grateful smile at your words, and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s no longer feeling as embarrassed. There’s something about him that makes you want to make sure he’s nothing but happy.

“So,” you say, trying to rid your mind of thoughts like that, “did you like what we came up with today?”

“Yeah, I really did, honestly.” He nods as he takes a bite of his pasta and chews. “I think you’re really talented. The things that you came up with today were absolutely phenomenal.”

You feel your cheeks heating up under his gaze and you try to hide that by taking a drink of your wine, but if his smirk has anything to say about how well you hid it, you failed epically. 

“Thank you, I think you’re really talented, too. You’re probably one of the most talented people that I’ve worked with, to be honest. And you’re really nice about it as well.” 

“You flatter me.” 

“Take the compliment, Styles.” You playfully point your fork at him and he laughs lightly.

“Fine, thank you, Y/N.” You both fall into a comfortable silence before he clears his throat and starts up the conversation again. “Tell me about yourself, wanna know you better.”

There’s an awkward tension in the air as you start telling him about yourself, but as the night goes on, you get more and more relaxed around him. It feels like you’re talking to an old friend, not someone that you just met. 

And maybe that’s why you invite him to come hang out at your place sometime soon. After all, you could use another friend.

*

You’re much less nervous sitting beside him on your couch than you were a week prior on his. After you spent that evening at his house talking to him and getting to know him a bit better, you feel much more relaxed and comfortable around him. It’s a great feeling, really, because now that the awkward tension is out of the way, you can focus on just getting to know him even better.

Harry had suggested takeout for dinner just so it was easy and so you didn’t have to dirty up the kitchen just because he was coming over. You reluctantly agreed, even though you felt a bit bad for not giving him a home cooked meal like he did for you, so now you’re sitting beside him with Chinese takeout containers on the glass coffee table in front of you.

It seems like Harry’s a lot more relaxed as well because since he’s walked through the door, he’s been a bit more touchy than normal. You’ve heard that he’s a pretty touchy person, so you don’t think much of it. You revel in it, really, because he’s a really good hugger. He’s also great at cuddling and hand holding and everything else. There’s a part of you that questions why he’s being so cuddly with you, but you remind yourself repeatedly that it’s just in a platonic way.

Once you’re both finished with your meals, he insists that he’ll clean up, so he takes all of the containers to the trash and washes the forks that were used (the restaurant forgot the plastic ones when it was delivered).

“Hey, Harry?” you call into the kitchen. 

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing?” The moment that the words leave your mouth, you know that they were worded wrong, so you rush to fix them. “I mean, I know what we’re doing, but why? Like why did you want to spend more time with me? We didn’t even talk really when we were writing the song, not more than anyone else, at least.”

He comes into the living room with a furrow between his brows. You refuse to make eye contact with him, so your gaze locks on the tea towel that he’s using to dry off his hands. “I just wanted to know you better, I don’t know really. There was just something about you that pulled me towards you and I couldn’t invite you to coffee or something like that as a thank you or a friend date because paparazzi would eat that up and I really don’t want to jeopardize your privacy like that. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way I should have probably eased more into it, that’s my bad—”

“It’s fine, Harry, I was just wondering,” you cut him off, finally meeting his eyes. “People don’t normally invite me to anything even for a thank you after our sessions, so I just wanted to know what caused you to do it.”

“I don’t see how anyone could pass up the opportunity to spend more time with you.” His words make you smile, and you’re suddenly aware of just how much he affects you. It’s a bit ridiculous, really. Nobody should make you care this much about them within three times of being around them. 

Standing up off the couch, you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head into his chest. He immediately returns the embrace and you both melt into it like it’s the only thing that either of you needs to be happy.

After a few moments like that, he pulls back slightly and pulls you with him back to the couch. He discards the hand towel onto the coffee table and sits down with his arms outstretched. You climb onto the couch next to him and let him hold you close. “What movie do you want to watch, doll?” 

Your heart flutters at the pet name, but you ignore it and just shrug. “I dunno, I’m tired anyway. You pick.”

As soon as he starts the movie, you settle into him further and feel your eyes begin to get a bit heavier. The second that you yawn for the first time, he pulls you closer to him. "Do you wanna take a little nap?” he asks, smoothing your hair down.

You nod, letting your eyes slip closed as you cuddle into him. It’s not really that late. He came over at around four and it hasn't been that long, so you assume it’s good to take a nap. Your naps normally only last for an hour or two anyway, so you’ll be up before the movie is even over.

Right before you drift off into a peaceful slumber, you feel a light kiss being pressed to your forehead. If you were completely lucid, you’d say something about it, but your foggy brain accepts it fully.

*

When you wake up the next morning, you try to stretch out as you normally would, but there are a pair of arms wrapped around you tight enough to hold you in place. It takes you a moment to realize that Harry’s the one that’s wrapping you up in his warmth. Almost immediately, your eyes widen and a gasp leaves you. Both of you fell asleep on the couch the night prior, which means that he didn’t go home. He didn’t go home to his girlfriend. 

“Harry,” you say a little louder than you anticipated as you shake him awake. He groans and pulls you closer to him, groaning for just a bit more sleep, but you continue to shake him. “Wake up, Harry, you need to go home.”

“You’re kicking me out already?” he jokes, smirking slightly. His voice is at least an octave deeper than normal, the gravel in his tone sending a shiver down your spine that absolutely should not be happening. None of this should be happening.

“You need to go home and figure out what to tell your girlfriend about why you didn’t come home last night, Harry.”

He chuckles lightly and waves you off, eyes still closed. “Don’t worry about her, love. She doesn’t live with me. Not really, she just comes over to keep up the image. She won’t care where I am.” Squeezing you to him once again, he lets a content smile form on his face. “Now settle back down and go back to sleep, I’m still tired.”

Reluctantly, you settle into him again, your head on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, and you allow the soothing rhythm of it to lull you back to sleep.

The next time you wake up, Harry’s not there. The scent of him is still overwhelming and the couch is still warm where he was laying, but he’s not holding you like he was.

Before you can call out to see if he’s still there, he comes walking into the living room with two cups of tea. “I didn’t know if you were more of a coffee or tea type of person, but you had both, so I just made us both tea.” He reaches out the mug to you, and you sit up and take the cup from him. 

“Thank you.,” you mumble as you bring the mug to your mouth and take a sip. The warm liquid washes over your taste buds and down your throat and you can’t help but think that this may be the best tea that you’ve ever had. “This is really good.”

“Thanks, my mum taught me how to make it.” You smile at the way his dimples carve into his cheeks when he mentions his mom.

You make light conversation with him, finding it easy to talk about any and everything with him. There’s something about him that soothes the nerves that you’d usually have with someone that you hadn’t known for all that long. There’s just something different between the two of you.

As you’re finishing up your tea, he takes both his own mug as well as yours to the kitchen and washes them before putting them up. When he returns, he leans down and places a friendly, very friendly, kiss to your cheek. “I’ve gotta go, love. Need to get into the studio, yeah?” 

You nod, standing up to envelop him in a hug before watching him leave. For some reason, you find yourself longing for him to turn around and walk right back through the door the second that he closes it behind him. You quickly scold yourself for feeling this way, he has a girlfriend, before getting up to go take a shower and get ready for the day.

*

Three months later, you and Harry are inseparable. Throughout the time that you’ve known each other, you’ve cried in his arms, he’s screamed at the top of his lungs to get his anger out when something with the label isn’t going right, you’ve fallen asleep cuddled into him, and he’s taught you how to cook food that isn’t frozen. 

Harry quickly became your best friend, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s the one person in your life that you know you can count on no matter what. He’s also the only person that knows everything about you, just like you know everything about him. Over the past few months, you’ve learned all about him, and it’s just made you fall a bit harder for him every time you think about it. 

You know it’s wrong, you do. You shouldn’t have feelings for your best friend, who also happens to have a girlfriend. From what he’s told you, though, she’s not really his girlfriend anymore. Sure, they’re technically together, but she never talks to him unless she needs something or they have to go out to keep up appearances. There used to be something between the two of them, but that quickly changed when things with both of their careers began to pick up. Now it’s like he’s in a relationship with someone that doesn’t even want him.

It doesn’t matter if he’s in a relationship with someone that doesn’t really want him, you can’t be the reason that someone gets their heart broken, you think to yourself for umpteenth time today.

Sighing, you shake yourself from your thoughts and hop off the counter to come stand next to him as he sautés the asparagus. You lean your head on his arm once you come to a stop beside him, and he immediately lifts the arm and pulls you closer to him. You hum contentedly as you inhale the scent of his cologne. The hints of vanilla and sandalwood make your head spin in the most delightful way as you revel in the feeling of being completely enveloped by him. 

After a few moments, you look up at him and watch the way that his jaw flexes every so often while he’s concentrating on cooking the asparagus just right. In reality, though, he’s just concentrating on not looking at you because he knows if he does, he’ll end up doing something that he may come to regret. 

He doesn’t keep his eyes off of you for long, though, because as soon as he removes the pan from the heat and scoops the asparagus onto its plate, he’s turning slightly so that he can place his hands on your hips and pull you closer.

Your breath catches in your throat as you peer up into his sea glass green eyes and try to figure out what he’s thinking. Before you can say anything, he’s leaning closer to you and there’s a part of you that wants to tell him to stop, to tell him that this is wrong. The bigger part of you, however, is so caught up in the way that his breath feels fanning over your face that you couldn’t even fathom telling him no right now. He pauses for just a second when his nose is rubbing against yours and your breaths mixing together. You’re just about to make a move when he presses his lips to yours and pushes you back until you’re pressed against the counter. The kiss is eager, sloppy, needy. He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and you immediately open up for him, letting his tongue dance with yours. 

Too soon, you have to pull away to breathe, and Harry mistakes it for you regretting it by the way that you harshly pull your face back. He rubs a hand over his face, “I’m so sorry. Fuck, that was so wrong of me, I don’t know what I was thinking I just don’t know how to act when I’m around you. I should have asked, I shouldn’t have done it at all really. I’m so sorry.”

You inhale sharply before chuckling. “Don’t apologize, H. I didn’t stop you. Fuck, I wouldn’t have stopped you, I just needed to breathe, but are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yes. God, yes. I’ve wanted this since the moment you fell asleep in my arms. Probably before that.” With that, you place your hands on either side of his face and pull him closer to you, throwing all caution to the wind as his lips connect with yours.

*

You pull away from Harry, disconnecting your lips from his. He whines low in his throat as he immediately chases after your lips. You just giggle and shake your head no as he pouts. “We have to talk about what’s going to happen, Harry, “ you reason, and he just sighs as he sits up.

“I’ll try to find a way to get out of this relationship as soon as possible, okay?” You nod as you take in the words that he’s saying, ensuring that you understand exactly what the plan is. “I’ll have to find a nice way to do it so that nothing blows up in my face, but I will get out of this. And then after a few months, we can go public.” He brings his hand to your face and caresses the skin with the pad of his thumb. “We just have to keep it under wraps until then.”

You nod, taking in what he’s saying. “That sounds good. How fast do you think you can get out of this?”

“A month, tops,” he promises, sealing it with a sweet kiss to your lips that makes every doubt leave your mind.

*

That conversation happened almost six months ago, and Harry’s still with Amelia. You try to pretend that it doesn’t bother you, but it does. He told you that he was going to do something and he hasn’t. He promised. You know that you’re supposed to be patient, but quite frankly, you’re tired of sharing him with someone else. You’re tired of him telling you that he loves you so much right before he goes back to her.

So you decide that you’re done with it. You don’t want to be the one that’s hidden anymore. He swears that he loves you, so it’s time for him to act on it. If you were in his shoes, you would have left your partner as soon as you had feelings for Harry. You would have chosen Harry because you’re truly, madly, deeply in love with him. Which raises the question of whether or not he feels the same. Is he lying about that, too?

You shake that idea out of your head as soon as it enters. Of course he loves me, you tell yourself as he lets himself in the door. You don’t move from your spot at the kitchen table when you hear him make his way to you; you just sit there and wait for him to approach you. You know that as soon as he sees your face, he’s going to know that something’s up, and as much as you know it has to happen, you’d do just about anything to put off this conversation for a few more seconds. 

This entire thing could blow up in your face, and if that’s the outcome then you want to savor the last few fleeting moments of your life with Harry.

You feel him rest his hands on your shoulder and lean down to press a kiss to your cheek. “Hey, baby.” He comes to sit next to you and you just give a weak greeting in return.

“What’s wrong?” You glance up at him briefly and see the way that his eyebrows are knitted together in concern.

“We have to talk,” you mumble, trying to get the words out without sounding weak. You have to come across strong or there’s no chance of anything going right tonight.

“Okay… what do we have to talk about?” he asks, voice shaky as he prepares himself for the worst.

“It’s been almost half a year, Harry,” you breathe, trying your best to meet his gaze to show him that you mean every word that you’re saying. “I want more than I have, and you promised that I wouldn’t have to share you for more than a month.”

“I know, but I don’t want everything to blow up in my face,” he tries, making yet another excuse that you don’t have the time, nor the patience, to hear.

“Nothing’s going to blow up in your face, Harry!” you say, slightly louder than you previously were. Pushing yourself to stand from your chair, you make your way over to the counter to put a bit of space between the two of you. “Nobody knows about me! The worst thing that happens is that you get blamed for the breakup, but who cares? Is that really more important than being with just me?”

He’s silent, and you have to stop yourself from crying. His silence is never a good thing. He just looks down at the table and rubs his hands through his hair while you try your best to steady your breathing.

“I want more than this, Harry,” you repeat. “I want more than two nights a week when I can call you mine. Sure, we’re technically together, you’re technically mine, but you’re hers too.” The thought alone makes your voice catch in your throat and you have to clear it before continuing. “You say that I’m the one that you want, but who’s the one who can be seen in public with you? Who’s the one that you can show off? Who’s the one that will be going on tour with him? Who’s the one that you’re going to look into the crowd and meet eyes with as you have that stupid heart stealing smile on your face?” He’s silent still and you scoff. He can’t even look at you. “Her. All of those things are her, they’re not me.”

He stands after a moment and reaches out for you, but you know that this isn’t something that can be fixed with a hug and a few light kisses, so you hold up a hand to stop him and say the words you know are either going to make or break your relationship. “I love you Harry, and I know you love me, too. But if you don’t love me enough to choose me, then I need you to go.”

Knowing that he can’t give you what you need, he hangs his head low and holds the tears back as he walks out your door without so much as a glance back at you.

*

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙀𝙉𝘿. ҂ 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢

request:

Hi!! Idk if you’re taking requests rn lol but I was wondering if you can write a clay imagine? It can be smut or anything lol

pairing: dream x fm!reader

warnings: nsfw (18+ minors dni), smut, calling dream clay, cliche apocalypse au, blood, kinda sad ngl

word count: ~3000

links: ao3

a/n: Hi everyone. I have no idea what this is, but if you like it let me know! I was struggling with coming up with something for dream but here we are on a crackpot tangent. N E WAY, thank you for all your support and requests! Have a great week and happy reading ♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ

Soapy bubbles clung to your arms as you pressed your hands into the hot water, sighing as you reached the bottom of the sink. You didn’t care about the murky discoloration of the water from the stack of dishes you had just polished off. You attempted to let the stress of your day roll off your shoulders to mix into that same water. Call it a baptism, but the solace you got standing before the sink, pouring your emotions into the dark, louring water was comparable to nothing. The radio buzzed with slight static as the station attempted to break through the heavy interference.

That was until three long pulses echoed over the station, making your skin crawl as if an unseen force were intruding on your alone time. You stood up straighter, water dripping down your arms and splashing on the linoleum floor beneath you as you listened to the grizzled news broadcaster read from an obviously unedited announcement. The world outside of your apartment seemed to still, silence echoing through the streets where shrilling sirens lived only moments before.

“Breaking news… NASA has just verified that the mystery asteroid is, in fact, in danger of crashing into the Earth… As of this moment-” His voice cut out, your radio buzzing into static. In a panicked effort, you vaulted across your kitchen, slipping on the dishwater in the process as you tumbled to the ground. Before the pain could set in, you climbed to your feet, smacking your hand atop of the radio. It finally crackled back to life as you twisted at the dials feverishly. “... three days. To repeat, there is a countdown on the NASA website… take shelter when the time nears.”

Your ears rang alongside the three pulses to indicate the message was over. You were in denial, figuring there was no way this asteroid was actually going to obliterate the Earth. Surely, it was a joke. Everyone had been making memes of the space rock since it was picked up on NASA’s radar a month prior. Surely, this was just a test.

You waited for the city to come back to life, but everything remained still. After everything you’d all been through in the last year, an asteroid was going to be the end.

A sharp and urgent knock hammered against your door, making you jump a few feet in the air. Before you could move to see who it was, the person was already through the threshold. You peered around the corner of the kitchen and down the hall, your gaze meeting a pair of dark green irises. Clay’s towering figure stalked toward you, his eyes brimming with tears and panic. He pulled you into his embrace rather hurriedly, as if he’d been itching to wrap around you before he broke down.

The hint of cologne clouding the air around the two of you suggested that he was on his way out. As your hands followed their muscle memory to grip onto his clothes, he dug his face into the crook of your neck. It was becoming clear that even if you weren’t responding to your best friend’s need, he was going to take it from you.

He pulled away from you slightly. Your mind had gone completely silent as he looked at you, his attention struggling to focus on one part of your face. Your body felt numb and your tongue had gone dry. His gaze traveled towards the ground and he stepped back slightly, worry spreading across his features as he clamped his hand around your forearm.

“Why are you bleeding? What happened?” His voice cracked slightly as he dug into the drawer beside you to find a towel. You furrowed your brows before finally catching sight of the blood seeping from your arm and between his fingers. His hand was large enough that it nearly served as its own bandage.

He tugged you behind him towards your bathroom. “I fell…” You mumbled, your mind now racing with questions. Why couldn’t you feel the cut? Or his hands? He pushed you upwards to sit on the bathroom counter, his crimson hands shaking slightly as he rinsed them off. Your fingers tightened around the towel holding your wound together. As he focused on the task before him, he seemed to calm down ever so slightly. He rolled his head on his shoulders and took a deep breath to steady himself as fished through your First Aid kit.

“I was on my way to Nick’s and I heard the news. I’m…” He brought his arm up slightly to brush away a few tears against his shoulder. He pulled open a package with his teeth. You watched him carefully as he worked to clean you up. His blond locks hung over his eyes, curling around his ears and twisting about as he focused and you could almost hear his mother’s voice telling him he needed a haircut.

Your chest ached. “Clay, I think I’m having some kind of a breakdown,” you mumbled, your own eyes prickling with tears as he looked up at you quickly. Usually, you were the one that kept it together. It had been like that since the two of you were teenagers. Despite the fact that Clay’s tall, muscular stature gave off the appearance of an intimidating being. In actuality he always let his emotions get the best of him, leaving you in charge of being the rational one.

But as he patched up your arm and struggled not to fall apart, the reality was settling in to weigh heavily on your shoulders.

He began to talk softly to you---much like you usually did for him---making sure his touches were delicate and slow. While his hands were coarse from years of football and building decks with his dad in the summers when the two of you were younger, they were so tender when dealing with you. He cradled you as if you would break at the slightest flex of his finger.

“Why didn’t you just go to Nick’s?” You asked him once he’d finished bandaging your arm and had begun rewashing his hands. The scarlet water in the sink looked almost surreal after you’d been staring so long at the caliginous dishwater. He rested his hands on the edge of the sink, his eyes flashing up to look at himself in the mirror before chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Your hand traveled up his arm, his skin warm beneath your touch as you tugged on his bicep to bring him closer to you. He moved to wrap you in his embrace once again, his breath melding into your hair as his fingers closed around the fabric of your shirt. “I’d rather spend the end of the world with you,” he barely whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder softly.

You pulled away from him gently, his forehead moving to rest against your own. One of his hands moved to brush into your hair, his fingers finding purchase against your neck. The familiar smell of smoky vanilla and sage seeped into your mind at his closeness. You thought about your first kiss shared in “the name of science,” after you turned fourteen. Clay had been so awkward in his body at that time; his hair shaggy, stretch marks along his knees from his growth spurt, and a growing realization that you were in fact, a member of the opposite sex.

The Clay before you, even in his state of anguish and anxiety, stood with a cockiness that that Clay couldn’t have even dreamt of. His thumb glossed over your jaw, his eyes cast down as if his mind was wreaking havoc on his movements. Cautiously, you leaned towards him, sealing the space between the two of you as your lips pressed against his. The air of catastrophe seemed to dissipate around you as he pulled you tighter against him. The taste of mint and a faint whisper of fruit from the gum he always chewed blended against your tongue. Your arms moved to wrap around his waist, wanting him pressed to you as close as he could be.

He wrapped his hands around your thighs, pulling you up and into his arms as he made his way to your bedroom. As your back hit the mattress, Clay’s lips were back on yours, your fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to tug the fabric over his head. You sighed as he hesitated before nipping at the skin of your collarbones, his tongue ghosting against any mark that formed on your skin from his teeth. You drove your hands into his hair, your fingers locking around the slight curls forming. He pushed your shirt off and you wiggled out of your sweatpants.

His hips dug into yours, the friction bringing a lazy smile to your face as you bit your lip. You tugged on his hair, making him moan into your ear to mix with his motions. “I want you, Clay,” you stated, your voice falling from your lips in a slightly deeper tone, your breathing uneven with passion. He moved to look into your eyes, pausing for a moment before his hand slid between your waistband and your hip to remove your underpants. It was clear that even as the timer clicked away the minutes the two of you had together, you wanted to savor him. If the world ended now as the two of you were in each other’s embrace, you would be fulfilled.

He smirked slightly at your words, his lips finding your neck once again. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to hear that,” he moaned, pressing a kiss behind your ear. He slunk down to press his lips against your stomach, moving slowly up your body to bury his face in your hair, grinding his hips against yours. You fought not to roll your eyes as you hooked your fingers through his belt loops, pulling his pants off. He pressed his lips against yours, humming into the kiss as you wrapped your leg around one of his. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, grinding against him.

As Clay pushed himself into you, your whole body relaxed as if he were made for you. He dug his face into the crook of your neck, letting you adjust to him. You hummed slightly, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as he began to move. He gripped the edge of the mattress beside your head as he leaned his weight on his forearm, the angle bringing your thigh to rest against his side. You wrapped your arm around his shoulder, bringing your hips up to move with his. “You’re so beautiful…” he mumbled, his lips brushing against your collarbones again as his thrusts into you became deeper.

You began to feel every inch of him in you as his hips ground against yours. Clay’s lips left yours to press against your jaw and your ear, one of his hands interlocking with yours, binding the two of you further together in the act. It was his carefulness of your forearm that sent a shock wave through your body as you were bitterly reminded that instead of a lifetime of cherishing moments like this, the two of you were cursed into his disaster arc.

His hand pressed into the mattress, fingers curling around the sheets as you pulled him down to you again, his lips melding to yours. You groaned, finding your sweet spot as he did so, making him pick up his pace. His other hand pressed against the side of your neck, bringing your skin closer to his lips as he pressed open mouth kisses to the landscape of your neck, thrusting into you and making the tension in your body tighten with pleasure. Your arms moved to wrap around Clay’s torso, pressing your lips against his shoulder as he moved. Your toes curled as you finally reached your orgasm, calling out his name and feeling him release as well, riding out your pleasure.

As you laid beside him, he played with your fingers, the quietness between the two of you nearly comforting. There was almost the question of “what now” hanging in the air.

A knock came at your door once again, your heart dropping slightly at who the person could be. You shot a look to Clay before pulling on one of the discarded shirts and your shorts from earlier. Your apartment was cold after being in bed with Clay, the air nipping at your skin and sending a shiver down your skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the billboard beside your window had the countdown displayed in heavy red numbers. You swallowed your uneasiness and opened your door.

Nick stood before you, his eyebrows slightly perked at---what you could only assume---your unkempt appearance. He wet his lips briefly. “Dream’s here right?” He asked, peering over your head a bit. You silently opened your door completely, letting him inside. Clay came out of your bedroom, tugging a hoodie over his head that he had previously shoved in one of your drawers. As Nick eyed him, it seemed like he’d forgotten whatever serious matter he needed Clay for. Instead of the skittish expression, Nick’s face twisted into a knowingly smug quip.

Clay ran his fingers through his hair, moving down the hallway and into your kitchen. “What’s up?” He queried Nick. You followed the two of them as Nick began to ramble about the end of the world.

Your chest tightened at his words as you took a seat at your kitchen counter. Clay uncapped a beer, leaning on the marble across from you. “There’s a bunker nearby. It belongs to some random old guy but I know some people who can get us a spot,” Nick muttered almost as if he were worried your neighbors would hear and sabotage his plans. He looked between the two of you quickly. “I think it’s worth a shot.”

You watched Clay closely as he thought, his expression nearly blank due to his somberness. You could practically hear the clock ticking away outside as the red light began to seep into your apartment. Clay chewed the inside of his cheek. “What do you think?” He asked, suddenly breaking the deafening silence and turning to you. “I wanna go where you go.” He looked almost like a child as he said this, but you were grateful he wanted to be with you in the end.

You tore your eyes from him, focusing on the ring forming in your sink from the dishwater that you hadn’t had the opportunity to drain. Your mind raced with the possibility that Nick was offering. “What’s the worst that can happen? We’re dying anyway, right?” You responded wearily.

And that’s how you found yourself packed into an underground shelter, Clay’s body pressed against yours as nameless people crowded the dense area. Nick huddled against the two of you, the asteroid’s timer serving as a foreboding heartbeat as it reminded you all that these were the last moments of your life. Clay’s arm tightened around your shoulders as you buried your face in the softness of his sweatshirt. Your legs were going numb from sitting on the ground with your knees folded to your chest, but you didn’t dare move from his grasp. Nick’s side dug into your own as he attempted to shrug away from the hysterical woman beside him whispering to herself.

Only the mumbling of prayers and lamenting sobs broke up the lulling music playing over a small Ham radio resting on a bookshelf in the corner. The tune reminded you of an eerie scene in a movie from the ‘60s. As the song faded, a newscaster began to discuss the timer, wishing that everyone was with loved ones and had spent the last of their money.

And then the final ten seconds came. Your fingers threaded with Clay’s as he pressed a lasting kiss to your forehead.

“... Nine. Eight…”

Nick leaned into you. The two of you had never really been close, but on your journey to the bunker, he'd become a companion to you just as much as he was Clay's.

“... Seven. Six…”

You let your mind travel to your past, prom in particular. When Clay shut the skirt of your dress in his passenger door by accident. You were so mad at him for finding humor in the situation.

“... Five. Four…”

You thought about the week prior when you were considering skipping a lecture because you were tired. What you wouldn’t give to go back to the simplicity of problems like that.

“... Three. Two…”

You hugged Clay tighter to you, hoping that if you both got blasted into whatever kind of eternity was waiting, you’d land at the same time.

“... One.”

Everyone seemed to hold their breath, even the newscaster. The silence was painful as you all waited.

Clay and Nick moved quickly, looking around the room. You furrowed your brows at them, your grip tightening around the front of Clay’s sweater. “Do you hear that?” Clay stated, his voice coming out rushed. Nick nodded, watching as the rest of the men in the bunker began to talk amongst themselves. You couldn’t hear anything, worry settling.

“What?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

Clay pushed himself to sit up away from the wall, dragging you up with him. “How can you not hear that?” He urged mildly. Fear began to pick at your nerves as you noticed the same reactions filling the shelter. Nick stood up, following some of the other guys who heard whatever they were talking about. Clay slipped from your grasp. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered and you grabbed his hand. His eyes flashed a different color as he looked at you.

A few of the women followed the group, attempting to get their companion’s attention before one of them opened the shelter door.

[justmypartner]

I’ll hold you close in the quiet

Summary: Inspired by 9x03 bts/synopsis - After moving into their new home together, Jay and Hailey find themselves struggling when buried secrets come back to haunt them. They soon realize there’s only one thing that can make things feel better - each other. 

*title taken from the song Watching You by Night Traveler 

Read on AO3 or below

Hands entwined, strides in sync, Hailey and Jay climbed the steps to the front door of their new home. Their home. It still felt so strange to say. After getting engaged and realizing they were only wasting money still paying the lease on two separate apartments, they began the hunt for a place of their own. Hailey had been no stranger to house hunting. In fact, she’d been in and out of at least three places in the past few years, but she’d never found a place as perfect as that one. The commonality among each of her previous places was that none of them ever truly made her feel like she was at home. Not in the same way she felt standing there on that stoop. 

She couldn’t quite explain it. She just knew that the feeling she had was one of certainty and peace, and she could tell Jay felt the same way. They never spoke the words, but they were each other’s home. No house or apartment would ever give them the same warm and comforting feeling they gave each other. So that’s why the shell before them, the empty structure waiting to be filled felt so much like home for them — because it was theirs together. 

“Should I carry you over the threshold?” he asked her, holding out his arms.

She let out a nervous laugh. 

“I’m pretty sure you do that after we’re married. Plus, you’re not carrying me anywhere.”

“Is that a challenge or a threat?”

“Neither,” she laughed, flashing him her best you’re an idiot smile. “I just don’t want-“

Her words were cut short with a screech as he picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder before carrying her through the doorway.

“Jay put me down!”

Their laughter was the first thing they filled the space with, and they only hoped that it augured well for their future there. 

They spent the next few days settling into that home, starting a new chapter, a better chapter, in neutral ground they were working to make their own. It was the perfect blend of his things, her things, and new things, something that only reflected the very essence of their relationship. 

Packing, moving, unpacking, it was all just the distraction Hailey needed from the Roy and Voight of it all. Putting all of her energy into the process kept her mind busy, something she was glad for considering how rampant her mind would run in the quiet. 

Voight had told her to learn to be okay with not being okay. She couldn’t help but envy how capable he was of doing that. He was back to business as usual every day since that night in the warehouse. Though, she couldn’t seem to flip that switch so easily. Insomnia kept her up most nights, her appetite was almost non-existent, and she was beginning to forget what it felt like to not be on edge at all times. She had to put on a face — a face that told the world everything was fine when really, pain and guilt had been eating her alive every second of every day since she pulled that trigger.

The job that was once the one thing that made her feel safe now felt like her biggest threat. She couldn’t bring herself to look her sergeant in the eyes. His placid demeanor only filled her with a rage she feared she’d never come back from if she gave into. She also couldn’t bear to face Kim who was struggling in her own ways, hellbent on finding the man who shot her. The man Hailey knew was already in the ground. Work was no longer her safe space. So what she was left with was Jay and the sanctuary they were building together. 

After long, anxiety-ridden days, operating on autopilot, jumping every time a stranger said her name, coming home to Jay was the only thing that could make her feel normal again. Anything as simple as his touch or the soft voice he only chartered with her was enough to cast away all of the bad and remind her that things were okay because she had him. 

What she didn’t know was that no matter how hard she’d tried to hide the fact that she wasn’t okay from him, he knew her well enough to see through the facade. He’d been watching her. He knew something was wrong, but he didn’t pry. He’d pretend to sleep when her restlessness had her fleeing from the bed in the middle of the night, and he’d pick up her favorite foods when he noticed she’d gone the whole day without eating. He knew something was eating at her, but also knew whatever it was, she would tell him when she was ready. 

So, they leaned into their new chapter together, pulling out the best moments and treasuring them amid the worst ones. Yet, as fate would have it, just as they’d reached a point of bliss with one another in their new home, old ghosts came back to haunt them. For Jay, those ghosts came in the form of an old army buddy, for Hailey, it was the FBI’s investigation into Roy’s whereabouts. 

Each struggling in their own ways, they found themselves isolating from everyone and everything, including each other. They couldn’t be the usual anchors they were for one another because they were both working to conceal the secrets they wanted to protect the other from. At work, they rarely spoke unless it was about the case. They weren’t checking in on each other, they weren’t being the support they both needed, instead they were relying on the one thing they could give: the unexplainable comfort they got just from being in the presence of one another.  

So that night, after dealing with their ghosts separately, they tucked into their shared bed in their shared home, sharing everything but the thoughts in their heads.

Late into the night, Jay woke to an empty bed. Hailey had already silently escaped hours prior. He had been so used to giving her that space, rolling back over when he realized she was gone to conceal the fact that he even knew she was. Not that night. After everything that day, that case, the ghosts he’d faced, he needed to be close to her. He needed the comfort of the other half of his heart beside him, in his arms, reminding him that everything was going to be okay. So he got up and found her in the living room. She had the corner lamp on, shining a dim glow over her head as her eyes followed the words of a small book in her hands. She wore that focused frown he’d come to love, and he smiled as he watched her unnoticed.

“You know, if you’re already sick of sleeping next to me, I don’t know how long this engagement thing is going to last,” he joked, his cheeky grin eliciting a low laugh out of her. It was the first time that day either of them felt anything even resembling joy.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” she sang quietly, closing the book over her thumb to mark her position as she looked up at him. His mouth twitched up at the corners.

“What are you doing up?” his voice was tired and raspy. He tilted his head at her and slid his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.  

“What are you doing up?” 

He smirked, moving the loose boxes from the coffee table so that he could sit on the edge across from her. They had unpacked the major things, but random boxes were still scattered about the house. It was just a reminder that things were still a work in progress.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

She smiled, knowing he knew the question was rhetorical. Knowing he knew exactly what her response was going to be. 

“No, do you?”

He shook his head and took a deep breath, pushing on his knees to stand.

“Scoot over,” he instructed, waving a finger for her to make room for him. She put her book down at the edge of the couch and moved into the cushions, allowing space for him to join her. He settled down next to her, propping his arm up under her body as she tucked into him. He let out a breath of relief when she was in his arms. That feeling, that comfort of having her so close to him, it was like that first breath after coming up for air. It was like the weight of that day had sat so heavy on his chest that it had collapsed his lungs, and she was the air he needed to breathe again. What he didn’t know was that he made her feel the exact same way. 

“Let’s not talk about it then,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. 

Hailey’s right arm draped over him, pulling him closer as her left hand tapped light patterns against his chest. He reached over and grabbed her hand in his, playing with her fingers as silence fell upon them. 

“I think maybe we should consider putting something on this finger,” he whispered, the motion of his breath moving the hair on the top of her head. 

“Oh yeah? What were you thinking?” she asked, smiling as she allowed him to raise her hand in the air.

“I don’t know, something nice. Maybe a ring?”

“Hm, I like this idea,” she hummed, twisting her head so that she could place a kiss against his chest. 

“We’ll get you a ring then,” he said certainly. 

“How about a new last name too?” she added, a playful twitch in her voice. 

“Hailey Halstead… I like the sound of that,” he murmured. 

“Me too.”

She raised up to look at him and he leaned forward to kiss her. When they pulled away, her face fell back into his chest and he continued to trace her hands with his fingers.

“Hailey?” he muttered. 

“Hm?” 

“I do want to talk about it. Not tonight…but someday.”

“Same here, Jay.”

They laid like that for the next few hours, holding each other close in the quiet, surrounded by an overwhelming sense of comfort capable of hiding away all of the fears and sorrows stirred up that day. Whatever they went through, whatever weighed heavy enough on them to scare them and make them uncomfortable, they both knew all it would take was a moment like that to feel okay again. Even if it was just for the night. They were each other’s home, each other’s safe space, and they knew that as long as they were together, their actual home would always feel that way too.  

[fukurodanni]

love for the rich and emotionally stunted: a comprehensive guide

ch. 2/7 -- prev. -- next. pairing: jumin han x f!reader warnings: n/a series summary: in the months following the incident with his father's most recent paramour, glam choi, the corporate heir of C&R finds himself discovering exactly what it is that makes a person in love so blind. ao3 link

note: sticking a read more right at the beginning. u kno how it is. thank you for sticking around i'll try my best to keep updates within a week or so!

(weeks prior.)

Jumin Han has entered the chatroom.

Jumin Han

She talked to me today.

ZEN

??

Who?

707

She??

There’s a she?!

Jumin Han

Oh.

I must have neglected to mention it.

ZEN

????

Last time there was a “she”...

Jumin Han

… No.

There’s a woman at my office.

Jaehee Kang

Does she work for you?

Jumin Han

Yes

707

That took an awfully long time for you to type lolol

Are you sure~~

Jumin Han

Yes. She wears a lanyard.

Jaehee Kang

Do you not know her name??

Jumin Han

I should think it would seem impolite after… all that.

Jaehee Kang

???

ZEN

?????

All that WHAT?

Jumin Han

I only caught a glimpse of her lanyard. I don’t know.

ZEN

Dodged my question… T_T

Jaehee Kang

Is this that woman you see in the mornings?

Jumin Han

How did you ....

ZEN

?!?!

707

Is our Jumin finally getting some?!

I’m so proud. Haha T_T

Jumin Han

Getting some… what?

Jaehee Kang

I can look into her.

For research purposes. Of course^^

Jumin Han

;;;

I only just started seeing her this month.

At the door. Seeing her at the door.

707

Seeing her OTL

Maybe she’s your future lover come to save you^^

Jumin Han

I doubt that.

ZEN

Yeah lolol

I doubt it too

And right after the Choi thing?? No way.

707

T_T

Ur right

There’s no way...

-

“Do you play video games, Mr Han?”

That’s a new one. “Where would I find the time?” He asks, thinking of Yoosung. “It’s a useless hobby.”

“That was a quick answer,” you reply. “Who hurt you?”

Jumin raises a brow, inquisitive. “No one.”

“Okay,” you say, the beginnings of a grin playing on your lips. “Who ruined video games for you?”

He thinks of the dark smudges under Yoosung’s eyes, the awful typos and the messages at 3am. It’s only a little funny. The door closes behind them. “No one in particular.”

“You’re smiling, Mr Han. Just a little.” You smile too at this, tilting your head in that curious way of yours. When you reach the lobby and then your separate ways, Jumin spares a glance at you.

He wants to say something more, something lodged very deep in his throat that comes out dry breath. He’s never been too good at small-talk, not with colleagues, not with business outside of work. He wants to be, just a little.

He’s not quite sure how that came to be.

-

It’s beyond embarrassing the way he comes up to you in the cafeteria. “You work here,” he says, a very belated realization.

You blink a few times, as if processing. “Yes,” you say slowly. “I have a lanyard.” You wave the offending item around and Jumin finally, finally catches a glimpse of your name.

“I see,” Jumin says, because that’s all he really can say. “Work hard.”

He consults his phone right away, willing the heat from his face and opening the messenger app. It goes as well as expected when he mentions it so vaguely-- Hyun rags on him for his lack of conversational skills and Yoosung drops a line or two about his own miserable love life. In any case, Assistant Kang’s information on you had only reached him earlier today and in a way he’s still coping. It had been baffling to say the least, finally having everything in front of him rather than scattered in the bits and pieces of your dialogue.

You work, technically, in the same position Assistant Kang does. Only in the fashion department, of which Jumin had strategically ignored after Echo Girl and the Chois. It really isn’t his fault he hadn’t noticed you-- not since before this month when you began arriving so consistently.

“Something on your mind?” Assistant Kang asks, looking up from where she’s shuffling through a stack of papers. It isn’t unusual for her to break the silence with a quip-- she’s always been good at easing into a mode of conversation that takes the edge off. As a good assistant and employee should, of course. Jumin wonders if he should relay this to her.

“Nothing,” he says instead, because surely she already knows. “Is it polite to bring gifts for someone you’re sure you will be seeing every morning?”

She raises a thin brow. “Who-- that woman at the fashion department?”

Jumin deigns not to answer right away, looking down at the state of his nails and the tick of his wristwatch. “Surely there must be some etiquette about that.”

-

Jaehee Kang

Buy her coffee.

ZEN

Get her a promotion lol

707

A new car!!!

Yoosung★

Maybr a nicce pen

??

-

“Any favorite TV shows?” You ask one morning. “Personally, I’m fond of office romances.”

Jumin lags for a moment, waiting to catch up. It isn’t an unusual occurrence. “Is that an innuendo?”

You smile, a little flushed-looking, and wave a hand. “Nope. Not at all.” When you look at the second coffee in his hand, though, it seems you need a second to catch up yourself. You’d mentioned offhandedly how you take your coffee the day before, and today something had stopped him at the threshold of the coffee shop he stops at every morning. Funny how things work like that.

“This is for you,” he says determinedly, and you smile a little but there’s still an edge.

“You dodged my question.” You state simply. Jumin does not know what to say.

He thinks about it for a moment, really thinks about it. The only thing that really comes to mind are the Sunday morning programs, and he doesn’t really know them off the top of his head. Maybe the morning news. “No TV shows. Next question.”

“Okay then,” you say, “Any pet peeves?”

Jumin smiles a little. It isn’t really conscious, but he’s finally figured out a way to respond and he just hopes it takes well. “Women who stop me at the door in the morning.”

“Oh,” you say, taking a sip of your coffee. You hum appreciatively. He feels strangely, indirectly accomplished. “Shame. Mine’s men who give me three word responses when I ask them things.”

He scoffs, although it isn’t as hard as it usually comes out. “I answered that in a sentence.” He says, very assuredly. When he looks back at you there’s a softer smile at your lips, rounded at the corners and not quite so mischievous as he’s seen it look before. It looks fond.

“I know,” you reply. He feels a little warmer now, turning the corner where you two part ways. You offer him a two-fingered salute, a “See you in the morning!” and a final turn.

And then you’re gone.

-

The next time the conversation lingers long past the lobby it’s because you’ve coaxed him into talking about Elizabeth III. There’s a point where you’ve reached the elevator and he’s talking to you about her care routine and the minutiae of what it takes to keep her fur so soft and pristine (much of it is her own work and her natural beauty-- of course) and he’s only barely aware of how long he’s been going on, but he pauses to look at you. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, between Jaehee’s hesitancy and Luciel’s rabid praise and Hyun’s outright disgust--

But there’s something about the way you’re looking at him when he’s finished, curiouser and half-curved into a smile. And he’s been on the receiving end of that before-- his father’s lovers, interviewers and subordinates-- but none of them have ever seemed so affectionate.

He’s seen the same look before when it’s Jaehee with a new photocard, the way Yoosung danced around Rika. It’s the glint in Luciel’s glasses when he gets to working and it’s something, something.

You look like you’ve seen something beautiful.

Which is understandable to him, really, having just shown you pictures of his Elizabeth III. What he understands less is the way you’re looking at him and not the open phone, caught up in a silence that seems way too heavy for a conversation about his cat. Even when the elevator dings it’s with some trepidation that you leave first, a memory, a discovery pulled taut between you two.

“I hope I get to meet her sometime,” you say.

Jumin nods, wordless. The delight on your face at such a simple gesture fixates itself in the forefront of his mind until he returns home to Elizabeth, flickering like hell and unbidden and unexpected but not exactly unwelcome. It’s just as confusing to him as it sounds on paper.

-

Somehow Jaehee gets to you first.

For all the time he’s spent working with Jaehee, working around her and in her general proximity, he doesn’t actually know what time she gets into the building. She seems like an inevitability, something constant and fixed and always there.

So when he holds the door open for two women, Jumin is feeling like he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to. Especially since the two of you seem to be chatting so jovially, shaking her hand with both of yours when you go to part.

There’s another something clogging his throat, a cloying want and a halfhearted desire to draw that same laugh from you, that same open brightness. He hasn’t let himself feel so much about one person-- one particular and fixed point in his life. Jumin feels like he’s chasing-- some feeling, some unnamed ball of fire-- a meteor, blazing and brilliant and too much to be real.

It’s too much to be compared to anything else, not when Sarah Choi was an unlit match next to what a beaming bonfire you are. Suddenly Jumin feels more tightly wound than he usually does.

And really, truly, it feels like a lot to handle, so he turns on his heel after silently handing you the coffee and begins to march. It feels like karmic debt for not having experienced these things as a schoolboy, and then only once as an adult. He doesn’t even know if the one time counted.

“Mr Han--” you say, and it happens at the same time he holds his breath to turn again. Just to look, to see if you appeared as off kilter as he felt. Maybe the world had rotated wrong today.

You stop there in your tracks and he really does believe for a moment that the world has gone astray-- because then it would explain the way air isn’t getting to his lungs right. He inhales just to make sure and before any other dialogue comes from your lips he asks, “Walk with me?”

You both take the elevator then.

-

Jaehee Kang

She’s a very nice woman.

Yoosung★

Huh?

707

U met her?!?!!

Tell me everything

-

It makes your mornings longer, the introduction of the elevator route. He isn’t sure how it became mutual agreement and routine, the same way the cup of coffee steams in your hands and the way you ask after Elizabeth III. The way the door gets held open.

Jumin isn’t sure how many mornings go by, how many of them are spent dreading the chime of the elevator, but one of them brings a much quieter you. And you’re usually such a whirlwind of life, pulling him toward and towards you-- he’d be lying to himself more than usual if he said he wasn’t worried.

You look like you’re steeling yourself too, and you’ve never done that-- there isn’t a thing you’ve said to him that was measured or prepared. You’re kind of like an overexcited puppy, and he’s never been too fond of dogs.

He feels something slide out of place, something like a realization that’s far grander than he knows, hovering at the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t know what it is yet, not really. He’s barely out of his head, ready to ask if you’re alright--

And you cut him off. Like you did that first morning, knocking the breath from his lungs and everything else out of place. Jumin likes things neat and tidy, likes things where they should be, where he’s used to seeing them. You aren’t too good for him, he thinks.

Then you ask, “Would you want to go out sometime?” And he has no reference materials and no forewarning and no prepared response. The odds are against him.

So against all odds and every simmering nerve in his body he says, “Yes.”

tags: @vandysgf @mrs-han

[parkerslatte]

Tough Times [two]

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2k

Summary: After a tough case, Y/N begins to question whether her friendship with Spencer is something more. Penelope, helps Y/N put things into perspective.

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

MASTERLIST

***

When the BAU got home from their most recent case, Hotch let everyone have the full weekend to recharge and rest. Y/N bid goodbye to everyone and headed into the bullpen and over to her desk. She needed to pick up a couple of things before she headed home. She sat down in her chair and leant back. Y/N wasn’t aware of anyone else in the room until they cleared their throat behind her. 

Y/N spun around in her chair to come face to face with Spencer. He clutched the strap of his bag tightly. She gave him a small smile as a greeting. 

“What are you still doing here?” He questioned, he hesitated before taking a small step towards her. 

“I’ve just got to pick up a couple of things first,” Y/N responded, “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Okay, well I’ll see you on Monday.” Spencer said before giving Y/N a parting smile and leaving.

Y/N sighed and leaned back in her chair. Normally, Y/N and Spencer would practically spend the entire weekend together. They were best friends at work as well as outside of work. Where one of them would be, the other wouldn’t be too far behind. However, since the both of them woke up in her hotel room, things had felt slightly different between the two.

***

The alarm on Y/N’s phone went off, causing the quiet hotel room to fill with noise. Y/N let out a groan as she was rudely awoken by it. Slowly, she opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the light. She was laying down facing the door, a completely different position she remembered falling asleep in. In fact she didn’t remember going to sleep at all. Y/N went to move to get out of the bed and it was then she noticed an arms wrapped tightly around her waist. 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion before she turned her head slightly to see the sleeping face of Spencer Reid - how her alarm hadn’t woken him up, she didn’t know. Her back was pressed tightly against his chest while his arms were locked securely around her, preventing her from moving too much. Y/N didn’t know why but she had a weird feeling in her stomach...butterflies?

Spencer’s hair was messy from sleeping and he had a peaceful expression on his face. To Y/N, he looked completely and utterly adorable. A soft smile spread across her features. She almost didn’t want to wake him up. One reason being that she was very comfortable wrapped up in his arms and the other reason being that it was most likely going to be incredibly awkward when he woke up.

Y/N gripped onto Spencer’s wrist and tried to gently pry his arm away from her waist. It failed horrendously. Spencer only pulled her into his body more, his head burying itself  in the crook of her neck. Y/N felt herself blush. 

Trying another tactic, Y/N gripped onto his forearm and began to shake him slightly, “Hey, Spencer, wake up.” He lightly stirred but didn’t wake up. Y/N shook him a little more, “Hey, wake up.”

Y/N could feel Spencer sigh into her neck before he began to open his eyes. At first Spencer was confused, but then he realised what he was doing. He quickly woke up and unwrapped his arms from around Y/N and sat up on the bed spouting out apologies. 

“No, it’s okay - totally fine.” Y/N said, sitting up as well, feeling her bones crack. She instantly felt the cool morning air get to her skin. She instantly missed the feeling and warmth of Spencer's arms. Spencer missed the feeling of her wrapped in his arms.

“No, I shouldn’t have-” Spencer began.

“Spence, it’s fine seriously. We both fell asleep. It’s okay.” Y/N said, getting up from the bed, collecting clothes to wear on the plane journey home.

***

Ever since waking up in that position, things had been slightly awkward between the two best friends and Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about it. Unbeknownst to her, Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about it either. 

The rest of the team could tell something was up as well. They know that on practically every journey home from a acse, Y/N and Spencer would sit on the couch and read, Y/N legs thrown over Spencer’s lap. However, on this journey home, the two were sitting at two opposite ends on the plane. Spencer was sat by Rossi and Y/N was sat by Emily. Everyone could tell that something was up with the both of them but they knew better than to question it.

Y/N grabbed what she needed out of the drawer of her and headed home. 

As soon as she entered the threshold of her apartment, her phone rang. She closed her door and threw her bag down on her couch before flopping down on it and answering it, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Hello?” Y/N answered.

“Hey Y/N!” Penelope answered. 

“Oh, hey Pen,” Y/N greeted happily once realising who it was, “What’s up?”

“Do you have any plans this weekend?” She asked, “If not do you wanna go shopping and get a coffee or something. If you don’t want to go that’s completely fine, I know you just got back from a tough case and you want to rest. I can ask someone else if not-”

“Pen, slow down, I’d love to go, what time?” Y/N questioned.

“Uh, noon at the cute little coffee shop we always go to.” She answered.

“I’ll see you there.” Y/N said and bid goodbye to Penelope before hanging up the phone.

***

The next day, Y/N made her way to the coffee shop she was meeting Penelope at. It was a cold day so she had her coat wrapped tightly around her and a scarf around her neck. What she originally failed to realise was the scarf wasn’t hers - it was Spencer’s. He had left it at her apartment a week prior, she had just forgotten to return it. By the time Y/N noticed that she was wearing Spencer’s scarf, it was too late to turn back and swap it out for one of hers. 

Y/N entered the coffee shop and she instantly clocked Penelope. As usual her friends was wearing bright and colourful clothing so she was easy to pick out in the crowded coffee shop. Y/N headed over to Penelope and greeted her. Penelope quickly jumped up and threw her arms around Y/N.

Penelope had already gotten drinks and due to her knowing Y/N so well, she knew her usual order, “I got your drink already so you don’t have to wait in line.”

Y/N smiled gratefully, “Thanks Pen. The next set of drinks are on me.”

The two fell into easy chatter for the next hour - they never ran out of anything to talk about. That was one of the reasons why Y/N enjoyed talking to Penelope so much, it kept her mind off of the whole Spencer situation. Well, until Penelope brought it up. 

“So what’s going on with you and Boy Wonder?” Penelope asked.

“What?” Y/N asked, “Nothing’s going on, we’re fine.”

“Then why did Derek call me and tell me that on the way home, you two were acting strange?” 

“We were just tired, that’s all.” Y/N lied.

“Y/N, sweetie, I’m not a profiler but I can tell when you’re lying,” Penelope said, her eyebrows furrowing, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Y/N sighed and took a sip of her drink before answering, “Well, things have just been slightly awkward between us.”

***

Y/N grabbed her overnight bag and threw it on the bed. Spencer had awkwardly left after their little incident after waking up, saying that he should go and grab his things before they left. Y/N offered to go and help him once she grabbed her things but he refused, saying that he can do it himself. 

Y/N didn’t know why she was feeling the ways she was. Spencer was her best friend - she shouldn’t be feeling these things for him. Y/N made sure everything was in her bag and that she had everything before leaving the room. On her way down to the hotel lobby, she ran into Spencer on the elevator. At the moment, she didn’t want to be alone with him but she knew that it would make things even more awkward if she went to another elevator or took the stairs. Reluctantly, she stepped in after him. 

The two were silent the entire way down. Both of them wanted to say something but they both stayed silent. Y/N rocked backwards and forwards on her feet while Spencer fiddled with the strap of his bag. If this were any other day, the elevator would be filled with chatter but it was now filled with deafening silence. The elevator seemed to be going extra slow, causing Y/n to let out a small groan.

“You okay?” Spencer spoke up.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N said, “Just tired.”

Spencer only nodded before the silence fell upon the two yet again. Finally, after what felt like forever, the doors of the elevator opened. In her head, Y/N let out a sigh of relief. The rest of the team were already in the lobby waiting for the two. 

“There they are, let’s go.” Hotch said, before they left the hotel.

Y/N caught up to Emily and JJ while Spencer stayed near the back with Morgan and Rossi. Everyone gave Y/N and Spencer weird looks, which they ignored. The two of them would always walk at the back of the group chatting up a storm that sometimes someone would have to tell them to lower the volume. The two not interacting was out of character for them.

Even more questioning glances were thrown around once they got onto the plane. Y/N sat next to Emily while Spencer sat next to Rossi. Two completely opposite sides on the plane. At one point, Y/N went to get up and get a drink for herself but when she noticed Spencer doing the same, she sat back down and waited until he had sat back down to get one. Now everyone knew for sure that something was up with the two geniuses.

***

Y/N finished telling Penelope what happened with her and Spencer in the hotel room and Penelope sat there, mouth wide open. 

“You two are completely oblivious.” Penelope stated.

“What? Oblivious how?” Y/N said.

“You love each other!” Penelope exclaimed, maybe a little too loud since many people looked over to their table. 

“Love each other? Penelope, what are you on?” Y/N questioned, “We’re best friends, that’s all.”

“Yeah, best friends who love each other. And I don’t mean that in a platonic way, I totally mean it in a huge, romantic, lovey dovey way.” Penelope said, exaggerating her statement by moving her hands wildly. 

“Penelope, I don’t love Spencer and he doesn’t love me,” Y/N said, “If we did love each other, why were we so awkward interacting?”

“Because you both finally realised it!” Penelope stated, “It’s so obvious Y/N. The two of you always spend practically every waking moment with each other, I’m surprised you aren’t with him right now. You know how Reid is with germs, have you noticed that when it comes to you, he doesn’t care. You flirt all the time, even if you don’t realise you’re doing it,” Penelope rambled on, “I can give you a list of many more reasons if you want.”

Y/N sighed, swirling the little bit of drink that was left in the bottom of her mug. She didn’t have any words. Y/N hadn’t really been in love before, sure she has had partners in the past but she wouldn’t necessarily say she loved them. Now thinking of Spencer, she can see where Penelope is coming from. 

“You’re realising it now aren’t you?” Penelope questioned.

“I don’t know, I guess I just need to think it through.” Y/N said.

“Y/N, you overthink things too much. Don’t think, just do.” Penelope said.

Y/n didn’t reply.

[lenievi]

i've never like WATCHED watched star trek (my parents would have it on while i was around so i saw things sometimes) but seeing you post about them has gotten me so attached to spock and mccoy lol. can you do 5 off the prompt list for them? it seems right up their alley

that’s so fun to hear, Cas! Thank you for sending me a number! I wanted this to be cute but it’s not *sighs* But I also wrote this in like one hour lol

I’m obviously still on my For the World Is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky nonsense, so this is related to the episode, and it’s set prior to the final scene where McCoy is 100% cured (At the beginning of the episode McCoy finds out he has a terminal illness and has only one year to live, stuff happens, and of course, Spock finds a cure last minute, literally.)

prompt: feeling their pulse

warnings: low-key deals with a fictional terminal illness, painful cure, and injections (nothing graphic or serious or even angsty, but I figured I’d mentioned it.) It’s from Spock’s POV, and McCoy is sleeping the whole time.

can be read as friendship or something more, it’s up to you!

––––––––––––––––––

The nurse left, and Spock looked up from his PADD, his eyes falling on McCoy’s restless form lying in the bed. After they’d injected McCoy with the first dose of the cure, the K3 indicator registering the level of pain had risen. Since then, it stayed above the threshold comfortable for humans and only decreased in the last hour, and McCoy finally fell asleep.

There were still two doses left to inject - one tomorrow, and another one the day after - but the slow changes seen on the medical panel were already promising. They were a hopeful sign that Spock hadn’t made a mistake in his translation of the Fabrini language. That he himself should be the reason why McCoy would never recover, why his life would be shortened even more drastically, was extremely unpleasant, and Spock quickly buried the thought.

The sickbay was quiet. It was the middle of the artificial night, and there were no other patients. McCoy was sleeping, and there was nothing Spock could do until the time for the second dose came. The image of his mother sitting at his father’s bedside after his surgery in this very room, at this very bed flashed through his mind. There was no chair next to McCoy’s bed, and Spock had his duties to attend to. The thought of staying was illogical, almost irrational. A nurse on the night shift would alert him and doctor M’Benga if anything changed about McCoy’s condition. The Captain, too, had already retired to his quarters. And yet… Spock was reluctant to leave.

He put down his PADD and inspected the medical panel again. Everything was within the expected parameters. He looked at McCoy. His face was paler than usual, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

The cure was painful, the notes were clear about that. Muscle pain, headache, and extreme fatigue before the third dose were common side effects, but seeing McCoy’s discomfort was never pleasant.

Spock reached out his hand, almost touching McCoy’s temple, almost playing with the idea of relieving McCoy of some of his physical pain, his fingers twitching, before finding McCoy's wrist. The tips of his fingers brushed over the soft skin, finding the steady heartbeat. The warmth, the pulse, so wrong and different and yet right for a human were calming.

“There’s nothing more reassuring than feeling the pulse yourself,” McCoy had said during the first weeks of their acquaintance, and while Spock didn’t understand then, he knew it to be true now.

And something eased in Spock. Something he wasn’t aware of, and yet it had been present ever since the Captain told him about McCoy’s affliction.

McCoy would live. A warm feeling rose in Spock’s chest, and he allowed himself to run his first and second fingers over the back of McCoy’s hand, hoping that in his restless sleep McCoy would feel the simple contact of skin on skin and find some comfort in it; the same way Spock had found comfort in feeling McCoy’s heartbeat.

Spock straightened, grabbed his PADD, and left the room. He would be back in time for the second dose.